(one can only truly feel with their eyes closed) s.gojo
satoru was born bearing the curse of atlas, the world weighing a little too heavy on his shoulders. the body of a child is a frail one and satoru, in his early years, was too scrawny a kid, his bones too fragile to carry all of that weight all by himself. he had fallen on his feet and struggled to stand up on his own one too many times until he had grown to become something akin to a god, one who barely even knew fear.
itās three in the morning and satoru is standing outside your bedroom door, pinching his bottom lip in between his fingers while anxiously awaiting your arrival. you shouldāve been back before midnight and there is something unfamiliar brewing inside him, an uneasy feeling in his gut that is rendering him restless. he feels nauseous and there is a heavy lump on his throat that is making it hard for him to swallow.
satoru reaches for the phone in the pocket of his sweatpants, waiting for something, a call, a text even ā anything to let him know that youāre okay.
his head is quick to turn at the sound of heavy footsteps making their way towards him and he can make out your silhouette emerging from the darkness of the poorly lit corridor, your feet weary and sore after being away for so long and having just traveled all the way back here, back to him.
ten days to be precise. thats how long youāve been away. and when you manage to make your way along the seemingly endless hallway, so very tired from your lengthy mission, you finally cease your fight against gravity, letting yourself collapse into satoru, closing your eyes immediately upon impact, finding your relief in him, in the sturdiness of his chest. youād gone without him for too long and youāre so quick to find comfort in him. he, too, is just as quick to search solace in your touch when he guides your arms that fall limp at your sides to wrap themselves around him - is so prompt to hold you and offer you the stability you need when he wraps his stronger ones around your shoulders, welcoming you back with a quiet good girl being whispered to the crown of your head.
thereās a minute of silence in which satoru realizes, while trying to recover from the fretful state he induced himself into, that fear has become something permanent in his life.
āyouāre lateā he threads his fingers through your hair, soothing away your fatigue though he thinks he might have just lulled you to sleep because youāre standing so still, breathing so softly. you protest with a breathy whine when his hand cups the back of your head, tilting it upwards to make you meet his gaze. only then do you perceive the distress painted on his handsome features.
satoru is always so good at hiding his feelings. his voice barely even wavers and his hands are holding you so firmly that his worry wouldāve almost gone undetected. almost. because concern is so easily discernible in his eyes. his eyes are so honest, as honest as satoru gets. they have always let on more than his words.
theyāre his biggest strength and yet his biggest weakness. the blindfold conceals more than just his power. it keeps his vulnerability from seeping through.
āi know but i'm hereā you close your eyes when his thumb rubs the spot between your eyebrows āmy flight got delayed and i didnāt wanna wake you up with a phone callā
āi wasnāt sleepingā not until i know youāre safe.
āiām alright, satoru. im hereā you two speak in whispers like two kids sharing a secret, your voice barely audible as you lean your cheek against his chest, a hand rubbing circles over his heart.
another wave of silence envelops the two of you as you take your time to touch, to grab and to squeeze ā to let your hands get acquainted with each otherās skin again ā you swear you feel him shiver against you when you caress the skin behind his ear, where you know itās sensitive.
āletās get inside, baby.ā
you nod against his chest and squeeze him in your arms one last time before you pull away to unlock your bedroom door. you lace your fingers together with his to pull him along, dropping your luggage somewhere in a corner and not even bothering to turn on the lights instead guiding him towards the bed that youāve shared during so many other nights ā so eager to be cradled in his arms, to drift off in the comfort of his embrace. but when satoru drops his head to your shoulder you cease any movements, stopping in your tracks.
he doesnāt say a word, just moves the palm of his hand gingerly up the skin of your exposed arm, only stopping where the strap of your dress sits on your body, gripping the fabric in his fist, begging to see you, whole. to make sure there is not some magical force holding you together and that you won't fall apart under his fingers upon touch. he still touches you so carefully as if you will.
for a long time now, reality has presented itself to satoru as something dubious, he has grown to be skeptical towards it. after all, his best friend had met his demise at his own hands - satoru had watched him take his last breath - yet, that unfaithful day in shibuya, there he stood in front of him, intact - alive. now satoru is imbedded with a constant feeling of uncertainty, worrying that the eyes he has relied on throughout his entire life, might deceive him sooner or later.
you lift your hand to rest over his, loosening the tight grip he has on the fabric of your garment before you slide both straps off your shoulders, letting your dress fall to the ground and revealing your partially nude body to satoruās prying gaze. he closes his eyes with a sigh that makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise in antecipation. he brushes a few strands away before he places a kiss to the mound of your neck where your spine protrudes your flesh, where your skin is most tender and delicate, feeling the subtle bumps of your skin against his lips ā the way your body reacts to him proof that youāre not just some hallucination. that youāre alive and well. that youāre here.
he figures he is so much more in tune with his surroundings whenever heās not looking. his eyes are closed shut yet the way you shudder under him when he runs the tip of his finger up the curve of your spine, the little sounds you make, the gasp that unintentionally escapes your lips when he lays the most gentle of kisses on the shell of your ear ā heād know you anywhere, even with his eyes closed. he knows the way you feel, the way you sound, the way you smell. even blind, his other four senses would still lead him to you.
he touches you until your skin starts feeling feverish under his fingers, wishes youād just melt into him and would fill in every crevice in his body until heās so completely covered in you he can barely breathe. and when he needs more, he carries you to bed in his arms then lies you down in the white linen sheets. he reaches for the back of his shirt and tugs it off before taking the spot next to you, craving the feeling of his skin against yours.
he kisses your collarbone, left then right, worshiping you whole, paying equal attention to every part of your body, then dips lower to kiss over your sternum. he loves on the freshly inflicted wounds on your skin then proceeds to run his tongue over the newly healed scar that runs diagonally on the flesh of your stomach ā your taste, that, too, he has memorized by heart.
āi always come back looking worse than when i leftā and it's supposed to be a lighthearted joke because you're smiling and your tone is somewhat playful but it makes satoru wonder if you think he loves you any less because of it.
sometimes itās hard baring yourself to satoru like this, he knows it. your scar ridden body a striking contrast to his almost pristine, untouched one. however, itās on nights like this one where you feel closest to him, laying bare your insecurities to him and, in return, satoru undiscloses his ā more often than not escaping his lips impulsively in the form of strangled moans against the sweaty skin of your neck, telling you he loves you. donāt ever leave. donāt wanna lose you too.
āyou returned, baby. thatās all that matters.ā he utters against your belly then comes to rest on your chest, hear pressed atop your heart.
satoru has grown fond of the sound of your pulse lulling him to sleep, slow and steady. he unwraps his arms from around you, moving his hands up your sides until they settle around your ribs, feeling the way your lungs fill up with air, his head moving up and down, in sync with your heaving chest. he smiles to himself, every heartbeat, every breath you take a reminder that there is still so much life inside you.
he looks up at you, eyes searching for your face after a few minutes have gone by since you stopped playing with his hair. he had wanted to protest but then he takes in the image of you, mouth slightly agape, a subtle frown on your face ā an angel lying under him. so fragile, so innocent.
you're sound asleep and satoru is overcome with the intensity of the sheer adoration he feels towards you when he realizes you had felt so at peace in his arms it'd only taken you a couple minutes to doze off. it is as if your body reacts to his presence on it's own, telling you that its safe around him, that it's okay to let your guard down. there is no bigger privilege than to know his touch brings you consolation ā that heās your safe haven.
upon further inspection, however, thereās a cold shiver that makes itās way up satoruās spine when he notices how youāre laying so still, barely even moving. apart from the subtle rise and fall of your chest, youāre so inert, so lethargic. this is what your lifeless body would look like in his arms if he ever failed to protect you.
it is as if suddenly there is not enough oxygen in the room and his lungs start growing heavier with each passing minute, his hands clammy and fingers digging into the flesh of your ribs instinctively, out of desperation.
he calls out your name once, and he wouldāve felt bad for waking you up but he canāt even think straight right now. he could be so selfish at times but you never resented him for it.
you donāt answer at first, his voice too weak to even pull you out of sleep. satoru pushes himself up the bed, lying sideways next to you, his body looming over yours as he brushes the strands of hair that are sticking to your forehead away from your face ā your complexion looks so much paler under the moonlight.
ābaby.ā he calls in between heavy breaths, eyes frantic searching for something. anything. this time you stir in your sleep, turning around and nuzzling into the crook of his neck as if seeking for the heat of his body on instinct. he sighs releasing some of the tension inside him ābaby.ā though there is still a hint of urgency in his voice.
āim sleepy, satoruā he can barely hear you as you bury yourself deeper into his neck.
āi know, baby. i knowā he tries to sooth you, cradling your head closer to him but is just as quick to change his mind, grabbing your cheeks in between the palms of his hands to gently pull you away from him and take look at you instead. your eyes remain closed, still so heavy with sleep.
ājust need you to say my name.ā it sounds as if heās pleading.
āsatoru.ā you barely even manage to mumble as you lean deeper into his touch, lips brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of his hand. moving only on instinct still, too drowsy to even make sense of what is happening, to notice the despair in his tone.
āthatās it.ā he pecks you on the lips āagain.ā hes trailing kisses across your cheeks, his breath heavy on your skin when he begs you in a quivering voice āplease."
you begin to be pulled out of slumber when you feel his hands trembling against you, opening your eyes only to be met with his wide-eyed gaze, his pupils fully blown out in the dark, alert with fear.
this has happened before yet it never fails to alarm you. you know how he gets, youād seen it in his eyes many times before and youād seen it again earlier tonight when you arrived, tenuous yet just waiting for the smallest trigger to so easily turn into something out of his control.
it's like he's suddenly in a trance and nobody can pull him out of it. his hands start wandering everywhere and in a rather frenetic way, feeling around your skin as if he has gone blind. hands fumbling to hold whatever is within their reach, clenching whatever it is you're wearing in his fists, searching for something that he canāt quite seem to find and that you canāt quite understand.
you never know what to say, you can only hold him in hopes it will pass. you hold him and coddle him in hopes that you can be as much of a source of comfort to him as he is to you.
he apologizes afterwards, he always does. apologizes for needing you so much that sometimes it drives him crazy. then he thanks you, thank you for letting me rely on you, but he barely ever does, only when he so desperately needs it ā when itās him lending others his strength, being relied on, who says thank you to him.
you sit up in bed, extending your hand towards him, waiting for him to take it. you pick him up when he does and you let a hand wrap around the back of his head, guiding him to lay on your shoulder
āsatoru, satoru, satoru.ā you whisper against the shell of his ear while stroking his hair. he thinks he could fall sleep right here, like this.
please, lean on me, too. if you let me, i can be strong for the both of us. you donāt have to be strong all the time. satoru thinks he knows what youāre trying to tell him.
āiāll say it as many times as you need.ā
for the second time tonight, he is so overwhelmed by his profound infatuation that it is as if his love has grown a will of itās own, as if it has grown fangs when his teeth sink, unwarranted, into the skin of your shoulder, love wishing to seep itself deep into your bloodstream. āwant you whole.ā
āso greedy.ā you wince quietly against his snowy hair and he runs the tip of his nose up the side of your neck.
he keeps on nibbling on the tender skin of your neck, as if heās hungry and trying to prove a point. that if he so wished to, if he was greedy enough, heād devour you full.
āi'm the greediest, babyā for what is love if not greed. is it not wanting to consume the other person and let yourself be consumed in return? for his entire life, satoru has known nothing but an insatiable hunger. always wanting more, always needing more. gluttonous for more, more, more. in the end, he always managed to get what he wants and he doesnāt hold back, you never asked him to either.
he knows he owns you wholly, youāve told him so, your soul, mind and body fully placed on the palm of his hand and he doesnāt think he could ever settle for less.
he places a trail of kisses that goes down to your shoulder again and he pulls away from your skin with one last kiss to the spot where he left a mark. a mark that is so unlike any other in your body. one that comes from love.
āi'm sorry that i need you so muchā he envelops you in a warm embrace, touching his heart with yours.
but heās also apologizing for so many other things. heās sorry that he canāt give himself to you the same way youāve given yourself to him. youāve always kept your heart open to him yet it seems that he only ever allows you a glimpse into the heart inside his chest on nights like this, during one of his episodes or when his body is panting above yours, falling apart at the feeling of being inside you and too lost in his own pleasure. only then does he spill all of his heart's content into your distracted ears ā when he thinks youāre already far too gone to listen, to truly acknowledge his feelings.
those are the only times he ever allows himself to be vulnerable with you and you treasure every single one of those moments, listening attentively even when he thinks you donāt.
āsay my name one last timeā he breathes against your ear.
here, in these sheets, satoru pretends to forget his name and the burden that inescapably comes with it. he forgets the world needs him and lets himself need you instead, just this once ā just this once, heāll pretend to be the weak one, the one who needs saving, and find shelter in your arms.
āsatoruā¦ā your words are spoken barely above a whisper, like theyāre meant just for him.
āagainā he connects his lips with yours and holds the back of your neck with one hand, the other resting on your back for support as he dips you both down onto the matress.
and you say it. again. and then again. not because he asks you to but because he knows how to get what he wants. he pries his name out of your lips as he trails open mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, forces it out of you in the form a laughter as he nibbles on the inside of your thighs, tickling you with his breath and ultimately earns it as a moan that you cry as a prayer when he sinks down on the matress and makes a home in between your legs ā until you're chanting his name over and over again, sobbing that you love him, you love him, you love him.
he smiles. satoru is now twenty eight and his shoulders a little lighter, the world fitting all too perfectly in this queen sized bed.
Tags: Friends with benefits, drabble, feelings realization, domestic setting, low stakes, fluff, one-shot, light smut, kissing, parking lot shenanigans, mentions of sex, explicit language, dirty talk, mentions of inappropriate uses of vegetables, Zayne's impeccable restraint -> Zayne's erotic loss of it
Summary: "I love you," he rasped, navigating to your neck, "couldn't you tell by the way I fucked you."
Word Count 1.7k
Let me walk you through this one. Writer's block -> love for Zayne -> asking best friend for random prompts -> wanting to prove I can write a one-shot that doesn't progress into a full blown story (this almost became a whole story - don't ask) -> produce aisles and cucumbers. My first time writing for Zayne!
"Prove it then," you challenged, "prove you don't have feelings for me."
Hazel eyes remained gentle, calm, composed in that brutal way you found infuriating. Long fingers were curled around the handle of the shopping cart, the evening's dinner compiled in the basket, the ice cream beginning to melt. What had started as a tame shopping trip had quickly escalated into conflict.Ā
Because last night, when Zayne had taken you atop his desk in his home office, something within your heart had shifted violently. His soft voice whispering into your ear, his precise hands bracketing your waist, and his piercing eyes - fervent with passion, wild with ecstasy. All attributes you wanted to savor for a lifetime.Ā
"That is a rather bold conclusion," Zayne responded, reaching above his head to snatch a produce bag from the supplied roll. Methodically, he used his fingernails to split the plastic, and began inspecting the bell peppers with an eye only possessed by a doctor. "What evidence have you gathered to make such an accusation?"
"You haven't kissed me."
He faltered, a minute twitch of his index finger as he reached for the piece of fruit he had determined as adequate. Slowly, he deposited the bell pepper into the bag, then grabbed another one. You stepped closer, invading his space. His eyes glanced at you, a simple observation, then he was rounding the cart to place the bag next to the frozen lasagna.Ā
"Zayne," you prompted, an edge to your voice indicating frustration, "I can't do this anymore."
"The produce section of the grocery store is not where we should be having this conversation," he continued to grab more items, this time, filling a bag with celery.Ā
His professional demeanor had always attracted you to him: his polite respect for strangers and companions, his near damn perfect posture, his relentless ambition to get things right. It made when he lost control that much more enticing. The filthy words, his blazing eyes, the grunts as he buried himself to the hilt. It was one or the other, no in-between.Ā
You wanted the domestic side. Yes, shopping together was domestic indeed, but you could do such chores with your friends and family. You wanted the romance, the kisses in the kitchen while cooking, the hugs from behind as he explained the hardships of the day.Ā
Pining after this man for so many years had its downsides. You were desperate, on the brink of pushing limits, placing him in an uncomfortable situation.Ā
Around Zayne, you had been calculated. His words were sometimes few, but resonant. If you were about to enter a conversation with the potential to expand, you would become his focal point. And that stare of his, pure as ice, always melted your resolve.Ā
On a whim, out of fear of the serious, you had navigated a conversation months ago, ultimately settling upon a new dynamic. Friends, you two had forever been, so what was the danger of some benefits? Other men barely caught your interest, and if they did, it was fleeting. Zayne, on the other hand, had been the first person you imagined kissing when those thoughts were born from puberty.Ā
"Well, you don't seem to want to have this conversation anywhere else," you replied, venom curling your pronunciation. That wasn't true, you knew Zayne would be open to a conversation late in the evening, maybe at the coffee shop you two frequented before work. He would even consider it as you two caught your breath underneath his fancy blankets, skin marked in bites and bruises.Ā
You were projecting.Ā
Zayne had moved onto cucumbers. The sleek shine of the vegetable's skin pronounced beneath his pristine hands. He twisted his wrist, scouting for any imperfection. And your brain, lost in some delirium, reminisced.Ā
His hand had cradled his own erection quite similarly the night prior, near the base, poised so you could sink down upon him easily. That smirk he wore as your rode him sprinkled burning sparks across your skin, and your nails had dug into his chest, a form of restraint to prevent your mouth from finding his.Ā
You had always taken the initiative, Zayne had always guarded his inhibitions. You wanted his lips fused to yours, his tongue spearing deep and meeting your tenacity.
"Insertion of this vegetable has become more common."
You choked on nothing but your own saliva, "you aren't suggesting we - nevermind."
"No, I was just stating what I had learned at a meeting this week."
You werenāt entirely sure how to carry on the conversation after that. So, you didnāt. Zayne had always been comfortable with silence between you two, and of course, you had too.Ā
The rest of the grocery trip went by with mindless glances at random products, and occasionally looking at your phone. Zayne kept to his routine, checking expiration dates, comparing prices, and purchasing products only his personal research had approved of.Ā
It wasnāt long before the cart was tapping the bumper of his car, filled with the reusable bags he had taken from their designated spot in his pantry. Zayne unloaded the groceries into the trunk as you leaned against the passenger side door. Usually, you would aid in emptying the cart, but a petty stubbornness had compelled you to just watch.Ā
Zayne expressed his own dissatisfaction, huffing when he latched the trunk hatch and walked the cart to its corral.Ā
You observed, noting his stride, the confidence in his step. You went to open your door, only to find it locked.Ā
You frowned.Ā
Zayne strode past his vehicle to meet you at your side. Rotating so you faced him, your back to his car, your mouth opened.Ā
āWhat are you -āĀ
āFor once, I wonāt ask for permission.āĀ
His kiss was like ice shattering, a foundation crumbling beneath your feet.Ā
Zayne was rough.
Zayne was taking control, he was dominating.
And hell, if you didn't devour him in return.Ā
The handle of the car door dug into your waist, but that was the least of your worries, especially with the doctor bending your back over the curve of the car. Your hair brushed the roof of the chassis, hands grappling onto his upper arms.Ā
"I've wanted to kiss you," his voice was feather-light, that monotone, yet beautiful timber he often consulted you with, "for quite some time."
"Then why didn't you?"
He considered your question, lips resting over yours. His sharp nose nuzzled your cheek as he playfully nudged you.Ā
"I knew once I did, I would completely fall."
Your gasp felt unnervingly loud in the parking lot. A shopping cart rattled in the distance, car doors slamming. And here was one of the most composed gentlemen you had ever known, prying your lips apart with his tongue, and sweeping inside to taste.Ā
His breath punctuated his movement, harsh sounds relaying his desperation. Each smack of your lips drew heat into your abdomen, accumulating, eventually seeping from between your thighs.Ā
"Please do," you urged, "fall for me completely as I have for you."
His heart thudded against your chest, lips departing from your mouth to trail over your jawline. Above, flakes of snow swirled, caught in the overhead lights of the parking lot. They littered his hair, dots of white against raven-black. Your hand raked over them, the minor chill exhilarating.Ā
"I love you," he rasped, navigating to your neck, "couldn't you tell by the way I fucked you."
"Perhaps I need to reassess your performance."
His chuckle was saturated in mirth, "I always recommend a reevaluation before submitting final results."
Pain erupted from the slope of your neck, his teeth capturing a portion of skin to pinch. He suckled, each pull confirmed with a messy lick of ease.Ā
"Where did those pretty sounds go?" He teased.Ā
"Zayne, we are in public!"
