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lalunanymph · 11 months ago

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୨୧ zayne loses control of his evol and hurts you in more ways than one

✧.* warnings:- fem!reader, established relationships (zayne x reader), nightmares, minor depictions of PTSD, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, ANGST, breakups, hurt and comfort, jealousy, slight xavier x reader, unresolved emotions, reader and zayne are bad at communicating with each other, mentions of foods, hospitals, medication, suggestive content, language, explosions, zayne is kinda soggy and pathetic in this one, canon typical injuries, reader is in a coma, talks of surgeries, makeup sex, size kink, oral sex, girl on top, petnames (little on, my aurora, my love, darling), overprotective tendencies, possessive bf!zayne

✧.* strap in slüts (affectionate) we have 15k+ of zayne angst let's go

If someone had asked you what Zayne’s deepest fear was, you might’ve told them it was a botched surgery, or wilted carrots in his fried rice.

It’s not as if your childhood-friend-turned-lover walked around with his fears stapled on his forehead; Zayne was a private guy, and even after months of dating, you were still trying to get used to his moods and needs.

However, oblivious to you, Zayne’s fear was entirely apparent.

Time and time again, he showed you the truth—without words or fanfare—whenever he scolded you for being clumsy on the field or forgetting to eat the entire day.

Zayne was afraid of you getting hurt.

And he was afraid of hurting you.

The bags under your eyes have gotten worse.

A week had gone by since you had slept a full five hours, schedule packed to the brim after a deathly Wanderer attack at the train station left seven injured and five more dead.

Zayne wasn't faring well, either. His days were consumed with operation after operation; more broken and injured people filling the intensive care units till Akso Hospital had to transfer them to their sister hospital, Mariso.

The Association had issued out a full city warning for Hunters to patrol the streets from dawn to dusk. All your colleagues were burnt out, praying for this harsh season to end so they could return back home; back to normality.

In your shared household, the nightmare was on a constant loop.

For days on end, you and Zayne were fleeting shadows passing each other—the most contact being whispered good mornings or good nights, depending on the time, and once, his touch on your lower back when he gently nudged you away from the door so he could rush out for another surgery.

Things were catastrophic, to put it mildly.

And it didn’t help that your insomnia and his nightmares were back.

Staring up at the ceiling, you almost didn’t hear the bedroom door opening until you noticed his broad shoulders outlined in the dim darkness.

“Hey.”

Zayne’s voice is laced with exhaustion, and wordlessly, you open your arms for him.

He’s colder to the touch than you remember, a sign of his Evol losing its composure after days of insurmountable stress and adrenaline spikes.

He’s silent, holding you tightly to his chest. You smell the hospital standard bleach and anesthetic off his work clothes, feel the stuttering of his heart underneath your spread palm.

“When will it end?”

His voice, quiet and in a timbre you know and love, vibrates against your cheek.

“I don’t know,” you reply to him truthfully, bleakly. “I’ve been asking myself that same question since this all started.”

There’s a whistling wind outside the windows, rattling the wooden panes. You close your eyes, trying to put aside the mental image of a Wanderer’s snarl and how similar it sounded to the rushing breeze.

“You should go to sleep,” he touches your face, strokes the back of his knuckles down your cheek. “I’ll go take a shower.”

“Can I come with you?”

He huffed a laugh. “Of course. If I am correct to assume, you would be doing your skincare twice tonight. Would that not tire you out? Other than this inquiry, please. Be my guest.”

You chuckle slowly, and sit up, watching him undress. Lashes of scars on his defined torso, the sinews of muscles and sharp edges all stack up to create the man you missed with your entire soul.

Zayne fights back a smirk when he feels your arms around him, face tucked into the back of his neck.

“I missed you,” you breathed. “Feels like it’s been years.”

“Only a few days,” he corrects softly. Without sparing another minute, he turns, gathers you in his arms.

You spend the next few minutes showering with him, tracing the water trickling down his defined traps, obliques and abs with your wandering eyes. Lathering up bath soap and going over the spots of your body you had forgotten to scrub in your tired fugue, you discreetly watched him wash his hair, lost in his own thoughts.

Zayne’s beautiful green eyes flicker to the present when he feels you sneakily coming up behind him, and he almost groans like a virgin teenager at the sensation of your soft tits pressed against his back.

He stays still when your wandering hands trace down his stomach, over his pelvis where his hips tick the second he feels your tiny hands wrap around his cock.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, trying to sound gruff, but it came out breathless instead.

“Showing my boyfriend how much I miss him,” you hum.

Zayne bites on his lower lip, glad that he was facing the shower wall when you decided to play with him in such a risque way.

“What a little vixen,” he groans, voice dropping an octave deeper; a baritone timbre which sends shivers up your spine. “It’s amusing. If I had any suspicions, I think you’re trying to get me riled up so that I would lose control.”

His observation was apt, as usual.

“You’re correct,” you brush your lips across a scar over his right shoulder. “So, should I give you a medal, Dr. Zayne? Or, a trophy for getting it right?”

He breaks your hold on him, and you’re breathless, thinking he is going to reject you when he pulls you into his embrace. Your back meets the tiled walls, and his large hands grab fistfuls of your ass, hitching you up high enough so your legs can wrap around his slim waist.

“All of that is useless,” Zayne whispers huskily against your lips, and you swore your heart was about to double in size and burst out of your chest at his next words. “The only recognition and reward I need is your sweet little pussy, my Aurora. May I know if I can treat her well tonight?”

He didn’t even need to ask; you would serve your cunt on a silver platter for Zayne, no questions asked or needed.

“Yes,” you breathe, twining your fingers through his dark locks and tugging his face closer to yours. “You may, Dr. Zayne.”

His nightmares always started the same.

A dimly lit room. Chocolate wrappers on the bare, wooden floor. Loud explosions outside. And somehow, there was always a broken mirror somewhere in his periphery.

Zayne dreads (no, perhaps, it’s too mild a word)—he absolutely fears—what comes next.

There’s a little boy, no older than seven who looks at him hopefully. Zayne always ignores him, preferring to watch a blinking red dot on his screen.

He’s different here; dressed sharply in a dark trench coat, expression like a blank slate. Nothing at all like his focused, calm self in the present. And yet, Zayne recognizes him like how someone might recognize the back of their hand even under a different light.

The man before him was him… but not exactly him.

He’s been dreaming of this Zayne for a long time—ever since he turned twelve.

And right now, he was about to see the extent of this alternate Zayne’s power.

He can predict what comes next; the stretch of skin on the boy’s face snarling, broken bones sounding in the small room. The shard of ice through his heart which eventually ends his life.

But, this time, the boy’s cries are different. They’re higher pitched.

Feminine, almost.

Zayne’s heart races, his movements in the dream sluggish.

Zayne! Her voice reverberates, and he recognizes it. Zayne, please! Don’t hurt me anymore! Save me. Help me. You’re a doctor, Zayne. Not this. Never this. Please. Don’t hurt me—

The boy’s face disappears, replaced by one he knew all too well. His features morphed right into yours, and Zayne desperately lunges at the dark ice piercing your chest, fighting to get it out.

It would never move, no matter how hard he tugged on it or how much he willed his power to make it melt. You were dying with every wasted second, breathing growing ragged.

Zayne, Zayne… you never stopped calling out for him.

Zayne, help me. How could you hurt me like this? Zayne… Zayne…

A burst of light explodes behind his closed eyes. Someone is shaking him awake, the cadence of her voice familiar and sweet.

“... Zayne? Hey. Hey. It’s a bad dream. Zayne, you’re fine. Ssh, you’re fine.”

Her warm hands find his cheeks, pulling him right into her embrace. His face buries into neck, and he shudders, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberries from her hair.

“Zayne, you’re so cold,” you murmur into the darkness of the room. “You’re shivering.”

He was; huge tremors which rocked him from his very core. He feels the familiar tingle on his skin, the web of ice which encases his hands.

Before he can gather enough lucidity and control to push you away, it all explodes in one fell swoop.

Ice shoots out, hitting the ceiling, piercing through the wooden bedframe.

“Zayne—!”

Your scream of pain rips through the night, and he frantically sits up, finding a huge shard piercing through your forearm.

“No,” he whispers, fevered. “No, no.”

His hands are stained with blood—your blood—as he tries to help you. But, the shard wouldn’t budge.

“Zayne,” you hiccup, moaning lowly. “Shit… H-hurts…”

Nightmares become reality when it finally slams into him what he has done.

“Hospital,” he mutters hoarsely. “We need a hospital.”

“Zayne—”

“Don’t argue with me,” there’s a feral note in his tone, a harsh reprimand which makes you flinch back.

“Now, grit your teeth and bear the pain for a little while, Y/N. I am taking you straight to the emergency room.”

You felt like you were floating on auto-pilot.

Colors and shapes melded into one strange blob the longer you sat in the examination room. After a few excruciating minutes of the ER’s doctor trying to get all the shards of hardened ice out of your arm, you were stitched up and given a heavy dose of painkillers, enough to knock out a horse.

But, you resolutely stayed awake, afraid that if you closed your eyes, something bad would happen.

Immediately once the minor surgery on your arm had concluded, Zayne had disappeared from your side, and you assumed he was downstairs by the general admission—filling up your details. He had stayed with you long enough for the extraction, giving you his hand to hold, though he remained tight-lipped and pale throughout the entire ordeal.

You wanted to see him again, even if it was for a few minutes.

When the curtain parted, you looked up, expecting to find a pair of emerald green eyes, but were greeted with a pair of worried purple ones, instead.

“Hey, Pipsqueak. Zayne called me the second you got in. Grandma couldn’t come because she wasn’t feeling too well.” Caleb shifted the drapes aside, slowly stepping into your ward. He sat down on the chair by your bedside, the bags under his eyes heavy though his smile still held a teasing quality you were familiar with.

“Caleb?” you winced at how rough your voice sounded, reaching for the water bottle by your bedside. He beat you to it, grabbing the plastic bottle and tipping your head up, helping you drink.

Once your throat wasn’t drier than the desert, you sat up, the woozy sensation exacerbated from your sudden motion.

“Hey,” he whispered, rushing to steady you. “Slow down. You’re injured, Pipsqueak.” He rearranged you back onto the bed, expression pinched. “What happened? Zayne sounded frantic on the phone and that’s something new. Always thought he could disable a ticking time bomb with how unruffled he is.”

Despite poking fun at his childhood friend, it didn’t bring a smile onto your face. Caleb ditched his sunny disposition, becoming serious.

“Y/N, are you okay? You’re acting strange. Did… did Zayne hurt you?”

Immediately, you whipped your head towards him, eyes wide. “N-no! Of course, not. Why would you think that?” You struggle to speak past the drugs making you slur. “He… he didn’t hurt me. Brought me to the hospital. I tripped.”

A lame conclusion. Caleb’s eyes narrow, and he’s about to ask you again, when a familiar voice interrupts.

“She needs to rest. I thought I told you to come by in the morning?”

Zayne’s frosty glare sets off Caleb’s strained smile. Your childhood best friend's nostrils flare, and the whites of his teeth shine like the edge of a knife when he stands up to greet Akso Hospital’s best surgeon.

“You made it sound like she was dying so of course I came as fast as I could.” Casting his amethyst eyes to yours, Caleb’s feral smile softens. “You’re right. I can see she needs some rest. Let’s go—” He clasps a hand on Zayne’s shoulder, and you don’t have to be on the receiving end to know Caleb was using his Evol to tighten his grip on your boyfriend.

“You and I have a lot to discuss.”

Zayne grimaces, and you shoot him an apologetic smile.

Caleb turns to you with a cheery wave. You mouth don’t kill him and he rolls his eyes.

I’ll try not to, he mouths back.

Then, the curtains droop close and you settle back on the hard pillow, freefalling into a dreamless sleep.

Something was off the second you woke up.

Firstly, Zayne wasn’t with you again.

It was Caleb’s dark bedhead which greeted you, his face inches from your arm, eyes closed and breathing steady.

You lean up, wincing when you felt your stitches pulling.

“Hey,” you whisper, touching your best friend's broad shoulder. “Caleb? Why’re you still here?”

He groans, groggily opening his eyes. “M-morning, Pipsqueak,” he staggers through a yawn. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, feeling a huge migraine clustering behind your eyes. “Ugh, where’s Zayne?”

At the mention of your boyfriend, Caleb blinks, wide awake now. “Ah. He told me he had some emergency surgeries lined up. He’s probably working.”

Oh. You fall into a disquiet, staring at the swathing white blankets. That uneasy feeling was back again.

“Did he say when he would be done?”

“I don’t know,” Caleb confessed. “But, you have his schedule, so I think you’d know better than me, Pipsqueak.”

Right. Zayne was your boyfriend. Caleb would barely know the guy if it wasn’t for your insistence in the both of them meeting up once a month for dinner with Grandma.

Swallowing your disappointment down, you plaster on a bright smile. “Are you up for some coffee today? You’re always complaining about the ones at the Academy.”

Caleb smiles, and leans forward to ruffle your hair. “Y’know, if this was a normal day, I would totally take you up on your offer,” he becomes serious now. “But, you’re still healing, Pipsqueak. And caffeine is bad. Let me call the nurse to check on you first, okay?”

You nod, watching his broad back disappear out into the halls.

Fidgeting, you touch your bandaged arm, recalling the clammy silence last night as Zayne drove to Akso Hospital; his jaw tense and eyes steadfastly not meeting yours.

He’s probably angry at himself, you reasoned. Zayne always was harder on himself than anybody else, and the guilt could be eating him alive.

Feeling slightly reassured that nothing bad would happen, you lean back against the pillows again, closing your eyes.

You fell back asleep the second Caleb reappeared with the nurse; both of them politely closing the door and giving you some time to rest, your best friend’s eyes lingering right on your exhausted expression.

“Goodnight, Pipsqueak,” he whispers into the still air which was permeated with your steady breathing. “See you later.”

That night, you woke up to an icy cold hand in yours.

Fluttering your lashes, you find Zayne with his eyes closed and head bent forward, one hand in yours and the other braced on his forehead.

“Zayne?”

He thaws from his uneasy doze, woozy emerald eyes widening slightly at your relieved expression.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers the second he finds his voice. “I lost control. I… I hurt you.” That last part was spat out, as if he was firmly disgusted with his lack of composure. “It was dangerous of me to even be next to you. I was aware of my nightmares and my Evol has been unstable as of late. I put you in harm’s way and I am forever sorry for doing so, my Aurora.”

His lips were cool on the back of your hand, those brilliant eyes fogged over with an unfathomable expression.

“Zayne… it’s okay.”

They flare back to life, this time electrified with an untamed emotion. “Okay?” he says slowly, like he couldn’t believe his sins were absolved that easily. “I’ve hurt you and all you can say is ‘okay’? Y/N, please. Be reasonable.”

You open your mouth to counter his harsh words, but his hand had already detangled from yours. Zayne stood up, the look on his face awfully cold and distant.

“I don’t think this will work out.”

What? You wanted to voice out, but your words were stuck behind the lump in your throat. “Zayne…”

You reached out for him, but all you felt was cold air where his warmth once stood. He had backed away, expression closed off and frigid. Shame and hurt filled you, threatening to pour out from your eyes.

He couldn’t bear to look at you, those emerald eyes latched to a water stain on the ceiling as if it was more interesting than the girl whose heart he was breaking right in front of him.

“What do you mean by that?” you demand, though it sounds like a plea in your thick voice. “Zayne, it was a mistake. A one-time thing. Don’t make it bigger than what it is. Please. Let’s talk this out—”

“No,” he stood to his full height, looking at you down the line of his nose. “It’s not something we can talk about. You’re better off without me, and I, you. I will drop your things off at your apartment the moment I get off work. Goodbye, Y/N.”

Hot pain sliced through your soul, leaving a gash where he once stood.

“No,” you murmured, though you were speaking to the thin air. Zayne had already turned and left. “Zayne? Zayne! Come back, we can talk it out—”

You tried to stand and run after him, but your body was weakened from the medication and lack of movement. Stumbling back, you sat on the edge of your bed, fisting the sheets and fighting back the urge to scream at him to come back. There was nothing you could do except watch the broadness of his back leave, disappearing down the hall and around the corner.

Easy. How easy it was for him to break things off like this.

Like you didn’t even matter.

You hang your head forward, the misting tears in your eyes pooling onto your lash line. You had no idea how long you stayed like this; frozen, immobile. Waiting for him to come back.

The curtains opened again, and you expected Zayne to be there with a change of heart. But, when you saw it was Caleb instead, carrying a box of doughnuts and his signature easy going smile, you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment coruscating on your trembling lips.

He sensed something was wrong the second you didn’t greet him, and he was right when he sat beside you and you broke down into tears.

Sorry, you gasped in between sobs. I’m so sorry. I’m usually stronger than this.

Caleb didn’t push you or demand you tell him the reason why you were crying. He held you close instead, patting your head. When you wouldn’t stop sobbing, he rubbed your back, telling you in his low, reassuring voice that you were going to be okay.

He never did find out why you were crying, and neither did you voluntarily supply any information.

But, when he took you home the next day and found your things neatly packaged in boxes waiting by the front door, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

Zayne…?

You flinched when Caleb mentioned his name.

For a single second, neither of you said anything.

Caleb exhaled noisily, gripping your shoulder and pulling you into his one-arm hug. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to you.”

“No need,” you surprised him and yourself by how emotionless you sounded; nothing but exhaustion and resignation in your tone.

“It wouldn't be worth it—not at all.”

For days after that, you threw yourself back into your work.

The second Jenna called for volunteers for a dangerous mission, your hand would almost always shoot up. It didn’t matter how bad the fluctuations were or how big the threat was—your name was almost always on the list every single day. Even Xavier was starting to notice how impulsive you were becoming, though his worry was more subtle than the rest of your nagging colleagues (read: Tara).

“Wouldn’t your doctor boyfriend worry about you throwing yourself in such situations?”

You fight back a wince, polishing the nozzle of your Hunter gun. Of course. None of your workmates knew the truth; they all still assumed you and Zayne were together.

“No, he wouldn’t,” you reply back mildly, eyeing the barrel down with a grimace. “He doesn’t care if I live or die.”

A gloved hand picks the gun from you, and you turn to find him frowning. Xavier’s pinched expression spoke volumes, though he didn’t ask any follow-up questions.

Neither of you broke the silence, until you heard the gun clatter back down onto the floor accompanied by his tired sigh.

“There are many, many stars in the night sky, Y/N,” he starts. You turn to him with a frown.

Where is he going with this?

Xavier continues. “Even if one dies or explodes, another one will take its place. Don’t lose your light for a star who refuses to shine for you.”

Standing up, he extends a hand towards you.

“Since you’re not in the best of moods, I was thinking we could have some lamb hotpot tonight. What do you think? I’ll let you choose most of the ingredients.”

Though the idea of food sounded unappealing, you couldn’t help but smile at his attempts to cheer you up.

Taking his hand, you nod.

“Sure. Can I also pick our second soup base?”

He huffed a laugh. “Why not, huh? You can hog most of the dipping sauce, too. I won’t complain.”

