#ill never forget the relief in his voice when he realized | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckiverse · 4 months ago

Text

Lessons

☆--- paring: zayne x reader

☆--- summary: Your childhood best friend, Zayne, had always been there for you, loyal, supportive, and understanding. So, when you realized you had a crush on Caleb, you turned to him for help. Taking it upon himself to be your guide, Zayne offered to teach you a few lessons in love. But as the lessons progress, you start to wonder... was Caleb really the one you wanted all along?

☆--- word count: 9.9k

☆--- warnings: mdni, oral sex, fingering, missionary, zayne is literally so jealous, caleb is kinda the boy best friend you tell your boyfriend not to worry about ngl, reader is inexperienced, soft!dom zayne, size kink if you squint, zayne knows you so fucking well it's sickening (he's just so sweet), no protection is used (wrap it before you tap it)

☆--- a/n: loosely based on nightly rendezvous (yes im doing a childhood best friend au for everyone... i fear im obsessed)

↳ xavier | sylus | caleb | rafayel

Some part of you felt like it was a bad idea—you knew better. Even after all these years, it felt surreal that Caleb was one of your closest friends. In your small town, there weren’t many people to bond with. The tight-knit community had shrunk over time, and most people you knew were just memories now. But you’d never forget the two boys who lived next door. One was more charming, the other more reserved, but both were just as kind and reliable.

Years later, that sense of community felt like a distant dream. It was why you jumped at the chance to move closer to Caleb and Zayne after they relocated to the city. The passing of your grandmother had made staying in the countryside unbearable. But as you stood ankle-deep in snow, staring at the truck piled high with your belongings, you wondered if you were in over your head.

The cold wind bit through your gloves as you trudged inside the apartment building. Your eyes darted nervously to the heavy furniture that needed to be moved. You shifted your weight, glancing at the door every few seconds. If any of the boys decided not to show up, you would be screwed.

“Y/N!” Caleb’s voice rang out, and your head snapped up. Relief surged through you as you saw him approaching. Without thinking, you rushed into his arms, your cheeks burning as his warm embrace enveloped you.

“It’s good to see you too,” he teased, his playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His hands rested lightly on your back as he pulled away, studying your face. “How long were you standing out there?”

“Not long,” you lied with an awkward laugh. “I just—got lost in thought.”

How he looked at you made it hard to breathe, as if he still saw the same girl from all those years ago. The creak of the lobby door saved you from spiraling further.

Zayne strode in, his dark coat dusted with snowflakes. His sharp gaze flicked from you to Caleb’s hands, still resting on your waist. For a moment, his jaw tightened, but he quickly smoothed his expression.

“You’re late,” Caleb called out, smirking.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Zayne replied, his tone dry as his eyes settled on you. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”

“Never,” you said with a grin, stepping forward to hug him. His arms wrapped around you briefly, his touch warm but hesitant. You smiled before turning and walking over to the elevator. You missed your family, and now it felt a little closer to being pieced back together.

You gave a debrief of the plan for the day, as there was plenty you could do on your own later. Though you were grateful to Xavier for helping you get a place, it needed…tlc. The boys agreed to help you move bulky items and clean up the remnants of a bug treatment.

The boys retreated to the lobby—they had to move a couch and some other, far too heavy things. The three of you had been friends for years, bickering and fighting like siblings, but never with ill intent. Though Caleb and Zayne constantly teased each other more recently than anything, you weren’t sure what was a joke anymore.

Your body jolted. A sound of a shout came from the hallway, distracting you from sweeping.

“Damn—Zayne, pull up the couch—” Caleb strained and bit out.

“You’re the one who’s not paying attention,” Zayne shot back calmly.

You walked up to the unfolding scene, your hands resting on your hips when you approached them. The couch was now on the tile of the apartment hallway. You were glad they didn’t break your stuff while they messed around.

“And… Why is my couch on the ground?” you asked, your gaze shooting between them.

“It seems Caleb’s grip slipped,” Zayne quipped. You could feel the air quotes around the last portion of his statement. His hands were resting on his hips as his breathing slowed and evened out.

“I just need a second—I’m sweating over here,” Caleb said, a deep breath coming from his lips.

You watched as he lifted his shirt. His jeans rested low on his hips as he lifted the fabric, you could see faint trails of hair leading down his abdomen. He had a vein running above his hip to below his pants.

Your eyes betrayed you as you shamelessly traced his body. Fuck, he looked good.

Zayne watched you in silence, observing, watching the surprise on your face when Caleb lifted his shirt. And he did not like it. First, why did Caleb always do shit like that, but besides, why did you seem to like it so much.

The three of you worked together to tackle the chaos of the moving day. With the bulky items moved, Caleb helped you clean the kitchen while Zayne focused on the living room. You stood on your tippy toes, wiping the cabinet the best you could, stretching to reach the top shelf. Caleb moved in behind you, his body brushing against yours.

“Let me get that,” he said, his voice soft as he grabbed the cloth from your hand.

Your breath hitched as his warmth seeped through your back. His fingers brushed yours briefly, sending a jolt through you. You moved aside, trying to compose yourself. He stepped to the side after finishing, leaning onto the counter, “Why don’t I take over this part, since you’re so small?” a playful grin played on his lips, as he winked at you.

“Always picking on my size,” you joked, your voice shaky. “Maybe you’re just too tall.”

His grin widened, but something in his gaze lingered a moment too long. “...Maybe,” he murmured, his voice low.

From the corner of the room, Zayne’s gaze flicked toward the kitchen. His hand paused mid-swipe on the wall, his eyes narrowing at seeing Caleb leaning close to you. His grip on the rag tightened, but he quickly looked away. This wasn’t the time.

You noticed all his progress when you made your way to Zayne. He almost successfully cleared the living room. “Can I help?” you said, approaching his side.

Zayne’s lips quirked into a slight smirk. “I figured you’d be too busy with Caleb to remember me.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” you shot back, an uncomfortable laugh leaving your lips.

He attached the extended handle before handing you the mop, his fingers brushing yours slightly. “Guess I’ll have to remind you why I’m the favorite,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious.

☆

You fell into a routine in the following weeks, trying to adjust to your new life. Weekly meetups with Caleb became a ritual, and today, you waited for him at a quaint coffee shop Zayne had introduced you to. The warm smell of coffee and pastries filled the air as you spotted Caleb walking in, his black coat framing his tall figure.

“Y/N!” he called out, his smile lighting up. He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground for a moment.

When he set you down, his eyes held yours for a beat too long. Your stomach flipped as you sat across from him, trying to steady your thoughts.

You began your catch-up over a coffee and some food. Your discussion filled the silence, and you shared a laugh while discussing the latest work drama. You clued Caleb into the details about your coworker, and how the Hunter’s Association locked his file.

It was pretty peculiar in your field; most hunters had a public record, released by the organization they resided under, but in his case, it wasn’t as easily accessible, making him a high-profile individual. Which just made you curious. As talented as you were you couldn’t help but notice the difference in skills between the two of you. It was so obvious he’d been at this longer than you.

Caleb listened intently as you shared the latest work news, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

“And what are you going to do about it?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Detective work?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. “I don’t know. It feels like I’d be invading his privacy. I guess—I’ll wait for him to tell me when he’s ready.”

Caleb’s gaze softened. “That’s just like you,” he said quietly, his purple eyes glinting in the light.

Before you could process his words, your watch buzzed with an alarm. “I gotta get back to work,” you said, grabbing your things in a rush.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, gesturing to the table. “See you later.”

It was a lighter cold today, and no heavy snow blocked your path. As you walked back to work, you were honestly heavy in thought. You couldn’t stop thinking about Caleb. His smiles and touches felt deliberate, and you had no idea how to handle it. Dating had always been a mystery to you, and your nerves weren’t helping.

This wasn’t the first time these nerves graced your presence. When you were much younger, you recall the party, the smell of alcohol, the loud music, and unfamiliar faces. You knew Zayne and Caleb of course, but them being a bit older than you made this crowd—one you hadn’t been exposed to before.

Making your way through the door was the worst. Caleb knew everyone, saying “hellos,” “hi’s,” and “what’s up, dude,” as he led the way. Making your way through the moving bodies was a challenge. You were thankful for Zayne’s hand holding onto yours as you made the way. You scanned the crowd, and everyone was dancing. The number of people grinding on others was mesmerizing, and you wanted in.

The music thudded through the walls, pounding against your ears. You remember making your way up the stairs, following closely behind Caleb, as Zayne sandwiched in behind you, finally letting go of your hand. Honestly, this didn’t seem like Zayne’s type of crowd, and he wasn’t the most outgoing.

When you reached the room, it had fewer people than the rest of the house. You walked in, sitting on the couch while Zayne stood near the corner of the room. Some people sat in a circle with a bottle in the center, obviously playing a game. One of the girls asked if you and the boys wanted to join.

You could feel the eyes of two important men in your life shift to you. Both were curious about your response.

“...yeah.”

Caleb also joined the game, sitting directly across from you. A girl with blonde hair spun the bottle, and before you knew it, it was your turn.

Placing your hand on the bottleneck, you spun the bottle, watching its turning motion with curiosity. When it stopped on Caleb, the purple of his eyes glinted as he looked between you and the bottle.

You could hear the circle of people urging you both on. It was just a kiss. You could do this. He’s your friend. You sat up on your heels, your hands burning as they rested on your knees.

He got close to you and whispered, “Ready?” only for your ears to hear, and he kissed you, his lips connecting with yours softly, sweetly. Some people teased him for the gentleness at which his lips touched yours, but something shot through you when his lips touched yours. He softly bit your bottom lip before he pulled back from you.

He kissed you. Zayne saw, everyone saw, and you liked it.

You needed advice—something solid to guide your next move. You’d already admitted to yourself that you liked him, but how were you supposed to approach this? What did you even say? Zayne helped you through that kiss, reminding you it was just a game. But all these years later, you wanted to be more than a game to Caleb. Even in your shared youth, he had good advice for you, so why wouldn’t you trust him?

When you arrived at the office, your mind was still a tangled mess, buzzing with uncertainty. You decided it was no use overthinking it; it was better to rip the bandaid off.

You pulled out your phone, hesitating for a moment before texting Zayne:

You:

“Can I call you? I need some advice.”

When his reply came moments later—“I have a patient right now. I’ll call you after.”—you let out a relieved sigh. You trusted him, and you needed his help.

Relief washed over you as you read his reply, your heartbeat finally slowing to a steady rhythm. You let out a soft sigh, tucking your phone away. All you had to do now was organize your thoughts.

While you waited, you turned to your caseload, focusing on the profile you’d been compiling for a new wanderer-type you’d encountered during a hunt weeks earlier. Using old files as templates, you typed furiously, the steady rhythm of the keyboard pulling you into the zone. Minutes turned to hours as you worked, the world fading into the background.

The buzzing of your phone jolted you back to reality. You glanced at the screen and barely caught the call before it went to voicemail.

“You want me to teach you how to date?” Zayne’s voice drawled through the line, laced with amusement.

Heat rushed to your face as you groaned audibly. “That’s not—it’s not like that!” you blurted, but Zayne only chuckled softly.

You spent the next ten minutes stumbling through your explanation, your words tangling as you tried to paint a coherent picture of your situation. When you finally stopped, waiting anxiously for his response, all he said was:

“Okay.”

That one word was enough to knock the wind out of you. “Okay?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he confirmed calmly.

Your heart soared. “Okay, then,” you echoed quickly, trying to mask your nervous excitement. You rushed to thank Zayne before ending the call, clutching the phone to your chest. Relief and joy bubbled inside you. You knew Zayne would come through for you. You trusted him completely.

On the other end of the call, Zayne set his phone on his desk, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. He began packing up for the day, shaking his head in amusement. The idea of you coming to him for dating advice was equal parts endearing and intriguing.

Of course, he would help you. That much was never in question. But who had caught your interest so suddenly? The thought gnawed at him, tempting him to ask outright, but he resisted. He’d figure it out eventually.

As he picked up his phone to draft a response, a quiet laugh escaped him. “Lessons,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with amusement. He couldn’t help but smirk as he began typing out a plan. Lessons in dating and seduction? If anyone was going to help you succeed, it was him.

☆

Your phone buzzed with details for your first lesson. You had to admit you were quite excited. When you open the message, you read simple instructions:

Zayne:

“I’ll pick you up at 7 pm. Wear something nice, but comfortable.”

A quiet scoff escaped your lips as you gripped your phone, its cool metal grounding you—way to give me nothing, Zayne. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you typed back.

You:

“Got it.”

With a rare day off, you had more than enough time to overthink this date—or, well, lesson. You'd been on dates before, but this felt different—important. You wanted to impress Caleb later, but you also wanted to enjoy this with Zayne and learn from him.

Determined, you took your time getting ready—a long bath, smooth and refreshed skin, natural hairstyle, skipping the heat of flat irons. Your makeup was subtle, accentuating your best features—your eyes and lips. The outfit? Simple, with an effortless elegance: a black skirt, a beige sweater, and knee-high black boots. Something nice but comfortable, you echoed mockingly in your head.

The doorbell rang. Your pulse quickened. Taking a deep breath, you cracked the door open.

“I’m grabbing my bag—give me a sec,” you said quickly before shutting it again.

Zayne chuckled softly on the other side. You looked nervous, and he thought it was cute.

When you finally stepped out, his eyes swept over you, approval flashing in his gaze. “Ready?” His voice was warm, familiar.

You swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah.”

Locking up, you stepped beside him, weaving through the apartment halls. The elevator was packed when it arrived, leaving just enough room for the two of you to squeeze in. When the doors slid shut, the crowd's pressure pushed you toward the back corner of the elevator.

Zayne stepped in after you, his body instinctively blocking the others from pressing too close. His warmth enveloped you, a wall of quiet protection. When his chest brushed against yours, your head shot up, startled by the contact—only to knock it against the cold metal wall behind you.

A low groan slipped from your lips, and Zayne chuckled. “Careful.” His hand came up, cupping the back of your head gently.

You stilled. Zayne’s touch was light but steady, fingers warm against your scalp. You let yourself settle into it for just a second, your cheeks heating.

Then, with a soft ding, the doors slid open. The moment was gone.

You followed him out quickly, slipping into his car. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. Still, you were the first to break it.

“So… where are we going?” you asked, anticipation bubbling beneath your skin.

Zayne’s grip tightened subtly around the gear shift, veins visible against his skin. His lips curled into a faint smile. “You’ll see.”

—

You hadn’t expected this.

The setup was breathtaking—candles flickering softly, a picnic blanket spread on the grass by a lake, and wildflowers scattered around like nature’s own confetti. The crisp spring air carried the scent of earth and blooming petals, a reminder that winter’s grasp was finally loosening. The sun had just begun its descent, casting everything in golden light.

Zayne stood behind you, watching. He caught how your breath hitched and how awe softened your features. The faint flush that always seemed to bloom when he was near. He reveled in it.

“Lesson one,” he murmured. “A date.”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Zayne, this is…” Your voice wavered with something close to wonder. “This is perfect.”

A small, knowing smile touched his lips.

You hesitated. “I’ve never really—” You exhaled. “So… what do we do now?”

He motioned for you to sit. “First? We eat.”

You obeyed, watching as he unpacked the meal. Your gaze flickered over the assortment of sweets tucked beside the entrees, and you bit your lip. He remembered your sweet tooth.

Your heart squeezed.

He handed you a sandwich—one of your childhood favorites. You took a bite, savoring the familiar flavors and the quiet thoughtfulness behind it.

The evening unfolded like something out of a dream. The conversation was easy and flowing, as it always was between you two. You talked about everything and nothing, letting the city fade away, and the wine in your glass disappeared far too quickly.

At some point, you made the mistake of looking at him.

The sunset bathed him in amber light, the gentle hues accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint green specks in his eyes. He looked beautiful—effortlessly so. The sleeves of his powder blue dress shirt rolled up, revealing strong forearms, veins pronounced as his fingers idly toyed with the rim of his glass.

His gaze lifted, catching yours.

You panicked. Tipped your head back, draining the last of your wine, pretending to admire the sky.

And so the night went on.

Laughter. Warmth. The kind of company that made the world feel a little less lonely. It had been too long since you’d felt this way.

Maybe that was why—

—why you ended up tipsy.

The last thing you remembered clearly was Zayne’s hands on your waist, steadying you as you stumbled at your door. His voice, amused and gentle, coaxing you inside.

And then—

"You're drunk."

His voice was strained.

Your skin burned. “N ‘m not,” you murmured, reaching up, fingers clumsily ruffling his hair. “I w’nted to kiss you, Z-Zayne…”

His breath hitched.

You wobbled onto your tiptoes, pressing a sleepy, featherlight kiss to his cheek. “G’night, Zayne~”

Darkness.

And then—morning.

Your head throbbed. You groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead, and then—

The memory came rushing back.

Your stomach dropped.

Shit.

What did you do?

You kissed Zayne—just a kiss on the cheek, but no less a kiss. And you didn’t know how you felt about it. Maybe you liked it. And when you checked your phone, your heart skipped a beat.

Zayne:

“Are you feeling better?”

It was a simple question, but your body felt warm, and a smile tugged at your lips as the cold metal burned your hand.

You:

“Yes, I’m still a bit warm, but much better :)”

And from there the conversation flowed.

Zayne:

“So you’re ready for your next lesson?”

You:

“Duh.”

☆

This lesson was set up differently—as a more casual experience. Zayne held the door open, allowing you to enter as the scent of perfumes and faint traces of liquor—something you planned to avoid tonight—filled your senses.

Zayne trailed closely behind you, his eyes drawn to your fitted black dress. It hugged your curves just right, and while you were always beautiful, tonight, you looked divine. His gaze lingered, but he didn’t say a word, instead committing the image to memory.

You settled into the plush velvet seat, crossing your legs as you waited for him to join you. The slight pressure of the fabric against your skin and the low hum of jazz music set a tone of subtle sophistication.

“Lesson two,” he murmured as he sat beside you. “Body language.”

A sly smile crept onto your lips. This time, you were ready. Beyond your carefully chosen outfit, you had mentally prepared to hold your ground. Tonight, you would stay in control.

“So, what’s the plan today, Zayne?” you drawled, leaning forward as your fingers lightly brushed his bicep. You pretended it was a casual touch, but the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips sent a jolt through you.

Zayne tilted his head slightly, studying your face. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re already ahead, princess,” he whispered, his voice low. The words felt like a direct hit to your resolve.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, your lips parted as you scrambled to regain composure. “Head start?” you echoed, tilting your head and trying to sound nonchalant.

"I want to see what you've learned—think you can charm me?" he said simply.

The lounge was an upscale dream: dimly lit, lined with high-end paintings, and filled with the smooth rhythm of jazz. The swaying figures on the dance floor moved in tandem with the music, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the scene.

Leaning in closer to Zayne, you brushed your lips near his ear. “Should we dance?” you whispered, your hand steadying yourself on his knee.

The scent of his cologne—clean with a faint hint of jasmine—enveloped you. You felt his gaze sharpen, and when you pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, the faint green specks in them seemed to glow under the low light.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice smooth, as he stood and offered you his hand.

On the dance floor, your movements flowed easily, the music guiding you. You pulled him closer, and your body pressed flush against his. His hands rested on your lower back, firm and grounding, while your fingers trailed up his chest. The hard muscle beneath your touch sent a thrill through you.

“You look so handsome tonight, Zayne,” you said softly, your lips curving into a small smile.

“Only tonight?” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting.

Your finger traced lazy patterns on his chest. His heartbeat was steady initially, but you noticed the slight quickening as your touch lingered. You looked up at him, your gaze filled with something unspoken but deeply felt.

“You always do,” you whispered.

The air between you was charged, the tension pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel like you might float away.

When the tempo picked up, you spun away from him, creating a bit of distance as you swayed more freely. He matched your rhythm more stiffly than anything. You couldn’t help but smile—this was fun.

“You’re way too stiff,” you said, getting close to him. Watching him try to whine his hips to the upbeat tempo was amazing. A laugh left your lips as your hands gripped his hips. “Why are your feet so close together?!” you choked out.

“I was never a dancer,” he said flatly, unamused by the tears in your eyes.

“Move to the beat,” you said again, trying to show him the way, but he didn’t get it. If you asked him, he’d rather watch you move your body. You moved beautifully, rolling your hips with precision.

When the lounge prepared to close, your cheeks ached from grinning, and your legs were deliciously sore. You shivered slightly as you walked side by side through the chilly night air.

“You look cold,” Zayne said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before you could protest.

The warmth of the fabric—and his scent—wrapped around you. A soft, rich aroma of jasmine and something distinctly him made your heart flutter.

You nudged his arm, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You know… I think this was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

“I haven’t danced like that in forever.” you said.

“How could I forget?” he replied, his eyes briefly flicking to the stars above. “It’s your favorite thing.”

His fingers brushed against yours, tentative at first. You took the leap, intertwining your fingers with his. The warmth of his hand sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you caught the faint blush dusting his cheeks.

This man was everything.

☆

Later That Week

You had agreed to meet Caleb for a more eventful hangout—to meet downtown and do whatever caught your eye.

You spotted him easily. His tall figure towered over most people. You walked up to him, and he hugged you tightly. The warmth of his body covered yours, but it didn’t raise your heartbeat.

When he loosened his grip on you, his hands rested on your shoulders, “Long time no see, pipsqueak,” he said, his voice full of joy.

Your cheeks felt tight from smiling—you were happy to see him, but not for the same reasons as before.

“I know, it’s been a few weeks,” you said, pulling back from him and looking into the purple of his eyes. “Let’s get back on schedule,” you breathed, a light smile plastered on your lips.

Work had been busy, but the truth was that your lessons with Zayne had occupied your thoughts—and your time.

While you started your walk downtown, plenty of things caught your eye. The first thing you did was enter a record shop. The store was in the basement off of a side street. It was a little creepy, but it looked like an underground studio once you got inside. Records were all over the shop, on the wall, and in little baskets stacked in rows.

He browsed next to you, shuffling through the records occasionally showing you one he thought you’d like or an album you’d enjoyed. And in spending this time with him, you realized that you enjoyed this.

The simplicity between you, the light air, and the lack of expectations for anything more was all you needed. Caleb’s fingers softly brushed yours as he placed a vinyl behind the one you held up for him.

“Find anything good?” you asked, your feet planted evenly on the ground as you turned to face Caleb.

His eyes bore into yours, something flickering over them before he answered you.

“Nah—let's get some food,” he said quickly, his demeanor suddenly returning.

Exiting the store, you joined in step beside him, exploring the city's night scene. Your options were endless as you scanned the shops that lined the streets. You spotted a food truck and the smells coming from it were amazing.

Altering Caleb, you both sat at the outdoor seating, waiting for your orders. The chill of the evening air seeped through your clothes, making you shiver slightly.

“Do you want my jacket?” Caleb asked, his tone playful. “You look like you’re freezing.”

“Only if you have an extra,” you said, bouncing your leg under the table to keep warm.

With a smirk, he reached into his bag and handed you a spare coat. “You’re my best friend, You know I always do.”

You slipped it on, grateful for the warmth but… that was it. There was no spark, no flutter of excitement. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, adjusting the collar and wrapping it tighter around yourself, but it felt like just a jacket.

In the quiet moment that followed, your mind drifted back to Zayne. His jacket had enveloped you in warmth and scent, and your heart raced when he was near. You glanced at Caleb, who was busy watching the street outside.

Nothing. That kiss was—just a kiss. Years ago, you wouldn’t have believed anyone. Not even Zayne could have convinced you it was a fleeting crush. But it really was. You felt proper chemistry, companionship, and care and wanted to keep experiencing that with Zayne.

The weight of your realization was crushing. All the time you spent—wasted on this man. You cared for him, you truly did. But, what about you? Why were you so pent-up and focused on this person you didn't even really like? Was it really him you missed? Or just how he filled your time and made you feel small—safe, even?

That's the point. You’re not small. You're a grown woman who can stand independently, make her own decisions, and provide her own entertainment. Relief washed over you in waves because what were you even doing? Holding onto a version of the past that no longer fits?

But right behind it, sadness crept in. Not for Caleb, but for the time lost—chasing something never meant to be yours. But you didn’t truly waste time if it led you here—to someone real. To Zayne.

You forced a smile, staring down at your lap, and tried to push away the sinking feeling in your chest. You used to admire Caleb. It should feel special, especially his attention and time, but—it doesn’t.

Caleb was the person you had wanted—the reason for the lessons.

The contrast was stark, undeniable. And for the first time, you realized the answer had been clear.

☆

You had admitted to Zayne that you wanted a cozy evening. Work had drained you, but more than anything, your recent realization had knocked the wind out of you. It wasn’t just an idle thought—the truth that settled deep in your bones, undeniable yet terrifying.

You knew what you needed to say and do, but the effort of voicing it—of being honest with Zayne—made your nerves coil tight.

Your lessons have helped. You felt more confident, more self-assured. You understood what a date was supposed to be now, what it meant to be courted and wanted. But more than anything, you wanted something real.

With him.

So, he invited you over after work.

Zayne:

"How about I cook you dinner, and we watch a movie?"

You:

"How do you always know exactly what I need?"

…

Zayne:

"Make yourself at home. I just finished setting up."

When you arrived at his house, the living room instantly warmed you. The room glowed softly from the candles he had lined along the tables, their flickering light casting gentle shadows against the walls. The scent of something rich and savory drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint traces of his cologne.

But the sight of something familiar made your heart catch in your chest—small plushies, the ones you had won years ago, still resting on the couch.

He had kept them.

Your fingers grazed one absentmindedly as you took it all in, a lump forming in your throat.

You didn’t miss the sound of the shower running from the other room, and heat bloomed across your face. The thought of him stepping out—steam rising, droplets tracing the planes of his skin—sent your mind spiraling. He had just gotten off work, yet he still made time to set everything up for you.

As if on cue, the water stopped. A moment later, the door cracked open, and Zayne walked out, a towel slung low on his hips, another in his hands as he ruffled it through his damp black hair.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said casually, his voice smooth. “Have a seat.”

Then, as if completely unaware of his effect on you, he strode into his bedroom and shut the door with a soft click.

You swallowed hard. That lasted less than a second, but it was enough.

His physique was unreal—his lean yet defined frame, the way his skin still glistened slightly, the tantalizing trail of hair disappearing beneath the towel… and God, you wanted to know where it led.

This was new. You had never felt this way before.

And he was making you crazy.

You forced yourself to move, settling onto the couch, trying to calm your racing heart as you waited for him. You distracted yourself with the snacks he had spread across the table, but your mind kept replaying that brief glimpse of him.

When he finally reappeared, dressed in a fitted shirt and sweatpants, looking effortlessly breathtaking, your breath caught in your throat.

Something about this moment—the candlelight, the scent of dinner lingering in the air, the sheer intimacy of being here with him—felt so real. So domestic. So much like something you wanted forever.

Zayne disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you in the glow of candlelight. A few moments later, he emerged with two plates in hand, setting them down on the dining table before motioning for you to sit.

“Did you make all of this?” you asked, raising a brow as you took in the spread before you.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, settling across from you. “I figured you’d appreciate a home-cooked meal after the week you’ve had.”

Your heart ached at how thoughtful he was.

The meal was warm and comforting—just like him. You took a bite, letting the rich flavors settle on your tongue and savoring the moment. Zayne watched you carefully, his gaze flicking to your lips before he took a bite of his own food.

“This is really good,” you admitted, breaking the silence. “You’re full of surprises.”

He smirked slightly, tilting his head. “You act like you don’t already know I’m good with my hands.”

Your fork stalled mid-air. Heat crawled up your neck as your eyes snapped to his.

Zayne smirked slightly, taking another bite as if he hadn’t set your whole body on fire with that one sentence.

Your stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with the food.

“I—” You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. “I suppose I do.”

His gaze flickered with amusement before he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood. Something was intoxicating about the way he watched you. It was like he was reading every thought running through your head.

The tension built slowly, lingering between every glance, every soft smile exchanged over the rim of your glasses.

At some point, his foot brushed against yours beneath the table. It was barely a touch—so light it could’ve been an accident. But when you met his gaze, you knew it wasn’t.

Neither of you spoke on it. Neither of you moved away.

It was almost unbearable, the weight of the moment, the way the air grew heavier, tighter.

After dinner, you both moved to the couch. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more devastatingly handsome than usual.

You curled next to him as he flipped through the streaming options before settling on something. Not that it really mattered—you could barely focus because of how close he was.

The movie played, but you weren’t watching.

You were too aware of Zayne’s presence, the warmth of his arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder. Every tiny touch sent a current through you.

Then, in the middle of a scene, Zayne suddenly reached for the remote.

Click.

Ring…Ring…Ring…

Your phone started ringing, now of all times, and you dropped your gaze to the device at the same time as Zayne.

Caleb calls all the time, but the timing of this was just—it couldn’t be a coincidence. And you weren’t sure if you should answer.

“Don’t pick it up,” was all you heard, as you gripped the metal of your phone tighter.

“Why,” you whispered, your voice small now. The confidence you had before flickered, unsteady—like a candle caught in the wind. You felt tender, exposed. Unsure if you had the strength to do what needed to be done.

“I know you wanted lessons, because of Caleb,” he started, his eyes meeting yours. The air felt cooler now, and goosebumps ran over your skin.

"I can’t do this if you’re still holding onto him," he murmured, his voice steady—but stretched thin, like he was barely holding himself together.

“I can’t bear to see you with him—now that your presence has graced me, I see small pieces of you everywhere I go,” he admitted, his voice soft and tortured.

Zayne exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his dark hair before finally speaking.

“I don’t want you to want Caleb—I want you to want me” he breathed.

The screen froze mid-ring. A silence stretched between you—thick, suffocating. Heavy with everything left unsaid.

Your brows furrowed as you turned to him, only to find his gaze already on you—serious, searching.

Your breath hitched.

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and unshakable.

You swallowed. Say it.

“I thought I wanted to be with another man, Zayne…” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He tensed slightly, his jaw tightening, but you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“But I don’t,” you continued softly, eyes searching his. “I want this. I want you.”

The words left you in a breath, raw and real.

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t speak right away. But you saw how his eyes darkened, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Please, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you leaned in.

Your breath stilled, heart hammering. He was too close—his scent, the warmth radiating from his skin, the slight tremor in his breath. And then… finally, you leaned in, and he met you halfway.

You pulled back slightly, your breaths intertwining in the room's dimness. Your eyes opened tentatively, and you saw Zayne staring at you, his chest heaving from the kiss you had just shared.

“Again,” you murmured, a silent plea because now that you were here you couldn’t let this pass. And Zayne obeyed, kissing you again. You could feel him shifting your position. His hands found your back, and he briefly disconnected your lips to lay you on the couch.

His knees straddled your hips, as he just watched you, “Beautiful,” he whispered before tasting your lips again, the weight of him on top of you was not only delicious but welcome. You gasped at the pressure, and he slipped his tongue in your mouth. A groan escaped your mouth when his tongue entered your lips.

“Wait,” you said, your hands resting on Zayne’s chest as he lay on you.

“I’ve never done this before,” you said, noticing the clench of his jaw, flushed face, and swollen lips.

He waited for a beat, watching you silently, “I’ll take care of you, princess,” he exhaled.

“I don’t have much experience,” he admitted, his gaze shifting from yours.

Your eyes widened with shock at his admission. You had assumed he was experienced, and that was part of the reason you asked him for help.

You took a breath, smiling at him. " Let's learn together,” you whispered in his ear before leaning your head back and resting it against the pillow.

You pulled him flush against you, his weight pressing you into the couch. He began his thorough search kissing your temple, to the crux of your ear, “Another lesson, …hm?” he whispered. And that caused you to writhe beneath him—the sound of his voice in your ear, and the soft vibrato of his confirmation.

He began his steady exploration with his lips and hands. Stroking up and down your body, though most of it covered, the cool of his hands made your skin get chills when he touched you.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, gesturing to your t-shirt.

“Yes,” you said too quickly, embarrassed by your eagerness.

You adjusted your body, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head. You lay there sitting up on your forearms, just watching his explorative touch. His pointer finger traced the outline of your bra, hovering just above your skin.

“You—” you started, biting the fat of your lip, “Zayne, I want you to take this off too.”

And those emerald eyes watched you. In his head, he couldn’t believe you would be his—already prepared to memorize your every reaction. His hand trembled before steadying against your skin. The contact of his hand caused you to arch away from the couch. Click.

The bra fell forward as you shrugged it off your arms. Your whole body felt warm as you guided Zayne’s hands to hold your breasts. Your hands rested on his before you moved them back to the couch. His thumbs felt the hardening peaks beneath his hands, and he gave them a tentative flick, watching your face. You squirmed beneath him.

Sensitive here. He made a mental note, before rubbing the hardened nub against his thumb at a steady pace.

He moved his mouth to your other breast kissing it, before watching your face as his tongue made contact with it. Your hips jerked forward gently when he flicked it with his tongue. You bit your lip watching him play with your nipples.

“Can—you touch me there?” you whimpered. His lips parted from your nipple.

“Where?” he asked, and both of you just looked at each other.

Before you took his hand and brought it between your legs. You held it there rubbing yourself on his hand through your pants, but you didn't miss the way Zayne trained his eyes on you. Watching each little reaction you had when he touched you. Even the lightest of touch made his lips part slightly even with the furious flush of his skin.

His cock was straining in his pants, but he waited, wanting to learn you first.

