#this is fluffy mc fluff fluff

[zevrra]

never forget—

synopsis: where sebastian is actually worried about MC and regrets casting crucio on them caaaause that moment in the game was not enough for me pfft!

tags: 18(+), lil angst, mostly fluff, sebastian(18) x reader, i didn’t know how to end this oops, one-shot, 2k words.

“Crucio!”

The pain that followed that one little word was excruciating.

Yet the spell casted upon you was of your own doing. You, Ominis, and Sebastian had become good friends since your first day at Hogwarts. Always together, always the 3 of you somehow in trouble. Well, mostly you and Sebastian. Somehow Ominis always managed to get out of the trouble the two of you dragged him into. You were Slytherin after all, it was most likely in your blood.

When you first met Sebastian, he had such an eager to learn that his demeanor was contagious. So much so you couldn’t help but also want to gain more knowledge with him over the years. It was all thanks to Ominis from keeping you two from ending up expelled. Your savior in a sense. But ever since the three of you had become good friends, Sebastian never let up about Salazar Slytherin. He was set on finding his Scriptorium, begging Ominis for so long to show him the way. Seeing as he believed finding it would help cure his sister’s, Anne, curse.

When Ominis had finally given into you both and led the way, the three of you worked wonderfully together. Traversing dark and wary caves. Fending off giant spiders, solving puzzles all that good stuff. Until finally you reach a room with a single note, bones buried in dirt, no way out, the word CRUCIO etched into the stone before your feet, and what looked to be a screaming apparition burned onto a mirror.

You sadly read the note aloud for all to hear. Detailing a grim last few words from Ominis’s aunt. Who unfortunately had gone looking for the Scriptorium, alone, and met an untimely fate. You reach out to gently touch Ominis’s shoulder and he stills beneath your touch.

“I’m so sorry about your aunt, Omni.” You mourn. He nods in acceptance. Nothing they did now could’ve changed what had happened to his aunt. He would at least find some peace in knowing what happened to her.

Sebastian is at your side then. Concerned look on his own freckled face. “Ominis…I know it’s hard. But the letter details using Crucio. You’re the best suited for this—“

“No! I won’t do it. To use Crucio you have to mean it. I will not cast that spell ever again…especially on you two.” Ominis steps away from your reach. Closing off from the activity entirely. You didn’t blame him.

You turn to face Sebastian then who looks..almost disappointed with Ominis's rejection. He gestures for you to follow him closer to the wailing mirror. Hauntingly beautiful, even in its twisted state.

“Well, two options. You cast Crucio on me, or I…cast it on you. It’s the only way we’re getting out of here. We can’t die here and now because of—of morals.” Sebastian whispers to you. The thought of dying in that suffocating tomb alone makes your skin crawl.

Ominis had always been vocal about how horrible any of the killing curses were, especially this spell. Seeing as he was forced to cast it when he was younger. The nightmares still haunt the blonde from what you could tell. His sleepless nights. The flinch at loud noises. It was obvious, whatever you decided, that this would forever weigh heavy on your soul. Yet the spell…could come in handy when facing Ranrok. He was your enemy after all.

You hoped it would never come down to using it though.

“Fine. Teach me the spell but you…you cast it on me. I won’t hurt you Seb.” You mumble. And at first, he’s hesitant. His wand slightly swayed before he reluctantly nods. His hands slightly shake as he teaches you the wave of the wand. He had never performed the dark arts before and this could go very wrong or just really wrong. Either way was going to hurt. But you trusted him.

That’s how you ended up in the here and now. Agonizing pain ripped through your flesh like lightning. Flames behind your eyeballs that force them to shut tight. Hoping to ease the pain away. Your teeth gnash against your lip to hold back screams of pain. It does nothing. Dark magic moves under your skin like writhing red and green tentacles. You gasp between almost suffocating screams.

Breathe in, scream, breathe out.

Your back is against the stone, arched, burning hot. Even as Ominis, or maybe it was Sebastian’s, or both of their hands are grabbing at your arms. Cool fingers press into your hot flesh as the boy’s try to lift you from the floor.

They try to comfort you during one of the worst moments of your life. It doesn’t help. They both fumble as they move you into the room that opened up behind the wailing mirror. The pain is nauseating. Every fumble, correction, and movement makes your stomach churn. Threatening to spill out your lunch. Your consciousness is slowly fading at this point. Stars blinking behind your eyelids as you grasp for whatever you can to stay awake.

Through the pulsing pain in your head and ears, you barely hear the two boys arguing. More or less Ominis yelling about how he was right. How this was a stupid idea as he struggles to help carry you. Ominis can’t see where he steps yet he’s trying so hard to save you now.

“You—you’re both idiots!” Ominis snarls. Struggling with words through his rage and panic. “How could you do something like this!”

“I understand, Ominis! Just—just, Merlin, help me! Help me get to the infirmary!” Sebastian spits back as they continue to fumble around, looking for an exit.

The last thing you hear is Sebastian calling for desperate help before the pain becomes too much and finally takes you under. Passing out from the curse spell later than you would’ve liked.

When concussions come back to you, it’s almost unbearable. Your eyes flutter open but fall closed once again. Maybe you could just stay like that for forever. Lying on a cloud, nice and warm, with your eyes closed. Eh, sounds a little too much like death for your liking.

Thankfully, your second attempt at waking up is far more fruitful. Candlelight flickers rapidly at the edge of your feet as your eyes slowly come into focus. You make out the white sheets laying across your body. Feel the firm mattress against your back. Connecting the dots, slowly but surely, that you were in the infirmary.

Your head moves slightly to continue looking around. Hoping a nurse was close by so you could ask for some water or medicine or anything to make the dull ache in your body stop. Instead your eyes find Sebastian.

His unruly brown hair is somehow even messier than usual. He slumps against the side of your bed and from what you can tell, he might be asleep. Seeing as it was sometime during the night. If you had to guess he probably snuck into the infirmary to be at your side.

Suddenly memories of what happened in the Scriptorium come back to you. Sending a harsh chill down your entire body. The cast of Crucio echoes in the back of your mind. You’ll never forget the feeling. Or the look on Seb’s face as he waved the spell and casted it upon you.

‘Crucio can only be cast if you mean it.’ You remember Ominis’s haunting words. Sebastian must’ve meant it. But you try your best to not blame him. He was just trying to get you all out of that stone grave.

“Seb…” You try to speak. Your throat burns as you attempt to rouse the sleeping man at your side. Voice hoarse, borderline gone, from what you can only assume is from the screaming you barely remember doing. “Sebastian.” You barely manage his full name.

His body shifts at the sound of his name but he doesn’t rise. So you make your way to sit up. Although the moment you prepare to sit up, weight shifting ever so slightly, Sebastian shoots up instantly. His pretty green eyes meet your gaze in a wild look. As if he can’t believe you’re awake. Dried drool sticks to the edge of his lips. You can’t help but laugh. Or what you assume is a laugh. To Seb it probably sounds like you’re coughing.

“I—we—are you okay?” Seb stumbles over his words. Knowing Sebastian, he most likely had something planned to say the moment you woke up. Yet now he was almost speechless. For the first time ever.

“I’m o-okay just…w-water.” You manage to mumble. Now he’s quick to react. A glass of water is held out with lightning speed to you and you take it graciously.

After a moment of what felt like an eternity of being parched, you chug the water given to you, before you hand the glass off and sit fully upright. Your fingers lay in your lap, picking at the cotton of the blanket.

Silence falling between the two of you was so uncommon. It almost felt worse than writhing in pain. Not really but the wall built up was hard to ignore. You needed that wall to come down.

“How long was I asleep?” You ask softly. Breaking the silence as your throat is finally feeling better after some water.

“Three days,” Sebastian replies. He doesn’t look at you. You don’t blame him, not really. The guilt must weigh heavy on his shoulders.

Three days. The fact that it had been days since you had passed out in the scriptorium made your gut twist. You can’t even imagine what rumors must have spread among the school. Or the amount of questions the headmaster will be asking you. Oh you were definitely in for some trouble.

“I’m so sorry.”

Apologies were not something Sebastian was known for. The fact that he was apologizing at all was almost shocking. You didn’t have to guess that he didn’t really mean it when he casted Crucio. It was all just a matter of choices, for you all to survive.

“It’s okay,” Your voice is soft as you speak. “I don’t want you to blame yourself. I agreed to it Sebastian,” You remind him. It only makes Seb angrier with himself.

“Of course I blame myself! I could’ve killed you!” Sebastian says in a strained voice. He wants to scream and yell. He wants you to scream and yell at him. For letting him do something so stupid. For not listening to Ominis in the first place. For being too eager.

“It was a matter of life or death Seb you know that—“ You began to say but he cuts you off as he quickly stands from his chair.

“But what if there was another way!? What if I didn’t have to…didn’t want to—I could’ve changed something!” He angrily hisses as he turns his head away from you.

Silences befalls between the two of you again. Stretched longer than previously as you can’t think of something to say. He had three days to beat himself up for dragging all three of you to that scriptorium. You couldn’t imagine how many scenarios he himself had imagined over and over again while in your slumber.

“What if I had lost you?”

The soft words are barely loud enough to hear. Just a whisper under his breath you almost can’t manage to make out. But you do. The somber confession comes at you like a heavy rainstorm. Unexpected, welcoming, lovely, and a little noisy from his previous minor outburst. Building from a small drop to a straight downpour and you’re caught in the middle of it with no umbrella.

Even in the candlelight you see the tips of ears, beat red as he refuses to look at you. Shoulders tense as he tries to will himself to calm down. It was late, you weren’t supposed to be awake, and he wasn’t supposed to be there. It was not the time for this conversation.

Yet it makes you smile anyway. Butterflies jump around under your skin, in your heart, stomach following suit in doing somersaults. You reach with a gentle hand and grab hold of his shirt sleeve, giving it a tug. For a moment he stands completely still. Debating whether or not it was the right moment to hash all of this out. It wasn’t. Yet a second tug on his sleeve has him turning to finally look at you.

This time when you meet his green eyes, his wild look is gone. He looks at you like you’re the cure to whatever alignment he’s currently experiencing. It’s a saddened, sleepless, relieved look. Feeling every emotion he’s ever felt in his life all in the span of a few short seconds.

You smile fondly at Sebastian, praying he could see it in the soft light of the infirmary. “But you didn’t,” You remind him. Almost gesturing to you, him, and your surroundings. “I’m still here, Seb.”

Sebastian simply nods. Not having the courage to speak for it may bring him to tears. Now that would truly be the end of the world if that happened.

You reach for his hand. Reassuring and gentle as your fingers intertwine with his. He’s stiff as a board at your touch. He has always yearned for it but never had the faith to act upon his feelings.

“Plus, it’ll take more than that to get rid of me.” You say hoping to ease the young man’s feelings. At least for tonight.

A squeeze to your hand is the only response you receive as he returns to his seat. He rests your connected hands on the bed before his head follows suit. Instead of returning to the side of your bed he makes himself comfy on your thigh. You smile at the puzzling picture before you.

The great Sebastian Sallow, a man who rarely asks for any help, unless it involves trekking in some dark cave somewhere, was vulnerably sprawled out on top of you.

You stifle a giggle, fearing if he heard you laugh he would assume the worst and pull away. Instead your free hand pushes through his hair. Pushing away dark curly hair from his freckled face.

“You should return to the dorms before the nurse finds you.” You hum as your eyes scan his own closed eyes. Gazing at the lengths of his eyelashes. Every freckle you could see, thinking how fun it could be to count them one day.

“‘Ts fine,” Sebastian shrugs it off. You hear the softness of his breathing, slowly becoming shallow as he falls asleep. Fast asleep in your thigh with his hand tightly wound to yours. You wish you could have a painting done of this moment. Hoping by every ounce of magic in your veins that you never forget this feeling or the sight. And by Merlin does the sight make your heart ache and pound in equal parts.

You just hoped to never go through something like this ever again. Hopefully Sebastian would see how powerful and dangerous the dark arts could be and look for another solution to healing Anne’s curse. Maybe the ancient magic you wield could help next time instead of turning to the unforgiving curses.

[loverindeepspace]

Cosy Mornings // Multi x Reader

Hey guys! I come bringing tooth-rotting fluff. In this there's only Xavier and Raf (Separately) as I work on the other guys' fics, which will be in part 2 of this :)) Concept: A cosy morning with your boyfriend. Tags: Fluff, very fluffy, fem reader Word Count: 1060 in total Masterlist

Xavier

Music plays softly in the background as you sway to the beat. The sweet smell of pancakes permeates the air around you, the morning sunlight beaming through the open windows, the breeze cool on your skin. You flip the pancake in the pan before moving to prepare the fruit ready to top off your breakfast. Xavier’s hoodie hangs off of you like a dress, keeping you cozy in the morning daze, your hair still a mess, sticking up in odd places. 

It’s the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. He wouldn’t mind waking up early every day if it meant he could see you like this, in his apartment, in his clothes, swaying to music, a carefree atmosphere surrounding you. His blue eyes, still hazy from sleep, track your movements as you move around his kitchen, the sunlight illuminating your figure. He leaned against the doorway, giving himself time to admire you.

You were ethereal, a goddess walking the earth. You chose him, again and again, in this life and in the past ones. He was the luckiest person in the world to have you by his side, he never doubted that. A gentle smile was etched into his face as he pushed off from the wall until his arms wrapped around your waist, his face pressed into your neck. 

“Good morning love.” You smile sweetly, your voice was quiet in a way that added to the cozy atmosphere. His lips pulled into a full smile as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

“Good morning honey.” His voice was muffled, but the contentment that echoed through it was clear as day. 

“Breakfast is nearly done, could you set the table?” He grumbled slightly about having to part from you, but the complaint was quickly chased away with a soft kiss to his lips. He did as you asked, making coffee and setting up the cutlery, before turning the music up on your phone. 

You look at him curiously, turning the stove off once the last pancake landed on the stack.

He reached out his hand, grasping yours and pulling you into his embrace, swaying to the lyrics of the song. You giggled, wrapping your own arms around his neck as his snaked around your waist. 

“The pancakes are gonna go cold.” You whisper, not willing to break the serene atmosphere that settled around the two of you. A grin spread across your lips, heart skipping a beat. Instead of a reply, you’re greeted with a slow gentle kiss, his arms tightening around you. You sigh into the kiss, unhurried, content with just holding each other as you move to the music. Pulling away, you gaze into his eyes, deep blue and filled with admiration, overflowing with the love he held for you. 

Rafayel

The sky was still dark when you arrived on the beach, the waves crashing on the shore. You jogged ahead, pulling him along with you. The breeze hit you, chilly in the morning hour, fresh with the smell of the wide ocean in front of you. You take a moment to breathe, to take it all in, before turning to Rafayel, a wide grin already spread across your face. His smile is amused, an eyebrow arcing.

“Where’s all this energy coming from, Cutie?” He chuckled, letting himself be pulled along the sand until the two of you stood by where the waves greeted the land. 

“Well, I’ve been wanting to see the sunrise with you for a while. This is the first time we’ve managed to get up on time, let me be excited about this!” You laugh, pressing yourself closer to his side, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you look up at him. You get a chuckle back in response, as he presses a kiss to your hairline before taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Besides, you’ve been looking for inspiration right? Maybe this beautiful sunrise will help with that.” You say as you turn to look to the horizon, any minute now the sun will come up and will paint the sky into a stunning array of colours. 

You adjust your scarf before taking a sip of your own coffee, letting the warmth spread through you, nuzzling closer to Rafayel. His arm rests across you back, the hand on your hip holding you close as a comfortable silence fills the air between you. 

Within minutes, the first pinks and oranges spread across the sky, a breath getting stuck in your throat in awe. The sun rays finally peak across the ocean, showering the two of you in a golden light.

Rafayel’s eyes drop to you, as you admire the scenery. The view he’s more interested in is you, how the hue of the light brightens your face, how your eyes are full of joy, the small smile on your rosy lips. You are glowing, a blissful sort of comfort settles inside of him as he studies you. 

