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officialaemondtargaryen · 1 year ago

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Dinner & Diatribes

❝i knew it from the first look of mischief in your eye.❞

Summary: You both swiped right and suddenly you're standing in a stranger's kitchen while he makes you spaghetti.

Pairing: Modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Author’s Note: this might be the most self-indulgent fic i've ever written, so fair warning. also, thank you tom, who inspired this by saying that dinner & diatribes would be aegon's hozier song. it's just true. anyways, this was really fun to write.

Warnings: language, recreational drug use, alcohol use, fluff, intense sexual situations (including: oral sex - female receiving, sexual intercourse - p in v), just two single people who are horny, more fluff, aegon being so cute that i couldn't stop smiling the whole time i was writing this.

It was precisely 9:39 PM on a Tuesday.

You were sitting cross-legged on your couch, nose deep in a fresh murder mystery that you had been working through for the last two days. There was a lit joint between your fingers that you were nursing, taking little hits so that it wouldn’t completely burn out, and on the cushion next to you, your phone softly vibrates and lights up; a familiar icon flashes across the screen and you can easily make out the words, “It’s a Match” from the corner of your eye.

It’d been a regular occurrence since you had downloaded that accursed app.

You’d been single for far too long, according to your best friend, though you hadn’t really noticed. The sweet silence of a solitary life was something that you had enjoyed for the most part. It wasn’t even like your online dating life had really taken off, either. You’d get matches but hardly anyone would reach out in any way that made you feel like they were serious. They wanted your Snapchat username, or they were in an ‘open’ relationship or asking for a threesome, and one guy even asked if you would send him pictures of your feet. Even some of the ones you thought were serious about taking you out- or even just hooking up- would end up ghosting you before anything actually happened.

“It’s not supposed to be serious,” you could hear your friend’s words rattling around in your brain. You shake your head and focus once again on your book; they have a suspect, it’s the best friend! How fitting.

Once again, your phone lights up and vibrates. Not wanting to be distracted from the plot, you ignore your new match and get back to your mystery with anticipation; the best friend is about to confess. You go to take another hit of your joint and frown upon realizing it’s burnt out. As you move to grab your lighter, in comes another message, and another, and another. You stop what you’re doing and pick up your phone, swiping at the screen until you find the culprit. He’s known only as Aegon T, and according to the one sentence he has written on his profile, he has a dog. You swipe through his pictures- the dog is a golden retriever, the man looks like a golden retriever.

In the message thread, he’s basically talking to himself.

There’s four new messages waiting for you, while three little dots begin flashing at the bottom of the screen; disappearing and reappearing as you read what he’s already sent.

“So, I’m high.”

“And I am making spaghetti… and it’s really good.”

“At least I hope it’s really good, it could just be the weed…”

“I could use a taste-tester, if you’re up for it? I can’t pay you or anything, but it’s honest work 😏”

Aegon begins typing again and you watch the screen, a smirk on your lips. You are 99% sure that the spaghetti is truly an innuendo for what he really wants and have half a heart to just block him, but you watch as those little gray dots continue in the bottom left corner of the screen; he’s going back and forth with himself and you can’t help but find it oddly cute. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you contemplate a witty response, but before you can even begin typing, he sends a fifth message.

“That was weird as fuck, right?”

Then a sixth.

“You probably don’t want to come over to some random guy’s house on a Tuesday.”

He finishes up with a seventh message.

“Unless you do…”

He almost sends an apology. After all, what's another message? He’s already fucked this whole thing up; not even giving himself a chance before he nose-dived. If he was being honest, he should just go ahead and delete his whole account; save you from secondhand embarrassment and save himself from repeating the same mistake again in the future. He sets the phone down on the kitchen counter and goes back to ripping bong hits to calm his nerves. Though, he’s unable to keep himself from checking his phone for a response; a response that likely wasn’t going to come and he’d spend the rest of his night feeling like a complete idiot.

Seven back-to-back messages should have screamed ‘red flag’, but you’re glancing at the clock as if you were seriously contemplating taking this stranger up on his offer. After all, you do have needs just as much as the next person. But, you’re wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts, your hair’s a mess, and you were covered in the crumbs of your munchie snacks. Meaning, you were nowhere close to being prepared for what was sure to happen between you and this random stoner offering you dinner.

Yet, you respond to him, “I could never turn down spaghetti”.

Aegon’s stirring the sauce when he gets your message. He’s instantly elated, thrusting a celebratory fist into the air. His fingers fly across the keyboard swiftly, sending another quick message, “Atta girl 🙃 My place is on the corner of 9th and 51st, above Jasper’s.”

“Be there soon,” you reply with haste.

It was apartment #4 and you made sure to text your friend the address, and given name of your potential murderer, and also share your location for her to keep an eye out. She says all you have to do is text her at any time if you need her to call and bail you out with a fake emergency. All she asks in return is for you to have fun and let her know if you are planning on spending the night- which was an idea that you weren’t opposed to, but it wasn’t something you were planning on.

You’re nervous as you stand outside of the door to his apartment, fist hovering for a moment. Now’s the time to make a fast exit- you haven’t met him, you could turn around right now and never meet him. You could wake up alive in the morning, safe in your own bed. Or, you can knock on the door and have what might be a really nice spaghetti dinner with a really nice guy. Hell, he could even be the love of your life and in fifty years you’ll both look back on this day and laugh about how you met on Tinder and how you were stupid enough to go to his house and not a public place.

Finally, you knock.

Aegon puts the lid back on his spaghetti sauce and shuffles into the living room. Sunfyre is on the couch with his ears perked; his tail’s wagging and he’s panting eagerly, waiting patiently to meet this new visitor. Aegon whispers over to him, “wish me luck,” and thinks to himself, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish. He peers through the peephole when he approaches the door and there you are, a sigh of relief deflates his chest.

“Oh, thank God,” you can hear him say as the door swings open. His accent is surprisingly British. “You’re real.”

The very first thing that you notice are his eyes. They’re piercing; somehow blue and lavender at the same time– the color of a warm, summer sunrise and they’re crinkling at the edges as he smiles. He’s wearing a pair of dark gray sweats and a pale green hoodie, and the only word that comes to mind when you look at him is warmth. He’s somehow more attractive in person than he is in the pictures on his profile, which you didn’t think was possible, but he’s standing right in front of you and you can’t help but think to yourself, he doesn’t look like a murderer.

Then again, neither did Ted Bundy.

Aegon stands there for a moment, just staring at you, unable to do anything else. His words escape him, he can barely even breathe. You look exactly the same as your pictures; even without the makeup and even in the shitty, fluorescent overhead lights of the hallway. Even in a sweatshirt and pajama shorts, you’re stunning. He’s having a hard time believing that you actually showed up and he doesn’t realize that he’s been staring for much too long until you shrug back at him.

“Did you think I wasn’t?” You ask with creased brows and a lopsided smile.

The corners of his lips pull upwards as he looks at you, “I don’t know. You’re just so beautiful, I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t some sort of hologram… or a robot.”

“Wow, you’re pretty smooth,” you say with a playful smirk, desperately trying to keep your composure— trying to play it cool, hoping that he hasn’t caught on to the fact that you’re secretly spiraling, because it took all of one smile and one compliment and you were done for. “But, I’ll have you know that flattery won’t work on me. I’m here for the spaghetti and the spaghetti alone.”

“My apologies,” Aegon says with a chuckle as he holds his hands up defensively. “Right this way, then.”

He steps to the side, allowing you to enter his apartment, and shuts the door behind you. It’s nice, clean, smells like fresh baked bread and tomato sauce. There’s niche artwork adorning the walls, he’s got candles burning, and there’s some lowkey, downtempo R&B playing softly in the background. He quickly moves past you and disappears into the kitchen, leaving you to follow him.

However, before you can take all of two steps into his apartment, a flash of golden fur is suddenly at your hip, pawing for attention. You drop down to a knee and happily accept any and all kisses from the pup. “Oh! Hi, what’s your name?”

Aegon sticks his head around the corner and says, “That is Sunfyre. In case you were wonderin’, he’s a very good judge of character and I will be consultin’ with him later where you’re concerned, fair warning.”

You roll your eyes and scratch behind Sunfyre’s ears, his tail thumps in approval.

“Would you like something to drink?” He continues and disappears back into the kitchen. “I’ve got wine and bottled water. Oh, and milk?” There’s a rustling in the kitchen before Aegon adds with a nervous chuckle, “scratch that, there is no milk.”

You politely excuse yourself from Sunfyre and step into the small dining room off of the kitchen.

There’s a grin on your lips, which you pursed so that he doesn’t think you’re laughing at him. Sunfyre joins the two of you and circles around his owner’s legs as Aegon empties an almost full half-gallon of milk down the drain. His kitchen is small but looks to be well used, which you appreciate. You know almost nothing about this man, other than his name- if ‘Aegon’ was even his real name- and the name of his dog, and yet here you were, standing in the threshold of his kitchen with a strange sense of comfortability as if you had been lifelong pals.

“Water is fine,” you tell him.

He produces a bottle of water from his fridge and tosses it over to you with ease and goes back to the stove. You step further into the kitchen, taking in your surroundings. The kitchen, like the living room, is covered in artwork and vintage decor- things you’d only find in some obscure thrift store or estate sale. On the refrigerator are a collection of magnets from different cities and countries, real touristy type shit. Some of them even had names on them; Alexander, Aaron, Alistair, Alan, Adolf.

Maybe these are the names of people he’s killed.

“You travel a lot?” You ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

“I try to,” he says from over his shoulder as he continues to stir the sauce. You can hear him set the lid back on the pot. “Most of those are from my sister, Helaena. She thinks it’s hilarious to give me magnets with random ‘A’ names since you’ll never find the name Aegon on any of those,” he says from behind you. He’s leaning against the counter with a half glass of wine. You quirk an eyebrow at him, not fully convinced. “She has a few from me that say Helen.”

“Is that her?” You ask, finger pointing to a pretty blonde in one of the many photographs he had pinned up.

He nods and takes a step closer to you. He’s so close that you can feel his warmth, smell his aftershave. The proximity causes you to blush and he smirks in response, leaning over your shoulder as he points to the other people in the pictures. “Those two are my little brothers, Aemond and Daeron,” he claims and then points to two women. “That’s my half-sister, Rhae, and next to her is my mother.”

“The redhead?” You ask surprised, given she didn’t look like she could be old enough to have four grown children. He nods and takes a step back, leaning against the counter with half-lidded eyes and a tipsy blush. “She looks like she could be your sister,” you say softly, turning back to glance at all of the faces; he seemed proud of his family, like they were very close.

You turn away from the fridge and lean against the counter at his side. It’s quiet for a moment, save for the music and the sound of boiling water where the noodles were cooking. You look at him and the corners of your lips can’t help but twist up into a shy smile, but you bite at the inside of your cheek out of nervous habit. He props himself up on his elbows, taking a sip of his wine, clearly comfortable with the silence.

“So,” you look up at him and his little smirk grows. “About the job…”

“Ah, yes,” he nods. “As I stated earlier, I won’t be able to pay you a monetary wage, but the position does come with a benefits package.”

“And what exactly would this benefits package include?” There’s an innocent flirtatiousness in your voice that only adds to the tension.

“Outside of the free gourmet meals that I would be providin’ to ya, which is obviously the most important part,” he smiles and steps to the side to grab a spoon from the drawer and holds it out to you. Your fingers softly close around his as you pluck the utensil from his grasp. He clears his throat to distract from the fact that he was visibly flustered from the slight touch. “There’s also unlimited cuddle sessions,” before he can finish, you shoot him a look. “With Sunfyre, of course! He’s the real boss ‘round here, after all.”

“Cuddling with the boss?” You quirk an eyebrow and look down at the golden retriever, his eyes round and gleaming; clearly waiting for a hand-out. “Sounds like a conflict of interest to me.”

“Well, if it’s a conflict of interest you’re worried about,” he counters quickly with a soft yet playful tone. “I s’pose we could renegotiate the terms of the agreement and you could have me instead.”

“I’m listening.”

“He might be better at cuddling for obvious reasons and he might be better lookin’,” Aegon continues. “But, I give better backrubs. I mean, I have thumbs and he don’t. You can’t give decent backrubs without thumbs, can you? Plus, he’s a sloppy kisser.”

“Oh, you’re really trying to sweeten the deal now, huh? Backrubs and kisses? I must admit, that is quite a compelling offer,” you muse. “It seems my decision hinders on whether or not you can actually cook, wouldn’t want to accept the position blindly, now would I?”

“Are ya doubtin’ my skills?” He asked playfully.

“No offense, but you possess the aura of someone who could fuck up a can of Spaghettios,” you tell him with a sincere smile. “So, forgive me if I don't get my hopes up.”

Aegon laughs and it’s a warm and infectious sound that fills the kitchen. It’s genuine, as is his perfect smile. You can’t seem to keep yourself from staring; eyes softly tracing every detail of his face– from his full, pink pout, to the scar above his right eyebrow, and the dimple of his chin– thinking to yourself that you’ve never seen a man more beautiful. His smile turns back into a smirk as he notices you staring at his lips and you look up to meet his eyes. There’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you feeling vulnerable. His gaze softens as you look away, turning your attention back to the spaghetti sauce on the stove in front of you to distract yourself from the blush creeping up your neck.

There’s only one way this night ends.

It was obvious before you even left your house and it was certainly obvious now.

“Go on, then,” he prods, motioning to the pot on the stovetop.

His eyes are wide with anticipation as you dip into the simmering sauce, stirring it a few times before bringing the spoon to your lips. He’s nervous; it’s his mother’s recipe– one he’s spent years perfecting– but with his luck, you will most likely think it’s steaming garbage. Yet, he watches intently; holding his breath as your perfect lips curl to blow softly, cooling the sauce before you finally taste it.

The moment the spoon touches your tongue, you're determined to remain impartial. After all, you’ve had your fair share of disappointing meals from men who’ve claimed to be great cooks. Aegon certainly could be the very latest and you wouldn’t be at all surprised. So, you keep your expectations low, and try your hardest to remain stoic, but as the flavors begin to unfold, you can feel your resolve wavering.

It’s good. Better than most.

Reluctantly, you have to admit that this is the second-best sauce you’ve ever had, right after your grandmother’s. You glance up at Aegon, who’s watching you with a mix of anxiety and hope, and you can’t help but smile.

“I have to give it to you,” you say, your voice betraying a hint of admiration. “This is incredible. Almost as good as my grandmother’s.”

The relief and pride that spread across his face makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah?” He asks with a toothy grin.

“I’m still not completely convinced that you can actually cook, but you can– at the very least– make some top-notch spaghetti sauce,” you tell him as you place your spoon to the side.

“Top-notch, eh?” He asks playfully as he begins plating your meal. “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you say to him with a laugh. “It’s just spaghetti sauce.”

“Just spaghetti sauce? Don’t let my mum hear you say that,” he says with a smirk, setting a full plate in front of you on the counter. “I guess I’ll just have to work extra hard on the next one.”

“Assuming there will be a next one,” you reply, tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Though, you have set the bar pretty high tonight. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Well,” he murmurs as he steps closer, his body brushing against yours as he reaches around you to grab a plate. His lips are hovering above the shell of your ear, his voice low and teasing, causing your cheeks to immediately flush as the heat between the two of you intensifies. “I’m nothing if not a perfectionist.”

For a split second you expect for him to lean in for a kiss. Your heart is simultaneously skipping beats and racing at the same time; your breath catching in your throat as he leans in— But then he smirks, grabbing the plate and taking a step backwards. He’s doing it on purpose, you realize; his proximity expertly calculated to keep you on edge. You look up at him with wide, sparkling eyes and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. The soft blush of your cheeks has his blood pumping and sends a surge of adrenaline through him. He’s trying his absolute best to play it cool but the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him has him unraveling.

“Is that so?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “What other skills do you have up your sleeve?”

His grin widens as he looks down at you, setting his empty plate to the side. His gaze, once again, drops to your lips. “I have a few tricks,” he says softly, his voice filled with promise. “But I doubt you’d believe me if I told you, so how about I just show you?”

“What?” You ask with a playful innocence. “Before dinner?”

“I’m not really in the mood for spaghetti anymore.”

“Oh?” Your smirk is only growing. “What are you in the mood for?”

Aegon says nothing, but a confident grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he rests his hands on your hips. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in by the waist, until you’re pressed against him and his lips are on yours. The kiss is both gentle and urgent and a little bit awkward, as any first kiss should be. You felt like a teenager again, kissing a boy for the first time– butterflies in your stomach and all.

It takes no time at all for you to find your rhythm with him, and he deepens the kiss, pushing you up onto the kitchen counter to meet his height. Your arms naturally drape across his shoulders, your legs wrap around his middle. He’s completely taken over your mind, filling up every tiny space that he can fit into; the smell of his cologne, the scratch of his stubble against your skin, the feeling of his hands squeezing the flesh of your thighs– his fingertips teasing just underneath the hem of your shorts.

Breathless, he pulls away from you as he pulls your sweatshirt over your head. He stops for a moment to take in the sight of you; clad only in your bra and shorts, lips red and blotchy, swollen and full. You’re looking up at him from under your lashes, softly biting your bottom lip as you wait for him to continue. He gently lifts his hand up to your cheek and traces the curve of your cupid’s bow with his thumb, providing one last show of tenderness before he leans in to capture your lips in another searing kiss.

His touch is suddenly rushed; spreading a wildfire across your skin in the wake of his lips as he rips off the remainder of your clothes. It doesn’t take long at all before you’re sitting exposed on his kitchen counter in only a thong, blushing wildly and covering your face with your hands.

“No– no hiding,” he clicks his tongue and pulls your hands away from your face. “I want to see you.”

He whispers a string of profanities and compliments as his starving eyes roam your figure. Self-doubt creeps into your mind and you momentarily consider making a quick exit, convinced he won’t like what he sees, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel desired in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

Aegon’s gaze is electrifying and intense, drawing you in and silencing your negative thoughts instantly. His hands pull you in by the waist, sliding you to the edge of the counter as his lips work their way down your chin and neck; leaving a trail of red marks down to your chest. He hums, smirking as he takes one of your breasts in his mouth. His hand kneads the other, rolling your hardened nipple between two fingers. Your head falls back, lips parted slightly as you breathe out his name.

Each sound he elicits from you urges him on even further until he’s on one knee, looking up at you from his position with those pretty eyes. He runs a hand up the back of your calf, softly teasing you with his fingertips before tossing your leg over his shoulder. You knew where he was going, and yet, you were still surprised as he began placing open mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs; shivering in anticipation as goosebumps formed on your skin.

“You’re so wet,” he says proudly, praising you.

His eyes are locked with yours as his fingers delicately smooth over your clothed clit. He hooks a finger around the dampened cotton and pulls your thong to the side, groaning at the sight of your perfect pussy. Without wasting another second, Aegon’s mouth is suddenly on you and your hands immediately find the back of his head; fingers curling into the roots of his silver hair.

You roll your hips against his tongue, cursing out as your legs begin to shake. He moans, face still buried deep in you and the vibrations have you writhing. Both of his arms are wrapped around your thighs now, holding you tight to him, not letting up for even a second. Then he stands, lifting you up onto his shoulders. You squeal in shock, holding onto him tightly, but he doesn’t stop; he continues to devour you as he blindly carries you towards his bedroom.

When his knees hit the side of his bed, he tosses you back onto the mattress.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he strips out of his clothes. . You can see the outline of his arousal; prominent and pressing firmly against the fabric of his sweats. You bite your lip at the sight and he smirks as he catches your stare. His movements are unhurried, giving you ample time to appreciate the sight before you. His hoodie and shirt come off first, then his sweats, and you can’t help but notice the way that his muscles flex with each motion. He’s not overly built, but there’s a solid strength in his frame that is evident in the way he moves.

Outside, headlights from passing cars cast streaks of light and shadows across the walls of his room. It’s quiet, the music in the other room has stopped playing and all you can hear is the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. You swallow thickly, encompassed by the tension of the moment as he crawls up the length of your body; placing tender kisses along your skin. His lips leave a trail of warmth, each touch igniting a spark that travels through your entire body.

When he reaches your face, he pauses, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches away. The anticipation builds, thick and electric in the air between you. His lips find yours in a kiss that starts slow and tender but quickly deepens; fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you closer, his body pressing yours deeper into the plush mattress. Your hands explore his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling the tension and strength beneath his skin and coming to rest on his shoulders; gripping tightly as he continues to worship your body with his mouth. Each kiss, each touch, is deliberate, heightening your senses and pulling you further into the moment.

You curse at the feeling of his girth against your entrance. Your hand moves up to the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips as he presses slowly into you.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers into the crook of your neck as his arms become weak.

He knows that he won’t last like this; it’s been a while and you feel way too good. He’s slow at first, wanting to steady himself and maintain control, but his rhythm picks up quickly; hips moving with an unrelenting rhythm, each thrust bringing you both closer to the edge. You can feel his muscles tense, his grip on you tightening as he buries his face in your neck. His moans are a mix of pleasure and desperation, and you can tell he’s fighting to hold back.

You tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, feeling the overwhelming need to reach that peak together. His pace quickens, the tension in his body building to a breaking point. You feel the same pressure inside of you mounting before it’s suddenly crashing over you like a wave. He follows seconds later, a low groan escaping his lips as he spills into you. The intensity of the moment leaves you both breathless and clinging to each other, bathing in the afterglow.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs against your skin, head pressed to your chest as you stroke his hair softly. His eyes flutter shut as he listens to the sounds of your heartbeat.

You hum in agreement, smiling to yourself as you savor the peacefulness of the moment.

Suddenly, you’re joined by Sunfyre jumping up on the bed, his tail wagging enthusiastically. You smile at him and pat the empty space next to you, inviting him to join your cuddle session. He eagerly accepts the invitation, circling the bed a few times before snuggling up next to you. Aegon lifts his head and smiles, clearly pleased that you would be so open to having the dog in bed with you. He wraps his arm around both you and Sunfyre, pulling you closer.

“This is perfect,” he says softly, his voice filled with contentment as he lays his head back on your chest.

"So, about that job offer," you say playfully, your fingers tracing patterns along his skin. "I think I'll accept the position. When would you like for me to start?"

He lifts his head to look at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “How about tomorrow night at seven?”

Before you can respond, a distinct burning smell reaches your nose. Your brows furrow as you sniff the air. “Do you smell that?”

Aegon’s eyes widen in realization. “The spaghetti!”

He jumps up from the bed, pulling on his clothes quickly, and scrambles into the kitchen. You follow behind him, tossing one of his t-shirts over your head and meet him in the kitchen.

“I guess I forgot to turn off the burner,” Aegon looks disappointed but then chuckles, shaking his head. He looks at you with a glint in his eye and smirks. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Oh, that sucks!” You laugh, playfully nudging him. “Is it too late to back out of the job now?”

“Way too late for that,” he says as he pulls you into a soft kiss, silencing any doubts immediately. “You’re mine now.”

“Mm,” you hum against his lips. “But I came here for the spaghetti.”

He chuckles and pulls back slightly. “Will you settle for pizza?”

“I’ll settle for anything, as long as it’s with you,” you say with a smile as you wrap your arms around his waist. “And as long as there’s extra cheese!”

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thestarsaboveme · 2 months ago

Text

Reader thinks the Lads men are cheating with MC

masterlist

this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: angst with comfort, reader and lads men having a misunderstanding because reader is overthinking that they’re cheating on her with the mc since they always spend time with the mc and spending less time with the reader.

xavier ver. | zayne ver. | sylus ver. | caleb ver.

rafayel x reader | angst/comfort

You weren't proud of the thoughts you were having.

Not when Rafayel was as breathtaking as ever, standing in the distant glow of the garden lanterns, talking to her again. MC. His voice was low, that velvet-like voice that used to make your chest flutter. Now, it curled in your stomach with unease.

He was smiling. Not the lazy, teasing one he gave everyone. But something softer. Something rare. Something that, lately, he'd stopped giving you.

You watched from a distance, the bitter ache of overthinking clawing up your spine like ivy. They stood close, too close. Her hand brushed his sleeve. He didn't pull away.

You turned away before you could see more.

The silence in your room was suffocating when you returned. Rafayel hadn't noticed you watching. He rarely noticed, these days.

The messages had slowed. The way he'd linger after kissing your cheek had vanished. His excuses, though charming and gilded with half-truths, always ended with the same conclusion: ''I have things to handle with MC.''

You used to trust him implicitly. But love could be fragile. Especially when the person you loved was a master of masks.

You sat on the edge of the bed and opened your message thread with him. It felt empty despite all the hearts and winks that littered it.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Can we talk tonight? Please. I need to clear my head.

You sent it. Watched the little ''read'' notification blink.

And waited.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Then finally.

Of course, cutie. I'll come after I finish with MC. It won't take long.

You stared at his message, bile rising in your throat.

Of course it was MC again.

It was nearly midnight when Rafayel arrived.