"I'll admit,ā he paused, catching his breath, āthere's something undeniably addictive about stepping out of line.ā
He wasnāt finished.Ā
āI donāt know where to start with you,ā he exhaled, as if restraining those words had been a considerable burden.
With your head tilted back, flakes rested upon the skin of your neck, thawing in time with each swallow. Droplets trailed down to soak your hoodie, and Zayne watched, eyes riveted by the slopes of your body. It gifted you some time to observe his mouth, and how those lips had finally touched yours.Ā
Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you rose, rising on the toes of your shoes to kiss him. He took one step back, bracing from your momentum. His body always had moved in ways that were subtle, never explosive, always a source of consolation. But his hands grasped, nearly clawing at your hips. An ache registered as he applied pressure, arresting your freedom, and yanking you against him.Ā
āFeel me,ā his demand was carried by a whisper, hands roaming to your rear, nails digging into your flesh through your sweatpants. Your hiss was stolen by his ministrations, your body surrendering to his lead. āFeel exactly what you do to me.āĀ
You did. Pressed this close together, his length nudged against your navel.Ā
There was a joke buried in this situation, one hinting at the use of a cucumber. You would have verbalized it if it wasnāt for the onslaught of his lust.Ā
Your leg steepled, hooking your knee over the jut of his hip, cradling his cock in the vent of your heat. All he had to do was push your waistband down, undo his zipper, and vault his hips forward, sinking deep into the crease of your cunt.Ā
If he had wanted.Ā
Zayne wouldnāt.Ā
āThe ice cream is melting,ā he noted despite the reaction of his body as he lurched, driving the crown of his arousal over the outline of your pussy. āAnd we have perishables.āĀ
You knew him too well.Ā
āSo shall we go?ā You suggested.Ā
āItās not safe to drive when distracted,ā he reasoned.Ā
His hand dug into his pocket, procuring his keys. The car beeped, his arm outstretched, hand grasping the handle for the backseat. Your heart stumbled to a near stop, your limbs would be tangled in the narrow space provided, the windows would fog, and the chassis might rock.Ā
Zayne had a plan, the glint of his eyes ensuring security.Ā
With a voice laden in satin, he ordered regardless,Ā
āGet in.ā
This had been in my drafts since February 23rd - yikes
šš§µ| Doctorās Order | Zayneāļø
ā»+ā” appreciated
āSorry I missed your call, Zayne. I was in the shower.ā
āI can tell. Youāre not fully dressed,ā Zayne replies, already in bed, gaze lingering on your revealing night dress.
āDo you want me to cover up?ā you ask.
āI didnāt say that. Itās nice to see you. Iād almost forgotten how beautiful you look,ā he clears his throat.
Itās been 1,5 weeks since you last saw each other. Your schedules barely align nowadays, so tonight you decided to video call.
āBy the time I can come see you after work, youāre usually asleepā¦or only have 10 minutes left.ā
āButāā you hesitate.
āIād like those ten minutes too,ā he finishes your thought, ābut Iām afraid I wouldnāt let go of you in ā¦and I know youāve been needing to get up early lately.ā
āThen maybeā¦ā you grab a hair clip and put your hair up in a soft updo, exposing your neckline further, knowing full well thatās what gets him. āā¦We can make up for it now?ā You let the strap of your dress slip purposefully off one shoulder.
Zayneās gaze sharpens.
āI guessā¦we could arrange that.ā Zayne responds, sitting more upright now, his eyes fixated on your neckline now.
āThen why donāt youā¦,ā you press your elbows closer to your chest, subtly enhancing your cleavage, āā¦start touching yourself for me?ā
A faint smirk tugs at his lips. You see him moving his hand out of view as the video briefly turns slightly unsteady, as if heās adjusting himself off screen.
āShouldnāt you be joining me?ā he asks curiously.
āHmā¦ not yet~ā you titter, your fingers lightly tracing your collarbone.
Zayne exhales a quiet laugh. āI seeā¦the screen is giving you courage. You wouldnāt be this bratty, if I was before you.ā
āToo bad. What are you going to do about it now, Mister?ā
He raises an eyebrow and an amused look is crossing his face now.
āThatās easy.ā He turned off his video.
āHELLO?? NO, ZAYNE, THATāS SO NOT FAIR!ā
You can hear Zayne let out a laugh.
āShall we start over? With better manners? Again, shouldnāt you be joining me?ā
You smile and give in. You position your phone on the night stand in a way that grants him a full view of your body.
āNow youāre behaving,ā he says content.
āLetās see how long that lasts~ Lift your dress for me!ā Zayne orders. āI want to see what youāre wearing underneath.ā
āIām not wearing anything underneath the dress,ā you tease.
āIām aware,ā he says. āYou never do.ā Thereās a mischievous smile on his face.
āI just canāt win with you, huh?ā you laugh and lift your dress, slowly touching yourself for him to see.
āBut Zayne..donāt I deserve a reward?ā
Zayne flips the camera and shows you now how heās slowly stroking his cock.
āIs thisā¦what you wanted to see?ā he asks.
Your core is burning up. Itās like you were starving and are suddenly being offered the one meal you canāt say no to.
āZayneā¦I- I almost forgot how big you are,ā you squeeze your legs together now.
āDonāt stop touching yourselfā, he says quickly.
As you rub your clit, you hear Zayneās breathing become more and more unsteady.
You then turn off your video.
Zayne flipped his camera back to his face and you can see his eyebrows furrow. He exhales loudly, his patience visibly tightens.
āI see, you have not learned your lesson.ā
You donāt answer him immediately. You stare back at him, before firmly saying:
āZayneā¦.I need you to fuck me. Properly.ā
Zayneās holding his breath. He has been too deprived of you. He doesnāt even masturbate, he prefers doing it with you.
He stares at the black screen for a moment, before breaking the silence.
āAlright then.ā He hangs up the phone.
You blink. A little surprised at how sudden it was. Is he coming over? Is he mad at you? Is he excited? His face was unreadable. Not long after, you hear your doorbell ring ā Itās Zayne.
Youāve already let him in through your phoneās security system and by the time he steps inside, youāre meeting him halfway in the living room.
āThat wasā¦ quick,ā you say, twirling a strand of hair around your finger, trying to act innocent.
āCall in sick for tomorrow,ā his voice is strict.
āWhat? Why? I donāt think Iāā
āDoctorās Order,ā he interrupts, āyou wonāt be in any state to work, when Iām done with you.ā
āYou missed me bad, hm?ā you tease.
āLet me remind you what happens when you get bratty.ā
summary: You got hurt badly on a mission. Zayne thought for the worst. But you were still there alright, and you help him reassure him sexually... (Zayne makes you come on his desk, and then proceeds to rail you)
ā TAGS: (+18) NSFW MDNI. smut. no plot just smut, desk sex, office sex, sneaking?, almost getting caught, (but you actually do), p in v (obvi), oral sex, multiple orgasms, established relationship,
ā wc: 3.8 !!
ā A/N.: Stayed up til 6am writing this fic for couple of days !! I poured my heart and all of my singular brain cell for this. I actually enjoyed writing this, so i hope you guys enjoy it as well <3
You sit idle at Zayne's office, you can sense faint notes of lemongrass and jasmine filling in the room. His office is clean and tidy, with cabinets lining up the walls. It's starkly too white, well, that was until you gifted him several plants throughout the years you've been with him.
'you can't just work in some torture chamber all day! Decorate your office with some plants at the least! ' you recall telling him the exact sentence when you gifted him his first office plant.
It was late at night, the windows were shut and the curtains drawn. No sounds were coming out of the room. If anyone were to look in from outside, they could tell there's no one in this office.
But there was you, and him.
Zayne is sitting across from you, typing some document, perhaps your patient information, into the computer. His face looks blank, but you can sense a faint waver in his fingers. You both weren't speaking to one another. You were nervous, but you didnāt know why. It wasn't exactly your fault.
Well, maybe, perhapsā you WERE a little reckless today.
You trace the shadows stretching across the room, letting your eyes wander elsewhere but at him. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, thick with emotion he's desperately trying to hide.
The silence stretched between you for what felt like an eternity.
He finally speaks, "You're lucky you're still sitting there,"
"But I'm here," you look down, idly rubbing your thumbs together.
Zayne taps his pen on his desk. He's agitated.
"Hey, I knowā"
"You almost died." His voice snaps through the air, raw and laced with a tinge of vulnerability.
"Alright, DIED, is kind of an overstatement."
To be fair, you thought you were going to die out there today, too. But you didn't want to admit he was right. You were collapsed by a dilapidated building, debris falling right to your leg. Got buried alone in the disaster with no signal.
It was lucky, you were lucky. It was a miracle that you got away with just some scratches, bruises, and cast on your crushed leg. As a Hunter, you understood the reality of the job and the consequences that came with it. As your primary care doctor, Zayne should have been desensitized to it too. Yet, this time, the toll it took on him was breaking through his professional stoic armor.
"Zayneā¦" You try to defrost the tension in the air. When you looked closer at him, you noticed the glassiness in his eyes. "Hey... honey. I'm okay."
Ignoring the dull ache in your leg, you hobbled around the desk to close the distance between you. The moment you were within reach, Zayne pulled you into him. His arms wrapped around you with desperate strength, his shoulders tensing and visibly shaking against you.
"Iā¦ I thoughtā¦." His voice broke on the words.
"I know," you murmured, tangling your fingers into his hair to soothe the tremors. "I'm sorry. I was careless. But I'm here, Zayne. I'm right here."
He squeezed you tighter, burying his face into you as if letting go meant you would dissolve into thin air. The earlier tension has evaporated, replaced by a quiet, fragile stillness, unspoken agreement to cling to the fact that you were there with him.
The silence broke when you shifted your weight. Standing on one leg was starting to strain you. Zayne noticed immediately. He slowly peeled himself away, steadying his breath.
"I'll see you at home, yeah?" You gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
Instead of answering, Zayne abruptly pushed back his chair and stood. He began walking straight toward the office door. You sensed a sudden heat in his gaze, but you thought it was just your imagination. You shook your head dismissing your vulgar thoughts.
'come on, Zayne wouldn't do that'
A click of a doorknob echoed in the room.
'oh, Zayne would do that'
You swallow hard as a wave of heat washes over you. Zayne pivots to face you, his eyes burning with a silent, intense focus that makes your pulse spike. Instinctively, you take a cautious step back, your movements heavy as you back into the corner of his office.
You cough out, "Heyā¦ it's all okay. I'm okay." You are trembling anxiously, but your body knows itself. Anticipation pools deep within you, and your breath hitches as the air in the room suddenly feels heavy and close.
'Was it always this tight in here?'
In quick steps, Zayne is already towering over you, his presence completely engulfing your personal space. "Then would it be okay if I did this to you?"
He leans down, his mouth meeting yours in a gesture that is more tender than you expected. He brushes his palms against yours, hooking his fingers through your own to lock your hands together, pinning you both in the moment.
Sighs and moans were exchanged as your lips met. You can feel Zayne's restraint vibrating through him, trying to not lose himself in the kiss, aware that your body is still healing. His touches were delicate, careful to not squeeze your skin too hard. Tactically avoiding your bruises around your waist, his hands found your hips, pulling you closer so he could deepen the kiss. You smiled against his lips, slipping your hands up to get tangled in his hair.
The movement of the kiss shifts, growing more passionate and wet. You moaned into him as he clamped his mouth over your tongue, gently sucking on it. Heat radiates between you as the world outside the office walls disappears. Desperate, you push more into him, and as you push forward, his back hits the edge of the desk with a heavy thump.
Zayne groans softly, in that moment, the careful distance he maintained dissolves, replaced by a raw, urgent need to be near you. He carefully undressed your top and bottoms, wasting no time trying to be coy.
"Get on the desk," He breathed out.
You let him guide you to his clean desk. As you sit down, cold sharpness shocks your bottom. You shivered, bracing your hands on the edge. "Zayne, it's cold." Coming off little pouty.
"Then I'll warm you up."
He leaned back in, dipping low to capture your mouth in a kiss that erased the chill entirely. His hands began to roam all over your body, tracing your shape, his palms warm with heat. Even in his desperation, he still gripped you with softheartedness, pouring every ounce of his unspoken fear and relief straight into the kiss.
With one quick, decisive move, he unclasped your bra, freeing your chest to the cool air of the room. You let out a quiet whimper as he lightly grazed your sensitive nipples with his calloused fingertips, sending a sharp jolt of electricity straight to your core.
"Are you turned on by the thought that someone might hear us?" Zayne whispered against your ear, his breath hot and uneven.
A sudden wave of uneasiness flashed through your mind, "I thought it was getting lateā¦"
"So? It's still a hospital, love. People work late hours here." He trailed a line of kisses down your neck, his lips pressing over your racing pulse. Feeling the slight tension in your frame, he immediately pulled back, "Are you nervous? We can stop here and go home," As much as he wanted to take you right here on this desk, he was still considerate not to cross your boundaries.
"Ahā¦ no!" You hastily reach out, grabbing his arm to keep him close. "I meanā¦" Your face was burning up as you realized your exclamation was probably too loud.
Zayne gave out a low breathy chuckle, "If you promise you will be quietā¦" He leaned back in, his focus entirely on you as he peppered soft, teasing kisses around your jaw and cheeks. "We might just get away with it."
Your pulse quickened meeting his gaze.
Oh how risky this game was, 'Could he get fired? Can I actually keep my composure?'
While your brain scrambled to find logic and reason in all this, your body was already moving without your permission. Moving entirely on instinct, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you once more, biting down on his lower lip.
Zayne's expression softened, his hands resting gently on your waist. Every tender touch of his fingers makes you quiver. You whimper as he sucks your tongue with utmost furor. Any concern of you two getting caught swept over you, you get lost in him, head getting dizzy, body burning up. At that moment, the world outside the office didn't seem to matter.
He pulls away the kiss, lingering over you as you can see the slick of your spit glistening, making a bridge between your tongue.
"Can you be good, and try not to make a sound?" Zayne pinches your nipples, making your eyes flicker.
"Y-yes"
"I was afraid that I was making you do something you weren't comfortable with." Zayne pressed his fingers gently at your entrance, resulting in your panties smearing a wet spot. "But I think I was worried for nothing"
You moan, as he firmly presses his fingers into your burning cunt.
"Zayneā¦" You tremble, holding on to his arms to anchor yourself.
He slides your panties to the side, allowing him access to the source of your wetness. He uses your slick to lube up his fingers, then slowly, he presses them inside you. You melt into his touch, as he presses deeper and deeper.
"Mmmm. Zayneā¦" You sigh out,
He plunged his two fingers, in and out, your warm hole sucking his fingers in tightly.
"Zayāneā hic- don't stop,"
"I don't want to"
You grip him more tightly, pressing your hips into his hand in a desperate search for friction. Zayne pulls you in close against his chest, hearing his raging heart beating in rhythm with his ragged breath. His thumb finds your clit, applying a deliberate pressure that sends a jolt straight to your chest, leaving your heart hammering in your throat.
He leans down, claiming your mouth in a deep, wet kiss, his tongue tangling hungrily with yours. Your breath hitches into rapid breathless moans. Every muscle in your body tightens, your body trembling with a burning intensity as you hover right on the edge.
The tightening of your muscles tells him everything he needs to know, and he holds you steady, holding you through the peak of your release.
Slowly, Zayne withdrew the kiss, giving you space to breathe and catch your breath. He drags his fingers out of you with leisure, bringing them straight to his mouth to lick and suck them clean, his darkened green eyes never leaving yours.
The air in the room suddenly felt too heavy. You're slumped on his desk, completely undone, your chest still heaving in a slow, ragged rhythm. And yet, why do you feel a buzzing heat lingering deep in your stomach?
As if Zayne noticed your lust still lingering in the air, he drops to his knees in front of you.
"May I taste you?" He looks up with those pleading eyes. How could you say no?
With a swift movement, he hooks his fingers into your well ruined panties, pulling them down your feet. He lifts your knees, draping your legs over his shoulders to open you completely to him.
He started by leaving lingering kisses down your thighs, eventually, leading them up to your folds. You feel his warm breath whiff over your most sensitive spot, making you squirm. Zayne gently sucks on your swelling wet cunt, before delving his tongue in.
His sudden movements drove you crazy, making your legs tremble uncontrollably. You just came, every touch and feeling was just overly sensitive.
"Z-Zayneā¦ hah.. Tooā muchā" you cry out. Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to process the sheer overload of it.
Zayne wasn't listening, he's lapping your arousal to utmost attention, sucking up every lewd juices your pussy oozes out.
Your skin was flushed, hot to the touch. You couldn't move, you didn't want to. You were trapped in that exquisite, agonizing aftershock where the boundary between pleasure and ache completely blurs.
"Nnā Ah! Za-Zayneā" you sob, "Itā hah.. feelsā¦ feels goodā¦" Your shaking fingers clawed deep into his desk.
As Zayne is dedicated to devouring you wholly, he slides up his finger to your opening, spreading you open. Slowly, he pressed his fingers into you, your insides wet and warm, welcoming him back again as it swells on his fingers. He gradually curved his fingers upwards to hit your most sensitive spot. Your head swings back, spine arching as the sheer intensity of the pleasure takes over.
"Mnng?!" At this point, you can't make up any coherent words anymore. All turning into babbled cries.
You grasp what you can, his hair, anything. Zayne pleasuring every inch of you is becoming too much to bear. The heat of his mouth, wet tongue, and the glide of his smooth fingers, all of it relentless, driving you closer to the edge.
"You taste perfect, love. Come for me."
The gentleness of his words makes your heart burst, you can't hold yourself anymore. Your hips start to tense up, trembling, your back arches as you pulse in pure bliss.
Your body goes limp, toppling over a second time. Your brain is buzzing, unable to make any clear thoughts. Zayne leans on your thighs, reaching out for your hands, gently rubbing circles on your knuckles.
Your chest rising and falling in exhausted paces. Every muscle in your body felt like a warm wax, completely melting into his embrace. Your eyes were heavily glazed, struggling to hold focus as the room slowly tilting from the two orgasms he dragged you through.
Zayne stands up, looking entirely too put together, while you were a beautifully wrecked disaster. His fingers slid up to cup your jaw, his thumb rubbing on your lower plump lip. The simple touch sent fire straight down your spine, making your breath hitch all over again. With the faint vision from your eyes you could notice him taking his glasses off. You were still flowing somewhere above ground, your brain still foggy and your limbs feeling like goo, but as you looked into his eyes, his words cut through the trance.
"Do you think you can go for more?"
Your body can
You give a weak nod, offering him a silent reassurance that you are entirely his in this moment.
"Then love, will you give me the permission, to make you feel even better?" Zayneās voice is a low growl. Guided by his touch, your hands find the edge of his belt, letting your fingers trace down to his throbbing cock. A low groan escapes him, when you pressed on his stiffness, making your mouth water.
Zayne swallows the aching lump in his throat, he unclasps his belt, freeing his thick shaft. He grabs his cock by the ridge, slowly rubbing his tip at your swollen entrance. His free hand slides down to grip your waist, his fingers digging in gently but possessively, pulling you close against him until there is absolutely no space left between you.
The sheer warmth of him radiates through you. Slowly, deliberately, he begins to move, pressing into you with a steady, gentle friction that makes the rest of the world completely fade away.
With a gentle, final thrust, he's all the way inside you. "You are so wet for me."
You whimper as his size spreads you open. "Mmm. Zayneā¦"
Zayne starts to move his hips, sluggish at first, letting you accommodate his size. Then with a fierce tempo, he drives into you. You cry out at his abrupt speed increase, grasping his shoulders, digging your nails into his shirt.
"Ah! Z-Zayne!! Anhhā not tooā fastā"
The room is now filled with your lustful cries and the ragged breathing between you two. The scent in the air is all too musky, the pleasant aroma that was lemongrass and jasmine, is exchanged by your sex juices and sweat.
"Shh." Zayne grunted into your ear. "Youā fuckā don't want my co-workersā nngā to hear your erotic criesā¦ Do you?"
"M-Mmnnhā" You muster all the consciousness you have left, and bite down into his shoulders. Scabbling his shirt, now ruined with your saliva and torn seams, you cry out long desperate whimpers. Your eyes water, body shaking violently. You realize you are making noises but you can't hear anything.
You are all so soaked for him, dripping all over his desk and down to the floor. Your mind drifts away again, blood buzzing in your ears.
Zayne, not caring if you could or could not hold your voice down, fucked you harder and deeper. The table rattling, and papers flying off the desk, as he picks up the pace. Anyone who walks by would hear you and Zayne's illicit activity.
It's when you are coming close to another orgasm that you hear footsteps in the distance.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Like a wakeup call, you are conscious again. All your senses come alive, heightening all sensations you are receiving with his fat cock.