He laid you down, your hands threading into his hair. Pulling him close to you he buried his face in your neck. The smell of jasmine filled your senses, as he groaned beneath you, breathing in your scent. You leaned back into the couch, shaken by the idea of him on top of you.

Your breasts pressed against his chest, the cool fabric causing a shiver to roll through you. He ran his face up and down your neck leaving a trail of light kisses. It was as if he was savoring you, imprinting your smell, your presence in his mind—as if you’d be done with him after this.

“You’re beautiful,” he groaned against your throat.

Zayne steadied himself on his hands on either side of your head, his gaze trailing over your body to where he would find himself next. His eyes stopped between your thighs, he watched intently as you squirmed beneath him, your body shifting under his gaze.

Your heartbeat felt loud in your ears, and the cold stillness of the air sent a shiver through you. His lips found your jaw, kissing a slow line tracing to your throat. Each touch of his lips sent heat between your legs, and you tilted your head to give him more access, a whimper escaping your lips.

Zayne was just a friend, someone who supported and loved you but someone you felt you couldn’t have. Your change of heart made you act on a whim to take advantage of your time with him. You wanted him, and no one else could have him but you. He was a high you couldn't—didn't want to get rid of.

You grasped the blankets on the couch, trying to ground yourself somehow, while he worked slow kisses down your chest with light scrapes of his teeth.

His hands ran down your sides, caressing your breasts to your hips, his thumbs brushing the naked skin beneath your sweatpants. It was a maddening sensation, and you only wanted him to keep going.

You could see his erection pressed firmly against his pants, and you felt tempted to reach forward, to touch it. To pull him closer firmly against you, to feel him where you needed him most.

One of his hands left you cupping you over your pants. The pressure against your clit stole your breath. A quiet groan of approval left his lips, while you felt a pulse between your legs.

You ground your hips upwards into his hand. A breath left your lips as you moved your hips.

“Touch me, Zayne,” you breathed, you felt like you were in a dream.

He paused, his breath hitching at your words. His gaze darkened, the green of his eyes barely visible, as he searched your face. His jaw clenched, his voice dropping, rough with restraint. “Say that again.”

You observed him, grabbing the drawstrings of his pants. “Touch me Zayne, …Please” Your voice came out small, pleading.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching against your skin. He traced your pussy through your pants, his fingers burning through your pants—that you wished he’d taken off already.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over you, his touch reverent, like he was memorizing you.

You had never been undressed like this. And you wanted it, you wanted to be touched by him, to feel him grabbing you.

He gripped the waistband of your pants, adjusting his position to push them down your thighs, dropping them to the floor. You sat there in only black underwear while he sat across from you, still in his t-shirt and sweats.

His attention was all yours, and it was thrilling.

Your hands still gripped the blanket beneath you. Your feet were tucked next to your bottom.

“Let me see you.” His voice was low and deliberate. His fingertips grazed your knee before applying the faintest pressure. His eyes searched yours, waiting. “Spread your legs for me.”

You took in an unsteady breath, and you did it.

His hands ran up your legs, his fingers pressing into your thighs, making your stomach tighten unexpectedly. The cool of his hands felt good against your soft skin.

The cool air brushed against your panties making you aware of how wet your panties were. Zayne’s gaze met you there, shooting warmth through you.

Your breath hitched when his thumb pressed down on your clit through the fabric. His other hand was steady on your thigh, pressing your thighs open wider. The brush of his thumb up and down sparked a heat in your lower stomach.

You leaned your head back and started to rock under his touch. And then he kissed your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He groaned, licking and sucking your breasts with a slight scrape of teeth. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips, one of your hands gripping his hair.

His mouth was so hot, and he kept licking you, how you’d never felt before. You felt like you could die. So, when he removed his mouth from your breasts, you thought you were going to scream.

He removed your underwear, leaving them in a pile with the rest of your clothes, spreading your legs once more as his gaze fell between your thighs.

His fingers glide gently along your inner thigh, his touch warm and deliberate, but never rushed. His gaze softens as he takes you in, his breathing slow, controlled—like he’s memorizing every part of you.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice hushed, almost reverent. His thumb stroked lazy circles against your skin, a silent reassurance, a quiet promise that he won’t rush you.

When you nodded, his lips part slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, searching—making sure.

"Let me take care of you," he breathed, his hands smoothing up your thighs as he leaned in closer, pressing a lingering kiss just above your knee. "I want to make this good for you."

He wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him, and his head lowered between them. You shuddered at the first touch of his tongue, pleasure running through you. Each soft lap of your clit rolled through you.

His arms held you so securely that you couldn’t move your hips while he licked you. As much as he said he wanted to take care of you, it felt like he was doing this for himself.

“Zayne,” you moaned, digging your hands into his thick black hair.

He swirled his tongue over your clit before sucking. His eyes were on you, watching you writhe beneath him. His finger filled you, sending a tremor through you, with his mouth on your clit, licking and sucking, while his fingers moved in and out of you. And he did it with such ease, deep noises of satisfaction falling from his lips.

He was taking his time, slowly working you out and the pressure was building up in you. You bucked your hips, feeling the heat growing throughout you.

“Zayne…I need more,” you cried out, your voice trembling with desperation.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he answered it with slow, calculated movements—his pace steady, yet devastating. He added another finger, stretching you further, his touch unrelenting as he pressed deeper, curling just right. The pleasure was unbearable in the best way, a wave crashing over you with no hope of escape.

Your breath hitched as his dark, heated gaze met yours, watching, reading every reaction like it was the only thing that mattered. His free hand smoothed over your thigh, grounding you, soothing you—only to bring you higher moments later.

A choked-out plea left your lips, your body arching, back curving as the heat coursed through your veins, pooling low in your stomach. You clenched around him, muscles tightening as that sharp, dizzying pleasure built to a breaking point.

“That's it,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable, something possessive yet achingly tender. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the soft skin of your inner thigh, his breath hot and teasing, sending shivers up your spine.

And then—release.

Your body trembled, pleasure crashing into you in relentless waves. He didn't stop, not right away, working you through it, coaxing every last aftershock from your sensitive body until you were completely spent.

You collapsed against the couch, fully fucked out, limbs heavy, your mind hazy with bliss.

A shaky breath left your mouth, as you sat up slowly running your fingers through his hair.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. Something real.

His jasmine scent invaded your senses as his body wrapped around yours. You closed your eyes, surprised by the sudden upward jerk of him holding your naked body. You held him close as he carried you to the closed bedroom door.

He laid you on the bed gently, holding your stare, he slipped off his shirt and sweatpants, your cheeks growing warmer even as he stood before you in his briefs. You glanced at his erection pressed through the fabric. He was so hard, and it was hot. And all for you.

Goose bumps spread across your skin, as he opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom.

“Do you want me?” he whispered, his gaze meeting yours, as he dropped his briefs.

“Yes,” you breathed.

He crawled over you, kissing your stomach and breasts as he did. His body covered yours, so heavy. It made your skin sing with satisfaction. He kissed your neck, bracing his hands beside your head.

Your fingers trailed the line of hair, you'd been desperate to touch. You hesitated, unsure how to touch him.

Zayne felt your hesitation, and meeting your gaze, he whispered, “Your touch… I need it.”

Your heart fluttered with uncertainty, but you slid your hands down gripping his erection. His forehead fell on the side of your neck, encouraging you further.

You wrapped your hand around his length. And he groaned. You ran your hand down to the base and all the way back up.

"Don’t make me wait…please" you whispered in his ear, placing a kiss there.

"Tell me how much you need me,” he rasped, nipping at your neck.

"I’ve always needed you, Zayne," you said softly, dragging your hands through his hair. "I need you in every way… not just tonight."

His eyes met yours before kissing you while you stroked him again. Your breasts brushed against his chest, sending pleasure through you.

“...Please” you breathed.

He rolled onto the bed next to you, slipping off his briefs, the sound of the wrapper crinkling in his hands drawing your attention. You watched as he poised to tear it open, his gaze flicking to yours for confirmation.

“Wait,” you whispered, your voice soft but resolute. He paused instantly, his eyes searching yours.

“I want to feel all of you,” you said, vulnerability lacing your tone, the weight of your trust hanging in the air.

His expression softened, his brow furrowing with both tenderness and concern.

“If it’s too much, just say the word,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, a promise woven into each syllable. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering as though to reassure you. Positioning himself at your entrance, his movements were deliberate, his focus entirely on you.

He took the head of his erection and rubbed it against your pussy. The tip caught your clit, causing your breath to hitch. He started to slip the head inside you, and it stung. A shudder rolled through you as you exhaled. Your fingers curled on his chest as he stayed still inside you, watching your face.

He pushed deeper into you, his gaze dark and unwavering as he watched the way your lips parted, a soft whimper spilling free. The sound sent a shudder through his body, his breath coming out ragged as he struggled to hold himself together.

The stretch burned—a slow, intoxicating burn—one that sent heat rolling through your veins. You felt so full, every inch of him fitting into you as though he was meant to be there.

When he finally bottomed out, a cry tore from your throat, your back arching, pressing you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, his weight solid, grounding, overwhelming in the best way.

He didn’t move right away.

Instead, he stayed buried deep, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him. Your arms wound around his neck, and he exhaled against your skin, his breath warm and uneven.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing, the slow rise and fall of your chests as you both tried to catch air. He was everywhere, his presence consuming, intoxicating.

And then, he moved.

A slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

You gasped at the sensation, at the way he dragged against your walls with aching precision, each thrust filling you completely. Your nails raked down his back, and he shuddered at the sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

“You take it so good,” he praised, his voice thick, rough with something raw, something reverent.

Every time his pelvis ground against yours, his head spread throughout you. The friction sent sparks up your spine, every movement of his body against yours pulling a new sound from your lips.

He was watching you, utterly captivated by the way you unraveled beneath him. His thrusts remained slow, deliberate, as if savoring every reaction, every little gasp and moan that escaped you.

His fingers traced down your side, over the curve of your waist, gripping you tighter as his pace deepened, intensified. His gaze burned into yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

His eyes locked onto yours, his thrusts slow and deliberate. “So beautiful for me,” he rasped, his voice low, dripping with need.

The words ran over your skin, filling you with warm satisfaction, your head tilting back as another moan escaped you. Zayne’s lips hovered above yours. With each slow thrust, they brushed yours lightly.

His pace faltered, his rhythm stuttering as he fought for control, his breath ragged against your skin. But he didn’t dare rush—he wanted to feel every second of this, every shudder, every tremor that wracked your body beneath him.

“You’re mine… all mine,” he groaned, voice thick with possession, his body tensing, muscles drawn taut as he drove his hips deep one last time.

A choked moan escaped you as you shattered beneath him, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His grip on you tightened as his own release followed, a deep, guttural sound leaving his lips as he buried himself fully, claiming every inch of you.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, your hearts hammering in sync as he collapsed against you, his weight a comforting warmth pressing you into the mattress.

Neither of you spoke right away.

Zayne traced slow, lazy circles on your bare skin, grounding himself in the feel of you, the reality of you. His forehead rested against yours, his breath still uneven but calming, syncing with yours.

Then, in the quiet, his lips tipped into a smirk against your temple.

“So… does this mean I can finally call you my girlfriend?” His voice was lower now, teasing but laced with something real—something hopeful.

He pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Or do I have to seduce you all over again?”

His grin was cocky, but there was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you—like he needed this answer.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a slow, tired smile spreading on your lips as you exhaled softly.

"I think you already have," you whispered.

The tension broke as he let out a satisfied hum, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling you closer, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

And you didn’t want him to.

Not now.

Not ever.

3K notes · View notes

zaynessbeloved · 1 month ago

Text

Carved in Ice

Synopsis: At first, it feels like relief—his Evol chasing the fever from beneath your skin, cooling the fire that’s been eating you alive. You cling to it, desperate for the calm, for the cold that eases the burning ache. But it doesn't fade. The hunger stays. It deepens. With every touch, every breath of ice he gives you, it burrows further inside, until you can’t tell where the fever ends and his Evol begins. You thought he was curing you… but now, you don’t know anymore. Now you ache for him more than you ache for the relief. You crave him, not the cold. Not the calm. Him. And it terrifies you how much you want to fall further.

Content warnings: Dubious consent, psychological manipulation, addiction themes, obsession & possession, explicit sexual content, fever/illness depictions, loss of autonomy (reader is physically overwhelmed, breathless, and mentally fogged due to withdrawal and Evol effects), power dynamics, body control/Evol-induced influence

Pairings: Zayne x reader

Word count: 10k

A/n: I saw a prompt about Zayne using his Ice Evol as an aphrodisiac and couldn't stop thinking about it...I didn’t mean for it to get this intense, but here we are… (this is inspired by @minimweiii 's post hehe)

You’d always known Zayne as the cool one. Not just in temperament, but in presence—a steady, glacial calm in a world that never stopped burning. While others wore their emotions on their sleeves, while Caleb teased and your friends fumbled through chaos, Zayne remained cold and sharp, a blade of winter steel beneath a doctor’s coat.

He’d been your friend first, almost before you’d even realized it. Reliable. Precise. The kind of man who made you feel safe, even when everything else seemed uncertain. Even when he scolded you for skipping meals or forgetting sleep, there was no warmth in his tone—but there was care, tucked between the lines of his clinical chastisement.

You never questioned it. Never questioned the way his eyes lingered a second too long when you told him you’d been feeling a little off lately. Never questioned the chill of his fingertips when he brushed your pulse. Never questioned the quiet way he observed you, cataloging every response, every flutter beneath your skin.

You trusted him. How could you not? Zayne had always been the one to cool the fire when it burned too high. You just never thought the fire would come from him.

————

The first time it happens, it creeps in like a slow dawn. At first, you blame the weather. Spring days turning oddly warm, campus windows thrown open to let the breeze in. Sweat collects at the nape of your neck, beads along your collarbone, dampening your shirt.

But then it lingers. A restless, simmering heat coils low in your stomach, unfamiliar and insistent. It flushes your cheeks, tightens your chest, and no amount of iced water seems to douse it. You find yourself peeling off your jacket, rolling your sleeves up, fanning yourself as your pulse kicks up a relentless tempo.

Your skin feels hypersensitive. Every brush of fabric is too much, every stray thought turns sticky, muddled by the growing, inexplicable haze. And beneath it all—a desperate craving for relief. A chill. A cold touch against the unbearable heat gnawing beneath your skin.

Your mind reaches for the only answer it knows. Zayne.

You stagger into his clinic late in the evening, your heart fluttering like trapped wings in your chest. The waiting room is dimly lit, the antiseptic air somehow soothing against your fevered senses.

His head lifts when he sees you, and for the briefest second, something flickers behind his eyes. Not surprise. No—never surprise. He rises smoothly from his chair, coat crisp and sleeves pushed up to his forearms, exposing the pale stretch of skin that seems almost cool just by looking at it. His gaze sweeps over you, sharp and assessing, as though he’s been waiting for this.

"You're flushed," he states, voice low and clinical. But you swear—just beneath the surface—you can hear something else. Something dark, something knowing.

"I—" You swallow thickly, your throat tight and dry. "I don't know what's wrong. I just... I feel so hot. I can't—" Your breath stutters, and your knees nearly give way.

In an instant, his hands are on you. Cold. Blessedly cold. His fingers brush your wrist, sliding to your pulse point, and a shiver rips through you—equal parts relief and something shamefully close to pleasure.

His brows furrow, lips pressed in a thin line. "Elevated heart rate," he murmurs. "Elevated body temperature. Come here."

He guides you to the examination bed, his touch firm yet gentle, like ice molding fire. The moment you sit, the chill of the leather beneath you sends another wave of sensation coursing through your nerves.

Zayne’s hands linger a little longer than necessary at your shoulders as he adjusts your posture. His gaze remains fixed on you, glacial and unwavering. "Tell me everything," he instructs.

And you do. You confess it all—the heat, the need, the way you can’t seem to think straight, how you thought of him when it grew too much. His eyes darken, just barely.

"Good," he says quietly, almost to himself. "You did the right thing by coming to me."

His palm, cool and smooth, brushes against your cheek. You lean into it instinctively, craving the contrast against your feverish skin. "You trust me, don’t you?" he asks, voice dipping into something velvety and low.

Your answer is immediate. Breathless. "Yes."

A faint smile ghosts over his lips—barely there, but enough to chill your bones and set your pulse racing anew. "Then let me help you," he whispers.

The room is too quiet. Sterile white walls, the faint hum of a ventilation unit, the steady click of metal instruments laid neatly in their tray. The sharp tang of antiseptic clings to the air, but it does nothing to cut through the oppressive heat crawling over your skin.

You shift on the examination bed, damp palms curling against the edge as your breath stutters in your chest. You can feel it—everywhere—this smoldering fire, licking beneath your ribs, seeping into your bones. No matter how you try to shake it, it clings stubbornly, ferocious and hungry.

Your eyes dart to Zayne. To the calm in the storm. To the man who feels like ice against your burning, blistering need. He moves with precise, deliberate grace—rolling up his sleeves a little higher, exposing the sinewy lines of his forearms. His skin is pale, almost luminescent under the clinical lights, and you swear you can feel the chill of him from across the room.

"I need to check your temperature," he says, and his voice is a balm and a blade all at once.

You nod, swallowing down the knot in your throat, watching as he selects an old-fashioned mercury thermometer. His gaze doesn’t leave you as he approaches, a subtle glint hidden behind his calm façade. "Open your mouth," Zayne instructs, low and steady.

You obey without thinking, lips parting as the cool glass slips beneath your tongue. The chill sends a shiver down your spine, and your lashes flutter as you fight the urge to moan at the contrast. Zayne watches. He watches too closely.

His fingers brush your chin, tilting your face just so, and the ice of his skin against your overheated flesh is unbearable and addictive in equal measure. A tremor runs through you, visible, shameful, but you can’t stop it. The seconds stretch. Each one feels like an eternity. Finally, he withdraws the thermometer, eyes flicking to the mercury line.

"Too high," he murmurs, almost like he expected it. His lips press into a thin line, but the glint in his eyes betrays something deeper. Darker.

You try to speak, but your breath catches in your throat as another wave of heat crashes through you, stealing your voice. Your thighs press together instinctively, chasing friction, relief—anything to temper the ache. He notices. Of course he notices.

"You're burning up," Zayne says softly, as though it’s a terrible revelation. His fingertips graze the inside of your wrist, where your pulse thrums like a trapped bird. "We need to cool you down."

"Please," you rasp, the word tearing itself from your lips before you can stop it.

His eyes darken a shade, heavy and unreadable. "Lie back."

Again, you obey. The examination bed is cool against your back, but not enough—not nearly enough. The moment you recline, you feel the heat surge again, like your body is rebelling against your own skin.

Zayne’s hands settle at your sides, cold as glacier meltwater, guiding you with a gentleness that feels almost cruel. His touch lingers, glides deliberately along your arms, your ribcage, as if mapping the fever beneath your flesh. "Do you trust me?" he asks again, his voice a quiet murmur. A scalpel wrapped in silk.

"Y-Yes," you breathe, your throat tight and dry.

A small, knowing smile ghosts across his lips. "Good."

His palm flattens against your sternum, and the contact steals the breath from your lungs. His Evol seeps into your skin—sharp, icy threads weaving into the molten core of your fever. You gasp at the contact, your back arching instinctively.

"You're responding well," he notes clinically, but there’s an unmistakable flicker of satisfaction in his tone. "Tell me how it feels."

"Cold," you whisper, nearly breathless. "But... it helps."

It does. The unbearable heat ebbs just enough to breathe. But it’s not relief—it’s not enough. If anything, it sharpens the craving. Makes you need more of him. Makes you ache for his frostbite touch, makes you desperate to chase the chill deeper into your burning veins. His eyes gleam with something unreadable as he shifts closer.

"Your body is overheating," Zayne explains, his voice dipping lower, intimate. "If left untreated, it could be dangerous. But I know how to manage your symptoms."

His hand moves slowly—down your ribs, across your stomach, hovering just above your waistband without touching. His cool breath fans over your skin, and goosebumps rise in its wake, chasing that fleeting relief.

You nod frantically, hips shifting toward his touch. "Please," you beg, barely recognizing your own voice. Something flickers in his gaze. Hunger, restraint, and something darker still.

"Good girl," Zayne murmurs, almost indulgently. "I’ll take care of you."

His other hand cups your cheek, keeping you steady as he lets more of his Evol flow into you. The sensation is overwhelming—like liquid ice threading through your veins, fighting the fever for dominance. It cools you, yes, but it also stokes a different fire beneath your skin.

Your lips part in a soft, broken gasp as you tremble beneath his hands. His brows lift slightly, observing your response like a predator studying its prey. "Your body," he says, as if to himself, "is already learning to crave the remedy."

You don't even hear the quiet satisfaction under his words. You're too far gone, drunk on the relief of his chill, on the pull of him. You nod, dazed, desperate. Zayne leans in just enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your lips, not quite touching. "And you'll come to me," he continues softly, "whenever the fever rises."

A soft, broken sound tears from your throat, and you find yourself nodding again, unable to resist the command woven into his promise. "Yes," you whisper, helpless.

His smile sharpens, almost imperceptibly. "I know you will."

The cool relief doesn’t last. For a fleeting moment, as you rise unsteadily from the examination bed, it feels like Zayne’s touch still lingers—icy trails ghosting over your fevered skin, holding back the storm that brews beneath your flesh. You breathe easier. The haze thins just enough for your thoughts to unspool from the tight coil they had twisted into.

He watches you from across the room, arms crossed over his chest, sleeves still pushed up, the pale skin of his forearms stark against the dark fabric of his shirt. His eyes are unreadable, glacial, fixed on you like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved but enjoys assembling piece by piece. You don’t notice. You’re too busy clinging to the illusion of normalcy, too desperate to believe you’re fine now.

"Thank you," you rasp, your voice still rough from the heat that had clawed at your throat. You force a weak smile, though your legs tremble beneath you.

Zayne’s lips curve in response, a subtle, enigmatic pull that barely touches his eyes. "Of course," he replies smoothly, his voice the same steady balm it’s always been. "I’m always here when you need me."

The words settle over you with deceptive comfort. You leave his clinic under the false security of his care, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality you don't yet understand.

Outside, the air is brisk, the evening settling into dusk. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting molten streaks of orange and red across the sky—heat that mirrors the remnants still smoldering under your skin. You draw a breath, hoping the chill of twilight will soothe you. It doesn’t.

The moment you step away from the sterile chill of his clinic, you feel it. A flicker at first. Barely there. An ember buried deep, refusing to die. Your brows knit together as you wrap your arms around yourself, rubbing at your forearms as if you can will away the creeping warmth. But it spreads—slow, insidious, like ivy winding its way up your spine.

No. No, it’s just residual. It has to be. You shake your head, almost laughing under your breath. Surely it will fade. But each step away from him feels like peeling ice from a burn—revealing raw, blistering skin beneath. The further you go, the more you feel it unfurling again, this need, this ache that begins low in your belly and curls upward like smoke.

Your breath catches. Panic prickles at the edges of your mind, but you shove it down with shaky logic. No, no, he cooled you down. He helped you. This is just... residual. It’s fine. It’s fine. But it’s not fine.

You barely make it to your apartment before the fever flares back to life, worse than before. Your skin feels too tight, too hot, as if flames lick at your bones. You press your palms to your cheeks—they burn under your touch. Sweat beads along your collarbone, tracing a path down your sternum.

Your heart pounds. Wild. Unruly. A trapped bird thrashing in your chest. The hunger—the craving—returns with a vicious, undeniable sharpness, and this time you feel it with terrifying clarity. Your mind splinters beneath the weight of it. You need relief. You need him.

You stagger to your phone with trembling hands, swiping to your contacts. Your thumb hovers over his name.

Zayne. Cold, steady, safe Zayne. The only one who knew what to do. The only one who could cool the blaze gnawing at your insides.

Your lips part on a shaky breath as you tap the screen, bringing the phone to your ear. It rings once. Twice. Then—his voice. "You're feeling it again, aren’t you?"

His words slice through you like ice, and a shudder wracks your frame at the sound of him. He knows. He always knew.

"Y-Yes," you whisper, almost a sob. Shame coils in your chest, but it’s swallowed by desperation. "It’s worse—Zayne, please, I don’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, the soft cadence of his voice curling around your frayed nerves. "I told you this might happen. It’s part of your body's adjustment period."

You nod, breathless, though he can’t see you. "I—I can’t handle it. What do I do?"

His pause is brief but deliberate. When he speaks again, there’s a subtle thread of satisfaction woven beneath his calm exterior, so fine you almost miss it.

"Come back to me," he murmurs. "Let me take care of you."

Relief floods you at his words. Relief so sharp it almost feels like pleasure. "I’m on my way," you breathe.

You don’t even realize you’re already moving. Feet sliding into shoes, fingers fumbling with keys. You’re halfway out the door before you even register what you’re doing—drawn to him by something primal, something conditioned. And he knows. Oh, he knows.

As you step out into the night, the fever thrumming through your veins, your thoughts spiral in hazy, desperate loops. He’ll help me. He always helps me. He’s the only one who can.

You don’t see the trap tightening around you. You only feel the heat. And the promise of his ice.

The night swallows you whole. The air is cold—too cold—but it isn’t enough. It brushes over your burning skin like a whisper, a lover’s breath, but it only sharpens the ache crawling under your flesh. Sweat beads along your brow, your temples, sliding down the column of your neck, and your heart thunders in your chest as if trying to outrun the fever consuming you from within.

Your steps falter down the empty street, shoes clattering too loudly against the pavement. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting harsh pools of light that only make your shadow tremble at your feet. Every pulse, every breath feels tight, strangled. Your throat is parched, your skin unbearably sensitive to even the brush of your clothes. Your body thrums with restless energy, your thoughts circling like vultures around a single, terrible need.

Zayne.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, still clutched in your damp palm. His voice echoes in your mind like a mantra, cold and smooth, promising salvation. Come back to me.

Your legs carry you faster. The clinic’s lights glow like a beacon against the darkened street. Glass panes gleam under the artificial white fluorescence, too sterile, too sharp against the night’s soft shadows. The door is unlocked, almost like he knew you’d return. You push it open with a trembling hand, and immediately the sterile chill of the room folds around you, wrapping you in icy arms.

You inhale sharply, your chest tightening—not from the fever this time, but from relief so profound it nearly buckles your knees. "Zayne," you gasp.

He is already there. Waiting. Poised at the center of the room, sleeves still rolled up, the glint of his pale forearms catching the harsh light. His gaze lifts, sharp as shards of ice, locking onto you with a precision that steals the breath from your lungs. For a moment, he says nothing.

He simply watches you—eyes trailing over every tremble, every flicker of desperation you wear like a second skin. You think you see it again—that flicker in his gaze, dark and predatory beneath the practiced calm.

Then, he speaks. "You came back." His voice is low, smooth as frost curling over glass.

Your throat works around a swallow, words scraping raw. "I—I need you," you confess, the truth clawing free before you can stop it.

His lips curl at the edges, just the faintest, almost imperceptible smile. "I know."

He crosses the room in measured steps, each one echoing in your chest louder than your racing heart. When he reaches you, his hand lifts to cup your cheek, and the blessed cold of his palm against your fevered skin draws a shuddering moan from your lips. His eyes narrow slightly, as if cataloging every sound, every response, committing it to memory.

"Your symptoms have progressed," Zayne observes clinically, though his voice carries a dark undertone. "The craving is stronger now, isn’t it?"

You nod helplessly, pressing your cheek further into his palm, desperate for more of his icy relief. "Yes," you whisper. "Please—make it stop."

A quiet sound escapes him, somewhere between a hum and a breath of amusement. "Your body is adapting faster than I anticipated." he murmurs, tilting your chin to study you better.

His thumb brushes your lower lip, slow and deliberate. You tremble beneath the gentle pressure, lips parting instinctively, chasing the cold touch.

"You’ll need a stronger dose this time," he continues, as though discussing medication rather than your unraveling.

"I’ll do anything," you breathe. "Anything, Zayne—just make it stop."

His gaze darkens, pupils dilating slightly as he watches you crumble beneath him. "I know you will," he replies softly.

Guiding you back to the examination bed, he seats you with the practiced ease of someone who has done this a thousand times. His hand never leaves your skin, trailing cool paths along your throat, your collarbone, the trembling line of your jaw. "Lie down," he commands.

You obey without hesitation. The leather of the bed is blessedly cold against your back, but still not enough—not without him. You arch into his touch, breath stuttering as he slides his palm down the center of your chest, letting his Evol seep through his skin into yours.

The sensation is instant. Liquid ice flooding your veins, rushing to meet the fire clawing at your insides. You gasp, your back bowing off the bed as relief and desire crash together in a tidal wave that leaves you breathless.

"Z-Zayne," you pant, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the intensity. "More—please, more."

"Greedy," he chides softly, but there’s no true reprimand in his tone—only satisfaction.

He moves closer, close enough that you can feel the chill radiating from his body like a winter storm kept barely at bay. His breath brushes over your fevered skin as he leans in, and your body trembles with anticipation, craving every drop of the cold that only he can offer.

"I’ll give you what you need," Zayne promises, his voice low and dark and certain. "But you must understand—your body will come to depend on my treatment. Without it, the fever will return. Stronger. Each time."

His words barely register through the haze clouding your mind. You nod frantically. Desperate. Willing. Anything. "Yes," you plead. "Yes, I don’t care."

A soft, dangerous smile ghosts over his lips. "Good."

His Evol floods into you then, deeper, colder, sharper than before. It bites into the heat of your fever, the two forces crashing together in a brutal, exquisite clash that has you gasping, arching, clawing at the sheets beneath you.

Your body sings with the unbearable relief of it—your mind drunk on the addictive contrast, helpless against the way it sinks its claws deeper into your flesh. And as you tremble beneath him, lost to the storm, you don’t see the way his gaze sharpens with quiet triumph. You don’t see the way his smile lingers, dark and knowing. You’re his now.

————

Time passes. You tell yourself it has. Days blur into one another, but you know it’s been days. You measure them by the dull throb under your skin, the ache blooming deeper with every sun that rises and sets without him. At first, you thought you could endure it. You convinced yourself that the first treatment was an anomaly, the second a mistake you would not repeat.

You were wrong. So desperately, tragically wrong.

It starts with a flicker. A subtle warmth in your chest, nothing more. You ignore it, pulling your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as if the layers can ward it off. But it grows—slow and insistent, a quiet smolder that fans itself into flames each time you try to pretend it isn’t there.

Your mouth goes dry. Your skin prickles, hypersensitive to every brush of fabric, every breath of air against your flesh. The walls of your apartment feel too close, too stifling, like they’re pressing in on you from all sides. You pace the room, barefoot on cold tile, hoping the chill will ground you. It doesn’t.

Your body remembers. It remembers him. His hands, like sculpted ice, skimming over your fevered skin. His voice, steady and smooth, threading through your veins like a sedative. His Evol—oh god, his Evol—sinking into you, wrapping around your heart and lungs, cooling the fire to a bearable ember.

Now the fire is a raging inferno, and you are trapped inside your own body. You clutch your arms around yourself, nails biting into your skin, but it does nothing to quell the need. The fever coils tighter, a snake constricting around your ribs, stealing your breath.

Your mind fractures beneath the strain. You need him. You need Zayne like you need air, like you need water, like you need life itself. But you fight it.

You fight it because you must. Because some part of you still believes you can. Some tiny, flickering part of you clings to the hope that you are stronger than this. You’re not.

The realization crashes over you in a tidal wave of agony, dragging you under until you choke on it. Your legs give out beneath you, and you collapse to the floor, trembling. Sweat slicks your skin, soaking through your clothes, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your eyes sting with tears, not from sorrow—but from helpless, animal desperation.

Your fingers fumble for your phone. You hesitate. For one, precious heartbeat, you hesitate. But you already know you’ve lost. Your thumb moves on instinct, tapping his number. The call barely rings once before his voice answers, low and expectant.

"I was waiting," Zayne says. The sound of him splinters something deep inside you.

"I—I need you," you confess, your voice ragged and broken.

"Yes," he replies simply, as though this was inevitable. As though he knew. "As always."

You don’t remember the journey to his clinic. It’s as if your body moves without your mind, driven by need so deep it feels like marrow. The fever clouds your vision, turns the world to liquid heat and shadows. But when you cross the threshold of his domain, it all sharpens into painful clarity.

The air is cold. Blessedly cold. You stumble inside, your knees buckling beneath you, and he is there—of course he is—catching you in his arms with a gentleness that feels cruel in the face of your desperation. His Evol brushes your skin in the faintest caress, and you keen at the contact, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"You lasted longer this time," Zayne murmurs, his breath cool against your fevered cheek. "I’m impressed."

You can’t speak. Words crumble into whimpers as you bury your face against his chest, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his coat.

"You’ve been very brave," he soothes, guiding you to the examination bed with quiet authority. "But you must understand—your body craves what it cannot produce on its own. You’re dependent now."

The words should frighten you. They should. But all you feel is relief when his Evol seeps into you once more, cold and sharp and perfect. You gasp, arching into the sensation, your mind unspooling under his touch.

"Yes," you breathe. "More—please—more."

His gaze darkens, a shadow flickering behind pale irises. "This time," Zayne says, "we go deeper."

He presses his palm flat to your bare skin, directly over your heart. His Evol surges—not in a gentle wash, but in a forceful flood, sharp and relentless. Ice blooms beneath your skin, curling through your veins, branding you from the inside out.