''Hey,'' he said softly, stepping inside like the room wasn't filled with every unspoken word you'd been swallowing for days. ''You look like a storm's been living in you.''

You folded your arms, trying not to meet his eyes. ''Maybe because there has.'

He tilted his head, the teasing edge in his voice momentarily gone. ''Tell me:''

You looked at him then. Really looked. He was still beautiful in that untouchable, almost celestial way. Still the man who had stolen your heart with laughter and warmth and frustrating riddles.

And yet, right now, he felt like a stranger standing in the doorway of your grief.

''You've been spending all your time with her,'' you said. ''MC.''

Rafayel blinked. The silence dragged.

''I have responsibilities_''

''I know that,'' you snapped. ''What I don't know is wether those responsibilities come with…feelings.''

He stared, and for a terrifying second, he didn't say anything at all.

So you pushed, voice cracking. ''Are you cheating on me with her?''

The air in h´the room changed. It was like the very space between you shattered.

Rafayel didn't move. Didn't blink.

Then he laughed. Softly, bitterly.

''Oh, that's what you think of me?''

You flinched. ''I didn't want to. But you're always with her. You talk about her like she's this bright star you can't help but orbit. You disappear on me, lie about where you're going sometimes. And when you are here, it's like your heart isn't.''

His expression was unreadable. ''So you've decided the only explanation is betrayal?''

''I don't know what to think anymore!'' you cried. ''Because you won't let me in. You always hide behind jokes or silence or some metaphor I can't unravel…''

Something flickered behind his eyes. Hurt. Guilt. Anger.

''Do you have any idea how many times I've wanted to tell you the truth?'' he asked, stepping closer. ''But I don't, because every time I look at you, I see softness. Warmth. A place untouched by all the filth I deal with. And I tell myself, if I keep my shadows from you, maybe I can keep you clean.''

''That's not your choice,'' you whispered. ''I didn't fall in love with a perfect man. I fell in love with you. The complicated, broken, reckless version.''

Rafayel looked down at the floor, jaw clenched.

''You think I'm in love with her?'' he asked quietly. ''Is that really what your heart is telling you?''

You hesitated.

''I think…you might be starting to wonder if you chose wrong. That maybe she's more compatible. That she's stronger, easier to share the weight with. You don't have to protect her like you protect me.''

His voice dropped. ''Don't do that. Don't turn your fears into my truth.''

''Then tell me the truth!'' you yelled, fists clenched. ''Because if you keep shutting me out, you'll lose me anyway.''

He looked at you then. Really looked. And what you saw there stole the breath from your lungs.

''Do you think you're easy to love, cutie?'' he asked, voice low.

You froze. ''What?''

He stepped closer, his voice like thunder muffled behind silk.

''Because I do. And that terrifies me.''

Your heart skipped. ''You're…scared of loving me?''

''I've never had anything I was afraid to lose until you,'' he said. ''and I don't know how to be with someone who sees the real me and stays. So I pull away before you can leave me like everyone else.''

Your breath caught in your throat.

''All that time with MC?'' he continued. ''Yes, I've been with her. Missions. Strategy. Nightmares that won't let her sleep. I help her the way I can. But it's not love, not the way you think. She's a mirror to a life I survived.''

''And me?'' you asked.

''You're a window,'' he said. ''To a life I want. And that scares me more than anything.''

Tears blurred your vision.

''You idiot,'' you whispered. ''You beautiful, infuriating idiot.''

And then you were moving- Closing the space between you, fists against his chest as the tears finally came.

''You don't get to decide you're unlovable,'' you cried. ''You don't get to shut me out just because you're scared. I'm scared too.''

His arms came around you like gravity. ''I know. I'm sorry.''

''I thought I was losing you.''

''You never were,'' he whispered. ''But I'll admit I've been making it feel that way.''

You buried your face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of rain and regret.

''Please don't do that again,'' you said.

He held you tighter. ''I won't. No more masks. No more half-truths.''

You both stood there for a long time, wrapped in silence, until he finally pulled back enough to cup your face.

''You are not second place,'' he said. ''You never have been.''

You nodded, and something in you, something tight and aching, finally began to ease.

''Then let's try again,'' you said. ''But this time…together.''

Rafayel smiled, tired but genuine.

''Together,'' he echoed.

And for the first time in weeks, you believed him.

#lads #lads x reader #lads angs #lads angst comfort #lnds #lnds x reader #lnds rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel angst comfort #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace angst comfort

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cinnxmxngxrl · 2 months ago

Text

“Desperation”

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Shelby!Reader

Part two of Camden’s sin but can be read as a stand alone.

Check Alfie’s Masterlist here to see the previous parts

Summary: After Alfie and you started seeing each other in secret he waits desperately for every business meeting, impatient to get his fill of you.

WC: 2,1k

Warnings: intense smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, oral(m!receiving), fingering, filthy language, rough sex, dominant alfie, creampie, reader is Tommy Shelby’s sister

A/N: you don’t really need to read part one if you only here for the smut.

After that one evening in Camden Town, inside Alfie’s office, everything changed.

Because after that night, there wasn’t a single business meeting that didn’t end with him fucking you. On his desk. On his chair. Against the wall. On the floor.

It was getting out of hand, yes, but now you knew exactly how Alfie Solomons felt inside you—and there was no way in hell you were going to stop.

You were past the point of hiding. Past the point of caring—of caring if your family would notice. You weren’t exactly being subtle, not with the satisfied little smile on your face or the way you limped every time you came back home after a “business meeting” with Alfie. Not with the scarves you wore even when it was warm outside, just to cover the bruises he left on your neck.

You knew your brothers wouldn’t believe it. The idea of you—proper, composed, elegant—fucking Alfie Solomons? It was absurd. You wouldn’t let a brute like him between your legs, no, you were a proper lady.

But Polly… Polly noticed.

She was a woman too, after all. She could read that look on your face a mile away—the look of a woman being properly, thoroughly, and unapologetically fucked.

But again… you didn’t care.

You made your way through Alfie’s distillery like you did every week now—routinely, religiously. Some of his workers looked at you when you passed. Not strangers to the noises coming from his office when you were inside. But none of them dared to say a word, they were too afraid to even mention what they heard behind his office door.

Alfie wasn’t sitting at his desk when you entered. No. He was sprawled out on the leather armchair at the head of the office, legs open, shirt half-unbuttoned, thick forearms resting on the arms of the chair like he was a king.

“Come ‘ere,” he ordered.

You stepped in, standing between his open legs. His hands traveled to your body, gripping your ass, rough and greedy.

“D’you know what I’ve done?” he growled, eyes dark. “Thinkin’ about you?”

He buried his face against your stomach, inhaling like a man starved. “Fucked my own hand three times last night… thinkin’ about you. Not once did it help.”

“I dream about this cunt, I do. Wake up every night so hard I could shatter porcelain, right? And no matter what I do, it ain’t enough. You… you’re the only thing that fixes it.”

Then he grabbed your hand and shoved it down to his crotch. You felt the thick, pulsing length of him under his trousers—hard and aching for you.

“Feel that? Been fuckin’ hard for you since last Thursday,” he groaned. “Even had a little wank before you came… just to take the edge off. Didn’t work. Still fuckin’ hard.”

“So blunt,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Where’d all your poetry go?”

He smirked, “It’s rather hard to be poetic when all my blood’s in my cock instead of my brain,” he shot back, completely unapologetic.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, your voice dripping with the same hunger in his.

“Oh, you’re gonna help alright,” he growled as he leaned forward. “Get that fucking dress off. And get on your knees. Right fuckin’ now, yeah? I’ve been polite for about three minutes too long and my patience is hangin’ by a fuckin’ thread.”

You obeyed, slipping the dress from your shoulders with just enough tease to make his breathing hitch. Then you sank to your knees, your gaze locked on him the whole time.

You noticed the tent that was now more prominent in his pants, your hand softly massaged his big bulge, your mouth giving little kisses to his covered hardness.

He grunted as you freed his cock from the strain of his trousers. Thick, veined, tip flushed red and beautiful like you remember. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly. The contact between your soft hand and his hot skin made him moan.

“Use that mouth you’ve got, yeah?” he hissed. “Don’t make me wait.”

You licked a slow, filthy stripe from the base, licking every inch, tracing the vein with your tongue, all the way up to the tip, swirling your tongue around the head, tasting the salty flavor of his pre-cum.

You loved the way his cock twitched in your hand. The way he cursed under his breath when your lips finally wrapped around him and you started sucking, just little sucks on his tip, enough to make any man go crazy.

Alfie cursed violently above you, hips bucking, his hand fisted in your hair, guiding you, pushing you down, encouraging you to take more. And you did. Your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him down, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach.

He moaned quietly. “Oh this mouth… this mouth can make a priest break his vows, it can.”

You were teasing the sensitive underside of his cock with your tongue. Popping off with obscene little noises, then diving back down even deeper.

The sounds—obscene, wet, messy—filled the room. Your spit dripped from your chin, your eyes teary as you looked up at him, letting him see what he was doing to you.

His hips jerked despite himself, but you let him, taking it, loving the way he lost control for you and used your mouth how he pleased.

“Christ, treacle,” he groaned, staring down at the way his cock disappeared inside your mouth with each suck. “Yeah, suck it like that… like the little fuckin’ Shelby whore you are… You love it, don’t you?”

His body stiffened, and his breath got heavier.

You pulled off with a filthy pop. “You gonna cum already?”

His voice was gravel. “Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll shove it down your throat.”

Your lips parted, eyes shining bright. “Please do.”

He yanked your head forward, burying himself deep down your throat until your nose pressed against his groin and his tip hit the back of your throat. You gagged around him, and he held you there. Let you feel the full weight of him. Let you choke on it.

Finally, he let you go. Pulling your head back, you were a mess, drool spilling down your chin and tears down your cheeks.

“Get up here,” he ordered, already pulling you into his lap.

You straddled him without hesitation. His hand slipped between your legs, and you gasped, biting your lip when his fingers found the wet mess clinging between your thighs.

“Jesus fuck, woman,” he growled. “You’re this fuckin’ wet just from suckin’ my cock? You filthy little thing…”

His fingers played lazily with your folds—teasing, filthy, like he just wanted to feel what he’d done to you. Thick and calloused fingers circled your clit, and your hips jerked, he was grinding his heavy cock against you, as his hand kept working your soaked center.

A loud cry escaped your throat before you could stop it.

“Tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Yours.”

“Louder.”

“Yours, Alfie—fuck—it’s yours, only yours.”

“Fuck yes, it is,” he grumbled, his thumb applying more pressure and circling fast. “I’m fuckin’ mad for you, yeah? Mad for this cunt. Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever had. Could die between your legs, swear on me mum.”

Then his fingers slid inside—two thick digits, pumping into you slow, deliberate, making your eyes roll back and your toes curl.

“You feel that?” he murmured, curling those two fingers just right. “This is mine. This perfect little cunt. Soaked for me. Gotta stretch her out real nice, yeah? Treat her real fuckin’ good so she can take my cock.”

You arched your back and rode his fingers like your life depended on it, seeking more friction. His thumb never left your clit, and those fingers inside you kept hitting you, curling until they found the right angle, hitting your g-spot with devastating precision.

You clung to him, hands on his shoulders, head thrown back as he fucked up into you with his fingers, slow and rough strokes that had you sobbing.

“Cum on my fingers, show me how much you like them.” He knew your body better than you did, and he noticed how close you were.

You shattered, and you felt your orgasm hitting you hard, gasping, wrecking you, making your entire body shake, clenching your walls around his fingers. He kept fingering you through it, relentless and merciless.

He pulled them out slowly, strings of thick wetness clinging between his fingers, then he pushed them to your lips.

“Taste yourself.”

You did, opening your mouth and sucking his fingers clean. You tasted a little sweet—no wonder he was obsessed.

“Look at you… Fuckin’ masterpiece, you are. All stretched out and drippin’ like honey. I’d carve you into marble if I could stop shaggin’ you long enough to do it.”

Meanwhile, his cock still stood hard and aching, pressed against your belly and begging for release.

“Come on,” he growled. “Sit that pretty fuckin’ cunt down on my cock and ride it.”

He didn’t wait for you to move. He lifted you up by your hips like you were a little rag doll, lined himself up, and slammed you down without hesitation. You gasped, back arching as he filled you entirely, painfully, perfectly.

You took all of him, bottoming out with a slow grind of your hips that had Alfie’s head falling back, and his eyes rolling shut.

You grabbed his shoulders, nails digging on his skin until they drew out blood. Your hips rolling over him deliberately slow, enjoying the feeling of fullness he gave you.

But he didn’t give you time to adjust. Never did. He fucked like a man with a deadline—like the world might end in minutes and he wanted to die buried in you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he hissed, grabbing your hips and moving you, dragging you up and down his cock, using your body like it was made for him, like he owned it, setting up the rhythm and making you bounce on him just how he liked it. “So warm, so tight—how the fuck does it keep gettin’ better every time?”

“Fuck, Alfie,” you screamed, mind going blank from the overwhelming stretch of him as he pushed so deep inside you, you could feel every inch, every vein, every brush of his tip against your cervix.

“This cunt’s never gettin’ used to it, is it?” he snarled, dragging his hands all over your ass, gripping it roughly as he helped you move. “Still squeezin’ me like you tryin’ to keep me inside you forever.”

His cock twitched inside you, thick and throbbing, dragging dirty little whimpers out of you every time your pussy swallowed him.

“You like me inside you, yeah?” he rasped. “Like feelin’ me stuff this greedy little pussy full?”

“Yes, Alfie. Yes,” you moaned. “I love it… so much… Feels so good… Best I’ve ever had…”

“Yeah?” His hand wrapped around your throat. “You love this, my cock deep in this needy fucking cunt.”

“God, yes… Alfie, please—” You weren’t sure if you were begging for him to stop, or to fuck you harder.

He slapped your ass. “Beg for it.”

“Please,” you whimpered. “Need you to fuck me harder… Alfie, please…”

He snarked and he smacked your ass again, hard enough to leave the red print of his hand. He began to buckle up his hips to meet the roll of your hips, thrusting up hard into you, chasing the slick, filthy drag of him inside you, that thick stretch that had you gasping.

“That’s it, treacle, ride that fat fuckin’ cock like you mean it,” he growled, palming your tits with his hands as they bounced, squeezing and kneading them. “I’m so close. Wanna feel you milkin’ my cock dry.”

A few more raw and brutal thrusts, and he felt that heat coiling tight in his belly. Alfie swore violently, grabbing your hips and slamming up into you twice more before he spilled inside you, buried deep, cumming hard.

“Shit—came so fuckin’ hard I saw colors, I saw stars—I saw my own fuckin’ funeral, and I was smilin’ in my coffin,” he muttered, and you didn’t know how he had energy left to say all those things.

His cum dripped out of you, messy and thick, leaking down his cock and onto his trousers, that were barely tugged down past his cock.

“Look at the mess you’re makin’,” he breathed. “Painted you with my cum so pretty I reckon Michelangelo would be jealous. Fuckin’ glorious sight. Fuckin’ Biblical.”

“Filthy bastard.”

He chuckled and continued mumbling for himself under his breath. “Oh you wrecked me. Turned me into a bloody devotee of you. What kind of woman does that, eh? A fuckin’ sorceress, that’s what you are. You could ask me to start a war and I’d ask how many bodies you want.”

You shook your head with amusement. “You ready to talk business now?” you asked him, breathing ragged, your body trembling, caressing his hair tenderly with your fingers.

He smiled against your shoulder. “Not a bloody chance,” he chuckled again. “You think I’m gonna let you walk ‘round with this cunt drippin’ like that, eh? What, temptin’ men to meet their own fuckin’ death? No, treacle, now I’m gonna fuck that cum right back into your pretty little pussy. Then—maybe—we’ll talk business.”

NEXT PART HERE

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

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yunholic-jongholic · 3 months ago

Note

could i request a woosan x soulmate au? it could be something like them being idols and used to each other and now they have a new addition to the bond so they’re kinda standoffish with the reader because they’re used to it being just them? orr it could be like a high school or college au where the reader hides from them because she’s scared of the bond? orrrrrr where each soulmate has a chibi that looks like them? (it doesn’t really matter which type of soul bond (like soul string, soulmate marks, soul touch etccc)

Tethered by Fate | C.S x Reader x J.WY

PAIRINGS | Choi San x Reader x Jung Wooyoung

RATING | Not really need a rating? But in case; 16+?

CONTENT WARNINGS | Soulmate AU, College AU, Soul string, Fluff, FLUFF, Nervous Encounters, Anxiety (Reader), Competition (WooSan), Jealousy, Flirting, PDA, F L U F F.

WORD COUNT | 10.8k

AUTHORS NOTE | YAY my first San story (and second Wooyoung!) I gotchu, I had to do some research on soulmates AU since I am still fairly new to it. I hope you enjoy! <3

•

You never asked for soulmates.

In a world where thin red threads faintly mark your wrist until they flare to life near the person fate ties you to, most people spent their lives waiting for that spark. But not you. The thought of destiny dictating who you should love — who you’re meant to belong to — felt more like a cage than a gift. So, when your thread began to thrum with heat one quiet afternoon in your second semester of college, your first instinct was fear.

And you ran.

It didn’t matter that the sensation wasn’t painful — just a soft, glowing warmth, buzzing with promise. It didn’t matter that it happened in the middle of the busy student union, surrounded by strangers and noise. What mattered was that it meant something — and you weren’t ready to face it.

Not if it meant them.

Wooyoung and San were hard to miss. Magnetic in completely different ways. Wooyoung, with his playful grin and boundless energy, could light up a room just by walking into it. San, all sharp focus and quiet depth, always seemed to notice what others didn’t. They were inseparable — best friends, roommates — already connected by a thread that glowed bright and sure.

And now, you were supposed to be the missing piece.

The second all three threads sparked to life, Wooyoung had let out a breathless laugh, San’s eyes had gone wide — and you’d turned on your heel and fled the building like it was burning.

---

You let out a long sigh as you closed the door behind you, the weight of the day settling on your shoulders like a stormcloud. The lock clicked into place — not just to keep them out, but to hold yourself in. Safe. Unreachable.

Hyojin, your best friend and roommate, barely glanced up from the couch, where a cheesy romcom played softly in the background. She raised an eyebrow, an all-too-knowing look on her face.

"Let me guess," she said, voice light but edged with concern. "Running from them again?"

You didn’t answer. You just dropped down beside her with a quiet thud, the couch dipping under your weight. The screen lit your face in soft colors — two strangers falling in love like it was simple, like it didn’t terrify them.

You wished you were that brave.

Hyojin didn’t press. She never did. She just nudged a blanket toward you with her foot, eyes still on the screen as if your whole world wasn’t quietly unraveling right beside her.

"You know, in these movies, the running only works for so long," she murmured, half-teasing, half-serious. "Eventually, the love interest shows up in the rain with a boombox or something dramatic."

You scoffed, curling up under the blanket. "Good thing it hasn’t rained."

"Yet," she added, casting a quick side glance your way. "And let’s be honest, if anyone’s showing up with a grand gesture, it’s Wooyoung."

You groaned, burying your face into a pillow. Just hearing his name made your thread pulse. Not painfully — it never was — but a low, steady ache that reminded you they were still there. Waiting.

"San wouldn’t," you muttered into the cushion. "He’d just stare at me until I broke into pieces."

Hyojin laughed, a soft and knowing sound. "Yeah. He has that vibe. All intense eye contact and poetic heartbreak."

You didn’t reply, but your silence was loud.

You wanted to say it wasn’t fair. That you didn’t ask for this — the connection, the glowing thread, the weight of expectation. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t about fair. It was about fear.

Because Wooyoung and San were real. They saw you. And worse — they wanted to.

And you weren’t sure you could handle what came next if you stopped running.

So instead, you sat there, pretending the movie was enough to keep your heart quiet, while your soul tugged in the direction of two people who refused to stop hoping.

---

Wooyoung paced.

Back and forth across the small dorm room, hands ruffling through his hair, his wrist glowing with that telltale red thread that never seemed to fade anymore. It hummed lightly — not in sound, but in feeling. Always there. Always warm. Always pointing toward you.

San sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, watching silently.

"She’s avoiding us again," Wooyoung muttered, more to himself than anything. "She saw me outside the art building and ran. Not walked, not slipped away. Ran. Like I was chasing her with a chainsaw."

San tilted his head slightly, his gaze calm but thoughtful. “You were holding a bouquet of red carnations.”

"...Okay, maybe that was a little intense."

San finally smiled, a flicker of amusement in his usually unreadable expression. But it faded quickly, replaced with the same quiet worry he’d been carrying since the threads lit up.

"She’s scared," he said simply. "It’s not us. It’s what we mean."

Wooyoung dropped down onto the bed beside him with a frustrated sigh. “But why be afraid of something that’s supposed to be… good? We’re not trying to force her. We haven’t even— We’re giving her space.”

"I know," San said. "But space doesn’t always feel like safety. Sometimes it just feels like distance. Like abandonment."

They both went quiet for a long moment.

Outside, campus life went on — students laughing in the hall, music drifting in through a slightly cracked window, the world moving forward while they stayed suspended in this waiting game.

"I just…" Wooyoung trailed off, looking down at the soft glow on his wrist. "I just want her to know we’re not here to trap her in some fate-shaped box. I want her to choose us. Not because of this—" he lifted his arm, the thread catching the light, "—but because she wants to."

San nodded slowly, eyes fixed on his own wrist. The thread stretched out into the unknown, toward you.

“She’ll come back,” he said quietly. “She just needs time.”

“And what if time doesn’t help?” Wooyoung whispered.

San’s answer was immediate, steady. “Then we wait longer.”

---

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep.

The romcom had ended. Hyojin had gone quiet beside you, her phone screen dimming as she dozed off mid-scroll. The apartment was wrapped in a soft kind of stillness — the kind that feels like it’s waiting for something to happen.

You stirred when a faint knock tapped against the door.

Once. Then twice. Soft, hesitant. Like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure they should be there at all.

You sat up slowly, the blanket slipping off your shoulders. Hyojin blinked awake, squinting toward the door.

"Expecting someone?" she mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

You shook your head, already knowing — somehow — who it was. You couldn’t explain how you knew. The way your thread felt suddenly alive, humming low and warm, like it was holding its breath.

You padded to the door quietly, heart thudding too loud for how little had happened. You didn’t unlock it right away. Just pressed your forehead against the cool wood, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Wooyoung’s voice was soft. Barely a whisper. “I’m not here to push. I just… I wanted to leave something.”

There was a pause.

Then the rustle of a paper bag.

“I made too many honey muffins. Thought you might want one. Or not. Either way—” he hesitated, then gave a short, nervous laugh, “—I figured it’s harder to be scared of someone who shows up with baked goods.”

You opened the door a crack just in time to see him walking away down the hall, hoodie pulled up, hands shoved into his pockets like he wasn’t holding his breath too.

On the floor, in front of your door, was a small brown bag. The smell of warm sugar and cinnamon leaked through.

No note. No pressure.

Just muffins.

Just Wooyoung.

You didn’t call after him. But you picked up the bag and held it close, something in your chest trembling with the gentleness of it all.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like running.

Later that night, the muffins sat on your desk — one half-eaten, the others untouched, like maybe if you didn’t finish them, the moment wouldn’t end.

You stared at your phone screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The soft light of your desk lamp cast a pale circle around you, everything else fading into a blur of shadows. The world outside your dorm was silent. Even Hyojin was asleep now, curled under a mountain of blankets.

And still, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. About them.

You opened your messages, fingers hesitating before typing:

Y/N

You didn’t have to do that. But… thank you. They were really good. My favorite, actually. I don’t hate you. Or San. I’m just… scared. Of what this means. Of what I might become if I let myself want it.

You paused.

Deleted the last line.

Rewrote it.

Y/N

I think I’m afraid that if I fall for you — both of you — I won’t know how to be myself anymore.

Your throat tightened.

You stared at the message, reread it once, twice. Your thumb hovered over the send button, a storm of emotion brimming just under your skin.

Then you locked your phone and set it face down.

It wasn’t time. Not yet.

But maybe soon.

Maybe tomorrow.

You curled up under your blanket, heart still buzzing from the echo of Wooyoung’s quiet kindness and San’s patient silence.

And even though the message remained unsent, for the first time… you thought about what it would feel like to stop being afraid.

---

San couldn’t sleep.

He lay in bed, one arm draped across his eyes, the other resting on his chest — right over the thread that hummed beneath his skin. It never stopped. Not since that day.

The moment it lit up — glowing bright red between him, Wooyoung, and you — something in him had shifted. Not like flipping a switch. More like discovering a second heartbeat he didn’t know he had.

And then you ran.

He didn’t blame you. Not really.

But the silence since then had been a strange kind of ache. Not sharp. Just there — constant, quiet, heavy. Like waiting for a storm that might never come, only clouds.

Wooyoung had tried to fill the space between you with light. San tried to respect the space at all.