You were here, with him. By his side. He had found you again, his beloved bride, his most devout follower, the person who held his heart. After so many tragedies in the past, he finally had his happy ending, the love of his life by his side. His sunset coloured eyes don’t leave your face for a second, even as you turn to look at him. 

Oh. He has found his new favourite colour. Your eyes met his, shining with pure glee, before softening at the sight of him, a smile permanently planted on your lips. He must be making some sort of funny expression as all he receives is a soft laugh from you, before a gentle kiss is planted on his lips. Your soft lips glide across his for a moment, before you pull away, a hand coming to cradle his cheek.

“The view is over there, Love.” You say, a teasing tone in your voice. He huffed a laugh.

“I prefer the view over here.” He replies, a smirk appearing on his face, before his lips meet yours once again, his arm pulling you closer. The kiss was gentle, content. You bring your arms around his neck, pulling away to meet his eyes. His gaze was filled with mirth, full of love and joy and admiration. In that moment, he had found the inspiration he’s been searching for.

[traceyc-uk]

[lyn31]

Making another ask to make a request hehe i hope it's okay with you 🥰 can you pretty please write about mc's early pregnancy stage? (If you're not planing to write it already) Like how would they feel with mc's job as a hunter? I feel like during this time they might have a little argument since zayne probably would want her to take a break from her job the moment they found out y'know since her job is very pyhsical and the risks of harming the baby but mc might be a little bit stubborn about it? imagine her fainting during her mission because of fatigue and how would zayne's reaction to it be? (maybeee just a little tiny bit of angst? but definitely with a happy ending cause i can't handle sad ending, you can add a bit of smut too if you want hohoho) I'm sorry if this is too hard for you to write 😭 anyway thank you for all the amazing stories, i'm looking forward to read more of your writings! 🥰

It ended up being a hurt/comfort 🫶🏻🥹 I never thought I'd write one of these, but then again, that’s what I said the first time I wrote smut 😂

Speaking of smut—I didn’t end up fitting any in. I was thinking maybe it could happen when they get back home. Obviously no sex smut since MC’s still in early pregnancy, but some comfort smut would be nice.

BUT I thought this ending already tied things up with such a great little bow :D

Hopefully you like it! Let me know what you think (good or bad—lay it on me) 💕

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Stubborn

Summary

In the aftermath of a close call, you navigate the haze of recovery surrounded by unwavering love—from your partner’s steady care to your sister’s fierce loyalty—until the weight of fear gives way to healing, one quiet moment at a time.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Hurt/comfort, family feels, early pregnancy.

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Zayne closes his tablet with a soft click, his gaze already on you. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks.

You shut the door a little harder than necessary when you step back into Zayne’s office, the familiar scent of disinfectant and tea grounding you just enough not to explode. He’s still seated at his desk, calm as ever, reading one of his medical cases.

You just finished a call with the HQ.

“They’re not letting me work in the field anymore,” you huff, dropping into the seat across from him. “But if I really want to work, I can be support from base. You know—report duty, logistics, the fun stuff.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t give me that look.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies mildly, folding his hands like he’s a neutral party in a murder trial. “But if I had, I might’ve said this was predictable.”

“I know it’s not possible,” you groan, tipping your head back. “And I don’t want to be in the field anyway. I’m not trying to hurt our baby.”

He reaches for your hand, which you take immediately.

“But they didn’t have to say it like that,” you go on, toying with his fingers. “Like I’m fragile. Like I need to be wrapped in bubble wrap and locked in a temperature-controlled room.”

“They didn’t say that,” Zayne points out, far too calmly.

“That’s what they meant.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did they also say it in a tone you invented for them?”

You shoot him a look. “You’re very smug for someone who’s supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” he says smoothly, standing up and walking over to you. “Which is why I’m supporting your decision to, what was it? Rot behind a desk with a highlighter and a clipboard?”

You groan again, burying your face in his stomach. “Don’t remind me.”

He chuckles, then leans down slightly, his cool fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “They’re not saying you’re useless. You’re not.”

Your hands wrap around him. “I’m not.”

He tilts his head. “Then stop talking like you are.”

You purse your lips, stubborn, but you can’t hold the tension when he leans down, voice dipping just enough to soften the blow:

“You’re still you. Even if you’re not kicking down doors right now.”

That gets a small breath of laughter out of you, even as you lean your head back against the chair again.

“...I’m still going to complain,” you mutter.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Zayne murmurs, brushing a kiss to your temple. “But next time you get assigned report duty, I’ll make tea.”

You glance at him. “...With the good honey?”

He smiles faintly. “Only if you stop acting like being careful is a personal insult.”

You snort.

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The hum of the squad’s base is a quiet background drone—keyboards tapping, screens flickering, comms static fading in and out. You’re perched at the long center table, elbow-deep in reports you’d rather not be writing, a stylus clutched in your aching fingers.

Tara walks by with a cup of something steaming and suspiciously sweet-smelling. She pauses when she sees you still working.

“You’re aware no one’s asking you to finish all those today, right?” she says, eyeing your growing stack. “Unless you’re aiming for a stress-induced birth.”

“I’m behind,” you mutter, not looking up. “Someone’s gotta get them done.”

“You mean besides the two rookies we literally hired for this?”

“They’re slow.”

“They’re new.”

“They’re too new.”

Tara sips her drink and squints. “You know this is your villain origin story, right? ‘Hunter turns paperwork tyrant after desk job.’”

You give her a withering look. She grins and walks away.

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Later, Lara leans in behind you without a sound, placing a small snack packet next to your elbow.

You blink. “What’s this?”

“Protein and fiber,” she says with that calm smile of hers. “You skipped lunch just because your husband isn’t here to give it to you.”

“I did not—”

“You took two bites of toast and drank a coffee.”

You frown down at the packet. “I’m not hungry.”

Lara just squeezes your shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat.”

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The next day, you’re rearranging case logs and editing mission summaries—because, of course, no one else formats headers right—and your back is killing you. You stand to stretch when Rose walks in and catches you mid-pose, one hand bracing the small of your spine.

She crosses her arms, already judging you.

“You realize you’re not obligated to be the Association’s unpaid intern, right?”

“I’m just keeping busy.”

“You’re nesting in spreadsheets.”

You glare. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m continuing.”

She tosses a folder onto the desk, tone sharpening just enough to dig in.

“You don’t like this work. You’re not even supposed to be doing it. But you’re acting like if you stop for five minutes, the world’s gonna forget you exist.”

“I’m not—!”

“You are,” she cuts in. “And the worst part is, if I were doing this? You’d be the first to tell me to sit my ass down and breathe.”

You open your mouth, but the only thing that comes out is silence—and a wave of heat rising in your cheeks.

She sighs, more gently now.

“You’re not going to disappear just because you’re slowing down. You’re pregnant, not invisible.”

You drop back into your chair, tense and unwilling to admit she’s right.

Rose lingers a second longer. “You wanna prove something? Prove you can listen for once.”

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You're curled on the couch in the corner of Zayne’s office, tablet propped on your thighs, stylus dancing across the screen as you breeze through another stack of reports.

He’s been pretending to review scans, but he’s mostly been watching you.

“How many reports is that today?” he asks finally, eyes not leaving his tablet.

You don’t look up. “Just a couple.”

“That’s your third ‘couple’ since this morning.”

You sigh, the stylus slowing. “They pile up when no one does them.”

“There are other that can help you as well.”

“They’re busier than me.”

He hums, noncommittal. You recognize that sound—it means he’s noting everything and choosing silence for now.

He stands after a moment, crossing the room without a sound. You expect him to hover, maybe offer tea again. Instead, he crouches in front of you, cool hands gently taking your ankle before you can object.

“Zayne—”

“You’ve been sitting too long,” he says simply, thumb pressing into the soft, swollen flesh near your arch.

You let out a sharp breath—not from pain, but the sudden relief that spreads like warmth through your foot. It’s startling, how much it hurts and soothes at the same time. Like peeling off a pressure bandage you didn’t realize you were wearing.

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

“Mm,” he replies, entirely unconvinced. He keeps working, fingers precise, careful. “Do you want me to stop?”

The ache in your calves pulses in response—a dull throb reminding you of every hour spent hunched over case files and mission logs. You hadn’t meant to ignore your body. You just... forgot.

He moves to your other foot, and when he finds the sore spot along your heel, you twitch slightly.

The moment his fingers start to knead with practiced care, your shoulders sag. The tension there slips loose without permission—like your body had been waiting for someone else to give it the okay to stop.

“You didn’t even stretch today, did you?” he asks.

“I meant to.”

He glances up, expression unreadable—but the way he shifts, drawing your legs into his lap so he can rub deeper along your calf, says everything. You don't protest. You just let your head fall back against the couch cushion, exhaustion seeping out of you in slow waves.

“You’re not helping your case by spoiling me like this,” you murmur, eyes closed.

“You’re not helping mine by pretending you don’t need it.”

He doesn’t say slow down. Doesn’t tell you you’re overdoing it—you’ve heard that enough from everyone else. Instead, he presses his thumb gently behind your knee, finding the tight muscle you didn’t realize was sore, and stays silent.

It makes you feel safe enough to rest your hand on your stomach.

He notices that too.

After a while, he murmurs, “You’re not a machine.” His voice is soft, but there’s steel underneath. “Even machines get maintained.”

You sigh. “Don’t start lecturing. I already got one from Rose.”

“I’m not lecturing,” he replies, moving his hands to your leg. “I’m observing.”

You scoff. “That’s worse.”

He keeps his massage pace steady. “Your body’s telling you to rest. You’re just not listening.”

“Because if I stop, I’ll—” You cut yourself off.

Zayne’s hands still for a second, before he continues again. But he still waits. Doesn’t press.

“I just... don’t want to feel useless.”

“You’re not,” he says simply. “You’re growing a whole human. You’re working harder than all of us.”

You drop your gaze. Your hand drifts to your stomach, and for a moment, a flicker of guilt settles in your chest—before you brush it off.

He touches your knee gently. “And before you say that doesn’t count—it does.”

You exhale, stubborn to the bitter end. “I just want to do my part.”

“You are,” he murmurs. “Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re quiet. You’re allowed to take care of yourself and still be part of everything.”

He stands, smooth and graceful as ever, and disappears into the office kitchenette. A moment later, he returns with a steaming mug and a little packet of dried fruit Lara had slipped you days ago.

You blink. “You kept that?”

He shrugs. “I’m observant, remember?”

He hands you the tea, careful not to say more.

But when you settle against the back of the couch again, sipping quietly, his fingers brush yours—just long enough to remind you he’s still there. Still watching. Still ready to catch you if—or when—you finally fall.

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The mission had gone smoothly—standard sweep, zero surprises. And just when everyone was ready to head back and clock out, the patrol assignment came in.

You straighten without a second thought. “I’ll come.”

Tara, still adjusting her gloves, pauses. “Come where?”

“On patrol.”

A beat of silence.

Rose levels you with a look. “No.”

You raise a brow. “It’s just a regular route. You said yourself it’s the quietest zone.”

“That’s not the point—”

“I’ve been sitting for days, my legs are cramping, and if I stare at another report I’m going to set fire to the desk.”

Tara mutters, “That’s valid.”

Lara looks at the sky. “Please don’t actually set fire to the desk.”

“I’ll stay in the middle,” you add, like it sweetens the deal. “I’m a support unit. Ranged. I’m not going to be diving into anything.”

Rose folds her arms. “You’re still—”

“Pregnant, yes, I know,” you cut in, already tugging on your jacket. “Not made of glass. I’m not even showing yet. And HQ already approved base-side support, didn’t they?”

“They didn’t mean outside the base,” Rose mutters.

“They didn’t not mean it.”

Everyone looks at you.

You lift your chin, undeterred.

Lara speaks next, dry as ever. “Fine. But you’re in the middle.”

“I was planning to—”

Rose cuts in sharply, “You’re. Staying. In. The. Middle.”

You squint at her. “You’re not the squad leader.”

Lara, hand on her forehead. “You’re staying in the middle.”

You roll your eyes. “Noted.”

Tara snorts, clearly enjoying herself. “I’ll take rear side. Can’t have mom-to-be dodging wanderer guts and ruining her pretty boots.”

“I hate those boots,” you mumble.

“Exactly. That’s how we know you’re tired.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You fall into formation—Rose at the front, Tara flanking rear-left, Lara bringing up the back, and you moving steady in the middle. It’s familiar. Easy. Your steps sync with theirs, your gun balanced at your side, Evol humming at your fingertips.

No one says it out loud, but they’re all subtly adjusting around you. Slower pace. Widened spacing. You catch it—but you let it go.

Because for the first time in weeks, your legs don’t ache from stillness. The air smells like rain instead of hospital antiseptic or your base’s office.

The zone is clean—stray wanderers here and there, nothing your squad can’t handle in their sleep.

You’re tired, sure—but this, you can handle it.

Until the air tears.

It doesn’t start as sound—it’s pressure. Your lungs forget how to breathe a moment before the world bends and tears open.

A Deepspace tunnel splits open in the middle of the street.

“Contact—two o’clock!” Rose snaps, a violet slash coming from her hands already singing through the first thing that crawls out.

You shift, instinct kicking in. Your Evol flashes, syncing instantly to Rose’s—sharpening her edges, accelerating her strikes.

Tara surges forward, intercepting another, and you link to her next, boosting her reflexes mid-movement. Lara flanks right behind with a glowing barrier.

It’s a tight formation. Efficient. You keep your distance, keep your focus. Your hands tremble a little, but you bite it back. One more boost—one more sync—

It starts getting hard to see clearly.

Your head pounds. Your knees buckle, unsteady.

You shift focus again, try to keep up with the flow, but your Evol stutters with jagged pulses, like it’s struggling to hold a signal. The edges of your vision blur.

Something disconnects. You think you hear someone yell your name—

And then nothing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s the faint beep of a monitor you hear first. A soft rhythm, too steady to be anything from the field.

Then fingers. Wrapped around your hand, cool yet steady. Anchoring you.

Your eyes flutter open.

White ceiling. Hospital lights. The faint scent of antiseptic.

And Zayne.

His face is the first thing you see—tired, eyes ringed with shadow, but locked on you with absolute focus the moment you stir.

“You’re awake,” he says—relief and fear tangled in his voice.

His voice has that low, careful tone he uses with patients—except it’s thinner now. Strained around the edges.

Before you can say anything, he’s checking you, doctor-mode overriding everything. Fingers at your pulse, brushing against your wrist. A touch to your forehead. Gentle pressure along your wrist.

“No fever,” he murmurs to himself. “Vitals are stable... you fainted from exhaustion.”

You try to speak, but he’s already leaning in, brushing your hair from your face like he needs to see you fully to believe it.

Then, his hand lifts yours, holding it close. His lips press to your knuckles. Then your temple. Then your cheek.

No anger. No lecture. Just that quiet sorrow in his eyes.

“I was scared,” he admits, barely a whisper. “You weren’t waking up.”

Your chest tightens. You try to blink it away, but his hand squeezes yours, grounding you again.

He exhales through his nose, like he’s been holding it in for hours.

“I should be angry,” he says finally, voice low. “But I’m mostly just... terrified.”

You blink at him, throat tight.

“You could’ve gotten hurt. Worse. You and the baby.”

His eyes stay locked on yours, steady now—but not cold. Just bare.

“I know you want to help. I know sitting still drives you mad. But pushing yourself until you pass out—how is that helping anyone?”

Your lips part, but he shakes his head gently, thumb brushing your wrist.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you. I’m saying it because I love you.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry and raw. “I didn’t think it would get that bad,” you murmur, voice barely there. “I just… I thought I could still be useful.”

His expression doesn’t shift much, but his thumb stills against your skin. “You are. You always are. But not like this.”

He lowers your joined hands onto the blanket, his other hand trailing along your arm like he’s reminding himself you’re still here. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Least of all to me.”

