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dystopicjumpsuit · 7 months ago

Note

Hi DJ! If you’re still doing the ficlet requests, can I get 24 (cuddles of reassurance) with Wolffe? Maybe fem!reader is having a hard time with sex and feels embarrassed/overwhelmed? (If that’s too explicit/uncomy feel free to ignore :))

Just a Little Bit More

A/N: Thank you so much for this request, Alli! I’ve actually been wanting to write a fic like this for a while. I feel like so much of the smut we see in fanfiction AND in published fiction/media in general is so idealized that even when it has elements of realism, it can present a distorted idea of what sex and intimacy can really be like. I’m certainly guilty of writing somewhat idealized smut, though I do try to maintain at least some semblance of realism (unless Sev is involved; all bets are off with that man). While there’s nothing wrong with having that fantasy, I think it’s healthy and important to also show the reality that it isn’t always easy or flawless, even with a caring, experienced partner who takes our pleasure seriously and does everything “right.”

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader (Fem; has hair)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 3.3K of straight smut with some cuddles

Warnings and tags: cuddles; hurt comfort; language; SMUT; oral sex; PIV; nipple play; light/playful spanking; body worship; sex toys; fingering; exhibitionism; voyeurism; creampie; difficulty with orgasm. AKA, the return of SMUTKEA.

Summary: Wolffe is the best you’ve ever had. That doesn’t mean it’s always perfect.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Fruit de La Créativité by Grès (raspberry & leather)

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Wolffe gazed up into your eyes as you rolled your hips slowly, searching for the perfect angle. You knew you could find it: you’d done it before, countless times. His strong, warm hands glided up your thighs to your hips, pulling you closer, thrusting deeper, guiding you closer and closer to your pleasure. You could feel it building inside you, the tension gathering slowly.

Too slowly.

He smoothed one hand up your side, grazing along your rib cage until he cupped your breast, circling your nipple with his thumb. He knew exactly how much pressure you liked, and the way he touched you was perfect.

God, he’s so hot. Just focus on how hot he is.

Sweat glistened on your skin. The room hadn’t been this hot when he’d pulled you into bed, but after an hour and a half of vigorous activity, you were both slick with perspiration, saliva, arousal, and lube. He’d mapped your body with kisses, gliding his lips and tongue across your skin as he devoured you, bringing you right to the edge until you begged him to fuck you.

You’d wrapped your legs around his waist as he eased into you, a tormented groan rumbling from his lips as he felt your heat envelope him. Gods, he felt amazing, and when he started to move, you knew it would only be a matter of minutes before you came.

It took longer than you expected, and after a while, you realized something needed to change.

“Take me from behind,” you’d murmured, knowing how much he loved the way your ass pressed into his hips in that position.

“God, yes,” he’d replied, pulling out and rolling you over with enthusiasm.

You loved the way he handled you in bed. He was so fucking strong. He could toss you around so easily—it was hot as hell, but the best thing about it was the care he took to make sure you were comfortable and he didn’t accidentally hurt you. He lifted your hips up and positioned you exactly the way he wanted you. You heard a small click as he closed the bottle of lube, and then you felt his slickened fingers glide over your cunt as he ensured you were ready to take him from the new angle.

“Maker, that ass is gorgeous,” he said, squeezing your cheeks before giving you a playful smack.

Your mischievous giggle turned into a breathless moan as he sank into you, reaching deeper, stretching you wider, as his hand slid down your body to tease your clit. You loved the way he touched you, the way he caged you in with his body, making you feel incredibly safe and protected. And of course, you loved his cock. He knew exactly how to use it to ensure he gave you as much pleasure as he took—or more.

And still, your orgasm remained tantalizingly just out of reach. He shifted, and for a moment, his body rested heavily on you before he resumed his rhythm.

He’s getting tired. Fuck. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up. I need to give him a break.

“Want me to be on top?” you offered, hoping that yet another angle would be the one that finally pushed you past whatever mental block was keeping you from your release.

He paused, his hands resting on your hips. “Is that what you want?”

“Sure,” you replied. “If you do?”

He trailed his fingers down your spine before slowly withdrawing from your body. You turned to watch as he rolled onto his back and kicked the blankets off the bed. He reached for you with that sexy smirk that you loved so much, and you knew without question that he still wanted you.

He’s such a good man. Gods, he deserves the world.

“Hop on, darlin’,” he invited.

You crawled toward him with a smile, pausing a moment to kneel between his thighs. You traced your fingertips up his legs and over his balls, then ghosted a line up the underside of his cock. You glanced up to see his eyes fixed on you with an intense expression. Holding his gaze, you dropped lower and flicked your tongue over his tip, then slid his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue over him. You could taste yourself on his skin—salty, tangy, unspeakably erotic. His hips flexed beneath you, and you heard his breath grow ragged.

He caressed your head gently, stroking his hand over your hair and jaw before coming to rest on your shoulders.

“Not gonna last if you keep that up,” he said quietly. “Come up here.”

You gave him one last defiant, flirtatious little suck before you released him, then you began to crawl up to him, kissing a trail up his abdomen and chest. You straddled his hips, kissing and licking your way up his throat, and as you reached his lips, you whispered, “You taste like pussy.”

“Then I must be delicious,” he murmured, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and pulling you into a passionate kiss.

His tongue slid into your mouth as his cock thrust into your cunt, and for a moment you were overwhelmed with the sensations of him filling you. A fresh wave of arousal had flooded you as you’d pleasured him with your mouth, and he slipped into you easily, rocking into you with his powerful thighs. You braced your fists against the mattress on either side of his head, pressing down to meet his thrusts as you rode him hard and fast, chasing your pleasure with a desperation that started to border on frantic as release continued to elude you.

“Gonna make you come so hard,” he whispered. “And then I’m gonna fill you up. You feel so goddamn good. Can’t wait to feel you come around my cock.”

I’m trying, damn it!

“You feel incredible,” you replied breathlessly, and it was true, so why was this so kriffing difficult?

Your hips were starting to get sore from how long you’d been at it, so you shifted positions, bringing your knees higher and setting a slower pace to try to buy yourself enough time that you’d have the energy to make it to the finish line. Wolffe adjusted instantly, not even needing a verbal cue to understand the message your body sent. You found the angle that pressed his cock against the perfect place inside you, and you focused on trying to get as much stimulation there as you possibly could, cutting out all extraneous movement.

The longer it took, the more anxious and desperate you became. You tried to shut down the voice in your head that whispered, “He’s getting bored,” because you knew it was a lie. All you had to do was look into his beautiful, mismatched eyes to see how much he wanted you. And you were so close. So fucking close, if you could just get out of your own head long enough to let go.

You traced your fingertips across his cheekbone and along his jaw, grazing your thumb across his lips. You pressed gently, parting his lips to brush your thumb against his tongue, and then you leaned down and kissed him deeply, trying to lose yourself in the sensation of his lips and tongue against your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as you broke from the kiss and returned your hand to brace against the mattress. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Please stop talking. You couldn’t say it out loud; what kind of an asshole says something like that in response to a compliment?

“You’re so sexy,” you whispered instead. “You’re amazing at this.”

It was true; he was amazing. Unquestionably the best you’d ever had. In the time you’d been together, he’d learned your body completely, identifying every spot that made you shiver, testing different approaches until he knew exactly how and where you liked to be touched, kissed, caressed. He knew where to use his teeth, and where to use his breath; he knew when you wanted him to be tender, and when you craved roughness.

He knew you.

He knew you better than anyone ever had, and that made your current predicament even more maddening. Because sometimes it was easy. Sometimes you came so fast that your orgasm surprised both of you. But most of the time, it took more work. A lot more. And sometimes, like this one, you would get so close to the edge that you were only seconds away, only to feel the wave of pleasure ebb and be replaced with frustration and exhaustion.

Please, please, please. Just a little bit more.

Your wrists ached. Your knuckles were raw from grinding them into the sheets. You shifted your weight and lifted one hand off the mattress, stretching your fingers and trying to get the blood flowing to them. He glanced at your hand, then back up into your eyes.

“What can I do?” he asked softly.

“Just… keep going,” you said desperately. “I’m so close—I’m so fucking close, and I just can’t—I can’t—”

Abrupt tears stung your eyes, and you buried your face against his neck to hide them, kissing his chest to try to distract him from your distress.

He wrapped his arms around your body, still rocking into you at the pace you’d set. “Do you want to take a break?”

“No, I want you to come,” you snapped, disappointment sharpening your tone more than you intended.

He stilled immediately. You felt his hand slide up your back to stroke your hair softly.

“Hey,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “Look at me.”

You shook your head and burrowed your face obstinately into the nook where his neck met his shoulder.

“Talk to me, little one,” he urged. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

The dam cracked and then burst.

“I’m so fucking tired,” you sobbed. “And I can tell you’re getting tired, and I just want it to be good for you, and every time I think I’m getting there, I lose it!”

Mortification swept through you that you were making a scene during such an intimate moment, and you tried to stifle your sobs, but it was too late. You felt him go soft inside you, and then he slipped from your body.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to ruin it for you.”

His arms tightened around you, and he rolled the both of you onto your sides, pulling you close against his body. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Holding you tightly with one arm, he began to run his hand lightly over your back, comforting you with his touch as he kissed your forehead.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he repeated. “You just got tired. It’s all right, love. It happens.”

“It’s so frustrating,” you confessed. “So many times, I thought I was there, and then something would distract me, and it was just gone.”

“Was it something I did?” he asked.

“No, of course not. It was just… I don’t know. A noise? Or a weird thought that popped into my head at a bad time?” You paused, feeling a little guilty as you remembered that, in fact, you had gotten annoyed at an ill-timed remark from him. “And then the longer it took, the more it stressed me out about how long it was taking, until I was stressing so much about it that that’s all I could think about.”

He moved his hand to your shoulder and began to glide it up and down your arm in long, languid strokes. “Why were you worried about taking too long?”

You paused, unaccountably hesitant to admit the truth. He waited patiently, still caressing your arm, until at last you replied, “I was worried you were getting tired. Or bored. Or—I don’t know…”

His hand stilled in its progress, then slid around your back as he pulled you even closer to him. “I would never get bored with you.”

“But—”

“I love you,” he cut you off firmly. “I love being with you. I love fuckin’ you. You’re gorgeous, and sexy, and kriffin’ amazing in the sack. Do you have any idea how lucky I am? Most men only dream of finding a girl like you, but I got you for real. How the hell would I ever be stupid enough to get bored with someone as goddamn perfect as you?”

You didn’t know what to say. You lay in his arms, clinging tightly to him as the tears finally stopped trickling from your eyes. You shuddered quietly.

“Yeah?” you asked in a tiny whisper.

He rolled you onto your back and moved to lie on top of you so he could look into your eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied.

You swallowed. “I love you, too, you know.”

“I know,” he said with a charming smirk.

He pressed his lips to your sternum as his hand slid lazily up your body to play with your breast. The weight of his body pressed you down into the soft mattress as you cradled his chest between your thighs. You took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, releasing the guilt and stress and self-recrimination you’d built up in your body.

He kissed you again, and again, then he began to work his way across your chest until he drew your nipple into his mouth, brushing his tongue over your skin as he sucked gently, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You felt a spark of renewed arousal, but with it came a surge of anxiety that rose insistently in your mind.

“Wolffe,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I can. I really am exhausted.”

He looked up at you as he continued to tease your breast. At last, he released your nipple from his lips, giving you a devilish smile.

“What if we tried something else?”

You couldn’t help the way your lips curved into an answering smile when he looked at you like that. “What did you have in mind?”

He pushed himself up off of you and leaned over to rummage through your nightstand until he retrieved a vibrator—the one you’d once jokingly called “Old Faithful” for its uncanny ability to get you off like clockwork.

“I want you to fuck yourself with this,” he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly pitch. “I want to watch you make yourself come.”

Your breath stuttered to a halt, your eyes widening and your heart beginning to pound at the idea. Your gaze flicked from the toy to his eyes and back again.

“Wh—what about you?” you stammered.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he replied. He switched on the vibrator and traced it down your abdomen, making you twitch as its buzz tickled your skin. “Will you?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, taking the toy from him. “How do you want me?”

“Whatever way works best for you.”

You thought about trying to pose for him, to put on a show, but you knew instinctively that wasn’t what he was after. If he’d wanted to watch a counterfeit, staged orgasm, he would have just found a holoporn. No. He wanted the real thing. He wanted to see your genuine pleasure.

“All right,” you whispered.

You took the toy from him, and he moved off of your body to lie next to you, observing you closely. You adjusted the settings to your preferred speed and pattern, then took a deep breath and began.

The instant you touched the vibrator to your clit, your entire body tensed, and you gasped quietly. You glanced at Wolffe and found his gaze riveted to your pussy, his one good pupil dilated so wide you could barely see the amber ring of his iris around its inky depths. You felt a little self-conscious until you saw the way his lips parted slightly as his breath became heavy.

You pushed yourself back into the pillow and closed your eyes as you adjusted the angle of the toy, pressing it exactly as you needed it. With your free hand, you began to play with your breast, caressing and squeezing and rolling your nipple between your fingertips. You felt the warmth of his hand as it settled onto your leg and then slid up your thigh. Your opposite leg curled up to brace your foot against the bed, opening your stance wider as you moved the vibrator exactly the way you needed it.

“Fuck,” he rasped hoarsely, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. His fingers grazed lightly over your pussy, but quickly withdrew.

“You can touch me,” you gasped.

He didn’t move immediately, and you continued to work yourself closer and closer to your orgasm, feeling the tension gather in your body and begin to tighten in on your center. Then his fingertips brushed over your cunt again, and you felt his lips and tongue descend on your hip. He didn’t try to take control, just touched you softly, kissing and licking and watching as you played with yourself.

You adjusted your position again, bringing your leg against his body, and you felt his slick, rigid cock press hard against you. You whimpered, so turned on you couldn’t even form words, and in response, he ground his erection against you. He kissed across your pelvis until he reached your belly, pressing his face into you.

“I’m so close,” you panted.

“Kriff, me too,” he growled.

His fingertip grazed into you, and your body jerked as you gasped sharply. He froze, and without thinking, you moved your hand away from your breast to grab his wrist and push him deeper. With an urgent grunt, he began to move his finger, stroking exactly where he knew you needed him.

Abruptly, your hips arched off the bed, and you let out an inhuman wail. If your brain had been functioning, you might have also heard Wolffe’s rough groan, but at the moment, you were aware of nothing but blinding, shattering pleasure as your body finally found the release it had been denied for so many hours. You jerked the vibrator away as the intensity suddenly became too much, and your body convulsed again and again until at last you collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.

Wolffe covered you with frantic kisses, crawling up your body until he reached your face. His body hovered over you as his tongue brushed between your lips and flooded your mouth with his taste. Your arms wrapped around his torso as your legs tightened around his hips, and you pulled him into you. His cock slid easily, and he thrust hard and fast, fucking you through the last tremors of your orgasm.

He came within seconds, flooding you with heat as he thrust hard, one last time, burying his cock as deep as he could inside your body. He stayed there, his entire body taut, until at last he exhaled a hard breath and relaxed onto you. His lips broke away from yours, and he rested his forehead against the pillow next to your head.

“Fuck,” he panted, the word hot against your ear. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

You stroked your hands up and down his back, digging your nails lightly into his skin. He groaned and slumped heavily against your body. You loved the weight of him on top of you, but before long, you began to wheeze quietly as you struggled to draw breath. He heard the shift and immediately rolled off of you, pulling you against himself as he came to rest on the bed.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you pressed your lips to his chest.

He laughed quietly. “Thank you. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Worth the wait?” you asked.

“Worth everything,” he murmured, drawing you even closer. “Everything, and more. You always have been.”

---

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levisolace · 2 months ago

Text

am i making you feel sick? (zayne x f!reader)

WC: 15,691 Pairing: zayne x reader, subtle sylus x reader Warnings: graphic depictions of illness Genre: Angst, (Possibly) Unrequited Love, Hanahaki Disease AU Summary: You escape Linkon to heal from the deadly Hanahaki Disease, your unspoken love for Dr. Zayne threatening to consume you from within. Note: Hi! I had this in my drafts for a while since Sylus came out. Figured to finally post it. Here's my first LaDs fic. Hope you all like it. This is only a one-shot btw.

ao3 link

You don’t know when it started. Maybe it was over the meals you’ve shared, or when you began to know much more about him, how he loved sweets, how he graduated half the time it should’ve, or maybe it’s just how truly and deeply kind and caring he is. In the stolen glances you gave him whenever he was in your presence, you admired how beautiful he was. His raven black hair, hazel green eyes, and broad shoulders. Oh, his beautiful shoulders. It was your dream to have your hands running through them.

It was perfect. You two shared a history from your childhood and more than a decade later, you were brought back once again in your adult years. Like it was fated. Like stars have aligned for the two of you. Maybe it was the knowledge of the “you meet people twice theory” that made your delusion worse. Maybe it was when you began to think of scenarios of you and him before you went to sleep at night.

To make it short, you don’t know when you started falling in love with your primary care physician, Dr. Zayne.

It was fun at first, the idea of falling in love. He is your friend, no matter how busy he is, if he can, he gives his free time to you. In the midst of all of that, you began to question yourself if the way you see him was more than a friend.

Before you knew it, you found yourself blushing at every interaction, every text, every post and comment he made, and every doctor appointment whenever he would even slightly touch you. Your heart rate sped up and he probably noticed that too. You were practically transparent with how easy you are to read.

He was the total opposite.

He’s stoic and unreadable. Half of the time, you don’t know if he’s serious or joking. Most of the time, it’s the former. He would always find ways to scold you on how you take care of yourself.

Still, you hoped. You made yourself believe that underneath all that caring was an underlying emotion that comes as more than a physician and a friend. And so you let yourself fall into that deep abyss of longing. Love. It’s such a common word, one that is used lightly but holds the weight of the world and humanity.

But you couldn’t be more wrong.

You stepped out of the cab and onto the rain-slicked pavement of Linkon, the familiar hum of the city wrapping around you like an old friend. The night was young, but the streets were already alive with their own rhythm—flashes of neon lights, distant sirens, and the ever-present murmur of conversations blending into a cacophony that was both chaotic and comforting.

You tugged your leather jacket tighter against the cool evening breeze, your thoughts racing faster than your heartbeat. After weeks in the field—tracking elusive prey through shadowed forests and braving the bite of unforgiving weather—returning to the city was like slipping into a well-worn pair of boots. But tonight, the excitement in your step had nothing to do with the urban landscape you missed. It was all about the man waiting for you at the clinic.

Dr. Zayne had been a constant in your thoughts even while you were miles away, slinking through the underbrush and facing dangers of wanderers. Your encounters were always memorable, punctuated by shared glances and conversations that left you with a giddy sense of longing.

Your boots clacked against the pavement as you hurried down the street, the soft patter of rain masking her footsteps. You reached the glass door of the clinic, pausing for a moment to smooth your hair and then pushed inside.

The lobby was quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of overhead lights and the soft hum of a vending machine in the corner. You approached the reception desk, where a young woman was looking up with a smile.

“Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Zayne,” you tell her.

“Ah, Miss (L/N), right?” the receptionist asked. You’ve probably been here too many times to not be known. Is that a bad thing? Probably. But you don’t mind.

You nod. “Ah, I think Dr. Zayne stepped out for dinner,” she informs you. “You can wait here. He should be coming back soon.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you,” you replied, giving her a smile.

You cursed to yourself. You probably shouldn’t have tried to surprise him with your unprecedented visit and just texted him beforehand. It’s still pretty early for his usual dinner time despite it being dark already. With how busy and needed he is in the hospital, it resulted in him having inconsistent meal times, very much similar to your line of work. You hoped to catch him before he ate and ask him out for a meal like you always do. But that’s not happening tonight.

As you wait patiently in the lobby while looking through social media posts on your phone, a nurse you know well approached you and called you by your name. You look up to see Yvonne smiling at you. You gave her a genuine smile back, happy to see an acquaintance.

“Hey Ms. Hunter, you here for Dr. Zayne?” she asked.

“Yeah, I heard he’s out for dinner. I just got back from a mission and wanted to see him because I had to skip an appointment during the week,” you inform her.

She places her hand in the pockets of her scrub as she thinks, her eyes widening for a moment when she remembers. “Yeah, I think he ate dinner with Dr. Emma.”

“Dr. Emma?” The unfamiliar name rolls off your tongue in a bad way. This is the first time you’ve heard of her.

“Yeah, she’s a new doctor who transferred here a while ago. A genius doctor too, maybe that’s why she quickly hit it off with Dr. Zayne,” she pouts.

That’s when your heart sank. A dinner date. The words echoed in your mind, crushing the small spark of hope you had been nurturing. You forced a smile as Yvonne excused herself out of the quick conversation, dropping it as quickly as she fades from your view.

Just like that, your excitement bubbled down into an unknown pain. It was like humiliation but something else completely. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you even if no one was watching you—like they knew you were here for Zayne but he was already with another woman. But they don’t know that. You’re just another patient here. Thinking of that truth should’ve comforted you. But somehow, it felt worse.

With a heavy heart, you went back to your apartment without seeing the doctor you were waiting for.

One sad dinner by yourself later, you found yourself lying on your bed, the exhaustion of the preceding mission finally dawned on you. The adrenaline of excitement has worn out, leaving you with a heavy feeling of disappointment and body ache.

Your phone dinged with a notification and yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to move a limb. It’s a wonder how you never felt this way after a mission before even if you were injured. It’s like something was weighing you down but you couldn’t pinpoint where.

The phone dinged a few times more and you ignored it, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment. You guess it was just the group chat from work. Tomorrow and the weekend are your days off anyway. They can forgive you for not responding for a few hours.

It was then that your phone started to ring, indicating a phone call. Groaning in annoyance, you will yourself to reach for your phone by the bedside table, picking it up hastily while your eyes are closed.

“Hello?” you answer groggily.

“Are you alright?” The familiar deep voice asked without missing a beat, tone laced with concern. Your eyes widen, looking at the caller ID. It was Zayne. The messages were also from him.

“Oh, it’s you.” Everything felt lighter than it was, your tone involuntarily chipper than it was a second ago. It was like your body is uncontrollable when it comes to him. You sit up on your bed to speak to him more clearly.

“What happened?” He asked again, eager to get the point.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you leave the hospital? The nurse told me you were here to see me and then left,” he asked further. You don’t answer for a moment, unsure on what to lie about. You can’t exactly tell him the truth.

“Oh… yeah. I just got back from a mission but you weren’t there so I left,” you explained.

There was silence from a moment like he was thinking and you wish that you knew what it was about. Like most of the time, you wished to enter his mind and see him wholly.

“...Are you hurt?” The eagerness dropped from his tone, replaced by the softness that you adored partnered with the deep concern that he showed you multiple times. It’s a softness that you found yourself used to, something that pertains to a relationship more than a doctor and his patient.

“I’m alright, Dr. Zayne,” you answer truthfully but your voice betrays you and you curse yourself in your mind, knowing that the attentive doctor would notice.

“You don’t sound alright,” he states the obvious, the subtle sarcasm noted in his answer.

“I really am, Zayne. I just felt bad about missing the appointment because of the mission,” you say as you pull and fold your legs closer to yourself, hugging them to your chest. You hear his soft sigh on the other line and you let out an involuntary chuckle, picturing his disappointed and crunched forehead while he sat on his office desk.

“Do you want to come in tomorrow?” He asked and your heart jumped at the question. The thought of seeing him tomorrow giving you a boost of serotonin.

“Do I need to? I really am fine,” you answer truthfully, pertaining to your physical health.

“Nevermind. You’re coming in tomorrow. That’s an order from your doctor,” he commands and you chuckle again and roll your eyes but enjoy his nagging nonetheless.

“Fine, Dr. Zayne. I’ll come in tomorrow.”

“Great, I’ll see you then,” and he hangs up.

That night, you sleep with a heavy heart no longer but the thought of another woman still lingers at the back of your mind. You push the thoughts away, focusing on the thought that you will see him tomorrow.

Just for tonight, you’ll dream of those green eyes. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?

You sit in front of him, legs crossed, your frilly skirt brushing against your knees as you try to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Zayne flips through your chart, his brow furrowed in concentration, like every detail of your health is a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“Everything looks fine,” he says at last, his voice calm and steady.

You smile, forcing a lightness to your tone that doesn’t quite match how you feel inside. “Told you. I’m a good Hunter.”

His lips twitch into a half-smile. “You are. But that doesn’t mean you should throw yourself at any wanderer that crosses your path.”

You pout, sticking out your bottom lip in mock protest. “I wasn’t throwing myself at anyone. You make it sound like I’m reckless.”

Zayne chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not reckless��just a bit too fearless sometimes.”

The playful back-and-forth between you has become so natural, but today it feels different. You’d dressed up a little for this checkup, abandoning your usual jeans for something more delicate, more thoughtful, hoping he might notice. Maybe today would be the day you’d muster up the courage to say something—anything—to let him know how you feel. But before you can respond, a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

Zayne glances up, his face softening instantly. “Come in.”

The door opens, and a woman steps inside, holding a small container in her hands. She’s striking, with short auburn hair that falls just past her ears and eyes that shine with quiet warmth. She’s dressed in a simple but elegant medical uniform, her steps confident and unhurried as she approaches the desk.