But every day that passed, he caught himself watching doorways, scanning lecture halls, hoping for a glimpse. Hoping you'd look at them again the way you did, just before you fled — like your soul recognized something your fear wouldn’t let you reach for.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He reached for it instinctively — the thread always made him hope.

Nothing. Just a group chat notification. Someone sending memes. Wooyoung, probably.

He glanced at your name in his messages. Still unopened. Still unread.

Still… nothing.

San sat up, feet touching the cold floor. His wrist glowed softly in the dark, casting a faint red light across his palm.

He whispered, to no one, to maybe you, “I’d wait forever, if that’s what you need.”

Because it wasn’t about the thread.

It was about you. Choosing him. Choosing them.

And until then, he’d keep the space open. Quiet. Gentle.

Ready.

---

The café was already buzzing with early morning energy — espresso machines hissing, students half-awake and wrapped in hoodies and oversized scarves, soft indie music playing through the speakers. You stood in line, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, scrolling through your notes to mentally prep for your first class.

Then it hit you.

That now-familiar jolt. Not harsh, but unmistakable — a spark beneath your skin, dancing along the glowing thread.

You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Still, you did — and there he was. San, standing just a few people behind you, hair messy from sleep and hoodie half-zipped like he’d just rolled out of bed and sprinted here.

Your breath caught.

You turned quickly, tugging your own hoodie up over your head and shrinking a little into yourself, silently pleading with the universe to let him not see you.

But the universe had other plans.

“Hey! Y/N.” His voice was bright, but not too loud. Casual. Like this was just any morning, any moment. “Let me get that for you.”

You turned halfway, offering him a sheepish smile, one hand wrapped around your phone like a lifeline.

“It’s okay, really. You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said, already stepping forward and tapping his card before you could protest again. “Consider it as my apology for scaring you yesterday after class.”

You blinked. “That wasn’t me being scared.” You lied.

He shrugged, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Still. I figured coffee would be a safer follow-up.”

You glanced at him, searching for any signs of pressure, of expectation — but there was none. Just San. Open. Easy. Real.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, shifting your weight as the barista called out your name.

“For both?” he asked.

You nodded. “Mine and Hyojin’s. She’ll appreciate it.”

He smiled wider, but not in a flirty way — more like someone genuinely happy just to do something kind for someone they cared about.

As you reached for the drinks, your fingers brushed his — just for a second — and the thread pulsed gently between you.

You didn’t run this time.

And San didn’t comment on it. Didn’t ask for anything more.

He just said, “Hope your morning’s a little better now,” then stepped aside with a soft wave, giving you space to leave first.

And somehow, that simple act made your heart ache more than any grand gesture ever could.

You rushed back to the dorm in a hurried shuffle.

Hyojin was still wrapped in her blanket like a sleepy burrito when you returned, the TV already playing reruns of some old sitcom she liked to put on in the mornings — just enough background noise to keep things from feeling too quiet.

You handed her the coffee.

She sat up immediately, eyes narrowing as she took the cup from your hands. “Wait… you didn’t buy this.”

You blinked, trying to play innocent. “What makes you say that?”

She gave you a look over the rim of her cup. “Because you always get the oat milk latte when you’re paying. This is almond milk. That’s a San move.”

You sighed, sinking into the beanbag chair across from her.

“…He was at the café.”

“And he paid?” she asked, eyebrows rising. “And you didn’t sprint out the door like someone lit your thread on fire?”

You threw a pillow at her. “It wasn’t like that.”

She laughed, catching the pillow and hugging it to her chest. “Okay, so tell me — what was it like, then?”

You hesitated. Chewed the inside of your cheek. The words felt fragile, like they might shatter if you spoke them too fast.

“It was… calm,” you said finally. “He saw me. Didn’t make a big deal. Just… offered to pay. No weird comments. No guilt-tripping. No soulmate speech.”

Hyojin nodded slowly, sipping her coffee like she was giving you space to unravel it all.

“And you know what’s weird?” you added, softer now. “It felt normal. Like we were just two people… being nice to each other. Not fate. Not pressure. Just—”

“San being San,” she finished for you.

You nodded, thumb running along the rim of your coffee cup.

“And… I didn’t run. I wanted to. At first. But then he smiled, and it wasn’t… intense or hopeful or anything dramatic. Just real. And I guess… I wanted to stay in that moment a little longer.”

Hyojin smiled gently, eyes warm. “That’s not nothing, Y/N.”

You nodded, a small flicker of something brave flickering in your chest.

“It’s not everything yet,” you whispered. “But maybe it’s a start.”

---

The smell of sizzling eggs and butter filled the dorm, warm and familiar. Wooyoung stood at the stove in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, humming quietly as he flipped pancakes with practiced ease.

The door opened behind him with a soft click.

San stepped in, cheeks slightly pink from the cold outside — or maybe from something else.

"Smells good," he said, dropping his bag by the couch.

Wooyoung glanced over his shoulder. “Got up early. Figured we could use a proper breakfast for once instead of vending machine muffins.”

San chuckled, toeing off his shoes. “You’re turning domestic on me.”

“I’m adorable like that,” Wooyoung said with a wink, flipping another pancake onto a plate. “So? Where were you this early?”

San leaned against the counter, eyes twinkling.

“I don’t want to make it sound like a competition,” he started, a teasing lilt to his voice, “but I had a nice meeting with Y/N.”

Wooyoung froze mid-motion, spatula hovering in the air. His head turned slowly, eyes wide.

“You what?”

San grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Ran into her by the cafe. She was alone. Didn’t bolt. We talked for a few minutes.”

Wooyoung put the spatula down a little too carefully.

“Was she… okay? Was she scared? Did she look like she wanted to leave? Did you freak her out?”

San laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “No. She was actually calm. Quiet, but not closed off. And…” He looked down, ears reddening slightly. “She was… cute.”

That made Wooyoung pause. Really pause.

He leaned back against the counter, hands resting on the edge as he stared down at the stove, lips pressed together. “I wish I’d been there.”

San glanced over at him, his smile softening. “You kind of were.”

Wooyoung looked up.

“She mentioned the muffins,” San said gently.

Wooyoung exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little.

“I don’t want her to feel chased,” he said quietly. “I just… I miss her. And we barely even had her yet.”

San reached out, nudging Wooyoung’s arm.

“She’s not gone. She’s just… figuring it out. You were patient with me. You can be patient with her too.”

Wooyoung smiled at that — tired, but genuine.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “For her? I can wait.”

And as he plated the last pancake and set the table for two, something in his chest settled. Because maybe slow was okay. Maybe slow was exactly what you needed.

---

Class had just ended, and students spilled out of the lecture hall like a slow-moving tide of tired bodies and caffeine breath. You adjusted your backpack, hoping to make a quiet escape down the side hallway—until you felt that buzz again.

The thread. Alive. Warm. And pulling in two directions at once.

You looked up and froze.

Wooyoung was leaning against one wall, arms crossed, eyes lighting up the moment he saw you.

San was on the opposite wall, perfectly still, casually scrolling through his phone like he wasn’t clearly waiting for you, too.

You blinked.

They blinked.

Then both pushed off the wall at the same time.

“Y/N! I was just about to head to the café. Wanna walk with me?” Wooyoung beamed, already taking a half-step toward you.

San cleared his throat softly, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Actually, I was going to check out that new study space in the greenhouse. Thought you might like it.”

You stared at them.

They stared at each other.

Then back at you.

It was obvious what was happening. And it was also very obvious they hadn’t coordinated this.

Wooyoung smiled a little too wide. “You can’t even study with plants, San. What is she gonna do, photosynthesize her notes?”

San, calm as ever, didn’t even blink. “Some people find greenery relaxing. Unlike… a loud café full of undercooked croissants and overconfident baristas.”

“That barista was flirting with me,” Wooyoung shot back.

“Exactly,” San said.

You raised both hands, barely hiding your laugh. “Okay, okay, please stop fighting with each other in front of the academic building like I’m the final boss.”

They both quieted instantly. Then Wooyoung scratched the back of his neck and mumbled, “We just… wanted to hang out with you. Not in a weird way. Not in a ‘soulmate pressure’ way. Just… you.”

San nodded. “We can walk you somewhere. Or nowhere. Or just… exist near you for a bit.”

You looked at them — standing there, trying so hard to not try too hard.

And it hit you again: they weren’t asking you to choose. They were just trying to be close. To be present. To be themselves around you, and hope you’d let yourself do the same.

“…Come on,” you said softly, starting to walk. “You can both walk with me. But no more competing, got it?”

Wooyoung grinned. “Define ‘competing.’”

San sighed. “He’s already losing.”

And just like that, the tension melted into something warmer, easier.

You didn’t say much as you walked between them — not yet — but you didn’t run either.

And for them, that was already a win.

The three of you walked along the tree-lined path that cut through campus, leaves crunching softly underfoot. The air smelled like autumn and coffee, and for once, the thread around your wrist wasn’t overwhelming — just a soft, steady pulse. Like background music you didn’t mind anymore.

Wooyoung was rambling about some club’s haunted house fundraiser — complete with inflatable ghosts and “jump scares that would definitely make San scream.”

You smiled, listening but not saying much. It was easy to let his voice fill the space, to let it feel normal.

Then there was a pause. Just long enough to be noticeable.

You glanced to your left. San had fallen a few steps behind, hands in his pockets, gaze distant. Thoughtful.

Wooyoung slowed too, looking back. “Hey, you good?”

San looked up and gave a small nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” Wooyoung joked, nudging him lightly.

But San didn’t laugh. Not this time.

“I’ve been wondering,” he said softly, eyes still on the path ahead, “if maybe the reason soulmates exist… isn’t to force people together. But to remind them they can be seen.”

You stopped walking. Slowly.

So did Wooyoung.

San finally looked at you.

“Not just loved,” he added, “but… understood. The way you think no one ever will. That kind of scary, messy, real understanding.”

His voice didn’t waver, but something in it was raw. Honest.

“And I think…” He exhaled, gaze dropping for a moment. “That maybe you’re scared of the bond because it already feels like we see you. And that’s terrifying when you’ve spent so long trying to keep certain parts hidden.”

Your breath caught.

Wooyoung was unusually quiet beside you.

San didn’t step closer, didn’t reach out. He just stood there, his own thread glowing faintly against the falling dusk light, as if saying — I see you, and I’m still here.

“I’m sorry if that’s too much,” he added softly.

You shook your head, your voice low. “It’s not.”

It was everything.

And though you didn’t say another word the rest of the walk, something shifted. Not in the bond.

In you.

---

You sat on your bed, legs crossed under you, hoodie still on like a shield even though the room was warm.

Hyojin was at her desk, scribbling notes half-heartedly until she noticed you hadn’t said much since you got back. She turned in her chair, watching you over the top of her laptop with that familiar “I know something’s up” expression.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you pulled your legs in tighter and rested your chin on your knees. “San said something earlier.”

That got her full attention. “Oh?”

You nodded; eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.

“He said…” You took a breath. “That maybe soulmates aren’t about forcing people together. That maybe they’re just about showing someone they can actually be seen. Not just loved but understood.”

Hyojin didn’t speak, waiting patiently like she always did when you needed time to untangle your thoughts.

“And he said he thought maybe I was scared because I already felt like they saw me.” You paused. “And he’s right.”

The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of a dorm heater.

You finally looked up at her, your voice quieter now. “I didn’t think anyone ever really could see me. I got used to keeping the real stuff hidden. Even from you sometimes.”

Hyojin didn’t flinch. She just stood up, walked over, and sat on the edge of your bed, nudging your foot with hers.

“You don’t have to be scared of being seen, Y/N. Not with them. Not with me. But it’s okay if you still are.”

You blinked fast, feeling your throat tighten.

“I didn’t run today,” you whispered.

Hyojin smiled softly. “I know.”

“And it didn’t feel like the world was ending. Just… heavy.”

She leaned over and rested her head on your shoulder. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t need to.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to hide from the weight of being known.

---

It was later in the week when it happened.

You had a late class that let out just after sunset, and the campus was quiet in that sleepy kind of way — golden lights flickering on, students trailing back to their dorms with earbuds in and backpacks slung low.

You didn’t expect to see him there.

Wooyoung, sitting alone on one of the benches near the fountain outside the arts building, hoodie pulled over his head, earbuds dangling around his neck. A takeout container sat next to him, mostly untouched.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps — and when he saw it was you, he smiled.

Not the usual bright Wooyoung grin. This one was softer. Tired.

You almost walked past him. Almost.

But something in you stopped. Turned. Sat beside him, even though your heart thudded a little too loudly in your chest.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Neither did you.

Just the sound of the fountain and the wind brushing through the trees.

Then, finally—

“I always thought being soulmates with someone would fix something in me,” Wooyoung said quietly, gaze fixed on the water.

You looked at him, surprised by the weight in his voice.

“But it didn’t. You showed up, and everything still felt… confusing. Unfinished. Scary, even.”

He rubbed his thumb over the glowing thread on his wrist, the light faint but constant. “And I realized, maybe soulmates don’t fix you. Maybe they just… stand next to the broken parts and say, ‘I still want you anyway.’”

You felt your breath catch.

“I don’t want you to love me because you’re meant to,” he went on, voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to love me because one day you choose to. Because you look at me and San, and you don’t see a bond — you see us. Messy, flawed, ridiculous… but real.”

He finally turned to you, eyes soft and so achingly open, like he wasn’t afraid of you seeing the cracks.

“And if that day never comes… I’ll still be glad I met you. I’ll still think you’re brave for even sitting here right now.”

His voice caught at the end, just slightly — enough to make your chest tighten.

For a heartbeat, it looked like he might cry.

But then he smiled. Just barely. A little sad, a little accepting. And when he spoke again, it was quieter, almost like it wasn’t meant for you to hear — like it was something he’d already accepted in the quietest parts of his heart.

“Even if you end up finding someone else… I will still think about this.”

You didn’t know what to say. Words felt too small for the weight of what he’d just given you — something so gentle, and yet so devastating.

You didn’t speak.

You reached out instead — hand brushing his, fingers trembling — and laced your pinky with his.

He looked down at the touch. Then back at you.

And for once, he didn’t try to fill the silence with words or jokes.

He just held on.

---

The sky was bruised with early morning light when you found yourself in the greenhouse.

You weren’t sure what pulled you there — maybe San’s voice echoing in your head from days ago, maybe the part of you that couldn’t stop thinking about the way Wooyoung had looked at you like he was letting you go just to make you feel free.

Maybe you were tired of being afraid.

The glass walls let in soft gold light, and the air smelled of damp earth and something alive. The space was quiet, warm. Peaceful.

San sat near the back, legs crossed beneath him on a bench, a book in his lap. He didn’t look surprised when you entered — like maybe he already knew you were coming.

You stood awkwardly for a moment before stepping closer.

“I didn’t come to study,” you said.

He smiled faintly, setting the book aside. “I didn’t either.”

You sat across from him, the little table between you filled with scattered pages, succulents, and a small ceramic frog someone had left there weeks ago.

For a long time, you just looked at each other.

Then you spoke.

“Wooyoung told me he’d be okay if I didn’t choose you both,” you whispered. “Said he’d still be grateful. Even if I found someone else.”

San’s brows furrowed slightly, his jaw tightening, but not with anger — with emotion.

“I think that broke my heart a little,” you admitted, voice shaking. “Because… he meant it.”

San nodded, slow and steady. “He did.”

You took a breath. It felt heavier than it should have. “I didn’t realize… how much love can look like letting go.”

San leaned forward, arms resting on the table, voice low. “That’s what makes it real. Not just the bond. Not fate. Choice.”

You looked at him, and this time, you didn’t shy away from his gaze.

“I’m scared that if I let you both in… you’ll see all the parts I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden. And you’ll love me anyway. And then I won’t know who I am without that love.”

San’s eyes softened, his expression still and grounding — like he was holding space for you without trying to fix you.

“Y/N,” he said gently, “loving someone doesn’t erase who they are. It just gives them more room to be.”

You stared at him for a moment. “How are you so calm about this?”

His lips curved into the faintest smile. “I’m not. I’ve just spent more time thinking about you than my fear.”

You looked away, overwhelmed.

But then you felt it — his hand, reaching out across the table, palm open. Not grabbing. Just waiting.

You didn’t think.

You placed your hand in his.

Warm.

Steady.

No pressure.

Just San.

And for the first time, you thought: maybe I can do this.

---

It started with a text.

San: We’re heading to get icecream in a bit. You’re welcome to join. No pressure. We’ll be at the parlor by the cafe.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a plea.

It was just… an open door.

You stared at the message longer than you needed to. Then you packed your bag and left before you could talk yourself out of it.

The icecream parlor was quiet — all hushed voices, the occasional sounds of the freezer running, and late-afternoon sun filtering in through tall windows. It cast a warm glow across the marbled tables and wooden floor, soft enough to make it feel like a different world.

Wooyoung looked up first when you approached.

He didn’t react dramatically — no wide smile, no flirty comment, just a soft blink of surprise followed by a warm, quiet grin. The kind that said you’re here without a single word.

San gave a small nod, already clearing a spot at the table between them.

You sat.

No one spoke for a while. Not in the way that felt awkward — in the way that felt comfortable.

San was already with you eating icecream as Wooyoung was ordering his.

You looked at them once Wooyoung sat down, San offered to pay for yours as a "Thank you for letting us take you here" gift.

At one point, Wooyoung offered you a bite of his icecream. San rolled his eyes thinking he was trying too hard. You glanced at both of them, your chest tightening a little — not with fear this time, but with something warmer.

There were no dramatic declarations. No glowing threads buzzing like sirens. Just the gentle presence of two people who wanted you close, even if it meant sitting in silence.

And somewhere in the middle of that quiet, you realized:

This — this space, this peace — was its own kind of love.

You didn’t say anything.

But you stayed.

And that, for now, was more than enough.

---

The walk back to your dorm was… peaceful.

Wooyoung talked about some ridiculous online quiz he took that said he was a golden retriever (he wasn’t even mad — just proud), while San chimed in occasionally with dry remarks that made both of you laugh harder than necessary. The thread around your wrist pulsed gently with their presence, but not in a demanding way — just there, like a heartbeat.

No fighting. No forcing. No fear.

Just three people walking home under the orange glow of streetlights.

When you reached your building, they didn’t linger.

“Thanks for coming today,” San said softly, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung added, leaning back on his heels. “You have no idea how much that meant to us.”

You smiled. “It meant something to me too.”

You didn’t have to say more than that.

They nodded, like they understood.

Inside the dorm, you barely had the door shut behind you before Hyojin popped up from the couch, eyes wide with anticipation.

“You’re glowing,” she said instantly, pointing at you. “Suspiciously.”

You rolled your eyes and kicked off your shoes. “I was literally just studying.” You lied. You were technically already on a first date with them eating Icecream.

“With two soulmates who are in love with you,” she sang, wiggling her eyebrows. “Don’t play coy with me. I’m emotionally invested in this fanfiction of a life you’re living.”

You laughed, a little breathless, a little tired.

“I’m serious though,” she said, walking into the kitchenette. “You need a change of scenery. Some dopamine. Some dancing. Good timing — Yunho and Yeosang are throwing a party tomorrow night. You’re coming.”

You blinked. “Yunho and Yeosang?”

“Yep.” She tossed you a granola bar. “One’s an extrovert golden retriever in human form — basically Wooyoung but louder — and the other’s a soft-spoken intellectual who wears sweaters even when it’s 90 degrees. He literally pulls Yunho away from dance circles by his collar.”

“…So, you and me, but more chaotic.”

“Exactly,” she grinned. “Yunho’s been asking if I’d bring you around anyway. Says Yeosang needs new people to judge quietly.”

You gave her a look.

“Come on,” she said, flopping onto the couch again. “You’ve spent weeks hiding. You deserve one night of music, weird drinks, and watching some guys do the worm badly on a hardwood floor.”

You hesitated.

And then… nodded.

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s go to a party.”

Hyojin beamed. “Hell yeah.”

---

The music was way louder than you expected.

As soon as you stepped into the off-campus house, the bass hit you in the chest like a second heartbeat. Lights glowed warm and golden, laughter spilled from the kitchen, and someone had already spilled something sticky on the floor by the entryway — probably juice, possibly regret.

Hyojin tugged your wrist. “Okay, rules,” she shouted over the music. “Don’t drink the neon stuff. Don’t make eye contact with anyone doing interpretive dance. And if Yunho challenges you to karaoke — run.”

You laughed, nerves dissolving into adrenaline.

That’s when he appeared.

Yunho, tall and glowing like someone physically made of sunshine and Red Bull, bounded toward you both with open arms. “HYOJIN! You brought your mysterious roommate!”

“She’s not mysterious,” Hyojin shouted back. “She’s emotionally complicated!”

You gave a weak wave. “Hi.”

Yunho spun dramatically and pointed to the guy standing stiffly behind him, sipping from a plain paper cup like he didn’t want to be perceived.

“And this is Yeosang. He hates this.”

Yeosang gave you a polite nod and a “hello” so soft it nearly got swallowed by the music.

“I don’t hate this,” he muttered. “I’m simply observing this social chaos with anthropological detachment.”

“I once caught him reading Plato in a hot tub,” Yunho said proudly, already turning away like he hadn’t just exposed Yeosang’s deepest philosophical sins.

Yeosang stared ahead, expression perfectly blank, save for the smallest twitch of his eye. “…He tells everyone that.”

You tried — tried — not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway.

Before either of you could recover, Yunho took off like a rocket across the crowded living room, yelling, “Mingi!” like it was both a greeting and a battle cry.

Your eyes followed him just in time to see him tackle a very surprised — but delighted — Mingi onto the floor. The two of them dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, limbs flailing as people parted around them like it was normal for grown men to recreate WWE in the middle of a house party.

You glanced sideways at Yeosang, who hadn’t moved an inch, his cup still delicately held in one hand as he watched his best friend roll around on the hardwood floor.

“…Is he?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

Yeosang sipped his water like it was a fine wine, voice deadpan. “Drunk? Yes.”

You snorted, covering your mouth as a laugh slipped out.

Yeosang’s lips quirked, just slightly. “He gets like this when he’s happy. Or when he’s had anything mixed with blue raspberry.”

“Both, then?”

“Undoubtedly.”

The two of you stood there, quietly united in mutual secondhand embarrassment, watching Mingi attempt to pin Yunho while yelling, “SURRENDER TO YOUR DESTINY.”

You leaned in slightly. “Should we… help?”

Yeosang took another sip. “No. They’d just drag us into it.”

You nodded. “Smart man.”

For a moment, the party seemed to blur in the background — too loud, too fast — but right there, beside Yeosang and his cup of water, everything felt still. Safe. Strangely comforting.

And then a voice called from behind you—

“Y/N! San’s about to lose at flip cup, come watch!”

Wooyoung, of course.

Yeosang sighed lightly. “Good luck.”

You smirked. “Want to come?”

He shook his head. “I’m the designated plant guardian tonight. Someone has to keep the fern alive.”

You left him to it, weaving through the chaos toward the rest of the night — but not without glancing back and seeing Yeosang gently move a party cup away from the fern like it was sacred.

You were definitely coming back to talk to him later.

You didn’t mean to start a conversation with the guy in the flannel.

He’d bumped into you near the kitchen, offered a quick apology, and then started chatting about the playlist. He was funny. Not in a flirty, overbearing way — just easy to talk to. You weren’t thinking about anything beyond the song and the shared complaint about how warm the room had gotten.

But across the room, Wooyoung saw it happen.

He’d just returned from cheering San on in an incredibly one-sided flip cup match (San was losing. With dignity.), when he spotted you near the counter, laughing softly as Flannel Guy leaned in a little closer — just a little — to say something in your ear.

Wooyoung paused mid-step, the grin on his face faltering for half a second.

He wasn’t angry.

But something in his chest tightened.

He knew — he knew — you weren’t his. Not in the possessive way. Not in the way soulmates get written in stories, where the bond means instant belonging. That wasn’t how he saw you.

But he also knew how hard you’d worked to be open. How slowly you’d let your walls down. How every glance, every conversation, every inch of closeness with him and San had been earned with time, not thread.

And now Flannel Guy was standing too close, and you were smiling in that soft, slightly shy way Wooyoung had come to treasure like a secret.

San appeared beside him, holding two drinks. He followed Wooyoung’s line of sight, instantly zeroing in.

“That him?” he asked, tone even but eyes sharp.

“Who?”

“The guy you’re absolutely not staring at like he’s a threat to your entire bloodline.”

Wooyoung blinked, then snorted. “Okay, dramatic.”

San handed him one of the drinks. “You are going over there?”

“Nope,” he said quickly, then added, “Yes.”

He didn’t storm across the room. Didn’t interrupt.

Just appeared next to you, sliding into the space beside you with practiced ease, that trademark Wooyoung smile back in place — charming, casual, just a little too bright.

