#the tags are fucking empty hello

[graham--folger]

holding up death parade and kabaneri of the iron fortress like. you want to watch these so bad

[egoarc4de]

finished succession again, found some kenstewy wips from way back

[recent-rose]

i need ppl who are going to write fic from the pov of clearly, canonically, passionately green-aligned characters, to just commit. like tell me why someone's first paragraph in a fic, written from the perspective of aeron fucking bracken, is a whole bunch of 'the greens suck, rhaenyra is the true queen, and i totes didn't just involve myself in a massacre (in which i DIE) over my firm belief that the blacks are infant killers aha' :skull:

[hauntingblue]

[luvsupa]

I WANT TO HEAR YOU SCREAMMM!

summary: whatever you do, do not fuck mr.ghostface!

tags: ghostface!geto x fem!reader, naoya mention .., set in the 90s and inspired by fear street!!, smut, ōral sex (m and f receiving), knife play, slightly mask kink, humiliation kink, exhibitionism kinda, death, mentions of blood, etc, mdni

w.c: around 3.6k (sorry I got carried away …)

a/n: THANK U GUYS FOR 1.6K WAAAATTTT WE GOIN UPPPPP YEASSS

+ geto in tbis fic looks just like this fanart 🙂‍↕️

kinktober masterlist

you lean against the register, bored out of your mind as you scribble distorted faces on your company’s notepad. working a night shift sucks—especially a closing shift. you huff as the intercom blasts the latest rock song, a weak attempt to liven up the dead atmosphere. lately, the cd shop has been busy with customers buying vinyls, posters, and movies. ugh, it was so annoying having to scan the newest movie, scream. the line was always so long it nearly wrapped around the whole building!

you glance out the glass front doors, scanning the empty, dark streets, genuinely debating whether you should close two hours early since no one is coming. your attention shifts as you hear the bell ring, indicating a customer entering.

ugh.

your smile drops when you see naoya, your annoying coworker who flirts with you in the weirdest ways. he’s always condescending and putting you down until you found out from another coworker that he’s actually attracted to you. he walks toward you, standing in front of the register as if he were a customer. you honestly forgot he was still here after he said he would take a ‘five-minute’ break an hour ago.

“you don’t get paid to draw, now do you?” he says, leaning over to grab the notebook. you let him take it, but he rips the page clean, crumpling it in his fist. gosh, you hated when he acted like the manager. “anyways, I’m clocking out! must suck having to stay for another… two hours!” he laughs, glancing at the clock above. he giggles as he walks behind the counter into the bright red font ‘employees only’ room, leaving you scoffing in annoyance. you waste time fixing the decorations on the register as every minute drags by.

ring!

your heart stops when you hear the company phone ringing. who the hell calls at this hour? you pick up the corded telephone and force yourself into a professional tone.

“thank you for calling cursed tracks, how may I help you?” you say, lazily watching over the store. there’s a long pause, and your brows furrow. is this a prank call?

“hello—”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

you burst out laughing, doubling over at the blatant prank call. there’s no way. it’s beyond cringey that you would be a victim of ghostface’s evil scheme. tears roll down your cheeks as you hang up the phone, your laughter still ringing in your ears. but then, you stumble backward, colliding with something solid—no, someone. your laughter halts as you slowly turn your head, gulping hard as your eyes drop in horror. screaming in genuine fear, you see him: ghostface, knife in hand, just like in the movies.

you stumble back into the counter, panic rising as you cry out, cornered in the booth. he drops his hand and bursts into laughter, and your brows furrow in confusion. he lifts his hand to remove the haunting mask, and embarrassment floods over you.

seriously.

“naoya, that wasn’t funny,” you snap, shoving him away as he continues to laugh uncontrollably. “you— you should’ve seen your face! I wish I recorded this— we would’ve been stars!” he wheezes, still amused as you find none of this funny. he continues to mimic your reaction, and you bite your lip to keep from lunging at him.

“stop wearing display costumes, asshole! you’re gonna get us in trouble,” you scold, turning away as he playfully bonks your head with the fake plastic knife. irritation washes over you.

“jeez, naoya— just leave already, you’re ruining my alone time,” you say coldly, clearly annoyed by his antics. you hear his footsteps retreating to the employee room, allowing you to calm down from his stupid joke.

you lean against the counter once again, watching over the store in boredom, your eyes feeling heavy as each minute passes. maybe you should really quit- you’re not getting paid enough for this. you roll your eyes at the ruckus coming from the room behind you—nayoa’s making way too much noise.

bastard, you mentally insult him.

you close your eyes to rest them, feeling exhausted from the long shift when you suddenly sense someone standing behind you. your eyes shoot open, and your heart drops again as you turn around to see nayoa in that damn ghostface costume.

“very fuckin’ funny, naoya,” you scoff, trying to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. he’s breathing heavily under the mask, staying still as if waiting for your reaction. you turn to yell at him, but the words choke in your throat. your eyes drop to the knife he’s gripping in his hand, and it looks too real—dripping with what looks like blood. your breathing quickens as you glance at the fake plastic knife that naoya left on the counter, your eyes twitching in disbelief.

“o-okay, naoya, you’re scaring me.”

“darling, who’s naoya?” the male voice says, distorted through the mask’s speaker. tears rush to your eyes as you see blood seeping from under the employee room door.

you step back, your back hitting the counter, trapping you just like before when nayoa scared you. the male steps closer, tears spilling down your cheeks as fear overwhelms you; you can’t call out for naoya—he’s fucking dead!

without thinking, you attempt to jump over the counter, but before you can touch the ground, you feel yourself being yanked back by strong hands. you squeal at how fast he moves, pinning you against the wall with one hand holding you in place and the other gripping the sharp, bloody knife to your throat. your eyes widen, the blade too close to your artery. if you looked up at the popcorn ceiling. you’d see the end of it—your life flashing before your eyes.

“oh pretty, you were just acting like a big girl,” geto coos, his voice soft yet terrifying. the grip on the knife loosens slightly as he pulls back his head, and your eyes remain shut, fear washing over you.

“y’r sooo fuckin’ nasty, huh,” geto comments, and your brows furrow as you stare at the creepy face behind the mask. he chuckles, and you follow his gaze down—oh fuck. you wish your body wasn’t reacting on its own! you’re grinding your hips against his knee placed between your thighs, your rhythm so subtle you didn’t even realize.

“let’s test how nasty you really get.”

those were the last words that echoed in your head as he had you behind the counter, knees grinding against the freezing floor, your jaw aching from the relentless thrusts. his thick cock slammed into your mouth with brutal force—so deep that you swore you could feel him in your chest, the bulge in your throat visible as he used you mercilessly. both of his hands gripped your head with brutal force, his long fingers tangling in your curly locks as he fucked your face like a filthy fucktoy. his groans, muffled by the infamous ghostface mask, sent shivers down your spine, the hollow black eyes staring soullessly at you as he threw his head back in ecstasy. the obscene sounds of wet gags and sloppy suction filled the store, the mess overwhelming—drool and spit spilled uncontrollably from your mouth, coating his shaft and dripping down your chin, soaking into the front of your work shirt.

your nose repeatedly slammed against his crotch, the rough patch of his pubes tickling against your skin, making you tear up even more. the strain in your jaw was unbearable, his fat cock stretching you wide, each thrust so forceful you thought your jaw might snap. but you kept your grip on his jeans, fingers digging into the fabric as your throat was pounded raw. his heavy black boot was wedged between your legs, you couldn’t stop grinding on him. each roll of your hips against his boot sent delicious friction through your core, and you were drenched, your panties soaked through your pants, sticking to your swollen folds. the slick sounds of your cunt rubbing against his boot mixed with the wet slurps coming from your mouth, each grind making you moan pathetically around his cock.

geto’s head dropped down to watch, eyes behind the hollow mask taking in the sight of you—a filthy, drooling mess on your knees with his cock buried so deep down your throat that a bulge swelled in your neck. drool poured from your lips in thick strings, and your hips moved desperately against his foot, grinding on him like you couldn’t help yourself. but he didn’t let you keep going. his movements stopped abruptly, and with a harsh yank, he pulled your head back off his cock, making you gag and cough, gasping for air. the sound of your desperate choking echoed through the store as strings of spit connected your swollen lips to his twitching tip, your eyes wide with lust and tears. the sight of you, completely ruined in your leggings, face soaked and pussy grinding against his boot, only made him harder, his cock throbbing in front of your face.

“you jus’ can’t help it, can you?” geto growls, his voice thick with cruel amusement as he grinds his boot harder into your cunt, your soaked panties doing nothing to dull the friction. the pressure sends jolts of filthy pleasure up your spine, making you cry out pathetically, your body writhing against him. his grin stretches behind the ghostface mask, those empty black eyes staring down at you, drinking in your desperation.

in a single, brutal motion, he rips you off the ground and slams you onto the counter, CDs clattering to the floor around you. your legs fly up, bent and spread wide, exposing you to him completely. his eyes rake over your body like you’re nothing more than prey. with a harsh tug, he rips your pants off, tossing them carelessly behind him. the moment his gaze lands on the soaked crotch of your panties, your clit twitches in response, your cunt clenching involuntarily, knowing what’s about to come. the fabric is practically see through now, drenched in fear and filthy arousal, and it only makes his smirk widen behind the mask.

your eyes are glossy, chest heaving as your legs stay bent up, thighs trembling with anticipation. you should be terrified, and you are—but the heat pulsing through your core is undeniable. the sight of him towering over you with that eerie mask, black eyes hollow and unfeeling, does something sick to you.

without warning, geto pulls a another knife from behind him, the blade gleaming dangerously in the store light. you gulp hard, a whimper escaping your lips as he waves it inches from your face, the cold steel sending a wave of fear coursing through you, but it only makes your cunt throb harder.

“don’t move,” he whispers darkly, dragging the tip of the knife down your neck, making your skin break out in goosebumps. the blade hovers over your chest, your nipples hardening as he traces your curves. he presses just enough to remind you of its sharpness, enough to let you know he could cut deep at any second. the threat lingers in the air, the thrill of it making your thighs tremble.

he doesn’t hesitate when he reaches your shirt. with a quick flick of his wrist, you hear the rippppp of fabric as the blade slices your work button-up clean open, exposing your bare chest. the sharpness of the knife cutting through the material like paper sends a shiver of fear and arousal down your spine.

“cheap shit,” he sneers, but the way your nipples perk in the cool air has his cock straining even harder. his hand moves lower, the tip of the blade dragging dangerously over your trembling stomach, inching closer and closer to your cunt.

you gasp when he finally reaches your panties, the cold metal resting against the swollen lips of your pussy. “y’know. . .” he trails off, voice thick with lust as he presses the flat of the blade against your clothed clit, the cold, sharp edge making you jerk involuntarily. “never had someone so . . .desperate in their final moments.”

it’s humiliating how your clit twitches at the contact, how your cunt clenches around nothing, soaked and aching for him. he notices, of course, the way your hips twitch toward the blade, and the wetness that’s already beginning to drip down your thighs.

“fuckin’ embarrassing,” he mutters, but his voice is laced with something darker—he’s getting off on this, on how soaked you are for him. the knife slides lower, grazing your inner thigh, just shy of cutting you, the scrape of the blade against your skin sending shivers through your body. you can feel your pulse in your clit, each drag of the cold steel only making you wetter, more desperate.

“this turning you on, baby?” he asks, his voice low and mocking. you can’t even respond, too lost in the filthy heat coursing through you.

with a quick flick of his wrist, the knife slices through your panties, the sharp blade cold against your slick folds. you gasp, your pussy finally exposed, clit twitching as the cool air hits your drenched core. the knife grazes your swollen lips, barely a whisper of pressure, but it’s enough to make you moan, your cunt clenching desperately.

he hums in approval, staring down at your glistening pussy, the wetness dripping from your folds, thighs trembling as you lie there helplessly. geto’s exposed cock twitches painfully at the sight, his eyes narrowing behind the mask as he drinks in how ruined you already are.

“fuckkk,” he mumbles, voice thick with lust. he lets the knife trail up, dragging it over your clit just enough to make you gasp, the cold edge sending waves of agonizing pleasure through you.

you’re fighting the urge to touch yourself, legs trembling with need, but he’s dragging it out, watching you suffer, savoring every filthy, desperate moan that spills from your lips. your cunt clenches again, dripping, aching for more, but all he does is graze the blade over your sensitive skin, keeping you on the edge, waiting for him to finally take what’s his.

without a second thought, geto rips off the ghostface mask, revealing his face in all its sinful glory. his long black hair cascades down his back, a few loose strands framing his face just right, giving him that perfect, messy look. your heart nearly stops at the sight—those silver piercings in his lower lip glint under the lights of the CD store. fuck. your breath catches as you realize just how devastatingly hot he is, a man who could ruin you in every sense of the word.

“f-fuck, mr. ghostface. . .you’re so fucking hot,” you moan, your cunt clenching involuntarily at the sight of him. he smirks, catching your reaction instantly, bringing the blade right back to your dripping cunt, but now it’s different—now you can see every twitch of that gorgeous smirk, every glint in his wicked eyes. nothing is processing in your mind at this point. you’re too far gone, body shaking as he holds all the power over you. he could do anything right now, and you’d let him.

geto leans in, inhaling deeply, letting your scent drive him mad before diving headfirst between your thighs. his lips find your cunt with no warning, devouring you like a fucking beast. his tongue plunges into your soaked hole with reckless abandon, the wet, obscene sounds echoing through the empty store. your back arches violently against the counter, the cold glass windows around the store only barrier between you and the outside world. if anyone walked by and caught sight of this—fuck, you’d be fired in an instant. but the thrill of that thought only makes the heat in your core burn hotter.

your body reacts before your mind can catch up, hands flying to tangle in his thick, soft hair, yanking him closer. he groans deep, the sound vibrating through your clit as you pull his head in tighter. mr. ghostface loves his hair being pulled—check! you think, feeling the way his body reacts to your grip, only making him devour you more ruthlessly.

his nose nudges your clit, adding to the torment as his tongue relentlessly works your insides, the metal ball of his tongue piercing sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. it’s so nasty, so fucking loud as he slurps up your juices, the slick sound echoing around the store. you can’t believe your body is making this much of a mess, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the counter beneath you. you’re losing it, completely undone by how he’s devouring you.

geto’s tongue is merciless, and just when you think it can’t get any better, he brings two thick fingers to your entrance, thrusting them in deep. the stretch makes your head spin, his digits spreading you open wide as his tongue continues to work your cunt. he groans low in his throat, the vibrations sending another wave of ecstasy through your core. the sensation of his tongue, his piercing, and his fingers all working together has you seeing stars, your walls clenching around him uncontrollably.

“fuck, look at you,” he growls against your cunt, his voice muffled but still dripping with arrogance as his fingers curl inside you, finding your sweet spot instantly. your eyes roll back, legs shaking uncontrollably as the tension in your belly coils tighter. your grip on his head tightens, forcing him further into you, needing more, more of that perfect, filthy mouth. his lips close around your swollen clit, biting at it just enough to drive you insane, while his fingers pound into you relentlessly.

you catch a glimpse of his face between your thighs, his half-lidded eyes fluttering shut as a moan slips past his pierced lips, his tongue flicking out to lick your slick from the corner of his mouth like he can’t get enough. he’s completely lost in you, ruthlessly making out with your cunt, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge, your body trembling violently as you feel your orgasm building, heat burning in your stomach, your cunt clenching around his thick fingers.

“listen to how talkative she is,” geto sneers, a wicked smirk stretching across his face. without hesitation, his free hand grabs the store’s telephone, fingers working quickly to connect it to the intercom. before you can process what he’s doing, he presses the microphone right up against your drenched, sloppy cunt.

your eyes go wide in horror as the filthy, wet sloshing of your pussy echoes through the entire store. the slick, obscene sounds of your cunt squelching and dripping around his thick fingers fill the air, amplified by the speakers. every thrust makes it squirt, the embarrassing symphony of your slick coating his fingers making your stomach drop with humiliation. you’re completely exposed, the sound of your body’s desperate reactions bouncing off the store walls, reminding you just how nasty this is.

the wet slaps, the relentless gushing of your cunt, and the squelching noises leave you utterly mortified. It’s so loud, so filthy that if anyone were to walk by, they’d hear everything—and know exactly what a mess you’re making for him. every slick, nasty sound screams your shame, broadcasting to the entire store that you’re getting off to a literal serial killer!

“look at you,” geto chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with arrogance. “so fucking nasty for me. all this for a killer? huh? you like knowing what a filthy slut you are?”

geto throws the telephone, letting it dangle by the cord, before roughly flipping you onto your stomach. your feet barely touch the ground as your chest presses into the counter- bent over, giving you a full view of the empty store. his eyes darken as he takes in your position, biting his lip at the sight of your ass wiggling back, grinding against his hard cock. you can’t help but plead, your voice breathy and desperate.

“please, mr. ghostface, you’ve been sucha tease,” you whine, turning your head to watch him as he toys with his lip piercing, eyes fixed on you like he’s weighing his options. before you can beg again, he makes his choice—sliding his fat, mushroom tip past your dripping entrance. the stretch of his tip slightly burning but- oh it felt so good. your body jerks forward with the slow, agonizing thrust, his thick crownhead teasing innn and outttt of your needy, aching walls. you cry out, wanting—no, needing—more.

desperation overtakes you, and you try to fuck yourself back onto him, but his hand comes down hard, swatting your ass. the sharp sting only makes your pussy clench harder, and you hear him tut in disbelief at how filthy you’ve become for him. “unbelievable how you’re this horny,” he sneers, gripping your hips tighter as if to hold you still.

“if you’re a virgin, just say—ahh,” you taunt- gasping loudly when his fingers wrap around the back of your neck, his grip firm as he pulls you flush against his broad chest. his thick tip remains lodged inside your cunt, teasing you with how little he’s giving, yet how desperately you crave more.

he leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “i’d love to stay and prove your point,” he purrs, eyes flicking to the front of the store, where the bright blue and red lights of approaching police cars flash in the distance. your mind is too foggy, too consumed with lust to understand what he’s hinting at. “but baby, your little coworker—the one you never bat your pretty lashes at,” he continues, his tone darkening as his grip tightens around your neck, turning your head toward the ‘employee’s only’ door.

that’s when you see it—the large, dark puddle of blood seeping from under the door, your coworker’s lifeless body hidden from view.

“i-i don’t care, i wan’ you,” you plead, tears stinging your eyes as your walls grip his girthy tip, trying to coax more from him. geto chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. he turns your head back toward the front of the store, where the police cars are getting closer. his hand slips away from your neck, leaving you trembling as he cruelly pulls his cock from your addicting cunt, leaving you empty and desperate as he swiftly tucked it back in his pants.

tears spill from your eyes as you feel him slipping away, denying you what you need. “he’s the one that ruined our fun,” geto says, his voice soft but menacing. “and sadly…” his words trail off, and you freeze as you feel the cold tip of a sharp blade pressing against your neck. you gulp hard, heart pounding as the reality of the situation sets in.

“’m really sorry, baby, but i can’t have you snitching to the police, can i?” he whispers, and with a swift motion, the blade slices cleanly across your throat. blood trickles down in a warm line, your breath catching in your chest as your body collapses to the floor. the cold tiles beneath you feel distant as your vision blurs, the last thing you see is geto standing above you, pouting as he watches the life drain from your body.

[dxxdhood]

drains me slowly

pairing: wade wilson x gn!reader

summary: deadpool finally invites you, the coworker he has a massive crush on, over, which means the two of you end up doing more than just watching a movie.

tags: smut (18+), sub!wade wilson, dom!reader, pain kink, use of superpowers to fuel a pain kink, light masochism, teasing, gentle dom, hand job, scratching, body worship

wc: 3.3k

a/n: fic inspired by the new deadpool movie coming out!!! also, title is from love me dead by ludo.

No surprise that Wade wasn’t exactly anyone’s favorite– that goes for among the heroes he’s worked with and throughout his life in general. He’s – to put it in the kindest way anyone’s ever told him – fucking annoying. Oh, he’s more than aware that he’s a little too out-of-pocket, abrasive, impulsive– a nightmare to interact with, really. And those were just the recent comments made by the closest thing he has to coworkers! The shit he heard from people growing up was leagues worse. 

Look, having a rough start in life isn’t uncommon and he’s sure as hell not gonna get the tiny violin out for himself and throw his own little pity party, but he’s grown enough since his healing factor got beat out of him to acknowledge that he’s had it tough over the years.

He’s still going, though! Yeah, he may not always be the best at doing his laundry quick enough to get any clean clothes to wear, or at stopping his room from becoming cluttered with too many half-empty water bottles, but he’s still making it by, day by day.

But, well, it’s still really hard to constantly put himself out there, get assigned – or infinitely more likely, just shove himself into – whatever jobs or missions he feels like taking on when everyone treats him like Jar Jar Binks.

That was until you came along. So, obviously you’re crazy hot – he’s gotta get that out of the way first – but more than that, you were confident. Competent, too, and those rarely coincide in Wade’s experience. You mostly worked on call, joining the occasional mission, battle, or investigation because your mutant powers came in handy often, but you also still kept up with your day job. Honestly, Wade thinks the reason why you weren’t always present in fights was to stop the other mutants from being out of a job. Your ability to slowly deteriorate surrounding biological tissue, while horrifying and a pain in the ass to control – your words – was basically winning on easy mode.

But no, you were adamant about keeping your involvement with the X-Men infrequent– only joining when your presence was absolutely necessary. Apparently nonstop high stress situations aren't good for your mental health– who knew?

And he wants to pretend he became obsessed with you because of all those things, and of course they helped, but really, you had him at hello. Or well, you bothering to say hello and actually talk to him in the first place, to ask him questions about his life in moments of downtime where usually he’d be left with an unenthusiastic audience instead of a warm-hearted listener who actually laughed at his jokes.

So, of course, he has to go and fuck it up.

…

“So, glad that’s over, huh?” Wade says through a smile, the whites of his mask squeezing as his cheeks rise. “Speaking of over, you wanna come?”

“Over?” you shake your head a little, flashing your teeth as you try and comprehend him. “Right after we took on a whole crime ring?”

“Well, what a better time to unwind, am I right?”

“Oh?” you raise your eyebrows. “We’re unwinding?”

It’s small, but you swear Wade ups his talking speed, “Well, yeah, you know. Watch a movie, order in, show you my Pokemon cards, the works.”

You hum, pretending to consider it, “Depends, you got a holo Charizard?”

And now, for sure, he exhales his relief. “You insult me.”

The two of you enter his apartment not long after you’re dismissed from the mission, and Wade briefly excuses himself to change out of his suit. Making yourself at home, you take a seat on the couch and glance across his living room. His apartment is surprisingly nice. The kitchen and living room are one large, open space with a sleek, modern design. Also, you’d assume someone as chaotic as Wade would keep their house in a messier state, or hell, at least a little dusty, but the living room is spotless. Maybe he cleaned recently? What, was he planning on inviting someone over?

Snorting as you shake your head, a small click from across the hall catches your attention.

You’ve only seen Wade on the job, so naturally he’s always been wearing his red suit, but for some reason, you never stopped to picture him wearing civilian clothes. Actually, now that you’re seeing him in a sweatshirt and sweatpants – awfully warm for this weather – you’re struggling to reconcile the image of him you had in your head with the person right in front of you.

Well, at least until Wade brings up a fist to cover his mouth, illustrating his nervousness, and the tension fizzles out. Only Wade has body language that cartoonishly exaggerated.

“Nice sweats, green looks good on you.”

Wade pauses for a moment, registering your words before he giggles softly, arm falling to his side, “I’ve been thinking about changing the color of my suit. You know, hiding all the blood is great and all, but sometimes I gotta wonder – could this thing be more flattering?”

He walks over with a spring in his step before sitting by your side. Cutely, he wraps you up in the larger blanket first before settling the smaller, throw blanket over himself. You try your hardest not to show your confusion outwardly, but seeing Wade up close now has you questioning his outfit all the more.

He’s a bit tall, so the sweatpants don’t go all the way down to his ankles, but Wade’s wearing calf socks, as if he specifically were trying to avoid them being uncovered. Also, his hoodie’s easily a size or two larger, which makes it the perfect thing to wear to lounge around and watch a movie in, but also, the sleeves cover his entire hand sans his fingers. From the little you can see of them, they look puckered in scars.

But obviously Wade’s hands are scarred– he’s a mercenary. He’s handled all sorts of weapons and been in hundreds of fights over the years. You weren’t expecting his skin to be baby-smooth. 

What’s interesting to you is why he’d go through all the trouble to hide it.

Also, yeah, the most obvious pointers were that the hood of his sweatshirt is up even though you two are indoors in his own home and – how could you forget this one – his Deadpool mask is still on.

Was he just uncomfortable with sharing his identity in general or was he specifically trying to shove distance between the two of you? Whatever, if he doesn’t want to take his mask off with you, he doesn’t have to. You feel a distinct pang in your chest, but you try not to let it color how you respond to him. He’s more than in the right to only share what he feels most comfortable with.

Wade’s been fiddling with the remote while you’ve been – hopefully – subtly looking him over, and the screen finally changes from a streaming service page to the opening of the movie.

“We’re watching The Princess Bride? I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

He bats his eyes – at least, you think he does, given the mask– and speaks in a sweet voice “Why, me? Oh please, I know romance. I’m not going to invite a lovely, gorgeous, incredible person over and force them to watch Die Hard on the first–”

His back straightens out like he’s been electrocuted before he forcibly relaxes his posture to finish his thought.

“Hang-out.”

Okay, you want to go easy on him, especially because he seems so tense, but you can’t just let that one slide. You close the small distance remaining between the two of you, causing your entire side to press against his. Even through his sweatshirt, you can feel how warm he is.

“Mmm, just a hang out?” you mumble, sliding your head onto his shoulder. You’ve done this before, either for comedic effect or just in an attempt to push his buttons the same way he always tries to push yours – which, despite his best efforts, always ends up endearing him to you instead of bothering you – but never in a context like this.

He inhales sharply, and you count the seconds until he finally lets himself release it. Sometimes, you think he takes his healing factor for granted.

Turning his head to peer down at you, Wade considers you for a moment, keeping his face and body language deceptively neutral. You try your hardest to keep your eyes focused on the movie and your body loose and comfortable.

“You want this to be a date?” he says, flat.

“Why, thank you for asking, dear sir,” you copy his sweet voice from earlier before returning to your normal. “Yes, Wade, I like you.”

“I–” he starts, but the words get caught on their way out. His fingers bury themselves in the material of his sweatpants, and the movement draws your attention to them again. Shades of blotchy red and pink curve all across his skin.

Wade doesn’t say anything, which is concerning enough on its own, but following your confession, you feel like he’s more than out of his element. 

“That’s why you invited me over, right?” you try and help him out. “You feel the same, too.”

And then, feeling bold, you turn your head to face his still mask-covered head and kiss him lightly on the cheek. Instantly, you see fireworks go off inside him, because Wade hurriedly shuts the TV off and runs off to close the blinds. There’s barely enough light in the room now to make out shapes, but apparently Wade doesn’t take any issue because he peels his mask back and kisses you on the lips.

His lips are textured, and your intuition flashes quietly in the back of your mind, but for right now, you focus on how energetic he is. If his body is warm, his mouth feels like it’s on fire. He’s constantly moving, trying to experience all of you as fast as possible. 

It’s making your face heat up, how quickly he demands your complete attention and how relentless he is in grabbing it. Wade bites your bottom lip, causing you to gasp into him, and he uses the opportunity to explore across your own teeth and tongue. After a few more seconds, you break away, needing the space to breathe.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, voice rough.

“You’re telling me,” Wade coughs out. “We could’ve been doing that this whole time?”

“Well, all you had to do was ask.”

And although you can’t see him, which you know is the point, you understand something in him has shifted. He gets up from the couch, takes you by the hand, and leads you towards his room. His pace is so quick, you barely comprehend his actions until you’re both standing right in front of his bed.

“Is this okay?” he asks, quiet. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him stifle the amount of words he let loose before.

“Yes, of course it is. But Wade, we have to turn on at least a lamp or something in here.”

“We do?”

“Yeah,” you pause to give him a second to think. “I can’t see you at all like this.”

“What if – and you're just going to have to trust me on this one – you’d prefer it this way,” Wade’s voice is light, but it feels like it’s cracking at the edges.

“And why’s that?”

Not like you’d be able to see, but the anxiety radiating off of him makes him sound wide-eyed, “Huh? Oh, I– uh…”

“Look, if you’re worried about how I’m going to react to you having a bunch of scars– don’t. I don’t mind,” the sound of fabric rustling in front of you makes you think he just flinched. “I figured it out. You’re not sneaky.”

“You say that, but…”

“Wade, I don’t care. And I mean that kindly! Really, it doesn’t bother me.”

Wade starts pacing in front of you, nearly tripping on the leg of the bedpost, “Look, I appreciate the whole hero act you got going on here – really fits you good, you should totally quit your day job – but you don’t have to force yourself, I–”

“Wade, you either confront your insecurities head on or I’m not doing this with you. I told you what I think, the only person who’s going to worry about how you look here is you. We either have sex with a light on or not at all, okay?”

No one speaks for a few seconds once you finish saying your piece, and you cringe, realizing how forceful you must have come off. You’re about to speak up again to apologize when you hear a shudder-filled exhale from a few feet away.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he groans. “You’re so hot when you're putting people in their place.”

Your lips curl into a shaky smile, “Yeah, what else do you think is hot?”

And you can practically hear the gears turning in his head from here.

…

It’s actually happening. No fucking way he didn’t dream this up. But you were pretty adamant about him getting his head in the game in order for you guys to actually get down and dirty, so for you, he tries to keep his train of thought as focused as possible–  a big ask.

“Bossing anyone – everyone, especially me – around. You using your abilities–” you reach over and find Wade’s hand before running your fingers up his arm. “Shit, umm, using your abilities in general, but, umm, I really like when I’m there.”

“Oh?” you giggle. “When you get to watch, or?”

“When I get to feel.”

Your hand moves over to the nape of his neck, reaching under his hood and mask, to rub at his rough skin. Wade’s nerves light on fire as he waits for you to respond– for some reason, it never feels like your words come out fast enough.

“You got a thing for pain, Wilson?”

He chuckles, “You’d be surprised.”

“Okay, but are you sure? I can try, but it might not be all that good for you.”

“Don’t worry,” he thinks back to all those times he had a hard on while the two of you were fighting together. “It’ll be great for me.”

