── ˚₊‧ 💋 ɞ₊‧˚ yunho x mingi ── mdni 𓆩♡𓆪 smut, oral sex, praise, sleepy/dom!yunho, sub!mingi, a little spit messy… ⸝⸝ᵕ ༯ᵕ⸝⸝ just a little morning treat <3 ── word count: ⁸⁸⁰ 🖤 “he wanted to be good. he wanted to take it all.”
A/N: just wrote this cause I kept thinking about about their cock sizes and how they’re both big, but yunho is definitely bigger so it’s harder for mingi to take all of him in his mouth. it turns mingi on but frustrates him at the same time. plus I needed to post something just to dip my toe back into the writing pool so did this real quick, enjoy ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊
The house was still. Only the low burble of the automatic coffee machine filled the quiet, a soft hum that grounded Mingi in the rhythm of morning. He yawned, rubbed at his eyes, and stretched. His muscles ached from sleep, his throat dry from breathing through his mouth. He padded barefoot down the hallway, making his way to the kitchen.
He sat two mugs on the counter — one for him, one for Yunho.
He poured the first cup, black and fragrant, then carried it back toward the bedroom. He wasn’t in a rush. He just wanted to see him again. Yunho always slept deeply, limbs everywhere, mouth slack and soft. Mingi loved him most like that — unguarded, peaceful.
But when he pushed the door open, the coffee nearly slipped from his fingers.
Yunho had kicked the sheets off in his sleep — as usual — but this time, he was on his back, one arm tossed over his head, chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. His legs were slightly parted. And nestled against his thigh, bold and obscene, was his cock — hard. Thick. Leaking. Pressed along the skin like it belonged there.
Mingi stopped in the doorway, breath catching. Heat flushed over him fast and sharp. His mouth watered.
“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes locked on the sight.
He knew he shouldn’t. Yunho was still asleep, unaware. But Mingi couldn’t look away. That gorgeous length, the twitch of it against Yunho’s thigh, the soft sound of his snoring in the background — it was too much.
He set the mug down. Quiet. Careful.
Then sank to his knees at the edge of the bed.
His hands shook just a little as he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly along the base. Yunho didn’t stir — just shifted slightly, letting out a low breath through his nose. Mingi bit his lip, eyes wide. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip, tongue flicking out to taste the bead of slick already gathered there.
God, he was so big. Mingi’s jaw ached just looking at him.
But this? This was a chance. A moment to practice, to take his time — to prove to himself he could do better. That he could take more.
His lips parted as he slowly began to sink down, deliberate and eager.
Mingi exhaled through his nose, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly eased his mouth farther down. His tongue flattened beneath the weight, guiding Yunho’s cock as he worked it deeper, stretching his jaw. He gagged softly, but didn’t stop — never even considered stopping. He pulled back only slightly, spit-slick and focused, then sank down again, hand gripping the base and stroking in rhythm with his mouth.
Breathing heavy now, tongue out, spit pooling on Yunho’s skin. Mingi’s thighs clenched with every low moan he made, each one vibrating through Yunho’s length as he worked him over with aching devotion.
He wanted to be good.
He wanted to take it all.
A deep breath. Then another glide down. He was dripping now, half from arousal, half from the effort of it all — so turned on it was almost dizzying.
And then Yunho shifted.
A soft grunt. The twitch of his hips.
Then a sharp inhale.
Mingi froze for half a second — just long enough to look up, wet lips still wrapped around the head of Yunho’s cock.
Yunho’s eyes cracked open, unfocused at first, until they landed on the view below him.
And then his entire body tensed.
His toes curled against the sheets. One hand flew into Mingi’s hair, gripping tight but not forcing — just holding. His mouth fell open around a sound between a moan and a gasp.
“Mingi— fuck. Baby.”
Mingi moaned around him in response, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as he took him deeper again. Yunho’s head dropped back, his abs tightening, the sound he made fully wrecked and breathless.
“You’re… fuck— you’re such a good princess,” he groaned, fingers curling in Mingi’s hair like he never wanted to let go. “Look at you… taking me so well…”
Mingi whimpered at the praise, cock throbbing untouched beneath him. The word princess went straight to his spine, molten and bright. His hips rocked slightly against the bed as he sucked harder, tongue relentless, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.
“You wanted this bad, huh?” Yunho whispered, breath ragged, voice thick with sleep and arousal. “Didn’t even wake me up first…”
Mingi moaned again — a broken, desperate sound that made Yunho’s hips jerk.
Yunho looked down at him, eyes dark and soft all at once. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. So fucking good.”
The praise made Mingi even more greedy, the fire in his belly catching fast. He was confidently sucking his boyfriend off without getting flustered, taking more of him down his throat than he ever had before.
The large fist in his hair tightened, Yunho’s eyes glazing over as he watched Mingi choke himself trying to take him deeper. “My pretty boy,” he hummed proudly, “nearly swallowing my whole cock, aren’t you?”
Mingi lifted his face, silvery strings drawing from Yunho’s erection to his plump pink lips, as the younger licked sweetly at the salty flesh, basking in satisfaction and hunger.
And that was before Yunho started fucking his throat.
Sylus x Zayne / SnowCrow / AU Sylus is a boxer and Zayne his medic.
Synopsis: From broken noses to broken rules, the champion boxer Sylus “The Crow” crosses paths with his stoic ringside doctor, Zayne. As Sylus fights for his fifth title in the ring, Zayne wrestles with his own past fights. Blood, bandages, and something dangerously close to love.
Genre: romance, slow burn, angst, description of blood and broken bones, no major character death, grief, smut
Words: 8.6k // Reading Time: 34min // AO3
Navigator: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 - Final
This story is a one-shot, but I’ll be splitting it into two parts. It’s my first time writing SnowCrow, so I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did bringing it to life.
This fanfic only exists thanks to a very special chaos moment on Discord — huge thanks to my dear friend Tsuki for planting the idea (and for patiently waiting until now). Hope you all enjoy it, I poured a lot of heart (and maybe a little pain) into this one.
Small disclaimer: I haven't read Mignon. If there are any similarities, it's pure coincidence. This story is inspired by movies like "Rocky" or the series "The cage" or "Riverdale"
The bass of the entrance music rattled through the arena, shaking the floor beneath every step. The crowd’s roar rose in waves, feverish, electric, thousands of voices crashing together until the very walls trembled. Spotlights slashed across the ring, violent bursts of white and crimson that blinded and thrilled in equal measure. This was the fight everyone had come for. The main event. Semifinales of the boxing Championship.
At the betting counters, it was bedlam. Credits slammed onto tables, fists pounded, shouts overlapped, bets leaping from a hundred to a thousand in seconds. But nearly every hand put their money on the same name.
The sound inside was deafening, a mix of chants, whistles, and the drunken hum of adrenaline. Security struggled to hold back packs of rabid fans, their faces painted, their throats raw from screaming. On the big screens, the fighters’ faces lit up—one, a man known for grinding his opponents to dust before the third round. To bet against him was to bet against gravity itself. When his name was called, the arena detonated.
The Crow.
He emerged in black and red, his stride sharp, coiled, lethal. The Crow didn’t wave. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough—scarlet eyes like a predator sizing up prey, a thin smile promising carnage. Tonight was about more than blood. It was about staying undefeated. Winning was all he cared about, he needed to secure his entry in the finales. Everything else was secondary.
The announcer’s voice ripped through the smoke and a fog of shouting, calling out the fighters' names. The air was filled with the sweat and anticipation of thousands. The familiar, intoxicating perfume of liniment, leather, and stale beer hung in the humid arena. The bell rang.
The Crow moved like a weapon honed to perfection. His opponent, sensing the immediate danger, tried to weather the storm. He ducked low, desperately shuffling his feet to keep distance, but The Crow was already in his space. The opponent jabbed wildly that The Crow slipped with a bored lean of his head. He tried a massive, looping hook, aiming for the temple, but The Crow simply leaned back on his heels, letting the wind of the missed punch ruffle his hair.
Loud of the speaker, the feral commentary of the jury were igniting the match. “And there’s the speed, folks! He’s just too fast. His footwork is perfect, turning every counter into a deadly blow. The other guy can't even touch him!”
The crowd’s roar was a single, hungry creature, feeding on the sight of the other fighter, who stumbled and reeled under the merciless assault. One final, brutal uppercut snapped the opponent’s head back. The referee threw himself between the men, ending the round with a premature bell.
Round seven. The opponent, driven by sheer survival instinct, charged out, trying to overwhelm The Crow with aggression. He threw everything he had. But The Crow was relentless, merciless and methodical. He easily rolled past the assault, his head a blur of movement. His jabs were sharp, snapping his opponent’s head back.
“The opponent is throwing haymakers, but Crow is just rolling his shoulders, making him look amateurish. It is amazing to follow.”
His trainer, Coach Lev, leaned over the ropes, his face split by a wide, nervous grin. He screamed over the din: “Stay smart! Wear him down! No risky moves! Victory first!”
But the trainer’s words were a whisper against the roar in his The Crow’s mind. He could feel the victory thrumming in his veins. The arrogance thrummed in his veins. He wanted to end this as fast as he could. He wanted the knockout now.
“And there it is! He's ignoring the corner! He’s going for the kill! This man does not want to win on points!”
He lunged. His opponent’s fist was a blur of leather and hate, a blur that ended in a detonation of pain. A sickening crack, a sound like breaking bone amplified a hundred times, echoed in the sudden silence of his skull. The world tilted. A hot, viscous stream of liquid traced a searing path from his nose, down his lip, and onto his chin. He could taste the coppery tang of his own blood, and it was a flavor of rage. The crowd shrieked, half in horror, half in ecstasy.
“Oh, the champion is down! No wait—he’s not down! He took a shot! A clean shot right to the nose! But he’s standing! And he’s smiling and bleeding?!”
He lifted his head. Crimson dripped from his chin, splattering on the mat, and he smiled, a grim, bloody slash in a face of fury. That’s when the referee, a stoic man with a tired face, stepped between them. He held up a gloved hand, calling for a pause in the chaos. He looked at The Crow, his eyes scanning the ruin of his face. “Do you need a break? Medical assistance?” he asked, concerned. In the background he could hear the coach scream and wanting to top attend his champion.
The Crow simply looked at him. “No,” he said. The referee’s face remained impassive, but a flicker of understanding passed in his eyes. He gave a sharp nod and stepped back allowing the fight to continue. He tore back into the fight, ignoring the sting, feeding on the pain. Adrenaline surged through him. Normally he wouldn’t see red but he wasn’t in the mood today to go easy. So every strike was full with intention to win, until his opponent buckled beneath the weight. Then came the final blow. The man crumpled as if some had cut strings of a puppet. His body was unconscious before it even hit the canvas. The referee’s hand sliced through the air: K.O.
The arena erupted. A storm of noise and adoration crashed down on the ring as the referee waved his arms, signaling the end. The Crow stood in the center of the ring, blood painting his grin.