“Hey,” she says, smiling at Zayne. “I brought you something.” She sets the candy container down in front of him, a fond look passing between them.

Zayne’s face lights up—genuinely lights up—in a way you’ve rarely seen. He glances over at you, as if only just realizing you’re still in the room. “Y/N, this is Dr. Emma Lin. She’s—uh—one of the new doctors here at Akso Hospital.”

Emma gives you a polite nod, her smile warm but distant, like she’s already figured out who you are and where you stand. You manage to smile back, but your throat tightens painfully. You can feel the familiar weight of something blooming deep inside, a pressure building that you’ve worked so hard to suppress.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Emma says lightly, looking back at Zayne. “I just thought you could use a snack.”

“No, it’s fine,” Zayne replies, his tone softening even more. “Thanks for this.”

Emma lingers for a moment, her hand lightly brushing Zayne’s shoulder before she finally turns and heads out, leaving the room in an awkward, heavy silence.

You stare at the closed door, a pit forming in your stomach. So this is her.

“She’s nice,” you say, forcing the words out even though they taste bitter on your tongue. “Seems like she cares a lot.”

Zayne clears his throat, his gaze dropping back to the chart, though he’s clearly not reading it anymore. “Yeah. She’s great. We’ve been, uh… seeing each other.”

There it is. The confirmation you didn’t want but were already expecting.

“Oh,” you say softly, keeping your tone as casual as you can manage. “That’s… that’s nice, Zayne.”

He glances up at you, his brows knitting together as if he can sense the sudden shift in your mood, the hurt you’re trying so hard to hide. “It’s still pretty new,” he adds, almost as if he’s apologizing. “We’re just trying it out.”

You swallow, the familiar burn in your throat intensifying. You can feel the petals—sharp and brittle—pressing against your chest, but you can’t let him see. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m happy for you,” you lie, forcing a smile that feels like it’s cracking at the edges. “You deserve someone great.”

Zayne watches you closely, his gaze searching, but you don’t let anything slip. Not a single hint of the pain coursing through you.

“I should probably go,” you say abruptly, standing up a little too quickly. “Thanks for the checkup, Zayne.”

He stands as well, concern flickering in his eyes, but you’re already heading for the door before he can ask any more questions.

“Y/N,” he calls after you, his voice hesitant, but you wave it off, turning with a bright, practiced smile.

“I’m fine, really. Just… have a lot on my mind. See you next time.”

And with that, you’re out the door, your chest tightening with every step as you leave the clinic. The air outside feels cold against your skin, the pressure building inside you unbearable. You let out a shaky breath, but little did you know, it’s too late to stop it.

The days dragged on like you were on autopilot. Your feelings weren’t new. They’ve always been there. Since you had a tiny crush on him in your childhood, you actually believed that you had a chance.

The memory of Zayne's words, spoken only a few weeks ago, echoed in your mind. His voice, usually so warm and reassuring, had been hesitant, almost apologetic, as he shared the news. He'd told you about the new doctor he was seeing, her name a blur in your memory, her face a hazy silhouette in your imagination.

You hadn't meant to linger, to let the silence stretch into an uncomfortable void. You'd forced a smile, a laugh, even though your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. You’d congratulated him, your voice a shaky whisper, but inside, you felt as though the world had been flipped on its side.

The world you’d been building in your head, a world where perhaps, just maybe, your unspoken feelings for Zayne could blossom into something more, had crumbled in an instant. You had been so careful, so cautious, not wanting to jeopardize the easy familiarity that had always existed between you. But now, the fragile hope you had clung to was gone, shattered into a million pieces.

The image of Zayne’s smile, reserved only for you, the way he’d always look at you with a warmth that seemed to encompass you entirely, now felt like a cruel mirage. The way his hand had lingered on yours, just a moment longer than necessary, had felt like a shared secret, a silent promise. Now, the memory of that touch sent a pang of longing through you, a sharp, unfamiliar ache.

You couldn't explain the sudden urge to avoid the clinic, the way even the faintest scent of disinfectant made you feel dizzy. You’d found yourself choosing the more dangerous missions, seeking solace in the adrenaline rush of battle, a temporary distraction from the growing unease in your heart.

You tried to push the thoughts away, to bury the hurt beneath layers of duty and responsibility. But it was a losing battle. The emptiness you felt, the ache in your chest, it was a constant companion now, a gnawing emptiness that refused to be ignored.

You couldn't ignore the growing fatigue, the way you seemed to be catching every bug that went around, the way your lungs felt tight, as though they were constantly filled with a suffocating weight. But you pushed it all aside, attributing it to the stress of your job, the relentless pressure of protecting the city. You were a Hunter, one with duties to protect the people from Wanderers. You couldn’t afford to be sick. Not when their threats are more rampant than before.

You need more distraction. You need to forget about Zayne.

The world felt muted, the colors drained.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the Hunter HQ buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow on the cluttered desk where you sat, sifting through reports. A wave of nausea, unexpected and sharp, rolled over you. You clutched your stomach, a bead of sweat forming on your brow. This wasn't the usual post-mission exhaustion. This felt… different.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Tara asks in concern as she sees you practically about to hurl.

You excused yourself, hurrying to the nearest restroom. The familiar scent of disinfectant did little to ease the churning in your gut. As you leaned over the sink, a wave of violent coughing seized you, racking your body. Something lodged in your throat, a burning sensation rising with each heave.

At first, it just worried you. Your protocore syndrome must’ve worsened. But that can’t be. You’ve gotten stronger since you’ve been in the N109 zone and you’ve been fine even before that.

Finally, you coughed up a small, crimson-tinged object – a delicate, blood-red rose petal.

Panic tightened your chest. Hanahaki. The whispered fear that had always lurked at the edges of your mind, now a stark reality. The illness that bloomed in your lungs, a physical manifestation of unrequited love, a slow, agonizing death. It was a rare disease, so rare that people even begin to question if they still exist. But they do. And now, you are an example.

Your world seemed to tilt on its axis. Zayne. His warm smile, his kind eyes, the way he always seemed to know just what to say, the way he’d gently patch you up after each mission, his hands tracing the scars on your arms with an unspoken tenderness that had always made your heart skip a beat.

You remembered the day he'd told you, his voice softer than usual, about the new doctor he was dating. The way his hand had lingered on the door handle, a touch of hesitancy in his eyes. The way he’d looked away as he mentioned the woman’s name. The woman he’d spent months, maybe even years, telling you stories about.

But this couldn’t be. You weren’t supposed to be sick. You were a Hunter, a soldier, a protector. You weren’t supposed to be felled by something as fragile and fleeting as love. You weren’t supposed to be… heartbroken.

The fear gnawed at you, a cold, sharp blade against your insides. Your vision blurred, the bright lights of the HQ fading to an almost unbearable white. You clung to the sink, your mind reeling, knowing that with each cough, each petal you coughed up, your life was slowly fading away.

The days dragged on, each one blending into the next, a constant reminder of your hidden struggle. Tara’s worried glances were becoming harder to ignore. She’d been your best friend since you started hunting together, and her concern was palpable, hovering like a cloud over your head.

“You need to take a break,” she pressed one evening after a long mission, her voice low as you both cleaned your gear in the dim light of the supply room. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not invincible, Y/N.”

You waved her off, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears. “I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. The last mission was tough, that’s all.” But deep down, you knew you were lying, and Tara could see right through it.

Your nights were plagued with coughing fits, sharp and painful, like a bitter reminder of the flowers blooming within you. Each cough felt like a warning, a desperate call for attention, yet you buried it beneath a layer of denial. You pushed through the pain, stubbornly refusing to let it slow you down.

But then Captain Jenna called you into her office, and you felt the weight of her piercing gaze as soon as you stepped inside. She was a force of nature—stern but compassionate, always demanding the best from her team. The moment she closed the door, you could sense the shift in atmosphere.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice steady but filled with concern. “You’re not yourself. I’ve noticed the way you falter during missions, how pale you’ve become. It’s like you’re a shadow of who you used to be. What’s going on?”

You met her gaze, your heart racing as you weighed your options. You could tell her the truth about your condition, about the Hanahaki disease that was slowly consuming you. But could you bear to reveal your secret? The love you held for Zayne, the pain of watching him with another woman—it felt too heavy, too raw to lay bare.

“It’s nothing, Captain. Just a bit worn out,” you said, your voice stronger than you felt.

“Worn out?” she repeated, her brow furrowing in disbelief. “This isn’t just exhaustion, Y/N. You’re struggling. I need you at your best. The team needs you at your best. If you can’t do this, I need to know.”

The pressure built inside you, and you fought the urge to scream, to let it all out. “I can handle it. I promise. Just give me a bit more time.”

Jenna studied you for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You know where to find me if you need to talk.”

You nodded, though her words felt like a lifeline you were too proud to grasp. As you left her office, the walls felt like they were closing in. The facade you’d built was crumbling, and you were running out of places to hide.

The next few days were a blur of missions, each one feeling heavier than the last. Tara’s worried looks became more frequent, and you could see the doubt creeping into her expression. You tried to put on a brave face, but the more you pushed yourself, the worse you felt. Your coughs grew worse, punctuated by a metallic taste that clung to your throat.

One evening, you finally reached your breaking point. You collapsed onto your bed after another grueling mission, your body trembling with exhaustion. Your hands trembled as you brushed your fingers across the petals that had begun to manifest along your throat. Each one was a reminder of your unspoken feelings, a testament to the love you couldn’t bear to confess.

As you lay there, Tara knocked on your door before entering without waiting for a response. She took one look at you and rushed to your side, her eyes wide with concern. “Y/N! You look awful! Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this bad?”

You turned your head away, biting your lip to keep from crying. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Stop lying to me!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with frustration. “You’re clearly not okay. You need to see a doctor. If you won’t talk to Jenna, then you’ll at least talk to someone else.”

At that moment, the walls you've built around yourself finally crumbled, and the truth began to pour out. “I don’t want to talk about it, Tara! I’m just… I’m just trying to keep it together.”

Her gaze softened, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you.”

You felt the warmth of her support, and for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it. “I… I don’t know how to explain it,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “There’s something wrong with me, and I don’t want to burden you with it.”

“You’re my best friend. You’re never a burden to me,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

With a shaky breath, you finally relented, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like an anchor. “I think I have Hanahaki disease. It’s… it’s because of Zayne.”

Tara’s eyes widened in shock. “What? How long have you known?”

“Since the checkup,” you admitted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But I can’t tell him. I can’t let him know how I feel. And if I don’t have the surgery, the flowers will keep growing. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Y/N…” Tara began, her voice a soothing balm against your anxiety. “You need to take care of yourself first. If Zayne cares about you like you think he does, he’ll understand.”

The idea felt foreign, a small glimmer of hope amidst the suffocating darkness. But would he really care? Would it matter to him?

You shook your head, the thoughts swirling like a tempest in your mind. “I can’t go back to him. Not like this.”

Tara leaned closer, determination shining in her eyes. “Then let’s go to the hospital and get you the help you need. You don’t have to face this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”

For the first time in days, the thought of facing your illness didn’t feel as daunting. Maybe there was still a chance to reclaim a piece of yourself. Taking what Tara said by heart, you stood up, ready to fight the battle you’d been avoiding for too long.

You need to come up with a plan without involving Zayne. He doesn’t need to know and carry the guilt of you being sick. He’s a doctor, for fuck’s sake. How could he bear to treat you when he learns that he’s the reason for it? Or worse, will he have to be the one to surgically remove the plant growing inside you to completely remove him for life?

After a long period of silence, you turn to Tara with dried tears in your eyes, determined and decided.

“Tara, I need you to listen to me about what I’m about to do.”

Filing a leave of absence from the Hunters Association felt like the hardest thing you’d done in a while, but it was the first necessary step. You expected resistance—Jenna rarely let anyone take time off easily, especially not with everything happening in Linkon City. But to your surprise, she granted your request immediately, no questions asked. Maybe she’d seen more of your exhaustion than you realized. Or maybe she knew this was something you needed to do alone.

Once the leave was secured, you contacted Sylus, the only one you know who could help you get into the N109 zone safely, a place few dared to go unless they had business on the other side of the law. He was your last hope for hiding away from everything: Zayne, your disease, and the life you couldn’t bear to face anymore. You expected him to hesitate, maybe even refuse to help, but Sylus responded almost immediately, granting you safe passage to his home without a second thought.

“You look rough, sweetie,” Sylus said the moment you stepped through the door. His nickname for you, one you used to find annoying and mocking, now felt oddly comforting. But today, there was no mockery in his tone. Only concern.

You glanced up at him, feeling the weight of his crimson eyes studying you. He wasn’t just looking at you; he was seeing you, seeing how much you’d changed since the last time you stayed in N109. Your skin had lost its color, your lips were dry and cracked, and your once sharp, determined eyes had dulled with fatigue and the weight of secrets.

Sylus sighed, stepping aside to let you pass. “You know where your room is.”

You nodded weakly, mumbling a soft “thank you” as you dragged yourself through the dimly lit hallway. Luke and Keiran, Sylus’s trusted associates, were already by your side, taking the backpack from your shoulder and exchanging worried glances as they guided you to your room.

The room was exactly as you remembered it—small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Sylus’s house. It had been your safe haven once before, back when the pressures of the outside world had gotten too heavy. But this time, it felt different. You were running from more than just stress. You were running from yourself.

Luke placed your bag on the chair while Keiran hovered near the door, his usual mischievous demeanor replaced by concern. “Are you hungry?” Keiran asked, his voice unusually gentle.

You shook your head, barely able to muster the energy to respond. The truth was, you hadn’t felt hunger in days, the constant nausea from the flowers growing inside you making food seem like an afterthought.

Keiran exchanged a glance with Luke before stepping closer. “You need to eat something, Y/N. You’re looking… worse than usual.”

You couldn’t help but give a weak smile at his bluntness. “I’ll eat later,” you promised, though you knew you probably wouldn’t.

Luke stayed silent and didn’t press the issue. Instead, he handed you a glass of water, and you took it gratefully, sipping slowly as the two of them busied themselves tidying the room. You could feel their unspoken worry, the way they moved more carefully around you, like you might break at any moment.

“Anything else you need, just let us know,” Luke said quietly before they both left, closing the door behind them.

Alone at last, you collapsed onto the bed, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. The room felt too quiet, too still, and your thoughts began to spiral. You’d made it to N109. You were away from Zayne, away from the Association, from everything. But the weight in your chest—the flowers—remained. You could feel them growing, their roots twisting deeper with every unspoken word, every feeling you couldn’t voice.

You lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how long you could keep running. How long until the disease consumed you completely?

There was a soft knock at the door, and you turned your head to see Sylus leaning against the frame, holding a tray of what looked like a warm bowl of noodles.

“Not eating, huh?” he said, his voice low. “I figured. Got you something anyway.” He walked in and placed the tray on the side table. You were right. It was one of your favorites when you stayed here before.

You smiled weakly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Sylus shrugged, his crimson eyes still locked on you, sharper now, as if he could see the weight you were carrying. He goes back to lean against the door frame, watching you like you were going to break at any second. “I do when you come back looking like death warmed over. What’s going on, Y/N?”

You wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill everything—the disease, your love for Zayne, the way it was slowly killing you. But the words stuck in your throat, and all you could manage was a tired, “It’s complicated.”

Sylus’s gaze didn’t waver. “Everything’s complicated. Doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it.”

For a moment, you considered it, but then the thought of Zayne flashed through your mind. The image of him with Emma, happy, unburdened by your love, and the flowers in your chest tightened.

“I’ll be fine,” you said instead, though you weren’t sure you believed it yourself.

Sylus stared at you for another long moment before sighing. “Well, you’re here now. Rest up. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

He pushed off the doorframe and left you alone again, but his words lingered in the air. We’ll figure it out.

But what if there was nothing left to figure out? What if the only solution was letting the flowers take you?

The silence of the room settled over you like a heavy blanket, pressing down on your chest until it was almost unbearable. Every breath felt strained, like the air itself was growing thicker. It has been a few days. You hadn’t told Sylus, or anyone for that matter, the full truth of your condition. But you could feel it—the flowers—growing stronger, more vicious by the day. Sylus has ordered a doctor to come to your room, just to check up on you. Just as you predicted, doctors are a bit hard to come by in this area. The doctor knows little about Hanahaki disease, so you told him it was your Protocore Disease accompanied by accumulated stress from work. He gave you suppressants and asked Sylus to monitor you for now.

Hours passed in a blur of restless half-sleep, until a sharp pain in your chest jolted you awake. You pressed a hand to your ribs, wincing as a violent cough wracked your body, more intense than any you’d had before. Panic surged through you as the pressure built in your throat, forcing you out of bed.

You stumbled into the bathroom, hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the sink. Another cough ripped through you, harder this time, and you doubled over, gasping. You felt something sharp and foreign rise in your throat—something too large, too wrong.

With a shuddering breath, you coughed again, and this time, something solid came up. You coughed repeatedly but it would just not come out. Tears stream down your face from the pain and frustration. You began to help it by pulling it out with your fingers. And finally, it came out.

You leaned over the sink, spitting out the mass into the basin, your heart pounding in your chest. When you looked down, you froze.

A stem of thorns, slick with blood, curled like a dark vine in the sink. Each thorn gleamed under the dim light, jagged and cruel. The petals had been bad enough, but this—this was something else. Something worse. You couldn’t ignore it any longer. The disease was advancing, and it was doing so faster than you’d anticipated.

Panic surged through you as you backed away from the sink, a quiet whimper escaping your lips. You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too late. You hear that damn bird cawing outside the door.

The door creaked open, and Sylus stepped into the bathroom, his eyes narrowing the moment he saw you. He was still dressed fully like he just came back from outside. He must’ve had a meeting late at night, a normal occurrence in this place. Mephisto, sits by his shoulder, cawing like he was the one who led Sylus to you.

“Y/N?” His voice was low but urgent, the edge of concern sharpening his usually calm demeanor.

You turned, eyes wide, your hand still pressed to your mouth as if you could hide the evidence. But it was no use. His gaze flickered from you to the sink, where the thorny stem still lay, stark against the white porcelain. There was blood all over your mouth, dripping on your hands and neck.

“Sweetie…” His voice dropped, softer now, but laced with something darker. “What the hell is going on?”

You couldn’t speak. The words stuck in your throat, tangled with fear and shame. Sylus crossed the room in a few quick strides, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached the sink. He stared at the thorns for a moment before looking back at you, his face hardening with realization.

“You’ve got Hanahaki, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a truth you could no longer deny.

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded, your hands shaking as you gripped the edge of the sink for support. “I… I didn’t want to tell anyone. I thought I could handle it,” your voice was hoarse, throat swollen as you tried so hard to speak.

“Handle it?” Sylus’s voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. “You’re coughing up thorns, Y/N, rose thorns. You do know that rose is one of the deadliest strains of Hanahaki, don’t you? This isn’t something you can just ‘handle.’ Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

You swallowed hard, the taste of blood still lingering red in your mouth. “Because… because it’s because of Zayne.”

Sylus froze, his eyes widening in shock. “Zayne? You mean—”

You nodded, the confession spilling out like a dam breaking. “I’ve loved him for so long, Sylus, and I can’t stop. But he’s with someone else now. And I… I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t put that on him, not when he’s happy.”

Sylus’s expression darkened, and he let out a low, frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Darling, you’re killing yourself over him. You should have told me sooner.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, the pain in your chest growing sharper. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought… I thought I could live with it, but it’s getting worse. The flowers, they’re… they’re spreading.”

Sylus stepped closer, his hands gripping your shoulders gently but firmly. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’ll figure something out. But first, we need to get you to a doctor. A real one, not some back-alley medic.”

“I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If I get the surgery, it’ll remove the feelings entirely. I won’t feel anything for Zayne anymore. And… and I don’t know if I’m ready to let go of that.”

Sylus’s expression softened, the anger fading as he saw the pain in your eyes. “I get it. But you have to take care of yourself first. This disease—it’s going to kill you if you don’t do something. I’m not letting you waste away like this.”

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. But the thought of losing your feelings for Zayne, of letting go of the love that had been a part of you for so long—it felt like a different kind of death.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Sylus nodded, his hands still steady on your shoulders. “I know. But I’ve got you, sweetie. We’ll get through this.”

You nodded, feeling the tears fall freely now. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else. To let Sylus’s strength carry you, if only for a little while.

“We’ll get you to a doctor in the N109 zone,” he said quietly. “Someone who can help, someone who won’t ask too many questions. But after that… you need to make a decision, Y/N. Whether you want the surgery or not, you need to choose. I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

You nodded, knowing that the time for running was over. You couldn’t keep pretending this wasn’t happening. The flowers had taken root, and now it was up to you to decide how to survive.

Zayne sat at his desk, staring down at the empty appointment slot on his tablet. It had been weeks since you missed your first check-up, and at first, he didn’t think much of it—Hunters had unpredictable schedules, after all. But then you missed the next one. And the one after that. Now, weeks had passed without so much as a text from you, and an uneasy feeling had settled deep in his gut. You were never this irresponsible about your health.

He tried reaching out—texts, calls—but all had gone unanswered. That was when real concern started to gnaw at him. The you he knew wouldn’t just vanish like that, especially not from something as crucial as your medical check-ups. Something was wrong.

He didn’t like the feeling. In fact, it twisted in his chest, growing heavier by the day. He’d dealt with plenty of patients who disappeared on him, but you were different. You always kept in touch, always made an effort to keep things light even when you were battered from a mission. But now? Silence.

Sighing, Zayne grabbed his coat and decided to take matters into his own hands. He needed to check on you in person. He knew where your apartment was—he’d dropped off medicine there more times than he could count after your particularly rough assignments. His job required him to keep an eye on his patients, but with you, it was more than that. He hated the way his thoughts kept drifting back to you.

The streets leading to your apartment were quiet as he made his way over, the familiar hum of the city blending into the background. His mind raced as he walked up the stairs to your door, running over all the possibilities: maybe you were hurt, maybe you were sick, maybe you were avoiding him. That last one gnawed at him harder than the others.

When he finally reached your apartment, Zayne rang the doorbell, waiting for a response. Silence. He knocked this time, but there was no movement, no sound coming from within. His heart sank a little, and he tried the handle. Locked.

“Y/N?” he called out, pressing his ear to the door. Nothing.

He felt his pulse quicken. He checked the windows, walked around the perimeter, hoping for some sign that you were there. But the place was eerily still. It was clear you hadn’t been home for a while. The anxiety that had been simmering in the back of his mind began to boil over.

Zayne pulled out his phone and scrolled to Tara’s number. If anyone knew where you were, it would be her. You were inseparable as fellow Hunters, practically glued to each other on and off the field. If something was wrong, Tara would have noticed.

The phone rang, each buzz tightening the knot in his stomach, until finally, Tara’s voice came through.

“Zayne? What’s up?”

“Hey, Tara,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Have you seen Y/N lately? She’s missed a couple of appointments, and I just went by her apartment. She’s not there, and she hasn’t been answering my calls.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Zayne’s chest tightened at the silence. Tara wasn’t usually one to hesitate.

“Zayne…” Her voice softened. “She’s on leave.”

“Leave?” His brow furrowed. “Since when? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She filed for leave about a week and a half ago,” Tara explained, her tone tinged with worry. “She hasn’t been herself lately. I mean, she’s not feeling well and went on sick leave… I figured she needed some time to recover, but I don’t know where she went.”

Zayne’s grip on his phone tightened. “Wait, she’s been sick?”

“I don’t know how bad, but it’s been getting worse. I tried to get her to rest, but you know Y/N. She’s stubborn. Always pushing herself too hard.” Tara sighed on the other end. “I haven’t been able to reach her since she left either. I thought maybe she just needed space, but… I don’t know, Zayne. She told me she’ll come back when she feels better.”

Zayne’s mind raced. Sick? That explained your recent absence from your appointments, but why hadn’t you come to him? Why hadn’t you said anything? And where the hell were you now? The idea of you out there, alone, battling something serious without any support—it made his stomach turn. He was supposed to be your physician. Who else could you trust more in this situation?

“Thanks, Tara,” he said quickly. “If you hear from her, let me know immediately.”

“You too,” Tara said, her voice growing softer with concern. “I hope she’s okay.”

Zayne hung up, his thoughts swirling in a storm of worry and frustration. This wasn’t just a case of missing appointments. You were sick, and you hadn’t told anyone what it is that you’re feeling. Not Tara, not the Association, and not him. The thought of you out there somewhere, getting worse by the day, hit him hard.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He wasn’t going to let this slide. He needed to find you, and fast. And if you were too stubborn to ask for help, well, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it to you anyway. You didn’t get to disappear on him. Not like this. Not when it felt like something was so deeply, dangerously wrong.

The underground clinic in the N109 Zone was dimly lit, the scent of antiseptic and metal lingering in the air. Sylus sat beside you, his crimson eyes fixed on the makeshift doctor as she examined your condition. The doctor, a woman with worn hands and tired eyes, shook her head slightly, pulling back from the dim glow of her equipment. Sylus told you she’s the only one in the area who specializes in Hanahaki disease.

“It’s as I suspected,” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the hum of old machines. “The remedies I’ve given her will alleviate some of the symptoms—the coughing, the pain—but they won’t stop the disease. Hanahaki can only be cured one way.”