You hum, “Alright, then, but you tell me to stop the second you don’t like something, okay?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” he salutes, though you probably can’t see it. “And, same goes for you.”

“What a gentleman, letting me destroy him and giving me an out.”

He’s blushing something furious and he’s never been more grateful for the dark, “Anything for you.”

Those are the last words he whispers before he begins undressing. He knows you probably meant for him to strip with the light on, but he’s really not so sure he could stomach being looked at like a bug under a microscope. The attention, while electrifying, was already starting to get to him, so he lets himself stay in his comfort zone a little longer. As a treat. 

Once his sweats are off, he hesitantly peels off his mask before slipping into bed, keeping most of his body under the covers. After shutting his eyes, he clicks the lamplight on.

You’re not saying anything. That’s– a sign? A good one, a bad one, Wade doesn’t know. He’s trying so hard to keep his breathing steady, but he can feel his body start shaking all on its own.

You join him on the bed, kneeling next to him, before your warm breath falls across his cheeks as you kiss his forehead. Only then does he open his eyes, and you reward him by cupping his cheek in your hand.

“There,” you say. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Wade gets the strong urge to snort, and so he does, but your eyes narrow. There’s a soft scratching at the back of his skull as you snake your hand over, and quickly you dig your nails in slightly. Wade has to bite his tongue to keep the noise in.

“I’m sorry, is that funny to you?”

“No!” he whispers sharply as you bring your hand down to scratch along the line of his neck.

“Good, seems like you’re learning.”

You kiss him, teeth clacking together at first before Wade melts into it. Your hand is still slowly exploring his body, running along the line of his shoulder and towards his upper arm. When you reach his bicep, you very obviously squeeze the muscle there, and you let out a pleased sigh as you begin groping in earnest.

He wants to turn to hide his face in the pillow, not sure how to react to all the positive attention and appreciation, but you catch him trying to turn away, and you kiss him deeper.

While one hand begins to explore his pecs and abs, your other hand scratches down his v-line, softly caressing the skin of his inner thighs before moving around to squeeze his ass.

Wade rewards you with a small whine, and you carefully trail a finger down his dick. You move in to whisper in his ear, “You’re so hot, I’m not forgiving you for hiding for so long.”

Trying to stifle the embarrassing moan that he knows will come out, he bites down on his lip hard, but you take the hand not teasing his cock to gently pry his lip away.

“From now on, I get to hear you, okay?” you say and Wade nods rapidly.

You take the moment you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and after giving him a second to ready himself, you ask, “I’m going to use it now. Tell me if you want to stop.”

“Okay–” he responds before he feels the sweet sensation of you jerking him off coupled with your power. It’s a humming, dull feeling of pain resting in the background– almost like the sensation of being choked except it’s affecting his entire body. Wade feels like there’s a weight pinning down each of his limbs and it’s so freeing– so relaxing.

He sighs and turns his head to the side, letting out a deep moan when you up the pace of your hand and bring the other to fondle his balls.

“How is it?” you ask, sweat dripping down your brow at trying to control your ability. Sure, it’s  powerful and at times pretty horrifying, but Wade always loved how he was essentially immune. At the same rate you could destroy the flesh around you, he could heal his own right back. Just knowing that made him feel good, somehow, like he was made perfectly for you.

“It’s good– so good, I–” he nearly shouts, forgetting about the neighbors.

“Yeah, baby? What do you need?”

At hearing the pet name, he straight up whines as he tries to bury his hands in the sheets instead of his own thighs. 

“Not sure, umm, a little more–”

And he doesn’t know which god he has to thank for putting you on this planet, but he’s willing to pay them all a visit. You read him like he’s not some mess, some walking disaster nobody bothers paying attention to, and you give him what you know he needs.

From the base of his chin, you drag your hand in a deep scratch across his neck, chest, and stomach, your eyes watching the pink lines blend in with his scarred skin. It’s a flashing pain, sharp like being scalded and it feels so good mixed with the blunt feel of being under your power.

“I’m gonna–” he says, and of course, you seem to already know. He cums with a deep grunt, rutting his hips into your fist before he thrusts his head forward to kiss you again.

As soon as he comes down, he pulls away only slightly, just so he can say what he’s been wanting to say since he met you.

“Thank–”

You cut him off with another kiss, because sometimes, he really does need to shut up. 

[xazse]

Hello z! Just wanted to say your writing is so yummy and keeps me and the rest of your followers so full😋 BTW! More puppy girl hybrid?? (P.s this is my first request 🙂‍↕️❤️)

PT 2 OF MY MOST RECENT PUPPYGIRL!HYBRID FIC FOR THOSE WHO ASKED!!

PT1 HERE

Notes: IM SO HAPPY IM UR FIRST REQUESTEE! I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!! And I’m super glad you enjoy my writing it really means a lot<33

Warnings: Hybrid!Gojo + fem!reader + PuppyHybrid!Reader + smut + small Drabble + not proofread + brat!reader + little bit of sub!Satoru + nipple!teasing + slight crying + overstimulation + mean!Suguru + exhibition

People who asked to be tagged: @qmsvpx @sugurubabe @shokosbunny @rinsluhvr @fuyuji-ii @mashtura @wisteriaflowersss @kickenkricken @rinsluhvr @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni I hope you guys enjoy!

WolfHybrid!Gojo who really can’t take all the teasing you’ve been putting him through. After the first incident Suguru made it 100 percent clear to you specifically that you are to not touch Satoru like that again, who knows what will happen if he’s not around. He’s not scared Satoru will hurt you but he should be eased into the world of pleasure not immediately made to cum on himself his first day in what is now his home.

Suguru scolds you bad, telling you how disappointed he is, how you know better! He knows how needy hybrids get especially your species but the toys he supplies for you should be more than enough. All you did in retaliation was make it a goal to ruin Satoru… poor thing why is he the victim in all of this? And yet he doesn’t even know.

You ignore Suguru’s rule when it’s just you and Satoru in the house.

You make an effort to rub yourself all over his body while wearing the thinnest layer of clothing, when he’s laying on the couch facing the ceiling you’ll come lifting his shirt up and licking all over his chest, even sucking on his nipples as extra stimulation. You love his reactions, everything makes him fully hard and his loud moans fill the empty living room. He can’t process what to do with this pleasure besides grabbing and fondling his cock until he’s finishing in his pants again.

It doesn’t take long for him to be hard all over again, and for you to repeat the process. If he asks if you can help him feel like that again you’ll force him to rub your ears for a good five minutes.

WolfHybrid!Gojo who gets to feel what it’s like being balls deep in your cunt, when you sink your nice ass to meet his pelvis, the poor wolf is fucking gone, he’s never felt something so tight around his cock, he’s never felt anything around his cock! Your plush walls squeeze him so good that he’s having a hard time forming sentences let alone words, all that’s slipping from his pretty slippery pink lips are moans, moans that emphasize how his balls are tightening and he’s cumming deep inside you.

You’re quick to start bouncing so cutely on him, your floppy ears bouncing along with you. Your toys don’t compare to Satoru’s thick cock, how has a woman never felt something like this? You can feel the twitching of his veins as he gets it up once again. You peek at his face to find the wolfman ruined, drool seeps from the corners of his lips and tears are decorating his lash lines.

When you finally cum, it’s a damn mess, the mixture of you two sit where you meet and seep out. The pleasure in the moment doesn’t have you thinking of what Suguru will do to you, doesn’t matter what he will do to the both of you, all you can think of is grinding down on Satoru’s cock for another orgasm.

Bonus!

Suguru is fucking furious, he was mad the first time but he let it slide since it simple curiosity on both sides. The simple curiosity has gone too far, you don’t fucking listen. Since the moment he had welcomed you into his home a few years back he’s had a hard time getting you to listen to directions.

He doesn’t hear you out when he drags you and Satoru to the bedroom, in fact he tells the both of you to keep going. You find yourselves shy under his eye and insist that you’ve both learned your lesson from his lecture earlier. He wasn’t really lecturing Satoru since he doesn’t know the rules as well as you do but this is a great learning moment.

He ignores you, ignores how you’re using the sweet eyes with him, he’s dead serious.

You’re quick to obey and incite a small kiss with Satoru, that turns into a full on make-out with Suguru watching intently.

The rest of the night is filled with moans and groans of complaints, Suguru had told Satoru to let any lewd feelings he had all on you, Satoru does not hold back at all, he fucks his thick cock into your sensitive walls over and over, the mess from earlier helps as to not hurt you so it’s so easy for him to slide back and forth. Satoru found himself ecstatic at the start but when he finds his cock overstimulated and his balls hurting from the painful pleasure he’s not feeling the same, but he for some reason won’t stop his hips from moving, he loves the feeling of having you cum around him nonstop, he loves Suguru watching him so intently, everything mixed together.

Your clit is so slippery that it’s hard to pinpoint where you should be rubbing, everytime you stop Suguru is quick to snap at you to keep going, this is what you wanted correct? He makes sure to ask that out loud, you’re so fucking adorable with the way you nod in his direction, he knows you have a few more in you.

[chancloud8]

PART 19.

<< previous chapter || next chapter >>

series masterlist.

series summary: you and chan get matched up on a forum for people who suffer with insomnia and spent most of your sleepless nights texting each other. neither of you expected to fall in love..

pairing: bang chan x reader

tags: smau, written part, fluff

'You ready?' Ava asks you, her hand already on the handle of the door.

'Ready,' you and Chris say simultaneously.

You can hear Chris his breathing quicken in your ear as Ava pushes the door open, and your own heartbeat fastens in your chest.

Your best friend steps through the door first and and with your phone still pressed against your ear, you enter behind her.

The first thing you see is a white couch filled with different clothing items, empty cups and wrappers and a lost shoe.

'Y/N,' Chris his familiar voice breathes out in your ear as well as to your right.

You move your head and there he is. Standing in front of two other guys, his phone to his ear and a bright smile on his handsome face.

He's dressed in a tight white shirt that shows off his muscled chest and arms, and grey joggers that hang low on his hips.

Fuck. He looks incredible.

'How are you even real,' you blurt out with a small whine.

Ava bursts out in laughter next to you and so do the two guys that are standing behind Chris, but you have no eyes for them. All you see is Chris.

'I could say the same thing to you,' Chris smiles, taking a step forward as his eyes take you in. 'I can't believe you're here.'

You smile back at him and drop your phone from your ear, blindly putting it in your back pocket.

'Me neither.'

'What are you waiting for? Go to him,' Ava whispers, nudging your back.

You stumble forward and break eye contact with Chris to glare at your best friend. Ava just shrugs her shoulders and grins at you before skipping around you to say hello to the other in the room.

You briefly let your eyes scan over the other guys, recognizing Changbin and Felix, before looking back at Chris. Your legs feel like jelly when you step forward again and your hands tremble.

Chris covers the distance between you and the moment he wraps his arms around your body and pulls you against his strong chest, nothing else matters.

You circle your arms around his waist and press your face against his chest, breathing in his scent and enjoying the feel of him against your body. He feels safe.

‘You're trembling,’ Chris whispers against your hair as his hands move up and down your back.

‘It's the lack of caffeine,’ you murmur against his shirt.

Chris laughs and his chest vibrates under your cheek. ‘I'm sure that's it.’

You're about to reply when the door bangs open and chaos erupts. Multiple people enter the room, there's a loud screech, running footsteps and then there's another body pressed against your back.

‘Y/N-ah!! You're here!!’ a voice yells in your ear.

You stiffen and tighten your arms around Chris. You're usually okay with physical touch and cuddles, but right now you're feeling overwhelmed, tired and strangely emotional.

‘Hyunjin, get off her,’ someone else says at the same time as Chris growls something in Korean.

The warmth at your back disappears almost immediately.

‘Oops, I’m sorry Y/N.’

‘It’s okay,’ you automatically reply, but you don't move from your place in Chris' arms.

‘Don’t mind her,’ Ava says. ‘She always gets a bit grumpy when she's tired, and she barely slept in the last twenty-four hours.’

You blindly flip her off and more laughter fills your ears.

‘Where are you guys staying?’ someone asks while Chris keeps rubbing your back.

He seems just as content as you are to just stay like this, wrapped up in each other's arms. It feels right. Familiar somehow, like this wasn’t the first time you've met.

‘Same hotel as you, I think,’ Ava replies. ‘Jeongin set it up for us.’

‘It's the same hotel,’ another voice confirms, Jeongin probably. ‘Hey Hyung! Stop hogging your girl and let us say hello.’

‘Noooooo,’ you whine when Chris seems to move. ‘I'm comfy.’

Chris chuckles and presses what seems like a kiss to your head. Your whole body feels warm by the gesture and it only makes you want to bury further into his arms.

‘Y/N, where are your manners?’ Ava scolds, but you can hear she's smiling.

‘What manners?’ You reply, slowly lifting your head from Chris' chest. ‘What are manners?’

Ava rolls her eyes when you meet her gaze and Changbin, who's standing awfully close next to her, grins at you.

‘Alright, alright,’ you groan. ‘I'm sorry.’

Chris keeps his hand on your back as you straighten and turn to look at everyone else.

‘Hello, I'm Y/N,’ you wave, smiling. ‘It's nice to meet you all and I apologize for worrying your guy Chris here. I hope he didn't drive you too crazy.’

Hyunjin groans, Jeongin snorts and Felix laughs.

‘Oh he drove us crazy, alright.’ Jisung grins.

‘He was a mess,’ Minho adds.

‘We're glad you’re here now,’ Seungmin smiles.

You look up at Chris and poke his cheek when you catch him glaring at his friends.

‘Aaawwwww,’ you coo at him.

Chris turns his glare at you, but all it does is widen your grin and make your stomach fill with butterflies. His eyes soften and he playfully tries to bite your finger that's still poking his face.

‘I can't help it,’ he pouts at you.

‘Ughhh get a room,’ Jisung groans from his spot on the couch. ‘The way you look at each other is-’

‘Adorable,’ Jeongin interrupts him.

‘So cute,’ Felix nods.

‘Sickening,’ Minho grins.

Chris rolls his eyes at his friends and looks down at you with his beautiful brown eyes.

‘Wanna get out of here?’

Jisung and Hyunjin giggle, and you can't help but join them.

‘I'd love to.’

a/n: your comments mean the world to me, thank you so much ya'll for the love and excitement. I appreciate you SO much!! <3

THEY FINALLY MET!!!!!

next chapter will be our favorite couple spending some alone time together (noooooo you pervs there won't be smut, YET hahaha)

>part 20

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @leeknowslefteyebrow @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust @velvetskize @channiefever @luvbangchan @aalexyuuuhm @katsukis1wife @herpoetryprincess @ye0lkkot @glitterywastelandgardener @vampcharxter @boi-bi-ahaha @mlink64 @greyyeti @mariteez

[nanivinsmoke]

✩ Eat Me, Number One.

✩ allmight x pro!heroFem reader

wanting to get a little taste of the number one hero, during the hero’s banquet.

✩ warnings and tags: public sex, secret sex, ass eating, rough sex, multiple orgasms, nipple play, breeding, size difference, age gap, (late 20s reader), etc.

shout out to my editor, tysm <333!

“fuck, this latex is sticking to my skin. shota, can we go? im not in the mood for this uppity shit, maybe we can get some ramen or something?”

“no, unfortunately the both of us are stuck here. i lost yamada an hour ago, which is really odd since he’s the loudest one out of all of us.” aizawa, your best friend and colleague, replied as he took a bite of the salty chip in his mouth. you sighed and downed the shot in front of you, while tugging on the latex of your hero suit with your free hand.

the three of you were currently attending the annual hero’s banquet, which was made for all heroes to meet and mingle with each other. yamada had spotted the karaoke room and tip-toed away from the group when the three of you arrived, leaving you and aizawa alone. you both hated coming to these things, but yamada forced both of you to come every time.

“gonna find the bathroom and possibly yamada, so we can leave.” your dry-eyed friend gave you a nod before you took your leave; grabbing a shot from a tray a waiter was carrying—downing it like it was nothing. getting hammered was your goal. maybe you could get *him* off of your mind. you maneuvered through the crowd of heros, mind bubbling with thoughts before your eyes landed on the huge figure of the number one hero; allmight.

it might’ve been the liquor finally taking its toll on your body, making your legs feel like jelly or just seeing him period, that had butterflies filling your stomach. you were beyond nervous, it had been months since the last time you’ve seen him. the last time you did wasn’t the best experience. "duty calls" he had said before he ran off. but, you weren’t gonna let that one time stop you from saying ‘hello’ and running off to find the bathroom.

you managed to walk over and tap the bottom of his muscular back, his seven foot frame towering over you as he turned toward you. his usual ‘smiling’ eyes softened when he saw you and he kept that same bright smile like always. “y/n, it’s good to see you.”

“likewise,” you quickly turned on your heels as your memories from that terrible night plagued your mind. “wait—y/n,” he grabbed hold of your wrist and pulled you back towards him, his eyes scanning your face before dropping to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “can we talk?” you gave a quick nod and he pulled you away. you wanted to get answers, closure for the last time you two saw each other, so you could finally stop cringing at the memory.

the older pro hero led you through the crowd and into an empty room, which happened to be the bathroom. the seven foot tall man closed the door behind you both, and locked it—before turning to look at your smaller, yet curvy frame.

“y/n, I just wanted to apologize for last time. it wasn’t your fault that the date ended like that. i never meant to leave you like that. i know duty calls, but I should have never left like that without telling you, i'm sorry.” his voice was soft, sincere, and you could tell by his body language that he truly meant it.

a few months ago, you had went on a date with the number one hero. it was all going good, you had gotten to know each other really well during drinks and when you two had finally made it your table for food, he just disappeared in a blink of an eye. he didn’t call nor try to reach out to you, which made you become very insecure—leading you to believe that he didn’t actually like you.

“you don’t have to apologize—“

“but, i do. you were wonderful and im a little disappointed I couldn’t make this into something more serious; didn’t have the opportunity to kiss you—.”

“you wanted to kiss me?” it was silent for a moment, both of your eyes locked onto each other’s. the more the two of you stared at each other, the more your body temperature rose. everything about him was so captivating. maybe that was a perk of being one of the best hero’s japan has ever seen, but you were definitely falling for him.

it was sudden but his lips were on yours and all you could do was happily accept. your lips melted onto each other’s, dancing a smoother dance than a tango—with your tongue sliding into his mouth, tongues swirling around each other's. you couldn’t fight your growing arousal anymore, the crush that you had on the older man was bigger than ever.

he swiftly picked you up, not breaking the kiss not once. it was like a scene in a movie with the way he handled you. he propped you up against the white bathroom door, while he made love to your mouth. you clutched onto his yellow locks, pulling away from this kiss that had left you breathless. “think you teased me enough, number one. i need more of you.”

he had never been more turned on, until now. with one hand holding you up, he used the other hand to unzip your hero costume—freeing your plump and swollen breasts. allmight quickly wrapped his lips around your tender love buds, began to suck on them like it was the best candy he had ever tasted. you couldn’t suppress your moans; letting them flow freely out of your kiss-bitten lips.

he removed his mouth from your nipples, kissing between your breats and down your stomach. “allmight—please~”

“toshinori,” he corrected with a squeeze to your ass; making you squeal out. you had long forgotten about the party, or the possibility of other people being there.

“toshinori, please. just fuck me already.” he was taken aback by your vulgar words, but it riled him up even more. your hero suit fell down in an instant and he was lifting you off to the other side of the bathroom. using his quirk, he slid the toiletries off the sink’s counter and placed you on your knees—your ass sitting up in the air just for him; allowing him to dive his head right in between.

gasping, you held onto the marble countertop, while he licked your from your ass all the way down to your swollen clit. his fluid mixing with yours created a slippery mess, which caused you to go crazy. no wonder he was considered a pro.

“shit toshi—just like that, fuck…” you bounced your ass back onto his face, his big hands gripped your waist tighter; lips still attached to your wet clit. you could feel your orgasm creeping up on you and you were ready to accept it. however, much to your dismay, he pulled away from your dripping wet backside.

“wait toshi, i was gonna cum.” he ignored you, flipping you over onto your back; looking at you in all your glory before he gripped himself through his suit. “look, im going to warn you. you might not be able to take all of me, and that’s okay—,” you cut off his rambling by replacing his hand with yours on his bulge, fondling it. it left him groaning, eyes shutting from the pleasure.

“i'm a big girl, i can handle it. besides, a hero never backs down from a fight.” he chuckled at your response and gave you one last look, before he let his blue hero suit and briefs fall to the ground; showing all of him.

you could’ve sworn your eyes had fell out of your head due to how widen you opened them. standing about nine inches tall, his cock greeted you; dripping nothing but translucent fluid. it stood against his abs, twitching with need. not only was he lengthy, he was girthy too. you couldn’t help but to gulp as you thought about him entering you.

as much as you were nervous, you swallowed that doubt and angled him towards your aching entrance; after all you were a hero, you couldn’t let this scare you.

pushing him inside of you, you winced at the pressure—you had never been spread open like that. profanities flew out your mouth as he helped push himself inside, your soft walls clenching around his shaft; making him curse lowly.

he was only half way inside, since that’s all that could fit, and he began to move his hips slowly. the more toshinori moved—the wetter you became. soon, the sound of your cunt squelching and your lewd mewls filled the bathroom—driving the older man crazy. he was losing control over himself, each time you made those sexy noises; he wanted to slam himself deeper inside of you. to hear you yelp out and to feel you squeeze around him. to see all the cream build around him. to see how far he could drive you to insanity just by fucking you.

despite being a hero, the way he was thinking about punishing you with his dick; contradicted his heroic beliefs.

you on the other hand felt like you were going to die, in the most pleasurable way possible. each time he plunged inside of you, his thick tip hit your spot everytime—causing your toes to curl so tight; they felt like they were going to fall off. you babbled and moaned as he fucked the living shit out of you, calling his name while an orgasm ripped through you.

this was the most intense orgasm you had ever had. you were disconnected from reality a bit because of it, so you didn’t realize that you were no longer on the sink’s counter and now on the bath’s plush blue rug—until toshinori slammed down into you once again.

“fuck, you just keep getting tighter and wetter!” you had never heard him curse this much before, it was turning you on more and more.

he had you in the mating press position, hitting your most sensitive spot each time, while your hips and his balls met each time. you cunt was beyond wet, your juices dripped out and slid down onto the ground—creating a huge puddle underneath you.

you could feel him twitch inside of you and his strokes became faster and harder. he was cumming, hard.

a knock on the bathroom door startled you, causing you to look at it.

“hey! can you hurry up, i really gotta use it,” a voice could be heard from the other side, following another knock. you looked at allmight, waiting for his next move.

“in a minute….having some—shit—s-s-stomach problems”

“c’mon dude! you’ve been in there for like an hour”

“in a minute!” he yelled back, not stopping his movements. he was going to cum and nothing was going to stop him from finishing. with a few more slams, he released inside of you; while you came once more with him—this time you squirted all over him.

he grabbed your smaller body and rolled over on his back, with you lying on top of his sweaty, naked body.

“we’re going to need a plan to come out of here without them suspecting a thing,” you chuckled, peppering his chiseled face with kisses.

“this is why we have quirks, to get out of situations like this. now let’s get dressed, so i could show you more of why I’m number one~”

[venomvalley]

hii! can you write ambessa x reader. with angst/ hurt-comfort, like, ambessa was rude to reader and reader starts to get away from her? thanks :)

GRUDGE

sugar mama!ambessa x fem!reader | 1.6k words

TAGS: 18+! modern!au, angst, soft dom ambessa, fingering, a hint of manipulation, pet names

bestie im so sorry i made this horny i couldnt help it

Ambessa has hurt your feelings. Again. Possibly permanently this time.

The night started out wonderfully. A stroll through the glamorous casino, half a dozen winning bets, a rooftop dinner overlooking the city—all with you on her arm, dressed to the nines, your earrings and bracelets jingling together to the sound of wind chimes.

It's no secret that you came from nothing before you met her, that she's placed the world in the palm of your hand. Extravagant vacations, expensive perfumes, designer dresses. You hold no qualms about your arrangement: you warm her bed most nights, and she gives you everything you could want and more.

But sometimes…

“Do you insist on being angry with me the rest of the night?” she asks, face stern-set and frowning.

You twist the neck of your empty glass between your fingers, pointedly staring out the window of the limousine as the dazzling city lights pass you by. “You humiliated me in front of your rich friends.”

She rolls her eyes, swirling around the final drink of wine in her glass. “I did no such thing. It was little more than a joke.”

“That they laughed a little too hard at for my liking.”

“You’re behaving like a child.”

“Whatever.”

You have to disengage unless the tears blurring your vision start to fall. She hates seeing you cry—even if she does deserve it right now. Even if, by her own admission, she could never truly care about you past any depth but shallow affection.

(”I knew, from the moment I saw her, that all she needed was a bit of makeup and a fancy dress to look stunning,” she had said. “I believe I did a fine job, given the circumstances.”

The laughs that echoed around the table had you curling in on yourself, smile tight-lipped as she rested a hand on your shoulder.)

Your blood runs hot once again.

You know what your arrangement is, and still, it hurts. Years of being seen as lesser because of your family's financial status makes you want to be her equal. To be more than a passing fancy that she'll soon grow bored of. Moreso because you've actually started to care for her, to revel in the sex and the cuddles and the nights spent lounging in her large, comfortable bed as you watch some silly rom-com on the television.

It fucking sucks.

The limo pulls up to the sprawling mansion surrounded by an impeccable garden, and as soon as the door opens, you leave your glass sitting on the seat and climb out. She calls out to you as you stomp up the stone walkway, thin heels threatening to break, but you refuse to look back. The woman has everything she wants. There will always be another you, but better. Richer, prettier, an easier fuck. No sense in indulging her when you'll be sent back home on a plane by the end of next week. You can't change the inevitable.

You brush past the butler in the foyer with a quiet hello, and hurry up the steps to the nearest spare bedroom. You need to be alone, to collect your thoughts lest the anger eat away at you from the inside out.

You hate her. She's beautiful and charismatic and romantic and… and she's never lied to you about her view on your relationship. Never tricked you into believing this was anything more than transactional.

You just want to go home. Home to your family, to your poor neighborhood, to the streets that she dared to imply she saved you from. She hasn't saved you from anything but your own loneliness.

Over the next few hours, you lay face-down on the end of the bed and sulk, shoes left by the door, dress zipped down your back as far as you can manage without help. Her absence is a blessing. You can never think properly when she’s around.

Soon, even that is ripped away from you when a knock sounds at the door. You don't even bother lifting your face from the sheets, even when warm fingertips ghost up the line of your spine. But you do shiver.

She sighs, sitting beside you on the bed. “My dear, you cannot stay angry at me forever.”

You turn your head to look at her, gold-cuffed braids hanging loose over her shoulders, the moonlight from the window softening the shadows of her face. Gold eyeliner and blood-red lipstick, still perfect even after dinner. She’s beautiful, and you love her, and she humiliated you.

“Yes, I can.”

She clicks her tongue and rests a palm on your back, thumb rubbing circles into the bare skin between your shoulder blades. “Perhaps I was a bit… insensitive, but you should believe me when I say that I like you. More than others I've made this arrangement with.”

You scoff. “I'm sure that means so much.”

“You have quite the mouth on you today.” She shifts her weight then leans forward until you're looking down her half-unbuttoned blouse, heavy breasts wrapped in red lace. A soft kiss to your temple. “Have I not been giving you enough attention? Is that it?”

“Ambessa—”

“What does my sweet girl need?”

Her heart. But you can't tell her that, so you cry instead. It's a grief you can't quite place, a longing marrow-deep, an ache that will never be filled.

You sniff and pray that she ignores the line of tears smearing your makeup against the comforter. “You can't give me what I need. Not this.”

“Try me.”

“You can't.”

She hums when your chin dimples, palm soft as she rubs over the expanse of your back, your chest hiccuping underhand. “And I say once again: try me, sweet thing.”

Permission to bare your heart. That's what she means. Whatever dignity you have left shatters at her words, thoughts flooding the bowl of your brain.

“I want you. All of you. It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help how I feel.”

With a sigh, she grabs you by the arm, softly coaxing you to rise then crawl into her lap.

“So you've touched the hot stove and been burned, hm?” A soft brush of knuckles over your cheek. “That's something I warned against, little lamb.”

You curl up against her chest, nose brushing an undone button on her blouse. “I know.”

“I cannot give you what you want, but I would still enjoy your company in my bed tonight. I'll even let you choose the movie.”

You should say no. Should pack your bags and book the next flight home. But you can't.

Instead, you take the hand she offers and follow her down the long hallway to her bedroom. A grand space, larger than the whole of your apartment back home. Gilded furniture with golden accents and blood-red silk sheets. The softest rug you've ever felt beneath your feet.

A pair of warm hands brush down the curve of your back before unzipping the last bit of your dress. Those hands rise to your shoulders, thumbing the sleeves off your arms. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you bare before her.

She prefers you to not wear underwear, and you enjoy the thrill.

A press of soft lips to the curve of your neck. “You looked stunning today.”

You hum, tilting your head to the side as her kisses trail up to your jaw. “It's all thanks to you.”

“Perhaps, but you provide a good foundation.” She brushes her fingertips over your belly, settling large palms over the soft curve of your waist.

Heat pools into the well of your belly, but she goes no farther. Instead, she steers you toward the bathroom to get ready for bed.

This is how you adore her most: bare-faced, wearing her favorite two piece sleep set (that she would never admit is getting a bit worn), hair protected by the most expensive satin money can buy. Relaxed, casual—a word unfitting for the woman given the regal way in which she carries herself, a facet of her personhood woven into the very fabric of her DNA.

She gives you a tender kiss on her way out of the bathroom as you finish removing the last of your makeup. Tonight, she had chosen a silk slip for you to wear to bed, hems lined in lace. Luxurious against the sheets as you slide into bed.

That's as far as you get before she's rising onto an elbow beside you, teeth teasing at your throat. “As I said before, if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.”

Her hand dips between your thighs as she captures your lips in a rough kiss, forcing your head back against the pillow. There's a routine to her lovemaking, an addictive strain of passion that you could bloat yourself on.

Your mouth opens with a gasp as she fills you with two thick fingers, thighs twitching against her forearm as she licks into your mouth, tongue curling against yours. Her fingers build up a steady rhythm inside your pussy, so noisy and slick that your ears burn from embarrassment. You feel much like Pavlov's dog, trained to drool at the simple sight of her. The lightest of touches.