You cry out, not from pain—but from the overwhelming collision of relief and pleasure as his mark sinks into you. His gaze never wavers. "You will carry me with you," he whispers, his voice wrapping around you like velvet chains. "No matter where you go. No matter how far you run. You will feel me, here."

His fingers press harder over your pulse, and you feel it—feel his Evol embedding itself, etching invisible patterns beneath your skin, claiming you in a way no one else will ever see, but you will always feel. "I am under your skin now," Zayne breathes, lowering his mouth to your ear, his cool breath shivering over you. "Inside you."

A sob tears from your throat, but it is not sorrow. It is surrender. He seals the mark with a final surge of his Evol, and you shudder, your body going limp beneath him as relief crashes through you like a wave.

"You are mine," he says softly, with quiet finality. And in the haze of your fever, your desperate, addicted mind offers no resistance. Yes. You are.

————

Time is a cruel, mocking thing. You thought you could measure it by days, by hours—but now, you measure it by absence. By the absence of him.

It has been long. Too long. Long enough for the relief of his last treatment to dull to memory. Long enough for the mark beneath your skin to throb like an unhealed wound, a phantom touch that never quite fades. You try—you try so hard—to resist it.

You wrap yourself in blankets of ice packs. You draw cold baths that leave you shivering, your teeth chattering against the fever burning through your veins. You sleep with your windows open, despite the winter wind that cuts across your exposed skin.

None of it works. Because the cold you crave isn’t the chill of air or water. It’s him. It’s Zayne. It’s the cool brush of his fingers skating across your fevered skin, the merciless flood of his Evol plunging into your bloodstream, quelling the inferno that devours you from the inside out. Without him, the fire grows wild. Raging. Untamable.

You wake from restless sleep tangled in your sheets, your body slick with sweat, your pulse a frantic drumbeat against your ribs. Night after night, your dreams are invaded by him—icy hands parting the heat of your thighs, cold lips tracing the fever beneath your skin, his Evol branding you deeper each time.

You feel him, inside you, even as you writhe alone in your bed. And you ache. You ache so badly it drives tears to your eyes, your hands shaking as you clutch at yourself in the dark, but no matter what you do, you cannot replicate the precision of his touch, the accuracy of his relief.

You are starving. You are hollow. You are his. You fight it longer than before—out of stubbornness, out of terror of what you’ve become. But your body is no longer your own. It belongs to him now.

The fever pulls you under like a riptide, drowning you in molten need. Your breaths come in shallow gasps, your skin burns to the point of agony, and your mind fractures into splinters of craving. You give in. You have to.

With trembling fingers, you reach for your phone. You don’t even have the strength to swipe—your vision swims with heat haze, your chest tight with suffocating hunger. But the moment your thumb brushes his name, the screen illuminates, and the line connects before it can even ring.

His voice, low and cold, slides into your ear like salvation. "I was waiting for you," Zayne murmurs.

Tears prick your lashes, your breath catching on a sob. "Please," you gasp, no longer ashamed of the begging in your voice. "Please—help me."

There’s a pause. A pause heavy with dark satisfaction. "As always," he replies, voice smooth and glacial. "Come to me."

You don’t remember how you arrive at his door. Your fever-addled mind pieces together fragments of the journey: the burn of the cold night air against your cheeks, the tremble in your legs as you stagger through the streets, the way your body pulls you toward him like a moth to flame.

No—like a moth to ice.

The moment you step into his clinic, the chill embraces you like an old lover. And there he is. Zayne. An immovable force of winter at the center of your storm. His eyes rake over you with quiet hunger, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the fevered brightness in your gaze, the way you sway unsteadily on your feet.

"You lasted longer," he observes, a note of dark pride threading his voice. "But not long enough."

"Please," you rasp, your voice a tattered thing. "It’s too much. I—"

His finger presses against your lips, silencing your plea. "I know," he breathes.

Before you can collapse, he catches you—lifting you into his arms with effortless grace. His body radiates cold, glorious cold, and you cling to him, trembling, as he carries you to the examination bed like something precious. Like something owned.

But tonight, he does not lay you down as before. No. Tonight, he sits with you straddling his lap, your fevered body pressed to the iciness of his chest, your thighs trembling on either side of his hips. His Evol thrums just beneath his skin, aching to touch you, to claim you.

"You’ve fought me for too long," Zayne whispers against your ear, his breath fanning over your burning skin, sending waves of shivers down your spine. "I think it’s time we deepen the treatment."

His hands glide beneath your damp clothing, palms flat against the small of your back, against your ribs, against every curve of your trembling body. When his Evol flows into you this time, it is not the steady flood of relief you remember. It is intimate. Possessive.

It curls around your heart like icy vines, wraps around your lungs, threads through your very marrow. It brands you from the inside, seeping into places no one else can reach, etching himself into the map of your body. Your head falls back on a strangled cry, your back arching as his mark spreads beneath your skin.

Zayne watches, his eyes burning with cold fire, as your body surrenders completely to him. "Feel it," he commands softly. "Feel me inside you."

You do. God, you do. You feel him in every beat of your heart, every breath you take, every inch of your overheated flesh. He is there—he is everywhere—and you never want him to leave. You couldn’t survive it if he did.

His lips brush the damp curve of your throat, and for one breathless moment, it feels like a kiss. But it is not tenderness—it is claiming.

"You’re mine," he whispers, the words sinking as deeply as his Evol. "No one else will touch you like this. No one else will cool your fire."

Your answer comes in a desperate, breathless moan as you press closer to him, begging without words. Yes.

He floods you again, deeper still, until you see stars bursting behind your eyes, until you collapse against him, limp and pliant, your breath broken and ragged. Zayne cradles you in his arms, his Evol thrumming beneath your skin like a second heartbeat.

"There," he murmurs, satisfied. "Better."

And as you drift into a fever-dazed haze in his embrace, you know there is no escape. You don’t even want one.

————

It’s been weeks. Weeks of brittle cold mornings and sleepless nights that boil beneath your skin. Weeks of pretending you still belong to yourself. You don’t. You haven’t—not since his Evol carved itself into you like frost seeping into bone. No matter how tightly you wrap yourself in blankets, no matter how many times you plunge your trembling body into ice water, the fever is there. Waiting. Growing.

There are days when you almost feel normal. You cling to them like brittle glass, fragile and thin. You tell yourself, I can make it through this day. But nights are cruel. Nights turn your apartment into a tomb of restless shadows, and in those hours, the mark beneath your skin pulses like a second heartbeat. Your hands press to your chest, feeling the phantom echo of his touch.

No relief comes. Sleep evades you. When it does take you, it drags you into nightmares sweetened with seduction—dreams so vivid they steal your breath. You see him in the dark. You feel him. Always. His hands skating over your burning flesh, his breath icy against your fevered skin. His Evol, slipping beneath your ribs, curling around your heart. Branding you deeper, deeper still.

You wake gasping. Every time. Your sheets are damp with sweat, your throat hoarse from pleas whispered into the empty room. "Zayne," you beg the silence. No answer. Only the whisper of your pulse, frantic and fast.

You pace the floor until your legs ache, until your knees tremble and threaten to collapse beneath you. Your fingers tremble as you clutch the edges of your shirt, tugging at the fabric like it’s a snare choking the heat from you.

It hurts. Your skin hurts. Your bones feel too tight for your body. Every nerve ending burns with a hunger you can’t satisfy, not alone. Tears spill over your lashes, hot and hopeless. No. I won’t call him. I won’t. You almost believe it. But the fever, it’s clever. It waits. It coils and tightens and starves you of breath until your pride cracks like brittle porcelain.

Your phone sits heavy in your palm. His number is already open. You stare at it. You tremble. Your lips part in a soundless plea. Please. Your finger brushes the screen. The line doesn’t even have time to ring before his voice melts into your ear like ice sliding across fevered skin.

"I knew you would call."

The shiver that runs down your spine is violent. Full-bodied. Immediate. His voice alone cools you, slightly—just enough to leave you shaking for more. You close your eyes, your knees giving way beneath you as you slump to the floor, your breath stuttering between sobs.

"I c-can’t—" Your voice fractures. "Zayne, please."

A low exhale filters through the receiver, like winter wind across frozen glass. "You’re burning up again, aren’t you?" he says softly. "You fought so hard. But you know there is only one way to stop it."

Tears streak your cheeks, hot as the fever in your veins. "I don’t want this," you choke out, even as your body betrays you—pressing your palm to your chest, to the place where his mark thrums beneath your skin, aching for him.

His reply is silk and steel all at once. "That is no longer your choice."

The clinic is quiet when you arrive. Silent, except for the relentless pounding of your heart, and the fever crackling under your skin like wildfire. You don’t remember the journey. You only remember need.

He stands in the doorway, waiting for you as though he had known the exact moment you’d cross his threshold. His pale eyes rake over you, sharp as ice shards, his gaze darkening with something dangerous, possessive.

"You’ve lasted longer than I expected this time," Zayne observes, his voice smooth and clinical, but you catch it—the low thrum of hunger beneath the surface.

You sway on your feet, the fever licking up your spine, and your voice is little more than a broken whisper. "Help me," you beg. There’s no pretense anymore. No pride. Only desperation.

He approaches slowly, deliberately, until his cool hands are cradling your flushed face, his Evol already seeping into your skin through the contact alone. Your breath shudders. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching a tear before it can fall. His eyes soften, but it is not kindness—it is possession.

"You’re mine," Zayne murmurs, the words curling around you like chains forged from ice. "You always will be."

You don’t resist as he lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. The moment your fevered body meets the chill of his, relief tears through you like a thunderclap. A sob escapes your throat—half pain, half ecstasy.

But this time, it is different. This time, he carries you not to the examination bed, but deeper into the clinic—into a room you’ve never seen before. The air here is colder. The lights dimmer. It feels like stepping into a frozen cathedral, built for the sole purpose of worshiping him.

He lays you down, and his Evol follows, flooding your senses before his hands even touch you. But when they do—God. This is not treatment. This is not relief. This is claiming.

His fingers trail beneath your clothes, cool and unhurried, tracing the lines of your body with clinical precision. His Evol follows every path, sinking deeper into you, coiling in intimate places no one else has ever touched. You arch beneath him, a helpless cry spilling from your lips.

"Zayne—"

His gaze drops to you, molten with cold fire. "Hush," he soothes. "Let me in."

And you do. You let him in. His Evol floods you completely now, carving itself into every nerve, every vein, every trembling muscle. You feel it searing paths beneath your skin, wrapping around your heart, your lungs, your womb. You feel him marking you. Claiming you. Owning you. Your breath catches, your eyes fluttering closed as the sensation consumes you whole.

"Deeper," he commands, as if your body could obey him without you, as if your very bones could open to receive him further. They do.

The fever finally breaks, but the relief is no longer clean. It is tainted with something dark. Addictive. You don’t feel free. You feel his. And worst of all—you don’t want to let go. As you collapse against him, your body still trembling from the force of his mark, Zayne draws you into his arms, his breath cool against your fever-warmed temple.

"There now," he whispers. "You see? You are never truly alone."

Your tears are silent. But they fall, nonetheless. Because you understand the truth in his words. You will never be alone again. Not while he lives inside your skin.

————

Time is meaningless now. You cannot tell how many days have passed. Only that the fever is worse than it has ever been.

It sears through your veins like molten iron, curling tighter with every heartbeat, branding your insides with relentless hunger. No ice bath soothes you now. No desperate, trembling hand pressed to your chest can cool the fire burning beneath your ribs.

His mark, buried deep beneath your skin, throbs. It pulses like a living thing, as if it knows the moment is near. As if it calls to him.

You wake fever-drenched, soaked in sweat, your sheets tangled around your limbs like restraints. Dreams haunt you—so vivid you feel them in your bones even when your eyes are open. You feel him. You feel him everywhere. His breath at the back of your neck. His Evol coiling inside your chest. His touch—phantom, but unmistakable—skating down your fevered spine.

You press your thighs together, but it only sharpens the ache, only twists the knot of craving tighter until it hurts to breathe. Your body remembers him. Your body misses him. You don’t even try to fight it this time.

You reach for your phone, your vision blurred with heat and tears. Your thumb trembles as it hovers over his name, but you know—you know—he is already waiting. The moment the call connects, his voice slides into your ear like ice poured over fire.

"I felt you burning," Zayne murmurs, soft and sure. "You’re ready."

You nod, tears slipping free, your breath caught in your throat. "Please," you whisper. "Please, Zayne. I can’t—"

"I know," he soothes, voice dark silk. "Come to me. Let me end this."

Your heart stutters in your chest. A flicker of fear. A final, fleeting hesitation. But you’re past the point of no return. You have been his from the beginning.

The world outside is a blur of shadows and flickering lights as you stumble through the streets, the fever carving tunnels of heat through your vision. You feel the pull of him, like gravity, like a tide you cannot resist.

By the time you reach his door, you are shaking with need. Zayne is already there. His eyes meet yours, sharp and pale and hungry. He takes you in at a glance—the way your chest heaves with ragged breath, the fever-bright flush on your cheeks, the way you tremble for him.

Without a word, he steps aside, allowing you into his sanctuary. The air inside is frigid, a frozen oasis that kisses your fevered skin and drags a broken moan from your lips.

"Zayne," you beg, reaching for him. His Evol hums in the air around you, alive, waiting. You don’t run. You fall. Into him. Into his arms. Into his frozen pull. He catches you effortlessly, pressing your burning body to his cool chest. His Evol pulses between you, a living thing that slithers beneath your skin, answering the call of the fever.

"You’re ready," he breathes against your temple. "Let me make it permanent."

Your heart trips in your chest, your breath hitching. "Permanent," you echo, your voice raw, torn from you like a confession. "Please. Anything."

His lips brush your cheek, a glacial kiss that sends tremors rippling through your entire frame. "You’ll never burn alone again," Zayne promises. "You’ll carry me always."

Your answer is a desperate, breathless plea. "Yes."

He carries you deeper into the clinic—into the room that feels like an altar built for your surrender. The chill is bone-deep here, but it no longer stings. It soothes. It prepares you.

He lays you down with reverence, as though you are something sacred to be claimed. His hands trail your fevered skin, and you arch into his touch, helpless beneath the burn and the craving. His Evol floods you, but this time, it isn’t just relief. It’s possession. It curls into you like a lover's embrace, slipping into every crevice, every hollow place in your body. You feel it sinking beneath your skin, threading through your veins, twining around your heart.

But you want more. You need more. Your hands clutch at his shirt, your fevered body seeking his like a dying ember craving oxygen.

"Please," you beg. "Zayne, I need—"

The fever roars in your blood, a relentless tide rising, cresting, ready to pull you under. His Evol is already inside you, curling along your veins, but it’s not enough—not anymore. You ache for more than cold relief. You ache for him. His touch, his presence, the way he looks at you now—like you are already his, already marked, already claimed.

Zayne’s gaze never leaves yours as he lifts his hand, his cool fingers brushing along your fevered cheek. The chill of his touch makes you shudder, but you lean into it, helpless to do anything else.

“You’ve suffered long enough,” he murmurs, voice like velvet laced with steel. Your breath stutters. Your lips part, not for words—there are no words left—but for him.

And then he kisses you. God—his lips are cold, so cold, and it steals the breath from your lungs as they press against yours, soft yet unyielding. The contrast is a jolt to your fevered senses, like plunging into ice water after drowning in flames.

Your eyes flutter closed as you sink into him, the world narrowing until there is only the press of his mouth and the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears.

Your fingers find the front of his shirt without thinking, clutching at the fabric with desperate need. The fever clouds your thoughts, makes your movements clumsy and frantic, but you don’t care. You need him closer. You need the chill of his skin against yours, now.

Your hands fist in the material, tugging, pulling at the buttons with shaking urgency. A frustrated sound rises in your throat as your fumbling fingers struggle, but Zayne catches your wrists gently, guiding you. He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath cool against your swollen lips.

“Go on,” he encourages, his voice a low purr of permission. “Take what you need.”

His words unlock something wild inside you. You surge against him, your trembling hands sliding under his coat, pushing it back over his shoulders. He shrugs out of it with ease, letting it fall to the floor unnoticed. Beneath, the fabric of his shirt clings to his frame, and you claw at it, desperate for the skin beneath.

Zayne watches you, his pale eyes darkening with something that coils tight in your stomach. Hunger. Not hunger for sustenance, or even relief—but for you. He is letting you undress him. No, more than that—he welcomes it.

His hands move in kind, cool fingers skimming under your fever-damp clothes, raising goosebumps in their wake. He peels the layers from your body with infuriating slowness, as though savoring every inch of revealed skin. The fabric catches at your shoulders, and he draws it down with a reverent touch, his lips finding the curve of your neck as he does.

A breathless cry escapes you. Your fingers finally slip the last buttons free, and you push his shirt apart, baring his chest to your greedy gaze. His skin is as pale and flawless as marble, smooth and cold beneath your trembling hands. You press your palms against him, chasing the chill, letting it seep into your fevered flesh. Relief flickers through you, sharp and immediate, but it only stokes your craving higher.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough. Your mouth follows the path of your hands, lips parting against the hollow of his throat, tasting the coldness of him like ice melting on your tongue. Zayne’s breath hitches. His hands tighten at your waist, guiding you closer, until your fevered body is pressed full-length against his icy frame.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice roughened now, strained with desire barely leashed. “That’s it. Take more.”

Your need surges, untamed and wild. Your fingers slide lower, skimming his abdomen, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath his cool skin. You want—no, you need—to strip away every barrier between you, to feel his Evol pour into you without anything between.

Zayne’s eyes smolder as he watches you fumble at his belt, your fever-blurred vision making the task difficult. “Let me,” he offers, but you shake your head, breathless.

“No—please—I need to,” you rasp.

A shadow of a smile touches his lips, dark and knowing. “As you wish.”

He lets you continue, your hands shaking as you finally free the buckle, your fingers clumsy with desperation. His slacks loosen, and you push them down, baring more of him to your fevered touch. Your mouth waters. Your heart pounds. You are drowning, but this time, you want to drown.

Zayne does not stop you. No, he mirrors you. With slow, sure movements, he strips you of your remaining clothing, baring you to the icy air. His Evol ghosts over your newly exposed skin, curling into the places that throb with heat and want. You cry out at the sensation, your body arching into his touch as if drawn by gravity.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Zayne breathes, his gaze raking over you with reverence and possession entwined. “Fevered and desperate for me.”

Your lips tremble. “Zayne—please—”

He silences you with another kiss, deeper than the first, his tongue cool and claiming as it sweeps into your mouth. His Evol flares in response to your surrender, flooding you with icy relief that coils with your heat, tightening the knot of your desire until you are trembling in his arms.

Your nails bite into his skin as you pull him closer, wordless in your need. Closer. Closer still. You need him inside you. Now. Deep. Permanent. Zayne breaks the kiss only to murmur against your swollen lips, his voice rough and raw. “I will give you everything.”

And you believe him. Because he already has. Your breath is a ragged thing in your chest, fractured and uneven, as if the fever has stripped you down to something raw and desperate.

Zayne watches you from beneath his pale lashes, his eyes heavy with hunger so sharp it slices straight through your haze. The air between you crackles with tension, alive with the thrum of his Evol pulsing in waves, weaving around your naked body like a lover's caress.

It feels everywhere. Over your fevered skin, under your ribs, between your thighs where the ache has become unbearable. His Evol touches you in places no hands could reach, and you gasp—your spine arching, your hands flying to his shoulders, clawing at him as if you could pull him inside you. Your nails dig into the hard lines of his body, and something dark flashes in his gaze.

“You need me so badly, don’t you?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth like flowing ice. His fingers wrap around your hips, strong and unyielding, as he lifts you effortlessly into his lap. A startled, breathless cry escapes your throat as he settles you astride him, your knees pressing to either side of his thighs, your fevered skin scorching against his cool frame.

But it is nothing—nothing—compared to the shock of feeling his arousal, thick and hard, nestled against the ache between your legs. Your breath stutters, your eyes fluttering closed as a tremor tears through you.

“Zayne—” you whisper, broken and wanting. His Evol tightens around you, coiling like a serpent, pressing in from every angle. Beneath you, against you, inside you.

It brushes across every nerve ending, stroking the fever into wild, unbearable peaks. You shudder, grinding down against him, chasing the friction instinctively. A dark, satisfied sound rumbles in his chest.

“Look at you,” Zayne breathes, his hands flexing on your hips as he presses you down harder against him, grinding his arousal against your slick heat. “So eager to be filled.”

His Evol slides between you, wrapping around your core, teasing you, cooling you—driving you mad. You writhe in his lap, a helpless, fevered thing, clawing at his chest, his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer, deeper, inside.

“Please,” you gasp, your voice hoarse with need. “Please, Zayne—”

His lips curl into something between a smile and a snarl, sharp and possessive.

“You’ll beg me properly,” he replies, his tone a whip-crack of command, even as his Evol teases your entrance, brushing against the throbbing bundle of nerves that makes you whimper and cling to him harder.

Your head falls forward, your forehead pressing to his shoulder as your hips rock against him, chasing the relief only he can give.

“Zayne—please—I need you,” you sob, your voice fractured, desperate, your body trembling in his grasp. “I need you inside me.”

A low growl escapes him at your plea, primal and raw. Without warning, he grips your hips tight, manhandling you with effortless strength, adjusting your position until you feel him right there—poised at your entrance, the swollen head of him nudging against your slick, aching heat.

His Evol surges, flooding into you as if sensing how close you are to breaking. It wraps around your chest, your thighs, your neck like a collar of ice and want, chilling you to the bone even as your skin burns hotter. You gasp, your nails raking down his back, desperate for more.

“Zayne,” you cry out, nearly incoherent. “Please—”

He kisses you again, devouring your pleas, and as your mouth parts for him, he thrusts up into you in one, smooth motion. You break apart in his arms. A strangled scream rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you wide, the cold of him an exquisite contrast to your molten need. His Evol surges with him, rushing inside you, curling around him where your bodies are joined.

You feel everything. Every pulse of his length inside you, every throb of his Evol, every icy thread weaving deeper into your fevered core. You sob into his mouth, your body trembling violently as pleasure shatters through you.

“Yes,” he breathes against your lips, possessive and dark. “That’s it. Feel me inside you.”

You do. You feel him. His hands guide your hips, rocking you against him, making you take every inch, every pulse, every relentless stroke of his Evol filling you from the inside out. Your head falls back, your breath broken and gasping, your body a fevered wreck in his arms.

“You’re mine now,” Zayne growls, his thrusts slow and punishingly deep. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you sob, desperate and raw. “I’m yours.”

He rewards you with a surge of his Evol, a flood of ice and power that coats every nerve ending, painting you from within, claiming you completely. “You’ll never burn alone again,” he promises, his voice a rough whisper against your skin. “Because I will always be inside you.”

His words crack something inside you, and your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave, tearing through you with blinding force. Your body convulses around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you scream his name, your mind splintering under the force of your release.

Zayne follows you over the edge, his own climax seizing him, his Evol bursting inside you in a final, binding claim. You collapse against him, trembling and spent, your breath coming in broken gasps. And as you drift in the aftermath, you feel him—still inside you, still surrounding you, still claiming you. Forever.

The storm of it leaves you undone. Your body trembles in the aftermath, muscles lax and pliant, breath caught between broken sobs and shallow gasps. You cannot move. You cannot move.

You are liquid in his arms, your fever extinguished—but the heat beneath your skin remains, dulled into an aching throb that pulses in rhythm with the relentless hum of his Evol still coiled inside you.

Zayne keeps you close, as if afraid you might drift away if he loosens his hold. But you’re not going anywhere. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

Your legs are draped across his lap, your body curved into him, your cheek pressed to the chilled expanse of his chest. His heartbeat is a quiet, steady thrum beneath your ear—cold and controlled, so unlike the frantic thunder of your own.

His Evol lingers beneath your skin like smoke in your veins, curling tight, refusing to leave. You feel it—every pulse, every gentle flex of power—tasting of ice, tasting of him. It isn’t relief. It is possession. His possession.

Your eyelids flutter, heavy with exhaustion, as he brushes damp strands of hair away from your fevered temple. His fingertips are cool. Always cool. And your body aches for that touch, even now, even in the hazy bloom of aftershocks.

“So sweet,” Zayne murmurs, his voice a velvet rasp against your ear. His breath fans over your flushed skin, and you shiver beneath him. “So beautiful, like this.”

Your lips part, but no words come. There is nothing left in you but trembling breath and the hollow ache of completion.

“You’re mine,” he whispers next, softer this time, but no less sharp. His words weave into you, burying themselves beneath your ribs like thorns laced in silk. "My perfect match. My patient. My possession."

Your heart stutters at the way he says it—not cruelly, not triumphantly. But reverently. As though you are something he treasures beyond reason.

His Evol shifts inside you in lazy swirls, stroking over your sensitive nerves. You whimper, your fingers twitching weakly where they rest against his chest.

"You feel me, don’t you?" His lips graze your temple, cool and soft. "Even now. Even after I’ve filled you, you still feel me inside you."

A strangled sound escapes you—half a breath, half a moan. You do. You feel him everywhere. You feel him like a second skin, like a shadow you can never shed. Your body no longer belongs to you. It belongs to him.

Zayne hums low in his throat, pleased by your helpless response. His hand skims down your spine, lingering at the base, possessive and sure.

“You were always meant to be mine,” he continues, his voice a quiet vow against the shell of your ear. "From the moment you first burned with fever, your body called for me."

His Evol shifts again, subtle but insistent, as though echoing his words, curling deeper into your very marrow. "Even now," he breathes, "it still calls for me."

Your breath catches as his Evol brushes against the core of you, teasing where you are still stretched and filled, so sensitive it draws a shudder from your frame.

“Z-Zayne…” you whisper, voice barely there, broken beneath the weight of your exhaustion and need.

“Yes,” he answers immediately, as if he’s been waiting for you to speak his name again. His lips brush down your throat, slow, deliberate. "Say it again."

“Zayne…”

His Evol pulses in answer, rippling through you like a lover’s caress. “You belong to me,” he murmurs, a dark tenderness in every syllable. “Say it.”

You swallow, your throat tight, your chest rising and falling with ragged breath. And then—your surrender comes soft, quiet, final. “…I belong to you.”

His smile is not cruel. It is not victorious. It is satisfied. Utterly, darkly satisfied.

"Good girl," he whispers, the praise curling through you like liquid ice, setting your nerves alight all over again. "You always have."

His lips press a lingering kiss to your fevered skin, as if sealing the truth of your words into your flesh. His Evol does not withdraw. It stays coiled inside you, pulsing in steady rhythm with his breath, with your heartbeat, with the final threads of your unraveling.

"You’ll never burn alone again." he promises, his voice a promise and a chain all at once.

Your eyes drift closed, not from weariness—but from surrender. From acceptance. From the quiet, terrible relief of belonging. Your last breath before sleep is not yours. It is his.

And it always will be.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @syluslittlecrows

#love and deepspace #lads #doctor zayne #zayne #love and deepspace zayne #zayne x reader #lads zayne #lnds zayne #zayne love and deepspace #l&ds zayne #zayne lads #zayne x mc #zayne x you #dr zayne #zayne evol #zayne l&ds #zayne li #zayne lnds #li shen

135 notes · View notes

oishiyani · 1 year ago

Text

🦐 ; Where Were You?

🦐 ; y/n’s presence never missed every single day! a text, a voice call, maybe even a visit. but then one morning.. boom! y/n vanished, not a single sign of life from them has got them shuffled in their minds! who knows could be what their reaction? (SCENARIOS)

— this is a fun little drabble while i had on my free time!! huehue, i swear ill make nikolai on the pt2 of this and along with another character in mind!

Sigma

Would end up trashing in fear in his body.

sigma's love for you is known to be only pure, he loves you whole and so do you. a routine where you'd keep him occupied with everything that's happened to you while he shoots you a bunch of questions of things he hadn't heard such about. the more you talked, the more curious he got.

the way you talk has him falling head over heels for you! that's the most special event in his daily life. the part where you'd find him and call so sweetly of his name out of your lips, your voice instantly makes him forget whatever's disturbing his head- soon relaxed when he recognizes your voice.

with this everyday routine with you is like a vitamin he has to take everyday, without it he may not function well. it's the most crucial part of his life- he can't miss a day without you. then one day, he did almost did miss a day.

usually you'd be calling out for him when he's really stuffed with the casino of his. a perfect timing for you to be his savior to come and comfort him, but after a few hours- he looked at the clock that was hanged on the wall.

'that’s strange.. y/n should be here at any moment now.. y/n's coming here soon right?'

and so, he waited. and waited. and waited. like a dog waiting for their owner to return home behind closed doors.

sigma begins to fidget without him realizing, one of his legs starts fiddling as both of his hands clasped together, his right index finger tapping up and down for who knows how long. and you still weren't here.

its been hours, he noticed. he spammed your phone number with a few text messages asking where are you, were you alright? were you not safe? the thought of you in danger increased his worries. could fyodor have captured you to use you against him?

he swallowed the developed lump in his throat, he had to search for you immediately. now was the time to take action. who knows what could’ve happen to you? he stands up and grabs the telephone by his desk- before he was about to dial, the sound of his main doors pushed open.

there you were, standing with a bunch of bags hanged on your arm. "hey, sorry i kind of arrived late! as you can see here i bought-"

"s-sigma?" you were cut by your sentence as you were took by a sudden surprise of sigma who dropped the telephone and approached you with his footsteps in a haste. he then hugged you tightly- wrapped in his arms, never wanting to let go of you. his head on your shoulder while his face hides at your sight. you almost fell behind and tumbled because of the unforeseen of event.

"where were you?" he asked, a sound of his voice cracked as he spoke. you hugged him back trying your best to tolerate how really tight his hug is, "i was out in the mall.. my phone happened to run out of battery so i couldn't message you. i'm sorry about that." you let out of a bashful giggle.

soon you felt slight coldness on the fabric you wore, your eyes dilated and grabbed sigma's forearms to push him slowly from you.

with his face in front of you. sigma's eyes were bottled up with tears, his nose a bit red. which looks like he's been holding in his emotions for a while. the tables have turned- now you were the one worried, confused, why was sigma crying? did you do something wrong?

"huh? did something happen? what's wrong?" sigma looked down, a sigh escaping his lips- his eyebrows furrowed. "you were gone for too long and i just got worried.. really that's all." his eyes shifted in another direction, a small pout on his lips formed after.

you also sighed in relief after thinking that something worse happened to him, "i'm sorry for that sigma.. next time i'll invite you to the mall with me. we could try one of those fancy restaurants i saw."

he sniffled, his index finger swiped the tear bubbling from the corner of his eye. "sure, i'd love to go." he then smiled. "i'm happy you're back."

sigma then felt something pressed on to his lips. it was.. a cookie?! his eyes lit of sparks. you pushed the cookie futher and sigma took immediate bite of it, "i also bought these cookies for you! do you like them?"

a faint pink shade of blush wave on his cheeks, "mhm."

Fyodor

Would come and fetch you immediately. and once found- it’s a must to return.

your presence being absent for a while doesn’t shaken fyodor himself. why? oh y/n, you lack the knowledge of fyodor’s tracking skills- an absoulute maniac at it! he could be watching you at every placed cctv camera by the city and you’re fully unaware of it.

fyodor fonds you quite alot- well for more than what you can think. he loves how you bring gifts for him on the way back, after he just watched you struggle to buy something for him. unable to choose between two goods situation. he smiles internally at how cute you look while deciding if he'd

with your loyalty to him, he surely should protect you from any harm that opposes you. that’s why he’s spectating you from the cameras y’know! it’s all for the sake of your safety after all. he even thought of placing cameras in your house, maybe if someone attempted to rob you then he’d save the day.

as soon as fyodor came back from his office- sitting on his chair, eyes stamped on the screen that displayed different corners of each street. in an insant his eyes hunt for you like a prey.

switching from cameras to cameras, he was unable to find you through it. he double checked again- maybe you’ll appear at any moment but no. you still weren’t there at the store you always went.

‘that’s strange..’ fyodor said as he gently rubbed his chin, thinking where have you might go. he only set off his eyes away from the screen for a minute and you’re gone that quickly? that was the least he expected since you take your time at browsing your items.

little did he know you stumbled upon this local cafe that just opened up! it was located at this small apartment that the owner set it up as their own business. you happen to saw a poster and an immediate urge drove into you as soon as you saw the cafe’s new release of a drink.

with that in mind, you went on your way to try it out. you open the door that supposedly says in the poster that this is where they’re located, a small, shady place for a cafe indeed. you were met by the sound of a small bell that clang on top when you opened the door. the aroma of coffee strikes you.

there were only a few people, really few.. like 3. the man who’s behind the counter greeted you a welcome. you came upfront and told him that you wanted to try their new drink. the man agreed, but as he went on to make it- the man seems like he couldn’t find himself to stop talking about you.

he continuously asked you multiple questions about yourself, what you do for living, how was living in the city, were you still studying, ‘till he abruptly asked if you were in a relationship with someone.

the first set of questions weren’t that bad, although they progressively became more personal. the conversation still about yourself- you ended up being uncomfortable as you sat and waited for your drink to be done.

“maybe we could exchange numbers.. if you ever don’t have one though! and we could go get some coff-“

“do you serve tea around here?” the familiar voice spoke. you quickly turned to your side and saw fyodor who was about to sit down beside you. “wait- fyodor?! what’re you doing here? i mean, when did you even get here?!”