You knew what she was going to say before she even spoke the words. You felt it every time you coughed, every time a petal slipped from your lips, every time the thorny vines twisted deeper into your lungs. Hanahaki Disease was a cruel sickness. Only unrequited love could birth it, and only love returned could stop it.

Sylus stood, pacing the small clinic room, his fists clenched tight. “So what’s the point of this?” he growled. “You’re telling me she’s just going to keep getting worse?”

The doctor nodded grimly. “I’ve seen cases like this before. Without reciprocation, the flowers will continue to bloom. The disease will spread. It will choke her from the inside out.” Her eyes shifted to you, softening with pity. “She’ll have to make a choice soon. Either have the flowers removed surgically and forget her feelings entirely, or…”

“Or die,” you finished for her, your voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor didn’t respond, but the silence was enough.

Sylus slammed his fist into the nearest counter, rattling the tools scattered across its surface. “There has to be another way.”

The doctor said nothing. She’d already given her answer.

You shifted uncomfortably in the worn cot, feeling the sharp sting of another thorn scratching at your throat. You pressed a hand to your mouth, and when you pulled it away, you saw more petals—vibrant, soft, and hauntingly beautiful. The irony wasn’t lost on you: love, something meant to be pure and life-giving, was slowly killing you.

Sylus knelt beside you, his frustration giving way to concern. He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You need real help.”

You met his gaze, seeing the worry etched deep into his features. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that you could push through this. But the truth was, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep going. Each day, the flowers bloomed more aggressively. Each day, you felt your strength slipping away. And the one person who could save you—Zayne—was unreachable, tangled in a new relationship, unaware of the feelings you’d been hiding.

“I don’t want to forget him,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Sylus’s expression darkened. “You’re dying for a man who doesn’t even know you’re dying because of him.”

You knew he was right. You’d seen Zayne’s smile when Emma came to his office. Zayne wasn’t yours to love, not anymore. Maybe he never was. But the thought of forgetting him entirely—of erasing every moment, every memory, every flicker of what could have been—was unbearable.

“I can’t,” you murmured. “Not yet.”

Sylus let out a slow breath, his frustration palpable, but he didn’t push further. He simply stayed by your side, silent but steadfast, offering the only comfort he could in this grim situation.

Days passed in a haze of pain and exhaustion. The makeshift remedies from the underground doctors kept the worst of the symptoms at bay, but they couldn’t stop the inevitable. The flowers continued to bloom, their roots digging deeper into your chest. You could feel them, a constant presence now, weighing down your lungs, stealing your breath little by little.

One night, as you lay in bed at Sylus’s place, you woke to another coughing fit. This time, it wasn’t just petals that came up—there were stems, long and twisted, covered in thorns. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, feeling the flowers pressing against your ribs, desperate to grow, desperate to take over. You couldn’t stop them.

Sylus found you sitting on the bathroom floor, clutching your chest, petals and stems scattered across the tiles. He didn’t say anything at first. He just knelt beside you, his expression a mix of anger and helplessness.

“You don’t have much time left, do you?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how weak you’d become until that moment, how much the disease had taken from you. The once-strong Hunter now sat in a heap, broken by love that was never meant to be.

Sylus grabbed his phone, his voice tense as he called another doctor. “She needs real help. Now.”

But deep down, you both knew the truth. There was no real cure for Hanahaki—not unless Zayne’s love was returned. And that hope was slipping further out of reach with each passing day.

The dim lighting of Sylus’s home did little to soothe your nerves. After another coughing fit that left you weakened and breathless, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bouquet of petals in your hand—pale, soft, and soaked in blood. The weight of your condition felt more unbearable with every passing day, the flowers pushing closer to your heart, the thorns digging deeper into your lungs. Yet, even after everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree to the surgery that would rip not only the flowers from you but also your feelings for Zayne.

There was a knock on the door. Sylus entered, followed closely by the underground doctor from the N109 zone. She carried a bag of supplies, her face etched with the same quiet concern you’d come to expect from her.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Sylus began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He took a seat beside you, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “The remedies we’ve been giving you… they’re not enough. You’re getting worse.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “But I’m not ready for the surgery. I can’t just… forget.”

The doctor stepped forward, glancing at Sylus before speaking. “Y/N, I understand your hesitation. But we’ve been talking, and there might be another option.”

You looked up, confused. “Another option?”

“It’s not a cure,” she clarified, her tone careful, “but there’s a treatment we could try. It won’t stop the disease entirely, but it could slow it down—buy you more time, at least. It would alleviate some of the more aggressive symptoms, like the coughing and the thorn growth.”

Your hope flickered. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

The doctor exchanged a quick glance with Sylus, then spoke again. “The treatment is experimental, and the resources here in the N109 zone are… limited. We don’t have the proper equipment to administer it safely. You’d have to go back to Linkon City, to Akso Hospital.”

Linkon City. The name sent a jolt of fear and longing through you. It meant facing everything you were trying to run from—Zayne, his new relationship with Emma, the memories you were desperate to hold onto. But it also meant the possibility of relief, of not feeling like you were drowning every time you took a breath.

“How does it work?” you asked warily, your eyes darting between the doctor and Sylus.

“The treatment will slow the growth of the flowers,” she explained. “It won’t cure the disease, but it’ll suppress the symptoms long enough for us to manage them. It’ll give you more time to decide what you want to do.”

Sylus crossed his arms, his gaze heavy on you. “It’s the best option right now, Y/N. Better than sitting here, wasting away.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Going back to Linkon meant stepping right back into Zayne’s world. You didn’t know if you could handle seeing him again, knowing that you still loved him and that he had moved on. But the alternative—letting the disease run its course, with no other options left—was becoming harder to endure.

“What if it doesn’t work?” you asked quietly, fear creeping into your voice.

The doctor’s face softened. “It’s a risk, I won’t lie. But right now, doing nothing is a bigger risk.”

You clenched the sheets in your hands, the conflicting emotions inside you swirling like a storm. You wanted to believe that this new treatment would help, that it would give you enough time to figure things out. But deep down, a part of you knew this was a gamble.

“I don’t know if I can go back there,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Zayne… he…”

Sylus placed a hand on your shoulder, his expression firm but kind. “You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. But you can’t die like this, Y/N. Not when there’s still a chance, even if it’s a small one.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll arrange everything with Akso Hospital. They have the facilities and the staff to administer the treatment safely. You can be in and out, no one needs to know you’re there.”

You swallowed hard, the idea of returning to Linkon gnawing at you. But the weight of the disease was becoming too much to bear. If this treatment really could slow it down, even for a little while, maybe it was worth the risk. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not without trying something.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “I’ll go.”

Sylus’s hand tightened on your shoulder briefly, a silent show of support. The doctor nodded, already pulling out her comms to make the necessary arrangements.

“I’ll set it up for tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll get you to Linkon, get the treatment started, and bring you back here before anyone even knows you’re gone.”

You nodded, but deep down, a part of you wasn’t convinced. Something about this didn’t feel right. But you were too exhausted, too weak to argue. For now, you would hold on to the hope that this “treatment” would give you the time you desperately needed. Time to figure out what came next—whether you could keep running from the love that was slowly killing you, or whether you had no choice but to let it go.

As the doctor left to make the arrangements, you lay back against the pillow, the weight of the decision settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had no idea what awaited you in Linkon. All you knew was that whatever happened, it would bring you closer to the inevitable.

Zayne sat in his office at Akso Hospital, his fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. Something had been gnawing at the back of his mind for weeks—Y/N’s sudden disappearance from her regular checkups, the silence she’d maintained despite his attempts to reach out. She had always been stubborn, always tough, but this felt different. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

A message buzzed on his comm, interrupting his thoughts. It was from Greyson. Zayne opened the message, his eyes skimming over the text quickly:

“Heard a rumor. A Hunter suffering from Hanahaki Disease is being admitted to Akso. Thought you’d want to know.”

His heart stopped. Hanahaki Disease. He hadn’t heard of anyone in the Hunter circle suffering from it—no one except… No. It couldn’t be.

Zayne read the message again, his mind spinning. The only Hunter who had been coming to him regularly, the only one who had left without explanation, was Y/N. His mind raced, replaying every moment from their last appointment—the slight cough she tried to hide, the way she seemed distant, and the sudden leave she took from the Hunters Association. The pieces began to fit together like a cruel puzzle, one that painted a picture of her suffering in silence.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Y/N had been in love with someone, and the disease had taken root because the other hadn’t returned those feelings. And now, because of that, she was dying. Why didn’t she tell him? There could only be one reason why she didn’t ask for his help, her only physician.

Zayne stood abruptly, knocking a few files off his desk as he scrambled to process what this meant. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over him—he had been blind to her feelings, caught up in his new relationship with Emma, while Y/N had been silently withering away. He was so in sync with Emma, so alike, that when she asked if they could try being more than colleagues and friends, he didn’t know why he actually agreed to date. He must tell you that. He must tell you that he…

Oh. He does. For so long.

He couldn’t waste another second. Grabbing his coat, Zayne rushed out of his office, his mind focused on one thing: finding Y/N before it was too late.

He tapped his phone, dialing a doctor from the network who was set to oversee the patient’s treatment. The voice on the other end answered quickly.

“Zayne? What’s going on?”

“I need to know about the patient coming in with Hanahaki Disease. The Hunter,” Zayne said, his voice tense, barely controlled. “When are they being admitted?”

There was a pause, then the voice responded, hesitant. “That’s confidential information, Zayne. I can’t just—”

“It’s Y/N,” Zayne interrupted, his tone sharp. “She’s the one with Hanahaki Disease, isn’t she?”

Another pause, this one longer, more telling. “Zayne… I don’t know all the details, but… yes. She’s scheduled for surgery tomorrow.”

His heart dropped. Surgery. Hanahaki Disease could only be cured in two ways—either by having her love returned or by undergoing surgery to remove the flowers. But the surgery came with a cruel price: it would erase her feelings completely. Y/N wouldn’t just lose the disease; she would lose her love for him, and all the memories tied to it.

Zayne’s grip tightened on the comm. “Cancel the surgery. I’m coming.”

“Zayne, you can’t—”

“Cancel it,” Zayne said firmly. “I’m not going to let her go through with this without knowing the truth.”

He disconnected the call, his heart racing as he stormed down the hallways of the hospital. His thoughts were a whirlwind of panic and guilt. He should’ve noticed sooner. He should’ve been there for her. But there was still time—he had to believe that. He could fix this, he had to.

Zayne made his way to his car, his mind already racing ahead to what he would say to her. He had no idea how she would react, or if she even wanted to see him after everything, but he couldn’t let her go through with the surgery. He had to tell her how he felt. Because the truth was, somewhere along the way, his feelings for her had grown too.

As he drove through the city, his thoughts lingered on Y/N—on her strength, her stubbornness, and the way she had always kept her distance, even when he tried to get close. He had been blind, wrapped up in his own life, too focused on the surface of things. But now, he understood. And he wasn’t going to let her suffer in silence any longer.

Zayne’s mind was racing as the car sped towards Akso Hospital, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He didn’t know if she would even listen to him. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t let her go through that surgery without knowing that he was ready to fight for her—for them.

For the first time, Zayne realized just how much he cared for Y/N. How much she meant to him, and how blind he had been to the quiet way she had always been there. He couldn’t let her lose that, not when he could still save her.

Tomorrow, you’ll be leaving for Linkon and you couldn’t sleep. Your mind is everywhere until you found yourself once again in the bathroom. The dim, suffocating air of the room wrapped around you like a cold embrace. Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as you hunched over the sink, your hands trembling as you help yourself hurl the white rose. The familiar metallic taste filled your mouth, but this time, it was worse—far worse than it had ever been.

When you finally dared to glance down, your heart nearly stopped. There, lying in the sink, was the largest bloom yet: a full white rose, its petals soft and fragile, but tangled in sharp, vicious thorns. Blood stained the delicate petals, your blood, and the sight of it sent a shudder down your spine. You clutched the edge of the sink for support, your vision swimming as pain tore through your chest.

This was it. The disease had progressed further than you had imagined. No makeshift remedy could stop it now. There was no time to experiment.

The thorns, tangled and sharp, had felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out. The flowers—the symbol of love that you couldn’t escape—had bloomed in full force, reminding you of the feelings you had tried so desperately to bury. Every cough felt like a knife in your lungs, but it was more than just physical pain. It was the heartbreak of loving someone who would never love you back.

You stumbled back from the sink, collapsing onto the floor, clutching your chest as you struggled to breathe. The decision you had been avoiding for so long now weighed heavily on you, inescapable. You couldn’t survive this. The love that had rooted itself deep within you was slowly killing you, and there was no way to keep running.

Sylus found you moments later, rushing into the bathroom when he heard your weak cries for help. His crimson eyes widened when he saw you, his usual stoic expression breaking with a mix of shock and concern. He knelt beside you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his voice low.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his tone softer than you had ever heard it. “This… you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Your throat felt raw as you coughed again, tasting blood on your lips. You couldn’t even muster the strength to argue, your body finally betraying you in the worst way possible. Sylus helped you sit up, his eyes briefly glancing at the bloodied rose in the sink. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face told you he understood.

“I can’t… I can’t fight it anymore,” you rasped, your voice barely audible. “I need the surgery.”

Sylus’s eyes flickered with something that almost looked like relief, but it was tempered by the knowledge of what the surgery meant. He knew the cost—the erasure of your feelings for Zayne, the love that had been such a painful part of you for so long. But he also knew there was no other choice now.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded weakly, wiping at your mouth with a shaking hand. “It’s the only way. I… I don’t want to die like this.”

Sylus exhaled slowly, standing up and helping you to your feet. “Then I’ll make the arrangements. We’ll leave for Linkon as soon as you’re ready.”

Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you managed to steady yourself with Sylus’s support. The weight of your decision settled over you like a heavy blanket—stifling, but somehow also freeing. You would lose your love for Zayne, that much was certain. But at least you would survive. At least the pain would stop. And you could get back to work. You could see him again and act like nothing happened. It would be better for everyone if you just didn’t feel.

As you packed your things for the journey back to Linkon City, your heart felt strangely hollow. There was no going back now. You were going to let the surgery take away everything—the flowers, the thorns, and the love that had nearly consumed you. You would lose the part of yourself that had been tied to Zayne, but maybe that was for the best.

Maybe, in the end, forgetting him and his memories would be the only way to move forward.

With a final, shaky breath, you looked out the window, knowing this was your last chance to feel the weight of your love before it was ripped away forever.

The familiar, sterile scent of Akso Hospital greeted you the moment you arrived in your room. The journey back to Linkon had been long and exhausting, and your body felt more fragile than ever. Every breath seemed to rattle within your chest, the flowers pressing harder against your lungs as the disease worsened.

Sylus had helped you settle into the bed, his usual stoic demeanor faltering slightly as he glanced at you with concern. “I’ll check in on you later,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with an underlying care. “I can’t be seen much around here, you know that. If you need anything, let me know.”

You nodded weakly, barely managing to muster a response. All you could think about was the surgery—the thought of the flowers, and your feelings for Zayne, being torn out of you for good. The relief of that thought was tinged with sadness, a weight that settled heavily in your heart.

Just as you closed your eyes to try to find some rest, the door creaked open.

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

“Y/N.”

His voice—steady, but holding the edge of something raw—cut through the quiet room like a blade. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your head to see Zayne standing in the doorway, his expression torn between worry and something deeper, something more desperate.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting the movement as pain flared in your chest. “Zayne… how did you—”

“I found out,” he interrupted, stepping further into the room. “I found out about your condition, about the Hanahaki. I—” He faltered, as if the words were too heavy to form. His eyes were wide with something you hadn’t seen before—panic.

You shook your head, cutting him off. “Zayne, it’s too late. I’m getting the surgery.”

He froze, standing still as his eyes locked onto yours. “You don’t have to do this.”

Your heart clenched painfully at the words, but you forced yourself to keep your expression steady. “Yes, I do,” you replied softly. “I can’t keep living like this. These flowers, this pain… it’s killing me.”

Zayne’s eyes darkened, his hands clenched at his sides. “You don’t have to lose your feelings for me. You can survive this without giving that up.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your voice trembling with the effort. “How, Zayne? You don’t return my feelings, and this disease… it only stops when the love is mutual.” You met his gaze, trying to convey the finality of your decision. “I don’t have a choice.”

He took another step closer, his face tight with emotion. “But you do have a choice. You don’t need to do this surgery. We can figure something out—together.”

You shook your head, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “There’s nothing to figure out. I’ve already decided. This is the only way.”

Zayne’s eyes were stormy with conflict. You could see the guilt eating away at him, the pain of realizing what his absence had cost you. But you also knew he wasn’t here to confess his love. He was here because he cared, because he felt responsible. And as much as that hurt, you couldn’t let that be the reason to hold onto hope.

“Zayne, please…” Your voice cracked as you looked at him, your body trembling with exhaustion. “Just go. Let me do this.”

He moved toward you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. The contact was warm, his touch familiar and comforting, but you could feel the hesitation in him, the uncertainty that hung in the air.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you pulled away from his touch, shaking your head. “You won’t lose me, Zayne. You’ll still have me as a friend, as someone you care about. But I can’t… I can’t keep loving you like this.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. This was it. This was the moment you had to let go, no matter how much it hurt. You couldn’t bear to love him any longer, not when it was destroying you from the inside.

Zayne’s expression faltered, his hand falling back to his side. “Y/N…”

“Zayne, just go,” you whispered.

“Y/N, wait,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Zayne, please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

But he wasn’t listening. His hand gripped yours as if it was the only thing keeping him steady, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice strained.

You frowned, your heart sinking. “What is it?”

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw more than just concern. There was something deeper, something conflicted.

“About Emma—the other doctor,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not what you think. We’re not… It’s not as serious as you believe.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly shook your head, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Zayne, it doesn’t matter. You’re with her, and that’s fine. I’ve already accepted that.”

“No, you haven’t,” he said sharply, stepping closer. His eyes flashed with frustration. “And I haven’t either. I ended things with her.”

You stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?”

Zayne hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing as if he was gathering the courage to say something he’d been holding back for too long. “I’ve been avoiding my feelings, Y/N. For a long time. I thought keeping things professional between us was the right thing to do, the smart thing to do.” He paused, searching your eyes. “But seeing you like this… seeing you suffering because of me…”

His voice trailed off, thick with emotion, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. This was a side of him you had never seen, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. You opened your mouth to speak, but he wasn’t done.

“I didn’t want to face it,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I thought that by staying focused on my work, on our roles, I could keep things simple. But I can’t anymore. Not when I know what’s happening to you. Not when I realize I’m the reason you’ve been hurting.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in, and you felt the familiar sting of tears building behind your eyes. “Zayne… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been scared, Y/N. Scared of what it would mean if I let myself feel more for you. But I can’t hide from it anymore. I care about you—more than I should have ever let myself admit.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, his words sinking in deeper with every breath you took. Your heart was racing, your mind a whirlwind of emotions you had thought were on the verge of being erased forever.

“Zayne…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you never said anything.”

He shook his head, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you, with myself. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you that I don’t want you to go through with the surgery.” He squeezed your hand gently, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Don’t erase your feelings, Y/N. Don’t erase us.”

You stared at him, your heart aching with the weight of his words. For so long, you had believed that he would never return your feelings, that your love for him would remain unrequited. But now, here he was, asking you to give him a chance. Asking you to believe that it wasn’t too late.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, your throat tight with emotion. “I was ready to move on, to forget…”

Zayne leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t have to forget. We can figure this out—together. Please, Y/N… give us a chance.”

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks as you looked into his eyes, the weight of your love for him pressing hard against your chest. The flowers had bloomed so fully within you, so painfully, but for the first time, you felt a spark of hope.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“I am too,” Zayne replied softly, his thumb brushing away one of your tears. “But I’d rather face that fear with you than lose you because of it.”

The silence between you was thick, filled with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you had both been too afraid to confront. But now, in the quiet of the hospital room, with the flowers inside you on the verge of consuming you, there was a new possibility blooming—a chance for something real.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Zayne smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Then don’t.”

The decision still weighed heavily on you—the surgery, the flowers, the uncertainty of what the future would bring. But in this moment, with Zayne by your side, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late after all.

The tension in the room hung thick as you gazed at Zayne, his forehead still resting gently against yours, his hand holding yours like an anchor. You could feel the weight of your decision pressing down on you, the reality of your situation still swirling in your mind.

The surgery—the removal of your feelings and the flowers that had ravaged your body—was supposed to be your salvation. It was supposed to be your way out of the pain, the only option you had left to survive. But now, with Zayne in front of you, admitting the feelings you had thought would forever go unspoken, the certainty of that choice began to crack.

Could you really walk away from this now? From him?

With a deep, shuddering breath, you pulled back slightly to look into Zayne’s eyes, your hand still tightly clasped in his. The fear and confusion swirling in your chest didn’t vanish, but something else—a glimmer of hope—was beginning to take root.

“I can’t promise that this will work,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you spoke the truth that trembled within you. “I don’t know if my feelings will ever go away, or if the flowers will stop growing…”

Zayne shook his head, his eyes softening. “I’m not asking for guarantees,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet intensity. “I’m just asking for a chance. A chance for us. I… I like you, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened as emotion swelled inside you. For so long, you had been ready to let go, to numb yourself to the possibility of anything more. But now, with him sitting by your side, his touch grounding you in a way you hadn’t thought possible, the idea of walking away felt unbearable.

You didn’t want to let go—not of him, not of what could be.

With a slow exhale, you made the decision that had been forming in your heart ever since Zayne walked through the door. “I’ll… I’ll delay the surgery,” you said softly, your voice wavering but resolute. “Just for now.”

Zayne’s grip on your hand tightened, relief flooding his expression as his shoulders sagged slightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for giving this a chance.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest, but the dread you’d carried for so long felt a little lighter, like a weight that was finally beginning to lift.

As the hours passed, Zayne stayed by your side, refusing to leave. He sat close, his presence warm and steady as he talked quietly with you about anything and everything—his work, your missions as a Hunter, the lives you both led before this moment. It was as if the space between you, once filled with unspoken tension, was slowly being bridged by the quiet understanding that had always been there but never fully acknowledged.

And as the evening settled over Linkon City, something unexpected began to happen.

The pressure in your chest, once unbearable, began to ease. The sharp, suffocating pain of the flowers pressing against your lungs softened. You coughed lightly, out of habit more than necessity, but there were no thorns, no petals. You touched your chest, almost disbelieving, feeling the absence of the usual tightness.

Zayne noticed immediately, his eyes widening as he watched you. “Y/N?” he asked, concern still lacing his voice.

You took a deep breath—a real, full breath—and felt the difference. “The pain,” you said slowly, your voice filled with disbelief. “It’s… it’s not as bad.”

Zayne’s eyes softened as he leaned closer. “The flowers,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand. “They’re withering, aren’t they?”

You nodded, still too stunned to speak. The flowers that had been blooming within you for so long, the painful manifestation of your unreturned love, were beginning to wilt. The thorns were loosening their grip, the petals curling inward, no longer feeding off the relentless ache in your heart.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of relief, of hope. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t a cure—but it was a start. A small sign that maybe, just maybe, your heart was beginning to heal.

Zayne squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He closes the distance between you, lips meeting the skin of your forehead.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you let out a small, shaky laugh, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events. “I missed you so bad,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Zayne smiled, the warmth in his expression lighting up the room. “So did I.”

And with that, a fragile but beautiful sense of hope bloomed between you, far more powerful than any of the flowers that had once threatened to destroy you.

As the night deepened, you knew that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, that your journey with Zayne was only just beginning. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid. You were ready to face whatever came next, together.

The flowers within you may have started to wither, but something far more enduring was taking their place—a glimmer of love, of possibility, of the future you could now dare to hope for.

Zayne sat on the side of your bed, looking at you. You’ve just now realized the bag under his eyes and how much his hair wasn’t as kept as it always was. He looks tired.

He holds your face again, looming close. You close your eyes and wait for him to close the distance. You can feel his breath on yours, slow and calming, until his lips softly land on yours.

Back in the dimly lit underground of the N109 Zone, Sylus lounged in his usual chair, legs crossed casually as he flicked through his papers of work. Mephisto, his sleek, mechanical crow, perched on the edge of his desk. Its dark metal feathers glinted under the low light as its red eyes glowed with an eerie pulse. The crow had just returned from its latest mission, flying back from Linkon City with an update Sylus had been waiting on. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as Mephisto clicked softly, a sign it had recorded new information.

With a tap on the crow’s head, Sylus activated the playback, listening intently as a holographic projection materialized in the air between them. It showed clips of Y/N, her once-pale face now regaining a hint of color, the dark shadows under her eyes starting to fade. She was walking through the corridors of Akso Hospital, slower than her usual stride, but there was an unmistakable strength returning to her movements.

Sylus smirked, leaning back in his chair. “She’s getting better,” he murmured, satisfied. His crimson eyes flicked over the scenes of Y/N interacting with Zayne, watching as she spoke with him, her body language more relaxed than it had been in weeks. He noted the way Zayne hovered protectively, never too far, a subtle guardian by her side.

