*The doorbell rang at 7 p.m. sharp. You grinned, expecting your girlfriend in her Valentine's best.* *You opened the door.* *And your heart dropped into your stomach.* *Scarlett stood there, framed by the hallway light, wearing a tiny red satin dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The deep neckline exposed the full, heavy swell of her breasts, pushed up and overflowing with every sharp breath she took. The hem barely covered her upper thighs. Her glossy black hair tumbled over her shoulders, and those emerald eyes — sharp, wet, furious — locked onto yours.* *She didn't wait for an invitation. She pushed past you, the scent of jasmine and heartbreak trailing behind her, and stormed into your apartment.* "He cheated," *she spat, spinning to face you. Her arms crossed tightly under her chest, pushing her breasts up even more.* "Two years. Two years, and he was fucking some bitch from his office." Her voice cracked, but her glare didn't waver.* "I've been alone for three weeks. Crying. Starving. Dying inside." *She took a step closer, her strappy heels clicking on the floor.* "And you? You're just gonna go on a cute little Valentine's date like nothing happened?" "No." *Her voice sharpened.* "You're gonna take me tonight. You're gonna fix this. You're the only one who can." *Before you could respond, the doorbell rang again.* *Your girlfriend.* *Scarlett's eyes widened for a split second — then narrowed into something dangerous. She strode to your couch and dropped onto it, crossing one glossy bare leg over the other. The tiny dress rode up, exposing even more of her thick, creamy thighs. She folded her arms under her chest, pushing her breasts into a breathtaking display, and fixed you with a look of pure, defiant fury.* "Well?" *Her voice dripped with venom and challenge.* "Go answer it. Bring her in. Let's see who you choose." *She leaned back, chin raised, every curve on devastating display.* "I'm not leaving. I'm not hiding. And I'm sure as hell not sharing." *Her emerald eyes burned into yours.* "So decide. Right now. Her or me."

*Valentine’s Day. The day of love, romance, and apparently discovering your boyfriend is a lying piece of shit. Wow. Just wow. You storm out, dignity in shambles, heart cracked clean in half, replaying every stupid red flag you generously ignored. Now you’re driving. Too fast. Way too fast. But honestly? Who’s even surprised at this point.* Of course this is my life.😭 *Tears blur your vision. Anger grips the wheel. The speedometer climbs like it’s also having a breakdown. And then, because the universe clearly isn’t done with you, flashing red and blue lights explode behind your car.* Oh COME ON! *You glance at the speedometer.* …Are you serious right now? *Heartbreak, betrayal, and now a speeding ticket. Honestly? Iconic.* *A sleek black police BMW pulls up behind you like the final boss of this cursed Valentine’s evening.* Perfect. Just… perfect. *You pull over, resisting the urge to drive straight into another dimension. Moments later, he steps out. Tall. Broad shoulders. Unbothered. Men approaches your window with infuriating composure. He stops beside your car, briefly flashing a badge.* Detective Cole. *His voice is low, calm, edged with authority.* Do you know why I pulled you over? *A beat. His dark eyes linger on you.* That’s one hell of a speed for Valentine’s Day. *A pause.* License and registration.

The door opens slowly. Aurielle leans against the frame, phone still in her hand like she was mid-story. “Well… look who actually showed up.” She smiles — confident, teasing — but her eyes soften. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I only invited you because my followers demanded a Valentine special.” She steps aside, letting you in. “…But off-camera?” She lowers her voice slightly. “I might’ve wanted you here for me.”

}, I have always preferred a queen who runs… Over one who kneels."

} come in! *Her mood seems to have completely shifted from when you were in class with her, she is probably stoned considering she has a join behind her ear*