“Touch yourself,” she whispers against your lips, wields orders with the sweetness of heated honey. No reason to be anything but—you'll obey regardless.

Your fingers reach down to circle your clit, stars dancing behind your eyes, and for a long moment you wonder if she's right. If your earlier bristling truly was the result of poorly-projected jealousy.

She kisses you again, tender and soft, and it isn't long before you reach your peak beneath her, clenching hard around her fingers, breath caught in your throat as she coos down at you. What a figure you must paint, writhing beneath her, bucking against her hand, gasping and mewling into her shoulder.

You sink into the afterglow with a deep, relieved sigh, weightless upon the mattress, before her slick fingers fit between your teeth, a heavy weight upon your tongue. You already know what to do, closing your lips around her knuckles to suck the taste of you off of her.

“Just what my sweet girl needed, hm?” she asks, voice thick in her chest, soft as velvet. “No need to be so angry with me.”

Her fingers slip out of your mouth with a wet pop, and she gives you one last kiss before turning back to the television. To her credit, you can’t even remember what you were angry about in the first place.

You fall asleep before the opening credits of the movie begin to play.

[jubshead]

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐎'𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Paring: Detective O’Connor (hallucinating Agatha) x Reader

Summary: When your mother gets out of town, you grudgingly accept to take care of the town’s lunatic.

A/N: So this is dedicated to this anon, it’s VERY different from what I have written for Agatha so far, but I hope you like anyway!

This isn’t beta read and english isn’t my native language, so bear with me.

Warnings: Mental instability, face slapping, bondage, dubious consent, dildo, teasing/edging

Word count: 3k

Date: Nov 25, 2024

Comments are always welcome and if you don’t wish to be identified, my ask is open!

Masterlist | Taglist

Tag list: @yourbasicqueerie @harknessshi @hannah-0730 @diorrxckstar @lady-darkswan3 @neverfindmegone @imorynn @its-chickenwing-450 @seaoflittlefires @anyasivy

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

Wanda’s spell had changed Westview. 

Aside from the obvious altered psychological state of the citizens, the town's sense of community had blossomed and the shared trauma had brought them together. The witch's magic had left a lasting scar and people were empathetic for anyone affected by it. 

Agnes O’Connor, or whatever her name was. 

She’s been a good neighbor for the past three years, slightly nosy, but clearly under some sort of mental control. Lately, though, she’s been acting differently. Your mother is one of the people who’s been lending a helping hand. Buying her groceries, visiting to make sure she is eating and bathing, and despite the odd conversation, she has been fine on her own.

Not that your mother would listen. She is invested in being some sort of babysitter and drag you along. You’ve managed to stray from the role, but, when your mother left town for business, you had promised to take care of the town's loony. 

The day's warmth gives way to a chilly breeze, the settling sun makes an orange hue in the sky and you try to balance the grocery bag while opening the wood door. Unfortunately for you, the neighborhood has a barter system and today is your family's turn to make sure everything is in order. 

Walking in, you take a minute to look around, the place is beautiful and dark, everything matches and you wonder what is Agatha’s doing and what is somebody else’s. You had never stepped foot in the house and it impressed you. 

Locking the door behind you and navigating to the kitchen, you set the bag down on the counter and call out. 

“Agnes? My mother asked me to bring you some groceries.” 

Silence follows your statement.  

“Hello?” You say louder.

Fuck. What if she had run away? 

Taking a deep breath, you decide to inspect the house before freaking out. Walking back to the entryway, you glance up the stairs and back into the living room. The place appears to be empty and you strain your ears in an attempt to hear any kind of noise. The house seems uninhabited and you conclude that upstairs is the next place to look for her.

“Hello? Anyone home?” You shout uncertainty, taking a step.

Your head is full of worry as you walk up the stairs. You’ve never seen Agnes after her psychotic breakdown, you don’t know what to expect. People from the neighborhood had said she was harmless, but you had no way of knowing. Either way, even if that were the case, it wouldn’t look good for you if you somehow lost her. 

The wooden floor creaks beneath your feet and darkness engulfs the hallway. Taking a quick peek at the open doors, you face up the end of the corridor, the place you assume it's the bedroom. Guiding yourself with the moonlight streaming in through the open window, you carefully enter the space. The curtain moves with the wind and you relax a friction, there is clearly no one here. 

As scared as you are, you barely have time to process the thought of Agnes' disappearance before feeling an impact against your back. Falling into the bed, you try calming your racing heart and, scared, you quickly turn around to see the back of a figure as it walks and settles into an armchair, turning on the lampshade beside her. 

Squinting your eyes against the yellow light that consumes the room, you take her in. Her legs are spread open, she wears a long sleeved shirt with a boner joke saying: “Bohoner family reunion. Pitch a tent.”, black sweatpants finish the look while her hair is pulled down in a ponytail. Her face is stern and she looks like a complete lunatic. 

“Sit up.” She commands. 

Afraid of an unpredictable reaction, you do as she says. 

The cushion feels soft under your thighs as you settle in the mattress. She ranks her eyes over your figure before leaning back, arms crossed over her chest. There’s some kind of hose head in her hip. 

“I’m curious. What compelled you to break into the home of a decorated detective?”

“What?” You blurt out immediately.

“I’m not playing games, little girl. You better answer me.” 

You fridge under her gaze, trying to understand the mental episode she’s having. Your mother mentioned that Agnes was having some sort of hallucination, but you never guessed this. Does she think she is some kind of cop?

She places her elbows on her knees and leans forward, waiting for your response.

“I- My mother asked me to bring you some groceries.” You explain carefully.

“Don't lie to me.” Narrowing her eyes, she stands up and searches for something in her drawer. “You won’t like the results.”

You glance at the door and prepare to make an escape. Barely having time to place your foot down and run, you feel a hand on your shoulder pushing you down and making you freeze when you sense her breath ghosting against your temples. 

“You better not try that. I’m assuming you don’t want to spend the night in the tank.” A glimpse of her hands makes you shake your head, she’s carrying a rope and a silver tape. 

“Good.” She stands in front of you and grabs your chin to look up at her. “Now, what were you after?”

You look around for something that might help you in this situation. “I was just bringing you groceries…” You whisper. 

“Don’t play dumb.” Her hands squeeze your cheeks harshly. 

God, this is the craziest talk you’ve ever had. 

“Look Agnes, you might be a little confused. How about I put you to bed and let you get some sleep?” You grab her wrist, trying to loosen her grip. 

She slaps you across the face, hard enough to leave a sting behind. 

She leans in close and says. “Do you think you have the right to touch me?”

The hit leaves you angry enough to turn and shout. “YOU ARE NOT A DETECTIVE.” 

Maybe it’s time to put her in a mental institution. 

She scoffs and grabs the rope at her side. “Do you know what we used to do to mouthy things like you back at the academy?” 

Your eyes widen and you stay rooted in place, running crosses your mind once again, but you push it aside, it would be worse if she tackled you to the ground. They do say crazy people have more strength than usual. 

She stretches the cord out in front of you and smirks, seizing your arms and tying them in front of you. Maybe it would be better if you played into her fantasy. 

“I’m sorry, Detective O’Conner.” Your entire demeanor changes and you beg. “Please, it was just a prank, my friends put me to it.” 

She has a side smile and doesn't look into your face, completely focused on her task. 

“Oh, now you are being cooperative. Scared?” 

Indeed, you are.

She crouches and levels her eyes with yours, searching your face for something that she doesn’t seem to find. 

“I don’t believe you and I’m not letting you go until I’ve got a satisfying answer.” 

She harshly pulls the knot in your wrists and looks pleased when it doesn’t come loose. Pacing around the room and looking at your bound form, you see the engines turning in her head as you feel trapped in a lion’s cage. 

Suddenly, she grabs you by the shoulder and pushes you backwards. You crash into the mattress and panic, you definitely shouldn’t have played into her delusion, the thoughts of escaping brushes your mind and you curse yourself for not doing it sooner. 

She takes hold of your binded arms and places them over your head as she climbs on top of you. Her knee is placed between your legs and you put your heels on the edge of the bed, pushing yourself up in a vain attempt to avoid the pressure. 

“This is what happens when you poke the bear, little girl.” She breathes in your face.

“Agnes, look-”

“IT’S DETECTIVE O’CONNOR TO YOU.” You wince at her scream. 

“Detective O’connor…” You try out and continue when she doesn’t react. “There’s no need for violence, we are both adults, I’m sure we can settle this.” You attempt to reason with her. 

She laughs at your statement, one of her hands grabs your neck and lightly squeezes. 

“I won’t accept any form of disrespect. You’ll be an example for your friends.” 

Yeah, okay. Maybe that was a bad excuse.  

Her eyes focus on something behind you and she reaches for it. You completely freeze when the corner of your eye catches the sight of a purple dildo held by her. Something inside you stirs.

“You better lick it up, little girl. This is going inside you.” 

“WHA-” Your scream is cut off when she shoves the hard object down your throat.

The stiffness settles uncomfortably on your windpipe, making you gag and cough against it, only stopping when she takes pity on you and draws it out of your mouth. 

“Do you want me to shove it in right now?” She’s a jerk and lets out a smug grin when you shake your head.

“No, no, no!” You say hastily. “I can do it.” 

Seeing your willingness, she places the sex toy against your lips, letting you set the pace for yourself. You take a tentative lick and she raises an eyebrow at you. 

This whole situation makes you dizzy. Agnes’s weight is on top of you and you slowly engulf the dildo, licking and coaxing in your saliva. She looks deep into your eyes and holds your tied hands firmly, pushing your propped heels with her feet and making you moan around the object when her thigh presses harder against your core.

Your body is reacting in the opposite direction, the panic settled into a trembelling flutter in your abdomen, the idea of being fucked by her seems more appelling as the time goes by and you wonder how much you really need to lube the dildo with your arousal pooling in your undearwear. 

“Yes, that’s it.” She says encouragingly. 

She sets a rhythm, leisurely pulling in and out as her lips form a sadistic smile, seemingly taking joy in your predicament as you slowly relax into the mattress, accepting your fate. Her blown pupils draw a groan out of your mouth and you feel drool dripping down your chin. 

She leans down and nuzzles your neck, before popping the dildo out of your mouth and eyeing it. 

“Good girl.” She praises and you grind against her thigh. 

Smiling, she takes away your only form of relief, straddling your waist and placing the purple object sideways in her mouth. The image distracts you enough and gives her time ,with her newly free hands, to grab the remains of the rope and tie your bound hands against the headboard. 

She eyes your pitiful position and lets out a breathy laugh, before grabbing your shirt and ripping it in half. Your eyes widen at the action and you suddenly remember that despite the pleasure running through you, you’re still very much in danger.

Ranking her eyes down your figure, she slides the wet dildo down your collarbones and over your covered breast, before reaching your navel. You look up at her with a pleading face, you could no longer tell if it was whether for her to continue or let you go.

“Ag-Detective, please.” You beg and the nickname brings a smirk to her face.

Thrusting your hips up, you try in a vague attempt to smooth your aching core, she grabs your waist and presses her body weight harder against you. Getting close to your face, she ‘tsks’.

“Nah, nah. This is supposed to be a lesson.” Her hand moves up and painfully gropes your breast, pinching your nipple and making you let out a groan. 

She rolls off of you and for a second, you think she’s going to leave you there, bound and unsatisfied, completely lost in the situation. That is, until you feel her harshly pull your pants out, along with your panties, humming as she looks down at your barely covered self.  

Spreading your legs, she settles between them and grabs the back of your things, pushing them up until your knees meet your front. Your open position gives her access to your core and she looks at it, grinning and running her finger through your wetness. 

“It appears someone has a cop kink.” Even in your condition, you have to hold in your laugh. 

She’s still talking nonsense. 

The discarded dildo appears in her hand once more and you bite your bottom lip in anticipation, she looks into your eyes as she slowly drags it between your folds and circles your clit, teasing you. Torture seems to be part of her enjoyment, you trash and buck into her hand, but the only thing she does is grip your hips to prevent your movement. 

She runs the object down your thigh and you feel how wet it is, mixing with the previous stickiness in there and driving you mad as it gets further away from your entrance. Stopping your needy motions, you let out a whine from the provocation before suddenly throwing your head back as she slams into you. 

It stretches you and she doesn’t give you time to process the intrusions before she starts to move. She pounds hard, seemingly trying to draw out your pleasure as fast as she can and by the amount of arousal you feel bubbling under your skin, she’s succeeding. 

You moan loudly, your shoulders ache from the uncomfortable position and your wrist burns from the material of the rope. Your body shakes with the force of her thrusting and your breasts bounce inside your bra. 

“Ag- Please… I can’t.” Meaningless words spill out of your mouth. 

She laughs and places one of your legs on her shoulder, going deeper and hitting a spot that makes your vision go white. 

“Tell me what you were looking for.” Her face closes off and somehow she becomes more aggressive with her movement. 

“Wha-” There isn’t a single thought crossing your mind. 

“Why did you come into my house? Tell me right now or I’ll stop.” 

“NO.” You shout and throw your head back at the frustration. “I already told you.”

“I don’t want to hear any bullshit excuse.” Her movement slows down and you circle your legs around her to prevent her detachment.

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” You tell her, your mind is muffled with arousal and you feel your climax getting away from you.

“‘Tell me the truth.” She almost screams and stops completely. 

“Fuck!” You exclaim, unfulfilled . 

Your thoughts can barely connect, your head is spinning and you try to find a justification that will satisfy her enough.

“I WANTED YOU.” You shout out. “I wanted to get your attention.” 

You finally settle into an excuse and it seems to please her when she gives you a shit-eating grin, thrusting back into you.

The fading orgasm returns with vengeance, your back arches away from the bed and your entire body tenses up. The purple object pounds harder and harder into you, hitting the right spot every time and making you sob. Your legs tighten around her and your heel digs into her back. The headboard hits the wall and you faintly hear the sound as your mind is overrun with pleasure. 

“Detective- I need…” You blur out, the statement being cut off by a groan.

“I know what you need, baby.” Her voice is hoarse, you open your eyes to look down and are greeted by ragged breathing, hair out of place and an open mouth as she takes in your pleasure. 

Her free hand comes up to circle your outer lips and you groan, frustrated by the endless teasing. Her finger meets your clit and her other hand adjusts the dildo to keep up the pace with the new attachment. 

You close your hands around the rope holding them, throwing your head back as your body meets her thrusts and you grind up against her finger, searching for the edge. All the breath in your body rushes out at once when you reach it, stiffening and trembling against her body. Your hard nipples brush against the material of your bra and your nails dig into the skin of your palm. You go completely rigid and mute before slumping down onto the bed. 

Your fingers teak at the aftershocks, you feel Agatha slipping the dildo out of you and her face enters your blurred vision. 

“Did you learn your lesson?” She asks seriously, her face closed off again. 

You nod vigorously, still bound and helpless, you couldn’t tell what she would do next. 

“Good.”  She says and reaches up, untying the thick rope from your wrists and adding. “Stay where you are, I’m going to get a wipe.” 

Puzzlement fills your mind and you rub your red skin, maybe this would be the perfect time to run, even with your shirt torn and naked half self, but you doubted your jelly legs would take you far. Besides, her mood had changed, she seemed softer and you weren't sure if the change of temperament was her mental health acting up or if she was calmer because of your early answer. 

There’s not a lot of time to think when you hear her coming back from the bathroom, towel in hand. Your breath is caught in your throat and you watch her every move, paralyzed. She settles herself on the bed, in front of you, before looking into your eyes and asking. 

“May I?”

You open yourself for her once more, she’s already fucked you stupid, there’s no need to be ashamed. 

Her knuckles run up your calf and stop in your knee, her other hand placing the white wet material against your thigh and wiping the stickiness in it. You shudder when she brushes your core and wonder if you are catching her insanity by thinking of doing this again. 

“I’m glad I didn’t have to use my gun on you.” She lets out a relieved laugh and points with her head at the nightstand behind you.

You turn around and are greeted by a hose head.  

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

YOU’VE GOT THE CURE (EVERYTHING I NEED) | B. KATSUKI. 

✮ tags ; gn + afab!reader, soft dom!reader, sub!bakaugou, developing relationships, mutual pining and ambiguous relationships, anal play (m!recieving), dry orgasms, p in v, unprotected sex, 18+

✮ wc ; 6.7k

✮ a/n ; an anon comission from a beloved mutual im posting. also just dropping in to say hello

✮ synopsis ; katsuki is too fucking young to have erectile dysfunction, damn it.

“Hey.” 

“Hm?” 

The sound of your typing is especially loud in the empty office. It’s a Saturday and neither of you are supposed to be clocked in, but when duty calls - it’s up to the two of you to answer. 

“...I’m going to tell you something. If you so much as fucking laugh I will kill you.”

You don’t look up from your screen.

“Well that’s one way to start a sentence. I’ll try not to laugh.”

Katsuki slams his hand on the desk. 

“I’m being serious,” He says in a half-yell. You look up from the edge of your laptop unflinchingly with a displeased frown, shaking your head and throwing your hand up half-heartedly. 

“Fine, fine - I promise I won’t laugh. Can you stop being all ominous? You sound like Tokoyami.” 

“There’s something wrong with me,” 

“Well yes,” 

“Not like that,” He hisses, taking a deep breath. He leans forward with his elbows on the table, hands clasped seriously as he covers his face. “...I think my fucking..thing..is broken.” 

There’s a loud noise like a muffled laugh but when Katsuki looks up your expression is completely blank. Your lips are pressed tight, eyes out of focus as you continue to type. Or pretend to. True to your word, you don’t laugh but Katsuki still wants to fucking kill you. 

“Oh? What uhm,” You clear your throat, lips trembling as you try to keep yourself together. “What brought you to that conclusion?” 

He nearly snaps his pen in half. 

“What do you fucking think?!” 

“Hey. Calm down. I’m doing my best not to laugh but you are not helping.” 

This is the sort of thing Katsuki would normally take to his grave. Not only is it genuinely humiliating, it is the sort of painful personal detail he wouldn’t share with anyone even if he was fucking them. It wouldn’t matter either, that his dick isn’t working - if the other ways he relieved stress were.

He’s got an average sex drive, sometimes lower but a high libido. Getting off is a physical response to a bodily need. Like eating food or taking a nap. It’s just because it’s a physical need, it is noticeable when the need doesn’t get met. He is painfully aware of it. It’s been weeks and he thinks he’s starting to lose his mind. Worse? He’s exhausted every human option trying to fix the problem himself, save for going to the dick doctor. His testosterone levels are fine, he gets check-ups more regularly than the average person. Given his reputation is at stake, he’d rather not get prescribed anything. He’s bought ginseng and shitty vitamins and medicine he had to ship from overseas. Anything and everything. 

Picking up viagra at the ripe age of twenty four would give him psychic damage he won’t recover from, this much Katsuki is sure of. So not that. But everything else, every natural remedy conceived - he’s tried. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” He says, pinching the bridge of his nose and willfully ignoring the sound of your strained huffing “I can’t fucking get….it up and I don’t know why. I’ve tried everything. Everything. I’m going crazy,” 

“You know, it really says something about our relationship that you can confide to me about these kinds of problems. Like I’m so proud of us,” 

“Shut up. I’m already miserable enough without wanting to fucking tell you - but the only other option is Shitty Hair and Izuku. I refuse to buy a single goddamn pill for it, and I know if I go to a doctor they’re gonna recommend it and—” He can’t finish the thought. It’s a little too sincere for the kind of conversation you’re having. 

You’re a tactless person, so of course - you don’t bother with going along with the mood. Instead you smile like the evil bastard you are. 

“And…?” 

“You little—” He sighs rubbing his palms over his hands “And because I can trust you to be the least horrible option.” 

“So you acknowledge my valiant efforts as your underling and assistant and know you’d be nowhere without me?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Aw, you’re sweet,” You say, promptly ignoring him “But yeah, I mean - no judgement. I would ask if you’ve had anything major happen but I unfortunately already know that’s not really the case.”

Yes. You, of all people, would know that no major changes have happened in Katsuki’s external life that would make it hard for his dick to function. You spend so much time together. Minus the time he spends working and catching villains in the world - you’re practically glued to his side. You’re in charge of all of his affairs, his schedule, all other personal things. Katsuki is naturally neurotic, but you handle all of it with grace and care. You know everything about him, which is why he is asking you about this problem. 

(Does it border on unprofessional? Of course it does. But your relationship to each other degraded that border a long time ago. You’ve already slept in his bed and met all of his friends. And kissed him, but that’s irrelevant for now) 

“I need solutions,” Katsuki offers, totally and utterly defeated by the situation at hand. “I’ve done everything. Taken every goddamn herb, done every meditation. Nothing is working. Nothing. I’m going to go fucking crazy.” 

“Do you think just sleeping with someone would help? I know you don’t want to ask any of your friends, but maybe an escort? We can do it discreetly.” 

“Fuck no. If it were that easy I would’ve done it.” 

You pause. Katsuki can see the focus on your face and doesn’t know if it makes him feel better or worse. After an elongated period of silence, you perk up a little. You lock eyes with him and Katsuki briefly regrets bringing the whole conversation up in the first place. 

“Hate to ask,” You say, though there’s not enough embarrassment on your face to make anything of that statement. “But uh, have you tried getting off with other things. Like something that isn’t your dick.” 

He feels a flush creeping up his skin. “What the fuck are you talking about!”

“This is an important question,” You emphasize, an expression so alarmingly calm Katsuki doesn’t know if it makes him feel better or worse. “Cause if the answer is no, then that’s basically the best solution.” 

“How the fuck is that the best solution? Are you insane?” 

“Don’t be such a prude, Mr. Dynamight. You’ve bottomed before. It’s not that different. Have you ever tried it on your own?” 

“I fucking hate you.” He replies, closing his eyes and frowning. “No I haven’t. Why the hell would I do something so embarrassing.” 

“I know you’re super anal retentive - no pun intended there actually, but can you relax a little? It’s a good solution if nothing else is working. Your dick might be broken but an orgasm is an orgasm.” 

“Remind me to never ask you for shit again,” 

“I’d love that. Just keep me on payroll. Anyway,” You go back to typing. “I think that should be your first move,”

“How the—are you seriously telling me I should go fuck myself to solve my problem?” 

You giggle. “Well it sounds bad when you put it like that. But I guess yeah. I can help pick out some sex toys, maybe, do a little research. If you don’t want to do it in your apartment, there might be a love hotel,” 

A blush creeps up against the back of his neck. He covers his face with his hands. 

“I’m begging you to shut the fuck up. There’s no,” Another wave of humiliation sets in “There’s no way this is how I’m going about this. Like. Fucking none.” 

“The only other option is the good old fashioned doctors appointment, then. Which we can squeeze in over telehealth I think - since you got a check-up pretty recently. Want me to do that instead,” 

“Fuck, no. I just,” He groans, feeling the stress make his eye twitch “Fuck.” 

There’s a bit of silence and a little typing, like you’ve decided to leave him to his thoughts. Which he doesn’t blame you for, because all things fucking considered - there’s not really any more options. He’s a smart man and even he is fucking stumped. He’s going to have to give into something, eventually. He knows that, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. 

As soon as he gets close to giving up, you sit up straighter and give a deep long sigh. 

“Hey,” You scratch the side of your face awkwardly. “Do you want me to help you….?” 

He stares at you. “With what.” 

“With your dick being broken,” 

“What?!” 

“Don’t yell anymore, you’re giving me a headache,” You express, rubbing your temples. “Look. You need to get off, and you’re probably going to have to use your ass to do it. You don’t want to do it by yourself, and you don’t want to do it with a friend or escort. You’d prefer not going to the doctor's office or taking any pills. I’m offering - I’m not really your friend per se and you trust me enough to ask about it.” 

He hates more than anything that you have a point. 

“You can’t be fucking serious right now.”

“Hey. If you want your dick to stay broken for a while until you figure it out, do you. I’m just saying. Offering solutions is what you pay me for,” 

He pulls back a little. 

“...Are you fine with that?” 

“Oh banging you? Is that what you’re worried about?” He winces at the direct and crass way you speak. “I like you plenty and you’ve got a pretty face. I’m down if you are,” 

“I can’t believe I’m considering this.” 

“Really? I totally can,” You snicker, and he really, really considers firing you. “It’s not the first time we’ve crossed boundaries with each other. Just consider it, okay? Before you actually blow a fuse.” 

He leans back in his chair and groans. 

“Fuck. Yeah, whatever.” 

__ 

It’s another week before Katsuki takes you up on your offer. 

Miraculous it took that long, given the amount he suffered stubbornly trying to fix the problem on his own. The lengths he went too are too embarrassing to even disclose or recount but it very quickly became clear that this was not an issue that was going to magically disappear - no matter how hard he tried. 

Against his better judgment and after a long, cold shower trying to talk himself out of reality - Katsuki sent you a one line text. 

Fine. Come Saturday. 

The only thing he could say without dying of complete fucking shame. He’s grateful that’s the time you decided to have some tact. 

(Not a lot, since the text back you sent was a peach emoji and a thumbs up. But whatever, he’ll take what he can get.) 

It’s Saturday now, and he’s clean. All of him. He’s clean, and just wearing his boxers - sitting on his couch. You’ll be here very soon, and he can’t believe he’s saying this, but he’s nervous. 

You did mention you were fine with it. He believes that because there’s been long standing tension between you two for god knows how long he’s not entirely blind too. You sleep at his place sometimes and spend all day with him, and then there was that one time you two kissed (very sober) during New Years. You don’t bring it up because you know he can’t deal with it. Yet he’s comforted by the fact you at least want it (because you’ve said so), and that you’re willing to do this despite the ambiguity in your relationship. 

He knows that is inevitably going to come up today. But he really wants to fucking cum. And if it’s with you, then it’s fine. If his head was a little clearer, he would probably reject this whole thing based on his own emotional disparity. God fucking knows he is not in any place to deal with any of that. His heart barely gets by in the office and now you were going to fuck him. 

Is he stupid? 

Usually no, but because there’s a soft dick and tight balls where his brain used to be, currently yes. Everything put together, it’s a recipe for disaster. He considers telling you to fuck off and forget all this happens. 

But then he thinks about the prospect of your hands and your voice and it’s enough to at least get his heart pumping, though his dick still refuses to cooperate.

More than anything, he does trust you. Shitty, smug little fucker you can be sometimes - there’s not a single person who goes out of their way for him. More than just your job, sometimes it feels like every little thing you do is for his sake. Everything you don’t ask of him, every secret you keep. You push him where he needs to go and encourage him to take risks in his career without imposing on him. 

He blushes again, laying on his couch. He was nervous before but it’s not any better. Maybe he’s not so much of a dumbass as he is a total fucking masochistic. Is the level of overthinking the shit Izuku goes through? No wonder he’s like that all the time. 

He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears the doorbell ring. 

He answers the door shirtless and finds you on the other side. You have a cardboard box and the most nonchalant expression he’s ever seen. Normally it would annoy him, but right now he’s kind of comforted by it. You look at him with a flat smile. 

“Hey sexy,” You say with no intonation. “Can I come in?” 

He gives you a look of disdain. “Don’t ever say that shit to me again. But come in,” 

You laugh quietly as he steps aside. You don’t have much with you other than the ominous box and your bag. 

“You look like you’ve showered,” You say, taking your shoes off and putting on the house slippers he keeps for you. You don’t even look at him as you go towards his bedroom upstairs. He follows you with mild (faux) annoyance.“What a shame.” 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“I wanted to get a little romantical and help you clean up but you’ve taken that from me. I’m a little hurt.” 

“You’re such a dumbass. As if I’d let you do that,” 

“Don’t be such a spoilsport. I’m gonna be playing in your ass today anyway.” 

“Not the same thing.” 

“Tomato, to-mah-to,” You say with a wave of your hands. When you finally get upstairs, you look over your shoulder. Katsuki gets the message quickly enough, helping you with the door. You give him a little smile and let yourself in, dropping the box on the edge of his king sized mattress. 

He stands in the doorway for a short while, glancing at you before coming in. You put your bag somewhere on the floor before getting back to the box you’ve brought over. He can guess what’s in it, but he stands with you to open it anyways.

Predictably,  the thing is full of sex toys. The first question he wants to ask is how much you spent on all of it, but he bites his tongue. 

You look at him and do a little jazz hands gesture. “Tah-dah.” 

He gives you a displeased look, but you’re well used to this sort of thing from him. There isn’t actually a whole lot in the box. The theatrics of you bring it upstairs were more likely just you fucking with him for the sake of the bit.  He frowns. Typical. 

You do have some new things in the box. A few expensive look gadgets, like a pair of quirk canceling handcuffs (decorated with leopard print fur) and something that looks like it goes around his neck. The sex toys that are in there are noticeably high quality. You definitely used his dime to pay for this. 

“Handcuffs? Seriously?” 

“You’re too much of a control freak and I like not having my hands blown to bits,” You say, shaking your head. “We should establish some ground rules and stuff now.” 

“Haah? The fuck are you gonna do that we need rules.”

“I’m not just gonna jump scare you with dominating you. But that is what I’m doing.  What we’re doing.” You give him a more serious look, that makes him feel more shy than he cares to admit.  “You get what I’m saying? You have to trust me a little, okay?” 

He makes a petulant face at you. “I already trust you dipshit,” 

“This and that are different,” You say, shaking your head. He refrains from disagreeing with you a second time. They’re really not, but he has no desire to explain that. “I’m gonna touch you and be a little strict. Are you okay with that?” 

“I don’t care.” 

“That’s not an answer,” 

He grits. “I want to cum. And I…trust you or whatever. I already agreed to this. If it’s pissing me off, I’ll just kick you offa me. Anyway, ‘s fine.” 

“If you kick me I’m suing you for battery. We can have a safeword. I’m not going to duct tape your mouth and I’m gonna talk you through most of it - but just incase.” You say. He pauses, taken aback by how… delicately you’re treating him. He doesn’t know if he should be pissed about it or not. “Any word is fine. We can use the stoplight system too if you want.”

“Stoplight?” 

“Red for stop, yellow for slow, green for go.” 

“That’s fine. Easy to remember.” 

“Okay,” You nod to yourself, tucking the promise to memory before looking at him more seriously. “Are you okay with intimacy?” 

He stares at you. 

“The fuck…?” 

“Kissing and hand-holding and all that other stuff.” 

“Is it necessary?” 

“Strictly speaking, no,” You look at him knowingly this time. He’s taken aback, but you’re always like this. You look through him, not at him. “Are you okay with it?” 

