Title: The First Nowell the Angels Did Say (G)
Pairing / Characters: Merlin x Arthur
Media: Digital
Summary: High Fantasy AU. Arthur gets to his feet as soon as he hears the sounds of Merlin’s dragons landing in the courtyard, but Merlin is already at his window.
Notes: I’d like to thank Deminos for swooping in to hold my hand so that I could get this (somewhat) ready on time, and coming up with the one title that could plausibly tie this in with Christmas Day, haha. *sobs* Thank you so much for looking and have a lovely holiday! <333
(Please feel free to omit this part if you reblog, I just wanted to share something extra for the holidays.)
PS. These songs are very important:
Touched by VAST. Touched, you say that I am too / So much of what you say is true / I looked into your eyes and saw a world that does not exist
The Lightning Strike (What If This Storm Ends?) by Snow Patrol. A perfect halo of gold hair and lightning / The silver forked sky lit you up like a star that I will follow / Be the lightning in me that strikes relentless
Salvation by Gabrielle Aplin. Just a trick of light to bring me back around again / Those wild eyes, a psychedelic silhouette / Let the band play out as I’m making my way home again
PPS. A list of 1k Merlin fics that are very beautiful:
I cannot begin to get over how lovely Mushroomtale’s art is.
No, really. The color, the emotional tone, the composition, the freaking DETAIL, the perspective, the EMOTION, the proportion… Honestly each one of those things is admirable on its own when you get it right. All of them done so well all together just blows my mind, and fills me with artistic envy and longing and inspiration in equal measure.
So seriously, take time and actually study the art. Zoom in on it for the love of dragons. Because the character is in the details, and believe me, there’s a lot of character to be found here.
zayne x non-mc! reader. ~3k words.
more shenanigans by the reader who is trying their hardest to find ways to annoy zayne into breaking the engagement between them. unfortunately, like a cockroach, he is resilient and is kinda indestructible. part two of this post. probably ooc.
a/n: i should title this at this point but whatever. this was a headache and a half to finish for someone who hasn’t written fics in a while, so sorry if it’s a little confusing. i’d like to think i normally write better than this, tbh lol. anyways. the italics are supposed to be flashbacks. aaaand there should also be one last part after this. enjoy!
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you really are at your wits end.
it’s not like you haven’t been trying to get zayne to break your engagement off. you’ve even been ramping up your attempts lately. nearly half a year of non-stop pestering would theoretically piss off just about anyone. but zayne? from the most complex and elaborate of plans down to the silliest pranks and cheapest tricks, this fiancé of yours has somehow managed to withstand them all.
not a single hint of disdain or displeasure on that incredibly nice face of his, not a word of despair has left those lips. instead, he seems far more amused than anything. no matter how hard he tries to play it off, to compose himself and school his features, you can still see it! the mirth in his eyes, the way he stifles his quiet laughter. rude!
if you were a more violent person, that alone would inspire such a terrible and most unrivaled outburst. wouldn’t that work out for the better anyways? you could end this farce of an engagement once and for all! then the both of you would be free to go! instead, you’re stuck trying to come up with more and more ways to get him to break. and you were quickly running out of good ones.
no. you absolutely have to figure something out.
see, you prided yourself on being quite the clever person. stubborn and determined when it came to things that mattered to you. but this guy? isn’t he just out of his mind at this point?
he must know what you’re doing. he’s a doctor. surely, he’s not that clueless. at least, you would hope that he wasn’t. shouldn’t he be able to pick up on your hints? you’ve long ago forsaken subtlety, you’re not even trying to hide anything.
your first move, after perusing several different websites for inspiration, had been to act cold and distant. ignoring him, leaving his messages on read, rebuffing all attempts to spend time together. physically avoiding him was child’s play since the both of you were very busy people.
to your utter dismay, however, this attempt only lasted for a grand total of seven days. in a completely unexpected turn of events, he had gone straight to your mother with his ‘concerns’, resulting in you receiving an hour-long lecture through the phone. that was when you learned that the illustrious dr zayne (fraud!) was not above playing dirty.
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then you tried being the absolute worst version of yourself. someone annoying and childish and mean. you’d show up late to outings, complain about stupid and unimportant details, act spoiled and selfish. still, nothing seemed to go your way or deter him. like that one time the both of you were caught off guard by a sudden storm.
you muttered grimly under your breath when he offered to walk you home. who wants to walk around after having such a nice meal? maybe it was his way of punishing you since you made him wait twenty minutes alone in the restaurant while you loitered around outside, doing absolutely nothing. you were determined to dishearten him, okay.
alas, yours is but a weak soul for you’re almost immediately convinced to go when he promises to cover the costs of the next dinner. you’ll make him get you the most expensive meal on the menu.
but maybe you’d been right to complain because not long into the little excursion, the two of you are soaked to the bone. there was nothing ‘beneficial’ or ‘good for your health’ about running for your life to find cover while heavy rain pelted down over you now, was there, dr zayne?
“be good and stay here,” zayne demands as soon as the door closes behind him, giving your wet shoulder a gentle squeeze.
as he leaves, he sends you a look you could only interpret as a warning before he disappears from view. you snoop around his home one time and he’s holding it against you forever, how petty!
where else would you go anyways? you’re standing awkwardly at the precipice of his very nice, warm and dry home. you’re probably dripping rainwater everywhere all over the floor. well, he could simply take it as payment for getting you and your nice shoes wet.
for a brief moment, the thought of snooping out of spite does come up. but he quickly returns, armed with a fluffy towel, and the thought dissipates. under his watchful eyes, you can only dry yourself off obediently. as if you needed supervision for such a simple task. hmph.
“why don’t you just stay the night?” he suggests, taking the damp towel off of your hands and nudging a pair of house slippers your way. your favourite colour. and soft too! wouldn’t it just get wet though…?
urging you inside, he continues, “i doubt you will want to walk back home in this weather, and it will be too late if we were to wait for the rain to stop.”
you don’t even bother to hide the grimace that takes over your face. that sounds like an awful idea. staying over would make this all feel much too real. you shake your head, “hm. i don’t think so.”
he lets out a quiet huff of amusement, leading you towards what you hope is a bathroom, “and why not?”
you look at him in disbelief. as if he had to ask. but airing your grievances all while you’re in his home seems like such an asshole move.
instead, you answer, “and what about clothes? and my skincare? i take my skincare very seriously, zayne. and what if i hate how your soap smells?”
a beat.
“then we’ll have to rectify that, won’t we? why don’t we go grocery shopping together next time?” he smiles. an actual smile, mind you, and looking far too pleased with himself.
your only response was to shut the bathroom door in his face.
the next time you (reluctantly) stayed over, you found that all of your skincare and personal care products had been stocked. with extras too. you couldn’t even be upset because those things were not cheap and you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. clothes, any medicine or ointments that you might need. what, was he planning for you to take over his home?
it’s only much later on, long after that night had passed, that two things occur to you. almost kind of like a brick hitting you in the face at full speed. one, your house was in a completely different direction to the route you two had been taking. two, he has a car! why did he make you both go through all of that for, then?!
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the thing is it’s awfully difficult to keep up your guard. he will always bring about an intense reaction from you and dwelling on all that hatred was probably not the healthiest thing ever. worst of all, and it pains you a little to admit this, he actually seems like quite the earnest man. his attempts at reaching out, and insistence of spending time together, is slowly but surely wearing you down.
just as much as you couldn’t freak out in front of his parents and your mother that first dinner, you also can’t seem to bring yourself to do it to him. they’re kind and thoughtful people. how could you possibly make him, his parents and your mother lose face? wouldn’t you accumulate bad karma for doing that?
it’s really quick but you do spend a short time wondering if you should reconsider your grand plans.
“oh, was this yours?” you ask, already half-way through the fourth pack of your favourite puffcorn snack.
growing up, it was a household staple so you always get cravings for them from time to time. who told him to keep your favourite flavour on hand? he couldn’t possibly blame you for going through so many of them in the last hour alone.
it wasn’t like you had to do that much digging for them, at any rate. they were just there, free for you to take and consume. the books he had lying around could only preoccupy you so much, after all. oh, nice! another thing for you to whine to him about later!
he looks at you, eyes tinged with a hint of that all too familiar warmth, “we are engaged to be married, after all. i don’t mind. however, i would much prefer you eat a more substantial meal.”
…asshole. never mind, you’ll keep doing it. because now it’s a matter of your ego and your pride.
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next, it was the clingy act. what man liked having a leech hanging onto them at every chance possible?
“zaynie,” you pout, making sure to sound extra petulant. you’re wrapped around one of his arms, looking at him in your best approximation of a sullen lover, “you don’t seem that excited to see me?”
“untrue. shall i show you exactly how i feel?” he asks, face set in an expression that dared you to challenge him. cheeks burning, you immediately untangle yourself from him before he gets any silly ideas.
that was the other thing. the man is scarily good at getting you to back down. whether it be out of nerves or fear, his retaliation is something that sends shivers down your spine. you’re not sure whether he even realises that he’s doing it or if he’s doing it on purpose to get back at you. it just gets worse the more you do it too!
you don’t even announce yourself, simply calling out his name and dropping into the open seat next to him. your arm immediately curls around his, and you whine into his bicep about how rude he’d been to not invite you on this date. you know it’s not a date.
he’d been talking to someone - a colleague, maybe? oops - and you’d taken the opportunity that was so clearly granted to you by the forces above who, no doubt, felt pity for you.
he lets out a small sigh, shifting his body slightly to make space for you at his side. ever conscious of propriety, however, he gently nudges you upright, reaching out to grasp your hand and casually intertwining his fingers with yours.
“behave,” he says simply, voice tempered. and then that look again.
he apologises to the man sitting across from him, who simply brushes it off with an amused laugh when you introduce yourself as his betrothed. he doesn’t even bother to correct you. soon enough, the two are sucked once more into a conversation that flies way above your head.
ah. backfired again. and now you’re stuck here too. you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. your hand remains firmly clasped in his. not a minute later, as if noticing your sulking, he quietly slides over a plate of pastries closer to you. he finally lets you go but keeps his hand close. as if he knew you would act out, given the opportunity. hm.
“eat slowly,” he reminds you, attention still otherwise unaffected.
it’s only when the two of you are leaving that you realise, the treats he ordered were your favourite kind.
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your next strategy was supposed to involve his dear miss hunter, the supposed love of his life. wouldn’t it be quite the scene, pitting two potential love interests against one another? hm. maybe zayne was right. maybe you should stop watching so many trashy romantic dramas, it’s starting to get to you.
anyways, the two of them had shut it down so quickly! you absolutely did not sulk over that.
it’s quite late into the night but your determination to pester him rarely ever acknowledges time nor place. you’re just about splayed across his lap at this point, your legs comfortably resting on his.
you’re ranting about nothing consequential, a new book you picked up and hated (real) and how you were considering picking up bird-watching as a hobby (fake). you’re not really sure if he’s even listening, his eyes have been stuck on the scribbled-on pages of the same book you were ranting about. well, he hasn’t told you to shut up yet so you’ll just keep going.
she barges into his office like a storm. you’ve heard about her enough in passing that you’re familiar with her appearance. plus, zayne has mentioned her too once or twice, especially when the topic of childhood memories are brought up. she’s already in the middle of muttering about something, but startles to a stop when she notices the both of you.
“oh! sorry to interrupt.” she bites down on her bottom lip, voice cracking as she tries to hold back her laughter. “don’t mind me. please, continue.”
you’re not exactly sure what she thinks the two of you are up to but this is it! another golden opportunity! you scramble out of your seat immediately, lightbulbs going off in your head.
“wait! miss hunter!” you grin, reaching out to tug on her sleeve before she can leave. “i’ve been looking forward to meeting this great hunter of zayne’s, actually!”
“she is not ‘my’ hunter,” he’s quick to correct.
she nods eagerly, cheeks puffed up petulantly, “he’s right! also i’m a little offended, actually…”
oh? a rush of adrenaline courses through you.
“you know i’ve been wanting to meet you but zayne here is so selfish with your social media accounts!”
oh. boo.
attacked on both fronts, you can do nothing but acquiesce. without realising it, you’d been roped into becoming the perfect mediator between two petty childhood friends who can’t help but snark at each other. the two of them are so annoyingly endearing that it almost hurts you to bear witness.
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rationality has probably long abandoned you because your next great idea was to persuade miss hunter to help you out. obviously, you didn’t tell her your exact plan but at your insistence that it was all just to tease him, she did end up agreeing. she also told you that you didn’t even need to ask, she just does it naturally sometimes. hah, she was great!
at any rate, you’d always believed that you’d seen all sides of him by this point. but oh, just how wrong you could be. who knew there would be a new side to your dearest fiancé for you to witness?
“the run is only for fun, anyways! you won’t have to take it seriously.” miss hunter shakes you by the arms, her voice taking on that tone that tells you she’s very close to moping. she’s been trying to convince you to join for the better half of an hour but you weren’t a fool!
“i wouldn’t be able to keep up with your pace, or his,” you narrow your eyes at the pair. zayne’s too busy eyeing your milk tea so you pull it closer in your direction.
another plot to get them to spend time together? or just a poor excuse so you won’t have to wake up early? two things could be true at the same time, couldn’t they?
miss hunter whines out your name, “i’ll slow down for you?”
“you’re just insulting me at this point.” you huff.
“no, i meant i’ll wait for you!” she pouts, pulling out the puppy-dog eyes. whoever taught her that she could use this expression to win people over should be ashamed! it’s good. but not as good as your resolve. probably.
“this wouldn’t have been an issue had you accepted any of my previous requests.” zayne finally interjects, and of course, it’s to nag at you.
he’s talking about all the times he has invited you to go on a morning run with him. you usually have no problems with morning exercises, but this man has a tendency to ask when you’re so obviously planning on sleeping in. he should give you a break, really.
you shoot him a glare. “miss hunter, zaynie’s being sooo mean right now! you wouldn’t happen to know of another nice, handsome, rich doctor, would you?”
zayne coughs.
miss hunter snickers, “well, of course! i know plenty!”
“someone who’ll be able to run at my pace with me? maybe carry me around once i get tired?” you ask, grinning.
he mutters something under his breath that oddly sounds like the word ‘childish’ before he takes a hold of your wrist. he squeezes it lightly, “that won’t be necessary. as your fiancé, is that not my duty? not anyone else’s.”
woah.
miss hunter laughs when she sees your look of distress, and even harder when zayne sends a stern look her way. she makes the three of you take multiple pictures after the three of you (somehow) manage to finish the run. true to his words, zayne does stick to your side the whole time.
it does have you wondering, what other sides of him will you get to see if you stuck around longer?
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after all that, all you could say was weak. you were so weak! were you even trying at this point?! how could you let yourself be so easily swayed!
and zayne! something was surely wrong with him. back to the drawing board. back to those dubious online forums. you had to figure out a way to sever this bond, once and for all. for real, this time!
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zayne to this reader: pspsps here.. a sweet treat..
you invited sylus as a plus one to your friend’s wedding, and sylus, finding it as an opportunity to be presented as your arm candy, accepted it without further hesitation.
the wedding was beautiful. sylus hands you a handkerchief while you teared up witnessing your friend recite her vows, feeling emotional as you can hear the raw emotion of love seep into her words.
you loved love, and you loved seeing your friends experience love with their partners, you knew they deserved.
the reception came, it was no less beautiful than the wedding, and sylus could already see the way your gaze fixates on the decor, how your eyes linger on the color palettes and tableware.
he didn’t need his aether core to know that you were already imagining your own wedding.
in the middle of the reception, you stood up as the women in the venue gathered in the middle, the bride turning her back on the crowd as the gentleman watched from the sidelines.
it was time for the infamous bouquet toss.
sylus stands to the side, a relaxed smile on his face as he watches you stand by the side, not really drawing much attention to yourself.
you were giggling with the other guests and bridesmaids, pointing playfully at each other, as if predicting who was most likely to get the bouquet.
a countdown was held. the bride tossed it behind her shoulder, you and the crowd jumped to reach out for the bouquet.
only for the bouquet to awkwardly dangle on the chandelier as it got stuck.
sylus sees as you immediately step to the side, letting the guests jump and grab at the bouquet that was hanging by the ribbon.
you met sylus’ eye, and smiled.
you gave him a shrug; you were not about to fight over a bouquet. your pride wouldn’t let you.
sylus, however had another idea.
he places the wine glass he sported on the table behind him before he casually walks to where you stood.
a yelp escapes your lips. you find your butt resting on sylus’s shoulder as he hoists you up, giving you a needed height boost.
the women were left shocked as he walked towards the chandelier, you immediately got the hint as you reached for the dangling bouquet with no difficulty.
he smirks, setting you down, planting a kiss on your temple before he steps back to where the other men watched with their jaws dropped. you couldn’t help the flustered giggle that leaves your lips as the women swarm over you, slapping your arm playfully while they whisper about your boyfriend.
turns out, you weren’t the only one imagining a wedding in your head. truthfully, sylus was already planning to propose whether or not you won the bouquet toss.
though, getting the blessing of tradition was definitely a welcomed plus.
inspired by that one tiktok i saw that went exactly like this <3 (just the reception bit)
synopsis: You were late to your midterms, forcing you to sit in the back row where the taboo happens, and unfortunately, you were subjected unwillingly to a display of horndogs trying to get it on while the exam was ongoing. You do the nerdiest, teacher’s pet thing you could do. Snitch. Not directly, but enough to invoke confrontation. What was meant to be a confrontation about your actions leads to a research experiment with Zayne, your somewhat willing and equally curious friend.
note/s: reader and zayne are two different types of nerds. reader is the confident, geeky, bookish nerd whereas zayne is textbook definition.
wc: 9.3k
chapter one of my let me learn you (and all the sounds you make) series!