It was the first time in days since you had smiled, the expression foreign and almost painfully pulling your cheeks.

But, you do it anyway.

Despite his odd allegory, Xavier was right.

Even if someone took their light away from you, it didn’t mean you had to stop yourself from shining again.

Zayne may have been the brightest star in your universe, but at the end of the day, you were the fucking sun.

And no one could take away your light without your permission, no matter how hard they tried.

Another long night at the ER, another cup of coffee.

Zayne puts down his glasses with a sigh, and hears his office phone beep. He barely has time to steel himself when the message comes through, urgent and demanding.

“Dr. Zayne? It’s Dr. Lewis here. We have a code red down by Bloomshore Forest. Something about a fluctuation. Most of the injured are Hunters.”

His heart rate spikes and he immediately stands.

It’s been more than a week since he last saw you, and Zayne was almost at the end of his emotional tether. He had reacted poorly to the entire ordeal, and was now facing the repercussions of his hasty actions.

Nights were spent tossing and turning, his nightmares coming back at full force. Sometimes, he woke up and padded into the living room, trying to find respite on the couch where your old t-shirt still lay, smelling of you and his regrets.

When he woke up, there was no one to greet him or kiss his cheek with her morning breath. No one who hummed in the shower while she got ready for work or left loud, theatrical smooches on his cheek before she rushed out of the door.

There was no you in his life anymore.

Zayne was tired of shadow fighting with demons he couldn’t see.

Plain and simple—he missed you.

And right now, he had to see if you were one of the injured; Zayne would never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t make amends.

Rushing down the freeway, he passed by signs of destruction everywhere; torn up trees, fractured roads. Wanderers who left a trail of discord and mayhem wherever they went.

The flickering blue and red lights were what caught his attention, and he quickly disembarked from his car, hurrying to the thick of the commotion. Tents were set up, medical personnel running to and fro.

Someone recognized him and handed him a pair of scrubs and gloves. Zayne immediately got to work the second Greyson approached him, gray in the face from fatigue.

“Dr. Zayne—”

“Give me a rundown, Dr. Greyson,” he mutters, hurrying to the closest tent.

“Four injured and about ten with minor abrasions,” his assistant started, “We counted about two missing from the fray. A Mr. Xavier and… Miss Y/N.”

No.

At the mention of your name, Zayne stopped in his tracks.

Greyson looked apologetic, though for what, Zayne had no idea.

“When was her last contact?” he didn’t mean for his voice to rise, but it did, betraying his stress and fear over your whereabouts.

“Two hours ago. A comm signal right in the middle of the N109 Zone.”

Zayne swore he felt his heart drop right into his boots. He gapes, opens his mouth and closes it, but no sound escapes.

“Dr. Zayne?”

Greyson was waiting for his response. Zayne had to react, fast.

“Set up the operation room for the four injured and get me a line with the closest hospital for blood transfusions. We need as many supplies as we can get our hands on. Has the Association been notified of their two missing Hunters—?”

Before Zayne could finish his sentence, a commotion stirs at the fringes of the forest.

Several people yell, and he looks up in time to find a limping figure supporting someone else.

Your silhouette solidifies in the half light, dirt and blood caked on your face and limbs. Greyson gasps as well, muttering oh thank goodness.

A nurse with a blanket rushes over to you and a fair-headed man whom he assumes is Xavier, wrapping the both of you in the thick fabric.

Greyson doesn’t notice how his attention has waned, locked right on your smiling yet exhausted face. “We’re establishing a line with Mariso’s hospital down the block—hey, Dr. Zayne?”

He zeroes in back on his assistant with a firm nod. “Do it, then. And keep me updated on the progress.”

There’s a pause.

“Aren’t you going to speak to her?” Greyson asks, curiosity lingering at the thought of why his superior wasn’t going to greet his girlfriend. Zayne takes one last look at you, and he drops his gaze.

“No. I do not want to overwhelm her before her evaluations.” Straightening, he nods. “Let’s proceed with the different evals and prep. Line up the next surgery for hour 2045.”

There would be no time to let his heart take the lead.

He had to focus on the task at hand.

Greyson’s expression fades in and out of focus. Zayne notices that Xavier has his hands on your face, inspecting a nasty cut on your cheek.

How easy it was for you to replace him…

“Hour 2045, surgery #1 is confirmed, Dr. Zayne.”

He tears his gaze away from you and nods; ignoring the hollow pang in his chest.

“Let’s get it started, then.”

You didn’t expect to see Zayne in the distance when you returned back from a near death experience.

A part of you wonders if your mind is playing tricks on you; if the adrenaline has you seeing things your tired brain can’t catch up with.

But, there he stands. Forlorn yet imposing. Expression a blank sleet.

You swear he looks over in your direction, but when you look up, he’s walking away with a colleague, head bent low and eyes firmly on his tablet.

How easy it is for him to walk away from me.

“Hey.” Xavier brings you back to the present with a small smile and a cup of coffee in one hand. “No cream and three spoonfuls of sugar. Just like how you prefer it.”

You crack a smile, accepting the cup. “Are you sure you didn’t burn it this time?”

He chuckles, taking the spot next to you. “I told the nurse she had to make it and not me, so I wasn’t involved in the process whatsoever.” Your hunting partner blows steam off the cup, pursing his lips to sip on the dark liquid.

“Mhm. See? Sweeter than my burnt coffee.”

You follow suit and take a sip, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. It does taste better.”

Xavier follows your line of sight when he realizes you’re quieter than usual. His azure eyes land on the surgery tent in the distance where a few figures were milling around.

“Are you worried for Tara?”

You grip your cup tighter, fighting back a wave of self-loathing at what you had done.

“If I hadn’t asked her to accompany me near the fringe, none of this would’ve happened.” Your shoulders slump forward, and you feel Xavier shifting closer. “It’s all my fault, Xav. I could’ve gotten her killed.”

At the realization, tears prick your eyes. His arm hovers in your periphery and you sniff, imperceptibly nodding.

He wraps you in his one-sided embrace, holding your face close to his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known a protofield of that size would open. It’s not your fault.”

You thought back to Tara’s scared cries; how she dove head first to the ground to dodge the energy surges of that Berserk Wanderer.

The both of you would’ve perished if Xavier hadn’t stepped in at the last minute, breaking the field and swooping in to save you two.

“I need to apologize to her when she’s done,” you mumble softly, “I can’t get that mental image of her hurt out of my mind.”

As you spoke, someone familiar approached you. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a tight smile, Akso Hospital’s Dr. Greyson beckoned you over with a wave.

You shrugged Xavier’s arm off you and stood up, confusion clearly in your gaze.

“Hello! Miss Y/N, right? Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend? I need you to sign here as a witness for Miss Tara since her family is out of state.”

He procured a document and a pen. You took them mutely, unsure if it was rude to correct him on your updated status in Zayne’s life. But, figuring that it would be best not to trauma dump on a stranger, you sign your name on the dotted line without much resistance.

“Wonderful. Thank you. Dr. Zayne will step out and see you in a bit once he has some free time. In any case, please stay here and do not wander back for anymore Wanderers. We can’t have anymore of Linkon’s brightest Hunters hurt!”

Chipper and happy like he wasn’t in the middle of a dire situation, Greyson left you and Xavier alone.

“Nice guy.”

“Hmm,” you sit back down next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Zayne’s colleague. Older than him but a sweet one. I used to bribe him with fried chicken to get Zayne’s…” your breathing hitched, and you clear your throat. “... work schedule.”

Xavier’s body stiffens underneath your cheek and you immediately retract yourself away from him. “Sorry,” you mumble, unsure what had gotten into you; how you could’ve let yourself get this comfortable with your fellow Hunter of all people.

But, he shakes his head, patting his shoulder. “You can rest here if you want. I know you’re tired. I am, too.”

Cautiously, you lean your head back on his shoulder, eyes closing.

Xavier’s cheek gently rests on your head, and you hear him exhale tiredly. “I’m dead on my feet.”

“Mhm hmm,” you mumble, fighting the exhaustion caking heavily on your lids. “I could close my eyes and sleep for days.”

“That sounds like a wonderful time.”

The both of you take a second to rest, trying to recenter yourselves back to the reality of being safe and sound away from those terrifying Wanderers.

You hear someone approaching, gravel crunching underneath a pair of boots.

“Y/N?”

His soft voice fringes on your consciousness, and your eyes flutter open.

Zayne stands before you, tall and intimidating. There was no spark in his lustreless green eyes which flickered towards the dozing man by your side and then back to yours. You suddenly feel cold all over, like shards of ice were prickling underneath your skin.

It doesn’t matter what it looks like to him, you glance at Xavier and pat his shoulder, trying to get him to wake up. Zayne and I are long over.

“I need to run a checkup on you. Hunter Association’s orders. Can you follow me, please?”

Xavier stirs the second you nod, and releases you from the swathes of blankets. A clash of azure blue meeting clear green; both men staring each other down while you shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Make sure she’s all right,” Xavier says in a soft voice, though you don’t miss the steel underneath it.

Zayne nods, and turns around. Barely even looking back to see if you were following him.

Wordlessly, you limp after his broad back, consciously touching your face and trying to smooth your hair down.

Inside the tent, Greyson smiles and leaves you two alone for the first time in days.

There’s a makeshift desk and a chair beside it. An examination bed that had been hastily drawn open stands, forlorn and waiting.

You take a seat by the desk, hands laced onto your lap and eyes on the dirt-packed floor.

“Are you alright?”

You don’t delude yourself into thinking there was a hint of concern in his tone. Zayne was just being your primary care physician at this moment—nothing more than his appointed role in your life.

But, wasn't there a time when he was more than this?

You shake off those thoughts, giving him one-worded answers.

“Yes.”

He drags the chair by the desk and sits on it, unfurling a binder and picking up a pen. It clicks loudly in the silence, exacerbating how alone you two were with each other.

“Any dizziness? Loss of hearing?”

You shake your head. “No, Dr. Zayne. I feel fine.”

“Please look at me in the face. I am trying to give you an evaluation for your Association’s report and I need to make sure you meet the health standard.”

Exasperation mingled with professional arrogance laced his tone. You bristled, but did as you were told, lifting your face to meet his eyes.

Those green orbs were galaxies you could get lost in. Swallowing hard, you repeat what you had said, this time in a forceful tone. “I feel fine, Dr. Zayne.”

You make sure to emphasize on his title, not wanting to appear weak in front of him.

How you had cried for nights on end when he wouldn’t return your calls or messages and now here he was—feeling more like a stranger day by day.

You promised yourself you wouldn't be that stupid, brokenhearted girl anymore. This would be the last time you let Zayne play with your resolve and mind.

He picked up a flashlight, beckoning you closer. Cool fingers touched your face, and you nearly flinched when the bright beam permeated your irises.

“My apologies,” he mumbled, and you thought he meant the intrusive medical checkup when his next words catch you by surprise. “I didn’t have time to answer your calls or messages. I was busy cleaning up after last week’s attack. Please, forgive me.”

He whispers that last part and your mind blanks.

You don’t know what to say, or how to react. So, you settle for silence.

Zayne frowns, clicks off the flashlight. He writes down his findings and brings out his stethoscope.

The cool circle touches your pulse point, your chest. He closes his eyes, listens to your heart.

“It’s beating faster than usual,” he mumbles, removing eartips and going back to his report. “Any fatigue? Dizziness? Perhaps vertigo hitting you when you least expect it?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine, Dr. Zayne. I told you.” Sighing, you plaster your eyes back to the ground to avoid his piercing stare. “I don’t think you should waste your time on me. There are other patients who need your expertise—starting with Tara. But, thank you for seeing me, anyway.”

He doesn’t get a chance to dismiss you before you’re standing up and walking out of the tent with your head hung low.

Zayne doesn’t call you back, and neither do you turn around to give him one last look, like you always do before you leave his office.

Meters of silence and unsaid words stretch between the both of you; coldness replacing once fond memories.

The flap of the tent falls close and a forlorn wind whistles through the air, ruffling the papers on his desk.

Zayne tears his eyes off your form, ignores how his heart squeezes when he sees you returning back to Xavier’s side.

The other man smiles at you, and the look on your face is far from detached. Warm and inviting, Zayne can’t recall when was the last time you looked at him like that.

Shit.

Never one to be steeped in regret, Zayne finds himself wishing he could turn back the hands of time; change his actions the second after he had lost control of his Evol.

Not only had he injured you, but he had left you behind like so many others did before.

That was the one thing he promised your Grandma that day he dropped by for lunch: I will protect her with everything I have, ma’am. I will never leave her alone for long.

And this was the best he could give you? Broken promise after broken promise?

For the first time in his life, he feels like a failure; an idiot with nothing but a lofty title and his big-headed ego.

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

Zayne grimaces, knowing how well you could hold a grudge if you wanted to. It looks like he has to temporarily play the role of the fool to get you back.

However, he relents and accepts his fate: this Herculean task of winning back your heart.

He would never say it out loud, but he admired your tenacity and determination; how you would always stick to your principles and never let yourself be swayed by a different current.

Reclaiming back your love wasn’t going to be an easy task. You would put him through the wringer—he was sure of that.

But, it’s what he deserves; what he could stomach and take after treating you so cruelly.

It was time to let the begging game begin.

“... Tara, what the heck is all this?”

You had walked into work one day to a deluge of roses heaping onto your desk. Tara was halfway signing off the delivery man’s note with a gleeful smile, before she turns and offloads the last huge bouquet into your arms.

“Looks like someone’s ex-boyfriend misses her.”

She winks and skips away, leaving you floundering with at least six bouquets of blood red roses swarming around your desk.

You flush with embarrassment when Jenna walks in, her expression one of open curiosity at the sight of all those flowers.

“Looks like you have a secret admirer,” your boss muses. “Or, someone’s boyfriend has done something really wrong. Wild shot—I’m leaning more towards the former.”

It was no secret you were dating Dr. Zayne, but to have it so brazenly rubbed into everyone’s faces was making you cringe from head to toe.

“I’m so sorry, Jenna,” you blurt. “I’ll toss this all out. Don’t want bees in anyone’s hair.”

You chuckle nervously when she gives you a look.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Just hand them to the gardener downstairs. I’m sure she’ll know what to do with them. Such pretty flowers would be wasted in the trash.”

Nodding, you pick up every single bouquet, struggling to not drop one on your way out of the office. Tara sits smugly behind her desk, not even offering to help; wanting to see how far your pettiness could take you.

“Good… morning?”

You peek past the crest of roses to find Xavier’s scrunched nose and confused expression examining the blooms in your arms.

“Morning,” you mutter hastily.

He drops his bag and plucks two bouquets from your arms.

“Are we throwing a party? Or, did someone from our department get engaged?”

You feel like you could spontaneously combust, steeling yourself to reply to his innocent question.

“These are… for me. I think.”

Xavier pauses mid-stride, glancing at you through lowered, ash blonde lashes.

“Oh. Are they from Zayne?”

You pretend not to feel your heart soar in your ribcage at the mention of his name, preferring to plaster on an irritated glare.

“I hope not. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

Xavier doesn’t prod anymore, and neither do you offer to keep the conversation rolling.

He helps you duly dispose of the roses, the gardener’s toothy smile a small consolation for saddling her with this many blooms.

Once you get back to your desk, you pick up your phone and bring up Zayne’s name, finger hovering over the call button.

But, you change your mind at the last minute and click on the chat bubble option.

Please don’t tell me you robbed an entire florist to send me those roses.

Send.

Instantly, a chat bubble appears, his reply coming faster than you expected.

Your accusation is inaccurate. I did, in fact, leave the old man a huge tip for procuring those roses in record time. You’re welcome.

Brows knitted together, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

I don’t want them. Please, don’t waste your time or effort on me anymore. It’s not worth it.

The bubble appears again. Then, it disappears. Reappears.

You wait on the other end with baited breath. Never did a pair of ellipses make your chest hurt this painfully; wildly thrumming heart caught in your throat.

Your tone suggests I am far from forgiven for what I did. If that is the case, would you like to join me for dinner at The Promenade tonight? I recall you adore their chestnut ice-cream. I can pick you up from your apartment. I would very much like to make amends, Y/N.

Clear and dry cut. Zayne was putting all his cards on the table for you to pick apart and prod.

You switch your screen off, unable to formulate a response.

The memory of how coldly he had treated you resurfaces; the cruel blankness on his face. The ease in which he left you like a man who had done it many, many times before.

Tightening your hands into fists, you fight back a fresh wave of tears which threaten to take you under.

Someone clears their throat, and you snap back to the present, blinking hard and pretending you had something in your eye.

Bless his heart, Xavier willfully ignores your lapse of control; he gives you a small smile, gesturing towards the pantry. “They… just brought in some new instant noodle flavors. I was going to make a cup. Do you want some?”

You plaster on a fake smile, nodding. Suddenly, your stomach rumbles, and he exhales a laugh at the well-timed interjection.

“Noted. The beef broth one?”

“Sounds good.”

“Roger that,” he turns on his heel, and you don’t know what possessed you to call him back. He turns, waiting for you to speak.

“What’re you doing tonight?” you blurt, and he pauses, tilting his head to the side.

“Not much. I have this movie I really want to watch. Why? Wanderer hunting?”

Knowing it was your favorite thing to do to let off some steam, he waits for you to formulate your response.

“No. I need to inspect something. At that forest again. Something about the fluctuation pattern those few nights ago… Something doesn’t add up.”

Xavier considers it, shifting from one foot to another. “And if we do find it? What, then?”

“We come back here and fill in the team,” you mutter. “And we can finally match the fluctuation pattern to Onichynus’ fabricated Protofield. It would give us a clue to their plans.”

Despite his reservations at letting you delve deeper into this conspiracy theory, Xavier had a hunch that if he didn’t follow you, you were bound to do it on your own.

Whatever happened between you and Zayne must’ve driven you down this frenzied yet determined path; choosing to prioritize your job over the feelings you haven’t sorted out yet.

And who was Xavier to complain? If he had a few more moments to spend with you, he would take it, no matter the motivation.

“Sure,” he shrugs. “I’ll meet you tonight at the Fringe. 8 o’clock.”

You nod, casting your eyes back to your phone’s dull screen. Zayne’s text message taunts you, and you sensed there would be hell to pay for ignoring him.

But, you turn off those thoughts and focus on your desktop, sorting out your emails and mission debriefs.

There were more urgent things on your plate that needed your focus than an indecisive ex-boyfriend.

The biggest storm of your life was on the horizon, and you were so sure that come tonight, you would finally get the answers you needed.

The tapping of his fingers on the table resounds like a metronome in this quiet restaurant.

Zayne picks up his cup of water, brings it to his lips and pauses. Setting it back down, he glances at his watch for what feels like the 178th time in an hour. A bouquet of fresh jasmines lie on his lap, and he thinks they might be wilting by the second for every minute you don’t show up.

Though it was unlike him to jump to conclusions, Zayne held a small flicker of hope that you would change your mind and see him tonight—despite how his text to you remains unanswered.

Someone clears their throat, knocking him out of his reverie.

“Sir, may I bring you some appetizers while you wait?”

The waiter’s smile is thin, and behind his sincere question, Zayne senses the pity shining in his eyes.