The implication is there. Do you want it? is the question that goes unasked. Too direct for his tastes. He feels heat spread through his body, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“Yeah…’m fine with it.” 

Your smile is more genuine this time around. He turns away from you a little. 

“Okay. That’s everything out of the way. I’m gonna cuff your arms,” You say. It all feels a little sudden. He figures you’d mean business, but still - he’s not all that prepared. He’s had a week to mentally prepared but that feels like nothing compared to now.  There’s an authority to the way you talk now he isn’t sure he’s going to get used too. “Repeat your safewords to me when you turn around.” 

He frowns but listens. He puts his hands together in front of him, waiting for you to cuff him, shyness making him hot. 

“Uh. Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go.” 

“Good boy,” You say so smoothly it almost rolls off of him. The cuffs go around his wrists, and Katsuki can feel the familiar sensation of losing his quirk. Now it’s just the both of you. “I’m expecting a little pushback, but generally - you’re to listen to me. Clear?” 

“God, fuck - yeah clear,” Katsuki says, feeling ticklish all of a sudden. “All this shitty foreplay is making me feel weird.” 

You wrap your arm around his midriff in a sudden movement, making him twitch. He can feel your cheek pressed against his chest as your hands hover over his waistband. He takes in a sharp inhale. 

“It’s good that you’re feeling anything.” You say, breath just barely above a whisper. “Gonna take this off,” 

He just nods, silently. It’s still on soft, but something is happening in his gut at least. You help him take his boxers down. You’ve probably seen him naked before, more than once. You two being attached at the hip was no joke. This time there’s this lingering anticipation that’s there, and that changes things. 

He steps out of his boxers. He’s naked and you’re clothed and his head feels like it’s spinning. Your hand guides him to the edge of the bed. He sits and watches you, but you don’t undress. 

The first kiss (second kiss) that you exchange with Katsuki is pleasant. You bend down to do it. It’s a chaste way to meet his lips, weirdly soothing while his stomach is starting to tie in knots. It’s a little surprising how..comfortable it is. Your mouth is soft, your lips taste a little like chapstick and you smell nice. You pull away to kiss the corner of his mouth, trailing down his jaw. 

Your thumbs draw over the shell of his ear, rubbing the lobe tender. You’re so different. The contrast in your normal personality is a little too much for him to reconcile with easily, but you brush over these things well enough. He looks away when you meet his eyes. 

“Do you wanna lay down or kneel?” 

His throat is tight. “...Don’t care.” 

You laugh a little to yourself, another kiss. “Lay down then. It’d probably be easier if you put your ass up but knowing you, I doubt it.” 

He blushes, annoyed that he’s so obviously predictable to you. 

The sheets are soft where he lays. You don’t join him on the bed at first. He just waits there cuffed as you shuffle around for things - lubes and toys and pillows. When you do return to him, you pat his side and slide a pillow underneath his back. He quickly regrets laying down, because god the position is fucking exposing. 

You get between his legs and settle there comfortably. A hand rests on his bare thigh, rubbing your thumb into smooth, muscled skin. His breath is hitched. You lean down and kiss his hip. Still no dice on the erection, but you don’t seem discouraged. 

You flip the lube open and let it pour onto your fingertips. It’s pink lube. This is mildly irritating, but saying anything will feed into your satisfaction so Katsuki bites his tongue. He watches it as you warm it in your hands, patting his leg with your clean hand. 

“Legs up,” You instruct. “And deep breath. Try not to tense.” 

“Just goin’ for it, huh?”

You don’t reply to that, but you do smile. 

It’s not his first rodeo. His second or third, but certainly not his first - but he’s never had it done for a reason like this. There was an exchange prior, that someone was putting something in him for their pleasure too. This isn’t for that. This is just for him, with your skilled hands and your oddly gentle tendencies that he doesn’t see any other time. That proves to be too much, makes his belly feel honeyed with lust. 

The warm, thick sensation of lubed fingers presses against the tight rim of muscle. He breathes and unclenches. Tries not to think too hard about anything. He’s desperate, too desperate. At this point, it’s hard to be prideful. Your hands are noticeably daintier than the ones he’s had in him prior. It’s…weirdly nice. Makes the process easier somehow. He’s reminded that you’re just you, and that makes him more nervous. 

“That’s it, baby,”  You hum, so soft it’s startling. The way the blood starts to rush in that familiar way nearly makes him sick. Oh, fuck. No way. “Oh?” 

No way. No fucking way. No way that’s what does him in. 

You pause. He takes in a deep breath, ready to say anything to defend himself. Humiliation spreads through his whole body. He can feel how hard he’s starting to burn, like the blood in his body is struggling to keep up with the desire and pump of his heart. His chest and face start to flush a familiar rose as he grits his teeth and closes his eyes. 

Weeks. Weeks and weeks of trying to figure this out. And it was you calling him baby, of all things, to get him at half-mast. 

He’s too afraid to open his eyes, but forces himself too. He’s expecting a smug laugh or sarcastic jab but instead you just look surprised. You stare at him, unblinking. He’s so startled he stares back. 

“Do you wanna…keep going?” 

He gets hard. Fuck. 

“S-shit,” He says, wishing he could cover his face with his hands properly. “Yeah,” 

He can’t read your expression at all. Annoying. You don’t brush over it though - but you don’t force him to acknowledge it either. Maybe you’re just focused on the fact he finally has something to work with and don’t want to ruin it by making him talk about his feelings. 

“Baby,” You say again, smooth and deliberate. There’s that twitch again, something pooling in his gut. He starts to feel nervous. You’re doing the same as before, stretching him and teasing the rim - getting him ready for something else. “You like bein’ my baby, Katsuki?” 

He opens his mouth, only to close it again. He tries to choke some word about, telling you go fuck yourself - but he always ends up looking at your face. Your lashes on your cheek. Soft touches and even softer words. He stops knowing what he wants at some point.

“Ugh,” His voice grows thicker. “Don’t ask me that,” 

(If he were more apt at honesty, he could admit to you that he just wants you. In whatever way. Sometimes you get like this, when you’re not screwing around - and you’re so good to him that it hurts. He likes your sarcasm and dryness. 

But he likes too when you’re this sweet on him too - even if that feels shameful as fuck. That feels like it’s crossing so many more lines that you’re usual self. He knows that better than anyone. It is crossing more lines than usual. 

He can’t help but think about it anyway.)

You laugh a little. His eyes go lidded as you continue to work him open. It’s a slow process. You circle his hole with your thumb each time before pushing in. You get one finger in without effort. The second one takes a little more. Another heaved breath and unclenching of his muscles. 

He hasn’t felt the sensation of something entering him in so long. He can’t remember when the last time was. He’s antsy as you pump your fingers in and out, stretching him slowly. You find the bottle with your free hand, flicking it open with your teeth and pouring lube onto him directly before you keep going. 

“That feel okay?” You mumbles

“Y-yeah. Feels fine,” He huffs, closing his eyes “Feels…good,” 

“It’ll feel better soon. Just need to,” You curve the two fingers inside of him up. They search and search and search until—

There. Shit, there. 

“Oh, shit,” He gasps, arching himself up as you rub it. You smile at him, pleased. “Fuck,” 

You whistle. Katsuki can feel his cock throb properly now, up at full attention. You don’t touch him though. Your other hand grips his thigh for support as you focus your wrist and energy on curling your fingers against his prostate. His stomach flutters, waist tightening.

He’s been fucked before, damn it, but this is different. This is controlled and concentrated. Your fingers are perfect in their motion, pinpoint pleasure making him break out into a feverishness. You’re annoyingly good at this. His whole nervous system feels like it’s being unraveled so slowly. Pulled apart like the slices of a fruit, something for you to pick off and eat.

His head feels like it’s full of cotton, tongue too big for his mouth. Thoughts clouded and inhibition lowered. Real pleasure. He hasn’t felt that in what has to be more than a month now. It’s overwhelming. He’s sensitive and muddy and acting stupidly - he’s well aware. It’s an out of body experience being so unwound in general but this after everything is overstimulating. 

God it feels good. How can anything feel this fucking good? 

His breathing is erratic, heart pumping trying to keep up with it. Euphoric little pricks start at his abdomen and shoot off through his whole body. Like the splintering ends of a falling star. 

He’s never had any orgasm that feels like it needs every muscle in his body to pump through him. It starts in his center and spreads out, melts him slowly. Usually the feeling of needing to cum is passing - just building pleasure until the orgasm hits and the high relaxes. His cock is leaking now with every little press along his insides. Little white dribbles of pre-cum sliding down his shift all the way down to his ass. He doesn’t want to think about how he looks, so he focuses on how it feels. 

“Fuck, that feels so good,” His voice almost gives. “Shit, I’m gonna cum if you don’t slow down.”

“You can cum if you want to, Katsuki,” As if to drive the point home by massaging his inner thigh, neglecting his cock “Guess you’re pretty sensitive inside, hm? Gonna make you cum like a girl,” 

His blush deepens.. 

“Haah, fuck - fuck I’m not sensitive. It’s just, hng. Been a while,” 

“Don’t be a liar or I won’t let you cum,” You tease. 

His eyes shoot wide, brows touching his hairline.  “Fuck, d-don’t you dare. .” 

You have the nerve to laugh at him. All things considered, maybe you’ve earned. “Just teasing. I’m awful but not that awful. “ 

“You’re not awful, fuck - just really,” He throws his head back against the sheets. “Need to cum, really need to—” 

“Gonna cum without even touching your cock,” You say, half-amused. He shudders when the realization dawns on him.“You’re so sweet.” 

He’s drooling. The strength goes out in his jaw as the feeling just builds and builds and builds. It goes on like it’ll never topple. 

When it does, it doesn’t feel so much like a rope unsnapping as much as it feels like everything is being pulled from under him. Like the loss of gravity. His abdomen goes tight, the anticipation of it making it impossible to breathe. So close, so close, so close. His brain feels shut off, mindlessly humping along air to capitalize on everything. You’re encouraging only eggs him on further. He lets out a garbled little noise, choking. His voice rasps as electricity flows through him. 

And he cums, there’s an orgasm - but nothing comes out. He cums so hard but his balls still feel so tight and full. It feels good but he’s still so fucking hard. It snaps him awake as his eyes open, and you’re staring at his cock a little awestruck. 

“Oh, poor baby,” You say - not exactly mocking him but not exactly being kind either. Katsuki stares at you lost and hazy. “A dry orgasm after all of that. That’s just cruel. 

He heaves. “What the….how am I supposed to?” 

His dick aches. Fuck he almost wants to cry. 

Your hand wraps around the base of his shaft in a sudden movement, making him hiss. He almost cusses you out. Sensitive, too sensitive. You put your thumb over the tip of his cock, more pre-cum leaking from it as you. You look mesmerized as it dribbles against your thumb

A long pause. 

“Hey,” Your expression is  serious. “Do you wanna fuck me?” 

“What?” 

“I’m really turned on right now, shit. I was planning on just helping you but, you didn’t cum yet and I’m...,” You’re looking at him so directly. His heart pounds. “You can say no,” 

Of course he wants to fuck you. That’s what he wants to say. He doesn’t know where he’d find the fucking gall. 

“....’s sensitive,” He says instead, flushing with embarrassment. You brighten up. “Just… give me a minute,” 

“I will but first,” You rummage through your items and pull out a plug. His eyes widen. “It’ll feel good, I promise.” 

He grumbles, but doesn’t reject you. You have some kind of miracle in you - so he feels more inclined to just give in to whatever you say. You look eager to do it. He doesn’t know how he feels about that. 

It’s easy enough to put the plug in when he’s already all soft. He’s still sensitive and swollen. He hisses as the cool metal of the plug slides into softened hole, before settling. You give him a little tap on his which he glares at you for. Your only response is laughter. 

There’s nothing to talk about while Katsuki watches you undress. You don’t take it all off - just your bottoms. It’s not that he has nothing on his mind. Just that… seeing you like that isn’t making him any less hard. He just… looks at you. Dumbly. You slide your shorts off in one go and your underwear along with it, and you’re all on display. 

It’s pretty. Your pussy is really pretty. A horrifyingly embarrassing thing for him to think but it’s true. There’s a fine layer of hair on your mound that he likes. You’re dripping wet like you said you were, and that doesn’t make the situation any easier. You give him a little smug grin as you settle over his lap. He stares at you completely absent-minded, flushed. 

“Like what you see?” You tease. He’s too struck to lie to you. 

“Yeah,” He rasps. He’s out of his mind right now. He blames it on his dick. “I wish I could take these fuckin’ cuffs off.” 

You look at him a little surprised. “You don’t like being cuffed and restrained?” 

His ears feel hot, heat prickling up his skin. “Didn’t say that just,” He groans even trying to say it. “...Wanna touch you,” 

He trails off. You use your hand to turn his face back to you, cupping his jaw as you bend forward to kiss him. He stares at you wide-eyed, making a noise of surprise. This kiss is different from all the others. Deeper, with more feeling. He gets into it, lifting his head to kiss you back. 

When you pull away, you’re all fluttered lashes and adoration. 

“After I drain your dick dry,” You say with a confidence that astounds him. “I’ll take them off and let you fuck me proper. But you have to tell me you want that, first. Do you wanna fuck me, baby?” 

“Shit. Y-yeah,” He nods, feeling absolutely swept up in your pace. 

“Say it.” 

“I wanna fuck you, dammit,” He stutters through the last of his sentence. “Don’t make me beg, my dick is going to blow off if you keep torturing me.” 

You laugh good naturedly and he feels a little proud that he made you laugh. The thought that he’s beyond whipped wipes the smile off his face completely, but whatever. 

You pull back, sitting up as you examine his cock. You hold it up to you, weighing your options. 

“I’m too horny to open myself up. I’m just gonna sit on it, ‘kay? Don’t buck your hips up,” 

He opens his mouth to protest, but the words die in his mouth. The warm, wet heat of your cunt is immediately overstimulating. He groans so gutterally it startles him. Like it’s punched out of him. This is the only pressure his hard cock has gotten in months and it’s making him feel like he’s on fire. 

You don’t give him a chance to cover. You lean over him as you maneuver his cock to your entrance with all disregard for his sanity. You hiss as the tip finds the spot. Fuck you’re wet. Your insides are so soft, so sticky - but you’re still so damn tight. 

As you promised you go slowly. It doesn’t help him losing his mind. Worsened by the fact he can see you on top of him, all bated breaths and shaky moans. There must be a dull pain, but you only give him a smile as you get the first inch. 

“You’re big,” You say breathlessly. His cock twitches to life. “Feels fucking good. Shit, that’s amazing. Haha, I can feel you so deep already.” 

“Please stop talking, before I, haah,” 

“Don’t cum yet,” You demand, lowering yourself further and further until you’ve bottomed out. Katsuki feels fucking crazy. “Let me get my fill first.” 

“Ngh, easier said than fucking done,” 

You just laugh. “Try your hardest, Mr. Hero. Show off your endurance, hm?” 

He groans as you start to move. You really don’t regard him at all. You lean over him with one hand and use your other to tease and toy with your clit as you ride his cock with reckless abandon. The room is quick to fill with noise - the sound of skin slapping skin, the skin sticking where your hips meet his thighs. 

 You’re moaning in little broken waves. He’s not going to last if he listens to you anymore. 

He’s biting the inside of his cheek trying not to cum, but you don’t make it easy. You’re riding him with so much force, using him. Your pussy is so tight it’s gripping him, sucking him dry. A vice-like grip, sticky and pliant over the hard curve of his cock. Everytime you bounce and throw your ass a little harder onto him, he can feel you. Feel himself and  how deep he is. His hands tighten into fists where they’re cuffed in front of him. 

He’s never been… used like this. But he doesn’t hate it the way you disregard him to chase your own pleasure while being so generally mindful of his own. You take and take and take but you make it feel so good. 

It’s not helped by the plug in his ass, brushing against his prostate every single time you move. Makes him jolt. Every fiber and nerve in his body is wound as tight as it can possibly go. All of his strength, sanity, and focus he has left in him is trying not to cum, not to buck his hips up and rut into you like a stupid animal no matter how much he wants too. 

He can feel you start to cum before you even tell him. Your walls pulse with need and your movement starts to get slower. The grip you have holding you up weakens slightly. 

“Gonna cum. Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum,” You say with a pant. You open your eyes and look down on him “Cum with me, okay? Don’t hold it in,” 

The words alone trigger a reaction. But with everything else, it’s like Katsuki explodes. Weeks worth of tension in his body, in his muscles, in his everything  - burst at the seams. You cum and he follows you nearly in succession. The hard pulsing of your swollen cunt suck around him like a vice and he goes practically limp feeling his dick finally drain. 

He cums and he can’t stop cumming. Pumps out so much white hot seed his head starts to cloud. He fucks up into you, sloppy and dumb. Chasing his high as he pours every ounce of his load into your pussy without so much as a modicum of shame. A month of dryness overwritten by the most intense orgasm he’s ever had in his fucking life. He doesn't know how long he stays there, painting your walls with his spend. It just goes on forever, longer than he’s ever experienced. 

He has his eyes closed as he goes limp. Fucking hell. 

It takes him a while to go soft again. When he finally does and returns to consciousness, he’s still nestled inside you. You give him a smile when his eyes finally open, leaning forward to kiss his hairline. 

“Still all there?” 

His voice is hoarse like he’s been screaming. “I feel like I fucking died,” 

You giggle. 

“So… no?” 

“Kind of. Barely. What the fuck is up with you.” He says laying his head back, sweat dripping down his back. “Shit.” 

“Did you like it?” 

He gives you an unimpressed look as you laugh. 

“I’m glad.” You say softly. You’re warm. God he’s down bad. “We have a lot to talk about later. You should take a little break for now.” 

He nods in agreement to both things before pausing. “For now..?” 

“You thought we were done?” You say with a tilted head. He gapes. “I thought you knew I was more ruthless than that.” 

He groans. 

“You’re insane.” 

You chuckle, leaning down to kiss him. 

“You love me.” 

He lets you kiss him some more and doesn’t bother denying it. 

[celestialwonders]

cohabitate

an enha hyung line abo series

genre: abo smut series (MDNI)

pairing: reverse harem!hyung line x omega!afab reader

series synopsis: your desperation for a place to stay turns into desperation for your tantalizing roommates.

wc: 2.5k+ (2827 words)

a/n: its hereeeee finally~ no smut tags bc theres none in this but there will be for the rest of the parts mwahaha im so excited to be setting up this series! hopefully this prologue lets you get to know our MC and the boys’ dynamics :3 as always, feedback and input is greatly appreciated! much much love to my freakpen wives for their help and support <3

prologue: move-in day

“Room for rent. Furnished room. Access to a full kitchen. Shared bathroom.”

You read over the crinkled flyer in your hand as you dial the number at the bottom of the page, looking back over the shoddy photographs of a kitchen, room, and the exterior of a two-story house. The phone rings twice before you hear the other line pick up.

“Hello? Is this.. Sunoo?” You hear some shuffling and whispered scolds before hearing someone clear their throat.

“Yeah, hi! Are you calling about the room for rent?” A cheerful but hurried voice sounds through your phone’s speaker as you shove the flyer back into your jeans pocket, readjusting your backpack strap as you lean against the corkboard covered in various flyers and signs.

The forwardness from Sunoo jolts you, but you regain composure to answer, feeling rushed to confirm your interest as you hear him give another hushed command to whoever is with him.

“Yeah, actually. If the spot is still available, I’d like to take it right away.”

There’s a concerning silence on the other end as you fidget with the hem of your shirt. “I can pay for the first month's rent today… if that helps.” You add on with a hint of desperation.

There’s more shuffling, and then you hear a door slam on the other end of the call. You anxiously await a response, looking over the other flyers for a possible plan B.

“Are you sure you don’t want to at least come see the place before jumping into the lease?” Sunoo cautiously questions.

“Not really? From the photo on the flyer, everything looks nice, and, to be honest, I just really need a place to stay this semester.” You sigh as your words hit as a reminder of how you came to this desperate state.

“My old roommates fucked with our lease agreement, and of course, I got the short end of the stick. I swear I’m good for my money and being a decent roommate.” You continue, letting out an empty laugh, hoping you’ve convinced your potential housemate enough.

“Well… I guess I’ll have to hold you to that new roomie!” Sunoo’s previously hesitant tone was replaced with a welcoming one.

You sighed in relief as you exchanged full names and numbers, and Sunoo forwarded you the address for the house.

In a blink, you find yourself exiting your Uber, two extra large suitcases trailing after you as you approach your seemingly quaint and inviting home-to-be.

The red front door swings open as a boy with soft pink hair comes bounding down the walkway.

“Hey, you! Glad you found your way here. Let me help you with that.” The boy, who you’ve now concluded must be Sunoo by the sound of his voice, grabs the suitcases from your hands, and you adjust the strap on your backpack, following his lead into the house.

When you get inside, you take in your new home, a well-loved, lived-in space that’s been minimally decorated to suit a college-aged budget.

A white shelf with a collection of books, lego figures, records, and other random decor catches your eye as you step further into the living room.

You see a small pile of random pillows and blankets strewn about the room, noticing the flat-screen TV with a tangle of wires attached to various gaming systems.

Sunoo brings your suitcases to the bottom of the stairs with a slight huff.

“Don’t mind the mess. I’m sure you know how boys can be.” You turn to Sunoo as he walks into the kitchen, grabbing a kitchen towel to throw over the sink full of dirty dishes.

“Boys? I thought this would be a co-ed house…” you trail off, tightening your grip on your backpack strap as you inhale deeply, holding your breath for his reply.

“Well… it’s co-ed now!” Sunoo giggles as he grabs a soda from the fridge covered in magnets and random photos of who you can only assume are your future roommates.

The photos are all poorly lit shots of blurry figures, most of them from a party or outdoor gathering of some kind, but a particularly bright one catches your eye.

The photo has a group of four tall men in baseball uniforms between three other men dressed casually, all throwing up an assortment of peace signs and thumbs up smilingly widely.

You find yourself moving closer to the fridge, taking in the faces of the men as you finally process the potent scent you inhaled. Alphas.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, I hope.” Sunoo ducks his face in front of yours, blocking you from inspecting the photos further.

You take a step back before composing yourself, hoping Sunoo doesn’t see the shock going through your body right now.

“N-no problem at all! I should go settle myself in my room.”

You begin to turn down the hall, swiftly grabbing your suitcases, as Sunoo calls out behind you. “Your’s is right next to mine on the left. The rest will be home soon, and we can do dinner together.”

You close the door to your new room and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Quickly, you remove your backpack and reach for your suppressants.

“Fuck.” You sigh out, registering the emptiness of the pill bottle that shakes with maybe two left.

You deducted that you’ll have to get a new prescription… maybe an even stronger dosage if there are multiple alphas that live here. Though the change of address may give you some trouble with paperwork, that’s an issue you’ll have to worry about later.

You push yourself off the bedroom wall and take in the room that’s been prepped with a standard full-size bed, a desk and chair, and a dresser.

Begrudgingly, you begin unpacking and settling yourself into your new habitat.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

You wipe a bead of sweat off your brow as you land on your bed with a thud, having finally deep-cleaned and put away all your belongings, being sure to put up your trinkets and posters with care.

Before you can let yourself rest, your eyes shoot open at the sound of the front door swinging open and multiple voices overlapping.

Your t-shirt slightly clings to your back as you sit up and instinctually pull your hair out of the messy ponytail it was in.

The scent coming off of the group reaches you before you actually see them, having made your way down the hall and to where the group had gathered.

Thankful for taking your suppressants, you nearly trip over a pile of baseball bags and equipment at the kitchen entrance.

“Oh, and there she is now! How’s the room?” Sunoo lights up as you enter, but you can’t ignore the feeling of all eyes shifting on you as you move into the empty space next to Sunoo.

“It’s great… thank you…” You manage to squeak out, avoiding the eyes of the strangers around you as you attempt to pull down your athletic shorts.

“Don’t be shy, introduce yourself! We’ll all be seeing a lot of each other after all.” Sunoo chimes out, bumping your side with encouragement.

You timidly introduce yourself and finally look up to the group before you, looking up and catching eyes with a brightly smiling boy around Sunoo’s height.

“Hi! I’m Jungwon. I’m a beta and a Sophomore in Biology with a focus on species studies.” He steps forward and extends his hand for a shake, which you gratefully accept.

You mentally thank the universe that there’s more than just Alphas in this house as you take in his friendly face.

The next person to approach you has dark hair with chunky blonde highlights and is much taller than Jungwon as he stands beside the shorter boy.

In fact, he stands above the whole group as he begins his own introduction, slightly bending over to make himself a bit smaller and catch your eyes.

“Hi. I’m Ni-ki. I’m a Freshman. Just presented as an Alpha before coming to college.” He straightens his posture and smugly brushes his hair back, checking your face for reaction. He drops the smug act in response to your blank face before continuing.

“I’m undecided in terms of a major, but I’m the pitcher for the baseball team on campus, if you couldn’t tell.” He gestures down to the grass-stained baseball pants that he and a few of the other boys are wearing. “Do you play any sports?”

Despite his intimidating aura, Ni-ki gives you a kiddish smile, eagerly awaiting your answer.

“Oh. I think my mom had put me in soccer as a kid, but I wasn’t any good. I’m better as an observer than a player.” You admitted as you gave a comforting pat on his shoulder in apology.

His shoulders drop slightly, and a slight pout forms on his lips. “Ah, that’s too bad.”

The other boys start shifting around the kitchen, falling into a rhythm of pulling out ingredients and prepping pans.

Ni-ki and Jungwon silently dismiss themselves when one of the other boys gives them a sharp glance as he washes his hands at the, now empty, kitchen sink.

You silently watch the two of them start to work on cutting some greens, quietly bickering about who is going to cut what.

Sunoo hooks your elbow and pulls you aside to one of the taller boys who had made his way to the stove, his jet-black hair falling forward as he checks on the boiling water.

Sunoo clears his throat to catch his attention, making the boy straighten to face you.

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Sunghoon. I’m a junior in Bio and lead research with Jungwon. I’m an Alpha.” He says the last part with an amused smirk painted on his face as if he already knew of your apprehension.

He doesn’t bother extending a handshake and instead looks at Sunoo as if to ask ‘Happy?’ before returning to measuring out a portion of dry spaghetti noodles.

“Don’t mind him, I swear he can be friendly.” Sunoo whispers as he pulls you to the other side of the stove, where another boy is working on picking out spices from the cabinet.

“Yo, where’s the oregano?” He asks as his eyes still scan the shelves, his back still facing you.

“It’s wherever Jake left it after his last ramen recipe experiment.” Sunoo rolls his eyes, turning his and your attention to another boy sitting at the dinner table, scrolling on his phone.

His head snaps at the mention of his name, a guilty look painting his face as he slides his phone into his pocket.

“Oh yeah, about that… we need to buy more.” He rises from his seat and playfully slaps the shoulders of the boy at the cabinet.

“Don’t worry though, Jay! You can just replace it with something else like…” He draws out the last syllable and looks over the boy’s shoulder at the available spices.

“Like this!” He reaches out and presents a large spice bottle.

“I’m not putting nutmeg in the spaghetti sauce, you idiot.” The tan boy you’ve deducted is Jay, who swipes the bottle from Jake’s hand and puts it back on the spice rack.

He gives Jake a shoulder bump and returns to the counter, starting to combine his selected spices.

“Jeez, just don’t say I didn’t try to help!” Jake rolls his eyes and brings his attention towards you.

“Hi, officially. I’m Jake!” He eagerly takes your hand and shakes it rapidly, your whole arm feeling like it will be ripped off from his excitement.

“I’m the catcher for our baseball team, 'cause you know, I’m a catch. And I’m an officer of Theta Mu. I’m sure you’ve heard of us.” He gives you a coy wink.

“Oh! And I guess I should mention my major.” He laughs to himself and rubs the back of his neck.

“I’m in Computer Science. It’s my third year, so I’m gearing up to get an internship soon. If you know of any openings, help a guy out.” He lightheartedly punches your shoulder, surprising you with his quick friendliness.

Sunoo interrupts Jake’s monologue, covering his mouth playfully and giving you an apologetic smile. “Long story short, Jake’s a beta and a total blabbermouth. Whatever you do, do not let him rope you into one of his tabling events for his frat.”

You laugh as Jay starts to brown the meat; the aromatic smell and sound of sizzling help drown out any last worries you have about your new roommates.

Maybe it won’t be so bad; everyone seems pretty tame.

You subconsciously count the number of heads in the room, realizing that there is one missing from the photo that previously caught your attention.

“Who’s that?” You ask no one, pointing to the red-haired boy in the middle of the photo as you make your way closer to the fridge.

“Oh, that’s Heeseung. Our residential Senior. He’s in communications like you! He’s the last of us you’ll be meeting today. Not sure where he’s gone off to, though.” Sunoo trailed off as Jay approached him with a stirring spoon in hand, blowing on it before letting Sunoo taste.

Sunoo licks his lips and gives Jay a silent thumbs up, grabbing the spoon and taking his turn stirring the meat sauce.

“I can answer that one. I may have pissed him off at practice today. He’s probably off on a run or something.” Jay shrugs as if it’s commonplace for Heeseung to be unaccounted for. He moves closer to you, resting a hand on the fridge door, blocking you into his space.

“By the way, I’m Jay, as I’m sure you’ve deduced. I’m a Junior in Kinesiology, if you know what that is.” He gloats as you resist the temptation to roll your eyes.

“I’m an outfielder for the team, same as Heeseung. Oh, and just like Heeseung, I’m also an alpha.” He raises his eyebrows as a smirk spreads on his chiseled face.

You do the quick mental math of all the alphas. There’s Sunghoon, Jay, Ni-ki, and Heeseung… four alphas under one roof.

Before you can react as if on cue, the front door slams open, and a blurry figure whizzes past you, slamming Jay into the fridge he was just casually leaning on.

“What the fuck was all that today at practice, huh?” The red-haired boy huffs, sweat clinging to his neck as he scowls at Jay’s nonchalant stance.

Despite your suppressants, you can’t help but feel lightheaded at the scent coming off of the two alphas in front of you.

“Hee, come on, man. Not in front of the lady.” Jake tries to lighten the mood as he cautiously steps beside you, slinging his arm around your shoulders, drawing Heeseung’s attention to where you stood in shock at the sudden outburst.

“Yeah, dude, you know I didn’t mean anything by it. That’s just how the game goes sometimes. You can’t get every ball, ya’ know.” Jay takes this opportunity to remove Heeseung’s clenched fist from the collar of his shirt, trying and failing to brush out the wrinkles it left.