In a classroom, there was an unspoken seating arrangement.
The first quadrant was reserved for the goody-two-shoes students, smart, stuck-up. Hell, if it were still a thing, the front row nerds would bring a shiny apple to place on the teacher’s desk as a means of gaining favor— anything to raise their GPA.
The following was more for the chatterboxes of the class. The ones who’d make their professors talk about their personal lives— bonus points if they managed to flesh out the love life and make them reminisce about their prime age, yet they weren’t smart enough to keep up with the syllabus. They sit there so they won’t be the ones called for a sudden recitation; that’s what the nerd quadrant was for.
Third, no one really knows. It was a mix of students from the second section and those who barely cared about their grades; it didn’t really matter. This was probably a minor subject for them anyway; all they needed to do was show up and do the activity, then fuck off. There was no point in dilly-dallying and socializing; they had places to be. The third area had just the right amount of exposure to the teacher’s eyes; you didn’t have to be acknowledged, as the first two rows did, but whatever, a grade is a grade.
The final rows… sigh. Where do you even begin? It was notorious for being a taboo area. Whatever you see there, the professor is not paid enough to care. You’ve seen classmates sluggishly enter, smelling like the party they went to beforehand, and take their place somewhere in the row, hungover, bag half-thrown, the contents messy as crumpled papers fell out of their bags, the essay due today probably one of them. Still, they don’t seem to care, so why should you?
Fuck.
You were late. Your hair was messily thrown, and you forgot your glasses. It was too late to get back to the dorm and retrieve them, but it didn’t matter. You were going to sit at the front anyway; you weren’t that blind.
Well, normally, you’d find yourself sitting in the first or second row, but you forgot a key detail.
Today was a midterm. You forgot that a seat at the front wasn’t guaranteed. Not even Zayne could ensure that your seat stays reserved.
You arrived at the front of the door, huffing as you tried to catch your breath, and you prayed that you could make yourself blend in immediately.
You open the door to the classroom, wincing at how obnoxiously loud it is, and almost immediately, heads are turning towards you, the source of disruption. You bowed your head, squinting to see if you could see any vacant seats by the front, trying to find your friend, Zayne.
Unfortunately, you bypassed your mental three seconds to scan the room before you ultimately plopped down on the first chair you saw, which was, unfortunately, in the back row, next to a couple… or not? You didn’t know. But from the way they were discreetly trying to rub each other under the table, you deduce that they were… intimate.
You ignore them in favor of taking the examination from the T.A who approaches you.
“Never thought you’d sit back here.” The T.A jests, you give him a half-smile, tone lighthearted.
“Didn’t think so either.” His smile drops as he realizes who sat beside you. You hear him mutter, good luck, possibly directed at you. You ignore, thinking he was saying it for everyone in the row, a classic T.A assurance.
With the professor’s instruction, you start your exam.
Your eyes scanned the text, analyzing every trick question, comparing it to the selected text, and choosing the answer that resonated most.
The classroom wasn’t quiet. But it wasn’t noisy either; it was filled with the usual student sighing and sounds of despair whenever someone unprepared takes an exam. Pages being turned and pens scratching the paper surface were also humming in the air.
You were focused on your exam until you weren’t. Your back instinctively straightens at the foreign sound your ears picked up.
A moan. Not a loud one, a restrained one. Your head snaps towards the source. The couple right beside you.
The girl was biting the tip of her pen, eyes closed, as his hand was between her thighs. Said thighs were shaking, her lips were quaking as her free hand pitifully held on to the desk.
The guy beside her looked unbothered, as if the writhing girl beside him didn’t exist, like he wasn’t the cause of the distraction for everyone in the room, or maybe just you, as you looked around quickly to see that no one was paying attention.
It was the back row, after all. No one gave a fuck.
But you did. These were your grades that you’re risking.
You timed it, a little evil on your part. But who cares? What the hell were they thinking? Out in public? With a hundred people in the room? With you beside them?
You cleared your throat loudly before the couple could finish.
“Yes, Ms. (L/N)?” The professor acknowledges you. In the corner of your eye, you see the couple pull away from each other, as if the other was on fire. You could see a glare form on the girl’s face as her eyes shot daggers at you. You ignored it and stood up.
“Question 47 does not have the right answer. Will this be considered a bonus question?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence, grabbing at the opportunity to gain an extra point.
The professor furrows his brows as he checks his copy before a look of realization flashes on his face. He clears his throat before he speaks loud enough for the people at the back to hear.
“Question 47 is now a bonus question.” He confirms, and the class erupts in cheers.
You sat back down, legs crossing one another as you focused on the remaining questions. You can still feel the burn of a stare on the side of your head, but you paid it no mind.
Who cares about an orgasm when you bumped up the class score by one point? The least they could do is thank you.
— — —
After the exam, you met up with Zayne at your favorite coffee shop,
“Thank you for that, by the way.” Your head snaps from the manga you were reading. Beside you, Zayne paused in his typing as well, confused at the unfamiliar voice that approached your table. The girl who sat beside you appears.
You looked at her, eyes closing as you inhaled deeply, knowing that confrontation was coming up, and you were in no mood to entertain.
“Of course.” You smiled sweetly. “Professor Noah doesn’t often make mistakes, but if he does, just point it out. He’ll remedy it immediately!”
The girl seethes, her hand intertwined with the guy from before as she spits.
“You know damn well that isn’t what I’m talking about.” She points an accusatory finger at you. You feigned innocence.
“Then what are you talking about?”
The girl’s nostrils flare, face reddening with anger, before her boytoy pats her chest comfortingly. “‘Got this, babe.” She relaxes, you cringe. Of course, the man had to speak.
“Why the fuck were you cockblocking us?” Zayne chokes on his iced chocolate at the straightforward accusation.
You still feigned innocence.
“What do you mean?” The coy act only seems to tick the couple off as the girl pulls away to slam her freshly manicured hands on the table, a means to intimidate you, but it only serves as entertainment as you fight back a snort.
“Listen here, virgin.” She spits out, as if the word was acid. “I know that it must be sad and pathetic to be a virgin at your grown age, but that doesn’t mean that you have to ruin the fun for everyone else, you virgin!”
You cock your head to the side. “Mayhaps, is your favorite word virgin?”
She raises her hand before she remembers where she is; she settles on huffing, crossing her arms against her chest, and rolling her eyes.
“I wouldn’t expect a virgin like you to know the joys of sex. Nerds like you would rather fuck a textbook or get wet at the sex parts of an anatomy book.”
You snort, adding fuel to the fire. “Damn, at least make it about my fictional characters.”
“You sad, pathetic little virg–!”
“That’s enough.” Zayne’s voice cuts through as he finally speaks up, not wanting to prolong this conversation anymore. “You have no proof that she intentionally—” he coughs, as if the word physically hurts him. “cockblocked you. I suggest you two leave.”
The man around the girl laughs. “And look who finally decided to talk, Mr. Nice Guy right here.” His eyes lazily flit down to your figure, then back at him, a smirk playing on his face.
“I see why you’d wait around.” You didn’t like the implication of his words, nor did his girl, as she pushes his arm off her shoulders and storms off. The guy’s jaw dropped in disbelief, not expecting that reaction. He gave the two of you a glare before finally running after her, a dramatic, “Babe! That wasn’t what it sounded like!” ruining the ambience of the cafe.
You watched the scene, feeling awkward tension rise before shaking it away as you turned back to Zayne.
He meets your gaze for a second, then goes back to typing on his laptop, another PowerPoint, you presume.
“So, cockblocking, huh?” You groan, stirring your iced coffee as you recall the prior exam.
“God.” You rolled your eyes, hands pumping the straw as you tried to mix in the milk to your coffee. “You think they’d at least have some decorum.”
“So, it’s true?” He responds, not looking away from his laptop.
“It isn’t my fault that they decided to finger fuck in public. During an exam, no less!” You were frustrated. Your grades have never dropped, and you weren’t about to be distracted just because some rando was moaning as if his fingers were God’s gift to the world. In hindsight, she was trying hard to look attractive; all it did was make her look constipated.
You chuckle at the thought before looking at Zayne’s focused expression. He wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he was paying attention.
“I saved you a seat, by the way.” You straightened, a hum escaping your lips in question as Zayne speaks.
“Beside me, in the front row, the usual.” His eyes flickered to yours, no discernible emotion. “I saved you a seat. You didn’t have to sit at the back.”
“Ah.” You acknowledge. “I didn’t have my glasses on, and I felt awkward standing for so long; I wasn’t sure if you did.” You sheepishly admit, you hear Zayne sigh, his eyes closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose as if you were the cause for his upcoming headache, to which you probably were.
“I always save you a seat.”
Right. Circling back to that… never.
You cleared your throat as you gestured to the opened manga on your side of the table. “Look, look! A new chapter of Tamon’s B-Side was released this week. We have another Keito appearance!” Zayne scoffs a breath before he nods, typing back on the laptop, furrowing his brows before cursing under his breath.
“You alright?” You asked, pausing from your panel.
“Carter hasn’t submitted his part of the paper.” He rolls his eyes. “His previous excuse was that his girlfriend needed him.” You crinkle your nose. Gross.
“Why is everyone in heat?” You sighed, exasperated. “It’s like they can’t live without sex, it’s pathetic.” You leaned back into your chair. “Surely it can’t be that good, right?”
Zayne finally looks at you, his face blank, yet his ears reflect a subtle redness. He clears his throat, hand flying to his collar to adjust the already tidy fold.
“Unfortunately, I do not have a reference, so I cannot answer your question.” You hummed at his textbook answer. Nodding, because what else could you do?
“Do you… think about it?” You asked, not meeting his eyes as you push the ice cubes in your cup with your straw.
“What?”
“Like… sex. Do you think about it?” Zayne coughs into his drink, the second time today.
“What brought this topic up?” Zayne knew why this topic was being discussed. He just didn’t want to confront it, not yet.
You shrugged, flipping a page in your manga. “Seems like being a senior means that you’ve slept around or at least have gotten laid once. Feels like I’m missing something.” You say the last part almost like a whisper, praying that Zayne doesn’t hear.
“Missing something?” He hears. Of course he does. Next time, pray faster.
“It’s just… Zayne, you know you and I are considered losers, right?” Zayne nods without taking it as an insult. “And we’re voted as most likely to die virgins.”
“Get on with it.”
“Don’t you ever… just think about it?” Zayne raises a brow at your words.
“It?”
You throw a rolled-up tissue. “You’re smart. You know what I mean!”
Zayne flicks the tissue off his hand with his forefinger before he looks at you.
“I cannot say I haven’t.” His answer shocks you, but he quickly backtracks. “It is common to be curious, no?” You hummed, not giving him an answer, deep in thought.
“What if we do it?” “What?” Zayne expected you to take your words back and apologize, but there was a look in your eye, the same look when you discover a solution, something groundbreaking.
“Think about it. You’re curious, I’m curious. And we both don’t want to risk catching something, right?”
Zayne knows where you’re going with this; at the same time, he doesn’t. However, he gives a nod, albeit hesitantly. You take it as a sign to continue.
“–And you’ve heard of horror sex stories, specifically awkward first times where someone comes too quickly or doesn’t know what they’re doing, right?”
You don’t even wait for Zayne to respond as you reach your conclusion.
“What I’m saying is–” You clasped your hands together. “We should totally do it.”
Zayne feels like he’s in a fever dream.
“(Y/N).” He politely interrupts your masterplan. “Are you sure that this isn’t some type of FOMO?”
You shake your head. “No, Zayne. It’s perfect. You and I having sex is perfect!”
He chokes on air.
“You and I are inexperienced; we won’t know what to expect. This wouldn’t be an awkward first-time story because there’s no expectation. And you trust me, right?”
“I do, but–” “Great! I trust you, too.”
He almost feels bad for dimming the sparkle in your eye, but one of you had to be rational about this.
“And what would happen to our friendship after?” Zayne asks, weighing your expression, as if trying to see if you’ve thought about it. “What happens to us after we… hook up.”
You crinkle your nose in disgust.
“Hooking up is a gross term, don’t ever describe us like that again.” Zayne huffs out a sarcastic laugh.
“Then what would we be?”
Zayne waits to cringe at the term friends with benefits.
“Researchers!” “Researchers?”
You nod, a mischievous smile on your face. “We’re technically conducting an experiment to confirm a hypothesis. The experiment being sex, and the hypothesis being if it’s actually as good as they say.”
For the first time in Zayne’s life, he finds himself speechless. You were so confident, you sounded wrong, but what you were saying was technically right.
But he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t curious—a big one.
“Fine.” Zayne concedes; you drop your mouth open in shock, not expecting him actually to agree, before a delighted noise escapes.
“But–” “You need to stop agreeing before you settle your terms, Zayne. You got me excited for no reason.” Zayne ignores that.
“What if it is actually as good as they say? What then?” You hum, acknowledging your question.
“Then, if both feelings are mutual, we can continue until graduation. Or until we find someone else to do it with.” The way you casually say that conclusion leaves a sour note in Zayne’s tongue.
“I see.” Zayne had no further questions, at least, at the moment. “So, we’re friends-with-benefits?”
You crinkle your nose once more. “I really would prefer we call ourselves researchers,” “(Y/N)--” “Fine, fine! Friends with benefits, whatever.”
“Then it’s a deal.” You say as you raise a hand, placing it in the middle, a playful smile on your face.
“I look forward to having sex with you, Zayne.”
“Must you always be so… vulgar?” He sighs, but his hand comes up, regardless, to shake yours in a transactional tug. “May our hypothesis breed fruitful conclusions.”
“Zayne—” “I’m aware how bad that sounds. I apologize.” You fight back a giggle.
This is going to be so fun.
— — —
The two of you head off in different ways, not wanting to overwhelm yourselves by planning everything in one sitting. You both agreed that the week after your exams would be ideal to… meet up. Just so your priorities wouldn’t misalign. This was just an experiment; your studies are still more important.
You set off to your dorm, bag dropping on the floor, and fingers immediately skimming through your mini manga collection, stopping at the book you were looking for, nothing special. Just a favorite of yours to get in the mood.
You weren’t going to get off, but you needed to study for when you meet Zayne next weekend, and you know that reading a manga with unrealistic body proportions and excessive bodily fluids isn’t the way to “study”. However, it was better than cringing at a pornstar trying to rival the screaming cats outside your dorm at fuck o’clock in the morning.
On the other hand, Zayne turns his phone off with a cringe. He just finished trying to watch a video called “First time with my best friend!”, a ten-minute compilation with cut scenes every 10 seconds and saliva everywhere, except where it needed to be. It didn’t serve as study material but rather as a waste of time, since nothing was noteworthy or valuable.
He sighs, turning his phone on again just to click away the incognito tab that displayed a horrifically paused action shot of the stars in action.
He was never going to figure this out, was he?
Zayne was starting to regret agreeing. Not because he didn’t want to have sex with you, but he didn’t want to disappoint. He didn’t want a hypothetical of the two of you finding different partners in the future, and you realizing that the experience you had with him was lackluster.
He couldn’t have that.
“What’s up with the constipated thinking face, Z?” Zayne opens his eyes, expression blank as he looks at Caleb, who entered his room, most likely forgoing knocking.
“It’s just my face,” Zayne responds, evenly.
Caleb scoffs before he walks over to plop on Zayne’s bed, sitting on it. “No, no, that isn’t the blank thinking face, the face I walked in on was reserved for life-altering moments.”
“Like?”
“Like when we were ten, and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted ice cream or macarons for dessert, and you ended up thinking for so long that gran and your parents just gave both,” Caleb says, almost immediately. “...meanwhile, I had to stick to one.”
”Your ability to hold a grudge astounds me.”
“Anyway.” Caleb brushes him off. “What’s on your mind?”
Zayne bites his lip, weighing whether to talk about it with his childhood best friend or to find a solution on his own.