It bothers him, somehow, that people would feel sorry for him.

If anything, he thinks they should mind their own business; not jump to conclusions.

He heaves in a deep breath and shakes his head. “No. Please, get me the bill. I apologize for taking up your time.”

The waiter nods and disappears back to the kitchen—presumably to gossip to his colleagues about a random lonely man he had to serve tonight who was stood up by his date.

Somewhere to his right, a table full of young women were eyeing him, whispering behind their manicured hands. But, he pays them no attention, signing the bill and standing up, clutching the bouquet of flowers by his side.

Zayne steps out of the restaurant, and notices the darkening sky roiling above.

It was going to rain tonight and he hoped that wherever you are, you would have an umbrella on hand. He wouldn’t want you to get sick, and was about to pull out his phone and remind you when he stops short at a message flashing across his screen.

She’s hurt.

Dr. Greyson’s chat bubble appears, and then pauses. It starts typing again, and Zayne holds his breath, suddenly feeling uneasy all over.

Your girlfriend. You need to come to the hospital now.

He barely wastes anytime, rushing right to his car. Zayne guns it down the highway, straight for the hospital, no thought in his mind besides worrying for your safety. When he arrives, it was like that night he met you near the Forest; a nurse was hurrying into the ER, someone was yelling for more bags of blood, and there, in the fray, was Xavier, broad sword strapped to his back.

“What happened?”

Zayne feels his heart in his throat when Xavier turns to him, grim in the face.

“A calculated attack… an explosion.”

“Explosion?” The surgeon feels like his head is about to combust. A vein throbs in his temple and he narrows his eyes. “What caused it? Is she okay?”

“I’m trying to find out, too,” Xavier mumbles back. “Besides, it was my fault. You don't have to worry anymore after what you did to her.”

Frost sparks on his fingertips, and Zayne tries to control his temper; willing his Evol to stay in line.

It wouldn’t be wise to lash out at Xavier; it would do nothing but make you madder at him.

“Which surgery room is she in? I can help resuscitate her if necessary.”

The Hunter opens his mouth, but it's Dr. Greyson who interjects. “Dr. Zayne, she’s in Operation Theatre 2. Awaiting anesthesia.”

Zayne turns on his heel, leaving Xavier alone with his silent judgement.

“I need a full body evaluation on the patient to determine the exact location of overpressures and debris. Keep the defibrillator on standby. What category is the blast coded as?”

“Tertiary, Dr. Zayne.”

He swore under his breath, wincing. The same blunt force injuries that would traumatize a person who was involved in a car crash, fall, or collapsing building.

What did you get yourself into, Y/N?

Zayne has no time to ruminate; he has to save your life.

A hand on his shoulder stops him. Greyson’s heavy eyes permeate through his soul, rooting him to the spot. For a single second, the fatherly concern shining in his gaze reminded him of another elderly doctor; one who was forever lost in Mount Eternal. “Are you sure you can do this, Dr. Zayne? Are you well enough to take on this task?”

The implicit concern was clear.

This is your girlfriend we’re talking about. Can you handle trying to bring her back from the brink of death?

Zayne nods, bracing himself for another long night.

“I will try to undertake this with everything I have, Dr. Greyson.”

He stops, correcting himself. “I have to undertake this with everything I have, Dr. Greyson. I believe I do not have a choice.”

Suspended. Floating.

Trapped.

It was completely dark where you were, no light but a flickering blue ember in the distance. Reaching out to it, you found it dancing just out of your reach; taunting you with even more confusion.

You had no idea how you came to be here or what happened that led you to this strange place.

In this limbo, time neither exists nor moves forward.

You were just here. Just being.

Hours must’ve passed. Or, was it days?

You felt a softness wrap around you. Once or twice, you thought you remembered the feel of someone’s lips on your forehead. The shape of a hand whose fingers intertwined with yours. A whiff of a familiar cologne you couldn’t quite place.

It was dark where you were, but you were never alone.

Someone was always beside you. Talking to you. Drawing you closer and closer to that blue flame.

“... I’m sorry…”

You caught that word a lot.

Sorry.

But, for what?

Who was that voice apologizing to?

And what had they done wrong?

You would never know the answer. Except, one day, it appears before you, shining like a periwinkle blue sky opening to a new world.

The blue flame glows brighter, almost encompassing you.

Please… I’m scared…

You tried to scream, tried to push back.

But, it grew bigger and brighter. About to swallow you whole.

Was this how a new star was born? Did they see an unbearably bright light before they were engulfed in the flames of being?

Were you a star right now?

The flames hurt—fuck, they were lapping at your hands. Your arms. Your flesh turns a sickly pale blue, about to drop off your bones.

But, you don’t fight back this time. The burn feels almost sacrificial. Sacred.

Like a ritual you had to push through to see the other side.

So, you gritted your teeth and dug your heels in the ground; staying absolutely still. Letting the embers flicker at your feet, caress your sides and hair.

“... she’s waking up!”

“... quick… nurse!”

“Zayne… she’s back…”

There’s a commotion in the distance. You feel like you’re about to orbit another universe, your space ship drifting and attempting to dock with this strange planet’s gravity system.

The bright light pierces through your sticky lids, and you feel askew, like you could fall off this new planet’s axis anytime.

A familiar sharp scent permeates your nose, and you groan, the sound low and groggy.

“Ssh, don’t be scared.” His voice is familiar, a low timber which sounds exactly like home. “I’ve got you. Come back when it feels safe for you.”

Despite your hesitation, you drift back into the abyss, feeling the warmest brush of lips on your forehead again.

You want to reach out to that bright light, hold it in the middle of your palm. Fighting hard now, you wade past the molasses of your sluggish mind, forcing one eyelid to pry open. And then, another.

Finally, you blink, slow and unhurried. Swiveling your head to the side, it felt like you were in slow motion, every action delayed by three seconds.

The word was entirely made up of a blur. It was all too white. Too loud.

Someone cradles your face, and your world tilts. You find yourself sitting up slightly, a familiar face you knew and loved swimming into view.

His bright green eyes solidify, and you make a sound in the back of your throat.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, full of reassurance and relief. “It’s quite alright, my Aurora. You’re safe now. Safe here.”

“Z… Zay… Zayne?”

You force your tongue to cooperate; it feels like a clumsy eel in your mouth, twisting and turning in a slippery mess. Moans and low grunts emitted from the back of your throat, and you wince with every word you struggle (and fail) to enunciate.

“Ssh,” he mumbles, and you feel something circular and hard slipping in between your lips. “It’s water. You have to drink it from the straw. Do you remember how to sip?”

The motion comes back after a few tries, and you hesitantly imbibe the cooling liquid.

“Good girl,” he whispers, patting your head gently.

You struggle to pin your eyes on him, wondering what type of lights were shining above for him to appear so bedazzlingly in front of you.

The room is empty, and it’s only him here with you. Outside, the world was pitch black, but here, you feel like every beam was dancing in Zayne’s eyes; the relief in them washing over you, calming your spiking heart rate.

“You’ve been in a coma for three days, Y/N,” he informs in a low whisper, sitting beside you. Taking your hand, he presses it to his lips, kissing each knuckle reverently. “I don’t want to push you, but you need to rest. You suffered quite the blast from that attack.”

It all came back to you in an instant: Xavier’s wide, azure eyes, the flash of golden light. Searing pain and an impenetrable darkness.

You start to shake, and Zayne notices, immediately bringing another blanket from your bedside shelf and wrapping you in it. When that doesn't work, he twines his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. Ever so tender, he cradles your body, gently rocking you from side to side like you were a terrified child.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. You’re alright. It is normal to feel shocked after what happened. But, you’re safe, my Aurora. I have made sure of that.”

You paw at his shirt, fighting to roll the words off your tongue; remembering the unanswered text message and your instant regret when you realized far too late during your failed mission that you had basically told him not to care for you anymore.

“S… Sorry…”

“Please,” he says in a soft, tired voice. “No more apologizing. Don’t ever apologize, Y/N. It was never your fault.”

Zayne tilts your head up, his eyes soft and warm in the dark blue expanse of this hospital room. His thumb grazes your cheek, your jaw and lower lip.

“You should rest,” he murmurs, smiling when you start to pout. “Alright, my love? I am right here. I will keep you safe.” Leaning forward, he presses the softest kiss to your forehead, its warmth achingly familiar.

“I love you. Please—rest.”

You close your eyes, inhaling his comforting scent. Nodding off, the last thing you felt was his lips in your hair, his soft whisper of, “I am so sorry for how I treated you” dissipating into the recesses of your subconscious.

Once more, you succumb to the darkness, but this time, you do so with open arms.

“Bedrest and lots of fluids,” Dr. Carol says sternly, much to your chagrin.

Her salt and pepper eyebrows shoot up, daring you to fight back. You stay silent, staring at your lap glumly.

The day is much too nice to be bound in bed; sun streaming in through the frosted glass windows, cherry blossoms dotting the sill and bird song fills the air—the heart of winter thawing right into a dazzling spring.

Zayne is beside you, holding onto your purse while the doctor gives her diagnosis, trying hard not to smirk at your crestfallen expression.

“I will write a note to the Hunters Association to give you a month off. Lay off the dangerous missions, wandering into closed off zones, and getting yourself into trouble.”

She signs the paper with a flourish, tears it, and hands it to Zayne. Not even giving you a chance to protest.

“Thank you for the diagnosis, Dr. Carol,” your boyfriend says with a curt nod, pocketing the strip.

She returns his gesture, pushing her rimmed glasses up her blunt nose. “You take care of her, Dr. Zayne. Keep her out of trouble.”

Zayne helps you stand, letting you lean against his arm for support. “Oh, believe me. This little Hunter will be very well rested before she’s finally allowed back onto the field.”

You fume next to him, though with your warming cheeks, Zayne thinks you look a lot like an adorably pissed chipmunk. Before the door closes, you remember to politely give a small bow to Dr. Carol, despite how you were livid at her treating you like a wayward child.

“Don’t pout,” he murmurs, poking your side as you both tread down the narrow hallway. You flinch, glare deepening.

“What am I going to do for one month? Sit around and collect dust? Zayne, you have to speak to her. I can’t stay at home all the time,” your tone goes whiny, and he musters a quick chuckle.

“Darling, you know I can’t just interfere with another doctor’s advice. Besides, I wholeheartedly agree with the decided diagnosis.”

Warm sunlight spills across your cheeks; you take mincing steps, still getting used to walking after a full week of rotting on the hospital bed. But, Zayne is patient with you, holding onto your arm while he keeps you steady, matching his pace to yours.

He continues. “You’ve been overworking yourself since we took a break. You need to rest before your body shuts down.”

At the reminder of the separation you both endured, you made a face. “Maybe I should’ve stayed broken up with you for a little while longer to find my answers…”

“And risk throwing yourself headfirst into more conspiracy theories like a pig-headed fool? Be grateful we were given another chance,” he retorts without missing a beat. “You would be severely injured if I weren’t here to give you a voice of reason.”

You quieten, watching a cherry blossom break off a tall branch and float to the ground.

Zayne notices your silence, and nudges you. Glancing at him, you see a shadow of a smile etched on his lips.

“I know you must miss the outside. How about we come to an agreement? Take your medication, get loads of rest, and I’ll bring you out every evening to see the cherry blossoms. Would this be more suitable for a ‘punishment’, my Aurora?”

Your heart skips a beat; you’ve missed hearing your favorite term of endearment from him.

“Okay,” you murmur, considerably happier. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Holding out your pinky right in his face, Zayne chuckles again, but indulges you, wrapping his smallest finger with yours.

“It is a deal,” his voice is softer, fringed with amusement and tenderness.

Zayne is a man of extremes; rarely meeting you in the middle.

When Dr. Carol had advised against strenuous activities for at least a week while your body heals, she didn’t take into account that Zayne would refuse to even touch you in any way other than as a caregiver.

He would fix your meals, help you around the house, and even tenderly bathe you if you so much as breathed a request for it.

But, he would never—in any circumstances—take it further.

How long has it been since we’ve last been together?

You fidget in your seat, staring out a window.

Far too long, the answer comes back to you like a nefarious whisper. You should do something about it.

And you do have a plan. Granted, it’s half-baked and needs a dash of liquid courage to work, but nevertheless, it was a plan.

Zayne would be home in exactly an hour, and that was the bulk of time needed for you to get ready.

You washed your hair, brushed your teeth, did your skincare and makeup; there was an attempt to style your locks but you gave up halfway only to let it air dry while you slipped on some silky lingerie. It was his favorite set—black and lacy with a sheer mesh covering the cups that left little to the imagination.

Catching your lower lip in between your teeth, you try to rearrange yourself on the sofa, chest out and hoping your lipgloss hadn’t faded yet; squirming to position your limbs so that it didn’t look like you were a splayed starfish.

The door unlocks, and you hold your breath, a big grin fighting to break through your expression.

Zayne blinks the second he notices you, his doctor's coat bundled up in one arm and the other hand holding his briefcase.

“... Hello?”

You sit up, hoping to God you were at least seductive when you cross your legs, giving him a sweet smile.

“Hello, doctor. Welcome home.”

Those gorgeous green eyes flit to your chest, and his jaw ticks under your scrutiny.

You expect him to at least compliment you, or ask what you were doing in bewilderment. Not say—

“You are going to catch a cold if you keep this up.”

Before you can react, he sets down his briefcase and wraps you in his coat, drawing you to his side.

“Zayne—” you mumble, dismayed. He keeps you tightly to his chest, like you were going to disintegrate without his support anytime soon. “Zayne!” You fight free from his grasp, giving him an exasperated glare.

“Hello? Here I am trying to seduce you, and you just mother henned me!” Pressing your palms flush to his broad pecs, you push him back firmly—exasperatedly. “This is so embarrassing!”

Petering off into a whine, you huff and cross your arms. Missing how his eyes darken ever so slightly at the sight of the skimpy fabric stretching across your tight nipples.

Taking in a deep breath, Zayne fights the urge to throw you over his shoulder and give your ass a firm squeeze (or smack, seeing as how his self-control was steadily declining). You were making it so hard to keep his composure under lock and key. He channels that frustration into a huge sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“You are single-handedly the most infuriating woman I know on this planet.”

Without warning, he nudges you back, until you’re flush with a wall. He leans forward, and you hold your breath, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your jaw.

“You know other women?”

He can’t fight back an exhaled laugh at your petulant words. “No. Of course, not. None of them can compare to you, my Aurora.”

His minty cool breath fans across the sensitive strip of your neck, drawing goosebumps down your arms.

“You are so infuriating,” he noses the length of your jaw, breathing you in. The heat emanating from his broad chest is overwhelming; it makes you dizzy with lust, thighs squeezing together to alleviate the tension throbbing in between them.

“A menace… you’re impossible to deal with.”

His large, veiny hands grip the fleshy domes of your ass, squeezing them heartily. “Haven’t had you in so long.” Longing coats his every husky exhale. “I miss you so much… but, you aren’t at your peak health, my love. I do not want to hurt you again.”

Zayne’s dizzying warmth distances away from you and you actually cry out softly, grappling onto his shoulders to keep him in place. He gasps, low and taken aback, hips clipping into yours.

“No, please…” you feel your face burning up; never were you this desperate to feel him. “I need you, Zayne. I really, really need you.”

His groan reverberates in his chest, sounding like it came straight from his tortured soul. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

Strong hands lift you up, pin you right to the wall.

Zayne doesn’t give you any time to breathe. His mouth is on yours, ravenously drinking your moans and mewls.

For a man whose Evol is ice, his hands run ridiculously warm; grabbing at any flesh he can find purchase on—your thighs, ass, breasts—squeezing them firmly.

Fuck, you gasp into his mouth. Oh… Zayne…

The room spins, nothing but the sound of your blood rushing through your ears filling your mind.

He sucks on your bottom lip, desperately rutting his hips into yours. You feel him growing harder against your thigh, straining behind his slacks.

Boldly, your tinier hand rests on his bulge.

Naughty girl, he rasps. You’re asking for trouble now, little one.

A shiver runs up your spine which has nothing to do with his now colder hands running down your sides.

His Evol drops the temperature around the room, a faint glow of blue ice coating his fingertips. He runs those freezing pads down your exposed skin, catching right on the tops of your breasts. Your pelvis. Inner thighs.

You cry out when he teases your mound through the lace with those cold fingers, back arching wantonly.

“I want to see this pussy beg for me,” he murmurs. “I want to see her drip.”

Slowly, like you were a present he was leisurely unwrapping, Zayne pushes down your bra straps, until the cups are barely clinging to your heaving tits. He presses loving kisses down the strip of your throat, stopping shy of your areolas.

Stop teasing me, you whine, and his warm breath caresses your nipples as he exhales a laugh.

I can’t… I’m having too much fun, my Aurora.

He licks and sucks on them until they’re dripping with his spit, achy and tender to the touch. While he loves on your nipples, one hand slips in between your thighs, finding your twitching center.

Zayne eases the seat of your panties out of the way, and you bite down on a whimper when the cool air brushes your swollen clit and damp folds.

“So wet,” he murmurs. One finger drags through the slick mess, finding your clit and rubbing circles on it tenderly.

Proving he was more man than robot like how you always teased him, Zayne slides to his knees and looks up at you with pure devotion.

I’m going to eat you out right now, my Aurora, he whispers. Is that alright with you?

Fuck, yes. You almost scream. He didn’t need to even ask; you were begging for it. His tongue, friction, anything—you swore you were about to die from the anticipation.

Hitching your right leg over his shoulder, he eyes your pussy with a dark look, one which makes you think of a predator cornering his prey.

She’s so pretty, he muses. I wonder if she’s missed me at all.

“Yes,” you breathe into the darkening living room. The blinds are still wide open, streetlights staining his apartment floor a warm, orange glow.

She’s missed you so much, Zayne.

The sight of his pink tongue flitting out to touch the corners of his lips, the perfect arch of his cupid’s bow running against the slinky lace, almost makes you explode.

Prying your panties crotch to the side with his teeth, Zayne breathes in your scent, his perfect nose pressed right to your glistening cunt.

“Good,” he mumbles to himself. “Because I’ve missed her like crazy, too.”

His tongue running through your folds catches you by surprise, your cry rebounding across the room.

If it weren’t for his strong grip around your thighs and waist, you would’ve melted to the floor like a snow draft on a hot summer’s day. Zayne held you up as he ate you out; lips and tongue giving you the sweetest friction you had been dreaming of.

You’re so worked up, he breathes in between sinful licks. Zayne mouths your clit, tongue sliding through your folds like he was made for this. There’s nothing but the wet sounds of his mouth on you; his tongue flattens, and you drag your clit over it, hips twitching, getting yourself off.

His cock twitches and he knows he would be the one to swallow his own words; how he wants to get you dripping when he’s the one leaking in his pants like a horny teenager.

Fuck, fuck, Zayne mumbles, peppering kisses on your inner thighs. He bites on the plush flesh, loving how you tense and squeal.

His teeth grazes the sensitive flesh, making you flinch. You’re so responsive, it’s making him heady.