“And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen! The definitive winner of this grueling semi-final match, advancing to the final round of Linkon Boxing Tournament: The Crow! What a performance! Not even eight rounds and his match is over! It’s amazing, Nova. I didn’t expect him to keep fighting while bleeding like that. That kind of focus, that ruthlessness... that’s what champions are made of!”
"That’s right, he definitely never disappointed anyone…”
The commentary faded into a muffled hum. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the last vestiges of the arena’s chaos.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Coach Lev’s voice cracked like a whip as he followed his champion into the locker room. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury “I told you, no risky moves! I told you to wear him down! You were a single punch away from losing the whole damn thing!”
The boxer pressed a wad of paper towels against his bleeding nose, shrugging with maddening calm. “I was thinking about winning.” He pulled the towels away and looked at his coach. “And I won. Why are you so angry?”
“Angry?” Coach Lev’s face was flushed, hands twitching like he was ready to rip out what little hair he had left. He was a study in compact fury. He stood barely five-foot-six, yet the dense muscle packed onto his small, wiry frame made him look like he could still go three rounds—a man well-tried for his age. What little hair he had left clung in sparse, very grey patches around the temples of his almost bald head. His face was a roadmap of past struggles, dominated by a small, crooked nose that was permanently angled slightly to the left. Clearly a souvenir from his own boxing days before he retired to the corner.
“Sylus, for fuck’s sake! You need to stay in the game—listen to me for once! We have a fashion deal in three weeks and now your nose…” He gestured wildly at Sylus’s face, at the paper towels soaked with his blood.
“Relax…” Sylus waved him off with a careless smirk. He leaned back on the bench, ignoring the pain and the furious man in front of him. “My nose will be healed by then.”
Coach Lev drew a sharp, furious breath, ready to scold Sylus until his ear also bled. In all his years of coaching, he’d never had such a stubborn student. And even if his champion was already in his late twenties, he sometime act like a fucking child. Lev’s reply was cut short, his mouth still open around the last word, as the door opened again. A colder presence stepped inside.
“I’m not sure three weeks will fix stupidity.” The voice was edged with disapproval. He set his medical bag down on the bench beside Sylus.
“Ah… Dr. Zayne. Glad to see you.” Sylus’s grin widened, blood still streaking his teeth.
Zayne’s green eyes didn’t soften. “Sadly, you’re the only one enjoying this. As your physician, I would’ve preferred not to watch your nose break in real time.”
“Scared of a little blood, Doc?” Sylus teased, his tone mocking.
Zayne didn’t answer. Instead, he snapped on a pair of latex gloves with sharp precision. “Let me see.” He reached out, fingers firm but careful as he probed the injury. Sylus hissed, jerking slightly. “Careful.”
Zayne muttered “It’s broken,” sighing as though the weight of dealing with Sylus drained the life out of him. “Come to the hospital. Now. You’ll get proper treatment there.”
The coach just watched, his hands on his hips, his face a mask of exasperation. “You can’t do this to me,” he said, not content to simply reprimand his star fighter. “You’re a brand, Sylus. Brands don’t go around getting their faces rearranged in the ring.”
Sylus almost rolled his eyes. “Can’t you just patch me up here, doc?”
Zayne leveled him with a look sharp enough to cut steel. “If you want an infection to keep you company in bed, by all means, let’s do it your way.”
Sylus chuckled, a low, amused sound that rumbled in his chest. “You always know how to talk sweet to me.”
The coach groaned, throwing his arms in the air. “Godmit, this isn’t a comedy show! Sylus, sit still. Zayne, just fix him before he bleeds out on the damn floor.”
“You too loud,” Sylus said again, eyes glinting as he leaned a little closer to Zayne. “Doctor Z wouldn’t let that happen. He cares too much.”
Zayne’s gloves squeaked as he tightened them, his expression unreadable. “What I care about is not wasting my time watching you self-destruct. Though it’s becoming a hobby.”
Sylus smirks. For a beat, the room went quiet except for the muffled roar of the crowd still raging outside. The coach muttered something under his breath and began pacing, too preoccupied with his own frustration to notice the current crackling between fighter and physician.
Zayne finally pressed the gauze against Sylus’s nose firm. “Hold still.”
Sylus hissed again, biting back a laugh. “Gentle. I’m going to think you are actually enjoying hurting me.”
Zayne’s eyes flicked up to meet his, cool and sharp. “If I were enjoying it, you’d already be unconscious.” His hand stayed on Sylus’s face a second too long before he pulled away.
“What a special kink, doc.”
Zayne had managed to stop the bleeding, but it didn’t buy Sylus much freedom. With one gloved hand still stained faintly pink, he shoved the stubborn boxer straight into the passenger seat of his car. Sylus protested the whole way, while in the back, the coach barked into his phone. Screaming at managers, sponsors, anyone unlucky enough to answer at that hour of the night.
By the time they reached the hospital, the adrenaline of the fight had dulled into exhaustion. After scans, paperwork, and a very vocal argument with the admissions nurse, Sylus was finally tucked into a private room. He shifted against the pillows. “Do I really need to stay? I’d prefer to be at home.” His tone was pure complaint, like a child refusing vegetables.
It hadn’t been an easy battle. For a solid hour he had argued insisting he didn’t need “babysitting” for a broken nose. But then Zayne had fixed him with a single, icy stare. And just like that, the Crow sat still.
Sylus grumbled under his breath, glaring at the ceiling. “You know, most doctors try asking their patients nicely.” Sylus lay sprawled against the stiff pillows, arms crossed behind his head, his red eyes half-lidded with boredom. The bandage across his nose looked almost comical against the smugness still curling his lips. Zayne had fixed his nose in a blink of an eye, after applying local anesthesia. He forced Sylus nose back into place, the fighter’s body tensed but he didn’t make a sound. Zayne didn't answer, he was still filling up a few charts.
Now the floor outside was quiet. No more footsteps, no more fans trying to sneak in, no more nurses bustling around. Even his coach had finally left, muttering about meetings and sponsorship calls, leaving behind the faint echo of his frustration. The private room was quiet now, save for the steady beep of the monitors and the noise of the hospital ventilation.
From the moment Dr. Grayson suggested to Coach Lev to get Dr. Zayne on the team, Sylus knew he wasn’t the kind of man who’d be impressed by victories or crowds. Zayne wasn’t a fan, not even a friend. He was more like a cold wall of ice, impossible to get through no matter how hard you tried. And maybe that’s why Sylus enjoyed pressing against it.
Through every fight, every injury, every bandage wrapped a little too tightly, their relationship had been a dance of sharp words and colder silences. The doctor was the only one who didn’t flinch at Sylus’s bravado, and Sylus found a certain satisfaction in being the one person capable of cracking Zayne’s cool exterior, if only to reveal the simmering annoyance underneath. For the past three years, their interactions were a predictable ritual: a pre-fight lecture from Zayne on staying safe and a post-fight argument about Sylus’s latest injury. This time, however, Zayne hasn’t said anything else.
Until one day.
The heavy bag swayed like a pendulum. The dull thwack of gloves against the heavy bag echoed through the space. Sylus was drenched, shirt clinging to his skin, his body vibrating from the rhythm of the punches. He was in his flow until the door cracked open. Sylus continued only to glance over his shoulder. Zayne stood just inside the entrance, medical bag in hand, his expression as cool and impassive as ever. A familiar challenge ignited in Sylus’s blood. He saw the doctor’s eyes fall to his bruised knuckles, then to the heavy bag. Zayne stepped in with a folder tucked under his arm, his expressions were pure detachment.
Sylus smirked. “What’s this, Doc? Decided to finally watch me work? Can’t say I pegged you for a fan.”
Zayne set the folder down on the nearest bench, ignoring the clearly provocative tone. “Your blood work is clean. Recovery times are where they should be. No restrictions.”
“You could’ve just mailed that,” Sylus drawled, sweat dripping down his jaw. “Or made me drag myself to your office like a good little patient.”
For a moment, Zayne’s greenish eyes flicked up, unbothered. “The coach insisted. Very desperately, in fact. He wanted me to make sure you listened to the doctor’s orders, since you apparently don’t hear anyone else.”
Sylus laughed as he reached for his water bottle. “So you’re my babysitter now?” He tilted the bottle back for a long drink only for the cap to slip loose. A cascade of ice-cold water splashed down his chest, soaking his shirt, dripping over every line of muscle. Sylus froze, blinking, droplets streaming down his jaw. So much for being cool. A faint blush crept up his neck. His glaze went flat in annoyance.
To his utter shock, the doctor actually huffed out a laugh. Zayne found it utterly amusing that this big, intimidating fighter was so flustered over a simple blunder, trying to be the cool kid even when only he was watching.
“Ohhh,” he drawled, eyes glittering. “Did I just hear a crack in the glacier?
Zayne quickly regains his composure, clearing his throat. He doesn't look back at the boxer, and leaves through the same door he came in. “Next check-up is in two weeks. Don't be late.”
Now, some time later, that same man was the reason he was trapped in a hospital bed. The door clicked shut, and silence swallowed the room. Zayne had finally left, but not without his parting gift: “If you reopen the wound, I’ll make sure you regret it.” Sylus laughed to himself, touching his bandaged nose with care. Typical Zayne. Threats sharper than any scalpel, colder than ice. And yet… Sylus turned on his side, dragging the blanket up over his shoulders.
“Cold bastard,” he muttered into the pillow, eyes finally slipping shut. Sylus let himself drift, the phantom image of Zayne’s smirk following him down into sleep.
“Charming,” Zayne said dryly, suggesting he found the scene neither charming nor remotely acceptable. He scanned the room, his eyes tightening with an almost physical disgust. He finally located a small, clean-looking section of the kitchen counter and set his medical bag there with cautious reverence.
The place looked like a battlefield: empty boxes stacked haphazardly, half-crushed protein shake containers on the counter, clothes scattered across the floor. To Zayne, whose world demanded precise order, the sight of this chaotic apartment was an affront to logic. Truth be said, Zayne’s own apartment was a study in minimalist perfection, and any apartment would look like a fucking mess to his eyes.
Sylus groaned, instantly on the defensive. He darted forward, snatching a pair of socks off the couch and stuffing them into a corner. “You didn’t need to come up.” His voice was quick, almost embarrassed, as he shoved a balled-up pair of boxers under the cushion.
“I promised your coach I’d take care of you,” Zayne replied, unbothered, scanning the room once more. Beside all the junk, Sylus apartments were definitely impressive. Modern lines softened by the weight of old-world taste. Dark wood framed the space: walnut shelves stacked with worn books, glass decanters catching the amber of the low light. A long leather sofa stretched across the open living room. Near the windows, heavy curtains in charcoal velvet pooled on the ground, swallowing the daylight.
Sylus followed his gaze, then muttered, “Did he pay you extra?”
Zayne didn’t even blink. “See it as a way to make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble.”
Sylus let out a sigh, sinking onto the arm of the couch with his arms crossed. “So you are babysitting me.”