“Hey,” he said, nudging your arm. “You vanished. Thought maybe you were pulled into a karaoke cult.”

You looked up, surprised. “I was just—”

“Talking about the playlist,” Flannel Guy offered, clearly catching the shift but trying to play it cool. “You’re her friend?”

Wooyoung glanced at you, then back at him. “You could say that.”

The guy nodded, but the energy had shifted. You could feel it — subtle, but unmistakable.

Flannel Guy made a polite exit a moment later, something about checking on his friends, and you turned to Wooyoung with a lifted brow.

“You, okay?”

Wooyoung shrugged, sipping his drink. “Fine. Just… don’t want you getting stuck talking to a guy who thinks ‘early Drake’ is a personality.”

You raised a brow, amused. “That’s a very specific accusation.”

“I know his kind,” he said seriously. “They carry acoustic guitars to bonfires.”

You laughed — but you didn’t move away.

And Wooyoung smiled at that.

Just a little.

The party had started to wind down.

The music was still thumping, but slower now, more background than center stage. People drifted toward couches, clustered in corners, or disappeared into late-night walks and whispered laughter.

You found Wooyoung and San on the back patio — Wooyoung perched on the arm of a bench, San leaning against the railing, both of them quiet in that familiar way they got when the world slowed down around them.

They looked up when you stepped outside, your expression unreadable.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Can I talk to you both for a second?”

Wooyoung blinked, then stood up straighter. San gave a small nod, eyes steady on you.

You walked past them, to the far end of the patio where the light didn’t quite reach — private, but not dramatic. They followed, like they would’ve gone anywhere you asked.

You turned to face them, heart hammering in your chest.

“I need to say something,” you began, voice quiet but sure. “And I don’t know if it’s going to come out perfectly, but…”

You exhaled, looking between the two of them.

“I see you. Both of you.”

They didn’t speak — didn’t move — but something in their eyes softened.

“I see the way you’ve been holding back. The way you’ve waited for me to be ready. How you’ve never pushed. How you’ve been patient and kind and just… here.”

You looked down for a second, then back up, meeting San’s gaze first.

“You listen more than you speak. You give space even when it probably hurts to. You look at me like I’m already enough, even when I’m not sure I believe it myself.”

Then to Wooyoung.

“You make everything feel lighter. You make me laugh even when I don’t want to. And even when you’re hurting, you still show up like you’re the one trying to make me feel safe.”

Wooyoung’s lips parted, a quiet breath catching in his throat.

“I know this bond is supposed to mean something,” you continued. “But you two are the ones who made it feel real. Not fate. You.”

They were both completely still now — not out of shock, but because they didn’t want to break the moment.

“I’m scared. I’m still scared,” you admitted, voice cracking just a little. “But not of you. Not anymore. I think I’ve just been scared of being loved the right way. Of being known.”

You let the silence sit for a second.

And then: “But I think I’m ready to stop running.”

Wooyoung was the first to speak — barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to jump in all at once. We’re not going anywhere.”

San stepped closer, not touching you, but close enough that you could feel the steady calm of his presence. “We’ll meet you wherever you are.”

You nodded slowly; eyes misty.

And then — for the first time — you reached out, you bridged the gap.

You took both of their hands.

One in each of yours.

And when the threads pulsed between all three of you, soft and steady, no one flinched.

---

The dorm was quiet when you got back.

Hyojin had left a note on the whiteboard stuck to the door: “Crashing at a friend. Try not to emotionally combust without me. 💖”

You smiled faintly as you slipped inside, flipping on the little lamp near your desk. The overhead lights stayed off — too harsh for how full your chest already felt.

Wooyoung and San followed behind you, quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward or heavy, just… comfortable. Familiar. Like the air after a storm.

You dropped your bag and kicked off your shoes, curling up on the edge of your bed as they settled in, like they’d done it a hundred times before.

Wooyoung sat cross-legged on the floor beside your bed, chin resting on the edge of the mattress. San leaned back in your desk chair, spinning slowly, rhythmically, his gaze soft as it drifted between the two of you.

No one spoke for a while.

And it was nice.

Eventually, Wooyoung broke the silence. “I missed this,” he said, voice low, like anything louder might shatter it.

You looked at him. “We didn’t really have this yet.”

He smiled. “Still missed it.”

San added quietly, “This is the first time we’ve all felt… aligned. Together. Without fear between us.”

You nodded slowly, pulling your knees to your chest.

There was no grand gesture. No dramatic music. Just the three of you sitting in the soft haze of a new beginning.

Eventually, Wooyoung nudged your leg with his elbow. “Can I—?”

You didn’t let him finish.

You reached down and laced your fingers through his.

At the same time, San stood and walked over, crouching beside the bed on your other side. You held your free hand up, and he took it without hesitation.

And just like that — the three of you, linked quietly, hearts in sync — you sat there in the dim dorm light.

No pressure.

No fear.

Just a beginning that felt soft. Safe. Real.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to run from it.

San turned toward you gently, his hand still holding yours — grounding, warm, sure. You met his gaze, and something inside you melted at the way he was looking at you. Like you were something sacred. Like he couldn’t believe he got to be this close.

You took a breath, your heart fluttering like soft wings in your chest.

Then, without thinking — no overanalyzing, no running — you leaned in.

And San met you halfway.

The kiss was soft. Careful. Like he was afraid to break you. But underneath that caution was something deeper — a longing that made your fingers tighten just slightly around his.

You felt him breathe against you.

He kissed you again — deeper this time, like he didn’t want to stop, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

And you let him.

You wanted to.

San’s heart was beating so fast you could almost feel the rhythm through his skin, like it was trying to leap out of his chest and into yours.

Then—

A very dramatic throat-clear.

“Okay, my turn,” Wooyoung announced, tapping San’s shoulder like he was cutting in at a dance.

San broke the kiss slowly, his face flushed and dazed, as he turned to look at his best friend.

“You’re seriously—”

Wooyoung was already leaning in, eyes twinkling but filled with something sincere behind the playfulness. “It’s only fair.”

You turned your head toward him, and before you could say anything, he kissed you too — but not the same.

Where San had been slow and steady, Wooyoung was soft and sweet and just a little smug about finally getting his moment. His hand gently cupped your cheek, his lips brushing yours like he’d dreamed of it but never dared to rush it.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Worth the wait.”

You blinked, breath catching in your throat.

And then San — who still hadn’t let go of your hand — leaned his head against your shoulder with a deep sigh.

“I hate how smooth he is sometimes,” he muttered.

You laughed, tears stinging the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming warmth, the safety, the sheer realness of it all.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

But right here, in the quiet warmth of your dorm, with both of them beside you — one grounded, one glowing, both yours — you knew one thing for sure:

You weren’t afraid anymore.

You leaned down in bed with them as they both held you in their arms from opposite sides.

---

The sunlight slipped through the blinds, golden and slow, warming the room just enough to make getting up feel illegal.

You were barely conscious, your face smushed into a pillow, your body tangled between limbs that weren’t entirely your own. One of San’s arms was looped around your waist, his breath soft against the back of your neck. Wooyoung’s legs were thrown over both of yours like he’d lost a battle with gravity sometime during the night and just made peace with it.

There was a quiet creak — the door opening.

“Morninggg—” Hyojin’s voice cut off mid-yawn, followed by a beat of silence.

You blinked slowly, groggily lifting your head and squinting at her like a confused meerkat peeking out of a blanket nest.

Hyojin’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

“Well, well, well,” she said, arms crossed. “Looks like Y/N got herself a whole cat harem.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a muffled, exhausted noise.

San groaned softly behind you, pulling the blanket higher over all of you without even opening his eyes. Wooyoung cracked one eye open, saw Hyojin, and mumbled, “This isn’t a harem. It’s a heat-efficient cuddle pod.”

Hyojin snorted. “Sure, okay. Let me know when you start charging admission.”

And with that, she shut the door with a cackle, disappearing down the hall like the menace she was.

You let your head drop back onto the pillow, caught somewhere between embarrassment and the warm, sleepy contentment of knowing you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

San hummed softly. “Did she say cat harem?”

“Don’t ask,” you mumbled.

Wooyoung shifted, nestling his face into the crook of your shoulder. “We should’ve locked the door.”

“Next time,” you sighed.

Neither of them moved.

Neither did you.

Because honestly? It was kind of the perfect morning.

The day started simple enough.

You'd suggested brunch. Wooyoung had offered to cook. San immediately declared he would supervise, which actually meant doing absolutely nothing useful. Hyojin, coffee mug in hand, sat on the counter like a queen surveying her kingdom of idiots.

“What are you making again?” you asked, tying your hair up and peeking into the fridge.

“Kimchi fried rice, soft scrambled eggs, and maybe some pancakes,” San replied, already slicing scallions with precision.

“Wow,” Hyojin said, sipping her coffee. “You’re really out here being a better partner than half the men on this campus.”

Wooyoung spun dramatically toward her. “Excuse you, I am also contributing.”

“To the chaos,” San muttered without looking up.

Wooyoung gasped. “I am the heart of this kitchen! The ambience! The charisma! The—”

“You’re the reason we’re out of clean spatulas,” you pointed out, holding up the one he used last night to “mix” instant ramen seasoning directly in the bag.

He winked. “Innovative, not destructive.”

You rolled your eyes.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung was trying to focus, but San kept stealing bites of the chopped kimchi and turning up the volume on his “Cooking with Soulmates” playlist, which currently featured 2000s boy bands and at least one anime opening.

“San,” Wooyoung said patiently, “please stop dancing while I’m using a knife.”

“You can’t stop the rhythm, bro.”

You laughed as Wooyoung gave you a look like, see what I deal with?

Then—sizzle, pop, clatter.

San had turned too fast and knocked a bowl of eggs onto the floor.

“Oops.”

Wooyoung dropped his head onto the counter.

Hyojin didn’t even blink. “There it is. I was wondering when chaos would strike.”

Wooyoung crouched down to clean it up with a dramatic sigh. “I’m too pretty for this world.”

“Too clumsy, you mean,” you said, grabbing paper towels and helping.

Despite the mess, laughter kept bubbling up. The apartment was full of it — warm, genuine, the kind that made you forget about everything else. By the time the food was finally plated (only slightly delayed by Wooyoung burning one pancake into a hockey puck), the four of you were crowded around the table, mismatched mugs and all.

San looked over at you, smile soft.

“You good?”

You nodded, already reaching for your chopsticks. “Yeah. I’m really good.”

And as you listened to Hyojin roast Wooyoung for the third time that morning while he fake-cried into his orange juice, and San calmly ignored them both while handing you the best parts of the kimchi rice—

You realized this was your new normal.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

---

It happened on a Tuesday.

The kind of Tuesday where the sky was impossibly blue, students were sprawled out on the quad like sleepy cats in the sun, and the stress of midterms hung just slightly less heavy in the air because someone was handing out free donuts by the library steps.

You’d just finished your psych lecture, notebook tucked under your arm, earbuds half-in. San had texted to say he and Wooyoung were waiting for you by the big tree near the fountain — the one you always ended up circling like a moth on days you didn’t want to head straight to class.

You spotted them instantly.

San, legs crossed in the grass, flipping through his annotated copy of something you definitely weren’t going to read unless threatened. Wooyoung, lying flat on his back beside him, sunglasses on, hoodie hiked up just enough to show the thread on his wrist glowing warm in the daylight.

When you approached, Wooyoung sat up. “There’s the smartest person in our polycule.”

“We’re not—” you started, but San just smirked and patted the spot beside him.

You sat down between them, letting your bag slide off your shoulder.

San casually reached over to tuck your hair behind your ear, fingers brushing your jaw for a beat longer than necessary.

You froze for half a second. Not because you didn’t like it — but because people were around. Out here, in the open.

San’s hand dropped, and he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

But Wooyoung saw it. Saw you.

And without saying a word, he reached out and slid his fingers through yours.

No big gesture. No loud announcement. Just a simple act of affection.

And you didn’t pull away.

You let him hold your hand, and you leaned a little into San’s side.

Someone nearby whistled. Another person did that thing where they nudge their friend like, “Look, it’s the soulmate trio.”

You didn’t run.

You didn’t hide.

You just smiled, cheeks a little warm, heart a little full.

“PDA level one unlocked,” Wooyoung whispered proudly.

“Don’t make it weird,” San murmured, but he was smiling too.

---

It was after your late lab, and the sky had dipped into that perfect indigo blue — the kind where the stars were just barely starting to show, and the streetlights cast soft halos on the brick paths winding through campus.

San and Wooyoung had waited for you outside, like always.

Wooyoung had your favorite drink in hand — slightly melted but still sweet — and San had that patient look on his face, the one that said take your time, we’re not in a rush.

You walked between them, your bag slung over one shoulder, all three of you heading toward the front gates where Wooyoung had parked his bike like a chaotic gremlin on two wheels.

It was quiet. Not awkward — just that kind of peace you’d learned to love. The kind that only came from being around people who didn’t need to fill the silence to feel close.

You passed the student center — a few people milling around, sitting on steps, laughing in small groups. Someone waved at Wooyoung. San nodded to a guy from one of his lit classes.

And then you stopped.

Not because of anything specific — no grand thought, no particular reason.

Just… because you felt it.

You turned toward Wooyoung first, reaching out to brush a bit of his hair away from his eyes where the wind had pushed it.

He blinked, lips parting slightly, like he was about to make a joke — something light, something very him.

But you didn’t let him.

You leaned in and kissed him.

Right there, in the middle of campus, under the glow of a streetlight.

Soft. Sweet. Real.

His breath caught — just for a second — and then he kissed you back, one hand resting lightly on your waist like he was afraid to hold too tight.

When you pulled away, his eyes were wide, stunned, lips still parted.

“Whoa,” he breathed. “I wasn’t— That was—”

“I know,” you said softly.

San, behind you, let out the softest exhale of a laugh — warm and fond.

“You’re not even gonna warn us anymore, huh?” he teased gently.

You turned, reaching for his hand. “It just felt right.”

And it did.

Not because of the thread.

Not because of the bond.

But because it was you. And them. And this life you were slowly building, piece by piece, kiss by kiss.

---

It was later that night, after the campus had quieted and the stars had taken over the sky completely.

San walked you back to your dorm — not because he had to, but because he always did when it was just the two of you. The quiet walks had become a thing between you. No pressure. No rush. Just matching footsteps and the occasional shoulder bump under the moonlight.

Neither of you had brought up the kiss yet.

Not the one with Wooyoung.

Not the way it had happened — publicly, openly — like your heart had just decided it was done hiding.

You unlocked the door to your dorm, letting it click behind you softly, and dropped your bag onto the floor with a tired sigh.

San leaned against the wall beside your desk, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his head slightly downturned like he was thinking through every word before he even said it.

You turned to him, waiting.

It was quiet for a moment.

Then—

“That kiss today,” he said softly, not looking at you just yet, “it wasn’t mine. And I still felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

You blinked, heart stuttering in your chest.

“Not because I was jealous,” he added quickly, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. “But because… it was real. And I’ve never seen you look so sure before. So free.”

You stepped closer, slowly.

“I was,” you said. “I am.”

San smiled — that small, quiet smile that didn’t need to be wide to mean everything.

“I’ve been waiting for you to let yourself want us,” he whispered. “Not just accept the bond. Not just stay. But want.”

You were close enough now to touch. You reached up, brushing a stray piece of hair from his forehead, fingers lingering at his temple.

“I do,” you said, just as quietly. “Want you.”

That was all it took.

San leaned in, slow, searching your face one last time — like he needed to see you give him permission even after hearing the words.

You closed the space for him.

The kiss was soft. Warmer than the first one. Deeper. Calmer. It didn’t burn, it settled — like sinking into something safe.

When you finally pulled back, you stayed close, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in.

“Feels different when it’s just us,” you whispered.

San nodded, lips brushing yours again as he spoke.

“It always does.”

It was raining when you arrived at their dorm.

Not the dramatic, thunderous kind — just a gentle, steady rain that made the windows blur and the world feel slower, quieter. San had texted you earlier: “Come over. Stay the night. Bring your comfiest hoodie.”

So you did.

Wooyoung opened the door before you could even knock, like he’d been waiting with his ear pressed to it. He was wearing pajama pants and one of San’s old t-shirts, and his smile lit up the dim hallway like sunshine in a storm.

“You’re here,” he said, and it wasn’t a question — it was a confirmation of something he’d been hoping for all day.

You stepped inside, brushing raindrops from your hoodie as San appeared behind him, hair damp from a shower, holding a mug of tea that he wordlessly handed to you.

“Chamomile,” he said. “For settling in.”

That was exactly what this night was — settling in.

No pressure. No grand gestures. Just warmth.

The dorm lights were low. A candle flickered on the windowsill — something cinnamon-sweet and comforting. The sound of rain tapping against the glass filled the quiet spaces between your words.

Wooyoung made popcorn — burned the first batch and blamed the microwave. San changed the playlist three times before settling on soft acoustic songs. You curled up on the bed between them, a blanket draped over all three of you, legs tangled and laughter easy.

At one point, Wooyoung tried to explain the plot of a movie he only half-watched last week, and San kept correcting him with actual facts until Wooyoung gave up and fake-sulked into your shoulder.

You kissed the top of his head. Just because you could now.

San was leaning against the wall behind you, fingers lazily tracing shapes on your thigh beneath the blanket. He wasn’t saying much — but his presence wrapped around you like gravity. Quiet, grounding, always there.

Eventually, the conversation faded, the rain still whispering outside, the playlist down to nothing but soft instrumentals.

You shifted, nestling closer to both of them, and whispered, “This feels like home.”

Wooyoung hummed sleepily, half-asleep already. “That’s because it is.”

San kissed your temple. “You’re not visiting anymore,” he murmured. “You’re just… with us.”

And that night — wrapped in their warmth, the bond humming quiet and content — you believed it.

---

The rain had stopped sometime in the early morning.

The world outside the dorm window was still, soaked and silver-blue in the soft pre-dawn light. Inside, it was warmer — cocooned in quiet breaths and shared blankets, the air heavy with sleep and something else.

You lay between them in the tangle of sheets, Wooyoung’s arm draped lazily over your waist, San’s fingers still linked with yours from the night before. None of you had spoken in hours. Not even in whispers. Just soft sighs, slow heartbeats, a peace so deep it didn’t need words.

And then it happened.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

It was a feeling — deep in your chest, blooming behind your ribs like light warming the darkest part of you.

The thread.

That red, pulsing thread you’d feared for so long.

It tightened.

Not in a choking, panicked way. Not like it was pulling you in.

More like it was settling. Finding its shape around the three of you. Completing a loop that had taken its time, been patient, never forced you — just waited.

A quiet click, almost metaphysical — like the final piece falling into place.

You felt it hum beneath your skin, and this time, instead of fear, you felt complete.

You shifted slightly, just enough to see both of them. San stirred first, eyes still half-lidded but aware. Wooyoung blinked slowly, sleep still soft around the edges of him.

“…Did you feel that?” you whispered.

San nodded, voice gravelly. “Yeah.”

Wooyoung’s smile was slow, drowsy, genuine. “Finally.”

None of you moved to sit up. None of you needed to.

You just breathed together, wrapped in each other — the bond no longer glowing, but settled.

No more tugging. No more questions.

Just quiet connection.

A single thread. Three hearts.

And everything that came next.

•

A/N: Again! I hope you enjoyed :3 It is sort of my first soulmate au story and I'm fairly new so let me know how I did ^^ (I tried ;'3)

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vaginalvr · 2 months ago

Text

Homecoming, nsfw

spencer reid x reader

a/n I was bored, enjoy this

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

The door creaked open, and there he was—rumpled, exhausted, beautiful.

"Hey, stranger," you teased lightly from the couch.

Spencer didn’t answer with words. He crossed the room in three uneven steps, dropped everything he was carrying, and practically collapsed into you, wrapping his arms around you like he thought you might vanish if he let go.

You laughed softly, threading your fingers through his messy hair. "Bad trip?"

He made a helpless noise against your throat, something halfway between a groan and a whimper.

"I missed you so much," he rasped. "Couldn't sleep. Couldn't think. Everything felt wrong without you."

Your chest ached at the rawness in his voice.

You cupped his jaw and pulled him back enough to see his face—eyes glassy, pink mouth parted like he was desperate for something he couldn't name.

"You’re here now," you murmured. "I’ve got you."

That was all the permission he needed.

He kissed you like a drowning man, messy and frantic, hands shaking as he pushed under your shirt to feel your skin. His whole body trembled with it—need, pure and unfiltered.

"I thought about you every night," he mumbled against your mouth. "Jerked off thinking about you. Didn't even care if the team heard me—just needed you."

You gasped, grinding your hips against the hard length straining in his pants.

"Fuck, I need you," he whimpered. "Please—let me make you feel good. Need to—please—"

"Shh," you soothed, already undoing his belt with shaking hands. "I’m right here."

He helped you strip both of you down, but he was frantic—fumbling, clumsy, pressing kisses anywhere he could reach in between, like he couldn’t stand to lose even a second of contact.

When you were finally bare together, he dropped to his knees between your thighs on the bed, hands gripping them like he needed to hold on or he might fall apart completely.

"You’re so pretty," he whispered, voice breaking. "S-so perfect, fuck—"

He kissed the inside of your thigh, mouthing at your skin, leaving messy, open-mouthed kisses all over your hips, your stomach, your chest.

"Been dying to taste you," he said, breath hot against your core. "Please let me—please."

You nodded, and he dove in, tongue lapping at you greedily, almost desperately. It wasn't practiced or smooth—it was frantic, overwhelmed, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you all at once.

"God, you’re so sweet," he groaned. "Could stay between your legs forever, fuck—"

You whimpered, threading your fingers through his curls, tugging sharply. He whined into you, hips grinding down against the mattress like he couldn’t help himself.

"Spencer—" you gasped. "I’m close."

"Please," he begged, voice breaking. "Please come for me. Need it—need to feel you—please, baby—"

You shattered on his tongue, body locking up, a soft sob ripping from your throat. Spencer moaned like he was the one coming, clinging to your thighs, licking you through it like he couldn’t get enough.

When you finally sagged back, boneless and shaking, he crawled up your body, his cock rubbing slick and heavy against your thigh.

"Please," he whispered, voice wrecked. "Let me inside. Let me feel you."

"Spence," you breathed, cupping his flushed cheeks. "Of course. Always."

He pushed in with a broken sob of relief, like the feeling of your tight heat around him was too much, too good. He buried his face in your neck, whimpering with every slow, deep thrust.

"So good," he choked out. "S-so good, baby. You’re everything. You’re all I fucking need."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts, each one a little more desperate, a little more frantic.

"Can't—" he gasped. "Can't last. Feel too good. F-fuck, baby, you’re perfect. You’re mine."

"You’re mine too," you whispered fiercely. "Always."

Spencer let out a wrecked moan, kissing you like he could pour all the love he couldn’t say into you through his mouth. His pace stuttered, hips jerking as he spilled inside you with a broken cry of your name.

He clung to you after, trembling, still pressing little kisses against your cheeks, your collarbone, your mouth like he couldn’t stop.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely, over and over, like he thought if he said it enough you’d never let him go.

You kissed his forehead, his hair, his shaking hands.

"I love you too," you whispered back.

Spencer let out a soft, shuddering sigh and finally—finally—relaxed against you, whole again.

His cock was still buried inside you, twitching faintly, his whole body trembling from the force of his orgasm.

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, murmuring soothing words, but he just clung tighter.

"Don't—don’t let go yet," he whispered, voice thick and shaky. "I-I need you still. I’m sorry, I just... I can’t—"

You blinked, surprised. "Spence, baby, you don’t have to apologize."

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were still blown, lips swollen from kissing you like he meant to devour you.

"I know I just came but..." he swallowed hard. "You feel so warm. I still—fuck, I still want more."

You smiled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. "You're shaking, honey."

"I know," he admitted, almost embarrassed. "But my body’s still buzzing. I need to be inside you a little longer. I know I’m sensitive, but—"

His hips jerked involuntarily as he tried to move, and he let out a wrecked whimper, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"Jesus, it hurts... but it feels so fucking good," he gasped.

You clenched around him just a little, and he moaned—high-pitched and needy, like you’d just touched a live wire.

"Oh my god, don’t do that again, or I’ll—fuck—"

"You’ll what?" you teased gently, cupping his flushed cheek.

He was panting now, twitching inside you, face twisting between pleasure and overstimulated agony.

"I’ll fall apart again," he whispered. "I’ll cry if you make me come like that again. I—I want to. Please, just—just stay like this."

You kissed him slow and deep, and his hips jerked again, cock twitching helplessly inside you.

He let out the softest broken sound against your lips.

"You’re unreal," he breathed. "You ruin me. You fucking own me."

You started to move slowly—rocking your hips up into his, just a little.

Spencer gasped, whole body locking up.

"Baby—oh my god—fuck, please—slow—too much—"

But he didn’t stop you.