But Caleb wouldn’t judge, right? And he obviously wasn’t a virgin with the way he acts, so if Zayne were to ask, Caleb would have an answer, right?
“... let’s say, hypothetically–” ”Z, it’s just me, none of that ‘a friend of mine’ bullshit.” Zayne swallows before conceding.
“What should I expect for the first time having sex?” Zayne states bluntly.
Caleb chokes on air, his coughing uncontrollable as he sits up from Zayne’s bed, hand grasping his hacking throat as he forces himself to calm down.
Zayne only watches quietly, waiting for Caleb’s drama to calm down.
“You’---*cough* You’re gonna have sex?!” Caleb sputters, a bit of drool seeping by the side of his lips from his coughing fit.
“Hypothetically.” “I said don’t give me that hypothetical bullshit!”
Caleb swallows before clearing his throat. “So, who’s the lucky girl, dude? I don’t judge.”
Zayne shakes his head. “Her name isn’t relevant.”
“Ah. You mean that chick you’re always with since freshman year? (Y/N), right?” Zayne says nothing, but Caleb didn’t need confirmation; he already knew. “...so, why are you asking me?”
Zayne shrugged. “You’re quite experienced, no?” Caleb coughs slightly at the straightforward remark before he slouches and relaxes.
“I mean, I guess. But…” “But…?”
“If you wanna know my trade secrets, I need a trade that eq—” “What do you want?” “Your biochem notes and assignment, please. I forgot it was due tonight.” Caleb grins. Zayne sighs before he wordlessly throws his notebook and forwards him a copy of his essay.
“Don’t make it obvious.” “Aye.”
Caleb clears his throat. “Okay, so what do you wanna know?”
Zayne stays silent for a few seconds, thinking about what he needs to ask before he settles on:
“How do I know that she’s enjoying it?”
Caleb smirks, “You just gotta listen to her sounds, bro. Pay real close attention to her expressions.” He closes his eyes, as if reminiscing. “You have to see her body language too if she enjoys it.”
Zayne hums, nodding. “And then? What do you think she’d prefer? My tongue or fingers… or my peni—” “Z, my dude. You gotta go with the flow. It won’t feel good if you overthink.”
Caleb stands up from his bed, Zayne’s notebook close to his chest. “Anyway, time’s running. I gotta cram this before Dr. Lucius cuts my head off.”
“Don’t copy my conclusion.” Zayne reminds him, Caleb snorts. “We don’t have the same professor, but fine.”
Caleb leaves Zayne’s room, waving with the notebook in hand, before his room closes with a quiet click.
Honestly? Zayne’s conversation with his roommate did nothing to quiet the anxiety thrumming in his veins.
With a sharp inhale, he opens his laptop, preparing to take care of the logistics for your after-exam … festivities.
— — —
Zayne blinks twice and finds the exam season over. Well, almost over. He was two questions away from completing his final midterm.
He wasn’t sure whether it was his nervousness or his anticipation for what was to come.
He watches as you stand up from your chair, the skirt of your uniform swishing softly with the wind as you walk to submit your exam. You turn around from the teacher’s desk, eyes scanning to find his before one of your eyes drops down to a quick wink.
A warm shade of red flushes on the apple of Zayne’s cheek. His eyes flit around the room, seeing if anyone was paying attention. Though if they did, they wouldn’t really think twice about it. No one thought twice about the people in the first row.
You cross the classroom, intentionally walking by his desk, and for a split second, he sees the wind flutter at your skirt, lifting it to reveal baby blue before it's covered by the school skirt.
Zayne, for his sanity, believes that it was a hallucination. The lingering scent of your perfume, however, was proof that it was real, and you just flashed him.
And Zayne cannot explain the subtle tightness he feels down there.
He reverts to focusing on the last two questions, which seemed to be mocking him at this point. The scratching of his pen against the surface of his exam distracted him for the time being. It took two minutes to finish off the exam and another five minutes to review his answers, although, in reality, his eyes were barely focused on the paper. He knew his answers were correct. He was just stalling for time.
His legs seemed to have a mind of their own as he found himself walking towards the professor’s desk, dropping off the paper and turning around, grabbing his stuff to leave.
The door behind him clicks shut. He was out in the hallway, eyes scanning, searching for you.
“Hey, Z.” He jumps at the sound of your voice. His eyes flit over to your figure, who looked at him like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Maybe he was overthinking it.
A smile that could only be described as mischievous crosses your face. “You ready?” Nope. Not overthinking it.
Zayne responds with a nod. You open your phone to book a car to the hotel Zayne booked the week before.
A regular hotel. Not a cheap hotel where the stains from prior inhabitants left their mark, nor was it a hotel with a butler on your beck and call. Just decent, just normal. That was the smartest option. Away from the risk of being heard from thin dorm walls and the walks of shame, also away from bumping into people you might know.
The perfect place to conduct their research. The perfect place for plausible deniability.
You feel the eye of the receptionist on the two of you before you could even make your approach.
“We have a reservation under Li.” You confidently say, meanwhile, Zayne looks around awkwardly, trying hard not to catch the receptionist’s eye.
The receptionist types to confirm the reservation before handing you both a key card.
“Have a nice stay.” They say, tone devoid of any emotion, but Zayne thinks that the reception knew.
The two of you walked towards the elevator, waiting a few seconds to see if anyone else would get in, but after seeing that there was no one else, Zayne pressed the room floor.
Silence fills the metal space as Zayne looks straight ahead, feeling his heart thump nervously against his chest.
“Are you nervous?” You asked, not looking at him, just at the elevator's digital screen, the floor number count rising.
“Aren’t you?” Zayne asks back, not giving you an answer.
You let out a small laugh. “I am.”
Zayne doesn’t seem to think so.
“But,” You look down at your shoes, warmth creeping up your face. “Not as much because it’s you. I trust you.”
His heart seems to calm down at that statement.
The elevator door opens, and the two of you step out, finding your hotel room almost instantly. Zayne presses the card against the scanner, the quiet click! of the door opening sounded louder to his ears.
You stepped in first, settling your schoolbag on the floor as you took in the room. It was decent, a queen-sized bed flat in the middle and a TV, which you doubt you’ll be using, mounted on the wall. From behind you, the sound of Zayne rustling through his stuff catches your attention. You turn around, watching as he pulls out an unopened box of condoms from his messenger bag.
“Straight to the point, huh?” Your voice startles him. He rises quickly, red decorating his cheeks as he sputters out his defense.
“I– It was just— I was just.” This was one of the rare times that Zayne finds himself stumbling over his words. You cut him off with a laugh as you waved him off.
“Calm down, Z. I was just kidding.” You say before sitting on the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight.
Zayne stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do as the seconds passed by.
Thankfully, you noticed. You always did.
You cleared your throat, “Zayne…”
“Yes?”
“You know we don’t need to do this if you’re uncomfortable, right? I won’t take it persona—""That’s not what it is.” Zayne cuts you off, closing the distance as he stands in front of you. “This is just… adventitious." You smile softly, acknowledging his nerves.
“Z, you have to remember, this is all new to me, too. We’ll figure it out along the way, that’s what the research is for.” You reach out to hold his hand, “I’m on the same boat as you are.”
Zayne closes his eyes and sighs, not out of exasperation, but as a means to ground himself. He nods, eyes opening to look at you fully.
You looked encouraging, as if this was a completely different situation and not that the two of you were about to have sex.
“I…” Zayne hesitates. “I don’t know where we should begin.” You pat the space beside you on the bed.
“How about…” You grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers together. “Kissing?”
He nods, but stays still, his hand limping against yours.
The two of you faced each other, not knowing how or when to move. You’ve seen it in movies, but never in a setting where it was premeditated. It almost always just happens.
You decided to take the lead, knowing that Zayne probably wouldn’t have, and you lean forward. He meets you halfway before your lips meet in an awkward press, the middle of your glasses clinking together awkwardly.
It lasted a few seconds before you pulled away. When your eyes opened, he was already staring back at you.
“So…” You smiled cheekily. “How was it?” You wanted to tease the rising redness on the apples of Zayne’s cheek, but you were caught off guard as he closed the distance, his hand on your face.
“I think… we need more data,” Zayne says, voice barely above a whisper as he stares at your lips. You smiled at the use of the research jargon, but before you could retort, Zayne’s lips met yours again in a deeper, yet still clumsy kiss.
The room was filled with the sound of lips smacking, your hands refusing to stay idle as it reached up to clasp Zayne’s hand that was on your cheek. Zayne’s other hand snakes its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him. A surprised oof! leaves your lips as you find your body half on his lap.
Zayne takes it as an opportunity to introduce his tongue. The muscle sliding against your lower lip. You parted your lips, letting him in.
He was careful, not wanting to overwhelm you, but you seemed to be in your own world as you accidentally shoved your tongue in his mouth, causing him to pull away as a reflex.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” You apologized, eyes wide. Zayne says nothing as he catches his breath. You watched as his eyes flit to your lips, his eyes dark in a way that wasn’t familiar. His gaze invites a flutter in your stomach. A familiar feeling only when you read a manga panel in one of your horny moods.
Zayne makes the first move, pulling you in, the prior gentleness gone as his tongue enters your mouth, his muscle fighting against yours in a match that neither wanted to concede. Your hands roam, one gripped his hair, the other on his neck, as you kept him pressed to you. His, however, were more mischievous as one settles on your back and the other lies flat against your chest.
You gasped as Zayne squeezed experimentally on your breast, your back arching at the sudden touch, causing you to pull away.
“I-I’m sorry I–” Zayne apologizes as you stand up from the bed. You press a finger on his lips. Ensuring his eyes were on you as you made a move to unbutton your uniform.
“We’re moving a bit too slow, no?” You say, half-teasing, half a statement.
Zayne watches, entranced, as your fingers show more of your skin. He jolts, standing up as well, as if remembering what was happening as his hand reaches to his tie, loosening it and starting to undress himself as well.
The two of you watch each other expose yourselves to a state of undress. Zayne feels his cock twitch as he sees the cloth of your skirt fall with a graceless thud.
“Where the hell have you been hiding that?!” You couldn’t help but exclaim as Zayne removes his polo, revealing abs that hid under school polos and vests. His slacks came off next, and the dark navy color of his boxers was stark against his pale skin.
Both of you were only in your underwear, standing face to face. Zayne couldn’t help but focus on the way your boobs were snugly hugged by a baby-blue bra, lace embedded with glitter, with a small snowflake resting in the middle, and, of course, the baby-blue panties he'd seen earlier complemented the set perfectly.
You were no better; your eyes traced every ridge of his body. You were somewhat in disbelief that a man who chugs down milk tea and matcha like it was his lifeline has a body sculpted by the gods.
“May I?” Zayne asked, You let out an audible ‘huh?’ before you realized he was asking permission to touch your chest.
You did him one better; you grabbed his hand, settling it onto your boobs, as you tilted up to kiss him. He meets you, more confident this time, yet his hands awkwardly grope at your chest.
Your hand snakes down, pouting into the kiss once you feel the stubble where his happy trail should be. You pull away, just to confirm. “You shaved?” Zayne huffs against your lips. “I didn’t know your opinion on body hair.”
“Next time,” You kiss him again, muttering against his lips, “keep it.”
Zayne’s heart stutters at the promise of another time.
He mutters back a quick noted before he leads you back to the bed.
You find yourself sitting on his lap, the kissing only intensifying as his hands find their way on the underside of your thigh, pulling you flush against him. You gasped as you felt his length hardening under you.
None of you commented that the only barrier between the two of you was your underwear. You get off his lap, making him lie beside you on the bed as your upper bodies lean on the headboard.
“Hey, Z… ” You catch your breath, he was dazed as he let out a hum— his tone was rough, eyes dark, his glasses askew on his head. “Have you ever gotten off?”
Zayne raises a brow, but he nods nonetheless at your question.
“Have you ever gotten off to me?” Zayne freezes at the question. He doesn’t know how to respond.
But, it looked like you weren’t looking for much of an answer as your soft hand trails down his twitching abs. His cock jumps against his boxers as your palm rests there, your eyes trained on the straining muscle.
“Because I have.” You say, not meaning to be heard by your friend. If Zayne heard, he made no comment on it, but the way his breath hitches should be enough.
Zayne bumps his head against yours, pushing you down slightly as his hand pushes the waistband of your panties to the side. His fingers were careful, and they twitched once he felt the short hair that surrounds your mound.
Fuck. It felt heavenly against his fingertips.
You did not back down as you pushed his boxers down, gasping as his cock sprang out.
It was big. Not hentai-proportion big, but big enough that your mouth already aches from thinking of taking him.
You were careful as you pumped his cock at a slow pace. Your eyes were trained on his expressions. He lets out a hiss, eyes fluttering shut.
“How does it feel?” You asked, Zayne opens his eyes and looks at you with a tight expression.
“Different.” You hummed at his answer, “spit on your hand.”
“Excuse me?”
Zayne presses a kiss on your neck, “feels better when wet.” He explains, “based on experience.”
Your breath hitches, you make a move to move your hair out of the way as you lean down to let out a trail of drool on his cock.
It twitches as the warmth of your saliva hits him.
He lets out a groan as your hand finds itself back on his cock, pumping it with more ease, his hand twitches as if remembering that he had a mission before he strokes your slit.
Wet. You were so wet against his touch.
“Oh my god, that feels so weird.” You giggled, reaching up to place a kiss on his temple as you quickened your pace, your boobs right below Zayne’s lips. He dips down, mouthing at the exposed mound. He uses his other hand to pull your bra down, freeing a nipple which he immediately encloses with his mouth. “Bad weird?” he asks against your skin.
You giggled. “Great weird, actually.”
Your back arches as he sucks on your nipple; his other hand continues to spread your wetness against his fingers.
The tip of his finger accidentally brushes your clit, and you shudder. Zayne feels this and pulls away.
“Too much?” You shake your head, bucking your hips up to chase after his fingers, and your hand takes hold of his face.
“Not enough.” You correct as you pull him down, mouth meeting his parted lips as you press your body closer to his, your tongues intertwining as you focus on pleasuring each other.
The kiss was messy, sloppy. Inexperienced tongues trying to gain the upper hand while quiet sounds of pleasure escape your lips.
Zayne takes it a step further as he presses harder against your clit, rubbing it in smooth circles.
An abrupt moan leaves your lips as you arch your back, pressing your boobs closer to his chest, your eyes flit to a close.
It felt so… foreign. It didn’t feel that way when you rubbed yourself. You’ve always psyched yourself out, even when alone. It always felt uncomfortable and wrong somehow. You’ve even followed a manga panel by panel, trying to replicate the implied feeling, only to be disappointed at how exaggerated the artist made the drawings.
You were too into thinking that you didn’t notice Zayne freeze for a second beside you.
You moaned right into his ear, and he could feel his cock harden even more if it were possible. His tongue presses harder against yours, his fingers rubbing harder, faster, trying to make you moan like that again.
What he didn’t realize was that his mind was going into a haze, his hips were bucking in time with your pumping, the glasses on your faces were bumping against each other, but none of you cared. Moans transferred from your lips to his as the two of you chased an unfamiliar release.
You can feel Zayne’s cock twitch against your hold, his abs flexing. You were faring no better; you could feel your clit throb, and normally, this is when you’d stop. However, your pussy wasn’t in your hands; it was in Zayne’s, and he’d be damned if he didn’t see you cum for him.
“‘s feels so weird, Z.” You whimpered against his lips. Zayne hisses, feeling himself near release.
He wanted you to come first, really. But when your other hand reaches down to grope at his balls, amping the stimulations on his cock, he couldn’t help the way his back arches and his body shudders, cum spurting all over your hand and down the sides of his shaft.
Zayne was mortified. His biggest fear was coming true. He came like a pathetic, inexperienced virgin, and you were always going to remember him as su— A curious hum snaps him out of his thoughts.
Your eyes were glassy, half-lidded as you stared at your cum stained hand. You lifted it to the warm light of the room, watching as his come connects your fingers. A burning red floods Zayne’s face.
You looked at him, before looking back down at your fingers, your tongue lolling out to taste his release.
Zayne’s eyes widened at the display.
You take in the tips of your stained fingers, humming softly at the taste, before you push the rest inside. You moan as his sticky cum envelops your tongue.
He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He was entranced by the way your fingers were pumping in and out of your mouth and how it looked like you enjoyed it.
Your free hand snakes its way to the middle of your thighs before Zayne’s hand shoves it away.
With a surprised gasp, you find your legs draped against either of his shoulders as he looks into your eyes, gauging your reaction.
Your eyes were wide in surprise, fingers halfway in your mouth as you stared back at him.
“Your turn,” Zayne says lowly. His eyes flickered to your throbbing hole, his tongue unconsciously licking his lips at the sight of your wetness oozing out.
Without waiting for a response, he leans in, placing a noisy kiss on your puffy clit. Your hand flies to his now messy hair.
