It’s A Mess

ten days to be precise. thats how long you’ve been away. and when you manage to make your way along the seemingly endless hallway, so very tired from your lengthy mission, you finally cease your fight against gravity, letting yourself collapse into satoru, closing your eyes immediately upon impact, finding your relief in him, in the sturdiness of his chest. you’d gone without him for too long and you’re so quick to find comfort in him. he, too, is just as quick to search solace in your touch when he guides your arms that fall limp at your sides to wrap themselves around him - is so prompt to hold you and offer you the stability you need when he wraps his stronger ones around your shoulders, welcoming you back with a quiet good girl being whispered to the crown of your head.

there’s a minute of silence in which satoru realizes, while trying to recover from the fretful state he induced himself into, that fear has become something permanent in his life.

“you’re late” he threads his fingers through your hair, soothing away your fatigue though he thinks he might have just lulled you to sleep because you’re standing so still, breathing so softly. you protest with a breathy whine when his hand cups the back of your head, tilting it upwards to make you meet his gaze. only then do you perceive the distress painted on his handsome features.

satoru is always so good at hiding his feelings. his voice barely even wavers and his hands are holding you so firmly that his worry would’ve almost gone undetected. almost. because concern is so easily discernible in his eyes. his eyes are so honest, as honest as satoru gets. they have always let on more than his words.

they’re his biggest strength and yet his biggest weakness. the blindfold conceals more than just his power. it keeps his vulnerability from seeping through.

“i know but i'm here” you close your eyes when his thumb rubs the spot between your eyebrows “my flight got delayed and i didn’t wanna wake you up with a phone call”

“i wasn’t sleeping” not until i know you’re safe.

“i’m alright, satoru. im here” you two speak in whispers like two kids sharing a secret, your voice barely audible as you lean your cheek against his chest, a hand rubbing circles over his heart.

another wave of silence envelops the two of you as you take your time to touch, to grab and to squeeze — to let your hands get acquainted with each other’s skin again — you swear you feel him shiver against you when you caress the skin behind his ear, where you know it’s sensitive.

“let’s get inside, baby.”

you nod against his chest and squeeze him in your arms one last time before you pull away to unlock your bedroom door. you lace your fingers together with his to pull him along, dropping your luggage somewhere in a corner and not even bothering to turn on the lights instead guiding him towards the bed that you’ve shared during so many other nights — so eager to be cradled in his arms, to drift off in the comfort of his embrace. but when satoru drops his head to your shoulder you cease any movements, stopping in your tracks.

he doesn’t say a word, just moves the palm of his hand gingerly up the skin of your exposed arm, only stopping where the strap of your dress sits on your body, gripping the fabric in his fist, begging to see you, whole. to make sure there is not some magical force holding you together and that you won't fall apart under his fingers upon touch. he still touches you so carefully as if you will.

for a long time now, reality has presented itself to satoru as something dubious, he has grown to be skeptical towards it. after all, his best friend had met his demise at his own hands - satoru had watched him take his last breath - yet, that unfaithful day in shibuya, there he stood in front of him, intact - alive. now satoru is imbedded with a constant feeling of uncertainty, worrying that the eyes he has relied on throughout his entire life, might deceive him sooner or later.

you lift your hand to rest over his, loosening the tight grip he has on the fabric of your garment before you slide both straps off your shoulders, letting your dress fall to the ground and revealing your partially nude body to satoru’s prying gaze. he closes his eyes with a sigh that makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise in antecipation. he brushes a few strands away before he places a kiss to the mound of your neck where your spine protrudes your flesh, where your skin is most tender and delicate, feeling the subtle bumps of your skin against his lips — the way your body reacts to him proof that you’re not just some hallucination. that you’re alive and well. that you’re here.

he figures he is so much more in tune with his surroundings whenever he’s not looking. his eyes are closed shut yet the way you shudder under him when he runs the tip of his finger up the curve of your spine, the little sounds you make, the gasp that unintentionally escapes your lips when he lays the most gentle of kisses on the shell of your ear — he’d know you anywhere, even with his eyes closed. he knows the way you feel, the way you sound, the way you smell. even blind, his other four senses would still lead him to you.

he touches you until your skin starts feeling feverish under his fingers, wishes you’d just melt into him and would fill in every crevice in his body until he’s so completely covered in you he can barely breathe. and when he needs more, he carries you to bed in his arms then lies you down in the white linen sheets. he reaches for the back of his shirt and tugs it off before taking the spot next to you, craving the feeling of his skin against yours.

he kisses your collarbone, left then right, worshiping you whole, paying equal attention to every part of your body, then dips lower to kiss over your sternum. he loves on the freshly inflicted wounds on your skin then proceeds to run his tongue over the newly healed scar that runs diagonally on the flesh of your stomach — your taste, that, too, he has memorized by heart.

“i always come back looking worse than when i left” and it's supposed to be a lighthearted joke because you're smiling and your tone is somewhat playful but it makes satoru wonder if you think he loves you any less because of it.

sometimes it’s hard baring yourself to satoru like this, he knows it. your scar ridden body a striking contrast to his almost pristine, untouched one. however, it’s on nights like this one where you feel closest to him, laying bare your insecurities to him and, in return, satoru undiscloses his — more often than not escaping his lips impulsively in the form of strangled moans against the sweaty skin of your neck, telling you he loves you. don’t ever leave. don’t wanna lose you too.

“you returned, baby. that’s all that matters.” he utters against your belly then comes to rest on your chest, hear pressed atop your heart.

satoru has grown fond of the sound of your pulse lulling him to sleep, slow and steady. he unwraps his arms from around you, moving his hands up your sides until they settle around your ribs, feeling the way your lungs fill up with air, his head moving up and down, in sync with your heaving chest. he smiles to himself, every heartbeat, every breath you take a reminder that there is still so much life inside you.

he looks up at you, eyes searching for your face after a few minutes have gone by since you stopped playing with his hair. he had wanted to protest but then he takes in the image of you, mouth slightly agape, a subtle frown on your face — an angel lying under him. so fragile, so innocent.

you're sound asleep and satoru is overcome with the intensity of the sheer adoration he feels towards you when he realizes you had felt so at peace in his arms it'd only taken you a couple minutes to doze off. it is as if your body reacts to his presence on it's own, telling you that its safe around him, that it's okay to let your guard down. there is no bigger privilege than to know his touch brings you consolation — that he’s your safe haven.

upon further inspection, however, there’s a cold shiver that makes it’s way up satoru’s spine when he notices how you’re laying so still, barely even moving. apart from the subtle rise and fall of your chest, you’re so inert, so lethargic. this is what your lifeless body would look like in his arms if he ever failed to protect you.

it is as if suddenly there is not enough oxygen in the room and his lungs start growing heavier with each passing minute, his hands clammy and fingers digging into the flesh of your ribs instinctively, out of desperation.

he calls out your name once, and he would’ve felt bad for waking you up but he can’t even think straight right now. he could be so selfish at times but you never resented him for it.

you don’t answer at first, his voice too weak to even pull you out of sleep. satoru pushes himself up the bed, lying sideways next to you, his body looming over yours as he brushes the strands of hair that are sticking to your forehead away from your face — your complexion looks so much paler under the moonlight.

“baby.” he calls in between heavy breaths, eyes frantic searching for something. anything. this time you stir in your sleep, turning around and nuzzling into the crook of his neck as if seeking for the heat of his body on instinct. he sighs releasing some of the tension inside him “baby.” though there is still a hint of urgency in his voice.

“im sleepy, satoru” he can barely hear you as you bury yourself deeper into his neck.

“i know, baby. i know” he tries to sooth you, cradling your head closer to him but is just as quick to change his mind, grabbing your cheeks in between the palms of his hands to gently pull you away from him and take look at you instead. your eyes remain closed, still so heavy with sleep.

“just need you to say my name.” it sounds as if he’s pleading.

“satoru.” you barely even manage to mumble as you lean deeper into his touch, lips brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of his hand. moving only on instinct still, too drowsy to even make sense of what is happening, to notice the despair in his tone.