Mephisto clicked again, relaying more footage from its surveillance of the city. Sylus took it all in, his mind piecing together what had unfolded. Y/N had made her choice—not to go through with the surgery just yet. Instead, she was taking her chances with Zayne, exploring what could be between them.

Sylus’ fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of his chair as he considered it. He’d always respected Y/N’s strength, admired her resilience even when she was at her weakest. That she had survived the Hanahaki long enough to make it back to Linkon—and now, was seemingly thriving—was a testament to her will.

“You made the right call, sweetie,” he said to no one in particular, his voice low but approving.

Mephisto fluttered its wings, a sound like the shifting of gears, and Sylus gave the crow a nod of approval. He was satisfied with what he saw. Y/N had her path now, and though Sylus knew better than to interfere too much in her affairs, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride at her recovery.

“Keep an eye on her, Mephisto,” he muttered, his voice turning sharp again. “But let her be. She’s strong enough to handle things from here.”

The mechanical crow clicked in acknowledgment before it took off into the air, disappearing through one of the many grates in the ceiling, off to continue its watch from the shadows. Sylus watched it go, the flicker of a smile lingering on his lips.

Y/N would be fine. She had her own battles to fight now, and with Zayne by her side, she had a chance. That was all Sylus could have hoped for.

With a quiet sigh, he stood up and headed toward the doorway, his boots echoing against the metal floor. There were other things to handle in N109, but for now, knowing that Y/N was on her way to healing—both from the flowers and from the tangled feelings that had plagued her—was enough to put his mind at ease.

As Sylus watched Mephisto disappear through the grate, the flicker of satisfaction from Y/N’s recovery still lingering, a sudden tightness gripped his chest. It wasn’t the usual tension from a long day in the shadows of N109—it was sharper, more visceral. His brows furrowed, and before he could fully process the sensation, a sharp cough escaped his throat.

He doubled over slightly, hand instinctively rising to his mouth. For a moment, the metallic taste of blood made him grimace, but as he pulled his hand away, what caught his attention was the small, delicate object that had landed on his palm.

A petal.

The sight of it made Sylus freeze. He stared at the soft, pastel pink petal—a contrast to the dim, metallic world around him. His eyes narrowed, his mind racing. The Hanahaki Disease. He’d seen its ravages before, watched Y/N suffer under its grasp. But this? His own symptoms? He couldn’t quite believe it.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, tossing the petal onto his desk. The sharp throb in his chest hadn’t fully subsided, but it wasn’t the same as what he had witnessed in Y/N. There was no choking on thorns or overwhelming floral invasion. This was... different. A strain less aggressive, yet unmistakable in its cause.

Hanahaki. Unrequited love.

Sylus let out a low, humorless chuckle, his crimson eyes darkening as the realization hit him. He was no stranger to matters of the heart, but he’d always kept those feelings locked away, never giving them enough room to grow—or so he thought. This was proof that something had taken root, something he couldn’t deny anymore.

And there was only one person who came to mind.

Y/N.

He didn’t need to ask himself why. Seeing her leave, watching her struggle to fight the same disease, knowing he couldn’t do more than offer her shelter and assistance—it had stirred something in him. A feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge. He had helped her out of concern, out of duty, out of their connection—but there had been something more.

The petal on his desk was proof of that.

Sylus stared at the petal on his desk, its delicate form unmistakably belonging to a lily. The pristine white hue stood out starkly against the gritty backdrop of his desk, a contrast that was almost mocking. Of course, it had to be lilies—symbolic of purity and renewal, the very antithesis of his hardened existence in N109. He couldn’t help but scoff at the irony.

Lilies.

He picked up the petal between his fingers, turning it over as he examined it closer. Unlike the thorn-covered roses Y/N had been coughing up, these petals were smooth, soft, and almost harmless in comparison. But he knew better. They were far from benign.

The fact that he was coughing up lilies of all things wasn’t lost on him. They represented something gentle, something almost... fragile. But Sylus was anything but fragile, and yet, here he was, entangled in the same affliction that had nearly destroyed Y/N. He sighed, tossing the petal back on the desk, watching it flutter down like a weightless reminder of what had been growing inside him.

And now, there was no denying the truth—he had feelings for her. Feelings that he had buried so deep they’d only surfaced now, in this frustrating, blooming form. Unlike Y/N’s roses, his strain wasn’t lethal, but that didn’t make it any less concerning. He wouldn’t let it get worse. He refused to be bound by something as foolish as unspoken love.

He glanced at his comm device again, fingers hovering over the screen before he pressed down, confirming the appointment with Dr. Maren for the next day. He wouldn’t let this linger, not like Y/N had. Sylus didn’t like loose ends, and this, now that he knew, was a loose end he intended to tie up.

But the thought of Y/N remained in his mind as he sat there, the image of her recovery still fresh. She was doing better. The flowers inside her were beginning to wither, a hopeful sign that her heart was healing. That gave him some measure of relief, knowing she was on a path that might lead to happiness—whether it involved him or not.

As for him... Sylus wasn’t sure where this would end. He wasn’t the type to dwell on love or let emotions cloud his judgment. But the lilies said otherwise. They were there, quietly blooming inside him, pushing him toward feelings he hadn’t intended to face.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, standing up from his desk, “I guess we’ll see how this plays out.”

The mechanical whir of Mephisto’s wings echoed faintly in the background as the crow returned from its surveillance, landing quietly on its perch. Sylus spared it a glance, giving the bird a small nod. There was always work to do, but for now, he had to focus on his next move.

Tomorrow, he'll see the doctor. And then, maybe��just maybe—he’d figure out what to do about the lilies.

Sylus exhaled deeply, the weight of this new revelation pressing down on him. He couldn’t afford to let this disease grow. It wasn’t as severe as Y/N’s strain—he was lucky in that sense—but the fact that he had symptoms at all meant it could worsen if left unchecked.

He reached for his comm device, his fingers moving with purpose as he scrolled through his contacts. He needed answers, and he knew exactly who to call.

“Dr. Maren,” Sylus said as soon as the connection clicked. “I need to schedule a check-up. Something’s come up.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before Maren responded, the voice calm but attentive. “Sylus? I thought your plan to draw Y/N to Linkon worked. What’s the issue?”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, glancing at the petal again before he spoke. “It’s me. But it’s a mild strain.”

Another silence, this one longer, before Maren’s voice returned, more serious this time. “That’s not something to take lightly, even if it’s a mild case. How long have you had symptoms?”

Sylus closed his eyes, recalling the subtle tightness that had been plaguing him over the past few weeks. It hadn’t been enough to alarm him, but now it all made sense. “Not long. It’s manageable for now. But I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“I’ll fit you in tomorrow,” Maren replied swiftly. “Come to the clinic. We’ll run some tests.”

Sylus nodded to himself, feeling the weight of his situation sink in. “I’ll be there.”

He ended the call and leaned forward, hands steepling under his chin as he stared at the petal once more. It was a strange irony, being caught by the same disease that had nearly claimed Y/N. But there was no time for self-pity. He was pragmatic by nature—he would handle it like everything else in his life: methodically, without hesitation.

Still, the realization that his feelings for Y/N had manifested into something so tangible made him pause. He had always kept his emotions buried, hidden under layers of cynicism and practicality. Now, those feelings were blooming—literally—whether he liked it or not.

A slow, grim smile crept onto his lips as he muttered to himself, “How funny.”

The next day would bring answers. But for now, Sylus remained where he was, staring at the petal on his desk, caught between amusement and resignation. His finger runs on his temple, looming over his crimson eye.

At least he wasn’t dying. And if he would have to take the surgery, it didn’t matter. He would always remember you. Because your connection knows no physical bounds. You’re always connected. The string of fate connecting the two of you cannot be cut that easily.

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads zayne #zayne x reader #sylus x reader #lads #lnds #love and deepspace zayne #zayne l&ds #l&ds zayne #li shen #zayne x you #zayne x y/n #sylus x you #sylus x y/n

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dhampling · 9 months ago

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Your fics/headcanons give me the feeling of eating freshly baked cookies with warm milk while wrapped in a blanket fresh from the dryer. Just so sweet and comforting. Your post the other day about the number of kiddos he'd want got me wondering: how would astarion handle his partner being in labor? I feel like he would be freaking out so badly internally but trying so hard to keep it together for them. Does it get easier with each baby? Does he cry each time? Also, I had this image in my mind of him introducing the older girls to their new baby sister each time and just being sweet and cute with his growing family and I'm dyinngggg. Thank you again so much for all the wonderful fics sorry this message was kinda all over the place I LOVE YOU. ❤️

hello my sweet angel!!! firstly - you inspired me. I'm inspired. i wrote something based on the introducing the siblings idea. see below!

He’s not sure he’ll ever tire of it.

Feign exasperation, absolutely. Roll his eyes in jest, move things along with the smallest ‘away, away’ of his free hand at the faces pressed against the inside of the kitchen window as you both approach the house in a beleaguered stumble - snout noses and wide grins, breath fogging the glass trying to gain a glimpse. Incredulously sigh at the fact that it’s just a baby.

It looks like a baby. Sounds like a baby. Smells like a baby. The house tends to have at least one kicking about at any given time, gods; there’s absolutely nothing unfamiliar nor noteworthy about a baby dhampir in Baldur’s Gate at this point. If anything, he’d be surprised if the townsfolk weren’t banging down his door come morning with a council-endorsed petition to encourage him to stop breeding the little shits.

Frenetic. He’s still practically vibrating with adrenaline from the birth still. Shaky hands stilled under the weight of the baby basket. Legs flying.

Another girl, obviously. Another ‘A’ name conjured from the recesses of his ancient wisdom. Some variation of a label he saw in an apothecary a week ago - you’re past the point of putting too much thought into their names, a fact that becomes obvious to anyone who lends it too much of a thought.

Apothecary. He ponders the viability of that one. Apothecaria? Apothe. Antiseptic. Asbestos. Arugula.

Fuzzy as the door swings open into the night and the stew-warmth of the kitchen bleeds outside. He holds the door, the carrier containing the baby; hospital bags strapped to his back, the weight of another little thing on his conscience. A pack mule. He pulls a face.

The eldest steps from the sitting room through the parted gaggle of waiting Ancuníns and takes a look at the new addition.

A brief moment passes.

Then she smiles as anticipated, nodding her approval - a time-honoured tradition in your household ever since the second was unleashed unto her sister - before falling to the back of the crowd, pulling out a chair for an exhausted you; and resigning from her primary carer duties for the evening.

It’s bittersweet. At this point, Astarion can never be sure if this time, the whole bustling through the doorway in the middle of the night with a newborn thing; will be the last.

But as each previous youngling steps in line to greet the newest addition to their chaotic sisterhood, he finds himself looking over to you fondly. The way your hand still rests atop the round of your belly, the other supporting your head as your elbow rests firm on the table. Cheeks aflush, lids drooping closed with each breath; and yet you sit there instead of retiring straight to bed to watch them.

Their eager faces, hushed whispers; fingers poking and prodding the small exhausted thing presented to them once more. Rolling her name around their mouths to get used to the sound. You watch each movement with a warm heart and dopey grin.

Obviously you want this again. He wants this again. This moment of soft whispers and unfettered love amongst siblings.

No, he resolves;-

this won’t be the end.

i LOVED THAT SO MUCH. THANK YOU.

with regard to the labour:

astarion cries with the first two babies.

after that, he realises it's probably more important to be supportive to his partner at this moment in time.

he can compartmentalise any emotions he's having with the logic that they can wait, honestly.

none of his worst fears are going to materialise, he knows this now. he's done it before.

with the later babies he's a pro.

he even has the nerve to sit there and exclaim at points that he's bored, and that you need to hurry home as he has a client coming to the shop later.

despite both knowing it's a jest, this always earns him a pillow to the face.

THANK YOU NONNIE!!! I LOVE YOU!

#answered #my writing #dadstarion #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion baldurs gate

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slut4thebroken · 2 months ago

Text

Hysterical

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Robert Capa x reader

Summary | Capa finally gives in to his urges and is pleasantly surprised with the turn of events.

Warnings | NON CON, smut, coma sex??, knife play? but like non con, super fucked up, I need therapy, idk this fic is kind of a flop.

Words | 800+

Notes | Yeah the first and only Robert Capa fic I posted sucked and honestly I don’t think this is much better😭 idk why I can’t write anything good for him skdhsk

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 7: non-con

For some reason, after the first incident, you went completely hysterical. It got so bad that you had to be sedated until they could figure out what to do and how to help you. Which was the perfect opportunity he needed because after last time, he was a little addicted.

He waited until everyone was asleep, then quietly walked over to the medical bay. You were laying in one of the observation rooms, sleeping soundly.

Not wanting to increase his chances of getting caught by staying here for too long, he quickly pulled down your pants and underwear to your ankles, then climbed over you. He pushed his clothes down just enough to free his cock and spit on his hand to rub over the tip before lining up.

You were even tighter than last time, especially in this position with your legs so close together, but he finally managed to force his way in. Your brows furrowed the tiniest bit, giving away your discomfort even while unconscious, and he let out a satisfied grunt at the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around him again. He took a moment to catch his breath and try to hold back his orgasm so he could at least fuck you for a little bit first, then he was pushing in the rest of the way. Once he was buried inside you completely, he slowly dragged his hips back to repeat the process.

Your cunt squeezed him like a vice, practically forcing him out. He was grunting quietly, savoring the feeling of being inside a tight, warm pussy again after going so long without it because he was in space. Honestly, part of him regretted not doing this sooner. He’s always found you attractive and would frequently fantasize about you. If he would’ve known you’d go insane after the first time and gotten yourself put in a medically induced coma— basically giving him free rein to fuck you again as many times as he wants— he would’ve done this years ago.

He couldn’t help but think about the first time it happened— a little over a week ago now. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and made his way to your room. The knife was just a precaution because he had an idea of how you’d react, but he wasn’t completely certain.

You woke up to him on top of you, sucking on your nipple and groping your other breast. The second you started to raise your voice, he presented the knife. “Be a good girl and stay quiet for me, and I won’t have to use this.” You went completely stiff under him, almost in shock as he reached down to free his cock and pull your shorts and panties to the side. He forced himself in with a low grunt, covering your mouth to muffle your wail.

“Shh… You’re okay. Just take it…” He whispered, voice thick with arousal. You sobbed violently and squeezed your eyes shut as he dragged the blade down your cheek, not yet cutting you, but just showing you that he could if needed.

You made the prettiest little sounds for him as he rutted into you desperately, already nearing his orgasm after so long without any sex. He took his hand away from your mouth to kiss you, making you whimper and try to turn away, but you went still when he pressed the knife to your neck.

“You feel so good, baby… So fucking good.” He groaned into the kiss, ignoring the way you continued crying. Even though he wanted nothing more than to feel your tight pussy milk his cock, he knew he had to pull out if he wanted to fuck you again. So he leaned up and fisted his cock rapidly, shooting ropes of hot come onto your stomach. You cried silently, unable to move or speak and he leaned back down over you to kiss you again.

“You’re not going to tell anyone about this, right?” He asked, pulling back to make eye contact as he dragged the blade down your cheek, reminding you what would happen if you did. You let out a choked sob, but shook your head. “Good girl.”

His orgasm was quickly approaching as he rutted into you frantically, chasing the pleasure. He desperately wanted to come inside you, but he reminded himself again that if he wanted to keep doing this, he had to pull out. So with a growl of frustration, he leaned up and pulled out, fiercely pumping his cock, coming on your stomach again. He took a moment to catch his breath, then stuffed his cock back in his pants and got up. Before leaving, he grabbed some paper towels to clean your stomach and fixed your clothes, then walked out as if nothing had happened.

#robert capa x reader smut #robert capa smut #robert capa x reader #robert capa #sunshine #cillian murphy #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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takenbypeter · 6 months ago

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Make another Todd Tolansky x reader and my life is yours 🧎 seriously tho I love your writing, and I'm always looking for more Todd fics.

The Things Unseen

Todd Tolansky x reader

Words: 519

Author’s note: ask and it shall happen! I did it Soooooo I guess your life is mine!!! JK, nah but if you want another request feel free to send one in, also maybe send one with a prompt cuz sometimes I wanna write more but I just don’t have ideas. Anyways this should last you for a week

Some people didn’t understand why you were with Todd Tolansky. Most just saw him and instantly judged. But people didn’t see the little things.

They didn’t see his thoughtful side.

“I got these because I know they're your favorite,” Toad would say as he pulled out a bag of Kit Kat bites for you.

“Aww you didn’t have too.” You paused before opening the bag, “did you steal these?”

He said nothing but you could tell from his nervous smile that he did.

“Todd, thank you but don’t steal for me, it doesn’t feel right.”

They didn’t see that side of him that supported you whenever you doubted yourself.

“Are you kidding me? You’re going to be amazing!”

You were currently freaking out over a class project. Sure you worked hard in preparing it, but you weren’t the best with presentations.

“Mmm…I don’t know.”

“Trust me. You got this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah I do. Because it’s you.”

And he was right.

Despite how he acted no one saw how he cared for you.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Is what came out of his mouth the whole second week of your dating. He was so concerned with what everyone thought when they saw the two of you together. He wasn’t nervous for himself, he was nervous for you. Toad knew what people would think. How people would react. What people would say. He just wanted you to be okay. But still, the two of you walked together, side by side, hand in hand through the mall.

“Yes I’m fine. You’re my boyfriend and I want to be seen with you,” you’d remind him.

It was something he wasn’t used to, but he liked the feeling.

People didn’t see the vulnerable side of him. That side that made you just want to wrap him up and tell him how important he is to you.

“I don't deserve anything. I don't deserve them or you."

“Hey, stop. Look at me,” he’d do as told, his yellow eyes locking onto yours. He was spiraling deeper and deeper in his own insecurities.

You, his friends, he felt he wasn’t meant to have any of that. But you were going to make sure he knew he was wrong.

In order to get it into his head, you lowered yourself to his body that was currently scrunched close to the ground.

“You deserve more than you think.”

You knew even with your words, it would be hard for him to feel that love you had for him, so you would just have to make your point more often.

And no one ever saw his endearing moments at the end of each night.“You’re like a dream.”

“Since I’ve met you, I’ve changed for the better.”

“You do be sexy.”

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

Sure he was loud, goofy, maybe even desperate at times. But that’s just what others saw and while it annoyed you that no one gave him the chance of day, you also were grateful sometimes that he was just all yours.

#toad fanfic #toad x reader #toad imagine #toad fanfiction #x men evolution toad #xmen evolution toad #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #xmen x reader #xmen imagine #xmen fanfic #xmen fanfiction #x men x reader #x men evolution fanfiction #x men imagine #x men evolution fanfic #x men fanfic

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peri-peri-sauce · 10 months ago

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MASTERLIST

In this post you will find my masterlist of Käärijä x Reader fics. You can also go to my AO3 profile and check them out there :)

Beware! NSFW

These fics are NSFW, so please, reader discretion is advised.

Female Reader:

Bad Boys Need To Be Punished

The meeting with your friends had taken an unexpected turn when Jere couldn’t keep his hands off you, making you completely distracted. That’s why, upon arriving home, you decide to teach him a lesson. After all, bad boys who can’t keep their hands to themselves deserve to be punished.

Dress Me And Praise Me

Boredom begins to invade Jere while waiting for you to arrive home. However, he finds something intriguing in your room that leads to some intense self-exploration. But when you return with your own surprise, things get even hotter as Jere discovers new things about himself.

Two Can Play This Game

Knowing how competitive Jere is, you already know that teasing him while he’s playing video games is not a good idea. This becomes even riskier when you know there’s a bet involved. Like they say, actions have consequences, and soon, the little game you start turns into a heated competition to see who could rile the other up more.

Santa's Naughty List

Unexpectedly, a young man claiming to be Santa Claus enters your home, initially causing you to believe you’re being robbed. However, in a surprising twist, it turns out that he truly is who he claims to be, and apparently, he has a surprise for you this Christmas.

Wrap Me Up Like A Christmas Present

Jere surprises you by wrapping himself as a present beneath the Christmas tree. As the evening progresses with a gift exchange and a delightful dinner shared with family and friends later in the night, Jere remains oblivious to your mischievous intentions.

Drench Me With Your Love

A party on the outskirts of the city turns into an unexpected reunion with an old friend you haven’t seen in ages. As the day unfolds, a playful chase leads to a more intimate moment. Will you find the courage to express your feelings for him after all these years of harboring a crush? And will he reciprocate those feelings?

Hurt Me Until I'm Screaming For More

“If you score a goal, I promise to whip you when we get home.” Motivated by your promise, Jere redeems himself in a hockey game with six goals after a disappointing performance, basking in the satisfaction of fulfilling part of your promise. Now, it’s your turn.

Red Rose Dinner

After being stood up by your Tinder date, you find yourself approached by a shy and charming man at the restaurant. As you share an unexpected dinner together, you become increasingly drawn to this adorable boy as the night unfolds.

There's An Alien In My House

What happens when, during a stormy night, you encounter an unknown creature in your kitchen? You are unsure of its origin or intentions, yet it appears to be drawn to you, or rather, to your scent. Despite the uncertainty, for some inexplicable reason, you decide to allow it to stay. What will happen next in your life now that there’s an alien in your house?

Gender Neutral Reader:

It's All About You

Jere arrives home tired from work, exhausted from his busy schedule, so you help him relax.

My King, My God

You made a promise to Jere but couldn’t fulfill it, so to earn his forgiveness, you’ll need to stroke his ego.

Tastes Like Heaven

What began as an innocent act of feeding Jere quickly escalates into a surprisingly intense moment between the two of you.

Series:

Short, plotless, spicy fics

This is a series of short, plotless, spicy fics that I wrote some time ago and never posted. If not all, most of them are inspired by specific pictures or videos that Käärijä has posted, which I will add at the start of each fic.

Fic Requests

This is a series of fics that people have request from me.

Other:

KHaarija's OnlyFans

Short Solo Jere, Jere x Reader and Jere x Häärijä x Reader writings, inspired by some of KHaarija’s OnlyFans posts.

If you enjoy my fics, feel free to leave kudos or a comment!

If you would like to support me further, you can also buy me some coffee. Your help will go towards funding the therapy I need after everything Jere Pöyhönen puts me through :')

Thank you so much!

#käärijä #häärijä #käärijä fanfiction #käärijä fanfic #käärijä fic #solo käärijä #käärijä x reader #käärijä x häärijä #häärijä x reader #käärijä x häärijä x reader

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inawearyworld · 11 months ago

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free if you truly wish to be: chapter iv

shit goes DOWN. as y'all have probably gathered. bc. yknow. the plot of the movie. but first there's a song yayyyyyyyyy

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.5k

god, i love musicals.

(edit: realized after posting that i was looking at the wrong page of the screenplay while writing this and therefore royally screwed up the song structure of a world of your own but it’s fiiiiiiine)

once again, thank you mat for that interview taking a typical one-dimensional dahl villain and letting him be a more complex character. also i should probably throw a content warning on this one for depiction of a slightly abusive relationship

but i promise everything's gonna be okay soon-happy new year everyone!!

part three fic masterlist part five

While going through a time of personal growth involving trying to unravel one’s identity from that of one’s rich and powerful husband, it often happens that there are advantages to said husband being wrapped in worry over a new business rival-and, therefore, spending far more time at the office.

Wren’s favorite advantage at the present moment was that she was the only one to watch the mail come in.

Deep purple stationery was the signal she looked for-and steadily received, then returned with her own emerald letters-every day. The notes included scrawled updates regarding the operation to allow the earnest young chocolatier his day in the sun, anecdotes about the group of launderers that supported it (who she’d snuck out to meet often enough that they now felt like a second family), tales of a mysterious orange man, and exchanges of advice, witticisms, and Shakespeare quotes.

The handwriting was inexperienced, and there were more than a fair share of spelling errors toward the start of their correspondence, but she didn’t care a whit.

We’ve got the shop, Willy had written one day. For now, the task is digging through its decrepit debris and designing its decoration. (The credit for those words goes to Noodle-she says hello.) There are so many possibilities, I barely know where to start.

Start with the “why”, Wren wrote back. That’s what I always do. If there’s a piece I’m struggling to sing and I lose motivation to practice, I go back to the reasons I love the piece, even all the way back to the reasons I love the arts in the first place. Maybe there’s something in there for your shop-what made you want to share your chocolate with the world? (And hello to you too, Noodle!)

My dear Wren, came the reply, you’ve just given me the best of ideas.

He told her then about his mother and the inspiration she provided. Wren would be lying if she’d said a tear hadn’t fallen onto that particular letter.

As for how to keep him safe from the Cartel, police, and every other corrupt authority, Wren did her part by becoming Florence again whenever necessary. She acted less suspicious around her husband, leading him to be less secretive-although the gain in information was miniscule, it was better than nothing.

Felix’s rages would range anywhere from tittering, jealous rants to scheming monologues during which his whole being seemed to take on a lower, darker, more calculating tone. She’d listen carefully to all of these, tactfully calling out anything that might get him to consider he was wrong, but that had little to no effect.

Plan B, then, she’d realized, is all I can do.

So, whenever Felix seemed particularly incensed or just on the verge of coming up with how to destroy his rival, Florence would swoop in with wine and dark lipstick and a low-cut dress. She’d endure being his caged pet songbird, his doll, his perfect plaything, only because she had the growing feeling that things were about to change.