“Zayne…” You moan out as his tongue traces every bump it encounters, his nose bumps into your clit as his tongue flickers against your hole.
“...good…” “Huh?” You pull at Zayne’s hair, and he resists as he mumbles against your pussy, louder.
“You taste so good.”
Zayne wasn’t expecting a lot but was pleasantly surprised to find himself chasing after the taste of your dribbling pussy. His eyes flickered to yours to see your reaction. Your lower lip was trapped between your teeth as your eyes rolled back, hips bucking up to chase his tongue.
He caresses your thighs before he teases one of his fingers to your hole, not stopping in his ministrations.
“Z–Zayne—ahhn—Z!” You pull on his hair, pushing on his head onto your core.
You were surprised because you didn’t expect Zayne to eat you out with so much vigor. He had no technique, but he was enthusiastic. Every time you let out a sound of pleasure, he’d focus on that spot until you felt an unfamiliar tightening in your lower stomach.
“Zayne… feels weird.” You moan out, chest heaving as you try to wriggle out of his grip.
He doesn’t let you.
He only smothers his face in your pussy, slamming his fingers inside of you, muffled come. come. come. spoken against your skin.
Your eyes close, a loud moan leaving your mouth as your back arches, your hands tightening against the tresses of his messy hair.
“Z-Zayne, fuck!”
Your thighs spasm as you feel liquid gush out of your pussy. Zayne groans at the sudden warmth enveloping the lower half of his face as his tongue does its best to clean you up.
You pulled on his hair, dragging him up and smashing your lips together, making you taste one another as his hands dart to remove your bra.
If you weren’t in the heat of the moment, you would’ve teased him for fumbling, but you couldn’t care less as you pulled down his boxers and your panties.
His hard length presses against your bare pussy, the two of you still moaning against each other’s mouths before his hands reach towards the nightstand to rip out a condom from the packaging.
“Shit.” Zayne pulls away, cursing lowly. A sound that makes a flutter settle in your stomach.
You looked at the condom with intrigue as you took it from Zayne’s hand, placing the tip of the condom inside your mouth as you moved towards his hard cock.
His eyes were locked on yours as you dipped down, mouth enveloping the tip of his cock, the condom covering the shaft as you moved down.
Zayne’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you, speechless. His hand rests on your head as you swallow around his cock in the guise of putting on a condom. He bucks his hips once, pulling you away once he hears you gag.
The sight has him bewitched.
You looked back at him with teary, red eyes, a string of spit connecting your lips to the tip of his covered cock.
You looked wrecked, and he hasn’t even put it in yet.
You looked beautiful.
He pulls you up, your back meets the soft hotel bed as his hands cage your body from either side.
“Ready for the main event?” You couldn’t help but tease him. Zayne scoffs out a laugh, leaning down to suck on your tongue, biting it softly just until he hears you hiss.
He looks down to see your parts pressed together. He moves to tease his sensitive cock against your twitching clit. The condom dulls his sensations for a small percent but he ignores it. Not today.
You open your legs, spreading them for him as he teases your slit.
“Are you sure?” Zayne asked, nerves on fire.
This was the finale to the build-up of an hour of foreplay.
You nod.
“Fuck me, Zayne.”
His cock twitches at your words. He presses the covered tip into your hole, breaching your tightness.
You took in a deep breath, feeling discomfort almost immediately. Zayne notices and pauses. You reached up to splay your hands at his back, shaking your head.
“It’s okay, continue.” Zayne furrows his brow.
“Are you sure?”
You nod at his question, “slowly, please.”
Zayne nods, pushing in slower,
The room was filled with heavy breathing. He can feel your pussy tightening up, not wanting another inch to push in.
He leans down, whispering a breathless “relax” in your ear. The sound was sexy, confident, and did nothing to help you relax as you let out a moan at his tone.
“Holy shit, we’re really doing this.” You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer so you could leave kiss marks on the expanse of his neck.
Zayne pushes the final inch in, the two of you staying still as your lips kiss every inch of skin of his that you can reach.
“You’re…” Zayne hisses out, breathing heavily. “You’re so tight.”
“You’re throbbing in me.” You giggled. “I can feel everything.”
A few seconds pass, the discomfort dulling.
“You can move.” You breathe out, bracing yourself.
Zayne nods. He braces himself on the bed, planting his weight on his forearms before he pulls out, only to push in immediately.
The two of you let out a surprised noise; the feeling was strange yet not uncomfortable. It takes a minute for Zayne to find his rhythm, and when he does, you immediately feel it.
How deeply he was thrusting against you.
You let out a moan, back arching as his hips thrusted, his hand reaches to ground your back as his head dips down, sucking a nipple into his mouth, tongue playing with the tip.
You giggled. What a freak. You never thought that Zayne had a thing for boobs, but you learn new things every day.
And you learned that you liked Zayne looking like this.
His brows were knitted in concentration. His mouth was occupied with your tits, and he forewent holding himself up, his body pressing against yours, so he could play with your other.
“Z,” You pull his head away, making him face you. “Hm?” His voice was an octave you had never heard before. Hot.
“Can I ride you?” His eyes widened, before he could conjure a response, you took the opportunity of his shock to switch your positions, and you were now straddling his lower body.
His hands make their way to your waist. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You ignore him as you move your hips against his cock that bobbed in the air.
“Relax, Zayne. It’ll be fun.” You smiled. Zayne thinks you look beautiful.
You let out a startled gasp as you make the mistake of taking him all in in one move. Zayne groans as his cock is enveloped in your warmth. The sudden tightness made his cock pulse like crazy, and he couldn’t stop himself from bucking twice.
He was overwhelmed. The taste of you was still present in his tongue, his body was hot and sweaty, your soft skin was contrasting against the hard planes of his abs, and you looked so enthusiastic about everything that he couldn’t stop the feeling of it all.
A groan fills the air, not from you, but from Zayne, who accidentally releases into the condom. You realize what was happening, a mischievous grin on your face as you grind down on his already stimulated cock.
“It’s okay, Zayne.” You leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Felt good, huh?”
Zayne was mortified.
On both occasions where the two of you should’ve come together, he came first, both times.
Once you realized that Zayne wasn’t sharing in your humor, you leaned down to press a kiss on his cheek. “It’s okay, Z—” “This is… not an ideal situation for me.” Zayne cuts you off.
You looked at him with a comforting smile on your face. “Not ideal, sure.” You agreed with a hum as you pulled out, eyes trained on the cum filled condom.
Your mouth waters, wanting to taste his release once more, but you clear your throat, going back to the topic.
“--but really fucking hot, Zayne.” You admit, reaching over to tie the used condom, tossing it behind you, somewhere in the room, before pulling out a new one, but not before leaning down to lick down Zayne’s dick that twitches under your tongue.
“We can stop now, if you want, Z.” You reassure him with a smile that makes his heart stutter against his chest.
You cleared your throat, putting on your best scientist voice.
“We have gathered sufficient data, and the thesis has reached a conclusion. Sex does feel go–”“No.”
You let out a yelp, eyes wide as you find yourself back on the bed with Zayne looming over you. He takes hold of the condom, “You didn’t cum yet.”
You were confused. “You made me squirt.”
“Not from my cock.” Zayne clarifies, eyes dark as he places the condom on himself.
“Zayne, it’s okay—” “We cannot reach a conclusion if the variables are not satisfied.” You want to argue, say that a thesis doesn’t work like that, and whatever result is enough of a result.
He was acting out of selfish intent, and you were in no way complaining.
You giggled, letting him tease the tip of his cock to your wet, edged pussy.
“Then let’s reach the conclusion together, Z.”
He pushes in, a concentrated expression on his face as he focuses on your pleasure. His hips thrust in a steady pattern. Hard, deep, consistent.
His hand squeezes one of your boobs, the fat seeping through his fingers as he watches your face contort with pleasure.
Moans tumble out of your lips as your clit gets grazed every time Zayne pulls out. Your hand snakes down to relieve your puffy pearl that was begging for attention, only for Zayne to move your hands away.
Before you can say anything, you feel a warm, wet sensation hit your clit.
He spat on you.
His fingers came down immediately, massaging your clit in a messy pattern, your moans get louder, back arching as you try to match the slamming of his hips.
He groans, feeling you tighten against him, your body squirming underneath him, trying to grapple with anything to ground yourself. You settle on the sheets beside you, fist tightening against the duvet until your knuckles turn white.
Zayne sees this and pins one of your hands down, leaning down so he can place a sloppy kiss on your mouth, tongue messily clashing against each other as your muffled sounds get louder.
You moan his name against his lips, and his hips stutter for a split second before he pounds harder, reaching your womb without even meaning to.
“Zayne… ‘m so– ahhn!–sosososo close. Please!” Your words were music to his ears. He couldn’t help but let out a groan as his lips ventured south, sucking down a mark under your jaw, not stopping until you let out a hiss and his mouth leaves a shade of bruise purple.
“Cum for me.” He mutters, not that he needed to ask, because your body seizes almost right after, a shrill moan leaving your lips as you feel your soul leave your body.
Your back crashes on the bed, exhausted, boneless, as you try catching your breath. Zayne hisses and his hips still, you feel warmth inside your pussy yet it gets blocked by the condom.
Zayne pulls out, and with an uncharacteristic ungracefulness, he plops down beside you, taking off the condom and tying it up, letting it fall on the floor as the two of you catch your breath.
You were blissed out; you didn’t expect the sex to feel like an out-of-body experience. Your breathing manages to even out. Finally coming back to the world, only to realize that your hand was still intertwined with Zayne.
You make no move to let go, neither does he.
The room was silent, as if it were letting you feel the weight of your actions.
You fucked your best friend. You liked it. You wanted to do it again… for research!
“Are you okay?” Zayne asks after a moment, rising up to inspect your body, scanning the sweat and drool-stained skin. His breath hitches, but he wills himself to stop his thoughts from getting hard once more.
“I get it.” You answered, not really answering his question, but a question that was in both of your minds.
“I get the hype.” You grinned, turning on your body to face his, your breasts spilling to the side due to gravity, which makes Zayne choke in his gaze. “Sex is awesome.”
Zayne sighs, but he doesn’t disagree; instead, he lies back down and faces you, both your eyes sneaking glances at each other before yours stop at his kiss-bitten lips.
“Hey, Z?” “Hm?”
“Can we kiss again?” Zayne doesn’t answer with words; instead, he meets you halfway as your lips meet in a gentle, sweet kiss.
A kiss no friend should ever share with another. Good thing the two of you were researchers.
“Zayne…” you pull away, huffing slightly, body molding against his as you feel his dick hardening against your thigh once more.
“...yes?”
“There are still four condoms in the pack.” You grinned suggestively.
He lets out a laugh before he towers over you once again, his arm already reaching out to the box beside the bed.
One more time. (Maybe four.)
For research.
note/s: introductory chapter for d freaks, chapter two is much more depraved than this i promise :> anw how was it bc i blacked out writing this LMAOOO also sadly, im not gonna be putting a header anm (unless i find a vague one) in risk of being flagged again this app hates to see me goon
Zayne raises a brow at your words, wondering where you could possibly be going with this.
"I did know that. Are you just discovering that fact?"
"Don't look at me like that. They're for your dick aren't they? Why should I care if they expire?" You sigh as you pick up the half full box tucked away in the nightstand, reading the date marked on the bottom.
"Well here's a fun fact for you. These expire in a week." You state, tossing Zayne the box. His brow furrows, looking it over.
"Hmm. I'll pick up more tommorow."
"Don't you have a business trip this week? They'll expire before you get back." He tosses the box back to you, and you peek inside. There's still at least ten condoms left.
"It's not a big deal." Zayne says as he moves towards the closet to continue packing. It's still early, but he likes to be prepared.
"You know...it's a shame to let them go to waste." Zayne freezes at your tone, glancing over his shoulder.
"Are you suggesting we have sex over and over purely for the sake of using condoms before they expire? Condoms that, if necessary, I could get for free?"
"...Are you saying no?"
Zayne blinks, as if just now realizing what you're suggesting
Imagine Zayne with his partner who just happens to be little bit clumsy. It was normal for you to stub your toe on the corner of the bed or hit your elbow, making you feel that sharp pain all over your arm.
Although your movements were sometimes uncoordinated and awkward, you had been spared from major accidents. Maybe it was luck mixed with Zayne's quick reaction time. (One time he caught you from falling down the stairs, preventing a nasty accident.)
Zayne should've known that a snowball fight with you wouldn't be a brilliant idea. But it was spring and the weather was just warm enough to form solid snowballs.
You had already taken few hits when you bent down to grab more snow. Just when you straightened your back, something cold and hard hit your cheek.
Shit.
You didn't even have time to react as you stumbled backwards and fell on a pile of snow. Of course your head had to hit the snowy ground. Ouch. Should you cry or laugh?
Zayne wasn't certainly laughing when he scooped you up and headed in quickly. You could feel the guilt and worry radiating off him as he carried you. "I'm sorry my love. I knew this was a bad idea. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry."
"It's fine," you mumbled as he carried you in and set you down on the couch.
"Stay right there. I'll get an ice pack."
He came back shortly after and pressed the pack against you cheek. "Hold it there. I'll take care of the other bruise."
You didn't even realize you were bleeding little from the back of your head until Zayne pressed a clean cloth agains the bruise, making you grimace.
Zayne's shoulder felt really tense as you rested one hand against him. "Don't worry about it Zayne. That wasn't really your fault. I just can't dodge for shit...atleast you have a good aim, eh?"
"Don't say that. And don't you dare to blame yourself. I was careless when I threw that snowball. I am truly sorry for hurting you darling." He pressed a short kiss on your forehead.
"Now do you feel headache, nausea or dizziness? It could be possible that you got a concussion. And you'll definitely have a bruise tomorrow. I'm so sorry."
You knew he felt guilty for hurting you on accident so you let him take care of you that night without complaining. Your feet barely touched the floor for the rest of the evening.
Safe to say playfighting was off the list after that accident. He wouldn't allow it, not even in bed.
let me learn you (and the sounds you make) [masterlist.]
pairings: nerd!Zayne x nerd!Reader
synopsis: You never understood what the hype about sex was about. Anatomically, it sounded disgusting. Hearing it from a friend sounded icky. You’ve thought about it. You’ve thought about attending a party and having your cherry popped, but the thought of a random guy putting his hands on you was enough to make you hurl. You weren’t into dating either; there just wasn’t any time, you were married to your studies and your manga. No man could ever compare. Enter Zayne, your misery in company. The equally nerdy man you met in freshman year, your partner in every assigned project, and someone you can tell everything to without him judging. Surely, he wouldn’t judge if you ask him to show you what you’ve been missing out on. The catch? Hell, he didn’t know what the hype was about either.
warning/s: Established Friendship, Loss of Virginity, Clumsy, Awkward, Exploratory Sex, Fingering, Oral, P in V, Exhibitionism, Overstimulation, Jealousy, A bit of angst, Protection, more tags to be added!
EPISODE ONE: I don't get the hype. (upcoming 03/16)
synopsis: tba...
EPISODE TWO: upcoming...
EPISODE THREE: upcoming...
SIDE STORIES: (implied for after the canon story.)
synopsis. bound by a soul-tie to someone who will never truly be his, rafayel hides behind charm and pretense while drowning in unrequited love. but when a collector’s lemurian artifacts awaken a tune he knows too well, he’s forced to face the voice of the one he always left behind — you, the friend and constant through every lifetime, whose heart he betrayed for another.
pairing. rafayel qi x lemurian! non-mc! reader
content. fem!reader, non-mc!reader, lemurian!reader, captive!reader, injured!reader reincarnation!au, unrequited love (both rafayel and reader), two soul-marks, a ton of angst, VERY SLOW slowburn (reader will appear later), a dash of FLUFF, a bit suggestive, hurt/(no) comfort (FOUR ENDINGS), maybe ooc!rafayel, manipulative!emcee, emcee knows about the bond but doesn’t care, implied zayne x emcee, rafayel x non-mc!reader bond, canon divergent, TW: SUICIDE (side and main characters), TW: DEATH and MURDER, TW: implied SA, TW: DETACHED BODY PARTS, ever, emcee is a bitch, we hate the ocean, rafayel cries a lot, GRIEF, trauma, pain, all the lis make an appearance.
word count. 52k -> complete.
one.
in the glow of a ruined painting, whispers of lemuria stir, and rafayel’s mark burns with a truth he refuses to name.
two.
behind masks and velvet light, a painted shell sings — it's not beauty, but a voice that should not exist.
three.
alone with drowning canvases, rafayel recalls it all: the haunting voice of a friend he abandoned across lifetimes.
four.
in the fog of a bloodied lab, chains and fury collide — voices rise, bullets freeze, and a long-lost soul finally appears before rafayel.
five.
between the ache of fate and the pull of something forbidden, rafayel chooses to guard the one who should never have mattered.
six.
when love begins to bloom beneath bloodied sheets, a visitor’s cruel truth threatens to shatter everything they’ve started to heal.
seven.
amid moonlight and shattered truths, love and madness blur as two souls finally recognize — and nearly destroy — the bond that was always meant to burn.
synopsis. you don't feel confident wearing the shiny dress you got to the hunters’ party, so you ask your fashionista boyfriend for his opinion.
pairing. boyfriend! rafayel qi x reader
content/mdni. fem!reader, established relationship!au, insecure!reader, in-love!rafayel, flustered!rafayel, FLUFF, tons of compliments, raf is mesmerized by shiny stuff because he is a lemurian fishie duh, he loves you a lot, cute and soft.
word count. 917
a/n. my dad bought new lure for fishing, so i had to write rafayel going brainless for shiny stuff! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
the bedroom light spilled softly into the hallway as you lingered just behind the ajar door, fingers curled nervously into the fabric of your dress. the one you and tara bought for the work party. the one you were now regretting.
it was… a lot. shiny to the point of excess, glittering and catching the light with every tiny movement. the kind of dress you’d admired from afar, never truly believing you could pull it off.
now that it was actually on you, insecurity bloomed in your chest.
burning and persistent.
your boyfriend rafayel was waiting on the other side of the door, seated on the edge of the bed and expecting your reveal.
you could hear him shifting, could hear the faint hum of his voice as he sung to himself — probably pretending he wasn’t impatient… probably failing.
he’d offered his help so easily earlier, too easily, and now that the moment had come, your courage wavered.