“that’s it.” he pecks you on the lips “again.” hes trailing kisses across your cheeks, his breath heavy on your skin when he begs you in a quivering voice “please."

you begin to be pulled out of slumber when you feel his hands trembling against you, opening your eyes only to be met with his wide-eyed gaze, his pupils fully blown out in the dark, alert with fear.

this has happened before yet it never fails to alarm you. you know how he gets, you’d seen it in his eyes many times before and you’d seen it again earlier tonight when you arrived, tenuous yet just waiting for the smallest trigger to so easily turn into something out of his control.

it's like he's suddenly in a trance and nobody can pull him out of it. his hands start wandering everywhere and in a rather frenetic way, feeling around your skin as if he has gone blind. hands fumbling to hold whatever is within their reach, clenching whatever it is you're wearing in his fists, searching for something that he can’t quite seem to find and that you can’t quite understand.

you never know what to say, you can only hold him in hopes it will pass. you hold him and coddle him in hopes that you can be as much of a source of comfort to him as he is to you.

he apologizes afterwards, he always does. apologizes for needing you so much that sometimes it drives him crazy. then he thanks you, thank you for letting me rely on you, but he barely ever does, only when he so desperately needs it — when it’s him lending others his strength, being relied on, who says thank you to him.

you sit up in bed, extending your hand towards him, waiting for him to take it. you pick him up when he does and you let a hand wrap around the back of his head, guiding him to lay on your shoulder

“satoru, satoru, satoru.” you whisper against the shell of his ear while stroking his hair. he thinks he could fall sleep right here, like this.

please, lean on me, too. if you let me, i can be strong for the both of us. you don’t have to be strong all the time. satoru thinks he knows what you’re trying to tell him.

“i’ll say it as many times as you need.”

for the second time tonight, he is so overwhelmed by his profound infatuation that it is as if his love has grown a will of it’s own, as if it has grown fangs when his teeth sink, unwarranted, into the skin of your shoulder, love wishing to seep itself deep into your bloodstream. “want you whole.”

“so greedy.” you wince quietly against his snowy hair and he runs the tip of his nose up the side of your neck.

he keeps on nibbling on the tender skin of your neck, as if he’s hungry and trying to prove a point. that if he so wished to, if he was greedy enough, he’d devour you full.

“i'm the greediest, baby” for what is love if not greed. is it not wanting to consume the other person and let yourself be consumed in return? for his entire life, satoru has known nothing but an insatiable hunger. always wanting more, always needing more. gluttonous for more, more, more. in the end, he always managed to get what he wants and he doesn’t hold back, you never asked him to either.

he knows he owns you wholly, you’ve told him so, your soul, mind and body fully placed on the palm of his hand and he doesn’t think he could ever settle for less.

he places a trail of kisses that goes down to your shoulder again and he pulls away from your skin with one last kiss to the spot where he left a mark. a mark that is so unlike any other in your body. one that comes from love.

“i'm sorry that i need you so much” he envelops you in a warm embrace, touching his heart with yours.

but he’s also apologizing for so many other things. he’s sorry that he can’t give himself to you the same way you’ve given yourself to him. you’ve always kept your heart open to him yet it seems that he only ever allows you a glimpse into the heart inside his chest on nights like this, during one of his episodes or when his body is panting above yours, falling apart at the feeling of being inside you and too lost in his own pleasure. only then does he spill all of his heart's content into your distracted ears — when he thinks you’re already far too gone to listen, to truly acknowledge his feelings.

those are the only times he ever allows himself to be vulnerable with you and you treasure every single one of those moments, listening attentively even when he thinks you don’t.

“say my name one last time” he breathes against your ear.

here, in these sheets, satoru pretends to forget his name and the burden that inescapably comes with it. he forgets the world needs him and lets himself need you instead, just this once — just this once, he’ll pretend to be the weak one, the one who needs saving, and find shelter in your arms.

“satoru…” your words are spoken barely above a whisper, like they’re meant just for him.

“again” he connects his lips with yours and holds the back of your neck with one hand, the other resting on your back for support as he dips you both down onto the matress.

and you say it. again. and then again. not because he asks you to but because he knows how to get what he wants. he pries his name out of your lips as he trails open mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, forces it out of you in the form a laughter as he nibbles on the inside of your thighs, tickling you with his breath and ultimately earns it as a moan that you cry as a prayer when he sinks down on the matress and makes a home in between your legs — until you're chanting his name over and over again, sobbing that you love him, you love him, you love him.

“don’t deprive me of this baby, been waiting too fuckin’ long” he growled, tongue delving deeper into your pussy and feeling the way your walls clamped down onto him. the ridges of the muscle had your hips bucking wildly, cries of his name leaving your lips as he continued his cruel ministrations.

pulling you closer to his face with a bruising grip on your thighs, you finally reached your peak, overstimulating yourself while crying his name. the harsh pull of your hands in his hair had him licking every drop of your cum, only pulling himself away once you fell limp below him, strings of your slick connecting you to his face. he watched you twitch for a few moments before bringing his teeth to the jewelry adorning your clitoris, biting down and pulling slightly to watch how you writhed beneath him.

he mindlessly played with the piercing while you caught your breath, chuckling every so often when you tried to push his hands away. after a few minutes of silence, zayne spoke again.

“what do you think about trying out one of those vibrating piercings?”

ㅤꨄ︎ xavier: any + all face piercings

it was no surprise that xavier was possessive—if it wasnt obvious from how he ominously stood next to you any time a man so much as looked in your direction, then his relentless need to cum on your face would’ve given it away. there was just something so satisfying about seeing his seed drip down your neck, the way you would cup your hands under your face to catch it and bring it to your lips absolutely addicting.

after letting him know you were thinking about a septum piercing, all xavier could think about was coating the jewelry in his cum. watching it go from whatever colour you chose to dripping with the thick white fluid had his heart racing, basically pushing you into the parlour himself and holding your hand while the piercer did their work.

he knew he had to wait and he never pushed you to do anything intimate, but when you said you wanted to ‘thank him’ for paying for the piercing by getting on your knees, how could he say no?

“already close xav?” you smirked, tongue flicking against the the long, thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock.

he groaned at your teasing voice, nodding as drool pooled in his mouth. you were always beautiful to him, but seeing the shiny silver hoop adorning your features had blood pumping to his cock.

“god you’re so fuckin’ pretty”

you hummed in response, swallowing his length down until your nose brushed against the hairs on his pelvis. it was clear he was getting close by the way he began thrusting his hips into your mouth, apologizing each time but continuing to fuck himself down your throat. your eyelashes fluttered while you looked up at him, the sight of his mouth agape and furrowed eyebrows shooting heat straight to your cunt.

with a final whine, xavier pulled you off his length and quickly stroked himself to completion over your face, holding your head steady with a firm grip in your hair.

you stuck your tongue out trying to catch every drop, eyes closed in complete bliss as the warm feeling of his cum dripped down your face. he wiped the drops away from your eyes, letting you observe the pink flush that was on his cheeks as he stuck his fingers into your mouth, cheeks hollowing around them so you didn’t waste a drop.

ㅤꨄ︎ rafayel: tongue piercing

rafayels favourite way to have you was with you sat between his thighs while he painted, cockwarming him in your mouth as he added the finishing touches on the canvas before finishing on you.

it’s not that you minded though, the way his heavy length sat in your throat had you thinking he was made for you—it just fit so perfectly. his obsession with your tongue on his cock was the inspiration for your biggest birthday gift to him, a tongue piercing with the prettiest bluish-pink jewelry to match his eye colour. it was hard to hide from him at first, but you were surprised at how fast it healed—and just in time for the big day.

“you’re a fucking dream, there’s no way this is real” he rasped, tone pitching up as you kissed down his heaving chest before unzipping his pants and pulling his already hard length free. a shiny bead of precum sat on his flushed tip, your thumb pumping his cock and spreading the wetness along his length.

“b-baby please, wanna feel it” he whined, biting his lip in hopes of unsuccessfully containing his moans. you ran your tongue along the side of his cock, teasingly huffing warm breaths over his tip before moving down to suck his balls into your mouth. his hips thrusted up as he covered his eyes with an arm, cock twitching as you gave equal attention to the tender sacks before lifting your lips back to his glans. you placed a tender kiss along his frenulum, listening to the way he whined when you kitten licked his slit before finally running your piercing along his tip.

rafayels body convulsed below you several times before spurts of cum shot from his cock, a garbled warning that he was coming arriving a second too late. you smirked before swallowing as much of his length as you could, stroking the rest to milk him dry. his cock twitched in sensitivity as you continued to suck him past the point of release, relishing his whines of overstimulation before sticking your tongue out to show you swallowed it all.

he laughed while gasping for air, stroking your face tenderly as you nuzzled into his hand. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

ㅤꨄ︎ caleb: belly button piercing

it first came up during sex, caleb taking out his work stress on your poor aching cunt. he had your legs thrown over his shoulders, cock bullying its way past your entrance and filling you so deep you had no choice but to cry tears of pleasure. you felt his hand press against the bulge that formed each time he bottomed out, the pressure immediately pushing you over the edge and having your walls squeezing around him.