If Willy’s shop becomes successful enough to be completely undeniable, maybe the Cartel will finally acknowledge him as an equal. Maybe I’ll finally be seen as an equal, too. Maybe things will finally be truly fine.

So, night after night, she’d sit on her husband’s lap, twirl his tie, and kiss his neck until he’d forgotten the name of Wonka.

The same could not be said for her.

Due to just how glamorized she always had to be while in public, it didn’t take much to come up with disguise enough to be able to visit the new shop on its opening day.

With a fluttering sense of hope, Wren approached the fourth building of the Galeries Gourmet, blending in seamlessly with the sea of soon-to-be-wonderstruck passers-by. She cast a few nervous glances to the window of the Fickelgruber office, at which the man stood in his usual stance. There was no chance, though, of his recognizing her trademark ginger flame amongst the crowd; it was safely tucked under a dark, low-brimmed hat.

This could have set her mind at ease, but the fact that he looked even more smug than usual as he surveyed the ground below him made her nervous.

Did they plan something?

She was distracted from this worry by a sudden flash of color at the long-empty shop’s door. Willy Wonka stepped through, looking more himself than she could have ever imagined. He addressed the crowd with a flourish, and she marveled at his ability to combine showmanship with authenticity.

He took a skeptical older man’s arm, leading him to the shop’s entrance, and began to sing.

All at once, the shop transformed before all of their eyes, flooding with color, and the music settled into a sparking pulse that thrilled Wren to the core.

Willy grinned, fully in his element, and the doorway went dark. Gloved hands presented chocolate wonders as their creator sang them into existence. When he lit a match, the store seemed to come alive, and Wren gasped.

If his letter was anything to go by, the sight he had created was an homage to his childhood on his mother’s boat, brought to life in a way nearly too beautiful to be true.

Willy and the other man danced up a bridge of sorts as his song continued, proudly offering his shop as a world for each of his customers to call their own. Overtaken and lifted by the enchanting environment, Wren squealed with the rest of the crowd and ran into the shop, ripping the hat from her head and allowing her auburn curls to tumble freely down.

She threw her head back and laughed aloud. Her lack of makeup, and plain blouse and skirt replacing the usual emerald-colored finery, gave her assurance that she wouldn’t be recognized here; this was the closest thing she’d experienced to liberation in a very long while, and she relished it, along with the sweetly simple soar of Willy’s voice across his song.

When she looked up at him again, he was sitting on the boat that floated on the circling chocolate river, and she noticed he’d already been staring with a sideways grin. As the bassline that came from nowhere launched into a rollicking chromatic vamp, he tipped his hat to her, and she gave an enamored wave.

The second verse passed, and suddenly he’d reached her, extending a hand which she took without a second thought. He helped her onto the boat, then pulled her alarmingly close, but before she could say a thing about it, a cloud of smoke appeared around them.

Wren blinked and realized that she and Willy were now at the base of the massive chocolate tree in the center of the shop.

“How did you-”

But he only smiled and started to dance his way up the tree.

“A world of your own,” he sang, then gestured an invitation straight towards her.

This’ll be easy enough, she thought, nearly bursting with joy.

“A place to escape to,” she continued, running farther up the tree to meet him in the middle. His expression filled with awe upon finally hearing her sing, and they began a whirling back-and-forth.

“A world of your own-”

“-where you can be free!”

“Wherever you go, wherever life takes you…”

“This is your home,” she sang to him, twirling herself into his arms and beaming with pride. He’s found it-he’s created it.

“A world of your own,” they finished. He looked at her for a moment, seeming struck, then kissed her hand and disappeared through the branches of the tree to continue with the song’s bridge. She let out a dazed and happy breath, taking a moment to let her gaze roam the shop from her perch in the chocolate tree.

She didn’t know what would happen next, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t let herself enjoy this moment.

What did happen next was…as an understatement, not what any of them had hoped.

She wished she could say it was a complete surprise, and she wished she could have done more to stop it. The candy started having disastrous effects, the customers understandably balked, and it was clearly not Willy’s fault in the least. In a blur, the shop was in ruins, and Wren sat in shock with the little group who’d worked so hard to make it magical.

The candyman himself was devastated; not just by the massive setback, but by the absence of his mother’s spirit. Wren and Noodle sat by his side, but Abacus ushered them up. It broke Wren’s heart to think of leaving him like this-if the truest and most trusting dreamer on Earth can be broken down, where’s the hope for the rest of us?-but she somehow still felt she had to follow the group out.

She felt a hug around her waist and a held-back sob, and looked down to see Noodle clinging onto her. Wren immediately knelt to her level and hugged the girl close, finding it hard now to keep back her own tears.

“Terrible shame what-”

“Florence?”

Slowly, she opened her eyes, her breath dropping to the floor.

Slugworth had spoken first, a smooth and practiced opening to what would have turned into a gloat. The voice that had interrupted him was genuinely shaken and clearly belonging to her husband.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Noodle, who nodded. “You can go, you shouldn’t have to see this-”

“Florence,” his voice came again, at a loss. She took a breath, stood up, and faced him with tears in her voice.

“Hi, Felix.”

Silence.

Slugworth looked with growing puzzlement between the woman and the girl, and Felix could only stare at his wife with dawning realization.

“You’ve been working with him,” he said simply, every usual quirk of inflection having vanished.

For a moment, the wash crew surrounded her in an attempt at a shield, and she heaved a breath to keep back a sob-of fear, of gratefulness for these friends that had become family over the past weeks, of everything suddenly crashing down.

“I’ll be okay,” she said quietly to the wash crew and perhaps to myself. “You all should go. Like you were going to. I’m sorry.”

They didn’t move.

She looked at Piper, whose worried hand was on her arm. There was an unspoken vow of protection between the women in that moment, but Wren’s eyes pleaded, so Piper nodded sadly, took Noodle’s hand, and the group left.

Wren was almost afraid to look at Willy, but she did; the boy was staring at the old chocolate bar in his hands, looking as if he could barely process a thing.

The sympathy in her gaze must have been far too obvious, because she suddenly heard footsteps, felt a hard grip on her wrist, and gasped in pain as it was yanked up and backwards.

“Darling,” Felix hissed with a sinister edge, though his voice was breaking, “I don’t know how or why this betrayal-”

“Betrayal?” she finally cried out, breaking free from his grasp as Willy rushed between them. “You lot have just poisoned dozens of innocent people, all for a business rivalry, and I won’t-”

“If you want your family not to starve, you had better lower your voice,” he barked.

Every speck of air seemed to leave the room.

“...My family?”

“I may have been distracted enough for the past weeks to ignore the mail that came in and out of our house, but I had not always been that blind. I thought your compassion to be an incomprehensible gesture, but I let it slide. When I felt like it.”

…They haven’t gotten everything I’ve sent.

They haven’t-

“In fact,” he continued, “it served as what was almost a pleasant reminder of the truth. For your family, for your stupid dream, and for your sweetly dependent soul-you need me.”

“If you knew I was poor, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it’s the same way for me!”

This was the peak of what had been a building explosion, and this was the moment in which they both remembered there were other people in the room.

“What?” the four besides him breathed, almost in unison.

“Oh, you heard right,” Felix launched into speech, the characteristic gestures starting to work their way back into him. “I came from nearly nothing, just the same. But I did what I had to do to climb to the top. I cast them all away, left my old life behind completely, and I suppose it was a foolish hope to think my wife would do the same. But she-but you-you are nothing but a guileless, deceitful bleeding heart.”

“I…”

Tears blurred her vision.

“I am…genuinely sorry that you felt you had to hide your past, but that doesn’t excuse trying to make the rest of the world match your insecurity and fit your little chocolate mold. And if that makes me a bleeding heart…I’m proud of the title.”

For a moment, the man looked as if he would allow his wife’s words to affect him.

Then his face, normally so expressive, turned completely cold.

She’d lost him.

She’d never truly had him to lose.

But she looked at Willy, and she thought of the wash crew, and she realized she finally had a truer support system. And if she could try to start over, find some other way to earn money to send to her family without interception, and some other way to reach the dreams that felt so far away at the moment, she knew Felix would be wrong: she didn’t need him.

After a long silence, Slugworth cleared his throat.

“Get her out of here. We have business with Mr. Wonka.”

What?

Her and the younger man’s eyes widened, and they grabbed each other’s hands on instinct, but a small number of policemen came around the corner of the shop door at Slugworth’s order. They clamped hands on her shoulders and dragged her away from Willy as the Cartel stood silently and watched.

“Wait-wait, no, I-”

“Wren-”

She struggled, fought, kicked, but was forced into the backseat of a police car-

“Let me go, you corrupt bastards-”

“Wren-”

“Let me-”

“Just drop her somewhere in town,” Felix said coolly. “Somewhere that isn’t my home.”

“WREN!”

The car door was slammed, and the last thing she saw was the Cartel advancing on a dazed Willy, opening a suitcase of cash.

All she could do was scream, and the scream turned into a cry.

They did indeed drop her somewhere. She burst out of the car the second it had stopped, and the officers drove away without a word.

Sick with worry and trying to regain her breath, she looked around, almost fainting with relief when she saw the laundry building. Piper, having heard the commotion, stood outside, and they looked at each other for a moment before Wren fell sobbing into her arms.

This is not over.

#fiytwtb #wonka movie #wonka 2023 #wonka #willy wonka x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet #wonka x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #wonka fanfiction #wonka fanfic #mat baynton #mathew baynton #mathew baynton x reader #mat baynton x reader

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regalbootie · 2 years ago

Note

Ok first thing first, I die each time you upload! Your a great writer, like damn it’s god send! I truly wanted to ask for this. (Smut) Larissa and the reader have been married for some years, and for the first time Larissa wanted to try something new in their sex life! Staying in her true form and only changing her female sex for male genitalia. The reader allows it and Larissa shapeshifts her form and basically pounds the reader on the bed, while cumming inside her women one after another and groaning and moaning because of the pleasure. At the end Larissa is being a tired lump on top of reader, tells a joke about how she can see the appeal in having a cock and claiming her women.

Trying something new in the bedroom

THIS IS 18+ MINORS GO AWAY.

I love this request, ngl did struggle to write it cos I ain't got a peen so unsure of what it all feels like so I tried my best!

There will be a part 2 as I wanted to post this cos I got too excited, lol.

Lariss weems x reader fic

WARNING: Shapeshifter penis, dominance

You were so thankful it was finally the Christmas holidays, all the students were home or with friends for the holidays which meant all the staff could do whatever they pleased for the holiday break.

You and Larissa planned a short getaway to a little secluded cabin in the wilderness so you both could relax and have some privacy. No phones, no laptops and no work.

That was the promise you both made so you both could focus on one another. Work had been hectic, with Larissa running Nevermore and yourself getting students ready for exam season, you both had not had much time for each other.

So there you were watching the snow slowly fall to the ground as you took in the winter wonderland around the car. The radio playing soft music as Larissa’s hand that rested on your thigh tapped to the rhythm of the song.

You bit your lip smiling as she sang along to the god awful Christmas song while focusing on the road. Smiling to yourself at how lucky you were to have her and to love everyday.

It wasn’t much longer till the cabin was in sight, it was small but that’s all you and Larissa needed. Grabbing the bags and rushing in from the cold you were quick to get the fire rolling. It didn’t take long for the cabin to heat up with the roaring fire seeping warmth into the cold cabin.

Admiring your fire you started, you felt two hands wrap around you from behind and you hummed with happiness at her touch. A glass of wine was presented to you which was gladly accepted. Taking a small sip and swaying your body as you held this moment in your mind to remember forever.

You and Larissa finally at peace with no disruptions or distractions. You both stayed there for a while, content being in one another’s arms, until you turned so you could face her.

Small smiles gracing both of your faces, with your free hand you cupped her cheek, “I love you so much, my darling wife”

“I love you too, my darling wife” The wedding was 2 months ago, but the honeymoon was delayed with work getting in the way. Larissa leaned down to capture your lips in a soft kiss. You could taste the wine of her and moan.

Knowing what this did to her it was no surprise when Larissa’s grip tightened on your body and swiped her tongue against your bottom lip asking for entry.

How could you deny her she had you in a puddle of mess just with a kiss. Opening your mouth for her, the kiss deepened, her tongue mixing with yours in a dance you knew well.

Larissa’s hands gripped tight on your hips and started to guide you to the bedroom, she couldn’t wait she had this idea of something new to bring to the bedroom something that she had never tried before.

Pushing you onto the bed a giggle escaped “oh what will you do to me, mistress?” you purred as you moved back farther onto the bed.

“I’m going to fuck you senses, my pet. Now strip” doing as you were told as fast as you could throwing your top and jeans over your shoulder. You start taking your underwear off but feel a strong warm had stop you.

“not just yet little one” you were so focused on undressing that you didn’t notice Larissa stripping down to just her panties, biting your lip she moved to lay over you laying kisses over your body making you squirm and gasp when she left a nip. “God you are so beautiful” she worshiped your body giving into the tender moment for just a little bit.

“Yesssssss” You hissed as she sucked on your pulse point, hearing you it turned into a lust filled bite. She pulled back looking you in the eyes “are you ready for this?” arching a eyebrow.

All you could do was nod and that was all it took.

Pushing your bra down roughly she took an exposed nipple into her mouth nipping and then soothing it with a lick. Your legs come to wrap around her pulling her closer. “please mistress” moaning loudly now that you had no student neighbours in the halls of nevermore nearby.

Growling Larissa ripped the bra off and was much more ferocious making your eyes roll back and moaning louder, her hands held you down by the hip and she grinded against your core your wetness already soaking making you ready for her so quickly. You would be embarrassed by this if it wasn’t for the attention she was giving your nipples, pinching them and nipping. She grinded again against you.

Your body stiffened when you felt something different and pulled back a little bit. “what was that?”

Grinning Larissa moved off your body to stand before you, she had a bulge in her panties and you gasped, you had never asked about this. You were 100% sure on the ins and outs of shapeshifters but shifting genitalia was not something you had thought of before.

“I wanted to try something new, why should mistress not get to feel her little slut cum over her cock, I want to feel you cum around more than just my fingers”

Slipping her panties off you could see her stand to attention already. Where there should be a wet dripping pussy there was a long, big and thick shaft.

You did not like guys or their penises but Larissa’s was beautiful. She grabbed you by your legs pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“I’m going to fill you up and fill every inch of you, pet. I know you’ll like it. Your panties have gotten 5 shades darker since you’ve seen it”

She slid her tip through your folds making your head fall back with a gasp. Larissa couldn’t hold back a moan at the sensation, it was amazing just to feel your wet pussy on her tip.

Making sure she was well coated she looked to you for confirmation to continue, knowing this was new and that you were ready for it.

Leaning up you captured her lips in a kiss a hand trailing down to take her in your hand and line her to your entrance. “fuck me mistress” whispering into her ear as you pulled her back into a deep and passionate kiss.

Hips moving slowly forward the kiss broke and whimpers escaped both of you at the same time. Larissa felt like she could already burst as she felt the tight warmth wrap around her and all you could do was fall back onto the bed arching.

Larissa started slowly, nervous if she let go she would hurt you. You needed her right now though, you needed it hard and fast filling you up every inch.

Grinning you wrapped your legs around her hips pulling her harshly forward making you take the full length of her. “fuck me hard and fuck me fast”

“Anything for my good girl” smirking Larissa drew all the way back and slammed back in. Making you cry out and grip the bed sheets.

Her pace was hard and fast the feeling of you around her was intoxicating. “good girl, good girl” she chanted, her free hand moving to hold your throat and the other to play with your clit.

Your pussy clenched and it only spurred Larissa further “you like my big cock don’t you, you will beg to let me fuck you like this won’t you”

“YES MISTRESS YES! I WANT YOU TO FUCK ME LIKE THIS FOREVER” you were so close already and the sensations were overwhelming.

“Im so close mistress please let me cum on your cock” begging like the good girl you were for your mistress. Larissa knew she wasn’t going to last much longer and she wanted to cum with you to feel it.

“cum for me darling” her breath was laboured and gasping but her gasps where cut short when you came screaming her name as you clenched around her and all Larissa could was keep pounding as the orgasm hit her.

“oh my fucking god oh my fucking god, I’m going to cum in you my little slut” Larissa screamed with you as she thrusted deeper.

“please mistress cum in me” the dam broke and Larissa bit down hard on your shoulder as her whole body convulsed as she came hard making you orgasm a second time. You and her didn't expect anything to come out but were surprised when she felt the rush of a hot liquid fill you up, and all you could do was love the feeling.

Her pace was relentless and rougher as she drew out both her own orgasm and yours. Sweat dripping off both your bodies.

Slowing down she slowly pulled out and you hissed a little from the sensation, you knew you were barely going to be able to walk tomorrow but you didn’t care because Larissa threw your body around and slapped your ass hard.

“I’m not done with you yet, get on all fours” being the ever obedient lover you did so without hesitation. Feeling the bed dip and the new familiar feeling of her tip at your entrance you rocked your hips back to have her slide back into you.

This only earned you a hard spank to the ass, “did I say you could move slut”

you grinned and made a loud moaning and whimpering noise. “ But you feel so good mistress”

#larissa weems x reader #larissa x you #fanfic #larissa weems #principal weems #larrisa weems #smut #fanfiction

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perfinn · 11 months ago

Text

make my wish come true

simon 'ghost' riley x reader (sort of)

wc: 1.9k

summary: you're not certain simon is going to make it home in time for christmas, but a surprise shows up at your door

cw: NSFW, please be aware that while this is x reader, the reader is isa so she has a name and a few descriptions. it doesnt change the fic much, but if this doesn't vibe with u feel free to keep scrolling and dont complain to me about it. anyway, they have sex

this fic is my secret santa (organised by my love @bunnyreaper ) gift for the very lovely isa @alwaysshallow 💛 i hope you love it!!

read on ao3, divider by saradika

A really rational part of you knows that it isn’t easy for Simon to get leave over the holidays. War and terror doesn’t stop for the sake of Christmas, and your boyfriend's work won't stop for your sake, though sometimes the both of you wish it would.

Still, he’s promised you that if he can't make it home, he’ll find time for a facetime, or at the very least a phone call. It’s never quite the same as having him there with you, but you tell yourself it’s better than nothing. If he can't find the time, he’ll force it. Nothing’s gonna keep him from his girl, especially if he can't be right beside you. It's just that… he hasn't responded to any of your texts in the last few hours.

Realistically, it shouldn't worry you. Simon goes out of range all the time, and he can't always warn you. But he does tell you when he’s heading out for missions, whenever he’s able. Sometimes it's classified, but rarely are they so classified he can't tell you it's happening at all. Especially over Christmas.

You chew anxiously on a hangnail as you stare at the unopened message you last sent him. It hasn't even been delivered, infact. He must be really out of range if it hasn't even gone through. Simon always demands you not worry about him, and you try, but you think the season is probably making it harder. All the festive traditions you liked to do with him had been done alone. Decorating the tree and the house, wrapping the presents– which you preferred to do with him since his military precision made him the perfect gift wrapper – all had been done without him by your side. He’d want you not to mope, but he’s not exactly here to stop you.

A knock at the door startles you from your silent lamentations, and you bite back a groan. Carollers? At this hour? Do they seriously have nothing better to do than bother you while you’re mourning for the fact you'll be spending Christmas without your boyfriend?

You lift yourself from the sofa and grab the spray bottle you’d prepared for this exact situation. You storm toward the door with the intent to give them an unwitting shower and a verbal ass-whooping, opening the door and not giving them a second to start singing.

“It’s almost 11 at night! Do you seriously have nothing better–”

“Isa–”

“–to do than bother me?!”

“Isa.”

“I’ll spray you- don't think I won’t–” You cut yourself off when you finally lower the spray bottle and catch sight of who it is at your door.

Christ, it's not carollers. It's him.

“Simon?” You say, taking him in like he might be some sort of sad hallucination you’ve made for yourself. But no, he doesn't disappear when you blink, and he really is wearing that ridiculous santa hat over his balaclava. You don't waste another second staring at him before you're throwing yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him.

He envelops you in his arms, tucking his face in your neck as he holds you just as tightly as you hold him.

“Sorry I wasn't responding to your messages, love,” he mumbles, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to memorise your scent. “No service on the plane.”

You dare to pull away and look up at him, giving him the opportunity to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. His eyes crinkle with a smile, and the lines only deepen when your gaze travels up to the santa hat on his head.

“Johnny’s idea,” he says before you can ask. “It’s bloody ridiculous.”

“And yet you’re wearing it,” you say with a fond smile, reaching up to play with the little white pompom on the end. You take his hands and drag him inside, needing to take your reunion inside where it’s warm and private, without the prying eyes of your incurably nosy neighbours.

He closes the door behind himself, reaching up to take the hat off. “He thought you’d find it funny. Very convincing.”

You take the hat from him as he tugs off the balaclava. You’ve found he’s more comfortable with it off, but only around you. He never wants to be Ghost here. Just Simon.

(Except for the times you ask Ghost to fuck you, but those aren’t on his mind right now, or on yours. You only want Simon, and Simon only wants you.)

Once the balaclava is off and Simon is leaning down to kiss, you put the hat back on. He falters, a confused smile tugging at his lips. “You want it on?”

You hum your affirmation, kissing him softly before tugging him toward the couch. “Johnny didn’t suggest mistletoe?”

“He did,” Simon says, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. “Told him I won’t be needing it.”

You grin, laughing softly as you press your lips to his. Simon adjusts you in his lap, warm hands settling on your hips. Sometimes, with Simon, it's hard and fast. Full of heated passion and desperation. But on these days, when he gets home from what can sometimes be months of deployment, it's like this.

Soft, and loving, and slow enough that the both of you can feel every moment of it. One of Simon’s hands trails up your back, tangling itself in the hair at the nape of your neck and urging you closer, deeper, so that he can ease his tongue into your mouth. You part your lips with little prompting, knowing him and his body perfectly by now, knowing what he wants without a word spoken.

He keeps his hand firmly on your nape as he lays you down, refusing to part from your lips until he begins to trail his kisses downward, across your jaw and to the column of your neck.

“You really want me to keep the hat on?”

You suppress a giggle, already shimmying out of your festive themed sweats for him. “Yes,” you say. “Least I deserve after being made to think I’d be spending Christmas alone.”

Simon snorts, trailing his nose down the fabric of your sweater before adjusting himself so he’s situated between your thighs, legs over his shoulders. You’ve truly got him wrapped around your finger– to have Lieutenant Simon Riley be willing to do stupid shit for you, like wear a santa hat while he fucks you, isn't something many people can say they have. Or any people.

Simon tugs off your panties, trailing kisses down your inner thighs and taking you in.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, love,” he murmurs, pressing his tongue to your pussy and licking a long, languid stripe over it. Your mouth drops open with the feeling, your eyes slipping shut before you force them back open– you don't want to miss a second of taking Simon in. God knows how long he’ll be gone the next time.

(You’re lying to yourself if you think you’ll have any control over your body once Simon has you coming on his tongue.)

He turns his attention right to your clit, lapping at it and scraping his teeth gently over it. Every bit of it has you shivering and arching, struggling to keep your eyes on him with every passing second.

Simon, however, is making no attempts to take in the sight of you. He’s lost in the taste of your pussy, and it's evident how much he missed you by how deeply he worships you. He dips down to lap at your entrance, his nose bumping against your clit as he pushes into you, a soft groan rumbling against you.

It's clear how very much you’ve missed him by how you’re squirming, and how you barely have a second to feel your release creeping up on you. Your eyes squeeze shut as you gasp, coming on his tongue like it was punched out of you. Simon groans again, lapping at you until your body un-tenses, leaving you staring up at the ceiling. You feel his mouth leave your pussy with a soft kiss before his face appears in your vision, looking all too smug.

“Miss me, did you?” He teases, pressing a heated kiss to your mouth. You can taste yourself on his tongue, making you moan softly.

“Shut up,” you murmur against his lips. “Course I did.”

He chuckles, pressing a contrastingly chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. “Perfect girl. Okay to keep going?”

You hum your affirmation. Though you’re a bit sensitive still, you don't think you can go another second without the heavy weight of Simon’s cock inside you. He smiles – god, he looks beautiful in the dim light of the tree – and pulls away from your lips, one hand trailing up your body to shove your sweater up over your tits while the other undoes his pants.

You catch the glint in his eyes when he realises you hadn't been wearing a bra, but you don't have a moment to appreciate it before you feel his tip pressing into you. You exhale in a deep moan as he splits you slowly on his cock, your body still accustomed to taking his size even as long as you’ve been apart.

Simon leans down again, pressing his forehead to yours as he buries himself to the hilt, a slow exhale fanning over your face. “Perfect girl,” he says again, voice a strained murmur. You can tell he’s holding back, letting you adjust– but you can't wait any longer.

“Simon, c’mon,” you urge, admittedly sounding pathetic in your desperation. Simon only chuckles, and obliges you.

To be fucked by him again is a dream, the slow and appreciative stroke of his cock inside you better than any holiday gift you’ve ever gotten. He fills you so perfectly, so fully, like the two of you were made for one another.

The hat falls off. It goes tumbling to the floor, and you don't have the sense to care. Your brain is just as full of Simon as your body is. The two of you are so lost in one another as he fucks into you, nothing seems to exist outside of you.