"Ahnngā" you cry out.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Shhhā¦ someone's coming" Zayne curls into your neck burying his nose into your hair.
The steps are getting louder and clearer, it might be just down the halls. Your heart is racing in the thought of you two getting caught. You thought Zayne would slow down, but instead he lifts you off from the desk, holding you up, piercing you with his dick.
"Z-Zayne!" You whisper loudly into his ear.
Oh the scolding you would do, once he's doneā¦ Wait, is he getting bigger?
Zayne's breath is ragged, growing heavier and hoarser each time he thrusts into you.
You almost moan his name in pleasure but that's when you hear the knocking.
Knock. Knock.
"Dr. Zayne? Are you still here?"
A night nurse.
The voice is coming from right outside the walls, just a couple feet away from you. Your blaring heart lurched to your throat choking out air. Your eyes flew open, trying to hold back a moan.
At first, you thought he would stop, and pretend no one is in here. Let her leave in peace, so you can finish in silence. But to your surprise, he still thrusts in a steady rhythm, and in a raspy voice he speaks out,
"Ye-s. I'm about to leaveā¦"
'Is he crazy?'
"Oh! I just wanted to let you know, there's files forā"
"Hnngā Y-yes. Could you leave themā¦ by the door."
'He's crazy'
"You alright doctor?"
You try your best to hold on and muffle your breath by chomping his shoulders down hard. You give him a silent glare.
"Yesā thrust
I'mā thrust
quite... alrightā thrust"
"Annhg!" You couldn't keep this cry out.
"Oh..! I see. I'll see you tomorrow doctor." You can't see her, or know who she is, but you can undeniably make out her blushing face.
The steps quickly disappear away, leaving you back alone with sounds of your breaths and squelching sound of your wet pussy.
"H-hey what was that!" you stammered, your breath catching. "What if she knew what we were doing in here"
"Oh, she knew."
Without saying anything else, he set you down gently, bending you over the desk thrusting back in.
"Zayā¦ neā Anhhnā Li! When Iā fuckā get youā¦ ! "
Zayne's laugh echoes along the room with the sloppy wet sounds you are making with this dick. His hand gripped your waist, circling his thumbs affectionately.
"You wereā fuckingā tightening upā¦on my dick. I thoughtā youā loved it." He groaned. His body leaned over, weaving under your body with his right hand finding your clit. With a quiet flick of his Evol, a slight chill crept into his fingertips.
A sharp gasp escapes your lips as the chill fingers press against your sensitive bud. You clench up around his length in reflex.
"Just like that."
All your efforts to hold back your voice were useless. You wailed so loudly, you might as well have broadcasted your lust to the entire hospital.
You could not take it any longer. This was all too much for you, his thick cock penetrating you to the fullest, and his evol overstimulating your clit.
"Fuckā You are soā so good." Zayne groaned in your ear, biting down on your shoulders, giving back what you gave him.
You cry out in something between pain and pleasure, tears falling down your cheeks. Your entire body goes numb and tense at the same time.
"Zayne! Zayne.. pleaseā"
Zayne's cock trembled inside you, "I'm ā¦ close." He picks up speed, rubbing your clit in circles, trying to take you both to climax.
"I'mā¦ hahā I'm going to fucking fillā you upā" Zayne moans out your name, your back arches up to him, "Come, come for me loveā With me."
You grip on to the desk, bracing yourself for your feverish ecstasy to take you over. You cry out his name as you can feel his cock throbbing inside you, as your walls pulse around him and your vision fading black. Zayne's hips stutter for a brief second, before he empties inside you, endless streams of cum coating your walls. He pants out, rocking his hips slowly as he rides out his orgasm.
You let out a drawn out moan before collapsing onto his desk. He clings on to you as you both catch your breath. Zayne gasps, still inside you, leaving kisses on the shoulder where he bit you.
"Does it hurt?"
Still out of breath, you sway your head in 'no'
Zayne slowly pulls out, his cum dripping out of your pussy in the process. He doesn't quite clean it up yet, he settles back back onto his chair, and draws you onto his lap. As his arms wrap around you, the warmth of his embrace helps steady your ragged breathing and racing heart.
You lean into his chest, savoring this moment together. Hearing his beating heart in sync with yours, you draw circles in his chest. Zayne looks down at you, kissing your head, a gentle reminder that he loves and treasures you.
Although, that blissful moment is gone instantly once you gain back consciousness, you scowl at him, "We got caught! What if she gets you fired."
"It's okay. She knows I'm madly in love with you."
"That's not the issue!"
Zayne kisses your temples, "I doubt they can fire the best surgeon in Linkon City."
You sigh at his face in disbelief. "Now when did you get this sassy?"
You finally take in his changed expression. His jaw relaxing, the hard lines of his anxiety dissolving into a radiant smile. Beneath your palms, his frantic heartbeat slows to a steady, comforting rhythm. He weaves his fingers through your hair, pulling a single lock to his lips, as if it's the most precious thing in the world.
A long, warm exhale brushes against your neck as his lips linger, carrying a soft, tethered whisper, "I love you."
The unexpected confession catches in your throat, making your heart skip a beat before melting into his warmth. Grinning against his shoulder, you tighten your arms around him, burying yourself in the safe weight of his embrace. "I love you too, Zayne"
18+ mdni | what happens when you use your safe word with the liās? (separate)
TW. SAFE WORD USE (itās gonna be diff flowers in this post), ROUGH s, oral (m + f), throat fucking, overstimulation, edging, s toys, anal, spanking, collar, leash, choking, restraints, guys like SERIOUSLY MEAN degradation, pet play, gagging, mention of nausea
ć ¤źØļø xavier
xavierās been at it for hours, slamming his hips against yours as if he had a personal vendetta against your cunt. back folded into a deep arch as he bullied his cock into your throbbing entrance, he was thrusting hard enough that you nearly hit the headboard with each push of his length into your hole, a tear-soaked pillow being the only thing to cushion your head.
āsuch a dirty fuckinā girl, already filled you up twice nā ya still want more?ā he groaned, rough hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. you shook your head, choking out a sob of āslow downā to no avail.
he grabbed your hair in a makeshift ponytail, pulling you towards him until the back of your head rested on his shoulder. āwant me to slow down? nah, i know you love it when i fuck you like a whore.ā
tears spilled from your eyes as you searched for something to grab onto for comfort; the edge of the headboard, bedsheets, even his armāanything to ground you as he fucked you within an inch of consciousness. xavier laughed as he watched you struggle, pressing down on your lower abdomen and moaning when your walls tightened around him. āsay it. fuckinā say youāre my dumb cum slutā
he punctuated each word with a bruising thrust, finally pushing you over the edge as you screamed out your safe word ābluebellā. his movements stopped immediately, the grip he had on you now gentle and holding you steady.
sobs wracked through your chest as he slowly withdrew from your throbbing hole, sitting you against the headboard before grabbing a tissue from the bedside. he wiped your tears and the sweat from your face before brushing your hair from your face, letting you calm yourself before daring to speak.
when your cries finally morphed into hiccups and eventually sniffles, xavier grabbed the cup of water next to your bed and watched you eagerly gulp it down, chuckling before stroking your hair.
āokay?ā he questioned, voice a full 360 from just minutes ago. you nodded, beginning to apologize only for xavier to shut you down immediately. āhey, i was pushing it. iām sorry, thank you for using it. why donāt we jusā sit a bit, yeah?ā
you nodded, appreciating the kindness and understanding from your partner. xavier sat next to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as he stroked up and down your arm, listing the new plushies available in the arcade near your house to help ease the tension in the air.
ć ¤źØļø zayne
you vision went white as zayne drew another orgasm from you, wetness shooting from your cunt onto his eager face as his fingers continuously rubbed that one spot he knew all too well.
his lips attached to your clit, sucking vigorously as his long digits began to scissor inside your hole once more, your hips trembling under his grip. he laughed against your cunt, giddy at the reactions your body so easily gave him. āso easy for me, huh? donāt even have to try and i have you creaming on my tongueā
you whined his name, hands desperately trying to push away his head from your overstimulated core only for him to grab both wrists with his free hand. āyou begged me to cum and now youāre complaining?ā he scoffed, pulling his fingers out only to suck them into his mouth before roughly shoving them into you again. āweāre done when i fuckinā say soā
āz-zaynieā¦please, need a breakā you sobbed, heartbeat thumping in your ears as you felt another mind shattering orgasm coming. your cries only fuelled his ministrations, climax suddenly washing over you with your legs going limp as uncomfortable shocks ran through your body. just as you thought he was finally finished, zayne began slapping your cunt, drawing more spurts of fluid from your entrance. the cruel overstimulation had you screaming out ālilacā before you even knew it, zaynes insistent movement ceasing at once.
he wiped his hands on his pants, quickly moving up towards you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. āhi sweet angel. iām so, so, so sorry, tell me what you needā he muttered between small pecks, pulling back to see tears welling in your eyes. his heart ached as he realized your current state was because of his actions.
āj-jusā need a secā you hiccuped, reaching for him and pulling him towards your side. ādonāt wanna stop, just need a breatherā
he let out a sigh of relief, nodding and quickly slinging an arm around you as you curled into him. your body trembled while the rise and fall of his chest soothed you, nerves slowly easing as each second ticked by. zayne stayed close to you, brushing his fingers through your hair and taking up the space you allowed him to.
ć ¤źØļø raf
your throat bulged with rafayels cock as he rutted into your mouth, groaning when your nails raked down his thighs. your head hung off the edge of the bed, the slap of his heavy balls against your face with every thrust making you dizzy with lust. you felt his length still inside your throat, a large hand stroking the outline of his huge cock over your neck.
ām-made for this, right? fuck you take it so goodā his needy voice moaned, palms roughly slapping your tits before he started his movements again. āloosen up for me princess, breathe through your nose like i taught youā
you tried to follow his instructions, lungs burning as your nostrils flared with effort, trying to inhale any air you could. your hands began to shake as you started to push his hips away, unable to suck in any air with his steady presence over you. he laughed before withdrawing his cock from your lips, pupils dilating while watching you gasp for air.
just as you felt your body begin to calm down, rafayel slapped the tip of his length against your lips, motioning for you to open your mouth for him once more. you shook your head desperately, hoarse voice rumbling out ātulipsā twice before he finally understood you.
rafayel immediately helped you up, a hand steadying your back as you continued to even your breathing. you pulled his looming body towards you and inhaled the familiar floral scent of his laundry, forehead resting atop his flowy shirt. the tightness in your chest eased as he stroked your back, apologizing for going too far. you sat like that for a few more minutes until finally moving back at the feeling of his body beginning to shake.
your eyes flitted up to find rafayel crying, his long fingers quickly swiping away the tears before apologizing. āiām sorry, jusā feel so bad i pushed you.ā
you chuckled at the endearing display, pulling him next to you on the bed and trying to ease his overwhelming emotions the same way he did you.
ć ¤źØļø caleb
you watched with bated breath as caleb increased the pace of the bullet vibe inside of you, messy cunt dripping onto the sheets under you while your limbs pulled at the restraints he had you tied in.
heād edged you three times already, punishing you for ālaughing too hardā at your coworkers joke. this wasnāt new for the two of you, one of calebās favourite things to do being you tied up, begging and crying for him to let you cum. the sound of your voice pitching up while tears trailed down your face was simply music to his ears.
today though, you felt yourself rapidly approaching your limit, body beginning to shake uncomfortably as he ruined your climax once again with an evil grin.
āawww, whatās wrong pips? ya mad iām treating you like a whore? maybe you shouldnāt act like a free-use slut then, hm?ā
the mean words had your cunt squeezing around the vibrating toy buried between your walls, an intense burn running through your nerves as he raised the intensity to the highest level.
āwanna hear you tell me why im punishing you. let me hear you say youāre a brainless cockwhoreā
a sob ripped through your throat at the cruel tone in his voice, body twisting as you tried to get away from the stimulation. his raucous laugh was your last straw, the word āsunflowerā falling from your lips making him turn off the vibe completely.
you continued to shake as he untied your restraints, massaging the tired muscles as blood flowed back into them. caleb crawled towards you after soothing the red skin, gently laying your head on his chest and lightly patting your back. ādid too much, iām sorry babyā he whispered against your scalp, letting your breathing steady before finally sitting you up.
he wiped the tears on your lash line before grabbing the cup of water on your bedside table, letting you sip it slowly. after he was sure you were fully calm and back in your body, caleb asked you what you needed next, letting you lead his movements in a way you wanted.
ć ¤źØļø sylus
the sharp sting of sylusā hand against your ass had you screaming, blood-red skin tender to the touch with each heavy hit he landed on you.
you intended for the night to end this way, hoping your teasing touches and annoyed glares would be enough to make him āpunishā you. sylus knew this of course and was glad to fulfill your wishes, but he was unintentionally taking out his work stress on you as well. the month had been slow and while he didnāt have to worry about money, he still did. he was always concerned he wouldnāt be able to give you the life you deserved, so any time business was slower, his worries crept to the front of his mind.
his jaw tensed as you began to squirm in his hold, trying to wriggle out of his harsh grip to no avail. he scoffed at your movements, stroking the burning skin on your ass and watching how you flinched with every touch. āpretending you donāt want it when i can see how wet you are.ā
you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together, shame filling you as you questioned whether or not you were sick for getting off to this. your train of thought was interrupted as he landed four consecutive slaps to your upper thighs and each cheek, a hoarse scream falling from your lips before you began to continuously mutter ārosesā under your breath.
you werenāt sure if heād even be able to hear you (he was old asf his hearing was leaving fr) but sylus immediately turned you over and cradled you in his arms, making sure to avoid the sensitive skin on your bottom. tears continued to flow down your face as he soothed you, mumbling āwhat a good girl you wereā and how he was āsorry he went too farā.
you let him carry you to your bedroom and lay you on your front, applying a gentle analgesic to the tender skin on your behind. after you were settled sylus climbed in next to you, gently rubbing your back and letting your brain quiet before asking what you needed next.
ć ¤źØļø valko
valko tugged the leash attached to your collar, pulling you along as he walked to your bedroom. āt-too hardā you tried to speak, quickly cut off by another harsh pull on your throat.
ādogs donāt fuckinā talkāyou wanna speak, youāre gonna bark like the bitch you areā
you were the one to bring up petplay, asking if it was something heād be into. valko immediately agreed, listing off the reasons why heād be the perfect pup until you corrected him and said you wanted to try it this time.
he easily fell into the role of a dominating owner, rough movements indicating heād been imagining this for a while now.
you watched as he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting until you crawled between his knees before giving you your next instruction. ālet me see your pretty tongue, puppyā
you hesitantly stuck out the muscle, eyes widening as he spit on it. you were about to swallow it until he roughly grabbed your tongue between two fingers, shoving another two digits down your throat and smirking as you took them eagerly. your eyes rolled back as he touched the back of your throat with ease, gagging when he pushed further.
you expected him to withdraw them at the first sign of resistance, but valko continued to tease your throat, forcing his fingers down and encouraging you to take them until you felt yourself preparing to vomit.
a gurgled version of āliliesā fell from your lips, valkos eyes widening before finally relenting and letting you swallow down your nausea. he stared in surprise as he realized heād gone too far, apologies quickly falling from his lips before he scrambled for a tissue to wipe your face with.
you laughed at his antics before stroking his cheek, letting him know you just needed a break. he loosened your collar to give you more room to breathe, moving to get you a cup of water and letting you gulp it down before letting you lead the way.
Also on my AO3 if you prefer to read longer fics there!
He keeps his distance from you usually.
If only because that foolish host of his wants him too. He doesn't have complete control of this body yet, and he can't risk the good doctor scaring you off. Or worse. Zayne still seems to think that he wants to kill you, but as of late your death is the furthest thing from his mind. Well, your death at his hand is anyway; Dawnbreaker worries that your recklessness will get you killed before he gets the chance to spirit you away.Ā
Back when Zayne still occupied this body, he saw into his futureāwell, into a future anyway. The linearity of time is, of course, fictitious. It isnāt as straight and narrow as the world once believed, but rather, a series of semitransparent layers that Zayne has learned to see through. Neither of them truly knows if Dawnbreaker is from this reality or another one entirely. If Dawnbreaker is an inevitability or a potential future to be circumvented. Still, Zayne knows the kind of man he is capable of becoming. If not in this life, then another. Heās had so many, hasnāt he? And he loses you in every one.
If Dawnbreaker isnāt careful, history is doomed to repeat itself. If he cannot find a way to exorcise Zayne and all of his self-sacrificing pursuits, theyāll both lose you. Again. Like they did atop the Tower of Thorns. Like they did underneath the Sacred Tree.
Those memories tend to bring Zayne to the surface, so he does what he can to avoid them. Dawnbreaker isnāt interested in Zayneās judgements or opinions, and he certainly doesnāt want to feel Zayneās paināZayne has a lot of that since his repressed disposition prevents him from soothing any of his aches, too restrained, even, to get himself off to the thought of you beneath him, soft and gentle and oh-so willingā¦
Anyway, it isnāt hard for Dawnbreaker to anchor himself to this reality. It is, after all, so different from his own. All it takes is a quick look around the room, at the warm yellow sun streaming in through the wall to ceiling windows, at the pillowy tuffs of smoke that billow from his freshly brewed cup of coffee, at the buttery croissant he intends to eat alongside the drink, and he calms his beating heart enough to push Zayne down, down, down, and away.
(See, doctor? He is capable of repressing things too).
Or, rather, Dawnbreaker is capable atĀ suppressingĀ things. Because, thereās a difference, isnāt there? Between the two. Zayne is a victim of his mindās ability to ignore and disregard his wants, to passively reject his feelings and his needs. Dawnbreakerās suppression of Zayne is an active processāand a tiresome one at thatāa skill that takes days, weeks,Ā monthsĀ to master.
Itās lonely sequestered away in Zayneās home, something Dawnbreaker thought heād grown accustomed to after all those years spent holed up in his dilapidating apartment, where the only voices he ever heard were those from the old tv. Itās your fault, he knows, that he no longer enjoys his solitude. You are a hairās breath away from him, yet still out of reach and itās killing him slowly, each second without you an indescribable agony.
A few of Zayneās colleagues check in from time to time. Some woman named Yvonne texts to ask him how heās doing, and some man named Greyson texts him patient updatesāthe grouchy man in room 101 continues to improve, and in room 102, the little girl Zayne operated on died suddenly in her sleepābut Dawnbreaker leaves them on read. It isnāt their company or companionship heās seeking; itās yours.
Though his self-imposed isolation comes at a price, it does have its perks. The biggest, of course, is that heās free to daydream about how heās finally going to do it. About how heāll finally steal you away from everyone that threatens his ability to have you. Thereās that coworker of yours that the good doctor never seemed to like, and your adoptive brother whoās love for you always felt a bit more than familialā¦
He thinks heāll have to kill them, but heās wrong.
The day you show up at his doorstep is a surprise, albeit a welcome one. Saves him the trouble of having to hunt you downāthough a sick, twisted part of him thinks he would have enjoyed that, him a cat, you a mouse, a near capture, a futile escape. Your eyes widen in surprise when he opens the door. Your shoulders sag with relief.
The anger comes next, rolls in loud and angry like a great tumultuous storm. The look you flash him is a lightning strike. The words that spill from your lips crack like thunder. You were worried. (Obviously). You called him. (He knows). Rage soon fills the entrance to the house, thick, tangible, perhaps enough to tear it down.
Maybe he should interrupt you, but he doesnāt, he canāt, eyes drawn to your each and every tic. The way your nostrils flare as you suck down lungfuls of oxygen. The way your fingers twitch before clenching into fists. The way your tongue kisses the tips of your teeth as you say his name over and over. Zayne. Zayne.Ā Zayne.
(His calves tense once itās out of your mouth, as if they mean to move back, to move away. As if heās going to withdraw into the house that isnāt fully hisāinto the house that is somehow too big and too small all at onceāand leave you there on the front porch step, billowing and blowing at the door in your face).
āWould you like to come in?ā he asks, struggling to keep a smile off his face, lest he scare you away, lest you sense that the man before you isnāt your doctor Zayne, but a different man entirely.
You cry then, anger giving way to something else, and he takes the opportunity to reach out andĀ touch. A thumb first, on your cheek, now wet with the salt of your tears. A hand next, on the scruff of your neck, which he uses to coax your forehead against him once heās closed the gap between you.
Easily and willingly. Thatās how you fold yourself into him. Shaking arms around his waist. Shuddering chest against his own. He pets at your head wordlessly as you empty yourself of your sadness, knowing full well the worst of it is yet to come.