“Call it whatever you want,” Zayne said, already rolling up his sleeves as he started stacking boxes into the recycling bin. Sylus stared at him for a long moment, unsettled. In all the years of cold stares and clipped words, this was the first time Zayne had stepped into his apartment.
“You’re bleeding again,” Zayne said instead, his voice crisp as he nodded toward the faint streak of crimson seeping from beneath Sylus’s bandage. He reached into his bag, pulling out fresh gauze and alcohol wipes. Sylus groaned, tilting his head down as Zayne stepped closer. “Sit.”
Sylus didn’t move immediately, instead he put back on his provocative smirk. “You enjoy bossing me around, don’t you?”
Zayne didn’t humor the question. He simply pressed the gauze firmly against the injury, making Sylus hiss sharply. “If you confuse following medical advice with being bossed around, that says more about you than me.”
Sylus chuckled low. Their eyes met, close enough now that he could catch the faint scent of aftershave on Zayne’s skin. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Zayne’s fingers were this time a bit more gentle as he secured the fresh, white gauze over the bridge of the fighter’s nose.
“Stay still and do not move.” Zayne ordered. The command landed flat and cold, but Sylus obeyed. He slumped onto the couch, legs stretched out, hands resting uselessly on his thighs. The gauze taped across the bridge of his nose tugged whenever he moved his face, but that wasn’t what bothered him.
Zayne moved through his wreck with efficiency. Now and then asking where he should put this or if can throw that away. Sylus shifted, he wanted to help out since it wasn’t fair that his doctor was cleaning up his place but every time he even thought about getting up, he was cut down by a single sharp glance. Those green eyes pinned him in place harder than any punch he’d ever taken.
Sylus realized something in that moment. He hadn’t had an injury this bad in years. Maybe some bruises, an open lip or even his eyebrow were badly hitted. But somehow, since Zayne had started to work with him… he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to bleed this much. Could it be… he was truly worried? The thought curled deep inside his chest, twisting tighter as he tracked Zayne’s movements. It was still a total mystery for him why Zayne had even accepted the job.
Sylus had heard from Coach Lev the essential details: Zayne had his own prestigious department in the city hospital, but he gave that up to open his own small practice. But he still helps out from time to time in the city hospital. Sports medicine wasn’t even his field. It seemed the doctor hadn’t just been looking for a job; he’d been looking for some major change in his life, and for some unfathomable reason, he’d landed here, in the middle of Sylus’s chaos.
The silence stretched, broken only by the crisp, tearing sound of Zayne opening a fresh garbage bag in the kitchen. Sylus, bored and increasingly curious about the man who was now cleaning up, finally broke the quiet.
“Doc,” he said lazily, making weight in his chest with mockery, “do you have a girlfriend?”
Zayne froze mid-movement. Sylus tilted his head, waiting, eyes glinting with curiosity. He probably has someone. Why wouldn’t he? Zayne was everything a woman would want. Sylus had seen enough women glance at him in the hospital corridors. Someone had to have gotten through. For a flicker, Sylus felt a weight twist in his chest.
Zayne didn’t even look at him as he set down the washed up glasses, and went back to rearranging the mess.
“That is none of your concern,” Zayne replied, his voice flat, but the subtle refusal to call the question unprofessional only stoked Sylus’s curiosity further.
Sylus just hummed softly in response. “So, no now. What about ever?” Sylus pressed. He watched the taut line of Zayne’s jaw. Zayne turned his back sharply, grabbing the garbage bag with a rustling noise that sounded violently loud.
“I am currently preoccupied with ensuring you do not reopen your facial trauma,” Zayne stated. “My personal life does not, and will not, affect your ability to follow my instructions.”
Sylus simply grinned, recognizing the defensive wall Zayne was throwing up. “It doesn’t. But you're here, cleaning my trash and going through my stuff. At least I want to know a bit more about my help hand.” He paused, letting the statement hang. “So which is it, Doc? Girlfriend or not?” Zayne took a slow, visible breath, letting it out through his nose. He kept his back to Sylus.
“No,” he clipped out. Sylus watched as Zayne crossed the kitchen, pulled open the fridge, and leaned in. A beat of silence then Zayne’s voice carried across the room. “Can you tell me what kind of bullshit you’re eating? I recall being very clear about your diet.” Zayne pulled out an army of half-empty protein shakes, mismatched Tupperware with suspicious contents, and a box of something that had clearly expired last week. “I’m honestly impressed you can still perform at this level while filling your body with this.”
Sylus smiled. “I don’t eat like that all the time. Only before hard fights. And I have followed your instructions.”
Zayne didn’t argue further. He simply gathered the chaos in his arms and dumped it all unceremoniously into the trash. “I’m going to buy proper food. I’ll take your keys with me.”
“Be my guest,” Sylus drawled, waving a lazy hand toward the door, his smirk firmly in place.
Zayne didn't acknowledge the wave. He paused by the door, his posture straight and unyielding. “Rest,” he said with no room for debate, in a flat command. The door clicked shut behind him before Sylus could even muster a comeback.
“No girlfriend, huh?” he murmured, almost to himself. The words rolled out low, half-smirk, half-thought. But then the grin faltered and his features hardened. “Fuck…” he exhaled. “This isn’t good.”
By the time Zayne finally made it back, his shoulders ached from the weight of plastic bags cutting into his hands. Traffic had been brutal, and the city at night was as restless as ever. He let himself in with Sylus’s keys, already preparing a list of things he’d need to lecture him about. But the apartment wasn’t the same mess he’d left.
The worst of the clutter was gone — laundry piled into a basket, bottles stacked by the door, the counters cleared. It wasn’t spotless, but it was closer than he expected. Zayne’s first instinct was to reprimand his patient for ignoring the order to rest. He had been clear enough. But the words caught in his throat before they could form. Because Sylus was asleep on the couch, the dim glow of a single lamp softened the sharp edges of his face. A book rested across his chest, its spine half-open like he’d drifted off mid-sentence. And a pair of glasses sat neatly on the coffee table. His head had lolled slightly to the side, silver hair falling into his eyes.
For a moment, Zayne stood frozen in the doorway. He should wake him. He should keep the professional distance he had always enforced. But something about the stillness, the quiet rhythm of Sylus’s breathing, the rare softness of him made Zayne set the bags down slowly in the kitchen.
A blanket was draped over the back of the couch. Zayne pulled it free and shook it out. He moved carefully, lowering himself to one knee beside Sylus.
The fighter didn’t stir. Zayne hesitated for a moment. Still he caught the dark circles beneath Sylus’s lashes — proof of too many nights spent training instead of sleeping. The sharp line of his jaw. The faint crack in his lips, careless hydration, another risk ignored. Zayne paused over them.
He should know better. The swirling feeling in his chest and light anxiety in his heart. Persevering the distance of professionalism should come first. But seeing the amount of blood… The way it had poured across Sylus’s face down on his gloves. The way his heart had clenched when he realized just how bad it could’ve been. The words slipped out before he could stop them, almost unconscious.
“…You scared me.”
It was so quiet he thought it might vanish into the lamp’s hum, but the figure on the couch shifted. The book slid off Sylus’s chest with a soft thump. Red eyes blinked open, hazy at first, then sharpening as they focused on Zayne kneeling right there beside him.
“What… did you just say?” Sylus’s voice was rough with sleep, but the edge of curiosity in it was unmistakable.
Zayne straightened too quickly, the blanket slipping from his hand as if it had burned him. “Nothing.” His tone was sharp. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to cook.”
A faint grin tugged at Sylus’s mouth as he stretched lazily, letting his head sink back into the couch cushion. “You sound like my girlfriend,” he muttered, eyes already closing again. The line landed somewhere between mocking and tender, as if even he couldn’t decide what he meant by it.
Days blurred together like rounds in a fight. Sylus healed, the swelling easing, the bruises fading. And though he insisted more than once that it wasn’t necessary, Zayne still showed up. Every day. Sometimes before work, dropping off new bandages. He never stayed long. Just enough to make sure Sylus wasn’t bleeding, wasn’t skipping meals, wasn’t breaking rules.
After more than a week like that, one rainy night, Sylus found Zayne standing there once more at his door. Normally, the man was a picture of control: shirt perfectly ironed, tie knotted just right, hair perfectly done. But tonight?
Tonight the tie hung loose, crooked against his collar. His shirt was wrinkled, and the faint scent of strong, stale coffee clung to the fabric beneath the faint hospital tang. Is that coffee or dry blood? He looked less like a doctor and more like a man who’d been dragged through hell.
Sylus bit back the instinct to smirk, to jab, to say “Man, you look terrible.” The silence stretched. His gaze dropped quickly from Zayne's face to the soaked floor and his chest swelled instead, as he stepped aside and let him in.
Zayne shivered. His eyes were half-lidded, fixed on some point in the distance. “You look like you haven’t slept in three days” Zayne blinked slowly, the exhaustion in his eyes seeming to pull the color from them. He tightened his grip on the handle of his bag, trying to reassert his control.
“Heavy rotation at the hospital. Just let me check your nose so I can leave.”
Sylus moved quickly, gently taking the medical bag from Zayne’s hand and setting it on the floor. “Sit down, Zayne. Now,” Sylus ordered.
“No—” Zayne’s voice was flat, roughened at the edges.
“Shut up and sit.” The fierce competitor in him was suddenly quiet. Sylus away and returned with a glass of water and towel, placing it silently on the coffee table.
“I should leave” He moved to rise, but Sylus pressed a hand to his shoulder and pushed him back down.
“No way, Doc. You’re too tired to drive.”
“I can’t stay here,” Zayne muttered, already shaking his head.
“I’ve got enough space.”
Silence stretched between them. Zayne’s eyes stayed shut, as if the fight to argue wasn’t worth it anymore.
“…”
“Not trying to pick a fight,” Sylus muttered, leaning back with a crooked smile, “but I should make sure my doc doesn’t kill himself by falling asleep in his car.”
Zayne exhaled long through his nose, the kind of sigh that usually meant I surrender. Which was all the opening Sylus needed. Before Zayne could string together a protest, he found himself herded down the hall with a firm hand on his back, shoved unceremoniously toward the bathroom.
“Shower. Change. Bed.” Sylus’s voice left no room for negotiation.
Zayne caught himself on the doorframe, glasses askew from the push, blinking in disbelief. His reflection in the bathroom mirror only made it worse. Yeah, the last day was rough. Did I just get bossed around by my patient?
The steam still clung faintly to Zayne’s skin when he finally recovered some life in his eyes. He was wearing the spare pajamas Sylus had somehow dug out of nowhere. They fit far too well for something he supposedly “just had lying around.”
Sylus steered him down the hall with a hand at his back. The absurdity of it: him, the physician, being manhandled by his own patient was almost enough to make him protest. And still he remained quiet, too tired to argue with the stubborn boxer. Sylus gestured inside like a host at a five-star hotel. “Bed’s all yours, Doc. Sleep before you pass out on my floor.”