“just now.” fyodor replied, his gaze on the man who was doing the finishing touches to your drink. the man who was behind the counter was also just as confused as you for the unexpected new customer. “tea sir? i’m afraid we don’t-“

“well, that’s unfortunate. i was hoping me and y/n would go here sometime.” fyodor replied. cutting the man’s words off. “y/n?” you looked to fyodor again, giving him a sign that he has your attention. he told you to bring out your phone and to wear your headphones for some reason, he then told you to listen to this orchestra piece he liked.

“just for a moment.” he told you, mouth close to your ear, then puts back the lifted half of the headphones on your ear. you watched him talk to the man, both of them having a conversation while you listened to melody in your ears. you then continued to sip your finished drink, ‘this is good.. and refreshing..’ the wave of relaxation was disturbed by a sudden slam that vibrated on the wooden counter.

you turned your gaze back to the two, lifting your headphones. the man’s face expression showed he was terrified, while fyodor was only giving the poor man a smirk. “get out before i call the police!” the man threatened. “wait- what happened?” yet again confused, you asked fyodor. he only stood up and stared at the man who’s legs began to shake.

“let’s go y/n. we surely don’t want to be in this place of a stench.” fyodor took his steps to the door turning the doorknob. you left your payment on the counter and catched up to fyodor on the way out of the apartment.

you were filled with questions for fyodor to answer, but the only answer you ever got was quite odd-

“i only gave him a little piece of advice, i wouldn’t want that cafe to be shut down completely.”

the next day, you were walking by the side of the streets. you found yourself in the same spot where the cafe you went was located. but this time, you took notice that there was a sign that said ‘THIS PLACE HAS BEEN SHUT DOWNED’

#bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd imagines #bungo stray dogs imagine #sigma x reader #sigma x you #sigma x y/n #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor x y/n

333 notes · View notes

p-artsypants · 2 months ago

Text

The Pale Rider (18) A Great Personal Sacrifice

Ao3

When she awoke, she was in an unfamiliar room. Before she opened her eyes, she felt the warmth of a wool blanket, and the nostalgic comfort of a viking village bed.

Definitely not the luxurious mattress she had come to love in the castle.

She blinked her eyes open, which was a struggle with the crud gluing them shut, and looked around. She was in a small room with wooden walls and ceiling. A dried bouquet of lavender hung on the wall, as well as a shield crossed with swords. There was only candle light to illuminate all this as the small window showed the black of night.

Her attention was grabbed by the fluttering of a page, and she flicked her eyes over to see the Rider sitting at her bedside, engrossed in a book.

“...Rider?” She rasped, her throat dry.

He snapped his gaze up to hers and almost threw the book down in his haste to grab her hand. “Astrid…” His voice was full of wet relief. “I’m glad you’re alright!”

“What…happened?” She struggled to sit up, even as he helped her. As the blanket slipped down to her waist, she realized she was still wearing her dress from the wedding.

“You passed out…just inside the throne room.”

Slowly, she recalled what she had seen. A room so large and so dark, the mere candle in her hand couldn’t illuminate it. The horrific statues, the lone wooden chair, the blood…

She threw off her blanket and hiked up her skirts to look at her legs.

“Uh…?” The Rider tilted his head at this abrupt action.

She didn’t respond, just turned her examination to her hands, and then felt her face. “Do I look any different?”

“No,” he carefully moved her braid back over her shoulder from where it had fallen. “You look the same as you always do.”

That was one less thing to worry about. “That room…” she began. “I-I-I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to go in there! I just–I didn’t know it was there before and I just wanted to peek and I didn’t think it was the dungeon, so–!” She spoke in a frantic recollection.

“Hey hey, it’s alright. You were allowed in there.” He hushed. “I didn’t show it to you earlier because I forget it’s there.”

That made sense. If that room was where the murder happened, it was likely that he’d forget all about it. “The blood…on the floor…”

“Did you touch it?”

“I stepped in it.”

“You were still wearing your shoes, right?”

She nodded.

“And you didn’t get any on your skin?”

“I don’t–I don’t think so.”

“Then you should be fine.”

“But…what happened? Where are we?”

“We’re in the Inn in town. I brought you here when the twins brought you to me. Gothi’s been to see you, and said nothing’s wrong.”

She frowned. “But I passed out. I’ve never had that problem before. Why’d you bring me all the way here?”

The Rider looked away from her then, his hands wringing in his lap. “How long have you had that cough? Actually.”

Knowing she’d been caught, Astrid begrudgingly admitted, “I had it for a few days before I was arrested. It went away while I was in jail. And then it came back the night I came home. I’ve had it ever since.”

“So…over two weeks? You told me only a few days.”

“Sorry…I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You coughed so hard that you passed out, didn’t you?” His tone was harsher than she could ever recall hearing from him. He was stern, and seemed genuinely angry.

She nodded slowly, unable to answer. Then she whispered, “I feel better now though.”

“Because you’re out of the castle.”

“But if I got sick from something in the castle, it wouldn’t have cleared already. Right? How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.”

“Two–? But still—!”

“You aren’t sick,” he stated, with a growl. “This isn’t an illness from some mold or a draft. It’s much…much worse.”

Horror gripped her chest. “What is it then?”

He got up from his chair and started pacing back and forth, slowly, thinking. “Do you remember the very first night you spent at the castle? That stormy night that Dagur came and attacked me?”

“Like I could forget.”

“That morning, I told you that you were welcome to stay as long as you wanted, as long as the castle let you stay.”

“Oh,” she vaguely remembered the conversation. “Because it’s aware, right? That’s how it knew the Outcasts were attacking.”

He nodded. “And it’s decided…you’re not welcome.”

Her heart sank. A bewildered laugh broke from her lips. “W-what do you mean I’m not welcome? I didn’t do anything!”

But that wasn’t really true, was it? She’d been prying into the secrets, trying to solve the curse. Viggo or his magic may have figured her out and deemed her a threat.

“The castle is my home…” she tried.

“I know,” he nodded, his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “I don’t want you to leave. So…I want to try something first. A little experiment. I’ve booked this room for a week. You’ll stay here, and then you can come back. Maybe some time away from the castle will make a difference.”

“For a whole week?”

“I’ll visit. Stormfly will be around.” He gestured to a rucksack on a chair by the door. “Ruffnut collected some necessities for you.”

“But–!”

“Astrid,” his voice was cutting and harsh. It made her recoil in fear. But he sat back at her side and took her hand in his. “I’m not happy about it either, but we don’t have a choice.”

What was one week anyway? She could find ways to keep herself busy. Maybe help out at the forge or…Heather and Fishlegs would be in seclusion, so there’d be no one to run the cafe.

Yeah, that would work. Run the cafe during the day to keep her distracted.

“Okay,” she conceded. “I’ll do it.” Then she turned her hand over and squeezed him back. “Thank you.”

“You have no reason to thank me. My home—“ he shook his head. “I’m going to make sure you can come back. I enjoy sharing the castle with you. I enjoy spending time with you.”

“I enjoy spending time with you too. I like our routine. I’ll do what it takes to get back to it.”

He stood. “For now, it’s just time. And you need to get better.”

“I feel fine.”

“You were asleep for two days. You must be starving. Get changed, and then we can go get something to eat at the Great Hall.”

—-

Time always moves at a sluggish pace when you’re eager for something. That week seemed to creep along like the winter. Slow, dreary, and boring.

Astrid took it upon herself to man Heather’s cafe while Heather was on her honeymoon. Of course, the newlyweds couldn’t leave the island, so they were still occasionally spotted around town.

Astrid was only serving tea. Her cooking and baking skills were nowhere near the level of Heather’s. And while the enchanted castle certainly could whip up little cakes and cookies, Astrid couldn’t use that resource.

So tea. Just tea.

As the weather was bitter cold and unfriendly, not many people ventured out for just tea. She did have some people stop in around lunch and bring sandwiches with them to enjoy on work breaks.

But then in the stretches in between, there was silence.

Astrid dusted and swept and cleaned every surface she could. Anything to keep her hands and mind busy.

Anything to keep her heart from aching.

Her body was at war with itself. There was a pull towards the castle, a desire to seek it out and curl up in the drawing room. Or to pour over the books in the library.

Or to have another dance with the Rider.

The door chimed, and Astrid straightened from where she was cleaning behind the counter.

It was Snotlout, looking rightfully confused. “I didn’t know Heather asked you to run the cafe.”

“She didn’t. She doesn’t know. It’s a surprise.”

“Got bored up there in that big, beautiful castle?”

“Something like that. Can I get you some tea?”

“Oh no, not yet. I’ll be back later. I was just passing by on a delivery and noticed the cafe was open. How long are you going to man the place?”

“All week. It’s my temporary pet project.”

“Taking a break from solving the curse?”

“A strategic break, yes.”

“Well alright then. Can’t wait to hear all about it. See you later!”

“Bye bye.” She wiggled her fingers at him.

What was she going to say? To anyone? Surely their friends would pick up on the fact that she wasn’t living at the castle for the week. How to explain to them that the castle was alive and apparently didn’t like her? What would they think?

Knowing them, they’d probably recommend she not return at all. But they didn’t know the half of it. Should she tell them about that monster in the dungeon? About Viggo?

Maybe it was time. Maybe working together on this would be the key to solving the mystery.

So she spent the rest of the afternoon formulating an explanation. She wrote down everything she could think of, and laid out as much of the story she could remember.

Then, Fishlegs and Heather showed up, both giving her bewildered looks.

“Surprise?”

“What are you doing?” Heather chuckled. “I haven’t seen this place so clean in years!”

“Just a little…favor. I’m not as good at cooking, so the kitchen’s closed…which means less customers, which means more time to clean!”

“You didn’t have to do this for me,” Heather beamed and hugged her. “But I appreciate it.”

“I know I didn’t have to…I just needed to do something to occupy my time. What are you doing here? Why are you among us common folk?” She joked.

“We stopped at the baker’s this morning and he asked who was running my cafe while I was honeymooning. I wanted to know too.”

“Of course the baker would blab. Oh well! What can I get you guys?”

So Heather and Fishlegs settled in. Then not long after, Snotlout returned with the twins. For most, the workday was over. It was time to go home or to the Great Hall. There wouldn’t be customers this late.

So all the better to have this meeting.

The fire was blazing, making the room cozy. Everyone had their favorite tea as they split some snacks the twins brought. Conversation was light, either poking fun at the newlyweds or fondly talking about the wedding.

Astrid stayed silent, thinking of a way to break the news in such a pleasant atmosphere.

The twins would know a little, wouldn’t they? They were there when she collapsed after all.

The door chimed again, and Gobber entered. “Well! Who decided to have a party and not invite me?”

“You’re too busy with council business to invite you to anything!” Snotlout pouted. “I could have been nominated and then we’d know what was going on.”

“You can take my place when I die, how about that?” Gobber snorted. “Astrid, the Rider said he’s got some loan business to attend to, then he’ll be over.”

“Then that means I have a few minutes to talk to you all before he gets here,” she stated.

Her serious tone brought the mood down, and everyone looked at her patiently.

“You okay?” Ruffnut asked, uncharacteristically sweet.

Astrid shook her head. “There’s a lot going on.” She glanced at Heather and Fishlegs. “It’s nothing to worry about, and I don’t want to ruin your honeymoon, I just…want to pick your brains.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” Heather assured. “Our wedding was perfect.”

“We’re just happy to be together,” Fishlegs echoed, resting his arm around his wife’s shoulder.

Satisfied, Astrid continued. “I’m sure it’s no surprise to any of you that I’ve been working hard to end the curse on the island.”

“Wait, you want to end it?” Asked Tuffnut. “Why? I love having a spooky eldritch creature as a neighbor!”

Astrid rolled her eyes, unsurprised. “He’s suffering, Tuff. Yes, things are a lot better now that he’s been accepted into town again, but he suffers. He doesn’t want us to know what he goes through because he doesn’t want our pity.”

“Stoick told me about his leg,” said Snotlout. “You asked Gobber to make him a new leg when you noticed he was limping. His old leg was held in place by stabbing him?”

Astrid nodded. “Every part of the curse has been crafted to cause the Rider pain and make him suffer. The dragons? He trained them, so they were taken away from him. His parents were trapped in paintings. His memories are skewed and he can’t remember a lot of the good times. He couldn’t even remember how he met Toothless.”

“Did you ever find out why he was cursed?” Heather asked.

“I did. That’s what I wanted to talk to you guys about. The Rider isn’t allowed to remember what the inciting event was, so every time he gets close, he blacks out and forgets. Valka and Stoick have told him several times but it never sticks.”

“That…really sucks.” Snotlout frowned. “How is he supposed to lift his curse if he doesn’t remember how it happened?”

“I don’t think he is. Curses aren’t really meant to be broken.”

“Were we right, lass?” Gobber asked softly. “All those weeks ago, we wondered if he…murdered his friend?”

Astrid swallowed, and then nodded.

There were varied reactions. Snotlout whistled lowly. The twins cringed. Heather gasped. Fishlegs let out a scared whine.

“Before this all happened, before our ancestors settled here…the Rider and his family lived to the North, on an island under constant attack from dragons. He was small, the runt of the village. He did everything to impress his kin.”

And so she told them. With as much detail she could remember from Valka’s story, she told them about how he had tamed a dragon in secret, and how he’d fought the queen of the dragons and lost his leg.

The group just listened with rapt attention, hearts breaking as the story unfolded.

“You know the painting of the man you see when you walk in?”

“The stabbed guy?”

“Yeah. His name is Viggo.”

“Is?” Asked Snotlout.

“Yes. Is. Not was.” She exhaled a shaky breath. Now things got scary. “Not long after the Rider lost his leg, Viggo and his brother Ryker came to their old island. Viggo’s a mage, and apparently a very powerful one. After a year of being among the village, Viggo suggested they flee here. He and Ryker had found the island during their travels and said the previous residents had been killed by a plague. Some scouts were sent ahead, and when they found it to be true, they came here and settled.”

“Oh, that’s why they came here,” said Heather.

“And why they had dragons,” said Fishlegs.

“So then…?” Prodded Snotlout.

“This is the part of the story that doesn’t make sense to me. Valka swears by it, but…she said that the Rider was overtaken by a profound jealousy. He was the runt of the tribe for his whole life. He couldn’t defeat the dragon queen…but everyone was treating Viggo as a hero. Out of this sudden jealousy, the Rider killed Viggo and his brother.”

“No!” Snotlout pounded a fist on the table, sloshing some tea around. “He wouldn’t!”

“I mean…” Tuffnut mused. “We saw what he did to the Outcasts, right?”

“But they were invaders! He was protecting the village!” Fishlegs protested.

“I remember asking the Rider why the castle was so wonderfully enchanted,” said Heather. “He said that the curse happened because the blood of a mage was spilled. So—”

“He was cursed by Viggo’s blood. It sprayed on him and Toothless, and when Valka and Stoick tried to help, they got it on their skin and were cursed as well.”

“And the blood seeped into the ground,” Fishlegs concluded. “And cursed the land. The food and water our ancestors consumed…”

“Exactly.”

Snotlout slowly shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t want to believe it.” He clenched his fist. “But the Rider is responsible for the curse. That’s it.” He looked over the group, almost pleading with them. “Are we just going to ignore that he caused this for something as stupid as jealousy? Yes, he’s suffering, but…that’s the point, isn’t it? He should be punished for that.”

“But he’s been paying for his crimes for years, Snotlout,” Heather argued. “He’s spent three or four lifetimes being punished. He’s obviously not the same person he was before!”

“Valka’s story never sat right with me,” Astrid continued. “She said that Viggo was his best friend, and that the jealousy the Rider felt was uncharacteristic.”

“You think Valka lied?”

“No. I think Viggo’s magic didn’t just erase the Rider’s memory, but actively changed Valka and Stoick’s. In fact, I know it did.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. For one thing, the night I moved to the castle after my mother passed, I walked in on the Rider speaking to Viggo’s painting. He’s alive, just like Stoick and Valka.”

“He’s never spoken to any of us,” said Snotlout. “And he’s right there when you walk in.”

“I know. I tried to talk to him too, and he didn’t say anything. I eavesdropped on them a second time and heard Viggo reprimanding the Rider for ‘getting caught’ talking to him. Viggo doesn’t want to talk to anyone else. Especially not a Hofferson.”

“That’s a weirdly specific grudge.”

“I thought so too, since apparently my ancestor ‘Fearless Finn Hofferson’ was really respected by Stoick and Valka. But there’s a lot more to this story.

“The first time I overheard them talking, Viggo was being all soft and apologetic to the Rider and telling him ‘you suffered enough’ and ‘you deserve a reprieve’. Which at first made me think this whole curse may have been an accident. Viggo told him that he should perform some sort of ritual with me.”

“I knew it!” Snotlout shouted, standing abruptly. “I told you at the very beginning he wanted you for some freaky deaky ritual! I can’t believe I was bamboozled!”

“Sit down,” Astrid snapped.

Snotlout did so, with his arms crossed.

“While Viggo encouraged this ritual, the Rider adamantly refused to go through with it and then the conversation ended abruptly. I kept thinking about it though, so I told Valka and Stoick what I saw and asked if they knew. Plot twist, they didn’t even know that Viggo was in the castle like they were.”

“Whoa, what? I thought they could jump through all the paintings in the castle?” Asked Fishlegs.

“They can, all but his. And his painting is the only one in the foyer.”

“I…didn’t even notice that.”

“So what even is this ritual?” Asked Tuff. “Is it cool?”

“I don’t know the specifics. The Rider eventually told us it was a way to spread the curse between two people, so he could get some humanity back. But he wasn’t willing to entertain the idea, so he didn’t elaborate.”

“So…” Heather mused. “Because Viggo never revealed himself to Stoick and Valka, you think he manipulated his memories?”

“Not only because of that, but I had a dream—”

“A dream is not evidence of anything, lass,” Gobber reminded, gently.

“Normally, I’d agree, but just—hear me out!” She ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to gather her thoughts. “In this dream, I was visited by Finn Hofferson. He told me he had been coming into my dreams every night since I moved in, I just didn’t remember. Not surprising, I never remember my dreams.

“He told me that things weren’t what they seemed, and that the heroes and villains were reversed. Viggo is the villain here. Finn was the Rider’s best friend, not Viggo. His recollection of what happened was that the Rider was very suspicious of Viggo and tried to tell people, but no one listened. He told Finn that Viggo was preparing to do some sort of ritual—“

“The same one he was trying to get Rider to do with you?”

“I’m not sure. It’s possible…but the Rider was going to interrupt Viggo and he asked Finn to stay outside and keep watch.”

“So Finn didn’t see what happened.”

“Exactly, but he did see the Rider transform into what we see now.”

“Again, a dream is no evidence,” said Gobber. “Sounds very neat and helpful, but it was jus’ a dream.”

“It wasn’t,” Astrid protested firmly. “Because I didn’t just talk to Finn. I also saw my father.”

“Lass…”

“Listen to me. What is the one thing we know is absolutely true with this curse? The one thing that affects every one of us in this room?”

“We…can’t leave the island?” Heather guessed.

Astrid pointed at her. “Exactly. And that extends past death.”

“Wait,” Snotlout squeaked. “Are you saying that when we die…we’re still trapped here?”

Astrid nodded.

“Holy shit…”

While everyone sat in shocked silence, Astrid went on. “Finn has a theory that something is holding the curse in place. That part is a little hazy. But he said he believes the pin is the Rider’s real name. When he died, all the true memories were restored, all but the Rider’s name. I can’t find it anywhere. In the census book, it’s scorched over with ‘The Cursed One’.”

“Ohhhh,” said Tuff. “That’s why you were trying to guess it. Now it actually makes sense.”

“So we find the Rider’s real name and poof, everything is fixed?” Heather asked.

“I’m not completely sure, but I think so.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Asked Snotlout. “Let’s all go storm the castle and look for his name!”

“And that’s where there’s a problem. I can’t go back.”

“What?”

Astrid drummed her fingers on the table. “I…have been kicked out of the castle temporarily.”

“You say that like I had a choice.”

Astrid sat up abruptly, startled by the Rider’s sudden appearance.

He stood in the doorway, having silently entered, not even sounding the bell.

The assembled stared at him, a mix of reactions on their faces. Astrid’s story had changed their perceptions of him, good and bad.

“I had you leave for your own good, Astrid,” he argued, vexed.

“I know! And I didn’t mean you kicked me out!”

“Then…who did?” Asked Heather.

Astrid stood, offering her seat to the Rider. “Want some tea?”

He just nodded, and took the offered seat.

The assembled just waited patiently for one of them to answer.

Finally, when the steaming cup was in front of the Rider, he answered. “The castle itself has decided Astrid isn’t welcome.”

“...it’s alive?” Fishlegs squeaked.

“In a way. It’s how I knew about the Outcast raid. The castle is aware of the island; when someone is born, when someone dies, and when a newcomer passes into our waters. The magic that gives the castle its delights, the curse that anchors everyone to Berk, all of it is connected like a bloodstream. Like one single body.” He hunched his shoulders. “And like a body creates a fever to fight infection, so too does the castle inflict illness on Astrid to fight her off.”

“And this is this Viggo guy’s magic?” Snotlout asked.

The Rider pinned Astrid with a look. “So, you told them?”

“I had to. If I can’t get back into the castle, I can’t finish breaking the curse. I need help.”

“Astrid, maybe…maybe this is a sign to give up,” The Rider said softly. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, but—“

“No!” She shouted, then she poked him in the chest. “I’m not giving up. Not now, not ever! That’s what he wants, and I’m not falling for it!”

“Who?”

“Viggo! He knows I’m getting close and he’s scared. He’s trying to scare me off, but it’s not going to work!”

The Rider tilted his head. “But…Viggo wouldn’t hurt you. I know he’s a bit prejudiced because he didn’t like your ancestor, but he wouldn’t purposefully hurt you.”

“Oh Odin, Rider! You are so wise and clever! You have a magnificent mind! Use it! You think the castle just randomly decided I wasn’t allowed to stay there anymore? No way! It’s Viggo! He’s in control!”

He shook his head. “No, the castle is all wild magic. It came from Viggo, yes, but he lost control of it when his body perished.”

“He’s lying to you, Rider. He’s manipulating you and your memories. You were so certain that some things were done on purpose to punish you, like your leg and the dragons. Why would it only be some things? No, every bit of magic on this island has a purpose. I don’t know what it all means yet, but I’m going to figure it out.”

“But…Viggo is my friend.”

“No, he isn’t. He wasn’t back then, either. Finn Hofferson was your best friend!”

“Finn Hofferson was a charlatan and a conman.”

“Argh!” Astrid gripped her hair in frustration and gestured to the Rider while looking at the rest of their friends. “Do you see what I’m dealing with!?”

“Astrid, you got that information from a dream,” Fishlegs reminded. “It could have just been a dream.”

“If it was, then I have nothing!” She cried. “I can’t go back home, everything I’ve looked into is a dead end—!” She collapsed into a chair, hiding her face in her hands. “I don’t know what’s true. I don’t have any reliable information.” She glanced at the Rider, reaching out to take hold of his cloak. “I know you’ve only ever been honest with me. But we know your memories are missing, and what if those you do have are manipulated?”

The Rider lowered his head and withdrew his hands inside his cloak. “I never thought about it like that. Viggo has always been so kind and honest to me…”

There was silence then, as the group weighed all the information.

Ruffnut, of all people, spoke up. “What do you need us to do?”

At the risk of making the Rider pass out, Astrid asked, “do you remember that room I collapsed in? That mysterious new room?”

“With all the creepy statues? Hell yeah.”

“There’s a spell circle in the middle of the floor.”

“There is?” The Rider asked.

Astrid nodded. “I need someone to record all the script on it. Be careful not to touch the blood around it.”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Snotlout shouted. “What’s this about spell circles and blood all of a sudden!?”

“Oh we’ll show you!” Said Tuff, enthusiastically. “There’s this huge room on the top floor that’s pitch black, but there’s all these creepy statues of hooded figures around the room—”

That was the breaking point. The Rider shouted out in pain before collapsing sideways in his chair.

Astrid was quick to grab him before he hit his head. “Yeah, I thought that might happen.”

“Is he okay?” Heather asked.

“He’ll be fine, but he’ll forget a chunk of this conversation.” She carefully leaned him forward so he laid across the table, his arms cradling his head. “That room that we’re talking about is where the murder happened. So the Rider can’t remember anything about it. He even told me he forgets it exists.”

“So the spell circle has to be proof of something. Either Viggo’s been telling the truth, or your dream was real,” Fishlegs gathered.

“Exactly! And furthermore, if I can figure out how that spell is supposed to work, I think there’s a chance that I can figure out if the Rider’s name is truly what’s needed to break the spell.”

The Rider groaned and slowly propped his head up in his hand. “Ugh…where–? Oh!” He sat up, the flames in his eyes flickering. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You passed out,” Astrid reminded, gently. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Right…well, as I was saying, don’t you think it’s time to give this up? Maybe the castle attacking you is a sign.”

“Wow,” Heather gasped. “He forgot so much!”

“What?”

Astrid patted the Rider’s hand. “We were discussing stuff that you’re not allowed to remember.”

“And I lost a whole conversation?”

“Yeah, and it was interesting too!” Tuffnut chirped, before being elbowed by his sister.

“I’m just getting everyone up to speed on what I know about the curse. I need help.”

He hesitated. “What if the castle hurts them too?”

“They won’t be there long. I just need someone to record something and someone to retrieve all the books the library has on the druidic language.”

“I got the library!” Fishlegs cried, excitement in his eyes.

“And we’ll take the spell circle,” said Tuff.

“Spell circle?” Asked the Rider.

Astrid glared at the twins, only for them to look away, playing innocent.

“Whatever. We’ll start with this. Hopefully that will give us our next clue.”

—-

The next day, the group assembled at the cafe once again.

Fishlegs and Heather brought several boxes of books with them.

Notably, Gobber and the Rider were absent. Gobber, because he had a business to run, and the Rider suggested he go do something else, lest he get caught in a never ending circle of blacking out.

“Well, this is everything the library brought up when you ask for ‘books in druid’,” Fishlegs gestured to one table. “And this is what came up for ‘spellbooks’.” He gestured to a much smaller pile on the other table. “I’m sure some of this is useless, but might as well start big and get smaller.”

“This is great! Thank you guys. I’m sure you’d rather be doing something else on your honeymoon.”

“Probably each other,” said Tuff, earning a gag from Ruff and Snotlout.

“Don’t worry about it,” Heather laughed it off. “We volunteered. We’re spending time together, and we got to explore the library! Oh you should have seen Fishlegs’ face when we walked in.”

“Did he cry?”

“Weeping!”

“Thank you, darling.” Fishlegs said, sarcasm thick.

Heather just hugged him giddily around the neck.

The twins and Snotlout came in clutch with a large piece of paper that had a fairly convincing recreation of the spell circle on it. They spread it out on the table in front of them, all looking at it with scrutiny.

“Which one of you drew this? It’s pretty good.”

“I have a keen eye,” Tuffnut said, polishing his fingernails on his shirt.

“I copied it,” Snotlout snapped. “I could barely get these dunderheads to focus enough to hold the light. That room was damn creepy!” He pointed to the large blob on the bottom half of the page. “That’s where the blood was. Everything under it was dissolved.”

“That’s okay. This should be enough to make a guess…I don’t actually want a working spell circle anywhere near us.”

“True.”

“Hey, look here, that’s Elder Futhark,” Heather pointed to the top of the circle. “It’s the only thing I can read.”

“‘Steal’? What do you think that means?” Fishlegs asked.

“It means to take without asking,” Tuffnut provided.

“Thank you, I never would have guessed.”

“I noticed these two markings too.” Snotlout pointed at identical three-pronged forks. “I’m pretty sure this one means ‘life’, and this one is ‘death’. Though Gothi might know more. She’s all about that mystic mumbo-jumbo.”

“Okay,” Astrid sighed. “We have some Norse, but a lot more other stuff.”

“This phrase looks like latin,” Fishlegs pointed to one edge.

“Non digni sunt parvis animis suis,” Tuffnut read aloud.

“You can read latin?”

“Naturally.”

“Well, what does it say?”

Tuffnut shrugged. “I don’t know. Just because I can read it, doesn’t mean I can understand it.”

Fishlegs growled, his normal easy patience turning to annoyance.

“Alright,” Astrid gathered their attention. “Looks like this isn’t just the druid language like I thought. Let’s see what we can find.”

—

It was a several hour long ordeal. Heather and Fishlegs made several runs to the library, bringing back books that had different languages to attempt to even identify the text. Eventually, Snotlout and the Twins had to go. They had jobs to keep up with. Feeling guilty that she was occupying Fishlegs and Heather’s time, Astrid shooed them off as well.

By the time she decided to call it a night and return to her room at the inn, she had found one symbol out of dozens. Just one, despite pouring over the book intensely after she’d spotted it.

Life.

That’s what she found. The matching symbol in the book had been circled in charcoal and someone had written ‘life’ next to it.

Clearly, she was not the first one to go on this journey. Who before her had found this? Finn? Or maybe this note belonged to Viggo?

Either way, she marked it on the drawing and turned in for the night.

—

That’s how she spent the rest of the week. She’d wake up, go for a flight with Stormfly, and then spend the rest of her day going page by page through the books. Within the five days of her intense study, she’d found six of the symbols. Her predecessor had found three of them as well, marking them with charcoal as she did now. Though she wasn’t able to identify the meaning of those she found herself, she noted what the other person had found.

Theft.

Possess.

Safety.

What was even more bizarre was that none of these words or symbols came from the same book. Or even the same culture! According to a note in ink at the beginning of the book, ‘Theft’ was from some place called ‘Serica,’ though she had no idea where that was.

Whoever built this spell circle was well learned and tapped into magic from all over the world.

It really just made more questions! What was the purpose of the spell circle? Was Viggo responsible, or was it there before them?

There was an argument that the spell circle itself was responsible for the curse, as The Rider had certainly had a ‘theft’ of this ‘life’ and was in Viggo’s ‘possession’.

But where did ‘safety’ fall into this?

She took the books to Fishlegs’ uncle, showing him the untranslated symbols. He was able to identify some of the languages as Cyrilic, Assyrian, and Greek, but didn’t know the meanings.

On trader day, she went to each trader (even Johann) to see if any of them could read the mysterious symbols. One trader recognized a symbol called an ‘ankh’, which meant the connection from life to death in an ancient language from North Africa.

“Ah, Miss Hofferson! A pleasure! I haven’t seen you around the last few weeks. Rumor is you’ve been busy,” said Johann.

“I have,” she confirmed. “I moved.”

“So I heard! Moved into the castle with the ominous Pale Rider! How intriguing! What is it like?”

Astrid tried not to let her heartbreak show, since she wasn’t currently able to go to the castle and missed it greatly. “It’s lovely. And the Rider is no one to be afraid of. He may appear frightening, but he’s very kind.”

“That’s the other rumor I heard! He now has control of the flow of money on the island as well?”

“He was elected as treasurer by the council, so in a way.”

Johann actually deflated a little at that. “That’s not as foreboding as I expected. But I suppose that’s for the best! Hard to do business on the island if I have to go through him first!”

“He said he wanted to meet you.”

Johann paled. “Perhaps next time! Now dear, what are you looking for? I don’t have many seeds this time of year, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine. I just wanted to pick your brain.” She held up the drawing of the spell circle. “Can you read any of this?”

“Oh dear, that looks…quite sinister. Let me see…” he took the drawing and scrutinized it. “That’s Greek, and this is Eastern Slavic…oh! This is Latin!”

“Yes, but can you read any of it?”

“I think the Latin says…” he paused, thinking it over. “‘They do not deserve their tiny souls.’ Does that help?”

Horrified by the answer, Astrid just swallowed and nodded.

“Best of luck with that, then. Seems like you’ll need it.”

She just nodded again as she rolled up the paper.

Just what had happened in that room?

—

Finally. Finally she could return! She met the Rider outside the Great Hall where he spent his afternoons most days. Either he was in council meetings, or people wanted to inquire about transferring their debts.

He lumbered out, the rest of the council dispersing slowly behind him.

She smiled at him.

“Eager are we?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to make me wait until tonight.”

“No, none of that. I’m eager to see you come home too.” He whistled sharply and Toothless roared in response. From the mountain above the Great Hall, both Toothless and Stormfly glided down and landed in the square.

Home. Astrid was going back home. It had only been a week, but it felt so much longer. She missed the little things. Curling up on the couch in the Green Drawing room in the evenings, her long talks with his family, the soft glowing flowers in her bedroom, the quiet moments with the Rider where silence held a thousand words.

She craved it. Longed for all of it.

They arrived, and the Rider held the door open for her. She took a deep breath as she stepped inside. The smell was the same, like dust, and wood, and beeswax.

The painting of Viggo was still covered from the wedding.

“I’m going to make sure dinner’s started,” said the Rider. “Why don’t you settle in?”

“In a minute,” she said, dropping her bag off by the Drawing Room. “I have work to do.”

“Work? But you just got back.”

“Yep! And I’ve gotta catch up!”

“Alright, I suppose…”

“I’ll be in the library.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you up there.”

There was a lot of uncertainty pertaining to the curse. Who was right? Who was lying? Who was a figment of her imagination? While figuring out the purpose of the spell circle could give her hints, she was certain about one thing for sure.

The Rider needed his name.

That name was somewhere in the castle, and finding it could be the key to everything. Maybe it wouldn’t solve the curse, but he deserved to have it.

She walked with purpose to the podium, resting her hands on the surface. Though driven, she hesitated with the actual question. Just asking for the Rider’s name would provide what, exactly? Probably nothing. Not if it was secret. Not if Viggo controlled the magic like she suspected.