Because you think heās your Zayne, you allow him to guide you into the living room where he plops you down on the sofa with a soft blanket and a snowman plushie thatāthanks to Zayneās memoriesāhe happens to know you like.
Heād like to brew you some of that jasmine tea you bought with Zayne at the farmers market when he was still around, but you donāt seem ready to part yet. A shy hand catches the back of his pants, and he knows the minute he looks down as your glassy eyes that he isnāt ready to either. Not now. Not when he finally has you.
The cushions sigh as he settles next to you, a fingertips length apart, not yet bold enough to initiate contact again though he really,Ā reallyĀ wants to. It wouldnāt seem out of characterāZayne was always so affectionate with youābut, despite the shared memories, heās worried that he will act in a way that shatters this precious illusion (because thatās all this is really, a false reality where his hands save lives instead of end them). What if he touches you somewhereĀ wrong, and you know that heās notĀ him? Will you wait patiently for him to explain? Could he possibly even put into words what itās like miss someone heās never even met?
It's probably better to just rip off the Band-Aid, to tell you the truth about who he is now instead of later. Prolonging the lie will only make this worse for you. And for him, probably, since he has no intentions of letting you go no matter how much you beg. Or fight. Knowing what he does about you, itāll probably be a fight. Which is fine. Heās prepared for that. Ā
Because Zayneās place is nice. Spacious. Thereās a basement heās fixed up with some bondage equipmentājute ropes, mostly, to minimize chafing, though thereās also some duct tape and cold, metal cuffsāif he needs it, but he really, truly, hopes he wonāt. He also hopes he wonāt need any of the sedatives he stockpiled from the hospital right before Zayne quit, but only time will tell.
All thoughts of locking you away bleed from him as you fold yourself against him, limbs sprawling across the couch, head coming to rest in his lap. All thoughts of confessing bleed from him too. He deserves this, doesnāt he? A bit of calm before the storm. Whereās the harm in letting you believe he is someone else, if only until tomorrow? Besides, he isĀ technicallyĀ still Zayne, just a Zayne that doesnāt meet you when he needs to, a Zayne who doesnāt learn, then, the threat his Evol poses, who doesnāt injure you in childhood or become a surgeon.
Which, whatever, heās meeting you now.
It's late enough that you drift off to sleep, lulled by the steady hand rubbing soothing circles into your back. Thereās a serenity to you now that your dreams have found you, all the rage from earlier nothing more than a specter to haunt him, to remind him of whatās to come. Green eyes glide across your face, savoring the gentle curve of your lips, slightly parted, the corners just a touch wet as you exhale and drool. He wants to remember how you look without defenses, how loose your body can become in the presence of someone you trust your full self with; he isnāt sure when heāll get to see it again.
There is no rest for him this night. Sleep is unwanted and dreams unwelcome. Because thereās a chance, stillāeven if just a teensy, tiny, small oneāthat Zayneās mind will switch back the moment he slips unconscious, that he will lose you mere moments after meeting you. And, well, thatās a risk for another sunrise. Not this one. No, this dawn is his to break. Ā
Which he does. The inky midnight sky splits open as the birds outside begin to sing, darkness retreating, chased back by muted morning colors. Pink and orange hues burst into the room, and Dawnbreaker suddenly wishes heād had the foresight to close the shades. As beautiful as you look awash with the shades of dawn, itās only a matter of time before the sun wakes you and ruins his ruse.
His disguise unravels slowly over the course of the day as you pick and prod at the threads of it. Memories of you and Zayne are woven throughout him, but a memory is just that, a thing of the past, something that sets up the future the way a playwright does a scene; there is stage direction, dialogue, but a bad actor will still fail to sell the fantasy if he does not understand the person heās meant to embody. Ā Ā
So, slowly, he comes undone. Stitch by agonizing stitch.
The morning passes largely without incident. Breakfast is homemade pancakes, garnished with a river of fresh maple syrup and dollops of whipped cream. The food is mouthwateringly sweetājust how the doctor liked it. By the time the last of the batter hits the griddle, flour dusts his hair, fine and pure like snowāZayne once froze the rain for you, turning fat, wet droplets into cold, powdery flakes. There is laughter in your throat as you tousle his hair, just like then, like when you said those vows.
It's easy, then, to act like Zayne. Itās easy to flash you a warm smile, to offer you bite after bite of the warm, sugary dough thatās been grilled by him to a golden perfection. The food, cut by his hand. The pieces, speared onĀ hisĀ fork. You, insisting, rather vehemently, that the pancakes on his plate are somehow better than the ones on yours.
The hard part comes later, after the food has been eaten, after the dishes are washed and dried and put away. When your mirth begins to fade and your questions begin. You want to know where heās been these past few weeks (here, heāll tell you, which isnāt a lie), and what made him quit his job at the hospital (he had too; another honest answerāDawnbreaker doesnāt know the first thing about treating protocore syndrome), and, worst of all, why didnāt he return your calls?
He isnāt sure what gives it awayāwhat he says or doesnāt say that finally tips you offāonly that your eyes begin to wander off into the distance, staring at something that isnāt there, teeth worrying at the inside of your cheek.
At some point, your questions begin to change. You ask him things you believe only the real Zayne can answer, as if testing a potential theory. Like the name of Doctor Noahās fox. Like the passcode to his phone. Like his favorite sweet. Movie. Color. Show.
Each correct answer is met with squinted eyes and furrowed brows, lips pursing, face scrunching, as if youāre sucking on something sour, tonguing it back and forth between the inside of your teeth.
He knows when the question you need to ask finds you. Itās your eyes that betray you; they widen as the rest of your features relax. They steal scrutinizing glances at him too, when you think he isnāt looking, as if your vision alone could uncover the truth. As if staring at something long enough will reveal its true nature.
āZayne,ā you say, voice carefully neutral, though it wobbles with the ghost of some painful emotion. āWill you make me a seal with your Evol? Like you did when we were kids. Right before you left.ā
And, Dawnbreaker is not so different than Zayne; they both find it so hard to deny you.
The seal he creates is an exact replica in every way but the one that counts. Itās small. Palm sized. Round like a ball. Two little flippers and a cute little tail. It is the very seal that your Zayne made you all those years ago.
Except for the fact that it is, of course, pitch fucking back.
You stare at the onyx offering, for a while, remembering, maybe, the first time Zayne made the seals for youāwhite, fluffyāhow you tossed them, thinking the seals were snowballs. How he remade them for you years later after meeting you again.
When your eyes finally slide from the seal to him, they are brimming with tears. A few fall despite your attempts to blink them away, throat bobbing as you swallow down your cries, and this contained reaction startles him more than yesterdayās anger. Where is the sound of your fury? Where has all your thunder gone?
āIs he dead?ā you ask, once some time has passed, voice steady despite the way your lower lip trembles. Ā
āNo,ā he replies. āBut you canāt see him.ā
The argument he expects never comes. A heavy silence fills the room as you quietly consider him, as if looking for the place this Zayne ends and yours begins. Deep beneath his ribs, his heart begins to hammer. It isnāt that heās worried youāll find any such seam, but that any moment now the fight heās been anticipating will start.
āWeāve met before,ā you finally say, locking eyes with him. Thereās a challenge in them, even now, even rimmed with grief, you are daring him to lie to you, to deny who he is.
āWe have.ā
āYou handle the Alterum.ā
āI do.ā
The tears youāve been battling back surge forth, spilling down your cheeks. Your gaze slides away from him then, to that troublesome thing off in the distance, and he finds himself wishing he could read your thoughts. Is there anything youād like to ask him, now you know the truth? Donāt you want to know why heās taken possession of the doctor? Or what he plans to with the body now that he has? Are you worried, maybe, that he has plans to kill you?
The quiet begins to unsettle him.
āAre you afraid?ā he eventually asks.
Thereās a strange smile on your face when you respond, āNot of you.ā
Whatever it is you're afraid of, you keep to yourself. A secret. Perhaps the only one you are able to keep.
āI understand if you donāt want to talk-ā
āYouāre right,ā you cut in, standing up, as if to leave, āI donāt.ā
āYou canāt leave,ā he says, his voice just firm enough to stop you in your tracks.
āYouāll stop me?ā
āI will.ā
Your head cocks as you consider him, likely contemplating your odds. Youāre a formidable Hunter. Skilled enough to take down high ranked Wanders, often without aid. But are you strong enough to beat him? Are you faster than his ice? Could you raise a hand against a body you know so intimately?
A deep inhale followed by an exacerbated exhale; it seems youāve decided you donāt like your odds.
āIām tired,ā you tell him, before slinking off to the guest roomāyou usually share Zayneās bed when you stay over, but itās fine; he will wear away at your resolve one day at a time. And, anyway, when you do join him in bed, he hopes you do so enthusiastically. That your legs spread without coaxing. That, when he gets his fingers in your cunt, theyāll come away undeniably wetā¦
Only, you donāt warm up to him. You stay, sure. You donāt run. Donāt hide. Donāt fight. You donāt do much of anything, really, especially those first few days. The words you do exchange with him are clipped, curt, like it physically pains you to communicate with him. When you glance his way, itās to snarl at him, teeth bared, hackles raised, like some feral fucking beast. You swat away his peace offerings, claw at him when he offers comfort. Itās not like he plans to harm youāwell, heāll declaw you, perhaps, if neededāso why do you resist his every effort to bond?
House rules are devised as needed. There arenāt very many; he does want you happy after all. Youāre not permitted to leave the house and you are not, under any circumstance, allowed to ask after the heart surgeon. The first rule he establishes day one. The second comes later, after you ask one too many questions about your doctor and absolutely none about him.
(Arenāt you even a little bit interested in getting to know him? Curious, maybe, what life was like for him in his world? About the cracking grey walls he called home? Donāt you want know why he worked so hard to hop realities? Shouldn't intrigue have trumped anger by now)?
The first rule you tolerate with a stubborn sort of grace, eyes frequently sliding to the door, then the windows, as you no doubt think about making an escape. He wonders sometimes why you donāt ever make a break for it; it's clear you want to. Perhaps you truly donāt think you could best him in a fight. Or maybe youāre just too scared to try.
It could be the consequences heās laid out for you should you attempt to run are enough to thwart your attempts. He shows you the changes heās made to Zayneās basement. The jute ropes and handcuffs and tape. (Youāve seen the ropes before, he knows, the surgeon was quite adept at tying knots). The paddles too, are likely familiar to you, though the doctor did always prefer his hand.
The second rule seems to challenge you on a cellular level. Usually, he chooses not to energize the unwanted questions; heāll simply ignore you until you ask about something else. If you insist on disrespecting the rather reasonable boundary, heāll remind you what happens to girls who donāt mind their manners: a spanking, over his knee, under the clothes. One lash for each word spoken out of termāa game he knows for certain youāve enjoyed playing with Zayneāshould the warning go unheeded.
Your cheeks heat at the implication, and you learn to bite your tongue, though selfishly he hopes one day youāll grow bold enough to truly violate the rule. He longs to get his hands on you, and while heād prefer his touch be gentle, caressing, heāll settle for a few quick swats on the buttā¦
You are allowed your own roomāonce he removes the lock, of courseāas long as you leave the door ajar while you're in there. The hinges are old and rusted, the floorboards worn and creaky, so heāll know if you attempt to sneak out after hours.
Which, eventually, you do.
Late one night, he wakes to the sound of you shuffling around the kitchen, to the opening and closing of doors and the soft pitter-patter of anxious footsteps. Youāre leaving him. After weeks of good behavior.Ā Fuck, youāre leaving him? You've finally given up on your medic of the arctic and are slinking away, out into the night? The Zayne from this universe might respect your wishes, but he doesn't. HeĀ canāt. He isn't letting you go again. Not now. Not ever.
With a hammering heart, he bolts out of bed and rushes to meet you. Your eyes widen in surprise as he comes barreling out of the room, body encased in a thick sheen of black ice. The dark icicles shoot violently towards you, pinning you against the wall by the fabric of your pajamas before wrapping around your wrists, your ankles, your waist.Ā
Dawnbreaker is breathing hard by the time heās close enough to touch you, sweating despite the ice crystals he wears like a second skin. There's a biting word on his tongue, a threat he's ready to lash out with, but it dies in his throat when he sees the salty tears you've silently begun to cry.Ā
"I-I couldn't sleep," you croak. "I was just getting some water."
Dawnbreaker takes a step back and feels it, the distinct sting of broken glass piercing skin. You must have dropped the cup when he charged at you earlier.Ā
"Are you hurt?" he asks, trying to lock eyes with you.Ā
You shake your head, eyes fixed on the floor.
Slowly, Dawnbreaker releases the crystals holding you. You sway on your feet once they fully recede, knees weak, legs unsteady; he stabilizes you with an arm around your waist. You flinch at the contact, and he doesn't like that. He doesn't like that one bit. All he wants is to take care of you, yet all he seems capable of doing is causing you pain.Ā
"I'm sorry," he says, tucking two fingers under your chin, guiding your gaze towards what he hopes is his own reassuring one. "I didn't mean to frighten you."Ā
For a moment, it looks like you might reply, but then your lower lip begins to tremble andĀ the sobs you've been quietly holding back break free. He folds your head against his shoulder and rubs a soothing palm down your back.Ā
"I'm sorry," he says again. And he is.Ā GodsĀ he is. What were you thinking in the brief moments before the sharp tip of his ice pinned your nightgown against the wall? Did it reminder you ofĀ thatĀ incident? The one from way back whenā¦ "Everything will be alright. Please don't cry."Ā
After a few minutes, the worst of the tears subside. He brushes a few lingering ones away with the pads of his thumb. You're still shaking, skittish, so he says what he thinks you need to hear, "I'd never hurt you."Ā
You blink at him, then a new expression flicks across your face.Ā So, you were thinking about it then.
"Not again anyway," he adds, softening his voice. "What happened back then...I was a different man. That isn't me anymore. You make me want to be better, toĀ doĀ better. We're good for each other. I know it."
He looks at you eagerly, waiting for your response.Ā
"I'm so tired," is your only reply; the three words would wound him if you didn't also look itāpuffy, purple bags under your dull eyes, drooping lids you fight to keep open. His apology, it seems, and your acknowledgement of it, will have to wait until morning.
With a hand on the small of your back, he guides you to his room, ignoring the trail of bloody footprints he leaves in his wake. He curries you to bedātoĀ hisĀ bedāand is pleased, despite the events leading to this, that you fuss less than usual as he tucks you into it.
Tempted as he is to crawl in after you, to coil himself around your soft, sleepy form, he instead sits at the foot of the mattress watching, waiting, for you to drift peacefully off. But sleep doesn't come easy to you any more, not like it did that first night. Now, you toss and turn as he stares at you, agitatedly, likely, by the events from a few moments prior.Ā
Eventually, he lays a comforting hand on your calf. You stiffen, but don't shake him off.Ā
"Would you like me to help you sleep?" he asks, inching his fingers further along your leg.
You sit up, yanking yourself from his grasp. He almost regrets speaking to you.
Almost.
"I'd sleep easier if you'd stop fucking gawking at me," you spit. "Go eye fuck something else."
He smiles, not sweetly, when he says, "I know what the good doctor used to prescribe you. Not a pill but rather..." he's close enough now that he could kiss you, if he wanted. His hand finds the sensitive groove of your hip. Your breath hitches but you don't push him off. Feeling bold he adds, "I'm just as gifted with my fingers as the surgeon. Perhaps-"
"No," you say, but it doesn't sound quite like you mean it.Ā The word comes out breathy, light, without vitriol heās grown accustom to.
Dawnbreaker backs off anyway. He has no intentions of forcing you, though he does trace his index finger down the exposed skin of your thigh as he pulls away, "If you change your mind..."
You start sleeping in his room exclusively after that. He tells you it's to avoid another misunderstanding, but the truth is, he just likes having you close, feeling the warmth of your body, just inches away from his own. The softness of your breaths lull him into a sleep so deep not even his nightmares can find him.Ā Thereās no bodies. No blood. No Zayne.
Dawnbreaker gets used to having you close. Too used to it. A few weeks into the arrangement he comes to his senses already upright in bed, lips pressed against your own, a palm on your breast. His body freezes momentarily, and that's all the time you need to pull away, eyes glistening with tears you try to blink back.Ā
He reaches for you as you roll off of him, despite knowing what this is, despite understanding whatĀ thatĀ was. Not an attempt to seduce him awake, but a shameless effort to reach that oh-so-fucking-precious doctor of yours. An anger pools low and hot in his belly as he watches your body stumble out the door.
Anger is an emotion Dawnbreaker is familiar with, though it's admittedly one he struggles to control. The trouble isn't the anger itself, but, rather, all the adrenaline that accompanies it. Something about that pesky little neurotransmitter makes him vicious, makes him mean. So, in lieu of several calming breaths, he throws off the covers to storm after you, ranting and raving about your disobedience and disrespect.
He finds you curled against the corner of the bathroom, head in hands, the heels of your palms jammed into your eyeballs as you will the tears to stop coming, and as much as he'd like to keep berating you, the site of your body wracked with sobs temporarily quells his anger. He drops beside you, loops his arms around you, coos that everything is going to be alright. That he can take care of you. That eventually the place will feel like home.
Exhaustion soon lulls you to sleep, but Dawnbreaker lays awake that night shakenĀ by the incident. He was so sure he had the doctor under strict lock and key, yet someone you were able to reach him while he slept.
"How'd you do it?" he asks you the next morning, voice calm but firm.
"Do what?" you throw back, playing coy.
"How did you reach Zayne?"
For a second he isn't sure you'll answer him, but you eventually confess, "My Evol. I resonated with you last night while you slept. He must have felt it somehow. It must have brought him to the surface."
And,Ā fuck, how could he have been so stupid? Why has he never considered this before? In the past, youāve been able to help Zayne suppress him with your power. His mind drifts again to Zayneās basement and the sedatives he's ferried away in case of an emergency like this.
He waits for you to look him in the eye before saying, "Pull a stunt like that again and I will break your fucking wrists,ā tone conversational despite the threat.Ā
Instead of cowering, your eyes harden. When you look away, itās to roll them.
āAm I understood?ā he asks.
āYou donāt realize how fitfully you sleep,ā you tell him.
āPardon?ā
You huff now, clearly irritated, āYou were having a nightmare. A pretty bad one too. The black ice started creeping up your body. I wasnāt trying to reach Zayne; I was trying to stop you from killing us both. His reemergence was a side effect.ā
And thatāsā¦youā¦you were trying to protect him?
āYou kissed him,ā he says, voice harsh, accusatory.
āCan you really blame me for wanting to say good-bye?ā Then, mistaking his silence as anger, you add, āPunish me if you want. I donāt care anymore. Lock me up. Beat me. Thereās no pain you can inflict on me thatāll hurt any worse than losing him does.ā
āThis pain you feel over the loss of the medic will pass,ā he offers you. The words are meant as an olive branch, an acknowledgement of your pain and how itālike all paināwill ease as your life with him grows around it. Then, remembering something Zayne once told you, āYouāll grow accustom to the sorrow.ā
"IĀ hateĀ you.āĀ
Even if that were true, he's not sure he'd care. All that matters to him is that you are safe. Well fed. Warm. And you are all of these things when he's with you. You are safe when heās with you. Protected from Astra and fate and everything that has ever threatened you and your relationship with him.
āI love you,ā he replies, and your eyes grow cartoonishly wide. āAffection, I admit, is a stranger to me, but I am certain that is what I feel for you. Love. Pure and unconditional.ā
āDid I die in your reality?ā
Finallyāthe question heās been waiting for. The door he needed you to open. The chance he needs to explain to you why he travelled across all of space and time to meet you. Youāll understand, surely, where heās coming from, why heās done what he has, once he shares with you the extent of his loneliness.
āWorse,ā he says, āyou donāt exist at all.ā
The empathy he expects doesnāt come. You actually look angrier than ever, which is unexpected and, frankly, rude. Heās opening his heart and mind to you. Trying to connect on a deep, meaningful level. And, how do you reward his efforts? With the worldās most scathing glare?
He lets it slide, figuring you just need some time to digest, but days pass and your behavior towards him only worsens. You interact with him, sure, but only when absolutely necessary. You donāt talk to him. Donāt look at him. And you definitely donāt touch him.
And, okay, Dawnbreaker is a patient man, but even he has his limits. Do you not understand what an undertaking it was for him to get himself here with you? Do you not fucking get how difficult it was to traverse all the universesāknown and unknownāto share his life with yours? Nearly six months of cohabitation, and you remain as incorrigible as ever. Still such a feral little thing. All teeth, no heart.