Zayne stood there, stunned for half a second, but Sylus didn’t give him the chance to argue. A light shove sent him toward the mattress. “Good night, Doc.” The words came out warm, brushing against his mind somehow Zayne felt a shiver trail down his spine. Before he could gather his scattered thoughts, he stood alone in the quiet room, blinking at the space. How had he ended up here? And why, for the first time in years, did he feel the faint, terrifying pulse of something close to peace?
The night pulled him under faster than he expected. One moment, Zayne was lying stiffly in Sylus’s bed, staring at the ceiling like he could not allow himself to rest. The unique scent of the bed, a mix of clean cotton and a faint, masculine musk that was distinctly Sylus’s. The next, he was drifting into a warm pleasant dream. He didn't know who or what he was clinging to in the dream, but he let the honey coated sensation wash over him.
Morning light spilled through gauzy curtains. A faint crackle of jazz drifted from the living room, the lazy trumpet notes curling through the air, mixed with the scent of breakfast; butter melting over still-warm bread from the corner bakery he adored, ripe fruit cut into uneven slices, coffee rich enough to taste in the air. Everything felt gentle. “Good morning.” The blurry sound of a voice came, close enough for his breath to stir against his skin. A kiss brushed his cheek. Hands rested on his shoulders, calloused and firm that pushed him down into the soft, yielding warmth beneath him. The presence was a thrilling contradiction: someone who could tease him in the dark, drive him insane with a single look, and still make him feel… safe.
Loved.
The heat of this phantom body against his own was a yearning he knew he shouldn't follow, but his entire being was a hollow vessel waiting to be filled. Zayne leaned into it, against every rule he had ever set for himself, against every wall he had built. He let the warmth seep into the cracks. The formless haze began to coalesce, and he glimpsed colors so vivid they pierced the melancholic atmosphere.
Silver. A strand catching the light, gleaming like frost in the morning sun. Red. Sharp eyes that pinned him in place, even in the blur of the dream, staring down with a gaze that held an undeniable heat. Zayne’s chest tightened as he leaned forward, lips parting, ready to whisper his name.
The first silva stuck on his tongue as the warmth faded quickly as if someone had snuffed out a candle on a dark night. The image of those sharp eyes and the silver hair dissolved as a new sound ripped through the dream’s humid silence. A female voice cut through, sharp as glass, immediately dragging Zayne to the edge of a cliff. And when he was cornered she spoke “You’re incapable of love. Work is everything for you. I can’t do this anymore. I hate you!” The slam of a door reverberated through his skull.
The ground beneath him split open with a violent crack, making Zayne fall into the abyss. Lights blinked, fluorescent and harsh. A thousand alarms screamed. The sound of his own breathing was ragged, distorted, overlapping itself in panicked gasps. the noise was shaping itself into his name, shouted from somewhere close. “Doctor Li!” Voices blurred into static. Words tangled. His chest clenched tighter, too tight, too tight… He couldn’t breathe. He tried to speak, to call a name, but his voice broke, lost in the chaos. “Zayne…” A voice curling around the chaos, sweet laughter spilling in delicate strands. It should have been warmth, comfort yet it tangled with the horror. The sweetness melted into a poison. The laughter rose and bent into something distorted, cruel, echoing in his mind until he couldn’t tell if he was the one screaming.
As he stops falling snowflakes drifted past, delicate against the black, melting on his skin. So cold. It's always so cold. It sank into his chest, numbing his limbs, freezing the air in his lungs. “You wish…” The darkness shifted, and suddenly he was standing in a devastated world, empty and lonely. Nothing but a sheet of white stretching forever, snow covering everything in silence. He wanted to cry, but even his tears felt frozen. The sound of cracking ice echoed somewhere in the distance, jagged and hollow. Everything was dizzy, spinning, tilting. “Before the snow stops…” The whiteness thickened, swallowing everything. The cold pressed closer, suffocating.
Zayne jerked awake, breath tearing from his chest like he’d been pulled out of deep water. The ceiling came into focus in fragments. For a long moment, he simply lay there, chest heaving, listening to the city’s quiet pulse beyond the window. He dragged a hand over his face, pressing his palm against his eyes until colors bloomed behind them. “…Not again.” Zayne sat up slowly, the sheets clinging to his skin, the panic slowly receding, leaving a cold, oily film of dread behind. The bedside lamp cast a faint halo across the room, enough to outline his shoes by the door, his jacket folded neatly over the chair. He stared at them too long. Quietly, he swung his legs off the bed, standing barefoot on the cool floor. He should leave. Before the warmth of this room, this feeling seeped deeper into him. Before the lines blurred… But as his hand touched the door handle, he hesitated. On the other side of the wall, the faint rhythm of Sylus’s breathing carried from the couch. His fingers tightened on the cold metal. Why did his chest feel so heavy?
When Sylus woke up the next day, Zayne was gone. The next few days felt strange. No more showing up with groceries, no more staying until the apartment grew quiet and Sylus drifted off on the couch. He came only when it was strictly necessary, in and out with the same clipped efficiency he always showed.
One evening, when Zayne finished checking the bandage, Sylus leaned back on the couch and smirked, though his tone was softer than usual. “You know, Doc… it was kind of nice having you around every day.” For a second, he thought he saw something flicker in those green eyes, hesitation, maybe. But then the wall slammed back into place. Zayne straightened. “Your nose is healed enough for that photoshoot. Makeup will cover the rest.” That was it.
Sylus forced a laugh, tilting his head with mock arrogance. “Right.”
The photoshoot was supposed to distract him. Bright lights, cameras, assistants fluttering around with makeup brushes and bottled water all the chaos Sylus usually thrived in. He slipped into his public skin easily enough: The Crow, undefeated, untouchable, cool smile for every shot.
With that last visit, Zayne had declared him healed. The balm would take care of the rest, but the bandage was no longer necessary. And just like that, they slipped back into their patient-doctor dynamic. Sylus wasn’t happy about it. He’d asked Zayne why he always left so early in the morning, and the answer had been brief, distant. Work. Sylus could tell there was more behind that clipped word.
Sylus leaned back in the studio chair as the photographer adjusted the lights, running a hand through his hair with a low exhale. Isn't this the first time I feel like this... He’d been alone long before Zayne, and he’d be fine long after. And now, sitting under a thousand-watt light with makeup dusting his cheekbones, all Sylus wanted was for the damn shoot to end so he could go back. He huffed under his breath, almost laughing at himself. Even if I did try anything, he doesn’t look like someone who’s into guys… or into relationships at all.
And maybe that was fair. People were exhausting. Greedy, stupid, selfish, always clawing for something, always taking more than they gave. Sylus knew that truth better than anyone. Zayne wasn’t like that, even if he looks like he keeps everyone at arm’s length. When it came to helping others, he always put himself last. It was infuriating, self-destructive and yet, Sylus felt the corner of his mouth curve into something softer.
“Come on, boy, hit it harder!” Coach Lev barked, voice sharp enough to cut through the roar of Sylus’s breath. The gym echoed with the thud of leather against leather, the metallic rattle of chains as the heavy bag swung back and forth. Sylus drove his fists into the bag again, each strike harder than the last. His red shirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat, the fabric molding against the carved lines of his torso. Sweat dripped down his temple, tracing along his jaw before falling to the mat. “I need more concentration,” Lev snapped. “Come on, come on!” Sylus’s breath grew uneven, shoulders heaving as he pushed into another flurry of punches. Still, his rhythm faltered because his mind wasn't locked on the bag. It wasn’t easy to catch it, but his coach saw it. “Where’s your head, huh? Focus!”
Truth was Sylus knew exactly where his head was. Hunting down the thoughts that refused to leave him. The memory of quiet evenings in his apartment, of an icy doctor who had somehow made himself at home there. The warmth of Zayne’s presence, the rare cracks in his composure. Ridiculous. He should stick to women, to one-night stands, the easy fixes that never asked for more. That’s what he’d always done. And yet… nothing had felt as natural as the sound of Zayne’s voice in his space. Where the hell are you, Doc? His fists still. The bag swayed slowly and Sylus dropped onto the bench, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long swallow, his gaze slipping toward the far wall.
Lev stepped closer, arms crossed. “Gonna talk to me? What is this? Two and a half weeks off and you forgot how to box?”
Sylus clicked his tongue, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Of course not.”
“Then…?” Lev pressed.
Sylus tilted his head back, gulping more water. He didn’t answer. Lev sighed, shaking his head. “We’ve got ten days to get you fit. Ten days. You’re going to defend that title. Champion of the year again. So whatever’s eating you, clear it.”
Sylus capped the bottle with a snap. “Sure, old man.” Sylus was still stewing. Coach Lev hated being called that. He started fussing, grumbling under his breath about respect and discipline, but Sylus barely heard him. Lev swallowed his frustration, knowing his champion wasn't paying attention to the fuss he was making anyway. Lev would have loved to know where his star fighter’s head actually was right now.
“Hey—River, come here!” Lev barked. Across the gym, a tall, lanky kid dropped his jump rope and jogged over, still breathing heavy from drills. Barely nineteen, maybe twenty, his frame was wiry but promising, long arms, quick footwork. Lev had pulled him up from the juniors, grooming him for the light middleweights. The boy looked between them nervously, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Spare with him,” Lev ordered.
“Coach?” River’s eyes widened, darting from Lev to Sylus. The Crow. The undefeated champion. Twice his weight in muscle. It felt more like being thrown into the lion’s den than sparring.
“Don’t worry,” Lev said, clapping him on the back. “Just show him that new move. He needs to wake up a bit.”
River’s throat bobbed. “Y-Yes, coach.” Sylus glanced up at the kid in front of him. Tall, sure, but still green. Fear written all over his face. And Lev thinks this is what I need? But Lev wasn’t wrong. His head wasn’t in the game. Maybe a little push would bring him back. The boy raised his gloves, stiff but determined. Sylus stood slowly, rolling his shoulders, the smirk tugging faintly at his lips.
“Relax, kid,” he said, slipping into a stance. “I won’t eat you alive.” River didn’t look convinced. Both tapped gloves, the sharp smack echoing in the gym, and circled into motion.
Sylus remembered being a bit like River when he first stepped into a gym just like this one, trading street scraps for structured savagery. He’d been a wild thing, raw power and no technique. That wildness, tempered by Lev’s relentless discipline, was what had propelled him from a hungry kid to a four-time consecutive champion.
Luxury and prestige had come fast, crashing into his life with the sound of roaring crowds and snapping camera shutters. The apartment with the city view, the tailor-made suits, the endless stream of expensive and forgettable evenings. But Sylus found his truest pleasures in quieter things: the easy comfort of his leather jacket, the late night bike rides and the dedicated pursuit of his jazz vinyl collection.
“Keep your guard up, River. Light on your feet,” Coach Lev called, arms crossed.
Sylus slipped into rhythm with an easy sway, his eyes fixed on the boy. His jab was lazy at first, a feint, but enough to make River flinch. River tried a quick cross, awkward but earnest. Sylus blocked it with ease, lips curling into a smirk.