In fact, he began to thrust back, his movements jerky and almost frantic, like he was chasing the high despite knowing it would destroy him.

"You’re gonna make me lose it again," he sobbed. "I’m already so fucked out, and I still want more. I'm sorry—I just can't stop wanting you."

You kissed him, whispering against his lips, “Then don’t stop. Let me watch you fall apart again.”

That was it. His pace faltered, body trembling like a live wire as he gripped your hips and tried to keep moving.

"F-fuck, I’m gonna come again—I can’t—I—"

He came with a cry that was damn near a whimper, body convulsing in your arms. His face twisted in something close to pain, overwhelmed and totally undone, mouth open in a silent moan as he emptied into you again, weaker this time, softer—but somehow even more desperate.

He collapsed with a choked breath, still twitching, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

You stroked his back gently, kissing his temple. "You're okay, baby. I’ve got you."

Spencer nodded against your chest, voice almost childlike when he mumbled, "You always do."

You held him close, letting his heartbeat slowly come back down to earth.

Wrecked. Whimpering. Utterly yours.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way

a/n I love me a pathetic man hope u liked

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut

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hcneymooners · 6 months ago

Text

thinking of chef!sevika...

suggestive content. men & minors dni.

🫕 and how the two of you met least luxuriously. you had gone on a terrible date - the kind where the conversation was tepid as lukewarm soup, where you watched the other person cut their food into increasingly smaller pieces just to have something to do with their hands.

🫕 you'd stolen away to the bathroom and found yourself wedged between the open window and sill, desperate for air untainted by forced laughter. thinking of how you got stuck and she looked up at you, as if you were suspended in a baroque-era painting, all twisted limbs and desperation. you'd reached out to her, a stranger in the alleyway of a restaurant, and asked for help.

🫕 she'd lifted you free with hands that spoke of years in kitchens - calloused, sure, strong - and you found the ground beneath your feet again, hair slightly mussed from all the movement. thank you, you said and she'd smiled so that you could see the body of the cigar held tightly between her teeth. she had a gap-tooth smile that reminded you of warm bread torn apart, and you thought of it all the way home and even after, constantly.

🫕 thinking of chef!sevika and how you met again, this time at a group function at some lush little eatery off a street you didn't know had any reputation in the city. it was a birthday party so the place had been rented out and you were pressed back-to-back and front-to-front with people who you knew nothing of, but shared memories of the birthday girl with. it was nineteen twenties themed so you'd gotten a jet-black wig, short and curling softly at the apples of your cheeks, and had ornamented yourself with an authentic flapper dress: glittering sleekly in the perfect shade of baby blue. your diamond necklaces were long and layered, your mother's relic.

🫕 the noise had become too much - crystal glasses clinking like wind chimes in a storm - so you'd slipped away, found a door marked 'staff only' and pushed through into blessed quiet. you've tucked yourself into this side kitchen, where the air smells of reduced wine and fresh herbs.

🫕 chef!sevika who's surprised to find you lounging in her extra kitchen, who hides a smile as you dip a finger into a plate of artfully smoked salmon laid out in thin blush slices against a fan of pita and sauce. she's older than you, carries it in the silver threading her temples, in the assured way she moves through her domain.

🫕 her knife work is hypnotic - you watch her hands move with the surety that comes from decades of practice, the blade an extension of herself. curious little thing, she murmurs, but slides the plate closer to you instead of pulling it away.

🫕 you start bringing her things after that night - rare spices from specialty shops tucked into quiet corners of the city, flowers still warm from the morning market, cookbooks with cracked spines from antique stores.

🫕 she teaches you to taste properly: eyes closed, breathing in the steam of broths she's spent hours perfecting. slow down, she'll whisper, one hand on your wrist, savor it. and you learn to do just that - to savor everything about her, about this slow-burning thing between you.

🫕 in her kitchen late at night, you watch her alter recipes. she lets you be her tester, feeding you tiny portions from wooden spoons worn smooth with use. too much salt? she asks, and you shake your head, entranced by how she makes notes in a leather-bound journal, her handwriting precise and slanting. you're perched on a counter, legs swinging, and she moves between stoves with the grace of a dancer. sometimes her hand brushes your knee as she passes, and you feel it like a flame.

🫕 she teaches you to make pasta on a sunday morning, the kitchen filled with golden light. her hands guide yours through the motions of kneading, and you lean back against her chest, feeling how your breathing slowly synchronizes. patience, she says, when you want to rush. good things take time. you understand she's not just talking about the dough beneath your fingers.

🫕 your first real kiss tastes of the cardamom ice cream she's been perfecting - sweet and complex and slightly spiced. she cups your face in hands that smell of basil and butter, and you think about how many ways there are to feed someone, to nourish them.

🫕 months pass like honey dripping from a spoon. you build rituals together: morning coffee in the garden she's started growing herbs in, weekend trips to farmers' markets where she charms every vendor with her expertise and that gap-toothed smile. she teaches you the names of every herb in her garden, how to tell when tomatoes are perfectly ripe, the secret to properly seasoning cast iron. you teach her how to slow down sometimes, to leave the kitchen and dance with you in the living room, to let a meal be simple if it means more time to kiss.

🫕 you surprise her on her birthday by converting the spare room into a spice library - floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with jars from your travels together, each one labeled in your careful handwriting. she cries, just a little, and you kiss the salt from her cheeks.

🫕 the proposal happens in her kitchen - where else? - while she's teaching you to make her grandmother's secret recipe for braised short ribs. this is a family secret, she says, and then pauses, wooden spoon halfway to the pot. i suppose you should be family then. you nearly drop the wine you're holding, and she laughs, deep and rich. marry me, she says, let me feed you forever.

🫕 the wedding is in autumn, when the air is crisp and sweet with falling leaves. she spends days in the kitchen you built her, crafting a feast that tells your story: the smoked salmon from the night in her extra kitchen, pasta rolled by four hands instead of two, herbs from your shared garden. your dress is the color of a deep forest, and when you walk down the aisle, she cries again, just a little.

🫕 there are harder days, when eating feels like swallowing stones. she finds you curled on the kitchen floor one morning, the marble cool against your cheek. without a word, she sits beside you, gathers you into her lap like something precious.

🫕 hey baby, she whispers against your hair, and her hands are so gentle as they trace the hollow spaces of you. she feeds you breakfast slowly, carefully - warm bread torn into tender, small pieces, drizzled with honey. each bite is followed by a kiss: to your temples, your shoulders, the soft plane of your stomach.

🫕 you're here, she reminds you, you're safe. and you are - safe in this kitchen that smells of rosemary and rising dough, safe in her arms that have always known how to hold you.

🫕 later, when you're stronger, she shows you another kind of recipe. dark chocolate melting on your skin like sunset, the sharp bright burst of reduced raspberry sauce. the secret, she murmurs against your collarbone, is the canvas. her tongue traces patterns like plating designs, and you laugh, breathless, at how she makes art of everything. my masterpiece, she calls you, and you feel beautiful, consumed, cherished.

🫕 the cookbook comes as a surprise - you find the proof copy on her desk one evening. "recipes for my love," the title reads, and inside are all your favorites. each recipe comes with a story, a memory. "the secret ingredient is time," she writes in the introduction, "and someone worth spending it with." it sells out in weeks, then months. "it's like reading a love letter," the reviews say, and you blush every time, even as you beam with pride at how she's shared your love with the world.

🫕 thinking about how your home becomes a sanctuary, especially for jinx and isha. they come at all hours - after fights, during celebrations, on quiet sunday afternoons when they just need to be somewhere warm.

🫕 sevika teaches jinx knife skills while you and isha roll out cookie dough, all of you covered in flour and laughing. the cool aunts, they call you, but you know it's more than that. it's the way sevika always knows when to start making hot chocolate (the real stuff. none of that synthetic crap, she grumbles), the way you keep their favorite snacks in the pantry, the way the kitchen island has become a confessional booth where secrets are whispered and hearts are allowed to be swollen with grief .

🫕 kitchens are for healing, sevika says one night, watching you all from the doorway. jinx is asleep on the couch, isha curled up beside her, and the house smells like the cookies you'd stress-baked together after a particularly rough day. you lean back against her chest, feeling her heartbeat strong and steady. and for family, you add, and feel her smile against your hair.

🫕 thinking of how the years pass like this - measured in meals shared, in recipes perfected, in late-night comforts and early morning kisses that taste of coffee. your love never spoils, never grows stale. it only deepens, like a good red wine, like a soup that's been simmering all day.

🫕 sevika still feeds you from splintering spoons, still kisses your stomach on hard days, still looks at you like you're the most exquisite dish she's ever created. and you still perch on counters to watch her work, still bring her flowers and spices, still catch your breath at the full force of her smile.

🫕 in the end, it's simple: your kitchen is your heart, and your heart is always full.

me 🤝🏾 my eating disorder and subsequent recovery 🤝🏾 wanting to marry someone in the food industry.

#sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika #sevika my love #arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #fluff #light angst #mine ; 🐎.#female!reader #arcane x female reader #fem!reader #sevika x oc

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empathicliar · 6 months ago

Text

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀what you deserve ¸.•* eren yeager.

𝟔𝐤. 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 , 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝.

༺❀༻ || 𝐬𝟒!eren , 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫!eren , 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲-𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤!eren , college ua , for my caramel babies , eager!eren , she / her pronouns , overstimulation , sweet talker , lots of kisses , multiple orgasm's , strangers to lovas , plot based , no protection , cream pie!! >~< , dirty talk , use of pet names.

" when you put a lil' umph in it, that's when i lose control. "

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

there's only so much you can handle in a day's worth before overstimulation kicks in. rocking in a chair for four hours while getting a new row of ginger bundles sewed in by your auntie is already enough. gossiping about how your uncle is a piece of work can get added to that list too.

the white juicy couture track suit you have on is hugging your curves tighter than normal. you have ymir's 'friend' historia to thank for that. you'd only spoken to her once about how loose your tracksuits were and how badly you wanted them tighter and she got to work, completely redoing the threading to boost your ego a little to much.

eager with your hair to be done, you'd already marked a couple of other errands off the list. your fingers nails are coded with medium length cut-out shaped nails. a white base with some carnation pink painted bows. not wanting it to be to basic, you got some pink and white zebra stripes on your middle and pinky fingers.

your white painted toe-nails are covered by the ugg's you had to throw on due to the weather. you were always saying you hated summer until it wasn't around anymore and the cold had you shivering in the warmest of places.

its something about looking, feeling and smelling good that has you obsessed with yourself all over again. the vanilla scent is leaking off every surface of your body, the oil drops in your purse coming in clutch every time you wanted a refresher.

it's about four pm when your hair appointment is done. its something simple you could always deal with. 18 , 22 , 24 inch hair reaching your plush ass, your back already itching from the prickling nest.

" thank you s'much auntie! " you're exclaiming in her ear, already squeezing her to death with a hug.

you're not even close to being done. this winter break is going to be different. you naively figured you could get everything you wanted done while in college, yet when you finally touched the grounds it's like your shoulders slumped further down into a unforgivable pattern.

you stopped taking care of yourself mentally. you never stopped being a pretty bitch, nothing stops that. you got all the main things done. your hair was always styled, you don't play that. you're always soft and buttery smooth. the pet peeve for any hair on your body making you cringe.

you were always smelling good, it just became apparent you weren't going out of your way to take enough time for everything. by the time five rolls around, your sitting on your phone outside of your homegirl's house, waiting for her to get home.

mirrors by jhene aiko is playing softly in the back, your tinted windows are up and the bag of chick-fil-a nuggies are half eaten to your right. being your passy princess until further notice.

it doesn't take long for nicki to get to her place. she has big shopping bags in her hands, big balling on one of these cold ass afternoons. " you have a key to my house, you could've went in. " nicki reminds you, it slipped your mind completely. you glance at the hello kitty charm that hung in-front of your key fob, your dorm room key and her house key.

the long, black table you'd laid on more time's than your own bed has a ring light above it. a strollie with different lash things you'd never taken a hobby to is on the right side of it and the actually bundle set you asked for sits beside a bottle of water. eating the rest of your nuggets while nicki took a few bites of her salad, you both talked for God knows how long.

it's been a while since you've been in this cozy place. the apartment is on the first floor and in a gated community. you were so proud of nicki, she kept her word on making it big in life.

" you still going to ymir's tonight? " she asking while scratching the top layer of your lashes. wrong decision. it's like talking through an intense orgasm. your grabbing her hand to stop her to reply. she's only laughing at you the whole time.

" y-yeah girl i am. " your muttering out, your own laugh pouncing off the walls. nicki is a pro when it comes to getting you up and out of her chair satisfied. she snaps a video of the lashes and your making a fake brave face the whole time trying not to chuckle from the silence.

your in your car again by seven o'clock. playing with your hair in your review mirror, tucking the strands behind your ear and letting the multiple fans in your car fully dry your lashes. the song is back to playing at it's last pause while you move your lid's up in a uncomfortable position and let the air hit the base of your water lines.

you've driven to ymir's place so many times from nicki's house, you've gotten familiar with every back road, speed bump and pothole. the potholes brings back a awful memory of damage you wanted no part of remembering.

the weekend commute of straight peace was in motion. you got to ymir's house later than usually and took a joyful stride to your favorite love seat. the comfort makes you stifle a moan. you've done to much today to not get a break.

a song from ymir's recycled playlist is playing, it might be from sza's new album but you aren't to entirely sure. the only thing on your mind is food and weed. in the middle of the table there's snacks. cheddar popcorn, cherry bite twizzlers, some sour gummies and gushers. you opted on the popcorn and two packs of gushers.

on the back, light tan wall is a flat screen tv that's curved more towards you than it is connie and you finally correct your suspicions when you notice the name of the song and artist. i knew it, your thinking out with bunched up arms.

its seems like its been to long since you've been here and genuinely had time to stay.

since college had started in february, you branched out quickly when it came to friend groups. it wasn't a challenge when said friends had been around since high school. ymir, the brown haired girl with freckles and the nicest jaw line known to man offered you weed for exchanged of a pencil in junior year and connie, a surly boy with short, almost balding grey hair and a sleeve tattoo his mother didn't approve of just so happened to be next to you pouting from your win.

only a month into knowing them both, you were already coming to ymir's house and smoking like no tomorrow. connie tagging along some of the days, but he was mostly with his own group at the time. after high school, you figured this was going to be the time you all parted, saying ' i'll see you tomorrow bitch!' and never actually seeing them.

you were more than wrong when you realized you all had been planning to go the same paths.

those year's led up to these moments. now, every weekend ymir would host these little... parties or when it was strictly chill vibes and no one had the time or the energy to run around with don julio in each hand. she would host a small kickback. only inner friends only.

that consistent of you, ymir, connie's dumb ass, a girl named sasha, who connie knew in pre-school, sasha's close friend jean or john. you'd forgotten a little to quickly for your liking. they'd been coming around for months and last and least, jean's friend eren yeager.

eren's... alright. you don't have anything bad to say about the boy. he's always sweet enough to you but it seems like every time you want to engage in a conversation, its over shadowed by whatever else someone is saying. at the end of the day he's still a stranger you hadn't taken the full time to get to know. it's funny how many times you'd shared a blunt with him, lip's colliding yet never learned a single thing about him.

he has a attracting spirit. the kind you found hot to an extent. he's the type to wear strong fragrances to turn heads and its exactly what he does. that skunky scent of lavish soap and expensive cologne he seemed to never leave the house without was a dead give away he was in the area. he's always adorn in sweat pants and baggy shirt's that don't do him any justice.

you could tell he takes pride in his look, well he somewhat did at least. he always has this self-approving look on his face. his fingers are always decorated with silver rings that go well with the skeleton bone tattoo that paints from his left veiny hand to his shoulder.

it makes it hard not to look his direction when he makes such a grand entrance. he's a real eye catcher, a pretty boy you knew shouldn't be anywhere in your area. you don't do good with flirty looks and bed room eyes. they could lead you to a spare bedroom any fucking time.

" |⋆|, ghost face or michael myers? " ymir asks, breaking you out of your mini tundra.

" probably ghost face, he's so fuckable. " connie rolls his eyes, taking a big hit from the blunt he'd been preparing for minutes. the bud is covered in ashes' by the time he pulls away, heaps of smoke coming from his side of the room.

sasha, who got the second best seat in the house sat a few feet away from you. she giggles. " real recognizes real. " you nodded with a smirk and clapped her hand, the noise echo's in the spacious living room.

" you nigga's are just freaky, that's all it is. " you almost let a 'shut up connie.' fall from your lips but the front door opens. in walks the person who was always late. eren. he has his hands in these loose, black sweat-pant pockets, you don't have to see those daring fingers to know he has them covered with hard looking rings. the grey t'shirt he's wearing has a design on the front you cant really decipher.

" what's up yeager. " eren tilts his head up for a greeting and makes his way to connie. his plush lips twist into a confident simper as he daps the two guys up.

eren's speaking again, taking a glance at the table with half of the snacks missing and only two rolls left. " y'all couldnt wait on me? "

" you take forever. " you say, bringing a dark blanket to your chest. " so what? " eren replies with smugness, his green eyes peering at yours with pure coy. you only return it with your infamous eyeroll to kill his dreams.

'i hate a nigga that knows he's good looking. '

" you live the closest. " stating the obvious, eren plops down in the seat in between connie and jean, folding his arms over the back, man-spreading his clothed legs to get some more room. its like he knows you want to look at his every move. he's too damn fine for his own good.

it isn't long before he's changing his seating position and he's reaching at that brown wooden table for a pack of rolls and the weed grinder. he opens the black container – seeing connie left him enough for one blunt. he's taking his win quickly.

finger's making quick toil on folding the creases in, tongue slipping out to seal it. you're face is fuming when he brings the lighter to the end of the blunt and the light reflects on his face. he's so focused on the misty smoke and not wasting the little he has, he doesn't notice the gushing look he's getting from the woman across the room.

'did it just get hotter in here or something?' you take a glance to the thermostat next to the goldish rimmed painting hanging above your head. sixty-seven degrees and no showing of anything getting hotter anytime soon. you chew on your lip. its probably that thick ass blunt ymir made you. it has to be kicking in or something.

speaking of the freckle faced stoner, she walks back into the room, you hadn't even noticed she'd gotten up. she's empty handed, using one of her hands to swipe a strand of hair out of her face. " bro, can we start the movie? i'm tryna' hang out with historia later. "

sasha ooo's like a school girl, wiggling her pale, small fingers teasingly at ymir. " you're always with historiaaa~. " sasha has this silly smirk on her face and the brown skinned girl groans from it, flipping her middle finger in her direction.

usually it takes a while to pick a movie. by this time the weed is hitting all of them and blurring the limit for time. they would often scroll through the same list on netflix and not even realize it.

this time is a little different, ymir is in a real rush to get to this 'friend' of hers. she has the tiny roku remote in her fingers as she continuously flicker through the movies. she ultimately stops on a scary movie and clicks the screen. she sends a look around the room for any concerns then actually plays the movie.

before the credits have even started the pop of a chip bag is already sounding around the room and cheesy flavoring is flooding your senses. sasha's wincing with a pouty smile, not realizing how alerting the noise was.

the first scene is a white girl manually popping corn. the volume is low but the surround sound speakers ymir got installed almost a year ago make it seem much louder. it isn't long before that same girl is killed in front of a big front yard.

by the time the movie ends, everyone is pretty much out of it. heads leaning on arm rest's. the lighters have stopped clicking and the smell of weed isn't prominent as it used to be. you'd grown used to that cozy smell. the foggy room is actually clear for the first time in years.

wiping your eyes like a kid, then realizing you had on lashes. you curse underneath your breath. looking around the quiet room, sasha and jean are sleeping soundly. connie was sleep twenty minutes into the movie. you could hear his loud ass snores. ymir isn't even in the room anymore. the second the movie ended she was gone out the front door but not without giving you a loused side hug.

you figured you were the only one functioning correctly and tossed the blanket to the side. the cold sends chill's down your arms but you don't mind it. it feels sort of good. your painted feet hit the tiled floor with a small 'plap' sound and you glance around the room to make sure it hadn't woke anyone up.

" where you going' ? " jumping, the fabric of your white, zip up jacket is grasped. instead of consoling your fear, the mad-man laughs.

" stop laughing bro, i almost had a heart attack. " you pause, taking a breath. " thought yo ass was sleep. " you explain further, standing up fully and getting a good, well hazy look at eren. his phone light is on dim and he's barely bringing it up high enough to make it known he's awake.

both of his shoulders are pretty much in use by the two boys he's squished in between. instead of looking uncomfortable, it looks like he found slight comfort in them being next to him. it's leaving a smile on your face instead of a panicked frown.

he hum's, dropping the dark phone in his lap. " still didn't answer my question. " you tilt your head, thinking back to said question.

when it finally hits your scuzzy mind, you're letting out a soft 'oh!' " no where, well i don't know. i just want some fresh air. " you're falsely admitting, stretching your body to release any tension.

did you really need some fresh air or were the stirs from connie and jean making it known they could wake up and once again take away the little time you had to get to know eren? it's probably the bud thinking for you at this point.

" you can come with me. " turning on your heels, you almost miss the several groans from jean and connie from being pushed aside. " you that eager nigga? " questioning with the slightest amount of tease, he's right behind you in a heart beat.

" nah. " turning back to look at him, he's already looking at your back side with a smirk. his own limbs being stretched out. he slips on his slides and you didn't feel like putting on your boots, so you opted on stealing ymir's flip-flops she kept by the door.

you didn't really plan this far out. it has to be around eleven or so, your to high to drive home, you actually didn't need any air and you can already tell its cold as hell outside. it was just the perfect excuse to get out of that room and into a more private one with eren, no one was going to interrupt your mission.

men are so easy, your practically nodding to yourself. ymir's back door is opened and closed within seconds, the back porch is nicely clean except for a few leaves and dirt that you didn't really care about right now, you swiped some dirt off the second step and shuffled to the left to give him some room.

eren is sitting down on the first step soon after, without the hassle of wiping anything down. now, its quiet and cold, and there's really nothing to say or do when the wind is speaking.

" how long you been in shiganshina? " he asks after long periods of silence.

" my whole life. " your replying, low eyes blurry with the upcoming mist from the weather. " and you? "

" born and raised. " then its quiet again. your messing with your acrylic's , only looking up when a tree bristles loud enough to sound like it might fall.

" those are really pretty. " quirking your head up, it seemed like you're staring into a bottomless pit of beauty. eren's not even paying attention to anything but you and the way your skin is still so moist in such cold air.

its little details on his face you thought you'd already noticed before that have you feining. you squint your eyes. his nose is pierced on the right side. the actually dot isn't a dot like yours. its a silver star that's small but glance worthy when anyone see's it.

his hair looks so healthy, not only in the sun but also in the moonlight. you're kind of jealous of that. even in its normal state in that low back bun, you can tell he isn't using men's one-hundred in one. the wind casts a breeze in your direction, that's giving you another reminder. the soft smell of lemon and something sweet like pineapple's is hitting your nose. such different smells that go rewardingly well on him.

" gimme' your hand. " your obeying it without question, he chuckles at the haste and you dare to drag your hand away. " i'm playing pretty, i just want to see. "

" why? " asking nicely and still letting him slither those slender, tattooed fingers over your bedazzled nails, he's humming again and not answering your question now.

" hello? " rubbing his thumb over your knuckle gently, the calluses of his own has you quietly swallowing. he perks your hand up finally and actually looks at the nails now. " my bad, my mom does nails. " you frown, still not understanding what that has to do with him looking at your hands like a meal.

giving him a better show, you half curl your hand and lay it side ways in his own. your palms touching and forming heat you didn't know you needed to entirely bad. " so? " you mutter, not returning the eye contact you know he has on you.

" nothing, she could just do better than this. " he flaunting out, stretching those delicate fingers ever so slightly. you don't even realize he brings both of your hands down and resting them on his rough lap, you're to focused on the cute little gesture's he's making.

" you letting me meet your mommy already? " it was cute how he wanted to get his mom some new clients, he must be a momma's boy. eren's nodding instead of laughing though, replying with simplicity. " yeah. "

" what's up with you bro. " you chuckle. " i don't even know your birthday and your trying to let me meet your mom's- "

" march thirtieth. " cutting you off, you almost forgot you had even said anything about a birthday. your brain is realtering itself to remember that date when this high is over.

eren's not ashamed to look at the prize he wants. he's been plotting for fucking months and nothing is going to break him out of this. his low, emerald eyes are falling down the pattern of your silver zipper, falling into your lap. undressing those lacey panties he just knows you have on under those pants.

it has you shying away, wanting to turn around in your respectful seat. that's when it hits you. that grip on your hand wasn't from your other one. it's from his, unmoving and finally locking into those intimidatingly attractive eyes, your glancing at those wet lips he managed to always keep looking mushy.

you know they are the softest lips you'd ever feel. like pillows sent from heaven. you grip his hand, no longer just wanting to feel his sweaty palm, but those fingers- his fore arms, his strong shoulders. everywhere he'd allow you.