It's like you want to find his limit. Like you want to force his hand. He watches you dump the tea he makes you down the drain and trash all the dinners he prepares. He bites he tongue when you refuse to hold yours, offers his rotational platitudes in his efforts to reassure you. Even as your aggression begins to escalate, he stays he hand. Letās you push and shove him. Letās you bat away his fingers. Letās you fight your way out of his bed.
Then, you find his limit, on the cutting edge of a knife.
The blade is stuck in the meat of his stomach, pressing up against his bottommost rib. Thereās pain, of course, but itās distant, sharpest in his heart, where the weapon doesnāt even reach.
His Evol reacts to his emotions. Black ice threads its way around you before he even can even think about the consequences of that. You scream, maybe, he isnāt sure. He canāt hear much over the rush of blood in his ears. Like heās holding a shell up to them. Like heās being held underwater. Like heās about to drown.
This is unexpected. Not something he thought you capable of. He thought you loved Zayne too much to risk killing him. When did you start to value your own freedom more than the body of your beloved? He tries to remember when your anger first became violent. Tries to remember if any of your past behaviors have alluded to this. Looks for warning signs he may have missed.
Thereās a needle in his hand he doesnāt remember grabbing. Thereās blood covering his hands. In a brief moment of panic, he thinks maybe heās killed you, but then the room comes into view and he realizes the only blood on him is his own. The needle in his hand is stitching up his torn flesh. The blade didnāt hit anything vital. The wound feels deadly all the same.
The human body can go several days without food or water before it starts to die. The stomach cramps and the lips chap, but thereās no real risk if he releases you from your icy prison within, say forty-eight hours? He could do it; he could leave you suspended in the kitchen like a piece of horribly beautiful decor and let you think about what youāve done, but that isnāt how he wants to handle this. That isnāt how he wants to handle you.
Instead, he carries you kicking and screaming into the basement, uses the jute rope to tie your wrists togetherāa double column, heās been practicingāand secure you to the bed. Heās angry, yes, but not enough to hurt you. He never wants to hurt you. Not ever again. That isnāt what this is. That isnāt what heās doing. This is behavioral modification. This is a course correction, the removal of an unwanted behavior, something he can achieve that with a carrot just as much a stick.
āI love you,ā he tells you as he hikes up your nightgownāyouāve been free to dress yourself these past few months, but youāve had to choose from clothing heās preselected. Your panties are blue, cotton, also preselected by him. He fingers the lacey trim, thinks about how youād look in the matching garters that he knows are collecting dust upstairs, āand I forgive you.ā
āZayne,ā you scream, and he isnāt sure, really, if youāre begging him to stop or beggingĀ himĀ to take over, if youāre hoping to placate Dawnbreaker or hoping to bring forth the medic, but it doesnāt matter. Itās been weeks since heās last felt your Zayne stir within him. Ā No more muscle spasms. No more unexplainable changes in breath. āDonāt do this. You donāt want to do this.Ā Please.ā
āShh,ā he coos as he places a chaste kiss between your shoulder blades. His fingers dip beneath the soft fabric of your panties. His palm presses gently against your sex. āI know youāre scared. I am too, but I promise you itās going to be okay.ā
āIām sorry,ā you sob as you thrash against your bindings. He wishes youād stop pulling at them. Jute is forgiving only to an extent. Youāll rub your wrists raw if you continue straining against the tie. āIāmĀ soĀ sorry. I wonāt do it again.ā
āI know you wonāt,ā he says, petting at your scalp soothingly with his free hand. āBecause Iām going to show you how good your life will be with me. Iāve had lots of time to study you. Where youāre sensitive. How you like to be touched. I was waiting until you asked me to show you, but even my patience has its limits. I think itās best we get this out of the way.ā
He seats himself between your thighs, uses his own to butterfly you open. Theyāre thickāhis thighsādue to all the years the doctor spent running, building up his stamina and endurance for long surgeries, strengthening the muscles of his legs.
The fingers not currently buried beneath your panties ghost lightly down your spine. He watches the skin their pimple as you arch away from his touch.
āYouāre so beautiful,ā he mumbles, tracing another path across your body, mapping out all of its valleys and dips. Back up the spine this time, fingertips grazing each and every notch. Then down once more. He presses his palm firmly into your lower back to deepen the arch thatās already forming. āThink you can stay like this for me?ā
āGet the fuck off of me,ā you shout as you attempt to fight your way out of his lap.
Dawnbreaker likes the sound of swears in your mouth even less than he does the look of kitchen knives in your hand. The words are unattractive. Unbecoming. Heās certain you can behave better than this. In fact, heās seen it.
Thereās no doubt as he stretches himself out across the expanse of your back, dwarfing your trembling form beneath him, that he can help you remember your manners. Itās just a matter of reinforcement. He cups your jaw between his pointer finger and thumb, forces you to look him in the eyes as he admonishes you.
āI would prefer to keep this experience collaborative, but if your combativeness persists, I can always retrieve a gag. The spider one perhaps, so I can watch you drool.ā
(Thereās a memory Zayne would sometimes revisitāwhen he still had control of his body that is. You kneeling on a pillow. Your head on his lap. A gag tucked securely beneath your teeth, preventing you from distracting the good doctor from his work.
A minute passes. Then another. Eventually Zayneās finishes his task. He thumbs at your temple to get your attention. Waits for you to sit up. To consent. Then he slips his untucked cock into your mouth and lets you warm it for him).
Dawnbreaker likes this memory almost as much as his other half. He could never understand it, could never understand how you could trust someone so completely with yourselfāwhat if Zayne had taken advantage of you or done something you didn't want? What he can understand, however, is the doctorās adoration of your submission. How it left him off balance. How it always sent an ungodly amount of blood rushing from his head to his cockā¦
Another time, maybe. Dawnbreaker has the rest of his life to help you relearn obedience. Tonightās goal is pleasureāhis and yoursāand he doesnāt need cheap trick or props to get you off.
āLet me do this for you,ā he says, letting the tips of his fingers trace the outline of your lips. You arenāt wet, which heās anticipated. It could take time even then for your body to slick up. āLet me do this forĀ us.ā
He pulls his fingers from the heat of your panties to slip them into his mouth. Next time, heāll have you lube his fingers for him, worshiping the lithe digits with your pink little tongue, but at present he doesnāt trust you not to bite. After the stunt you pulled in the kitchen, he really would have to punish you then. His mercy, like his patience, has its limits, and youāve just about found the edge of his.
āLike this, yes?ā he asks, as he slowly sinks a finger into you. The question is rhetorical. He knows how much you enjoyed having the doctorās fingers inside you. You liked it almost as much as if not more than the manās cock.
āNo,ā you whine, though your thrashing has significantly subsided. Even your sobs are quieter, less violent than before. āPlease,Ā please, Iāve learned my lesson. I shouldnāt have stabbed you. Iām sorry. It was a minor lapse in judgement. It wonāt happen again.ā
Dawnbreaker sinks a second finger inside you. He kisses the shell of your ear.
āIāve already told you I believe you,ā he soothes as he begins to work his fingers against you. This part is trickier. The medicās memories alone wonāt help him find what he needs. āAnd I meant what I said about not hurting you. That isnāt what this is.ā
āThis does hurt,ā you insist, unable to prevent yourself from squirming beneath him. A lie, he knows. This doesnātānoāthisĀ canātĀ possibly hurt you. Both his fingers were wet enough to slip into you without any resistance. Pain isnāt the source of your writhing. āYouāre hurting me.ā
āIām not,ā he says, settling his stomach against your back, pressing you down into the mattress to further limit your protests. He sinks the two fingers in deeper, nearly to the knuckle as he continues to pump the pads of his fingertips against you. āI happen to know how much you enjoy this. I know itās new for me, but Iām a quick learner. Though this would be easier with your help.ā
A noiseāanĀ uglyĀ noiseāescapes you, deep, throaty, like a scoff. The sound tears through him like a bullet, the pain of it worse than the throbbing in his side. All of your squirming has aggravated the injury. Several stitches have torn lose.
Dawnbreaker snakes his other arm under your tummy, hugging you to his chest. In a matter of minutes, the rest of this fight will bleed from you. The energy you have to resist him is limited. Much of it has already been depleted trying to break free of the restraints. He continues to stroke you experimentally as he waits for the remainder of your adrenaline to wear off.
āEasy,ā he coos, nosing at the crook of your neck. A bit of sweat has begun to pool around your nape. His tongue is licking at the salt of it before he can even think resist the impulse. āJust relax for me, yeah? You can cry if you need, I know this is overwhelming. I promise Iām going to make all the hurt go away.ā
āZayne,Ā please,ā you beg, voice desperate and raw. āI donāt want this. Not right now. Can we please talk about it first?ā
Another dirty lie. Dawnbreaker can feel how wet youāre getting for him as he works your cunt. ArousalāyourĀ arousalāis beginning to trickle down his fingers, seeping into the fabric of the sheets.
āNowās as good a time as any,ā he muses as he starts to steadily grind the heel of his palm against your clit. āCanāt you feel how wet youāre getting? Canāt you see how much you need this? I bet itās why you acted out earlier. Too much pent-up libidinous frustration. But, donāt worry; I wonāt let it get this bad again.ā
The fingers drumming against you are picking up speed. He wants you to hear the squelch of them against your wallsāundeniable, audible proof of your desire. And not desire for the doctor, then, there, but rather, desire for him. Here. Now.
You're getting close; he can feel it. Your whole body begins to shiver as your orgasm builds. A twitch in your calves. A tensing of the thighs. Then the walls of your pussy begin to spasm, squishing and squeezing the fingers he's stuffed there.
Your breath hitches, but itās controlled, too controlled, like youāre counting the moments between each bout of air. One last protest, perhaps. One final act of rebellion. Hopingāand vainly, might he addāto that your breath work may prevent the inevitable. That you can box breathe your climax away.
āWhenever youāre ready,ā he says.
He finds it thenāthe spot heās been looking forāthe one he needs to bully to send you teetering over the edge. He knows heās found it because you jolt as if electrocuted when his fingertips press against it, the two digits working in tandem with the pressure his heel has on your clit.
Thereās a brief moment where your laboring breath hitches, and your whole body pulls tight, and he knows, then, despite your lack of communication that heās succeeded, that heās made you cum, that his fingersāhis, not the doctorās, not the medicās,Ā his, his, hisāhave wrung hard earned pleasure from you.
And, hereās the thing, Dawnbreaker knows, realistically, that orgasms last only a couple of secondsāabout ten if the surgeon did his research right. Itās just, he thought, especially after all this time, after all these months spent patiently waiting, that is, he thought, well, he just expected something a bit more than gratifying than this.
āFeeling better?ā he asks as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He sucks the skin there into his mouth, worries at the top layer with the tips of his teeth.
Pressed this close, he can feel the rhythm of your heart against his chest. Itās rapid, rabbit like. Almost as fast as his own. If he closes his eyes, lets the world fade away, will it feel as though theyāre beating as one?
āFuck you,ā you sob, jostling your shoulder in an effort to relieve yourself of his incisors. āI hate you. I fuckingĀ hateĀ you. I shouldnāt have aimed so slow. I should have gone for the neck!ā
So no, then, you arenāt feeling better. Thereās a restlessness to you still, the low burning embers of a fight.
Youāve resumed your kicking, not that thereās any strength to it. Still, thereās pain in his side where the wound has torn back open. Thereās a wetness to you not entirely born from your arousal. Some of his blood trickles out of his wound, spills onto your dimpling skin. Maybe if he waits long enough to tend to it, the platelets will change you at the molecular level, making you unequivocally, undeniable his.
āYouāre so disobedient today,ā he says. Your pussy clamps around him as the words register. Deny it if you want, but he feels your walls constrict around him, feels your cunt beg him for more, more,Ā more. āItās almost like you want me to punish you.ā
And, there's a novel thought. One that's never occurred to him before. Maybe itās easier for you this way. Perhaps you need to make this hard. That way, you can pretend you donāt like him as much as you did your doctor. If you act out, if you force his hand, your belief that he's a time-traveling savage can persist.
āOne more, I think,ā he says, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the bruise he's sucked into your clavicle. āAnd if youāre good for me perhaps after Iāll reward you with my cock.ā
Is his desire to get you off again selfish? Perhaps. But after the life he's lead, the people he's killed, why shouldn't he finally prioritize his own pleasure? And, anyway, you'll enjoy a second climax too. He knows you always do. See, thereās a space in your mind where your thoughts canāt reach you; the troublesome things drift away like leaves down a stream. He's seen it in the part of his consciousness that is neither his nor the otherās. The old Zayne. His dexterous fingers. You floating up, up, then away.
This is where Dawnbreaker wants you now. Weightless, untethered, body free from the burden of its physical form.Ā GodsĀ what a site you made for your love sick doctor in those moments. How he'd dote on you in that catatonic state! The memories blend together in his head, snapshots with their subject just out of focus. Warm baths. Soothing music. You, sitting there. Doe-eyed. Doll-like. Eucalypts lotion slicking your skin.
A disembodied noise brings Dawnbreaker back to present; the sound, he realizes, is coming from you. A strained whine that starts in the back of your throat and unfurls itself against your teeth. Itās a sound born from pleasure, from him and his love and his absentmindedly renewed efforts to make good on his promise to you.Ā One more. Yes, that should do it. One more, then he give you his cock.
āWhatās the matter,ā he hums, teasing your entrance with a third finger. Your orgasm has left you wet, pliable; it doesnāt take much coaxing for your walls to swallow it up alongside the others. āTwo arenāt enough for your greedy little pussy? Your eager cunt needsĀ more?ā
āZayne,ā you hiccup, and again he isnāt sure which Zayne youāre asking for. If itās him you want or the other. Your hands are balled into fists, nails biting into the flesh of your palm, skin of your knuckles pulled tight. āPlease, I canāt. IĀ canāt.ā
āCome now, we both know thatās a lie,ā he tuts, dropping a hand to your swelling clit. He toys with it experimentally, touch teasing and light. āI believe your record is five. The night you came back from that business trip. Do you remember? There were some breaks of course, your doctor wasnāt cruel. He knew exactly how much your poor pussy could take. And because of that, so do I.ā
āHurts,ā you sob.
The overstimulation or the memory, he wonders. The answer is likely both.
āIt wonāt for long,ā he tells you. āYouāre just getting close again. No need to ask this time either. When youāre ready, just let go.ā
Thereās some half-hearted bucking, a brief clawing at the air, then your walls are contracting violently around him once more. This orgasm is longer, louder, more intense than your first. He watches in awe as your body gets taut, tauter, and tauter still. Abs straining. Glutes flexing. Everything, all across you stiff and rigid like a bowstring before its arrow is loosed.
Then, you're squirting.Ā Hard. All over his fingers, his wrist, his clothes. A concentrated torrent of semi opaque, glossy juices, unlike anything he's dreamed possible, soaks him, and Dawnbreaker is ecstatic, elated that his three fingers alone were enough to do this to you. That some simply heavy petting was all it took to get you off.
āThatās it,ā he smiles, nuzzling your cheek. āFeels good, doesnāt it? Feels right. No different than when you were with him. Nothing you havenāt experienced before.ā
āYou arenāt him,ā you cry, the words angry and raw. āYouāll never be him, and you canāt replace him. My feelings for you are different than they were for him because youāre a different version of him, someone elseās version of him.ā
āYouāre right about that,ā he concedes, pressing a kiss against your temple in apology, still three fingers deep in your ruined cunt. āI know Iām not him. But I need you more than he does. If either of you could see the city I lived in, I think youād both agree.ā
Though your crying persists, you donāt argue with him.
āI know you miss him,ā he says, hands traveling down his body to relieve himself of his slacks, āand I know itās a painful loss, but we can make this work. I can make this good for both of us. I promise.ā
You wince as a hand find your ass. He kneads your right cheek with it while the other works his cock, spreading his pre down the length of his shaft, lubing himself up for you.
Not that you need the additional lubrication. Your cuntās a dripping, drooling mess after the two consecutive orgasms heās wrung out of you. It's gaping too, from the stretch of his three fingers, and, Astra forgive him, but with an invitation like that, how could he resist a sneak peak inside?
Your walls are puffy, swollen, pumping like a heart. The poor thing is practicaly begging for his cock, for the weight of something solid, thick, anything to soothe the lecherous ache. He stares at your twitching hole as he slowly strokes himself, top to bottom, gathering and redistributing any premature spend already leaking from his painfully hard tip.
āDonāt resist,ā he says as he slips his cock between the fat of your thighs. āHis cock, my cock, theyāre one and the same. This isnāt anything you havenāt had before.ā
The first time Danwbreaker let himself explore this body, he was surprised how similar it was to his own. Same haunted green eyes. Same pale forearm scars. Same thick, uncut cock. The only real difference was the trimmed pubic region. Doctor Zayne manscaped ritualistically, something Dawnbreaker hasnāt kept up with. The hairs grew back dark and wavy, erasing the last physical reminder that this body isn't really his own.
Dawnbreaker takes a moment worship this new body, enjoying the glide of his member against your slippery foldsāpausing periodically to tap his tip against your sensitive clit, rejoicing when your hips jerk in response. The sensation is unlike anything heās ever felt before, something he doesnāt have the words to describe. Overwhelming. Underwhelming. Both, somehow, together, all at once. A precipice of pleasure. The beginnings of a tumultuous storm.
āIām going to fuck you now,ā he tells you, lining himself up with your entrance. Youāre protesting still, despite his request for compliance, desperate pleas muffled by the pillow your face is pressed against. A symphony of snuffed out 'stopās' and 'noās.' It makes him wish heād chosen a different position for your first time together. It makes him wish he could see your face. Cheeks flush with color. Eyes webbed with red.
He curls himself around you as he feeds you the beginnings of his cock. Your cunt welcomes him eagerly, swallowing him up inch by agonizing inch. He keeps his descent slow, steady, letting your pussy appreciate the entirety of his girth, then, finally the entirety of his length.
He lays like that for a moment, tip kissing your cervix, hips pressed against your ass, savoring the way your walls begin to milk him, clenching deliciously around his straining cock.
With the wound in his side, it's a challenge to actually fuck you. Even with all the endorphins coursing through him, thereās a lingering pain where his flesh is parted, one that canāt be ignored. He needs to finds a rhythm that satisfies his cock without aggravating his injury further. Which, fine, he supposes there's really no need to rush things. Thereās pleasure enough simply filling you up this wholly, this completely. He ruts cautiously into you, pace languid and relaxed.
āThatās it,ā he pants as your hips begin to buck against him. How the good doctor ever got any work done with you around is beyond him. All he seems capable of thinking of now that he's had you like this is how he can keep you on his cock. āSuch a good girl. Taking me so well.ā
You whine out another series of protests that he quiets with a hand on your breast and a playful nip at your ear. Your breath catches when his teeth graze against the cartilage, and it takes everything in him not to follow the action with a bite.
Even at the leisurely pace he sets, his orgasm builds quickly. It starts as a fluttering in his stomach, graduates to a tightening of his sac. Heās cum before of course, down the drain or into his hand when he doesnāt have the foresight to get himself to the shower before his apex, but none of that compares to this. His hands, skilled and warm as they are, have nothing against the heat and grip of your pussy. Itās the perfect receptacle for all his love.
āIām close, beloved,ā he tells you, fingers seeking out your sensitive clit once more. āThink you can cum with me?ā
Your head shakes weakly against the creaking mattress. He trains his eyes on what he can see of your face. Your eyes are squeezed shut, hidden behind the thickness of your lashes, glistening with tears. Your mouth hangs loosely open, lips glossy with an ungodly amount of spit. What the mattress is unable to soak up pools around your jaw.
āNext time will be easier,ā he promises you, placing another placating kiss against your crown; the texture of your hair tickles his lips. āWe can even forgo the rope, if youād like. As long as we understand each other that is.ā
Heās rolling your clit between two of his fingers now, touch feather-light. Thereās no need for him to treat the nerve bundle roughly. He doubts itāll take much coaxing for it to send another wave of electrifying pleasure burning though your veins. You're sensitive enough a simple tweak of the nipple might do it. Maybe he'll experiment with that another night.
You scream as your third orgasm slams into you, body convulsing and contorting as your release rips violently through you, building then crashing like a great ocean wave.
His own orgasm is every bit as violent as your own. Rope after rope of seeminglyĀ scorchingĀ hot cum burst forth from him as he fucks himself to completion, spraying your insides white. Thereās a ringing in his ears when its over as if his brain has a short-circuit, like cumming has emptied him of all life.
Heād like to stay like this a while, notched to the root inside you, letting your overstimulated walls feel it when he finally begins to deflate, but a noise from you has his systems rebooting, it signals his brain to come back online.