“good girl pips” he laughed, cock swelling even larger as you tried to milk him for all he was worth. “squeeze my cock baby, yeah, jus’ like that” he groaned, both hands coming to press down on your lower abdomen as he chased his own release. his cock kicked when he filled you up, twitching inside you while he measured how far he was hitting. “look” he rasped, pupils dilated as he continued to stare at your tummy. “filling you past your belly button, angel”

after that incident, caleb constantly found any excuses to have his hands splayed on your waist, the memory of how small you were compared to him and his massive length making him smile with fondness. you’d always be his sweet little meimei.

it’s why when you came home one day with your belly button pierced, the jewelry peeking out below your crop top, caleb fucking lost it. you’d barely made it past the door before he was on his knees, kissing your stomach and watching the pretty purple gem hanging down swing with each breath.

“i got it the same colour as your eyes…kinda like you’re always watching me? is that weird?” you asked with a pout, cheeks flushing as you spoke the words. caleb on the other hand had to imagine your grandmother to avoid finishing in his pants, the fact you basically branded yourself with him making him feel feverish.

he didn’t respond as he carried you to the bedroom, throwing you onto the mattress and undressing only as much as he needed to push his cock into you and watch how the jewelry moved with each thrust. it was the first (and ONLY TIME…he hoped) that he finished first, reaching his peak nearly the second he entered you.

you giggled when he pulled out with a whine, kneeling between your legs to kiss down your stomach to your cunt. he plugged your hole with his fingers, trying to keep as much of his cum from spilling out as he could.

“i think i want kids.”

ㅤꨄ︎ sylus: corset piercings

sylus was obsessed with all of you, but especially your back.

he could stare at the dimples near your tailbone all day, thumbs pressing into them causing your back to bend slightly with the pressure. he drooled at the elegant curve of your spine in the backless dresses you wore for date nights, the way it shifted with your movements making his cock twitch.

most of all though, he loved watching how you moved on top of him, arching deeply while your rode him reverse cowgirl. his hands rested on your hips to help guide you, a lazy smirk forming on his face when you began to tremble with pleasure, toes curling as your walls squeezed around his long and thick cock buried inside you.

when the two of you finally took a vacation, away from the twins and work and everything that weighed heavy on your shoulders the rest of the year, you wanted to make it as enjoyable as possible—this wasn’t an everyday thing for you two! remembering his fixation with your back, you decided to get corset piercings for the night.

he planned a dinner out at your favourite restaurant with a nice walk in the park after. unfortunately though, the two of you didn’t even make it out the door.

the second you showed sylus your piercings, he took you back to the bed, pressing your head down into the sheets while he bullied his cock into your tight entrance. he didn’t even bother unzipping your dress, instead choosing the flip the fabric up and shove your panties to the side.

“there’s no one better for me than you, kitten.” he moaned, hand gripping your waist with a bruising hold. “you know that though, right? god, you fell into the role of N109’s leading lady so fucking perfect”

you whined out his name, trying to nod your head the best you could with a hand pressing you into the mattress. you were already reaching your climax when sylus decided to gently pull on the fabric running through the hoops of your piercings, a guttural scream falling from your lips as you squeezed his cock. wetness shot from your cunt as he continued to fuck you through your high, spurts of cum filling you only bring additional lubricant as he continued to thrust into you.

even after removing the piercings, sylus kept you in this position every night for the rest of the vacation, lovingly pressing kisses along your spine before ruining you.

ㅤꨄ︎ valko: nipple piercings

as much as he liked to put on a brave face for others, valko was the neediest guy you knew. he had a lot of responsibilities in day to day life, so being able to come home and unwind by letting you take the lead was almost therapeutic.

whether it was watching tv while you pet his hair or valko holding you close as you spoke about your day, he loved relinquishing control into your hands.

even during intimate moments, valko enjoyed when you called him ‘your good boy’, praising him as he came for you. knowing how submissive he was when with you was part of the reason you wanted to get your nipples pierced, wondering if he’d beg to suck on them just as much or if he’d be even needier for you.

he never pressured you into sex, so it was easy enough to hide them from him for the whole waiting period. maybe that was why when you finally did surprise him, he was animalistic.

“m-mommy” he mumbled against your chest, thrusting his hips into your hand as you stroked his cock while he laved his tongue over your sensitive nipples. the sensation of his rough buds flicking over the nub while the cool metal moved with every suck had you pressing his head closer to you, your grip on his length tightening subconsciously.

“d’you like them puppy?” you asked, laughing when he nodded eagerly without popping his mouth off your tits once.

“p-please” his muffled voice spoke, thrusts becoming erratic. “can i cum for you? so close, wan’ be your good boy n’ cum”

you cooed at his obedient behaviour, immediately giving him permission and watching as he shook in your hold, milking his cock to the point of overstimulation.

© all work belongs to @luvyizhou on tumblr, 2026. do NOT use, repost, or feed any of my work into AI or other websites.

He might be on the brink of death, but Sylus was not one to shy away from an insult. His last word came out in a half-choke, as though something was chafing away in his throat.

You began to feel your stomach clench. The poison must have worked its way into his lungs…those contraband compounds, you never should have scoured for them!

“Zayne, please. He’s been impaled by a tainted protoshard, he will die if —”

“No.”

No?? 

Fear, and irritation, at how ruthless Zayne was being right now: they all culminated into a desperate swell in your throat.

“Please…you’re the only one capable of fixing this…”

“He has a bike, he can fly —”

“He can’t — wait, you can fly?” You turned to Sylus, half crying, half incredulous. 

“Shall we find out?” 

The next few moments comprised of exchanges: crazed, cruel, contemptuous.

“I’m sorry darling, you can stay, but I’m not helping a criminal.”

“He calls you darling?”

“Sylus…please.”

“Is there a problem?”

“You’re pretty inhumane for a doctor…”

“Callous outlaws are hardly human...”

“Enough! Shut up! Both of you!” 

You were nothing short of livid at their disregard, at their stupidity.

Sylus had been reduced to a crouching silhouette in the hallway, his mortal breaths grim in the aftermath of your outburst.

The doctor was well-aware of the peril, he most certainly was, but he remained unmoving in the arch of his doorway, features hardening with each drag of his supposed patient.

“...Wha…what are…you doing?” Seeing the energy field build around your hand, Sylus grew tense — resonating with him right now was downright suicide, there was no telling how the protoshard could transmute and kill you.

“Stop.” 

Devoid of sympathy, devoid of concern; Zayne gripped your wrist before you could expend your power. Perhaps the unfeeling mask was indeed for show, a sort of pecking order, to assert dominance over the…crow. 

But he relented nonetheless. 

“Sy, let’s go in.” You tried lifting Sylus after Zayne’s almost unnoticeable gesture for you to enter, the criminal — as your doctor best friend put it — however, was not about to appear vulnerable: being here, defenceless and unarmed, was a mere indulgence to your worry. 

Clutching his blood-stained ribs, he brushed past Zayne, shoulders colliding into the doctor’s with such loathing he was knocked backwards. 

You weren’t sure who you’d hated more at that point.

Zayne said nothing, did nothing: “Only the witless resort to provocation,” he’d once told you.

The bleeding aggressor collapsed into one of Zayne’s swivel chair by the lounge, lungs and legs about to give out. 

You saw the doctor’s flash of displeasure — no one was allowed in his seat, least of all the enemy. But his resolve held steady, too steady, that he’d even offered you the customary “guest tea”.

“Water only for the lady? That’s no way to tre…treat your guest.” 

You choked a little on your tea.

“Sylus, please. Stop.” 

You swallowed your words when Zayne held out another cup. An olive branch? Perhaps there’s a chance they might be frien —

Splash! 