He curses, elbows planted beside your head. “Missed this pussy,” he mumbled. “Thought of her every day.”

Your cheeks warm as he grows a bit faster, more erratic– but Simon has nothing if not self control. So he holds back on his own release, instead reaching down to toy with your clit. You moan, breath pulled from your lungs as your oversensitive nerves bring you right to the edge of another orgasm.

Simon draws it out of you nice and slow this time, though, so you feel it wash over you in slow waves, rather than it hitting you like a tonne of bricks. He presses wet kisses to your throat as he does, his breath faltering at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around his cock.

He fucks you through it, and only when you fall still and get a bit whiney from the overstimulation does he come himself. He groans low and heavy, burying himself in you and pressing his body close to yours. He spills inside you, catching your lips in an admittedly sloppy kiss. When he finally stops coming– christ, did he not come his entire deployment? – he settles himself on top of you, cock softening inside of you.

You both pants, bask in one another. Your hand finds Simon’s cropped hair, fingers carding through it as his hands find your dark strands.

“How long are you home for?” You ask, hoping you haven't ruined the mood with the question.

“Until January,” he tells you, and you smile. You press a kiss to his hair, sighing in content and letting your eyes wander to the twinkling tree in the corner.

#wrote most of this in a midnight haze #enjoy #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #my work #smut #simon ghost riley #cod

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janovavalen · 1 year ago

Text

—goddamn! ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

aegon II targaryen x niece!reader

ㆍ୨୧ㆍshort story au

—part one — two — three — coming soon

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ summary: the two of aegon and y/n never got along. never—all until aegon catches the oh so wonderful, sweetheart y/n targaryen at a club.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍword count! 4138

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ warnings! drugs (cocaine, alcohol, weed) typical targaryen incest, small obsessive/obsession if you squint, smut, arranged marriage

fix idea from this tt edit <3

this fic will not follow the story line/plot of HOD! although i made up this au, i do not own house of dragon nor do i own the series, books, and characters! all rights go to HBO.

the night was brisk, dark and foggy. but the club was warm, stuffy and loud. aegon and aemond who had been dragged along to a environment he would have never stepped foot into was crowded by the large crowd of drunk and high dancers.

this, this was aegons environment. the fact nobody gave a fuck about what they did and who saw. openly doing drugs, openly fucking in the darkened corners of the room.

drug dealers and their buyers trading in the dance floor or even at the bar itself which wa not shunned upon. here, everyone was who they wanted to be from their shitty roles and life and jobs. free to be openly horny, high and drunk.

‘i wish to leave…desperately.’ aemond tightens his hands around each other as he looked at the the people as he groaned in disgust.

‘loosen up little brother we’ve just arrived. go fuck a whore maybe you’ll loosen up a bit in the body and mind’ aegon smirked while he walked to the bar and made his eyes dance over the females who smiled and blushed at him. flattering their way not only to his pockets but what’s behind his pants.

licking his bottom lips as he perched his forearms along the dark black counter of the bar. the bartender behind it was a woman who wore a skintight red dress and dark makeup with blonde hair that's curly and messy.

‘hi darling what would you like?’ she asked. her voice is smooth and sweet.

‘give me the strongest you got baby, make it cold, okay?’ he tilted his head a bit with a pinned up eyebrow and a small smile. she smiled back and nodded slowly while turning around, making sure she pressed her butt.

he noticed of course. he was a man who noticed any and everything a female tried and would offer him. their body, their mind, their purity. he wasn’t one to ask for it more of received it when they put forth into it. giving up everything they believed to fulfill the overbearing lust.

he did the same. with lust, alcohol, sometimes drugs even but he never gave a second thought about it because who really would when they’re happy with what they’re doing.

happy, to get away from possibilities, family, emotions that they don’t even understand.

a little later, the woman placed down the drink, the coldness of it dripping from her hands that extracted from the cup being gripped behind her pale hands and colorful fingernails painted the rainbow.

‘thanks love—what’s your name by the way?’ he asked as she blushed and pushed herself against the bar she stood behind with a smile.

‘amy, what about yours handsome?’

‘aegon…what you doing working in a place like this, huh? a beautiful woman like you should be in the most fine establishment, taking the orders of high class woman and men and getting tipped fabulously not by lowlifes who only seem to have money for drugs and beer’

her smile started to show more prominent as the brush on her face rose. tucking the hair behind her pierced ear—‘is that what you are then? huh?’

he simple shrugged before going jack to his brother who was suffering the sweet talks of a drunken woman with dark hair.

‘ah look my brother is growing up, speaking to your first woman huh?’ aegon wrapped his arm around aemond’s shoulder who stiffened his stature and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes in our torture.

‘i’m leaving—‘

‘no no no! don’t leave, stay here. be present, have fun. get drunk—forget about the family for a while—‘

‘if that’s what you do and if my outcome of this will lead to how you are now i don’t want that. sorry but i want to leave with or without you.’

aegon felt his jaw clutch at the fact aemond wasn’t giving up at all. his grip on his brothers neck tightened—‘shut the fuck up and sit here like a little pussy then. leave and you’ll regret it terribly.’ aegon let go of aemond who looked at his brother with frowned eyebrows.

aegon felt slight anger take over him and he rolled his eyes before taking a long sip of his cold drink that began to melt from the heat of the room.

the song of the night changed as his danced his eyes to focus on the dancing crowd of the room who held people freely dancing rather it was shirtless, pantless or even naked—the very moment the music got louder was the exact moment he saw the pure white hair in the crowd.

the white hair only shared in his family—her hair could have been dyed but…nobody would want the hair color of a targaryen.

his eyes stayed glued to the female who let her arms rise just above her head as if she were touching the clouds above, her waist moving slowly as he looked up and down her frame.

the back of her was slowly turning to reveal herself and her face to him. she was wearing a short black skirt with torn stockings, heeled boots and white bottom down work shirt that a man would wear that was dressed over with a long oversized leather jacket.

when her face, he immediately recognized her. the daughter of his eldest sister. y/n targaryen.

almost letting his jaw drop to the dusted floor he slowly walked over to aemond who was sitting there against his will—‘isn’t that our niece? y/n targaryen?’ aegon pointed with his pointer finger that held a thick gold ring around it as he let half of his face hide behind the glass cup.

aemond immediately looked up and went to search for the self claimed y/n. nonetheless he found her and was immediately transfixed. how could she even be here? why was she here? especially dressed like that. if their sister saw her like this she would have a heart attack.

aemond nodded his head and aegon laughed as if the most ground breaking joke had been told in the history of forever.

‘but how? how is she even here right now? i thought daemon had the house guarded and locked down just for her to stay in and never leave’ aegon asked once he was able to or speak properly.

‘i’ve…heard they let her have a home for herself since she requested more privacy. more guards but not as many lock devices as they thought. she must have been able to break some.’ aemond still watched her as she smoked the center of the dance floor with the smoke coming from her glossy, plumped lips.

aegon felt his pants harden. he was never going to admit this fact as of right now but he was going to go over. there was no way in hell he would get cover this image of y/n over in his mind like he did with the whores he fucked recklessly.

sipping the rest of his drink with a large gulp and slapping it down onto the table next to aemond who was shaken out of his trance, aegon ruffled his hair with his thin fingers and fixed himself up.

aemond seeing him as he did this looked him up and down in pure fright—‘what…where are you going? what are you doing?’

‘making my way over to the lady. what else am i to do?’

aemond stood up and made sure his height peeked now.

‘you can’t. deamon and rhaenyra have permanently permitted and even mother have forbid you to ever speak to her…if you talk to her and anything happens you could ruin everything—‘

‘that’s why it’s exciting. and that’s exactly why i’m going to do it right now.’ pushing his shoulder against aemond who closed his eye and inhaled sharply he was readying himself for the future as he turned around to watch the scene itself unfold.

as argon made his way over to y/n who was completely on a different planet in her mind, he took a long drag of someone’s blunt as they didn’t mind. holding it in then breathing out he finally spelled into her world.

her eyes were softly shut. the black makeup around her eyes being prominent and her scent of weed, booz and perfume filled his lungs.

looking down at her body as she turned around she felt the hard chest of a man and opened her eyes to see aegon looking down at her with darkened eyes.

though they were blue, she was still able to see the darkness they held behind them.

her eyebrows frowned as if the her in her mind was leaving the planet she was once on and back to earth. aegon softly smiled at this and she let her jaw slightly open after slightly gulping.

‘my beautiful, beautiful, niece. what a surprise’ he joked as she looked up at him in sheer fright.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

walking into the bathroom as she stumbled over the invisible strings in front of her, y/n forced her way around the woman who were hurryingly getting ready, smoking and taking up their last drugs of the night. she pushed open the stall door and gripped the walls as her breath quickened.

she felt her head pounding at the image of aegon even being here at the same time as she was. this wouldn’t mean anything but to her this was so dangerous. her uncle—her moms brother seeing her here of all places on earth, especially somewhere she wasn’t even supposed to know about.

her stomach started to bubble as she felt her spit grow warm. groaning and throwing her head back to calm herself down with deep breaths she felt the feeling slowly subtracting and drafting away. the acid in her stomach going back calm.

‘fuck…fuck! anybody got a fucking cigarette?’ she yelled as a girl next to her in the stall swiftly slid her hand under the wall—‘here baby!’ she yelled.

looking down, y/n grabbed it in a hurry and took a long drag of it. the feeling rushing over the anxiety and pressure she was once feeling with calmness. breathing it out she smiled a bit with closed eyes as she lowered her legs to give it back.

‘thank you’ she said while the girl voiced back—‘no problem. hey you okay? i heard you cursing at the toilet’ she joked while smoking the cigarette she was given back.

‘uh, kinda. someone who isn’t supposed too even know im here just fucking made himself known. my parents are going to strip me of my hair and skin and hang it on the wall…fuck.’ y/n felt the nervousness wash back over.

y/n was now sitting on the bathroom floor with her legs pulled against her chest as she gripped her head from the headache that was building up.

as if the woman knew what she needed she passed the cigarette back over from under the stall as y/n took it.

‘ah that’s why i always move from place to place. i know how that feels. i moved a while ago. trust me honey, the best decision i've ever made, my parents don’t tell me what to do anymore.’ she explained while y/n took a drag of the cigarette and passed it back.

‘damn…how’d you even leave? i’m so scared of leaving i don’t even know anymore.’ looking up at the colorful ceiling, y/n thought of her parents the the life she was born into.

‘just…up and left i guess. stole a couple of bucks, packed what i had in my closet in one suitcase and a bag on my shoulder and made my way here. grew up on the streets but got money from working here.’ she told while y/n listened.

humming back the girl finished the cigarette and looked over at the stall all then down at the floor to see y/n’s half body sitting down.

‘hey come out i might have something you need, to loosen up’

y/n looked over and heard the heels of the girl walking out of the stall. getting up herself and opening the door to see a brown haired girl with red lipstick, black crop top and glittery skirt with black heels.

y/n nervously looked down before smiling a bit.

the girl moved over to y/n and soothed her hair as y/n looked herself in the mirror.

‘your a targaryen huh?’ the woman asked. y/n grew nervous at the fact she new what last name she shared be the woman eased her tension with a simple smile.

reaching into her bag and pulling out bag that held white powder, y/n immediately knew what it was and walked next to the woman who evened it out on the counter with her card.

‘it’ll make you see shit, laugh and get a little horny but it’s so worth it i promise’ she told while leaving y/n face to face with three evened out lines of powder in her face.

‘okay…okay fuck it’ y/n shook her hands and immediately grabbed the rolled dollar from the woman who went with the line on her finger.

closing her eyes and sniffing the line straight—first, second then third.

whipping herself back up with closed eyes she breathed out—‘i said goddamn!…goddamn.’ she sniffed as the substance went further up into her mind. breathing out a bit as she reached forward to press on the water a bit, she placed some on her finger and whipped the remnant off her nose.

sniffing once more before rubbing her nose with her hand she looked herself into the mirror and smiled a bit at the pure fact that she didn’t recognize herself.

fixing her hair and tossing it behind her back. the woman looked at her with admiration before giving her a kiss on the cheek—‘good luck babe, see you soon i hope?’ she said, while walking out.

y/n smiled and looked back into the mirror to let the drug itself take over.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

just outside the bathroom stood aegon who was looking all over the club for y/n who had stumbled her way through the crowd and away from him before he could even stop her.

finally her white hair peeked through the crowd that huddled near the bathroom. fixing his once hunched stature he straightened as she walked to him. her face looked much more different than before. more, pleasured. not as horrified.

when’s she made toe to toe with him through their shoes, she looked him up with her eyes but not her full face, giving the white part of her eyes more room than its actual color.

‘why are you here?’ she simple asked, pushing the conversation to its start. the forwardness definitely coming from daemon.

‘same as you just want to run and forgetting’ he simply and truthfully answered. a little taken back at her boldness but nevertheless replied.

‘hm. so you weren’t sent by one of my parents nor one of your own?’

‘fuck no. if i were to you think id be holding this drink whilst talking to you? i’d be cut in half before i would be able to speak hello as before’ aegon told as she looked him up and down.

‘if your so as lying to me i will have you killed in your sleep—‘

‘oh i know princess…don’t let my presence ruin your night of fun. i just hoped to be able to enjoy it with you’

to put it simply he wanted to stay by her side the whole time. even if she weren’t to speak to him or so even look at him he would be satisfied enough to stand in her atmosphere.

‘oh so you want to follow me around like a lost puppy with your tail between your legs, huh? is that it?’ she asked while pushing her body against his own.

his jeans becoming more tight around his practically choking cock. he grinned down at her while letting his hand travel up her face and to her jaw. his fingers then inching it to her bottom lip and letting his thumb press its way into her mouth which she allowed.

he let himself groan a bit as she suckled it like a babe on its mothers tit. his hips now flushed against her own she rubbed herself against him as he closed his eyes. she knew the fact that his lust was overcoming him.

which was why it prompted her to push herself away and let her lips slowly retract from his thumb. he opens his eyes in a slight haze as she smiled up at him.

he finger going over his lips—‘you a bad little boy huh? letting your niece, the daughter of your sister…betrothed to another, suckle your thumb in the middle of a club surrounded by drugs, sex and drunks. how would your mother think of you as of now—‘

‘i don’t give a fuck how she thinks of me…how about you be a good niece and let your uncle fuck you behind this club and take you come to force my cock into your pussy…how dose that sound? huh?’ he forced his hand around her neck while their lips were inches apart from touching each other as she let them slowly open.

her heat below becoming wet and practically soaking her panties.

‘fuck…’ she whispered as he smiled against her lips. she looked between his eyes and lips before pressing her own against his. the lust controlling her every fiber in her body.

aegon grabbed the sides of her face as her own half his wrists. his lips hungrily kissed her own as she moaned into his mouth. he’s kissed plenty of women, but never has any of them held just as much hunger in their kisses as he did and been able to match and mold against his own.

he groaned and sloppily kissed her as she let her body press against his once more before he forced himself to pull away.

‘we have to go—we go to my house, where i’ll fuck you’

‘yes…please’ she begged as he kissed her once more.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

when they arrived into his large home—they were complete strangers keeping their hands off one another. his hands roamed over her body, face, waist and ass as her own pushed themselves against his stomach, neck and chest.

she moaned and he did too as she ripped his silk shirt open and let it down to the floor, the buttons on it clicking against the marble floors. he let her slip off her own shirt as

he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist as she was holding his shoulders and neck with her arms that were completely bare.

his hands placed under her thighs as he gripped them. walking the both of them over to his bedroom and kicking the door open.

he slowly placed her onto the bed where her back touched the top of his dark green silk sheets her legs stayed wrapped around his own.

lucky for him this was his home where aemond definitely did not want to share. aemond stated the fact he didn’t want whores in the house every other night and or a party going on. he stayed with their parents and sister, helaena.

y/n thrusted her hips up into aegons growing cock as he groaned into her mouth and stuck his tongue into her mouth to flush against her own. when he slowly retracted she suckled down onto his bottom lip letting it slowly stretch before she let go.

‘you know how to please a man…my sweet, innocent y/n’ he whispered as she whined. her hips moving to his to try and ease the pressure that was threatening to spill from her.

‘sh…don’t worry—i’ll give you exactly what you need. what you thirst for.’ kissing her lips as he then kissed her chip, breast and slowly making his way down to her heat she watched him as his eyes kept trace to her own.

‘soaking’ he was in sheer awe as we was face to her pussy that clutched around nothing.

placing his lips upon it, he kissed her pearl before letting his mouth completely consume her.

‘ah—fuck’ y/n moaned as he stuck his tounge into her. making her hands down to grip his white messy hair, he moaned as she pulled it, his eyes watched her and threatening to close of pleasure.

he hated to admit the fact that only this would be able to make him soak his pants with cum without even being touched. her body, taste and noises were enough to get him off. her hands that gripped his hair and would occasionally sooth it.

y/n’s thighs were now wrapped around his head as he let his eyes roll back along with her own as she felt her peak rising to the surface.

‘i’m cumming…i’m going to cum all over your fucking face’ she mumbled while thrusting her hips into him.

he let one of his fingers enter her body as she moaned out loudly, causing him to almost cum right then and there.

‘cum for me baby…cum for me please’ he practically was dying for it. she gave him what he wished for and her legs shook as they released his head.

‘fuck!’ she yelled while he let his mouth suckle her throbbing pussy.

‘shit—you soaked me’ he smiled as he looked up at her as he looked back down at him and weakly smiled. he kissed her sensitive bud making her jump a bit as he kissed his way back to her lips.

she completely enclosed his moths and kissed him hungrily, tasting herself on his lips.

‘i want you to fuck me—please? please…i need it’ she begged. her legs wrapping back around his waist to push him forward to where his hard cock was pushed against her.

‘you really want that?’

‘yes—‘

‘are you able to keep up?’

‘fuck yes’ she smiled as he kissed her. she kissed him back and let him work his way down to his pants to unbuckle himself and let his aching cock pull out of its enclosure.

‘i’m going to go slow…okay?’ she nodded her head as she looked down at his cock that he lined up to her entrance.

the slowness was killing the both of them but was needed for the comfort of the moment. once it was in, y/n closed her eyes and let her upper body press itself against his chest. husband making its way under her to hold it there as he kept his eyes trained in her face.

his eyebrows frowning from pure pleasure as she opened her eyes and focused on him.

he moved painfully slow. but the more he molded his way around her walls the rougher and harder he got.

‘shit’ he groaned while she frowned her own eyebrows.

‘faster…go faster—‘ as she said this; he did just that.

his hips becoming in contact with her own as he becomes more messy and sloppy in his movements. her nails scratching at his back to create her own mark. he loved this. he loved the fact he could practically feel blood dripping down his back from her sharpened nails digging into his back.

he loved that her hair was messily stuck to her face as it’s long locks spread around his bed.

he loved her legs that crossed around his back as her ankles locked to make sure that she wouldn’t lose grip.

his arms almost giving out as he feels himself coming to his release, he let his thrust become harder as aegon placed his head against her shoulder and neck, biting down onto her shoulder.

‘i’m cumming—where do you—‘

‘in me! fuck…fucking come in me—treat me like a whore you find the street and breed me with your children’

his mouth opened as he felt pure euphoria with her words—‘you want my babies? to be swol and filled with my seed, as you grow—‘

‘yes! yes! please—‘ he then gave one last thrust before spilling into her with his body falling against her own as she held him tightly, the both of them finishing their moments.

she soothed her nails up and down his back as he felt himself grow drowsy.

after a bit he finally pushed himself off and and layed next to her as she turned her body, placing a leg over his lower second and massaging her hand up and down his chest.

the both of them forgetting the fact that this every moment could cause either war, or new blood for their family and themselves.

lost in the moment and completely forgetting who they are and what their families can and will do.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #hotd aegon #house of the dragon #house of dragons #short story au ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

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taciturntraveller · 5 days ago

Text

Spine

What Laswell sees as an asset, Price sees as a liability. Lacking confidence in her abilities, the Captain puts Corporal Fairford to the test, pushing her strength and her morals to the very limit.

(A/N: So this one... is quite a bit longer than my previous fic, but I had fun writing it. I did consider breaking it down into multiple posts, but I decided to keep it as one cohesive unit because I felt like it flowed better. I hope you understand, and I hope you enjoy!)

Word count: 8,482

Warnings: Implied character death, threats of torture but no actual gore, swearing, canon typical violence

30th September, 2020 - Verdansk, Kastovia

In the quiet of the early morning, the Coalition’s makeshirt medbay is sparsely populated, with only a few patients and medical personnel milling about. Even so, the sharp smell of antiseptic still somehow lingers, causing Captain Price to wrinkle his nose in displeasure every so often, along with squinting his eyes in the bright fluorescent lighting. The facility that they’ve taken over in Verdansk is hardly a proper hospital, with darker concrete walls rather than clinical white ones, but the brightness is uncomfortable regardless.

He stands just in the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, as he eyes two of his teammates on the other side of the room. One is Gaz, who sits on a collapsible bed with one knee raised and a bandage being wrapped securely round the area underneath it. He’d caught a bullet to the leg during a skirmish with Al-Qatala, but fortunately he was otherwise in one piece. Gaz himself seems to be taking it in stride, smiling easily as Price watches his mouth move to converse with his present company.

Said company, who is their other, and newest teammate. Corporal Maria Fairford sits in a chair next to the bed, carefully wrapping the bandages and smiling as she listens to Gaz talk. At one point she lets out a laugh, light and free, at something he says. She must be saying something chastising back, because Gaz promptly looks mockingly offended.

Price tilts his head and frowns slightly as he watches. Fairford is hardly what he expected, and admittedly not what he had wanted. When Laswell had approached him about the idea of adding a medic to the team, he had initially refused, citing the team’s ability to perfectly take care of themselves, thank you very much. But then Ghost had caught wind of Laswell’s musings, and had apparently found an old friend stationed in Verdansk while they searched for Zakhaev, and all of a sudden Price’s opinion was being challenged on two fronts. Two very stubborn fronts.

So here they were, giving a medic a chance.

Fairford is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, of course - she went through basic training the same as any other soldier. He knows she was in Verdansk during Makarov’s attack back in April of last year, and despite receiving several burns, she persisted in taking care of both soldiers and civilians, her determination to help the wounded not held back by her own injuries. Or, at least, that’s how her previous Lieutenant so eloquently put it.

But Price is a man who prefers to see things for himself, and it’s not her skills that he’s questioning. It’s her heart.

“Ye wanted to see me, sir?”

Speaking of which. Price turns his head to glance towards a familiar Scottish accent, and watches Soap settle beside him, his eyes briefly tracking Fairford before turning his full attention to his Captain. It’s hardly a secret that Soap has been paying a little more attention to their new medic than his other teammates, and as long as it isn’t compromising the mission, Price has been content enough to ignore it. Now, however, it poses an opportunity.

He motions with his head towards the scene at the other end of the room. “What’s your opinion on Corporal Fairford?” He asks plainly, as if it’s nothing more than casual conversation and not a means of reading the situation.

Soap looks back again at the Corporal, and Price sees something soft flicker briefly in his eyes, before he promptly steels himself. He shrugs nonchalantly, “She’s… capable,” he offers.

Price raises an eyebrow at the simplicity of the statement. “Capable?”

“She’s a good medic. She’s calm under pressure, she knows what she’s doing, and she knows when not to take our shit. I think she’s a good fit.”

“That all?”

Soap looks back at him, his expression narrowing, knowing what he’s implying and silently challenging him to say anything. “Don’t know what ye mean, sir,” he states flatly. His demeanour then changes to one of curiosity, raising an eyebrow of his own, “Ye got doubts?”

Oh, he has doubts alright. Fairford has already expressed a lack of desire to do anything harmful to their enemies - the only reason she carries a gun is for last resorts, and he knows damn well the only reason she let Ghost teach her how to properly use a knife was to help the Lieutenant feel better. She ensured the survival of an interrogated Al-Qatala operative back in June, although he’s not sure how long that worked out for the guy. The point was, despite her skills, she thought with her heart more than her head.

Price built the 141 to do what others couldn’t, or wouldn’t do. He needs to be sure that his team can work effectively in any situation. More importantly, he needs to be sure none of them will become a liability of any kind.

He needs to test her.

And using his team as imagined consequences will have to do. He did consider using a family member of hers, but that had turned out to be harder than expected. Her father is out of the question - Admiral Fairford is a force to be reckoned with on a good day, and Price knows with confidence that the old man would sooner take his own life than allow himself to be captured, if he was kept in the dark about the plan. And if he wasn’t, there was no way he’d ever agree to traumatising his daughter like that. Not to mention the annoyance that would rain down on them if he found out she was associating with them at all.

Another laugh draws his attention back to reality, as he watches Gaz animatedly tell a story of some kind, and Fairford listens with a soft look in her eyes.

She’s already attached. That’s good enough for him.

“I need you to do me a favour,” Price tells Soap.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The helicopter flies low over the centre of Verdansk, as Maria looks out of one of the small windows at the metropolis below. The city has long since been evacuated, and the silence is filled only with the sounds of distant gunfire and explosions, and now the echoing, rhythmic beat of the rotors. Things look generally clear for now, but she knows full well that everything can change in a split second.