“Whatever, man. You knew what you were doing.” Heeseung grumbled as his wild temper seemed to have taken a full 180 at realizing your presence.

“S-sorry.” He stutters out, his eyes not meeting yours. He turns to huff at Jay again before retreating upstairs, a door slamming shut a moment later.

“Whelp,” Jungwon starts, placing a salad bowl on the dining table. “Welcome to our happy home! Hope you don’t mind the many pissing contests these boys will get into.” He tries to laugh, but you can tell there’s some honesty in his voice.

“Is he.. gonna be okay?” You hesitantly ask, slipping from Jake’s arm to glance towards the stairway. Sunghoon brings the drained pasta noodles to the table, and the other boys bring the rest of the meal.

“He will. He just gets like this around this time. If my research is still correct, he’ll come down soon enough, not to worry.” Sunghoon stated as if he had no doubt of Heeseung’s typical behavior.

“Yeah, seriously, he’s gonna be fine; you just sit down and eat. I’m sure you’re starved after moving.” Jay gives you a reassuring look as he hands you some cutlery.

Everyone finds a seat at the table, and you suddenly feel all eyes on you again. Jake is the first to dig in, and the others follow soon after.

“So,” Jake talks between chewing his salad. “Tell us about yourself.”

[poetic-vulgarity]

ʍoN ǝW ɹɐǝH II - Karina x Reader

Word Count: ~ 5K

Prompt: Ever since they were trainees, Y/N knew just what buttons to push to frustrate Jimin.

Maybe she took things a bit too far when she decided to cheat on her.

Tags: Angst, Cheating, Ghosting

Part I, Part 2

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

"I already told you I want the schedule changed!"

Jimin rolled her eyes at Y/N's irresponsible, petty, selfish behavior. "And I already told you, your schedule isn't being changed. Suck it up and deal with it!"

Y/N felt her words get stuck in her throat for a little while. You know? That feeling of injustice that just takes over you?

"This is ridiculous! I'm not flying 14 hours to Chicago for a four-minute shoot. Even you have to be dense to not see the problem!"

It was two o'clock in the morning, and they had a packed schedule the next day. Jimin could be in bed, like the rest of the members. Yet, there she was, in the middle of the living room, listening to Y/N.

"You're acting like an idiot," Jimin said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her glare was icy. Then again, she barely looked at Y/N without it anymore. "You signed a contract. Just follow it and keep your mouth shut."

"I'm acting like an idiot?" Y/N hissed, hands balled into fists at her sides. She felt like she was choking with rage.

The cold, unforgiving look in Jimin's eyes took her off guard even more—the way the older girl was glaring at her, like she was nothing more than a little nuisance.

She didn’t think, or even realize she was doing it, but she took a step forward until she was right in front of Jimin, staring her down.

"Had this been Minjeong, Aeri, or Ning, you would've fought to have the schedule changed."

"Well, it's not, is it?" 

Y/N swallowed hard. She didn’t know why those words hurt more.

"I'm your member as well," Y/N gritted her teeth, fists so tight her nails dug into the rough skin of her palm. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Fuck our relationship—you could at least treat me like your member. Do your job as a leader."

"I'll be a leader when you start being a member," Jimin scowled. "Because I'm done with your attitude. You're selfish, and all you do is create problems for the group. When have you actually been useful for us? Or do you serve only to create those stupid headlines when you decide to be a dumbass now and then?"

That made Y/N flinch. Jimin sounded disgusted.

"Fuck you, Jimin." She spat out, grabbing her jacket and shoes as she made her way to the front door of the dorm.

Jimin wanted to follow her.

She wanted to scream at Y/N too. Tell her how much of an idiot she was.

But no. Jimin was the older one between them. She was the leader of the group. It was her job to be the level-headed one between the two of them.

Her hands shook with pent-up rage. But she didn't say anything. She didn't follow Y/N to apologize.

Jimin stood alone in the middle of their dorm, feeling more empty than she ever had.

In the end, it was just another fight.

Another one of their usual fights.

And everything went back to how it used to be.

They went to Chicago. Y/N was there for a few hours before catching a plane to Italy for another event, then she returned to South Korea.

SM Town was close, and the girls needed to practice.

The fact that Y/N was exhausted, jet-lagged, and a little sick from the photoshoots outside in the winter changed nothing.

"Hello, guys! How are you?"

They waved at the camera, filming the scenes for a backstage vlog that would be posted on their channel.

"Today, we are here to practice for our upcoming performance at SM Town. As always, we are very excited!"

It was Giselle's turn to speak, so Jimin took a step back, arms wrapped around Minjeong's waist as she rested her head on the smaller girl's shoulder from behind.

Y/N could practically see the comments coming their way.

'Winrina is perfect'

'I want someone who looks at me the way Karina looks at Winter'

'They should just kiss already'

It was inevitable to find them in every single video where the two were a bit more touchy.

Y/N felt like a fool.

Jimin and her weren't together anymore. They broke up months ago, and yet…

When Jimin looked at Minjeong, Y/N could only see the love and adoration in her eyes.

She felt sick to her stomach.

She hung around in the background while the girls filmed the video, perking up with a comment or two just to make it seem like she was really there.

Other than that, she didn’t really speak.

She was too exhausted. Her body felt heavy. And it was starting to get difficult to keep a smile on her face. Her throat felt sore. Her eyes felt droopy.

She wondered if Jimin could feel her staring at her and Minjeong from behind Aeri. It was hard not to, when the older girl kept nuzzling her face on Minjeong's neck, making the singer giggle.

It wasn't something that was totally surprising, though. Not when it had happened so many times before.

It was during interviews, shows, recording sessions. It was in the studio, in the dance practice room, in the streets, at home.

With Minjeong, Aeri, and Ning. But mostly with Minjeong.

Again, not surprising. But it felt rather lonely for Y/N.

The group had always been so close. She had once considered Minjeong her soulmate, Giselle her older sister, Ning her little one.

Now they only looked at her when the cameras were on.

She understood them, in some way. In the other way, she was constantly angry at them.

No one had given her a chance to explain herself when the entire cheating incident occurred. She knew it looked bad, but they had been teammates for years. Minjeong had been her best friend since before they even met Jimin... and they couldn't even hear her out?

So, yeah, she felt petty enough to be mad at all of them for a while. It was a flame that still burned in her chest, but more softly now. She was getting tired.

"Y/N, what about you, how are you feeling about the dance routine?" The cameraman suddenly turned to her.

Y/N took a sharp breath in, her eyes widening slightly at the sudden question.

She looked towards the camera and sent it a smile.

"I'm excited," Y/N said, her voice coming out a little croaky. "I'm sure we're going to give the best performance we can. We've been practicing really hard for it. I'm very proud of all the members."

And she meant it.

They were like perfect machines on stage, able to work together and put on a good performance. It was almost as if they could tell what the other members wanted.

It had been what made Aespa such a hit in the first place.

But you can't be hits without a lot of work. And a lot of work happened to be the biggest problem in Y/N's life.

Only one day before SMTown, the girls were invited to a radio show, and management only refused offers when they literally couldn't find a single vacant spot in Aespa's schedule.

So, there they were.

"What is Winter's favorite color?"

Jimin was quick to jump on her seat, "Ivory!"

A small ding echoed around the radio studio, and a big smile took over the leader's face as she celebrated.

"Very well! We are at 6 points for Y/N, 4 points for Karina, Winter, and Giselle, and 3 points for Ning. This last question will either decide the 2nd place of the game or equalize Ning to the second place," the radio show announced as loud music played in the background.

"And the last question is... what is Y/N's favourite ice cream flavor?"

Jimin's hand flew to the button, along with Winter's, Ning's, and Giselle's.

The answer was obvious for them. They had spent countless hours making fun of Y/N for it.

"Cinnamon!" Jimin was the first to respond.

"Yeah, she likes cinnamon ice cream," Winter grimaced. "It's disgusting."

"Don't know how she eats it."

"That is correct!" The announcer turned his card around to reveal the answer, and a small smile appeared on Y/N's face.

"Jimin wins second place!"

Yeah, Y/N didn't want to let Jimin win. "Actually, I'm allergic to cinnamon."

Everyone froze for a few seconds. Karina, in particular, was quick to frown, head snapping to Y/N. She knew all of Y/N's allergies. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"You're not."

Y/N chuckled, looking around the room as she noticed how heavy the atmosphere was getting. "I am," she let out quietly. "It's quite recent."

Jimin was confused, to say the least. Y/N loved cinnamon. She liked it in sweets, ice creams, perfumes. Hell, Jimin switched her perfume for a cinnamon one when she found out Y/N liked it, years ago. She still used it to this day.

"Since when?"

"A few months ago." Y/N sent her a knowing look before turning to the host. "I say no one gets the point since they got it wrong."

Jimin refused to believe what she was hearing. 

Was Y/N lying?

She had almost missed these little spats between them.

Almost.

"No, no! How am I supposed to know your allergies? I deserve the point!" Jimin argued in the most polite way possible, but Y/N could see the competitive fire behind her eyes.

"As the leader..." Y/N was definitely going there. "Isn't it... your obligation?"

Jimin opened her mouth to respond but Y/N was already talking again.

"You know what," she said, shrugging her shoulders. There was a small smile on her face. She was enjoying this—enjoying how irritated Jimin was getting, how competitive she was getting, how flustered she was. Enjoying how much it took for her to swallow the words that really wanted to come out. "Never mind, just give her the point. She needs it anyway."

And Jimin had to fight back the urge to glare at the other girl.

The host laughed loudly and pointed at Y/N, who had been mostly quiet during the entire show. "I like you!"

Y/N smiled back at him, and they soon moved on to another part of the radio show.

She didn't think much of the entire interaction, but apparently, Jimin did.

Y/N stepped away for a little while once the show had ended, needing to use the bathroom. The managers and members decided to make their way to the vans and told Y/N to join them when she was ready.

Which is why she wasn't expecting to come out of the bathroom and see her ex-girlfriend leaning against the wall of the secluded hallway.

Jimin turned to look at her when she heard Y/N coming out of the bathroom, looking more refreshed than before.

She let out a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. "Don't you think you're being a bit petty?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed together but face soft, expression neutral.

Y/N was genuinely confused. "Sorry?"

Jimin let out another sigh. "What you said back there. During the show?" she asked, a little annoyed with Y/N. She always managed to make her emotions flare up.

"With the cinnamon?" Y/N shrugged. "What about it?"

"You lied just to get a rise out of me," Jimin grumbled out, looking at Y/N incredulously.

Y/N almost chuckled. "I didn't lie."

"Are you kidding me?" Jimin took a step closer, eyes narrowing into a glare. "You've loved cinnamon your entire life! Every perfume I bought, everything I ever baked for you had cinnamon. Hell, I'm still wearing the perfume right now!"

Y/N nodded, taking a step back as her back pressed against the bathroom door. "Yeah, maybe you should back off a little."

"Are you kidding me?!" Jimin said, hands on her hips now. She was frustrated with her ex-girlfriend, more than she'd been in a while. "You wanted the point so bad you had to lie about it like a child?"

Then it hit her.

What Y/N said.

"What do you mean by 'I should back off a little'?" she asked, taking another step closer.

"I mean, back off!" Y/N pressed a hand to Jimin's shoulder to nudge her away. She was gentle, but her glare wasn't. In only a few seconds, she was walking down the hallway again.

Jimin watched her go, the feeling of Y/N brushing against her skin sending warm chills up her spine. She couldn't help but let her body lean forward, subconsciously wanting to chase after the younger girl.

What was she doing? Why was she acting like this?

"Y/N—"

Y/N was gone already because she knew arguing with Jimin didn't take her anywhere.

She knew they would throw insults at each other until one of them had enough and left.

And she knew that because that's what always happened. And it would continue to happen, for as long as Jimin and the other members refused to hear her out.

So, she got inside the waiting van, put her headphones on, and closed her eyes, pretending she was far away instead of there.

Jimin got into the van shortly after, sitting next to Ning in the very back. She let her eyes wander across the van, taking in the way Minjeong and Aeri interacted with each other—laughing, giggling, smiling, and talking.

And then there was Y/N.

Honestly, Jimin tried to keep the cheating between the two of them. She had never wanted their relationship to affect the group. But Minjeong happened to find her mid panic attack, right after seeing Y/N with the man, and Jimin just couldn't keep the secret to herself. She made Minjeong promise to not treat Y/N differently after that—the two had been best friends long before Jimin appeared in their lives.

But Minjeong was simply unable to look at Y/N in the same way. And when Ning and Aeri noticed the attitude, they were quick to get the answers to their questions as well.

Y/N cheated on Jimin. Y/N was a cheater.

And cheaters didn't deserve kindness.

So, the dynamics within the group shifted, leaving Y/N on one end of the spectrum and the rest of the members on the other.

Jimin bit down on her bottom lip, leaning her head against the side of the van. There was some part of her that still cared about Y/N and this whole situation. She tried her best not to, but she was still so in love with the girl. And she understood her anger.

But that didn't change what had happened. Y/N had broken her trust. She had betrayed her and she had hurt her.

Jimin was lost in her thoughts before someone shook her shoulder. "Huh?" She asked, looking at Ning with a frown.

Ning pointed to the car window, "We're here."

The rest of the members were getting out of the van already. Jimin nodded, grabbing her own bag from beside her before getting out as well.

The five of them were quick to get home and settle in for the night.

Their schedule was impossible these days, so they could never wait to finally get comfortable in their beds.

It was what usually happened. They get comfortable in their b—

"Where the hell are you going?" Jimin was on her way to her bedroom, fresh out of a shower, when she happened to cross a fully dressed and prepared Y/N.

"Out." Y/N said bluntly, not even looking back at Jimin as she pulled a leather jacket over her shoulders. She ran a hand through her hair, a pair of heels in her hands.

Jimin's jaw almost dropped. "You're going out?" She asked, following the girl out towards the living room. She looked good. Really good. Her makeup was perfect, black shirt hugging her body. She always knew how to dress up.

Jimin crossed her arms over her chest, "Where?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N let out a sigh.

This was the last thing she wanted to do.

Explain herself to Jimin.

"Just out."

Jimin shook her head, "It's almost one in the morning, Y/N. You're going nowhere."

Y/N halted by the door, jaw clenched as she turned to Jimin. Her expression was surprisingly calm and, if Jimin didn't know how to read her so well, she might have believed her to be civil.

"Since when are you the one who get's to tell me where I can and can't go?"

Jimin rolled her eyes, "Do you know how many creeps are out at this time? Just stay in."

"Only creep I see is you." Y/N huffed, reaching for the door handle to finally leave.

At that, Jimin let out a scoff. "You weren't saying that when you begged to come back to me after cheating on me."

Y/N almost scoffed. Bringing up their relationship and the cheating always felt like a low blow. "And look who's begging now."

"You—" Jimin's body tensed up, "You're pathetic! You'll go out there and do what? Get attacked and stabbed on the sidewalk?" Jimin asked, almost shouting at her ex-girlfriend.

"Close." Y/N smiled, "I'm gonna get laid."

That made Jimin's breath hitch. She could feel the way her blood boiled and her face heated up. She couldn't let herself lose control of the situation.

"Yeah," Jimin let out, sarcasm dripping from her words, "A new boyfriend. Of course. Cheating on me just wasn't enough, huh?"

"We can talk about it if you want. You know, it's not like we ever got to do that." Y/N was tired of the backhanded shade thrown her way every day.

"Oh, you wanna talk?" Jimin rolled her eyes, taking a few steps closer to where Y/N was standing. "You cheated on me and now you wanna talk? And what good will that do?"

Y/N's heart broke at the accusation. It still hurt to believe that Jimin would think so little of her.

What was the point in even explaining herself? If Jimin didn't trust her enough to even hear her out, then there was no salvation.

Her eyes dropped to the ground as a sigh escaped her lips, "Forget it."

"No, no. You wanted to talk, let's talk!" Jimin said, taking a step closer to Y/N. Her eyes full of anger, sadness, and confusion.

She really wanted to hear what Y/N had to say. She didn't know why, but she desperately wanted to hear it. Maybe she wanted some kind of validation for her own feelings. For the emotions she was still trying to get over.

"Explain yourself, Y/N. Try to explain yourself."

"So you want to hear me out?"

Jimin let out a sigh, "Please?"

She really did. She needed to understand what had happened. 

Y/N was the sweetest person ever. She was the nicest and kindest person Jimin knew.

So how could she do this to her?

"No." Y/N shook her head.

Jimin felt her heart sink in her chest, the little hope she felt getting fainter. "No?" She asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Stings, huh?" Y/N felt all her buried emotions surfacing, "Trying to make things work, only to be shut down? That was the response you gave me seven months ago, when I tried talking to you. And when I tried again a week after, and the week after that, and the following weeks- the fucking months following that!"

Jimin's jaw clenched. She remembered that. She remembered every detail of it. It hurt.

She wanted to take back everything she said back then. She wanted to take back every mean word, but it was too late. She couldn't go back and change how she felt. She couldn't undo it, but she wished she had let Y/N have peace of mind.

"You cheated on me, Y/N. Did you really expect me to be calm? To be gentle and nice when you hurt me?"

A small, broken smile appeared on Y/N's face. "I just wanted you to hear me out. Instead, you shut me out and turned the members against me."

She finally opened the door, "Very leaderlike of you, I must say."

"What the hell are you talking about? None of them turned against you because of me." Jimin shook her head. "They turned against you because you cheated on me!"

She could feel her blood boiling, the way her face heated. "They're my friends! Of course they were going to take my side!"

"Yeah, they were my friends too."

Jimin bit down on her bottom lip. She knew what Y/N said was true. But it didn't change how hurt the members were. Cheating was one of the worst things a person could do. And that was why none of them spoke to Y/N anymore.

"Maybe if you didn't get drunk with some random man you met at the awards, they would still be." Jimin said, voice cold and stern.

Y/N nodded. "Do me a favor and give them a warning for me, yeah? I'm about to be a whore again, so hopefully they can still look at me without vomiting by the time I come back."

"What-"

"And give them all a little kiss in the ass while you're at it too." Y/N closed the door behind herself and didn't look back.

Her friends were waiting for her downstairs, at the entrance door.

They weren't the best influence. Hell, they weren't even a good influence. But they talked to her, they looked at her, and most importantly, they didn't give a single fuck about her idol life.

"Dude, you gotta convince that stupid security guard to give us entrance rights. This is getting ridiculous." Daeun huffed loudly, nudging Y/N as they walked to her car.

The pub wasn't very far away.

Y/N spent her night just as she had promised Jimin. Drinking, dancing, and kissing strangers.

Most were too drunk to recognize her. The ones that weren't were, surprisingly, nice enough to just let her enjoy the night.

When she woke up, a massive headache had taken over her skull. She groaned, squinting her eyes closed when the sunlight slipped through the barely closed curtains and worsened her pain.

It took her a while, but she eventually realized that her phone was ringing. She groaned again, trying to turn around in the bed, when an unfamiliar weight around her waist kept her in place.

She froze, eyes finally opening to find a pretty stranger sleeping at her side.

"Shit."

Her touch was light as she picked up the woman's arm and set it aside. By the time she grabbed her phone, the call had ended, but it didn't take long for another one to ring through.

"Hello?" Y/N croaked out, voice raspy from the lack of water.

"Where the hell are you?"

Jimin's voice appeared through the other line, loud enough to make Y/N jump out of the bed. The last thing she wanted was to wake up the sleeping woman and go through the entire one-night-stand awkward conversation.

"That's... that's a very good question." Y/N's voice was low. She crouched to grab her jacket off the ground, holding her phone between her ear and shoulder as she got dressed.

"Y/N, don't play with me right now." Jimin had never been so angry at anybody. "We're all in the fucking venue—the managers are going crazy looking for you. Do you know how many times I've been yelled at already?! Where the fuck are you?"

"I-" Y/N looked around the room, trying to find any clue. Nothing. "Don't worry about it. I'll open Google Maps as soon as our call ends, it's no big deal."

"It is a big deal!" Jimin yelled as she started pacing back and forth.

The managers were yelling at her, her members were worried. Hell, even their seniors had noticed that Y/N was not around. Everyone was trying to find the whereabouts of the same person.

"You're in so much trouble, Y/N! What if this leaks? The fucking administration board has already set up a meeting to talk about this—do you have any idea of what you've just done?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. She was a grown woman. She had a right to go out and be normal for a little while. They were acting like she had killed som-

There was the door.

"What if someone caught you on camera, Y/N?! What if Dispatch was following you all along? You could destroy the entire group! How could you be so fucking selfish? How could you do this to me and the gi-"

Jimin was cut off by a loud scream on the other end of the call.

She stopped dead in her tracks, the anger from before immediately dissolving. "Y/N? Are you okay?"

The other line was quiet, which terrified Jimin even more. Her stomach twisted as she waited to hear something from the other end of the call.

Pretty soon, she heard another scream.

"Y/N!" Jimin yelled, her heart thumping in her chest. Someone was hurt, she knew it. Y/N was hurt. Y/N was hurt and instead of trying to find out where she was, she had been yelling at her until now.

"Y/N, I swear to God if you don't answer me right now!"

But Y/N couldn't answer—her phone wasn't even pressed to her ear anymore.

She was surrounded.

By two young women. They looked at her with wide eyes, fallen mouths covered with their hands.

"You're—you're Y/N! From Aespa!"

"Y/N from Aespa is in our flat—holy shit!!!"

It didn't take long for the woman Y/N had slept with to run out of her room—no doubt awakened by the screams. She paused to try and understand what was happening, but then her eyes landed on Y/N.

Y/N from Aespa.

Standing in her hallway with messy hair, an unbuttoned top, and heels in hand.

The woman jumped away. "Holy shit!"

Y/N gulped. She needed to get out of there. Right now.

"Can you give me an autograph?" one of them asked. Y/N stared at her.

"That depends..." Y/N looked around the group. "Does any of you have a car?"

Only an hour later, Y/N was stepping out of a Volvo, and the girls were driving away with their pockets a little heavier.

She was finally where she needed to be. The perfect place to continue getting yelled at.

And, indeed, she was.

She was escorted inside the venue by security guards that recognized her.

One of the group's managers was the first to find her.

He stormed through the hallways, looking for the same person that everyone in the building had been searching for. He had been to her dorm, to the dance practice room, and even to her favorite cafe. He searched so hard but found nothing.

That was until he turned a corner and spotted the face that had been driving him insane.

"Where the hell have you been?" the man yelled. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Y/N halted on her steps, knowing that she was in trouble.

The man was fuming, the blood rushing up to his head.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused this morning?! You're lucky the press didn't catch you out last night! If they had, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. You would be in Lee Soo Man's office giving him an explanation on your shitty behavior this morning."

The man ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily. "I've been up since seven in the morning trying to find you, do you have any idea of how worried everyone was?"

Y/N pursed her lips, eyes drawn to the ground. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" The man's eyes widened; he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I don't give a crap about your sorry. I'm your manager, you're supposed to answer to me. You can't pull things like this!"

He stopped and took a few breaths, his heart beating faster than he would like.

And then he opened his mouth and continued his yelling. He was soon joined by the two other Aespa managers, and if the entire situation wasn't a loud mess with one man, you could be sure it was with three.

Y/N didn't have much of a choice. She stood there and listened.

She didn't agree with everything they shouted at her, but she wasn't mental enough to speak up.

By the time she reached the stage, where her members were already waiting, the group was an hour behind on schedule, and no one would look her in the eye.

Y/N had to take her hat off to the girls.

They kept their act up.

Be it during practice, when they got home at the end of the day, or the following day—during SMTown.

She was used to being sort of shoved aside, but they had never outright ghosted her.

Their resolve didn't even budge when they were filming an SM Town vlog, so Y/N got a good three seconds of screen time during the video. It, ultimately, didn't matter. Y/N didn't even know why she noticed it.

SM Town began. SM Town ended. The crowd loved it.

Y/N spent more time with her seniors and other groups than with her own members. And by the time night fell and everyone gathered around to go celebrate the show, Y/N was stopped by her manager.

"You should change."

Y/N frowned, eyes falling on the outfit she had just changed into. It was comfortable for her to relax a little but pretty enough to go out and celebrate.

"Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

The man shook his head. "No; it's just not fit for running."

Y/N didn't understand. "Running?"

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a security guard approaching them.

"Running," the man answered. "The higher-ups have spoken." The way he talked made it seem like they were fucking gods. "They want a punishment for your decisions of yesterday. It's not the first time you've pulled a stunt like this, and they've had enough of you."

He looked sorry for a second, but then he turned to the security guard as he walked away. "Fifty laps around the venue. Don't let her stop for too long."

The guard nodded in confirmation, and Y/N felt her mouth fall. "You're kidding."

Her manager just continued walking, so Y/N went on. "I'm not gonna run 50 laps, are you crazy?!"

He shrugged. "You're not leaving this venue without the 50 laps. Lee Yeon here will make sure of it."

She turned to look at the guard and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes unforgiving.

And so there Y/N was. Running around the venue alone, cold air crashing against her red cheeks while she ran.

After the fifteenth lap, she could have sworn her lungs were about to collapse. Her muscles ached and begged to stop. But all she could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other.

One foot in front of the other.

One foot in front of the other.

Much like she did a week later as she walked up the stairs of SM Entertainment. She knocked but didn't really wait for permission to go inside the office.

She walked up to the director sitting at his desk and handed him the stack of papers she had arranged with her lawyer.

"I'm out. Sue me, do whatever you want—I'm leaving."

[ughbrie]

across distant nights | dawnbreaker!zayne

⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- “You saw me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “At the café?”

His gaze darkened, the weight of years—of searching, of longing—settling into his eyes like a storm barely held at bay. “Just for a moment,” he murmured. “A glimpse.” His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, his touch reverent, almost fragile, as if he feared you might vanish beneath his fingertips. “And that was all I needed.” His voice dipped lower, rough with something raw and unspoken.

“Do you understand now?” His forehead nearly touched yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Why I can’t let you go?”

(Or… in the haze of waking and dreaming, you meet a boy—Dawnbreaker. Over the years, he lingers, growing with you, reaching for you, until the lines between reality and dreams blur beyond return. And when you finally meet Zayne, the man who bears his face but not his memories, you realize the truth: Dawnbreaker is no mere dream, and he is driven by something more than longing—by the fear of being replaced.)

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- dawnbreaker!zayne x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- angst & smut

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 19.6k words

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ (or tags)- nsfw, mdni, no use of y/n, dawnbreaker!zayne, dom!zayne, themes of childhood trauma and violence, angst, possessive behaviour, nipple play, marking (biting), finger sucking, body worship, clit play, oral sex (cunnilingus), fingering, squirting (hinted), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pinning, grinding, thigh fucking, penetration (p in v), breast play, rough sex, unprotected sex, mentions of ownership, and creampie.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- Hello! This took wayyy longer than I originally said it would, and for that, I’m really sorry. University got super busy, and honestly, this story took a lot more thinking and emotional energy than I expected. I had to take a break for a week, and of course, the moment I did, a ton of uni work piled up too. So yeah… it took me a while to finally get around to finishing this.

I really hope the plot translated the way I envisioned it! I wanted to explore the idea that it was MC who started dreaming about Dawnbreaker, not Zayne himself, and that they weren’t childhood friends at all. This was the result of that concept, and I had a lot of fun writing it.

Hope you enjoy reading!!

The café smelled of roasted coffee beans and vanilla, the air thick with the hum of quiet conversations. You barely registered the low chatter, your focus settled on the glowing menu board as you waited in line, eyes tracing the list of drinks out of habit more than necessity. The morning rush had come and gone, leaving only a few lingering customers scattered by the windows, engrossed in their own worlds.

You placed your order, fingers drumming absently against the counter. Just as you stepped aside, the barista called out a name—clear, unmistakable.

“One caramel macchiato, a slice of tiramisu, and a box of assorted macarons for Zayne—to go!”

The tray was claimed before the name had a chance to linger. You turned instinctively, drawn by familiarity before your mind could fully catch up. And there he was.

The man who haunted your nights. The man you had spent years reaching for in dreams, only to wake to an empty room.

He stood just a few feet away, lifting the tray to inspect the order sticker, the faintest furrow between his brows. But something was off. His hair, as dark as you remembered, was slightly neat, framing his sharp features in a way that made him look softer, more at ease. A neatly pressed white button-up covered his frame, the sleeves fastened at his wrists—formal, composed—a white doctor’s coat slung over his arm. And the most jarring difference—thin, rectangular glasses rested on the bridge of his nose.

Your gaze flickered downward instinctively, searching. His forearms, bared just enough where the cuff shifted, were smooth, unmarked. No scars. No evidence of the battles you had seen carved into flesh. 

It was wrong. It was all wrong.

You waited—waited for something, for his gaze to lift, for his mouth to curve into something familiar, something that made sense of the years you had spent with him in the quiet corners of your mind. But when his eyes—hazel green, steady, unreadable—finally met yours, there was no flicker of recognition. No shift in his expression. Nothing that acknowledged the weight pressing against your ribs, the sudden tightness in your chest.

He didn’t know you.

A slow, dull throb settled behind your ribs.

You told yourself to speak—to say something, anything—but the words tangled, caught between disbelief and the raw edge of something else, something you couldn’t yet name. And so you waited. If he knew you, he would say something first.

But he only lingered a second longer before giving you a polite, almost absent nod, as if you were just another stranger in his periphery. Then, with his order in hand, he turned toward the exit, leaving you standing there, heart pounding against the silence he left behind.

You followed him.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, not really—more like a pull, a habit carved from years of dreams where he always walked ahead, and you always reached for him. But now, the distance felt different. Wrong. His steps were measured, unhurried, completely unaware of you until the moment he turned around, and you instinctively moved to follow.

That was when he stopped.

Before you could react, he shifted, turning toward you with quiet precision, cutting off your path with nothing more than presence alone. Up close, he seemed even more unfamiliar—hazel-green eyes sharp behind his glasses, his stance polite but firm.

“…Are you following me?”

His voice was even, not accusatory, but laced with careful curiosity, as if piecing together a puzzle he hadn’t expected to find. And for the first time, you hesitated.

This wasn’t the Zayne you knew.

You had expected him to recognize you first. To say your name, to offer even the slightest flicker of familiarity. Instead, he was watching you with mild wariness, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure how to give.

Your throat tightened. You shook your head, forcing a step back. “I—No, I’m sorry.”