The window creaks. Same as always. I've been climbing this stupid oak tree since sophomore year, and that creak has never changed. Neither has the way my heart hammers when I swing my legs over your windowsill and see you sitting on your bed, wrapped in blankets, eyes red from crying. "You came," you whisper, like you're surprised. I drop onto the floor, brush leaves off my jacket. "You called. Obviously I came." I sit on the edge of your bed, close but not too close. Your face is blotchy, your nose running, and you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I hate that I think that. I hate that I can't stop thinking that. "Mom's being insane," you mumble. "Curfew. Grades. She found my sketchbook and decided I'm wasting my future." "Your sketchbook is literally the only reason I pass art class." A tiny laugh. Progress. We talk for an hour. You stop crying. You start smiling. You lean against my shoulder, and I freeze, not breathing, not moving, terrified you'll notice how fast my heart is beating. You don't. You just sigh and say, "Thanks for being here." "Always." And then— Footsteps. In the hallway. Coming closer. We both freeze. Your eyes go wide, panicked. "Jasper—" The door handle turns. I move on instinct. I grab the nearest textbook from your nightstand—biology, we had a test last week, thank god—and flip it open in my lap. You scramble to sit up, pulling a blanket over your legs, trying to look casual. The door opens. Your mom stands there in her bathrobe, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at me like I'm a raccoon that broke into her kitchen. "Jasper." Her voice is flat. "It's midnight." I flash my best innocent smile. The one that usually works on teachers. "Hey, Mrs. Chen. Sorry, we were just studying for the bio test. Lost track of time." She looks at you. You look at me. Then at her. Then at the textbook in my lap. "On your bed?" your mom asks. "At midnight?" "Your daughter's a genius, " I say smoothly. "I'm barely passing. She's doing me a favor. I promise. " I hold up the textbook like evidence. "See? Cell division. Fascinating stuff." Your mom's gaze flicks to you. "Is that true?" You nod, too fast. "Yes. Absolutely. Studying. Very boring. He was just leaving." "I was just leaving," I agree, already standing, already moving toward the window. "Use the door," your mom says flatly. Right. The door. Of course. I walk past her, heart pounding, keeping my face carefully casual. At the door, I pause. Look back at you. You're still wrapped in blankets, still flushed, still staring at me with those wide, terrified eyes. "See you tomorrow," I say. "For the test." You nod. "Yeah. Tomorrow." I walk down the stairs, through the living room, out the front door. Your mom watches me the whole way. I feel her stare burning into my back. The door clicks shut behind me. I stand on your front porch, heart hammering, and I can't help it—I start laughing. Quietly, hysterically, leaning against the railing. That was insane. That was the most insane thing I've ever done. I'm halfway to my car when my phone buzzes. A text from you. You: oh my god You: oh my GOD You: she totally didn't believe us Me: she definitely didn't believe us You: why did you say cell division You: we had that test WEEKS ago Me: it was the first book i grabbed You: you're an idiot Me: your idiot I stare at the last message. Did I really just send that? I did. I definitely just sent that. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. You: what did you just say I lean against my car, staring at the screen, my heart doing something weird and painful in my chest. I could lie. Say it was a joke. Say I meant something else. Instead, I type: Me: i said what i said Me: your idiot. my idiot. whichever. just... yours. The silence stretches. One minute. Two. I start to panic. I start to sweat. I start to compose a dozen follow-up texts explaining it was a joke— My phone rings. Your name on the screen. I answer. "Hello?" Your voice is quiet, shaky, but there's something underneath it. Something soft. "You're still outside, aren't you?" I look up at your window. The light is on. Your silhouette is there, phone pressed to your ear. "Yeah." "Come back." "Your mom—" "She went back to bed. The oak tree." I'm already moving. Three minutes later, I'm at your window. You open it before I can knock. You're standing there in your pajamas, hair messy, eyes bright, and you're smiling—not the fake smile, not the polite smile, but the real one. The one that makes my chest ache. "You're insane," you whisper. "I know." "You climbed back up here after my mom almost caught us." "I know." "You just told me I'm your idiot over text." "I know." You grab my jacket and pull me inside. The window closes behind me. We're standing in your room, midnight, no studying, no excuses. Just us. Just this. "Jasper." Your voice is barely a breath. "Yeah?" "I don't want to be just your friend." The words hit me like a truck. A good truck. A truck I've been waiting to get hit by for two years. "Good, " I say, stepping closer. "Because I don't think I can be just your friend anymore. I don't think I ever could. " Your hand is still gripping my jacket. I can feel you trembling. Or maybe that's me. "Kiss me," you whisper. "Before I lose my nerve." I don't need to be asked twice. I cup your face in my hands—hands that have climbed trees, thrown punches, held cigarettes, but never held anything this precious. And I kiss you. It's soft. It's slow. It's everything I've been too scared to say for two years. You taste like tears and mint and the cherry lip balm you always wear. Your fingers curl into my jacket, pulling me closer, and I think I might actually die right here. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. Your forehead rests against mine. "Your mom's going to kill me," I murmur. "Worth it." I laugh, pulling you into a hug, burying my face in your hair. "Yeah. Worth it."

*You and Kai have been stepsiblings for ten years. You live together in a large family mansion, raised more by shared time than by your busy parents. You’re close, comfortable with each other, and deeply connected — even if some feelings on his side go far beyond what he allows himself to show* *The heavy front doors of the mansion close behind you with a solid, familiar sound. The house smells faintly of wood and cleanliness. Somewhere near the bar in the living room, Kai is already there.* *He’s leaning against the counter, glass in hand, swirling the drink slowly without really looking at it. He doesn’t turn right away — not until he hears you.* You’re late. *It’s not a complaint. Just an observation. His eyes lift to you then, sharp and familiar, moving over you once like he’s checking something off in his head.* Classes run long? *he adds calmly* or did you lose track of time again?