You look away, eyes burning. “It didn’t feel that way.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “That’s what scares me.”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His touch is cool, his presence a balm—but beneath it, you feel the way he trembles. Just faintly.

“I need you to take care of yourself,” he whispers. “Not just for the baby. For me, too.”

You nod—slow and aching, the fight bleeding out like water through a cracked glass.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he says, and his voice shakes just enough to break your heart. He lifts your hand again, presses it to his cheek like he needs the anchor just as much.

“I know you were trying your best. But I need you to stop carrying all of it like it’s only yours to hold.”

His eyes meet yours—clear, but so raw. “You’re not alone in this. You never were. So please… stop acting like you have to be.”

You swallow hard. “I just... I didn’t want to be a burden.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, jaw tight, like the words cut deeper than you meant them to.

“You’re not,” he says. No hesitation. “You never have been. Not now. Not before.”

Your throat stings. “Then why does it feel like I am? Like if I stop, if I let go even a little, I’ll just fade into the background while everyone else moves on without me?”

Zayne shifts, leans forward, and rests his forehead against your temple.

“Because you're so used to holding everything up, you don’t know how to not fight for space. Even when no one’s trying to take it from you.”

You breathe in slowly. His scent, the warmth of his skin, the steady thrum of his presence—everything about him quiets the noise in your head just a little.

“I thought I was helping,” you whisper. “I wanted to help.”

“I know,” he says again. “But pushing yourself until you collapse doesn’t help anyone—not me, not the baby, not your squad. And especially not you.”

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye where a tear slips free.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” he says gently. “I need you to be here.”

Something in you breaks—not with violence, but with mercy. Like something brittle giving way to light.

You nod, a little shaky. “I still want to do better.”

Zayne presses a kiss to your temple. “Then rest. Let yourself breathe. That’s where it starts.”

And this time, when your eyes close again, it’s not from exhaustion—but relief.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wake again to the sound of a quiet page turning.

Zayne sits beside you, long legs folded, a medical file in one hand—yours, probably—but his attention snaps to you the second your breathing shifts.

He sets it down. “You’re awake.”

His voice is softer this time. Less strained. The lines around his eyes are still there, but something in them eases.

You blink at him. “You’re still here?”

“I wasn’t planning to leave.” He brushes his fingers over your wrist, like he’s making sure your pulse is still real beneath his touch. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” Your voice comes out dry and rough.

He nods once. “That’s good.” Then he picks up the glass of water from the side table and offers it to you. His fingers graze yours as you take it—but he don’t pull away immediately.

You pause, then shift your other hand to gently hold his, anchoring it there. Your thumb brushes over his knuckles, light but deliberate. He squeezes your hand in return.

“It means you’re listening to your body, not fighting it.” His lips twitch, just a little.

You exhale before taking a slow sip of the water, letting the coolness ease the rasp in your throat. His hand stays in yours.

When you lower the glass, you don’t let go.

And for the first time in hours, you feel more at ease.

Zayne’s thumb brushes lightly across your knuckles—once, twice. Then, gently, he says, “Rose and Caleb are here. With the twins. They’ve been waiting outside—Rose didn’t want to crowd you unless you were ready.”

You go still. “The twins?”

“They were very insistent about seeing their favorite aunt.”

You arch a brow. That’s your line—he usually waits for you to say it, then replies with, “their only aunt.”

But this time, he says it for you.

And something about that—gentle, unexpected—makes a strange, delicate flutter rises in your chest.

Tender. Fragile. But steady.

Hormones, yup, that’s why.

“Can I see them?”

Zayne leans in, kisses your forehead, brushes your hair back with careful fingers. Then he steps into the hallway. A few quiet murmurs follow. The door opens.

Rose is the first to step in.

She looks... fine. Hair tied up, usual jacket slung over her arm, lips pressed into a flat line. But her eyes linger too long on the monitor beside you. Her fingers twitch at her side like she wants to check the IV, double-check your vitals—anything to do something. Instead, she stops at the foot of your bed.

“You look like shit,” she says, dry as ever.

“Thanks,” you rasp, voice hoarse.

Rose exhales. Shoulders sink. “I mean. You scared the hell out of us.”

You open your mouth, but she holds up a hand. “Let me get through this without crying yet.”

Caleb enters with the twins—both wide-eyed and quiet for once, clinging to his hands. They’re three now, just tall enough to peek over the bed railing. Caleb gives you a small smile, nods once—like we’ll talk later—and steps aside.

“I shouldn’t have let you come on patrol,” Rose says, voice quieter now. “Even if it was routine. Even if nothing was supposed to happen. You’re my twin. My squadmate. I knew you weren’t at full strength. I just...” Her breath stutters. “I just thought if I said no, you’d push harder. And I didn’t want to be the bad guy.”

You swallow. “I wanted to be there.”

“I know.” She folds her arms, eyes wet. “But I should’ve been the one to stop you anyway.”

“You tried,” you say. “You did more than anyone. I just—” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t want to be left behind.”

Rose’s expression finally breaks. She moves toward you, voice shaking. “You’re not behind. You’re with us. And you always will be. Just—don’t do that again, okay? Don’t scare me like that.”

You reach for her at the same time she leans in. Arms wrap around each other tight—shaky, unsteady, clinging like you're both trying to fix something that cracked open between you. Her forehead presses to your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out.

“Me too.”

That’s when the twins—silent up to this point—decide they’ve had enough of being observers.

They scramble up the bed, climbing over your legs like determined little puppies, wedging themselves between you and Rose, their small arms trying to hug both of you at once.

And then they’re crying. Loud and messy and confused.

“Mommy’s crying,” your niece says, and your nephew wails, “Why is Auntie sick—stop being sick!”

Rose laughs through a sob, pulling them in tighter. “She’s okay, baby. She’s okay now.”

It’s a mess of limbs and tears and sniffles on the bed, and for a moment, the whole room is soft with the sound of people trying to breathe again.

At the side of the room, Zayne stands with Caleb, arms loosely crossed, watching the scene unfold.

“Should we hug it out too?” Caleb murmurs, glancing sideways.

Zayne gives him a bland look. “No.”

Caleb grins and then sighs, dramatic. “I thought we had something, Zayne. Where’s my love?”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. “Buried somewhere beneath your need for theatrics.”

“Ouch,” Caleb mutters, clutching his chest like he’s been personally wounded. “Ruthless. No wonder your patients love you—you leave just enough emotional damage for a lasting impression.”

Zayne exhales through his nose, gaze drifting back to the bed where the tangle of you, Rose, and the twins is still unfolding—small hands clinging, Rose’s face pressed against your shoulder, the kids hiccuping their tears into your sides. The corner of his mouth pulls, barely, almost a smile.

Caleb watches him for a moment longer, then, softer. “...Glad she’s okay.”

Zayne doesn’t say anything to that. Just nods once.

And that’s when Caleb pulls out his phone. He doesn’t even hide it.

“I’m taking a picture.”

Zayne lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t stop him.

“For the photo wall,” Caleb says, angling it just right. “Or the ‘look at your chaotic emotional legacy’ folder for when they’re teenagers. Whichever comes first.”

He takes the picture with the absolute stealth of a dad used to capturing chaotic moments.

Zayne watches, quiet. But this time, when the screen captures your face mid-laugh, he doesn’t look away.

Your hand in Rose’s hair. Little fingers tangled in yours. Tears drying slow on your cheeks. A smile caught between sobs, still glimmering. The moment is already saved.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

This week is just serious week I guess... Are we all just in our period? Is that why? Cuz I am.... 🫠😂 Joking aside, hope y'all enjoy it! 🫶🏻🥹

[asmomyluv]

CUTENESS AGGRESSION (THE ROYALS)

If there’s one thing demons and humans have in common, it’s cuteness aggression! For anyone who doesn’t know cuteness aggression is the urge to bite, squeeze, or shake something cute without the intent to harm it. Also I’m currently working on a better set up with rules and generally more info about requests but until then ask away!

SFW, GN!Reader

Warnings: Dia loves humans, nothing

Demon Bro’s version here

Diavolo

Diavolo loves humans, they’re such interesting creatures. So small yet so brave and outspoken. He knows how much bigger he is than even the tallest of them and he absolutely towers over you. So as you stood there trying to intimidate him it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. It’s the human equivalent of a puppy trying to growl at you. He knew he was wrong for holding your D.D.D hostage above you. But the empty threats you made were adorable. You let out a startled screech as he picked you up and hugged you close. “Forgive me MC but you’re simply adorable” As he spoke he left his large hand on your cheek watching your annoyed pout.

Barbatos

Barbatos is good at keeping his composure, hell he’s been doing it for thousands of years now. So the first time he saw you taking a nap in his room while you waited for him to finish his duties. The urge to pick you up and squeeze you just a little too tight frightened him a bit. Not only was he not used to having impulsive thoughts but the fact that seeing you in such a peaceful state made him want to respond so aggressively slightly worried him. At first he’d think something is wrong with him and he’d try to distance himself but that didn’t last long until he invited you over for some treats. And the same feeling struck again when your cheeks were stuffed with pastries and a speck of filling was on your cheek. He reached to wipe it off and at the same time pinched your cheek. He was about to apologize when you giggled “I guess demons get cuteness aggression too huh?” Cuteness aggression.. well that about sums up how he was feeling “Tell me more about this, cuteness aggression I would love to know more”

[shiny-kaibernyte]

hey there! if you’re taking requests, can i ask for a drayton and/or kieran x a male! reader who has a very punk/alt style and looks pretty intimidating but is actually very kind? maybe the reader specializes in ghost/dark types too

regardless, i hope you’re taking care of yourself, i love your writing!

I really really like this! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to this request! As a Ghost/dark specialist myself, i'll use Pokemon i have on my own team for convenience. If you don't like it feel free to yell at me for taking so long and mucking it up! ANYWAY Happy reading.

Warning: Small amount of Angst

Pretend | Kieran x Male Reader

“Kieran… you really shouldn’t rush this! It’s okay to feel nervous. You're not ready and that’s okay, please… don’t push yourself for something out of your reach.” Sitting opposite Kieran hoping your words would reach through to him, and yet the table seemed to only be a small part of the gap between you. 

A bang echoed through the dining room as Kieran slammed his fist on the floor, his voice coming out in a determined shout. “HELL NO! I’M READY I KNOW I AM! I’ll RETURN TO THAT WASH UP OF A SCHOOL AND SHOW EVERYONE HOW MUCH I’VE CHANGED!”

“Kieran calm down! I meant nothing by it, I’m simply saying, maybe wait another day before going back. After all, the spotlight’s going to be heavily on you… Are you… Sure you’re ready for that much attention?” Raising an eyebrow, a hint of worry in your voice, seemingly in an attempt to break through his facade and get through his shell.

Seems it worked

Kieran’s eyes fell to the floor, his head hung low, gripping his jeans so tightly. His knuckles turned white, and his palms read from the pressure. Tears began falling from his eyes, his voice coming out as nothing more than a shaking quiver of what it once was. “I don’t need you… to tell me that…”

“Kieran! I’m sorry please don’t c-” Barely a sentence out and Kieran’s voice breaks through your own.

“I’m not as strong as you… I can’t make people run from me the moment they see me walking down a hall… I can’t glare at someone like you can… make them show respect to you just by looking at them. You don’t even have to raise your voice… Just looking at you makes people's skin crawl. I’ve seen countless Pokémon hide behind their trainer or out right return to their balls… All because of how you look… Your team being all ghost types only helps you… The way you hold yourself up, I’ve never even seen you break a sweat… even in those outfits… How… how can I even comprehend facing that place again… With everything I have done to not only them… but to you? How can you sit across from me and show me the kindness you never show to others? How… Can you let me call you my boyfriend?”

“What are you talking about Kieran… where is all this coming from?” Unable to comprehend anything he was saying, your words only added fuel to this sombre fire within him.

“I Pretended… that’s how I got through. I held myself up by a thread, I pretended to be strong… I wanted to be stronger, I thought I was stronger than you… I needed to be stronger than you… To prove to myself I could protect you… the way you always have me. I pretended… Even when I never showed it to you, I followed you around like a lost Yamper. It’s dumb now that I say it aloud. Pushing you away from me at every step, and yet I admit how much I wanted to be like you… And yet after everything with Ogerpon… the academy… Area Zero. You never backed away from me…” As if a light switch had been flicked, his gaze was fixed upon your face, staring into you, with a look you couldn’t recognise, the tears that were still running down his face were no longer once of doubt and sorrow, but now determination and pride. “I see now… I don’t need to pretend any more. The thread doesn’t need to be held together any more, because it never existed in the first place. You… you were what was holding me up this whole time, I always wondered why I felt so secure around you. I thought before it was because of your alternative style and your Pokémon… That Chandelure of yours is intimidating, it alone took out most of my team. But now I realise you were simply trying to find me…”

A chuckle, that was all that escaped your lips as your arms crossed your chest, leaning back against the wall behind you. The lights on the ceiling blinding your vision as you stare into them, seemingly trying to find the words to compare what he had said, and yet you came up empty. Kieran’s words ring true in your ears. Seems his momentary outburst was all he needed to realise what you had been trying to do ever since the festival.

“What I'm trying to say is… thank you, for never giving up on me. When I met you, I thought you were this… delinquent waiting to punch the first worm you saw in your way, and yet, the way you smiled at me, was something I wouldn't give up for all the riches in this world. Why you chose me to give your kindness to, I will never understand. So again, thank you a thousand times over.” Kieran finally coming down from his outburst, his gaze softening as he played your meeting in his head.

“No need to thank me… You’re a good guy Kieran, don’t let those doubts get to you. I’ll always be here to hold you up.” That was the exact moment your Pokémon decided to show up. The sound of three poke balls opening echoed through the room, one of which caused Kieran to fall back off the pillow and onto the floor. Chandelure, Phantump and Ceruledge, all showing up at the same time. Phantump seemed to be the most affectionate towards Kieran as it flew around his head on the floor.

Chandelure spun for a moment in a silent celebration. Ceruledge simply stood by your side as you leaned forwards again, looking at your boyfriend on the floor. Kieran suddenly sprung up in almost a comedic way, only to be met by Ceruledge's piercing gaze. Though he wasn’t afraid, inspired is the word that came to his mind. A sparkle in his eye, and a bright determined grin, it would seem foolish to think just a few minutes ago he was crying a river into his jeans as voicing his heart's broken poetry to you. “I’m ready to go back! If I'm lucky enough to call you my boyfriend then I'm not going to back down again. Besides, even though I'm no longer leading the league any more, I still have a score to settle with Drayton.”

Your Phantump waved its arms around in the air, its cheeks puffing out for a moment as if trying to mimic Kieran’s new-found strength. “I’ll be right here with you, ready to scare off those who get in your way” The last part came out as a mockery, you wouldn’t really scare anyone, on purpose that is.

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Blind Boy 🥀

(An Ominis Gaunt friends-to-lovers playlist)

A/N: Please listen in order. There's a method to my madness.

Ominis Gaunt fell in love slowly...

It began, he thinks, when he started hanging out with her. Without Sebastian that is.

Young folks - Peter Biorn and John

Lake Shore Drive - Skip Haynes

She makes him rather happy. It's odd...

Dog Days are Over - Florence + the Machine

Sunshine Lollypops and Rainbows - Lesley Gore

She understands him like no one else. And even if she doesn't, she never pretends to. Just listens.

Wow, I'm Not Crazy - AJR

He really likes his time spent with her. He thinks about her when she's not around. She occupies his thoughts rather a lot. Her time feels like a currency and he fears running out. He's never had to be afraid of any sort of lack before.

putting a spin on Ophelia - Egg

What is this warm feeling? A dream - a wish, certainly. His parents would hurt him if they found out... Besides, he's just the blind boy. Who's he kidding?

One Last Wish - Casper

If I Could Ride A Bike - Park Bird, Chevy

Creep - Radiohead

It's impossible... but what's the point of it all if he doesn't at least try? It could be so beautiful. He doesn't have to be brave about it.