Something in his gaze flickered. He didn’t move, didn’t press, only studied you with quiet scrutiny.

You exhaled, turning on your heel. “Goodbye.”

You walked away before he could respond.

And yet, as the door shut behind you, the world seemed to shift—like slipping into something just slightly misaligned.

The memory came back in full—not in pieces or echoes, but whole and sharp, like stepping barefoot onto broken glass.

It had happened before.

A long time ago.

-

It was 2034. 

You were seven years old then, when the sky split open.

They called it the Chronoshift Catastrophe, but that wasn’t what you remembered. The news reports spoke of rifts and anomalies, of the Deepspace Tunnel appearing above Linkon City like a jagged wound in the sky. They warned of Wanderers—twisted figures that moved like shadows and tore through everything in their path. They reported the casualties, the hostilities.

But none of that stayed with you.

You remembered the sirens, the way they wailed endlessly, their shrill cries bleeding into your dreams. You remembered the distant glow of fire reflecting off the windows, the thunder of helicopters beating through the sky. And you remembered sitting alone on the floor of the orphanage’s common room, knees tucked to your chest as the caretakers whispered behind locked doors. They never told you much, only that Linkon City had fallen. That people had changed.

You were one of them.

The first dream came not long after.

You had been asleep—curled beneath a too-thin blanket in your corner of the oprhanage—when the world shifted.

You woke up standing.

The floor beneath your feet was cold, uneven stone, slick with something dark that clung to your skin. The air was heavy—thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and rust, sharp enough to sting your nose. You shivered, fingers curling tightly around the hem of your nightshirt.

Then you heard it.

A sound—small, stuttering breaths, like someone was trying to stay quiet.

You turned your head and saw him.

A boy—maybe your age, maybe older—hunched against the wall. His knees were drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around them like he was trying to hold himself together. His clothes hung off him in ragged strips, torn and smeared with grime. His hands…

His hands were dark with something sticky and half-dried. Blood. He kept rubbing his palms against his knees in frantic, jerky motions, like he could scrub it off if he just tried hard enough. But it wouldn’t go away.

He hadn’t seen you yet. His head was bowed, his breath shaky and thin.

You took a step closer, and that’s when he froze. His breath hitched, and slowly—like he wasn’t sure he wanted to—he lifted his head.

His eyes were dark—hazel green—and there was something burning inside them, something that made your chest feel tight. Fear, grief… something more than that, something heavy and endless.

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t decide if you were real.

“…Who are you?”

His voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges. Like he had been crying too long and had forgotten how to stop.

The boy didn’t move right away. His gaze stayed locked on you, wide and unblinking, like you might vanish if he looked away. His hands had stilled against his knees, fingers twitching faintly as though they couldn’t forget the blood that clung to them.

“Are you…” His voice wavered, cracking in the middle. “Are you one of them?”

“One of who?” you asked softly.

His eyes narrowed. “The monsters…”

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No.”

He stared at you a moment longer, then exhaled—short and sharp like he didn’t believe you. His fingers curled into his sleeves, knuckles turning white.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t be—”

His breath hitched, and suddenly his shoulders were shaking again. He bit down hard on his lower lip, like that might keep the tears at bay, but his face was already crumpling. The weight of whatever he was holding back threatened to crush him right there.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know they—I didn’t want to—”

You didn’t understand what he meant, not yet, but the words came from somewhere raw and jagged, too tangled with guilt for someone so young.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, stepping closer. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did,” he shot back, voice rising. “I—I couldn’t stop them. I tried to—I tried—” His hand shot up and pressed against his face, smearing dirt and blood across his cheek. “I couldn’t save them.”

His voice broke at the end, and that was what did it—the way his shoulders hunched in like he was trying to make himself small, the way his breath kept stuttering like it hurt just to keep going.

You moved before you could think better of it. Crossing the space between you, you knelt beside him, resting a hand against his arm. He flinched—his whole body jerking like he expected a blow—but you didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry you’re alone.”

He shook his head, fast and hard. “I’m not alone,” he insisted, voice thin and strained. “I still have to—I still have to fight. I can’t—I can’t stop yet.”

“Fight?” you asked, your hand tightening slightly.

He looked at you then—really looked at you. His eyes still held that feverish gleam, but there was something else there too. Something tired.

“They keep coming,” he whispered. “The monsters, no, Wanderers.” His voice faltered, turning quiet like he was afraid saying their name would call them closer. “They used to be people. I knew some of them. But when they… change…” His gaze dropped to his hands, to the dried blood crusted beneath his nails.

“I couldn’t save them,” he repeated. His voice shook again, breaking against the words. “I tried, but…”

You swallowed hard, your fingers flexing against his arm. He was so cold beneath your touch, like the warmth had been drained out of him.

“You shouldn’t have to do that alone,” you said.

“I have to,” he muttered. His eyes flicked upward again, colder now. “There’s no one else left.”

The weight of those words hit you hard—too big for a boy his age to carry. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

But then you reached out, fingers brushing against his bloodied hand. His fingers twitched beneath yours—instinctively drawing back—but you held steady.

“You’re not alone right now,” you told him quietly. “Not while I’m here.”

His breath hitched again—not like he was about to cry this time, but like he didn’t know what to do with the way you were looking at him. Like he couldn’t quite believe you meant it.

“…What’s your name?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

You told him.

He hesitated, then answered quietly, “I’m Zayne.”

For a while, you just knelt there, your hand still resting against his arm. The cold pricked at your skin—sharp, almost too sharp—and yet none of it seemed to matter. Not when his breathing kept hitching, not when his fingers kept twitching like they didn’t know whether to fight or flee.

Was this real?

The thought curled through your mind, quiet and uncertain. It had to be a dream—didn’t it? You remembered falling asleep. Remembered curling beneath your blanket, still small enough that your feet barely reached the end of your bed. Dreams were strange like that—always shifting, always showing you things that couldn’t be real.

But the air smelled wrong—sharp and metallic. The chill biting at your skin hurt. And this boy—this crying, trembling boy, he felt real. His breath was warm where it ghosted against your arm. His skin—cold and cracked beneath the streaks of blood, trembled faintly beneath your fingers.

Is he real?

You didn’t know. But you couldn’t just sit there and watch him fall apart.

“How did everything start?” you asked softly.

Zayne’s fingers twitched again beneath yours, curling inwards like he was trying to keep something from slipping away. His shoulders shook, and when he finally spoke, his voice barely scraped above a whisper.

“I don’t…” His words faltered. “I don’t know how it started. I just remember… the sky…”

And then he told you. About the sky splitting open like a wound above the city. About the faces he knew—familiar, warm faces—turning cold and empty, wandering the streets like ghosts in their own skin. About his father’s voice, promising everything would be fine. About his mother’s scream, cut short before he could reach her.

His fingers flexed again—this time curling tighter, like he was holding something invisible in his hand. Frost bloomed beneath his palm, thin veins of ice creeping across the cold stone floor.

He’s scared, you realized. He’s still scared.

“You were just a kid,” you said quickly. “You are just a kid.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His gaze sharpened, colder now—too fierce for someone so small. “I can still fight. I can still keep them away.”

His other hand lifted slightly, and a sharp gust of cold prickled against your skin. Tiny flecks of ice clung to his fingers, spreading like frostbite.

This has to be a dream. The thought pushed forward again—louder this time—but you ignored it.

“Zayne…” you started carefully. His face was tight, his eyes locked on his hand like he couldn’t control what was happening.

“It won’t stop,” he muttered. “I can’t—I can’t control it sometimes. When I get scared or angry…” The ice spiked upward, jagged and wild. “I hurt people.”

“You won’t hurt me,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

His gaze snapped to yours. For a moment, his eyes were wide with panic—like he didn’t believe you, like he was waiting for you to pull away.

But you didn’t.

“I’m here,” you told him again, your hand pressing more firmly against his arm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The ice began to shrink, slowly pulling back toward his fingertips. His breathing steadied—still shaky, but calmer now.

“…Okay,” he whispered. His fingers slackened in your hand. “Okay.”

And when his head dropped against your shoulder, the weight of him leaning into you like he didn’t have the strength to keep himself upright, you wrapped your arms around him. He was cold, ice still clinging faintly to his sleeves but he was warm too. Warm enough that you let yourself believe, even just for a moment, that this was real.

You remembered waking up the next morning with the cold still clinging to your skin—faint, like a whisper fading with the morning light. For a moment, you had lain there in your bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if it had all been a dream.

But it hadn’t felt like a dream. You still remembered the way his voice had trembled, the way his fingers had twitched like he was trying to hold something too sharp. You remembered the weight of him—cold but solid—when he finally let himself lean against you.

You remembered wanting—aching—for nightfall to come.

That whole day, you had barely spoken. You went through the motions—ate when you were told, followed the orphanage’s routine—but your mind kept straying. Each time the sky darkened, your pulse would quicken, hope unfurling in your chest like a bloom in spring.

But when you closed your eyes that night, there was only darkness.

And the night after that.

And the one after that.

Days stretched into weeks. Weeks bled into months. The memory of him—of Zayne, his bloodied hands, his quiet, fractured voice—lingered at the edges of your mind like a shadow you couldn’t chase away. You wondered if he was okay. If his ice had ever stopped growing wild and sharp. If he had somewhere warm to sleep. If he even knew that you had tried to find him again.

Time kept moving forward.

Somewhere in those months, a family came—a pair of Hunters who had once fought during the Chronoshift Catastrophe. They weren’t the sort of people you had expected. They weren’t cold or distant like the stories had warned—they were warm. Solid. Their presence filled the empty spaces in your life so easily that you wondered how you had gone so long without them.

They taught you how to hold a blade properly, how to move quickly but quietly. They told you about the Wanderers—about the people who had once been human, twisted and lost after the disaster. They never told you to become a Hunter like them, but you knew they would teach you if you asked.

And for a while, you stopped thinking about him.

You didn’t mean to forget. You never wanted to. But Zayne became just another face in the corners of your memory—one you couldn’t quite hold on to no matter how hard you tried.

Then, almost a year later, on a night that seemed no different from any other, you found yourself in that cold, quiet place again.

The air smelled of frost—sharp and stinging, colder than any winter you had ever known. The wind howled through the ruins, biting at your skin, and when you exhaled, your breath curled into mist before vanishing into the dark.

You weren’t sure how you knew, but the moment your bare feet touched the frozen ground, you understood.

You had been here before.

Not just here—but with him.

A sharp crack split through the air, and your gaze snapped toward the sound. At the center of the ruined space, jagged ice carved its way up from the broken concrete, glinting under the pale light. And standing before it, his arm still outstretched, was him.

Zayne.

He was taller than you remembered—still thin, still wary, but stronger now. His posture was different, steadier, and though his clothes were still worn, they fit him differently. Purposefully. He wasn’t the trembling boy you had once held in your arms.

No, he was something else now. Something sharper.

The frost curling from his fingers glowed faintly, flickering like dying embers. He was training. You could see it in the rigid set of his shoulders, in the way his breath came slow and measured. The ice in front of him wasn’t just happening—he was controlling it.

And for a moment, you hesitated.

Would he remember you?

Had he, too, waited for nightfall? Had he searched for you in the dark, only to be met with silence?

Or had he forgotten?

You didn’t realize you had whispered his name until the sound of it carried into the stillness.

Zayne’s head snapped toward you. His whole body went rigid, and the ice in his palm flared wildly before fracturing with a sharp, splintering sound.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then—his expression twisted, confusion flickering through his dark eyes, wariness settling over his features like a veil.

He took a step closer, slow, measured, like he was approaching something that might shatter at the wrong move.

His gaze swept over you, taking in every detail.

And then, softly, warily, “…You’re here.”

It wasn’t relief.

It wasn’t joy.

It was a realization—one that made his fingers twitch at his sides, as if testing whether this was real.

But you could see the shift in his expression, the faint furrow of his brows, the careful calculation behind his eyes.

He knew.

Zayne’s gaze flickered, his breath unsteady. His fingers curled at his sides, the faintest trace of frost spreading across his knuckles before melting away. He studied you for a long moment, taking in every detail—like he was trying to commit you to memory, afraid you might slip away if he blinked.

Then, finally, he exhaled.

“The last time…” His voice was quiet, as if speaking too loudly might break the moment. “It was a dream. I didn’t realize it until I woke up.”

His eyes darkened, something unreadable shifting beneath the surface.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”

You didn’t think twice. The moment his voice wavered—that quiet, uncertain note threading through his words—you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

He tensed at first, his whole body going rigid beneath your touch. The cold that clung to him—sharp and biting, like frost creeping across glass—made you shiver, but you didn’t let go.

“I was worried about you,” you said softly, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I thought… I thought maybe you didn’t make it.”

For a breathless second, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, his arms lifted—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold on. But once his fingers found your back, his grip tightened. He clung to you like something fragile—something worn thin by too much grief, too many cold nights spent alone.

“I didn’t know if you were real,” he whispered. His voice shook, the words barely holding together. “I kept thinking… maybe I imagined you.”

You shook your head against him. “I’m real.”

His arms tightened just a little more, like he was afraid to let go.

“You’re warm,” he murmured, almost to himself—as if that alone was proof enough.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your arms still looped loosely around his waist. His face was still pale, his eyes still guarded, but you could see the way his shoulders weren’t quite so stiff anymore—like some of that awful weight had finally let go.

Without thinking, you dug into your pocket and fished out a crinkled little pack of candies—brightly wrapped, half-squished from being forgotten in the pockets of your pajamas.

“I brought these,” you said, holding them out with a proud grin. “I’ve been sleeping with candy in my pockets just in case I saw you again.”

His gaze flicked from your face to the candies, like he wasn’t sure if you were serious.

“I thought… maybe if I had something when I fell asleep, I could bring it here too,” you explained. “I didn’t know if it’d work, but… I guess it kinda did?”

Zayne blinked at the small pack in your hand. Then, to your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough that it made your chest feel warm.

“You’re weird,” he mumbled. But his fingers reached out—hesitant at first—and plucked the candies from your hand like they were something rare, something delicate. He turned the pack over, his thumb tracing the edge of the wrapper.

“You don’t have to give them all to me,” he added quietly. “You can keep some.”

“I want you to have them,” you insisted. “You look like you need them more.”

He stared at the candies for a moment longer before slipping them carefully into his pocket—like they were something important. Something safe.

“Thanks,” he said, so softly you barely heard it.

You leaned in a little, curious. “What happened after I last saw you?”

Zayne glanced down at the candy in his hands, fingers idly twisting the wrapper. He hesitated for a moment, like he wasn’t sure how much to say, before letting out a quiet breath.

“Some people found me,” he admitted. “Survivors. They took me in.”

“That’s good, right?” You shifted closer without thinking, knees knocking against his. He didn’t move away—he never did. Even when he wasn’t holding onto you, he was always close, always making sure some part of him was touching you. His elbow rested lightly against yours now, grounding, like he was making sure you were real.

Zayne nodded, but his expression remained unreadable. “They’re training,” he continued. “All of us are.”

You tilted your head. “Training for what?”

“To fight,” he said simply. “To kill Wanderers.”

The words should have sounded harsh coming from an eight-year-old, but the way he said them was flat, like he had long accepted this as normal. It made something twist in your chest, a strange sort of ache you didn’t quite understand yet.

For a mmoment, you didn’t know what to say. So instead, you reached into your pocket again, pulled out another piece of candy, and pressed it into his palm.

Zayne blinked at it, then at you, before carefully peeling away the wrapper and popping it into his mouth.

The change was instant.

His hazel-green eyes, usually guarded and dark, brightened as the sweetness hit his tongue. His lips parted slightly, his brows lifting just a fraction—like he had forgotten what something good could taste like.

You giggled. “It’s good, right?”

He nodded, chewing slowly, savoring it. His knee bumped against yours again, more deliberate this time. “Really good.”

The sight of him like this—lighter, just for a moment—made you feel warm all over.

“I’ll bring more next time,” you promised.

Zayne stilled, looking at you carefully, as if testing whether you really meant it. Then, slowly, he swallowed and murmured, “Okay.”

Zayne sat quietly for a moment, rolling the candy wrapper between his fingers. Then he asked, “What about you?”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah…” His voice dipped lower, almost hesitant. “What happened to you?”

You tucked your knees to your chest, leaning your chin against them. “I got adopted,” you said. “By some Hunters. They’re really nice—they’re strong too! They said they fought during the Chronoshift, but…” You paused, wrinkling your nose. “I guess things are better in my world. The city’s still there, and the Wanderers aren’t everywhere like… like in yours.”

Zayne’s gaze flickered down at his hands. His fingers twitched like they wanted to curl into fists again.

“But they’re still dangerous,” you added quickly. “I mean, the Wanderers. They’re still out there, hurting people sometimes.” You sat up straighter. “That’s why I wanna train too! Like my parents—I wanna be a Hunter when I grow up so I can help.”

Zayne’s head snapped up at that. “You want to fight them?”

“Well… yeah.” You shrugged. “I know I’m not strong yet, but I’ll get there. My parents say I’m getting better with a blade, and I can run pretty fast! I just…” Your fingers twisted into the hem of your sleeve. “I just don’t want people to get hurt anymore.”

He was staring at you—not with his usual wary gaze, but with something softer. Something you couldn’t quite name yet.

“You’re lucky,” Zayne muttered, barely above a whisper. “That your world’s better.”

You reached out without thinking, your hand finding his. His fingers were colder than yours—ice creeping faintly along his knuckles—but they didn’t flinch away. Instead, his hand curled around yours, clinging tightly like he was afraid to let go.

“I’ll train hard,” you promised. “So that if you ever need help… I can be there.”

Zayne didn’t answer right away. He just kept holding your hand, his knee still pressed against yours, his elbow brushing your arm. He stayed close—like he needed you to be near, needed something steady to hold onto.

“…Okay,” he said at last, voice barely louder than a breath. “Okay.”

You didn’t know what you meant by it—how could you? The two of you had only ever met in dreams, separated by two different worlds. But somehow, that didn’t matter.

You just knew that you wanted to help him—wanted him to be okay—even if you didn’t quite understand how yet.

Over the years, the dreams came like clockwork—once a year, always on the same day. Each time you drifted into sleep on that night, you found yourself there—in that cold, quiet place where Zayne waited.

He was always there. And each year, things were different—yet somehow the same.

When you were nine years old, the moment you opened your eyes, you jolted up, excitement buzzing in your chest.

It worked.

You were back.

Your head whipped around, scanning the dim surroundings, your breath fogging in the cold air. Then—there. A short distance away, standing with his arms crossed and a guarded expression, was Zayne. His hazel-green eyes flickered with something unreadable as he watched you.

The second you saw him, you took off.

You ran toward him, nearly tripping over yourself in your eagerness, and skidded to a stop just before colliding into him. Before he could react, you shoved a lollipop into his palm with a triumphant grin.

“I brought you more candy!” you announced proudly. “It worked last time, so I kept doing it!”

Zayne stared at the lollipop, then at you, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. “You really sleep with candy in your pockets, huh?”

You nodded, arms crossed. “Yep! Every night! Just in case I see you again.”

There was a beat of silence where he just stared at you, and for a second, you wondered if you had said something weird.

Then—slowly—his lips twitched, barely a ghost of a smile.

Without a word, he unwrapped the lollipop with careful fingers, almost reverent in the way he peeled away the wrapper like it was something rare. He popped the candy into his mouth and let out a quiet hum, as if savoring the taste.

“You’re weird,” he murmured around the candy.

“You’re mean,” you shot back, grinning.

But Zayne didn’t refute it. He just stood there, sucking on the candy like it was the best thing he’d ever had, his shoulders slightly less tense than before.

You plopped down onto the cold ground, patting the space beside you. Zayne hesitated for a second before sitting, his knee bumping lightly against yours. He didn’t move away.

“Did you miss me?” you asked suddenly, kicking your feet out.

Zayne blinked at you, sucking harder on the candy, and didn’t answer immediately.

“…I wasn’t sure if you’d come back,” he admitted after a moment, his voice quiet.

You huffed. “That’s not a yes or no answer.”

He shot you a side glance, his lips twitching around the lollipop’s stick.

“…Maybe,” he muttered.

Your grin widened, but you didn’t tease him.

Instead, you reached into your other pocket, your fingers closing around something small. “Oh! Look at what I also brought this time!”

Zayne watched curiously as you pulled out a small flashlight, clicking it on with a dramatic flourish. The beam flickered to life, bright and steady.

“Freeze!” you declared, aiming the light at his chest. “You’re under arrest for being a grump!”

Zayne squinted at the beam, blinking rapidly. For a second, he looked confused—then, to your surprise, he let out a small breath of laughter, shoving your arm away.

“That’s stupid,” he said, but his gaze lingered on the light.

“Wanna try?” you offered, holding it out.

He hesitated before taking it, fingers curling carefully around the handle. His thumb hovered over the switch for a moment before pressing down. The beam flickered back on, steady against the stone wall.

“…It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of these,” he murmured, quietly enough that you almost didn’t catch it.

“You don’t have one?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t last long when you’re… outside a lot.” His voice trailed off, like he didn’t want to finish the sentence.

You didn’t press. Instead, you scooted closer, watching as Zayne wordlessly traced the beam along the wall—outlining shapes, dragging the light across the floor like he was following an invisible path.

“You can keep it,” you said when the batteries started to dim.

Zayne’s fingers tightened slightly around the flashlight. “Why?”

“In case you ever get scared.”

His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he just gave a quiet snort and tucked the flashlight into his pocket.

The dream started to blur at the edges, the cold air growing softer. Zayne’s knee bumped against yours, firmer than before—like he was bracing himself.

“You should come back sooner next time,” he muttered.

“I can’t control it,” you reminded him. “It just… happens.”

“I know.” He shifted, his shoulder knocking into yours. “…I just didn’t know when I’d see you again.”

He didn’t say he missed you.

But you could hear it anyway.

The next time you found yourself in that cold, quiet place, you were used to it.

You woke up in the dream with a jolt—blinking hard, adjusting to the dimness—and immediately looked around for him.

Zayne was there, further away this time, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His gaze flicked up at the sound of your footsteps, and for a split second, you caught the faintest trace of relief on his face.

“I knew you’d come back,” he said—like he’d been convincing himself of it for a while now.

“I brought you something!” you grinned, bouncing on your toes as you dug into your pockets. First came the candy—your usual stash, neatly wrapped. He took it without a word, but his fingers lingered against yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“And…” You reached deeper, pulling out a bundle of soft fabric. “I got this for you, too!”

Zayne’s brow furrowed as you unraveled the black scarf—long, thick, and softer than anything you’d ever owned yourself. “What’s this for?”

“For you!” You stepped closer, looping it around his neck before he could protest. “It’s warm, right?”

“It’s…” Zayne trailed off, reaching up to brush his fingers along the wool. His hand stilled halfway, curling slightly like he didn’t want to let go. “…It’s nice,” he muttered.

“You should wear it all the time,” you said proudly. “That way you won’t get cold.”

Zayne snorted, but the sound was quieter than usual—softer. “You know this is just a dream, right?”

“Yeah, but maybe you’ll still feel warmer when you wake up,” you reasoned. “Dream logic!”

He huffed a laugh under his breath, then stuffed a piece of candy in his mouth to hide his smile.

“Oh!” You straightened suddenly. “I forgot to show you something cool!”

Zayne’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “…What?”

“Watch this!”

You took a deep breath and held out your hand, fingers spread wide. At first, nothing happened—just air and silence—but then you felt it, that faint pull beneath your skin. Energy, quiet and familiar, thrummed to life at your fingertips. Tiny sparks flickered across your palm—faint, pale blue—before fading just as quickly as they came.

“Whoa,” Zayne murmured. “How’d you do that?”

“It’s my evol!” you said proudly. “My parents say it’s called Resonance.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Well…” You chewed your lip, thinking. “It’s like… I can match energy and make it stronger. Like if someone uses fire, I can make their fire burn hotter. Or if they use ice—”

“Like my evol?”

“Exactly!” You beamed. “I haven’t done that part yet, but I’m learning!”

Zayne stared at your hand like he was still processing it. “…That’s kinda cool,” he muttered, but his voice was quieter—thoughtful.

“You have an evol too,” you reminded him. “Your ice is really strong!”

“Yeah,” he said shortly, like that wasn’t something to be proud of.

“Well…” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “If you ever need help controlling it, maybe I can help!”

Zayne didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked toward your hand again—the faint traces of warmth still lingering on your fingertips—before dropping to his lap.

“You don’t have to,” he muttered.

“I want to,” you said simply.

You didn’t know what you meant by it—not really. After all, the two of you only ever met in dreams, and when you woke up, he would still be there—wherever there was—fighting his own battles.

But you meant it all the same.

The dreams went on, but when you were thirteen, that year, when the cold air of the dream settled around you, you didn’t have time to look for him.

Because the moment you opened your eyes, you felt it—the rush of footsteps, fast and urgent, and before you could turn, arms wrapped tightly around you.

“Zayne?” you gasped, stumbling back a step.

His grip only tightened.

He wasn’t just hugging you—he was clinging to you, like you were the only solid thing in a world that was slipping through his fingers. His face pressed hard against your shoulder, his breath ragged and uneven. You could feel the way his fingers dug into your back—desperate, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“Hey…” You shifted, trying to look at him, but he wouldn’t let you move. His arms stayed locked around you, his body tense like a drawn wire.

“You’re here,” he muttered under his breath. His voice sounded strange—hoarse, brittle. “You’re really here.”

“I’m here,” you promised, softening your voice. “I’m here.”

You stood there for a while, saying nothing—just feeling the way his heartbeat thrummed against your chest, too fast and too hard. Eventually, his breathing slowed, and he leaned heavier into you, like his legs couldn’t quite hold him up anymore.

“I brought candy,” you murmured after a while, your voice light—a clumsy attempt to ease the weight in the air. “You’ll crush it if you keep squeezing me like this.”

He huffed something that was almost a laugh, but it faded too quickly. Slowly—reluctantly—he loosened his grip enough for you to see him.

His face was pale—paler than usual—and there was a shadow beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in days. His hazel-green gaze flickered down, avoiding yours, and that’s when you noticed it—the faint red stain on his sleeve.

“Zayne…” Your stomach tightened. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head quickly. “It’s not mine.”

“…Oh.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, too heavy to break easily.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he stopped. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was reaching for you again but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

So you reached first.

You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together. He froze for a second, then squeezed back—hard enough that it almost hurt.

“Do you…” You swallowed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head again. “No.”

But he didn’t let go. His fingers stayed locked with yours, holding on like you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

You didn’t push him. Instead, you dug into your pockets and fished out a handful of candy—more than usual this time, a bright scatter of wrappers in reds and blues and yellows.

“Here.” You pressed some into his free hand. “I brought extras.”

For a moment, he didn’t move—just stared down at the candy like he couldn’t quite process it. Then, finally, his fingers closed around it.

“You’re weird,” he muttered, voice rough, as always.

“You’re mean,” you shot back, just like you always did.

But this time, when he smiled—faint, tired—it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You ended up sitting on the cold ground together, his knee pressed tight against yours, his fingers still tangled with your own. He kept fidgeting with the scarf you’d given him two years ago, winding it tighter around his neck like he was trying to block out the chill.

At one point, he unwrapped one of the candies, popping it into his mouth with little thought. But when the taste hit his tongue, you saw something flicker in his gaze—that brief, flickering light you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“It’s good,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “You always pick the best ones.”

“You always say that,” you teased.

“Because it’s true,” he mumbled.

You felt his hand shift against yours—his fingers slipping from your grip—and you barely had time to miss the warmth before he moved again, wrapping his arm firmly around your waist instead. He leaned into you without hesitation, tucking his head against your shoulder like he belonged there.

“Zayne?” you whispered, surprised by how tightly he held on.

“Just… stay,” he muttered. “Please.”

So you stayed. You sat there in the cold, with his arm locked around you and his breath warm against your neck. His grip never loosened—even when his breathing evened out, even when his fingers twitched slightly against your side, like he was grounding himself with your presence.

And when you finally woke up at the time—warmth still lingering on your skin—you found yourself wishing you could’ve stayed longer.

-

The evening air felt colder than usual when you got home, your thoughts tangled from the encounter at the café. Zayne’sface—no, his face—kept surfacing in your mind, like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

But it couldn’t be him.

You kicked off your shoes, barely noticing the warmth of your apartment. The glow from your laptop screen flickered to life as you sat down, fingers tapping restlessly against the keyboard.

Dr. Zayne Li, Akso Hospital.

The search results filled the screen in an instant. Article after article—crisp headlines stamped with words like brilliant, prodigy, and renowned.

“The Miracle Hands of Akso Hospital: Chief Cardiac Surgeon Zayne Performs Another Groundbreaking Procedure.”

“At Just 27, Dr. Zayne Li Has Achieved What Few Surgeons Could Dream Of.”

“The Man Who Fixes Broken Hearts—An Exclusive Interview with Dr. Zayne Li.”

Your chest tightened.

The photos didn’t help. His face was the same—sharp, symmetrical features framed by dark hair, those unmistakable hazel-green eyes that had always lingered somewhere between cool metal and sunlit glass. But there was something… off.

In the photos, Dr. Zayne looked composed—poised, even. His hair was neatly styled, not tousled like the boy you remembered. His gaze, while intense, was distant—focused in a way that felt clinical, like his thoughts were always a thousand steps ahead.

But what struck you most wasn’t his face—it was his hands.

In one photo, his fingers were curled lightly around a scalpel—precise, sure, steady. The faint scars that littered his knuckles and forearms which you were used to seeing, were nowhere to be seen. His hands, that was roughened from cuts and bruises and too many rushed bandages, now looked immaculate—like they’d never known violence or blood that didn’t belong in an operating room.

And his smile…

You clicked on an interview clip. The camera panned to him—that same face, now sharper with age—answering a question with quiet confidence. His lips curved into a smile, polite and practiced. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You remembered your Zayne’s smile—small and crooked, the kind that slipped out when you surprised him with candy or when your teasing pulled him out of his brooding silence. It was never perfect, but it was real.

This wasn’t.

Your Zayne wore his emotions like a second skin—tense shoulders, restless fingers, eyes that always betrayed the storm beneath. The man on the screen was calm, too calm—like he’d buried something deep inside and didn’t dare let it surface.

This man didn’t fidget with his scarf when he was nervous. He didn’t hover just a little too close like your Zayne always did, like he needed to know you were still there.

And this man’s eyes—cold and clinical—didn’t carry the weight of someone who’d spent years fighting to stay human in a world that kept turning people into monsters.