" eren... " encaging his fingers into a tight hold, he takes a quick look at his thigh. he isn't able to hide the side smile that's forming. you don't even know why you're calling his name, you just wanted him to say something with that slutty voice of his. – just acknowledge you in every way possible.

" yeah? " your beady eyes are watering from the constant pressure of wind and its becoming so fucking obvious you both don't want to be in the cold anymore.

" what are you trying to do? "

" you want me to be honest baby? " baby... that word has you dripping, squeezing your thighs together to take away that ache in your cunt. you nod. you can't find those confident words anywhere in sight. its hard to say men are easy when you're soaking just from being close to him.

" i wanna take you to a room and make you feel real good. " his head is cocking to the left and those eyes he kept on you are dropping lower. his hand twitches in your grasp and it doesn't take much to know he's putting you in eight different positions in his head.

" we don't even have to fuck, i just want to eat your pussy. "

your mouth lathers with saliva, and your standing up to entirely quick. eren is laughing behind you and your so horny you don't even tell him off. you don't care about the three people on the couch sleeping good. you want to take this pretty boy up on his offer.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⚔︎

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

folded up, knees to your chest. the air is hitting your warm pussy. your panting from the littlest touches to your body. plush form being demolished by the stronger man keeping you still. eren has his hands in the bottom creases of your knees, applying pressure that only gives you minimal lay away to move around.

your pussy is leaking on the sheets, all type's of fluid leaving a stain you didn't care for. he's mouthing on your cunt, his spit coating your pussy in a new layer of slick. eren kept his word. he didn't need to fuck you to feel good. he made that known when he took a long lick from your entrance to the top of your cunt in a slow strobe, whimpering hard.

" stop squirming baby. " he's muttering into your pussy, kissing your puffy clit. face full of your cum and arousal. he's so deep in between those legs he can barely breathe. his stubbled chin constantly coming in contact with your needy, waiting entrance.

you cant keep your hands from gripping at any and everything. your holding onto the spare room pillow, covering your face and mouth to keep the others from hearing the total mess you're steady becoming.

" nah, move that. " you don't listen, your voice pouty and muffled in the pillow. eren doesn't have time to play games with you, he's been doing that for months. he snatches the pillow away himself and throws it at the wall.

" i wanna hear you. fuck them. " your spasming on his tongue again before you can speak. weeps of moans falling on deaths door from the amount of pleasure happening on your pretty pussy. your hiccupping from the lack of air entering your lungs, to caught up on the way eren is twisting his tongue over your sensitive clit.

eren's been licking, flicking and sucking on your clit for almost a hour. he just can't get enough of you. you taste so sweet and tarty, its like a fucking desert he can only indulge in. anything your body is willingly to push out for him to taste he's sucking it up.

fucking his tongue in and out of your tight hole, eyes open the entire time to watch you come undone. your hair is sticking to your face, the ginger bringing the caramel out of your skin and aiding your beauty. he didn't think you could get any more sexier.

" fuck baby, " smacking your inner thigh, he gets a breather before he actually dies in the best way possible. " pussy to damn dangerous. " he's huffing and hitting those soft, thick thighs, wanting nothing more than to leave his marks on your skin.

your cute little face scrunches and yelps fill the room, his mouth falling back on those fat lips to get another sample, tasting that sweet juicy fruit. his jaw is hurting and damn near begging for it to end but he doesn't give a fuck. he wants to make you feel good, too good.

your to much of a pretty girl to not have someone in between these legs every day. " 'ren! " eren speeds up, ignoring those pleas. " 'ren, baby please. " you're begging, the knot in your stomach forming from the endless pleasure. you don't know if your begging because its too much or he's to damn good at this and you need to repay him somehow.

– between the base of your thighs being smacked and the vibration of eren moaning, a shock ascends throughout your body. cumming for the third time that night. stars are forming in the far corners of your eyes. it feels like eren has full control of your body. he's keeping you still with only two arms and smirking from how fucked out you already look.

your body is still twitching and it takes a army and every working limb you have to pull him off of you by his hair. he's raspy and to happy for someone who could've died from being to pussy drunk. your chest is heavy and it feels like you can finally inhale properly.

" my bad. " sheepishly apologizing, he plants a soft kiss to your abused clit and toothily smiles when you give him a death stare. gently bringing your knees from your squished chest down, he's kissing your sore knee-caps, wetly sucking on the frontal part of your thighs.

somethings bothering you heavily and its making your chest warm unnaturally seeing him care about every aspect of your body. " why are you taking care of me? "

" whatchu' talking about? "

" this. " you lazily point at his hands that sting a way into your pores. " you kissing on me like you love me and shit. "

" wouldn't go that far. " your rolling your red eyes again and dragging a hand down to your tummy, letting it rest for the time being. " this is mandatory though. you just fuck with the wrong boys. " you want to take it as a stray but actually process it. have you really been messing with guy's who didn't think to care for your body?

it has you recurring every misaligning person you let into your safe space and have a way with your figure. " hey, don't think about it " eren snaps in your face. " that's why i'm here, ima take care of you baby. promise. "

biting your lip, your pushing everything away because he asked you too and something about that foreign feeling doesn't feel to damn bad. you don't have it in you to talk or ask him for anything else, but you spread those legs of yours and beckon him to come here. how can he ever say no to you.

he's shuffling in-between you, applying his hand on one of the pillows next to your head. you stare into his alluring eyes, raking your hand from your own stomach to his. he's gulping, his adam's apple plumping with nerves.

" you wanna fuck me yeager? " he feels like a virgin when you speak like that. anxious and scared to disappoint, he's nodding, bring his head down to plant a soft kiss to your plump lips. just like you thought, they're so pulpy and flush. he kisses like butter, like a piece of bubble gum that's so slinky you almost want to swallow it.

the kiss is deepening with the mood, the fist in his hair is keeping him from cumming in his pants. he almost doesn't want to pull away but he can feel her dripping under him and there's only so much his dick can take before it's begging to be buried inside that soft cushion.

he's making quick work with his clothes. sitting on the balls of his feet, he's tugging his shirt over his head. the sight of his toned chest has you gawking. it's a good thing he only wore comfy clothing, you would've pounced on him the moment he walked into this house.

" take your time... " you joke, casting your surly eyes to the space below your plush tummy. tapping your nails on your stomach. he's already groaning from the sight. you didn't think he could get any faster, he's slipping out of pants and those tight boxers in second.

to say you were disappointed never crossed your mind. you're actually fucking nervous. he's thick, with a healthy pink tip and some inches that make you squeeze your stomach in.

" don't go getting scared on me pretty. " stroking his length, he's bringing your left leg up, kissing the base of your ankle sloppily. his dick is leaking with pre-cum, slouching his tip on your clit. you both let out a soft gasp.

the feeling is euphonic, sensitive clit being brought back to life with one little swipe. your grinding lightly on his tip and he's hissing from how wet she is. " yeah baby, mhmm... you know how to do it. " he praises, his teeth biting into his cheek.

" put it in 'ren. " lifting your hips, you get so close to pushing his dick in and he aids it, his brows knitting, mouth falling open when he aligns it right, sliding into your entrance with ease.

the moan's fall off the wall. he's stretching you so well. the pain almost feels too good. your mouth shaped into a 'o and your hands are fumbling for something new to grab. eren has his head draped down to watch him slip inside of that pussy that cant help but suck him in.

he's whimpering when you clench- moaning when you're folding your legs around him to push in deeper. it's like he can cum from this alone. you just hugging him in has him gapping.

" pussy to fuckin' wet, fuckkk. " he's groaning out in between deep thrusts, pace picking up fast as fuck for someone on the verge of tapping out. your body is following his orders, back arched with intent to make him feel good. eyes rolling from the captivity of his being.

its almost to much when he pushes in to deep, hips runting into your poor cunt like she hadn't been through enough. his tip is ramming into that gushy spot inside of you that has your brain shuttering to working. your mewling loud -- unable to form a single coherent word.

legs pulled tight to hold him in, cunt tightening on his dick making his steady thrust sloppy for mere seconds before he's back to putting in work. dainty fingers coming to rest on his v-line, not pushing but not letting him reach that spot that makes you go fucking crazy. he's silent with how bothered he is about that hand, he knows you're still sensitive and recovering from those heavenly orgasms, but he's to entuned to stop when he knows it'll make you feel so, so good.

" move it. " he's stating with attitude, you refuse to and he only slows down. you whine from the loss. your moaning his name pathetically, lifting your own hips to get that feeling back before its gone. he holds your supple hips down, leaning down to kiss and fondle with your brown nipples.

" e'ren, come on! "

" you gonna keep that fuckin' hand down? " you nod, panting, surprised you were even able to speak in the first place. he's returned that pace little by little, watching your fingers retreat to one of the blue pillows behind your back, eyes closed.

head hanging low, hair coming out of that bun from all the tugging, he almost looks like a greek status above you- one hand on your tummy, squishing it down to feel the cave his dick is making, the other bringing your left leg back to his lips, folding you – he's to caught up in how response you are to his touches.

propping your ankle on his shoulder, leaning down to look you dead in your watery eyes. you cant shy away from nothing now. he's thrusting in deep, pussy gushing all over the sheets and his length. eye's faltering when it comes to keeping that contact.

" i'm so close baby. " he's warning you and your nodding to agree with him, your arms lifting to his neck, dragging him down for a kiss. tongue lacing with his like second nature – eyes shut when that knot in your guts is on the verge of breaking and broken cries are falling in between the kiss.

" gonna cum in you baby, you don't mind that d-do you? " to head-struck, your nodding like a idiot in heat. that gives eren a new goal, he's stroking in like a wild animal, biting his lip so hard it bleeds when you squeeze him.

trying your hardest to keep your moans in, eren pushes in one last time and hits that blurry spot that renders you brain dead. your moaning, clawing on his v'line with that new set to keep him from moving. cunt completely spent and aching again when eren is painting your walls white.

the warm feeling only making it worse, now he cant move or you might regret it. eren's heaving, one hand on the headrest to puff out and rush in the smell of sex, vanilla and shea butter.

" fuckkk i gotta' get you a plan b asap. "

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

©𝙀𝙈𝙋𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙄𝘾𝙇𝙄𝘼𝙍 any sort of stealing or modifying is prohibited, mess with your momma not me.

#omg is that neemie? ✩#eren yeager #attack on titan #fanfic #blktumblr #anime #eren fanfiction #black reader #eren x reader #aot smut #eren x you #neemie's babies.#explore #university

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hai7ani · 10 months ago

Text

我的心肝宝贝 / i have found you / haitani rindou

sequel

losing your memories after a terrible car crash that's left you confused, quiet, and a little clumsy afterwards. all confidence had left your soul just like the past 2 years of your life, and honestly, you didn't think you'd be able to get through not knowing anything. things had changed a lot from when your memories had last stopped at.

you still manage to pick yourself up, however, even though it'd took you quite some time to gain back the confidence to go out in public with the blank and empty feeling in your head, your heart. you still don't remember much from the memories you've lost, and you find yourself constantly searching for something that you don't know.

and now you're in Don Quijote a little after 9 to run some errands for your mother who insists you go alone this time. before you left she had claimed that this may be helpful for you. she'd pointed out that this used to be your favourite place to visit at night when you had nothing to do. at first you didn't understand what she meant by it 一 you couldn't figure out why a place like Don Quijote would be somewhere you like spending time in, considering the loud, overwhelming music constantly playing through the speakers and the crowds of people who were somehow always everywhere in all corners of the store.

until you're queuing up for checkout and you hear a deep voice call for your nickname that you haven't heard in a while. you don't recognise the voice, though, and you think to yourself that this might be someone you had known just before you had lost your memories.

so you turn around, already getting ready to say the words you find yourself repeating quite a lot recently.

"i don't remember you."

the man before you is tall. he towers over you, he's a little tanned, and he's also the same guy you'd made eye contact with a while ago when you were browsing for ramen. you remember he had been staring 一 he seemed very mysterious, but you didn't think of him as creepy nor did he give off any human-trafficker vibes, and he never once broke eye contact too when you were passing him at the aisle.

"hi," you start with a little smile, and he thinks your eyes are bright with so much sun despite it being nighttime and you don't seem to be bringing anything up. he looks at you with an expression you think strangers don't normally give to another stranger, so you figure he must be someone you had known closely before.

"i, um," you blink once, twice 一 suddenly feeling a little out of breath and warm 一 and your chain of thought gets interrupted when he takes a step closer to your body. you can smell the hints of tobacco off his clothing and you resist the urge to pick away a loose thread from the collar of his black coat. the sudden temptation to do that was shocking to you, as you'd never felt anything like this before to anybody you've met recently.

then he lowers down a little to grab the handle of your basket and swiftly places it on the conveyor belt when you don't notice the cashier calling out for you (your back had been turned).

"thank you." you say as you start pulling out your wallet, getting ready to pay.

you turn to look up at the man again while waiting. you had bought quite an amount of items today, so this would give you time to converse with him.

"i'm sorry, have we known each other before?" you begin. you notice from his body movement that he is a little stunned when you'd asked him that, because he had taken a step back and frowned. he seems a bit confused as he curls his fingers inwards and forms his big hands into fists. the Don Quijote song plays softly in the background as you stare at each other like that 一 as he swallows the pit in his mouth, as you dig for just anything at all, right at the core of your brain.

nothing.

you decide to explain further when he doesn't budge. "i'd just lost my memories recently, from a car accident. i don't remember anything from the past 2 years..." you bite your lip, trailing off.

"so if we had known each other during those times, i'm really sorry, but i don't recognise you at all." your shoulders slump as you say it to him.

during those times.

you feel a little something, probably in your heart, rip apart inside of you when you see the light in his eyes swiftly disappear. you think the purple of his orbs had just turned into a darker shade. from violet to eggplant, his frown disappears, and he opens his mouth to speak-

"cash or card?"

you hurriedly look away from him and he sighs. out of relief, out of disappointment, or out of sadness?

"oh, cash-"

out of nothing but love.

"...we're paying together." he slams his own basket on the conveyor and eyes the cashier in a way that would've made you squirm out of fear because he looks so intimidating. "make it quick." he's stern when he says it, and the poor cashier looks so afraid that she does make absolute quick work of scanning his items together and checking you both out. but surprisingly to you, you don't sense any malice in his voice. you know he didn't mean anything bad by it -- he'd just really wanted it to be quick.

he's a nice guy, just a bit rough. he doesn't know how exactly to be polite. he has good intentions. he speaks up a lot, but he doesn't voice out very often.

you know. you want to tell her that. but he covers your sight by stepping in front of you and hands the lady his card.

(you end up sliding the cashier a piece of sticker you'd randomly found in your purse while mouthing a quick "sorry!" to her on your way out of the store.)

ane now you're standing outside the store, under a dim lamp post and you're searching for something inside your bag of groceries.

and he watches as you fish out a bag of chips, rip an opening easily, and hand it to him with a big smile. "here! my treat for paying for my groceries."

oddly to you this entire interaction feels so normal. usually a stranger would've never let another stranger pay for their things this easily, but with this man, it feels fine. it seemed okay to let him do that. you feel like this has happened before.

"why this snack?" is what he asks when he grabs a chip from the bag and shoves it in his mouth. he chews and chews and grabs another and chews, and your smile grows even wider when he finally takes the entire packet away and starts eating it like it belongs to him.

"dunno. i thought you'd enjoy it." you shrug, "and you do seem to actually enjoy it. i'm glad. i didn't buy it for any reason exactly, just felt right for me to grab it off the shelf."

he cracks a smile at that.

"you really don't remember me?"

"no, gosh, i'm sorry. what's your name?"

he eyes the small purple keychain of a specific initial hanging off your handbag. you hadn't switched it out even after so long, he realises.

...perhaps you did feel the same for him after all.

regret.

longing.

maybe still some love.

"Rindou. i am Rindou."

you give him a smile. he feels young all over again because you're looking at him the same way you always did.

"hello Rindou, i am y/n." you giggle as you say it, knowing he already knows, but you still want to say it anyway.

"were we friends? where did we meet?"

he sucks the flavouring off his thumb. it starts snowing a little. Don Quijote is no longer lit up and noisy as they start closing up the store.

"here." he looks down to the packaging in his hands and folds it nicely before throwing it in the trash. you tilt your head to the side, obviously extremely confused and a little nervous.

"we met here, two winters ago. i was lost as i was new to tokyo, and you bought me this snack as a cheer up before walking with me to my hotel."

"...and?" you grin, patiently awaiting for the rest of his response. it felt good to know you were nice to him back then 一 that this place was also coincidentally where you'd first met him with him eating the same snack that you bought for him.

a light layer of snow starts covering your head and shoulders, but he is warm when he moves closer to you and pats them away gently.

he then slides his hand down to rest it on the back of your head.

and he kisses your forehead.

you think you want to melt away like the snow on the ground. you think the empty feeling inside of you has been filled and you don't ever want him to leave again.

you think you have found what you have been searching for so feverishly after losing your memories.

"i loved you before."

you don't move in his arms when he snakes them around your figure 一 as he pushes you anymore closer to himself, into his chest.

you hear his heart beat for you before your ears.

"i still do."

in chinese we have this term of endearment: 心肝宝贝 (xin gan bao bei) which is a very cheesy endearment for a loved one, commonly used by parents for their child, but it can be used between lovers as well.

心 xin (heart) | 肝 gan (liver) | 宝贝 bao bei (baby/sweetie for endearment, commonly used between lovers) = basically saying that you are just as important as my heart and liver

i was picturing rin saying this to her in his heart when he was hugging and pushing her to his chest :(((

#writing #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #haitani rindou x reader #rindou haitani #haitani rindou #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers #tokrev #rindou x you #bonten #bonten x reader

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snail-day · 6 months ago

Text

This is your home!

TW: Yandere behaviors, Kidnapped-ish Reader, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Older man x College student! Reader, Toxic relationship, Drugging, trapping. Gn! Reader

Wc: 1.3k

It seems like only a year ago you attempted to break up with your partner.

No—my deepest apologies—you tried to break up with your partner.

You see, he was the kind of lover who made you feel trapped. A man a few years older than you, with a stable job and a steady income, who somehow managed to fall for a mere college student.

That should have been your first red flag.

He begged you to move in, claiming your co-ed dorms weren’t exactly the safest. Did you really enjoy sharing a shower room with strangers? Was that the kind of life you wanted?

So, of course, you followed the hand that fed you. You were young, naive, and far too eager to believe in happily-ever-afters.

You moved in—why wouldn’t you? He was handsome, older, and confident, and his apartment was immaculate, with matching furniture. A dream for any broke college student.

He made space for you. A little nook for your “silly toys,” he’d tease, smiling warmly over his shoulder. He even set up a desk for you in his office so you could “spend more time together.” That is, until you spent that time playing video games instead of working on your finals.

He’d always find a way to scold you for it.

And then he started paying for your tuition.

At first, you refused—it was too much, and you had scholarships to rely on. But those scholarships suddenly disappeared. The donor funding your education pulled out, no explanation given.

So he stepped in. Your dutiful boyfriend.

He even showed you a spreadsheet, breaking down the mountain of debt you’d accumulate if you didn’t let him help. What choice did you have?

You felt bought out.

You felt like you’d sold yourself.

Desperate to regain some independence, you took up a part-time job. But even that became a problem. “I have money, let me take care of you,” he’d say, exasperated. Or worse: “Why are you working so hard when I’m here to make life easier for you?”

Still, you pushed back. For a little while, at least.

Until the day they let you go—just like that.

These strange occurrences… they made you overthink—his words, not yours—as you sat across from him at the café.

Your hands trembled as you raised the coffee cup to your lips, the warmth doing little to steady your nerves.

“Let’s break up,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced away from his piercing gaze.

You caught the flicker of heartbreak in his beautiful eyes, a pain so raw it almost made you falter.

“I’m the problem, not you,” you continued, your words wavering like the hand that held your cup. “I just… I just need to get my life together.”

For a moment, there was only silence. The bustling café around you felt muted, like the world was holding its breath. His gaze remained fixed on you, unblinking, unwavering.

“That’s not fair,” he finally said, his voice calm, but there was a tension in it—a barely restrained crack.

Your chest tightened as you stared into the dark swirls of your coffee, avoiding the weight of his eyes. “It’s for the best,” you murmured.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, fingers threading together as if he were holding himself together. “For the best? For who? You?” His tone was soft, coaxing, but there was a sharp edge beneath it.

You nodded, though the motion felt hollow.

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “You’re not making sense. You say you need to get your life together, but I’m right here. I’ve always been here. Isn’t that enough?”

It wasn’t enough. That was the problem.

You swallowed hard, daring a glance at him. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. Those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes of his—once so warm—now felt like they were cutting straight through you.

“I need space,” you said, forcing the words out before they could dissolve into cowardice. “I need to figure things out on my own.”

His hand moved across the table, fingers brushing yours. It was a tender gesture, but it felt like a trap. You pulled back instinctively, and his expression darkened, just for a moment.

“Space?” he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “I see.”

But he didn’t. You knew he didn’t.

He wasn’t the kind of man who accepted things like this easily. You could feel it—the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior, the questions he was desperate to ask but refused to voice.

“You’re just… throwing everything away?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. “After everything we’ve built together?”

Guilt stabbed at you, sharp and unrelenting. “I’m not throwing it away. I just need to…” You trailed off, searching for the right words, but they evaded you, leaving behind an aching emptiness.

The sound of a plate clattering in the distance made you flinch. He didn’t. He just stared at you, his gaze so intense it felt suffocating.

“Is there someone else?” he asked suddenly, his voice low but steady, like he was bracing himself for the answer.

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “No! It’s not like that.”

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned forward again, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t have to lie to me. You owe me that much.”

“I’m not lying,” you insisted, the desperation in your tone surprising even yourself. “This isn’t about anyone else. It’s about me.”

A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?”

You froze, the words hitting harder than they should have.

“I guess I should’ve seen this coming,” he said, leaning back in his chair once more. His eyes flicked to the window beside you, watching the rain drizzle against the glass. “You always did have one foot out the door.”

The knot in your throat tightened, but you didn’t respond. What could you say?

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the space between you feeling insurmountable.

Finally, he exhaled sharply and stood, tossing a few bills onto the table. “If this is what you want,” he said, his voice void of the warmth it once held, “then I won’t stop you.”

But as he turned to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. Not really.

You managed to find a new apartment—a cheap, incredibly cheap one. The kind of place where the pipes rattled and the paint on the walls peeled if you so much as looked at it wrong. You had to take out a loan just to secure it, and as you stared at the mountain of paperwork, you felt the weight of your choices pressing down on you.

What had you been doing for the past year? Locked away in some castle. You almost cried just thinking about it.

The move was exhausting. Box after box filled with remnants of a life you didn’t recognize anymore. You left some things behind—things he’d given you, or things you couldn’t bring yourself to touch. It felt like shedding skin, leaving those pieces of yourself in the apartment you once shared.

A month passed in strained silence. You hadn’t heard from him, but you felt his presence everywhere. The way your phone seemed heavier in your pocket. The way every knock on the door made your heart jump. You told yourself it was paranoia, that he’d moved on.

Until one day, your phone lit up with a call.

His name stared back at you, bold and glaring.

You froze. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. The phone rang once. Then twice. Then thrice.

You didn’t answer.

When it finally stopped, the voicemail icon appeared, along with a text. You hesitated before opening it, your breath catching as you read the message.

"Can we talk?"

That was all it said.

But it wasn’t just the message. Attached to it was a picture.

Your chest tightened as you opened the image.

It was of your desk. Your old desk. The one from his office. On it sat your “small little toys”—the ones he used to tease you about. The picture was perfectly framed, almost artistic in its composition.

He still had your things. Of course, he did.

You told yourself you should’ve picked them up by now. That you’d been putting it off because you couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing him again.

But now… now you weren’t sure if going back was an option.

Your phone buzzed again, and you jumped.

Another text:

“You forgot these. They’re waiting for you.”

Something about the message sent a chill down your spine.

Waiting. That word lingered in your mind, heavy and suffocating.

You stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. You could just ignore him, pretend you hadn’t seen the message. But deep down, you knew he wouldn’t stop. Not until you answered.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

You told yourself you were overthinking. The picture, the message—it was just him being thoughtful, wasn’t it? After all, he was a caring guy. Always had been.

You stared at the text again. “They’re waiting for you.”

Your things. That’s all he meant.

Still, you hesitated. The memory of his voice, so calm and steady in the voicemail, echoed in your mind. It wasn’t like him to sound so… subdued. You’d expected anger, bitterness—anything but that gentle request.

Maybe you owed him this much. A chance to talk, to clear the air.

You typed out a quick reply:

“Okay. When?”

His response came almost immediately, as though he’d been waiting for you.

“Tonight. I’ll make dinner.”