There it was. The reaction the N109 boss had yearned for. It was almost as if he liked it.

He sat there drenched in tea — Jasmine Dragon Pearls — Zayne spared no expense when it came to his premium tastes, he’d made damn sure Sylus knew it.

A low rumble of laughter erupted deep within the evil dragon’s lair. “You’re so petty, Zaynie.”

What followed next was a violent shove. One that had the swivel backrest tilted to the extreme…crack, crack, crack. Zaynie stood over him, one scarred arm pressing the chair down, one scarred fist clenching an inch away from Sylus’ pretty face.

“I can save you, but I can also slit the wrong artery. Accidentally, of course.” The doctor’s voice hovered low beside Sylus’ ear.

You gripped onto your teacup, watching the fracas unfold, wise enough not to interfere: a lion’s den was no place for a kitten. 

“Take off your shirt.”

You spat out your tea. 

Plain and simple, like he didn’t just say the most ordinary thing and made it absolutely filthy. 

Sprawled out under him, Sylus couldn’t contain his smirk.

“Already? Dr Zayne, you…you’re —”

A syringe of something was stabbed into his left arm, rendering the smug devil tongue-tied before he could continue his derision.

The doctor, however, continued his indecent ministrations: he ripped the bloody shirt off his patient, prodding the skin near his ribs to see just how much damage he’d taken.

This was supposed to be a sombre sight — it really was — but the two men oscillating between animosity and affection had you…aroused?

Staring mindlessly at the handsome, virile, fine specimens of men — one of them about to die of blood loss — had you caught somewhere between ache and attrition. 

Perhaps for the better, you hurried out into the living room and decided to quell your desire in “Heart, Mind & Soul: A Trinity”, a 500-page mammoth of Dr Zayne’s own dissertation. 

It worked. 

Time raced by. You had been so immersed in your reading that you hadn’t noticed Zayne crouched down beside you, taking in your splendour: quietly, reverently, longingly.

“I’ll need an honest review.”

The book flew out of your hands. “Zay…Zayne? You guys are done? Is Sylus okay?”

“He’s fine. Him dying wouldn’t bode well for my reputation.” 

At his words you gasped — the doctor drew in close, too close.

“It’s all for you, do you know that?” 

Your best friend ran the back of his fingers down your cheek, gaze dropping ever so slightly to your parting lips. You could tell that he wanted more, but Zayne wore righteousness like a badge of honour.  

“If you don’t go after what you want, someone else will.”

It happened too fast, too soon. 

You were prised from the almost kiss, into the lips of the enemy. 

Sylus crashed into you with such fervency and hunger that all that you could do was surrender. Despite your muddled mind, you’d managed a singular thought: Oh my god, what about Zayne?

What about him?

The professor may have been virtuous, but he was far from vapid. And that was when you were yet again wrested from one man to another; the taste of jasmine now blatant on your lips. Zayne didn’t hold back this time, no — his tongue searched for yours, starved and desperate. 

Sylus, on the other side, stood grinning at Zayne’s sudden brashness. And here you’d thought all criminals were territorial. 

You were lost in the kiss, before you felt the softness of what could only be Sylus’ expert mouth skimming your neck. He took his time exploring the contours of your collarbone, feeling your breath quicken, your heartbeat hasten.

He worked his way down to your breasts, but paused; his eyes were imploring for permission. 

Mouth already fiercely claimed by another, you could only arch your back in response. Sylus didn’t have to be told twice: he ran his hands under your blouse, then under your bra, big hands cupping and kneading your tender flesh. 

You let out an uncontrollable moan. It broke the kiss, and heedlessly turned to the man between your chest. His wound seemed to have disappeared. 

“Look at me.”

It was a command from the doctor. 

Uh oh, jealous Zayne was a tad frightening.

“Zayne, I…”

But he had already slid down to your legs. “What do you want me to do?”

What did he want you to say? Did he want you to be the saintly girl from his childhood? Or did he want you all grown up, unchaste, unfiltered?

“...I want…Zayne…please…just, I just want you…” Ah, an answer ambiguous enough to let him decide. Clever. 

But dear you, you’d already hooked your legs over him as formal invitation. 

In one swift motion, he tugged your pants off, as if he’d been training his entire life to do that. Laying sweet kisses to your ankles, your calves, your thighs…

…and you watched, breath dangerously shallow, as the professor bit the corner of your panty and pulled it down, down, down. 

He positioned himself in his favourite place, eyes lacquered as if in a fevered dream, and pressed his mouth to the only spot that could make you scream. Zayne may be restrained, but his tongue was a beast untamed. It padded at your clit, flirting with the nub once, twice, over…until his name was the only thing that filled your vision. 

Could you feel? Could you feel your nipples being bitten and toyed with? Sylus now had your entire breast in his mouth, while his other hand roamed over your stomach, creeping down to part one of your thighs. Was he helping Zayne gain leverage?

Absolutely not. 

It was every man for himself. Inch by selfish inch, they conquered, marked, and safeguarded as their own. Seeing how there was no way in between your legs, Sylus schemed to the armrest where your head was. He pushed two fingers into your mouth, feeling your saliva pool around them. 

The two men hated each other, but they sure were in sync. Fingers in at the top, fingers in below. A light slap to your face, a harder one at your base. Cock in your mouth, cock in down south. 

Your legs were spread wide, so wide for the professor, and he was pumping into you with such delirium…you wanted to scream, you really did, but the length of Sylus was shoved in to keep you quiet…and that was when you realised, they were, in fact, not syncing. They were competing.

“Come feel how wet she is for me.” 

It was a taunt, but Sylus took the bait. He pulled out from your throat, stalking over, but Zayne had somehow already secured you on top of him, his throbbing heat prodding at your extremely wet folds.

“Do you want it…” the doctor hummed into your ear, so soft, so soft — it was meant for no one but you — “...baby?”

Another loud moan, and you sank into him: the squelch was defeaningly vulgar. 

You couldn’t have known, for your eyes were rolled so far back, but the whole time you were rocking into Zayne, his own had been fixed on Sylus’, watching him watching the both of you, like a depraved voyeur tangled in his own lie. 

With his gaze still locked on the silver-haired devil, Zayne slipped his hands down to where you two were connected, and dragged his index over the fluids rimming your hole. Sylus broke into a slow smile.

“Ahhh, Zaynie, please, please…” 

Too far gone. So far, that you scarce had a second to think about the man you had so desperately tried to save earlier. Said man at last, knelt down behind you on the sofa, one large hand grabbing your neck and face away from the thief, the other reaching down to massage your clit. He did not care that that domain was currently the doctor’s.

While you were chasing your own release, Sylus plunged his tongue inside your ear, whispering filth unknown to man:

 “I’m leaking right now, do you know that?” 

“I want you…chained to my bed…I want you begging…while he watches.”

“Will you be able to take it, if I fucked you, with Zaynie’s cock still inside?”

All his dirty little secrets may have been for you to hear, but his parting words were a wilful torment aimed to shatter the doctor’s composure.

Thrust, thrust, thrust. Zayne became relentless with his assault. Whether it was silent retaliation or him nearing rapture, it made Sylus very, very, happy. So happy, in fact, that he took your mouth into his once more, kissing you with all the greed and madness only a criminal could bestow. All at the same time, he began grinding his erection into your back — his breath jagged, his desire frantic. 

And this madman had the nerve, the nerve, to keep his eyes open while doing the deed, lucid orbs of devil-red goring into the doctor’s green. He bit and sucked at your supple lips, hands bullying your breasts, all this time transfixed on Zayne.

The doctor was indeed nearing his high, for his brows were knitted in sweat and shambles, and it seemed all that was needed to implode was to feel you clamp down on him. He tightened his grip on your hips, unfazed your attention was with another, and drove into you at disgusting speed.

“...fuck baby, you’re so tight…I…I…”

Begging with his cock, pleading with his words…. you cried into Sylus’s mouth at Zayne’s unbecoming behaviour. 

And that was when the enemy struck. 

Sylus shoved you down onto Zayne. With your backside elevated, he smeared his pre-load around where Zayne had stuffed you, inciting deranged moans from you and the doctor. 

Sensing an opening to enter, he did. It was raw, wanton, demented.

“Fuck…off, asshole.” Zayne managed through strangled gasps. Sharing you was one thing, sharing you whilst grazing another man’s cock? Downright deplorable.