“what if it’s too much?” you murmured to yourself, smoothing the skirt down one last time. the fabric shimmered beneath your palms, unapologetically sparkly.
you took in a breath, then another, and finally stepped forward.
the door opened.
rafayel looked up instantly — and freezed.
for a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop with him.
his eyes widened, pupils blown as they caught the afternoon light bouncing off your dress, following every gleam and glitter like he was watching sunlight ripple across water. his lemurian self betrayed him completely; his attention snagged on the shine first, captivated, enchanted, utterly helpless against it.
he didn’t blink. didn’t breathe. he just stared.
then his gaze lifted.
and whatever thought he had dissolved entirely.
you.
the way the dress hugged you, the way the sparkle framed you rather than overwhelmed you, the way you stood there trying so hard to look confident when he knew you were anything but. his lips parted, a soft, soundless inhale escaping him, cheeks warming as realization finally caught up with instinct.
he was so mesmerized, so lost, that several seconds passed by in silence.
“…rafayel?” you called softly, tilting your head.
nothing.
you took a hesitant step forward, the fabric whispering as it moved, the shine flashing again.
his shoulders tensed like you’ve tugged an invisible line.
“rafayel?” you repeated, a little louder.
that snapped him out of it momentarily.
“h-huh?” he blinked rapidly, like he was resurfacing from deep water, and immediately flushed when he realized how long he had been staring. “i– sorry, i just–”
your heart sunk.
he–… oh.
you misread his stunned silence all too quickly, placing over it your own insecurities and doubts. your shoulders drooped, lips pushing into a small pout as you glanced down at yourself.
“…you don’t like it.” you mumbled quietly, materializing into words what rafayel probably couldn’t out of respect.
that did it for him.
rafayel broke the enchantment of the sparkle completely, as if freezing water was thrown at him.
“what? no. no, that’s not–!” he jumped from the bed and crossed the room in two quick steps, hands hovering helplessly at his sides like he was afraid touching you might short-circuit his brain again.
his face was burning now, ears red, eyes still flicking traitorously to the shimmer of your dress before forcing themselves back to your face.
“i just– you came out and it was shiny and then you were there and my brain stopped working.” he blurted out, words tumbling over each other in an attempt to correct your statement. “that’s not hating it, that’s– that’s the opposite.”
you glanced up at him, surprised by his fiery explanation.
he swallowed, then straightened himself, clearly determined to do this properly.
“you’re beautiful.” he said, softer and slower now, sincere enough that it made your chest thump. “like– breathtaking. the dress is gorgeous, yeah, the sparkle is… um, very distracting for my fish brain.” he coughed, embarrassed to admit his weakness.
“…but it’s also you.”
your face grew warm.
“it looks like it was made for you. the way it shines when you move? it’s unfair. completely unfair.”
rafayel continued, unable to stop himself now, hands gesturing animatedly as he talked.
“you walked in and i swear my heart skipped. i forgot how to speak. i forgot how to think. if this is what everyone else gets to see at the party, i might have to prepare for a fight.”
did you really look that gorgeous in his eyes?
“rafayel…” you whispered, embarrassed, cheeks burning from his passionate compliments.
he grinned then, shy and dazzled all at once, flashing you his love-filled eyes. “i mean it. you’re stunning. i love it. i love you in it.”
you turned completely flush, warmth spreading all the way to your ears as you looked away, smiling despite yourself.
he noticed instantly — of course he did — and his expression softened, fond and pleased that he managed to dispel your worries.
“there it is.” he murmured. “that smile. even brighter than the dress.”
he finally dared to reach out, fingers brushing the glittering fabric on your hip with gentle curiosity, before snaking his hand around your waist.
his palm stroked your midway affectionately, further soothing you.
“and for the record…” he added, leaning closer to your ear, voice low and teasing. “if you ever want my attention instantly, use sparkle. works every time.”
you laughed, shaking your head, insecurity melting away beneath his adoring gaze.
for him, you will always shine the brightest — sparkles or not.
“I didn’t ask.” Zayne says the words flatly, not even glancing up from his book. You pause immediately, raising a brow.
"Excuse me?" You cross your arms as you turn to him. He looks up at you, eyes widening just a fraction.
"...Nothing."
"No, you said something. Say it again."
"...No." He shuts his book, a guilty look covering his face as he stands. You're quick to hold a hand up, stopping him from moving closer to you.
"Stop right there, mister. You're not kissing your way out of this one. You know, you've been too much of a diva lately."
"A diva?" He echoes in confusion, while you nod resolutely.
"Yes, a diva. It's my fault, really. You're getting laid too often. It's giving you too big of an ego. I guess we'll have to fix that huh?"
His mouth opens. Then shuts. Then opens again. Thinking better of whatever he's about to say, it shuts again.
"That's what I thought. I think a week of no sex will do you good." You smile at the thought, but Zayne clearly won't go down without a fight. He steps closer, arms coming around you in a soft hug that you can't refuse. His nose traces your cheek as he leans down and nuzzles the crook of your neck.
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier." He whispers in a saccharine sweet tone. He sounds so sad, so regretful, it makes your heart twist.
"I'd love to finish our conversation. I'm sorry for being so rude. Let's go lay down." He presses a few kisses to your neck, making you shiver under the feeling of his warm lips against your sensitive skin.
"A-alright." You murmur as he walks you towards the bedroom.
Absentmindedly, you're aware you're forgetting something, but his fingers make their way up your shirt, and all your thoughts go out the window.
Hello!!!! I saw your asks were open and I got so excited!!
Could I request a scenario where you reveal something incredibly vulnerable about yourself and they poke fun at you and it causes you to pull away? And then they comfort you? I ADORE your hurt/comfort work. Thank you so much!!
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘴 | LADS + when they poke at your insecurities..
warnings: angst, might be seen as ooc but imo not really, condescending behaviour, there will be a part 2!! published tomorrow!!
when you set off a code red at the farspace fleet, caleb catches you stealing documents from his office. in an angry spur, you slap him, but soon realize your mistake. caleb, however, knows that if he doesn't correct your misbehavior, it may spiral into something worse.
wc: 1.5k
content warning: nsfw. brat!reader brat tamer!caleb, caleb's kinda mean slapping, spanking, thigh riding, nipple play, choking, fingering, overstimulation
izaya speaks: ive had mean colonel caleb on the mind lately and also brat tamer caleb, so i decided to merge the two and make this. thank you sm to @medicli for reading this ily kit <3
You don't like the way Caleb's looking at you. It scares you, seeing his face darken under The Colonel's hat. That's what you refer to him as: The Colonel. Not Caleb, Colonel. Because the man that stands before you isn't Caleb. He isn't the man who drew you in every night. He's not the one who loved and cherished you this morning, he's someone else.
You hold the stack of papers in your hand, staring at him with wide eyes. You've been caught red-handed, stealing papers from his office. Papers purposefully kept away from you. Papers he warned you to not search for.
Could he blame you though? Those people who you were assigned to protect against The Farspace Fleet are gone, and you want answer. You want them now. Caleb shuts the door behind him, locking it before turning back to look at you. He inhales before speaking,
"I'm going to give you one chance to explain why you are here— One chance to explain why you are the reason there is a code red happening." Caleb takes a step inwards. "Tell me, why have you put yourself in danger once again?" The only thing stopping him from grabbing you with his hands is the desk. You hold your ground, gulping as you scramble to find your voice.
Caleb silently watches you, watches as the gears turn in your brain. He knows you too well, knows your soul. He knows you're about to lie. You're his pride and joy, his very reason for existing. Caleb takes your safety seriously for this very reason. There's a reason he has positioned himself here. Allowed EVER to take over his autonomy.
"Caleb—" He doesn't let you explain. Gravity wraps around you, tugging you right into him. Caleb draws you in, his fingers coiled around your wrists as paper flies everywhere. You fight against him, but he pins you to his chest. Caleb presses his lips to your hair, speaking,
"One chance. Give me a good explanation for why you are here." You shake your head, finally escaping his grip. Your hand cracks down on his cheek, responding with a loud slap. You press your hand to your chest, panting with anger. Caleb stays silent, his head tilted to the side. He's frozen, deciding what to do.
"I'm going to give you one chance— And only one— to correct your mistake and apologize." You glare at him, huffing at his audacity. "You know what comes next." How dare he treat you like this? When all you asked is that he not keep you in the dark?
"Fuck you, Caleb."
The pain is unbearable. Your winces respond to the crack of his palm against your ass. You grip his pants, kicking your feet out. Caleb has you sprawled over his lap, an arm secured around your middle. He keeps you tucked against him, the feeling of his hard-on presses into your stomach.
You grit your teeth, face tucked into his side as you try to slide your ass away from his touch. Caleb keeps you in place, squeezing you.
"I don't want you to think that you aren't allowed to have opinions or feelings, Pips. Because you're entitled to it." Your heart hammers in your chest as Caleb's hand cracks against your bottom once more. "I don't like doing this. Seeing you cry like this," He gives your bottom another squeeze, feeling your legs kick out once more.
You try to push his hands off your body, but that only results in getting your hands tied.
"I don't mind you not listening to me, truly. It doesn't bother me because I know you just want my attention." Caleb speaks calmly, as if his palm isn't wrecking your ass. You go lax against him, sobbing into his side. It’s not because of the pain, but because he angers you. He draws you in so tight, but with that suit on, he's a different man.
You hate that Colonel's outfit. The hat, the medals on his chest, the tie on his neck— That isn't your Caleb. You claw at him, shaking your head.
"And sometimes," He halts, manhandling you into a better position. "Sometimes you just want this. You want me to be mean. I don't mind that either. But when you don't listen, you just keep ignoring me until I have to press you like this." This slap is particularly hard. Caleb doesn't retract his hand, keeping the pain pulsing between your skin and his palm.
"Until I have to have you bent over my lap and spanked like a child." Your knees slam into his thigh, trying your very hardest to escape. But Caleb uses his evol to keep you still, not allowing you to move. "And you have not once, but twice, put yourself into harms way despite me telling you to stay away. So forgive me for having to correct your behavior because this is clearly the only way you will listen."
You're seeing stars, back arching away from his touch. Caleb knows you're crying, feeling your tears seep into his jacket, through his skin. He can feel your chest panting and see you tremble. You try to cling to your anger, think of all he has done to hide what he has done.
"You don't—" You have to pause to moan out, wincing from the pain. "You never tell me anything, Caleb. What was I supposed to do? Take your word for it? When I know people don't just disappear into thin air."
Caleb sighs, his grip on you loosening. He watches as you fall to the cold floor, gripping his thighs as you sob into his pants. He comforts you through it, petting your hair. He lets you rub yourself on him, use his hands to rub at your body as you push through the pain. Your bottom lip wobbles, wailing into his knee.
"What other choice did you give me?" You shake, clutching onto him. Caleb draws you into his lap, picking you up by your armpits.
"Come here," He coos, rubbing circles into your back as you heave against his chest. Your fingers claw at his jacket, trembling violently. "Calm down, baby. You're going to drive yourself sick like this. Kneeling on the cold floor, tsk." He rubs up and down your spine, his free hand massaging the heel of your feet as they rest under your ass.
"I do it all for you, baby." Caleb mumbles, centering you on his thigh. Your body jolts, pain and pleasure mixing. The soreness of your ass mixed with the roughness of Caleb's pants on your clit drives you mad. Your head spins for a moment, hands scrambling to grab Caleb.
He huffs a laugh, letting you rest against his lap. He rocks your hips slowly, pulling you forward as your cunt ruts against his pants. You moan into his chest, the room spinning the faster he grinds you on his thigh. Caleb whispers in your ear, kissing away any stray tears.
"I'm going to let you cum on my thigh, make you cum as much as you want because I'm sorry I had to hit you. But then, you're going to leave this place, okay? And meet me back at home where we'll eat a nice dinner and go to bed. You will forget about what you saw." Caleb doesn't give you room to argue, dangling your impending orgasm over your head. You're powerless against him.
After all, he raised you to only listen to him.
Caleb's hands continue to rock your hips, dragging one up your torso to pinch your nipples. He pinches hard enough to border between pain and pleasure. His thumb and pointer rub the sensitive bud between his finger pads, watching as your body stutters under his touch.
"Breathe, pretty baby." Caleb coos, seeing your chest heave. You listen, inhaling deeply the more he plays with your body. His precise motion wrings you out, forces you to cling to him as ecstasy washes over your body— You're so close.
"Caleb—" He hums in reply, forcing you into a kiss. The pain mixed with all this pleasure drives your body mad. Your body violently shakes on his thigh, hips stuttering while Caleb bounces his leg, meeting your cunt halfway.
He chokes you with his kiss, not allowing you any air as the knot in your stomach bursts. The smothering pain with the intense pressure of pleasure is what rides you through your high. Your toes curl as they dangle over the ground, body slouching against Caleb's.
It doesn't end here though. Caleb's punishments— "corrections," as he calls them— are thorough. He takes his time making you cum once again. Fingers curling deeply into your pussy as his gushes around his digits. Or the way you beg for him to fuck you on his desk, desperate to be filled by him.
All be will in due time.
"You gonna be my good girl now, right?" Caleb's hand glides up your spine, drawing your chin back as you look over your shoulder. Your eyes are muddled, brain fogged with pleasure. You nod, drool dripping down you chin the harder Caleb thrusts into you.
"Gonna listen to Caleb," You mumble, fingers curling at the edge of his desk. Caleb hums in return, kissing down your spine.
When Caleb returns home that evening, he knew from the moment he stepped inside that something was terribly wrong. You were going to leave and he knew it the moment his eyes locked with yours anxiously and how you looked away from him. With the ring back on his finger he sinks down to the floor before you. “I will never throw it away again please just- I-,” every word of his getting tied up in his throat and was laced with panic and anxiety. He held on to your waist, trying to stop you, as if you were going to disappear if he let go. “I will never take it off, I will wear it around my neck if you want me to just-just please listen to me.” “Caleb,” you say his name softly, your voice trembling from the tears that fall on his cheeks as he looks up to you. “I don't want you to wear our ring around your neck, I never wanted to,” you cup his face softly and wipe the tears in his eyes. He held on to you more tightly. “I just wanted to be loved by you in the right way.” He nuzzles into you, scared you were going to leave any moment. “I love you, I really do,” he says. “You love me as the shadow of someone you couldn't have.” You take off his hands from your waist. “I'm sorry Caleb but.. I don't want to be loved as a shadow of someone.” Time froze around Caleb as he sees you walk away from him, leaving him there on the floor of your shared bedroom. He couldn't get up, couldn't chase after you. The gravity of his own evol pulling him down.
Rafayel
After the sun set down, Rafayel found you by the beach sitting on the sand. He couldn't find his ring in the end, but he was going to make it up to you as best as he could. “I..,” he began. “I'll try to find it again tomorrow,” he says quietly. His own words making him feel ashamed of his actions. “You won't find it,” you say starting off into the distance. “I threw them away.” There was a stunned look on Rafayel's face, but he couldn't completely comprehend your actions. “Where did you throw them?” “To where they belong, back to the ocean,” you pointed towards the sea. He stood there for a while, “I'll go look for them, it will be easier to search underwa-” “Don't,” you held him back. “Even if you did find them I won't take the ring.” He looked at the horizon. “Why did you throw them away?,” he asked. “I figured,” you started. “That if they are so easily to be thrown away on the ground, why not just throw them back to the water, where they actually belong. It's betrayal to be from the waters and be abandoned by someone who walks on the earth, don't you think?” The words struck deeply in Rafayel's heart. “Rafayel, I hope in the next life that is, if there is one, I turn into sea foam so that whoever it is that you're looking for, you find them with ease and not with any hindrance along your way.” You left him on by the waters, and every wave crashing against the shore seemed to mock Rafayel if his indifference and foolish choices.