Dinner. Of course, he’d turn this into a gesture of kindness. That was just like him—always going the extra mile, always making you feel like you were the center of his world. It had been suffocating at times, sure, but it wasn’t bad. Was it?

The memory of his smile tugged at your mind, warm and genuine, the kind of smile that made you feel like everything would be okay. You wanted to believe in that version of him, even now.

So, that evening, you found yourself standing outside his door. The apartment looked the same as you remembered—pristine, welcoming, like it had been plucked straight from a magazine. You knocked hesitantly, the sound of it feeling too loud in the quiet hallway.

The door opened almost instantly.

He stood there, his face lighting up at the sight of you. “You came,” he said, his voice filled with relief.

“I—yeah. For my stuff,” you replied, shifting awkwardly.

“Of course,” he said smoothly, stepping aside to let you in. “Come on in. I just finished cooking.”

The smell of something delicious wafted out, warm and inviting. It made your stomach twist—not from hunger, but from the strange mixture of nostalgia and unease settling in your chest.

You stepped inside, your gaze sweeping over the apartment. It was exactly how you left it. No, that wasn’t right. It was better. Cleaner. More organized. Your things, the ones you’d left behind, were neatly arranged in the same spots they used to occupy.

It was like you’d never left.

“I made your favorite,” he said, leading you to the dining table. The plates were already set, the soft glow of candlelight dancing across the surface. It was the kind of effort he always put in, the kind that used to make you feel special.

But now, it felt… off.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” you said, forcing a smile as you sat down.

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “It’s no trouble. I just want you to feel comfortable.”

Comfortable. That’s what he always said when you’d been upset, when you’d tried to pull away.

The dinner was good—perfect, even. He talked about small things, work, how he’d been keeping busy. He didn’t ask about your new apartment, didn’t press you for details about your life. If anything, he seemed… patient.

When the plates were cleared and the conversation lulled, he stood and gestured toward the office. “Your things are in there. I packed them up for you.”

You followed him, your steps hesitant. The office looked exactly as you remembered it, down to the way your desk was arranged. Your “small little toys” were lined up neatly on the shelf, untouched except for the care he’d taken to clean the dust from them.

“I didn’t want you to feel rushed,” he said softly, watching as you looked over the room. “I know how much these meant to you.”

You glanced back at him, guilt prickling at your chest. He was smiling, that same warm smile that always made you feel safe. But there was something in his eyes—something you couldn’t place.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet.

He nodded, stepping closer. Too close. You could feel the warmth of his presence, the subtle shift in the air as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, almost tender, “you don’t have to go. You can stay here, where it’s safe.”

The words were kind, caring. But they lingered in the air, heavy with implication.

“I can’t,” you said, stepping back. “I—I have to go.”

His hand dropped to his side, his smile faltering for just a moment before it returned, softer, gentler. “Of course,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You swallowed hard and turned away, focusing on the task at hand. You quickly grabbed your little trinkets, each one feeling heavier than it should as you set them into the small box he had left out for you. The edges of your vision blurred slightly, and your mind felt strangely… woozy.

“You feeling alright?” His voice was warm, almost teasing, and you could hear the smile in it even though you weren’t looking at him.

“I’m fine,” you said, but your voice sounded far away, almost like it wasn’t yours.

The room seemed to tilt ever so slightly, and you reached out to steady yourself against the desk. The surface felt cool under your fingertips, grounding you just enough to stay upright.

“I don’t know,” he said, stepping closer, his tone a mockery of concern. “You look a little pale.”

Your head turned toward him, but your movements were sluggish. His figure was close now—too close—and his smile, while soft, seemed sharper somehow, like it could cut you if you looked at it the wrong way.

“You’ve been so stressed lately,” he continued, his voice dripping with honeyed care. “All this running around, all this independence... It’s no wonder you’re not feeling well.”

“I just need to—” You stopped, the words slipping from your mind as quickly as they’d formed.

“Shh,” he murmured, reaching out to steady you, his hands gentle as they guided you back against the desk. “It’s okay. Let me take care of you.”

“I—” You tried to pull away, but your body wasn’t cooperating. Your legs felt like lead, your arms heavy and limp.

“There we go,” he whispered, his voice almost soothing as he adjusted his grip, cradling you like you might break. “Let’s get you back to where you belong.”

The words sank into you like cold water, and your heart pounded in your chest. “I don’t—”

But your voice was weak, and the edges of your vision darkened as your knees gave way.

He caught you, of course. He always did. His arms were steady, strong, and terrifyingly familiar as you seemed to melt into them.

“You’ll see,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your temple as the darkness closed in. “This is for the best. You’ll understand soon enough.”

The last thing you heard was the faint click of the lock turning.

When you woke up, it was in a bed you knew well—his bed. The familiar scent of expensive lavender laundry detergent and faint cologne clung to the sheets, grounding you in a way that made your head spin.

Your body felt heavy, but there was no immediate pain. Just a dull, aching tiredness, like you’d slept too long.

The soft shuffle of footsteps drew your attention, and he appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of food. His face lit up when he saw you were awake.

“There you are,” he said, his voice warm and soothing. “I was starting to worry.”

You blinked at him, your mind foggy. “What… happened?”

“You fainted,” he explained, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “I knew you weren’t feeling well, but I didn’t think it was this bad. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

“I need to go home,” you murmured, though the words felt weak, half-hearted.

He crouched beside the bed, his hand reaching out to brush the hair from your face. “You’re not going anywhere until you’re better,” he said softly, but there was an edge of finality in his tone. “I can’t let you hurt yourself like this.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sincerity in his eyes made the words catch in your throat. He wasn’t angry—far from it. He looked… concerned. Genuinely so.

“I made another one of your favorites,” he said, gesturing to the tray. “You need to eat something. Please.”

And somehow, you did.

The first week passed in a haze. He was always there, tending to you with quiet patience and a gentle touch. He cooked your meals, brought you tea, even read to you when you were too tired to focus on your own.

When you’d ask to leave, he’d smile, tilting his head like you’d just said something silly. “Why would you want to leave when you’re safe here?” he’d ask, his tone light, affectionate. “This is your home.”

At first, you resisted. You’d test the locks when he wasn’t looking, search for your phone, try to reason with him. But each time, he’d find you.

And each time, he’d reassure you.

“I know this is hard,” he’d say, holding you close as you fought back tears. “But I promise, I’m doing this because I love you. Because I can’t bear to see you hurt yourself.”

The way he said it—so tenderly, so earnestly—made it harder to argue.

Months passed.

Your protests grew quieter, your attempts to leave less frequent. He never raised his voice, never hurt you. Instead, he smothered you in kindness, his care so unwavering it became impossible to distinguish from love.

He brought you little gifts—books he thought you’d like, your favorite snacks, new clothes in your size. He’d sit with you for hours, talking about everything and nothing, his laughter warm and infectious.

And slowly, bit by bit, you began to feel it: the comfort of his presence, the safety of his arms.

You still thought about leaving sometimes. But every time you’d imagine the cold, lonely world outside, his face would appear in your mind, smiling, reassuring.

“I take care of you,” he’d remind you. “No one else will.”

And part of you started to believe him.

A year later, the apartment felt less like a prison and more like a sanctuary. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You’d stopped counting the days a long time ago. The routine he built for you was too carefully crafted, too comforting in its predictability. Meals prepared before you asked, your favorite books always within reach, even the temperature of the room adjusted to perfection. He knew what you needed before you did.

But tonight, something felt different.

He sat beside you on the couch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as always, his fingers idly tracing circles on your arm. The television played softly in the background, though neither of you were paying attention.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he said, his tone light, almost teasing. But there was an edge beneath it, subtle but sharp, like a blade hidden beneath silk.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “I’m fine,” you replied, offering a small smile. “Just… thinking.”

He tilted his head, his gaze soft but probing. “Thinking about what?”

“Nothing important,” you said quickly, looking away.

His hand stilled against your arm.

“I hope you’re not thinking about leaving me,” he said, his voice so soft it made your skin crawl.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “I’m not,” you said, too quickly.

He smiled then, that same warm, reassuring smile that had once made you feel safe. But now, it felt like a mask. “Good,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Because you know what happens when you try.”

Your stomach twisted, memories flashing through your mind.

The first time you’d tried to escape, you’d woken up hours later, your body weak and trembling, with him at your bedside, his expression one of heartbreak. “You scared me,” he’d said, brushing a hand through your hair. “I can’t lose you. Don’t ever do that again.”

The second time, he hadn’t been so kind. His voice had been cold, his eyes devoid of warmth as he’d pinned you against the wall, his hand gripping your wrist just hard enough to bruise. “I love you,” he’d whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “But if you try to leave me again, I’ll have to show you how much.”

You hadn’t tried since.

Now, as you sat beside him, the weight of his arm around you felt suffocating. You nodded mutely, your hands curling into fists in your lap.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” he said, his voice bright again, as though nothing had happened.

He reached for the remote, turning off the television, and stood. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand to you. “Let’s go to bed.”

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his. His grip was firm, steady, like an anchor pulling you under.

As he led you to the bedroom, his fingers intertwined with yours, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the hallway mirror.

The person staring back at you was a stranger—someone small, broken, and unrecognizable.

But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Because as he closed the bedroom door behind you, the lock clicking into place, you knew one thing for certain:

You weren’t going anywhere.

And neither was he.

Characters:

BNHA: Hawks, Dabi, Endeavor

AOT: Erwin, Zeke, Levi

JJK: Gojo, Geto, Nanami...(maybe Yuta...if he was older)

HxH: Chrollo, Illumi, Hisoka

#jujutsu kaisen #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere drabble #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere #yandere my hero academia #yandere attack on titan #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere geto x reader #yandere gojo x reader #yandere nanami x reader

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mariasont · 3 months ago

Text

mermaids and mule-drunk jealousy

fueled by a mild buzz and subtle possessiveness, spencer interrupts an unwanted flirtation at the beach bar

pairing: spencer reid x bimbo!reader warnings: fem!reader, bimbo!reader, jealous spence, fluff, established relationships, idiots in love prompt: here wc: 0.5k

Spencer had been quietly simmering from his spot at the bar, citing intricate justifications in his head about respecting your autonomy and not acting like some archaic stereotype of masculinity.

And that had been working, it really had… until halfway through his second mule, when his logic got drowned out by a louder, far less civilized impulse.

Now he’s walking toward you, spurred by the strangely compelling urge to place himself squarely between you and that grinning idiot currently monopolizing your attention.

He evaluates the stranger’s stance as he approaches. Arrogant tilt of the shoulders. Casual lean. Spencer neatly adds him to the mental category — faces he wouldn’t mind seeing collide with the bar counter.

In a gesture that’s equal parts calculated and deceptively casual, Spencer reaches for your wrist, turning it to inspect the bracelet you’re wearing. One he’d given you, conveniently enough.

He readjusts it, thumb absently brushing the pulse point there. “Looks like it was about to fall,” he notes quietly, almost apologetically.

He doesn’t so much as spare the intruder a glance, perfectly content to leave him awkwardly dangling at the periphery. Let him stew, Spencer reasons. It builds character.

The flash of delight on your face blooms instantly, faster than should be possible given the gentle intoxication clouding your eyes. But it takes barely a second for you to lean into his touch, melting into his side, arms threading around his waist.

“Hi,” you sigh dreamily, voice muffled by his shirt.

You glance back over your shoulder with adorably misplaced politeness, clearly feeling some misguided need to complete social niceties.

“Oh, Spence, meet —” The introduction promptly dissolves into confusion, brows knitting as you peer at the spot where your would-be suitor had previously stood. “Um… he was literally right here a second ago.”

There’s an undeniably petty, but completely satisfying, rush of triumph. Apparently, the overly familiar stranger had wisely found his presence as a deterrent. It’s hardly sophisticated behavior, he knows, but Spencer’s willing to grant himself an occasional pass.

“Hmm. Strange.”

You begin to frown, the tiniest hint of a pout forming, prompting Spencer’s thumb to move on its own accord — pressing against your lower lip in a familiar attempt to halt your slide into melodrama. Predictably, your expression melts into a cascade of bubbly laughter.

“Have I mentioned how beachy you look tonight?”

You tip your head back, fingers bunching the front of his shirt. “Only like twice already.”

“Then let’s officially make it three,” Spencer declares, dipping his head to press feather-light kisses onto each of your cheeks. He leans back just enough to look down at you fondly, thumb grazing your jaw. “My beautiful beachy girl,” he teases, “you keep this up, and soon enough they’ll be mistaking you for a mermaid.”

You nudge yourself closer to him, hands fussing with his shirt collar. “Mmm, does that mean you’re my sailor?”

“I’ll happily take that role,” Spence replies. “Though I must warn you, my nautical skills are severely lacking.”

“Then as my sailor, it’s your duty to stay very, very close. All night. No exceptions.”

Spencer leans in, smiling softly as he brushes his lips against your temple. "Never let it be said I’m insubordinate."

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

day 5 extras

💌 click here to check in → confirm your room (and crush)

maria's spring break getaway masterlist

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid x bimbo!reader #spencer reid x bimbo reader #bimbo!reader #spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader #spencer reid x bimbo receptionist reader #criminal minds x reader

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monicfever · 2 months ago

Text

matt murdock as your boyfriend. 𝜗𝜚 hc’s

includes ᝰ .ᐟ gn!reader ,, fluff ,, sfw headcanons ,, religious mentions

MATT MURDOCK AS YOUR BOYFRIEND . . . adores you. he can’t believe you’re real — every time you say his name it’s a prayer answered. he listens to the sound of your heartbeat like it’s music, memorized the rhythm of it before he ever let himself memorize the curve of your smile.

matt doesn’t just love you — he carries you. protects you like it’s instinct. like you’re something sacred.

will step between you and anything that looks like danger, even if it’s just a rude stranger or a loud car. and god help anyone who actually tries to hurt you — matt won’t let them walk away. not as the lawyer. not as the devil.

he’s soft with you in a way he never is with anyone else, fingers tracing your wrist like he’s reading braille, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand when he thinks you’re asleep. smiles against your shoulder when he’s tired. holds you tighter when the city feels too loud.

but he gets scared too. scared of losing you. scared of hurting you. scared that the violence stitched into his soul will bleed into yours. so sometimes he pulls back — disappears into himself. tells you he’s fine even when his knuckles are split and there’s blood on his collar. won’t meet your eyes, won’t let you touch him. but if you wait it out, if you reach for him anyway, he always comes back. always folds into you like he never left.

remembers everything. the exact cadence of your laugh, how your breathing changes when you're about to cry, the shape of your hand when it’s searching for his. he notices when you swap perfumes, when you wear new earrings, when your voice sounds a little hoarse because you didn’t sleep well. doesn’t mention it like it’s weird — just softly asks if you need tea. or rest. or him.

his love shows up in rituals. carries your umbrella even if it’s not supposed to rain. calls you after a bad case just to hear your voice. kisses your temple twice when you leave the apartment.

he talks to god about you. not in the way he used to — not asking for forgiveness. not begging for strength. just... saying thank you. like he’s been given something he didn’t deserve. and maybe he hasn’t, but he’s going to protect it anyway.

he always reaches for you in crowded places. not because he needs to — his senses are sharp enough to navigate most chaos — but because he wants to be guided by you. threads his fingers through yours, hand curling into your sleeve, forearm, belt loop. anything to keep you close. anything to let you lead.

“where are we going?” he’ll ask, even though he already knows. grinning like he’s getting away with something. he just likes hearing your voice explain it. likes being pulled along like you’re his compass and the only thing that matters is keeping up with your footsteps.

sometimes he pretends he can’t find something just to get you to come closer. “where’s the salt?” “matt, literally right in front of you.” “i’m blind, sweetheart.” and you roll your eyes, walk over, and he just grins, smug, hands slipping around your waist. “thanks for the assistance.”

lives for slow strolls with your arm linked in his. especially at night. especially when the city has finally calmed down a bit. lets you guide him like you’re dancing through the streets, murmuring what’s around you — the neon signs, the smell of fresh pretzels, the sound of a jazz saxophone in the distance.

he fakes not being able to do tech stuff all the time. “can you post that for me?” “can you read this email out loud?” “can you set my alarm?” and every time, it’s just an excuse to hear your voice, or feel your hands brush against his as you show him how to do it. yeah, he could use a screen reader. but where’s the fun in that?

he rests his chin on your shoulder a lot when you’re doing something mundane. like brushing your teeth, making dinner, folding laundry. just appears behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and leans his whole weight into you.

sometimes he fumbles on purpose. “oops, I missed the cup,” he’ll say with a smirk, spilling just a little water. you sigh and walk over, wiping it up, and he uses the moment to pull you into a kiss.

he gets a little clingy after bad nights. not in a loud way. just won’t let go of your hand. won’t stray more than a step away. stands behind you while you do dishes or brush your hair, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.

you guide his hands through everyday things, and he always looks like he’s learning the shape of the world for the first time. folding dough, measuring spices, finding the buttons on a remote — he’s so focused. and he always smiles when your hands touch his to correct something. every single time. like he’s never going to get used to being cared for like this.

sometimes you’ll lead him somewhere with no warning. “trust me,” you’ll say, tugging his hand. and he’ll smile, nod, follow without hesitation. because he does. always has. always will.

he tells you he loves you in the smallest ways. “be careful.” “call me when you get home.” “take my jacket.” “your heartbeat changed — what’s wrong?”

he wakes up the second you stir. even if he was dead asleep five seconds ago. instantly reaches for you, palm brushing your side, murmuring, “you okay?” voice still gravelly from sleep.

he gets weirdly smug when you trip or bump into something. “huh,” he’ll tease, “and here I thought I was the blind one.” and you’ll glare at him and he’ll just kiss your forehead.

he has incredible spatial awareness but pretends to bump into furniture just so you’ll tease him. “you good?” you’ll say, raising an eyebrow, and he’ll grin and go, “guess I need a guide.” cue him holding onto your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.

he randomly kisses your hands. when you’re cooking, reading, doing work — he'll just reach over, take your hand, and press his lips to your knuckles. it’s not always romantic. sometimes it’s just a little thank you for being here.

he’ll ask you to describe things to him in your words. “what does the sky look like right now?” “what’s she wearing?” “what’s the room feel like?” and you’ll ramble through the details, unsure if it makes sense — but he always listens, like you’re telling him a story he never wants to end.

you read to him at night. curled up in bed, your voice soft in the quiet. he’s not even listening to the story half the time — just the way you say the words.

he teaches you self-defense. he takes it seriously, even if you don’t. but every time you land a hit, he praises you like you just saved the world.

late-night walks through hell’s kitchen. just talking. venting. dreaming. sometimes he stops mid-sentence to kiss you under a streetlamp. “sorry. just had to.”

he pulls away when he’s hurting. emotionally, physically, all of it. slips into that quiet place in his head where the guilt lives. tells you he’s fine with a tight jaw and bruises blooming across his ribs.

he’s terrified of burdening you. of being too much. too broken. he thinks if you saw everything — the anger, the damage, the things he’s done — you’d leave. so he tries to handle it all himself. isolates. bleeds in silence. but he aches for comfort, even when he won’t ask.

sometimes he has nightmares. fists clenched in the sheets, breath ragged, muttering things that don’t make sense. and you wake him up gently, touch his shoulder, and he flinches before realizing it’s you.

absolutely refuses to admit when he’s sick. “i’m fine.” you’re shivering. “it’s not that cold.” you literally just sneezed five times. “allergies.” matt, you don’t have allergies. “…okay but i still don’t need soup.”

the moment you take charge — pull the blankets up, hand him tissues, give him meds — he folds like wet laundry. instantly compliant. snuggles into the pillows with a dramatic sigh. “only because you’re cute when you boss me around.”

a huge baby when he’s actually sick. makes the most pitiful groaning sounds, flops onto the couch like he’s on death’s door. constantly wants to cuddle and cling to you.

you catch him trying to sneak out of bed once to go on patrol and you yell. he tries to argue. “the city needs—” “the city can wait, you have a fever and a death wish.” he grumbles. you kiss his forehead. he shuts up immediately.

tries to pretend he’s suffering in silence but keeps whispering things like “baby can you rub my back?” or “i think i need another blanket” or “can you come lay with me for five minutes? ten? okay forever?”

he’s so protective. not in a possessive way — in a “if anything in this world hurts you, it’ll answer to me” kind of way. steps in front of you instinctively. hears a tone in someone’s voice you don’t even notice and subtly shifts between you and them. but if you ask him to stand down, he always listens. because your safety isn’t just about fists — it’s about trust.

always insists on keeping your plans, even if he’s clearly moving slower than usual. “I’m fine,” he says, clearly wincing as he puts on a button-down. you catch him rotating his shoulder like he’s trying to pop it back into place.

he’s not loud about his jealousy. not possessive. just hyper-aware. the way someone’s voice changes when they talk to you, how close they’re standing. you can practically feel the shift in his body next to you — shoulders straightening, jaw tightening. but he says nothing. just listens.

he does subtle things. puts his hand on your lower back when someone’s talking to you for too long. brushes his fingers over yours when someone compliments you just a little too enthusiastically. stands slightly closer. doesn’t speak unless he has to.

if someone gets too bold, though? oh he’s done. still polite. still calm. but absolutely deadly. steps in, voice low and smooth: “Hi. I’m Matt.” smile perfectly measured, hand firm in the handshake — but he’s already evaluated the guy’s heartbeat, stance, and whether he could take him down in five seconds or less if needed. (he could. always could.)

he’ll dance with you in the kitchen. no music. just the sound of rain on the window or a pan sizzling on the stove. he’ll reach for your hand with that little crooked smile, spin you into his arms, and sway like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

you both talk during chores. actual conversations. about your day, about random memories, about the weird neighbor with the too-loud parrot. and he listens like it’s the most important intel he’s ever received. nods, hums, asks questions. you’ve never felt so heard while doing dishes.

he lets you cut his hair sometimes. sits on a stool in the bathroom, towel around his shoulders, completely relaxed. you tease him about how still he is — “you’re acting like you’re on trial.” he just grins. “you’re holding scissors near my head.”

he folds your laundry. not just folds it — does that careful press-and-stack thing. pairs your socks. hangs your shirts so they won’t wrinkle.

does dishes with his sleeves rolled up and a dish towel over his shoulder like it’s a whole ceremony. hums under his breath while you dry. sometimes flicks water at you just to hear you squeal and laugh.

you two have a habit of falling asleep in odd places — couch, floor, roof. anywhere. half a conversation turns into hours curled into each other. his favourite part is waking up to your heartbeat under his ear. says it’s better than any alarm clock.

helping him shave sometimes. it turns into something gentle. your fingers on his jaw, his hands resting on your hips, quiet laughter when he makes a face at the cold razor. it feels intimate.

gets grumpy when you're hurt. even small things — a paper cut, a stubbed toe — he gets all quiet and intense like he's going to take on the concept of pain itself. he’ll crouches in front of you while putting a bandaid on like it’s the most important task in the world.

he insists on carrying all the groceries. all of them. “i’m blind, not weak.” he’ll say, ten bags looped on each arm like a stubborn pack mule. won’t even let you take the bread.

he keeps extra gloves and scarves in his coat pockets — not for him, for you. “you always forget yours,” he says, even though sometimes you don’t. doesn’t matter. he’s already wrapping one around your neck, tugging your hands into his. “can’t have you getting cold.”

he saves the crunchy edges of brownies for you. the soft center of cinnamon rolls. whatever part you once mentioned liking the best, that’s what you’ll find saved for you — tucked in a napkin, handed over without a word, just a warm smile.

when he gets back from patrol he always checks if you’re asleep before doing anything else. listens for your breathing, your heartbeat. if you’re up, he’ll come curl up next to you. if you’re asleep, he’ll just hover in the doorway for a second. breathing it in.

sometimes, when he’s feeling brave, he whispers “i love you” when he thinks you’re not awake. presses a kiss to your forehead and says it like a secret. like it’s breaking out of him and he has nowhere else to put it but right there, into your skin.

always checks if your phone is charged before bed. quietly plugs it in if you forgot. sets your alarm. puts it face-down so the light won’t bother you. doesn’t say a word about it — just does it.

he calls you sweetheart when he’s sleepy. voice all low and warm and tangled in dreams. sometimes murmured against your neck, sometimes mumbled into your shoulder like he’s already half gone — “mm, goodnight, sweetheart,” and you feel it all the way down to your bones.

saves you the last bite. his sandwich, the cookie you split, the best bite of takeout. even if it’s his favourite part, he’ll nudge it toward you and go, “you take it. i’m full.” (he’s not.)

he loves being babied a little. not a lot, and too much of it will have him feeling annoyed and overcrowded, but when you help him fix his tie, button his cuffs, rub his shoulders after a long day, he leans into your touch like he was waiting for it all day.

he’s hopelessly in love with the domestic routine. brushing teeth side by side. carrying the laundry basket while you fold.

he’ll do your skincare with you at night. blindly pats moisturizer into your cheeks with far too much enthusiasm. “did i get it?” he asks, fingers smeared with product, giggling like an idiot when you say “too much.”

when you cry he holds you like he’s made of warmth. wraps you up in his arms, hand at the back of your neck, thumb stroking slow and steady. doesn’t try to fix it unless you ask. just says, over and over, “i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”

started 4.24.2025. finished 4.24.2025.