“Not bad,” he said, then darted in with a tap to the side of River’s headgear, light but deliberate. “But you’ll have to be faster than that.”
River grit his teeth, adjusting his stance, while Lev barked, “River, don’t square up—move, move!”
Sylus chuckled under his breath, circling. “Come on, show me something.”
“Sylus…” Lev’s warning cut across the mat.
Sylus flicked his gaze toward the coach, grin widening. “Let me have some fun.”
Lev pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re giving me a headache.”
He let the kid throw a jab, blocked it with ease, then tapped his ribs in return. River regrouped quickly, breath coming hard, but there was something in his stance now, less hesitant. “Good,” Lev barked from the side. “Don’t let him play you. Move!”
River feinted left, then threw a quick one-two and ducked under, slipping close enough that Sylus had to tilt his chin back to avoid the hook that followed. For the first time, his smirk faltered. Just for a heartbeat. The glove whistled past his jaw, missing by inches. Sylus caught the kid’s wrist, redirected the momentum, and tapped his chest to end the exchange.
“Break.” Lev clapped once. Sylus stepped back, lowering his guard. River was panting, sweat dripping, but his eyes lit with stubborn fire.
A slow grin spread across Sylus’s face. “Huh.” He wiped his brow with the back of his glove. “Almost had me with that last one, kiddo.”
River blinked, startled, then broke into a shy, disbelieving grin. Coach Lev snorted. “Don’t get cocky, River. You’re not ready for the big leagues.” But even he couldn’t hide the faint note of approval in his tone.
Sylus rolled his shoulders, smirk tugging again. “Not bad.” He glanced at Lev. “Looks like you’ve got something here.”
River tugged at his headgear, still catching his breath, but his grin was boyish, unguarded. “Man… sparring with you, it’s… it’s crazy. I wanna be like that one day. Champion.”
Sylus smirked faintly, tossing his gloves onto the bench. “Big words, kiddo. Champions take more than a few tricks.”
River nodded eagerly, eyes shining. “You even have a private doctor. Must be cool, huh, like being friends with him also? The words hit sharper than expected. Friend, huh? Sylus gave a low huff, grabbing his towel to hide the way his jaw clenched. “Yeah. Something like that.”
River, oblivious, laughed under his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Man, I’d kill to have someone like that in my corner.” Sylus didn’t answer. He just smiled, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. He focused instead on the familiar ritual of untaping his hands. The rough gauze and sticky tape came away slowly, revealing the slightly bruised skin beneath.
He couldn’t quite understand why Zayne had simply not showed up anymore. His job was done, though how things were going so well. It took Sylus by surprise. The doctor was usually infuriatingly reliable. Even when Sylus sent him annoying, borderline inappropriate messages; half-teasing, half-flirting; Zayne would at least reply with an irritated emoji. Sylus’d become accustomed to Zayne’s intrusions at his place, and their unexpected closeness was growing. Did he do something wrong? He would wait anymore, he should pay the doctor a visit.
In a modest corner of the city, where the streets were narrow, the buildings worn, and most of the working class lived, stood Zayne’s clinic. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside: a simple sign above the door, a few potted plants by the entrance. Yet, for the people here, were genuinely happy that such a good doctor had arrived; it felt like a small victory for them. The first time Sylus had visited, he’d been surprised by the simple location but quickly realized why Zayne chose that part of the city; his solemn vow to help people was all the clinic truly needed.
Now, the silence of the afternoon lay heavy in the clinic, broken only by the soft tap-tap of fingers on a keyboard. It was quiet, almost austere, cream walls, warm wood trim, a faint scent of paper and disinfectant lingering in the air. Behind the reception desk sat a young woman, her blouse neatly pressed with the shine in her eyes and polite smile. The secretary looked up from her desk as she heard the footsteps. The second she realized who stepped through the door, her cheeks colored, fingers fumbling slightly over the keyboard. She was visibly nervous.
“Oh, Mr. Qin,” she said quickly, straightening in her chair. She smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear as if she’d been caught off guard. Her gaze flickered up and down, not subtle in the least, lingering on his silver hair, the cut of his coat and the black helmet in his hand. A shy smile tugged at her lips. “Your next appointment is in a month.” Sylus looked over to the consultation room, and the young woman followed his gaze. “Oh, Doctor Li isn’t here today,” she added quickly, trying to recover her composure.
Sylus leaned an elbow on the counter, the corner of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. He knew being handsome had its benefits, and he wasn't above using it for something practical, especially when he wanted quick answers. “Do you know where he went, sweetheart?” Sylus wasn’t in the mood to stretch the conversation. He hadn't seen Zayne in days, and the quiet, unexplained absence gnawed at him. The girl blinked, flustered again. She twisted the pen in her fingers, chewing at her lip as though debating how much to say. Sylus let the silence stretch for only a beat, then leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a seductive tone “Would you be so kind and tell me?” Her blush deepened instantly. She swallowed hard, before finally leaning closer, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial hush.
“He… he went to see her.” Her eyes softened, sympathy shining through the fluster. “Another year has passed.” She paused looking down. “He probably needs a friend today.”
“You’re right. Would you remind me where…?” She scribbled quickly on a slip of paper, her handwriting looping unevenly in her haste, and slid it toward him. “Thank you, darling,” he said softly before turning on his heel and leaving the clinic.
Sylus stared down at it, brows tightening. When he finally stepped outside, the words circled in his head. The drive was short, but it stretched like an eternity. He pulled his bike up beside a familiar black car. A cemetery?
Navigator: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 - Final
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Regulus Black had perfected the art of walking through the corridors invisible. Head down, shoulders set, expression carved from stone. It was the only way to survive Hogwarts when your brother was a Gryffindor golden boy and Potter was everywhere.
Every. Single. Day.
The bump came like clockwork. A deliberate shove of shoulder against shoulder, hard enough to knock Regulus off balance but not hard enough to make him fall. He'd learned to brace for it three steps before impact, hips twisting to absorb the hit. Today, he always heard the laughter a beat too late.
"Watch where you're going, Black."
Regulus straightened his robes without looking up. "You bumped into me."
"Did I?" James Potter's voice dripped with false surprise. He'd circled around now, planted himself directly in Regulus's path. That infuriating grin split his face wide open, all charm and teeth. "Bit hard to see you when you're always glaring at the floor. Maybe if you looked up once in a while, people wouldn't run into you."
Regulus tried to step around him.
Potter shifted, blocked him again. "I'm just saying. You've got that whole 'I want to murder everyone' thing going on. Not a good look." He tilted his head, studying Regulus like a bug under glass. "You should smile more. Might help you attract some girls. At least."
The words landed like shards of glass. Mocking. Deliberate. So perfectly calibrated to scrape against every raw nerve Regulus had spent years building armor over.
Fed up. So fucking fed up.
Regulus stopped trying to walk around him. He looked up. Slow. Steady. Let his gaze drag from Potter's stupidly perfect shoes to his stupidly perfect face.
"You first."
Potter blinked. "What?"
"You want me to smile?" Regulus's voice dropped flat, dead calm. "Then you go first, Potter. Show me how it's done."
For a split second, something flickered behind those stupid glasses. Uncertainty? Surprise? Regulus felt a mean little thrill at having caught him off guard.
Then James Potter smiled.
Not the mocking grin. Not the taunting smirk. A real smile—broad and genuine, the kind that reached his eyes and crinkled the corners and made his whole face look soft. Warm. Like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Regulus's breath caught somewhere in his throat.
Fuck.
The smile held. Potter didn't drop it. He just stood there, beaming at Regulus like they were old friends, like he hadn't spent months making Regulus's life a living hell. Like he was happy to be looking at him.
Regulus's lips curved.
Not a real smile. A smirk. Sharp, knowing, dangerous.
"Good boy."
Potter's smile snapped off his face like a light switch. "What?"
"You heard me." Regulus stepped closer, just enough to crowd into Potter's personal space. "You can sit now. Fetch. Whatever it is you do." He let his gaze drag down Potter's body, slow and deliberate, then back up. "Clearly you're good at following orders."
Regulus walked past him before Potter could respond. He kept his steps measured, his spine straight. He didn't look back.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
Behind him, James Potter stood frozen in the middle of the corridor, a flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the way Regulus's voice had curled around the words good boy.
Summary: Zoro is tired of hearing Sanji complain about women not wanting to have sex with him, so he gives him a handjob.
Contains: handjob, sub! Sanji, Dom! Zoro, Zoro calling Sanji a bitch, Zoro being a little shit, everything is consensual, Sanji and Zoro fighting as always, Sanji complaining all the time about women not wanting him, no feelings involved.
Wc: 1.5 k
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"What do I have to do to get the attention of the lovely ladies?" Sanji cried, dramatic as ever. "I enjoy admiring them from afar, how could I not with so much beauty? But if I keep this up, my dick will rot."
The self-pitying monologue wasn't directed at anyone in particular; it was more his way of venting his frustrations while preparing dinner.
He was talking to himself, alone in the peaceful kitchen. Well, technically he had company, but Zoro was invisible to Sanji. He sat at the table, staring into space with a jug of sake in his hand.
"I'm a good catch. At least I'm attractive, and I'm not asking them to marry me, though I wouldn't object if a beautiful lady chose to be my wife." He kept muttering, peeling the potatoes. "I want one night, is that too much to ask?"
"Maybe you could get your dick wet if you weren't so disgusting and pathetic, shitty cook," Zoro said. He was tired of hearing complaint after complaint when all he wanted was to drink his sake in peace.
"What did you say, mosshead?" Sanji yelled, pointing his knife at Zoro. "What do you know about women?"
Zoro grinned, pleased to have provoked such a reaction from the cook.
"At least I can talk to them for more than five minutes," he mocked. "I'd be surprised if any woman was willing to go near your small dick."
"You're confusing it with your micropenis." Sanji threw his knife to the ground and leaped at Zoro, ready to deliver a solid kick.
Zoro easily dodged it, still holding the jug. "I hope you have better aim with your dick. That's why the whores run from you; you don't know how to satisfy them."
"Don't call them whores, they're ladies." He threw another kick that shattered Zoro's jug.
"What the hell is going on here?" Nami burst into the kitchen, screaming. "I'm trying to work, can't you act like civilized people for once?"
Sanji's angry expression instantly transformed, his eyes turned into hearts, and a grin spread to his ears.
"I'm so sorry, Nami-swan." He rushed over to her. "It's his fault, he started it. I was just preparing your dinner."
"I don't care who started it. Shut up and get to work." Nami turned on her heel and left the kitchen.
"Of course, Nami-swan, whatever you say," Sanji shouted.
"Pathetic," Zoro muttered. He grabbed a bottle of sake from the refrigerator and left the kitchen.
Sanji would have preferred to run after him and end the fight, but he would never disappoint Nami, so he went back to cooking.