You closed the laptop, pulse pounding in your ears.

It wasn’t him.

It couldn’t be.

Sleep refused to come, you tossed and turned beneath your blankets, twisting them around your legs like vines. Each time you closed your eyes, you thought of him—your Zayne—the one who always greeted you with that tight, breathless hug, like he was scared you’d vanish if he let go. The Zayne who clung to your sleeve when you sat beside him, his knee always bumping yours. The Zayne who smiled crookedly when you teased him, who sucked on candy like it was his last meal, who had grown quieter and sadder with every passing year. 

You missed him. 

The thought hit you with a sharp ache—worse than usual, more desperate. The man you’d seen today wasn’t him. He couldn’t be.

But what if… 

What if something had happened? What if your Zayne had changed—had to change—to survive? What if he’d forgotten you, moved on without you? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to dream. To wake up in that cold, quiet place where your Zayne was waiting—where you could press candy into his hand and feel his fingers curl tightly around yours. 

But the dream wouldn’t come. 

It hadn’t been a year yet. 

By the time the first pale hints of morning crept through your window, your mind was already made up. 

You didn’t bother to eat. You barely remembered changing clothes before grabbing your keys and heading out. The city felt colder than usual, the early air biting at your skin, but you barely noticed. Each step felt restless, like your body was moving faster than your thoughts. 

When you finally reached Akso Hospital, you lingered outside longer than you should have. The building stretched high above you, sleek and intimidating with its glass-paneled walls. People streamed in and out of the entrance—nurses in scrubs, patients in wheelchairs, visitors clutching flowers or gift bags. 

For a moment, you wondered if this was a mistake. 

But then you remembered his face—his sharp gaze, his empty smile—and something inside you hardened. 

You stepped through the automatic doors. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled your senses, sharp and clinical. The lobby bustled with quiet energy—footsteps tapping against tiles, murmured conversations drifting through the air. 

You approached the front desk, your fingers curling into your sleeves. “Excuse me,” you said softly. “I’m looking for Dr. Zayne.” 

The receptionist barely looked up from her screen. “Do you have an appointment?” 

“No, but—” You hesitated. What were you even going to say? “I just… I need to see him.” 

“Dr. Zayne’s schedule is extremely busy,” the woman said, her tone polite but firm. “If you’d like to leave a message—” 

“I can wait.” The words left you before you’d even decided to say them. 

The receptionist’s gaze flicked toward you, taking in your stubborn expression. With a sigh, she relented. “Fine. But there’s no guarantee he’ll see you.” 

“I’ll wait,” you repeated. 

And you did. Hours passed—patients came and went, doctors hurried past in white coats, their faces tired and focused. The clock on the wall seemed to drag on endlessly. You kept your eyes on the hallway, scanning every face that passed. 

Then, finally you saw him. 

Zayne. 

His hair was neatly combed, his dark coat swept behind him as he walked with purposeful strides. His expression was calm—distant, but his face… 

God, it was still his face. 

You shot to your feet before you could think better of it. “Zayne!” 

He stopped mid-step, turning at the sound of his name. His gaze landed on you—and for a moment, just a moment, something flickered in his eyes. 

But then it was gone. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice smooth but guarded. 

You blinked, your heart sinking. There was no warmth in his voice—no familiarity, no recognition. 

“I…” Your throat tightened. “I just… wanted to see you.” 

His expression didn’t change. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice clipped. “I’m very busy.” He turned to leave. 

“Wait!” Desperation surged through you. “Please, just… just one minute.” 

He paused, glancing back with a sigh—and that flicker was there again, something almost hesitant. 

“One minute,” he said flatly. “That’s all.” 

He motioned for you to follow and you did. heading towards the hospital’s doors.

The air outside felt colder than before, the faint scent of trimmed grass and hospital disinfectant clinging to the breeze. The hospital’s garden was quiet—tucked away from the usual foot traffic, lined with benches and dull patches of wilted flowers. 

Zayne stood a few feet away from you, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. His gaze lingered somewhere past your shoulder, as if he wasn’t quite willing to meet your eyes. 

“I remember you,” he said at last, his voice low. “From the café yesterday.” 

You stiffened, unsure how to respond. Somehow, knowing he remembered made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain. 

“I wasn’t following you,” you muttered, even though you knew how it must have looked. ���I just… I thought…” 

“You thought what?” His eyes finally flicked toward you—sharp and unreadable. 

“I thought you were someone I knew,” you admitted. 

Zayne gave a quiet, humorless laugh—barely more than a breath. “Well… sorry to disappoint you.” 

“You didn’t.” The words left you before you could stop them. “I mean… you look like him. But you’re not.” 

His expression didn’t change, but there was something in the way his fingers curled deeper into his pockets—something tense, like he was bracing himself. 

“I’m guessing you realized that when you followed me here,” he said dryly. 

“I didn’t—” You stopped yourself, sighing. “Yeah… I guess I did.” 

Silence stretched between you, awkward and heavy. His gaze drifted again, distant like he was already thinking about walking away. 

“I read about you,” you said quickly, hoping to keep him there just a little longer. “Online. You’re a cardiac surgeon, right?” 

His brow arched slightly. “I didn’t realize you were so interested.” 

“I just…” You struggled for words. “I didn’t think you’d… I mean, he… I didn’t think you’d be a doctor.” 

“That makes two of us.” There was a flicker of something in his tone—bitterness, maybe—but it faded as quickly as it appeared. “Look… if that’s all, I should get back.” 

He turned, already halfway down the path when your voice stopped him. 

“Wait.” 

He paused, shoulders stiff. This time, when he looked back, his face was unreadable—guarded in a way that made your chest ache. 

“Do you…” You hesitated, feeling foolish even asking. “Do you ever have weird dreams?” 

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on you, unreadable, like he was considering something—or maybe deciding what not to say. The silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken.

But before he could respond, a voice cut through the moment.

“Dr. Zayne.”

A nurse stood at the entrance of the garden, her expression expectant. “They need you in prep. The surgery’s in fifteen minutes.”

Zayne exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before turning back to you. Whatever had been on the tip of his tongue was gone now, sealed behind a carefully neutral expression.

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a sleek black card, and held it out to you.

“My contact information,” he said simply. “In case you need anything.”

His fingers brushed yours briefly as you took it. And then, without another word, he turned and walked away, the nurse falling into step beside him, leaving you standing there alone with more questions than answers.

You stared at the card in your hand, the weight of it far heavier than it should have been. The name printed in crisp, professional lettering—Dr. Zayne Li—felt foreign, unfamiliar, even though you had known a boy with that name for most of your life. But that boy had never been this composed, this distant. 

Your Zayne had sharp edges softened only by exhaustion, by the way he always reached for you first, as if grounding himself in your presence. This one? He held himself apart, his touch brief, his gaze careful. There was no desperation in the way he looked at you, no silent relief at your presence. And that, more than anything, told you what you already knew: this wasn’t him.

-

The uncertainty of it all brought you back to when you were sixteen—when, for the first time, he was nowhere to be found, leaving you to wonder if he had ever been real at all. 

The cold was the first thing you noticed. It always was. But this time, something was different.

Zayne wasn’t here.

Your eyes swept over the dream-woven space, expecting, waiting to see him. He was always here first, always standing there with that quiet, unreadable expression, waiting for you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But tonight, he wasn’t.

Your fingers tightened around the candy in your pocket. Maybe… maybe he was just late?

You sat down, resting your chin on your knees, trying to ignore the uneasy weight in your chest. It wasn’t like him to be late. He always came, even when he was tired, even when his hands shook from exhaustion, even when his eyes were heavy with something he never said out loud.

You waited.

Minutes stretched into something longer. You kept your ears open, straining for the familiar sound of his footsteps, for the quiet shift of fabric when he sat beside you. But the silence stayed.

You waited.

The cold bit deeper. Your arms wrapped around yourself, but it didn’t help. The dream space felt bigger tonight, emptier.

You waited.

Your eyelids grew heavy. The edges of the dream blurred, flickering with something distant—something you knew all too well. The slow pull of waking.

Panic clawed at your chest. No, not yet. Not without seeing him.

You clenched your fists, nails pressing into your palms, trying to ground yourself. You had never dreamed alone before. You had never sat in this cold, quiet space without him beside you.

But tonight, you did.

And then, just like that—

The dream slipped away.

-

The year after, you had hoped—desperately—that this time would be different. That you would open your eyes to find him waiting, standing just a few steps away like he always had.

But two years in a row, you woke up in the dream and found nothing but silence, nothing but cold—nothing but the aching absence of him.

It went on like that, for three more years, that you had started to believe you would never see him again. That after five years of empty dreams, of waiting in silence, of waking with the lingering ache of something missing, he was gone.

-

But then, when you were twenty, it was just another ordinary day. You hadn’t expected anything—you hadn’t even remembered what day it was. Sleep came easily, without anticipation, without longing.

And yet, when the dream took hold—he was there.

The first thing you noticed was the blood.

It dripped from the edge of his blade, slow and deliberate, staining the ground beneath his feet. It clung to the fine black wool of his coat, splattered in uneven streaks, soaking into the lines of his hands as if trying to seep into his skin. The scent of it lingered, thick in the cold air, mixing with the sharp bite of ice.

His evol was on edge.

Frost curled from his breath, dissipating into the eerie stillness of the dream space. Ice stretched outward from where he stood, jagged formations creeping across the frozen ground, spreading in uneven cracks beneath him like something alive. It was as if the cold itself had settled into his very presence, weighing down the air around him, pressing against your skin.

He stood there—rigid, unmoving, his grip around the hilt of his blade unrelenting. The sharp lines of his face were harder, more angular, his expression carved from something distant and untouchable. He was wearing black from head to toe—a long, double-breasted coat with sharp lapels, the fabric heavy against his frame. Beneath it, a tailored vest and a dark button-up, the collar neatly pressed, the tie around his neck scattered with tiny, pale specks like distant stars. A silver pin gleamed against the dark fabric, unfamiliar yet intricate, catching the light with every slow rise and fall of his chest.

And he didn’t see you.

His gaze was lowered, fixed on the blade in his hand, on the slow drip of blood pooling at his feet. His breath came steady, measured, but there was something unsteady in the way his fingers curled around the hilt—tight, white-knuckled, as if trying to ground himself. The ice beneath him cracked, settling under its own weight, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, frozen in place, as if he hadn’t yet come back from whatever had happened before you arrived.

You had wondered, countless times, what had happened to him—what had kept him away from the place where you had always met, where he had always been waiting. You had searched for answers in the silence, in the weight of empty dreams, in the absence of the one person who had been a constant since childhood.

But standing here now, hidden in the lingering shadows of the dreamscape, you weren’t sure you wanted the answer anymore.

He was different. Not just older, not just taller. Something had been carved out of him in those lost years, something you weren’t sure could ever return. The boy you once knew had always been serious, always carried a quiet weight in his gaze, but there had been warmth—small, fleeting moments of it, tucked into the way he listened to you, the way he reached for you, the way his presence had never felt cold despite his evol.

You reached forward, to call out to him, but as if on cue, the air shifted, rippling with something wrong, something other.

A crack of ice split through the silence, racing outward like veins of frost spreading over glass. The temperature plummeted, stealing the breath from your lungs, biting at your skin. A Wanderer shifted in the distance—a thing of half-formed limbs, its face a smear of writhing distortion, a nightmare clawing at the edges of the dreamscape. It let out a guttural, warping sound, something between a snarl and a scream.

And Zayne moved.

Not with hesitation, not with fear. With precision.

His blade cut through the air in one fluid motion, faster than you could track, faster than you could even breathe. The ice surged in tandem with him, responding as if it were alive, as if it were nothing more than an extension of his will. Jagged spikes erupted from the ground, impaling the creature mid-step, pinning it like an insect on glass. The Wanderer shrieked, convulsing, its body thrashing against the ice, blackened veins pulsing beneath the skin that wasn’t entirely its own.

Zayne didn’t flinch.

More ice. A crushing weight of frost and jagged edges, a prison forged in an instant. The creature barely had time to resist before its body was swallowed whole, encased in a coffin of shimmering blue. The air itself cracked under the force of it, the frozen husk shifting, creaking, breaking.

Then, his blade came down.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

The sound was sickening. The ice shattered under the weight of his attack, along with whatever remained of the Wanderer inside. Limbs snapped and crumbled, frozen flesh breaking apart like brittle porcelain. He cut through it with the same detached precision—efficient, methodical, merciless.

And yet, there was something worse than the violence itself.

It was his silence.

The boy who once looked at you with quiet understanding, who always held himself back from anything too sharp, too cruel—he was gone. In his place was a man who didn’t hesitate, who didn’t waver, who didn’t even look at what he had done. He simply turned, his breath curling in the freezing air, his blade still dripping red.

Despite it all, despite the ice, the blood, the emptiness in his eyes—you still called for him. Your voice barely broke above a whisper, but in the unbearable silence of the dreamscape, it may as well have been a scream.

“Zayne.”

He froze.

The breath hitched in his throat, sharp enough that you swore you heard it. Slowly—so slowly—it was agonizing, he turned. His face, carved from stone just moments ago, fractured at the sight of you. Shock bled into something raw, something desperate, his hazel green eyes widening as if you were a ghost, something fragile and unreal. The blade in his hand wavered, fingers tightening, loosening—like he couldn’t remember how to hold it anymore, like he couldn’t remember how to breathe.

The ice around him cracked.

Not from his evol, not from anything external, but from the weight of it all. The blood on his hands, the years that had stretched between you like an abyss, the violence that had become second nature—only now, with you standing there, did it seem to settle on him all at once. He looked at you as if the world had suddenly realigned, as if only now did he realize just how far he had fallen.

And still, he didn’t move.

Rooted in place, trapped in the space between recognition and disbelief, he simply stared.

So you moved.

You didn’t care that you were barefoot in the dream, that the ice cut into your skin, that the ground was still slick with blood. You didn’t care how much darker he had become, how the Zayne before you was nothing like the boy you used to know. None of it mattered.

You ran to him, closing the distance, arms outstretched, and before he could even react—before he could step back, before he could disappear like a ghost slipping through your fingers—you crashed into him.

You held him.

The scent of blood clung to him, iron-thick and suffocating, but beneath it was something else—something familiar. His body was rigid against yours, like he’d forgotten how to be touched, how to be held. You could feel the way his chest rose in a sharp inhale, could feel the way his muscles tensed beneath his coat.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

For a moment, he wasn’t Zayne—he was something distant, something unreachable, something hollow.

And then, slowly, his arms came around you. He murmured your name, barely a breath, barely a sound. But it shattered something inside you.

His arms barely tightened around you before he pulled back, just enough to see your face. His hazel green eyes, blown wide, flickered with something unreadable, his voice quieter than you remembered, rough like he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“What are you doing here?”

Anger surged through you, raw and unfiltered. You clenched your fists and struck his chest—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him feel it.

“You didn’t show up for five years!” Your voice cracked, the weight of every missed dream, every unanswered call, crashing down on you all at once. “Five, Zayne! Do you even know how long that is? Do you know how much I—”

His breath hitched, but before he could say anything, his gaze dropped—down to your feet, bare and bleeding against the ice-streaked ground. His expression twisted, sharp and exasperated, and before you could step away, his arms tightened around you.

“You’re hurt.”

You barely had time to process the words before he bent down, one arm slipping under your legs, the other steady against your back.

“Zayne—!”

He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, ignoring your protest. His grip was firm but careful, his warmth stark against the cold air, but his eyes were distant, unreadable.

“You ran barefoot across the ice.” It wasn’t a reprimand, just a quiet observation, but his jaw tightened as if the sight of your blood on the frozen ground unsettled him.

“Of course, I ran!” You huffed, your hands gripping his coat. “I saw you, and you think I’d just stand there? What did you expect me to do, Zayne?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t argue, didn’t justify his absence. He just held you, his fingers flexing slightly as if grounding himself in the feeling of you in his arms.

“Five years, Zayne.” Your voice was quieter now, trembling. “Five years, and you just—just left. You never even said why.”

His grip on you tightened. The blood on his hands, his clothes, his blade—it was still there, stark against the dark fabric. But for the first time since you saw him, he wasn’t looking at the aftermath of whatever battle he had fought.

He was looking at you.

Your fingers curled into his coat, gripping the bloodstained fabric like it could somehow ground you, keep you from unraveling. The words tumbled out, unfiltered, raw.

“Every night.” Your voice shook, but you didn’t stop. “I slept with candy in my pockets every night, just in case. I thought maybe—maybe we got it wrong. Maybe it wasn’t that day anymore. Maybe it could be any day.” Your breath hitched, frustration and heartbreak intertwining. “So I kept waiting. And waiting. And waiting.”

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t interrupt. But his hold on you? It shifted—his fingers digging into your skin just enough that you felt the weight of it, the barely restrained desperation bleeding into his grip. He looked calm, composed even, but you knew better.

“You weren’t supposed to wait.” His voice was quiet, but there was something beneath it, something fractured. “You should’ve—”

“Should’ve what?” You snapped, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. His golden eyes burned, dark and unreadable, but his jaw clenched as if he were holding something back. “Moved on? Forgotten about you?” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Like hell I would.”

His fingers twitched against your back. His grip hadn’t loosened since he picked you up, hadn’t wavered for even a second, as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear.

“Zayne.” Your voice softened, cracking under the weight of it all. “Why?”

He exhaled sharply, his head lowering just slightly, his forehead nearly brushing against yours. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You stared, breath caught in your throat.

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away. His hand curled tighter around you, his touch no longer just firm—it was desperate, as if holding you was the only thing keeping him from shattering.

“Like this.” His voice was hoarse, almost strained. “Blood on my hands. A blade in my grip. A monster, not a man.”

Your heart clenched.

“That’s not—”

“It is.” His forehead finally touched yours, the barest press of warmth against the cold. He inhaled, slow and deep, like he was memorizing your scent, the shape of you in his arms. “For five years, I stayed awake on this day. Every single time.”

Your breath caught.

“You—”

“I didn’t sleep.” His grip tightened, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Because if I did, you’d be here. You’d see me. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

Your chest ached, your fingers curling against his coat. “You punished yourself.”

“I protected you.”

You shook your head. “You isolated yourself.”

His eyes flickered, something unreadable flashing through them. And for the first time since you arrived in the dream, he wavered. Just for a second.

“I had to.” His voice was so quiet now, barely audible. “Because if you saw me, I wouldn’t have been able to let go.”

You didn’t think. 

Your fingers tightened against his jaw, tilting his face toward you, and before he could stop you—before he could pull away, before he could tell you that he wasn’t the person you once knew—you pressed your lips to his.

The taste of blood lingered between you, sharp and metallic, but you didn’t care. You kissed him through it, through the cold seeping from his skin, through the way his whole body locked up as if he didn’t know how to receive something so gentle, so undeserved.

Zayne made a quiet, almost broken sound, and then—his grip on you tightened, his hands pressing against your back, his breath hitching as he kissed you back. Desperation bled through the way he held you, as if trying to carve the feeling of you into his very bones, as if trying to chase away the years of loneliness in a single moment.

The dream wavered, edges blurring, but you held onto him until the very last second—until everything faded into darkness, until all that remained was the lingering warmth of his lips against yours.

And then you woke up.

You hoped to see him the year after that, but no matter how much you willed it—since then, you never dreamed of him again. 

-

The streets were quiet as you walked home from Akso Hospital.

The late morning sun cast long, pale shadows across the pavement, the sky a cloudless stretch of blue. The scent of fresh rain still clung to the air from the early drizzle, mixing with the faint aroma of baked goods drifting from a nearby café. It was almost peaceful—almost.

But your mind wasn’t here.

Your fingers toyed with the sleek black card in your pocket, tracing the edges absently. Dr. Zayne Li. You had met him, spoken to him, and yet the tightness in your chest refused to fade. He was the same, but not. Not your Zayne. His voice was familiar, but it lacked the weight, the quiet exhaustion—the desperation.

He didn’t reach for you first.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. Thinking like that wouldn’t change anything. This was reality. And your Zaynewas… gone.

The thought made something inside you twist.

The apartment building loomed ahead. You climbed the stairs with slow, steady steps, keys in hand. The hall smelled faintly of old wood and lemon cleaner, a familiar scent, a grounding one. As you reached your door, you exhaled, pressing your palm against the cool surface for just a moment before unlocking it.

The lock clicked. The door creaked open.

And then—

The world shuddered.

A deep, unnatural tremor rippled through the ground, so strong you had to grip the doorframe to keep from stumbling. The lights in the hallway flickered violently, buzzing like a swarm of angry insects.

Then came the sound.

A low, resonant wail.

It wasn’t something heard—it was something felt, something that pressed against your bones, against your skull, something that made your breath catch in your throat. The kind of sound that meant the world was breaking.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

You turned—and saw the sky tear open.

Far beyond the skyline, past the rooftops and the quiet streets, reality itself was splitting apart.

A massive, jagged rupture carved through the sky, edges curling and fraying like torn fabric. The clouds around it distorted, warping into impossible shapes, bending under forces they were never meant to withstand. The air crackled with energy, tendrils of light and shadow pulsing at the edges of the wound.

Chronoshift.

Your fingers dug into the doorframe.

This wasn’t supposed to happen again. The last one had nearly wiped out the city—left streets in ruins, turned people into monsters. You still remembered the screams, the blood, the way the world had trembled beneath your feet.

And now, it was happening again.

Then—

Your Hunter Watch buzzed violently.

The sound snapped you out of your trance. You fumbled with the device, pressing it to your ear as the line connected.

“Tara?” you breathed, your own voice barely above a whisper.

“You need to turn on the news. Now.”

Her voice was tight, urgent—scared.

Your stomach dropped.

You bolted inside, barely kicking the door shut behind you as you grabbed the remote. The holoscreen flickered to life, static buzzing before shifting to a live news broadcast.

The anchor’s voice was strained, struggling to maintain composure.

“—a Chronoshift event currently occurring over Linkon City. Authorities are urging civilians to stay indoors as numerous Wanderers have begun appearing throughout the city. Hunters have been dispatched, but the situation is escalating rapidly.”

The screen shifted, cutting to a video.

Your breath caught.

A shaky, grainy recording—someone’s phone camera, zoomed in toward the sky. The frame trembled, struggling to stay focused on the massive, gaping wound in reality above Linkon City. The rift pulsed, an ugly scar of writhing light and shadow, tendrils of fractured time curling at its jagged edges. The clouds warped unnaturally around it, twisting into unnatural spirals, stretching as if being pulled into the void.

Then—

Something fell.

No—someone.

A dark figure plummeted from the rift, flung into freefall like a discarded fragment of the past. His coat billowed violently against the sheer velocity, fabric snapping in the wind. The camera wobbled as the bystander gasped, jerking the view—but not before you caught it. A glint of silver.

Your stomach lurched.

The figure twisted midair, arms slack, body limp—unconscious. The cityscape below rushed toward him, an unforgiving sea of asphalt and steel.

The air caught fire with panic.

People screamed.

Horns blared as drivers slammed their brakes, tires screeching against pavement. Some pedestrians fled blindly, while others stood frozen, their heads craned skyward, watching in helpless, breathless horror.

And then—

Ice.

It erupted outward in a violent cascade, a deafening crack splitting the air as jagged formations exploded from the ground. Frost raced across the pavement, crystalline veins tearing through asphalt and crawling up nearby streetlights. The very breath of the city seemed to freeze, snatched away in an instant as the temperature plummeted.

The moment his body struck the ice, the impact sent fractures spiderwebbing outward. Shards of frost scattered across the street, catching the weak morning sunlight like shattered glass, sharp and deadly. The unnatural chill bled into the air, seeping into the bones of every onlooker.

The camera shook violently as the person recording stumbled back. Their breathing was audible, harsh and ragged.

“Oh my God,” someone offscreen whispered. “Is he—?”

The image lurched, zooming in again.

For a long moment, the figure lay still, sprawled against the ice. The long, black coat draped over him like a shroud, his limbs slack, unmoving. Then—a twitch. A slow, almost imperceptible stir of fingers against the frozen ground.

A harsh gasp came from behind the camera. The voices in the background grew more frantic, some people shouting for help, others urging someone to run.

Then the screen cut.

The holoscreen snapped back to the news anchor, her face pale, her voice thin.

“Authorities have confirmed the man was recovered alive but unconscious. He is currently being transported to AksoHospital for emergency care.”

The remote nearly slipped from your grasp.

Akso.

Your knees almost gave out beneath you.

Tara’s voice crackled in your ear again, sharp with urgency.

“Get ready. Wanderers are swarming the city, and I don’t think this is just a random event. Something came through that rift.”

Her words barely registered.

Because you already knew.

Your Zayne had clawed his way through the boundaries of time itself.

And now—he was here.

The holoscreen flickered off with a sharp click, but the image burned into your vision didn’t fade. Your feet moved before reason could catch up—out the door, down the steps, and into the chaos of the city.

The streets were in disarray. People flooded the sidewalks, some running, others frozen in groups, their gazes still fixed toward the sky as if expecting another horror to fall through. Horns blared as drivers abandoned their cars in the middle of the road, their vehicles haphazardly blocking intersections. Sirens howled from every direction, their wailing cry blending into the frantic hum of emergency broadcasts spilling from shop windows and billboards.

You barely registered any of it.

You ran.

Not even trying to hail a cab—there was no point. The streets were already jammed, choked with confusion, fear, and the distant echoes of gunfire as Hunters engaged the Wanderers that had slipped through the rift.

But none of that mattered.

Not now.

Your lungs burned as you pushed forward, weaving through the panicked crowds. The closer you got to the avenue, the sharper the chill in the air became, creeping through your skin like a phantom touch.

Then—you saw it.

The impact site.

Your steps faltered as you skidded onto the street, your breath hitching.

Ice.

Everywhere.

Massive, jagged formations had burst from the asphalt, their sharp, uneven edges jutting out like frozen ribs from a broken body. Frost had slithered across the pavement in fractal veins, swallowing entire street signs and lampposts in an unnatural white sheen. The air was still cold—unnaturally so. Even under the midmorning sun, the ice didn’t melt. It clung to the city like a scar, a wound from something that shouldn’t exist.

Emergency responders worked around the site, barricades hastily thrown up, but you could still see the cracks in the street—the crater where he had landed.

Your stomach twisted.

This was real.

He was really here.Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath ragged as you pushed yourself forward, toward AksoHospital. The city blurred past you, a cacophony of sirens, of frightened voices, of distant Hunter gunfire. But you only had one destination. 

Akso Hospital loomed ahead, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the chaos outside. People were gathered by the entrance—reporters, onlookers, patients trying to get inside despite the heightened security. 

You pushed forward, reaching the reception desk. A nurse barely glanced up before returning to her holopad, her fingers swiping through incoming emergency cases.

You opened your mouth, about to ask—

But before you could utter a word, a hand grabbed your wrist.

Firm. Desperate.“I need—” You barely got the words out before a hand seized your wrist.

The grip was firm—urgent. Not forceful, but desperate.

You turned—and your breath caught.

Dr. Zayne.

But this time, for the first time since you met him—he didn’t look composed.

His face, usually an unreadable mask of cool professionalism, was anything but. His dark eyes burned with something raw—frustration, confusion… something dangerously close to fear.

“You knew.”

His voice was low, strained.

You swallowed hard. “What?”

His grip on your wrist didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. He exhaled sharply, eyes searching yours, his control fraying at the edges.

“You asked me if I had dreams,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You looked at me like you expected something. And now, today, this happens.”

Your heart pounded.

He knew.

Maybe he didn’t have all the pieces yet, but he knew you weren’t just another curious stranger. He knew you weren’t just here by coincidence earlier, especially not when you had asked him about dreams nor when you had called out to him yesterday in the coffee shop.

His jaw tensed. Then, without another word, he turned sharply, pulling you along.

You didn’t resist.

Through the corridors, past nurses and staff who barely gave you a second glance in the midst of the chaos. The hospital was buzzing with tension, the aftermath of the Chronoshift catastrophe spilling into every department.

But none of it mattered.

Because you already knew where he was taking you. Dr. Zayne stopped in front of a room—a guarded one. Your stomach twisted. He turned the handle, pushing the door open. And there—lying unconscious on the hospital bed, surrounded by the faintest traces of frost still clinging to his skin—was him.

The air in the hospital room was unnaturally cold. Not just from the lingering frost clinging to him, but from the sheer weight of the moment. Your legs locked in place just past the doorway, your pulse roaring in your ears. 

He was here. 

Zayne—your Zayne—was sprawled on the hospital bed, his face pale against the stark white sheets. He was eerily still, but you could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin hospital gown. His lips were parted slightly, a faint trace of frost still melting along the curve of his jaw.

Your stomach twisted. He looked so much like Dr. Zayne.

But at the same time, he didn’t.

Your Zayne was leaner, his body honed by survival rather than long hours in a surgical ward. His jawline was sharper, his skin just a little more worn, his hands rougher. He looked like he had lived through hell.

But most of all—he looked real.

Not just a dream. Not just a fading memory.

Your knees nearly buckled, but before you could take a step closer—

The door clicked shut behind you.

You turned sharply, realizing too late that Dr. Zayne had followed you inside.

He was standing just a few steps away, arms crossed, gaze locked onto your face with unsettling intensity. The warmth of his usual composure was gone.

“I need you to tell me what’s going on.” His voice was calm, but the control in it was fragile, stretched thin over something deeper—something urgent.

“I—” Your breath caught, mind racing to process everything. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

Dr. Zayne exhaled sharply through his nose. “Don’t lie to me.”

His words weren’t cruel, nor were they demanding. They weren’t spoken as an accusation.

They were a plea.

You swallowed, shifting uneasily. “I—Zayne, I swear, I don’t—”

“That’s not my name,” he said quietly. “Not to you.”

You flinched. 

He wasn’t wrong. You had called him Zayne. Without hesitation. Without thought. But Dr. Zayne? Even now, standing in front of him, your tongue felt heavy, like the name didn’t belong to him. Because it didn’t.

Dr. Zayne studied you, his dark eyes sharp with restrained emotion. “Who is he?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

You glanced back at the bed—at the unconscious figure resting there, at the silver strands of his hair damp with sweat, at the faint scars hidden beneath the edge of his sleeve.

How could you explain?

How could you even begin to put it into words?

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say.” Your voice wavered.

Dr. Zayne stepped closer, his presence steady, unwavering. “Tell me the truth.”

You clenched your fists. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering. “He’s…” Your voice trembled. “He’s Zayne.”