Was she wasting time using the podium? Should she look the old fashioned way? There were too many books!

Finally, she made up her mind. “Finn Hofferson,” she requested.

The lightning struck, and left some results. Two of three census books she had read a few times before.

And then, there was a new book. A leather bound book with a metal clasp to keep it shut. It had a design of a dragon dyed in red on the front.

It almost looked like a journal or a diary.

The second she touched it, a violent cough shook her frame. It was sudden, harsh, and involuntary. The sound she made was inhuman as she fought to breathe. Something was in her lungs, and she needed it out.

Now.

She heaved, using the podium as support as she coughed and coughed and coughed.

“Astrid?!” The Rider yelled from the foyer.

She couldn’t respond, just fought with her body. The substance crawled up her throat, and Astrid held her hand over her face to catch it. Water? Phlegm?

Blood.

The Rider burst into the room just as the red liquid splattered against her hand.

“It didn’t work…” he breathed.

Astrid just looked at him, scared, upset, hurt.

He rushed to her, scooping her up off her feet and heading back down the stairs.

She didn’t fight him. She didn’t have the strength.

“I’m sorry, Astrid, but you can’t stay. Not anymore.”

“No…”

He hurried outside and called Toothless again, who appeared just as promptly as ever.

The ride back into the village was hazy, as the coughing fit had taken a lot out of Astrid, but she did feel a bit better. There were coughs, but they were minor compared to what she’d just had.

They arrived at the inn, and Eric, the Innkeeper, called out a greeting, then asked, “oh dear, did it happen again?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“The room is still open. This way.”

Astrid leaned her head on the Rider, seeking comfort. Then there was a mattress under her, as he set her down. But he moved to hold her hand, still staying by her side.

“I’ll bring some water,” Eric’s wife said.

“Could I ask one of you to see if anyone can flag down Snotlout?”

“Absolutely, lad.”

“Oh, and here.”

“Don’t worry about that now. You paid plenty the first time.”

“Rider?” Astrid asked, peeling her eyes open.

He squeezed her hand. “I’m here.”

“Why does the castle hate me?”

He moved her bangs from her face. “I don’t know. I don’t know how anyone could hate you. Just rest, my lady.”

She tried, but her heart was in turmoil. People came and went, and she didn’t acknowledge them. Snotlout came as requested, and went to fetch her bag she’d just dropped off.

She didn’t even get to unpack.

When she could breathe steadily, she pushed herself up to sit. There was some lingering weakness, but the Rider helped her prop up against the headboard.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. He dipped a handkerchief in the jug of water provided and washed the blood from her hand.

She watched him do it, her gaze following the movement, but not really seeing it. “What’s going to happen now?”

“I’ll pay for your room here for the winter. Then in the spring, we can look at getting you a home built. Maybe in our wildflower field?”

She knew he meant well. He always did. But the fact that she’d never return to the castle, that those days were over, it was too much.

“But it’s my home,” she croaked.

“I know, but—”

“I love it there! I love having meals with you in the Cedar room. And I love the long talks with your parents, and the dances in the ballroom. I love the hours we spent in the library and our games of chess. I love sparing with you, and hunting with you and walking through the gardens and I love—”

It hit her then. The true throughline. The castle was just a backdrop, a romantic scenery to what she truly loved.

“You.”

“What?”

“Rider…I love you.”

He gasped, his flames flaring, before he scoffed and turned his face away. “No you don’t. You can’t.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“No…I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe you’re confused, or hoping saying that will change my mind or—”

Astrid pushed up to her knees and leaned into his space. With one hand, she took hold of his mask, while the other rested on his chin. She closed her eyes and tore the mask away. With her fingertips, she explored the secret face hidden away from her. She found his lips, and leaned in.

And kissed him.

It was sweet and gentle, but so wonderful. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t kiss her back, likely too stunned to do anything. She slid her hand around to rest on the back of his head, fingers entangled in the softest hair. His lips were soft, and so warm. An addicting chill ran over her scalp and down her spine.

How had she not noticed? Everyone had told her she was in love, but she was so firmly in denial. How foolish! How much time she’d wasted. She didn’t know what this meant, only that it was probably more pain.

She’d happily take whatever was in store, content to know where her heart belonged.

She kept her eyes closed as she pulled away, and placed his mask back before she looked at him. “Still think I’m wrong?”

“No,” he croaked.

“Well, I guess we rule out ‘True Loves Kiss’, huh?”

He suddenly caught her up in a hug, winding his arms around her tightly and cradling her to his shoulder. He let out a shuddering breath, his fingers twining in her hair. “I’ve ruined your life.”

“What? No! No, you haven’t!”

“You shouldn’t have fallen in love with me. You could have moved on from this. You could be happy in a little cottage and—”

“Stop.” She pushed away to hold his arms. “You told me you couldn’t love. You warned me about all of this, warned me the castle could push me away, and I chose to stay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She cupped his cheek, trying to imagine the jawline she traced with her fingers. “You took very good care of me when I had no one. And no matter what happens next, I know you will continue to do so.”

He placed his hand over the one on his cheek. “Know that I would do whatever it took to let you stay, but I don’t know what that could be.”

There was a tickle in the back of her mind. A memory that had resurfaced not too long ago as she discussed everything she’d learned with her friends. It was something she had never really been able to stop thinking about.

“What about the ritual?”

“Hmm?”

“The one that…Viggo was trying to get you to perform with me. Where the curse spreads between two people?”

He tightened his grip. “Astrid, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“No, I don’t. So explain it to me. I should know.”

He sighed before dropping his hands. They came to rest on her waist, while her’s went to his shoulders. An intimate position, but she didn’t call attention to it.

“The ritual has two parts. A verbal contract, a vow of eternal loyalty. And the second part is a physical exchange.”

She barked a laugh. “Are you serious!? This whole time you had me worried, and it was over a wedding ceremony and love making!? Oh Rider…”

He shook his head. “You misunderstand. While a wedding could certainly fulfill the first part, the second…well, if it had been love making, I would have asked you a long time ago.”

“But…?”

“The physical exchange…I have to cut your heart out.”

Her throat felt dry. Certainly she misunderstood. “Like…literally?”

He nodded slowly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I have to…cut into your chest and tear out your heart…and replace it with mine. I will take yours in exchange.”

“But…won’t that kill me?” She whispered.

He nodded. “And you’ll be reborn, cursed, like me. Some memories will be erased, your appearance will change…you may lose the ability to feel certain emotions.”

Shock and horror pinned her in place, the very idea of going through with this brought dread and repulsion over her.

A time will come when you’ll have to make a great personal sacrifice. It won’t be pleasant, but it’s the only way.

Her father knew. He knew and he was trying to prepare her. This was the only way to stay in the castle.

“Now you see why I didn’t want to do it,” he said softly.

With a shaky breath, Astrid replied, “Let’s do it.”

“…what?”

“Let’s do it. Let’s perform the ritual.”

“But—!”

“If it allows me to stay in the castle, I can work on solving the curse and freeing us. It’ll only be a little while.”

“Astrid…”

“I’m ready to give you my heart, if you’ll take it.”

He was silent for far too long. If he said no, then it was over. This was their last chance.

Finally, he embraced her. “I don’t want to, but if you’re sure…let’s do it.”

#how to train your dragon #httyd #fanfiction #astrid hofferson #hiccup haddock #hiccstrid #the pale rider

20 notes · View notes

hackerqueen · 2 years ago

Text

Another Love

Chapter 3: Runaway

Previous chapter <-

warnings: none i think but if you catch any, let me know in the comments!

A week has passed. 7 days, 168 hours since I last saw Jessy. I tried not to think about it, I was absorbed in preparations for the upcoming wedding and bachelorette party. I forgot my behavior in the car and the messages from Lilly I received on the evening of the ill-fated day.

Lilly: I know it's hard for you

Lilly: I know you see him too

Lilly: But that's impossible.

MC: I won't let you make me insane. Not this time.

Lilly: I'm not saying that at all. But it's impossible that you saw him.

This message was followed by a minute of silence, followed by another heartbreaking one.

Lilly: You can't see him because he's dead

I did not reply. In fact, the blonde didn't even wait for an answer. She simply closed the newly opened wound, which was slowly sticking together.

I looked at my reflection, searching for the old sparks that I knew had left my brown eyes forever. I scanned my body clad in a red dress that reached my mid-thighs. Seen view.. was decent. I was like a rose, though not fresh and fully bloomed, but dried up. Tonight was supposed to be a good evening. I was supposed to drink, play, dance and forget about God's world. Have fun like there's no tomorrow.

I heard a loud horn of a car that approached my block. I came down and immediately recognized Dan's black Volkswagen. I walked inside and breathed a sigh of relief as I smelled a familiar scent that only reminded me of this man. It had a very distinctive perfume, and in combination with the air freshener it calmed my senses and heart.

– Well, well, well. Someone struced up like a rat for the opening of the sewer.

I looked at him with narrowed eyes, but my feigned indignation couldn't last long once I saw his expression. I burst out laughing, nudging his shoulder hard.

– Gallant as always. – Dan chuckled and drove out of the parking lot. – You know, you keep on being nice to me, and I'm going to think you like me.

The man looked at me again, his other hand lowering his sunglasses to the tip of his nose.

– Who says I don't like you, honey? – he said, deliberately lowering his voice to sound like a lover in a cheap romantic comedy

I rolled my eyes, but there was a wide smile on my face.

– Eyes on the road, Jack Daniels.

I loved those moments when I got into that car and forgot about everything. Sometimes it was friday nights, other times we disappeared for the whole weekend. There was nothing dirty or romantic about our relationship. Of course, it was true that Dan was trying his luck by asking me out to watch horror movies together two years ago, but I'd never agreed to that. We realized that our connection is only platonic and that our hearts belong to someone else. Dan was unlucky in love with Jessy. He confessed this to me six months ago when I drove him drunk from Aurora. It was our first meeting with the whole group, even though I had been living in Duskwood for a year and a half at the time. I had no contact with them all this time, because the group completely shut down. Jessy was experiencing Richy's death, Cleo and Thomas tried to help Hannah in the meantime assimilating with the whole situation. Dan told me everything. About how he tried to be there for the redhead, but she rejected him.

The pack of friends was rapidly falling apart and no one knew how to fix it. I flew to Duskwood two years ago for Richy and Jake's funeral. And I don't even know how or when I stayed here until today. I left my old Californian life behind for a small town. In the States, I had no one worth staying for. I didn't have a family, and a handful of friends accepted my decision rather quickly. I thought it would be different here. That I will start all over again.

– And here we are. – he announced in an optimistic, cheerful voice getting out of the car – I'll bring alcohol and I'll take Tommyboy on the best party in his life.

Hannah's bachelorette party was to be held at her house. It was big enough to party, and she didn't want to do that in Aurora. We walked into her place and I was immediately hit by the loud music. I said hello to each person and showed Dan where to put the crate with various alcohol. We were still standing at the kitchen counter, discussing the evening ahead. We stay here, while Thomas and his friends go to Aurora.

Finally our eyes fell on the opposite end of the room where Hannah and Thomas were. They were joking about something, looking into each other's eyes while looking so happy. They looked like fulfilled lovers who overcame many adversities to finally stand on the wedding carpet and connect for life.

– How sweet. – Dan mumbled, and I immediately sensed the irony in his voice

– You have to be a jerk your entire life. Why not take today off? – I replied teasingly as he rolled his eyes

Although we always joked and turned it into sarcasm and irony, deep down we envied them a lot. That they succeeded and we did not.

– Oh, MC, you're here! – I heard a loud scream of Cleo who came over to me and hugged me – Hi Dan. Shit, I forgot to bring my phone upstairs.

– I'll bring you. I have to go to the bathroom anyway. Will you make me a drink? – I suggested to which she immediately agreed.

I did my physiological business and went to Hannah's room where the phone was on the bed. Picking it up, I saw that she was calling and showing her mother's number. I started to head to the ground floor of the house, where I heard loud screams. Looks like they're having fun already.

– Where the fuck have you been?!

I recognized Dan's voice, who was furious. I stood on the penultimate step looking at the group of people in front of me.

– Cleo, your...

The woman turned to me, and only then I saw the person standing in front of the front door. A shiver ran down my spine and my feet dug into the ground. The man was dressed in dark colors, and the hood of a black sweatshirt slightly covered his face. But even from this distance, I knew who he was. He was a ghost who haunted me on what was supposed to be my stepping stone. He couldn't let himself be forgotten.

I saw him lift his head, look from an enraged Dan to me. I felt his blue eyes piercing me. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I heard his voice.

– Hello MC.

I knew that voice was the thorns decorating my tense body. That voice was the beginning of my end. So without thinking, I turned around and started running upstairs, leaving them all behind me.

I ran away from him although once I would run for him.

#duskwood jake #duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fandom #everbyte duskwood #duskwood jake x mc #jake duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood mc #everbyte studios #duskwood everbyte

51 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 3 years ago

Text

All Of Me Changed Like Midnight

Summary: When Elain Archeron has one disastrous night with Azriel as a teenager, the long-standing crush she'd been harboring vanishes.

Five years later, Azriel is back, and he wants to redeem that night.

Happy Halloween! It's nice to have this out of my brain.

Beta'd by @the-lonelybarricade! Read what critics are saying: HES AN ASSHOLE AND ITS MAKING ME FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM FUCK and AZRIEL IS SO MUCH BETTER WHEN HES ON HIS KNEES HNNNG

Read on AO3

Elain Archeron took a breath—and then another.

“Did…are you finished?” she asked timidly, raking her fingernails through the dark hair over her.

“I–” Azriel halted, his expression unreadable in the dark.

Oh.

Having spent the better part of a year listening to her eldest sister's soft moans from the bedroom beside hers, Elain had expected…something. More, maybe? She’d sought Azriel out on purpose—he was so handsome, her long-time crush and Cassian, Nesta’s boyfriend’s best friend. She wasn’t the only girl at school who watched him. Azriel was easily the best looking boy at school.

She’d just assumed that like Cassian, he knew what he was doing.

But maybe not.

“It’s fine,” she lied, suddenly embarrassed and frustrated. “It was—” quick? Underwhelming? Not what she expected? “Good.”

He cleared his throat, sliding himself out of her body quickly. Elain watched, rising up on her elbows. How quickly a crush could evaporate, she realized. The kissing had been good—really good, even—but everything else had happened too fast. She thought that was just passion, but she wondered now if this was just who he was. He’d gotten what he wanted, at any rate.

And some little part of her was resentful.

“You should probably go,” she whispered as he trashed that condom. He whipped around to look at her, though if it was relief or frustration, she couldn’t tell. They’d turned off all the lights.

“My dad will be home soon.”

That was a lie. Her dad would be gone all night. She’d be home alone just like she’d planned. Stupid to think Azriel could keep her up for even a third of it. She’d read too many romance books, she chided herself. This was real—he was real, and this was done.

“I’ll uh…I’ll call you?” he whispered with that midnight voice. Elain drew the blankets to her chin.

“Sure.”

She had no intention of repeating this. Once was enough, she decided. Or, some mean voice whispered in her mind, he had no intention of calling at all. Just something he told all the girls to make them feel better.

Elain just wanted him to go so she could turn on the television and pretend the whole thing never happened. He’d taken her virginity, and at least that was done. Maybe the next person would draw those sounds from her. Maybe she’d feel something besides surprise and mild discomfort.

He dressed himself quickly, as if he, too, was desperate to escape. She kept her eyes on anything but him. Even when Azriel came towards her and pressed a kiss to her forehead, Elain didn’t look.

“I’ll see you around,” he murmured, fingers stroking her cheek. Elain very gently pulled herself out of his grasp.

“Sure.” Lie, lie, lie.

And that was it. Elain waited until she heard his bike start up, the bright lights illuminating her bedroom until he pulled out of the drive. Only then did Elain make her way to the shower to clean the smell of Azriel’s masculine cologne off her body.

And forget the whole thing entirely.

[5 years later]:

Elain halted in the vestibule of the church, hands sweating at the sight of the best man. Azriel gazed down at her with cool, hazel eyes. Rehearsal, this was just practice—She didn’t know what to say to him. The last time they’d spoken was the day after their ill-fated night together. He’d asked what she was up to, she’d brushed him off, and that was that. He’d gone back to…whatever it was he did with his free time and Elain forgot all about him.

Five whole years. Had she thought he’d been a man back then? She might have laughed had she not been so nervous. She felt awkward. There had been other men since Azriel—some much better, some a lot worse—and yet he was the first.

“Elain,” he said by way of greeting. Clearly there was no awkwardness on his end. The smirk on his stunning face annoyed her.

Yeah, yeah, we had sex. So what?

She lifted her chin in the air. “Azriel.”

“Long time, no see,” he pressed, coming to stand just beside her. She glanced over at the tall, muscular man just beside her. Her heart pounded against her ribs, though that was just anxiety and nothing else. It was ridiculous how attractive he was. High cheekbones, a full, sensual mouth, and those hazel eyes that had always made her weak—set in his warm, golden brown skin. The light reflected off his inky hair, reflecting blue against this strands. He offered her his arm, revealing hands that were truly massive.

Just my type.

Had she not known what it was like to sleep with him. Elain slid her hand over the crisp material of his suit, and the pair stepped from that linoleum room into the church Nesta would be wed in. No one sat in any of the pews as they passed. This was just practice for tomorrow so everyone knew the whens and wheres.

And most importantly—no one embarrassed Nesta on the most important day of her life.

The walk seemed to stretch on for an eternity, each step aging Elain by a decade. The familiar, masculine scent of Azriel invaded her senses until she was awash in memories she’d mostly forgotten.

Add that to the general aura of danger he’d always exuded, and the tattoos peeking from the neckline of his suit, and Elain practically ran to her place on that dias. Cassain was already there, casual in comparison with his best men. When Azriel approached, her soon-to-be brother-in-law winked at his friend, a smile curling over his face.

It was all forgotten when Nesta stepped in. Dressed in a white, lacy sun dress, Nesta looked stunning.

“Fuck yes, Nes!” Cassian called over the music.

Nesta threw her hands up in the air. “You better not do that tomorrow!” Her narrowed, blue eyes seemed to gleam silver with warning. Cassian only chuckled.

“If I don’t, I’m gonna cry.”

“I think she’d prefer the crying,” Elain offered as Nesta continued her descent towards Cassian. He only looked at her, shrugging powerful shoulders. Elain was reminded that fundamentally, weddings were boring to everyone but the two people getting married, and her feet ached from the shoes she’d chosen to wear.

She kept herself from fidgeting. As the maid of honor, she set the example. If Feyre realized Elain was bored, who knew what sort of shenanigans might erupt? Elain was delighted when the whole thing was over and Nesta began splitting them up to drive to the restaurant. Elain and Feyre had come together, and Elain stupidly assumed they’d go back together.

She ought to have known Feyre never missed an opportunity to spend time with Rhysand.

“I—”

“Elain can come with me,” Azriel interrupted her smoothly, a hand resting on his stomach. “I didn’t bring the bike.”

“Perfect,” Nesta declared, turning back to Cassian. “Meet there in thirty?”

“In thirty?” Elain gasped. “The restaurant is a block away.”

“Read the room, Archeron,” Azriel murmured, putting a warm hand on her elbow. “They want to be alone. I’ll drive around the city…you can tell me what you’ve been up to since we last saw each other.”

Her heart took off again. Anxiety crept up the back of her neck, burning every inch of her skin. He led her into the warm night, vanishing into shadow for a moment. Elain, like she’d done the last time she’d seen him, kept her eyes on the concrete beneath her feet until Azriel pulled open his car door.

She slid into the leather interior, drinking in the rich, spicy smell that seemed to permeate everything he owned. Maybe she should have gone with Rhysand and Feyre. Sure, they would have spent the whole time arguing as some form of strange foreplay. Anything was better than the tension between her and Azriel.

“We could just go early,” Elain tried when he started the ignition. “Order something to eat?”

He didn’t respond to that. Azriel pulled into the hazy night traffic, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting against his own thigh.

“What have you been up to, Elain?”

Oh God. “Nothing much.”

“No boyfriend?”

She scoffed. “Is that what you wanted to know? All these years—”

“I want another night with you,” he interrupted smoothly. Elain’s stomach splattered at her feet.

“What did you say?”

“A do-over,” Azriel repeated. “To rectify my past mistakes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elain lied, forcing herself to stare at the oncoming traffic blurring past.

“No? Did you come, Elain?”

She shivered. “Oh, did we have sex once?” she lied, licking her lips. His dark chuckle forced her knees together. Elain wondered if she was trapped in some sort of incredibly vivid hallucination. Surely no one would be so bold. Certainly not the guy who had made her first time so ridiculously disappointing.

Her words had the opposite effect of humbling him. “If you’ve forgotten, then you didn’t come. Let me settle the score between us.”

“There’s no need,” she insisted, slapping a bright smile on her face. “Seriously. It’s ancient history. I never think about it.”

“You sure know how to make a man feel good about himself. My pride won’t let me forget it.”

“Have you tried therapy?” Elain asked, looking over at him. Mistake! Her brain screamed. Azriel’s eyes were so impossibly dark, that chiseled jaw clenched tight. She clenched her fingers into fists, letting her nails dig into her palm so hard it dragged her back to reality.

Azriel was determined to keep her in that in-between world. His free hand slid over her knee, warm fingers pressed against the fabric of her dress.

“Is this how you want to make it up to me?” Elain demanded, grabbing his wrist when he began pushing her gown up over her leg. His fingers continued pulling at the fabric, revealing inch after inch of skin. “In your car?”

“In my car…the restaurant…and then in my bed,” he agreed softly. “I want you on my fingers, my face, my tongue and then I’ll have you on my cock…” he trailed off as she released her grip on his wrist, half trembling at his words.

“Az—”

“Spread your legs, baby,” he murmured, the word more command than plea. “Let me see how wet you are.”

“I’m not,” she said, though her legs seemed to operate outside of her control. They spread obscenely wide. Azriel chuckled, sliding one of his fingers up the seam of her pussy.

“Liar,” he crooned, taking those wet fingers and smearing them over her lips. “Taste yourself, tell me if it's sweet.”

“Azriel,” she whispered, not daring to respond to that. His fingers were back between her legs, stroking everywhere but where she wanted him. Elain might have laughed—all talk, even after all those years apart. She swallowed, deciding she’d count to one hundred, fake her orgasm, and call it a night. She could take a cab home before he realized she was gone.

The light in front of them turned red just in time for Azriel to slide finger over her clit. Elain’s eyes flew open, head jerking to look at him.

He accessed her with a predator's gaze. “Nice try,” he whispered, leaning over the console between them to lick just behind her ear. “You can’t fake it with me.”

“Azriel,” she began, unsure what she’d even say. Pleasure bloomed low in her gut, drawn with each new circle of his lazy finger. Azriel touched her like he had all the time in the world.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised. “I love the way you say my name.”

The light flickered green, though they might have still been stopped for how his hand continued to work. How he was splitting his concentration, Elain couldn’t say.

Didn’t care, so long as he didn’t stop rubbing. She was utterly indecent, legs spread wider to give him better access to her body. He didn’t react at all—didn’t grab her hand and demand she stroke him, didn’t betray he felt any lust at all.

It was strange, but it put her at ease. She could focus on herself without worrying about him or his pleasure. Elain very much wanted to be selfish. She lifted her hips into his touch, rolling in a mimicry of fucking that she couldn’t wholly control. Instinct took over some of her actions, letting pleasure override whatever common sense urged her to stop this.

“You’re making a mess of my seat,” he chuckled, his voice low and rich—dark, like the night around them. He might have been made of ribbons of shadows, might have been fluid for how he moved against her.

“That’s it,” he whispered when she whimpered, her pleasure undeniable. “Come for me, Elain.”

His fingers sped up, moving in tight circles over her clit. Over and over, inescapable as he pushed her closer to the edge. Vaguely, Elain had some awareness that the car had stopped moving, though in truth the only thing she truly knew in that moment was him. His hands, his scent, his presence.

“You’re such a pretty girl,” Azriel whispered, his face close enough she could smell something distinctly sweet on his breath. “Come all over my hand, Elain. Be my good girl and come for me.”

That did it. Elain arched, hips bowing off the seat as she gripped his arm. Her whole body ignited, fracturing into spools of violet flecked midnight. It was pleasure and it was pain all at once, locking her body as he rode her through it.

She shoved at his hand when pleasure eroded wholly to pain. Azriel lifted his fingers obscenely to his mouth, sucking them clean with such obvious delight.

“Just like I thought,” he murmured, eyes never leaving her face.

It was jarring to see the fluorescent lights of the restaurant right in front of them. They were ten minutes early. Jesus Christ, but how long has he been fingering her? Forcing her heart to settle, Elain shoved her dress back over her knees.

“Where was that five years ago?” she demanded, wanting to humble him.

He chuckled. “What does any virgin know about pleasuring a woman?” he replied. Elain’s heart stuttered.

“Virgin?”

Some of his amusement faded into uncertainty. “Yes. You were my first.”

She had to resist running a hand down her face lest she smear her makeup. “You…but I just assumed…”

“I was eighteen,” he replied, so obviously confused. “Why would you assume I wasn’t?”

She gestured at his face helplessly. “You were so…”

“Shy?” he supplied. “Nervous around girls? Yes, I see how you would confuse that with game.”

“Cassian was—”

“Your sister was his first, and I have it on very good authority he was just as embarrassing. I wanted to rectify that night, but you wouldn’t talk to me. I suppose I know why.” He laughed, like the whole thing was funny. Elain wrenched open the car door, unsure how she felt.

Ashamed, maybe?

But that wasn’t it.

“I’m not done with you,” Azriel called when she stepped into the darkness. She slammed the door in his face, shivering all the same.

It was want. Pure, undiluted want that was flooding through her. Elain was grateful when she saw Nesta’s friends Emerie and Gwyn sitting inside when she arrived. She planted herself between Mor and Emerie, facing Gwyn so there was no room for Azriel to sneak himself beside her and continue his torment. If it bothered him, Azriel gave no indication. He holed up at the end of the table, ordering a drink with a smirk that sent the waitress running to fill his order.

Ass.

Cassian and Rhys weren’t far behind, joining their friend while the rest of the bridal party squeezed together. Elain could almost forget what had happened in the car. Watching Mor flirt with Emerie certainly helped soothe the buzzing between her legs. And the waitress was so shamelessly flirting with Azriel and Rhys that Elain could pretend this was just who Azriel was. He’d gotten to finger her in the car and now he was trying his luck with the waitress, too.

And maybe that was what prompted her to take that first shot of tequila from Mor.

And the second.

And then the third.

Elain didn’t dare do anymore—she was pleasantly tipsy. Any more and she’d be drunk and who knew what she’d do then. Climb into Azriels lap and rub herself against him like a cat in heat was her guess.

She excused herself for the bathroom, phone in hand. She had the app to Uber open when she pulled open the single stall door, intending to slip out before anyone realized she was gone.

That proved difficult when a large, tattooed hand slammed against the wood. Azriel slipped between the crack, locking the pair of them in with amused eyes.

“Give me your phone,” he murmured, holding out his palm. What was wrong with her? She handed it over, letting him see the app open.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, sliding it into his pocket as he paced towards her. Elain stepped back, until she was pressed against the wall just beside the door.

“Home?”

“With me,” he reminded her, dragging his lips over her neck. “Or have you forgotten?”

“I think I forgot,” Elain lied. He lifted his head, nose brushing her own. It was a game—one he wanted her to play along.

“Do you need a reminder?” he asked her, kissing the corner of her mouth. She wanted him to kiss her fully—she remembered how good he’d been at that. Azriel denied her, instead sliding down her body until he was kneeling in front of her.

Elain’s breath caught in her throat. She typically had to beg a man to go down on her. Even when Azriel had said he wanted her to come on his face, she’d chalked that up to the usual male bravado. All men talked a good game—even if they were good with their hands and their cocks, they were typically shitty with their mouths.

Azriel pushed her dress back up over her hips before reaching for her knee and hauling it up over her shoulder. Elain could barely breathe, watching him press feather soft kisses over her sensitive, aching skin. He never took his eyes off her, watching her every little reaction.

“This, I remember,” he said, staring at her body through the pair of pink lacy panties. He rubbed his nose over the fabric, teasing her until she couldn’t stand it.

Azriel pushed the fabric aside with nimble, clever fingers. “Look at your pretty, perfect pussy,” Azriel murmured when she was bared beneath his gaze.

“Az—”

“I was trying to find something on that shitty menu I wanted to eat,” he continued, eyes laser focused between her legs. “Looks like I found it.”

“Az—” her soft plea choked into a soft, garbled cry when his tongue slicked over her clit without warning or preamble.

“Spread your legs, baby. Let me look at you,” Azriel ordered, keeping her suspended on one foot. Elain did as he asked, earning a soft swear of appreciation. His tongue slid up the center of her cunt, robbing Elain of all rational thought for the second time that night.

“I thought I’d lose my mind,” Azriel continued, teasing the tip of his tongue over swollen, sensitive flesh. “I was seconds from crawling under that table.”

Elain arched into his face, raking her hands through his thick, dark hair while his own fingers kneaded the soft flesh of her thighs. It only heightened her pleasure. He’d avoided touching anything but her clit and Elain was desperate to know what it would feel like to be penetrated by him again.

Her eyes fluttered shut, giving way to that fantasy. She remembered the thick, long appendage hanging between his legs. She’d been so nervous about it back then.

Now she wanted him to split her open with his cock. If he’d flipped her around, told her to grab the edge of the sink, and pushed into her, Elain would have presented her ass gratefully. He didn’t—instead, Azriel plunged his tongue into her wet, tight channel and Elain had to bite back a scream.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered, his dark voice echoing around her. “Don’t let me catch you close them.”

She couldn’t tell him that she’d been fantasizing about him—not when that tongue slid back up her center, taunting and teasing her clit until she was breathless.

“Tell me the truth about something, Elain,” he murmured, pulling his mouth off her again. Thumbs hooked into the lips of her pussy, pulling her open wider for his scorching gaze. “Are you being fucked well? All these years apart…have you been taken care of?”

She whimpered, arching into him in an attempt to get him to lick her again. Azriel only chuckled.

“That’s what I thought. Criminally underfucked.”

Elain yanked at his hair, dragging him back to her pussy with as much force as she could muster. Azriel laughed, so ridiculously handsome the sight merely heightened her pleasure. Still, he didn’t bring his tongue back.

“Tell me what you want,” Azriel whispered, kissing everywhere but where she needed him.

“Please, Azriel,” she pleaded.

“Please what, Elain?”

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. Azriel offered her one slow, languid lick before he stopped again. She whimpered, hating how badly she needed this. How every protest she’d made before now was a proven, bald-face lie.

“You want me to lick your pussy until you come?” he teased, replacing his tongue with the pad of his thumb. He rubbed torturously slow circles, the sort that kept the arousal humming between her legs without doing enough to bring her to the edge. That finger teased down her pussy, pressing against her opening without pushing inside.

Elain wanted him to fuck her so bad she couldn’t think straight.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to come all over my tongue?”

“Yes,” she whined, bucking her hips.

He pulled away his thumb, instead plunging two of his fingers into her body without warning or preamble. Elain had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming. It was enough to convince Azriel to go back to licking, even as he pumped those fingers in and out of her body. It wasn’t enough and yet it was—it was enough to pretend it was his cock in her body, to get the phantom feel of what it would be like to grip him again.

He groaned, rubbing his tongue over her again and again until Elain was trembling, was losing herself to hot, sparkling darkness.

“Az, please—”

He sucked his lips around her clit and Elain was gone. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep the restaurant from knowing what they were doing. Azriel’s fingers curled inside her body, rubbing over more sensitive flesh. There was no reprieve—one vicious orgasm became two. He was feral, hungry and Elain was greedy. She was all too happy to let him take what he wanted, to let him keep her pinned against that wall until she was boneless and sated.

He pulled away when she whimpered, her pleasure edged with pain again.

He was on his feet in a blur, his mouth slanting over her own. “I’m not done with you,” he growled, teeth nipping at her bottom lip in order to gain entrance to her mouth. Elain whined at the taste of her arousal on his tongue, the musky sweetness of it invading her senses.

“It’s too much,” she panted, positive there was no way she’d be able to come again.

Azriel’s hand closed around her neck, tilting her head as he squeezed gently. “You’ll take what I give you.”

Elain nodded her head up and down. What else could she say? She wanted him—and he knew it. There was no use pretending, no sense in denying whatever was happening between them. His fingers tightened ever so slightly in direct opposition to the sweet kiss he pressed against her mouth.

“You’re my good girl, aren’t you Elain?”

“Yes,” she panted, sliding her hands up his chest. “Let me prove it.”

She tried to slip to her knees, but Azriel held her by the neck, eyes flashing. “Don’t tempt me,” he warned.

“I want to taste you,” she whispered. Azriel lowered his face, sliding his nose against her own.

“If you put your lips around my cock, I’ll fuck you against the bathroom stall.”

“I don’t see how—”

“I want to fuck you in my bed,” he continued, ignoring her words entirely. “Over, and over, and over,” he added, punctuating each word with a sensual, bruising kiss. Elain was practically dripping down her thighs and she suspected he knew it.

“Now be my good girl and go back out there like I didn’t just eat your pussy within an inch of your life,” he ordered, caressing her cheek. “And when it’s time to leave, you’ll let me drive you home. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

Azriel smiled.