Sylus
A certain man in the N109 zone, seemed to be turning the entirety of it upside down. Why? Because he couldn't find his other half, or that is how he should think of you anymore after him being the very reason you weren't present in your home. You took the rings with you that much he was sure of since his own ring seemed to be missing. But he knew turning the N109 zone wouldn't do anything since you weren't there in the first place, and he knew where exactly to find you. Maybe it was his own rage and anger that he was taking out on the N109 zone. It wasn't surprising when he showed up in the middle of night in front of your doorstep at Linkon. Your old house which you still kept even after getting married to Sylus was the best decision. When you open the door and see him, you don't react, you don't do anything and you don't let him in. Sylus knew from one look at you that it wasn't going to be easy taking you back with him. “I won't force you to come with me, but at least let me stay. I'm not going until you'll let me in.” “Surely there are other places you can afford to stay.” It was like venom, your words. But he knew he deserved it for what he did. “I apologize for everything I said and for..what I did,” he sighs. “But I want you to come back with me. Please.” You didn't say anything. Your silent reprimand was enough of an answer for him. Now he was getting frustrated, not with you but with himself. “What must I do for you to forgive me. I know what I've done is not excusable but if you'll please give me another chance and let me explain-” “Explain what Sylus?,” you snapped. There were very rare occasions where you were on your last limit and Sylus knew best to make sure that never happens. “In all these years of our relationship, I've just wanted one thing from you and that was honesty,” you said coldly. “You're telling me everything you do, all these illegal, dangerous missions and the way you sometimes completely disappear is for us? For me? ” Your chest was heaving with rage. How dare he. “You knew about what I do-” “Yes! I know what you do very well,” you couldn't help but raise your voice a little. You were trying your best to stay calm, your fists clenched tightly. “And yet I accepted you for the way you are, loved you for who you exactly are.” Tears started falling from your eyes as you held your glare with him. You were angry, so angry but you couldn't help but soften every time when his gaze falls on you. You hated that so much. “And every mission every sudden disappearance includes her Sylus, how do you explain that? I'm your wife, you do not disappear on me, YOU DO NOT LIE TO ME,” Your voice was trembling, you didn't know for how long you kept all this inside but it was all pouring out now and he just stood there, saying nothing. You take one of his hands and put the rings on his palm. Their shine weighs heavily on his hand. “Take them. I don't want them anymore. Trade them in the next auction if you want to” You looked at you, stunned by your words. Hurt was evident in his crimson eyes. “Goodnight Sylus” You close the door in his face but you can still feel him standing there and you do not want to look back. Tears fall from your eyes and you cry. You cry because you knew every word struck him the way it did to you when he threw away his ring that night. His palm still rested on your door but he couldn't tell you to open it, to let him in. So he disappears again in the dark of the night but this time with the rings you exchanged your vows with. Death didn't part you but the consequences of his own actions did.
Zayne
Over the past few days, you've given Zayne the silent treatment and cold shoulder altogether. You responded only when needed and you barely saw each other. He came home to an empty dinner table and a bed with a great distance between you. This was affecting him at work as well. His co-workers noticed how cold he became and overworked himself. One night he finally had enough and confronted you. “Are we going to keep this up?” He held your wrist to stop you from walking away. You didn't say anything, you refused to. Sure the ring was still on his finger but you wondered if his heart felt otherwise, yours sure did. “I know my words and-,” he paused for a moment, ”actions were inconsiderate and hurtful.” He put emphasis on the word actions. “I didn't mean for things to escalate that far. I'm sorry.” Zayne was always thorough with his words and always meant what he said. But somehow that wasn't enough to ease you. “Zayne,” your voice trembled. “I'm tired. I don't see you at home anymore. When I wake up you're already gone and when I try to reach out to you or call you, you're busy and do not give me the excuse of dealing with your patients and surgery. I know what a doctor does. But you seem to be pouring your time elsewhere.” He freezes. The accusation sharp like ice. “I'm not a fool you know. I know you're her primary care physician, but you're my husband. Is it too much to ask for a little bit of your time?” His heart ached seeing you cry like this and him being the sole reason for it. “Sometimes I wish my heart was damaged so you'd at least take a look at me.” “That's enough.” Zayne rarely loses his patience, but this wasn't him losing it, how could you say that and put his heart in misery.” You swallowed your tears, throat aching and left him to dwell on his misery. The next morning Zayne woke up to an empty bed. No notes, some of your clothes were gone and your ring rested on the bedside table.
Xavier
Days and weeks have passed but not a single message from you. Xavier could not reach out to you or get a hold of you in any way. If there was one thing Xavier couldn't beat you to, it was hiding. It was like you completely disappeared. Not even Jeremiah and Isaiah were successful in their attempt to find you. “What did you even say to her to make her disappear like that?” Isaiah inquired. “It's nothing” was what he replied with. “Did you accidentally teleport her to another dimension?” Jeremiah kicked Isaiah and dragged him away from Xavier before he could further sour his mood. But nothing was on his mind except you. Your ring rested on his breast pocket for days now. It felt heavy on him. Even with the rings he could not make out where you could be. When one morning, Xavier woke up, he couldn't find his ring. That's strange. He didn't remember taking it off. Nevertheless he started looking for it in places he were, when suddenly there was a glow from his breast pocket and he looked in to see your ring was glowing. Where you nearby? He observed the fluctuating glow from the ring and discovered that when the ring glowed brightly it meant he was in the right direction. When he was near to the correct spot the ring glowed so brightly it was as if the stone itself was made from a portion of light from his evol. When Xavier walked closer and looked down he saw own ring glowing as brightly as yours. They're connected. One finds the other if the other is lost. He never knew about it. And the light emanating from it must've also been something you did. After all, you were the only one who could take some of Xavier's light from his evol. He didn't question how his ring ended up here. His eyes darkened as the rings slowly dimmed away, having been found each other. He wished you'd rather screamed and shouted at him rather than disappear like this. The silence was unbearable to him so much so that he wondered if you were even here on earth and actually not on some other dimension as Isaiah said earlier. But this act of disappearing wasn't all foreign to him. After all, he once disappeared from his own homeland. He looked up at the sky and looked at the countless stars decorating the sky. He hopes somewhere you're looking at the same stars and sky as him and that the stars can lead him to you soon.
Part 1
Author's note: I'm sorry if some parts are (much) longer than the other and if some of them are really short (Caleb and Rafayel) I did my best with part 2 as I had no plan for a second part. This was for all of you who requested it. I hope it's to your liking. I would also like to put out that MC is not a villainous figure here. If something here comes off as misogynistic to you or made you feel like I'm villainizing MC, I'm not. I'm not an MC hater. I just love writing my Love and Deepspace fanfictions from Non MC perspective.
He regrets it instantly but the damage has already been done. You stare blankly at the spot the ring is lying on. Suddenly everything feels heavy. He can't bring himself to move or pick up the ring. But what hurts most is the necklace around his neck that has been hanging since forever, which he never once took off let alone throw it away still hanging still while the ring which was a sign of your eternal bond was lying on the floor, once again reminded you of your place in his heart. It made you think that maybe the apple of his eye wasn't you.
Xavier
He leaves the tense atmosphere to calm himself but his actions had consequences. The ring which you preciously picked out, the stone on it heavily resembles a precious stone from Philos, his home. To make him feel like home was always near with you but now home seemed farther away. When he returns he sees a note from you saying you need some space and your own ring with the same stone lying beside it. That's when he felt the heaviness you felt seeing the ring detached from his hand. A reminder once again that how granted he took you for. And the tassel on his sword that hung everyday, mocking you, was a reminder of how fleeting you were in his life. “Then maybe we shouldn't be together,” was what he said to you before he threw it all away.
Rafayel
Papers and paints scattered everywhere as Rafayel desperately searched for the shining band that was meant to be on his finger. A ring made from the ancient jewel remnants of Lemuria. He never got to know how you got your hands on it but you told him it didn't matter, that binding your vows with something from the place of his birth was the only right way and that it would be eternal. But now, now it was lost Lemuria knows where and he has turned the whole studio upside down in search of it. You still had your ring on your finger which was a stab to Rafayel. The ring was the only thing you shared with Rafayel unlike the red flamulla, which was a terrible reminder that maybe eternity with Rafayel was not meant to be.
“Maybe you are not the one I was looking for all this time.”
Sylus
Sylus had a terrible temper despite his somewhat calm demeanor, which now resulted in the white diamond ring lying beside the bedside table. Hurtful words were exchanged which shouldn't have been and a lot of them being from Sylus himself. “You're insane, you think you know everything? I do it for you, for the both of us,” he never shouts, never raises his voice, but the fury in his eyes says everything. “No. No you don't! You do it for her!” That was the fire to the fuel and the next thing you see is his ring rolling on the ground. The ring you exchanged your vows with. Thrown away like it meant nothing. But the brooch with the precious red gem, he still proudly wears it. Your rings didn't have red, no. It was pure diamond white because he associated you with them. It was different. At least you thought it was. But the ruby still stands while the diamond falls.
Zayne
“She will always be more to you than I ever was.”
Zayne stops himself halfway, about to remove the ring and comes to senses with the horror of his actions. You weren't blind, you saw what he was about to do and it hurt you deeply. It's like for the first time you didn't understand him or worse, know him. The jasmine shaped stone on his finger is a pair to your snowflake. Two different bands. Yet they hold the same meaning. Maybe you were different after all, fleeting like a snowflake. Falling too easily on the ground, slowly. And maybe the jasmine bloomed somewhere else. Somewhere or someone you don't want to mention. And so you walk away from him before he could catch you. Maybe he should just let you fall like the countless snowflakes formed in his hands.
The Duke of Ashbourne's Special Lady: A Different Season
Regency AU
—⊹ this work was originally commissioned and given consent to be shared (personal details about the commissioner had been edited out)
Synopsis: You had always known Zayne as the quiet boy who bandaged your scraped knees and shared his secret stash of sweets. But as you grew, the boy you loved has been replaced by the untouchable version of him. The Duke of Ashbourne, a man now made of aristocratic ice and duty.
Facing your second Season on the marriage mart, you're resigned to the fact that you have grown apart. However, Zayne has returned to society with a singular objective. He is determined to secure a very specific, fiercely stubborn, and entirely oblivious match with his special Lady—if only she would realize he is talking about her.
Content warnings: Alternate Universe - Regency, Regency Romance, Inspired by Pride and Prejudice, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Childhood Sweethearts, Mutual Pining, Childhood Crush, Fluff and Smut, Teasing, Mc is oblivious, Jealousy, Miscommunication, Mc bribing Zayne with sweets, Banter, First Kiss, Kissing, Making Out, Groping in a garden, Cunnilingus, Semi-Public Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Nipple Play, Marriage Proposal, Idiots in Love, Sex before Marriage
—set name for mc/reader - Isabelle (important for the story)
Pairings: Zayne x reader
Word count: 5.5k
Author's note: Hi my lovelies~! I am so excited to share this story with you all! I had the immense pleasure of writing this as a commission for a friend, and because I love Duke Zayne so much, it ended up being a lot longer than anticipated haha~
For those who know A Duke's Silence, you are familiar with the AU, but~!! This is a standalone romance story, which follows a similar premise but it is not part of the original AU timeline me and Elle created for our Duke Zayne and Duke Rafayel. So please keep this in mind while reading~
I am quite literally buzzing from excitement of being able to showcase a very different side of our beloved Duke Zayne~ so please, do not hesitate to comment and let us scream, cry, laugh and swoon together to this beautiful story~ 💗
The morning room of the estate is bathed in the pale, fragile sunlight of early winter, the tall sash windows frosted at the corners. It is a quiet sanctuary, smelling faintly of beeswax, dried lavender, and the earl grey tea steaming in your porcelain cup. You sit on a velvet-cushioned window seat, a forgotten piece of embroidery resting in your lap.
You are entirely supposed to be focusing on your stitches, but your gaze keeps betraying you, drifting across the duck egg blue wallpaper to the man seated by the hearth.
The Duke of Ashbourne. Zayne.
He sits in a high-backed leather chair, one long leg crossed elegantly over the other, a heavy, leather-bound volume balanced on his knee. He is a study in intimidating perfection. His dark coat is tailored flawlessly to his broad shoulders, his pristine white cravat tied with mathematical precision. He is six feet and two inches of absolute aristocratic ice, his handsome face carved into lines of perpetual, stoic indifference. To the rest of the Ton, he is the untouchable Duke—a man who commands drawing rooms without speaking a word, entirely too proud and too remote for the frivolous games of London society.
But you know better. Or, at least, you used to.
You watch the way his brow furrows ever so slightly as he reads, and the sight sends a familiar, sudden ache blooming in your chest.
Before the titles, before the weight of the Dukedom fell upon his shoulders and turned him into a pillar of marble, he was simply Zayne. You grew up on neighboring estates, your childhoods woven together like tangled threads. You remember a quiet, serious boy who would scold you for running too fast through the damp gardens, only to immediately offer you his coat when you inevitably started to shiver. You remember the boy who, despite his severe expressions, learned how to carefully braid your hair when the wind whipped it into a wild mess.
Most of all, you remember the sweets. While the other boys learned to shoot and fence, Zayne had harbored a secret, notorious sweet tooth. He used to sneak into the kitchens to secure sugar plums or those rare, expensive chocolate drops coated in white sugar beads, and he would always, without fail, save the largest piece for you.
Now, looking at the man across the room, it feels as though a vast, frozen sea lies between you. Since his return from his medical studies at the university—a gentlemanly pursuit he takes far more seriously than society deems necessary—he has been so distant. So perfectly polite. You cannot help the small prickle of prejudice that tightens your heart. You assume he has simply outgrown you. A Duke has no need for the wild, nostalgic memories of a childhood friend. He requires order, perfection, and a quiet life.
You sigh softly, looking down at your needlework.
“If you sigh any louder, Isabelle, you might extinguish the fire entirely.”
His voice is a low, resonant baritone that vibrates across the quiet room. You startle, your head snapping up.
Zayne has not closed his book, nor has he moved his head, but his hazel eyes are fixed entirely on you. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath stutter, a traitorous flutter of heat rising to your cheeks.
“I was not sighing loudly, Your Grace,” you reply, lifting your chin as you force a tone of polite, breezy defiance. “I was merely lamenting the stubbornness of this particular silk thread.”
Zayne slowly closes the heavy tome, the soft thud echoing in the stillness. He sets it on the small table beside him. “Is that so?” he asks, his tone infuriatingly level. “I was under the impression you were lamenting my presence. You have been glaring at the side of my head for the past quarter of an hour.”
“I do not glare,” you correct him swiftly, your heart picking up a frantic little rhythm. “I was observing. There is a distinct difference. Though I suppose a man of your... elevated station might easily confuse the two.”
A beat of silence passes. For a fleeting second, you think you have gone too far, letting the bitterness of his recent distance seep into your words.
But then, Zayne does something completely unexpected. The corner of his mouth twitches. It is barely there—a fractional softening of his stoic mask—but it changes his entire face. He reaches out to the small silver tray resting on the table beside his tea.
“Come here, Isabelle,” he says softly. It is not a command from a Duke. It is a quiet, almost hesitant request from the boy you once knew.
You hesitate, your fingers tightening in your lap, but your feet move on their own accord. You cross the carpet, the soft rustle of your morning gown the only sound in the room, until you are standing before his chair. Up close, he smells of clean linen, cedarwood, and the faint, crisp scent of winter air.
He reaches out, his large, scarred hand—a hand that has spent years studying the delicate intricacies of the human heart—offering you a small porcelain saucer. Resting in the center are three perfectly made marzipan confections, shaped like tiny, delicate flowers.
You blink down at them, your breath catching in your throat.
“The cook procured them this morning,” Zayne murmurs, his gaze rising to trace the soft flush on your cheeks. “I remembered... you always had a fondness for them.”
Your heart does a terrible, wonderful flip. He remembered. Amidst all his responsibilities, his aloofness, and his grand societal standing, he remembered your favorite childhood sweet.
“You remembered,” you say, your voice coming out far softer, far more vulnerable than you intended.
“I remember everything about you, Isabelle,” he replies quietly, the words slipping out with a quiet, undeniable sincerity. He looks at you then, truly looks at you, his hazel eyes completely unguarded. There is no ice there. Only a quiet, yearning warmth that makes the breath leave your lungs. “Take one. Before I am forced to eat them all myself to save face.”