Deep groans well from his broad chest, and you swell with pride. Only you had the power to make the reserved, stoic, measured Zayne go crazy on your taste.

And he duly gives you the credit you deserve.

“You drive me insane,” he mumbles, lips brushing your skin.

It’s intimate—how he’s looking at you. Those thick, black lashes that frame his perfect emerald eyes lowering; lust pooling in their depths.

Zayne’s lips are puffy, coated with your juices. There’s a light pink dusting on the high of his cheeks.

“Are you alright?” he mumbles softly, running those large hands you love up and down your thighs.

You nod, teeth catching on your lower lip. “Zayne,” softly, you voice your need. “Can you please fuck me?”

How polite. He fights back a smirk, lowering your right leg back to the ground, giving your inner thigh a soft kiss.

He stands back to his full height, towering over you. His sheer size makes your heart quicken, and your back presses flush to the wall, anticipation right in your throat.

But, he’s gentle, as he always is, when he takes your hands, pressing them to his chest.

“Undress me first, my Aurora.”

A stern command wrapped in silk—I won’t touch you until you show me how much you want it.

Your shaky hands move to his shirt, tugging on it until those pesky white buttons loosen. Scars line his chest and pecs, each of them a road your tongue, lips and fingers have explored. Down his stacked torso, more of those white indents make a home on his skin, and you briefly touch them, grazing your fingers on the happy trail leading right to his defined ‘V’.

The buckle of his belt goes next. You slip it off, working on his slacks and underwear. Zayne silently watches, not giving a reaction. He loves this part; how you huff and warmth surges on your cheeks—hating how much of a tease he was.

But, you’re always an obedient little thing for him.

You would do as he said, knowing the rewards that lie behind these slight humiliations.

He shrugs his shirt and pants off, and you’re already on him.

Fumbling in the cocooning darkness, your lips paint over his collarbone and neck, right to his jaw. Zayne leans down, kisses you fully on your mouth as he lifts you back into his arms.

Swiftly, your legs wrap around his narrow waist, and he brings you straight to the couch; too impatient for the bedroom.

Your back meets the soft surface, a cushion haphazardly arranged underneath your head so you didn’t have to strain your neck.

The mastermind has thought of it all. Your musings were cut short when he unhooks your bra, a deft, fluid motion with little to no fumbling. A surgeon’s hands surely were the steadiest.

But, they trembled lightly when he plucked at the band of your thong, gently tugging it down your thighs.

Beautiful, he whispers, half to himself.

Zayne, please. You twine your fingers in his hair, tugging his face closer to yours. Feeling his warm breath on your lips. Don’t keep me waiting.

Hold on, beautiful. Zayne slots himself in between your legs, letting them rest around his waist. He grips your left thigh, hooking it on his shoulder and turns his head slightly to give your plush calf a kiss. His cock catches your attention, fully hard and glistening with pre-cum. Like his physique, it was girthy and thicker; imposing and intimidating.

Will it fit inside of me after so long…?

A bead of his excitement pearls on his tip, rolling down the impressive shaft. You smear it across his tip with your thumb, not missing how he shivered.

��I’ll go slow, darling,” he mumbles, locking your fingers with his, drawing your hands above your head and keeping it there with one hand. “Tell me if it hurts, alright?”

He kisses you fully on your parted mouth, drinking in your hitched gasp. I love you, my Aurora.

Giving his cock a few strokes, he lines it right to your drooling hole, dragging his tip through your folds to prime you up.

The thickness of him breaches past your tight opening, and you cry out, back arching. Zayne shushes you, focused on not splitting you open too fast.

Shit, you’re tight, he hisses. I may not be able to hold myself back, my Aurora.

You shake your head, glossy eyes making something in his chest twinge. Don’t—let me feel you entirely, Zayne.

“Almost,” he mumbles, and you feel the glorious stretch; how it burns in the best way.

The sounds falling from your mouth were much too lewd, easily heard past the thin walls; though at this rate, you didn’t care who would complain.

He breathes hard, sweat bulleting down his forehead. Finally, with one push, he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

The both of you groan in relief, his forehead knocking softly into yours. He lets go of your hands, letting them wound around his broad shoulders.

You bury your face in his neck as he starts to move, tentatively rolling his hips to get you used to him again.

“Taking me so well even after so long,” he breathes hard. “You’re always so perfect for me, aren’t you, my Aurora?”

Mhm, your slurry moan brushes his heated ears.

Falling apart. He was dissolving for you faster than snow under the sun.

“I can feel your pretty pussy fluttering around me.” He brushes his lips across your cheeks and nose, those gorgeous heavy lidded emerald eyes sending jolts down your spine. “You really wanted this.”

You can’t do anything but moan for him, pleasure unfurling across your body like a cresting tidal wave.

His hips clipping heavily into yours, the dense sensation of his cock filling you up over and over again, coarse pubic hair catching on your clit—all of it were slowly edging you towards the biggest release of your life.

He fucks you slower this time, wanting to draw out the moment.

Weeks of separation and anxiety were condensed within this singular moment; thick gasps flowing from his mouth into yours and back again, filling the air with an unbearable tension.

I love you, he repeats again, figuratively and literally drilling his devotion into your lax body. I love you so much, my Aurora.

My Aurora. Mine.

His.

Zayne’s possessiveness leaves you reeling, overwhelming your senses. He was right, as he always was; you belonged to him, body, heart and soul. Every beat of your heart, every trembling breath—it was all his.

Only he could fuck you this good; this deep. Only he could make you tremble from such an onslaught of emotion and sensation.

His thumb slips into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue; your lips hollowing around it, sucking on his digit like you would his cock.

Good girl, he rumbles, removing his thumb and replacing it with his index and middle finger. So good for me—you’re my sweet little girl, aren’t you?

Yours, you mewl, mouth and voice thick with his digits. All yours, Zayne.

The pressure builds—reaching a fever pitch. All of it piles up; heady breaths, sloppy thrusts, his moans and groans slurred into your hair.

He moves his mouth to your throat; sharp sting of his teeth blends with his murmured praises. But, you can’t focus on anything beyond his cock pumping inside of you, the mess he’s fucking out of you. It smells like sex in this room; musky and heady.

The couch is shaking, clawed feet dragging across the floor. Somewhere in your foggy mind, it registers that his downstairs elderly neighbor would surely be storming up to confront him. But, no distractions exist when you’re in the circle of his arms.

He probably wouldn’t even hear her knock over your keening moans.

Something about Dr. Zayne—the meticulous, righteous Dr. Zayne—ignoring someone’s distress because he was too busy fucking you, makes the taut string of your impending orgasm snap.

Good girl, he whispers; groans when he feels your nails stab into his shoulders. Doing so good for me. Generous hands grip your ass, lifting your back slightly off the sofa. Can you give me another one?

His selflessness would be the death of you. Zayne hadn’t even cum once—too focused on your needs.

Your head lolls back, feathery moans tainting the air with pure sin. Your thighs spread further, taking him deeper.

“Zayne…”

“My Aurora?”

He groans softly when you glide your tongue over the shell of his ear, breathily moaning, “Can you please cum for me?”

Strong shivers wrack his body; his sharp mind drawing a blank.

“Please,” you mouth his pulse point, drawing your hands back to his hair to give his dark locks a tug. “Give it to me, please… wanna feel you all hot and pulsing inside of me.”

Fuck, he bites your shoulder, thrusts growing sloppier. Fuck, fuck—

He’s been holding back on you; not wanting to hurt you when you wanted it to hurt.

You wanted the heat, the overwhelming need. Whining, you whimper please, please, please, over and over again.

Give me your cum, Daddy.

That does it. Zayne grits his teeth, a lusty groan of pain and ecstasy brushing against your neck. His cum fills you up steadily, first in spurts, then a fulfilling warmth which coats your walls, drawing deeper into your body with every pulsing contraction; a mini release set off by his own.

He slumps over you, skin growing cooler to the touch. You glide your fingertips over his sharp shoulder blades, feeling frost coating your fingers. They melt instantly at your touch, leaving your skin damp with both sweat and the residue of his Evol.

Zayne shudders, rubbing his cheek against your jaw and neck like a sated beast.

You twitch your hips, and he pulls out slightly; the fullness of him unplugging and dribbling down to join the mess of both your releases onto the couch.

He stays deep inside of you, lips tangled with yours; the both of you unable to let the other go.

“Are you alright?” he asks into the afterglow. You squirm a little, feeling his softening cock twitch.

“Mhm hmm,” you flash him a satisfied smile and he fights back a chuckle. You wiggle your butt, biting on your bottom lip. “I love how full I feel of you right now.”

Zayne squeezes your hips, an exasperated and exhausted smirk gracing his perfect mouth. “Little minx.”

He holds your cheek, smoothes his thumb over your lower lip.

“You do know how much you mean to me, don’t you?”

His face is hazy, eyes soft and full of love in the faint light.

You rest your palm on the back of his hand, melting into his warmth with your eyes half closed and a small smile lifting the corners of your lips.

“Perhaps.”

You don’t give him time to recover from your quip, flipping him over, both of you still connected from base to tip.

Zayne doesn’t think he’s ever seen such raw beauty held in one person before; how your skin glowed in the muted orange glow, pretty eyes filled with a passionate ruin.

“But, if you let me take care of you this time, Dr. Zayne, I might be inclined to believe so.”

His hands span across your lower back, smoothing down your hips.

“Anything,” he mumbles hoarsely, an accessory to your seduction. “Do anything you want to me, my Aurora.”

You mumble his name, honeyed with devotion and lust.

And Zayne doesn’t care how many times fate would push you two away; like the tide to the sea, he would always come back for you.

As many times as it would take. For as long as he could.

“I love you, Zayne,” you whisper, tinier palms pressed to his chest; taking your turn to fuck him.

And he knows you would do it again, too; go through it one more time for him. It was the nature of your love—a push and pull as old as the sea tides.

But this time—most definitely—he makes a firm vow that it would be the very last time you were taken away from him.

— it is safe to say i am insane over this man i fear. reblogs and feedback are appreciated !!

©️ all works belong to lalunaymph. do not copy, repost, translate or share across any other platform

#🦢 writes #zayne love and deepspace #zayne angst #zayne smut #zayne x reader #zayne x you #love and deepspace

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bunny-jpeg · 2 months ago

Text

emotional support boyfriend

oscar piastri

cw: smut, agoraphobia, oscar is a sweet boyfriend, plot, fluff, gentle sex, praise kink, slight angst, depictions of violence, trauma

this bunny runs on comments & reblogs! feed the rabbit!

you swallowed, "this is silly. i don't need an emotional support boyfriend, my love." oscar was seated beside you at the stairs as he got his sneakers on.

"not a big deal, i'd be sitting on the couch otherwise."

oscar had been really good after the... incident you witnessed only four months prior. you wished that it had happened at a location further away from home, but it was rather only a few blocks from your flat. you had been avoiding it as much as possible, but it was hard. and it still left you shaken.

when you got up from the steps and waited for oscar to do the same you watched him stand up then zip your sweater up to your chin before he kissed you on the lips.

it was simply going to the store, getting a few items for dinner then walking home. ever since the incident, you had taken alternate routes that doubled your time getting there and back, or having oscar do it if he was home. you wanted to avoid the intersection as much as possible because the anxiety you felt was a lot.

it was easier to just avoid it, but your therapist thought that maybe it would be good to try and approach the anxiety more head on. and while you were comfortable with doing it alone. oscar wanted to be there just in case.

the walk started slow, you held onto oscar's hand as the two of you walked down the main road. oscar kept close to you, he was a grounding presence.

oscar chatted with you and you smiled. you held onto him a little tighter when a motorcycle went by. and he simply leaned in to kiss you, continuing talking. you passed by the bus stop without much fanfare, at least your brain felt a little quieter. the anxiety of the event didn't wash over you into a panic.

"here. for a job well done." he said as he slipped a bar of your favourtie chocolate into the basket.

you giggled, "i don't need treats like a dog."

oscar kissed your cheek, "not like that. i'm proud of you." and while it all felt a little silly, you appreciated it. to know that whatever progress you make about your intense anxiety, you weren't going to do it alone.

when you got home, you felt better than other times you were in the area. you didn't feel the throb of dread in the pit of your soul and the anxiety rush up into your chest. while a little shaky when you walked by the bus stop, you managed to pass by it not once, but twice. oscar there the entire time to support you.

"you did so well."

you swallowed, "it was just a walk." you made a face when he kissed along the bridge of your nose, "nothing too serious. wasn't like i had to tend to another victim." the words felt weird on your tongue.

four months ago while walking back home from work, you saw a belligerent drunk man attack another man at a nearby bus stop. the man was hit and bleeding and you tried to tend to the gash in his head while another man who was walking the opposite direction of you tried to talk the drunk man down. the police were called and you were interviewed while oscar heard the sirens and came down the street. you weren't home and he was worried. you were told you did good by everyone and that he would be "perfectly fine". but you were left rattled and going near that intersection made your blood run cold.

oscar kissed your lips, "no need for that, love." he kissed your cheek with his hands on your face lovingly, "you did so good. your therapist will love hearing about this. i'm proud."

you felt something flutter in your chest and you rested up against your boyfriend. you know he worried, he kept his phone on silent while working unless it was a message from you. just in case.

it wasn't till after dinner that you got more cuddly with your boyfriend. the food felt filling and your brain didn't feel rattled. it was a success and you wanted to keep riding that high. and that left you two in your shared bedroom with oscar's lips on you.

his hands up your shirt, he asked, "is this okay?"

you nodded, "perfect. it's amazing. yes, oscar, yes." you then giggled before you put him in for a hot kiss and let his hands explore your body. you felt warm all over as he felt you up. he was a gentle lover, he always had been. you didn't believe there was a bad bone in his body, except maybe in the heat of competition.

but he'd never lay a hand on you unless he had your consent. your enthusiastic consent. sex was meant to be fun so to hear you giggle as he got your shirt off excited him.

"you did amazing today, my love.' he said as he got into your space once more. your chest up against his as he got you onto the bed. soon you were both undressed and you laid there out on the bed under your lovely boyfriend.

his hands careful on your hips as he rubbed up against you. you moaned softly as you could feel his hard cock up against you. your heart hammered in your chest, but not in a way that scared you. but rather you felt excited all over.

you looked up at him and he got between your legs, he rested on his heels and his cock stood at full attention. before he could say anything you spoke, "i want this, oscar. please. i don't want anyone else."

he broke into a smile and said, "well, i can't say no to that."

you shifted your body a little to give him more access to your soft skin. he ran his fingers across you and you shuddered a little bit before he took a hold on his cock to guide it inside you pretty cunt. he shuddered when he felt your wetness across his length.

he started to move slowly, and his words poured like a fountain. and it made you feel hot all over you. he leaned forward and pressed his chest to you.

"you look so good." he said, "i love you."

you felt a little heat in your cheeks as you moved against him. your nails held onto his shoulders as the two of your moved together. you whined, "you don't need to praise me, oscar."

he chuckled and kissed your jaw, "yes i do. i want to praise you." he held onto your hips and moved a little faster. he loved the feeling of you, he also loved spending time with you. being with you was a treat for him and it made him feel hot all over.

the kisses continued, loud and wet in your shared bedroom. he moved against you. his cock felt snug in your pretty cunt, like a perfect fit for the both of you.

"you look beautiful." you giggled as you scratched across his shoulders. you could feel the shudder of want through your body.

he laughed, "no, no. you're beautiful. you're the beautiful one." he kissed the corner of your mouth, "i'm just your boyfriend. you're the real star." he cupped your breasts between his hands for a moment as he moved against him.

you blushed more, "you flirt." you tightened your legs around his waist as he moved against him. the kisses continued as he moved against you.

"only for you." he blushed. you covered your face but oscar quickly took them away and said, "i want to see you." he smiled down at you.

"okay. okay." you giggled.

you would've thought all about the romantic moments with oscar. but the pleasure coursed through your body even heavier as he laid more kisses onto you. his hands played with your chest as he moved against you. and you moved back against him. it was a hot feeling between the two of you, like a wire that connected you.

your cheeks stained with heat as the two of you really rutted against one another. your lips felt tender from all the kisses. oscar gazed at you with love and even cupped your face for a moment. it felt nice to feel his big hands across your face.

oscar would always make sure you were okay. always.

you held onto him and placed wet kisses onto the side of his neck. when you held on tightly, you climaxed. your back arched a little to be closer to him as the pleasure clawed through your body. your eyes squeezed shut a little bit. and your heart pounded in your chest.

"i love you." you said.

"i love you too."

he came soon after and held onto the covers on either side of you, he didn't want to bruise you in his hard grasp. you took him by the face and messily kissed him. which made the driver melt a little at the feeling. he groaned into the kiss as he rocked against you a little more, which made your toes curl.

when he eventually stopped, he broke the kiss and looked at your blissed out. oh, you looked gorgeous. he pulled out of you and got down on the bed beside you. he got a strong arm over you and looked at you. he peppered your forehead and cheeks with kissed. a silent praise as you both tried to come back to earth.

"you did so good." he said when he was able to find the words. he also pulled you up against his bare chest.

you wrapped an arm around him and buried your face into his neck. you felt protected and loved. you were cared for in ways that you couldn't find the words for. it was comforting feeling that made you believe that any progress could be made about all the mental aches and pains.

he kissed you on the lips once more and said, "i love you." <3

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letoasai · 2 years ago

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dp x dc Chronos part 2

Part 1 and Part 3

The Justice League sat in the Watchtower, some of them at least. The meeting was meant to be a quick one, only certain members in attendance to make sure they were all on the same page after the debrief of the last mission. Not all of them were necessary and most were usually busy.

Today Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash and Green Lantern were in the middle of wrapping things up when the alert sounded. The siren blared twice before the red lights in the corner of each room flashed in an emergency.

“What in the world…” Flash grumbled but was obviously the first to the controls to look for the problem. None of the main alarms had been triggered, none of the doors messed with. No unusual motion noted in parts of the station that were currently vacant. “Weird.”

“What is it?” Batman was next beside him, arms crossed as he peered at the screen with narrowed eyes.

“It’s the sensors.” Flash said. “We’re picking up some kind of interference.”

“Way up here? What kind?” Green Lantern asked, he’d moved to one of the wide windows of the viewing deck as if he would be able to see something approaching. As things were, there was nothing but the normal vastness of space with Earth to one side.

“No idea.” Flash said. “Never seen something like this before.”

“Any idea on a location?” Superman asked, appearing by Green Lantern’s side.

Flash just clucked his tongue, hitting buttons much faster than a normal person. It was almost an irritation that he had to wait for the computer to keep up with him. “I mean, there’s nothing exactly to track yet.”

“An anomaly then.” Wonder Woman said, leaning back against the conference table they’d all just been sitting around. “Something natural?”

“There’s nothing natural about this.” Batman said, tone skeptical as he gazed at the screens.

“Gonna side with that bat on this one.” Flash said, “It’s more like a warning before anything happens. Something setting off the sensors but nothing else? Feels like it was on purpose.”

Green Lantern rolled his eyes. “What, like something’s knocking before they make themselves known?”