āMercy,ā you choak, as he gently strokes your ribs. āMercy, Zayne, please,Ā please. Mercy.Ā Mercy.ā
And,Ā fuck. That word. Dawnbreaker knows that word. Itās your safe one, established by Zayne the day you expressed an interest in blindfolds and paddles. The good doctor wouldn't even entertain the idea of that stuff without a safe word in place, insisting it was a necessary precaution for that sort of play. Neither of you ever need it, of course, but he made you repeat it each session just in case.
āMercy,ā you sob again, only this time it sounds like youāre having trouble getting the word out. He feels your body hiccup as it tries to suck down air.
He pulls out of you immediately, begins the work necessary to unbind your wrists. The involuntary spasming of your body makes it hard for him to keep his grip on the rope. It takes him several minutes to get the bindings undone.
āItās alright,ā he tells you, taking your right palm in between his fingers, massaging circulation back into the cold limb. āPoor thing. You were so good for me. So very good.ā
It didnāt usually take long for the doctor to help reregulate you when you got worked up like this. But, then, you'd never gotten this worked up after sex. Usually you're spacey, boneless, all smiles and batted lashes in the aftermath. This is new. This isĀ scary. He scrolls through all the memories heās logged of Zayne placating you, trying to remember the strategies he used to help you calm.
He pulls you up and into his lap for a reassuring embrace, presses a kiss against the top of your head, but the startling sounds you've begun to makeāharsh, wheezyādonāt stop. He rubs his hands up and down your arms soothingly, trying to help you ground, hoping you can't feel the way his own heart rate has spiked alongside yours.
āTell me what you need, sweet girl,ā he all but begs. Heās startled to hear a slight tremble in his voice. He doesnāt want you to know how much your panicked state is affecting him.
āC-canāt,ā you sob loudly, violently. āCanāt-ā
āCanāt what? Canāt tell me?ā
āCanāt breathe,ā you wail, fingers clawing at your throat, āCanātĀ breathe.ā
Fuck, Dawnbreaker thinks. Fuck. Fuck.Ā Fuck.
What he says is, āTogether, yeah? Letās try to breathe together. Iāll count the seconds for you.ā
And Dawnbreaker tries, really, he does, to help you breathe in for a count of four, but the words are either lost to the fog of your mind or you're simply too far gone already to obey him.
There has to be something else he can do, something else he can try. Thereās a memoryāthe doctorsāhe has of you waking up from a nightmare in a state not unlike this. The doctor used his Evol to cover his hands in a thin sheen of ice and press them against your head.
He does that now, lets the blackened ice engulf him, presses his covered palms against your perspiring neck. The cold is supposed to shock the system. It allegedly can deactivate your fight or flight.
Your hands drop from your throat to your chest; they press over your heart, and Dawnbreaker realizes then, that heās made a critical error in his efforts to connect with you tonight, thatās heās forgotten something crucial about your body and the organ that keeps your blood pumping, about the syndrome caused by the Aether Core fragment housed behind your ribs. Arrythmia. Murmurs. Symptoms Dawnbreaker doesnāt fully understand.
āShit,ā he swears aloud, unable now to keep the panic from his voice. He can feel the power of your Evol around him, reacting to the intensity of your feelings like his own did earlier. He presses a finger against the pulse point on your neck in an effort to establish its current rate.
āZ-z,ā you wheeze. āZzzzz-.ā
You canāt get the word out but he knows what youāre asking for, knows what you want to say.
āHush now,ā he says. āDonāt talk. Just focus on your breath.ā
He drops a hand to your belly, just above the diaphragm to monitor the intensity of your bodyās spasming.
Thereās a position, right, one that helps with this sort of thing? Sitting upright with your head between your knees. After your grandmother died, your grieving heart needed extra help to keep you going. Zayne wanted you to speak with a professional about it, and when you wouldnāt he did research of his own.
Dawnbreaker maneuvers your body like that now, pulling your calves up and against your thighs, dropping your chin against your chest. It's important that he himself remains calm while you're in crisis, so he triesāunsuccessfullyāto ignore the worsening discoloration of your lips.
āTry to take tiny sips of air. Keep your breaths shallow for now. You can deepen them once you have better control over everything again.ā
Youāre tryingāmaybe, he really canāt be sureābut the air you manage to take in is too quickly dispelled. He doubts much of it is getting to your brain. If this persists much longer, you could incur serious damage to your faculties and cognitions. He needs a plan, a good one, and he needs it now.
And, Dawnbreaker knows, realistically, what it is he has to do, knows who amongst you has the knowledge to treat your heart. And it isnāt him, not in this life anyway. If he wants to save you, he's going to have to let you go.
Because, it wouldnāt be right, would it, to hold onto this reality a bit longer on the off chance your condition naturally subsides? Thatās not what all this was for, not why he came all this way. His presence here was supposed to protect you both from harm; instead, it's only perpetuated it.
Problem is, heās never tried to summon Zayne before. Heās only ever tried to tamp him down. Is the doctor still in him somewhere, simmering beneath Dawnbreakerās level of consciousness, waiting restlessly to resurface? What will that mean for him, if Zayne retakes control? Will he ever see you again? Does he have the strength to fight his way back?
There's no time for these questions. Each moment he spends in quiet contemplation is another you go without air. He either lets Zayne take over or heās as good as killed you. Your life, your death, they're both quite literally in his trembling, bloodied hands.
Dawnbreaker turns inward in search of the doctor, hoping the man can feel his surrender and submission.Ā Please, he begsāno,Ā praysāsilently,Ā we need you; she needs you. Can the doctor hear him? Will he respond? Dawnbreaker feels his pointer finger twitch against your shaking shoulder, wonders if thatās his doing or the otherās.
He clutches you tightly as he wills the world to fade away, repeating his silent prayer to a man who may not answer, to a man who may no longer be there. Dawnbreaker sucks in a deep, steadying breath of his own, fills the inside of his nose with the softness of your scent; it's subtle, sweet, like jasmine, though rationally he knows this isn't possible, that what he's smelling isn't truly there.
Be safe, he wills you as he forces himself to let go of his senses; his hearing first, so he need not hear your cries. Soon they'll quiet, as if occurring somewhere off in the distance, intense, but varying, synthesized like white noise.
Iām sorry, he thinks. A useless confession. Unspoken words stuck behind clamped lips.
And, now he's crying; now tears of his own have begun to fall. The wet droplets have the edges of his vision blurring. Soon he won't see anything at all. Too late, he realizes that this may be his final glimpse of you. His eyes seek out your features, but they're obscured and undefined.
There's the scent of jasmine again, as his grip on this reality loosens, as the physical world fades from view. There's a gaspāyours, he hopes, for it's muffled, disembodiedāthen there's nothing. A darkness. A coldness. Like he's buried under snow.
NERD!ZAYNE TEACHING THE GUYS HOW TO MAKE YOU SQUIRT.
PART ONE HERE PART THREE HERE
CW: Oral, fingering, squirting. šMDNIš
"Yeah," Xavier said "Can you teach us how to make her squirt?"
------
The room had gone completely still. Sex and whiskey hung in the air, thick enough to taste. You were breathing wrong, every breath felt heavy, caught in a throat made raw by whiskey and sharp gasps. Zayne's chest felt warm and unyielding at your back, getting up would have required a kind of effort the room didn't seem to allow for.
Xavier's tongue was tracing the edge of his knuckle where your first release had coated him. His eyes had gone almost entirely black, pupils blown so wide there was barely any color left, every bit of that darkness was fixed between your thighs.
Behind you, Zayne exhaled, low and unsteady, the sound catching in his throat before it reached your skin. He hadn't moved back. He had moved closer, pressing his hard cock between your ass, the friction made it clear his medical textbooks hadn't prepared him for how much he actually wanted to ruin you right now.
"That requires an entirely different approach," Zayne's voice was thicker and rougher than it had been. His hands tightened on your waist before he said anything else. Then he bent his head, lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear.
"Are you alright with this? Do you want to show them?"
Your head had already begun to fall back against his shoulder and the whimper that came out of you wasn't something you'd planned.
"Yeah"
His patience didn't leave exactly, but it changed shape, it became something slower. His hand moved from your waist, sliding up until his palm curved around your breast again, broad, warm and unhurried. His thumb found your nipple without searching for it and he began to roll it between his fingers with a steady pressure that sat right on the edge of too much and didn't waver.
"The G-spot," he said, his voice settling back into something that almost resembled composure, "isn't about surface stimulation. It isn't about rhythm either." He pinched your nipple lightly, and your breath caught. He continued as though he hadn't noticed, or perhaps because he had. "Squirting isn't something you can rush. We've spent nearly twenty minutes on foreplay and that's perfect because the entire pelvic region needs time to fill with blood, to become fully engorged. Without that, it won't work."
His thumb moved in a slow circle around your nipple, like he had all the time in the world and intended to use it.
"The targets are the paraurethral glands. Small, about the size of a pea, sitting on either side of the urethra, close to her G-spot. Most people don't know they exist. Most people don't know what they're capable of." A pause. "You're about to learn."
Xavier's voice came quiet and low. "I want to try."
Whatever remained of the quiet, compliant boy from freshman orientationāthe one who'd handed you a campus map and apologized for bumping into youāwas gone. Completely. He moved forward until he was wedged between your legs, his thighs pressing firmly against your calves.
A cold spike of something, fear, want, the particular overwhelm of both arriving at once, shot straight down your spine. Your thighs tried to close on instinct, a reflexive flinch against the intensity of his gaze, the nearness of him and the reality of what was about to happen. Your knees had barely begun to move before something stopped them.
Caleb moved to the edge of the mattress and closed his hand over your right knee. Not gently. He pressed it down and out over Zayne's thigh, his grip immovable, the kind that didn't invite negotiation. You weren't going to close yourself off. He'd made that clear without saying a word.
Rafayel took your left. His fingers found the inside of your knee and held on with trembling pressure.
You looked down at them through the blur of whiskey and heat.
Caleb's jaw was locked, a muscle jumping in his cheek like he was chewing through something. The flush on his neck had darkened to something almost bruised, creeping up toward his jaw, his breath coming in audible hitches he wasn't bothering to hide anymore. Rafayel had his bottom lip caught between his teeth hard enough to drain the color from it, his eyes tracking every shiver that moved through your body like he was trying to memorize them.
And then lower.
A small, damp circle had bled through the gray of Rafayel's sweatpants. The front of Sylus's pants were pulled tight, a matching wet spot darkening the fabric, spreading slightly every time he exhaled.
"Keep her steady." Zayne's hips kept moving, that same slow roll against you, while his fingers worked both of your nipples at once, rolling and pinching until heat shot straight down through your stomach and didn't stop.
"Xavier." His tone shifted into something clinical "Two fingers, palm facing up toward her navel. Her arousal is sufficient as a baseline, but you need to use the lubricant on my nightstand. I don't want friction, I don't want any tissue irritation." A pause, weighted. "Once you're inside, feel along the anterior wall. There will be a ridge, different from the surrounding tissue. Think of the roof of your mouth."
Xavier reached for the lubricant and coated his fingers slowly, his hands were shaking. Then he brought them to your entrance, just the tips at first, barely making contact, and paused there for a breath that felt longer than it was.
He pushed in slowly.
Inch by inch, the stretch of it opening you around him, his fingers pressing through the heat and slick of you with patience. His eyes had gone wide by the time his fingertips swept up and found it, the ridge Zayne had described, unmistakable, exactly where he'd said it would be.
A cry tore out of you before you could stop it, fractured and too loud. It rang off the walls and you knew without question it had carried straight down the hallway outside.
Sylus shadow fell over you before he leaned down, face unreadable, there was a particular stillness of someone exerting tremendous control. His thumb caught your chin and pressed your jaw down, and then his fingers were in your mouth, muffling whatever came next. You closed your lips around them without thinking. Your tongue found his knuckles and you pulled him in, sucking hard, needing the solid reality of him to hold onto, something grounding while everything else was coming apart.
"Keep it down, sweetie." he said. Low. Almost gentle.
"Like this?" Xavier's voice came from below, strained thin.
He had begun to move, curling his fingers up, knuckles dragging against your entrance with every stroke while his fingertips pressed into the ridged wall above. He went deeper with each repetition. Not faster. Deeper, the hook of his fingers catching on the sensitive texture inside you and holding there just long enough before pulling back and doing it again.
"Slower."
Zayne's breath was scorching against your neck, his fingers never stopping, working your nipples with a precision that had stolen most of your ability to think. Behind you his hips pushed forward, heavier than before, a frustrated grind that he didn't bother to disguise.
"You're skimming the surface," he said. "Press into it. Maintain the motion and add external pressure to the clitoris, combine both. Increase as the tissue expands." His voice dropped slightly. "Can you feel how she's changing around you? How she's pulling you in?"
Xavier made a sound low in his throat, almost involuntary, his head dipping forward. His thumb came down against your pelvic bone and he adjusted his angle, pushing deeper until his knuckles were completely slick. His strokes slowed and firmed, each one pressing up into you with a patience that was clearly costing him something.
"It's getting tighter," he said, voice fraying at the edges. "It's... it's pushing back. She's so hot inside."
"She's engorging, the fluid is building in the glands. You cannot break the rhythm, not now, not for anything. If you ease up even slightly, the accumulation dissipates and you lose everything you've built."
He said it like a warning. Like he was saying it to himself as much as Xavier.
It was nothing like before.
Not the sharp, electric jolt of Zayne's thumb. this was something else entirely. Deeper. Heavier. A fullness that built with every stroke and didn't recede, coiling low in your abdomen like pressure with nowhere to go. Every time Xavier's fingers found that spot and pressed, a wave rolled through you, enormous and terrifying, making you want to beg for something you didn't have words for. You bit down on Sylus's knuckles without meaning to, eyes losing focus, your whole body tightening around a point you couldn't reach.
On either side of you, Caleb and Rafayel hadn't moved. Couldn't. Their knuckles had gone white where they held your legs open, and their eyes were fixed on Xavier's hand, on the way his fingers disappeared into you and came back slick, on the wetness that had gone past the point of containment. It was pooling at your entrance, spilling over and running down Xavier's wrist.
It was Rafayel who broke first.
"Zayne." His voice came out cracked, barely holding together. He swallowed hard, his gaze still locked on the fluid stringing between your skin and Xavier's hand, his body giving him away beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. "She's...fuck...it's leaking. Is she close?"
"She's almost there."
Zayne's voice had lost everything clinical about it now. Whatever composure he'd been maintaining had come apart completely, leaving only thisāhis fingers digging into your nipples, pinching hard, driving the sensation past the point of bearable while his hips pressed into you with desperation.
"Xavier. Fast circles on her clit, other hand, now." A beat. "Force it."
Xavier looked up at your face instead.
Your eyes had gone hazy, barely tracking, tears gathering at the corners from nothing but sheer overwhelm. Your lips were still wrapped around Sylus's fingers, your chest heaving in ragged pulls, small broken sounds escaping around his knuckles every time Xavier moved inside you. You were completely undone. Anyone could see it.
Xavier saw it too.
He didn't raise his hand to your clit. Something shifted behind his eyes, a flash of something reckless and deliberate, the look of someone who had been quietly calculating this exact moment and had finally decided to take it.
"You said anything I can do with my hands," he murmured, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper, "I can enhance with my mouth, right?."
His blonde hair fell across his forehead as he leaned down.
"Xavierā" Zayne's voice came sharp with warning.
Too late.
Xavier buried his face between your thighs.
The heat of his mouth hit you without warning.
Xavier's tongue sealed over your clit and the sound that came out of you was strangled, swallowed by Sylus's fingers, barely contained. He didn't tease. He remembered every word Zayne had said, flattened his tongue broad and wet against you, using the full weight of it to meet the pressure building from inside, while his fingers hooked harder and began to move in a rhythm that was merciless and gave you absolutely nothing to brace against.
"Breathe." Zayne's lips found your temple and pressed them there, warm and close. "What you're feeling, the fullness, the urgency, it will feel exactly like a need to release. That's correct. That's exactly right." His breath shook against your skin. "Don't fight it. Bear down. Let your pelvic floor go completely. Let it happen."
You stopped fighting.
You exhaled and let go. Your pelvic floor released and you bore down against the hook of Xavier's fingers, against the wet relentless press of his tongue, and for one suspended second everything went very still.
Then your body locked.
Every muscle seized at once, thighs convulsing against Caleb and Rafayel's grip. They leaned their full weight into your knees and held. Caleb let out a breathless "fuuuuck look at her". You bit down on Sylus's fingers hard enough to feel his knuckles against your teeth, vision narrowing to nothing.
It came in a rush, clear and forceful, spilling over Xavier's chin, across his cheeks, soaking into the fabric beneath you. His fingers stayed where they were, buried deep, riding out every contraction as your body clenched around him in waves that didn't stop, that pulled at him and wouldn't let go.
He didn't pull back. His tongue kept moving through it, his jaw working, his nose pressed to your skin while you sobbed through the aftershocks, open, head falling back against Zayne's shoulder again, with the full dead weight of someone who had nothing left to hold onto.
The room went quiet before you heard the slow, wet sound of Xavier withdrawing his fingers. Sylus drew his hand from your mouth just as slowly, his thumb dragging across your lower lip, catching a smear of saliva and wiping it away. He didn't look away from your face. The darkness in his eyes hadn't lifted. It had settled into something that made it very clear this wasn't over.
Xavier raised his head.
His face was flushed deep, his lips wet, a streak of fluid catching the lamplight as it ran down the line of his jaw and dripped onto his collarbone. He looked up at Zayne.
He looked like someone who had just discovered something he couldn't un know.
"Like that?" Xavier asked. The smugness in his voice was not even slightly hidden.
Zayne didn't answer right away.
He was staring down at the space between your thighs, at the soaked mattress, at the evidence of everything his careful, clinical framework had produced. His chest rose and fell hard against your back, his breath coming uneven against your neck, and you felt it before you fully understood what it was, a spreading warmth behind you, seeping through the fabric of his trousers, pressing into you. Unmistakable.
"Yes," Zayne said finally. His voice was stripped of every careful layer he'd spent the entire evening constructing "Exactly like that."
warnings: mentions of death, grief, fluff
word count: 6.2k
āZayne!ā the Princess gasped and giggled at the sight of the macarons in the little boyās hand. He had two; a pink and blue one he swiped from the royal kitchens.Ā
āShh,ā he handed her the pink one, watching with green eyes as she took a bite and hummed, delighted. āDonāt tell anyone!ā
The two kids hid in a corner of one of the many palace corridors. For as long as they could remember, theyāve always had each other. Even at only five and six years old, they were practically glued at the hip. He was the son of a knight. The Captain of the Royal Guard, to be specific. She was the Princess, dearly beloved by her people and others abroad.Ā
āWe should get another one.ā she suggested after finishing the desert, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Sure enough, minutes later, they were at Lilithās feet. They looked up at her with their gleaming, hopeful eyes, begging for another sweet treat.Ā
The girl tugged at Lilithās apron, āPlease, Lilith? Just another one!āĀ
Zayne stood to the side, knowing that Lilith wouldnāt deny the precious Princess. But still, he eagerly nodded along.Ā
Lilith sighed, shaking her head with a fond smile toying at her lips. She tried to conceal it, but it was tough to hide with the two kids using their charm against her. āFine,ā she gave in, handing them another macron each.
A pause, and then she handed Zayne another one. āOnly if you promise to give that one to Xander.āĀ
Zayneāever the serious one, even at five years oldānodded solemnly. āI promise.ā Then the kids were off out the kitchens. The Princessā giggles filled the air as the knightās son trailed behind her.Ā
Soon, they were outside the blacksmithās forge. The Princess knocked on the doorāonce, twice, thrice. On the third knock, it opened. Xander stood there, some tool in hand, as he looked down at the little ones of the palace.Ā
āFor you,ā Zayne held up one of the macarons. āFrom Lilith.ā
The blacksmith took it with a smile, popping it into his mouth. He invited the kids inside, welcoming them into his place of work. This was a regular occurrence for Zayne. Oftentimes, his father would be out on missions, so heād linger around Xander. At first, he was sceptical about keeping a child so young around him, but Zayne proved himself to not be reckless. For the Princess, however, this was a rare treat. She hardly had the chance to be around the blacksmith and see his work.
āIām working on a new sword for your father,ā Xander explained, walking them over to the table where he was engraving the hilt.Ā
Zayne peered at the half-finished sword on the table. āHow heavy is it?ā
āI bet I could pick it up.ā the Princess commented, rising onto her tippy toes to see it. Her little fingers grasped the grip, and all the strength she could muster, she willed it to move.
It barely moved an inch.