A genuine, irrepressible smile breaks across your face. You reach out, your fingertips brushing the warm skin of his palm as you take a piece of the marzipan.
“We wouldn’t want the Duke of Ashbourne to ruin his severe reputation by being caught indulging in sweets,” you tease softly, biting into the confection.
Zayne watches your lips, his gaze darkening just a fraction before he looks back up to your eyes. The tension between you is suddenly thick, sweet, and suffocatingly tender.
“My reputation,” Zayne murmurs, his voice dropping to a register that sends a shiver down your spine, “is of very little consequence when you are in the room.”
The sweetness of the marzipan blooms on your tongue, a delicate rush of almond and sugar, but it is nothing compared to the sudden, dizzying warmth spreading through your chest.
My reputation is of very little consequence when you are in the room.
The words hang in the quiet air of the morning room, thick and heavy. You look at him—truly look at him. Up close, his hazel eyes are piercingly clear, framed by dark lashes and fixed solely on you.
You swallow the confection, your heart doing a complicated flutter against your ribs. “That is a very dangerous thing for a Duke to say,” you manage to reply, your voice barely above a whisper.
“I have never been particularly afraid of danger,” Zayne replies, his tone smooth. He leans back in his leather chair, the rigid lines of his posture relaxing just a fraction. “Only of regretting what I left unsaid.”
You look down at the remaining marzipan flowers on the saucer, the pale winter light catching the delicate dusting of sugar. You do not know what to make of this version of him. For months, he has been ice and marble, a man carved by duty and societal expectation. But sitting here, offering you sweets and speaking in low, rumbling confessions, he is suddenly the boy you grew up with again.
Your mind drifts, unbidden, to the summers of your youth. You remember being twelve years old, crying on the edge of the estate after falling from a pony. Your governess had scolded you for ruining your dress, but Zayne—quiet, serious, fifteen year old Zayne—had simply knelt in the dirt, ruined his own pristine breeches, and carefully bandaged your scraped knee with his own linen handkerchief. He hadn’t scolded. He had only asked, in that calm, steady voice, if you were in pain.
It was then, perhaps, that the silly childhood crush had taken root. Over the years, it had grown like ivy, wrapping tightly around your heart. As you both grew older, the crush transformed into something much deeper, much heavier—a silent, aching yearning for a man you were certain only saw you as a nostalgic remnant of his youth.
“You are quiet,” Zayne observes, his voice pulling you gently back to the present. He watches you carefully, his gaze sweeping over the soft flush you know is staining your cheeks.
“I am merely thinking,” you say, placing the saucer gently onto the table beside his chair. You smooth the skirt of your blue morning gown and take a step back, needing just a little distance to clear your head. “Spring will be upon us before long. My aunt has already begun fretting over the state of my wardrobe for London.”
Zayne’s hand stills on the arm of his chair. The softness in his eyes shifts, freezing over just slightly as the reality of society intrudes upon your quiet sanctuary.
“March is approaching,” he states, the words clipped.
“April, likely, depending on when Parliament fully convenes,” you correct softly, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It will be my second Season. My aunt is determined not to return to the country until she has successfully married me off.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Zayne stares at the dying embers in the hearth, his jaw ticking once, twice.
He had not been there for your debut last year.
The memory of it still stings, a quiet, bruised place in your heart. You had stepped into the glittering, suffocating world of the London Ton for the very first time, draped in white silk and pearls, terrified and entirely overwhelmed. Every ballroom you entered, you had secretly, foolishly scanned the crowds for a head of immaculate black hair and a pair of sharp hazel eyes. You had wanted your oldest friend. You had wanted the boy who made you feel safe.
But the newly titled Duke of Ashbourne had been away, detained by estate business and his medical studies in Edinburgh. You had danced with Earls and Viscounts, smiled behind painted fans, and felt entirely, utterly alone.
“I was unavoidably detained last year,” Zayne says suddenly, his voice tight, as if he has plucked the very thought from your mind. He looks back at you, his expression guarded but intense. “I regret that I was not present for your presentation to society, Isabelle.”
“It is quite alright, Your Grace,” you say, perhaps a little too quickly, the formal title slipping out as a defense mechanism. “Dukes have far more pressing matters to attend to than the debut of a childhood friend. And I survived it well enough.”
“So I heard,” Zayne murmurs, his tone darkening. He stands, uncoiling his tall frame from the chair. He moves to the window, clasping his hands behind his back, looking out over the frost-covered gardens. “Lord Greystone informed me that you were quite the sensation. He mentioned no fewer than three prominent Lords who were eager to secure an understanding with your family.”
You stiffen. You had not expected him to know that, let alone bring it up.
“There were offers, yes,” you admit cautiously.
Zayne turns his head slightly, his profile sharp against the windowpane. “Generous offers, I am told. Men of good station, with unblemished reputations and vast estates. Yet you returned to the country unattached.” he turns to fully face you, his eyes narrowing with a piercing, analytical focus. “Why?”
You swallow hard, your fingers twisting into the fabric of your skirt. Because none of them were you, your heart screams. Because I realized that a lifetime of comfort with a stranger sounds like a prison compared to a single hour of arguing with you.
But you cannot say that. As far as you know, he still views you as a chaotic, unrestrained memory—a friend he occasionally indulges with marzipan.
“I did not find a match that suited me,” you say simply, lifting your chin. “I suppose I am terribly particular.”
“Or terribly stubborn,” he counters softly, taking a slow step toward you. The distance between you shrinks, the air growing thick with the clean, sharp scent of bergamot that always clings to his clothes.
“Perhaps,” you challenge, holding your ground even as your pulse races. “Is it a crime to want more than a comfortable arrangement? To refuse to settle for a man who only looks at me as a convenient addition to his household?”
Zayne stops just a few feet away. His gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, the ice in his demeanor fracturing to reveal something entirely different—something entirely unreadable and hot.
“No, Isabelle,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sends a shiver straight down your spine. “It is not a crime to want to be chosen for exactly who you are.”
He looks at you with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs. For a terrifying, exhilarating moment, you wonder what he might do. You wonder if he can hear the frantic beating of your heart, or see the way your hands tremble where they are clasped in front of you.
“I will be in London this Season,” Zayne adds quietly, the words sounding very much like a vow. He holds your gaze, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “I will not be absent this time.”
—
April arrives, bringing with it the blooming of spring and the frenetic energy of the London Season. As Parliament fully convenes and the city fills with the elite, the social calendar officially bursts into life. For your second year on the marriage market, the stakes feel inexplicably higher.
You sit before your vanity mirror, smoothing the skirt of a delightful new gown. It is a striking shade of cerulean blue, catching the candlelight like the surface of a calm lake, paired with long, soft white kid gloves—an absolute necessity to protect the delicate silk while in the ballroom.
Your aunt had practically wept with joy when you debuted the ensemble earlier that evening, convinced that this extra attention to your appearance meant you were finally determined to secure a match this Season. You did not correct her. You merely smiled, keeping the true source of your nervousness locked tightly in your chest.
Zayne is in London.
It is one thing to share quiet mornings and marzipan with the boy you grew up with in the comfort of the country. It is quite another to witness the Duke of Ashbourne navigate the marriage mart. The ballrooms are battlegrounds of matchmaking, and seeing him surrounded by debutantes and ambitious mothers makes your stomach flutter with a strange, anxious ache. You know better than to daydream about him courting you. He is a Duke, bound by duty, and you are his childhood friend. But the spark in your heart, stubborn and warm, refuses to be extinguished.
The ballroom of the grand estate hosting the Season’s opening gala is a dizzying swirl of color and music. You navigate the crowd with practiced grace, your dance card filling steadily. Several Lords of good station hover in your orbit, charmed by your easy banter and striking blue gown. Yet, despite your best efforts to remain present in their conversations, your eyes continually seek him out.
Zayne is a commanding presence, dressed impeccably in his dark tailcoat, pristine white cravat, and the requisite knee breeches of formal evening wear. You watch from afar as he honors the demands of society, leading a lovely Earl’s daughter through the steps of a country dance. He is courteous and perfectly polite, but his expression remains an unreadable mask of ice. You swallow the lump in your throat and turn back to your current companion, Lord Harrington, forcing a bright laugh at a joke you barely heard.
As the evening wears on, the heat of the crowded room begins to press against you. You step toward the refreshment tables to cool your flushed cheeks, Lord Harrington trailing faithfully at your side.
“I must say, Miss Isabelle,” Lord Harrington murmurs, handing you a crystal glass of chilled lemonade, “you are the absolute vision of the room tonight. I notice you have but one line left upon your dance card. I was hoping—”
“Lord Harrington.”
The voice is low, resonant, and cuts through the lively chatter of the room like a silver blade.
You freeze, your fingers tightening around the cool glass of lemonade.
Zayne steps out from the crushing throng of guests, stopping just beside you. The air immediately shifts, growing thick with the clean, sharp scent of bergamot and winter frost. He does not look at Lord Harrington. His hazel eyes are fixed entirely on you.
Lord Harrington clears his throat, visibly intimidated by the sudden, towering presence of the Duke. “Your Grace. A pleasure.”
Zayne offers the briefest, most chilling nod of acknowledgment before turning the full weight of his attention back to you. The stoic mask he wore while dancing with the other Ladies has fractured, just a fraction. There is a quiet intensity burning in his gaze as his eyes sweep over your blue gown, lingering for a breathless second on the soft curve of your shoulders before meeting your eyes.
“Isabelle,” he says softly, the familiar use of just your name sending a shiver straight down your spine. “I believe I am late in requesting a spot on your card.”
You stare up at him, entirely flustered. You had truly believed Lord Harrington was about to claim the final dance, and you had spent the entire evening telling yourself Zayne wouldn’t ask—that he was too occupied with his societal duties and seeing you only as a friend.
“I... I only have one space remaining, Your Grace,” you manage to say, your voice betraying a slight tremor.
Zayne steps closer, the proximity making your heart hammer a frantic rhythm against your ribs. He extends his large, warm hand, his fingers brushing against the soft white leather of your glove.
“Then I consider myself incredibly fortunate to claim it,” he murmurs.
He takes the small card from your trembling fingers, withdrawing a pencil. With smooth, deliberate strokes, the Duke of Ashbourne writes his name on the final line, sealing your fate for the evening. When he hands it back, his knuckles brush yours—a lingering touch that makes the breath leave your lungs.
“I shall return for you when the music begins,” Zayne promises, his voice a low rumble meant only for you. He gives you a perfect, formal bow, but the look in his eyes is anything but proper. It is a look that tells you he sees no one else in this room but you.
As he turns and walks away, you are left breathless, quietly delighted, and entirely at the mercy of the spark you swore you would ignore.
Lord Harrington’s voice pulls you back from the dizzying wake of Zayne’s departure, though his words sound as if they are traveling through water.
“I say, Miss Isabelle, a rather imposing fellow, isn’t he?” Lord Harrington murmurs, looking in the direction Zayne disappeared. He clears his throat, offering his arm. “If in the intervals of dancing you wish to go from one part of the room to another, you will request your partner to conduct you. On no account be seen parading the room by yourself.”
“Thank you, My Lord, but I am quite content to remain here for the moment,” you reply, offering a polite but distant smile. Your mind is entirely consumed by the elegant words now written on the final line of your dance card.
You endure the remainder of your conversation with Lord Harrington, sipping your lemonade to soothe your dry throat. You are not foolish enough to imagine that Zayne is courting you. He is a Duke now, a man bound by immense societal expectation, and you are the childhood friend he has known since you were both in short coats and pinafores. Yet, despite every rational thought, you cannot deny the deep, aching craving you feel at the prospect of dancing with him out in society, even if it is just this once, and even if it is strictly as friends.
When the musicians strike the opening chords for the next set, the crowd shifts. True to his word, Zayne emerges from the throng like a shadow stepping into the light. He bows briefly to Lord Harrington, who swiftly excuses himself, and then turns his full attention to you. In accordance with proper etiquette, he offers his right hand to take your left. You place your gloved fingers into his palm, and the heat of his touch sears right through the fine white kid leather.
He leads you to the center of the ballroom, and you take your places in the longways set. As you wait for the caller to begin the music, your mind drifts unbidden to the past. You remember being ten years old, standing in the drafty gallery of your country estate while a dancing master tapped a sharp rhythm with his cane. You remember stepping squarely on Zayne’s toes, over and over. Back then, it was playful and innocent. He would scowl, you would giggle, and he would inevitably sigh, taking your hands to patiently guide your feet to the correct position.
But there is no innocence in the way your heart hammers now. The quiet boy who patiently taught you the quadrille has been replaced by a man whose sheer presence commands the room, and the feelings blooming in your chest are far heavier than childhood affection.
The music swells, and you step forward to meet him in the dance.
“The evening seems to agree with you, Isabelle,” Zayne says softly, his deep voice easily undercutting the bright strains of the violins. “You have not lacked for partners.”
To ease the sudden, suffocating nerves flooding your system, you fall back on your oldest defense. Humor.
“I am surviving the evening, Your Grace,” you whisper back, a teasing glint in your eye as the figures of the dance circle you around him. “Though I fear my slippers may not survive the Season. Lord Harrington is exceedingly polite, but his understanding of the rhythm is... creative, to say the least.”
The corner of Zayne’s mouth twitches, a genuine, soft smile breaking through his aristocratic mask. It transforms his face, making him look devastatingly handsome. “I shall have to have a word with him about protecting your toes.”
“Please do not,” you laugh quietly, the sound light and breathless. “I would rather not be the cause of an international incident.”
The soft tension surrounding you thickens as the dance brings you together and pulls you apart. When you clasp hands again, the physical proximity makes you bold. Or perhaps, it makes you reckless.
“And what of your plans, Your Grace?” you ask, keeping your tone breezy, though your pulse beats a frantic beat against your ribs. “Are you fully intending to entertain marriage prospects this Season? I imagine the society mothers have already drawn up their battle plans to secure the Duke of Ashbourne.”
Part of you desperately wishes you could take the words back the moment they leave your mouth. You fear his answer, terrified that a single sentence will shatter the fragile, foolish spark of hope you have guarded all evening.
Zayne’s gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes. His expression grows unreadable, the playful warmth receding into something far more intense and serious.
“I have certain... obligations to consider this year,” he replies, his voice careful and quiet. “There is a specific match I have in mind. However, the circumstances are delicate, and it will require a great deal of patience.”
Your heart plummets. A specific match. Obligations. The words ring in your ears like a death knell. You instantly misinterpret his vague response, your mind filling with images of a highborn Earl’s daughter or a prominent heiress—someone proper, wealthy, and perfectly suited to the icy perfection of his title. He is speaking of a political alliance, a duty to his station, while you were foolishly daydreaming about childhood sweets and stolen smiles.
The disappointment is a physical ache in your chest, sharp and hollow. But you are well-practiced in the art of the ballroom, and you do not let the mask slip.
You force a bright, flawless smile, tilting your head as the dance separates you one final time. “Then I am certain she will be a very fortunate Lady, Your Grace,” you say, your voice perfectly polite and betraying none of the heartbreak beneath it.
Zayne watches you intently as the music draws to a close, a slight furrow appearing between his brows, as if he senses the shift in your demeanor but cannot quite understand it. But before he can speak again, the final chord strikes, and you sink into a deep, formal curtsy, leaving the conversation hanging heavy and unresolved in the space between you.
—
The London Season sweeps you into its glittering, exhausting embrace. For several weeks, your days become a blur of carriage rides, crowded assembly rooms, and endless social obligations. You dance, you smile, and under the watchful, thrilled eye of your aunt, you entertain the attentions of several eligible gentlemen.
Yet, your eyes constantly betray you. At every ball and soirée, you find yourself scanning the room for the towering, immaculate figure of the Duke of Ashbourne. When you spot him, you watch him quietly. You look for the ‘specific match’ he had mentioned, observing the way he interacts with the debutantes and highborn ladies of the Ton.
But he offers no Lady any special favor. He dances when propriety demands it, converses with his usual stoic politeness, and remains a mystery. He occasionally asks you to dance, and though your heart flutters wildly every time his warm hand takes yours, you force yourself to view these moments as mere friendly compensations for his absence last year. You are determined not to be foolish.
The reality of your situation becomes sharply apparent on a bright Thursday. Morning calls are an essential part of the Season’s social fabric, though despite their name, they actually take place in the afternoon, typically between eleven and six o’clock.
You are seated in the formal drawing room, wearing a soft day gown of pale primrose. Propriety dictates that an unmarried Lady cannot entertain gentlemen alone , so your aunt is stationed near the window, entirely engrossed in the latest issue of the town’s paper.
Across from you sits Viscount Langley. He is a perfectly pleasant man, with a bright smile and an earnest desire to secure your favor. He has spent the last ten minutes complementing your embroidery.