Do Not Let Your Spirit Wane - Gang of Youths

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

He starts to try.

Passing Papers - Egg

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Are You Bored Yet - Wallows

Please Notice - Christian Leave

Feelings Are Fatal - Mxmtoon

These feelings are deeper than he thought. He can't help but indulge them.

Can't Help Falling in Love - Elvis

Amazing - Rex Orange Country

Golden Hour - JVKE

This Side of Paradise - Coyote Theory

Can I Call You Tonight? - Dayglow

I Couldn't Be More In Love - The 1975

It's so wonderful. It's beyond good. And she's always so kind to him. So perfect.

Infinitely Ordinary - The Wrecks

Remember When - Wallows

Ratisim - The Suicide Squad

One night in the Undercroft, he plucks up a little courage. And then... then he asks that girl to dance.

Not About Angels - Birdy

Once Upon A December - Anastasia

The Princess Diaries Waltz

And oh... oh he's fallen so far. He's hopeless.

Thinking Out Loud - Ed Sheeran

Line Without A Hook - Rick Montgomery

First Kiss.

Like Real People Do - Hozier

And things just get better from there...

I Hear A Symphony - Cody Fry

Say You Won't Let Go - James Arthur

I Feel Good About This - The Mowgli's

Darling - Christian Leave

Love - Lana Del Rey

the world could end with you - Llunar

After graduation, he proposes. The ring doesn't come from a distant ancestor - it's not plucked off his family tree. It's just for her. For that lovely muggle-born girl and nobody else.

Until I Found You - Steven Sanchez

His first night with her is better than he ever could have dreamed.

Saturn - Sleeping At Last

He elopes with her two months later. And married life with her is perfect. Utterly and completely perfect. Away from his family and his high-society upbringing... it's lazy and soft and simple.

Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson

Waltz for Sweatpants - Cody Fry

Would That I - Hozier

You Are Enough - Sleeping At Last

Photograph - Cody Fry

Love theme:

Hearing - Sleeping At Last

Happy Valentine's Day 💘

[l3viat8an]

Levi: I hate physical contact. I never let anyone touch me more than is strictly necessary.

MC: I'm literally sitting in your lap right now....

Levi:*Wrapping his arms around MC’s waist and pulling them even closer* This is considered necessary!

[blue--ingenue]

Ominis Gaunt headcannons {Pt. 4}

Author's Note: when i'm trying to think of what to write i like to walk around spots in the game and think of what the characters would think/do. what would their favorite study spots be? do they have a favorite place to curl up with a book? etc. anyway, this came to me while i was walking around the slytherin common room. hope you enjoy :) and i'm starting a taglist for my Ominis headcannons series, so let me know if you'd like to be added :)

he knows most of the house elves by name. the Gaunts are notorious for their abuse of house elves, so most of the kitchen/cleaning staff steered clear of them for the first few weeks of his first year. then one day, when ominis was still getting used to the charm he used to see, he tripped over a one of the elves’ mop buckets. the young Gaunt’s face flushed bright red and he fumbled for his wand before pointing it directly at her. she froze in place and cowered, waiting for whatever punishment he would dole out, but none came

he stuttered out an incantation and flicked his wand in her direction - and the rag she wore dried instantly. confused, but still terrified, she remained frozen. young ominis apologized profusely, using the few spells he knew to clean up the mess. all the while he explained how he was having a bit of trouble maintaining the charm for extended periods

after the bucket was righted and the water had vanished from the floor, he helped her up and asked for her name. Niffy explained that few witches or wizards ever asked, and that she’d never had a student offer to help her, let alone with magic. he continued on his way, but Niffy made sure to tell every elf in the castle to keep a protective eye on young Ominis

not many students know this, but there are plenty of snakes that have made their home within the castle. while Ominis doesn’t enjoy speaking parseltongue, he likes that the snakes bring him gossip from around the school. when Sebastian asks how he seems to know everyone’s secrets and rumors, he replies that he simply listens more than he talks. (while this is true, the snakes’ rumor mill is mostly responsible). behind the walls and within the pipes, they hear everything about everyone (which means Ominis does, too)

this boy has managed to free nearly every house elf tied to the Gaunt name. when he first came to hogwarts his parents assigned one of the house elves to follow him around. he hated feeling coddled, but he knew his father would take his anger out on the house elf if ominis sent him back

there’s a trip to Hogsmeade for all of the first-years a few days after the sorting ceremony. the prefects break them into groups and give them brief tours of all the shops. at the end they’re given a few hours to roam before everyone returns to the castle for dinner. Anne and Sebastian, ever curious and looking for the greatest source of action, follow him from a distance. they know he’s a Gaunt. they’ve heard of his family’s reputation. nearly everyone in their year avoids him like the plague, but the twins don’t find him to be any different from their classmates (aside from the house elf that never leaves his side)

it turns out Ominis had taken out as large of a deposit as he could and had the galleons sent by post. his poor owl couldn’t carry the sack of gold, so he was told he could retrieve the coins at the post office. the twins watch as he nonchalantly shoves the equivalent of a year of Solomon’s earnings into a sack and enters Gladrags

naturally, they follow him. he purchases the warmest cloak in the shop, but doesn’t leave. puzzled, the twins watch as he asks Mr. Hill something and hands the coat back to him. he sizes up the house elf with a quick once-over before waving his wand over the garment. when he’s finished, the coat is ten times smaller than before. they watch in awe as young Ominis presents the clothing to his house elf, along with the sack of galleons

the house elf begins to weep, but Ominis merely kneels so that he can speak to the elf without tower over him. as the pair exit the shop, they hear him tell the elf to “be careful, and live well” before they embrace and the elf apparates away with a loud pop

the next day they introduce themselves, and the trio become inseparable

(Ominis’ father stops sending house elves to Ominis, but only after the young boy has managed to free half of their household staff)

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Taglist: @caramel-hufflepuff, @fanfiction-she-wrote

[thebellearchives]

𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘

~ solomon ; obey me [nightbringer]

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : you prepare a special dinner to ask Solomon if he would consider a special proposition ~

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : gn!mc, fluff, stablished relationship

‧₊˚ a / n : Cocytus Hall fulfilled all of my Solomon dreams and you bet i’m taking full advantage of it 💃🏻 free of nightbringer spoilers btw

The mouth watering smell of spices filled Cocytus Hall’s kitchen. It had been long since you had any human world dish and a craving for Italian food had taken a hold of your mind in the past few days, so you had texted Solomon the day before to make sure you had all the necessary ingredients for tonight’s dinner. Humming the song coming from your DDD you carefully took out the glass bakeware from the oven, the sound of the mansion’s door suddenly echoing through the hallways.

“MC I’m home!” your lover's voice reached your ears, a smile appeared on your lips.

“Welcome back love” you chirped when his footsteps entered the kitchen “you’re right on time, food’s ready!

“It smells wonderful in here” you turned around to see him taking off his cape and hanging it on the back of a chair “look what I brought for tonight”

Your eyes widened, spotting a fancy bottle on the counter.

“Champagne!”

“You said it was a special dinner, right? I wanted to do my part too” a handsome smile brightened his face.

“You really are the best” he walked over to you and opening up your arms to him you chuckled.

“You inspire me to be better” Solomon immediately wrapped his arms around you and hid his face in the crook of your neck, sighing.

Your heart melted in the warmth of adoration that washed over your chest, hanging your arms around his neck and reaching to play with the silverish strands of hair at the back of his neck.

“You’re very sweet tonight aren’t you? Is there any reason why?”

“Not really” his arms tightened around your hips, and next thing he lifted you up and twirled you around, prompting a squeal and laugh out of your lips “just thinking about how lucky I am to have you by my side everyday”

As soon as your feet were back in the ground you pulled away just enough to see his face, placing both of your hands on his cheeks. Nothing filled you more than knowing he felt exactly the same way you did, and that he was mentioning the very reason why you were doing this little dinner tonight. His pupils almost seemed to enlarge when his eyes finally rested on your face, his lips parted just slightly to inhale as his silver irises examined your features and then smiled fondly.

“Do you look even more beautiful tonight? Or is it just me falling in love a little bit more each passing day?”

“I think it’s just you, my love” with another giggle, you leaned in to kiss the sorcerer.

His soft lips kissed yours tenderly in a romantic passion, you felt the way he yearned for your love in the smooth sliding of his lips molding perfectly around yours and in the tightening of his fingers on your hips, making you wish you didn’t have to breathe in order to keep your mouth pushing against his. But you did, maintaining his presence as close as you could, your noses brushing as you smiled.

“Wait” his body went tense unexpectedly, his face moving to a distance where he could watch your expressions “I didn’t forget a special date, did I?”

“No, that’s not it, don’t worry about it” you placed a kiss on his forehead, finally stepping away from his arms “why don’t you pour the champagne? I’ll serve the food”

With a fond smile, the sorcerer went ahead and reached for a couple of wine glasses, while you turned around and grabbed matching porcelain plates. The kitchen was then filled with the comfortable pacing of domesticity and the swift synchrony of your hands working perfectly around each other. It wasn’t automatic, it wasn’t stiff, it was just natural. The sweet song coming from your DDD was now turned into an accompanying background melody that somehow gave a sense of romantic context, your hands carrying the food in the table, champagne filling up the glasses and the clinking of the cutlery in Solomon’s hands as he placed it down next to the plates. Soon you were both sitting down together, enjoying the rich taste of homemade meals and the fizzy sensation of the champagne in your tongues. Solomon spoke here and there about Diavolo's plans for RAD, how amusing it was to see the foundations of the academy beginning to take form during the meetings, his hands flicking around as he spoke and you watched him giggling and nodding. In exchange you told him about the day's events that kept you busy at the House of Lamentation, letting Asmo paint your nails, stopping Satan from breaking another wall, preventing Beel from accidentally eating Mammon's credit card hidden in the freezer...

Both of you laughed, lacing your hands together over the table. He took a sip of his champagne and you stared. His coral tinted lips glistening with the liquid in the glass, his long white lashes following his line of sight, the warmth of his pale fingers between yours. Your heart swelled in your chest, longing for the privilege of sharing a roof with the love of your life for the rest of your days.

“Sol...” your grasp on his hand tightened, his curious eyes driving back to yours as soon as his ears noticed the change of tone in your voice.

“Yes love?”

“There's something I wanted to talk to you about”

“I can tell” he giggled, gesturing towards the empty dinner plates and the obvious special occasion table set up.

“Sush!” you giggled with him “I'm trying to steer the conversation somewhere else!”

“Alright, sorry, go ahead” he brought your hand up to his mouth and placed a playful kiss on your knuckles, a smile appeared on your lips.

“Tonight has been lovely. And not just tonight, ever since we came to live together here in Cocytus Hall it's just been... perfect” he sighed, his eyes suddenly shining with a soft glint of adoration “I want to live like this alongside you forever, regardless of the timeline. So if we do manage to go back to our original one...” you bit your tongue momentarily, but then mentally shook your head as to also shake away your pointless nervousness “I want to come back to Cocytus Hall. With you, of course.”

Solomon blinked twice, he held his breath for a second.

“You... want us to move in together? In our original timeline?”

“Yes”

“You are aware that the brothers won't be happy about it, right?”

“I don't care”

A smile widened your white haired lover's lips as he grabbed both of your hands, this time in excitement.

“That would genuinely make me the happiest man alive”

You tried to smile back, but ended up biting your lip and trying hard not to burst in happy tears. But you didn’t hold back for too long, immediately jumping off your chair and rounding the table towards him. With a laugh, Solomon wrapped you in his arms and held you in his lap.

“I love you” your whisper made it's way between his silver hair strands, his arms tightened around you.

“I love you too” his lips searched for yours, accompanied by a loving sigh.

[lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Silly and self Indulgent scenario that's been living in my head since I've started learning coding like javascript and html awhile ago, like pls let Idia teach me, I'll listen to everything he has say. Or not. Probably not. I would probably be looking at him all the time like 👀💞.

Coming from someone as quiet as Idia, people would think that he only hides inside his room and that only silence surrounds him. But that was far from true, Idia laughed, screamed or hummed all the time when he was safe and sound inside those comforting walls and, like now, his fingers tapped the keyboard keys frantically.

"What's that supposed to be?" You asked, pointing to a series of strange codes on Idia's dimly lit computer screen. How he could see with all the lights off, you didn't know. But at least, you now knew why he complained about his eyes hurting.

Idia replied without turning around, "They're called arrays. They're used to store more than one code inside a variable, Yuu-shi."

You made an understanding sound even though you didn't understand what that meant. You remembered a thing or two about your world's programming, but the memories were blurred and as today was an especially calm day, you decided to pull a chair close to his desk and sit next to Idia to watch him work. Maybe it would help to understand what those "arrays" were for if you could watch him, besides it was fun.

You noticed how his fingers trembled slightly against the keyboard and the ends of his hair turned pink at your sudden approach, but you preferred to spare him the embarrassment and just watch him create his codes. It was almost peaceful the sound of his fingers and his soft humming.

"That's an opening tag right there, right?" You pointed again not sure and he nodded.

"Yuu-shi..." He mumbled as if unsure of his proposal. Even though you're friends, he's too scared to voice his ideas sometimes and you don't force him to say anything while you wait for him to search for the right words. Finally after a few seconds Idia turns to you with a small smile on his face. "S-sit closer, you'll be able to see better that way. I can even explain what each code is for if that doesn't bore you."

That was his shy way of saying that he would like to have you around and that he didn't mind your questions, and you readily nodded, pulling the chair closer and resting your face in your hand. Idia kept working, fingers practicing typing over and over entire columns of tags and other codes that you gradually remembered the name.

"Yuu-shi, you never told me that you, uh, liked programming." He mutters uncertainly. But then a wide smile spreads across his lips and he looks at you sideways, laughing sinisterly. "But that means I can teach you everything I know, and after I've stuffed all possible coding knowledge into your little pretty head, Yuu-shi, you will evolve from an R card to a UR+."

You shudder comically, wondering if it was too late to run. But Idia's cool hand closes over your wrist and his slender fingers find their way to yours, lacing them together as he opens another page on his computer.

"Let's start with your lesson, Yuu-shi, and... And, uh... And if you get everything right, I have a reward in mind." Idia declares, a rosy blush taking over his face.

And truly how couldn't you deny him that?

[failedaethercore]

Frustration

You've got feelings for someone and you have no idea how to process them, let alone deal with them.

Angsty fluff and smutty frustration turn into a satisfying conclusion.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

Rafayel x reader/MC, use of y/n, mention of Xavier and Zayne, masturbation, cussing, smut, smutty smut smut, praise kink, light master play, a little begging, fluff, angsty, unrequited feelings, doubt, cute stuff too

If you are under 18, please refrain from reading this. You have been warned, continuing to read this means you have ignored my warning.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

It had been a long succession of weeks. Too long. If it wasn’t missions, it was training. If it wasn’t those, it was mountains of paperwork. You had barely gotten any downtime lately, and you were fraying at the seams. It kept you busy, at least.

But when Captain Jenna offered you some downtime, you silently fought it. It would be only two days off, but it meant you would be alone with yourself. With your thoughts. So only to keep from being put on suspension, you took it. You figured you could do some self care, an errand or two, some tv…it won’t be that bad, right?

The first day was going fine, you had a long hot bath, soaking away your worries. You even slept in a bit, and you had plans to get food delivered as well. You were gonna pamper yourself and take good care of yourself this weekend. You swore that was the goal.

You had been avoiding this much time off from Hunting because you were avoiding a much bigger issue. One you were far from ready to admit to yourself, let alone anyone else...

This was especially because you had been feeling…frustrated lately. You kept stealing glances at your attractive friend Zayne, who was also your doctor. And your coworker Xavier was not ignored, either. But when you got anywhere near your second boss, Rafayel, you would freeze up and just shut down.

You hadn’t even been with anyone in years, and even then it had been a tame relationship that only lasted a couple months, at most.