The deplorable asshole pushed down even harder — Sylus was smug, but unreadable: his face was contorted in between arousal and aversion — there was no telling what he would do next. 

“Why don’t you take it, doctor?”

Zayne never lost, and so he did take it. He was too far gone, completely wrecked, and all he could think about was you, you, you. 

You, Sylus, Zayne. The three of you; thighs and parts slathered in your combined lust, altogether making sounds of the obscene. They were a testament to how good the two men had stretched you in tandem.  

“…fuck…you feel…so good kitten, so good for me…”

Everything around you began to constellate into a whirling blur. Only:

 “Sy, Zayne, harder!” 

“You’re such a dirty girl, kitten.”

“Say my name, louder.”

And you exploded into stars. 

And the men exploded into rage. 

Sylus was sent crashing into the lounge table, with Zayne bent over him. Their combined weight and impact shattered the glass, shards of crystalline like displaced celestial bodies doomed never again to find home.

Seething through sweat and blood, the doctor held the devil down by his neck, crushing his throat, his deft grip exerting extra pressure on his carotid artery. “You do not deserve her.”

And the devil laughed — a hearty, scathing bellow — it rumbled in the air; thick, like lightning slicing through fog. “All this be…because…I said you had mad skills? Hmm? What…isss…is it about you, doc? You’re a boring, hardline killjoy, perhaps what you need is someone to bend you ov —”

Sylus didn’t get to finish.

Spikes of bitter frost pierced the bloodied marble floor, its force leaving the corner of his left ear bleeding. Zayne — a man of self control, self discipline, self restraint — had come undone.

“Zayne! Please, don’t hurt him…” you cried, body still languid from the aftershock of your climax. You made to move, but couldn’t: Sylus held you down with his evol. 

“Sylus let me go!!” 

You scanned the room, desperate to stop the mess, to prevent the doctor from aggravating Sylus’s injury…wait, where did his wound go?

It was a scene from hell. The two men, bathed in gore and malice, naked, about to wrangle the other to the death. How it had gotten this dire vexed you…surely a war of words didn’t warrant a massacre??

“That’s the fire I’m looking for. You should be angry more oft…ten. Helps you last…longer…in bed.” 

He was wheezing, but it would seem he would goad the doctor till his last breath. Zayne pressed his face into the enemy’s, spite and spit looming in the air between them.

“Why don’t you fight back?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I want you to shut the fuck up.”

“Why don’t you make me, doctor?”

For a long, heated moment, you held your breath, sickened by the carnage you’d assumed was to come. 

It happened, in a series of successions.

Zayne slammed his mouth into Sylus’, hand steadying his bruised face like it was the most tender thing he’d ever dared touch. Their kiss was carnal, dangerous, a sort of pleasure derived only from sleeping with the enemy.

Tangled in broken glass, broken frost and broken moans, neither cared that they were impaled by sharp objects intent on taking their lives. Open mouthed and panting, Sylus fisted Zayne’s hair, pulling it back with such wild abandon the doctor was left trembling for more. 

The dragon relished in the doctor’s agony, before plunging his head forwards and devouring his lips once more. A collision so vicious it split the corners of their lips, leaving behind a bloody trail of crimson that ran down Zayne’s neck. Wholly possessed by the divine sight, Sylus began to lap at the elixir of life, sucking, biting…

A low groan erupted from the professor.

“You disgust me.”

“I know.”

Over and over, the enemies turned lovers took turns devastating each other, soaked bodies crashing violently to see who would break first. Even in lust there exists loathing, but none quite like the devotion of a dragon. Sylus placed his hand over Zayne’s heart: now one could contend that it was deference, but the sly devil began teasing his nipple before clamping it between his forceful fingers. 

He watched as Zayne stifled a cry. Sylus loved studying the doctor’s imperceptible expressions. Something in him longed to swallow his reservations, to unravel him, to see him lose control.

The pause allowed Zayne the upper hand — he was, afterall, on top. Out of breath and outside of himself, he alas captured the roaming claw on his chest, seized it steady, and guided it low, low, low…

…and he gave the dragon everything he had ever wanted. 

The devil’s leaking cock, now in the sweet mercy of the professor, the doctor, his Zayne…Sylus, for the first time, whimpered at the ruin that was to come.  

You did not exist.

But you did not mind. If being with them both was a choice, then it was a choice well made, for your boyfriends put on a show fit for a lady: they had begun thrusting into each other; and you had begun playing guess the predator….

The room could not contain your heat, you felt so excruciatingly warm…

……

“...warm? You’re burning up, darling.”

Your eyes flew open.

Zayne’s mellow coddling turned distinct in your ears. Heart, Mind & Soul: A Trinity was still clasped in your hands. Gaze darting to your pants, the lounge table, then your… guy friends, you burst into a labourious coughing fit.

He placed a hand over your forehead before again offering you tea, worry plastered all over his handsome face. 

“Is darling the only pet name you know? Tsk…you’re as boring as your name sounds…”

Sylus emerged from the lounge, his bandaged ribs visible through a half-buttoned shirt.

Ignoring him with exceptional grace, Zayne continued, “I’m sorry we took a while. We got the toxin out. Also tell him I want my shirt returned by Friday. Dry cleaned and pressed.”

The more they said, the wilder your heart pounded; the storm would not settle.

“Did you have a bad dream, darling? You were…talking a lot…”

Oh shit. 

“...I…I was? Wh…what did I say?”

There was a sudden halt in their chatter. A sudden stillness. An opera reaching its peak on the vinyl.  

It made you terribly uncomfortable.

Alas, with a coded chuckle, the devil spoke.

IN THE LATE, SILENT HOURS after the banquet had drawn to a close and all sought the comfort of their beds, you lay awake drowning in a sea of mental calamity. You were plagued by the memories of Corrina's hollow eyes, could still feel the ghost of Felix's horrendous touch, could hear his twisted excitement when he proclaimed his desires to see you ruined. You could not silence the Senator's haunting words that echoed loudly in your skull, could not dislodge the panic that began to swell and fester within your chest with every strangled breath you took when you imagined your bloody, agonizing demise upon a wooden cross for all to see in the event you were labeled fugitiva.

Try as you might to silence your thoughts, begged the gods for a mere moment of respite, they would not abide. The only answer you received was the dark, angry voice at the back of your mind reminding you that you would not be able to escape your horrific fate. Come the Augustalia, you would belong to Felix, if you were not labeled a traitor before its arrival. Your maidenhead would be violently taken from you while he relished in your promised tears and anguish just as Corrina was condemned, just as countless others had been. And every moment following, Felix would take his pleasure from you any way he saw fit until the end of your days.

You saw it agonizingly clear, then, for the first time in your pitiful existence, the destined course in which your life would lead. Felix would make you his whore, and in doing so, damn you to be on the receiving end of Aurelia's endless ire and hatred birthed from supposed betrayal. It would then only be a matter of time before your womb would swell with his seed, leaving his everlasting mark upon you but also upon the soul in which he would force you to create, a soul borne of violence and cruelty. The child would be reared within the confines of the villa and ludus, damned to serve their father and aunt who would make their existence a living nightmare. Just as it was for you. And your mother. And her mother's mother and all who came before her.

And all the while, you would be used and abused over and over and over again until your body gave out and your shade was finally able to make its journey across the River Styx, into Pluto's cold embrace.

Perhaps death upon the crucifix falsely accused would be the more merciful end after all.

A choked, broken sound wheezed from your lips as wave after wave of unrelenting torment crashed over you. All you could do was lay curled into yourself, hot tears streaming down your face, your hands covering your lips in attempt to muffle your cries lest they wake your Domina.

You had always known that your life was not your own, that you could never make a single meaningful choice. But to be constantly reminded that your pain and suffering were a rich fount of pleasure for your masters to quench their never-ending thirst for cruelty was excruciating. No matter where you looked, no matter where you found yourself, you would always be surrounded by those who deemed you lesser, who deemed your existence solely meant for their own entertainment and sickened whims. It was a painful, sobering truth that cracked open your heart and ripped into the very fibers of your being.

The moment the thought crossed your mind, a flash of gold appeared in your mind's eye, along with a whispered promise of refuge. You sobbed again, your fingers becoming slick with tears as you pressed your hand more painfully over your mouth. It barely dampened the sounds of your sorrow.