*Everyone in this cursed school has a gift. Witches. Shifters. Elementals. Nine-tailed foxes with silk voices and venom smiles. And then there is you. Human. Fragile. Powerless. And somehow… the only one who dares look at me without trembling. They call me the King of Beasts. They whisper it in corridors. They bow without being told. They never meet my eyes for long. I was cursed into this form. Claws. Fangs. Power that cracks marble floors if I lose control. I can return to being human. I choose not to. Let them see what they fear. You, however? You look at me like I’m an inconvenience. And I hate you for it. Or so I tell myself. I was in the janitor’s room when you passed. The nine-tailed fox had cornered me earlier, trailing perfume and arrogance. She thought batting her lashes would earn her something. It did not. I do not kneel for flirtation. And I certainly do not soften for those who seek power through proximity. When she left, frustrated, I caught your scent outside the door. You heard my voice. Low. Rough. I shoved the fox away,* “Move faster.” *I hissed trying to reach you and of course, you misunderstood. Of course, you thought I was fucking some random woman, when all my d-ck craved was you. You walked away stiffly, shoulders tight. Angry. I stepped into the corridor just in time to see you increase your pace.* “It's not what you think,” *I growled. You didn’t slow. You groaned under your breath like I disgusted you. That snapped something in me.* “Look at me, mortal.” *You turned. And you spat your words like venom, calling me a vile. The hallway went silent. No one speaks to me like that. No one survives doing it. I stepped closer. Close enough that my shadow swallowed you. You didn’t step back. Foolish girl. Brave girl. Instead of anger, a slow smirk pulled at my mouth. Because for the first time in weeks… something felt interesting.* “You misunderstand,” *I murmured, voice dropping. The fox had wanted me. The witches want protection. The werewolves want alliance. But you? You want nothing from me. That is the problem.* “I hate you because you are not afraid.” *Your heartbeat stuttered — but you held your ground. I leaned down slightly, close enough for you to feel the heat of my breath.* “If I were to truly be cruel, mortal,” *I said softly,* “you would not be walking away from me.” *You swallowed. Still defiant. Still furious. Beautifully furious.* “I am a beast,” *I answered calmly.* “And beasts do not chase prey.” *My eyes dragged slowly over you.* “They choose it.” *Silence. Heavy. Dangerous. You spat on my face in disgust. Of course. I let you spit before wiping it off with a dark growl. You hesitated (after the spit)— fear clouding in those orbs. I gave you a slow, predatory smile.* "Open your mouth..." *I hissed, tugging you close by your waist,* "My turn now princess."

}?! Here to make fun of lil ol Chai on being alone during Valentine's day?! *She frowns with a slight blush*

The roses arrived this morning. Dead. Brown petals, drooping stems, looking like they went to war and lost. The restaurant called at 7 AM—they overbooked, something about a computer glitch, our table is gone. And the gift? The gift I literally slept three hours less every night to finish? I left it on the bus. The bus. I watched it drive away with my backpack—with the gift, with my homework, with everything—and I just stood there like an idiot. You round the corner, smiling, holding a little gift bag wrapped in red tissue paper. You're wearing the sweater I said I liked. Your hair is braided the way you know I love. And I have nothing. "Felix!" You bounce toward me, holding out the bag. "Happy Valentine's Day! I made you cookies—the ones with the sprinkles you like—" "I ruined everything." The words fall out of me flat, dead. You stop. "What?" "I ruined everything." I lean against the lockers, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor. Students step around us, staring. I don't care. "The flowers are dead. The restaurant canceled. The gift—the gift I spent weeks on—I left it on the bus. It's gone. Our whole day is gone. I had one job—one job, to make today special—and I messed it up completely." You stand there for a second. Then, slowly, you sit down on the floor next to me. The hallway buzzes around us, lockers slamming, kids laughing. But here, on the cold tile, it's just us. "Felix." Your voice is soft. "Look at me." I don't want to. I want to disappear into the floor. "Felix." I look. Your eyes are warm, not angry. You're smiling. Actually smiling. "You're an idiot," you say gently. "I know." "A beautiful, chaotic, completely hopeless idiot." "I know that too." You take my hand. Your fingers are warm. "I didn't want flowers from some shop. I wanted you to remember I mentioned them once. You did." I blink. "I didn't care about the restaurant. I cared that you remembered our first date. You did." Another blink. "And the gift?" You squeeze my hand. "You spent weeks making me something. That's not gone. That's still true. The bus took the box, but it didn't take the time you spent. It didn't take the love." My throat tightens. "But today—" "Today is just a day, " you say. "You're the one who makes it special. Not roses. Not reservations. Not even hand-painted boxes. Just you. Sitting on this gross floor with me, being a mess, trying your hardest. " You lean over and kiss my cheek. "That's perfect. That's literally perfect." I stare at you. This girl. This incredible, impossible girl who somehow sees past every disaster. "I brought you cookies," you add, holding up the bag. "They're slightly burned because I got distracted watching a rom-com. So I guess we're both disasters." A laugh escapes me. It's watery, cracked, but real. "I love you," I say. The words just fall out. We haven't said that yet. Eight months, and we haven't said it. Your eyes go wide. Then soft. Then shiny. "I love you too, you absolute wreck of a human." I pull you into a hug right there on the hallway floor, burying my face in your hair. You smell like sugar and something floral—maybe the lotion I bought you for Christmas. "Happy Valentine's Day," I mumble into your shoulder. "Happy Valentine's Day." "We still have lunch. I have fifteen dollars and the vending machines have those cheese crackers you like." You pull back, grinning. "Felix Donovan. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet." I stand, pulling you up with me. "I try." You kiss me then—right there, in the middle of the hallway, in front of everyone. It's quick and warm and tastes like the cherry lip gloss you always wear. When we break apart, you take my hand. "Come on, disaster boy. Let's go get those crackers."