āHere,ā Zayne stepped closer, his hands beside hers now. Heād seen his father do this a thousand times. āLike this.ā
Together, with all the strength two children could muster, they lifted the blade an inchāmaybe twoāoff the table.
The Princess beamed. āWe did it!ā
Zayne smiled, cheeks pink with pride he didnāt understand yet.Ā
Xander shook his head, a smile spreading on his face. āYou two will run this kingdom one day.ā
āWe already do,ā the Princess playfully scoffed, flipping her hair and crossing her arms.
In a way, it was true. Where one went, the other followed. Dessert thieves. Secret conspirators. They grew, as children do. The Princess would walk everywhere she pleased, and Zayne would follow, half a step behind her. As seasons passed and trees lost and regained their leaves, they grew taller, smarter, and impossibly closer.
Late spring was the Princessā favourite time. The flowers were in full bloom in the royal garden, the sound of birds singing filled the air. Usually, sheād be up in the branches, worrying Zayne with the fear of her falling. Today though, was differentāshe hadnāt climbed up a single tree and instead walked along the garden path with her hands folded behind her.
āNo climbing trees today, Princess?ā Zayne inquired, hiding his smile as she walked on her tippy toes, pretending to be taller than him.
They were eight and nine now, and the Princess was the same height as Zayne for the first time. She hoped to grow taller and surpass him, just so she could tease him for being shorter than her.
She sighed in response to his question, shaking her head. āMother said I canāt get my dress dirty.ā
āWhy not?ā
āKing Oscar is coming and heās bringing his son, Prince Caleb.ā
Zayne nodded, unsure of what to make of the news.
āI havenāt met a Prince before.ā she admitted, a hint of nervousness in her voice.
Just as Zayne was about to say something, the Queen interrupted.Ā
āThere you are!ā she walked over, extending her arm for the Princess to take. āKing Oscar has just entered the gates. Theyāll be here any minute!ā
The Princess held onto her motherās hand, but glanced at Zayne before turning to her mother. āCan Zayne come too?ā
The Queen agreed, and the three of them, along with King Gentry, waited by the palace entrance. Not soon after, a carriage came into sight, and stopped in front of them. King Oscar emerged, along with Prince Caleb.
Prince Caleb was a carbon copy of his father, chocolate brown hair and seafoam eyes. Even though the boy was only eight-years-old, it was clear he was someone who was used to attention. It was obvious just from the way he carried himself.
As King Gentry met with the Princessā parents, the Queen nudged the Princess.Ā Remember your manners.Ā
She curtsied, bowing her head.
āYou must be the Princess of Astraheim,ā Prince Caleb smiled once she rose. He took her hand and placed a kiss on it.
She nodded shyly. āYou must be Prince Caleb.ā
Zayne didnāt know what he was feeling, but he knew one thing for certain: he did not like Prince Caleb.
āI have a gift for you!ā Caleb exclaimed suddenly, digging in his satchel and pulling out a small pouch. He handed it to her. āFather said that Princes must always give gifts to Princesses. I hope you like it.ā
She opened up the pouch, revealing a necklace. Simple, nothing too fancyāa gold chain with a small, diamond pendant. āItās very pretty,ā she traced the diamond with her finger. āThank you.ā
Caleb smiled, a small, shy one. Zayne cleared his throat. He did not like this feeling. The Princess turned to him, sensing his discomfort.Ā
āThis is Zayne.ā she said brightly. āHeās my best friend!ā
Zayne awkwardly extended his hand towards Caleb. The Prince took it and shook his hand. The knightās son accidentally squeezed the Princeās hand harder than necessary.Ā
Zayne did not like Caleb.Ā
āHow about you show Prince Caleb around the palace?ā King Gentry suggested to the Princess and Zayne. Listening to the Kingās suggestion, Zayne and the Princess started walking, with little Caleb trailing behind them.
Years passed, like they always do. The Princess grew into her royal training, and Zayne delved into the journey to knighthood. Where they once spent every waking moment together, now they lived in hurried whispers and chaste goodbyes. Zayne spotted her walking along one of the corridors, heading to her chambers after her Princess Etiquette Class.
Without thinking, he pulled her aside into a corner, his hand on her arm as he leaned in close to whisper. āPrincess,ā he started, a small smile on his face. When was the last time they snuck around together? Neither of them could remember. āCome to the gardens with me tonight?ā
The Princess took note of how he was taller than her now, almost a full head. She realized sheād never surpass him in height. She was tired, of course, but sheād sacrifice any amount of sleep to be around him like before.
The Princess nodded, much to Zayneās relief.
āIāll see you by that old tree?ā
She knew exactly which one he meant. When she arrived, she saw Zayne sitting on the bench, two pastries in hand. He handed one to her when she approached. A freshly baked, warm, puff pastry.Ā
His hand brushed hers as he passed it. Neither of them mentioned it.Ā
āHowād youā?ā
āLilith.ā
The Princess shook her head fondly, sitting down next to him. āI shouldāve known.āĀ
They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, but was really only twenty minutes. The Princess realized she should be heading back before anybody discovers sheās missing from her chambers.Ā
āThank you for the pastry,ā she turned to Zayne, āI really should get going.ā
He understood duty better than anyone. Yet still, a subtle frown tugged at his lips.Ā
Of course she noticed; she notices every detail. She just wishes there was something she could do about it.
āI miss being around you.ā Zayne admitted softly, looking down. For a twelve-year-old boy, especially one training for knighthood, vulnerability was not common.Ā
āI do too.ā She reassured, matching his soft tone. āMeet again on Thursday?āĀ
He nodded, watching as she stood from the bench. āIāll see you then.ā
Secret garden meetings turned into a regular occurrence, and thatās how they coped. Sometimes, only one of them showed, other times, both. But even routines built with the utmost care can break.Ā
One evening, Zayne didnāt come.Ā
The Princess waited at that bench for hours. The sunset turned to nightāthe birds stopped chirping and the crickets started singing. She sat there, fiddling with the fabric of her skirt. Night air nipped at her skin, causing goosebumps to rise on her uncovered arms.Ā
Heās just late, she convinced herself. Told herself heād come running down that path like he always did.Ā
He didnāt.Ā
It happened again the next night. And then the night after that. Four days and he hadnāt shown up; she hadnāt even seen his face around the palace. She was getting worried.Ā
The first time he didnāt show up, she chalked it up to him being tired from training. The second time, she concluded he mustāve forgotten. The thirdā¦ maybe he was busy with chores? The fourth time, she lost hope and dragged herself back to her chambers with her head hanging low. She stopped going down to the gardens and instead started waiting on her balcony.
āLilith,ā the Princess stopped by the royal kitchen, āhave you seen Zayne?āĀ
Lilith knew what had happened, of course. But, she didnāt have the time to sit down and explain it to the worried Princess.Ā
The maid shook her head, a sorry smile on her face. āAsk Xander, maybe he knows.ā
One, two, three knocks on Xanderās door and he opened it up.Ā
She got right to the point before the blacksmith could get a word out. āWhereās Zayne?āĀ
His lips turned into a line as he invited her inside. āPrincessā¦ā he hesitated, closing the door. āYou might want to sit down for this.ā
āSit down?ā She was getting irritated, yet tried her best to hide it. āWhy-?ā
āCaptain Jace,ā Xander started, unsure of how to keep going. There was no easy way of saying this. āWas gravely injured in battle. Zayne hasnāt left his side.ā
She was stunned. āIs heā¦?ā
The blacksmith shook his head. āTheyāre saying he wonāt have long.ā
She doesnāt remember the next few hours; it was all blurred together. With her skirt gathered in her fists, she was rushing down the hall to the infirmary. The nurses denied her entrance, saying only family was permitted.
Only family.Ā
She stood there, breath uneven, staring at the closed doors as if sheer willpower could force them open. They stayed shut. Voices murmured on the other sideāhealers speaking in tense whispers, footsteps moving quickly, the muted sound of someone crying.
None of it belonged to her. Slowly, she stepped back. The corridor felt colder than the gardens at night. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the front of her dress, trying to pretend she still had control over something, anything. She didnāt sleep that night.
The next morning, Lilith knocked on her door. āHe passed during the night.ā She broke the news, dressed in black. Her voice was tired. āThe funeral is in a few hours. You should get ready, Princess.ā
It could be felt in the air. Captain Jace had been a loyal servant for decadesālong before either of the kids were born. Astraheim felt still; she could feel it even though she hadn't stepped outside yet. The sunlight didnāt feel warm, and the corridors were empty instead of being filled with laughter.Ā
āDo you have any macarons, Lilith?ā The Princess suddenly spoke, soft and quiet.
āMacarons? I donāt understandā¦ā
āJust one would be enough.ā
Lilith didnāt question further. āIāll see what I can do.ā and then she left the Princessā chambers, closing the door behind her.Ā
The day moved on without her permission. She got ready, adorned in a simple black gown, hair cascading down her shoulders. The funeral arrived quicker than anticipatedāit was closed casket.Ā
She caught sight of Zayne. She didnāt expect him to approach her, or to even look at her, but she still allowed herself to hope. Some might say it was foolish, but she missed her best friend.Ā
It seemed like he grew older in the four days they spent apart. His hair wasnāt as neat, the skin around his eyes was darker. The corners of his lips turned down.Ā
She hadnāt realized she was staring, and she didnāt remember when he turned to her. They locked eyes from across the room.Ā
He stared like she was his only anchor.Ā
Of course, they didnāt get a chance to interact at the funeral. Shortly after the ceremony, Zayne disappeared to his chambers.Ā
The Princess, after getting that macaron from Lilith, followed after him.Ā
She knocked, twice, before he opened the door.Ā
āZayne-ā
She didnāt have time to finish her sentence before he engulfed her in a hug, his silent sobs causing his shoulders to tremble.Ā
Her arms wrapped around him without a second thought, holding him.Ā
He pulled away, avoiding eye contact. āIām sorry,ā he let out, attempting to control his breathing, and in turn, his crying. āI didnāt want you to see me like this.ā
āYou donāt have to apologize,ā her hands slid down his arms, her voice gentle and warm. āNot to me, anyway. I brought you something,ā she revealed the treat. Macarons were Zayneās favourite. āI thoughtā¦ I donāt know. I thought maybe it would help. Even a little.ā
He took the macaron from her fingers, his hand brushing against hers once more.Ā
āIt does,ā he whispered. āThank you.āĀ
A silence settled over them. Not awkward, justā¦ heavy.Ā
A knock echoed from down the hallway, followed by the stern voice of one of the knights, āZayne. The King wishes to see you.ā
Zayne stiffened. She caught it. How could she miss it?
Duty. Responsibility. All of it hitting him at once.
He looked at her one last time. She wanted to hug him again, to pull him back into the quiet safety of this room, but she didnāt.
Instead, she whispered: āIāll see you later?ā
He hesitated, then nodded.
But they both felt the shiftāsubtle but sharp. Something was changing. And neither of them knew how to stop it.
That night, she went back to the garden once more.Ā
Zayne didnāt come that night.Ā
The next morning, she couldnāt find him anywhere. She went to the King, wondering what was so important that he had to discuss with Zayne.
āI was just offering my condolences and support.ā he brushed her off, but she knew he was bluffing. She didnāt press further, knowing it would be futile.Ā Thereās no point in arguing when your fatherās the King.Ā
Zayne didnāt show up the next night either.Ā
The Princess waited, just like before. Sheād stay out as long as she could before she couldnāt handle the cold anymore. Sheād even bring two pastries, just in case heād forgotten to eat, begging Lilith for them.
But now, the winter months were approaching, and she couldnāt handle the cold nights like she could in the earlier seasons. Instead of going out the garden every night, she started spending an hour or two outside on her balcony before bed. This way, she could still wait for him and have a view of the gardens.Ā
He just needs time,Ā sheād rationalize,Ā grief changes people.Ā
Zayne has changed; thereās no doubt about it.Ā
Sheād catch glimpses of him around the palace. Zayne hanging out with senior knights. Zayne carrying a bundle of spears. Zayne polishing armour with an old rag.Ā
Training, she assumed, consumed him. He had that air of quiet, desperate intensity to him. He spent his mornings in the barracks, afternoons in the sparring yard, and evenings assisting knights twice his size. She understood duty better than anyone. Her etiquette tutor had doubled down on her ever since the funeral.Ā
āA great princess never disappoints her people.ā her tutor said, over and over, until it was embedded in her bones. Her public appearances had doubled, and she had started traveling abroad. People would come from far and wide to see the Princess of Astraheimāshe was truly beloved by the people. But understanding still hurt.Ā
Sometimes heād acknowledge her. Small glances. A quick nod. The ghost of a smile she used to know. They barely saw each other apart from quick, polite greetings passed in the hallways.
At feasts, sheād see him stationed beside her father, posture straight and expression unreadable. Even though he was only a year older, it seemed like more. Sometimes sheād swear sheād catch him staring, but as soon as their eyes would meet his gaze would go elsewhere.Ā
In the softest part of her heart, she wondered if this is what growing up meant. Does growing up always mean growing apart? Would they ever return to how they used to be? A year and a half passed before they spokeātruly spokeā again.
The Princess spotted him at the Midsummer Festival out in the village, standing rigid beside some senior knights. They were old friends of his late father. Zayne looked older now. Sharper. His training had chiseled away the softness of boyhood, at the softness she once adored. It carved away at him and left behind angles she didnāt recognize and shadows beneath his eyes she wished to vanish.Ā
He was a knight, just without the title. She wondered if he still laughed the same.
As the festival was nearing its end and the villagers started drifting away, the music quieted and the Princess escaped to an alleyway. She was relieved to be alone, only accompanied by a stray cat purring at her feet. Alone at lastāuntil she wasnāt. Zayne caught a glance of her petting the cat, and decided to go up to her.Ā
She noticed him instantly.
For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The air went still, thick with tension.
āZayneāā
āPrincessāā
She giggled. He let the corners of his lips turn upward, just slightly.
āā¦Princess.ā His voice was deeper now, still gentle, but no longer the boyish tone
she remembered. Zayne bowed briefly, too formal for someone who used to steal pastries for
her.
She hated the bow. Hated the formality.
āYou donāt have to call me that when itās just us, you know.ā she said quietly.Ā
He hesitatedāand that hesitation cracked something inside her. āI wasnāt sure if I
could,ā he admitted.
She blinked. āWhy wouldnāt you?ā
Zayne exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that made him look
ten-years-old again. āYouāre busy. And Iāve had training. And after my fatherā¦ā he trailed
off, swallowing the words he couldnāt say. āI didnāt really know how to be around you
anymore.ā
Her chest tightened. She broke eye contact, looking down at where her fingers were fidgeting with the hem of her dress where the bodice connected with the skirt. āYou couldāve just come to the garden.ā
āI did, twice. You werenāt there.ā he murmured softly, taking a breath before
continuing. āI figured maybe youād moved on.ā Zayne added, now looking at the cobblestone
beneath them instead of at her.Ā
Waitā¦ twice? What is he talking about?Ā
She shook her head, looking up at him once more.Ā When did he get so tall?Ā
āTwice? When?ā her head cocked to the side as they made eye contact once more. āI went out every night, but you stopped showing upā¦ā
āThe first time, Xander stopped me.ā he explained, taking a breath that raised his shoulders. āHe said it was too late and youād be asleep already. The second time, I bumped into the King on the way to the garden. When I told him where I was going, he forbade me and ordered me back to my chambers.ā
She felt a flush of frustration. āForbade you?ā
He nodded. āHeā¦ he didnāt tell you?ā
Zayne could see the way her jaw clenched as she looked down, back at the cat rubbing itself against her feet. The sound of her teeth grinding against one another answered his question.
The junior knight took another breath, eyes fixated on the orange fur of the cat. āYouāll be Queen one day. And Iāmā¦ Iām just trying to be a knight worthy of serving you.ā
A minute passed before the Princess responded, leaving Zayne worrying he said the wrong thing. When she spoke next, her words were quiet and carefully chosen. āYou were never just anything to me.ā
His head lifted. Their eyes metāreally metāfor the first time in forever. The ache in
his expression nearly knocked the breath out of her.
āZayne,ā she stepped closer. The cat by her feet meowed in protest. āIāve missed you.ā her voice was so quiet the faintest of wind couldāve blown it away. The words hung between them like a fragile ribbon.
āIāve missed you too.ā he sighed, like a great weight was lifted when the confession left him. Then, his jaw clenched. āIf I let myself be around you the way I want to beā¦ I donāt think Iāll be able to stop.ā
She didnāt know what that meant yet; not fully, at least. She swallowed, offering the smallest of smiles. āThenā¦ donāt stop.ā
For a beat, nothing happened. Thenāvery slowlyāZayne stepped closer. Only half a step, enough to make her aware of the scent of leather and metal that clung to him. It was different from the lavender and warm pastries she associated with him.
āIāll walk you back to your chambers,ā he decided
This time, the formality didnāt feel like distance. And for the first time in a year and a half, they left together. Slowly, their garden meetings came back. It wasnāt as regular as before, but they managed. Every so often, heād swipe pastries from Lilith again, sharing them with the Princess on that old garden bench.Ā
One day while her tutor was teaching aboutā¦ posture? Or maybe composure? The Princess wasnāt listeningāshe sat at her desk, chin on her palm, mindlessly drawing on the corner of her parchment.Ā
Lady Alice, the tutor, noticed she was drawing rather than taking notes.Ā
āPrincess,ā she snapped her fingers in front of the girlās face. That got her attention, and quick. Before the Princess could stop it, Lady Alice snatched the paper. Instead of seeing her notes, she saw doodles of hearts in the corner. āWhatās this?ā
āItās nothingā!ā the Princess felt her face flush with embarrassment.Ā
Maybe she shouldāve skipped class today.Ā
āUh huh,ā Lady Alice, shooting the Princess a knowing look. The friendship between her and Zayne was no secret to the people who lived in the palace. āI hope youāre not hoping for this to progress anywhere. Youāll end up marrying for duty, not love.ā
The Princess realized, at that moment, how much Zayne meant to her. She wasnāt getting married any time soonāwhy couldnāt she pursue him?
For Zayneās sixteenth birthday, she requested Xander to forge him a sword. Complete with carvings on the hilt and a royal red sheath, it was truly a piece of artwork. She waited in the garden like numerous times before, the early September air still warm even though the sun had dipped below the horizon.
She saw Zayne approaching, and she quickly stood from the bench to greet him. Zayne had two cupcakes this time, both decorated with pale blue icing.Ā
āHappy Birthday,ā she said, the both of them biting into the cupcakes.Ā
āFatherās been talking about knighting you soon,ā the Princess told Zayne, walking towards the bench. She had wrapped the sword in a dark cloth beforehand. Picking up the sword, she stepped back towards Zayne, holding it out to him. āBut donāt tell him I told you.ā
The boyās eyebrows furrowed, confused by whateverās in her hands.Ā
āOpen it!ā she encouraged, stepping closer. āItās your birthday gift.ā
Tentatively, he reached for the sword, unwrapping the cloth from around it. The way his eyes lit up when he realized what it was made her stomach flutter.
āPrincessā¦ this,ā he swallowed, his fingers running over the intricate engravings on the hilt. It was perfectly balanced, sharp as glass, and a show of true craftsmanship. He was starstruck, to say the least. āThis is exquisite.ā
She gave him a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. Instantly, his hand came up to cradle the back of her head, his nose pressed against her hair while his other hand held the sword.Ā
I love you. āI love it.ā he breathed out, inhaling the flowery scent of her hair. āThank you.ā
A week later, there was a royal gala. The Princess couldnāt care less for the reason for it, all she cared about was how she could feel Zayneās eyes on her all night. He lingered by the walls, observing and people watching, not making any movies.
Truly a knight, only without the title.Ā
āZayne,ā she went up to him when she saw him at the dessert table. āHonour me with a dance?ā
He turned to her, a grin playing on his lips. One of those charming boyish ones, reminding her of the boy whoād sneak around the halls with her. āArenāt I supposed to ask you that?āĀ
She shrugged, āI donāt know, I donāt care. Come dance.ā She took one of his hands in both of hers, gently pulling him towards the center of the room. āPlease.ā
How could he deny her when she looked at him like that? Big, pleading eyes that sparked with the light of the chandelier. She wore a pink ballgown, complete with delicate jewellery and the tiara refracting and reflecting light.Ā
āI donāt know how to danceā¦ā he admitted sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.Ā
āIāll teach you,ā she decided, tugging on his arm again. āItās not hard. Letās go to the garden.ā
Once in the sanctuary of the garden, she began her lesson with him. āOkay, hold my hand,ā she extended her left hand.Ā
He took it, taking a step closer to her.Ā
āGood,ā she stepped closer as well. āNow, place your other hand on the bottom of my shoulder blade.ā
Zayne placed his hand on her waist, stepping closer so they were almost chest-to-chest. He held her carefully, like she was made of fragile porcelain.Ā
That works too.Ā
She placed her free hand on his shoulder. āOkay, now step your left foot backāwait, your right footāokay good! And turn your body like this.ā
āPerfect! Now step your feet togetherāyes, youāve got itāand step your other foot out and turn your body the other way.ā
They managed to fall into a clunky box step, both of them looking down at their feet, trying to coordinate their steps to the faint music from the ballroom. Soon enough, they were flowing with ease, timed with the tempo of the slow music being played by the orchestra.