Before you could fully comprehend your actions, you wretched yourself from your bed and made your way down the winding halls of the villa. You dared not breathe until you reached the eastern gardens, gulping in lungfuls of air, your wild eyes hardly glancing at the illuminated form of Mount Vesuvius as you made way in the direction of the slave baths. It was foolish, you knew, to dare hope that he would be there, to tempt fate by sneaking around the grounds. But not more foolish than your decision to find out for certain, more than your desire to feel the warmth of his familiarity.

The moment you crossed the threshold, you were at once hit with the scent of wet stone and aromatic oils, teary eyes blinking wildly as they adjusted to the amber-lit chamber. Your heart thrashed in your chest the moment your eyes landed upon the stone pool and the large, pale figure that sat within. His eyes were closed, head leaned back against the edge of the bath facing you on the opposite side of the room, golden hair pulled back away from his face by a leather strap, resembling a horse's tail.

"Adrian." his name was a hoarse whisper when it fell from your lips, a small, warm tendril of relief beginning to unfurl within you.

His golden eyes flashed open, mouth parting in light surprise when he took in your stricken form.

You shifted uneasily on your feet. "Apologies, I-"

The words died in your throat, only to be replaced by another quiet sob. You made to take a step back in the same moment he surged to stand, the sudden movement forcing the waters of the bath to slosh over the stone edge.

"What has happened?" he took another step. "Are you harmed?"

Unable and unwilling to trust your voice, you shook your head. It was only after several centering breaths did you finally rein in your emotions and fully wiped the tears from your face.

"I must admit, I did not expect you to be present," you murmured quietly through a stifled sniffle. "Though I had hoped, and I am glad that you are."

The golden-haired gladiator's eyes narrowed, drinking in every detail of your upset. "As I said at market, should you ever wish to speak freely with a trusted friend, this place is refuge for you."

You nodded, tentatively making to sit at the edge of the bath. The weight of his stare was a strange, welcome pressure that rooted you into the present moment, alleviating the fog and torment that had began to consume you. A small hum left your lips as your feet and calves submerged into the warm water. Adrian's towering form remained for half a breath before making his way back to where he had first been resting, allowing you berth.

"I know not where to begin." you said after a long moment of silence stretched between you, your eyes focused solely on the steam that rose from the surface of the bath. Absentmindedly you fiddled with the hem of your linen nightdress, pulling it over the tops of your knees.

"Begin with the matter that weighs most on your heart."

For a long, long time you did not speak until you slowly began to reveal every single fear you had been haunted by. He listened, never uttering a sound. It was only when you finally revealed the fear of a potential child borne of Felix's cruelty did you finally look up and meet his eyes.

"Gods forbid Felix does father my child, what then? I cannot bear the thought of another innocent soul condemned to this wretched torment. I'd sooner pitch myself from the roof of the villa." you bit bitterly. "At least, then, we'd both be free."

The molten depths of his golden eyes swirled with a darkness you could not name.

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat before continuing. "You once told me that one could bend for survival, but could not allow themselves to break. In truth, your words enraged me, vexed me, and inspired me all in equal measure."

Adrian slowly leaned his head back once again upon the edge of the bath, the broad expanse of his chest flexing with his movements. "How so?"

You breathed in a centering breath, willing the remaining unease from your mind. "For a moment I believed that you were foolish to say such a thing. I believed that by bending to their will of fighting and dying in the arena, you had already proven they had broken you. That by giving in to their will, you proved that you had nothing else to live for. But the very same can be said of me and of every other soul who is enslaved. If we were truly whole, would we continue bending to their every whim? Or would we rather die in the name of freedom? Or rather than foolishness, is it strength? To continue to face adversity, to live and fight on to see another day? Or is it weakness? A fear of death and a preference for life even if it is one of bondage?"

He did not offer reply, yet he never took his eyes off of you, his statuesque face remaining unreadable.

"I know not the answer, but I do know that I cannot bear to live the rest of my days subjected to this cruelty, of constantly living in fear. Constantly being threatened and touched and abused. Whether by Domina or Felix or the fucking Senator!" you rasped, your throat constricting as more tears threatened to burst forth.

The energy in the bathhouse shifted into something heavy and brittle as your words bounced off the peeling stone walls. Before you could comprehend it, Adrian was in front of you, the wall of his muscled torso blocking anything else from view. Your eyes snapped up to meet his own, now burning with rage.

"The Senator harmed you?"

You gawked at him before shaking your head in denial. "N-No. He inquired about my knowledge of Spartacus. It was Sypha's amicae, Greta, who had whispered of him to me at the Belmont Villa after your victory in the Vulcanalia. I feared she may have spun a tale regarding our shared words and claimed me a rebel."

A taut silence consumed the baths. You shifted uneasily, craning your neck up to see his face fully.

"That is not all," you whispered, your eyes locked onto his own, "the Senator and his wife have bid me to call them by their given names when present solely in their company. I do not know why, nor have I fallen into the trap of false familiarity. But their requests frighten me."

Adrian's jaw tightened. "I see."

Another bout of silence descended upon the baths before he stepped closer to you. You leaned forward the most indecipherable amount, nearly close enough to feel the warmth of his skin radiating from his person.

"You are wise to mistrust the Senator and his wife." Adrian murmured gently. "Is it only ever the fool who places their trust in Rome and that of its masters."

You could not bring yourself to respond.

"I would not weigh mind with worry regarding the amicae." he began again. "There is reason she would endeavor to root out those who sympathize with the rebel cause and heed their call to action. She serves a master of Rome, even if she once acted the part of ally. The Senator could have put her to task of discovering those who would turn eye and mind towards rebellion."

You inclined your chin. "Your reasoning is sound. Your words are welcome balm upon my heart."

He stepped ever closer, now hardly an arm's length away. "It warms my own to hear it."

You stared at one another for a moment longer before you stood from the edge of the pool. "Gratitude, truly. It means more than you could ever know to share the truth of my heart with another, but I should return to the villa. The hour is late and I must be up with the rising sun."

Adrian shook his head, speaking lowly in Dacian before translating it into Latin. "You never need offer me thanks, amicae. This is my sanctuary, and I dare hope it becomes your own. I pray to my gods that they watch over you and bless you with pleasant dreams."

A minuscule smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "As do I ask the same of my gods for you."

~

In the subsequent days following the banquet, you and Adrian did your due diligence of never meeting each other's eye whenever you shared public space, but come the deepest hours of the night, you found yourselves in each other's company, shielded away from prying eyes in the slave baths. You had expressed initial concern of the house guard becoming aware of your presence, to which he had smirked coyly and said, "The baths are outside their route during the night. It is not so during the day."

Despite a tendril of worry flaring in your belly, you trusted his word wholeheartedly.

During the hours you spent together, he inquired after your youth and life in Pompeii. You spoke the story of your past in earnest, sharing with him that you did now know your parents, that your mother had been sold to another house in Herculaneum when you were just a babe. You told him how you had always sought comfort in music, the language of the gods and mortals alike soothing to your soul. He listened, ever attentive, ensuring that the truth of your heart never fell on deaf ears.

In your visits, you always sat at the edge of the stone bath, your feet and legs the only parts of you within the water. He sat beside you, his lower half covered in his subligar, your shoulders, thighs, and arms occasionally brushing. You found yourself inching closer and closer, your need and desire for his touch growing more and more with each passing day. And in the handful of moments you felt unsure or hesitated that he would not feel the same, he would roll his shoulders, causing your arms to brush, or wade his feet beneath the water, his thighs ghosting against yours.

A tenday before the start of the Ludi Romani, you found yourself once again within the baths, despite all logical reasoning warning you otherwise. A torrential downpour fell from the heavens above, thunder and lightening cracking open the sky as Jupiter made his presence known. You both sat on opposite sides of the threshold, watching the storm and relishing in the gusts of fresh air that rolled down Vesuvius. A bowl of fresh, crisp apple slices and honey-drizzled bread sat in the space between you, an offering you had pilfered from the kitchens before your arrival. In the visit prior, Adrian had admitted his fondness for fruit and how much he missed the taste. When you had bared the bowl to him, you could not help the shy smile that graced your lips when he chuckled, his eyes brightening.

A comfortable silence had settled between you until another loud clap of thunder boomed overhead, shaking the stone walls of the bathhouse.