She glances away from the window and back to the rest of the 141, watching over them curiously as they ready themselves. With the temperature starting to lower, soldiers have taken to wearing thicker gear in an effort to stay warm, so they’re all clad in thermals and padded clothing. The extra weight across her body is taking some getting used to, but she figures it’s a lot better than hypothermia.

Gaz gives her a warm smile, soothing her nerves slightly, as Soap concentrates on his ammo count and Ghost watches the terrain pass by outside. Price, fortunately, has finished with the cigarette he’d been smoking for the duration of the flight, and focuses now on the fast approaching mission.

“Zakhaev’s been using the underground metro to avoid us,” he explains over the helicopter’s internal radio. “Farah’s reactivated the trains, so now we’re flushing him out. We’ll be working with the Marines to hit multiple stations at once. We start with the airport, then keep moving clockwise until we get lucky or regroup with the Demon Dogs.”

Maria takes a sharp intake of breath, but otherwise doesn’t respond. The last time she was at Verdansk airport, she ended up in the middle of an explosion, and almost got fast-tracked back home with a discharge. She still feels the prickling of a phantom pain on the right side of her body, the memory of flames clinging to her gear and skin seared into her brain. She subconsciously links her fingers together, trying not to draw attention to herself as Price continues.

“We’ll split into two teams. Gaz and I will head down to the station, Ghost and Soap will check the airport itself for any activity. Fairford, you stick with Ghost.”

“Copy.” She agrees, not entirely sure which option was worse - the memories that the airport would give her, or the enclosed environment of the underground station. At least she had someone covering her this time.

The helicopter tilts sharply as it drifts over the landing site, and eventually touches down with a much softer thud. The 141 are on their feet instantly, marching down the ramp with purpose and hitting the ground running. Maria makes sure to keep up with Ghost and Soap while Price and Gaz split off, heading towards the entrance of the metro. Eventually, the helicopter pulls away, its noise slowly disappearing into the distance, and quiet settles back into the area.

The group of three comes to settle on a small hill overlooking the airport, and Maria can see that once again, the runway and the buildings are in ruin, with smoke trailing up into the sky from multiple places. Evacuations had initially been focused on using the planes to ferry people away from Verdansk, but that hadn’t lasted too long in the wake of the Al-Qatala attacks. They did everything they could to help who they could, but sometimes she can’t help but feel it wasn’t enough.

“Looks clear so far,” Ghost mutters, lifting the scope of his rifle to his eye to get a better look at their surroundings.

“Might be out of luck here,” Soap laments, “Might be more action at one of the other stations.”

“Stop hoping to get yourself into trouble,” Maria chastises him quietly, leaning into distracting herself from the past. Soap glances back at her, the corner of his mouth raised.

“What, you don’t fancy patchin’ me up?”

“Let’s move,” Ghost interrupts before she can give Soap any backtalk. She frowns slightly, noting his lack of snarking right back at them like he normally would, but she figures he’s just particularly focused on this mission. It’s not an unusual thing.

They move across what remains of the runway, passing broken planes and abandoned airport vehicles, making their way closer to the main terminal building. Soap covers the rear while Ghost makes his way towards a fire escape, slowing down as he reaches out to grasp the handle and slowly edge it open. He leans inside, checking the hallways, before moving further in.

“Clear,” he notes, and they make their way inside.

As they come into the centre of the check-in area, now lifeless compared to the usual hustle and bustle, Maria finds that she remembers these surroundings vividly as she slows down slightly and looks around. They had set up a triage area here, assessing the wounded from the stadium attack and evacuating as many as they could. Even now, she hears the cries of pain and distress echoing, smells the faint scent of burning flesh and medical chemicals.

She remembers the orange flash of light, the shockwave slamming into her chest and knocking her to the ground, the searing pain on her arm and leg-

“Ye alright?” Soap’s voice cuts through the noise, and Maria blinks, focusing on his concerned expression. She takes a deep breath and nods.

“I’m good,” she assures him. He doesn’t look too certain, but he doesn’t continue the discussion further.

Ahead of them, she sees that Ghost is also glancing towards her, but she knows he has more of an idea of what’s affecting her. Still, they can’t let it compromise the mission.

“We need to sweep through this building and make sure Zakhaev isn’t here,” he determines, looking down the hallway towards the East wing of the building. “We’ll start this way and-”

Everything happens far quicker than Maria can process. She only just registers the crack of a bullet slamming through the large glass windows that look out onto the runway, and cannot comprehend the sight of Ghost crumpling to the floor in a heap, his eyes now out of focus and staring up at the sky.

In an instant, the whole world has lost meaning. Her body seizes and her thoughts vanish. Nothing else exists apart from the depiction of her own failure that lies in front of her. She stares at his body with wide, horrified eyes.

She broke her promise. She failed him. He’s dead. He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead-

“Get down!” Once again, it’s Soap’s voice pulling her back into focus, as he slams into her and pushes her down to the ground, moving her towards the nearby waiting area seats as a form of cover. Confronted with the reality of the situation, Maria’s training kicks in, and she looks past the seats as much as she dares to get sight on Ghost again.

“I need to get to him!” She cries out, already grabbing her medical pack and looking for bandages to try and stem the bleeding, adamantly pushing away the gnawing truth.

“We can’t move until we know how many there are!” Soap tells her firmly, raising himself up to lean his own weapon on the back of one of the seats to look through the scope and find himself a target.

But she can’t sit here. She can’t leave Ghost to lie there and rot. She has to try something. Scrambling to lower herself, she army crawls across the floor towards him, praying to God that whoever is shooting at them isn’t able to get a good sight on her.

“Maria! Christ-!” She hears Soap yell at her, but he’s interrupted by another shot piercing the glass, the bullet whizzing through the air above them. His footsteps sound against the marble flooring as he moves to catch up with her, firing out of the window in the direction of the shots to cover her. She edges closer to Ghost, reaching out to drag herself closer to him…

The sound of a door slamming open sends a chill down her spine. Another, much closer gun fires, and she hears Soap cry out and drop to the floor. She looks back in panic, watching him grasp at his side. From the left, she sees a man clad in all black, with his face hidden by a balaclava, stalks towards him, gun raised to fire again.

“No!” Maria launches up from her stomach, trying to make her way towards him, but someone grabs her from behind, locking their arm around her neck and restraining her. “Get the hell off me!”

“You fuckin’ bastard, I’ll-!” Soap snarls, but is cut off by the butt of the man’s gun slamming into the side of his head, causing him to fall to the ground again. Maria desperately struggles to free herself from the grip of whoever is behind her, but she can’t get loose.

Something sharp then pierces the side of her neck, and for one horrific moment she thinks her throat’s been sliced. She is quickly proven wrong, however, when the world starts to blur and her body feels heavier than usual. Sedative, she manages to think as her thoughts become sluggish and her resistance slows. She tries to cling to consciousness, tries to focus on Soap and Ghost. She can’t leave them here like this. She can’t…

But she’s not strong enough, and everything fades away into darkness.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing that hits her is the cold. Even before Maria is fully conscious, her body starts shivering, dragging her quicker to her senses. She blinks slowly, trying to process what had happened and what was going on now.

After the cold, she notes the tight feeling of rope around her wrists, binding her to the chair she’s now sat on, with her ankles tied to the wooden legs. She feels bare - she’s been stripped of most of her gear, leaving her in her thermal under-layer, which offers little protection in the face of the bare concrete room that she’s found herself in. She has no idea where she is, but she knows immediately that it’s nowhere good.

Her eyes widen as she’s hit with the memories of earlier. The surprise attack. Soap being knocked to the ground. Ghost. So many things had happened in such a short amount of time, and she feels her chest tightening as she tries to comprehend them. How could something like this have happened? How could everything have gone so wrong so quickly?

What would happen next?

As her vision clears, Maria catches a welcome sight - Soap, seated opposite her and tied up just the same, is leaning towards the back of the chair, presumably trying to free himself. She scans him quickly for injury, seeing no initial signs of the bullet he’d caught, and feels relieved that he’s at least still alive.

“Soap,” she breathes.

He glances back immediately, his eyes wide in concern. “Maria!” he exclaims quietly, “You’re alright?”

“I think so.” She doesn’t feel any kind of soreness that would indicate a wound, so she assumes she’s in one piece. She moves on to taking stock of their surroundings. “Where are we?”

“Not sure,” he admits with a frustrated growl, shifting his arms to try one last time to free himself before accepting temporary defeat, “but Price and Garrick will know we’re missin’. We just need to hold out until they figure out where we are.”

Maria grimaces at that. Neither of them know exactly who had taken them, whether it was Al-Qatala members or someone else entirely. They also didn’t know if these people knew who they were, or what knowledge they had. Regardless of the intel they’d gathered, they would probably want more, and from what she’s seen of the 141’s work so far, there was only one way that that went.

She had no idea if she was ready. Or strong enough.

Soap seems to register her reservations, because he leans his head forward and talks to her quietly and gently. “Listen, just let me do the talkin’, alright? Don’t say anything.”

“Soap-” she protests, but he shakes his head.

“It’s what we train for. Let me handle it.”

Maria may not like it, but he’s right. Resistance to interrogation is part of the process for the SAS, so he’ll be a lot more resilient than she is. She links her fingers together behind her back, fidgeting nervously. All they have to do is hold out until Price and Gaz find them. The two would be looking high and low, and they wouldn’t stop. Everything would be fine. Unlike…

Her face screws up in sorrow as she remembers the one they’d left behind. “Ghost,” she whispers desperately. “Did you… is he…?”

But Soap’s expression is uncertain, his lips pressed together. “I don’t know,” he tells her softly. Maria squeezes her eyes shut and lowers her head, still trying to deny what her eyes had seen.

She had promised him, in a run down hospital in Urzikstan, that she would be there if he needed her. She had told him, from a makeshift medbay in Verdansk after the airport explosion, that he needed to look after himself.

And suddenly he was gone.

Her grief is cut short by the sound of the door to the room slamming open, causing her to jump in surprise. Three men walk into the room, all clad in black with balaclavas covering their faces. One closes the door behind them and remains standing guard in front of it. The second moves to lean against the right side wall, standing at an equal distance between her and Soap with his arms folded. The third approaches from her left, strolling as if contemplating the situation, then throwing his hands up in greeting.

“Look at this!” He declares, a thick Russian accent lining his voice. “Two guests from afar, out for a walk in Verdansk.” His arm lowers as he casts his gaze between his two captives, and Maria tenses in discomfort at recognising how he looks at them like pieces of meat. “Is a little dangerous, no?”

Soap doesn’t say anything, only glaring at the man in response, and she keeps her mouth shut too, as per his request. The man paces a little closer to Soap, tilting his head at him.

“I know you,” he remarks, pointing a finger casually, “from the Taskforce that has been sniffing at Zakhaev’s trail. The explosive one. The wild one. Did Captain Price let you off your leash?”

“Fuck yerself, ye scum,” Soap growls, and the man tuts in response. He then turns his head to Maria, causing her to stiffen further. Fortunately, his eyes seem to narrow in confusion.

“You, I don’t know,” he admits. Well, thank God for small mercies. “We found little red cross on your gear. A medic, да? Did the 141 go so soft so quickly?”

She scowls at that, a comment of her own on the tip of her tongue, but she keeps it to herself. She needs to stick to whatever Soap is planning, although she suspects there’s not too much there right now. Her eyes cast briefly to the other two men in the room. She would say it was two against three, but it’s basically one against three with her lack of proper hand to hand combat training. Ghost’s knife training only worked if she could actually get hold of a knife, and that was unlikely right now.

Undeterred by her silence, the man straightens to his full height, and withdraws something from the back of his waist. Maria swallows thickly as she sees the silver glint of a revolver, the man regarding it for a moment before opening the chamber, giving it a quick spin, then slamming it shut again.

“This is very simple,” he tells them, “You will tell me what Captain Price knows about Zakhaev and Al-Qatala, and you will give me his whereabouts… and I will let you both go.”

… And that was just as unlikely. Maria exchanges a glance with Soap, and he narrows his eyes in determination. He’s not going to give anything up. She has to do everything in her power to make sure that she doesn’t either.

But the man then strolls towards her, just as casually as he’d made his entrance. “Let’s start with you, Sergeant.” And then, the cold of the room is immediately outmatched by the shock of the muzzle pressing against the side of her temple. She can’t help the barely restrained hum of terror that escapes despite her firmly closed lips.

Soap’s reaction is immediate, pulling against his restraints as he speaks, “Get the fuck away from her!”

“I will count to three,” the man answers without remorse, and she hears the click of the hammer as the weapon is armed. Maria’s eyes widen, her breathing quickens, and despite everything she struggles desperately with her wrists, hoping that somehow the ropes will just drop loose.

“I swear to God, I’ll rip yer fuckin’ throat out!” Soap snarls, though through his anger she can see the hints of uncertainty starting to emerge.

She can’t let him do that. She’s terrified, she doesn’t want to die, but she can’t let him break. Not for her.

“One.”

“It’s okay,” she assures him, though everything is quite the opposite.

“Two.”

Soap presses his lips together, a mixture of frustration and regret colouring his face. “I can’t…” he starts, but she shakes her head.

“I know,” she whispers, “It’s okay.”

“Three.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, hoping that Soap will look away, hoping that he won’t see what remains of her-

Click.

Suddenly the world shifts back into focus, and her eyes snap open, frowning in confusion. The man laughs, removing the muzzle from her skin and walking away from her.

“You are familiar with Russian Roulette, yes?” He asks, and she blinks, taking a moment to comprehend his words. After a moment, she releases the breath she was holding, trying to focus on getting oxygen back into her lungs and calming herself down.

But this isn’t over. Now, the man has his sights set on Soap, and a pit falls in her stomach. “Well, if you don’t have anything to say,” the man continues… and then raises the gun to press against Soap’s head instead, “perhaps the little bird does.”

Maria’s eyes widen in horror, rendered motionless at the sudden reversal of the situation. Everything had been far more simple when it was her life on the line. Now, she had Soap’s life in her hands. A far contradiction to how quickly Ghost’s life had been taken from her. She looks between the two men, unable to think clearly.

“Don’t say anything,” Soap says firmly, but that only causes the man to push the muzzle harder into the side of his head.

“If you don’t speak, he dies,” the man states.

Maria shakes her head rapidly. She can’t tell him what she knows, but she can’t stay quiet and let Soap take all of the heat like that. “I don’t know anything,” she protests.

“One.”

“I don’t, I swear! I’m just a medic, they don’t tell me anything!”

“Two.”

Flashes of Ghost’s body hitting the ground plague her mind. She can’t handle that happening again, not to another member of the team that she’s supposed to be looking after. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, trying to think of something that will pacify the man.

She can’t say anything. She can’t. But she can’t watch him die-

“Three.”

Click.

Oh Christ. Maria inhales a breath of relief. Even if they’re still going, at least Soap remains alive for a little longer. The longer they can hold out, the better chance Price and Gaz will have of finding them.

Price and Gaz will find them. Everything will be fine.

“Think yer so tough?” Soap berates the man as he walks back towards her. “Let me out of this fuckin’ chair, I’ll tear ye a new one!”

The muzzle is back against her temple again, but Maria is calmer this time. As long as the gun is on her, then it’s not on Soap. If only one of them can walk out of here today, she needs to make sure that it’s him. Her job is to look after them, whatever that results in. She straightens her back, furiously blinking away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

She will not look weak in front of these men.

“Once more,” the man sighs, looking towards Soap, “tell me what Price knows about Zakhaev’s operations. Tell me where he is.”

Soap presses against his restraints. The scowl on his face is angry but desperate. All of his training is keeping him in check just as much as the ropes binding him, and it’s clear that he’s struggling with the weight of what’s required.

“One.”

She offers him a smile, trying to reassure him again that it was okay. He needed to stay quiet. He needed to let her go.

“Two.”

“I’ve got nothin’ to say to ye-”

Click.

Maria jumps as she hears the trigger being pulled, and Soap’s eyes widen in surprise at the action. The man stands up straight, stalking towards Soap with a new sense of annoyance. Her smile falls as she watches him, panicking again. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“I am tired of this,” the man growls out, and presses the revolver to Soap’s head again as he looks at her, “You only have a few chances left, little bird. Tell me what I want to know.”

She’s hyperventilating now, acutely aware that the more the trigger of the revolver is pressed, the higher the chances of Soap dying in front of her. For months, she has gotten to know the 141, gotten attached to each of them in their own unique ways. Now, she has lost one and is potentially about to lose another. Confessing all she knows might save him…

“One.”

… but there’s a higher likelihood that it won’t. Either she will die and the 141 will be put in danger, or Soap will die with the same result, and the added consequence of Price viewing her as a traitor, and whatever punishment will come with that declaration.

And Ghost…

“Two.”

She can’t forsake Ghost’s memory like that. She can’t break Soap’s trust like that. She has to be strong. She has to be brave.

“I don’t know anything,” she says at last, barely a whisper, “I don’t know anything-”

BANG.

Maria feels her chest crack open, but not from any bullet. She watches as a flash of white explodes from the muzzle of the revolver, and Soap’s head drops, his entire body going lax in his restraints. She stares at the scene before her, everything else fading into nothingness. He’s just… gone. Executed without a care. Two of the people she valued, ended without remorse.

Air barely manages to make it into her tightened lungs as she sobs brokenly, “No! No!”

Her head falls as she closes her eyes tightly, crying loud as her shoulders shake with every desperate breath. In the span of a day, it feels like she has lost most of her life. The people she cared for, the people that trusted her to look after them… she’d failed them. She hadn’t protected them. She hadn’t brought them home.

She never should have been assigned to this team. Without her presence, they wouldn’t have had more to worry about. They might still be alive.

Footsteps echo closer towards her, slow and purposeful. A hand grasps her chin and points her head back upwards, forcing to stare into the eyes of Soap’s killer. He looks… curious, as if considering her. What more does he want? She has nothing to offer him anymore. Of the two of them, he killed the one that would actually have the answers he wanted.

Maria scowls at him through her teary vision. She has nothing left to say. She has nothing left to lose.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Everything comes screeching to a halt. She knows that voice. Her eyes widen and her jaw drops as she registers the man that’s leaning against the wall, who has just spoken in a very distinct and familiar British accent.

The man stands up straight, pulls off his balaclava… and sure enough, reveals the impassive expression of Captain Price.

Maria stares at him, unable to comprehend what’s happening. The man in front of her releases her chin and takes a step back, and the man by the door steps forward, pulling off his own mask to reveal the much less impassive, much more trepid expression of Gaz. He puts his hands up in surrender as he approaches her.

“For the record, this wasn’t my idea,” he confesses, before moving behind her to start untying the ropes that are still restraining her.

She doesn’t have anything to say, bewildered by everything, even when the third man pulls off his mask to reveal someone she doesn’t recognise - a man with slicked back black hair and a nervous expression of his own.

Price motions towards the man, “Corporal Fairford, meet Nikolai,” he introduces, as if they’re merely meeting at a social gathering, and nothing in the past 24 hours has happened, “He’s our pilot, and a very good friend.”

“It is good to meet you, Corporal,” Nikolai says carefully, “I am sorry about the… circumstances.”

Maria finally closes her mouth, shutting her eyes to take a long, deep breath to calm herself and rearrange her thoughts. She stays silent for a moment, replaying everything over in her head, and coming to the slow realisation that everything had been a lie. Everything had been an elaborate setup. A game, almost. Once she feels the rope fall slack, she brings her hands to her lap, balling her fists.

“This was…” she starts, but is unable to find the words.

“This was a test,” Price clarifies, “I needed to know how you’d do in a situation like this.” He pauses, tipping his head in apparent acknowledgement of her performance. “To be fair, you did well. Kept your mouth shut. Passed with flying colours.”

A test. Being sedated and kidnapped was a test. Being strapped to a chair and stripped of her gear was a test. Being threatened with a gun to her head was a test. Watching her teammates die was a test-

Wait a minute.

Maria’s gaze promptly snaps towards Soap… who is now sat up straight again, perfectly alive, and looking at her with a guilty expression. She stares at him, just now realising that in her state of grief, she hadn’t even noticed that there was no blood, no gore, no hole in the side of his head.

… Had there been blood when Ghost had been shot? Had she been so blindsided by the situation that she hadn’t even looked for something so basic?

Her breathing threatens to quicken again, but she steels herself. Part of this is shameful - she’s a goddamn medic and she didn’t even register the lack of blood from either Ghost or Soap. She’d been so swept up in her failures that she’d missed all the little hints that something wasn’t right. The lack of emblems on the masked soldiers. Sedating her, rather than just killing her since she was only a medic and couldn’t possibly be of interest. Bits and pieces come together to paint an entirely different picture.

She wants to tear them a new one. She wants to drop to her knees and sob. She wants to throw the stupid chair at the wall and shatter it to a million pieces. But her father’s words echo through her mind, and she sees him standing proudly on the bridge of his vessel as he tells her about his way of life.

Never let them see you break.

Maria takes another deep breath, and moves to stand up. “Am I dismissed, sir?” She asks, glancing over at Price.

He seems briefly surprised by her statement, perhaps expecting more of an outburst. His expression quickly switches back to impassive, however, and he nods. “Affirm, you’re dismissed.”

Without missing a beat, Maria stalks towards the door. Soap’s gaze follows her, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but she doesn’t give him chance. Fortunately, the door is unlocked, so she’s able to rip it open and then promptly slam it shut behind her, as she starts to head down the outside corridor.

She has no idea where they are. It looks like a warehouse of some kind, but clearly it hasn’t been used in a while - a thin layer of dust coats the desks that she passes, and cobwebs shift gently in the breeze that slips through broken windows. Her own footsteps are the only sound that echoes through the building, until eventually she forces her way through the main entrance.

She’s immediately greeted by a forest, with no other hints of civilisation nearby. So they’re not in central Verdansk. Great.

Maria raises her head to the sky, trying to focus on her breathing, but she can’t keep it steady. She lets out a desperate gasp for air, sinking to her hands and knees and gulping oxygen, her eyes wide and briefly unseeing. Everything kept replaying in her mind - Ghost, the revolver, the threats, Soap… and all of it was fake. All of it was made up and orchestrated by Price, as a means of testing her resolve and her commitment to the 141.

And he looked so goddamn passive about it.

Her fists clench, but she forces them to relax again as she brings herself up to her knees, taking in slow, purposeful breaths. Today had been awful… but it also hadn’t been real. She had been brought to the edge of what she thought she could handle, and she surpassed expectations, both Price’s and her own. That was what she needed to focus on - she had found strength she didn’t know she had. There was no reason to linger on things.

Bringing a hand to her face, she uses her thumb and finger to clear her vision of moisture, and as she refocuses on her surroundings, she notices a grey van parked a few metres away from where she had landed. That must’ve been what they used to bring her and Soap here. A thought occurs to her - if Soap had been in on this, had he been conscious the whole time? Had he sat in the back with her, watching to see if she woke up from her sedation?

Waiting to subtly alert Price?

She frowns slightly, considering the vehicle for a few moments.

… It would be petty. She’s not normally a petty person. But to be fair, they did put her through hell.

Mind made up, Maria pushes herself up to her feet, and walks straight towards the van. Her fingers reach out for the handle, and she’s pleasantly surprised to find that the vehicle is unlocked. Pulling the door open, she slides into the driving seat, closes the door behind her, and turns the keys in the ignition.

The engine fires to life, and she can feel the barest hints of the heater starting to kick into gear. She lets out a sigh of comfort, relishing the warmth even though she knows it’ll take some time to really warm up. Adjusting the gear lever, she puts her foot on the accelerator, and the van lurches forward, moving down the makeshift road that she can see ahead of her.

The surrounding trees are uniform, and there’s no obvious landmarks. How she’ll make it back to Verdansk, she doesn’t know, but for the moment she just needs to get away from everything that has happened. She needs to feel like she’s getting her own back somehow, even if it’s in a stupid way.

She’s been driving for only a couple of minutes when a low, gravelly voice sounds from the back of the van.

“So where are we going?”

“Jesus fuck.” Maria curses as she nearly jumps out of her skin. From behind her, the familiar presence of Ghost leans against her seat, his arm wrapping around the headrest leisurely. She briefly glances at him with a glare before returning her focus to the road. “So you’re fine, as it turns out.”

“Price figured you’d recognise me too easily, so I was the emotional trauma,” he remarks, sounding just as impassive as Price had. It irks her.

“I’ll trauma you in a minute,” she mutters darkly.

Ghost snorts in amusement, and she feels the motion of his shrugging against her seat. “This was always going to happen eventually, Maria. We needed to know how you’d handle it. You’re not trained for it like we are, so we need to know your limits.”

Part of her, begrudgingly, knows that he’s right. But she can’t help but protest anyway. “You didn’t need to do it like that.”

“That’s how things are. One of us could die today, or tomorrow, or next year. You can’t keep us in one piece forever.”

Maria’s grip on the steering wheel tightens at that suggestion. Keeping them in one piece is her job. Just because it can’t last forever, doesn’t mean she shouldn’t keep trying. It certainly doesn’t mean she should just stop caring, like some people seem to want her to. She’s here to patch them up. She’s not here to break them. The least they could do is try not to break her in turn.

“It’s not personal, Maria,” Ghost adds, his voice softening ever so slightly.