“Good.”

Walking back to the table was hell, though. Elain was certain everyone would know. They’d take one look at her and recognize what happened. She supposed that was the magic of alcohol. Everyone was too drunk and wrapped up in their own world to notice her.

Her chair had been commandeered by Mor, and Cassian and Nesta had rearranged themselves so Elain found herself exactly where she’d once hoped to avoid.

Beside Azriel.

He slid beside her after waiting an appropriate amount of time—perhaps thinking the same thing she had. No one noticed his return, laughing and talking over the televisions blaring and the other patrons.

Azriel reclined in his chair, reaching for his half finished beer. Elain waved away the server when she offered Elain something stronger than water. She wouldn’t risk going numb just for the sake of her friends.

Scooting her chair as close to the table as she dared, she watched Rhys pull out a deck of cards.

“Deal me in,” she agreed, smiling at a doe-eyed Feyre. Azriel, too, nodded as he pulled out his wallet.

“Is it that kind of night?” Cassian asked, scooting closer as he drew out his own money. Nesta merely clicked her teeth, warning him not to lose too much, which earned laughter from both Rhys and Azriel.

Elain had no interest in playing, even when Azriel politely offered her up a twenty dollar bill.

“Thank you,” she murmured, because the table would expect her to. She put her hand on his knee and squeezed, noting how stiff he went. She wasn’t allowed to suck him? Fine. She accepted that might be too much for him—but surely she could tease him through his pants.

Elain was too pleased to find him bruisingly erect. Azriel’s face was impassive, eyes locked on his cards. He gave nothing away, though he did lean his elbows onto the table, concealing her hand further. Elain rubbed the heel of her hand against him, pleased with how he jumped towards her hand.

Not so unaffected after all. Elain folded her hand, unaware of what cards she even held. It wasn’t her money—and she didn’t care if she won or if she lost so long as he didn’t move.

“Read and weep, boys,” Azriel murmured, the utter smug bastard. Rhys and Cassian rolled their eyes, while Elain handed over her money.

“Keep it,” Azriel told her. “Play another round.”

One round turned to three, turned to five. Elain kept her up with her steady, slow teasing while Azriel continued to clean out his friends. He didn’t betray what was happening beneath the table and Elain might have thought he was unbothered had she not felt how his cock pressed against his pants.

It was Nesta who ended the night, declaring herself exhausted. Elain removed her hand, confirmed the details for tomorrow, and then just as she’d said she would, agreed to let Azriel drive her home.

She wondered how he’d managed to conceal his cock as they walked, his hand gentle against the small of her back as she guided her towards his car. Anyone might have thought him a gentleman ensuring Elain remained steady on her feet.

She wasn’t half as drunk as the stumbling, laughing Mor. Elain was perfectly fine up until Azriel got into his car, grabbed her by the back of the neck, and began kissing her like he needed her mouth to breathe.

“Clever little thing,” he moaned, sliding his tongue between her teeth. “Trying to make me come in my pants.”

“Could you have?” she wondered, grasping either side of his face to kiss him back.

More, she needed more—

“Yes,” he groaned, hips bucking against nothing. “You were driving me to madness.”

“No one could tell,” she informed him, disappointed when he released her to start his car. Azriel glanced over at her.

“Are you worried your friends will find out?”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to distract from Nesta’s wedding.”

He nodded. “And after Nesta’s wedding?”

Elain scoffed. “Are you asking me out?”

It was Azriel’s turn to shrug, uncertainty sliding over him like a cloak. How could he have his hand around her neck one minute and then next seem so nervous over asking her out?

“What if I was?”

“I guess it would depend on how tonight goes?”

Azriel grinned. “Start thinking about wedding venues, then, Elain.”

Her jaw dropped. “You—”

“I’m not eighteen anymore,” was his smooth, irritating reply. Elain was tempted to tell him she didn’t want to sleep with him now. That he was far too cocky for her liking—as if that were true. Crossing her arms over her chest, Elain let the pair of them fall into silence. Whatever Azriel thought of eluded her, though she wondered if he wasn’t doing the same thing she was.

Comparing her to all his past lovers. Elain hadn’t had many, and truly none were worth thinking about other than her longest boyfriend.

Graysen.

They’d dated for three years in college, breaking up just in time to graduate. How he’d wrecked her heart with his declaration that despite everything he’d said to the contrary, he actually did not want to get married.

A lie, given the last time she’d peeked at his instagram, he was engaged to some pretty, tan blonde. What a slap in the face, although, in retrospect, maybe it was for She’d thought Graysen was as good as it would ever get. It almost made her laugh.

Almost.

There was still time for Azriel to disappoint her. She thought about it the entire walk into his building. He slid his fingers between her own, holding her hand as they stepped into the elevator, and then his apartment.

Clean, dark, masculine. It was exactly what Elain expected. Her heels clipped over the hardwood, her arm draped over his shoulder as he led her into his large, neat bedroom. The sound of the closed door was loud.

They faced each other, waiting for the other to speak. What could she say?

Don’t fuck this up?

That old crush was back in full force. Tall, dark, handsome Azriel was looking down at her with those beautiful, hazel eyes. She had the benefit of knowing what it felt like to come at his whim, at least. Even if the sex was disappointing, Elain could replaced that first memory with the car and the bathroom.

The score between them was settled, whether he agreed or not.

She went to him, kicking off her heels as she did. He caught her around the middle, holding her against his chest as she kissed him. There was an unhurried quality to the way his mouth moved against her own—like they had nothing but time. That wasn’t quite true. Elain needed to be at the hotel her sister would be staying by six am if she wanted to help Nesta get ready.

Elain slid her fingers up his chest, finding the buttons of his shirt. Azriel didn’t seem to realize she was undoing them until she pulled the rest of the fabric out of his pants. He groaned when her nails raked lightly down his bare skin, prompting him to shuck off his tie, his jacket, his shirt.

She was already undoing his belt. She just wanted to see him like he’d been looking at her.

“Elain,” he moaned when the belt clattered to the floor. She pushed, knocking him against the door. Pressing a sucking kiss against the hollow of his throat, she licked down the length of his body until it was her turn to kneel between his parted thighs. She undid the clasp of his pants with her teeth, just to show off a little.

“Who taught you that little trick?” he demanded, raking his fingers through her hair.

“Jealous?” she taunted, yanking his pants and his briefs over his hips.

“Burning with it, baby.”

She shook her head. He was so ridiculous—so lovely and stupid all at once. Elain licked the underside of his cock, drawing a ragged moan from his throat. It was Azriel’s term to tremble, to be made boneless and needy beneath her touch. There was something erotic about having the powerful man over her need her the way she needed him.

She was tempted to ask him if he was going to be good for her, too. She suspected if she took it too far, he’d drag her to the bed by her hair…and she’d like it far too much to put up any sort of fight.

“Baby, let me take you to the bed—-” his words choked into another moan. Elain licked the precum from the slit of his cock, swirling theatrically. Azriel stroked his fingers through her hair, rubbing at her scalp as he panted. He was loud, here. Loud and desperate and so utterly sexy she had her thighs pressed together in an effort to alleviate some of the arousal she couldn’t get rid of.

Elain took his cock into her mouth, unable to manage more than half of him before she began gagging.

“Just like that, Elain,” he praised, hips thrusting ever so slightly. “Look at how pretty you are choking on my cock.”

It was her turn to moan. Dirty talk was so often cringy and embarrassing—but when Azriel said it, Elain was reduced to nothing but a wet mess.

Azriel held her face in his broad hands, carefully fucking her throat with his cock. Ropes of saliva pulled with each sucking pass, and though she’d meant to be the one in charge, somehow Azriel had wrangled control of the situation.

“Fuck, Elain, your pretty mouth…”

She hummed her approval, earning another loud groan for her effort. If he wasn’t going to make her bob her head up and down, the least she could do was suck and lick as much of his hard, swollen skin she could get into her throat.

He pulled himself out of her with what she swore was a whimper. “I’ll come in that pussy the first time or not at all,” he panted, hauling her up by her elbows. Azriel kicked out of his pants and shoes, tugging her dress until she heard the fabric tear. He didn’t care that she had nothing to wear out of his place, not as she reached around for the zipper he’d neglected and pulled it down.

“Asshole,” she whispered. Azriel pushed her to the bed.

“You like it,” he replied, chasing after her up his neatly made bed. Elain was the one who removed her bra, unwilling to risk the expensive piece of clothing on his demanding hands.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, drinking in the sight of her. Azriel reached for the bedside table and flipped on a lamp, bathing her in hazy, warm light. “Look at how fucking gorgeous you are.”

She spread her legs wide enough to let him sit between them, his gaze a brand against her naked skin. Unclothed, Elain could see nearly every inch of him was covered in dark ink. One day she’d sit him down and make her tell him the story behind each one—though she suspected she’d hear I liked it, more often than she got some cute, well-thought out memory.

Azriel’s calloused hands covered her breasts, lips parted in absurd awe.

“Stop it,” Elain demanded, slightly embarrassed. He tugged at her nipples, drawing a gasp for his trouble.

“I won’t,” he told her, petulant even as he rubbed his cock over her stomach. “I’ve never seen anyone half as beautiful.”

“We’ve had sex before,” she reminded him, using her own hand to grip him as he rubbed against her. Azriel’s eyes rolled into his head.

“Then you understand my desperation to have you again.”

“It was one night,” she whispered.

Explain this to me.

Azriel held her gaze before lowering his mouth to her aching, peaked nipples. “Maybe for you. Not for me. I can’t risk you leaving me again.”

Oh.

“I don’t think I’ll get another chance,” he added, licking her skin. Elain arched into him, just as desperate. She felt wild, out of control. All she knew was if he stopped touching her, she’d fracture into thousands of splintering pieces.

They’d never put her together again. Some little part of her would always be hidden beneath his bed or tucked against his breast pocket.

Elain raked her fingers through his thick, dark hair while Azriel took his time sucking and nipping at her breasts.

“Azriel,” she whined, rubbing her hips against the thigh he had lodged between her legs.

“I know baby,” he whispered, breath hot against her wet skin. “I feel it, too.”

She was trying so hard to get him to slide himself into her. Azriel’s iron control seemed to snap when she dragged her dripping wet pussy over the bare skin of his thigh. He pressed his forehead between her breasts, arranging himself so his cock slicked through her. Elain moaned, gripping his forearms tightly.

“Azriel, please,” she begged.

He pushed himself in and in and in, robbing Elain of what little breath was left in her lungs. The stretch of him was exquisite, filling her until there was no space left—only Azriel. He held himself over her, watching her adjust to accommodate the sheer size of him.

“That’s it,” he praised, careful not to crush her beneath the weight of his body as he kissed. “You take my cock so well.”

Elain dragged her nails down his back. “More,” she panted, pleading for him to give her everything.

Azriel rolled his hips, gripping her waist to hold her steady. Elain locked her legs around him, arching with each new thrust so he could drive himself into her deeper. It was what she wanted, to feel him so completely the memory of him lingered for days afterwards.

His soft, slow strokes quickly yielded to near vengeful, furious thrusts.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he moaned, pulling at her hair to arch her neck upwards. His teeth scraped the sensitive skin, lips sucking near bruising kisses. Elain whined in response, taking everything he gave her, just like he’d said she would.

It was almost enough—but not quite. Sweat dripped from Azriel as he worked, pulling as much pleasure out of her with his cock as he could. He held her gaze, watching each breathless moan, each drag of her nails against his skin.

And when he realized she needed more, he slid his hand between their bodies and began rubbing at her swollen clit. Elain couldn’t help the series of moans that escaped her, each louder than the last. Azriel drew up on his knees, hosting her legs over his shoulder so he could fuck her while rubbing unimpeded.

“That’s it,” he managed, unaware of how close she was. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel how bad you need me.”

She clenched around him, his fingers rubbing tighter and tighter circles. It was too much. She’d never come so hard or so often in her life—and this was no expectation. Elain screamed, convulsing around him. Feel planted against his chest, he held her in his hands while she bowed and bucked, trying to both get closer and escape the onslaught of pleasure.

Azriel whined, his own hips erratic. A flop of dark hair shielded his eyes like shadows, hiding the moment he, too, came. He was no quieter, erupting like some long forgotten, dark god. Elain swore she came again at the sight alone. He was so stunningly beautiful.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Azriel struggled to catch his breath, falling over her to clutch her against him. Elain didn’t dare move, still coming down.

“I think you managed it,” she whispered, kissing his cheek.

“Oh? Is this redemption, then?” he half teased. The look in his eyes told her he was still nervous. Elain smoothed his hair from his forehead.

“If you want it,” she agreed solemnly.

“I do,” he whispered, lips against her jaw. “I want it so bad, Elain.”

“Ask me out, then,” she murmured, holding his gaze.

“Let me take you out tomorrow…and the next night…and the next night,” he added, some of his smugness returning.

She flicked his cheek.

But Elain agreed all the same.

“Done.”

#am i allowed to tag this?#it feels like im not #elain archeron #azriel #im just gonna trust the right people to find it #you gotta suffer 600 words of angst to get to the smut #just trust me #anyway #happy halloween!

107 notes · View notes

angry-geese · 4 years ago

Text

OSHA Non Compliance

Nanami Kento x Reader

Warnings: nsfw/minors do not interact. shameless smut. fingering, oral (fem and masc receiving), face riding, praise kink (kinda), multiple orgasms, mutual pining. gojo slander. a little dub con due to the sex pollen stuff. afab reader

Notes: some sex pollen smut with Nanami. i have a post thats pretty similar to this thats a gojo x reader which you can read here

Word Count: 3.3k

If there's one thing you two can agree on, it's how this is all Gojo’s fault.

The job was supposed to be simple; get in, exorcise the curse, get out. It wasn't a particularly deadly one, but it was proving to be difficult for lower grade sorcerers. Anyone who had come into contact with it fell violently ill, suffering effects that lasted between hours to days. The symptoms themselves varied from person to person. Nobody seemed to give a straight answer.

In response, you two were sent out.

As odd as it was, you didn't question it. Curses are odd, things like this happen. Two grade one sorcerers should have been enough to take this thing out. One alone should have been enough, not to mention the army of sorcerers sent after it before. Gojo wanted you to take backup just in case, shrugging you off when you asked why he couldn’t do it himself. You were certain you could take this alone, but he was insistent.

Reluctantly you dragged Nanami along.

The two of you weren't officially partners, but most of your jobs were done together. It was a mutual agreement. He found you much less annoying than Gojo. That's not to say he didn't find you annoying at first, but you were more tolerable. Nanami wasn’t much older than you—only by a few years—but he acted as a mentor when you first started out. You quickly improved, nearly rivaling him in strength. It wasn't long before you became a grade one sorcerer, same as him. On that day he was there to celebrate with you.

He likes to think you’ve turned out to be a semi-functional human being. Maybe he’s gotten sentimental as he’s grown older. He hated for his work life to cross over into his home life, but he’s made an exception for you. Any time you’d call, he’d come running.

The curse had taken up residence in an abandoned school, only being discovered when the building was being surveyed for possible reuse. You’re not sure why nobody had noticed it sooner, but you’ve learned not to question a curse’s behavior.

It’s attack had a strange area of effect. You've never seen anything like it. The fact that such a non-lethal curse was considered such a high grade should have tipped you off in the first place. The curse released some strange sort of fumes. Or spores. You really weren't certain what they were. It was airborne and you knew that you needed to stay far away.

While the direct hit missed you, you were still affected. You took in a lung-full of the stuff before you managed to get away.

If it weren't for Nanami…

You barely make it back to the car. You’re not injured, so much as you’re lightheaded, and nauseous.

“I’m not going to make it back to the school.” You say.

“Are you hurt?” He asks.

Slowly you shake your head. It's not wrong, per se, but it's not right either. This is a strange type of hurt.

Your apartment is closer. The drive was twenty minutes on the way there; you make it back in about eight.

You’re not sure what to do once you get inside other than contemplate your life choices. You toss your keys and bag aside. There's not much you can do aside from flop down on your couch and pray. Not that you’re the praying type normally, but what could it hurt?

The effects of the pollen seem to hit you all at once. The sickly sweet taste in your mouth makes you gag. You fall to your hands and knees and retch, but nothing comes up. If you thought you felt bad before, you definitely do now. Sweat beads on your forehead. You feel jittery, yet lethargic. Heat radiates off your skin like a furnace. Your mouth has gone dry. Your clothes feel too tight. You’d claw them off your body if your partner wasn't sitting a few feet away.

You swallow hard as heat begins to pool between your legs. You shift uncomfortably, trying to get some relief.

While you’re slowly losing it, Nanami looks fine. As calm and collected as ever.

Nanami didn't seem to get the brunt of that attack. Or maybe he's better at hiding it than you.

He is.

He’s been dealing with an aching cock since you two left that building. He was all-too aware of every corner and bump on the ride home. You were too busy trying to escape with your dignity to notice him, and the tent that grows in his pants. He covers his lap with his suit jacket. You think nothing of it.

He studies every dip and curve of your clothed body. They cling to your skin with sweat in a way that makes his cock throb. Nanami knows how wrong it is. He shouldn't feel this way. You're his damn partner! Looking at you this feels so wrong.

In an attempt to comfort you, he smooths a hand across your back, gently squeezing your shoulder. Sweat beads in your hairline. Your chest heaves.

“I don't think it’s something we can wait out,” you say, swallowing hard.

“What are we-” it’s as if he didn't realize what he was asking. His eyes go wide, before his gaze shoots straight to the ground.

“‘Ken-” You say, hoping he can't hear the way your voice trembles, “I feel like I’ll die if you don't touch me.”

It's with a sinking, horrifying feeling that he agrees. Slowly you climb into his lap. It feels wrong. But your body fits perfectly against his. He’s your partner—your friend—you shouldn't be wanting him this way. He’s pliant against your touch, moving with you, paying close attention to each and every one of your movements. Every cell of your being wants him to fuck you.

“I know.” He says. “Me too.”

He hauls you into his arms, setting you down on the couch back-first. The sudden weightlessness you feel makes you gasp. There's nothing gentle behind his touch. Your hands work to undo the buttons of his shirt, but they tremble so bad it's hard to do.

“Don't worry about that.” He coos. "Let me take care of you."

With shaky hands he undoes the buttons on your pants, sliding them down your legs. His face heats up at the way your panties are already soaked through. All this just for him?

He tries not to stare too long. If you were the only thing he looked at for the rest of his life, he'd be content.

He strokes at your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. He almost seems afraid to touch you. For a moment he is, but that quickly wears off when you moan. He can't help but watch the way you squirm and writhe under his touch. How the delicate fabric clings to your skin from how wet you are. He hates how much he enjoys seeing you like this. It feels wrong.

“Please,” there’s a hazy look in your eyes.

He swallows hard. You’re not thinking straight, he thinks, this is so wrong.

He pulls down your panties, throwing them aside with your pants. You tug off your shirt, quickly tossing it aside. His hands come up to palm at your breasts through the fabric of your bra. He gently tugs the fabric down, exposing your breasts. Your nipples harden in the cool air. As wrong as it feels, you would be lying if you said your partner wasn't attractive. Not only is he handsome, and one of the most powerful sorcerers you have met, he was a close—if not your closest—friend.

Nanami’s touches are feather-light. It's not that he's worried about hurting you—though the fear of that is there—he doesn't want this to ruin your friendship. He doesn't want you to view him differently because of this. The two of you have gone through much together; he doesn't want this to make things awkward. He’s just wanted you for so long.

He never intended for his work life to cross over into his home life. That was until you came along. Nanami can't imagine a life without you around.

Two of his fingers press against your entrance, his thumb circling your clit. His fingers are long, and fairly thick. Only one enters you at first, but you’re wet enough he adds a second one not long after. His fingers curl, stroking against your g-spot. His touch feels like too much yet not enough. You desperately grind against his hand, chasing your own release.

If he can just get you to finish, maybe he can wait it out. You’ve clearly got it worse than him. Right?

He pulls you up into a kiss. His lips taste sweet. Your lips part, allowing his tongue into your mouth. His chest presses against yours. Your thighs tighten around his hand, though not in an attempt to stop him.

Heat pools low in your stomach, slowly building in intensity. You moan into Nanami's mouth. You're reduced to a whining, whimpering mess under his hand.

His free hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your head so your gaze meets his. A sleepy grin spreads across your face. The pad of his thumb brushes over your glossy lips. In a moment of lucidity you wrap your lips around it, swirling your tongue around the digit.

Nanami almost forgets how to breathe. Nobody can get him nearly as flustered as you can.

The coil in your stomach snaps. If you knew how much you gushed around Nanami's fingers, you'd be blushing. Your cunt clenches around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm on his hand.

Your first orgasm provides no relief. In a matter of seconds—probably less time than that if you're being honest—you're ready for another round.

You work the last few buttons of his shirt open before he gets impatient and pulls the thing over his head. You let out an audible “oh!” at the sight of his chest. It's more toned than you expected; not that you’ve given it much thought.

“Like what you see?” He says in a sudden moment of boldness that it surprises both of you.

You nod. Now really isn't the time to be shy, but you can't help it.

He's painfully hard, his erect cock leaking precum against his thigh. The tent in his pants is impressive to say the least. You get on your knees, tugging his pants down his hips. You were right to notice his bulge. He's huge. Long and thick. Uncut too. The hairs towards the base of his cock are light—a similar sandy blonde as the hair on his head—and neatly trimmed. He always takes care of himself. A prominent vein runs up the bottom. A small pang of guilt hits you when you realize how needy his cock looks. His chest, the tips of his nose and ears, and the head of his cock are all dusted with pink. He looks at you with such adoration it makes your chest flutter.

You slide off the couch, getting on your knees. Nanami parts his legs just enough for you to kneel between them.

His eyes go wide the moment your lips touch his cock. You press kitten licks to the tip, watching the way his lip twitches in frustration. Nanami’s hands bury in your hair. The feeling of his nails raking against your scalp makes goosebumps raise along your skin. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you stroke with your hands. Saliva runs down your chin in streams, tears stained black with eyeliner streaming down your cheeks.

The only sign that he’s about to orgasm is the way he tilts his head back, cursing.

When he cums, he cums a lot. It's thick, but runny, and has almost no taste to it at all. His cum spills out the corners of your mouth when you pull off of him, releasing him with a pop!

Without thinking, you swallow.

With how long he stares down at you, it almost seems like you’ve done something wrong.

You can't stop the squeak you let out as he hauls you into his lap. He lays back, guiding your hips so you’re kneeling above his face.

“What are you-”

“It’s only fair that I return the favor,” he says.

No matter how hard you try, he doesn't let you wriggle out of his grasp.

“I- I don't want to suffocate you.” You say.

The amount of his testicles Nanami would cut off just to get a taste of your cunt… He’ll give you a hint, it's more than one and less than three.

“You won't.” He said. Even if you could—which you couldn't, he’s stronger than he looks—he’d die happy.

Your thighs cradle his head in an almost perfect way. There's almost no better feeling. His tongue dips between your folds, circling your clit. You taste sweet, he notes. A kiss is pressed to your clit before long, slow strokes of a hot tongue lavish it in affection. He kneads your thighs gently all while alternating between licking and sucking on your bundle of nerves.

He wants nothing more than to take his time with you. After all, he’s got years to make up for.

You can feel and hear him panting against your dripping sex. He can do little to hide the way he grinds his bulge against the couch. He grunts when you tug his hair, guiding him to where you need him most.

There's a feeling of emptiness as you cum, your walls contracting around nothing where something should be. You ride out your orgasm with a series of short, high pitched moans, rocking your cunt against his mouth. Nanami takes all of it in stride, lewdly slurping at your sex. Your thighs shake, your cunt spasming as he continues to press kitten licks to your clit.

And god- the sight of his face; his lips wet and slick from your cunt, eyes hazy with lust, his hair a mess.

"It's no use." You say. It's in-between whimpers and moans. Even as your second orgasm approaches, you feel no sense of relief. "I need your cock."

He feels himself twitch with need. His cock barely went soft the first time he came. Nanami wants nothing more than to sink his length into your warm, wet cunt.

He doesn't bother carrying you to your room. He would have fucked you in the car if you asked. He’d fuck you on every flat surface of your apartment if you wanted him too.

His cock presses against your entrance, rubbing at your folds. He doesn't mean to tease you, he just wants to drag this out as long as he can. You're so wet you take his cock with no resistance. He groans at the feeling of your cunt as you sink onto him.

Cumming on his tongue is intoxicating, but it feels like nothing in comparison to his cock. Nothing substitutes for the hot, full sensation of his cock inside of you. You string together words in some desperate attempt to make a sentence. Being completely filled is making you woozy. Nanami fits just so well inside of you. It's like you were made for this. You're not sure if it's the pollen, or just him, but you can feel every ridge and vein on his cock.

"Can't believe-" he huffs, "can't believe you got tighter after cumming twice."

"Please Ken," you whimper.

It hurts, but it feels too nice to stop. Nanami can't tear his eyes away from the way your tits bounce as you ride him. The sounds of skin slapping on skin echo through the room, mingling with his grunts and your moans, creating a lewd cacophony.

"Fuck," he says, his seemingly calm demeanor fading, "you're so fucking pretty."

Gojo would give him shit about this for weeks if he knew…

You're starting to think he meant to do this.

"I'm going to kill him," you say, although it's hard to stay mad for long.

“Me too,” he says.

Your orgasm rolls over you like a wave, throwing you around and spitting you back out, leaving you an absolute mess. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Eyeliner runs down your face in streams, leaving black trails across your skin. It's the first time you've cum from g-spot stimulation alone. But it's also the same as the other two times you've cum: you're ready for another round instantly.

At some point in time Nanami gets on top. Your legs lock around his back, pulling him in. Maybe you blacked out. Exhaustion creeps into your limbs, leaving them sore and wobbly.

Nanami thrusts harder, trying to quell the fire that pits in his stomach. He doesn't warn you that he's coming. If he's being honest, he didn't know he was either. You just feel hot ropes of his cum fill you, spilling out, staining your couch. When he cums, his cock doesn't even go soft. If anything he’s harder. Almost instantly he’s ready for another round. He's never felt anything quite like this.

The sensation of his cum dripping out of you, running down your thighs in streams is bizarre. There's so much of it. You don't want him to stop. He brings a hand down to give your ignored clit some attention. His spare hand wipes your tears away, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek.

Even as he's made you cum for the nth time tonight he doesn't stop. The two of you can only fuck and cum until you're no longer sure where your body ends and his begins. It doesn't feel like enough. You’ve never been so full. He wants to cum in you and breed you until your womb is swollen with his child.

At some point he collapses from exhaustion—he thinks—and he's certain the two of you are going to die. No human can survive this, he thinks, that's impossible.

Neither of you died.

It could be minutes, it could be hours; by the time you wake up the sun has set completely. You're not sure what time it is, but judging by how long the sky's been dark, it must have been a while. Nanami snores softly, his drool pooling in the valley between your breasts. You card a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. One of his eyes cracks open. He can't tell if he’s dreaming or not. If he is, then this is too good to be true.

"You still with me?" You ask.

He nods.

You're cradled chest to chest, his heartbeat as steady and alive as ever. He pulls out slowly, admiring the mess between your thighs. Even in his sobering state he finds you truly beautiful. From the way your skin glints with sweat to the way you run your tongue over your parched lips. You stretch out, trying to work the stiffness out of your limbs. You’re certain you’ll be sore in the morning.

Nanami disappears into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water. What you could really use is a shower.

If you want, he'll never mention this again. He's starstruck by your naked form, his cum dripping down your thighs. Part of him wants to see you like this every night. But that might still be the pollen talking.

He's sputtering out an apology; stringing words together in hopes of begging for your forgiveness.

"I didn't think that's how it'd happen," you say, shrugging, "but…"

You really can't complain. Everyone but Nanami seemed to realize how head over heels you were for each other.

"You… liked it?" He asks.

If you didn't like it, he would know. Nanami can't believe it.

"Minus the nearly dying part." You say. "I've spent the past year and a half trying to get in your pants. So yeah."

Instantly his face turns red. How has he not noticed? He's both mortified, and relieved that you feel the same—or at least similar to him. Then the embarrassment hits him. He didn't think he could be more embarrassed than he was standing naked in your living room.

"I'm gonna go shower." You say. He gives a nod in response, stopping dead in his tracks when you say: "join me."

#jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #jjk #nanami kento #not sfw #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #cw sex pollen #cw dub con #i know im posting this kinda early but im impatient and i just want to post this now

473 notes · View notes

moon-ninja92 · 2 years ago

Text

The Battle

TW: mental illness, suicidal thoughts, grossness

I laughed. The sound was so foreign to me. I tried to bury my thoughts in the video because I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want the thoughts that were already bubbling up to the surface. I stared at Mario's face and thought about playing games. Why wasn't I playing games? Games were a good distraction.

I felt awake. Not completely, not enough to pull myself out of this, but more awake than I had been in days. I looked around the mess that was my room and hated myself. I wanted to scream. I wanted to claw at my skin.

The video ended. I thought about watching another. I thought about playing something. I thought about jumping through the window. I thought about a lot of things. In the end I just laid down. Again. I couldn't tell you how many times it had already been.

Then, like a light cutting through the darkness, he came in. "Reptile," I smiled weakly. The next time I opened my eyes, his muscular frame was seated beside me, his hand wrapped around one of my own, while the other gently brushed through my tangled hair.

"I love you" was all he said. I smiled. I felt awake again. But I didn't want to get up. I motioned for him to come closer so I could kiss him. I sighed sweet relief into his face.

"I've been... dreaming. Not really living. Stuck... I don't know."

"What can I do?"

"Stay here," I said, playing with his feathers. The sensation felt good, like pulling back a soft curtain. For a while, neither of us said anything. Then he read to me from one of my books. I enjoyed it a lot. But eventually everything started bleeding together again. I felt stuck in a bog.

"I'm slipping away again," I said, a sad farewell in my voice. "Reptile... What do I do?"

"Have you eaten?" I shook my head, then nodded, as I remembered I'd been eating all day. I hated myself for it. If I ate too much, too fast, I'd go hungry again. I don't know if you know what it's like to go hungry, but it's not a good time, I assure you. "Do you need water?" I nodded again. I finally sat up and looked around for water. There was none. I groaned with the realization that I'd have to get up.

"Uuuuggh!"

"I'll go," he offered, already rising to his feet.

"Nooooo," I wailed. "I have to. I have to, I have to!"

"Of course," he said, as if my whining made any sense at all. He gently touched his hand to my elbow, not helping me up, just reassuring me with touch.

Touch is a powerful thing. It can soothe you, it can make you feel loved, it can give you courage. It can even convince you to stand up when that's the last thing you want to do.

Smell is also a powerful thing. And when I passed by my garbage that was overdue to be taken out, I almost threw up. I fell to the kitchen floor and cried.

"I want to die." I didn't mean it. Or maybe I did. "Don't take it out," I sobbed.

"I know," he said softly, kneeling down and rubbing my back. He remembered how much it destroyed me when, trying to be helpful, he did things around my apartment that I needed to do myself. He would probably never forget. "Is this okay?"

"Yes, please," I sobbed, enjoying the feeling of his hand. He fought rather frequently, and when he wasn't fighting, often he was training. But those lethal hands could be soft when they needed to be.

"You can defeat this," he assured me. I nodded, and stared into his beautiful eyes. It wasn't something I wanted to hear, but it came from him. I laughed. It was Reptile. Sometimes I'd believe anything if it came from him, no matter how impossible it sounded.

And somehow, I did it. I got the trash out. And I washed my hands at least three times when I got back. I felt so gross - not that I hadn't felt gross already. And I finally drank water. Probably too much.

When I came back into my room, Reptile was lying on the bed, playing my flute. I hadn't touched that thing in months. I collapsed next to him. He paused in his playing to play with my hair instead. I made all manner of strange sounds. I hadn't felt so good in so long.

"How can you stand it?" I asked, new tears sliding silently down my face. "How do you put up with me?" He continued playing with my hair, taking his time responding.

"I-"

"If you say 'I love you' again..."

"Well, I do," he laughed. I pushed my head against his belly, infuriated, but also happy.

"I don't... deserve your love "

"Let me be the judge of that, thank you. You just worry about whether I deserve yours."

"You deserve so much more... You shouldn't have to deal with all this, just to love me."

"This sickness isn't you," he reminded me. "I've faced terrible battles, fought powerful enemies. This is just another battle. And I will fight it. I will fight for you." I blushed, and squeezed him tight. "I know that I can't fight the whole battle. That you must face most of it yourself. It's... not fair." He held my face in his cold hands. "But we fight together. And there are times when the sickness is beaten back. And you come back to me. And it is wonderful." I nodded. "But I love you when you are yourself, and I love you when you are sick, and I love you when neither of us can tell. Your sickness hates that. It doesn't want you to believe it's true. But it is, and there's not a thing it can do about it. I love you, Moon."

"I love you, Reptile... I love you so much."

_________

Been a while. Obviously Reptile isn't real, and I have no one to play with my hair and encourage me and understand my boundaries, etc. Love me through all this. But sometimes pretending is the only thing that gets me through. It's hard. It's really hard.

I'll try not to go so long between posts next time. But I don't know what I'll post next. Anyway, hope you enjoyed.

#Reptile #Mortal Kombat #mental illness #self shipping #it's gonna be a long night

6 notes · View notes

vintagedaydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Hey guys- not a TLNRS update, I know. But not something I’ve been writing instead either! I actually found this on my phone.