Before anyone could even offer their opinion on what they thought of something so ridiculous, a spark of green ripped through the air like lightning. Just as quickly it spread out into an obvious portal. Every member of the Justice League sprang into position, circling the phenomenon to block it in from every direction. Things like this shouldn’t have been possible, but it wasn’t the first time an intruder had gotten creative to get inside the Watchtower.

Without any fanfare, a man stepped out. They presumed it was a man anyway. He was dressed in mostly shades of purple other than his leather boots and gloves. He was covered by a cloak and hood, but when he looked up, it was hard to say what about him was the most unsettling. The red eyes. The blue skin. The pendulum clock that set back into his chest so far that he could only be missing crucial organs.

“Who are you?” Superman demanded, quickly trying to assess if there would be a fight or not.

“How did you get here?” Batman said right after, gravel tone somehow more frightening because he was calm.

The intruder just gestured with his thumb at the portal behind him. “Thought it was rather obvious.”

“Your purpose?” Wonder Woman asked, looking relaxed but her body was tense and ready to react in a moments notice.

“My purpose?” He chuckled quietly. In his hand was a staff they’d almost missed before, the top of it cradling a clock. It seemed to be a theme given the number of watches and clocks he wore. “I’ve come to call in a favor. The Justice League owes me several.”

“We owe you? Ppfff. Yeah right. We don’t even know who you are.” Flash rolled his eyes.

The intruder turned to the Flash, his brow raised. “Speedster, with the amount of times you’ve dabbled in the time stream, you alone owe me your life a fair few times.”

“Time, huh?” Green Lantern looked him over. There were a lot of clocks... “Guess that’s your schtick.”

He chuckled again. “I go by many names, only one will be relevant to you today.” He turned his attention onto Wonder Woman who squared up under his gaze. If she was going to be his focus then she’d take him head on.

“And?” She arched a brow at him. “What name may we call you?”

He looked amused, red eyes filled with mirth. “You, Diana, may call me grandfather.”

The room stilled, the others looking around in varying degrees of confusion while Wonder Woman just paled.

“Chronos. God of time…” she muttered, making it very clear to the team what they were dealing with. A God.

“I go by master of time these days, but yes. I am that Chronos. I have a task for you, Diana. One i do not think you will turn down but i’ll give you the illusion of choice.” Chronos said, the minute and hour hands on his staff moving strangely.

“You’re a god, and you come to us for help?” Batman asked, unimpressed no matter the glowers he was being sent by the others.

“You are the Justice League, aren’t you?” Chronos looked pleased. “Righting wrongs. Defending Earth. Justice is in the name and everything.”

He didn’t talk like a god. He didn’t even talk as formally as Wonder Woman herself tended to occasionally.

“Doing tasks for you is asking for trouble.” Wonder Woman muttered. She’d heard stories, so many stories.

Chronos shrugged. “Time is messy. Keeping it in line is difficult. Especially when there are those who mess with it who should not.” He was not above verbally throwing speedsters under the bus.

“What do you want?” Green Lantern asked, obviously suspicious but paying very close attention.

“Simple.” Chronos answered, still looking at his granddaughter. “You will take custody of your uncle for a time. He needs a safe place to rest and live.”

The silence that followed was loud, no one knowing what to make of that. Wonder Woman herself looked puzzled.

“Are you claiming a sibling of Zeus needs a babysitter?”

Chronos hummed. “He is my son though he holds no biological relation to your father, i suppose.”

“Then how is he her uncle?” Flash asked, with a hint of sass.

“You can ask Batman how it works.” Chronos mused, saying all he would say on the matter but that was enough.

Wonder Woman couldn’t fathom what kind of person her grandfather would see fit to adopt. “Are you going to tell me more?”

“Telling you more would imply you were agreeing to the task.”

She tsked. “None of your word games. I want to know what i could be walking into.”

Chronos never once looked threatened or put out, he did however, appear to look a few years older than he had when he’d first appeared. “He recently needed to be removed from his home for his safety. He can easily visit me but staying with me long term at this time is not beneficial to him for health reasons.”

Superman frowned. “Removed from his home? How old is he?”

“Sixteen. If that is all you need to know, i will fetch him. It may take some time for him to regain consciousness.” Chronos said.

“He’s been hurt?” Batman was frowning at the thought, looking more and more unhappy as the conversation progressed.

“I did say he was removed from his home.” Chronos said, almost flippantly as he stepped back into his glowing green portal. It remained open, everyone exchanging looks.

“Diana, is this a good idea?” Superman asked, willing to accept her judgment. Greek gods were more her wheelhouse.

“Chronos was a titan. Is a titan?” She frowned. “His power is immense for a being thought to be killed.”

“Something about him is off.” Batman agreed. “He was not worried at all. That is someone aware they have the upper hand.”

Wonder Woman just nodded her agreement. Chronos was the god of time. There was no telling what he knew. “I’ve never met him before.”

“Hell of a time for family reunions.” Flash snarked, heading back to the controls to see what readings they could get on the floating portal. It was obvious each of them wanted to study it in their own way. Scans and samples were first on their minds but it was clearly some kind of magic they weren’t familiar with.

It was almost a shame there wasn’t a single member from JLD currently in the Watchtower. They might have been able to provide answers.

Before much of anything could be done, Chronos returned, somehow looking several years younger than when he first appeared. In his arms was a lanky teen, cradled carefully as if he were fragile. He was equally a sight that left the League speechless. He wasn’t blue, in fact he looked more or less human other that the freckles that shined.

Superman was the one to immediately note they were constellation patterned.

His hair was a stark white that wisped and flowed as if he were under water. His clothes were strange, a detailed variation of an old hazmat suit, all done in black and white. Floating above his head was a crown that didn’t seem to know if it wanted to be on fire or covered in ice. It bobbed back and forth and even did a slow flip in the air but never left the area about the boy’s head.

When no one uttered a word, Chronos took that as permission to begin the introductions. “Diana, this is your uncle. Danny Phantom. Son of the Stars. The Personification of Balance. The Ghost King. High King of the Infinite Realm.”

“He’s a king?” Batman frowned. “He’s a boy.”

“He could be both, Bats. He’s got a crown.” Flash chuckled softly.

Chronos shared his amusement. “I did say he was only sixteen.” The god paused for a moment as the teen twisted in his arms, his face pressed against Chronos’ shoulder and a hand lightly pressed against the door of the clock embedded into the man’s chest.

The fact that, even asleep, the boy was comfortable in the gods arms didn’t go unnoticed.

“Is he injured?” Wonder Woman asked. They’d gone over this already but he didn’t look actively wounded. He seemed to be sleeping only.

Chronos grunted once. “One form heals faster than the other. He needs rest, ambient ectoplasm which he knows how to get on his own, and food. He can answer your questions if he feels like it.”

“If he feels like it?” Green Lantern frowned.

“He’s the King.” Chronos’ lips twitched in amusement again. “If he decides to tell you more, or seek help, that is his decision.”

“Seek help?” Batman’s eyes were narrowed. “Seek help for what?”

Chronos approached and shifted the teenager into Wonder Woman’s arms. His crown shifted back and forth but never left the teen. The grip he had on the god wasn’t noticed until he tried to pull away and Chronos needed to carefully extract the boy’s hand.

Ignoring Batman, he pressed on. “He’ll need to follow up with his doctor by the end of the week. He’ll know how to do that. If he doesn’t, his doctor will come to him. That should be incentive enough.”

“Does he know you’re dropping him off here?” Superman asked, brows knitted together in concern. The heroes had been expecting a fight, not to be handed a royal teen.

“He has a fondness for for space, so you might want to let him wake up here.” Chronos said instead, ignoring that question too. He was growing older again, a short, white beard starting to form.

“How long will he need to be in my care?” Wonder Woman asked, noting the boy weighed very little in her arms. In sleep his features were soft, hopefully he was as sweet as he looked.

“Good luck.” Chronos said, staff reappearing in his hand now, turning back to the portal without giving her an answer.

“Hey! Wait!” Flash yelled but for once, he was too slow, the god and the portal disappeared.

Five members of the Justice League just stood in a mild stupor, their attention shifting to the sleeping teen.

“Well…” Superman muttered.

Wonder Woman looked at the boy, floating hair and crown moving in tandem. “I’ll set him down. We’ll see if he can answer any of our questions when he wakes up.”

“You gonna call him Uncle Danny?” Flash asked, not bothering to hide his smile.

Wonder Woman just ignored him and turned to stride off towards the med-station. -------------------------

------------------------- No idea at all if i’ll continue this. If anyone else wants too, go for it. ^_^

@markus209

#dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #clockwork #justice league #Looks like Wonder Woman is Danny's guardian now #Danny Phantom #wonder woman

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sorceresssundries · 24 days ago

Text

Ruined

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: Regency Era AU! Tav is burdened by whispers of a cursed love life. Twice betrothed to promising men, only to lose them to tragic fates, Tav’s allure has become a point of fascination and fear. Intrigued, the recently arrived Mr. Dekarios pursues her despite the ominous rumours that surround her.

Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Porn with Plot, NSFW

Word Count: 6K

A/N - this was written as part of a prompt challenge, the prompt was 'Let me ruin you.'

Tav was, yet again, compelled to endure the dreary monotony of another wretched ball. It was the seventh of the season, though indistinguishable from the first—or indeed from any that had succeeded it. The floral arrangements, while marginally altered, brought no true novelty. The pheasant, a substitution for last week’s goose, was hardly the culinary triumph the hosts had envisioned. Yet still, the gathered throng twittered and preened, as though this fête were the crowning glory of the season.

It was not.

She often found her thoughts wandering from the oppressive glow of chandeliers to the untamed wilds beyond the manicured grounds. There, she imagined herself letting her hair and laughter fall loose, and riding bareback through the weaving woods she often drifted to, lured by wildflowers and birdsong. Or even further, to the ocean where the waves beat and pulled against the shore and promised mystery and new horizons.

Her daydreaming and lack of refinement had often left her labelled as preoccupied, unladylike, vexing.. To those throughout her life who had attempted to curtail her tendency to wish for the unobtainable. Corsets and etiquette may have done their best to pour her into a shape worth enduring, but there were no rules nor laces tight enough to bind the wild beat of her reckless heart.

But here she was, bound again and bored again, at another repetitive show, for another repetitive year. Constantly torn between wanting to be wild and needing to be secure.

This season, like the last, had brought Tav yet another marriage proposal - her third in total. She accepted it with the quiet resignation of one who had grown all too accustomed to the inevitability of such offers.

Offers which, so far, had ended in tragedy.

Two seasons ago, she had been affianced to a fine gentleman of estimable rank and fortune. Their engagement was announced amid great fanfare, and society applauded the match as one of rare brilliance. Alas, before vows could be exchanged, her intended husband succumbed to a sudden fever, leaving Tav bereaved and pitied.

The following season, she accepted another suitor, a baronet’s eldest son, whose devotion bordered on zeal. Yet fate struck cruelly again: he fell from his horse mere weeks before their nuptials, his neck broken in an instant.

After the second tragedy, the whispers began. They followed her like shadows, flitting from one fan to the next, growing more embellished with every retelling. Some claimed her beauty was too perfect, a snare set by the Fates to lure men to their doom. Others murmured curses, of misdeeds from ancestors long ago visited upon the innocents of the present.

Whatever the tale, Tav was transformed in the eyes of society - from the most captivating of melodies, to the siren who used it to drown the besotted.

She was hoping that the third time would, indeed, be the charm many claimed it to be. The only reason she had accepted the invitation to this particular ball was due to the request of Mr. Rowle, a solicitor who spent most of his time in London and was in search of a wife to keep in his large house in the countryside.

He had asked for her hand, and she had accepted. It was to be announced later this evening.

Mr. Rowle was the kind of man who could hardly be described as remarkable. He bore the vigour of watered-down wine, and his presence filled every room he was in the way a stale breeze might fill a drawing room. Still, he had taken a particular shine to Tav after realising, quite astutely, that she possessed both beauty and a good name, with very little competition standing in her way. His appreciation for her was pragmatic, driven by the efficiency of her family’s connections rather than any deep passion.

Tav had no illusions. She knew what marriage meant in this world. Mr. Rowle, for all his mildness, was no different from the fiancées who had come before him—well-intentioned, perhaps, but uninspiring. A man who would offer comfort and stability, if not love.

He was aware of the rumours that surrounded her, but Mr. Rowle was not a superstitious man, and so after only a couple of dances and several conversations about the weather and the local wildlife, he had visited her home and made her an offer of matrimony. It was swift, practical, and utterly devoid of romantic flourishes. He had no grand speeches, no sweet promises, only a proposal that seemed as casual as the conversation they had shared over punch.

Tav had felt nothing. Certainly not elation, nor disappointment, nor even relief. There was nothing in Mr. Rowle’s offer that made her heart race or her pulse quicken. His offer was as placid and dull as his presence.

And yet, she agreed. Not out of a sense of duty or obligation, but because she could not think of a reason not to. The prospect of becoming a solitary wife in a large, empty house with a husband she did not love seemed no worse than the alternative—more of the same, the same crowded balls, the same endless parade of unremarkable suitors, the same stale expectations.

“I shall make do,” she had resolved to herself, turning her thoughts away from her own desires.

Not that she particularly minded being on her own. In fact, she found her company much more invigorating than any other person she had socialised with all season - save, perhaps, one.

Mr. Gale Dekarios was a recent attendee to the events of the county, and was the subject of countless fluttering eyelashes, timid stares, and whispered speculations. Wealthy, strikingly handsome, and possessing an education that was the envy of many, he had recently taken up residence in the county after parting scandalously from his lover in the capital. A member of the nobility, it was said - though no one dared utter whose name, precisely - with whom he had been an illustrious paramour until he had, regrettably, fallen out of favour.

Quick-witted, and perhaps a touch too clever for his own good, Mr. Dekarios had the uncanny ability to sharpen a room’s attention merely by entering it. Tav had disliked him instantly. She rolled her eyes at the chatter of scandal that clung to him, noting how it seemed to polish his reputation rather than tarnish it.

The same clucking mothers who had pecked at her name until it was in tatters, pushed their daughters towards him at every opportunity. Hoping that a dance or a conversation would lead to a betrothal between the rich, educated former lover of a noble and their insipid waif of a daughter.

She certainly had no intention of tripping over herself to catch his eye.

Mr.Dekarios however, was not quite as sure-footed.

He was intrigued by the woman of substantial beauty who often seemed to flitter, disinterested at the corner of the gatherings. Filling her own glass, and tapping her feet to the music as she sat in solitude, thinking no-one could see the rhythm of her slippers beneath her gown.

He had asked about her almost immediately. Discretion was paramount, of course, so he made his inquiries with care, approaching a variety of confidants and acquaintances. Their answers, though varied, all carried the same shadowed thread.

She was a beauty, they said, as luminous as she was mysterious. Yet her allure was whispered to come at a cost. Twice, she had been betrothed, and twice tragedy had struck before vows could be exchanged. Both men, hale and hearty, had perished suddenly and unexpectedly. Fever claimed one, and a fatal fall took the other. Another one, some solicitor , was apparently rumoured to be next in line.

Some spun her tale with a touch of poetry, casting her as an otherworldly enchantress whose perfection ensnared mortal men. Others muttered more pragmatic warnings, hinting at curses, ill luck, or sins of her forebears.

Whatever the version, the message was clear: she was a woman to be admired from afar, not pursued.

And yet, after watching her, Gale found himself thoroughly unconvinced.

The first time he asked her to dance, she had declined with polite finality, offering no further explanation. It wasn’t rejection so much as dismissal, as though his request were little more than a passing inconvenience. He hadn’t been discouraged.

The second time, she wavered—her lips curving into a subtle smirk, her eyes alight with a glimmer of something that might have been amusement. Still, her answer had been the same. No.

The third time, however, her disbelief at his persistence had given way to reluctant acceptance. “I’m not sure this is wise,” she had said, even as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

“Wisdom is overrated,” Gale replied, his grin laced with mischief. “But if it’s any consolation, I promise not to step on your toes.”

And so began the pattern that would define their every subsequent meeting.

Each time they danced, his hand held her waist with a touch that grew imperceptibly firmer, his dark eyes dipping lower, his gaze lingering longer. She told herself she imagined the faint stroke of his thumb against her gloved hand, yet each time the contact sent a spark rippling through her. For the first time, she understood the folly—and the wisdom—of feeling alight from something so small.

Unlike other partners, he eschewed the usual, droning topics of weather and the quality of the supper. Instead, he asked questions that surprised her. He wanted to know about her family, her thoughts, her opinions.

She had flirted and bantered, and he had laughed - beautifully, richly. A sound that disarmed her completely and, more often than not, drew her own laughter from her lips until her corset protested against the joy.

But beneath the growing warmth between them, a shadow still lingered. Tav couldn’t ignore it. Surely Gale, for all his charm, was not unaware of her reputation, the whispers that followed her like a darkness even beneath the brightest chandeliers. Surely he, like everyone else, knew of the misfortunes that had befallen those who dared to come too close.

Her curiosity eventually overcame her. One evening, as the music faded and the final steps of their dance drew them close, he lifted her gloved hand to his lips. His touch, light and brief, sent a shiver through her even as his dark eyes locked onto hers, steady and full of something she dared not name.

“I would like to pay you a call tomorrow,” he said softly, the intimacy of it wrapping around her like a caress.

Bemused, and emboldened by their growing familiarity, she could not help but challenge him. “Have you not heard, sir?” she asked, tilting her head with mock gravity. “Any man foolish enough to commit himself to me meets a grisly end. I am the curse of the county.”

“I am well aware of your fascinating history.” His lips twitched, a grin threatening to break free. “It reminds me of certain females of the animal kingdom who are known to murder - and occasionally devour - their partners after the union is complete. It seems you either possess exceptional efficiency or lack the intelligence to at least wait until the marriage contract is signed.”

“Intelligence?” She arched a brow, her smirk sharpening. “Sir, I lack the patience.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding with exaggerated sagacity. “Then perhaps next time, you ought to choose a suitor whose company you can bear for long enough to secure the contract.”

“If I find such a man,” she countered with a smile, “I shall let you know at once.”

His laughter rang out, warm and unguarded, sending a strange ache through her chest. It had quickly become her favorite sound—a sound that made the rest of the world fade, if only for a moment.

But the following day, when he arrived at her home, she turned him away.

Not because she wanted to. On the contrary, she found herself hovering near the window long after his carriage had departed, her hands gripping the sill as though it might steady the tumult inside her.

No, she turned him away because she understood the danger of marrying for passion in a world where she was not allowed to express it.

And somewhere deep down, buried beneath her rational mind and resolute exterior, there lingered a fear she dared not voice. The rumors, as wild and swirling as they were, had taken root in a corner of her heart. No matter how much she dismissed tales of blood curses and ancestral magic as foolishness, the whispers of society were insidious. If you are told something often enough, if you hear it echoed and embellished in every corner of every room, the ability to believe it burrows cruelly and stubbornly into the softer places of the soul.

It didn’t matter that no proof existed, nor that the very idea was absurd. The possibility, however faint, was enough to haunt her.