At dinnertime, the kitchen was filled with shouts and laughter, just like every night. Among the various conversations, one in particular made Zoro's blood boil: Sanji's incessant complaining.
Even when no one answered him, he kept asking why women wouldn't accept his invitations and wouldn't stop crying.
By the time dinner was over, all Zoro wanted was to get away from Sanji. He went out on deck and looked for a secluded spot where he could be protected by the darkness of the cloudy night.
Zoro sat on the floor and leaned his back against the railing. He closed his eyes, hoping to find the rest he so desperately needed.
He almost fell asleep to the sound of the sea in the background, but luck didn't seem to be on his side.
"Damn, my dick's going to fall off any minute now." Sanji lit a cigarette.
"Will you shut your fucking mouth?" Zoro yelled, opening his eyes. "Pay a hooker and be done with it. It's not that hard."
"I would never disrespect a woman like that," Sanji replied, offended. He took one last drag on the cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray he left on the railing. "God. I'm going to have blue balls forever."
"Use your fucking hand and stop bothering me." Zoro stood up, took a few steps, and stopped in front of Sanji, cornering him against the railing. "Or don't you know how to jerk off?"
"Of course I know." He stopped mid-sentence, flustered. "I can't get it up unless there's a pretty woman around."
Zoro placed his hand on Sanji's chest, his fingers making contact with the exposed skin where his shirt was open. He smirked and began to slide his hand down Sanji's torso.
"Are you sure?" Zoro asked close to Sanji's ear in his deep voice. "You seem pretty excited now."
His hand made contact with the bulge in Sanji's pants. He gave it a squeeze, making the cook whine.
"Because I was thinking about the redhead I met at the port," Sanji said, his voice trembling, but he made no attempt to escape.
"Are you so pathetic that you need help to come?" Zoro grabbed him by the waist without moving his other hand from the obvious erection.
"The last thing I want is your help."
"Are you sure?" Zoro rubbed the bulge through the pants. "If you ask nicely, maybe I can lend you a hand."
Sanji didn't say anything; instead, he unbuttoned his pants.
"Not good enough." Zoro pulled his hand away. "You have to use your words."
His mind clouded with excitement, Sanji swallowed his pride. "Please, help me."
"So pathetic," Zoro said. He unzipped Sanji's pants, spat in his hand, and put it inside Sanji's boxers. "I can't believe you're desperate to get this hard for me."
He wrapped his hand around Sanji's cock and began to move it up and down.
"It's not for you, brainless idiot." Sanji swallowed a moan, threw his head back, and closed his eyes.
Zoro laughed, bringing his mouth close to Sanji's exposed neck. He couldn't resist, not when it was displayed for him, his skin so smooth and pale that it would look so good with his markings. He slowly bit him right in the center of his neck and began to play with his finger at the tip of Sanji's dick.
"Can any of your whores leave you this messed up with a simple handjob?" Zoro asked and sucked on the skin below his ear.
"Fuck," Sanji groaned. The pleasure was so intense that he couldn't fight anymore; all he could think about was Zoro's large hand around his cock.
"Shhh, lower your voice." Zoro bit Sanji's ear. "Unless you want everyone to hear you and see what a pathetic bitch you are."
Sanji swallowed and covered his mouth with his arm. There was no way he wanted to be seen in such an embarrassing situation with Zoro, but at the same time, the risk of what they were doing only made his dick harder.
Zoro raised his head and admired the sight. He felt proud of being the one who had left Sanji desperate, breathing heavily, beads of sweat running down his face, and his hard nipples pressing against his shirt.
"Do you like my hand that much?" Zoro released Sanji's waist, unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, and pinched one of his nipples. "All that crying over women, who would have thought you actually wanted to become my bitch?"
Zoro's touches, along with his deep voice, sent a shiver down Sanji's spine. He lost control, thrusting his hips forward in search of more friction. At that moment, Zoro could have spat in his face and he would have found it sexy.
"Please," he cried.
"What? Do you want something?" Zoro lowered his head and bit Sanji's left nipple while squeezing the right one between his fingers.
"I want to come." Sanji let out another moan.
"Come, then. No one it's stopping you." Zoro quickened the movement of his hand, squeezing Sanji's cock. "Or isn't this enough for you? Do I have to fuck you for you to come?"
That was it. The image of Zoro fucking his ass while pushing his chest against the railing was enough to make Sanji come.
"Fuck!" Sanji bit his arm to keep himself from screaming when his mind went blank.
All the pent-up tension burst from his body, staining his own shirt as Zoro gave him another couple of strokes to help him release.
He opened his eyes, meeting Zoro's smirk, and his breath caught in his throat again.
"I hope you'll finally shut your mouth and let me sleep." Zoro wiped his hand on Sanji's shirt. He grabbed Sanji’s chin and lifted his head slightly to look at his neck. "If I were you, I'd run to change and cover my neck. Maybe you could steal some makeup from Robin or Nami; I bet you'd like that."
"Shut up!" Sanji slapped Zoro's hand away and stepped back. "This is your fault, mosshead."
"My fault?" Zoro sat on the floor, leaned against the railing, and closed his eyes. "You were the one who came imagining my dick in your ass."
"I was thinking about a sexy lady." Sanji zipped up his pants, buttoned his shirt, and walked toward the kitchen.
"Whatever lets you sleep at night, you pervy cook," Zoro laughed. "Don't come running to me next time you get rejected.”
male!reader , Fraternizing with the enemy , Oneshot NSFW⚠️ , 4.5k wc
warning . Dacryphilia (Crying etc) and slightly toxic behavior .
If love at first sight had an opposite — hate at first sight if you will , that was the exact emotion you felt coming in contact with Micheal Kaiser .
You’d assume the same could be said of his lackey , Ness . You knew who he was , however he didn’t know you . If he did , he probably wouldn’t have been so friendly . . In all honestly the chances he’d interact with you at all were in the dirt .
But he didn’t know . So you without meaning to , got close to him .
Ness without Kaiser was sweet . Obviously he was sweet with Kaiser , just only to him . . It was like the world faded in comparison . With no comparison named Micheal , his kindness extended past that . A kindness that reached all the way to you .
Maybe you were dumb , you called yourself that a lot once it all clicked into place . . Once you’d hung out that one , final time with the boy it hit you .
You were inlove with Alexis Ness . Your friend , and enemies even closerfriend . . If you could even call him that with how he and the infuriating blonde acted . This just served as a drive to hate him more . To jab Kaiser harder with your insults , get a whole ‘nother shaker of salt whenever even the smallest wound was open . What was once just petty hate twisted into something entirely different , envy layered on like a cake of every negative feeling you held towards Kaiser . That was a tall ‘cake’ . .
Ness on the other hand faced a dilemma of his own .
He adored his dear Kaiser , he loved him , he was devoted to him .
Yet lately in thoughts that normally would shoot straight to Kaiser and Kaiser alone had another presence lingering .
Someone would mention being in love , as usual there was Kaiser , but as less usual . . There stood you . Sometimes he’d even see himself right by your side , hand in hand . He’d shove those away .
There was Kaiser . There was you , a friend .
That’s it . End of story . Where it should’ve ended atleast .
That’s where it would’ve ended if you didn’t invite him over again .
Worst of all if he didn’t accept .
Which he did anyway .
It felt almost wrong to him , sure him and Kaiser weren’t in a relationship, but to hang out with you . . Someone Kaiser hated . While he was so devoted . It felt against the rules . Yet here he was , sitting next to you giggling at something you said . There was a movie playing in the background yet both of you were too preoccupied with eachother . That’s how everything felt in the moment honestly , everything forgotten . It was as if the only light came from you and Alexis Ness and that light only shined on eachother , for eachother . Though occasionally you’d glance back at the screen , not that it’d last long . Your eyes would find themselves glued back to Ness in no time .
Everything was going smoothly , too smoothly maybe . You didn’t know when it happened but at some point you had gotten closer , what was once a good distance before you two would make contact disappeared , you were practically pressed to his side . The soundtrack from the movie kicked in , a particularly romantic song played . Ness leaned in without meaning too , the music from the film giving him thoughts . Thoughts of what would happen say you two maybe got closer . You leaned in , he did too . Ness was now acutely aware of your breath gently gusting over his neck , he imagined the contrast of the cold he was feeling from the air there now compared to the warmth your breath already brought and the even more warm your lips could offer . He was feeling awfully chilly now ,despite the heat in his face . Neither of you said a word . The moment was far too fragile , like all it took was one moment of interruption to shatter the want .
Much to your upset , his too , a loud ding emitted from his phone . You frowned , but made to effort to move . He however did . There was only one person who’d probably text Ness at this hour , opening his phone proved that to be true . As much as you didn’t want to invade his privacy , you looked over his shoulder . It was obvious who it was anyway , a feeling a dread overwhelming the hope you temporarily had .
“ ah .” He spoke , a faint smile that didn’t seem entirely genuine no matter how hard he tried to make it reach . “ Kaiser needs me to bring him something .” You nodded like you understood . You didn’t . There was a degree of you that could get it , all that Kaiser gave him or whatever . Yet still , you were sure you could offer him more . You’d willingly give it all up . As he got up you followed and walked him to your door .
He stood there , back to the door he’d soon exit through . The door he’d soon leave you through for Kaiser . You both stood there , he looked apologetic , you looked disappointed . Neither of you showed it in full . Both of you felt it far more than that , far more than you’d actually let out . After all you both had your places , his place wasnt next to you , it was next to that blonde and blue haired twat who called himself an emperor . “ Es tut mir Leid . .” ‘I’m sorry’ , “ it’s alright .” It wasn’t , but for his sake you’d pretend anyway . Neither of you could change how things were and you weren’t so cruel to make him feel bad for his choice . The most you could do was just be there for him anyway , be there even if you weren’t his number one the same way he was yours .
You’d be there when he was feeling down , you’d be there when Kaiser wouldn’t be , you’d be there when Kaiser was the problem . It didn’t matter what it was , he could reach out into nothing and you’d answer .
He turned to leave awkwardly , but when one hand was on the door knob the other felt a familiar warmth around his wrist .
No matter how futile you knew it was , you’d be the one to reach out this time . “ Alexis .” Your teeth nibbled into your bottom lip , biting now harshly like you wanted to stop yourself but couldn’t . You didn’t look up , you couldn’t . Just kept your hand clenched around his wrist and waited . “ . . Stay . .” It was selfish to ask , you knew that . . But after all this time maybe you deserved to be a little selfish .
“ . Y - . . Y / N ?” You thought it was useless , that’d he was about to apologize again and go anyway . In your peripheral vision you caught his hand leaving the door handle . You finally brought yourself to look up , brows furrowed as you looked up at him with flushed cheeks and frustration . There was a moment , you two got close again , except this time you didn’t let him fall through your fingers . This time you slowly leaned in and kissed him . He hesitated , Kaiser flashed through his mind , yet he leaned in anyway .
Stay . That’s all you asked .
he listened .