It’s not complete- more of a scene. And it won’t ever be completed. But if you want to run with it- go for it.

Sorry it’s so long without a page break.

Warnings: some strong language, talk of suicide. Not as dark as it sounds.

You work at MI6 in the Admin/Research dept. working on cover stories and recon work for locations/marks/etc.

You work with a handful of other people in the dept and you have a good pal in your desk mate: Katelyn.

All of the agents-Double Ohs included - go into the Research Dept frequently to get folders on their missions and their marks. Everybody knows you-everybody likes you. You’re competent and your peers usually have you look over their work as well when dealing with difficult marks or missions.

You jumped on the couch as the door slammed open, bouncing off the wall. Scrambling to your feet, you looked over to see James Bond filling the doorway, blue eyes spitting sparks. You took a moment to admire him, his aura of danger and confidence dark and practically pulsing around him, before you realized with a start that he was glaring at you.

“…Bond?” you asked hesitantly and, apparently taking that as permission, he stalked into your small apartment in the heart of London. The door was shut in much the same way as it was opened and you gave a wince for your poor neighbors.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, voice pitched low and dangerous. You shivered at the tone, though it wasn’t in fear. Oh dear. You were in trouble.

“Um,” you looked around in confusion at the half eaten tub of ice cream and the movie playing quietly in the background, “no?” It was stated more than asked. Especially since he seemed to have an answer to his question already.

“Then you won’t mind if I join you,” he almost snarled, making his way over to you. Your eyes, about the size of dinner plates by now, widened even more.

“What?” you squeaked out. Bond, the James Bond was all but foaming at the mouth and he was going to stay?

“Going to interrupt any plans of yours?” he bit out and you blinked.

“Plans? Um, no…” A low rumbling sounded through the apartment .

“Are you….are you growling at me?” you gaped in disbelief. Suddenly, you found yourself gripped by strong hands, Bond an inch away from you.

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N,” he ground out and the anger that had been slowly building at all his growls and snarls finally sprung forth.

“What are you talking about, Bond?” you growled right back. He blinked for a moment before his face darkened even further than before.

The man stepped closer, if that was possible until you were flush against each other. You felt your stomach flip and you gulped, looking up into his eyes.

Blue eyes stared down at you and the hands gripping your shoulders loosened ever so slightly before he gave you a small shake.

“Katelyn told me about your conversation,” he intoned darkly, an eyebrow rising in a challenge to deny it. Your brow furrowed.

“Conversation? What conversation?” Katelyn and you had had many conversations, the most recent of them centering around the man in your apartment, but you had no idea what topic could have Bond so…well, upset was a bit tame for his current mood….

“Did you really think that I wouldn’t find out?” he growled out, effectively bringing your thoughts back to him. Find out….? Find out!

Your eyes widened. Katelyn wouldn’t…she wouldn’t have told him about your conversation yesterday when you’d said that you were pretty sure you were attracted to 007! No, she wouldn’t have thought that was a big enough deal to tell the Double-Oh in question. Everyone thought that man was attractive.

Then what…?

“You should know by now, that when I claim people as mine, I take an interest in their lives,” Bond continued, eyes glaring down at you. Apparently your silence had already condemned you.

You fought the major blush that threatened to make itself known at his wording. Claimed you as his? Oh, if only!

“Bond,” you started, voice mellow and as soothing as you could make it.

“Don’t,” he interrupted, low and dangerous. You sighed.

“What are you so worked up about? I’m sure everyone’s thought it at least once!” you defended yourself. Really, the only possible answer to his mood was that Katelyn had told him, for whatever reason, that you found him attractive. And apparently, he didn’t like that.

Ouch. There went your pride and self esteem.

“That’s your excuse?” he demanded, voice sounding almost incredulous. “So because everyone else has thought it, you can too?”

“Not quite what I meant,” you muttered as his grip tightened once again. “I just meant that it shouldn’t be a big deal to you! I’m not the first!”

The room went deadly silent and you hesitantly gazed into the glacier eyes above you. You didn’t understand what was so terrible about you finding him attractive, (were you that repulsive?), but he really was making too big a deal out of it. You were shy! It’s not like you would’ve ever said or done anything to him!

“Never say it shouldn’t be a big deal to me,” Bond suddenly hissed and you felt a bit uneasy at the look on his face. You weren’t afraid of him, but you knew what he could do and you also knew that he had a reputation for being unpredictable and out of control. You were in hot water and just starting to realize it.

“Really, Bond,” you murmured, trying to salvage the situation before somebody, most likely you, got hurt, “it’s really not that big of a deal. Can we just…forget I ever said it and you ever heard it?”

His hands tightened on your arms even further and you knew there’d be bruises there tomorrow.

“No,” he answered, voice deadly soft, “I will not forget it.” Suddenly he ripped himself away from you and started pacing the floor furiously.

“Damn it, Y/N! Why can’t you take this seriously?! Do you have any idea, any idea at all, what was going through my head when Katelyn told me? No, of course you don’t. Well, let me tell you something, Y/L/N,” he snarled, “if you want to commit suicide and ‘end it all’ then I suggest you find yourself another job. Because if you stay at MI6, you’re mine and I am not going to let anybody, least of all you, take you away from me!”

Once again, silence rang out in your apartment and you stood there, gaping at Bond.

“Commit…..what?” you asked, mentally going over all your conversations with Katelyn. You telling her that you were going to ‘end it all’ was never part of any of them. YOu were actually quite happy with life where you were, thank you very much. Granted, it’d be better if you had a certain someone to share it with, but suicide? Yeah, never touched on that topic.

“I know your vocabulary is better than that,” Bond spat, finally stopping his pacing. You flinched at the acid in his tone.

“Bond, I never—“

“Expected her to squeal? No kidding. I figured that you didn’t want her to, if our little conversation a minute ago was any indication.”

“No, Bond, I was under the impression—“

“That I didn’t care? Yeah, got that one too. Well here’s a news flash for you, I do. And I will. So I suggest that you take up some counseling because you’re not going to die on my watch.”

“Bond,” you sighed, “honestly, can I get a word in? I’m not going to commit suicide.”

“Damn right you’re not,” the agent in front of you growled. He was suddenly right in your space again. “I’m going to stay here tonight with you and tomorrow, you’re going to a therapist.”

You backed up a step, feeling a bit…flustered, not to mention frustrated, with his close proximity.

“Will you just listen to me?!” you yelled, throwing your hands up in the air in ill repressed ire. “I am not going to commit suicide because I don’t want to! I never planned to and I never talked about it with Katelyn!”

The silence that descended on you was thick and you crossed your arms against your chest, glaring at the agent in front of you. He looked torn between not believing you and wanting to.

“You never mentioned suicide to Katelyn?” he asked finally, voice lower and not quite so angry this time around.

“No,” you said quietly, relief coloring your voice that he finally seemed to be listening to you.

Blue eyes bored into your own, but you stared back at him, refusing to show anything that could be taken as guilt or uneasiness. You’d finally gotten the man to listen to you. You didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt you word.

You were not going to a freakin’ therapist.

“And you’ve never thought about committing suicide?” he pressed, once again stepping forward until he was in your space.

“No,” you repeated, with only a hint of impatience. Really. Why did he believe Katelyn so readily but not you?

“Then you won’t mind if I stay here tonight,” he suddenly said, eyes once again daring you to challenge him. Which, normally, you wouldn’t. But tonight, he’d broken in, interrupted your coveted “alone with a movie and ice cream” time, yelled at and accused you of shit you didn’t actually do and now demanded you house him for the night.

Yeah…not in this lifetime.

“I do mind, actually,” you shot back, eyes narrowing at the agent. “I don’t need a babysitter and now that I’ve told you that I’m not suicidal, there’s no reason for you to stay.”

You turned to the couch and went to sit back down. “Especially with that attitude of yours,” you muttered under your breath. Really, there were days it was like dealing with a five year old. Pretty sure he was supposed to be acting older than you.

“Y/N,” came the warning growl from behind you and you rolled your eyes.

“Seriously, Bond, you can relax, okay? I’m not suicidal, I don’t want to ‘end it all’ and I’ll see you tomorrow at work.” You finally turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Unless you’re going on another mission…?”

The Double-Oh stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. “No mission yet.”

You nodded once, “Good. Then I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” You turned your attention back to the movie that had made quite a bit of progress since you’d been so rudely interrupted and pretended to not hear the soft cursing behind you or feel the glare being shot to the back of your head.

There was blissful silence in the apartment for a few minutes, (aside from the movie), before Bond finally piped up, “Really, Y/N? Harry Potter?”

You shot your own glare at him over your shoulder. “For your information, I happen to like Harry Potter. And you’re not even supposed to still be here, so no dissing the movie that’s playing.”

To your surprise, annoyance, disbelief and, you admit, slight pleasure, Bond moved around the couch arm and sat down not two inches from you, grabbing your tub of ice cream off the coffee table and spooning some into his mouth.

“At least you have good taste in this,” he muttered, blue eyes locking onto yours. It took you a second, but you realized he was teasing you. You weren’t aware the man had a playful bone in his body!

Once you got over your shock you managed to answer back, “It’s been known to happen.” You plucked the spoon out of his hand and took your own bite of the chocolate ice cream. “But this is mine. Go grab your own.”

“Now, now, Y/N. I think you should share.”

“Ha!” You barked a laugh, “Whatever for? You broke in here, remember? I didn’t bust into your house!”

“I would advise you never trying that,” he said, suddenly serious. “Good way to get shot.”

“Bond,” you said back just as serious, “I don’t know where you live and I don’t want to know.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because I’d probably be tempted to come over and try to shank you in your sleep,” you said with an angelic smile.

Bond met your smile with a dastardly smirk of his own.

“Are you sure it’d be to shank me?”

You gave him a shove with your shoulder as you spooned more ice cream out of the tub still in his hands.

“Yup. Perv.”

His chuckle made a shiver run up your spine and you realized he needed to leave. Like, now.

Putting the spoon in the tub, you leaned back onto the couch and turned back to the movie. “When you leave, would you put that in the freezer and lock the door on your way out?”

He leaned back as well, putting one arm on the back of the couch behind you before he answered. “I’ll put it in the freezer and lock the door, Y/N, but I’m not leaving.”

You turned your head, unintentionally pressing your cheek against his forearm. You had to physically stop yourself from jerking away as if burned. With Bond, showing any kind of weakness wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

And he was definitely a weakness of yours.

“Whaddya mean you’re not leaving? I thought we decided that I didn’t need a babysitter.”

“You mean you decided you didn’t need a babysitter.”

“Bond,” you growled and he shrugged. Shrugged! As if you were discussing the weather!

“Don’t call me a babysitter then. Call me something else.”

“Oh, believe me, Bond, there are several things I’d like to call you,” you muttered hotly, “and none of them are particularly flattering.”

The grin he gave made you almost give in and do pretty much whatever he wanted you to. Someday, this thing you had over Bond was going to get you into so much trouble.

“How about we just say that we’re two friends hanging out, alright? You don’t have to call me anything.”

Since moving to England, you didn’t have a whole lot of friends you hung out with, but you were still pretty sure that it only qualified as ‘friends hanging out’ if both parties were willing. But, you’d already missed about a third of the movie and could feel a headache coming on so you just nodded.

“Fine. Whatever you say, friend.”

Bond gave a small grunt of triumph and relaxed further into the couch after depositing the ice cream on the table once again. Your head was still in contact with his arm, but he was warm and solid next to you, so you decided to just enjoy the rare closeness you had with the man and focused on the rest of Harry Potter.

It wasn’t until the movie was over and Bond was putting the ice cream away that the shit hit the fan. Again.

You were in the middle of stretching when Bond came back into the living room, barefoot and no tie.

“Hey, Y/N, you want—“ he cut off abruptly and you stopped stretching to look at him expectantly.

“Do I want what, Bond?” you asked after a few moments of silence, but the man wasn’t paying attention to you but rather looking at your arms.

Looking down, you saw why.

“Wow,” you murmured to yourself, “I thought I had until at least tomorrow before those showed up.”

“What happened?” Bond demanded, narrowed blue eyes never leaving the dark bruises around your upper arms.

You’d never been good with taking things very seriously, especially if you didn’t find them to be a big deal, but even you had to admit that saying, “Considering the work you’re in, I’m surprised you don’t recognize your own handy work,” was a bit too…crass.

But, it’d already been said so you just gave a small rueful smile and apologized.

Figures, the apology would be what set him off.

“You’re apologizing to me for hurting you?” he demanded, voice loud once again. And here you’d thought you had met your quota for yelling today.

You groaned. “Oh for the love of…. Really, Bond? My neighbors are going to think I’m in some kind of domestic situation if you keep yelling. So, shush and help me get the house ready for sleeping.”

The super secret spy agent looked at you for a long moment while you patiently, (or as patient as you could be), waited for him to come to his senses already so you could get some shut eye.

“I should go,” Bond said after a moment. You crossed your arms.

“James,” you said softly, taking a step towards him, “I really would appreciate it if you stayed.”

The man in front of you scoffed, though blue eyes didn’t leave your own.

“A few minutes ago, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”

You scoffed yourself. “That’s because you were going to babysit me and thought I was suicidal of all things. Which I’m not. But I would like you to stay if you’re willing.”

Bond regarded you for a moment before stepping forward until he was directly in front of you. Warm fingers gently trailed over the darkening bruises on your arms.

“You’re sure you’d like me to stay?” he asked quietly, eyes boring into yours.

You gave a gentle smile. “I really would like nothing better.”

#james bond x reader #james bond imagines #reader insert

236 notes · View notes

whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years ago

Text

A Period Drama

Summary: When that time of the month hits, Y/n wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and forget about the world. Lucky for her, Dean has other plans.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2.1K+

Warnings: Language, discussion of menstrual cycle

Author’s Note: I guess I'm emotional this cycle, who knew? Anyway, I wrote this because I wanted to die the other day, and imagining Dean's cuddles was the only way for me to get through it. This is a work of self-indulgence and therefore the Reader is a little less non-descript than I usually try to write, but that's what these things are for! Hope this helps my fellow menstruating people lie it did me xoxo Alex

Check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly!

A nagging sensation tugged on her strings of consciousness, bringing the sleeping huntress back to the world of the living. Her mind fought against waking, knowing not nearly enough time had passed since she had retreated to her room the previous evening. As the ache deep in her abdomen became more obvious, she stopped fighting and opened her eyes to the darkness of her room.

“Fuck,” she groaned as she tossed the covers from her body, instantly missing the heat they provided in the recess of the bunker. Y/n rolled from the bed and stood, the action occurring too quickly and the huntress felt the familiar rush between her legs. She cursed herself as she bounded off to the bathroom on the opposite end of the hallway. The socks on her feet muffled her hurried steps as she passed the boys’ rooms.

Once inside, she went straight for the showers and turned the hot water all the way up. Steam enveloped the space as she stripped her soiled panties and old t-shirt from her body. She let the bathroom turn into a makeshift sauna as she rinsed the blood from her undergarments before finally stepping into the boiling shower.

It was unclear how long she stood under the water, searing her flesh and scrubbing away the metaphorical grime, all she knew was the relentless heat was managing to ease the ache from her angry uterus. The tentative knock on the bathroom door snapped her back from the silent reverie she had been indulging in, and Y/n noted how the water had gone almost cold. It was likely she had been in there long enough for Sam to have taken his morning run and if her own body wasn’t attacking itself, she might have felt guilty about using up all the bunker’s hot water.

When she walked out in just a towel, her dirty pajamas rolled into a ball in her arms, she was met with a confused younger Winchester. All she could mutter was a weak ‘sorry’ before she breezed past him and back to her room. The huntress wrapped herself into a pair of sweats and a clean tee, braided her hair out of her face, swallowed a few pain killers, and crawled back under her covers. She thanked whatever higher power had made sure they were hunt-free for the foreseeable future so she could spend the day curled up in a ball. The pills kicked in quick enough to allow her to easily slip back into a blissful sleep.

****

It was nearing one in the afternoon when Dean made his way back inside the bunker, his hands covered in grease and oil from his work tuning up the Impala. He was wiping his hands on an equally dirty towel as he walked into the kitchen to find his little brother making himself a lunch.

“Please tell me that is not your veggie bacon?” Dean wrinkled his nose as he watched Sam putting together a BLT, the various ingredients strewn about the island.

“Fine, then I won’t tell you,” Sam didn’t bother to look up from his task to answer his brother. The look of disgust only depended on Dean’s face as he moved around his sibling to wash his hands in the sink.

The older hunter glanced over his shoulder as the sound of shuffling footsteps grew louder, his gaze landing on a disheveled Y/n. The sweats that hung from her body were wrinkled and she had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. There were lines across the left side of her face, indicating she had been sleeping recently. Worry instantly flooded his system as it was unlike their hunting partner to sleep this late unless she was ill.

“Sam, what did you do with my heating pad?” her voice was coarse as she didn’t even bother with pleasantries. No ‘hello’, no ‘ how are you’, just straight to whatever business she had in with the younger Winchester.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s in the linen closet in the bathroom?” Sam answered, completely unperturbed by her callousness.

“So you put my heating pad in the bathroom,” Y/n rolled her eyes and Sam could only offer her a bewildered nod. “What is with you guys and not being able to put shit back where you found it?” The huntress turned on her heel, not waiting for a response before heading to retrieve the item she was seeking.

Sam looked over his shoulder at his older brother, his brows knit together in the middle of his forehead. “What the hell was that?”

“What’s the one thing Y/n uses her heating pad for?” Dean’s lips cured up on one side as he watched the look of realization flash across his brother’s features. The oldest Winchester dried his hands before peeking in the fridge and a few cupboards. “Looks like she could use a supply run. You need anything?”

“Nah, I’m just going to retreat to my room and pretend like I don’t exist for the rest of the day,” Sam picked up the plate that held his lunch and scurried off, leaving a chuckling Dean behind.

****

The only light filling her room came from the laptop that was perched in her lap, playing some television show she had stopped paying attention to a while ago, and the filtered light from the hall through the slats in her door. The huntress was still curled into a ball under her covers, attempting to use what little bit of heat from her computer she could muster as she had been unsuccessful in located her heating pad. She felt bad for ripping into Sam about it, but the truth was he had misplaced her belongings, something that she found happened often around the Winchesters, and she was over it today. Pain tended to make her grumpy, as it did most people, and she wasn’t going to apologize for being pissed at their carelessness.

A soft rapping against her door had her pausing the show as she shoved the device aside. The guest didn’t wait for a response before they pushed the door open, bringing with them a flood of light. Y/n cringed at the sudden change, hiding her face behind her hand.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean’s familiar chuckle sounded before the click of the latch indicated he had closed the door behind him. “I come bearing gifts.”

“What?” she was confused by his words as she dropped her hand and allowed her eyes to adjust back to the relative darkness.

“Your water bottle, half ice, half water,” he set the green canteen on her bedside table. “The heating pad Sammy somehow managed to lose behind the washing machine,” Dean handed her the light green pad folded neatly with the cord sitting on top. Y/n sighed a breath of relief as the eldest Winchester continued. “And a sharable size bag of dark chocolate peanut M&M’s.”

“Dean,” Y/n caught the purple bag as he tossed it her way, biting back a gleeful moan. “I fucking love you.” She unceremoniously tore into the bag and popped a couple of the chocolate candies into her mouth, missing the rush of blood on the Winchester’s cheeks.

“And finally,” he mimicked a drum roll with his mouth and procured a box from his arms, placing it on her bedside table. The woman frowned, unable to make out the object at first in the darkness.

“You bought me tampons? How,” she trailed off, not only awestruck by the hunter’s gesture but amazed at his attention to detail as she read the label.

“There is only one thing you need your heating pad for,” he remarked as he took the referenced object back to plug it into an outlet for her. “Also, you never snap at Sammy.”

“But how did you know what kind to buy?”

“Kind of hard not to when you have a box of them stashed away in Baby’s trunk,” Dean countered as he perched himself on the edge of her bed.

“Hey, those are for emergencies. Besides, I’m sure Baby understands.”

“I’m sure she does.”

Y/n chewed on the inside of her cheek as she fiddled with the bag of candy in her lap, the kindness shown by Dean throwing her off. She offered the open bag to her hunting partner, who snatched a handful for himself with a grin.

“Thank you, Dean, seriously. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” her voice was low as the admittance slipped past her lips. “Want to watch some Scooby-Doo with me? You know, if you aren’t busy or anything?”

“I’d love to, sweetheart,” Dean winked at her, that shit-eating grin never leaving his face even as he stood and shucked off his jacket and boots so he could climb into the bed next to her. “Who could pass up Daphne?”

The huntress sat back against the headboard with a roll of her eyes and switched the streaming show on her laptop before unfolding her already warmed heating pad and laid it across her lower abdomen. She moved the laptop at the end of the bed so they could both see it and set the bag of M&M’s between her and Dean to share.

The two settled into the cartoon, laughing in unison at the ridiculous parts and commenting on how the Scooby gang couldn’t have handled that monster had it been real. Three episodes passed by before a shredding cramp ripped through her stomach, the shock of it enough that she was unable to hide the groan as she had been so far.

“You okay?” Dean shifted in his spot next to her, his head turning from the kids’ show to his friend beside him.

“No, I’m not okay. It feels like my internal organs are attempting to exit my body,” she snapped, instantly regretting it when Dean subtly recoiled. “Shit, I’m sorry. I--I didn’t mean…” Y/n was cut off as the pain returned just as intense as it had been moments ago, causing her to roll onto her side and into a ball, clutching the heat of the pad against her body like a lifeline.

“Alright,” Dean huffed before moving the candy and laptop from the bed. Y/n could hear the hunter shift behind her, but her eyes were clamped shut as she tried to breathe through the pain like she was experiencing the contractions of labor of something. She felt the hard lines of his body lock around the curves of her own and his arm snake around her abdomen. His hand rested over hers as he pulled her tight against him, putting more pressure than she had been able to muster against her lower belly. “I’ve got you.”

The heat of his body on one side and the pad against her stomach, combined with the force he was exerting on her uterus, finally allowed her to relax fully for the first time since she had awoken that morning. She never wanted to leave this moment, utterly content in the peace that his presence in her bed brought her. The idea scared her a little, but she figured that was a problem for another day. Now she chose to just live in this moment for as long as he would let her.

“Why?” she muttered into the dark space after she was sure he had fallen asleep as his grip had relented a touch and his breathing evened out, hoping he wouldn’t answer but knowing she had to ask.

“Cause I wanted to,” his voice was gruff, indicating he had probably been on the cusp of falling asleep when she spoke up. “I hate seeing you like this. Figured it was the least I could do.”

“Dean Winchester, are you going soft on me?” she quirked up one corner of her lips, unable to fight the giddiness his words instilled in her chest.

“Sweetheart, there is nothing soft about me when I’m around you,” he chuckled, earning himself an elbow to the gut. He grunted and the two of them fell into a fit of laughter.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” The hunter was ready for her arm this time, his hand moving to wrap around her forearm and pull it into him so as to trap her even tighter than before in his embrace. Y/n struggled against his hold, giggling like an idiot as the two wrestled in the bed a moment before she relented that he was much stronger than she.

“Honestly,” Dean placed a gentle kiss to her shoulder once she had settled, only encouraging her to melt further into his arms. “I’d do anything to make you smile, Y/n.”

“Well, then mission accomplished, Winchester,” she turned her head to flash him a genuine smile to which he reciprocated before planting his pillow-soft lips against hers.

P.S. I didn't even try on this title because this is just a little therapy piece and therefore no one should judge me.

Forevers: @22sarah08 @440mxs-wife @akshi8278 @anathewierdo @asgoodasdancingqueen @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @briagallen @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deandreamernp @deangirl93 @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88 @jbsgirl4ever11 @jensengirl83 @lunarmoon8 @lyarr24 @mishacollins4evah @miss-nerd95 @mrsjenniferwinchester @msmarvelouswinchester @polina-93 @sleepylunarwolf @squirrelnotsam @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @suckmyapplejacks @supraveng @tatted-trina6 @thoughts-and-funnies @traceyaudette @tranquility-or-chaos @waywardbeanie @winchest09

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #spn fic #alex writes #mine #a period drama

417 notes · View notes

msjokesgf · 3 years ago

Text

Love Match-Part 7 (Shoto Todoroki x Reader)

Summary: You were hopelessly single. Between working full time and caring for your aging parents, romance was never much of a priority. That is, until your mother suggests seeing a nakodo, a traditional Japanese matchmaker. Curious, you agree, and are matched with none other than Shoto Todoroki, the famous Pro Hero. At first, you think it's a joke, but as you grow closer, you begin to wonder if a marriage between two strangers could really work.

Were you making a mistake? Or had you found your perfect match?

Word Count: 2,450

Ao3 Link | Masterlist

“If you care about her, she should know what kind of family she’s marrying into.”

Whenever you thought about your future with Todoroki, all you could hear was Natsuo’s voice urging his brother to reconsider the relationship, or at least slow things down a bit. Although you’d been spooked and annoyed by his words that evening, upon deeper reflection, you realized he’d managed to touch on every concern you had but felt like you couldn’t voice. The timing, your ignorance of Todoroki’s past, and his problematic feelings on love in general. After three months together, you could admit you didn’t love him, but you could already feel the beginnings of a deeper affection growing within. You were sure if you kept seeing each other a little while longer, he’d open up to you more and all the doubts you had would be resolved. For now, though, if he proposed to you tomorrow, you weren’t sure what your answer would be.

Since that night, your parents couldn’t stop gushing about what a nice time they had and what gracious hosts the Todoroki’s were. Your sudden “illness” had not been brought up, much to your relief. How could you express your doubts about the relationship when this was the happiest you’d seen your parents in years? Besides, this was your relationship. If you were going to marry, Todoroki, you’d have to learn how to manage any problems that might arise by yourself. That was one thing they couldn’t help with. When you were married, you and Todoroki had to handle problems together. And what did they know about conflict anyway? They never fought and always had the same opinion on everything.

So it was a surprise when one night after you came home from a date with Todoroki and found your mother waiting up for you on the couch, alone. She looked rather serious, and you feared something bad must’ve happened while you were gone.

“Is tousan alright?” you asked, worried that he’d taken a sudden turn. “He went to bed pretty early—”

She cut you off. “He’s fine. It’s you I want to talk about.”

“Oh, okay,” you muttered, a bit confused. Did you forget to pay a bill or something?

“Come sit with me,” she said, patting the couch cushion beside her.

You did and her next question left you stunned. “Are you happy?”

“What?”

“Are you happy with Todoroki-san? Do you want to marry him, truly?”

“Kaasan, where’s this coming from?” you asked. “I was just out with him. We had a nice time, like always.”

“I didn’t ask about that, I asked if you were happy. Because lately, I’ve been worried. You seem like you’re having a lot of reservations about this match and don’t ask how I can tell, I’m your mother. The last thing your father and I want is for you to force yourself to do something you don’t want. Marriage is forever. So, tell me, how do you really feel about Shoto?”

You took a deep breath and thought, really thought about her question. This wasn’t the first time you reflected on the matter, but it was the first time you were asked to voice your opinion aloud to someone else.

“If you don’t want to do this, you can tell us. We will take care of it,” she reassured you. “He hasn’t proposed yet, right?”

You shook your head. “No, he hasn’t.”

She sighed in relief. “Good, because if he’s not the one you want, you shouldn’t marry him. It would be wrong for both of you.”

“I do want him.” The words came out sharper than you anticipated. “And I’m not going through with this because I feel forced to. I know you and tousan only suggested this because you want me to find someone who makes me happy. And Todoroki-san does make me happy. It’s just sometimes I have…doubts about our future.”

“Okay, I understand. I’ve just been concerned, you haven’t seemed yourself since that night at the Todoroki’s. I thought maybe he asked you to marry him, and you felt like you had to say yes and that was why you looked so sick,” she said.

“No, it was something else,” you replied. “I-I happened to overhear an argument between Natsuo and Shoto. He thinks we’re making a mistake, that this whole marriage is going to be a disaster because it’s arranged.”

“Well, what did Shoto say?”

“He basically told Natsuo to mind his own business.”

“Then why did it upset you so much? Shoto’s right, it’s none of his brother’s business. From what I gathered, he doesn’t even come around that often so it’s not his place to criticize your relationship,” your mother counseled.

“It was what else he said.” You strained to keep your voice as even as possible. “He told Natsuo he doesn’t love me.”

Your mother took your hand. “Oh, I know that must’ve hurt to hear and you probably won’t believe me if I told you I felt the same way about your father at first.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

She nodded. “I respected him and knew I could build a solid future with him and that, in time, I’d grow to love him. It would be a love I couldn’t have even imagined at the time, a true love. And I have no doubt that will grow between you and Shoto, just give it time.”

Give it time. How much time? It’d already been three months. At that point in their relationship, your parents were eagerly engaged.

“Do you love him?” Kaasan asked.

“Well, no, but sometimes I think I’m starting to,” you answered shyly.

“See? And it’ll be that way for him too, I’m sure. Who wouldn’t fall in love with you?”

You smiled a bit and then looked away. “I guess I’m just a little insecure too. I think he’s so handsome and attractive, but we haven’t, uh, he hasn’t…” you trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it to your mother of all people. “I-I mean, n-not that, I’m fine waiting until after the wedding for that but we haven’t even kissed, and it makes me think he doesn’t want me that way.”

She scoffed. “He just sounds like a respectful, old fashioned young man. Trust me when you’re married there’ll be no problems with that. You’ll be starting your own family soon enough,” she replied emphatically.

Your face felt so red. “Ka-kaasan don’t talk about that.”

Your mother chuckled. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Can I just go to bed?” you groaned, embarrassed but feeling a lot lighter and reassured.

You got up and went to your bedroom, flopping down on top of your covers as you checked your phone. There was a new text from Todoroki. It simply read “good night” but it made you think of everything you just discussed. Would you really grow to love him as much as your mother said you would? And would he come to love you in all the ways you hoped for?

It was Friday night, and you were finally getting ready to go home for the day. All you wanted to do was soak in the bath, put your comfiest clothes on, and have a nice, relaxing time in. What you certainly weren’t expecting when you walked in the front door was company. And not just any company.

“T-Todoroki-san!” you exclaimed, absolutely shocked by the sight of him casually sitting across from your parents, who were absolutely beaming and holding hands.

“Oh, here she is! We told you she’d be home soon,” your mother chirped.

“Why didn’t you text me you were coming over? Of course, I would’ve tried to get done earlier if I knew you were going to be here,” you said.

“I wanted to surprise,” he said. “And I figured while I waited I would discuss some things with your parents.”

Your eyes darted between him and your parents as you finally started to connect the dots. His outfit was much nicer than usual, and he came over at a time he knew you wouldn’t be there to talk about something alone with your parents, who looked like they just won the lottery. Your heart started pounding in your chest. Could this be it?

“I wanted to take you out tonight,” Todoroki stated. “Only if you want to, that is.”

“Of course, she does, Shoto-kun!” your mother interjected. “Just give her a few minutes to get ready. It’s not like she ever has any plans.”

Shoto-kun? You tried to hide your shock to no avail. Since when had they gotten so close? Not that you had time to ponder it too deeply. Everyone was staring at you, eagerly awaiting your answer.

“I’ll, uh, be right back, then,” you squeaked out and then dashed into your room, where you were faced with the daunting task of getting ready with little to no preparation beforehand. What did you even wear to the most important night of your life so far? Ultimately, you were in such a state that you hardly remembered what you did put on, not that it mattered much. If your intuition was correct, you were leaving the house a girlfriend and coming back a fiancée.

Todoroki took your hand when you reemerged and when you closed the door, you swore you heard your mother shriek.

Even the restaurant he took you to was nicer than usual, although you couldn’t really enjoy it. You spent the whole dinner on edge, wondering when it might happen or how. Would he really pop the question in front of so many other people? Not that Todoroki seemed to mind your silence. He himself was unusually quiet that night and he barely touched his food, a rarity for him. Was he as nervous as you were? Then again, he was the one who was going to ask, and he had no way of knowing what your answer would be.

Dinner passed, the check came, and you thought you’d somehow misread the entire situation when there was not even a mention of an engagement. You weren’t sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved. He’d gone to seemingly all this trouble to make things special. Has he changed his mind?

“Let’s go for a walk,” Todoroki abruptly said when you got outside.

“Oh, okay.” You smiled and took his hand.

It was a lovely night, and the cherry blossoms were in bloom. You were so content to be with him here, hand in hand, that you didn’t notice when he stopped walking until he tugged you closer and took both of his hands in his. All the attention made you blush.

“This might be too soon to ask,” he started, “So I won’t be offended if you say no…”

Your eyes widened and your heart skipped a beat. This was it.

“But I’ve given this a lot of thought and I want you to know how serious I am about committing to you. To us. We may not have known each other very long but these past few months have made it clear to me that we belong together. There is very little doubt in my mind that you are meant to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

As soon as those words left his mouth, time seemed to slow to a crawl. You never expected anything like this. This was thoughtful and romantic, everything you dreamed about and thought you’d never have because you went to a matchmaker instead of finding a love match. For just a moment, you forgot every misgiving you had. Your mouth moved faster than your brain to give your reply.

“Yes!”

He seemed surprised by your quick response. “Really?”

“I-I mean, I would be honored to be your wife Todoroki-san,” you said in a more serious tone, bowing your head.

One of his hands briefly let go of yours to tilt your chin upwards. The corner of his lips quirked up slightly.