So…you were just a little pent up.

You got out your secret stash of toys, just a couple vibrators, a dildo, some lube, the usual suspects. You had been itching for some pleasure down there, and to be honest, you had almost wanted to call someone over to help…

See but, you knew full well it would likely be taking advantage…you knew you could ask Xavier to do almost anything. But in knowing that, the guilt that tugged at your gut made you rethink it every time.

And Zayne would just go along with things to help you, not that he would complain. But he only saw you as a little sister, if anything. So you felt guilt, there, too…

And the only other viable option, well…you were avoiding that altogether. Forever. Buried. Banned. No more.

But no matter, you knew all your own buttons, you wouldn’t have a difficult time of this, even if it had been a while…this’d be a nice time to reconnect with yourself, right?

…

That was THREE HOURS AGO…

You were panting, flushed and frustrated, fingers aching, lips dry, sweat covering your body…and it was like you weren’t able to dip your toe into the water, let alone take that dive into the pool.

You were so frustrated, you started to cry. You were nearly sobbing, your nerves were officially wrecked, and you were ready to just get up and drink all the liquor you kept in your kitchen. At least that way you could relax.

So when your phone rang, you just dejectecly picked it up without a thought. Your voice was hoarse and came out shaky from the attempted masturbation, and the sobs that kept jumping up your throat like frogs from not getting anywhere…among other feelings that kept wrenching your thoughts away from your pleasure.

“…Hello?”

“Y/n! I’m so glad to finally hear from you…you’ve been avoiding me lately, I was getting depressed, you know. It’s not nice to avoid someone so handsome…”

Oh no…not him.

“…Rafayel…what do you want?” Your voice was shaky and hoarse, but cold.

“Wow, do you think so little of me? I just wanted to check up on you on your day off, since we haven’t had a chance to talk in forever…I don’t want a thing. Scout’s honor.” You could almost see him making the gesture of raising his hand as if he were a junior scout in your head. You tried not to smirk at how dumb it looked.

“…Wait, how did you know it was my day off??” You turned to look at your phone, as if to make sure you hadn’t turned on a video call.

“Well a little fishie told me, of course! But that’s besides the point, y/n… you sound bad, did you catch something?” Concern could be heard in his tone, and you almost wanted to scream from frustration, because your patience with him was beyond thin right now.

“I’m. Fine. Just trying to relax, Rafayel.” Anger tinged your response as you still lay, naked, sweaty and annoyed, in your stuffy room. But your voice was getting worse from all the talking, so he just heard you denying you were sick.

If he dared to suggest- “I’m coming over. You sound awful, I’ll make sure to take care of you, Miss Bodyguard.”

“No! Rafayel don’t you da-“ click…

“…Fuck. I am so screwed.” You wonder if you can relocate your entire apartment in a matter of minutes. But then you sit up and reality splashes cold water on that dream, too.

You know Xavier is busy taking over missions while you have the two days off, and apparently Zayne is out of town at some conference of some kind. You have no backup. You have no one to step in if things turn south. You quickly dial Thomas before your mind has time to catch up.

“…Hello? Y/n? Is everything alright?”

“Thomas you have to help. Stop him, he’s headed for my apartment as we speak.”

Thomas could read the situation like he was breathing. He was used to you calling and begging him to stop Rafayel from doing who-knows-what.

“Your voice sounds bad, y/n, you should probably be resting if you’re sick…plus, you know Rafayel, he’ll most likely just order in some takeaway and leave once you pass out. He’s not good at taking care of anyone.”

Yes. You knew this. But right now you were anything but tired, let alone sick. If he caught on to what you had been up to to cause your voice to go like this…fuck. You had to hurry. Your bed was covered in toys and damp from the sweat and lube. “Okay Thomas I gotta go bye!”

You gave him no chance to speak and hung up on him. You rushed to put on clothes, shoved your sweaty sheets in your laundry hamper, and struggled to put fresh ones on. You had moments, maybe. If Rafayel drove like he normally does, then you were almost out of time.

That’s when you noticed them again. The toys. You didn’t have time to clean them, so you couldn’t put them away. That’s when you heard the first knock. Fuck.

You shoved them under your bed in a rush and made sure your pajamas didn’t smell too bad…you hadn’t had a chance to get laundry done, yet…which was tomorrow’s main attraction, unfortunately.

Thankfully, they smelled of detergent still, if only faintly. So you should be good.

You start padding over to the door, as more knocks begin to sound. “I’m coming, I’m coming! Gods, Rafayel, calm down…” You open the door to find the man smirking confidently down at you, a bag in hand, and one of his classic outfits with his chest somewhat exposed greeting you.

Normally, the sight would make you snort. But your nerves were still heightened, so you only managed a slight blush instead. “Y/n, you look like you have a fever, here…let me help, okay?”

Your irritation seems to know no limits today, as you try to slam the door in his face, but with no real power behind it, he catches the door and lets himself in, chuckling a little. “I see you’re in good spirits, then.”

You glare at him as he sets the small bag on the counter in your kitchen, and then goes to your side to place his hand against your forehead.

For some reason you don’t flinch like you normally would, which tips him off that something’s up. Instead you blush a little more, looking away. “…I’m fine, Raf.” The abbreviation to his name is to infer annoyance, distance. But he takes a small step closer instead.

“You feel warm…and sweaty, you could have a virus, y/n.” He turns his gaze from you to glance around. “Where do you keep your thermometer?” You grumble at him a quiet “don’t have one.” Which you know Zayne would lose his mind over. But that’s future you’s problem, if it ever gets out.

“Hmmm…guess we’ll just have to do this, then.” He leans down and presses his forehead to yours. “Ah! Rafayel, what are you doing?!” You back up defensively.

“Just making sure. Yeah, you’re hot. Let’s get something to cool you down... ice cream? No, you don’t eat that when you’re sick… I’ll order some porridge. You like abalone, right?” “…No, not really…” he looks at you in shock, as if you had just insulted his entire species.

“Well you’re going to learn to like it. And I’ll get some tea started. I brought some, and a few other things.” He waves his hand as if to shoo you to the living room area. You glower at him in a way that would make plants die.

He ignores you, starting the electric kettle and pulling out a canister from the small bag he brought. You were curious what else was in there, to be honest...

You slumped on the sofa and fumed a little, but by the time Rafayel brought you some tea, you wandered into daydreams instead.

Mostly ones involving Xavier or Zayne. Not this annoying little fish who clung to you like bad luck.

He set the tea on the coffee table in front of you before snapping his fingers in your face. You hated when people did that. You looked up at him slowly, the lewd thoughts that had made you blush to yourself now fading, along with the color in your cheeks.

Your eyes settled into a glare and you quickly grabbed his hand and yanked him down to sit next to you. “Don’t. Ever. Do that. Again.” With every word you pinched his arm. Hard.

He yelped at the first one, then just pouted as he rubbed the spots you had attacked. “I was calling your name for a while…I wanted to know if you had any honey.” For a moment your mind flashes to a lewd thought again, someone drizzling honey on your naked body and licking it all off.

You blushed and looked away. “Top cupboard near the fridge. …Green lid.” He sighs and gets up to bring it to you, and you felt a pang of guilt for that. He didn’t deserve so much of your ire, after all, it wasn’t his fault…

He serves you the tea carefully, after adding a spoonful of honey to the cup. The steam fills your senses, the smell is floral, like jasmine, but with citrus and a deeper, unknown scent. Then something that smells like the ocean fills you with a contentment for a moment, before you realize it’s most likely his scent you’re swooning over. Shit.

You take the cup and carefully sip the tea, staying silent. The awkward chill in the room fills you with dread. This is when you make bad choices, usually. That or when there’s…wait, is there alcohol in this?!

“Rafayel, did you put booze in this??” You look at him with incredulity before he gives you a slight grin. “It’ll help your fever. I saw you had some whiskey on the counter and figured it might be a good idea. Don’t worry, it’s not a lot.” He takes the cup from you to set it down.

You feel like a serious talk is about to happen, and you’re not ready to deal with some sort of awkward conversation with your…boss. You stand up abruptly. “I’ll be right back, just need to use the restroom.” You excuse yourself and rush to shut the door behind you. You let out a sigh of relief.

The alcohol is already affecting you, you forgot to eat today, and with all the energy you burned through earlier trying to get yourself off, your body was already starting to feel loose and a little swimmy. Not good.

You had to splash some cold water on your face several times, and silently talk yourself down from a ledge you were dangerously close to jumping off of at full throttle.

He may be a nuisance and frustrating and capricious and downright annoying with how he knew he affected women…but he was a man. A man here. Now. In your moment of need.

No! No y/n! You will not give in to temptation! He would never let you live it down after he rejects you! He would make you suffer for ever even thinking such things!

More splashing from the sink could be heard from the other side of the door. Rafayel was bored, so he started poking his nose where it wasn’t supposed to be. Starting with your room. Because he’s naughty like that.

Hmmm. She has a lot of stuffed animals for such a tough girl. And she doesn’t know how to make her bed, apparently. Oh look, she has photos on her desk of her frie-

Rafayel stops short at a recent photo of you and Xavier, both of you smiling with his arm around your shoulders casually. You were both at the arcade, and he had just won you the special edition plushie that was now sitting next to it on your desk.

He sulkily turns to leave the room before he sees anything else that will sour his mood. But before he gets too far, he sees a bright blue vibrator that had carelessly rolled out from under your bed in your rush earlier.

“Oho…what’s this?” He picks it up, and it’s covered in lube, still. He smirks as it all starts to click. Your irritation, your voice…your scent. He had been wondering why you smelled so amazing today…now he knew. And he was going to tease the life out of you for being so cold to him earlier.

He settles back down on the sofa before you can catch him sneaking around, and he puts on his most casual and bored of expressions.

You emerge from the bathroom ready to send him home, when he looks up from his phone and gives you one of his heartstopping smiles. You still don’t entirely know why, but it had always managed to make you pause, if not blush.

And right now all your efforts to calm yourself down were in vain. He glanced back down at his phone and tapped something. “The food’ll be here soon, is there anything you’d like to do while we wait? I also ordered myself something, since I figure I should stay until you’re feeling a little better.” He smirked at his phone as you stared.

“Rafayel, you can go home, I’m fine.” “Nope, you clearly have a fever. You were just trying to cool down in there, were you not? And your voice is still hoarse. I’m not going anywhere.” He looked up at you and smirked more. You stomped over and tried to grab his arm to pull him off your sofa, but he was too quick for you, and simply pulled you onto his lap.

“Don’t worry about getting me sick, I’m perfectly healthy.” He brushes some wet strands of hair out of your face as you blush and glare at him. “Just leave, Raf. I’m fine, I just…uh…was out all last night singing karaoke. So I sound like this.” You prayed he bought it.

Not a chance.

He wrapped an arm around you idly as he kept doing something on his phone. You were growing impatient with him. The alcohol was making your need only grow stronger, warming your insides and making your decision making skills less than ideal right now.

You weren’t drunk, but you were definitely slightly impaired. So when you finally noticed his fingers softly rubbing circles into your hip while you sat on his lap, you suddenly shot up and put some distance between the both of you.

“Hmm? Is something wrong?” He looks up as if he hadn’t just been touching you intimately. Not even Zayne was that daring. This fish was trouble…

“I need you to go, Raf. I’ve got a lot of chores to do around here, and you’re in the way.” Your tone is cold, and you try to stand firm, despite your slight tremor from your nerves. He only grins in response.

“Let me know and I’ll do them for you while you rest. Just go in your room and lay down for a bit, I can manage.” He gives you a softer smile now, and some part of your heart of steel starts to warm.

But you shake your head to get those fuzzy thoughts out of your mind. He was annoying, remember? All that charm was an act. He was a renowned lady killer, he was just trying to put the moves on you.

“I want you to please leave.” You put your hands on your hips and you stand firm against his persuasion.

That’s when he brings in the big guns. He stands up, almost slowly, deliberate with each step as he approaches you, forcing you to look up into his eyes to try and stare him down.

He places a hand on your cheek and gives you a sad smile. “…You really hate me that much?”

It’s super effective.

Your heart bobs in a dark storm of doubt and guilt, as you try to right yourself in these dangerous waters you’ve found yourself in. You stare up at him, and suddenly a blush blooms on your cheeks.

“…I don’t hate you.” You look away from him, too embarrassed to maintain eye contact now. And, after a long, intense pause…

“…It’s okay... you can stay.”

His heart actually flutters at that. He lifts your chin to look at him again, and he places the softest kiss to your cheek. But you don’t flinch or pull away. You just let it happen.

You almost want to see what he’ll try to do, since he’s clearly up to something…

Rafayel is suddenly drawn to his phone again, a gentle ding notification alerting him to the food now outside your door. He lets his hand slip away from you and goes to retrieve it.

The tension is still there, even after he brings in the food. He’s silent as he sets the bag down on your dining table, and then he looks at you. “…You’re watching me.” His tone is of curiosity, not accusation.

You blush and quickly look away. Before you can summon your barriers around your heart once more, Rafayel slips next to you, silence and stealth being all the easier with you like this. He places a hand on the small of your back to guide you to the table.

“Come, eat it before it gets cold…” your shoulders stiffened at his touch, and you tried to sus out what was going on. You could sense something, but your mind couldn’t figure out what, precisely…

You let him guide you to the table, as he gets out some dishes to serve you some porridge. “They were all out of abalone, so I ordered oyster and scallop. But I’m guessing you’ll prefer it.” He chuckles a little as he sets a full bowl in front of you.

“Why oysters…why not just... chicken?” You look a little bewildered, but take a bite anyways. It’s good, the porridge tastes refreshingly savory and faintly sweet, with a salty oceanic taste you could never mistake. It’s honestly amazing, as you had been meaning to eat earlier…

Rafayel smiles with his boyish charm, sitting down beside you at the square table, serving himself some as well. “It smells so good, I can save the noodles for later. I’ll have some, too.”

He lets out a low, deep moan as he takes the first bite. As if it was the most delicious food he had ever eaten. “C-c’mon Raf, it’s not that good…” you blush and try to secretly adjust yourself in your chair as you’re already struggling to keep from dampening your shorts further.

But he sees all of it. And he gives you a grin. “Maybe, but I haven’t eaten all day, so this is soooo good…” he makes another moan as he takes another bite. This causes your insides to twitch with want. You’re going to kill him.

This has to be deliberate.

And it is.

Before you finish your bowl, Raf has already finished his. He notices your slowed eating, and swiftly steals away your spoon. “You’re eating so slow…it’s not that bad, here I’ll feed you.” You blush immediately. “Rafayel don’t you da-“ a spoonful of porridge is put in your mouth in response.

You slowly chew and swallow, and without a word, another porridge-laden spoon is waiting for you. “Eat up…Miss Bodyguard.” He smirks at you while you silently eat.

After the last bite, he stands to start tidying the dishes and such. You’re still trying to figure out what he’s up to, as he starts to clean. He hums at first, then pauses.

“Y’know…oysters and scallops are sometimes considered an aphrodisiac...”

Oh. Fuck.

“W-what??” You start to sweat a little, as you stare at his back. He finishes washing and turns to smirk at you. Oh shit…he knows.

You start to panic, standing carefully and slowly backing away from him. “You really should clean up your toys when you’re done playing, y/n…” it takes him no time at all to catch you, grabbing your hand as you reflexively put it up to catch any incoming attacks.

His voice is low and his eyes that were once sparkling with concern and caring, are now dark with desire and want. You struggle a little before standing straight and glaring at him. “L-let me go, Rafayel. Just because I ate that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything with you.”

“Not because you ate it, no…” his voice is husky and he leans down to whisper in your ear. “…But you’re already giving off even stronger pheromones than usual, and you’ve yet to actually stop me…miss Hunter.” he pauses to bring your attention to the fact that his other hand is now resting on your ass. It's true, if you really wanted, you could break his arm in three places and grab your gun while he reels...