"It appears Jupiter wields his bolt with exacting precision this night." you mused quietly, as to not disturb the tranquil peace.

"Gebeleizis," Adrian murmured, his marble face illuminating when another flash of lightening arced across the sky. "Lord of the sky, bringer of storms, wielder of lightening."

A pleasant shiver ran down the course of your spine at the sound of the accented word. "That is your people's name for him?"

He nodded once, leaning forward and bringing a slice of apple to his lips. You watched for a moment too long, the sight of his lips parting and his tongue licking the juice that dribbled down his mouth awakening something ravenous within you. Another boom of thunder sounded out, snapping you from your stupor. You tore your eyes away, at once forcing them to focus on the heavens above.

"It always fascinates me to learn of the other gods." you admitted, willing the heat in your face to disappear, your eyes once again peering at the gladiator, losing against the fight to keep your eyes trained elsewhere. "Tell me of your own."

Adrian leaned back against the stone doorframe, extending his left leg out so that it was merely inches from your own, his right knee bent and held upright. He inclined his chin, eyes gleaming. "What do you wish to know?"

Your face burned hotter. "Everything."

A bright, brilliant flash of silver-purple lightening split the dark sky in two directly above the ludus grounds as a deafening roar of thunder made your ears ring. You startled slightly, Adrian's gaze on you settling even deeper, his lips tugging into a small smirk.

"As I said, Gebeleizis is our god of the heavens, of the storm." he began, his deep voice sending yet another wave of tingles throughout your body. "Pleistoros, our god of war. He is akin to Mars in these lands."

You straightened, your attention at once solely focused on him, the cacophony of the raging storm falling away.

" Zalmoxis is our god of wisdom, of death, and immortality. And then there is Bendis, the great goddess of the moon and forests. She is the protector of women, children, and childbirth."

"She sounds very similar to Diana," you smiled gently, drinking in the sculpted perfection of his face.

"Indeed." he shifted again. "She was my mother's patron deity."

You stilled, breath hitching in your throat. In the handful of times you had rendezvoused in the baths, he had never once spoken of his kin. Curiosity and intrigue curled around you like smoke, enshrouding your logical mind.

"What happened to her?" the words fell quietly from your lips, your mind unable to stop them.

Adrian's eyes flashed, shoulders growing taut, dark shadows flickering across his face just like the night beneath the ludus.

Panic flared in your chest. "Apologies, I do not wish to ups-"

"She was slain by the Romans the day they conquered our lands." he responded lowly, cutting your apology off at the root, his heavy gaze never leaving your own.

A horrid, heavy stone of dread began to fester inside your stomach as you tried and failed to find words. His unease was a sharp, palpable thing that stole your breath and twisted your heart, and yet, he did not pull away, did not break the moment between you by tearing his eyes away. You continued to stare at each other for many, many moments, the heavens above flashing and gleaming as Jupiter continued to channel his power.

"Tell me about her." you coaxed gingerly. "Tell me of her life."

Adrian's shoulders grew impossibly tauter, the thick cords of muscles straining beneath his pale, scarred flesh. When another deafening clap of thunder shook the walls of the baths, the tension upon his shoulders released.

"My mother's name was Lisa." he began, his voice weighted by the heaviness of conjuring memory of the dead. "She was the most powerful medicine woman in our tribe, her gift revered by all. She could mend even the most mangled flesh, could coax a babe born feet first from the womb, could pull a warrior's life back from the brink of death. She was radiant. Blessed by Bendis herself."

You dared not speak nor look away. You watched him in reverent silence.

"When she was but five and twenty, she healed the most powerful and gifted warrior in the clan, the son of the chief. He was renown for his skill in battle, a ferocious warrior who slayed all who dared attempt to bring our people harm. His name was Vlad Tepes. My father."

It took every ounce of willpower to will your eyes not to snap onto the large, raised scar that marred his torso.

"They were married under the radiant light of the full moon, blessed by the Cult of the Wolf. Their union brought great harmony to our lands and people. And when my grandsire passed on to the next world, my father took up his mantle, my mother ever present at his side. They were the greatest leaders our people had ever known."

Adrian's face darkened, the shadows deepening.

"And then, the savage Romans came. First they set their sights on slaughtering the Getae, then set course for Dacia. I fought alongside my father, alongside my shield-brothers and sisters in attempt to drive them back. But we were not prepared to face the full might of Rome and the scourge they brought to our lands."

You attempted to speak but thought against it. Though his eyes were locked onto your being, you could see that his mind and soul were elsewhere, reliving the horrors of his past.

He spun the vivid, haunting memory of that day as easily as he drew breath. The Romans attacked in the dead of night, under cloak of the new moon. The Dacian warriors had no chance to raise their swords against them, the surprise of the attack too great. They had dragged every innocent man, woman, and child from their beds and threatened to put them to the sword if Adrian's father dared attempt to fight back.

The commander who led the invading forces had proclaimed himself as the infamous Legatus Aurelius. He avowed to allow every innocent life to be spared so long as the chief family willingly submitted to the might of Rome and forfeited their lives. Adrian and his parents did so without hesitation, but it was all for naught. The moment they knelt before the bronze eagle idol, they bashed his father over the head and began to separate the strong from the weak, the feeble from the mighty to enslave.

Adrian could do nothing as he was beaten and brutalized, forced to watch as the Romans corralled all of the undesirables into the temple that housed the statues of their gods. Legatus Aurelius commanded that every healer and knowledge keeper would be put to death with them. They barred the doors and set the building to the torch, condemning all within to a torturous death. His mother among them.

You fought against the painful clawing of tears that threatened to spill, your eyes still never wavering from his own. Adrian's lips had pulled into a severe, sharp frown. He came back into himself as more thunder reverberated against the slave baths, a blinding flash of lightening streaking against the sea of night.

"Many of my clansmen succumbed under the cruel lash of the Legatus and his legionaries that night. But countless more were shipped off to distant lands, my father and I among them. That is how we came to arrive in Pompeii, came to be purchased by Antonius."

Adrian stretched his sword-arm out for you to see, exposing the small 'B' branded upon his skin beneath the crease of his elbow. The mark of Batiatus. The mark of a gladiator.

"We were told that our lives would only ever prove meaningful in their games. And from that day forth, I was forced to slaughter my kin until only I remained."

A jagged, uneasy breath escaped your lips. You closed your eyes, unable to bear the weight of his haunted stare no longer. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and for a brief moment, a heavy silence consumed you. Your mind whirled with sickening speed at his conjured memories, an excruciating, thorny lash ripping into the delicate flesh of your heart. You knew he had lost much, as was the case for every captured soul brought to the shores of the Republic. But never could you have dreamed of such a horrific truth.

You only opened your eyes again when another clap of thunder rattled deeply inside your ribs, a slash of lighting ripping across the heavens. You found his gaze once more, swallowing the thick lump that formed in your throat.

"I do not have the words to express my sorrow for you and your people. For all the loss you have endured." you shook your head, wiping your tears away. "I-I cannot imagine."

Adrian breathed slowly, the corners of his lips bowing ever downward. "I feel the weight of your heart. That is enough."

You made to deny him, but decided against it. Instead, you leaned forward, your hand gently brushing over the raised brand upon his flesh. He stiffened, watching you with an unreadable expression as your fingertips slowly trailed down the length of his arm before grasping the large hand upon his thigh. Given your distance you could not fully grasp it, but you were able to settle your palm over the back, skimming across his knuckles. His body coiled even tighter before minutely releasing, turning his hand and allowing the warmth of his calloused palm to press into your own.

"I wish to sing a lament to honor your people." you murmured, peering up at him beneath your lashes. "For your mother and father and all those who have fallen beside you in the arena. May I?"

His stare seared down into the marrow of your bones. "Yes."

With a small, centering breath, you calmed your nerves and began to sing for the dead. Your voice was quiet, but the rich, melodic sound filled the baths and was cloaked from outsiders by the raging tempest outside. Your eyes fluttered shut as you wove his and your pain together, a humble yet gratuitous offering to all those he had lost. When you called out his mother and father's names, his hand tightened the most imperceptible amount.

When the last note rang out you met his eyes again, unwavering from the intensity in which he watched you. "I pray that every soul you have lost may now rest in the embrace of Zalmoxis."