“Then please stop calling me ‘Todoroki-san,’” he said with just a hint of amusement. “It’s just Shoto from now on. There’s no need to be so formal. We’re equals, right?”

Equals.

“O-of course.” It would take some time to get used to, but you liked the sound of his name. “Shoto.”

Then his eyes fluttered shut and he leaned in to kiss you.

It was too easy to melt into. His lips were so warm and soft, softer than you ever could have imagined (which you did). It was certainly worth waiting all this time. With your free hand, you reached up to caress the back of his head, fingers tangling in the soft and silky hair you’d been dying to touching since you first met. He deepened the kiss and when you separated, you were breathless.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before I did that,” Shoto said sheepishly.

Still dazed from the kiss, all you could manage was a “Huh?”

“That night on the balcony I wanted to kiss you, but you pulled away. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable so that’s why I didn’t try again, even though I wanted to,” he admitted.

You squeezed the hand that was still holding yours. “I wanted it too that night, but I was worried it was too soon, so I pulled away. I’m sorry.”

His hand tenderly stroked your cheek before he reached into the pocket of his jacket. “I know some people don’t like jewelry, but I figured if you didn’t like it, you didn’t have to wear it. Plus, I’d feel weird not having anything to give you.”

He pulled out a small box and handed it to you. A ring? He bought you a ring? Shakily, you opened the box and examined the contents. Shoto had clearly put a lot of thought and care into choosing the design. The band was white gold with a single ruby in the middle and diamonds on either side. Every time you looked at it, you’d think of him.

“Oh wow,” you breathed, completely dazzled. “Shoto, it’s beautiful. I love it!”

“I’m relieved to hear that. I wasn’t sure what you liked, and I couldn’t ask because I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said.

“I’m very surprised. Wow.”

He took the box from you and slid the ring on your finger. It fit perfectly, just like tonight. The perfect night. When he returned the empty box to his pocket, you threw your arms around him, emboldened by the rush of emotions. His body was much firmer than it looked and warm. He was so warm.

“Thank you, Shoto,” you murmured into his neck. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”

#bnha #mha #shoto todoroki #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #cross posted on AO3 #love match fic

51 notes · View notes

tellerluna-stories · 4 years ago

Text

prologue.

Long ago, when the world was young and the archons had yet to rise to their positions as overseers of all, before the god of contracts was Morax or Rex Lapis or Zhongli or whatever name he chose to go by, he was asked a question he would never forget.

"Tell me, young one, what is the greatest treasure in all of creation?"

The young boy who was soon to be known as Morax looked up from the battered pages of a book he was reading; his golden eyes could not detect any ill-intent in the elder archon's face, nor was there any hint of deception in her voice. "Hmm.... It's gold, isn't it?" The youngling tilted his head, a curious expression on his face. "Or perhaps it is jade.... but then again, precious stones and other valuable items are always sold for gold." “Spoken like a true dragon.” His caregiver smiled and shook her head at his reply. "You have a fine sense of business and contracts in your young head, but no. The greatest treasure is not something that is accumulated, like gold or precious stones. Rather, it is something living." ".....Living?" He frowned in confusion. "I have never heard of living treasure before." "Living treasure is one that is most difficult to find, young one. Some spend entire lifetimes searching for it, and some never find it at all." The archon’s withered hands gently tugged the book from his, running her fingers over the pages tenderly. "But for each person, their living treasure is different and unique to them. For some, it is the love of friends and family. For others, it is a book they poured a lifetime of experiences in— like this one here." She gestured to the book in her hand, before returning it to its place on the bookshelf. The boy could not hide the confusion on his face, and the elder archon laughed and patted the tiny horns on his head. "Lastly, sometimes the living treasure you may seek could very well be a person." "A person.....?" "Yes, young one. A person." "How can a person be treasure?" "Hmm....."

His guardian tilted her head in contemplation, pondering a way to best explain it to the hatchling. “When you are with someone and you find that you are willing to lay everything down for that person, be it fame, riches, and even your very life—“ Her voice wavered for the fraction of a second. “— I think that is when you can safely say you have found your living treasure. Does that make more sense?” He only looked at his elder blankly. “I still do not think I’ve grasped the concept of treasure being alive.” “Ah, then perhaps it is something that you will learn as you grow older, young one.” The elder archon gathered him up into her arms, bouncing the boy slightly to keep her balance. “Some things can only be discovered as you walk through the path of life, and living treasure is surely one of them.”

“I see.” The boy put his hand to his chin, nodding solemnly. “I hope I find it soon, then. Did you ever find your treasure, elder?” The smile faded from the elder archon’s face. “I found him once, many eons ago.” “What happened to him, then?” “He was a writer, a brilliant one at that. In fact, he wrote the very book you were reading just now.” She shook her head, the wound too old for tears now. “But alas, I did not realize that he was my living treasure until it was too late, and he slipped away into oblivion.” “Promise me this, young one.” Her voice grew serious, and the archon’s dim eyes pierced into the boy’s eyes of amber. “Once you find your living treasure, you must never let it go. Do not let others steal it from you, and never let it slip out of your grasp. For once it leaves you, you will always regret not having done everything to take care of it and keep it by your side.” “I do not think I quite understand, elder...” “Promise me.” “I—“ He blinked owlishly, tilting his head to the side. “I promise, then.” The elder archon breathed a sigh of relief, and the smile returned to her face. “May you find your living treasure according to the perfect timing of the One Above, young one— and may you never lose it.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli fluff #zhongli angst #zhongli headcanons #slow burn #friends to lovers #best friends to lovers #hope y’all like forests cuz there’s a lot of pining #this fic idea was born specifically to attack my zhongli simp friends #if y’all see this ily guys <3 #tellerluna.tales #tellerluna.tales: living treasure

314 notes · View notes

milkyymoons · 4 years ago

Text

Honey Tea | 01 Yandere!Jungkook

pairing: yandere!jungkook x reader (f)

genre: yandere, angst, mentions of mental health, future smut, manipulation,

Parts: 01 | 02.

summary: You're delighted to find the perfect caregiver for your ill grandmother but are soon to find out his intentions are far from pure.

Your eyes were glued on the clock that hung on the brown tinted wall, nervously biting your lip. You really hadn’t liked the idea of having to even hire a caregiver for your grandmother to begin with but you weren’t left with much of a choice. Finding a job was hard to begin with, not only due to the fact that living in such a small town made the options limited but your lack of job experience didn’t make it any easier. Your anxiety disorder had only gotten worse over the years, interfering with your daily activities and made things such as simple trips to the grocery store a living nightmare.

However, you couldn’t let your anxiety control your life any longer. You knew it was finally time to take some actual responsibility and do what was best for your grandmother. She had taken care of you and raised you all your life up until now, she was tired and her heart condition wasn’t going to get any better. It was up to you to take care of her now, she was all you had left.

While your grandmother was decently well off and had insisted you didn’t need to get a job, you had refused. Medical expenses were not getting any cheaper and while the job you managed to land at the old bookstore down the street wasn’t much, it would surely help some bit. Besides, you were hoping it would help better your anxiety, being stuck inside the house all day surely wasn’t helping your intrusive thoughts.

Now the only issue was having to leave your grandmother home alone for so long, she had insisted she would be fine but you knew better. At her age, the amount of things that could go wrong would just race through your head nonstop.

The sudden knock on the door made you jump, you lifted yourself off the soft leather coach and rushed down the small hallway of your home. You took a deep breath, not even bothering to check the peep hole in your rushed state and swung the door open, the chilly air instantly hit your face.

The guy in front of you looked exactly like his profile on the caregiver website, his tall frame towered over you and his large dark eyes quickly took you in. His dark hair falling below his ears and he gave you a friendly smile. He wasn’t much older than you according to his age on the website but his face held a childlike look to it, his handsome features were even more intimidating in person.

“Hello, you’re Y/n right?” He questioned, his voice smooth. The way his eyes scanned over your face almost made you want to hide.

“U-uh, yeah. You’re Jungkook right?” You asked, cringing at how awkward you sounded already. He nodded and you stepped aside, signaling him to come in.

“Sorry, my grandma is still sleeping, she should be waking up any minute.” You explained as you walked down hallway and he followed closely behind you. You guided him to the kitchen, offering him to take a seat at the table which he gladly accepted. You suddenly felt anxious all over again with his gaze on you.

“That’s okay, I’ll giver her the medications when she wakes up.” He smiled at you and his eyes darted around the kitchen, seeming to take everything in.

“Right, I left them on the counter for you and I texted you the details in case you forget. She takes her blood pressure and heart medication first thing every morning , her stomach is a bit sensitive so I’d prefer she ate something before she takes the-“ You rambled, pacing around the kitchen.

“Y/n” Jungkook cuts you off, his tone gentle. “Don’t worry, I know what to do. I’ll make sure to make her some breakfast.”

You nodded your head in embarrassment but his words brought you comfort. You knew you were worrying over nothing , he had some of the best reviews on the website and obviously seemed to know how to care of elderly people way more than you ever would.

“Sorry, I’ve just never left her alone with anyone.” You admitted, sitting down on the empty the seat right across from him.

“I see, is she your only family?” He asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Yeah, my parents died in a car accident when I was little so my grandma practically raised me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He gave you a pitying look and reached over to take your hand in his. You were a bit taken aback by the sudden action but he didn’t look phased in the slightest.

“You seem like a caring girl, many young people like you wouldn’t think twice in sending off their grandparents to a retirement home.” He said, his eyes boring into yours. He seemed genuinely in awe.

“I could never, she’s all I have.” You didn’t even want to imagine a world without your grandmother , despite knowing the reality of her old age and health conditions. Not to mention, the idea of sending her off to one of those facilities just seemed cruel to you, you didn’t have the heart to even consider it.

Jungkook watched you, you were indeed more beautiful in person. The blurry profile picture in the website didn’t even come close to doing you justice. He could tell how much you cared about your grandmother, it was obvious even through the messages you had sent him when you first selected him for the job. He could tell you were an anxious person just by looking at you. The way you had seemed like a deer caught in headlights when you first opened the door, your smaller frame cowering behind it. It was obvious even in the way you sat now, your leg bouncing beneath the table and your eyes refusing to make direct eye contact with him ever since he had arrived.

He found it all endearing.

“I-I better get going! It’s my first day and I don’t want to be late.” You said, suddenly remembering what time it was, the last thing you needed was to make a horrible first impression the first day at your job.

“First day? No wonder you seemed so nervous.” Jungkook teased, his hand slipping from yours as you got up.

“Yeah, well more like first ever real job so it’s even worse.” You let out a small shaky laugh, walking over to grab your bag from the counter.

“It’s your first job? How exciting.” He beamed, eyes seeming to follow your every action.

“Well, it’s a bookstore so probably not that exciting.” You mumbled as you tugged at the ends of your dress anxiously. Jungkook lips quirked up at your scattered movements, not ignoring the way the dress hugged your curves.

“Please make sure to text me if you need anything. The fridge is full and my grandma usually likes oatmeal in the morning, feel free to help yourself when you get hungry too!” You said, pointing towards different areas in the kitchen.

“ The bathroom is down the hall too and oh! I completely forgot to give you a tour of the house!” You groaned , realizing your dumb mistake. You had not even properly told the guy how to direct himself throughout the house.

Jungkook chuckled , standing back up and he making his way past you.

“Relax, I’ll be fine. The house isn’t that big, I can find my way around it.” He assured you, observing your grandmothers medication bottles that sat on the counter.

You nodded and starting making your way out the kitchen.

“Y/n.” Jungkook called and you halted, turning back to face him. He gave you a warm smile, eyes trailing over your exposed shoulders that the thin straps of your sundress failed to hide. “ It’s quite chilly outside, you should wear a jacket .”

“Oh, right. Thank you!” His comment only confirmed how fitting he seemed for the job of a caregiver, you found it cute. You quickly grabbed the cardigan laying on the couch on your way out and rushed outside.

—-

To your surprise, the first day at your new job had gone quite smoothly. It wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as you had thought but it mainly had to do with you not having to interact with anyone much. You had spent your day stacking and reorganizing books, you were glad your boss hadn’t put you as the cashier. The old man insisted for you to stay in the back, probably noticing how anxious you had seemed in the job interview and not wanting to risk you embarrassing yourself with customers. You were grateful for that in a way, if your job continued like this then you were sure you could do it.

“Grandma?” You called out as you stepped inside the house, your shoes padding against the wooden floors. You let your bag drop on the ground as you walked down the hallway. You heard faint laughter near you, seeming to come from the living room. You turned and saw your grandma seated on her rocking chair, happily chatting with Jungkook who was seated on the coach beside her.

“Y/n! You’re home, my dear. “ Your grandmother gushed when she saw you, a smile forming on her wrinkled face. You walked over to her, giving her a tight hug.

“You didn’t tell me such a handsome young man was going to be the one to wake me up this morning.” Your grandmother stated and your face heated up at her words.

“Grandma!”

Jungkook chuckled, his smile reminded you of a bunny in a way.

“I’m assuming things went well?” You asked, face still hot.

“Perfect, your grandmother is a joy to be around.” Jungkook confirmed, glancing at your grandmother. “ I think she’s the easiest person I’ve had to look after.”

You sighed in relief, overjoyed that there hadn’t been any issues and everything seemed perfectly fine.

“Jungkook made some delicious oatmeal, I didn’t know these caregivers were such good cooks. “ Your grandmother added and you giggled.

“I gave her all her medications and she should be good to go to bed soon.” Jungkook said, standing up .

“How was your first day at work, my dear?” Your grandmother asked and you felt Jungkook’s heavy gaze on you.

“Good , I think. I mean it was better than I expected.“

“You know you don’t have to force yourself too much.” Your grandmother insisted, worry lacing her tone but you shook your head.

“I promise I’m not.”

“Your grandmother said you are a bit of anxious person?” Jungkook mentioned, tilting his head in a questioning manner.

You glanced at your grandma, wondering how much exactly she had told Jungkook.

“I told him how much you struggle with your anxiety and socializing with people. “ She sighed, resting her hands on her lap. “ You know how much I worried about you getting a job. I want you to put your health first.”

“Grandma, I’m fine. This job is helping me.” You insisted, not being able to help the annoyance in your tone. You felt a bit awkward now that Jungkook knew about your mental health conditions. It seemed too invasive.

“Your grandma is just trying to look after you, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Jungkook’s tone was sincere as he stared down at you, noticing the change in mood you took.

He wondered how you would react to him knowing much more than just the surfaced level information your grandmother had provided for him. It wasn’t hard to get her to talk about you, it was all she ever did seem to talk about and Jungkook couldn’t be happier at that. It made it easier to get to know you despite him not being able to be near you all day. Your grandmother served as an immediate resource. Although, not much of what she had said was surprising, he had figured the type of person you were at first glance, her words only serving as confirmation.

—

As weeks passed , Jungkook became more and more involved in your home life and his presence became so familiar to you, almost as if he had always been part of you and your grandmother’s life. He was here everyday first thing in the morning until late in the afternoon, sometimes even staying for dinner. Even on the weekdays, he managed to stop by for a bit and check up on your grandmother. You couldn’t believe it at first, that you managed to find such a perfect caregiver.

“Y/n!” Jungkook called out from the kitchen as you adjusted the scarf around your neck.

“One sec!” You said, rushing out and making your way towards the kitchen, you were met by a plate of stacked pancakes, scrambled eggs and chopped up fruit on the table.

“Don’t forget to eat before you leave.“ Jungkook stated, fussing over you to take a seat. It had become a habit of his to serve you breakfast each day before you left to work, insisting that it was bad for your health to leave on an empty stomach.

“You really don’t have to do this, Jungkook. You already do so much for my grandma.” You smiled, hesitantly taking a seat and taking a bite out of the delicious pancakes. Your grandmother really wasn’t lying when she said he was an amazing cook.

“Of course I do, besides I have extra time before your grandmother wakes up. “ He pushed a glass of orange juice towards you that you happily accepted.

“You seem a bit sickly lately, are you getting enough sleep? “ Jungkook questioned as he took a seat beside you. You had been more tired than usual lately but you figured it was because of your job. Although it wasn’t that physically demanding, you were sure it was your body getting accustomed to not sitting at home all day for once.

“Probably just tired from work.” You replied as you took another sip of your orange juice. Jungkook eyed you, taking in how shaky your hands seemed as you tilted the glass over your lips.

He didn’t like you working. He didn’t like seeing you do any type of labor, no matter how small. You should be treated like a princess, with so much care and not having to lift a finger for anything. He didn’t like the fact that you were away for such long hours, not knowing what type of trouble you were in or what you were up to. Fortunately, that would come to an end soon.

“I’d prefer if you actually finished your food this time. “ He said, his tone a bit more firm this time. You almost giggled at his serious expression.

“You take this caregiving job really seriously.” You commented as took another bite of the food. “ I’m sure my grandmother feels spoiled.”

“Hm, I’m sure she does. I try my best to.” Jungkook hoped you were the one that felt spoiled. He took great pleasure in seeing you happy, making sure he had all your needs met. He had took time finding out what your favorite foods, shows, and hobbies were. Anything related to you, he had become obsessed with knowing.

“I need to pick up my grandma’s prescriptions today so I may be home a bit later.” You added in between chews.

“No need, I picked them up already before coming here.” Jungkook smirked, and you sighed.

“You really were born for this job.” You mumble.

—

Jungkook sat on his bed, his eyes glued to his phone screen. The tiny camera he had hidden inside your room was at a perfectly angle from your bed. Placed inside one of the eye sockets of your many stuffed animals, he had found your collection of them cute. He watched as you emerged from your bathroom, eyes following the tightly wrapped towel around your body. Your skin still damp from the shower as you reached over your dresser for the lotion bottle. He swallowed heavily as he watched your towel drop on the floor, exposing your bare body. His eyes hungrily took in every curve, from your breasts down to your core.

You were ethereal, no matter how much he had tried to handle his needs by fucking other women , he was never satisfied. They weren’t you, and they would never would be. He almost felt as if he was betraying every time he had went to bed with another women. He was disgusted with himself for even giving in, promising himself he would never seek the pleasure of another women. You were his only muse, the only person he wanted. You were going to be together forever.

He watched as you spread lotion over your legs, massaging them. The tightening in his pants only worsened and despite how much he tried to control himself, he let his hand tug his pants down and closed his eyes.

—

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her, she’s been sleeping a lot lately. “ You chewed on your bottom lip worriedly.

Your grandmother had been more lethargic than usual, you knew her old age made her sleep a lot most days but still, her sudden change in behavior was odd to you. Your grandmother was usually a chatty old lady and now she barely had the energy to hold a full conversation with you.

Jungkook listened intently, having his back turned to you as he prepared you some tea. He lifted the kettle and poured the hot water over the tea bag, adding a bit of extra honey knowing you had a sweet tooth. He didn’t want you this anxious all night.

Especially not tonight.

“ You have to understand your grandmother is at a very delicate age now,” He began to explain. “ She’s tired and doesn’t have much energy for anything.”

You knew what he was implying but you didn’t want to accept it. You shook your head at just the mere thought.

“What if it’s because of me?” You wondered as he took a seat across from you and handed you over the mug. You thanked him and took a sip, the hot liquid soothing your throat.

“Bab-“ Jungkook stopped himself, not letting the nickname fall from his lips.

“You can’t blame yourself for these things. None of this is your fault.” He stated with a more serious tone, staring so intensely at you that you almost believed him.

“B-but what if it is? I mean, I don’t even spend that much time with her anymore. “ You reasoned. “Maybe she’s depressed.”

“You overthink too much,” He replied, watching as you took another sip of the tea. “ She seems happy all the time, you can’t expect her to be the same as a few years ago, it’s just the age.”

You sighed, nodding slowly at his words. You knew deep down he was right, your grandmother was just reaching a certain age that didn’t let her have much energy for much. However, that made you even more guilty having to go to work and just leaving her. Of course, you knew Jungkook took amazing care of her and she loved him, always gushing about how attentive he was. But that didn’t stop the guilt washing over you.

“I’m gonna go give her a good night kiss. “ You whispered, setting the mug down. Jungkook watched you until you disappeared from his view, rushing down the hallway.

You came into your grandmother’s room, turning on the lamp on her nightstand. She looked so peacefully asleep, you almost regretted coming inside in fear of waking her up. You made your way over to her bed, crouching down a bit to her level as you pulled back her covers a bit.

“Love you, grandma. Good night.” You whispered, pressing your lips to her cheek. Her skin was so ice cold that it made you flinch back.

You frowned, eyes scanning over body.

“Grandma?” You asked, shaking her shoulder a bit. No movement.

“Grandma?” You repeated, this time more panicked. You felt your heart drop as you continued to shake her more and no response came. She didn’t seem to be breathing.

“Jungkook!” You yelled as you stood up, fully taking the covers off her.

“Jungkook! Somethings wrong!” You yelled again, frantically running out of your grandmother’s room in search for the caregiver. You hurried down the long hallway, feeling your heart rapidly beat in your chest.

“Jungkook!” You found him sitting in the same spot you left him, he slowly turned his head towards you when he saw you enter the kitchen. “ Please call an ambulance! My grandma is not moving!”

“Y/n, calm down.” He said, slowly standing up from his seat. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at his calm and nonchalant behavior.

“What!? How am I supposed to calm down? She’s not breathing!” You screamed at him, running past him in search of your bag.

“Where’s my phone!?” You dumped all the stuff out of your bag on the table, frantically searching for your phone.

Jungkook watched you silently , slowly circling the table. He took a quick glance at the clock that hung on the wall.

“Why are you just standing there!” You whipped your head back at him, angry tears already forming in your eyes.

“Do something! Go find hel-“ The wave of dizziness that took over your body made you shut your mouth. You stumbled back a bit, feeling a pair of arms hold you up.

The floor seemed to be spinning beneath you. You scrunched up your face in confusion. What the hell was happening?

“Shh, it’s okay baby.” You heard Jungkook whisper , his hot breath on your ear. Your heart continued to beat rapidly in your chest as your vision became more disoriented.

“W-whats going on?” You mumbled, feeling a heaviness take over you. Your legs felt weak, almost giving out beneath you as the arms around your body tightened.

“Everything is okay, baby. “ Jungkook hushed, arms holding you down.

“Just sleep.”

The tea. Your body chilled in realization.

“M-my grandma.” You attempted to free yourself from his grip, pathetically throwing punches against his chest. He almost found your attempts humorous.

He looked down at you in pity.

“Your grandmother was just an another obstacle between us, she’s in a much better place now.” His words made you freeze, your mind not knowing how to process what he had just said. You shook your head rapidly.

“No, no.” You let out choked sob, this wasn’t happening . None of this was happening.

“What did you do to her?!” Angry tears stained your cheeks, this had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. Jungkook could never do that, this had to be some sick joke.

“What did you! Let me go!” You demanded but the weakness in your body only seemed to get stronger, your own body was betraying you right now as Jungkook continued to carry you down the hallway.

“Baby, you need to calm down.” Jungkook repeated as you continued to fight against his grip, he knew you wouldn’t last much longer. “ You’re going to hurt yourself. “

“P-please, let me go.” You cried, your vision blurry now. Everything seemed to spin, slowly fading away into darkness, your body falling limply against his.

“That’s it, fall asleep.” Jungkook pressed his lips against the side of your forehead. His princess was finally his.

“Everything is going to be okay, baby.” He smiled down at you, brushing your hair out of your wet face. “We’re finally going to be together.”

#yandere jungkook #yandere!jungkook #yandere!bts #yandere x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook au #jungkook #bts au #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts #yandere #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook

280 notes · View notes

lxngbottom · 4 years ago

Text

Mute | N.L.

in which the reader doesn’t talk, and neville tries to change that.

warnings: bullying, swearing, mentions of mental illness/anxiety, some angst (let me know if there are more!)

word count: 2,298

thank you for all of the love on my last two one shots!! it means so much ty ty okay now enjoy

—

“trauma, maybe? my dad’s friend who’s a muggle doctor said that trauma can completely change a person.”

there the three boys were again, sitting at the gryffindor table in the great hall, trying to understand the girl who would always sit ways away from everyone else.

“maybe she’s just really shy!” dean quickly replied, shooting down seamus’s suggestion. seamus shrugged, and took a large gulp of his morning pumpkin juice.

“no! longbottom is “shy”, but y/n? i haven’t heard her say one single thing since second year.”

neville listened in on his friend’s conversation, only letting his eyes leave them when he went to take quick glances at the girl of the hour.

y/n was to put it into simple terms... mute. it was very difficult to hear her utter a single vowel, let along a whole statement. everyone at hogwarts knew that she was not just quiet or shy, but completely silent. people wondered how one person could go without speaking for so long. she was a bit jittery, seemingly nervous all the time. if someone shot a single look at her and she noticed, she would look away without even giving the person a chance to smile or wave.

weirdly, she had always been this way. since the first day of first year, she kept to herself, not even attempting on taking the chance of getting to know someone who might become a life long friend. it really got under people’s skin when they asked her a question, and she just simply wouldn’t respond. so, this caused for students to completely avoid her. it seemed that it was a collective agreement among the school that no one should even try speaking to her. and that was because, again, they would never get a reply.

out of these students, neville longbottom seemed to be the most intrigued. he would never forget the first time he heard her speak. it was one day in third year, of course neville was clumsily making his way down the hallway. as he did so, he didn’t notice that y/n was walking straight for him. and of course, she didn’t notice him either until they both crashed into each other’s bodies. neville fell back onto the ground, letting a small huff escape from his lips. surrounding students cackled at the two as they continued walking. when he looked up, he saw the panic in her eyes and the way she quickly reached down to get her books.

“uh—merlin... sorry about that...” he stuttered, reaching down as well to help her. she glanced at him, but quickly looked away when he noticed. of course, she stayed silent. “are you alright?”

she nodded her head, and stood up with the books in her hand. “yeah. thanks.” and with that, she rushed away from him, not even giving him a chance to say one more word.

he would never forget it. the way her voice was so soft and fragile. he had honestly wished he could hear it more.

admittedly, neville felt bad for her. every time he looked at her, something nagged at him about the girl. every time she got called out in class to answer a question, he would panic for her as her face would drop.

she looked so lonely. she would sit in the back of the class always. he had seen her in the library quite often, just reading, sitting all alone at a table. he hated that she seemed so alone.

he wanted to change that.

—

the day was quiet. only the sounds of birds outside and the wind blowing through the trees on the castle grounds. saturdays were always the perfect days for going to the library, studying, or just to read a good book. that was y/n’s plans consisted of most of the time.

y/n made her way through the large halls, waving discreetly to the paintings on the wall. it seemed as if the lively pictures were the only people that ever respected her, told her hello as she walked by.

her fingers were tightly grasped around two books, as she was planning on returning both of them. her face didn’t show it, but she was quite excited to find two more books to add to her reading list. reading had always been considered an easy escape to y/n. pages filled with so many words, but told so many different stories. stories about love, heartbreak, dragons, princesses, noble wizards, y/n enjoyed all of it.

as she daydreamed about her next book, she hadn’t noticed the small group of students exchanging glances and laughing as they saw her approaching. before she knew it, her books were being slapped out of her hand, and hit the ground with a loud noise.

she looked up finally and saw draco malfoy standing right in front of her, hands in his pockets, chuckling with all of his friends from his choice of action against her.

“you gotta be quicker than that, mute!” he teased, and y/n bent down to grab the two books. when she stood up and met eyes with him again, he shook his head at her. “can’t think of a good comeback? or are you just too scared to say anything?”

she held the books tight to her chest, trembling from malfoy’s presence.

“thought so. see you around, mute.” he spat her way, but not forgetting to bump into her figure as he walked away, his friends following behind him.

y/n sighed, and turned around to make sure they were completely gone.

she started her journey once again, making her way to her sanctuary that people called the library.

when she arrived, she returned her books to madam prince silently, and this didn’t shock the librarian whatsoever. she was used to y/n coming in, checking out countless books, and checking them out and returning them muted.

as y/n skimmed the aisles, she came to the conclusion that she would once again read one of her favorite books. she had read it about seven times, but she could never get over how beautifully written it was. it was truly the best thing she had ever laid her eyes on, and she knew she would probably read it once more after this time around.

but when she went over the familiar bookshelf, the book in question wasn’t in the place it always was. she furrowed her eyes brows, and checked the rest of the shelves near just to make sure it hadn’t been misplaced. but of course, it was no where to be found.

malfoy had provided her with a sour experience already that day, and now she couldn’t even check out her favorite book? she already knew where this day was going, and she frowned in disappointment at the thought.

y/n had settled on some other fantasy novel that seemed to acquire to her taste. she checked it out, and made her way to the back of the library. she always went where it was secluded, almost no one else but her present. but little did she know, behind all the shelves she was walking by, someone followed her.

she finally found a small table to sit down at, and she did so with relief. it always made her so nervous to think that she might have to actually sit with other people one day. but luckily, that day wasn’t today. or so she thought.

because as a few minutes went by, and her eyes were glued to the book pages in front of her, she heard a chair being pushed. she looked up, and met eyes with neville longbottom. he shot her a small smile before speaking,

“can i sit here? it’s okay if not, everywhere else just feels a bit stuffy.”

she stared at his features for a moment, thinking back to the day when she bumped into him in the hallway. she gave him a single nod, and luckily, he didn’t miss it.

as he sat down in front of her, she gulped heavily. she hated being around others, even in a peaceful place such as a library.

a few minutes went by, the silence filling in the gap between the two. neville would glance at her a few times over his book, and she seemingly seemed lost in her own world. but at some point, she finally did look away from the words on the pages. she looked at the book he was “reading”, and noticed the familiar cover. if she hadn’t caught herself, she would’ve let out an audible gasp.

he had her book.

she seemed to be staring for too long, because neville looked at her.

“have you read this before?” he suddenly asked, snapping her back into reality. “it’s actually pretty good. i’m not big on fantasy, but this isn’t too bad.”

yeah, it’s an amazing book. she knew that very well.

but of course, she didn’t express that into words for neville. she only snapped her eyes back to her book, and neville frowned a bit.

did he say something wrong? he thought for sure that this was her favorite book. i mean, he had seen her with it more times than he could keep track of, so he could only assume.

“what’s that you’re reading? is it good?”

she looked up at him through hooded eyes, still not budging.

“well, anyways... i’m more of a herbology book lover. i love learning new things about plants. i think it’s really cool...”

y/n felt herself becoming confused, and almost bothered. she knew who neville was, but couldn’t understand why he was attempting to spark a conversation with her.

“i noticed that you like to read,” he mentioned, and y/n finally looked at him fully. “i mean—i see you here a lot, and you’re always reading from what i can tell. what’s your favorite genre?”

as neville attempted to get the girl to speak, he closed his book without looking. he realized that was a mistake when the heavy book closed onto his finger, and he let out a loud yelp.

as much as y/n tried, she couldn’t hold in the small giggle that fell from her lips. she covered her mouth in an attempt to hide it, but neville’s ears caught it.

“oh, you think my suffering is funny, huh?” neville joked, smiling out of triumph. she hadn’t spoke, but she laughed. and neville swore it was the most angelic thing he had ever heard.

she shook her head at his question, her cheeks turning a dark red from embarrassment. she had hoped he was okay, but nonetheless, it was funny.

the whole time they were in the library, neville rambled on about random things. he had brought up his interests in plants, making sure not to over explain his love for them. he talked about books, and random things that had happened to him and his friends during his time at hogwarts. he was making it his number one goal to get her to talk at least once.

but as darkness began to fall, and as curfew approached quicker and quicker by the minute, he hadn’t succeeded. he was quite shy at the fact that he had just sat in the library all day rambling to someone who never even spoke back. she had seemed to be listening, which took him by surprise. he had never had someone to listen to him as he spoke, let along not interrupt him in a conversation.

as much as she hated to admit it, y/n had a good time herself. she loved the way neville talked, how he explained things so deeply and with so much detail. he never seemed to miss a beat in a conversation, even if it was practically with himself. it made her realize that she wish she had the strength to speak. she wished she could respond to his questions without feeling her stomach churning.

the two left the library, their bags draped over their shoulders as they walked. y/n still had two books clutched into her hand, as she has checked out a random herbology book before leaving. neville smiled when she did so, feeling giddy inside that he had managed to spark an interest in her.

“that book is really good! it’s all about water plants! which are really cool, by the way. you should read up on gillyweed! it’s this really cool plant that—“ when he went to ramble on once more, he stopped himself. “never mind. i think i’ve talked a bit too much, today. wouldn’t you agree?”

for some reason, y/n wanted him to keep talking. it filled the silence that she considered her serenity, and she enjoyed every last word he spoke.

“well... i think this is where we part ways. do you need me to walk you back?” he asked, secretly hoping that she would say yes. but, she shook her head no. he was greatly dissatisfied, but, he tried his best to understand.

“oh, okay. well... goodnight, y/n. maybe we can hang out in the library some other time.”

he smiled at her, not expecting a word, but only catching a glimpse at the red that rose to the tips of her ears.

neville began to walk away, feeling a bit defeated.

suddenly, something that neville never wouldn’t expected:

“goodnight.”

he stopped in his place, and turned around. she covered her mouth with her books, but neville could tell that she was smiling. he couldn’t believe that the word had left her mouth.

“goodnight, y/n.” he repeated, and she shot him a smile before walking in the other direction. a genuine smile. the first one he had ever seen besides from her giggling.

he wanted to hear that voice, and those giggles more than she could ever have guessed.

#harry potter #neville longbottom #neville longbottom imagine #neville x reader #neville longbottom smut #harry potter imagine #harry potter smut

399 notes · View notes