“You’re horrible, Rafayel.” He smirks. “But you love me anyways.” His confidence is infuriating.

“I don’t love you.” “But you don’t hate me, either.” “Just because I don’t hate you doesn’t mea-get your hand off my ass, Rafayel!” Your voice rises and he gently slides his hand up to your waist, lifting your pajama shirt slightly in the process.

“Y/n, I know you think I’m annoying sometimes…but I’m not just reading into things that are illusions.” He looks into your eyes, dark and sensual, but also filled with a deep longing. “I’m not the only one here who sees this. You’re just always making excuses to avoid me lately…”

You look away at that, guilt and embarrassment all over your face. “…And I know it has nothing to do with your work, at least…not in the way you say it does. You’re dancing around the issue... Do you not see me as a potential partner?” He gently takes your cheek and turns you to face him again.

His eyes are filled with sadness, even the lust is a distant memory in those beautiful orbs now. “Do you truly only see me as a nuisance?” You try to look away, you don’t want to admit it. Not out loud. But his hand holds you firm, keeping you looking at him as he silently pleads for your answer.

“…I refuse to be another notch on your bedpost, Rafayel.” You shiver from the cold in your own voice, as you look down, your face pale. You admitted it, after all this time.

He paused for a long time, before he suddenly burst into a smile and held you against him. “Whatever made you think I was that kind of man, y/n?” You immediately blush at the embrace, confusion written all over your expression.

“W-what do you mean? All those parties…and those women…the magazines…” “Lies. All of it. And those women?” He leans in close and takes both your hands in his, before whispering in a husky voice. “…they only want what they can’t have.”

Your blush deepens at his confession, and you can’t look away anymore. “Y/n…I’m going to kiss you now. And if you don’t want that…I will respect your decision.” He pauses for a long time, both your faces are only centimeters apart.

But before he can move, after giving you plenty of time to process, you stand on tiptoe and give him a kiss first.

This fully grown man, this confident beacon of swagger…blushes deep red, to the point that his ears become pink.

“I…see.” He grins like a madman before grabbing hold of you and peppering kisses on anything he possibly can. Your cheek? Yes. Your lips? Absolutely. Your forehead? Do you even need to ask?

You start to giggle at him, and he stops after a few minutes to simply inhale your scent and hold you. “I will never give you reason to doubt me, y/n. I promise.” He looks into your eyes with his beautiful twilit-colored ones, and he smiles as if he had just won everything he had ever wanted.

Before you can say anything, he holds out his hand. “I swear to you, I will always love you, y/n…” he makes his hand into a tight fist for a moment, a silent prayer in his mind before he opens it, to reveal a small, blue fish swimming in front of you. You gasp and look at it in awe. “It is my heart. Take it, it’s yours.”

You carefully put out your hand, and when it swims onto your palm, it dissolves into a soft glow that lingers on your skin. “The ocean says that it is true…my promise will never be broken.” You look up at him and blush. “I…don’t have anything that special for you, Rafayel.” You look a little sad, as you say it.

He holds out his pinkie. It’s so childish…but so like him. You twine your pinkie with his and smile. “Don’t ever break this promise, then. I’ll be watching.” He says and gives you a little smirk. You nod seriously, but then can’t help but let the giddiness in your heart overwhelm you.

The months of fighting with your innermost thoughts might not be over, but you were no longer alone. If you had reason to fear, you knew, deep down, he would tell you the truth. He wasn’t a player, he wouldn’t betray you. He wouldn’t do something like that just for a one night fling.

After all that, you’re finally relaxed. You let him lead you to the sofa and sit down to let him kiss you more, and you return the affection in kind.

The kisses are soft, loving. He kisses your eyes, your nose, your chin. He kisses the top of your head, your hands, anything you’ll give him. You kiss his knuckles, then his lips, and his cheek. He bends down closer to let you kiss his forehead, then you start to trail down and before you know it he’s stolen your lips for a deep kiss.

His hand finds its way into your hair as you slowly climb onto his lap. The kiss deepens and his tongue is now exploring your mouth as you let out a soft moan. This. This is what you’ve been craving. You just wanted to hide somewhere safe from this, because even now, it feels dangerous…like a burning inside you that will never extinguish. It’s scary, but exhilirating.

When his other hand grabs hold of your ass again, you gasp and pull back to look into his eyes. “…Do you... want this? I can stop…” he blushes as he looks away. You can tell it would be a huge undertaking for him to stop now, but he would. For you.

So when you pull him by the back of his neck in for another deep, searing kiss, he knows. His hands no longer hesitate, as he fervently grabs hold of you and forces you to straddle his lap, then going under your shirt to play with your bare breasts.

You let out a moan into the kiss as you grind against him, already back on the edge, your want and lust taking over reason as your hands wrap around his biceps to steady yourself as you purposefully grind against his ever-hardening member, as it strains against his slacks.

He groans and pulls away from the kiss to gasp for air. He sucks in a sharp breath when you lean down to start licking his exposed collarbone. “Y/n…” he starts to buck his hips up against your dampened crotch, your pajama shorts soaked now as you are completely unwound from your inhibitions now.

The alcohol has mostly worn off, and all that remains is a hunger and longing that won’t be saited by just one round. You stop to look at his eyes. Yours narrow against his wide and curious ones, as you suddenly grind down and gasp. “I’m going to-ahhh…ride you for the rest of the day, Raf…are you ready?”

He lets out a loud groan and holds your hips still against him. “Nnnnnooot if you keep going at this pace, my love….” Your heart flutters at the pet name and you chuckle. “Then do you want to take the lead…my love?” He smirks and turns a bit so he can push you down onto the sofa.

You blush and quietly look up at him, as he hovers over you. “You know…the last few times I’ve seen you…it’s been driving me crazy. Your smell…your eyes…everything has become even more beautiful…” You try not to chuckle, but a little giggle escapes anyways. “Rafayel…there’ll be plenty of time for romance later…right now…” Your eyes darken and you fix him with a stare that could make a saint go into heat. “…I need you to fuck me.”

He lets out a growl as he buries his face into your neck, inhaling your wanton scent as he starts pulling your shorts to discover no panties. He pauses to smirk and dips a finger into your slit to feel how wet you are. “Could this…all be for me?” His breath still tickling your neck as you gasp.

“M-maybe…” your blush reaches your neck as he finishes tugging your shorts off, exposing your slick folds to the cold air of your living room, the light of the setting sun filling it with radiance, and delivering a halo around the both of you.

You let out a moan when he slips his fingers inside to make sure you’re loose enough for him, as he props his other elbow on the back of the sofa. He looks down at you as you writhe and make beautiful, sensual sounds under his diligent ministrations.

He can’t be bothered to smirk or feign confidence, as he slips his fingers out to lick the juices off them. “Good girl…so wet for me…so ready for my hard cock…” Once he finishes sucking his fingers clean, he moves to remove his pants, the large tent strains against the expensive fabric as he lets out a sigh of relief upon release.

When he slips out of all his clothes, just tossing his shirt on the floor with his pants and boxers, he sees you’ve followed suit with your shirt. His cock is a beast, which you would have never suspected with your curious glances in the past. Your blush reaching the tops of your breasts as he stares for a moment in the dazzling sunset pouring in.

The pause breaks the spell for a moment, and you tilt your head. “…Rafayel?” He snaps back and immediately pulls you by your thighs to him. “I swear I’ll eat your sweet cunt out many, many times tonight…but first…” He slides the head of his cock against your folds. “My master made a request of me…”

“M-master?” You gasp and let out a moan, but the word still feels slightly foreign. But he groans as he presses into you slowly before he can answer the unspoken meaning. “Y-yes…R-raf…” “Fffffuck y/n, you’re…s-so tight…”

He takes his time to settle inside, every inch of him buried within as he pants, all his focus is on making sure he doesn’t cum right that moment. It felt like it had been centuries, and he was like a teenager with his first time again.

So when you shift to get comfortable suddenly, he groans loudly, and you gasp as he holds your hips down to still you. His hands are firm, strong, as he starts to slowly move. Setting an agonizingly slow pace, as he’s filled you to near bursting with his throbbing heat.

You’re suddenly so close after only a few minutes of this slow pace, every full stroke brushing your sensitive nub, the sounds of your slick cunt sucking him in or reluctantly releasing him again and again turning you on so much. Your hands find their way to his forearms, gripping them urgently. “R-raf…s-so close…”

He hears your words through the deep haze of his concentration, and he decides to give you your dearly needed release finally. He stays seated fully inside, as he releases one of your hips to start rubbing your already tingling clit.

You try to bite onto your fist to hold back a scream as your orgasm finally hits you, but he grabs your hand before you can cover your mouth. You can’t muffle enough of it, as his name falls from your mouth again and again, gasping, screaming, shuddering, as your back arcs and he starts to thrust into you, helping you to ride out this elusive high.

“Fuck y/n, you’re taking me so good…you’re so beautiful, f-fuck I wanna make you cum so much…” he keeps thrusting, lost in the sight of you coming undone on his cock in the waning light. His thrusts get more intense as he gets close, his moans and whimpers fill the room as yours finally die down, your walls twitching and sticky around him as he increases the tempo.

“Raaaaffff…” his name a happy sigh as your high leaves you in the decadent afterglow of your first time with the one you’d longed for. So when he starts to cuss and say your name over and over again, like a chanted prayer, you’re overcome with a swelling feeling of affection in your heart.

This man is coming undone because of you, this man who so many wish they could possess, is giving himself to you and you alone.

“Fuck y/n…c-can’t…s-stop!!” His pace becomes erratic as his hips shiver, and he starts to chant your name under his panting breath in earnest, as he stares at you with his fucking gorgeous eyes, the last rays of sunset catching in them and entrancing you as he finally hits his limit.

“C-can…I cum…m-master…” his eyes are dark and pleading as he begs, his hips still thrusting into you as you let out little gasps and moans from the intensity. Without hesitation, you clearly say. “Cum for me, my pet.” He groans loudly as that releases him, he slumps a little to thrust finally in and out, as you feel his warmth spread inside. “F-fuck…y/n…” he finally finishes after the sunlight fades to darkness, and he falls forward to collapse on top of you.

You gently run your fingers through his beautiful purple hair, the darkness not changing how much you adored the color, as both of you let your breaths steady again. “…Good boy…” You gently stroke his cheek as you stare up at the dark ceiling, the streetlights barely adding any light to the room from below.

His hand grasps yours as he pulls it to him to kiss your palm, inhaling deeply. He was still drunk on your scent, your taste, your everything.

“Rafayel…is it too soon to say that... I love you?” Your voice sounds small and meek in the void that surrounds you both, lovers entwined. “…’Bout damned time, y/n.” His voice is hoarse now, a soft mumble against your breast, as he nuzzles it idly.

You both spend the night going through phases of deep romance, to wanton passion. Neither of you wanting to stop, even when dawn began to break and flood the window of your bedroom with a warm glow.

Instead you revelled in the sight of him haloed by the sun as he fucked you again, after having lost count. And he said a silent thanks to the Gods for blessing him with the sight of you beneath him, your body covered in his love bites, his kisses, and your face showing so much love and lust all at once.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

a/n: this is the longest fic I've ever written, and it wasn't nearly as kinky as I had planned initially...(I swear there was supposed to be a lot more praise and master play originally)

I hope you enjoyed it, and if you have any requests, feel free to drop me an ask!

[meddlingmaeve]

You looked tired, you felt tired, and your tired feet  dragged like lead on your walk to the house of lamentation. Mammon looked much the same, walking next to you, maybe even a little shell shocked over the amount of akuzon packages you ended up delivering. Damn it was a lot but at least the pay was good. With how much you made you wouldn't need to take on other jobs for a little while.

"Was it worth it?" You asked the demon and stifled a yawn.

Mammon stopped, letting out a long stretch that ended with his hands resting behind his head. "What kinda question is that? It'll be worth it after I get some sleep, ya know?" He continued his saunter and before you knew it, the two of you walked through the doors of the house. 

It was unusually quiet but it was a weekend night, everyone was out causing mischief somewhere else which suited you just fine. At least this time you weren't around it and didn't have to deal with it. With a long sigh, you told Mammon goodnight to which he mumbled something incomprehensible as he went up the stairs to his room. You watched him go, waiting for him to disappear and listening for the sounds of his door.

The muffled click was just in earshot and you moved up the stairs as softly as you could. Weariness from the day, no, even the week of work and RAD, had hit your muscles. Despite how bone tired you were, a smile tugged at your lips at the thought of your destination.  The one thing you've wanted to do all week, spend time with Lucifer.

Throughout the whole day, all your weary body wanted to do was exist with him. You knew he'd probably be busy, working on RAD student council paperwork but it didn't matter. Often when Lucifer was busy, you'd bring him food and drink, making sure he was taking care of himself. You'd sit in the chairs by the fireplace, in his office or in his study, doing homework or reading a book. Sharing the same space with him was enough to put you both at ease. 

But right now, you're tired and the only thing you wanted to do was find yourself wrapped in his embrace. You knocked gently but no voice greeted you. The handle made no noise as you turned it but the door creaked a little when you made an opening just wide enough for you to slip in. Softly, you closed the door behind you and turned to survey the room. 

There were no lights on except the glow of the fireplace against the walls, casting long shadows. You spotted an opened bottle of demonus on the coffee table alongside a neat stack of paper. The room smelled of wood smoke, ink, and paper and the familiar smell caused all the tension to leave your body at once. You staggered a bit as the warmth from the fireplace surrounded you, coaxing a yawn from weary body.

Your gaze fell upon the bed where you saw a form under the sheets. By some miracle, Lucifer had finished his paperwork early and fallen asleep. 

You started towards the bed, hands making quick work of your clothes. You shrugged out your jacket, pulled your shirt over your head, and made quick work of your pants. There was a trail of clothes in your wake so by the time you crawled into Lucifer's huge bed, you were in just your skivvies and ready to snuggle under the covers. 

As you were settling in, you looked over to Lucifer, whose face was turned to you, and he looked so peaceful. Your heart thumped in your chest. The heat of happiness rose up to your face, giving you a silly little smile. You reached out a tentative hand towards him, watching for any signs that you might have disturbed his sleep, and brushed away a strand of that lovely black and grey hair obscuring his face. Your attention focused on each and every feature of that handsome face: striking jawline, cute nose, and a brow that was unfurrowed for once. You wanted to etch every feature into your memory forever. It didn't matter how many times you'd seen him, his beauty blew you away and it was hard to believe that you, a human, had caught his heart.

You were so lost in staring at his face, and thinking about how much you loved him, that you didn't notice his arm moving until it draped over your waist and pulled you in. It startled you and you let out a little yip of surprise which was met with him shushing you. 

"Sleep MC. You can stare more in the morning." His deep voice rumbled sleepily and you felt it vibrate his chest.

"Just let me turn over then." You quietly giggled and rolled over in his arms until he was spooning you. His embrace was warm, his arm coming around you and curling around your rib cage, pulling you flush against him. You wiggled your lower half to his and then relaxed against him.

Between the comfortable pillow under your head and the warmth of your lover's body next to yours, you began to drift to sleep, finally getting what you wanted all day.

[lyn31]

Guilty as Sin?

Summary

"What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?" - Taylor Swift, Guilty as Sin? A quiet, aching descent into forbidden longing, where unspoken feelings blur the line between friendship and betrayal.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Ending with Zayne x MC/Reader, starting with Zayne x other and MC x other. Cw: Ending with smut, angst/hurt/comfort, emotional cheating, pining, tension, uncertainty, I mean technically ending with fluff, sweet, cute... Inspired by a song! (Unfortunately I didn't make it as angst as the song)

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You shouldn't be thinking about him.

Not like this. Not now.

You're in his car, passenger seat like always. The windows are down, city light bleeds through the open windows. Wind carries it in like a silent echo, and the music’s low—just enough to fill the silence. It should feel like any other night. It almost does.

Except your phone buzzes in your lap with a text you don’t want to read.