And the thought of such a fate befalling Gale—his dark, knowing eyes dimmed, his laughter silenced, his warm hand gone cold—was too cruel to consider.

She accepted Mr Rowle’s proposal the very next day.

And so here she was, at the ball where it was to be announced, once again folded up into manageable pieces, and ended up feeling so confined it became difficult to breathe properly, let alone laugh or flirt or, god forbid, enjoy oneself.

She thought once more of the woods and the ocean, of a freedom she would never find, and it all became too much.

She slipped from the crowded room, the clamour of prattle unbearable, and wandered aimlessly through a labyrinth of endless, identical corridors. The monotonous expanse seemed to stretch without end, until, at last, she stumbled upon an unoccupied alcove. With a soft, relieved sigh, she surrendered to the cool solidity of the wall, allowing herself the rare indulgence of slouching heavily against it. The breath she released felt as though it had been held captive not just for hours, but for the entire length of the season itself.

Her reprieve, however, was fleeting.

“Miss Taventon,” came a familiar velvet voice, “I was hoping to stumble into you.”

It was a cruel challenge, to maintain both eloquence and ire in the presence of someone so devilishly handsome. Yet, she resolved to rise to the occasion all the same.

“A pleasure Mr. Dekarios,” she replied, her voice carefully even. Her eyes flicked down the corridor behind him, searching for signs of life. It was, to her dismay, empty. The usual din of aimless chatter was absent - ordinarily a blessing, but now a vexing reminder that to be alone with him, even for a moment, was to court the sort of scandal that clung like burrs to one’s reputation. She lacked both the energy and inclination to untangle herself from such a mess.

“Perhaps we may continue this discussion elsewhere,” he offered, wanting to protect her decency but not at the expense of losing the pleasure of her company. His interactions with her had become a sparkling rarity he would loathe to let slip between clumsy fingers.

His eyes caught the faint light of the sconces, their gleam too knowing, his half-cocked smile far too disarming. Indeed, Tav found herself wholly disarmed. Her wits scattered like leaves in a strong wind, and she could scarcely think clearly enough to determine what she ought to do—or say.

Before reason could intervene, her hand shot out, taking hold of his arm with a firmness that startled even her. She pulled him into the nearest room without so much as a word of explanation.

The door clicked shut behind them, and they found themselves within a study, low-lit and mercifully empty. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, the scent of leather-bound tomes mingling with faint traces of cedar and ink. An extravagant writing desk stood as the room’s centerpiece, the only witness to their impropriety.

He was so close, gazing down upon her, the scent of plummy wine and heat simmering upon him. A dangerous thought flitted through her mind. If she so chose, she need only rise to the balls of her feet and kiss away the smile that played so smugly upon his lips. What might it taste like - that peculiar blend of arrogance and charm? Would it be sharp and bitter, like unripe fruit, or unexpectedly sweet, a slow trickle of late-summer honey?

The notion startled her, sending a betraying flush to her cheeks. To taste his superiority - to swallow it whole, to let it nourish her own fire - was a thought too bold, too improper. She stepped back abruptly, the motion breaking the spell his gaze had woven around her. The weight of his eyes remained upon her, unrelenting, as though he could divine the secrets she so desperately sought to hide.

Her lips parted, but no words formed. What could she possibly say to shatter the charged silence that hung between them? She felt unmoored in a storm she was unprepared for, swirling with curiosity, and something perilously close to longing. Yet even in her disarray, she knew that silence was a weapon she dared not wield for too long.

“I hear you are betrothed,” he said first. His tone was peculiar, sharper than usual, edged with something she could not readily name. “My sincerest congratulations.”

For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw the faintest flicker in his expression - hurt, perhaps, or resignation. But the mocking tilt to his words fanned her anger, quick and volatile.

“If your intention is to bait me with sarcasm or false pleasantries,” she snapped, indignant, “then I can assure you, your ire is wasted.” Her cheeks flushed with the heat of her temper. “You have very little appreciation of my position, and I will have no judgment from you, nor from anybody else.”

Her voice trembled on the edge of breaking, her hot-blooded nature betraying her as usual, and she felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. She turned her face away, willing herself to regain control, furious that he could provoke her so easily.

“I apologise,” he said, gentler now. “If I have upset you, I assure you, it was never my intention.”

He reached out then, instinct overriding reason, his hand hovering in the space between them. He longed to trace the line of her jaw, to gently guide her gaze back to his. He lived for those moments when her eyes met his, those fleeting seconds when the world fell away and he could lose himself utterly in their depths. To be this close to her yet deprived of that connection felt like an unbearable cruelty.

But just as quickly, reason caught up with him. He hesitated, his hand faltering mid-air before he let it fall back to his side. He thought better of himself—of her—and allowed her the space she sought, even if it meant she kept her face turned from him, her eyes averted, her expression unreadable.

“If that was not your intention, sir,” she asked “then what is?”

He hesitated once more, caught between decorum and the desperate urge to speak the truth. If her engagement was to be announced tonight, as rumour suggested, this moment might be his last chance—his last opportunity to tell her what had remained unsaid for far too long.

In the silence, her eyes once more found him, too curious and impatient to be coy.

“My intention… was to make you aware of my feelings for you. It is no use, I can hide them no longer, and if this is my final opportunity to make them known then.. I would be a fool not to take it.”

If he expected her to be flattered, he would be disappointed.

“I see.” She said, whilst waiting for her thoughts to arrange themselves into a suitable order. “And you have decided to make this confession, alone with me? On the night of my engagement? How noble of you, sir. How thoughtful.”

He had the decency to blush a little, “I did not mean to.. I did not think..” “No, because you have no need of thought. You may act as and how you please with little to no repercussions upon your indelible reputation. What is one more scandal to the mystical and ravishing Gale Dekarios? It would surely only further your allure, to have talk of another lover notched upon your no-doubt dwindling bedpost.”

“Now, hold on..”

“No. I shall hold no more. This is perhaps my final chance for a match, as limp and uninspiring as it is, it is still a match. I do not have the luxury of flitting my way across ballrooms and wearing scandal like the latest fashion. My name is muddied, and my future with it. This engagement is my chance at a comfortable and secure future, do you understand?”

“It is strange, my lady, as secure and comfortable are not words I would have associated with you, or your future.” For one so intelligent, Gale Dekarios often demonstrated the wit of a backwards ass.

“And what words did you associate with my future? Ruined? Destitute? Cursed? The only curse that has befallen me is the one that prevents me from charting my own course. You think I wish to marry that man? I assure you I do not.”

“Stubborn is the word I would use! And infuriating!” His voice was rising to meet hers. “You ought not to worry about the match” he remarked, exasperated. “This time you are bound to vex the poor soul into an early grave”

“Yes, I am vexing! I have been told many times. And I am stubborn, I am glad of it. Because if I am not then I am meek, and if I am not curious then I am stale, and if I am not passionate then I..” she could feel the words crack in her throat, truths she did not want to admit were being spilled from her like poisoned wine “then I am ruined. Not the ruin that this stagnant, monotone tribunal has decreed, but truly ruined. The kind of ruin that steals the sun from my skin and the fire from my soul. That straightens my curls along with my spirit and leaves me pale, faded, and hollow.”

She was blazing, alight, and so achingly, achingly tired of it all.

“The ruin they speak of, the one they condemn with such piety - freedom, passion, love without boundaries or permission - that is no ruin at all. That is a privilege. One that you are entitled to, sir, but I am not and now never will be. I crave to be so ruined.”

Her chest heaved as she finished, her final words hanging in the air like a dare. She was certain he would turn and leave her, that her outburst was too wild for a gentleman of his stature to bear. It would hurt her, for him to turn, but it would not destroy her. She was made of obstinance and wildfire. She would endure.

But he did not turn. He stood there, gazing at her with an expression she could not read and a patience she did not understand.

“Then let me ruin you.”

She was a match struck.

Before she could form a reply - before she could even think - he crossed the small space between them in one deliberate step. His hand rose to cup her cheek, his palm warm against her flushed skin. The touch was surprisingly gentle, belying the fire burning in his gaze, and for a moment, she thought he would simply hold her there, suspended in this unbearable torment.

But then his lips were on hers, and the whole world tilted.

The kiss was no delicate brush of affection. It was a collision. His lips claimed hers with an urgency that stole her breath, leaving her reeling.

She should have pulled away, every rational thought in her mind screamed that she must. But instead, her hands betrayed her, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, the only thing keeping her upright.

His hand cupped the back of her neck, strong and steady, his fingers threading through her hair as he tilted her head to deepen the kiss. When his tongue swept against hers, the shock of it sent a jolt through her, every nerve in her body alight. She met him with equal fervor, her tongue pressing against his in a rhythm that had been desperate to know. A low, primal sound rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her as he pressed closer, his body warm and solid against hers.

The moan sent a shiver through her, and she felt herself leaning into him, her fingers tightening their grip as though afraid he might pull away. But he didn’t. His other hand slid to her waist, strong fingers splaying across the delicate fabric of her gown as though he might anchor her to him.

She could feel the heat of his breath, could taste the faint hint of wine on his lips, and the sheer reality of it overwhelmed her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a chaotic echo of this is madness.

And yet, she couldn’t stop.

Her body betrayed her again, arching toward him. When his lips parted from hers, moving to trail a line of fire along her jaw, she let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Gale,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking his name might shatter whatever fragile spell had woven itself around them.

But he only paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above her ear as he spoke, his voice rough and low. “Tell me to stop.”

She opened her mouth, the words poised on her lips. But no sound came.

His forehead rested lightly against hers, his breath coming fast and uneven.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeated, his voice low, rough, and trembling with restraint. “And I will. But kiss me again…

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his gaze searching, as though he feared he had gone too far. But there was no condemnation in her expression, only a fire that mirrored his own.

He paused, as though steadying himself, “Kiss me again, and know that I am done. That I am yours. That I will ruin you for all others but me—and me for you.”

His words unraveled something deep within her, loosening threads she had clung to for far too long. She felt her breath hitch, her resolve wavering as she stood on the precipice of something she could not yet name.

“Yours?” she whispered.

“Everlasting”

The weight of his promise pressed against her, both a burden and a liberation. She knew the cost of stepping over this threshold, knew what it would mean to claim him as hers and to give herself in turn. And yet, in that moment, the world beyond the walls of the study—the rigid rules, the whispered judgments, the life that awaited her—seemed so distant, so inconsequential.

Her hand rose of its own accord, trembling as it brushed against the collar of his coat, tracing the fine fabric. She felt the sharp intake of his breath, and it emboldened her.

She kissed him, branded him, a kiss to end all others.

A sound escaped him then, something between a sigh and a growl, and before she could say more, his tongue was against hers again.

He broke away briefly, his lips hovering just above hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“There will be no going back,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Good,” she replied, her fingers curling tighter into his coat. “I have no wish to.”

His hands were large and practiced upon her corseted waist. He knew that he would not be able undo her now the way he wished to. He wanted to rip the strings and restraints that bound together the softness of her body. What a waste, what a crime, to tighten and pull together someone as vivid and iridescent as her. To compress her heavy breaths and even heavier laughter into a space too small to hold it. He wanted to hear her, unbidden and unbound. Taste her, full and soft and naked beneath him.

His eyes swept over her, lingering on the curve of her throat where pearls pulsed teasingly, the flush that painted her cheeks, and the slight parting of her lips as she fought to catch her breath. What need did a creature like her have for silk, satin, or pearls? They were dull imitations of beauty, mere adornments trying to mimic what she carried so effortlessly.

It was her—the way her skin caught the light, the way her hair fell in wild waves when she let it loose, the way her laughter could ripple through a room and silence even the most biting of whispers—that made those lifeless things shine. They owed their luster to her, mere shadows granted brilliance by proximity to the source. Just as he felt by being close to her.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice low and rough with longing.

She released herself from his grasp to a noise of frustration, before stepping back until the back of her legs met with the solid wood of the grand writing desk. It was covered in papers, books which held little interest. He wished to throw them all to the floor, nothing that lay upon that desk could ever possibly be as entrancing as even the thought of Tav laying splayed across it - spine arched and back rising.

“Show me.” She said.

She perched upon the desk, and his breath was ragged and eyes hungry as she lifted her skirts tantalisingly slowly, inch by inch, revealing her feet, her ankles, her calves. How hard he was, just from the sight of her ankles. He wished to kiss each part of her she was unveiling, parts he had imagined in his dreams night after night. Pushing his tongue against her insole, running along the delicacy of her ankle and up her calf. Further and further and further up until his teeth could grace her stocking clasps and he could finally indulge in the scent of her greatest intimacy.

He fell to his knees before her, in lust-induced worship. He had found a Goddess made mortal, and he wished to venerate her with sermon and satisfaction until her divinity returned. He would offer his mouth - tongue and teeth and words, upon every altar she owned. Purl hymns and benediction into the slick heat of her sacred cunt until she offered him blessing after blessing in return.

His hands gripped her thighs, lifting her closer to him as his mouth claimed her. He wanted her to fall apart against him, to know that no other would ever worship her like this, with such complete surrender. Her cries filled the room as he licked and moaned and devoured, and when she trembled beneath him, he knew he had her.

But the fire blazing between them refused to be sated.

He rose to his feet in one swift motion, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her flush against him. Her skirts were rucked high, her bare thighs wrapping around him instinctively. She reached for him, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers until she freed him, her hand wrapping around the hard, pulsing heat of him.

“We do not have to...” he groaned, desperately clinging to the last vestiges of proprietary, to throw a lifeline despite drawing himself.

She needed no lifeline from him. Gasping, she positioned him against her, and kissed him hard as with one rough, claiming thrust, he buried himself inside her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her head falling back as he filled her completely. The desk groaned beneath them.

He drove into her with a raw, relentless intensity, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her closer, deeper, with every thrust. The sounds of their coupling filled the room—her breathless cries, his low growls, the slap of skin against skin. She was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed, and he would have her again and again until she knew it.

Her legs tightened around him, her heels digging into his back as her body arched against his. She met him thrust for thrust, her hands clutching at him as though she feared he might disappear. She was wild, untamed, and he was utterly at her mercy.

“Gale,” she gasped, her voice rippling with pleasure.

He kissed her messy and feverish, a clash of teeth and tongues as their passion spilled over. He swallowed her cries as her body tightened around him, her release ripping through her with a force that left her trembling in his arms.

He followed moments later, his own release crashing over him like a tidal wave. He held her close, his forehead resting against hers as their breaths mingled, their bodies still joined. The room was silent save for the sound of their ragged breathing, the scent of their lovemaking hanging heavy in the air.

She smiled up at him, her eyes alight with mischief and satisfaction. “And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, low and warm, as he pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “One cannot always be a gentleman,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.

Her gaze drifted over the room, taking in the disarray they’d left in their wake—papers crumpled and askew, books knocked from their orderly piles, and an inkpot that had tipped, its dark contents staining the pristine wood and smearing across important-looking documents.

“We’ve made a mess,” she said, her tone somewhere between scolding and delight.

“More than a mess,” he replied, his disarming smile lighting his face. “Ruined, I would say.”

Her laughter spilled into the room, bright and unrestrained, and he caught it in a kiss. His lips brushed hers softly at first, then with growing fervor as if he could never quite get enough of her. Reluctantly pulling away, he began the task of tidying her up, his hands reverent as they smoothed her disheveled skirts.

He knelt before her, fastening her stockings with a devotion that made her heart race. Each clasp was accompanied by the soft press of his lips to her thighs, a mixture of penance and unrepentant indulgence. When her hair pins were hopelessly scattered, he did his best to tame her curls, his fingers clumsy yet endearing as he pinned them back into something resembling order.

Satisfied—or at least as much as either of them could be—he sank into the grand leather desk chair, its creak breaking the quiet. With a gentle tug, he pulled her onto his lap, cradling her against him. His hands roamed her back and waist, languid and adoring,

“There is a packet ship,” Gale said, “Leaving from Falmouth in three days' time. We could be on it.”

She stilled, her lips barely parted, and her gaze lifted to meet his. “A ship?”

“Yes,” he replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, a smile that resembled a promise. “A fine vessel. A friend of mine—Wyll, a duke’s son—will be aboard. The Nautiloid. We could go together. You and I.”

Across the sea. How many nights had she stood at her window, gazing out beyond the carefully manicured hedges, imagining the vast, untamed expanse of the ocean? How often had she dreamed of a ship’s deck beneath her feet, the wind twisting her hair into wild hurricanes, no land in sight—only water, only freedom?

Her breath quickened, her thoughts racing, but he continued, seizing the moment. “I had planned to leave earlier. The tedium of society was wearing unbearably thin. I long for further study, for exploration.” He paused, his voice softening as he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “But I stayed. For fleeting moments in your company, for the hope of something more.”

Her heart swelled and twisted in equal measure. “And you are not afraid? That becoming my companion will pull you towards an early grave?”

He laughed softly, the sound rich and warm as he cupped her cheek. “Afraid? No. I could think of no better way to end my days than by your side.” His gaze grew serious, intense. “No supposed curse you bear frightens me. I think your suitors thus far were simply not of strong enough disposition to keep your wild flames stoked. And so, they burned out. As many would.”

“And you,” she asked, arching a brow, though her voice was edged with a smile, “are not at risk of combusting, I suppose?”

“I’d like to hope not,” he replied, his grin returning, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as though to trace the smile that bloomed there.

“So, Mr. Dekarios,” she began “if I do board this ship with you, if I cast off everything I know and chart my own course, what will we find there?”

His smile softened, his hand falling to hers, their fingers lacing as though they had always belonged together.

“Adventure”

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #gale bg3 #gale baldur's gate #gale fanfic #Regency AU

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neiveel3llson · 10 months ago

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While hosting a game show to boost the brothers' popularity

NB MC: "-and you'll have to answer twice," *looks at Mammon with. smirk* ", easy for you Virgos."

NB Mammon: "How did they know I was a Virgo..."

*Fanfare begins*

NB Mammon: "HOW DID THEY KNOW I WAS A VIRGO I DID NOT TELL THEM MY BIRTHDA-"

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fuctacles · 3 months ago

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Witch Hunt

for @steddie-spooktober "witch" & @stevieweek "i don't know about this one..." prompt which i've altered quite a bit but used it twice so it kind of evens out, right???

E | 2568 | transfem!Steve (goes by Eve), witch!Steve, demon!Eddie, medieval fantasy, some arson and murder boyfriend vibes, magical srs, possible continuation, im sorry for all the lore | Ao3 more spooktober: "would you please stop trying to scare them?"

Eddie hated his job. Not only the human realm was much colder than Hell, but also, the Deal didn't always work. The success rate has been increasing each time, but it still pissed him off when nothing happened after he's been freezing his balls off for hours. He was starting to think all his fur was just decorative.

When he had arrived at Heimdall's, the guy threw him a skimpy tunic that barely covered his privates.

"Is this the only one you have? You can see my whole dick and balls in it," Eddie had complained, but beggars can't be choosers and all that.

He wraps the fabric tighter around himself when the next gust of air moves clouds away from the moon, making the pile of debris in the clearing visible. Time passes and Eddie waits impatiently, tapping his hooves against the ground, and idly picking stray grass blades from his tail. It seems like the pile moves a couple of times, but it's just the wind disturbing it.