Both his hands hovered nervously , not knowing what to do as you continued to melt together instead of pull away , he settled them awkwardly around you , you adjusted your do the same and wrap around him right back . His phone was long forgotten in his pocket , the thought of leaving disappeared from his mind and shocking of all Kaiser who normally had atleast one hand in his thoughts was no where to be found . Everything but you was gone , everything else may as well have been passed off as irrelevant . You needed him to stay longer , you couldn’t let this end , so you pushed it a little . A hand slipped slowly up the back of his shirt , he gave a quiet whimper which you hungrily ate up . Your other hand traced him down , a gentle shaking of anticipation coming from him as you gently mapped his muscle , sliding your hand into his pocket and maneuvering his phone secretly out of it .
Maybe toxic , but you were done taking chances , his phone found way to your pocket instead . No more Kaiser to interrupt .
Your now free hand landed gently over his throat , your lips retracting , his own chased but you pulled back just enough out of it . He felt the warmth of your hand caress up his neck and onto his face , hooking your thumb into his mouth for easier access before leaning in . You had familiarized yourself with the feeling of his lips , his mouth was next . Your tongue found its way into his mouth , what was unsure soon became more confident and heated . Once he started returning on his own you had no need to open his mouth for him , relocating your hand up and around with a gentle but firm grip on his hair . Loose enough to not hurt but strong enough to pull him further . You two moaned into eachothers mouth , absorbing any sound the other made , Ness significantly louder . Ness was vocal . Even something simple as kissing — if you could even call it that . . — had him whimpering . He got bold , hands nervously reaching to fumble with your comfy pants . You leaned back again , this time to look at him . Ness leaned over to hide his face in the crook of your neck before you could see him , but with how hot he was you could feel his flushed cheeks . You could feel the red creeping in from the actions of the moment . You giggled quietly , while his hands stalled yours did not , softly rubbing at him but not doing more yet . Not until he looked back up like he was ready . “ Lexi . .” Ever so slightly he glanced up , still incredibly embarrassed . “ you alright ?” It was quiet , much like when you two were first interrupted , the same tension , tension that was finally being snapped . Still , despite all of that , despite the urge you had to practically tackle him , you still wanted to give him time . Give him his own chances . He nodded and mumbled something into your shoulder , too inaudible for you to do anything with what he said . “ Alexis . . Speak up . .” Your eyes were heavy , pulling him back slightly . “ tell me what you want .” You backed him up against the door , hand coming to hook around his waist as you now instead dipped into his neck . You used the hand that was settled in his hair to pull him back , pressing gentle kisses onto his exposed shoulder . “ y . . You .” His voice came out breathy , just barely above a whisper . “ I wanna keep going. .” He finally answered , shy as he’d gasp every now and then when your lips came in contact to his skin .
Soon even that wasn’t enough for you , licking over a spot before nibbling . His hands desperately gripped you as you sucked dark bruises onto his throat and around , you two were there for a long while as you made sure his skin got attention everywhere you could currently reach . Soon enough his pale neck was covered in contrasting much darker spots . You stared for a moment , admiring your work and licking over the trail you left . Poor Ness was sweating , so hot and bothered from just the start of it . Finally you connected your lips again , catching him in a heated kiss that didn’t stop there as you started to stumble . A mix between trying to desperately undress eachother and make way towards the bedroom .
With a slam of the door that came out much rougher than you meant , Ness laid on the bed , knees hanging off as you settled right there between them . With a leg you pushed him wider , the only thing clothing wise left covering the both of you being underwear . Nervously Ness brought his hands to hide his face , peering through his fingers , not being able to look away until he finally did . You leaned forward , crawling over him on the bed with heavy breaths . One hand caged him under you and the other lifted to gently pull his own away so he had to look at you . “ don’t hide from me, Lexi .” One leg was still stubbornly settled between his so they couldn’t close , which he attempted when he saw you now over him . His hands were pinned above his head , his legs held open by yours , you were above him panting . He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take , you weren’t either . “ Oh mein Gott . .” You almost giggled , fighting to refrain so you wouldn’t ruin the moment . He sounded so breathless . It was adorable . You looked at his chest smugly , covered in blooming purple caused by none other than you . You could only imagine him having to explain to Kaiser without admitting it was you . You didn’t plan to say anything , no matter how good you could only imagine it’d feel to brag in his face that you were the one Ness would be screaming for rather than him . That you got your hands on his most trusted ally .
But this wasn’t about Kaiser . This wasn’t a scheme to get back at him , this wasn’t a plan driven by hate that you were simply using Ness for . This went past that . You loved him , you loved him a lot . Maybe that’s why you only grew to hate Kaiser more upon meeting the sweet boy under you . You were worried he’d choose Kaiser . Everytime .
Even if he did , this was the one moment you got to have . The one time he chose you . It was special , Kaiser didn’t deserve to know . This we longed to you and Ness and you two alone . You didn’t imagine Ness wanted to tell Kaiser either . .
You just admired him for a moment , watching him breathless and ready . As much of a sight he was to see right now , your patience was only so strong . You slid your hands down slowly , trusting him not to hide again as you caressed him down and landed your hands on his waistband . You licked your lips as you pulled his boxers down . Inch by agonizing inch . He watched , eyes focused on your hands as his once restricted length was freed with a spring out of his clothes . Those were tossed to the side as you did the same with your own underwear . You kneeled down between his legs at the foot of the bed , reaching out to wrap your hands around his cock ; the moment contact was made he nearly whined , he would’ve if his teeth weren’t digging stubbornly into his lips , keeping any sound muffled in . You’d deal with that later . You gathered some of the pre-cum that had been leaking since the moment things escalated . Which had made a spot in his underwear you didn’t point out , you’d embarrassed the poor boy enough at that point . You stroked gently at first , starting out slow as he’d occasionally twitch in pleasure , tensing then nearly relaxing from the feeling before stiffening back up again . You continued , rubbing your thumb over his tip when you reached it with your hand . You leaned in , letting your hands slip down and slowly trail to start working him open with his own pre as lubricant . You replaced your hand that was once ripping muffled cries from his throat with your mouth now as you kissed the underside of his cock gently . You were both inexperienced , but whatever you were doing seemed to be working , if him having to quiet himself down was any tell . So you kept on . Your eyes were glued to his face as you watched him through your lashes . You licked and watched as he rolled his head back , brows furrowed , mouth glued shut — sounds would escape anyway . He was oh so handsome . Your pretty Alexis . Finally you took him in your mouth , still fingering him as you slipped another digit in there . He couldn’t help the tears that pricked at his eyes , nor the way his hips writhed . You pressed your fingers further , curling them before digging them further , hitting a certain spot that pried a soft noise from his lips . You continued to massage that specific spot , all while you slowly took more of him down your throat , trying not to gag while he tried his hardest not to let out an array of sweet noises from your attack on both his cock and prostate simultaneously . You’d go down , then back up again , creating a bobbing motion all while he laid back and felt the warmth and wet take him further . “ a - . . Ah . . I’m gonna . .” He couldn’t finish his sentence with the way you sped up , adding another finger to bring the intensity up as he came . He came down your throat , you greedily took it all . Pulling off with a loud gulp , removing your fingers as he came down from his climax . You stood up , stroking your own length lazily while you reached forward . Ness felt himself be tugged up with an arm under his back , lips colliding with yours as he could taste himself on your tongue , which you shoved deep into his mouth . He grabbed onto you , hands finding place on your upper back . You pushed further , getting ontop of him once again as you two made out — far from done . His hands kept their place as yours fell onto their elbows rather , you lined yourself up , teasing his entrance . He tried to prepare himself , nervously swallowing his own spit when he saw your size in comparison . You were big , not a great distance bigger than him , but still large . Just staring at you got him noisy and hard all over again . Hips hoisted up , all four limbs of his desperately holding onto you .
“ ready ?” Whispered right by his ear , the only warning he got before he nodded . Slowly easing in was already much for him , letting out one long , continuous moan the further you inched yourself in . Quiet , but long . You’d give a few experimental thrust before finally bottoming out . He tried what he did when you two first began with simple tonguing , burying his face in you to silence himself . You’d just have to fuck the noise right out of him then . After giving him a moment you started , your pace awfully rough for having just begun , yet Ness didn’t seem to mind as his eyes rolled back and inaudible noises were already being heard against your neck . Groaning loudly , still not satisfied , you slowly started upping your pace , messily thrusting into him on a search for that previous spot that made him loud . All the sudden a loud yelp emitted from him , right there . You started focusing your thrusts into that one spot , causing him to moan out repeatedly , still quiet . Still not enough . “ Baby . . Louder .” You cooed into his ear , still pounding into him . Ness , ever the sweetheart , just wanted to make you happy . He listened , letting himself get loud . A particularly loud cry followed by several other pathetic noises punched out of him with your dick . That’s better . You leaned to moan directly into his ear . “ goodboy .” That got him , nails digging harder into your back . You heard something , another sound mixed in with his regular pleads of pleasure . You leaned back , still thrusting in harshly , you were met with the sight of tears streaming down his face . “ more . . P. . Please . .” Was all he could get out , you watched him , mesmerized by the tears running down his cheeks . All focus was diverted to watching his expressions , leaning in to kiss back his tears while you gave into his demands and went harder with a grunt . Kissing his cheeks while his eyes rolled back and salty tears kept rolling down . Without warning he tightened quickly , again cumming , this time it splattered onto him , forming a small , white , sticky puddle onto his belly . You fucked him through his climax , not easing up , not stopping . You laid him down , slowing for a second as you pushed his legs up onto your shoulders for a deeper angle , adjusting with it as you fell right back into your previous , punishing pace . His throat felt raw from screaming out moans , moans of your name . Music to your ears . Before long you came , filling him up , fucking yourself through it before slowing into a stop . The only sound in the room was your mixing breaths . You leaned down , kissing him again , much gentler this time . You took that moment together , that sweet moment connected still after that intense time . You pulled back , not pulling out quite yet , letting your forehead rest against his . “ you okay . ?” You asked nervously , afraid you overdid it . He nodded with a small thumbs up . “ Wunderbar . .” You smiled at that , finally pulling out with a small sigh. . “ I’m glad . . You did great, baby .” You let yourself collapse next to him , kissing his cheek . Once again he flushed at the praise , if his temperature raised any higher you’d think he’s sick . . “ c’mon , let’s get cleaned up and lay down . . “ you coaxed him up , helping support him all the way to the bathroom .
You cleaned him up , tucked him in and left the room . He was panicked when you first went to leave , but you reassured him you’d be right back . You re-entered with a small bowl of fruit and two forks , cuddling up right next to him as you handed him one of the cold metal utensils and set the bowl between you two . You both ate , comfortable quiet falling between you as you laid together . You wanted to ask what you were now , but you also didn’t wanna scare him , rush him , or anything of the sort . So you kept your silence , quietly praying he’d give you the answer you hoped for . Once you two finished the bowl , you set everything on the night stand . You could deal with it in the morning . . You turned off the last remaining light and cuddled up with him , curling into eachother without any worry of anything else . . His phone covered by a pile of clothes long forgotten , unbeknownst to the several follow up message Kaiser had sent . Again , a morning issue . .