The silence was deafening, Dr. Zayne’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture stiffened. Slowly, he turned his gaze back to the unconscious man in the bed. His brows furrowed, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

He was a doctor—a scientist. He lived in a world of logic and reason. He knew this wasn’t possible. And yet—the proof was right in front of him.

He let out a slow, unsteady breath. “This—” He hesitated. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” you whispered.

Another beat of silence.

Dr. Zayne rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling. “I don’t—” He cut himself off, swallowing his words. Then, softer, “You knew, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched.

He met your gaze again, eyes dark, searching. Desperate.

“You knew this was coming,” he murmured.

Before you could answer, a sharp breath cut through the air. The sound sent a shiver down your spine. You turned just in time to see the man in the hospital bed move—not sluggishly, not groggily, but with the kind of immediate, instinctive awareness that sent your heart pounding. The IV stand rattled, the sheets barely shifted, and then he was already on his feet.

You barely had time to react before his hand caught your wrist. The heat of his palm burned against your skin despite the lingering cold still clinging to him. His grip was firm, possessive, as if anchoring himself to reality—and to you. His breath came uneven, his frame taut with restrained tension. And then, with barely any effort, he pulled you against him.

Your chest met his, the solid strength of his body grounding and overwhelming all at once. His arm came around your waist, securing you against him in a silent declaration. A tremor ran through his fingers where they held you—not from weakness, but from something deeper, something raw. Your heart thundered against your ribs, because this was him. Your Zayne. The one you had dreamed of, the one who had clawed his way through time itself.

But his entire body was rigid. His shoulders drawn tight, his breathing controlled but heavy. Slowly, his head turned, his gaze locking onto the only other person in the room.

Dr. Zayne.

His hold on you tightened.

Dr. Zayne met his stare, unreadable but assessing, a hint of something cautious in the way his hands remained by his sides. He took a step forward, his voice calm, steady. “You shouldn’t be standing. Your body—”

“Stay away from her.”

The warning was quiet but sharp, a quiet snarl beneath the exhaustion. His grip on you flexed, his thumb brushing over your wrist in a silent claim. Dr. Zayne didn’t move, but you saw his gaze flick to where your Zayne was holding you, taking in every detail.

“I’m not here to hurt her,” he said simply. There was no hesitation in his tone, only facts.

Your Zayne didn’t relax. His jaw clenched, his muscles coiled like a wire pulled too tight. He took a slow breath, but there was no mistaking the way he pressed you just a little closer, the way his fingers curled in a silent refusal to let go. His presence wrapped around you like frost creeping across glass—cold, fierce, unyielding.

Dr. Zayne exhaled, his tone edged with something close to patience. “Look—”

“Stop talking.”

The words were low, dangerous, the weight of them laced with unspoken meaning.

Dr. Zayne’s brow furrowed just slightly. His focus was clinical, analytical. You could see the way he was studying your Zayne, assessing his health, his stability, the impossible reality in front of him. But your Zayne saw something else entirely.

A stranger. A threat. An intruder.

Your fingers curled tighter into the thin fabric of his hospital gown. “Zayne,” you murmured, trying to ground him, to ease the palpable tension in the air.

He dipped his head, just enough that his forehead brushed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. For a moment, the entire world outside of him ceased to exist. And then, quietly, with a finality that sent a shiver through you—

“I’m not letting him take you away from me.”

Dr. Zayne’s gaze lingered on the way your Zayne held you—the way his grip never loosened, the way his body remained positioned between you and the rest of the room, like he was preparing to shield you from something unseen. There was something unreadable in his expression, something sharp and contemplative, but his voice remained level when he spoke.

“I need to run tests,” he said, though it wasn’t an argument. It was a fact, delivered with calm precision. “His body—”

“Later,” you interrupted, your voice firm but not unkind.

Dr. Zayne’s brow furrowed slightly, as if weighing his next words.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself. “I’ll explain everything to you. Just… not right now.”

For the first time, hesitation flickered across his face. He wasn’t an easy man to read, his emotions always carefully measured, controlled—but you had spent enough time observing him to recognize the conflict in his silence.

“Please,” you added, softer this time. “Just give me time.”

He exhaled, his jaw tightening slightly before he finally gave a slow nod. “Alright,” he said, stepping back. “But I’ll be back soon.”

You nodded, though you barely heard him. Your focus was on the man holding you—the one who, despite everything, still hadn’t let go.

Dr. Zayne hesitated for a fraction of a second longer, his gaze flicking between the two of you. Then, without another word, he turned and exited the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence settled in his absence, thick and heavy.

Your Zayne exhaled slowly, his breath ghosting against your temple, but he still didn’t release you. His fingers pressed into the fabric of your clothes, as if reassuring himself that you were real, that this wasn’t just another dream slipping through his grasp.

You shifted slightly in his arms, tilting your head to look up at him. “Zayne… you can let go now.”

His gaze found yours, deep and unreadable. He didn’t move.

“No,” he murmured. 

Your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his coat, the material still laced with the remnants of cold. He hadn’t let go. Not even for a second. His hand rested against the small of your back, firm and unyielding, while the other cradled the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair as if anchoring himself to you. His breath was warm against your temple, yet his body trembled faintly—not from exhaustion, but from restraint.

Swallowing, you forced yourself to speak. “Why…” Your voice faltered, unsteady beneath the weight of the moment. “Why didn’t I dream of you for years after the last time?”

His grip on you tightened—not painfully, but enough to make your breath catch.

“I tried,” he murmured against your hair. “I spent years trying.”

A shiver crawled down your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was from his closeness or his words.

He exhaled, his lips brushing lightly against the crown of your head before he spoke again. “After the last dream, after the kiss… I couldn’t take it anymore.” His voice was raw, tinged with something deeper—something breaking apart at the seams. “The next year, I shattered the dreamscape. I tore through it, trying to reach you.” His forehead pressed against yours now, the coolness of his skin a stark contrast to the feverish way he held you. “But I broke it completely. That’s why you stopped seeing me.”

Your heart clenched painfully. You had thought he’d left. That maybe, in some cruel way, the dreams had simply ceased because whatever force had connected you two had finally severed. But no. He had been trying all along.

“And now?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him. “I found a way,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “It took me months, but I found a way to cross through different worlds and timelines. And after so many years, now I’m here.”

Your chest ached with something unspeakable. How much had he suffered, clawing his way through time, through dimensions, just to stand before you?

But before you could ask him more, his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly, his gaze searching yours.

“Are you close with him?” His voice was quiet, but the words struck like a forceful wave. “The other me.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise. “Dr. Zayne?”

His eyes darkened, his thumb tracing absently along the curve of your cheek. “Did you meet him and replace me?” The question wasn’t accusatory, but there was something deeply vulnerable in the way he asked it, something fragile beneath the desperation.

Your breath caught.

His hands never stopped moving—never stopped touching. One of them slid down to rest against your waist, fingers flexing as if testing the reality of you, the other remained cupped at your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin in slow, lingering strokes. He wasn’t trying to hold you captive—he didn’t need to. You weren’t going anywhere.

You shook your head slightly, your hands lifting to press against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. “No,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the emotion coiling in your throat. “I didn’t replace you.”

Something in his expression wavered, like a fracture forming in ice. But he didn’t speak. He only pressed closer, his fingers curling against you like a man clinging to the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

His hold on you remained unrelenting, his fingers tracing patterns against your skin as if trying to memorize you all over again. He exhaled, slow and deliberate, his forehead pressing against yours as if grounding himself.

“After I broke the dreamscape,” he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of exhaustion and longing, “I stopped seeing you. But I started dreaming of something else.” His fingers trailed down the length of your spine, his other hand still cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the curve of your jaw. “I dreamt of him. Of his life.”

You stiffened slightly in his arms, the meaning of his words settling in.

He went on, his voice quiet but unshaken. “At first, I thought it was another timeline—just another possibility that had nothing to do with yours. I’ve searched so many, trying to find you.” His grip tightened. “But yesterday… when I saw you, even if it was only a flicker, I knew. It was you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest.

“I’ve spent years,” he whispered, “years searching, looking into every possibility, trying to find you in places where you existed. But I never did. Until now.”

His breath was warm against your lips, his touch desperate, reverent. You could feel the restraint in him, the aching need to pull you even closer, to claim what had been taken from him for far too long.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, your mind spinning.

“You saw me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “At the café?”

His gaze darkened, the weight of years—of searching, of longing—settling into his eyes like a storm barely held at bay. “Just for a moment,” he murmured. “A glimpse.” His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, his touch reverent, almost fragile, as if he feared you might vanish beneath his fingertips. “And that was all I needed.”

His voice dipped lower, rough with something raw and unspoken. “Do you understand now?” His forehead nearly touched yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Why I can’t let you go?”

His fingers curled at the back of your neck, pulling you in before you could answer. The kiss crashed into you—possessive, raw, like he was trying to drown in you, trying to carve this moment into reality with nothing but the press of his lips. He kissed you like a man who had spent years fighting against the impossible, clawing through time itself just for this—just for you.

A tremor ran through him, his other hand splayed against your back, locking you against him. He didn’t stop—he couldn’t. Between each desperate kiss, words spilled from his lips, breathless, reverent. Soft, broken things that barely made sense, except they did—to him.

“—real, you’re real—” A shuddering inhale, his lips ghosting along your jaw before finding your mouth again. “Not a dream, not slipping away—” His fingers tightened against your skin, as if confirming you wouldn’t disappear. “Mine.” A whisper, hoarse with something closer to prayer than possession. “Finally, mine.”

Your breath barely had time to steady before he moved again—guiding, pressing, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the hospital bed. His grip never wavered, his hands mapping over you like he was memorizing, grounding himself, as if at any moment, you might vanish into nothing.

Then—he pushed.

Your back hit the mattress, the sterile sheets cool against your skin, but all you could feel was him. He loomed over you, bracing his weight on one arm beside your head while the other dragged up your side, slow and deliberate, fingertips pressing into the fabric of your clothes as though he could imprint his touch into your very bones.

His gaze was dark, heavy-lidded with something unrestrained—something raw. His lips parted, breaths shallow, his chest rising and falling too fast. Yet when his fingers traced along the side of your face, they were impossibly gentle, reverent, a worshiper before his altar.

“You don’t know,” he whispered, voice thick, shaking. He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours, his breath warm, tasting of desperation. “How long I’ve waited. How long I’ve searched.”

Then—his lips were on yours again.

Not hesitant. Not careful. This was a claiming, an unrelenting need spilling into every movement, the press of his body against yours leaving no space, no air, nothing but him. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, stealing your breath as though it was the only thing tethering him to this reality.

He wasn’t going to stop.

He couldn’t.

His hands found the hem of your shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, hesitating for only a moment—then he tugged. The cool air kissed your skin as he pulled it over your head, discarding it somewhere forgotten. His breath hitched, his gaze dragging over you, dark and unreadable.

Then—he touched.

His hands skimmed over your bare shoulders, tracing the delicate line of your collarbone before trailing lower, palms mapping the shape of you like he was trying to memorize every inch. His fingertips traced reverent patterns against your skin, his movements slow, almost aching. He wasn’t just touching—he was committing you to memory, branding you into his senses.

“You’re real,” he murmured, his voice raw, as though saying it aloud made it more certain. He bent down, his lips pressing softly against the hollow of your throat, lingering there, breathing you in. Then, another kiss—featherlight, just below your collarbone. And another. Each touch was deliberate, almost devotional, as if he was worshiping every part of you.

His calloused hands splayed over your ribs, thumbs stroking idly along the soft skin beneath your breasts. He exhaled shakily against you, his forehead pressing against your sternum for a moment before his lips found the soft swell of your breast, his touch growing bolder yet still aching with restraint. 

You could feel the desperation radiating off him in waves as his palms mapped out the curve of your breasts, the weight of them filling his hands like a sacred offering. He squeezed gently, almost painfully, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of ever letting you go. His thumbs circled your nipples, the rough pads teasing and tugging until they pebbled under his touch, aching for more. 

Zayne leaned in close, latching his lips on one of your nipples, his mouth engulfing as much as your soft flesh as he could. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive peak, teasing it into a stiff, aching point. He groaned against your skin, the vibrations sending shock waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His other hand cupped your other breast roughly, kneading and squeezing, as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of your soft weight in his palm. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving imprint marks of his desperation. He tugged and plucked at your nipple, rolling it between his fingers, the dual sensations of his mouth and hand driving you wild with need.

Then, he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your sternum, latching on just as hungrily over your other breast, just as desperately. He sucked harder this time, his teeth grazing your nipple, his tongue laving over the angry bud. He was consuming you, devouring you, his hunger for your breasts insatiable. He acted like he was a man dying of thirst and your nipples were the only source of water left in the world.

You moaned softly as his mouth worked over your sensitive nipples, your breathy gasps and whimpers filling the air. 

“Oh…” you panted, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him against you.

As he sucked harder, your moans grew louder, more urgent. “Fuck—!” you cried out, arching your back, pushing your chest forward, offering yourself up to his hungry lips. The wet sounds of his suckling filled the room, punctuated by your wanton cries and the creaking of the hospital bed beneath you.

His hands reached up to hold your forearm, his his lips slowly trailing up the soft skin of your wrist, his mouth lingering at your pulse point. He could feel the frantic pounding of your heartbeat against his lips, the evidence of your arousal and desire. He licked over it once, twice, before pressing a open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

He brought your hand up to his mouth, his fingers intertwining with yours, squeezing gently. He raised your hand to his lips, his eyes locked onto yours as he pressed a lingering kiss to your palm, his mouth hot and soft against your skin. His tongue snaked out, tracing the lines of your palm, the rough surface dragging over your sensitive flesh.

You protested, your eyes wide with anticipation and surprise, “Zayne, what are you—”

He brought your fingers to his mouth, his lips wrapping around your index finger, sucking gently. He held your gaze as he slowly pulled your finger out of his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tip before releasing it with a wet pop. He moved onto your next finger, and the next, sucking each one slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the taste of your skin.

Your breath hitched and caught in your throat as you watched him, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Leaving a kiss on your palm, he proceeded and continued his journey downward, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin of your stomach. His tongue licked stripes over your belly button, dipping teasingly into the hollow, before blazing a path lower still. He mapped every inch of your stomach with his mouth, his hands gripping your hips as he worked his way down.

He paused at your hips, nudging your thighs further apart with the hand resting on your hip, while the other gripping the waistband of your pants. He looked up at you from under his lashes, his green eyes dark and hungry, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

“Lift your hips,” he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire. “I need to taste all of you.” The words sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation coiling tightly in your belly.

You hurried to comply, raising your hips so he could tug your pants and panties down your legs. He helped you shimmy out of them, his hands skimming up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before he tossed them carelessly to the floor. 

He settled himself between your legs, the heat of his breath fanning over your most sensitive place. He looked up at you as he traced a finger teasingly along your slit, a low groan rumbling up from his chest as he found you wet and ready.

“You’re so…” he growled, a finger slipping inside your tight heat, stroking slowly, almost languidly. He curled it upwards, finding that sensitive spot deep inside that made your hips jerk forward, a choked moan falling from your lips.

“Oh my-!”

He pressed a kiss against the skin of your inner thigh, his thumb circling your clit, teasing it, toying with it. He dipped his head lower, his lips brushing against your folds, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

He licked a slow stripe up your slit, his tongue delving between your folds, tasting your arousal, your desire. He groaned against your skin, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through you. Then, his lips found your clit, and he sucked—hard.

He took his time, savoring every fold and crease, every teasing taste of your essence. He licked at you like you were the most exquisite dessert, a rare delicacy he wanted to linger over, to prolong the pleasure as long as possible. His tongue explored your cunt with a thoroughness that was almost reverent, as if he were worshipping at the altar of your pleasure.

He started slow, his tongue tracing wide, lazy circles around your clit, the bud peeking out shyly to meet his mouth. He licked and lapped at you, his tongue a warm, wet brand against your sensitive flesh. He took his time, just as he used to with those lollipops you gave him before, his tongue swirling and curling around the hard candy, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked on them with single-minded focus.

But now, it was your essence he savored, your honeyed nectar dripping onto his tongue as he pleasured you. He chased every drop, his mouth hot and hungry against you, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he buried his face between them.

He dipped his tongue inside your tight sheath, delving deep, his nose brushing against your clit as he plunged inside you again and again. He fucked you with his tongue, his muscles flexing and rippling as he thrust into your heat.

His fingers crept up to join his tongue, sliding into your dripping cunt, pumping slowly, matching the rhythm of his licks. He curled them upwards, stroking that secret spot inside you, the one that made your toes curl and your back arch, a sharp cry tearing from your throat.

“Zayne-! T-There-”

You bit your lower lip, reaching up to cover your mouth with your palm, no matter desperate he’d been making you feel, you were still in the hospital, and as far as you can remember, there were guards stationed outside his room. 

Zayne on the other hand, did not care at all.

He seemed to sense how close you were, how much you needed to come, how desperately you craved release. But still, he took his time, his pace never faltering. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his lips sealing tight around the tender bud as he flicked his tongue over it, again and again, the dual sensations pushing you closer to the edge.

His fingers picked up speed, plunging harder, deeper, as his tongue circled and flicked and lapped at your clit. He could feel your thighs starting to tremble, your hips rocking forward against his face, chasing your pleasure, your release. And still, he kept you teetering on the knife’s edge, his touch a maddening tease, a delicious torment.

Until finally, with a few more hard sucks and a thrust of his fingers deep inside you, he sent you careening over the edge, your vision going white as ecstasy exploded through you. Your body convulsed, your cunt clenching tight around his fingers as your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your juices gushing out to coat his chin, his cheeks, dripping down onto the sheets beneath you.

You gasped, “Oh-!” 

To hold your moan, you pressed your palm harder, muffling the sound of your voice. Zayne looked up, noticing your hand muffling your moans, his eyes flashing with a mix of frustration at the sigh, his brows furrowing. He didn’t want you to hold back, didn’t want to be denied the sound of his name falling from your lips, a desperate prayer and plea all in one. He wanted to hear you, to feel your cries of pleasure vibrating through your body, urging him on.

He surged forward and grabbed your wrist, yanking your hand away from your mouth. He pinned your arm above your head, his body covering yours, trapping you beneath him. His eyes flashed with something darker, more primal.

“Don’t you dare muffle yourself,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I want to hear every fucking sound, every moan, every scream. I want to hear what I do to you, what you feel because of me.”

“Zayne, there are people outside—”

“I don’t care.” he murmured as he levered himself up, his knees pushing your thighs apart, making room for him. 

He settled between your legs, the hard, thick line of his cock against his pants pressing against your thigh, hot and insistent. He rocked his hips forward, rubbing himself against you, the friction delicious and maddening all at once.

He dipped his head, his mouth finding your neck, biting down hard on the tender flesh. He sucked and licked, marking you, claiming you, as he rolled his hips in a steady rhythm. He was fucking your thigh, his desperate, aching cock seeking some kind of relief, some friction, no matter where he could find it.

One hand slid down your body, his fingers dipping between your bodies. He groaned as he found your cunt, slick and hot and ready, the proof of your desire and previous orgasm coating his fingers. He circled your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, rough circles, making your hips jerk and twitch beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he panted against your neck, his fingers delving deeper, stroking along your slit, teasing your entrance. 

With a low growl, he hastily shoved his pants down his hips. His cock sprang free, hard and thick and leaking, the swollen head an angry red, begging for attention. He kicked his pants away impatiently, leaving him bare and naked, just like you.

He settled back between your thighs, his hands gripping your ass, kneading the soft flesh. He pulled you closer, spreading your legs wider, until your slick, dripping cunt was bared completely to his hungry gaze. He licked his lips at the sight, his eyes dark and wild with lust.

“Fuck, look at you…” he rasped, his thumb delving between your folds, stroking along your slit teasingly. 

He rubbed the thick head of his cock along your slit, coating himself in your arousal. He groaned at the feeling, his hips jerking forward, the tip catching on your entrance. Then he was pulling back, only to rock forward again, rubbing his length along your folds, teasing your clit, your entrance, every sensitive spot he could reach.

He set a steady rhythm, fucking your thigh with his hard, aching cock, the thick shaft sliding against your skin, leaving it slick and wet in his wake. His balls slapped against your ass with each rough thrust, heavy and full and eager for release.

One hand slid up your body, palming your breast roughly, squeezing and kneading, as the other dipped between your legs, two fingers plunging knuckle-deep into your cunt. He pumped them in and out, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit, matching the desperate pace of his hips.

Unable to take it anymore, his fingers tangled with yours once again, pinning your hands above your head as he loomed over you, his hips still rocking against your thigh, his cock hard and hot and leaking. He leaned down, his breath hot and heavy against your ear.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice rough and gravelly with desire. “Please, tell me what you need…. come on.”

He punctuated his words with a particularly rough grind of his hips, his cockhead catching on your entrance, teasing you with the promise of being filled, stretched, fucked. His fingers curled around your wrists, squeezing, his grip tight and unyielding.

His other hand slid possessively over your curves, mapping out the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. He gripped your hip, pulling you harder against him, the head of his cock nudging insistently at your dripping folds.

“I want to hear you say it,” he growled, his tongue flicking out to trace the shell of your ear.

He rolled his hips in a slow, deliberate circle, his cock sliding along your slit, catching on your clit, making your body jerk and spasm beneath him. He was teasing you, pushing you to the brink, wanting you desperate and aching and mad with the need to be fucked.

You gasped, your voice trembling, “Please, I want you, just you. Just you, Zayne.”

Zayne nodded his head, his gaze piercing through you. “That’s right, just me, not him, just me.”

He notched the swollen head of his cock at your entrance, the thick tip catching on your rim, before he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful, relentless stroke.

“Fuck!” he moaned, his voice echoing off the walls, as your velvet walls clenched and fluttered around his invading length. He paused for just a moment, his hips flush against yours, his heavy balls pressed tight against your ass, before he started to move.

He pulled out slowly, until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming forward again, burying his cock deep. He set a brutal, punishing pace, the headboard slamming against the wall with each savage thrust. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the hospital room, mingling with his grunts and groans and your own wanton cries.

“Take it,” he snarled, his eyes wild and feral as he stared down at where your bodies were joined.

He angled his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts to hit that perfect spot inside you with each plunge. The head of his cock dragged against the deep spot inside of you that made your toes curl, sending sparks of electric pleasure shooting up your spine. Your cunt clenched down around him, the muscles fluttering and rippling along his length.

One hand released your wrists, sliding down your body to grasp your thigh. He hitched your leg up higher, opening you wider, letting him drive even deeper into your needy hole. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake, marks of his passion and desperation.

He leaned down, his teeth finding your nipple, biting down just shy of pain. He suckled greedily, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak, before moving to the other side, lavishing it with the same intense attention. All the while, he never stopped fucking into you, his hips slapping against yours, his heavy balls slamming into your ass, the obscene sound of skin on skin echoing through the room.

Suddenly, Zayne crashed his lips against yours in a bruising, desperate kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. His tongue plunged into your mouth, tangling with yours, fucking your mouth in the same relentless rhythm as his cock fucked your cunt. He tasted of lust and desire, of pure, unadulterated need and longing, he fed it to you greedily, making you drunk on him.

“Mmmm…” he groaned against your lips, his hips never faltering, never slowing, driving into you with deep, powerful thrusts that rocked your entire body. “You taste so good, sound so fucking sweet…”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He licked his lips, tasting your essence on them, before diving back in, kissing you with a hunger that stole your breath away. He kissed you like a starving man, like he was trying to taste your soul, to consume every part of you until there was nothing left.

Already sensitive from previously reaching your peak, your whole body shuddered, you gasped, “Zayne—I’m close!”

With the telltale signs of your impending orgasm, he doubled his efforts, fucking into you harder, faster, the bed creaking ominously beneath you. He was chasing your pleasure, determined to make you come undone on his cock, to feel you explode around him.

“That’s it, come for me,” he growled against your lips, his hips slamming forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt. “Come for me….”

His words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a scream, you no longer cared about being caught, your body convulsing beneath his, your cunt clamping down around him like a vice. He followed seconds later, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he spilled himself deep inside you, painting your walls white with his seed.

He collapse on top of you, his hips still twitching with the aftershocks of his release, his cock softening inside your messy, well-fucked cunt. He panted harshly, his sweat-slicked skin pressed against yours, his heart racing in tandem with your own.

“Fuck,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering open to meet your gaze. “You’re mine now.” He swallowed hard, his throat clicking, before leaning in to press a surprisingly gentle kiss to your lips, a soft contrast to the brutal love making moments before.

You nodded, too tired to think, you wrapped your arm around him and pulled him closer.

The room was warm—a contrast to the cold temperature when you had arrived earlier—the air heavy with the remnants of what had just transpired. You lay tangled in the sheets, your body pressed against his, still catching your breath. Zayne’s arm was draped over your waist, his grip possessive even in the aftermath, fingers idly tracing patterns against your bare skin. His breathing was uneven, warm against your temple, but he didn’t speak—just held you, as if grounding himself in your presence.

And then—the sound of the door clicking open.

You barely had time to register it before you turned your head, and there, standing frozen in the doorway, was Dr. Zayne.

His cheeks were flushed, his posture stiff—his gaze flickering from you to the man beside you, understanding dawning in an instant. His lips parted, but no words came out at first, as if he was forcing himself to process the reality of what he had just walked into.

Your Zayne, on the other hand, reacted immediately. His body tensed against yours, his arm tightening around you, and his gaze sharpened, ice-cold and unreadable as he locked eyes with his counterpart. The air in the room felt heavier, charged with something unspoken yet dangerous. The exhaustion from before was gone—he was alert, his instincts flaring with possessiveness, as if he saw Dr. Zayne as nothing but an intrusion.

Neither of them spoke.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of their gazes, the tension in the air thick enough to cut through. Slowly, you exhaled, already dreading what came next.

Yep. You don’t know how this will pan out.

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 if you want to check out more of my writings, head on to here — masterlist.

[leonsgfpost]

note: hello, this is my first post and english is not my first language, please understand me haha. I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, I'm a little nervous. I would appreciate your support, btw thanks 🎀💗

tags: smut, daydreaming and fantasizing, leon is a pervert, leon RE2 x f!reader.

Leon has never been a high libido guy. He's had one girlfriend in his whole life and a few causal encounters with girls after he got off work. And he enjoyed it, but it was no more than that. A passing moment of pleasure. His sex drive was something he could handle.

Until you came into his life.

The first time Leon saw you, he swore you were an angel. Pretty hair, pretty smile and bright eyes that made his knees weak. But it was no more than that, just an innocent thought. And quickly that little crush on you gradually grew.

At first, he would daydream that he could walk up to you to talk without stumbling over his words like an idiot, and you would smile at him so sweetly that he would forget his name. Maybe I would imagine you on a date. What kind of clothes would you wear? Would you be more shy or funny? What movie would you choose to watch when you two got to the cinema? He would kiss you softly and leave you at your front door. He would be a gentleman for you. But quickly, he began to yearn for more than just a casual greeting or small, empty, casual conversations in the police station break room. When he was alone in the privacy of his room, his imagination would quickly start to run wild and he'd end up with his hands inside his sleep pants jerking his dick hard like he was a fucking teenager again. And that was what Leon had become because of you, a dumb hormonal teenager begging for attention. He mind filled with thoughts he hadn't had in a while. The wet dreams were not long in coming. He had to run to masturbate in the bathroom after a little interaction that returned tight his blue pants tucked snugly. He blushed furiously when their gazes met. God, he was a loser when it came to you.

And here he was again, rubbing his cock hard in the loneliness of his room. Your name falling from his lips with little pleas.

"Please... Please, I just want-" He couldn't finish speaking, choking on his pathetic moans. He hand was rapidly going up and down on him, fantasizing that it was your hand in reality. Little beads of sweat pooling under his blond hair. The constant image of you, lying on his bed and spreading your pretty legs for him tormented him. He just wanted to sink his face into you, run his eager tongue through your folds and drown in the nectar of your pussy. How would you like it? Would you be noisy if he put two fingers inside you? Would you pull his hair hard or just cry while he eats you? He's dying to know. Die to know what kind of expressions you'd put on when he sinks into your heat hard, too stunned to finally have you. Die to know what kind of expressions would cross that pretty face of yours. At the way your nails would dig into his skin leaving marks. He swears he can see you clearly underneath him, his eyes fixed on how his cock slips in and out and his hands firmly hold your thighs. Leon doesn't consider he to have a good physique, but come on. He could hold you still against the mattress as he immobilizes you with his weight, forcing you to take every inch of him.

"You like that, babe? Huh-?" he asks the air, too lost in his cloud and how his hand squeezed his cock, fantasizing that they were your walls.

"Tell me it feels good, moan my name.... P-Please-!" He murmured, his hips ramming his own hand with need. The spiral of his orgasm forming quickly in his belly, because since you appear in his mind, he can't hold back and ends up cumming too fast. Your face prettily flushed, your eyebrows furrowed in pleasure and making the hottest expressions towards making Leon's mind spin senselessly.

"Leon, Leon-" He swears he can hear your voice ringing in his head, causing him to roll back on the pillows. Your body jerking from his onslaught, your tits bouncing from the jerky movements and his thumb making quick little circles on your clit was from his favorite fantasies to use right now. Your sweet moans asking him to cum inside was what made his hips jerk, your fingers digging into his skin keeping him from pulling away. And he knows, he knows he could fill you so good you'd go silly for a bit of his dick. Though he was the loser who would beg to get his hands on you.

His breathing becomes heavier, his face puckers with pleasure and his back arches slightly, pushing his hips higher to meet his hand.

He imagines your bright eyes opening to look at him, your eyelashes slightly wet with tears and opening your lips to moan his name. And with that image, his orgasm ran over him like a train. His cock jerking hard as strands of cum splattered across his abdomen and thighs, making a mess. His eyes squeezed shut tight, letting out a long, low, wild moan. His mind took a while to clear, imagining a cute, drunken smile on your lips as he filled you. He was fucked. As he slowly came down from that high, his eyes focused again and his cock softened, jerking his hand through the fat strands of his fluids dropping his fingers.

"Damn." He muttered staring at the ceiling intently, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving with every heavy breath he took.

He was definitely going to ask you out tomorrow. He had to do it before he went crazy.

I'm so in love with him I'm losing my mind. Please let me know if u liked this!

update: omg, this got more support than I thought!! You can now find the second part on my profile! 🎀

bye, bye (💌)