Zayne let go of her waist, twirling her around before pulling her back to him, his hand returning to its spot on her waist.
Her laughter filled the air. āWait, I wasnāt expecting that!ā Their eyes met and the Princessā giggles slowly dispersed, a giddy smiled still adorning her face. āYouāre a fast learner.ā
He leaned in, cheeky, whispering, āI had a good teacher.ā
The yellow glow from the lanterns surrounding them casted a halo; it caused Zayne to look older and younger all at once. And the Princess? Well, anybody could tell she was royalty just by glancing at her.
Zayneās heart fluttered against his ribcage, like a bird in a cage.Ā
They settled into a new rhythm, still matching the orchestraās symphony.Ā
āI have something to tell you,ā she broke the comfortable silence.
He blinked. āFunnyāI have something to tell you too.ā
Slowly, their steps came to a halt. They stood there, in front of their old bench, surrounded by the various flowers and trees of the royal garden.
āYou go first.ā the Princess looked up at him.Ā
āIām getting knighted,ā he exhaled, looking down and breaking eye contact. He looked up before he continued speaking. āYour fatherāthe King, told me yesterday. He plans to do it at the Winter Solstice.ā
Winter Solsticeā¦Ā oh.
Yet still, she was thrilled for him. āZayne, thatās amazing!ā
He didnāt seem excited. Not even happy about it.Ā
āWhy do you look like someone told you terrible news?ā
āIām not ready,ā he whispered like it was blasphemy. āI donāt feel like I deserve it. And because-ā he stopped himself, jaw clenching and teeth grinding. āBecause everything is changing.ā
She swallowed. Hard. That lump in her throat didnāt seem to go down. āI have something to tell you too.ā
He looked up, eyes filled with worry. āWhat?ā
āIāmā¦ leaving.ā the word was heavy. Still, she tried to make it sound casual, gracefulāprincess-like.
She was failing horribly. Taking in another breath, she continued. āLady Alice and I are going to Zarmitia. A diplomatic trip. Iāll be gone until March.ā
āYouāre visiting Prince Caleb?ā
She nodded, not trusting her voice to not break.Ā
āWhen do you leave?ā
āDay after tomorrowā¦ā
His body went sharp, his fingers tugging at the fabric at her waist. He pulled her closer, until they were chest-to-chest. Her hand let go of his, moving to cup his jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand joined the other at her waist, holding her to him.
Together for just a little bit more.Ā
āIā¦ I know itās far,ā she murmured, āand long. But Iāll write to you.ā
āYou say that like letters could replace you.ā a slight pout graced his lips as his eyes looked between hers.Ā
The words came out before he could stop them. Her breath stilled. Their eyes met, their breaths lingering in the air. He uttered her name like a sacred prayer and the air left her lungs.Ā
āI donāt know how to act around you anymore,ā he admitted quietly, his green eyes flickering between hers. āI donāt know what Iām allowed to feel. Or want.āĀ
The Princess couldnāt hear anything over the sound of her heart in her ears. āWhat do you want?āĀ
He hesitated. Maybe for longer than he should have.
Then, a singular word, āYou.āĀ
They didnāt thinkāthey just moved.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. Testing the waters, it was nervous yet desperate. It was a question. She answered by committing. The kiss was soft and trembling, filled with every wish and every almost. His hand slid to her jaw; hers fisted at the fabric of his tunic. He pulled away, his thumb brushing her cheek.Ā
āPrincess, Iā¦ā his voice left him, replaced by a ball in his throat. Was it a mistake? Gods, he hoped not.Ā
āDo it again.ā
He didnāt need to be told twice.Ā
It was everything. Everything they had been too young and too scared to say. Shy at first, both being too tentative, they slowly figured it out together. They didn't know how long they stood like that, kissing as if the world had shrunk and it was only them remaining.Ā
Untilā
āPrincess?ā Lilithās voice called faintly. Neither of them heard.
Then again, but sharper. āPrincessāoh!ā
They broke apart so violently Zayne tripped on the gravel. They held their hands behind their backs, embarrassed like school children caught doing something wrong.Ā
Her face burned. Thank the Gods it was dark.
Another voice followed, āWhere did these damn kids goā? Oh.ā Xander stood behind Lilith, eyes wide before he understood.Ā
The Princess wanted to wipe that grin off his face.Ā
āIāum,ā Zayne panicked, praying no one could see the way his cheeks and ears were dusted crimson.
āItās not what it looks like!ā
Xander and Lilith gave each other knowing looks, folding their arms over their chest.Ā
āS-SorryāI should go,ā Zayne stumbled over his words; a rare sight for everyone.
āZayne, waitāā
He took her hand, looking up at her as he placed a chaste kiss on it. āForgive me, Princess.ā
He bowedāfar too formal for something that just happenedāand turned to walk towards Xander. He looked back, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.
Her fingers trembled by her lips where his warmth still lingered, watching as he walked away from her. She willed him to come backājust another kiss, pleaseābut he didnāt.
Zayne and Xander made their way inside the palace.
Lilithās eyes softened as she walked up to the Princess, āItās late, Your Highness. We should get inside.ā
āYes,ā she cleared her throat and nodded, hands curled into fists and now at her side. āInside. Of course.ā
She didnāt see Zayne the next day.Ā
Once more, time moved against her will, and much too quickly for her liking. Before she knew it, she was bidding her parents and the villagers of Astraheim goodbye, getting onto the carriage that would take her to Zarmitia.Ā
She didnāt get to give Zayne a proper goodbye.
āPrincess!ā Prince Calebās voice filled her ears upon her arrival. He had been ecstatic for this visit. They hadnāt seen each other in at least two years. He welcomed her with a kiss to the hand, followed by a warm hug.Ā
āItās nice to see you, Princess Caleb.ā She curtsied, bowing her head in politeness.Ā
Over the next few months, he showed her around his kingdom. This was the Princessā first official visit to Zarmitia. Caleb took her horseback riding to the woods, went out and about to greet the villagers, and even went to local festivities.Ā
While she was grateful, she would rather spend time with Zayne.
On the Winter Solstice, he was all she could think about. Zarmitia had its own ceremonies and traditions for Winter Solstice, but she was zoned out most of the time, her mind wandering back to Zayne getting knighted.
I wonder what Zayne had for breakfast. Does he have the sword I gave him with him? I should get him a souvenir from Zarmitia.Ā
Her mind was Sir Zayne this, Sir Zayne that. She tried her best to conceal itāand it seemed to work! Caleb was too excited to notice her inner turmoil, and Lady Alice was busy with other dutiful things.Ā
āWhen will you be back?ā Caleb asked her before she went back on her carriage the next spring.Ā
āIām not sure,ā she told him honestlyāthe only thing on her mind was going back home. Back to Zayne. āWrite me letters?ā
Prince Caleb nodded, letting her climb into the carriage. He bowed, a bright smile on his face. āSafe travels, Princess.ā
Upon her arrival back to Astraheim, her people were happy to have their Princess back. They held a celebration, filled with music and laughter and dancing. She attended, of course, but kept her eye out for the knight with dark hair and green eyes. She didnāt catch sight of him. Not even a glance.Ā
When she returned to her chambers after a long day, it was the same way she left it. Everything was in its place, aside from one thing. There was something on top of her bedside table. She walked over, seeing something carefully wrapped in cloth, secure with a bow of twine. Beside it, sat a letter. The Princess decided to unwrap the object first.
Undoing the bow and pulling back the cloth, it revealed a stunning dagger. Perfectly balanced and perfectly carved. It was obvious it was Xanderās work. It was a gorgeous piece of art; the hilt was white with gold engravings, matching the cross guard. Upon further examination, she discovered the pommel had a flower carved into it. It was a peonyāthe flower of Astraheim.Ā
She set the dagger down. Careful and cautious. She turned her attention to the parchment. Sheād recognize that handwriting everywhere.Ā
Fledgling succubus reader making the mistake of trying to seduce Zayne and now she's his subby pillow princess, who actively seeks him out to get energy from. It doesn't feel as good when she drains from other people isn't anywhere near as heavenly when he's fucking her into the sheets, a leg thrown over his shoulder with her other hooked around his hip.
You look so pretty under him, he thinks. The far away look in your eyes, the way your nails dig into the cute snowman plushie he'd gotten you on a whim. It's precious how hard you squeeze the little thing to your chest, barely able to keep your eyes open and on him as instructed.
A particularly slow grind makes you eager, the heart shaped tip of your tail flailing for a moment before it slips between his thighs to knead at his balls. The way his hips jerkily snap forward lets you know you've done good.
The sigils and markings on his lower abdomen glow just slightly when he presses to the hilt and you shake under him. He leans over to blanket you under him, his nose nudges yours and it takes herculean effort to stay present right now.
You whisper his name, watery eyes fluttering shut and his reaction is instant. The tempo of his thrusts slowing to a stop before he removes himself completely. "No- 'm sorry, please" you're already whining, trembling thighs twitching shut as you sit up and reach for him.
You don't touch him, don't reach to wrap a trembling hand around his cock to at least get him off. A part of him preens because it means all those lessons and discipline paid off.
'So pretty' is the thought that passes through his lust-addled mind, "Please? Pretty please?" You plead, voice all wobbly and breathless, it's an adorable display of helplessness, how you've relinquished any and all control of the situation.
Zaynes hand comes up to cup your flushed cheek, you lean into the slight chill with a sigh.
"you'll keep your eyes on me?" The words come out hoarse and his lips tick up in a smug little grin when you nod, dewy eyes fix on him and only him.
you had been acting like a complete brat the entire day. distracting him from his work, rolling your eyes at him every second, even moving away from him when he tried to cuddle you!
it wasnāt like you were mad at him or anything, itās just that you were so tired of āgentleā zayne and desperately needed your wonderful brat tamer husband back!
so, after catching his jaw twitch at dinner after you slammed a cabinet, you could only attempt to hide the sparkle in your eye.
but now he had you face down ass up in bed, refusing to move.
maybe your acting was a little too good.
āp-please move, zaynie!ā you begged, thighs giving out underneath you.
behind you, zayne gave you a harsh slap! on your ass before kneading the redding fat in his palm.
ācāmon, baby. you wanted this so fucking bad. go ahead and fuck yourself on my cock.ā he said, using a finger to trail a line down the arch of your back, making you to shiver under his touch.
you whined, holding yourself up on your elbows as you pressed your ass harder into his pelvis, wiggling your hips a little.
you looked back over your shoulder only to find zayne already staring at you, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched you disobey him once more.
before you could say anything, his hand shot out, pulling on your hair so your neck was bared to him. he leaned forward, causing his cock to shift inside you, the little movement making you whimper.
he trialed his lips up and down your neckā ghosting his hot breath all over your throat until he got up to your ear.
āwhat did i say, brat?ā he asked, voice hot and dripping with pure lust. you almost came right then and there
you could only whine, wiggling your hips again. āi-i canāt! n-need you to do it, p-please!ā
you tilted your head to the side as much as his grip on your hair would allow you to and stared back at him. āplease, i-i need you to f-fuck me, zaynie. i-i need you so bad!ā
he could only scoff, releasing your hair, making your head fall back down into the pillow.
before you could beg again, his thick arm came into view before wrapping so sweetly around your neck and pulling you up into a delicious headlock.
his bicep digging into your throat, choking you as he pulled you up even more until your back was flush with his chest.
your eyes widened as you felt him pull out, cock dragging against your walls until just the tip was left at your entrance.
āhahhā p-please!ā you begged, nails clawing at his arm.
his free hand shot up, fingers running through your hair gently before pulling down hard, making your head tilt back until you were staring up at him.
you yelped at the sudden pain. the arm around your throat tightening itās hold as your head moved, leaving no room for you to breathe.
āfucking slut. canāt do anything by yourself, huh?ā he spat.
you wiggled in his hold, tears prodding at your eyes.
āopen your mouth.ā he commanded.
you opened your mouth wide, tongue lolling out.
he leaned forward, a large glob of spit landing in the center of your tongue before dripping back into your throat because of the crude angle he held you at.
the hand in your hair left, only to come over and tilt your head up by your jaw. āswallow.ā
you did, opening your mouth afterwards and sticking your tongue out to show him.
a smirk appeared on his face before he let go of your jaw, the same hand giving your cheek a light slap. āgood girl.ā
you open your mouth to reply until he suddenly slammed his hips into you, bottoming out.
āfuck!ā you yelled.
ānow,ā he started, āyouāre going to take this dick like the good little whore you fucking are.ā he pulled back again only to slam right back in, fucking you in a rapid pace.
āiāll teach you how to act right, you fucking brat.ā
Soft tagging @blockcat-safari, @jackdraw-spwrite, @cityofangeisislying, @audioeidolon, @venusplantt, @bardicc-inspo and @voidindite in case they would like to play along :)
(Feel free to jump in if this looks fun and I forgot to tag you!)
I wasnāt tagged and just found this through scrolling but I am so happy because Idiots in love is (one of) my favorite tropes/tags. MY IDIOTS TO LOVERS IS SO PRECIOUS TO ME. And I also consider myself to likely be in that kind of situation as well. I probably will just overthink and maybe gaslight myself if anyone ever showed romantic interest in me. Also itās just so silly and fun. I love my Idiots in Love tag. Letās be silly and share a brain cell together! Idiots to lovers to so fun it makes me smile so much my cheeks hurt. But Idiots in love already are hilarious. Gimme gimme I want and need more of my lovable idiots. This life is too short to not enjoy the silliness and awkwardness of moments of love. Whether it is platonic or romantic or something else all together. I love Love. Anyways, Iāll be tagging some mutuals in case theyād like to try this quiz for themselves.
Some of the other mutuals from my main blog and this blog that I wanted to tag since I felt bad leaving out so many of my mutuals. I think I missed some of my mutuals even still but I was too nervous to ask if they would be fine with it so here I am. I hope you have fun with the quiz!
I find it so cute thinking abt how mc would've called zayne gege when she was younger (and he in turn would've called her meimei) and then somewhere along the line when they grew up, zayne got awkward and stopped addressing her as such, but she still occasionally slips (and he in turn gets a bit flustered but wont show it at all).
āthe cut isnāt at risk for tetanus. However,ā he releases your thumb with a quiet exhale. āit does suggest I should dull the knives at home.ā
zayne opens a drawer to retrieve a fresh bandage, and wraps it neatly over your wounded finger. The cut is small but gnarly. youād mishandled the knife.
āsit here while I prepare it. One can never be too cautious.ā He turns around. ārefrain from touching anything sharp without my supervision.ā You see his cheek lift. Youād roll your eyes had you not been nervous.
okay. it's not like you were going to bolt. You justā¦ need to face it properly.
āiāll take the shot,ā you say quickly. ābut itās not the needle. itās the anticipation. I tense up and it hurts more than it needs to.ā you grimace at the reminiscence.
āwhat if,ā you continue, warming to the idea, āwe pavlov my brain to associate injections with somethingā¦ good. an amazing, earthshattering-ly good feeling."
he follows through the first half of your proposal. the next half just earns an exasperated sigh and a pinch to the bridge of his nose as he mumbles an "...alright."
--
you're straddling zayne, softly grinding against him as his tongue sweeps over you bottom lip before you suck it back into your mouth. "where would you like to take the shot?" he asks, pulling away.
"i have options?" you grip his chin to pull him back against your lips. his hand comes up to your arm, kneading the flesh of your upper arm.
"here..." his other hand glides down, tracing the curve of your waist to settle on the side of your hip. "or here?"
"not the arm," you decide. "i can see it."
"alright then. turn around." a small smile forms on zayne's lips.
--
his hard cock slips between your folds. you rub your slick clit against it, making a mess all over his pretty pink tip, both your juices mingling together.
his lips are on the back of your neck and hands kneading your tits. you twist to grant him access, hooking an arm around his neck to bring your nipple to his mouth.
"zayneee..." he eagerly sucks it in. deep, slow suckles make your toes curl. "i'm putting it in." you tell him. your cunt flutters at the mere thought of him filling you up.
"as you please,"
you finally plug yourself full of his dick, making him groan. he releases your nipple and leans back.
his hands find your waist, grinding up into your gooey walls that so eagerly pulsate to suck him in deeper, making him reach the puffy rim of your womb. "you keep-mmhh-pulling me in you." he sighs.
his palm flattens on your back, pushing you to lean forward, arching on his cock. your fingers come to your clit, tickling it gently, coaxing your cunt to spasm happily around his thick length.
behind you, plastic tears. a thrill shoots down your spine. your clit jumps under your fingers.
"nghh-my love," he groans. "are you certain you're afraid and not aroused by this?"
zayne grips your hips, stilling your movements. "stay still, now." his voice is lowered to a gentle whisper.
the sultry words distract you from the sharp smell of antiseptic and the cold rub of cotton. you almost cum there and then. god. are you really enjoying this?
"you're tightening. am i to assume these are merely your nerves acting up?" he murmurs, caressing your back gently while your finger works your sensitive clit. you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from grinding on his cock that twitches inside you. the stretch is maddening. you can feel him so dee-
a sharp biting pain blooms in your side, making you bite back a whimper.
"thereā¦ keep rubbing your clit. you're close, aren't you?" zayne pulls your thoughts away from the needle. yes, goodness, yes you're so wonderfully close. your finger rubs tighter, insistent circles on that nub. just a little more and you-
the pain dissolves into static as you reach your high, clamping down on him as you ride the wave of your orgasm with a silent scream.
part 1 of the FOR SCIENCE series
once he disposes of the syringe, you tug him back to bed. "did you think i'd let you go without finishing?"
Itās late and Zayneās still not home. He did tell you not to wait up, that his surgery will likely overrun, and he might have to sleep in the hospital. Again. This isnāt a rare occurrence and you should be used to it by now, but the bed feels too empty, the room too cold, the house too silent. You miss him terribly.
Tears prick your eyes as you scroll through the last few messages you sent him, all unread because of course he does not have access to his phone.
āI made pasta for dinner. Thereās some in the fridge for you.ā - 7.05pm
āThe bakery is having a sale! I couldnāt decide and bought an assortment. Theyāre all waiting for you, and so am I šā - 9.32pm
āI hope everythingās going well! Goodnight my dearest snowman. I love you š„°ā - 11.47pm
Is it silly of you to keep waiting for an answer each time this happens? Probably. But you hold on to that little feeling of hope anyway.
You sigh, place your phone down on the nightstand, curl in on yourself, and this time you donāt hold the tears back.
Crying should be an effective way to induce sleep. It normally is for you, but not tonight apparently. Not even when your pillow feels damp and your throat dry from the sobs you let out.
Maybe itās because the tears this time are not just from sadness. Part of you feels guilty for feeling lonely and upset. Heās saving lives, you know that. He wants to be with you as much as you do with him, you know that. Okay, in all honestly thereās always that sliver of doubt that he doesnāt and youāre just being too much. You swallow the lump that formed and push the thought aside for now.
But above all, you feel helpless, frustrated that thereās nothing you can do to solve your āproblemā. Nothing can alleviate your need for him, or fill the emptiness in your soul.
You need him. Thereās no denying that. And if heās not able to come to you thenā¦ youāll just have to find a way to go to him.
[To be continued on day 3! Sorry this has multiple parts, I couldnāt finish writing everything in one day haha]
A/n: Iām attempting a 100 days of Zayne challenge! The goal is to post something about Zayne everyday - no min/max word count, and it can be about anything or with anyone as long as Zayne is involved. Itās all in good fun and I hope youāll enjoy reading the posts as much as Iāll enjoy writing them āŗļø
Any!! Iām so in love with him. This is so sad, but also, all I can think of (to cheer me up) is Zayne being in surgery and one of the nurses (maybe Yvonne) having to read his messages to the OR bc heās scrubbed in. (Most surgeons keep their phone in the room but accessible in case them get paged or another emergency call, and in my hc Zayne always had a special ringtone/ notification sound for mc so he knowās when she texts or calls. Maybe he doesnāt ask to have mcās texts read out loud but Yvonne likes to snoop)