And seated in the high-backed chair nearest the fireplace, acting as a most formidable storm cloud, is Zayne.
He had arrived shortly after the Viscount, claiming he simply wished to check on his childhood friend. Since taking his seat, he has said perhaps three words. He is dressed impeccably in a dark, tailored coat and crisp cravat, his long legs crossed, his hazel eyes fixed with unnerving intensity on the Viscount. He does not glare, exactly—Zayne is far too composed for that—but his sheer presence is heavy enough to make the Viscount visibly perspire.
“I... I do hope you will save me a dance at the upcoming masquerade, Miss Isabelle,” Viscount Langley stammers, glancing nervously at Zayne before looking back to you.
“I would be delighted, My Lord,” you reply, offering a gentle smile to ease his nerves.
Zayne slowly turns his head. He says nothing, but one of his dark eyebrows arches just a fraction. It is a masterclass in silent intimidation. The Viscount clears his throat, abruptly stands, and delivers a hasty bow.
“Well. I must be off. Good day, Miss Isabelle. Your Grace.”
Once the door clicks shut behind the Viscount, the drawing room falls into a comfortable, quiet hum. Your aunt does not even look up from her magazine.
You set your embroidery hoop into your lap and fix Zayne with an exasperated, playful look. “You are terrible, you know that?”
Zayne shifts his gaze to you, his expression perfectly serene. “I am merely sitting by the fire, Isabelle. If the Viscount is easily frightened by a man drinking tea, perhaps he is not entirely suited to protect a household.”
A soft laugh escapes you. “He was not frightened by the tea. He was frightened by you. You were staring at him as if you were calculating the precise anatomical location of his physical flaws.”
The corner of Zayne’s mouth twitches. “A physician cannot help his nature.”
The tension in the room softens, melting into the easy, familiar dynamic you have shared since childhood. You study him for a moment. The pale afternoon light catches the sharp line of his jaw and the dark, thick strands of his hair. He looks entirely at peace here in your drawing room, miles away from the icy Duke society sees.
You tilt your head, a spark of mischievous curiosity overtaking your better judgment. You lean forward slightly, lowering your voice so your aunt cannot hear.
“Since we are speaking of nature,” you begin innocently, “you have been terribly secretive this Season, Your Grace. I have been watching you at the assemblies, you know.”
Zayne’s hand stills on the armrest. His gaze locks onto yours, suddenly intense. “Have you?”
“I have,” you confirm, keeping your tone breezy to mask the slight flutter in your chest. “You told me you had a specific match in mind this year. Yet, I have watched you interact with the Ladies of the Ton, and you treat them all with the exact same level of polite indifference. I am beginning to think this mysterious Lady does not exist.”
Zayne watches you for a long, quiet moment. The air between you thickens, growing heavy with the clean scent that clings to his clothes.
“She exists,” he says, his voice a low, resonant baritone that seems to vibrate right through you.
You swallow, forcing a playful smile to hide the sting of disappointment. “Well, you cannot hide things from me, Zayne. We have known each other too long. When we were children, you could not even hide the fact that you had stolen the last chocolate drops from the kitchens. You always got that exact, serious crease between your brows.”
“I am a grown man now, Isabelle,” he replies softly. “I have learned how to keep my secrets.”
“Then give me a hint,” you press, resting your chin on your hand, determined to pry the truth from him and put an end to your own foolish hopes. “Is she a diamond of the first water? Does she have golden hair? Is she the daughter of an Earl?”
Zayne leans back in his chair, his hazel eyes roaming over your face, lingering on your eyes, the curve of your cheek, and finally, the soft, hopeful line of your mouth.
“She is entirely oblivious,” he says flatly.
You blink, taken aback. “Oblivious? That is a rather strange quality to admire in a potential Duchess.”
“It is not a quality I admire. It is a quality I am currently enduring,” Zayne corrects, his tone laced with a dry, affectionate exasperation. He rests his chin on his knuckles, his gaze turning incredibly soft, though his words remain delightfully vague. “She is fiercely stubborn. She speaks her mind when society demands she remain quiet. She has a terrible habit of making wild assumptions about my character. And…” he pauses, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “...she is the only person who makes the chaos of the world feel like home.”
Your heart performs a frantic, dizzying leap against your ribs. You stare at him, your breath catching in your throat. The description is so incredibly specific, so strangely tender, that for one terrifying second, you wonder if he could possibly mean...
But no. You quickly shut the thought down. He is a Duke. He requires order and perfection. He is likely describing some high-spirited Lady from a noble family who challenged his intellect.
“She sounds... very complicated,” you manage to say, offering a small, wistful smile. “And very fortunate. I am sure, once you finally tell her, she will be delighted.”
Zayne lets out a quiet, slow exhale. He looks at you with an expression so full of yearning and fond exasperation that it makes your stomach flutter.
“I certainly hope so, Isabelle,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours. “I certainly hope so.”
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You’d known Zayne for a long, long time. Having grown up on the same street as MC, you often found yourself playing with her, Caleb, and Zayne. The older boy, though quiet and thoughtful, was always so helpful and kind that you grew to admire him a lot. He usually doted on MC, given she was so small and still adapting to a normal life, but in the rare moments you got to sit together alone, you began to grow a crush.
But then he moved away. You were sick all week, and by the time you were well enough to go to school and to hang out with MC and Caleb again, Zayne was conspicuously absent. When you asked, MC didn’t quite remember, but Caleb fell starkly silent. As confused as you were, you were moreso disappointed. You had liked him a lot, and playing together didn’t feel the same without him.
Still, you adapted. You grew up close to MC and Caleb, and as you all graduated and went your own ways, you kept in touch with her. And as luck would have it, Zayne re-entered your life again as MC’s primary doctor.
It happened one day while you were out to lunch with her. The two of you were trying a new cafe when all of a sudden she brightened and straightened up in her chair. “Oh! Zayne!”
Zayne? You turned to try and see who she was waving at, and you had to do a double-take.
There he was, all grown up and as handsome as he’d ever been. He ditched his childhood bowl-cut hairstyle, yet he still wore those same glasses and still walked with the stride of someone older beyond their years. When he caught your gaze, his own eyes widened a fraction.
“You remember Yin, right?” MC greeted, gesturing to you. “You should, y’know. Remember how we used to play together when we were kids?”
“Yes, I remember.” He nodded to you. “Hello. It’s nice to see you again. Have you been well?”
“Yeah, thank you. You look…” you trailed off for a moment before huffing a laugh. “Wow. You, uh, you look good. Finally became a surgeon?”
“Yes. I have been.” He lingered at the table for a moment before finally sitting down at MC’s insistent gesturing. “Excuse me.”
“No, you’re fine. We were just catching up.” She waved it off.
That hazel gaze was as piercing as ever. Your cheeks flushed a little when he looked your way.
“How have you been?” He offered.
“I’ve been good. Went to university, got a job I love, y’know.” You shrugged loosely. “Nothing as exciting as what you’ve been up to, I bet. Chief surgeon, huh? That’s pretty prestigious. And you’re, what, twenty-eight…?”
“Twenty-seven.” The corners of his mouth curved upward a little. “You never have gotten my age right. It’s comforting to see that not everything has changed.”
“W- well!” You huffed. “You were always so much more mature than we were.”
He raised a brow. “Not going to call me a grandpa? I take it back; you’ve changed more than I thought.”
“If you want me to, then I can, Grandpa.” You shot back.
MC giggled. “Yeah, Grandpa Zayne.”
He shook his head, though there was amusement in his face. “If that’s how it’s going to be, then for your next appointment I’ll have to schedule you as my first patient of the day.”
“Wait, wait, no, I take it back!” She groaned. “Please don’t have me come in at eight AM.”
“I may be persuaded to change my mind…” he hummed thoughtfully.
“Fine, I’ll buy you a shortcake.”
He raised a brow again, glancing up at her over the rims of his glasses.
She sighed. “A shortcake… and tea?”
“Hm. Perhaps.”
You watched this exchange, a smile on your face. “Still with that massive sweet tooth… has he had to go to the dentist yet?”
Zayne flinched, and MC grinned wickedly at you. “Well,” she began.
“No issues yet,” he cut in.
You and she laughed at his reddening ears.
—————
As happy as you were to see Zayne again, you had to accept that your girlhood crush would have to stay, well, a crush - when MC gushed to you about him finally asking her out.
Of course it would be Zayne, you had mused to yourself. He had always had a soft spot for her, and even now you weren’t surprised to learn that he was one of the only cardiologists in the area that was qualified to assist with her condition. It almost made you jealous. Well, no, you were jealous. Nobody you’d ever liked or dated had gone as far for you as he had for MC.
And then, when Caleb and Grandma died, she was nigh inconsolable and the agony of losing her only family exacerbated her illness. You spent a lot of your time helping her work through her grief, and despite how many days she lashed out at you or cried on your couch, you faithfully stayed beside her. You and Zayne became her anchors, and you found your traitorous feelings grow deeper the more you hung out with him while caring for MC.
It wasn’t fair. Not to you, nor to them. You didn’t want to be in love with Zayne, yet you couldn’t help but love him. He was so thoughtful and so kind, and MC never failed to hype him up. Paradoxically, you were envious of him too. You and MC had been close for years, even longer than she had been with him. You had stuck together through highs and lows, and you knew each other so well that people liked to joke you were twins. You loved her so dearly that you couldn’t imagine not having her in your life.
And that was the painful part. If you didn’t get this crush under control, you’d inevitably lose them both.
And so you drifted. You said no to hangouts when you knew he would be there. You pretended not to notice them while you were out. You avoided the hospital like the plague. You knew it was going to hurt her. You hoped it didn’t hurt him. And then, when your envy became something nastier, you slowly pulled away from her too. It wasn’t the right time, you told yourself. I can’t tell her now. I can’t do it now.
But the right time never arrived. And for as much as you missed your best friend, it hurt much more to see her.
MC was mostly confused. You’d spent so long not seeing each other - why now were you avoiding her and Zayne? You’d gotten along so well before she started dating him… was it because he was her boyfriend? Were you jealous? That didn’t sound like you though. You didn’t complain or seethe to your shared friends about her suddenly not being single. It couldn’t be because you suddenly didn’t want to see him. It stung. She wanted you both to get along like you had as kids, no matter what Zayne was to her now. She wanted you back. Her anchor.
And Zayne… understood. Perhaps someone had finally told you about what happened between him and MC all those years ago. Maybe Caleb - whom he had recently found out through MC was alive in Skyhaven - had, out of some petty frustration or a grudge - had told you about how badly he hurt her. But if someone had told you, you didn’t treat him any differently. Just polite distance. It was a little disappointing, but he wasn’t about to pry. Still, he did miss you. You and MC came alive together when it would be the three of you, and she was beginning to mope about not being able to see you.
—————
It just so happened that you had gotten horribly sick one week. Food poisoning from a place you frequented. The betrayal was almost as sour as your churning insides. You’d been shut away in your apartment for a day now, far too sick to get medicine, curled up in the bathroom with a water bottle and some long-cold soup - when you faintly heard a knock at your front door.
With a groan, you picked yourself up and hobbled to the door, clutching a bathrobe about yourself. When you opened it, you were startled by MC throwing herself forward and gathering you in a tight hug.
“Oh, thank goodness! Where have you been?! I called you like ten times!” She exclaimed.
You blinked slowly at her.
Behind, Zayne stepped in, clearing his throat as he held up a grocery bag. “Please excuse us,” he added.
Mortification made you want to throw up again. Instead you swallowed, averting your gaze as your cheeks darkened in a blush.
“Yeesh, you’re a mess.” MC grimly noted, taking in your bedraggled appearance. “Are you sick?”
You nodded. “Food poisoning,” you mumbled.
Both of them startled a little at that.
Zayne adjusted his glasses. “You help her bathe and change, I’ll make something to soothe her stomach.”
“Got it.” She nodded sharply before slipping an arm around you. “C’mon, let’s get you a change of clothes. Are the towels still in the same place?”
—————
One shower later, you were sitting at the table in new pajamas, staring at a bowl of congee. You’d taken some medicine earlier, and now MC sat beside you, feeding you spoonfuls of porridge.
“Here,” she urged, blowing on the spoon before offering it.
“I can… feed myself,” you halfheartedly protested. Really, though, it felt nice to be waited on.
“Nonsense, I want to.” MC scowled at you for a moment. “How many times did you feed me when I was bedridden? At least let me do this much.”
Zayne reappeared from the living room. “How are you doing?”
“A bit better,” you admitted. “Thanks for the food.”
He hummed, pressing his hand to your forehead. “You’re still a bit clammy. You ought to rest once you’re done eating.”
Well, at least if you fell asleep, maybe they’d be gone when you woke up. It was embarrassing enough having MC see you like this, but Zayne too? You could liquify and melt right through the floor.
“There. Done.” MC stood with your empty bowl in hand. “Zayne, I’ll wash. Can you help her…?”
“Of course.” He nodded.
“Y- you really don’t—” you began to protest, but you cut yourself off with a squeak as he lifted you.
Your face burned as Zayne carried you into your room. You hadn’t gotten the chance to clean it, yet as you looked around, it looked neater. Had he—?!
“Don’t worry, I only cleared the trash.” He reassured you as he finally lay you down in your bed.
“Thanks…” you murmured as he tucked you in. “You… really don’t have to.”
“But I want to. It’s only natural that I’d aid someone who needed it.” His gaze softened and he pressed his hand against your forehead. “You’re still a little warm. Is it from the food, your sickness… or…?”
He leaned in, gaze sweeping across your face. “… is it because of me?”
You cupped your hands over your face, but he gently pried your fingers away.
“You’ve been so elusive recently that I almost thought you were afraid of me.” He continued softly, “Is it true?”
“No. Never. I could never be afraid of you.” You shook your head hard enough to make yourself dizzy. “The truth is… I… I like you. And I feel like shit because you and MC are…”
“We’re what?” MC piped up from the doorway, watching you with concern.
“You’ve been avoiding me because MC and I are dating?” Zayne inquired.
Sheepishly, you ducked your head.
There came a pause.
And then MC snorted a laugh. “Oh, my gosh. You can’t be serious. You can’t be serious, Yin.”
Your head shot up and you glared at her. “What? Isn’t it normal to be a little bummed that you want your best friend’s boyfriend?!”
“That was never going to be an issue!” She exclaimed, finally crossing the room and sitting on your bed. “Yin, I’ve been into you since high school. If Zayne hadn’t beaten you to the punch with me, I’d have asked you out.”
“H— huh?!”
“It’s not the best time to be doing this,” Zayne reminded her.
“Well, I’m never gonna have a more opportune time to.” MC huffed, taking your hand in hers. “When you get better… d’you wanna go on a date? All of us?”
“You’re… asking me to third-wheel on your date?” You deadpanned.
“No! No, like— as our girlfriend!” She squinted at you. “You know what I mean!”
“As sweet as that sounds, I don’t think your boyfriend shares that same sentiment.” You glanced up at Zayne wryly, expecting him to agree with you, but you were stunned when he chuckled.
“You have the worst timing. First you come late to your appointments, now you put Yin on the spot while she’s still trying to recover?” He scolded. “You don’t have to say yes just yet. But we wouldn’t be opposed to dating you.”
You gaped at him until he gently closed your mouth by lifting your chin with his fingers. “B- but,” you began when you could finally manage words, “... uh, why?”
“Why? Why not?” He countered. “I quite like your company. I always have.”
“But… don’t you… and MC…?”
“We both want you.” She implored, cupping your hand to her cheek.
“And we’ll have you, if you wish.” Zayne added.
You looked between them helplessly. “You… you’d really…?”
“I wouldn’t offer if we weren’t both on board. Geez, you sound like you’re expecting to get pranked.” MC chuckled a little, before she saw your flat look and her levity disappeared. “Wait. You thought I’d prank you by offering to date both you and Zayne? Girl, what the hell? Why would you ever think I’d do that?”
“Because it’s too good to be true!” You argued. “You get territorial over things you have— no offense— and… I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Well guess what, babe, you’re one of those things!” She snapped.
You stared at her, brow furrowed.
Then, “... if I did say yes,” you began carefully, “... what would change?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” She paused, then. “Well, except I can do this.”
She leaned in and was about to kiss you, but Zayne blocked it at the last moment by slotting his hand in-between her lips and yours.
She glared up at him, but he regarded her impassively. “Not while she’s sick,” he reminded. “You may do this, however.” And he pressed his lips against your forehead, earning a squeak of surprise from you.
There was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as you and MC gaped at him. And then she grinned, leaning in to press another kiss into your forehead.
“You’re both going to be the death of me,” you halfheartedly sighed.
“Smothered to death in affection sounds like a pretty good way to go out, if I have any say.” MC stubbornly responded, nuzzling into your chest.
Zayne hummed in agreement, kneeling beside your bed and resting against your side.
“Hurry and get well,” he murmured. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