( masterlist. )

#𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ／ ⋆ ۪ MONIC FILEZ #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil born again #daredevil ba #daredevil hc #daredevil x reader #daredevil headcanons #daredevil imagine #daredevil #matthew murdock #matthew murdock x you #devil of hell's kitchen

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psformybss · 2 months ago

Note

could we get some angst with secret fiance?

Rumors Like Smoke

series masterlist

warnings: angst, established relationship, long distance struggles, social media rumors, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort

an: this isn’t as angsty as it could have been but i feel like it still has a good amount of angst.

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

The rumors started as whispers.

Nothing more than a tagged post.

A fan video of Drew and Odessa walking out of a narrow alley in Belgrade, laughing over something he said.

Someone zoomed in on their hands—not touching, but close enough.

Then came the Reddit threads.

The Twitter sleuths.

The articles with photoshopped thumbnails and question-mark headlines.

“Are Drew Starkey and Odessa A’zion more than costars?”

She hated that it got to her.

Because she knew better.

Drew was an actor. Odessa was his scene partner. This was no different than how he was with Maddie or Madison or any woman he’d worked closely with.

She wasn’t jealous.

Not really.

Not until the silence started to stretch too wide.

She woke up on the couch in Charleston to the buzz of her phone at 2:17 AM.

The sound startled Teddy first. He lifted his head from her lap with a soft huff, looking toward the phone like he expected Drew to walk through the door. But it was just the screen, glowing with his name.

Drew (Serbia)

She answered on the third ring. Her voice was sleepy but strained. “Hey.”

“Hey, baby,” he said, breathless like he’d been rushing to find quiet. “Sorry. I know it’s late over there.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I just… missed you. Needed to hear your voice.”

Her heart cracked a little at that. It always did. But this time, something stayed sharp at the edges.

“Where are you?”

“Outside the hotel. We just wrapped. Odessa and I had pickups. It ran long.”

Of course it was Odessa.

The name hung there like cigarette smoke, curling around things it had no business touching.

She didn’t answer right away. Just sat up straighter, brushing sleep from her eyes while Teddy pressed closer to her thigh.

Drew picked up on the silence. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, her tone too clipped to mean it. “Just tired.”

He sighed. “Talk to me.”

“I haven’t heard from you in three days.”

“I know. It’s been crazy—”

“Yeah. Busy, right?” she cut in. “You’ve been spotted all over Belgrade with your busy.”

There was a pause on his end. A sharp inhale.

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m not accusing you,” she snapped. “I’m not one of those people online, Drew. I’m your wife.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and she hated it.

“I know you are,” he said softly.

“Then why does it feel like you forgot?”

Teddy’s tail flicked once, sensing her voice tightening.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Drew said, more firm now. “I think about you every second I’m not on set. I’m just… worn out. Trying to finish this job strong.”

“I’ve defended you to strangers,” she whispered. “I ignore the tags, the DMs, the fan theories about you and her. I tell myself I know you better than anyone. But the longer you stay away, the more those voices start to sound like mine.”

That shut him up.

“I’m not mad that you’re working,” she went on. “I’m mad that you let the internet keep me company more than you do.”

Drew exhaled a curse. “That’s not fair.”

“No? You think Teddy doesn’t notice when your side of the bed’s cold every night? You think I don’t check your location just to feel close to you for five seconds before I remember it hasn’t updated in days?”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like this,” he said, voice low.

“But you did.”

Silence.

Teddy pressed his head into her chest, grounding her. She curled her hand into his fur.

“I used to feel like I had all of you,” she whispered. “Now I feel like I have your ghost.”

Drew was quiet for a long time. “I didn’t want to call like this. Not when we’re both tired.”

“Then why did you call?”

“Because I miss you,” he said. “And I don’t know how to fix this from halfway across the world.”

She blinked away the sting in her eyes. “I don’t want a fix. I want you.”

“You have me.”

“Not when I have to fight the internet every day just to believe that.”

His voice broke slightly. “You think I’m cheating?”

“No,” she said instantly. “I think you’re disappearing.”

That was worse somehow.

“You barely call anymore. You’re out with her every other day. And I keep telling myself it’s the same as any other project, but this one feels different. You feel different.”

“I’m not different,” he said. “I’m tired. I’m stretched thin. But I love you just as much as the day I left Charleston.”

“Then show me, Drew,” she whispered. “Because I can’t keep loving a version of you that only exists in old photos and saved voicemails.”

Another silence. Longer this time.

Then, in a whisper: “Don’t give up on me.”

“I’m not,” she said. “But I’m running out of ways to hold on.”

Something moved behind his voice. A shake. A crack. And then—click.

Call ended.

She stared at the screen.

Heart thudding. Hands shaking.

For a moment, she couldn’t tell who ended it. Then she realized—

He hung up.

He didn’t know he’d hung up.

Not until he stared at the screen, still pressed to his ear, and realized the silence wasn’t hers anymore—it was his.

Call ended.

Three seconds passed. Then five. Then the weight of it hit him all at once like a punch straight to the chest.

“Shit,” he muttered, breath catching, his heart galloping too fast. “Shit, shit, shit.”

His hands shook as he fumbled with the phone, heart thundering while he stared at the screen, willing it to light up again. Willing her to call him back. But it stayed dark.

No call. No text. Nothing.

He didn’t even remember pressing the damn button. He’d been too caught in the sound of her voice—cracking, raw, real—too caught in the feeling that he was losing her in slow motion.

Now he was afraid she might already be gone.

He sat there in the hotel room, the echo of her final words thick in the air like smoke that wouldn’t clear.

His throat closed. He looked around the room and hated everything about it—how sterile it felt, how quiet. How far. The bed was cold, still made, untouched from the night before. His hoodie still smelled like the set. His bag was half-zipped, clothes spilling out. And all he could think was: What the fuck am I doing here?

Not just Belgrade.

Here.

In this space between good intentions and terrible execution. Between promises made and promises missed.

He opened his phone and didn’t hesitate this time—he dialed the director.

“Starkey?”

“I need two days,” Drew said, voice gruff. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Something happen?”

“I hung up on my wife by accident. After telling her I loved her and then making her feel like I didn’t. So yeah—something happened.”

Another pause. Then a sigh. “Alright. Two days. Don’t make me regret it.”

“You won’t.”

The airport was buzzing, loud and impersonal, but Drew moved through it on autopilot, booking the soonest flight out like a man possessed.

There was a kiosk just past security that sold flowers—cheap airport bouquets, all wrapped in crinkly cellophane—but he stopped anyway.

He stood there longer than he should’ve, staring at them like they could somehow fix the last three months. The last three days.

“Need help?” the cashier asked.

Drew nodded once, eyes landing on a bouquet of white tulips and blush peonies, her favorite.

“I’ll take those.”

The woman wrapped them slowly, chatting about nothing, and he kept nodding even though he wasn’t listening. His pulse didn’t slow until he was seated on the plane, flowers in his lap, staring out the window and counting the minutes until he could make it right.

Charleston felt warmer the moment he stepped out of the airport.

It always did.

He kept the window down in the taxi, let the breeze wash over him as they drove through streets he knew like the back of his hand.

The office was a brick building tucked between a yoga studio and a secondhand bookstore. Ivy crawled up the side like it had been trying to get inside for years.

He hesitated at the entrance.

The flowers were still in his hand, the stems damp from the melting airport ice pack. He wiped them quickly on his jeans, tried to shake the nerves out of his fingers.

He saw her car parked out front and almost turned around. Almost.

Instead, he stepped inside.

The receptionist—Sienna—looked up from her desk, startled. Her eyes went wide.

“Drew?”

“Hey,” he said, offering a small, sheepish smile. “She in?”

Sienna nodded slowly. “Yeah, she’s here. Her door’s closed but—”

“I’ll knock,” he said.

She opened the door after two knocks, and the look on her face nearly undid him.

She was tired. Still beautiful, still herself, but visibly tired in a way that made his gut twist. Like she hadn’t slept in days. Like his silence had carved something hollow in her that she didn’t know how to fill.

She blinked. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft. “I’m here.”

He held out the flowers, suddenly feeling like they weren’t nearly enough. “I know it’s stupid. And they’re from the airport. But…”

She reached out, took them from him without a word.

For a moment, they just stood there, neither one sure what to say.

The ride home was quiet, but not cold. She drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting just inches from where his sat on the center console. He didn’t reach for her. Not yet.

When they got inside, Teddy was the first to break the tension, leaping onto Drew’s legs like no time had passed.

Drew laughed, crouching down to hug him. “Hey, buddy.”

She walked past him into the living room, setting the flowers in a vase like her hands needed something to do.

“Why’d you come back?” she asked finally.

He stood there for a long beat. “Because you were right.”

She turned to face him. “About what?”

“About everything.” He stepped closer. “I let the noise drown out the only voice I should’ve been listening to. I let you feel alone in something we were supposed to be in together.”

He sat down on the edge of the couch. “I kept telling myself the distance was temporary. That you understood. That love was enough. But I stopped showing it. And that’s on me.”

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “I didn’t want to doubt you, Drew.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to feel like I was losing you.”

“You’re not,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I swear. I’m still yours. I just forgot how to say it in a way you could hear.”

She didn’t speak for a while. Then: “You didn’t even tell me you were coming.”

“I wanted to show up before I talked myself out of it.” He looked up at her. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”

“I always want to see you,” she whispered.

He stood, closing the distance. Slowly. Carefully.

“I miss us,” he said. “The stupid jokes. Your half-finished coffees. Fighting over blankets and waking up to your hair in my face. I miss hearing about your day instead of reading between your posts.”

She looked at him for a long time, eyes glimmering. Then: “I miss us too.”

He reached for her hand, and this time, she let him.

“I’ll post photos of me kissing your forehead every damn day. I’ll FaceTime you from set, from the makeup chair, from the bathroom if that’s the only private place I can find. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel like you’re not competing with a spotlight I never even wanted” he murmured.

“You don’t have to do all that,” she said, though her voice cracked. “Just… don’t disappear on me again.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I couldn’t. You’re the only thing that keeps me grounded.”

She stepped into him then—just barely—and he wrapped his arms around her like something sacred.

Teddy circled them twice before settling by their feet, tail thumping.

They stayed like that for a while.

And when she finally looked up at him, eyes softer now, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

This time, she believed him.

And this time, he meant it.

#drew starkey x secret fiancee!reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey obx #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey imagine #obx #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n

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idkyetxoxo · 15 days ago

Text

Fifteen | Written Among the Stars | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.8k

Warnings - Sexual content (mild and not very detailed)

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The bond had been described to me a hundred different ways over the years, by family, by friends, even by strangers whose faces have long since faded from memory.

Whispers of it had woven themselves through my life like distant songs, the way it would feel, how it would change me, the awe and the terror it would bring.

But no amount of stories, no breadth of words, no poetry or prophecy could have prepared me for the moment it truly bloomed inside my chest.

It was a thrum, a steady, ancient drumbeat awakening something buried deep within my bones. Something beautiful. Something sacred. Something so achingly perfect it brought tears to my eyes.

Azriel. Azriel was my mate, the one the mother, the stars, the very threads of fate themselves had chosen for me.

And it was terrifying.

To be seen so completely, to be known so deeply without walls, without armour.

But it was also the most beautiful thing I had ever known.

The fresh scent of brownies curled through the air of the kitchen, pulling me back from the overwhelming tide of emotion.

I cut them, still warm, the chocolate gooey and rich, too impatient to wait any longer.

I had waited all night. He had waited all night.

I had left him standing on that balcony, heart in his eyes, bond shimmering and open between us. I had needed space. He had given it to me, even though every part of him had been reaching for me.

Now, I couldn't stand another second of this distance. He had waited long enough.

Gathering my courage and the small box of brownies, I made my way to the roof, where I knew he would be.

Azriel always sought the quiet of the skies when his heart was heavy.

Sure enough, there he was, perched at the edge, wings stretched wide against the night sky, silhouetted by stars.

He looked like something carved out of the cosmos itself—ancient, eternal, breathtaking.

I stepped carefully onto the roof, the wind tugging wildly at my hair.

"Az," I called softly, the word barely carried on the breeze.

His head snapped toward me immediately, the shadows around him retreating, as if making way for me.

"Little star," he murmured, voice rough and low.

He rose to meet me, taking my hand with infinite gentleness to guide me to sit across from him. As if I were made of glass. As if he couldn't believe I was real.

I tucked my legs beneath me, fingers trembling slightly.

"I'm sorry," I began, the words catching in my throat. "I'm sorry for running away last night."

He opened his mouth, likely to tell me it was alright, that he understood but I shook my head, stopping him. He needed to hear it. All of it.

"It was scary," I whispered, voice cracking slightly. And it was. To feel something so vast, so pure, something that could never be taken back.

Azriel's face fell, hurt flashing across his eyes, so quick and raw it made my chest ache.

"But it was also..." I sucked in a breath, my eyes finding his. "So, so beautiful."

I inched closer, heart hammering in my ribs, and unwrapped the small box in my hands. Inside, the brownies sat in neat little squares, still slightly warm, the scent wrapping around us like a hug.

"I made these," I said, my voice a little steadier now, as I plucked one from the box.

His eyes flickered to mine, sharp and bright and filled with something so fierce I could hardly breathe.

"If you like... if you want to..." I swallowed hard. "I—I would like to accept it. To accept you. Us."

I held the brownie out to him, my hand shaking slightly.

Azriel didn't hesitate. Not for a heartbeat.

He leaned forward and took a bite right from my hand, as if waiting even a moment longer would have broken him.

The knot of fear and hope inside me unravelled all at once. Relief, pure, dizzying relief, flooded through me.

Before I could even blink, he set the box aside and tugged me into his lap, gathering me into his arms with a reverence that shattered me.

I straddled him, my body fitting against his like the missing piece of a puzzle.

Chest to chest. Heart to heart.

Azriel cupped my face, his calloused thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't even realised had fallen, before he kissed me.

It was everything.

He tasted of chocolate and mint and something I couldn't name, something that tasted like coming home.

The world around us disappeared. It was just him. Just me. Just this bond, this miracle that fate had written into our very souls.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breathing as ragged as my own. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with such aching tenderness it nearly broke me all over again.

"My mate," he whispered, voice reverent, filled with wonder. "My beautiful, beautiful mate. I would be the greatest fool in any world not to accept a bond like this. Not when you are the very air I breathe, and the reason I wake every morning."

Tears welled in my eyes again but this time, they were tears of joy, of healing, of something too big and too sacred for mere words.

And in the quiet of the night, wrapped in his arms, with the stars blessing our union overhead, I finally understood.

This bond wasn't a chain. It was wings. It was freedom. It was love. The kind that only happens once in a thousand lifetimes.

And it was ours.

Azriel's forehead stayed pressed against mine, our breaths tangling together in the soft starlit air.

I could feel it, the way the bond between us thrummed and sang, louder now, fuller. As if the universe itself was holding its breath, cradling this moment between two trembling hands.

And underneath it all, there was a current. A hunger, deep and primal, threading through him. I could feel it in the way his hands flexed against my waist, how the shadows at his back twitched like restless wings.

The frenzy.

Everyone had warned me about it. The irresistible pull fresh mates experienced, how overwhelming, how consuming it could be. It was supposed to be frantic. Wild. Reckless.

But Azriel... Azriel was holding it back for me.

I could feel the strain in every inch of his body, the way his muscles trembled under my fingertips, the way his breathing grew ragged but he never pushed, never rushed. He only held me closer, as if giving me every chance to pull away if I needed to.

As if I was something sacred he would rather worship than claim.

I lifted my hand to cradle his jaw. His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, a broken sound escaping his lips, so soft I almost missed it.

"Azriel," I whispered, my voice threading into the night, "I'm yours."

That was all it took.

His lips found mine again, slower this time, savouring. A kiss meant to last a lifetime. A kiss that said home, and always, and forever.

His hands slid down my back, callused fingers tracing the shape of me with a tenderness that stole my breath away.

Everywhere he touched, he set me alight, not with fire, but with something deeper, something that warmed me from the inside out.

I shifted in his lap, feeling him beneath me, hard and ready, but still... still he held back.

He kissed me like we had all the time in the world. He kissed me like I was a prayer he was scared to speak too loudly.

"I can wait," he murmured against my lips, voice low and reverent. "As long as you need, little star. I'll wait forever."

I didn't want him to wait.

Not anymore. Not tonight, with the stars as our witnesses and the bond thrumming like a living thing between us.

I answered him with a kiss of my own, deeper, needier and I felt the moment he gave in, just a little. Just enough.

His hands slid under my shirt, fingers splaying across my bare skin, and a shiver ran through me at the heat of his touch.

Still, he moved slow, agonizingly slow, every movement asking and begging.

Are you sure? Is this okay?

I answered by pressing closer, threading my fingers into his hair and tugging gently, urging him onward.

A low groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against mine, and he lifted me effortlessly, laying me down against the rooftop with a reverence that made my heart ache.

The night air was cool against my flushed skin, but Azriel's body was a furnace as he hovered over me, wings sheltering us from the world, from anything but this.

He kissed his way down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, leaving trails of fire in his wake. Each kiss was a vow. Each brush of his fingers was a promise.

When he finally pushed my shirt off and pressed his mouth to the skin over my heart, I felt something inside me break wide open.

"My mate," he whispered again, as if in awe, as if the words tasted sweeter each time he said them. "My beautiful mate."

His voice shook. He shook.

I reached for him, pulling him back up so our foreheads touched again, so he could see the truth in my eyes.

"I'm ready," I whispered. "With you, I'm ready."

And when he finally entered me, it was nothing like the frantic, desperate bond-fever I'd been warned about.

It was slow. It was tender. It was a claiming and a worship all at once.

Azriel held me as if I were made of stardust, as if I were a miracle he had been waiting his entire life to touch.

And I held him back, pulling him deeper, anchoring us together under the endless sky.

Our bond sang between us, no longer a thrum but a symphony, wild and exultant and whole.

We moved together slowly, savouring every brush of skin, every kiss, every whispered word of love that slipped between us.

There was no hurry, only the endless unfolding of something too sacred to be rushed.

And when we finally shattered, we did it together, bound by love, by fate, by the deepest parts of our souls.

Azriel gathered me into his arms afterward, holding me close as if he would never let go. As if letting me go would tear the stars from the sky.

"I love you," he whispered into my hair, voice raw with emotion. "I have loved you from the moment I first saw you. I will love you until the stars die and the world crumbles into ash."

I smiled against his chest, the bond between us pulsing in perfect time with our hearts.

"I love you too," I whispered back. "Forever. In every life."

The night wrapped itself around us like a cocoon, the stars blinking down in silent blessing as Azriel held me against him, our bodies still intertwined on the rooftop.

For a time, we simply stayed there breathing each other in, hearts pounding in perfect unison.

But the frenzy was there too, lurking just beneath the surface.

I could feel it in the way his body trembled slightly against mine, in the way his hands roamed absently over my back and hips, unable to stop touching me even for a moment.

And I was no better. Every brush of his skin against mine lit me up all over again, a low, aching need building higher and higher with every breath.

It was... impossible to resist. Even trying felt wrong.

At some point, I didn't know when Azriel shifted, rising to his feet with me gathered protectively in his arms, as if I were the most precious thing he had ever held.

"Room," he rasped, voice barely more than a growl, strained with the effort of control.

I only nodded, too breathless, too full of him to find words.

He carried me off the roof, his wings folding carefully behind him, moving through the halls with single-minded determination.

The bond pulsed between us, hot and insistent, our magic and our souls tangled so tightly I couldn't tell where I ended and he began.

When we reached my room, he nudged the door open with his foot, setting me down on the bed as if I were made of glass.

For a heartbeat, he simply stood there, breathing hard, staring at me as if he couldn't believe I was real.

And then he was on me again.

Azriel kissed me with a hunger that stole my breath, tearing gentle, aching sounds from my throat as his hands mapped every inch of me, slow and reverent and desperate all at once.

Clothes were once again shed between gasps and murmured promises, until there was nothing left between us but skin and soul.

He made love to me again, slowly at first, savouring every sigh, every shudder, every whispered word of his name.

He worshipped me with his hands, his mouth, his body, coaxing pleasure from me with a patience that should have been impossible with the frenzy burning between us.

But the bond demanded more. We demanded more.

Again. And again. And again.

The night blurred around us, lost to the endless rhythm of our bodies finding each other over and over.

Each time he entered me, it felt like the first time, new and overwhelming, too much and yet never enough.

At one point, between kisses, between the endless rise and fall of our bodies, Azriel pressed his forehead to mine, his breathing ragged, his voice wrecked.

"I'm not sure..." he panted, nuzzling my cheek, "I'm not sure I will ever get used to this. To you."

I smiled, heart full to bursting, and lifted my hand to trace the sharp line of his jaw with my fingertips. The simplest touch made him shudder, made his eyes flutter closed like he couldn't bear the tenderness of it.

"Me neither," I whispered, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone. "It feels like... more than anything I ever imagined."

Azriel went very still then, pulling back just enough to look at me fully. The weight of his gaze stole the air from my lungs.

"I do not think..." His voice cracked, raw and broken open. "I do not think I would survive not having you. Not now. Not after this. Not after knowing what it's like to have you."

My heart squeezed so tightly I thought it might burst.

I lifted my hand again, cupping his face between both my palms, grounding him, anchoring him. I sent a pulse of pure, unwavering love down the bond, letting it flood into him—warm and bright and sure.

"You'll never have to worry about that," I whispered fiercely. "Never. I'm yours, Az. Always."

Something inside him broke at that, something fragile and hidden and he kissed me again, softer this time, as if trying to pour every piece of himself into me.

He rolled onto his side, gathering me close, our bodies tangled together in the sheets that smelled like us.

His wing curled protectively around us, shielding us from the world.

I pressed my forehead to his, sending another wave of love through the bond just because I could, and felt his answering surge, stronger now, fiercer.

Ours, the bond sang. Ours, ours, ours.

Azriel's hand found mine beneath the covers, threading our fingers together, holding me as if he would never, could never, let go.

And I knew, without doubt or fear, that he wouldn't. Not now. Not ever.

The room was quiet now, save for the soft sound of our breathing, the occasional whisper of the wind against the windows.

Azriel still had his arms around me, his thumb lazily stroking circles against my lower back, even as exhaustion pulled at both of us.

Neither of us wanted to let go. Neither of us could.

I pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, savouring the way he smiled against my lips—a rare, unguarded thing meant only for me.

For a long moment, I simply looked at him, memorising every detail, the curve of his mouth, the shadows in his eyes that had been replaced, at least for now, with something softer, something whole.

And then his hand lifted, brushing gently along the line of my collarbone. His fingers found the necklace there, his necklace, the one I'd worn that day and hadn't even imagined to take off.

He traced the chain slowly, reverently, like it was a lifeline. Like he couldn't quite believe it was still there.

"You kept it," he murmured.

"I never took it off," I said, barely more than a breath. Emotion shimmered in his gaze, something tender, wordless.

And then, the words just spilt out of me, a truth I hadn't even realised was waiting on my tongue.

"I thought I lost my light," I whispered, voice thick with emotion, "but you were always carrying it for me."

Azriel's breath hitched, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly at my waist. He leaned in, brushing his nose against mine so tenderly it made my chest ache.

"No," he said softly, his voice rough and full of something ancient and boundless.

"You were never lost, little star. Just... wandering home."

Home. I was home.

Azriel was my home.

A/n - I can’t believe this is the final chapter!!

Obviously this had to happen under the stars—I would be a fake if I didn't. And of course she accepted the bond with something she baked and what else could it have been but his favourite, brownies :)

I also wasn’t sure whether to include smut or not, so I kinda did both, something tender and intimate but more implied than explicit (lmk if I should tag this differently!)

This part was emotional to write (I am a sappy person so I get like this at the end of most of my stories). I just really wanted to honour their journey properly.

I truly, truly hope this ending did the whole story justice because I quite like it.

Also—I’ve written and edited another Azriel story! It’s a 12-part series featuring forbidden romance, an accidental pregnancy, and a secret relationship. If that sounds like your thing, the masterlist for it is posted: Shadow and Flame :))

Thank you for reading and for all the support, it means the world <33

I had to post this a day earlier because it was either this or wait till monday because im busy this weekend (i refuse to queue this part it's too monumental) and I couldn't be cruel so here we are 😭

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @tele86 @saamanthaag3 @whydohumansss @xlosttdreamss @bookishwondersworld @plants-w0rld @i-am-infinite @ly--canthrope @lreadsstuff @urfunnyvalentin3 @dnfhascorruptedme @lovejbaby @fxckmiup @hbizates-blog

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