A distant clock tower strikes midnight, and finally, the ash pile moves and keeps on moving, until a hand emerges. Eddie straightens up, his tail twitching in interest.

The ashes start breathing, the charred remains get knocked down and a coughing fit raises a dark cloud into the air. She'll be spitting soot for hours, but at least she's up now, another success for the statistics.

He decides to take pity on the poor girl and steps away from the fence he's been perched on, making room for his wings. With two good swats, the dirt is gone, leaving a slightly dirty, very naked woman in the middle of a charred circle.

He raises his eyebrows.

"These fucking perverts burnt you naked?"

She finally notices his presence, her red-rimmed eyes blinking rapidly to clear her vision, and stands up on shaky legs, still low on energy after her resurrection, barely maintaining her balance. Suddenly, Eddie doesn't seem to matter anymore, as her hands fly to her chest.

"What...?" she murmurs to herself.

Eddie tilts his head, watching the human with curiosity. Usually, the arrival of a demon gets a bigger fanfare, he's almost insulted, but he waits patiently. He already did for so long, and now he has something pretty to lay his eyes on for once. Witches usually came with ugly meat sacks, even after their resurrection.

"Where the fuck is my dick?!"

Ah, yes, that would explain it. The naked thing, too.

"Do you want it back?" Eddie asks because he's a demon with manners.

"No!" she protests immediately, eyes snapping up to him from observing her crotch. "No," she adds softer. "I like it like that." Her hand reaches down to inspect her new parts, so Eddie takes it upon himself to swat it away with his tail.

"Hey!"

He tsks, his long tongue slipping out to flick in a warning.

"Let's not put any more dirt in your holes, okay?" he berates her. Regretfully, he shrugs off the tunic he's been wearing and throws it at the girl. "For your modesty, m'lady."

She glowers at him but slips it over her head anyway. What was small for the demon, doesn't do much more for a human, especially not one with the curves that she has. She wrinkles her nose.

"Is there even a point? You can see my whole—"

Eddie slaps her hand preemptively.

"Hey! I wasn't even touching it!"

"Your hand was too close."

"No, it wasn't!"

Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Let's clean you up and then you can touch it all you want. You have a river in this ditch?" he asks, nose twitching in the air. He turns at the same time the witch points her hand.

"To the left of the village."

Eddie's eyes stray to the cluster of houses she seems determined not to look at.

"Do you have anyone left there?" he asks curiously.

"Not anymore," she scoffs, taking off towards the river.

Eddie has to follow her, he can't risk losing a witch, but an urge flares inside of him that he has to let loose. He claps his hands together and starts rubbing, sparks flying until a fire forms in his palm. He bounces it from one hand to another and nuzzles it with his finger, always happy to work with the little guys. When he feels the witch is watching him, he refocuses and whispers to it:

"Go, little one. Do your worst."

The flame flies off his palm, aided by a push from Eddie's phantom wings.

She doesn't ask, only eyes him curiously, but he pushes gently on her back to prompt her into walking along his side.

"It's gonna take a while," he says without any other explanation.

The walk isn't long, and soon she's handing over the tunic and dipping into the lazily flowing water, dark like ink but glittering with the reflection of stars above. The night sky is probably the only thing Eddie misses in the Underworld.

He sits on the plush grass, observing as the witch dunks under the surface and rubs her skin until it turns pink. It still contrasts with the water like it's made of the finest porcelain.

"I guess you're clean enough to explore now," he says as her movements slow down like she's already contemplating it. She must be, he can taste her curiosity from his spot on the river bank.

"You're gonna sit there and watch?" she glowers at him.

"Of course," he answers matter-of-factly. "I'm a demon."

She huffs, but this time it sounds more amused. Her hand travels down her body.

"What's your name, witch?" Eddie asks, resting his chin on his hand.

"Stev—" she hesitates.

"Eve?" he picks up curiously. That would be hilarious.

She kind of nods, kind of shakes her head.

"I was Steven, then I went by Stevonne, but..."

"That's okay, take your time," Eddie reassures her. "This is your Rebirth, you can pick any name you like."

She hums, and he can see her hand making slow, circling movements under the water.

"I like Eve," she admits.

"Yeah?" Eddie perks up with a smile. "You can call me Eddie. It's nice to make your acquaintance, Eve."

She smiles and opens her mouth to say something, but her attention is pulled somewhere above Eddie's shoulder. The water starts glowing orange.

"Looks like the little guy is having fun," he hums, not looking around. The glow of fire looks better on Eve's skin anyway.

The river carries distant cries for help, a reminder that it's not just a big, pretty bonfire.

"Don't worry, he'll get them all," he says.

"I'm not worried," she assures quickly.

Eve's fixated on the fire consuming her village, her eyes full of awe and the reflection of flames. She's glowing in the now orange water and she looks gorgeous reflecting Eddie's carnage like that. She'll look breathtaking among hellfire.

"Maybe we could spare some," he wonders out loud with a lazy smile. She looks back at him. "So we can hunt them down later. The way they hunt my new favorite witch."

She smiles, mean and thrilled. He'll have to fight fang and claw to keep her.

"Maybe we could."

They look at each other for a long while, until his eyes dip.

"You done?" Eddie looks pointedly at her stilled hand. She sighs with frustration.

"It's way different from this angle," she complains.

Eddie laughs out loud, the sound echoed by the collapsing church that used to tower over the townsfolk.

"Need a hand?" he offers, rolling his eyes when she eyes his claws with distrust. He flicks out his tongue instead. "Need a tongue?"

Eve's totally on board for that, clambering out of the water, her hazelnut hair dripping over her curves. The wet shine on her skin reflects the dancing flames and Eddie would be in love if he knew how to.

"Weren't you appalled that I was watching you just seconds ago?" he laughs at her, a little bit mean, but he already knows she can take it.

"Turns out I like that," she shrugs without shame, making Eddie's smile grow. The sight of his sharp teeth doesn't deter her either. In an instant, he has a lap full of a human, or at least as much of one there was left in Eve. He has her tits right in his face and he wouldn't be a demon if he didn't give them a taste, licking the river water off her skin. She sighs, fingers tangling in his unruly mane of hair, seeking purchase in his horns. He groans when she grabs them, and wraps his arms around her, pressing into her skin so he can flip them around, and lay her down in the bed of grass.

Her yelp turns into a delighted laugh and Eddie trembles with the sound. They don't make witches like that anymore. Free and open to the joys of life, ready to frolic and mingle with the things Unknown. Christianity made it so hard for demons and fae to get laid.

He presses hot kisses down her torso, spends extra time sucking around her navel, then nibbling around her mound, hiking her thighs higher and higher, nosing at the crease there, inhaling her scent, until he gets to his destination. It takes two, three expert licks for Eve to lock her legs around him and scream into the night.

Eddie gently laps up around her hole, her juices too precious to let fall on the grass below. Her breath hitches and she trembles but doesn't move away.

"Do you want more?" he asks, black eyes searching for an answer.

Her eyes are still full of fire.

"Yes."

So he gives her one more, then three, until he loses count and his tongue is numb and Eve's but a puddle of human-shaped limbs underneath him. When he laps at her entrance, drunk himself on her smell and taste, she spreads her legs invitingly, eyes blown and impossibly wide, sparkling with flames.

They stare into each other's dark eyes as he slithers his tongue inside. He rubs against her walls, searching for her face for a reaction, but she's too out of it for anything more than an involuntary twitch of muscles. However, when he moves away, she seems disappointed. He crawls up her body to properly look at her face, but before he can say anything, she lurches forward.

Kissing is not something he's used to in such circumstances, but he indulges anyway, letting her tongue inspect the sharp points of his teeth, and maneuver his hand on her breast. He squeezes, laps, and sucks, letting himself get lost in this new dance.

"You know," he says when she breaks away to restore oxygen. "I don't do that outside of sealing a deal," he admits.

Eve blinks at him owlishly.

"You don't kiss just for fun? Aren't you a demon?"

Eddie barks out a laugh.

"I guess kissing is too tame for our tastes."

"What's your taste?" she asks, curiosity radiating off of her in hot waves.

He hums, caressing her side.

"Insane witches, apparently."

"What do you do with them?" she presses on, her leg moving dangerously high up his body, the coarse hair of his thighs not enough to deter her.

"Well, personally..." Eddie likes to play with his food, a habit he couldn't shake since his childhood, so he rolls away from Eve to lie on his side instead. To placate her, he starts playing with the hair that grow low on her belly. "I collect the resurrected witches and show them around. You'll get a tour of Hell and any other realms you wish to see, and then I'll help you settle wherever you feel like."

With every word, the pout on her face only grows.

"You're not keeping me?" she asks, playing up the whine in her voice, but he knows there are genuine feelings behind it.

"Witches aren't meant to be tied down," he explains apologetically. "They're free spirits abusing the laws of reality." He reaches for her hand to press a kiss against her fingers. "It's a power best wielded in solitude."

She pries her hand away and sits up.

"Why would I want the power if I can't share it? Don't witches have like... familiars? Or something?"

Eddie frowns.

"A witch of your power doesn't need one. They're meant to amplify and aid spells, and you're pretty much on the same level as a common demon."

"Are you a common demon?"

"Yes," he nods.

"So we can't make a deal?" she presses on.

His frown deepens.

"Why would you want a deal with someone equal in power? Deals are made between a master and a servant."

"But is it not possible? Can't I have an equal by my side? A partner in crime?"

Maybe he should backtrack on her being his favorite. She's asking too many questions, ones he's not used to from a freshly reborn witch. He sighs.

"Technically you can, but it's an exclusive deal. You're tied for eternity, you belong to each other. It's not a common practice," he says, playing off what he's been told and overheard. "Master-servant contracts have an expiration date and are easier to break. I'm not sure a deal like that could even be broken."

Eve wraps her hands around her knees, processing the information.

"So I could tie a demon, or an equally powerful being, to myself for all eternity?"

Somehow, Eddie doesn't like the idea of Eve making a deal like that with a random demon. He nods, though.

"Yes."

"Let's say I'd want to do that with you, right now. How would that look?" she asks curiously.

He thinks about it, imagines it, and it pains him deep into his core.

"A simple deal is sealed with a kiss or a blood pact. A deal between equals requires an intercourse."

"Huh."

The idea doesn't seem appalling to her, which doesn't surprise him at this point. He can feel her eyes sliding down his body.

"You're not going to find my dick like that," he says with amusement.

She huffs but doesn't budge, searching his gaze instead.

"Wouldn't you want to make me yours? And you mine?"

Eddie considers it.

"I never thought about it before," he admits. "Is that something you'd want?"

She lays back on the grass with a sigh.

"I'm just tired of being alone. Of nobody staying. You're the nicest person I've met in years, and you're not even human." He laughs at that, and she turns towards him with a smile. "You burnt a village for me." She frowns. "Unless you do that for all the witches."

Eddie quickly shakes his head. Too quickly.

"Only the most mistreated ones," he admits.

"Is it a pity thing, then?"

"No," he protests again. "I wanted to do something nice for you."

Eve smiles.

"Thank you."

He smiles back, and when he leans down, she meets him for a lazy kiss.

"Would you make me yours?" she asks when they part and the offer sounds alarmingly tempting.

"You should meet other demons before making a commitment like that," he says, and she rolls her eyes. Then, his ears twitch as he finds the perfect distraction for them both.

"You ready to hunt?" he smiles down at her, wide and dangerous. "Someone escaped the fire."

ko-fi

#stevie harrington #steddie #demon!eddie #demon eddie munson #witch!steve #witch steve harrington #steddiespooktober #transfem steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mine #steddie fanfiction #stevierything #steddie x monsterfucking #stevieween #stevie-ween

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astaroth1357 · 1 year ago

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Oh God, What Have We Done??: Father!Solomon Headcanons

You know what? I'm a Solomon love-hater but I'll go to bat for him too. You could pick worse.

Contents: Unhinged Ms. Frizzle-style parenting, the horrors of human biology, possible pregnancy implications, fluff

~♡♡♡~

So. I can see this happening intentionally. Solomon craves a happy family, so I absolutely see the thought of rasing a kid with MC coming up once or twice.

That said, I think zero planning actually went into making it happen. This is a spur-of-the-moment decision made by two lovesick dolts. Not a damn thought was spared for the consequences, and it shows.

For starters, MC and Solomon both agreed to raise a child together while they were in the human world and told NOBODY ELSE. So from the outside looking in, they just left the Devildom for “training purposes” and returned with a random infant!

No call ahead. No fanfare. They both stepped out of the portal with a flying stroller and bottomless diaper bag, grinning from ear to ear like it all was just souvenirs from Disney World!

Naturally, all hell broke loose. The brothers were collectively hyperventilating, Simeon almost fainted, and Diavolo noticed that Barbatos wasn't moving or blinking, so the Little Ds had to carry him away like a malfunctioning android...

Does Solomon having a kid make him a grandfather…? He is not ready to ponder that thought. No one is.

Despite Mammon and Belphegor’s insistence they had to “Put it back!” after MC made it clear that raising a baby was what they wanted and that Solomon was there to stay, the brothers made peace with it… to varying degrees.

Asmo was the only one thrilled that his favorite humans now have an even cuter mini-human to take around because he'd get to try his hand at baby fashion design! The least happy was probably Belphegor because a baby means that MC is going to be way too busy to nap now. Plus, he had to deal with a lot more Solomon in his life, which very few people ever ask for...

The crew's reaction to the baby's development is actually pretty funny to see. Humans age much, much faster than their supernatural counterparts so, from their perspective, the new baby is growing at lightning speed!

Mammon was with them when they were teaching the baby to crawl and he started freaking out because, “How’re they movin' already!?” The first day their child came running, physically running, into the HoL without any help actually made Levi scream in fright.

The House had a complete meltdown when Beel was watching the child one day and they lost a tooth while eating some hard candy. They all thought that MC and Solomon were going to burn the place down, so imagine their surprise when the overjoyed parents kept congratulating their kid for losing a baby tooth...

And don't get any of them started on the growth spurts...

The one to take to the kid the most as they grew was, funnily enough, Lucifer. Most likely because their various milestones reminded him of when his brothers were doing the same things.

The child is more than happy to tell “Uncle Luci” anything, which he acts like he only tolerates, but in reality he loves being their favorite brother.

Barbatos is EXTREMELY protective of them. Nearly as protective as he is with Diavolo.

Their kid, of course, has no clue. He's just nice Uncle Barbie (he refused to be called Grandpa) who makes them sweets and watches over them in the Castle. But anyone who get too close while they're playing gets a stare down worse than all of Cerberus’ heads combined...

Mammon swore in front of them once and Barbatos strung him up so tightly that even Lucifer thought it was overkill.

Luke seems to enjoy having a baby sibling of sorts to look after, but he is going to be so upset when they get taller than him in the blink of an eye. He’s going to be their guardian angel for sure, btw.

As a father, Solomon is… spirited. Anyone can see that he’s ecstatic to be a parent, it’s just…

Well, years of isolation on top of being a once-in-a-lifetime prodigy may not have made him the most “in touch” with children these days, you know? MC has absolutely come home to find Solomon has propped up their 6-month-old with a stack of books to start teach them how to play chess.

Daddy-Baby adventure always end in spectacular fashion. Solomon is a very “hands-on science teacher” kind of guy with unwavering confidence in his abilities to keep his child safe. This, to be fair, isn’t unwarranted, however...

Does that mean you should make a plans to take your child to forbidden places for some sightseeing? Or let your child touch, paw at, and gnaw on any magic item that suits their fancy in the name of a making a new teaching experience...? Probably not, but it’s also how he learned so…

It must be assumed that whatever kid these two have, biological or not, will be a magic powerhouse of destructive proportions. All that training from Solomon himself since infancy? They'll have a wand in their hand before they can even work a fork!

I like to imagine that Solomon's kid would have a very, very hard time controlling their magic and it would get uncontrollable at times. Like, a sneeze could knock over a bookshelf or getting angry makes things go flying. But Solomon would never ever scold them for it like it’s they're fault.

He'd never make them feel the same isolation and shame that he did at their age.

It would be very, very sweet. But it also means that MC could come home to a flooded house and, instead of cleaning out the water, Solomon would teaching their child how to snorkel in the living room.

Pure chaos, but MC could never find a prouder father. Solomon would devote his entire being to giving their child all of the love and happiness they deserve. Their kid almost never sees him without a grin on his face, just ready to just wrap them a bear hug for no reason.

On quiet nights, he'd cradle them or rock them to sleep while holding back tears. MC has found him over their crib like he’s still trying to convince himself that they're real, that he's gotten this lucky.

He's not a conventional father. Hell, he's not a conventional human either. But he’s grateful for day he gets to be a parent... Every. Single. One.

#tales from the drafts #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me solomon #obey me nightbringer #omnb #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #solomon x mc #solomon x reader #tw pregnancy #tw: pregnancy

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hotvintagepoll · 28 days ago

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Giulietta Masina (La Strada, Fortunella, Nights of Cabiria)—To me, she is the DEFINITION of scrungly little guy, always, but especially in La Strada. She is hilarious, adorable and heartbreaking all in one. She was born in a wet cardboard box all alone. She is the slapstick clown woman of my dreams. She gets called an "ugly artichoke" TWICE in that film (not true, very brutal, but quite funny - she's the wife of the director too, might I add). Her face is so brilliant, no one ever emoted like she did. She is Pierrot Hot, simple as. Gif of the exact moment I fell in love with her upon first seeing this film, if you wanna include it: [link]

Alice Pearce (On the Town)— She is timid she is bold she is thirsty she is awkward she is me she is you she is everything. She is Alice Pearce and she was playing Lucy Schmeeler onstage in the Broadway hit ON THE TOWN, and Gene Kelly saw it and immediately knew two things: (1) he wanted to do a movie version and (B) only if Alice Pearce reprised her original role. And both things happened, hallelujah, so now we can enjoy forever her making an allergy-ridden mess of a blind date with Gene Kelly in the most relatable way possible, and if it doesn't scream SCRUNGLE in fifty-foot neon-lit all caps with a brass band fanfare and a side of fireworks, then I'm the New York subway system. *sneezes and laughs maniacally, somehow breaking a table in the process*

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Giulietta:

She's Italian, isn't that enough? No? Fine. She also won two Cannes film awards and is best known for her character in La Strada, in which she played a young woman who fell in love with her captor and witnessed the cruelty of humanity, but still never really lost her child-like spirit.

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Masina has a wonderful impish, scrungly quality to her that made her perfect for her iconic Sad Clown type roles. She got tons of comparisons to Chaplin (who despite being handsome, certainly *played* scrungles) and goddamn if they aren’t true. Like yes, she’s obviously beautiful when glammed up, but even in promotional photos, Masina always has this weirdo quality to her. I could see her playing a strange little goblin sidekick to Columbo as he solves a murder in Italy. Even in Nights of Cabiria, where she’s ostensibly playing an object of desire, Masina carries herself with a gait usually reserved for old crones and character actors, (which only makes her yearning for happiness more tragic!).