She lets out a sigh, her fingers relaxing and her eyebrows lifting back to a less frustrated appearance. For as much as she hates it all, this fiasco has taught her valuable lessons. It’s shown her the truth of what she’s signed up for, and it’s taught her that she’s still able to handle it regardless. She won’t admit that to Price, of course, but the guy definitely knows how to bring out a person’s real self.

They continue to drive in silence for a few moments, before she feels him leaning closer to her.

“Did you like my acting?”

The corner of Maria’s mouth twitches, but she refuses to allow it to show. “No,” she answers flatly.

Ghost tuts, “Everyone’s a critic.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ghost had eventually persuaded her to let him drive, and soon enough they had made it back to Coalition headquarters in Verdansk. Now, Maria sits in the canteen, hiding in one of the back corners, nursing a mug of peppermint tea, breathing in the fumes of the drink and basking in the silence. She has picked her moment well - most of the operatives have cleared out to do some hunting within Verdansk itself, and she has this place to herself. She has time to think.

She replays the events once more, this time addressing what she had failed to do in certain moments. Not realising that there had been no blood was one thing, one incredibly basic thing. She had let herself be overwhelmed in the moment and had forgotten her training. She needed to make sure that didn’t happen again.

And perhaps next time, she can be a little more observant in other things, like checking their surroundings for enemy activity. She had put far too much reliance on Ghost and Soap for that.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and she looks up, surprised to see the approaching figure of Gaz, holding a mug of his own and looking a little sheepish. It’s been an hour or two since she left them behind at that warehouse, so she figures they’ve pretty much only just made it back.

“Can I sit?” He asks.

Maria regards him for a moment, but then nods, and watches him as he slides into the seat opposite.

“Hope you didn’t mind me driving back,” she says, with just a hint of spite in her voice.

“We had a spare,” he confesses with a small smile. Well, at least they didn’t end up hypothermic in the middle of nowhere, she supposes.

She doesn’t really hold anything against him. He was just playing a part, and not even a main one at that. The other four men involved had all had roles to play, but Gaz had just been taken along for the ride. As much as his involvement at all should elicit some resentment, she can find none.

Gaz stares at his mug for a few moments, clearly contemplating what to say, before he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he finally admits, looking up at her earnestly.

She presses her lips together, nodding slowly. “Well, you’re the first one to actually say that,” she tells him, and he lets out a huff of a laugh.

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.” He raises the mug to his lips, taking a quick sip of what is presumably regular English tea, and then continues once he has lowered it again. “I’m not gonna sit here and try to justify what we did. It wasn’t right… but…”

“It was necessary,” she finishes for him, softly and with an air of acceptance.

Gaz falls silent again, his fingers twitching slightly as he frowns to himself, seemingly grappling with something. Then, he speaks up again. “Last year, when I started working with Price for the first time, we were after a man from Urzikstan called the Wolf.”

Maria tilts her head in recognition. “Omar Sulaman.”

“You know about him?”

“I was stationed in Urzikstan a couple of years before all that went down,” she explains. “That’s where I met Ghost.”

He nods in understanding, “His second in command was Jamal Rahar. The Butcher.” He then narrows his eyes. “I watched him murder a kid, without remorse, in the US Embassy in Urzikstan, and I wanted to put him down for good. But we needed him alive because Al-Qatala had planted a bomb in Russia. So we caught him, and we brought him for interrogation.”

Maria watches him as she listens intently, noting the way the grip on his mug tightens before he carries on speaking, “Price and Nikolai… They brought in his wife and son. To persuade him.”

She stiffens at that, her eyes widening slightly. She’d known in advance that Price was the kind of man to push the boundaries of what was acceptable actions, but… this seemed excessive. To bring in civilians like that? To threaten them?

“Worked like a charm, obviously. I thought about killing him after we got what we wanted, but… after I saw his kid I just…” Gaz shakes his head, glancing away.

After taking a moment to process things, Maria reaches across the table and gently lays a hand across his wrist. He looks back at that, and smiles slightly in response. He then takes another breath, and meets her eyes.

“So believe me,” he tells her, “I do get how you feel.”

She nods slowly in response, and gives him a sympathetic look. “And you stayed.”

Gaz tilts his head in acknowledgement. “I wanted to take the gloves off. I wanted to fight back properly, and make sure bastards like that didn’t get away with anything. And then it happened, and I got blood on my hands. But… I figured I could still do some good here.” He then smiles reassuringly. “I think you can too.”

Her hold on his wrist briefly tightens, before she releases it and draws her hand back, mulling over his words. As morally questionable as the 141 may be at times, she did understand that they were doing some good in the middle of all the bad. As Soap had said a few months ago, someone had to get dirty to keep the world clean.

In spite of everything, she wants to keep looking after them too.

“Corporal,” a voice calls from the doorway. Maria looks up to see Price, once again with an unreadable expression on his face. Time to face the music, it seems.

She takes one last sip of her tea, then gets to her feet, laying a hand briefly on Gaz’s shoulder, which he pats in response. She moves towards Price, regarding him with an even expression of her own.

“Sir,” she greets calmly.

Price moves his hands to grasp at the sides of his tactical vest, taking a moment to breathe in before he speaks, “Listen, I know you’re upset, but this wasn’t personal-”

“I’m not upset, Captain,” she interrupts, keeping her tone steady, “I understand your point of view perfectly. You had concerns, and you addressed them.”

He raises an eyebrow at the simplicity of her words, clearly expecting something else. He then nods slowly, “Well, as long as we’re clear on that-”

“I do think you have an expectation of how things are going to go, however, and I would like to address that.”

That’s definitely more in line with what he expected, and he folds his arms as both his eyebrows now raise. “Oh?”

“I know the kind of team that you run, and the beliefs you have in yourself, in them, and in the world,” she states. “You’ve taken promising individuals and you’ve made them into something more. But I am not here to be anything more than I am. I am a medic. I am here to fix your injuries and ensure you make it home in one piece. I am not here to do any breaking, and I am certainly not here to be broken down and made anew. You can try your best, but all you are going to be is disappointed, and I will still be here patching you up, whether you like it or not.”

There is a lengthy, tense pause, and for a moment Maria thinks she has severely overstepped. She had tried to keep her composure, but she needed to get her point across, regardless of whether it was a breach of the chain of command. The consequences did not weigh as much as her determination.

Then, Price’s lips form a smirk, his eyes sparkling with something like mirth. He nods in approval. “Keep that spine, Corporal,” he tells her, “You’ll need it in this business.” And with that, he turns and walks off down the corridor.

She releases a breath of relief, glad that she’s cemented her opinions and still maintained her place. But as Price walks away, she catches sight of another man further away, looking at her with a familiar mix of uncertainty and regret.

Soap.

Price seems to mutter something to him as he passes, and Soap’s expression tightens. He clearly wants to say something, but he isn’t quite sure how to go about it. Maria doesn’t move as he locks eyes with her again and strolls forward carefully, as if approaching a frightened animal. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then tries again.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, and she softens slightly, until he then goes and ruins it, “It wasn’t personal-”

She sighs, shaking her head. “God, if one more person tells me ‘it wasn’t personal’, I’m gonna lose my mind,” she hisses, and starts to turn away.

“No, wait,” Soap protests, and she feels his hand grasp hold of hers. She pauses, surprised at the contact, looking back and seeing how their fingers interlock together. This is the first overt kind of move he’s made. She’s upset with him, yes, but… she finds herself liking the way his hand feels in hers, gripping gently but firmly. His skin is rough, calloused, but reassuring.

She could get used to it. Someday.

He follows her gaze, and blinks at the sight of his own actions, releasing her and instead gripping his tactical vest, as if to keep his hand distracted. He does eventually get back on his train of thought. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” he huffs in frustration, struggling to find the right words. “It wasn’t meant to hurt you. I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

Maria frowns at him, wanting to forgive him for going along with Price’s orders but unable to get the image of his dead body out of her head. It still feels like a personal failure, even if it wasn’t real. It feels like she lost something, even when she’s not sure if she had it to begin with.

“I thought you were dead,” she explains quietly, “and I don’t think you understand that.”

Soap looks down guiltily. The silence stretches long enough, with neither of them able to properly express what’s on their minds. She can’t stand here like this. She turns away from him, walking in the opposite direction, seeking something to take her mind off things.

In truth, she will forgive him. Eventually. She’ll forgive them all, really.

That’s just who she is.

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

Tagging: @socially-awkward-skeleton

#taci's fics #oc: maria fairford #long fic #i am frazzled but i had fun with this one :D

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leviathanlazarus · 1 year ago

Text

Scream for Me

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Jake Kiszka

Word Count: ~3300

Warnings: smut!! [kind of a variation of a fear kink? Praise, dirty talking, non-penetrative sex] 18+ only!

A/N: In honor of continuing my Halloween season slash fics, I present to you Danny getting turned on when Jake gets scared. Hope you enjoy ;)

P.S. I'm posting this quite early in the month since I'm very much in the spirit AND I have a Danny x Josh fic and a Danny x Sam fic coming later, both Halloween-themed <3

---

Danny couldn’t believe the theme of the haunted hayride, which Jake had neglected to tell him about prior to buying tickets. Not that knowing it would have stopped him, it was just, as he relayed to Jake, “so 2016.” “The Year of the Clown” was long gone as far as he was concerned, and the thought of being preyed upon by guys dressed up in rainbow suits and copious amounts of makeup just sounded like a variation of playing a show. Jake, on the other hand, was brimming with nervous energy as he made the decision to knowingly torment himself.

“Aw, Jakey,” Danny said with genuine concern, wrapping his arm around him. They were stuck waiting in line for what felt like ages already, the night air feeling exceptionally chilly while being trapped in such a wide open space. It was nice to see the stars so vividly, Danny thought as he looked up, and the moon, which was a shockingly bright globe in the obsidian sky. The perfect kind of spooky October night.

“I’m just cold,” Jake replied, but Danny knew the slight tremors his body kept going through were more than from just the autumnal chill. He leaned into Danny’s touch all the same, snuggling against the denim jacket that was keeping Danny perfectly comfortable.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Danny assured him, his gaze wandering over to the few stands of treats, the scent of fryer oil and popcorn wafting through the air. “Clowns are scary. You want a funnel cake?”

“You said clowns are outdated,” Jake reminded him, looking up at Danny with flushed cheeks. “I think you also said ‘boring.’”

“They’re not my thing,” Danny said with a sigh, foregoing the idea of funnel cakes. Jake hadn’t even wanted to smoke before this event, too worried he’d become paranoid and freak out even more. For a while, Danny didn’t understand why Jake wanted to do these scary things every Halloween season. Their time in the haunted cabin had been enough for him to believe that Jake wanted to avoid ghosts, ghouls, goblins and whatever else, real or not. But the more they went to haunted hayrides and haunted houses, walked along ghost tours, sat through spooky stories and horror movies with Josh and Sam, Danny realized that when Jake got scared, Danny got turned on. He didn’t know why, nor did he want to know why. He accepted that, no matter how tortuous it seemed, Jake loved being scared and Danny loved seeing him scared.

He hadn’t told Jake that though. This was their first Halloween together. He was still nervous about it. Way more nervous about that than about some silly clowns.

“Like they’re my thing?” Jake said with a scoff, burrowing further into Danny’s side. “I still remember that one from the haunted house last year. You know, the one that came at us with a hatchet?”

“Hey, Jake,” Danny began, speaking the words softly against the top of his boyfriend’s head. “Do you also remember that the hatchet was plastic?”

Jake groaned. “Okay, yeah, sure, it’s all fake. But it feels real.”

“That’s the point. Besides, I know you like it.”

Jake looked up again, dark eyes even darker in the night. “What else do I like, Danny?”

Danny chuckled, rubbing his hand over Jake’s shoulder. He definitely knew what he liked–seeing Jake all flustered and red-faced, hearing him gasp and pant, feeling the squeeze of his hand when things got intense. He thought about opening up about that, actually, revealing how much it turned him on to see Jake so vulnerable and feral, but then the line was moving.

“We’re up,” Danny said, freeing Jake from his hold, but Jake immediately latched onto his arm as they approached the wagon.

Even their guide along the ride spooked Jake when he hopped onto the wagon–not a clown, but a huge–in both width and height–man dressed in bloody rags with fake scars and cuts all over his face. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the man boomed, and Jake squished himself into Danny’s side even more. With that, the wagon started to roll shakily over the grass, and the guide began his formal introduction into, yes, what was still, apparently, the year of the clown.

There wasn’t much happening during the first couple minutes of meandering through the field, but whenever a distant shout, grunt or scream could be heard, Jake trembled. Danny held him close and watched–he wouldn’t get as scared as Jake would, but he could still get spooked, and he had to admit that the atmosphere was pretty chilling.

“We must beware the apple orchard,” the guide said, his voice unnaturally low but quieter as he addressed the crowd huddled together on the edges of the cart. “What was once an innocent field of fruit now bears something insidious. Something demonic.” At that, Danny felt Jake stiffen beside him. “Unnatural creatures have made this place their home. If we move swiftly, we might just–”

A girl sitting nearby shrieked as something–a clown, of course–charged through the trees, swinging a bloody machete. Danny felt himself stiffen with anticipation while Jake hooked his arm around his middle, both of them silent. The clown that had terrorized the girl was making his rounds, bobbing around the edges of the cart and pretending to slash people with his blade.

“Oh god, no!” Jake yelped when the clown thrust himself toward him and Danny, and Danny fought the instinct to kick the clown away. If it were a real threat, he thought to himself, he’d do anything possible to protect Jake. He hoped that his boyfriend knew that.

What was just a few seconds must have felt like an eon for Jake, who was still shaking with adrenaline after the clown simmered and was left behind, waving the machete as the wagon moved onward. Danny let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his eyes roaming the apple trees as he asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive,” Jake said, bringing one hand to his chest. “But I might not be by the end of this.”

But Jake persevered through the apple orchard. He survived the small flurry of clowns that attacked with various weapons, shrieking and cackling and making the entire wagon shriek in response; Danny, meanwhile, found that he was paying far more attention to Jake than anything else. It was hard not to. He was so in tune with him–how tightly he was holding his breath and the sound of his voice, how it changed when he got scared, becoming a little higher and rougher. He was also very aware of how snugly Jake was impressed upon him, like he was permanently glued to him and Danny liked it that way.

Even Danny felt a little uneasy though when the wagon came to a complete stop inside of a barn. It was completely dark except for intermittent splashes of red and white light, allowing him to see the fake blood on the walls, the bones and fake severed limbs, the eerie clown paintings. Everything was complete with a huge fake corpse hanging overhead.

“A mechanical problem,” the guide announced. “Unfortunate to stop here, but I’m sure we’ll be moving again shortly.”

“Danny…” Jake said quietly, squeezing his hand around Danny’s wrist so hard it actually hurt.

Of course, as soon as Jake said that, demonic laughter echoed from all around. Jake squeezed even tighter but Danny didn’t move. Jake needed him in that moment and there was nothing hotter than that, and not even the sudden onslaught of grating music and the laughter growing louder as an impressively large clown shot out from the darkness could take away his own thrills. Jake began clawing desperately at Danny’s arm with one hand and gripping his thigh with the other, squeaking and whimpering right next to his ear, but the clown decided to terrify the group of people on the opposite side.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Jake said with a hard exhale when the wagon abruptly started to roll again. But the huge clown ran toward it and Danny was shocked that the clown zeroed in on them next, trying to fake-slash at both of their legs. Jake squealed and really did try to kick the clown away, which made Danny laugh. Jake yelped again and begged, “Danny, help!”

The clown grinned wildly, teeth covered in fake blood, but the wagon sped up; Danny watched as the clown finally stayed motionless, which was actually more ominous to him than the man moving, giving Jake some room to breathe. Danny wrapped his arm around him once more. “It’s over, Jake,” he said. “I’m pretty sure that was the big finale.”

Indeed it was. All that was left were lingering screams and maniacal laughter, which kept Jake’s hands all over Danny until they were back to the beginning. Those hands and that tight little body so close to his during their short night of terror had elicited a different sort of adrenaline rush within Danny, so intense by the time they were getting off the wagon that he knew he needed to finally do something about it. But now Jake actually wanted a funnel cake, and patience was a virtue Danny proudly possessed.

Jake was frantically munching on the fried dough, powdered sugar sticking to his fingers, while they sat on the hood of Danny’s car. Danny couldn’t keep one thing to himself much longer. “You’re so cute,” he said. It was ordinary, something any boyfriend would say, but when Jake looked up at him, he added, “Even cuter when you’re scared.”

Jake’s eyes widened and he paused chewing for a moment, looking perplexed. When he resumed finishing that bite, he shook his head before meeting Danny’s gaze again. “Cute when I’m scared?” he repeated with suspicion, narrowing his eyes.

Danny reached over and stole a piece of funnel cake for himself. “Yeah. You are.” Jake just kept looking at him, so Danny shrugged. “What? I can’t be the first person to point that out.”

“Uh, yeah you are, Danny.”

That sort of pleased him, actually. Danny looped his arm around Jake’s waist. “It kinda turns me on, honestly.”

Jake coughed into his arm, powdered sugar dotting the sleeve. “Really?”

“Yeah. You get all flustered. You hold onto me all tight,” Danny told him, still feeling the ghost of Jake’s hand wrapped painfully around his wrist. “It makes me feel like you need me.”

“I do need you.” Jake hopped off to toss the paper plate into a nearby trash can. He put his hands on his hips when he turned back around to face him. “But you didn’t save me from that last clown.”

Danny slid off the hood and went to him, circling Jake into a loose hug. “If a real psychotic clown were after you, I’d save you. I’d do anything for you.” One part of their relationship he was still getting used to because it scared him more than clowns or ghosts or demons ever could–PDA. He lifted Jake’s face to his and kissed him; Jake’s hands gripped the open body of Danny’s jacket, showing that, yes, he really did need him. When Danny pulled back, Jake looked calm again. “You really do turn me on when you get scared, Jake,” Danny told him, holding the sides of his face. “I guess that makes me weird. But, whatever. I’m glad you’re so into the spooky shit since it pays off for me.”

Jake pursed his lips a little, a quizzical look on his pretty face. “How come I never get to see you scared?”

“There’s only one thing that scares me.”

“Which is?”

Danny moved his hands to Jake’s shoulders. “Losing you. Losing Josh and Sam.”

Jake’s hands gently squeezed Danny’s waist. “Oh come on, Danny. That’ll never happen. We’re way more likely to get attacked by a psycho clown.”

Danny laughed and began to steer Jake to the car. That reassurance meant everything to him. Sometimes he worried, felt that dreadful fear, that someday it would all be gone and nothing truly scared him like that thought. And now, still feeling residual arousal from Jake’s terror and the swell of love in his heart, he needed to finally get his own kicks tonight.

“You’re brave,” Danny said softly while he walked behind Jake, reaching in front of him to get the back passenger door open. “You keep doing these things even though you know they scare you.”

“I think that’s called ‘stupidity,’ Danny,” Jake replied, then looked back over his shoulder. “Why are we going back here?”

“You got to feel such a rush tonight,” Danny told him, urging him to get in the backseat. With a curious look, Jake did, tucking his legs in, and Danny followed. “Can I get mine?” He kept moving forward, pushing Jake onto his back, and didn’t wait for a reply. He just kissed his beautiful, valiant boyfriend, gripping Jake’s sides to start feeling for the warmth of his skin beneath the layers of clothing.

Jake kissed him back, bringing his hands to Danny’s hair, tugging lightly. Danny took that invitation and ran with it, the rush of his own lust and love churning to life again; he kissed deep and slow, how his instincts often guided him when it came to Jake. He was so precious–the thought of ever losing him really did terrify Danny. Danny wanted to keep him safe forever, to make Jake feel nothing but completely adored.

When Danny’s hand made it down to the fly of Jake’s jeans, Jake said, “Someone might see.”

Danny pressed his lips to his neck. “I’m not afraid of that.” Those soft kisses elicited the quiet little moans he was after; Jake was so responsive to him even if he was a little worried about catching a glimpse of what they were doing in the dark. Jake clutched to him fiercely when Danny got his fly undone and slipped his hand past the denim and cotton boxers, wiggling against the seat.

“You deserve to feel good after all that shit out there,” Danny said, lifting himself up enough to spit into his hand. Jake squirmed even more when that hand was brought down to his cock, growing harder with each stroke Danny offered.

“What about you?” Jake asked between another exchange of lips and tongue; Danny was back to kissing him all that he could. It was all he ever needed sometimes, Danny felt–anything else was a bonus.

“This is what I need. To make you feel good. To show you that I’m here,” Danny told him as Jake’s fingers raked through his hair. Jake moaned a little louder at that, arching into his touch. Danny’s urgency revved up at the enthusiastic response, and he wished for more of this, for Jake to be so vividly his all the time. They’d get there, he knew, and he was ultimately absolutely fine with taking things slowly. There was a beauty in that. And right now, he might not have been able to see much of Jake as he wanted, but he could feel him–the rapid flutter of his pulse, the rising and falling of his chest, the warmth of his skin which became even warmer after every press of Danny’s lips.

Jake reached down, feeling more for himself, and Danny’s breath tightened at the slight squeeze around his own cock, still so stiff and wanting, trapped underneath his pants. “I wanna make you feel good too, Danny.”

Danny couldn’t say no to that. He hastily got his dick out with one hand, sat back, feet on the floor, and brought Jake to a sitting position in his lap. “You make me feel good all the time,” he said, bringing his hands to Jake’s hips, urging him to ride as if they were actually fucking. Jake did, working into a steady sequence of shallow humps that rubbed their cocks together. Danny groaned softly, blinking through the dark, small space to see as much as he could. “Oh my god, Jake–my brave boy, so fucking hot.” The words were unconscious, instinctive–with Jake, Danny struggled to have a filter. He realized Jake actually liked it that way. “Love seeing you tremble. Love hearing you gasp. I love when you do it for me.”

“Who knew,” Jake began with a harsh roll of his hips. “That you were such a freak.” The sentence ended with a huff and he dove forward to smother Danny with wet, hurried kisses. He stuffed a hand between them, too small to wrap all the way around both of their leaking erections but Danny moaned with appreciation at the effort and the added friction. Jake touching him anywhere in anyway drove him crazy.

The sudden glow of yellow headlights behind them allowed Danny to see him more completely, and the sight of him with his pink cheeks, soft gaze from his dark eyes and crumpled collar just fueled his inner frenzy. “Fuck, you’re so fucking cute, so pretty,” he breathed out raggedly, fumbling with that disshelved shirt to get it unbuttoned. When he did, he cupped Jake’s hip with one hand and felt along his chest with the other, tweaking a nipple and making Jake shudder just like he wanted. “My brave boy is so fucking gorgeous, so fucking hot riding me.” The headlights disappeared and Danny pulled him forward, latching onto his neck with his teeth as he shot between them, a trail of sticky wetness on his shirt and Jake’s bare stomach.

He’d fully intended for Jake to finish first. He grabbed Jake’s ass and started doing the work, grinding up into him and thrusting them together even harder despite his spent dick feeling a little just over the edge of being too sensitive. Jake’s increasingly loud moans and curses were music to Danny’s ears; those hands on his shoulder and in his hair were the grounding pull he needed to always feel.

“So strong,” Jake noted quietly while Danny kept him in motion. He pressed his face to the side of Danny’s neck, the soft whimpers trickling through Danny’s ear. “You’d really do anything for me?”

Danny nodded, squeezing his ass. “Anything, baby. Right now, I wanna make you come.” He found the space between them and took Jake’s cock in his hand, stroking as Jake kept grinding on top of his thighs. “One of these days, I’m gonna make you scream for me.”

Just as Danny lifted Jake’s mouth to his again, he stifled what Danny knew would have been a sharper, louder sound if they were somewhere private. Instead, a whimper escaped his lips and he stiffened, tightening up severely before he quickly went slack, body loose and heavy atop Danny’s own.

Not dissimilar to how it had been earlier in the night, Jake snuggled into him, resting his face in the crook of Danny’s neck with a sigh. “I’ve known you how many years, Danny?” he began, and Danny could feel him smiling. “Yet you continue to surprise me.”

Danny held him, stroking his hands along Jake’s back. “Hopefully in a good way and not like those clowns tearing out of the woods.”

Jake planted a big kiss to Danny’s forehead before sliding off to the side, tucking himself back into his jeans. “You continue to surprise me in the best way.” He sighed, resting his head in his hand, leaning against the seat, and smiled a little. “I know you’d do anything for me. For any of us. Same goes for us, to you, you know.”

Danny reached out, taking Jake’s other hand to hold between them. “I know.”

The smile grew, turning a little salacious. “So does this mean you’ll take me to that haunted house next weekend?”

Danny lifted Jake’s hand to kiss his knuckles. “Anything you want. But does that mean we get to fuck around again after?”

Jake laughed, head thrown back. “Yeah, sure, as long as you protect me from all the monsters.”

---

Tagging: @mackalah @kissingthegoat @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta

If you'd like to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me :)

#greta van fleet #gvf #danny wagner #danny gvf #jake kiszka #jake gvf #sam kiszka #josh kiszka #gvf fic #gvf slash #danny wagner x jake kiszka #janny #gvf fanfiction #HAPPY HALLOWEEN GVF GIRLIES

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