As you two were quietly drifting off , Ness shuffled and looked at you . “ uhm . . Y / N ?” You glanced up from the comfortable place you took under his jaw . “ hm ?” Tired eyes fixing on his equally tired figure . “ what . . Are we . ?” Calm as you were , that took the heavy weight you were saving for later away . You looked at him , really looked at him , glints of adoration in your eyes and a voice so sweet you only reserved for him . “ I don’t wanna rush you into anything . .” You paused , feeling the slump of disappointment Ness didn’t mean to give . “ but . . If you’re open to it . .” You sat up slightly , resting your hand on his jaw , to which he leaned into like a puppy and looked at you with curiosity . “ I’d love to . . Be with you . Be your boyfriend .” Maybe you should’ve done this at a better time , but no matter the case it was in Ness didn’t seem like he cared . He was just glad you felt the same way , glad that after this you wouldn’t leave and forget about it . He pushed past your hand to cuddle up closer , you both giggling quietly in the dark as he pulled himself ontop of you and laid on your chest .
“ I’d love that too .”
first time writing nsfw woah . Be nice to me. He also might be ooc I’m sorry I haven’t written him before 😞
So this is very bad, it's late and I'm sleepy. I only wrote this because I haven't posted in months and I have to feed you, my children.
Scenario ⊱ ☆ ⊰ :: Your boyfriend wakes you up in the middle of the night to f★ck you <3 (Smut yay!!)
W :: I don't know how to write Smut. It's really shitty, but fuck this shit.
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In the darkness of the night, your peaceful sleep was suddenly broken by the feeling of a warm hand shaking your shoulder. It was your boyfriend, awake and clearly up for something more than sleep. He gently rolled you onto your back, his hand grazing your waist as he straddled your hips, the weight of his body pressing against you.
"Wake up." he whispered, his voice husky with arousal, his gaze intense even in the dim light.
He trailed a finger along your jawline, his touch both a caress and a command.
"I need you," he murmured, his other hand slipping under your shirt to trace circles on your bare skin with his fingertips, causing goosebumps to rise everywhere he touched.
"I can't wait," he continued, his voice a little husky as he began to rock his hips against yours.
His breath was hot against your ear, his words barely registering as your mind tried to catch up with the situation.
But your body was certainly awake now, responding to his touches.
His breath was hot against your ear, his words barely registering as your mind tried to catch up with the situation.
His mouth found yours in the dark, the kiss slow and sensual at first but quickly building in intensity. His tongue moved against yours, mimicking the motion of his hips in a slow, torturous rhythm as he pressed himself against you once again.
There was a desperation in his touch that betrayed how much he wanted you.
As if sensing your waking state, his kisses moved from your lips to your neck, leaving a trail of heat against your exposed skin.
His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, tossing it aside to give him better access.
His mouth was everywhere; kissing, biting, and teasing in ways that had you arching your body towards him, wanting to be closer.
He took advantage of your position, pushing his hands under you, palming your behind and lifting your hips to meet his.
You could feel him, hard and eager through the thin barrier of his clothes, his movements becoming more insistent as his lips trailed down your neck, sucking and biting at your skin, leaving marks that would be impossible to hide.
He pulled back for a moment, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire.
"I want you so bad..." he whispered, his voice shaky with need. He didn't give you a chance to respond, his mouth back on yours in an instant, the kiss all consuming.
His hands moved to the drawstring of your pajama pants, toying with the tie for a moment before finally pulling it loose.
His fingers dipped under the waistband, teasing the sensitive skin of your hips. He broke the kiss again, his eyes locking with yours, silently asking for permission.
Your breathing hitch at his touch, and you nodded, the tiniest movement of your head letting him know it was okay.
He kissed you again as his hands worked your pants down, his fingers caressing every inch of newly revealed skin.
He quickly disposed of his own clothing, his movements rough and rushed, the desire coursing through him. He didn't waste any time, immediately pressing himself against you, his skin against yours.
His mouth found yours again as his hands skimmed over your body, caressing every curve and dip, his touch setting off a trail of heat and desire.
He shifted his position, pressing against you more fully, the contact both comforting and overwhelming.
His touch was everywhere, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that only added to the heat building between you.
He reached down again, gently taking one of your legs and hooking it around his waist, drawing you closer.
He moved against you, the friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, his breath catching in his chest as the sensation took over.
He needed you, you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, and hear it in the sounds he was making against your neck.
He moved slowly at first, every movement calculated, every touch deliberate, his lips finding yours again and again, the kisses growing more needy, more desperate.
He murmured words of praise against your lips, his words a mix of praise and pleasure, making you feel desired and cherished in the same breath.
His hands moved to grip your hips, his touch grounding you even as he gradually increased the pace, the intensity growing exponentially. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, a silent plea for more.
His breath hitched against your skin as the waves of ecstasy grew, his kisses becoming more urgent, his touch more firm.
The heat between you was all-consuming, the sounds of your shared pleasure filling the quiet room, your bodies moving in a synchronous rhythm.
His moans mixed with yours, his breath hot on your skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine.
He held onto you tightly, fingers digging into your hips as he moved with purpose, the tension between you mounting.
He reached down, hooking his arms under your legs, changing his angle and hitting a spot that had your back arching off the bed.
A low groan escaped him, the sound vibrated against your skin, sending another wave of pleasure coursing through you.
His pace picked up, his movements more desperate, the intensity growing with every touch. Your hands found his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as you held onto him, the sensation overwhelming.
He reached down, his fingers finding your hand and lacing them together, pinning it to the bed beside you.
His lips found yours again, the kiss bruising, his tongue swiping across your lower lip as he swallowed the sounds you were making.
His rhythm started to falter, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his release, his breath panting in your ear, his eyes never leaving yours.
"I'm close." he whispered, his voice ragged, his words catching in his throat, his hand tightening around yours. He moved faster, his kisses becoming sloppier, his touch becoming more desperate.
"Come with me." he murmured, his words barely more than a whisper, but the command was clear.
He changed his angle slightly, hitting that spot again, and you could feel the tension in his body
The sensation of his body and the words sent you over the edge, your back arching off the bed as pleasure crashed over you, your grip on his hand tightening as you rode out the waves, his hand squeezed back.
As you came down, he held you, his chest heaving, his pulse racing. He kissed you again, his touch gentler now, his hand releasing your own to stroke your face.
"I love you ~" he murmured against your lips, his breath still unsteady, his words filled with affection and relief.
He rolled onto his back, pulling you with him, your head resting on his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist, holding you close. He placed light kisses on your forehead, his thumb tracing idle circles on your skin, the after-shocks of pleasure still coursing through your body.
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Goodbye fags, time for disappear for 2 months again
Word count 888 | not proof read | nsfw - handjob, fluff
Yeon Si-eun - the boy you caught yourself staring at more often than you’d care to admit since the first day of school, suddenly snapped and knocked out the bully in your class.
You hadn't noticed it, something was definitely wrong with the way he acted earlier, and it happened so fast. Your best friend, Su-ho came to stop him before he stepped on the bully's face.
Si-eun started to swing the metal chair, and you grabbed it, halting it's swing before it could hit anyone else. Your heart skipped a beat as you locked eyes with Si-eun, and shit, his gaze-blazing with fury-is so intense yet somehow... it looked so pretty. You definitely wouldn't mind getting hit by him.
Right then, when you were about to say something, the teacher interrupted and the fight was over, leaving you standing there, lost in your own thoughts-trying to make sense of what just happened, and why you couldn’t stop thinking about Si-eun.
Su-ho succeeded in befriending Si-eun, who automatically also became your friend. The three of you started hanging out more, and you even began teaching Si-eun how to take down opponents stronger than him. But there was one thing that always left you weak in the knees-the way he looked at you.
One faithful night, when Su-ho had to take an order, you were left alone with him. It was late, so without thinking, you offered-no, insisted- that Si-eun let you give him a ride home.
You placed your helmet on his head, your hands brushing his hair for just a second, and then hopped onto your motorbike, You were ready to drive him home, just another routine favor-until he climbed behind you.
And then, shit- he was so close. His body pressed against yours, his chest practically sticking to your back as he settled in behind you. You could feel every inch of him, the warmth of his presence sending your heart into overdrive. This wasn’t how you imagined it at all.
You couldn't focus at all, your mind racing as you drove him home. The hum of the engine was drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You kept praying he couldn’t hear it, praying he couldn’t feel the way your body tensed with every inch of space between you two that didn’t exist anymore.
Arriving infront of his apartment, you let out a sigh of relief when he climbed down your bike. But then he turned around, helmet still in hand, and casually said, ‘Come in for a sec. My dad brought back some snacks from his trip. I saved some for you and Su-ho.’
How could you possibly say no to him? Before you even realized it, your feet were already moving, carrying you inside like they had a mind of their own.
The door shut behind you with a soft click, and just like that, you were sitting on his soft couch. You were lost in your own thoughts, your eyes wandering across his home, you didn't notice him sitting down beside you.
You finally noticed him, sitting so close, his presence pulling you back to reality. Your eyes met- again-and that familiar, dangerous flutter hit your chest like a punch. Sensing that you might do something stupid if you stayed any longer, you started to stand up, but before you could, Si-eun grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him.
His soft lips pressing against yours, and hell, you couldn't pull away from him. Everything you've been holding back, it all shattered the moment he kissed you. You kissed him back like it was the only thing that made sense in the world.
You placed your hand on his waist while guiding him down softly onto the arm of the couch, still kissing him. You didn't want to break it.
Eventually, Si-eun broke the kiss because he had to catch his breath, he looked so messy, his hair disheveled and his hoodie ridden up, thanks to your wandering hands. His chest rose and feel, trying to recover from the kiss.. you just stared, because damn, you did that to him.
You started to kiss Si-eun's neck. You want to do all the way in, but you held yourself back, not wanting to scare him. You felt his cock hard- the same goes for you. Tugging down his zipper while your other hand reached for your own.
You wrapped your hands around his cock, as you guided his hands to do the same for yours. Grunting and rubbing against each other, you stared into his pretty eyes- the ones that got you weak and even hornier now.
You both reached the climax soon after. With your foreheads pressed together, you stayed there-panting, quiet, hearts still racing in sync.
Yes you slept over at his house after that, curled up in each other’s arms, your bodies tangled beneath the sheets, and sleeping facing one another.
When morning came, you stirred awake with a hazy mind, half-convinced it was all a dream. But then you saw him. Si-eun, still asleep, hair a little messy, lips parted just slightly, face soft and unguarded in the quiet light of morning.
You closed your eyes with a smile as you pulled him closer, and let yourself drift back to sleep with him in your arms.
I finished watching weak hero class 2 yesterday, and wanted to read a 'x male reader' fic but there's not much of it, so I decided to make it myself at 3am. Enjoy stars!