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Alice Pearce:

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#alice pearce #giulietta masina #hotvintagepoll #scrungly 3 #Youtube

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floweycidal · 3 months ago

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clover would be nice to bugs, i think.

they don’t crazily save every insect they see, nor do they keep a census of lives rescued. this isn’t that kind of story. not at all.

but when they come across a beetle on its back, legs cycling through air like broken clock hands, there is no internal debate about morality, no performance of kindness for an invisible audience. they simply reach down, right what's wrong, and move on without waiting for thanks.

all those tiny lives that others casually swat at or sweep away. the spider rebuilding its web for the third time today, patiently reweaving what was thoughtlessly destroyed. the ant dragging a crumb twice its size across an endless expanse of floor. the moth fluttering desperately as it searches for a way back to the light.

more often than not, clover stops.

again, nothing ceremonial about it. no fanfare or fuss. just a tender hand extending a leaf to bridge a gap, or a solicitous finger nudging a fallen to safer ground.

they'd probably be cracking terrible puns in their head, something about giving beetles a "turn" for the better or how “moth-ers” know best. it stays there. tucked away with all the other small jokes that no one else will hear.

clover understands. they know what it feels like to live in spaces where you’re not wanted, to move carefully, noiselessly, hoping that the larger, more powerful beings in your world might just pass you by. they know exactly how heavy a careless footstep can be. you can see it in the way they move through the underground. this perfect quietude, like they're walking between raindrops.

it’s the kind of placidity born of understanding that survival sometimes translates to being so quiet that even the air forgets to stir around you.

being small doesn’t make you less deserving. powerlessness doesn't make you wrong. occasionally, the truest form of justice is simply making space for others to exist.

and clover would know.

their life on the surface was hardly rich with comforts or attachments. it was a life of static-laden tv shows, dishes washed with nary a nod, and spaces that felt more borrowed than lived in. they know what it is to go unnoticed, to be treated like something inconsequential, a minor nuisance at best.

more presence than person, clover has lived off scraps and donned garments stitched together with hope and necessity. they'd understand, better than anyone, what it means to exist underfoot.

it feels so natural, so right, to imagine clover giving a bug a second chance. where others see something disposable, clover sees something familiar. just trying to live. get by.

not a saint by any stretch, they’ll “borrow” what they need without asking. still, they’ll mutter a soft “excuse me” to a ladybug flitting too close, and still they'd find the time to guide a caterpillar out of harm’s way with a scrap of paper.

they'd choose to handle the fragile and easily breakable with care and fairness, for mercy matters most when it’s offered to those who cannot demand it.

the world has a way of teaching its smallest inhabitants to expect cruelty—to see a hand coming down like judgment, a step as an unthinking end. to know that to exist while small is to always be one breath away from being deemed an annoyance, a pest.

the bugs are blissfully unaware of their reprieve. they don’t realize that someone paused, saw, and judged their lives worthy of continuing. clover never needs them to know. it's not why they do it.

clover permits these lives to continue without condition because being bigger doesn’t confer more importance. having strength doesn’t mean it must be used to crush the small. that wouldn't be fair now, would it?

and i like to believe this compassion for little critters isn’t so separate from their pursuit of justice; it’s part of the same whole.

justice isn't always the thundering declaration people expect.

justice here wears a shabby hat. walks without sound. respects a balloon's privacy and even waves it goodbye.

justice can very much come in the form of realizing that the most revolutionary thing you can do in a world that worships its own thorns is to be solemnly, persistently kind and just.

even to the things that everyone else would much rather squash than spare.

especially then.

#undertale yellow #ut yellow #uty #clover undertale yellow #undertale yellow clover #clover ut yellow #ut yellow clover #clover uty #uty clover #i'm deathly afraid of bugs by the way #clover is so brave #anyhoooow this is my attempt at characterizing the goober #hope i did em Justice (HAHAHA!)#sorry cloverheads (i'm one of u) if i totally didn't #headcanonish #yep. that's the word

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honeyfarts666 · 1 month ago

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A Party Most Vile

Lucius Verus x OFC

Mutual non-con, slavery, public sex, aftercare, shame

Read it on Ao3 or under the cut ↓

Summary:

Lucius is brought to a villa to be the entertainment for a party. But it will be a different kind of performance than what he's used to.

Excerpt:

The hostess took the girl’s hand and brought her to stand in front of Lucius with her back to the platform. The girl was a pretty, young thing; she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Her long, black hair was loose about her shoulders. Timidly, she stole a glance at Lucius and their eyes met for a single moment before she quickly glanced away again. Her eyes betrayed how frightened she was. But she stood firm despite her fears. She didn’t shake or tremble once. Not even as the hostess pulled off her robe and exposed her body to the entire room.

@perplecta

Roman women were almost as perverse as Roman men. Sometimes more, depending on the situation. This, Lucius quickly discovered, was on such situation. Macrinus brought him to the villa of some Senator. The Senator was nowhere to be found, but his wife was hosting a lavish party. The entertaining room was a large hall. All the guests sat on cushions in a circle around a raised platform in the center. The guests were exclusively women, all noble patricians donned in the finest linens, with their curls pinned up in elaborate styles. When Lucius was brought into the entertaining room, several of them squealed in delight like little girls. The women laughed and whispered amongst each other, constantly turning back to Lucius to steal another glance.

As the hostess approached them, Marcinus slapped Lucius’s shoulder and said, “Give them a good show!”

Before Lucius could respond, the hostess was in front of them. “My, Macrinus! Your specimens never disappoint, but I can already tell this one is special.” She was a middle-aged woman. Her chestnut hair was strewn with a few streaks of gray. Smile lines fanned out from the edges of her eyes. She would have been lovely if she didn’t try to conceal her age with so much make-up.

“He is,” Macrinus agreed. “Try to bring him back in one piece!” Macrinus and the hostess laughed.

Lucius was deeply confused. What was his purpose here? He could see no other man for him to fight. And even so, he was certain the women gathered were not here to see a gladiator battle. As he wondered, the hostess wrapped her hand around his bicep and squeezed. She ran her hand up his shoulder and down his chest, savoring the feel of his lithe body. Lucius was caught off guard. Had he been brought here to fuck this woman? He was so distracted, he didn’t even notice Macrinus leave the hall.

The hostess took his hand and said, “Come,” before leading him into the center of the circle. The other women quieted when it became clear the show was about to start. His chest was already bare, but the hostess let her hands wander down to his waistline and untied the knot that held his britches in place. Without any fanfare, the hostess let his britches fall around his ankles. Silently, Lucius kicked them away. At the sight of his bare body, another gasp leapt from the gathered women. “Go on,” the hostess encouraged him, “Let them see you. Give them a little spin.”

Numbly, Lucius spun in a slow circle. The last time he had been naked in front of a woman, it had been his wife the night before she died. He had only lain with two other women before her, and he had no desire to know any other. But it seemed that he wouldn’t have a choice. These ravenous women were demanding sex, and there would be no escape for him. In the back of his mind, he worried that he might not be able to get hard in front of so many eyes. But more than the audience, he felt no desire whatsoever for the aging woman before him. The sheer fact that she would organize such an event repulsed him.

But the hostess made no move to undress. Instead, she clapped her hands twice. Instantly, a slave girl walked forward into the center of the circle. The hostess took the girl’s hand and brought her to stand in front of Lucius with her back to the platform. The girl was a pretty, young thing; she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Her long, black hair was loose about her shoulders. Timidly, she stole a glance at Lucius and their eyes met for a single moment before she quickly glanced away again. Her eyes betrayed how frightened she was. But she stood firm despite her fears. She didn’t shake or tremble once. Not even as the hostess pulled off her robe and exposed her body to the entire room. A blush colored her cheeks and she shut her eyes as the noble women whispered remarks on her body. Lucius was certain the other women must be jealous. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room. She had no need for the thick make-up or gaudy jewelry that caked the noble women. Her breasts were small but perky. Her rosey nipples peaked through her long hair. Her skin was a gentle, olive tone and it looked so soft. Unbidden, Lucius felt his cock stirring. Shame poured through him upon the realization. How could he feel desire at a time like this? He was no better than the demented women that watched them.

The hostess picked up a small jar in one hand and then took Lucius’s cock in the other. Lucius exhaled sharply through his nose and repressed a gasp. He had been so wrapped up on the slave girl that he had lost focus. The hostess poured oil from the jar over his cock and gave him a few steady pumps with her hand. Lucius gritted his teeth, trying desperately not to give away how good it felt. Even still, his cock quickly became erect and he felt lust coursing through him. He couldn’t deny it. Even if his mind knew better, his body wanted a good fuck. It had been so long. As the hostess gave him one final pump, she leaned next to his ear and whispered, “Show us how a savage takes a woman.” As she pulled away from him, Lucius couldn’t help but turn to her and meet her eye. She gave him a devilish smile and nodded before she backed away and took a seat among the women.

Lucius instantly understood her meaning. They wanted to watch him rape the girl. He tried to think of a way out of the situation. But his mind was blank. He was stuck and the only way out was forward. The girl glanced up at him again in frightened anticipation. He didn’t want to hurt her. A sweet girl like her should be fucked gently on a soft bed. Not on a hard platform in front of an audience. But she was stuck just as much as he was. It would be better for both of them if he got this over with as quickly as possible. He set his jaw and took a step forward, eliminating the space between them. The girl gave him a pleading look of uncertainty and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do this while looking into her soft, doe eyes. With a deep breath, he put his hands on her hips and forced her to turn abruptly. She let out a soft gasp but didn’t fight him, for which he was grateful. He didn’t think he would be able to stomach forcing himself on a girl who was kicking and screaming.

She was perfectly submissive to him as he bent her over the platform. She quickly scrambled to pull her knees onto the wooden beams. She put her ass in the air, spreading her legs just enough to grand him access. The action reassured him that she wasn’t a virgin. She must have been fucked before if she knew how to position herself. He hoped it hadn’t been another party like this one. As much as Lucius would have liked to spend a few minutes sinking his teeth into the flesh of her ass and getting her nice and wet for him, he knew that wasn’t the reason they were there. He waisted no time and lined his cock up to her entrance. She flinched when she felt his length slide along her lower lips. He pushed in, but the oil made his cock slip out and slide up to tease her bud. The girl let out a low moan and unconsciously ground her hips on his length. He readjusted. He held the girl’s hip with one hand and his cock with the other as he pushed into her. She was tight. She was so fucking tight. And warm and wet and perfect. She let out a beautiful, little cry as he pressed his entire length into her.

Lucius tried to block out the noise of the women whispering around them. He tried to not let his eyes focus on them. He pretended they weren’t there. That was easier than accepting the reality of his situation. He chose to lose himself in the feeling of the girl. Her softness, her hot cunt gripping him like they really were lovers. His first few thrusts were slow and gentle. Opening her up so he wouldn’t damage her. But he couldn’t ignore the hostess’s request. They wanted to see savagery. And he also couldn’t ignore how much he wanted her. Desire burned in his chest and threatened to burst. She felt like she had been formed by the gods just for him. He picked up his pace, holding her with a hand on each of her hips. She bowed her head and arched her back, taking him so well. She released beautiful, little mewls of pleasure each time he thrust into her.

If the party guests wanted to see savagery, then he would give it to them. He grabbed the girl’s hair in his fist and pulled. The girl gave a startled cry and many of the guests gasped in delight. Lucius pounded into her relentlessly. Her over-arched back gave him easy access to the depths of her cunt and she tightened even more. He strained not to finish right then and there. She was practically begging for his seed with how tight she was. Then, she let out the most perfect moan he had ever heard. Somehow, he drove into her faster, pounding his cock into her tiny, little hole. His balls slapping her bud with each thrust. He knew he was about to come at any moment. And then, the girl let out a sharp cry and her walls clenched around him. She trembled and quaked, fighting the pleasure even as it overtook her. He thought she had been tight before, but he didn’t know the half of it. He could barely move his cock at all. He was stuck inside her as she came, pulsing and gushing her sweet wetness all over his cock.

And with that, he couldn’t fight his release anymore. He tumbled after her, thrusting his cock in as deep as he could go. He wanted to feel all of her and he wanted her to feel all of him. His cock twitched again and again, letting out ropes of his hot seed deep within her ripe cunt. With a desperate moan, he felt her body relax. Her grip around him softened and he could move again. He thrust in and out lazily as the final drops of his spend left his body. He released his grip on the girl’s hair and she slumped forward.

The gathering of women burst into applause. Lucius was sharply thrust back into reality. He glanced around the room, and the lustful, smiling faces nearly made him sick. He saw the hostess stand and bow to the applause, as if she had anything to do with it. He turned back to the girl. The girl that he was still inside of. She had one cheek pressed against the wood of the platform and the other was turned up where he could see her. Her eyes were closed, but a single tear trailed down her cheek. The horror of what he’d done settled over him. Slowly and gently as he could, he pulled out of her. The girl whimpered but kept her eyes closed. He put what he hoped was a comforting hand on the small of her back and rubbed slow circles into her skin.

“Ladies,” the hostess announced, “Hanno, the savage of Numidia!” Even more applause fills the air. Lucius could barely hear it. He could barely feel anything. He looked down at his hands and saw they were shaking. Then, he heard the hostess saying, “Clear the room for the next pair!” He understood then that he was supposed to leave. He turned to walk toward the door, his only thought was to bring an end to this nightmare. Then, he heard a thud behind him and many of the women laughed cruelly. He turned over his shoulder and saw the girl sprawled on the ground. Her legs had given out under her and she lay helpless on the floor. The laughter of the women enraged him and his heart ached for the girl.

He turned and walked back to her. He knelt down and lifted the girl into his arms. She was a small thing and was hardly any burden for him to carry. She cringed slightly when he first put his hands on her, but she quickly melted into his embrace. She put her arms around his neck and buried her face there. He walked from the hall as quickly as he could. Leaving that vile party behind. No one stopped him as he walked through the door. Nor when he turned down another hall and then another. He didn’t know where he was going, but he only knew that he needed to get away. Far away.

Eventually, he entered an empty room. It was a small, storage room and there was only a little light that managed to filter in from down the hall. Lucius sat down in the corner, feeling more protected there. The girl was shaking in his arms. She trembled and then her tears started flowing. She sobbed against him and all he could do was hold her. He stroked her shoulders and hair, praying that she found his touch comforting. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had.

He buried his face into her hair, feeling the soft strands and smelling the lavender water she had bathed in. And then, he felt himself shaking in time with her sobs. He cried too. He felt hot tears drip down his face and land in her hair. She must have felt his tears, for she nuzzled her cheek against his neck and sighed. It was a sad, little noise. But there was affection in it too. They didn’t need to speak. She understood that he hadn’t wanted this either.

Lucius wasn’t sure how long they sat there. At least an hour. Maybe longer. At some point they had stopped crying, but neither had felt compelled to move. Despite what had happened, it was the only intimacy Lucius had known since coming to Rome and he wasn’t ready for the moment to end. He wasn’t ready to sever the fragile connection they had formed. It felt wrong. Suddenly, a servant came into the room to get something. When the servant saw them, he gasped. Lucius picked up a small jar and threw it at the servant’s head. The man ducked and the jar smashed on the wall behind him. “Get out!” Lucius bellowed and the servant scrambled out of the room.

The girl let out a whimper and nuzzled against him again. Lucius knew that it was only a matter of time before one of their masters were summoned. He held the girl as tight as he could, stroking his hand over her exposed back. Trying to give her comfort. Knowing that their time together would be over soon. “What’s your name?” he whispered to her.

The girl shifted and looked up at him. Her eyes were still frightened, but she had calmed down. “Naevia,” she replied quietly.

He said her name to commit it to memory, “Naevia.” Then, after a moment, he replied, “I am Lucius.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded, “Lucius.”

They settled into silence again. Naevia rested her head against his shoulder, and he rested his cheek against the top of her head. They did nothing but listen to each other breath.

Less than ten minutes passed before Macrinus entered the room. He walked in cautiously. Lucius glared up at him and held Naevia even tighter. “Hanno,” Macrinus said slowly, “Let the girl go and get up.”

Lucius tore his eyes away from Macrinus and glared at a crate in front of him instead. If it had been Naevia’s mistress who came to get them, he would have bent more quickly. He didn’t want her to be punished. But Macrinus could see that it was all him. It was his defiance alone.

“Hanno,” Macrinus warned. But still, Lucius kept his eyes fixed on the crate, intent on ignoring his master to his own detriment.

“Lucius!” Macrinus said firmly. That got his attention. Lucius’s eyes snapped to Macrinus’s. He had no idea that his master knew his true identity. He saw the sick gleam of victory in Macrinus’s eye. “Get up and put the girl down,” his master ordered.

Lucius’s breath came heavily through his nose. He knew if he resisted any longer, there would be serious consequences. And if Macrinus knew who he was, he could inflict untold damage. Slowly, he gathered Naevia into his arms and straightened his stiff legs. Once he was standing, he let Naevia’s legs down to the ground but kept one arm wrapped around her back. For her part, she didn’t seem to want to leave him either. She clung to him and pressed her naked body into his. Macrinus lowered his brow and gave Lucius a look that let him know he was still not obeying. He released the arm around Naevia and she whined at his loss.

Macrinus nodded to someone standing just outside the door. Two slave women entered and pulled Naevia away from him. Naevia cried, but she allowed herself to be pulled away. She glanced at Lucius one last time as she was escorted through the door.

Lucius and Macrinus were left alone. Macrinus gave Lucius a baffled looked and asked, “What was that?” Lucius couldn’t respond. All he could do was breath. If he did anything else, he was afraid he would snap. “You performed well enough,” Macrinus continued, “And then, you run away with the slave girl?” Macrinus waited for a response but Lucius didn’t give him one. “What has gotten in to you?” Macrinus demanded.

Lucius swallowed hard and said, “You know my name?”

Macrinus gave him a sickly smile and replied, “Yes, I’ve known who you are for some time. It was fairly obvious after your mother came to visit you.”

Lucius gave him a curt nod. He should have known a visit from the former emperor’s daughter wouldn’t go unnoticed. It was foolish to hope his identity could stay a secret. He had never felt more exposed in his whole life and it had nothing to do with his nakedness. He was completely under Macrinus’s thumb.

“Clearly,” Macrinus continued, “This experience hasn’t been good for you. So, we’ll keep you in the Colosseum from now on, alright?”

Lucius nodded in response. That, at least, was some small relief.

A guard put Lucius in irons and shoved him into the carriage that had brought him to the villa. Macrinus watched with one eye as he said his farewells to the hostess. As an afterthought, he turned back to her and asked, “The girl Hanno bedded?”

The hostess hummed in response, “What about her?”

Macrinus grinned and said, “I’d like to buy her.”

You know, I never really noticed Paul Mescal before this movie but now I am lowkey obsessed! What can I say? I love a man covered in blood! Anyway, I just really wanted to write a fic for Lucius that incorporated all the trauma he must have been feeling. But also something that is pornography because I am a sinner lol

AN:

HELLOOO!

#gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #lucius verus #lucius verus smut #lucius verus fic #lucius verus x ofc #gladiator ii fanfiction #myfic #mymoodboard

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