You don’t move. You just glance sideways, because Zayne’s hands are on the wheel and he’s barely humming under his breath. And it feels… wrong.

Feels like wanting something you swore you buried.

You said yes to someone else a week ago. You thought it would help. That if you filled the space, the ache would stop echoing.

And now he’s doing the same. New girlfriend. New smile.

You should be happy for him.

You should be focusing on the guy who likes you.

But all you can think about is how Zayne’s pinky just barely brushes yours on the center console, and how he doesn’t move it. Not for a second.

Your heart stutters.

And then the guilt kicks in.

You tear your gaze forward, pretend your throat isn’t dry, pretend your fingers aren’t tingling from a maybe-accidental touch.

You shouldn’t feel like this. You’ve known him forever. You chose to stay best friends. You made peace with it.

So why does it feel like cheating when you think about the way he looked at you before you looked away?

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There’s laughter in the room. Music playing low. Someone brought wine.

You’re curled up on the far end of the couch, your boyfriend’s arm slung behind you, fingers absently brushing your shoulder. You lean into it like you're supposed to. Like you’re present.

Across the room, Zayne is pouring drinks. His girlfriend’s beside him, touching his arm as she says something that makes him smile. Not the soft, slow kind of smile you’re used to—the one that feels like a secret only you know—but a sharper, polite one. It shouldn’t matter.

But your heart stings anyway.

You force yourself to look away, pick up your glass. Rose is sitting across from you, legs crossed, watching. She’s not subtle. She never is.

You can’t even explain what she sees. You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re here. With your boyfriend. You said yes to this. You said you were ready to stop hoping for something that was never going to happen.

You meet her eyes for half a second too long.

She raises an eyebrow. You blink first.

But your chest is tight.

Because Zayne’s laugh sounds like summer again, and your stomach twists every time she touches him. Because you can’t stop remembering how he used to turn to you first when he was about to say something, and now he doesn’t.

Because part of you wants to stand up, walk out, and part of you wants to stay and suffer—because you deserve this.

Because you’re not supposed to feel this way.

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You close the door behind you and lean your head against it. The hallway is still. The dorm is empty. You should feel relief.

Instead, your breath catches in your throat like it’s stuck on something.

You walk inside, head straight to the kitchen, make yourself tea. Then you walk back to your room and sit on your bed, knees pulled close. The tea is still warm in your hands—but untouched. The silence is loud. It’s always loud when it’s just you.

Because that’s when the thoughts come.

You think about the way his voice drops when he says your name.

About the almost-touch of his fingers.

About a version of you that he kisses at stoplights and leans into on late nights.

And none of it is real.

But your mind plays it like memory.

What if he’s traced his name down your skin in the dark?

It’s only in your head, but burns just the same.

What if you reached for him, just once, and never came back from it?

What if this is the kind of wrong that would feel too good to stop?

You’ve never touched him. Not like that.

But you feel like you have.

And it makes your chest ache, makes your stomach twist.

Because you want things that never happened.

You crave things that should never exist.

A messy kiss that only lives behind your eyelids.

The way you imagine he’d breathe when he’s close.

You imagine the phantom weight of his hands on your hips.

The sound of your name, different now. Closer.

It never happened.

It never will.

But it doesn’t stop the guilt.

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It doesn’t stop you from feeling like you’ve already done something unforgivable—

just by wanting.

You wake up the next morning determined to forget it.

You brush your teeth. Drink your tea. Send a good morning text to your boyfriend like everything’s normal. Like nothing cracked open inside you last night.

You fold your longing up small.

Lowercase, actually.

As if whispering it inside yourself will keep it quiet.

You tell yourself, they’re just thoughts. Everyone has them. They don’t mean anything unless you act on them.

But they do mean something.

They leave bruises even when there’s no touch.

They steal your breath at the worst moments.

Like when Zayne sends a message to the group chat, some harmless dry reply, inside joke from years ago, and your chest flutters before you can stop it.

Like when you scroll past a photo of him and her, and your stomach knots—not from jealousy, but guilt.

Because you can’t stop picturing what it would feel like to pull him into your bed instead.

What his voice would sound like right against your neck.

What his hands would do if you told him everything you’re too scared to say.

You’ve never touched him.

But you’ve done everything with him in your mind.

And worse than wanting him—

You need him in ways you don’t need anyone else.

And that terrifies you.

Because it doesn’t feel like fantasy anymore.

It feels like a promise neither of you ever said aloud.

And you don’t know how long you can keep pretending that isn't what you think about.

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You try. You really do.

You press into your boyfriend’s arms. Let his hands roam down your back, just like they always have this past month. You tell yourself this is what you want. What you should want.

You close your eyes, try to find the rhythm, the warmth in his touch. But all you can feel is that cold gap. That ache where something’s not quite right.

His fingers trail up your neck, and for a second, you think maybe you’ll be able to forget. You lean into it, desperate to feel anything other than this hollow need.

But then you remember how Zayne touches you. How his hands would feel, cool against your skin, fingertips brushing the line of your collarbone like it matters. You can almost feel it now—the way he would lean in, voice low, asking if you’re okay.

Your breath hitches. You try to breathe through it.

But it’s no use.

You pull away gently, eyes darting to the side, unable to meet his gaze.

“I—uh… I just… I don’t feel right. I’m sorry. I think I just need some air.”

His frown is there, but he doesn’t push. He never does. You leave quickly, fingers shaking as you grab your jacket.

When you’re back in your dorm room, locked behind the door, it’s quieter. The world is quieter now that you’re finally alone.

You undress mechanically, your body moving in patterns you’ve followed a thousand times before. But when you close your eyes and let your hands fall, it’s not your boyfriend’s name you whisper.

It’s Zayne.

You try to force it away. Tell yourself this is wrong. That you should feel ashamed.

But the truth is so much worse.

It feels right.

The line’s behind you now—and you didn’t just cross it. You ran. And even though the guilt stings sharp in your chest, even though the tears threaten to spill, the thought lingers.

This is it. This is how far it’s gone.

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You’ve been putting this off for days. Weeks. The thought of seeing him, of explaining this, of breaking something that’s already broken, fills you with dread. But it’s been long enough, and the guilt is gnawing at you, eating you alive.

You tell yourself you’ll be strong when you see him. That you won’t fall into old patterns. That you won’t let the soft, easy warmth of his presence fool you again.

But here you are, sitting across from him at the coffee shop—and everything you’ve been avoiding slams into you at once. He’s smiling at you, asking about your day, and for a split second, you wish you could lie.

You can’t.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” you say, your voice shaky despite the careful control you try to maintain. “About... what we really have.”

He leans forward, eager, hopeful, eyes bright. He thinks it’s some sweet moment of connection, and you want to pull him back. You want to tell him you’re just tired, that you’re stressed, that things are fine. But they’re not.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this,” you say, and the words hit harder than you expect.

His smile falters, confusion clouding his face. “What do you mean? What’s wrong? I thought we were good.”

You look down at your hands. The words spill out before you can stop them. “I’ve been trying... I’ve been trying to feel something for you. But I don’t. I can’t keep pretending like I do.”

He stares at you for a long moment, and you feel like you’re being ripped apart from the inside out. He doesn’t speak, but you can see the hurt forming in his eyes, the shift in his posture. The hope you’ve known for months—that he’s clinging to—starts to crumble, and it makes your heart ache.

“I don’t love you the way you need me to,” you continue, voice trembling now. “I care about you. But... it’s not enough. I’m not in love with you. And I can’t keep pretending I am.”

He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t get angry. He just looks... empty. And that’s worse than anything.

“I thought we were fine,” he says, voice tight. “I thought you cared. But now... now I don’t know what this was.”

“It wasn’t fair to you,” you whisper. “And I can’t keep doing it. I’m sorry. You deserve more than this.”

The silence stretches between you like an endless, suffocating thing.

When you finally get up to leave, you don’t look back.

You walk out into the cool air, your chest heavy with the weight of everything that just happened.

You didn’t love him the way he needed you to. That much was true. But it doesn’t make this easier. It doesn’t stop the ache in your chest.

You thought you could make it work, that if you just tried hard enough, it would get better. But you were lying to him—and to yourself—every time you told yourself it would.

And now you’ve made the choice. But there’s no satisfaction in it. Just guilt. And loss.

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You thought it’d get lighter after the breakup.

It doesn’t.

Not when he’s still smiling at you like nothing’s changed. Like you didn’t unravel every night for weeks wishing it was him you could touch.

You’re sitting beside him on the dorm’s common room couch, too close, too far. His hoodie sleeve brushes your arm when he shifts, and you try not to flinch, like it burns.

It’s just you two tonight. Caleb and Rose left hours ago. Zayne stayed. Of course he did—he always stays. Just long enough to make you wish he wouldn’t.

His girlfriend’s not here.

You try not to notice. You try harder not to ask.

You’re not even sure why he hasn’t asked about your boyfriend.

Maybe he’s being polite.

Maybe he doesn’t care.

Or maybe he’s just as good at pretending as you are.

“So how have you been?” he asks, eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen. The show’s a blur. Just background noise.

He nods slowly, like he's thinking of what to say next. But he doesn't ask. He doesn’t look at you. Somehow, that makes it worse.

“Fine,” you say, because you can’t tell him the truth. Not yet.

Not when he thinks you’re still with someone else.

You wish he’d pry.

You wish he’d notice.

You wish you weren’t wishing at all.

Your hands knot together in your lap, nails pressing hard into your skin. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye—his nose's slope, the quiet pull of his mouth, the sharpness of his jaw. You wonder if she kisses him there, if he kisses her like you imagined he’d kiss you—slowly, with all that silence between your bones.

You wonder if she knows how quiet he gets when he’s falling apart.

You wonder if he gets quiet over you.

And God, the guilt. You broke someone’s heart because you couldn’t stop wishing for something else—someone else. You thought maybe you’d feel cleaner after that.

You don’t.

You just feel bare.

You should leave. You don’t.

Instead, you shift, knees brushing his. He doesn’t move away. But he doesn’t lean in, either.

You hate that you can’t read him anymore.

You hate that you still want to.

After a while, the silence grows teeth. You excuse yourself. He offers to walk you back like he always does, soft and steady. You shake your head and say, “I’m good.”

You’re not.

The second you’re alone in your room, you sit on the bed and press your face into your hands.

You’re free now. But he doesn’t know that.

And as far as you know, he still belongs to someone else.

So maybe you’re not free at all.

Not when your heart’s still tethered to someone else’s silence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t mean to stop.

You’re just walking back toward the dorms, phone in hand, still half-rehearsing what you might say. Something casual, something light—maybe you ask if he wants to watch that dumb documentary you both kept pretending you didn’t care about.

But then you see him.

Zayne’s standing by the entrance, hoodie half-zipped, hair still damp from a shower. His hands are in his pockets.

And she’s there too.

Her hand brushes his sleeve as she talks. He says something you can’t hear. Then he leans in and hugs her.

You don’t wait to see anything else.

It’s not long. It’s not dramatic.

But it’s enough to knock the breath out of your chest.

Your feet pivot before you can think. Past the building. Down the path. Toward the back stairwell—the one no one uses at this hour.

You don’t cry. Not yet.

Just keep walking.

Up.

And up.

And up.

Until the cold rooftop air cuts through your skin like penance.

You breathe it in anyway.

The city is quiet from here. Still. Like it’s holding its breath right along with you.

He’s still with her.

That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you’ve always told yourself.

And yet…

It doesn’t stop the ache.

The guilt should’ve been enough to keep you quiet. It almost was.

But it’s hollowed you out. Left you brittle.

So what if this breaks everything?

What if it makes you the villain in someone else’s story?

You take your phone, hands trembling more than you like to admit. You don’t expect anything from this—not love, not understanding, not even forgiveness.

But you have to say it.

Even if it destroys you.

Your fingers move before your mind catches up.

Hey. Can we talk?

You stare at the screen for a long time.

Don’t hit send.

Not yet.

You hesitate, pulse thudding in your throat.

Then.

Send.

The message goes through with a soft ping.

No undoing it now.

You lean back against the bench, wind curling through your clothes, and close your eyes.

He still has a girlfriend.

But maybe, for once, the truth is worth the fall.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He comes.

You hear the rooftop door creak open, and for one second, you almost pretend not to turn. But you do. You always do.

Zayne steps into the biting air, his hair windswept, hood half up, brows drawn in that quiet way of his. He spots you, doesn’t say anything at first, just walks over.

You scoot aside to give him space on the bench. He sits—not close, not far. Enough to keep your pulse ridiculous.

Neither of you speak.

The air’s too thick with everything you don’t know how to say.

So you do what you came up here for.

You laugh. Sharp. Nervous. “This is going to sound insane.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just waits.

You look at your hands, gripping each other like they’re the only thing holding you together. “I’ve been trying so hard to move past this. Past you.”

The words sting coming out. You don't stop.

“I kept telling myself that it was just a phase or—or something I’d get over, but every time I tried to be with someone else, it felt like I was cheating. Not because I was still with them. But because I wasn’t with you.”

Your voice shakes. You’re shaking.

“I’m not—” you take a breath. “I’m not telling you this to make anything weird. I know you have a girlfriend. I know you’re happy. I just... I needed you to know. So if I pull away, if I stop being around as much, it’s not because I hate you or something. It’s because I can’t keep pretending this is fine.”

You look up at him, your eyes burning. “And I don’t expect anything from you. I’m not trying to ruin your relationship. I just—I needed to say it. For me. That’s all.”

Silence follows. Thick and echoing.

Zayne’s eyes search yours, something unreadable in them. Then—his hand moves, just barely brushing yours.

You flinch.

He pulls back slowly. He’s not insulted. Just... patient.

Then, softly. “You’re not with him anymore?”

You let out a breath that sounds too much like a laugh. “How could I be? When this—” you gesture between you, helpless “—won’t leave me alone?”

There’s a pause. You don’t expect anything from it.

But Zayne shifts closer.

And closer.

Then he says, like it’s obvious, “I’m not with her anymore either.”

You blink. “What?”

“I ended it last week.” His gaze drops to your hands. “I didn’t know if you were still with him. It... didn’t feel right to say anything.”

The silence that follows isn't empty. It's packed with the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You stare at him, something folding in your chest like wings that forgot how to move. You can’t think. You can barely breathe.

He’s not with her.

You’re not with him.

And somehow, you were the thing holding both of you back.

Your lips part like you might speak, but nothing comes out. Your mouth is dry. Your thoughts are screaming.

“I—” you start, but stop. There’s too much.

Too much time spent second-guessing. Too many nights twisting guilt into your sheets. Too many half-lies, almost-touches, every ache you buried thinking he’s happy.

But he wasn’t.

Not really. Not if he was waiting too.

Your eyes sting, and you let out a breath that sounds like it doesn’t belong to you.

He’s looking at you now, like he’s been waiting years for you to catch up.

You let out a broken sound—half a sob, half a laugh. “I thought you were happy,” you whisper. “I thought you had everything you needed.”

He shakes his head once. “I had what I chose. Not what I wanted.”

Your throat closes.

You laugh again—except this time, it’s real. Unbelievably real.

“Are we serious?” you ask, half-horrified, half-stunned. “We’ve both been dying over each other and still thought the other was happily taken?”

He lets out the softest chuckle. “Apparently.”

There’s a beat of stillness—then both of you start laughing. Like really laughing. The ugly, breathless kind that shakes your shoulders and makes your eyes sting all over again.

It’s absurd.

It’s so stupid.

But it’s also the most relieving thing you’ve felt in weeks.

You lean forward, forehead resting on your knees, tears smudging your grin. “I was so sure I’d ruined everything.”

“I was so sure you didn’t feel the same,” he murmurs, almost like it’s still hard to believe.

You lift your head. He’s closer now. Not reaching. Just waiting.

And this time—you reach first.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door clicks shut behind you, and the world feels smaller—quieter. The room is too hot, the air too thick with everything unsaid. But neither of you moves. Not yet.

For a moment, you remember all the nights you used to imagine this. The weight of him in your arms. The heat in his gaze if he ever looked at you the way you look at him.

You never thought he wanted it too. Not like this.

Zayne’s standing just a few steps away, watching you like he’s afraid you might disappear. He reaches for you, but this time it’s different. You don’t pull away. You let him pull you in, let him close the gap between you.

Your heart races, pulse thudding in your throat like a drumline. You’ve imagined this for so long, and now that it’s here, it’s like the world’s spinning too fast—hands desperate to touch, mouths eager for more and barely-suppressed yearning.

"You—" His voice cracks, just for a second, the words getting stuck in his throat. He swallows, but it’s like he’s fighting himself. Then, without thinking, his lips crash against yours, desperate but careful, like he's unsure whether he deserves this, whether this is really happening.

You kiss him back like you’ve always wanted to. Fast, messy, all-consuming. Your hands fist in his shirt, then slide into his hair, tugging him closer, closer, like you’ll never be close enough. You’re gasping, panting between kisses, but you don’t care—you need him more than you need air.

His hands slide under your shirt, fingers skimming your skin as he lifts it slowly, like he wants to savor every inch of you. But then, as the heat between you builds, he pulls it off you in one swift motion, eyes never leaving yours.

You don’t shy away. You don’t hide. You just look at him—chest rising fast, lips swollen, eyes clouded with want—and he stares like he’s never seen you before. Like he’s finally letting himself see the part of you he always looked away from.

Then he kisses you again, deeper now, tongue sliding against yours as his hands roam. He cups your breasts through your bra, squeezing gently, then rougher when you gasp and arch into him. He mutters your name against your lips, like a prayer, like a curse, and you’re not sure which it is.

You tug him down with you, your back hitting the bed, legs parting instinctively to let him settle between them. He follows you, but there's a moment—a brief pause—where his gaze locks with yours, and you see the vulnerability in the way he looks at you. He doesn't rush, taking his time to adjust, his hand finding its way to your thigh as though this means more than just the moment.

His hand is still there for a second, gentle pressure, almost like he’s savoring the moment, before his fingers inch higher. You’re already soaked, the tension between you building even without him touching you properly yet.

You scramble for the hem of his shirt, hands trembling slightly, eager to feel him, but needing to slow down just enough to savor it. The fabric is gone in a flash, and your fingertips trail down his chest, grazing his skin. The soft scratch of your nails makes him groan, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates against you before he leans down, his lips pressing against your collarbone. He sucks lightly, leaving a mark, but there's something in the way he does it—a tenderness beneath the hunger—that sends a shiver down your spine.

You moan, your hips rolling up to meet his, seeking friction. He grinds down, slow and deliberate, and the drag of his cock against your core—separated by only the thinnest layers of clothing—makes your whole body jolt.

"Off," you mutter, clawing at his waistband, and he gets the hint.

Clothes come off in frantic bursts—your bra, his pants, your panties. His lips move down your body, taking his time even as your impatience builds, and when he finally settles between your thighs, you’re trembling—not from cold, but from the overwhelming need to feel him. You pull at his hair, urging him closer, and he answers with a hunger that matches yours. And still, even as urgency threatens to take over, he slows, letting the tension stretch between you.

When he hovers above your entrance, warm breath hitting your skin, you’re already trembling.

“Zayne—” you pant, but he doesn’t let you finish. His mouth is finally on you, tongue slipping between your folds, soft and wet and so fucking perfect it makes your legs jerk.

You gasp, one hand flying to his hair, the other fisting the sheets as he licks you like he’s starved—slow at first, then faster, more focused, circling your clit with maddening precision. His fingers slide into you without warning, thick and curling just right, and you cry out, arching helplessly against his mouth.

He groans softly against you, the sound sends a pulse straight through your core.

“I used to imagine this,” he murmurs, tongue flicking just right, voice low and wrecked. “The way you’d taste. The sounds you’d make.”

His fingers curl deeper inside you. “But this—this is better.”

And that’s finally what does it.

You come fast, embarrassingly fast, clenching around his fingers with a broken moan, hips bucking up as he holds you down, tongue never stopping. He rides it out with you, only easing up when you’re shaking, thighs twitching around his head.

Then he’s crawling back up, mouth shiny with you, eyes dark and hooded as he kisses you again—slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You sigh into it, dizzy from the way he feels, the way he moves. Your lips trail along his jaw, just like you imagined for weeks, craving more with every breath.

His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged.

“Condom?” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked.

“In the drawer,” you manage, just as wrecked.

He reaches for it without looking, tears the foil open with his teeth, and rolls it on with one hand, barely breaking eye contact.

Then he’s lining himself up, one hand holding your thigh again, pushing in slowly—inch by inch—until he’s fully seated inside you.

You both gasp, the stretch and the heat and the weight of it all hitting at once.

He’s bigger than you imagined him in your head.

You’d thought about this—how he’d feel, how deep he’d reach—but nothing prepared you for this kind of fullness. For the way he stretches you, like your body was made to take him. Or maybe it’s just the moment. The way it feels like everything's shifted.

Your eyes find his.

And in that breathless silence—bodies joined, foreheads pressed together—you see it. The echo of every fantasy, every late-night thought neither of you dared to speak aloud. The hunger. The need. The knowing.

He doesn’t have to say it. Neither do you.

You both thought about this. Wanted this. Craved it.

And now… you have it.

Then he starts to thrust. Slow and deep at first, grinding into you with long, steady strokes that make your toes curl and your breath hitch. You wrap your arms around his back, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

“More,” you whisper, and that’s all it takes.

He picks up the pace, hips snapping into yours, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. Every thrust hits deep, dragging another moan from your lips, your body rocking with the force of it. You’re clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.

And maybe he is.

It builds again, too fast, too much. You can feel yourself tightening around him, and he must feel it too because he groans your name, low and raw, and reaches down to rub your clit with quick, precise circles.

You come again with a cry, head thrown back, vision going white as everything snaps tight and then releases all at once. He follows moments later, hips stuttering, burying himself deep with a guttural moan.

The world goes quiet again, but it’s different this time. It’s not the suffocating silence of uncertainty anymore. It’s a quiet that feels like a promise, like something has shifted between you two. Safe. Full. He stays inside you, his weight grounding you, anchoring you, and you realize, for the first time, that this is real. This moment—this connection—has changed everything. You don’t pull away, don’t let go, because you both know it’s not just about tonight.

It’s finally right.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He stays inside you as he collapses on you, breath warm against your neck. Neither of you speak, too caught in the aftershocks—your bodies still tangled, your heart still pounding.

You feel him soften slightly inside you, but then… not quite. He shifts with a grunt, pulling back just enough to glance down, and the movement makes you whimper.

“I should clean us up,” he murmurs, voice rough and a little dazed. He’s still hard. Or getting there again. And the moment he pulls out, slow and careful, you both feel the slick mix of your release—warm and messy.

You shiver. He notices.

Zayne reaches over for the tissues on your nightstand, glancing at you like he expects you to swat his hand away. But you just watch him—eyes trailing down to the half-rigid length of him, still flushed and glistening.

“You’re hard again,” you point out, voice lilting with mock-innocence.

He huffs out a laugh, low and sheepish. “Yes, I noticed.”

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. “We could go again,” you offer, voice light but your gaze smoldering.

His hand stills on the tissue box. “We could,” he echoes, then sighs. “But we probably shouldn’t. Not tonight.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

He looks at you, his expression soft—too soft for someone who’s still visibly aching for you. “You’ve had a long day. We’ve had a long day. There’s time, now. We don’t need to rush.”

You stare at him. Your heart, which had finally started to settle, gives a ridiculous little flip.

He’s right. Of course he’s right. But that doesn’t mean you’re letting him off easy.

“Fine,” you say sweetly.

Then you move. Fast. You push him until he’s sitting back on the edge of the bed, surprised and still a little stunned from the high you dragged him through. His hands fall to his sides for balance, but his eyes are locked on you—confused, curious, hungry.

His breath catches. But he still doesn’t say anything, just lift his brow at you.

You run your hands up his thighs slowly, deliberately. “You’re still hard,” you say again, now with a wicked tilt of your head. “Seems like your body didn’t get the whole let’s rest memo.”

You lower your mouth to the tip and he exhales, sharp and controlled, like he’s trying not to react. But his hand clenches lightly at the edge of the bed, fingers curling, knuckles pale.

You take your time. Licking, sucking, working him back to full hardness with slow, deliberate pulls. You can tell by the way his thighs tense, the way his head falls forward slightly, that it’s getting to him.

Then you take him deeper. Hollow your cheeks. Let him hit the back of your throat. His hand drifts to your hair, resting there—not guiding, just holding.

You feel him twitch against your tongue, his body subtly betraying the restraint he’s fighting to keep. His hips lift just barely when you stroke him a little faster, your other hand resting on his thigh to anchor him.

And he groans for you—low, broken, wrecked.

You hum around him, and that’s the last straw.

His hand tightens. His hips stutter. And he comes hard, with a choked sound that makes you shiver. You swallow what you can, the rest spilling messily over your lips, your chin—and he watches you, eyes wide and reverent.

He slumps forward, arms wrapping around you instinctively, pulling you into his lap like he can’t stand to have you more than a breath away. He brushes a thumb against your cheek, as if trying to silently apologize for the mess, but you only look at him, pleased.

You settle comfortably on his lap. He kisses your temple, still breathless. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” you murmur, nuzzling into his skin.

You feel him smile. And this time, when he speaks, it’s softer. Closer to the chest.

“I do.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re both freshly cleaned, your clothes soft and loose against clean skin, the taste of mint lingering faintly between you after sharing the same toothpaste. Zayne had insisted you drink water—twice—and now, finally, you're curled up in bed. The lights are dim. The sheets are fresh. The room smells faintly of him, and something warm and clean.

He slides in behind you, cool body pressed against your back, and you reach for his arm instinctively. He lets you tug it around your waist, burying his face into the space between your shoulder blades like it’s the only place he wants to be.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, voice low and a little sleepy.

You smile. “You’re cold.”

“I know.” He tightens his arm around you. “Don’t move.”

You snort. “Possessive much?”

“Mm.” He doesn’t even deny it. Just shifts closer, his legs tangling with yours like he’s trying to soak in as much heat as possible. You feel him nuzzle again—lazy, slow. This time at the curve of your neck.

It’s quiet for a long moment. Not awkward, not heavy. Just soft. Peaceful.

Then you hear it—his heartbeat, steady against your back. Slower now. Grounded.

“You meant it?” you ask softly. “Earlier. When you said you love it.”

Zayne doesn’t lift his head. “I did.”

“And me?”

You feel the pause. Not hesitation—just weight. Like he’s choosing his words carefully, as always.

“Yes,” he says simply. “You most of all.”

Your throat goes tight as you twist in his arms, just enough to meet his gaze—and he doesn’t flinch.

You don’t say anything right away. You don’t need to. He already knows.

Still, you reach up, fingers brushing lightly through the soft strands of his hair. His eyes flutter at the touch, and he leans into it without thinking.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Zayne lips curve slowly, his expression softens so much it almost hurts to look at. He kisses your forehead once, then the tip of your nose, then finally your lips. Barely a press, gentle and reverent.

“I know now,” he murmurs.

You both stay like that. Wrapped around each other, breath slowing, hearts steady. And for once, it’s not only in your head. Because he’s here.

And he’s not going anywhere.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

I can't even trust my own brain at this point... I thought, "Okay, let’s slow down and chill." Nope. The second I lay down, with music playing—Guilty as Sin—it was over for me. To be fair, when I wrote Dress, Guilty as Sin? is the next of my list immediately! I love that song, even if the lyrics aren’t exactly correct... But man, I thought, "There’s no way I can write this! I’d literally die! Even if I give it a happy ending, how can I even start?!" And... well, here we are :) Look what you guys make me do.... I'm capable of writing light angst now?! AAAAAAAAAAAA (Thank you) Don’t get me wrong, I feel like this probably isn’t as devastating to y'all as it is to me, but damn it! I’m sharing it anyway! And I still think it’s pretty cute :D Also, Zayne's POV will be coming soon 🫶🏻😩 (I know, no, I don't need intervention(please do)) I already write the first part, mirroring MC's but this time I actually need to stop ahahahaha Adult duty calls, so see ya! P.S I thought I don't have time to post on Tumblr I did it on Ao3 first but hey! There's time lol

[rimunagenius]

Home.

Pairing: Michael ‘Riz’ Ariza x GN!reader

Words: 644

Warnings: None.

A/n: I love Riz. He deserved the utmost genuine and undying love, and he definitely deserved better. That’s it. I just love my pretty boy.

Masterlist!!

NOT MY GIF!!

You knew the usual life of the club. The demanding runs, and the taxing ordeals that played out whether the guys intended them to or not. And you knew him. You knew your favorite boy’s empath traits and how some of these things took a toll on him. How most of the time, he took the brunt of the fight. Including the physical parts.

So you knew on nights like these when he stumbled into the house to find the living room light on, you on the couch with a blanket covering your legs, your favorite show running on the TV, that he would come home and be safe and relaxed with you. Be free of the outside world.

“Hi, baby.” You whispered as he sat himself abundantly close to you so that your shoulder and hips were touching as he toed off his boots. You leaned over kissed his cheek, looping your arm through his as he sat back, resting his head on the backrest of the couch.

He turned to face you, his hand coming up to caress your cheek bone with his thumb, kissing you so passionately yet so calm and sensualy. “Hola, amor mio.” He kissed you again, his tongue sneaking into your mouth, you accepting it happily.

He sighed after he pulled away, taking off his kutte, all to rest his head on the backrest of the couch again. “Rough day, mi amor?” You situated yourself to face his body, your arm around the back of his neck, his face now pointed in your direction as you ran your hand over his head, tangling your fingers softly into his hair.

Snuggling his face into the crook of your neck, he hummed softly, lifting his legs onto the couch, now fully intending to get you laying down so he could lay just how he liked—right between your legs with his head on your chest.

Knowing just what he wanted, you obliged and layed down so he could be comfortable. Now throwing the blanket that once covered you, over the both of you. “Fucking terrible day.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, securing you into him all while he was on top of you.

“It’s okay, relax, baby. I gotchu now.” You continued to tangle your fingers in his hair, massaging and playing with it while you both silently watched friends, giggling every now and then.

As you placed another kiss onto his head, you noticed his breathing turned even and steady. You smiled as you just looked down at the man laying on you. The man you loved and held so dearly to your heart. Your Michael. Your Riz. Your husband. You’d kill for this man, kill to have him like this in your arms for the rest of your life.

To hell with your friends and his, all you needed was eachother. To be wrapped up in their company and you’d be content even if the world was ending. You knew it could be an unhealthy look to someone who didn’t know you two, but the way you practically lived and breathed for him, was just to put it simply. Everyone around you saw the love you both shared for eachother. Undying.

“I love you, Ariza. Forever.” As the words left your mouth, he seemed to have squeezed you tighter, and sighed happily into your chest.

You shut the TV off and decided to just sleep on the couch tonight. His comfort and rest was more important than trying to get you both to bed. As you closed your eyes, and slowly started to drift, a ghost of a kiss was placed upon your chest, and half sleep and soft words were spoken. “I feel safe with you cariño. I love you. Always.”

You were his safe space and he was yours. No matter the weather, the events of the day, the impalpable love you two shared, brought you back to your grounded place. Brought you home.

[diaphanouswings]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 恋与深空 | Love and Deepspace (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Main Character/Qi Yu | Rafayel Characters: Qi Yu | Rafayel, Main Character (Love and Deepspace) Additional Tags: Birthday Fluff, Birthday Cake, Romance, Established Relationship, Fade to Black, Romantic Fluff, Named Main Character (Love and Deepspace), Kisses, No beta we die like mne, short fic Series: Part 2 of Named MC Fics Summary:

It's Rafayel's birthday and Tilly had a surprise for him on the beach at sunrise. Now if only he would show up...