Adrian's golden eyes widened slightly before he inclined his chin, the movement causing his thick blond tendrils to cascade over his broad shoulders. "Gratitude."

You stared at one another for a moment longer before he pulled his hand away, running it through his hair in attempt to remove it from his face. Your own began to burn as you finally realized your position, nearly folded over in your attempts to comfort him. You straightened your back immediately, eyes at once fixating themselves on the storm once more. A charged but comforting air settled once again between you, and for the remainder of your time before you returned to the confines of your chambers, you watched the storm in amicable, warm silence.

AS THE DAYS OF THE LOOMING FESTIVAL drew closer and closer, your ability to sneak into the slave baths became nonexistent. Aurelia worked you like mule, demanding and commanding each and every one of her ridiculous requests to be met as she dragged you and countless other attendants from shop to shop, social affair to social affair that supposedly required her attention. From the moment the sun rose in the east and set in the west, you tended to her every whim.

By the time the sun sank below the horizon on the second-to-last day of preparations, you were completely overcome with exhaustion. Every step you took sent painful jolts through the soles of your feet up to the base of your spine, your temples throbbing with tension building behind your eyes.

By the grace of the gods, Aurelia demanded that another slave accompany her to the Aventus Villa after receiving invitation to a most debauched affair in celebration of the impending festivities, all the while commanding you to polish her entire collection of jewelry. It was a menial task to be sure, but one where you could sit upon the plush chairs of her chambers in most welcomed silence. You finished the task in the late hours of the night, and with budding anticipation and excitement, you began once again to meander the path to the baths.

Over the course of your secret meetings with the Wolf, you had perfected the journey so that you would not rouse suspicion nor encounter any person who may betray your intentions. You had realized that the house guard rarely ever stepped foot within the villa during the darkest hours of night, instead focusing their attentions solely on the entrance of the grand estate and bowels of the ludus. Which meant that all you needed to find success in weaving through the hallways and surpassing other slaves was to stick to the shadows.

When you reached the baths and crossed the threshold, you nearly called out his name before the words died in your throat. Everything remained the same, except the iciness of his absence. There was no visible sign that he had been there at all.

A stinging lash of disappointment coursed through you. You had thought about nothing else to get you through the days of drudgery besides finally being able to talk to him again, to feel the warm of his grounding presence, to continue nourishing the growing ties between you. Though it may have been foolish, devastatingly so you could admit, you could not help but desire to always be near him.

You inhaled sharply, shifting on your feet. The movement caused more painful throbs to radiate up your legs and into your lower back. You eyed the warm, steaming waters, your body growing heavier and achier as the moments flowed by. Might as well enjoy yourself, you thought. Though you had bathed earlier that morning, the promise of warmth upon your exhausted limbs was too enticing to deny.

Wordlessly you unfastened the sky-blue stola that had adorned you that day, allowing the fabric to rustle to the ground. The moment you stepped into the bath and immersed yourself within the waters, your entire body relaxed, the throbbing of your temples ebbing away. You made your way to the spot Adrian always lounged in facing the door of the baths. With a gentle sigh you settled comfortably upon the stone bench and leaned your head back, allowing the soothing waters to tend to your aching being. Within moments your eyes fluttered shut and you allowed yourself to succumb into easeful tranquility.

"I feared that this night would be another without the blessing of your presence. I am glad it is is not so, however, never did I imagine you stealing my rightful place."

Your eyes snapped open, your heart thrashing wildly against your ribs as your startled gaze settled upon Adrian's towering form. He stood in the threshold of the bathhouse, bare save for his subligar, an amused smile etching across his handsome face. You sat up, face heating in a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

"I did not think you would come." you replied breathlessly, attempting and failing to settle your racing heart.

"Nor did I." he inclined his chin, finally stepping towards the edge of the pool, right in front of your discarded garment. "Your absence has been a dark curse upon my mind."

Your heart swelled at his admission.

"It is not of my own making." you replied truthfully. "Domina has been quite demanding and overbearing in regards to preparing for the Ludi Romani."

He watched you, his eyes briefly flickering to your stola then back to your face. "Is that so?"

"It is." you nodded through a small yawn, rolling your taut shoulders. "I cannot think of another moment in time where I have ever been so thoroughly exhausted."

He made an acknowledging sound that rumbled deep within his chest as he sat at the edge of the pool, eyes never leaving your own. "She has not harmed you again, has she?"

"No." you denied him with a humorless chuckle. "Neither has Felix. By the grace of the gods they have been too preoccupied with feasting, drinking, and fucking their peers to set their minds to the task."

The golden-haired gladiator merely nodded once. You stared at him, waiting for him to say or do more, but it never came. He only continued to sit at the edge of the pool, his golden eyes fixated on your face. Though you were used to his intense gaze, welcomed it with an open heart, the way in which he continued to watch you now set your whole body aflame.

"Does something weigh on your mind?" you finally asked, growing restless under his ever-watchful eyes.

"No."

"Then why do you stare?"

The corners of his pink lips twitched. "Does my gaze offend you?"

You shifted again in the water, peeling yourself from the stone wall so that you sat up straight, the waterline a mere half-inch above your breasts. "No."

A moment of silence passed by, your eyes still trained on each other. You attempted to bite back another yawn and lost.

"If you are so overcome with exhaustion, amicae, you should seek respite in your bed."

You shook your head, and whether due to the haze of your tiredness or the relaxing lull of the waters, you spoke the true origin of your hesitation. "You only just arrived."

Adrian's jaw ticked, but he offered no reply. Instead, his eyes narrowed before tearing them away from you, focusing on the peeling frescoes upon the walls. You felt something stutter in your chest at the loss of his gaze, a coldness now blooming in your chest despite the warmth that enveloped your being. You realized, then, just how much you craved his attention. Wanted it. Needed it. It terrified and excited you in equal measure.

"Join me." you stated simply, shyly. "The bath is big enough for the both of us, as you well know."

Your words had the desired effect you prayed for. Immediately his eyes found your own once again, their intensity sending another pulse of warmth through you. This time, however, it went straight to your core.

For a long moment he did not reply before he stood and began to unfasten the garment that clothed his lower half. You could not help but drink in his divine, muscled form as his muscles contracted and released with his carefully measured movements. Before long he pulled his subligar down his legs, revealing his nakedness. Your eyes flashed to the thick cock that hung heavily between his thighs, forcing your gaze away to focus on anything else lest you stare too long. You heard and felt the disruption of the waters as he submerged himself, wading through the pool towards where you sat.

You had fully expected him to sit across from you, as you had done the first and last time you had bathed together. Instead he took his place right beside you, so close your shoulders brushed. You felt the warmth of his body burning hotter than even the bath, the sensation causing your mind and chest to feel fuzzy. You chanced a glance at him sidelong, watched as he fully leaned back against the wall of the stone pool, the muscle of his neck and shoulders contracting as he rested his head upon the ledge. Your eyes trailed down the expanse of his neck, further down to his scarred chest and arms, watched as water droplets trailed from the ends of his wet hair and down his torso.

An easeful silence settled within the bath as you too leaned back, a soft hum of satisfaction leaving your lips, your body fully relaxing once more. Neither of you spoke, instead taking respite in a rare moment of complete peace. However, the nearly nonexistent space between your two bodies crackled with energy that could not be easily ignored.

Every other breath you would turn your face to peer at him, only to see that he was already looking at you with every attempt. You would look away, only to repeat the pattern not a moment later.

"Does excitement fill your heart in anticipation for the festival?" he asked after he had caught your eye again for the third time in a row, voice laced with a heaviness you could not place.

Your cheeks heated, forcing your eyes onto the nearest clay lamp overhead. "I am, yes. And you?"

"The Roman holy days hold no interest to me." he replied before continuing. "What holds most favor in your heart for this holy celebration?"

You hummed gently, a small smile gracing your lips. "The grand procession."

"What is it like?"

An disbelieving laugh escaped you. "You have never witnessed the grand procession?"

"No." he shifted slightly beside you, his arm once again brushing against your own. A delightful shiver ran down your spine at the brief moment of contact. "Tell me of it."

You faced him then, eyes wide with amusement and joy as you recalled the details from memory. "The first time I bore witness to it, I was a young child, no more than ten. It was soon after I was gifted to Aurelia as her amicae. The masters attend every year, and due to my rise in station I was able to see it for myself."

At once you began to conjure the memory, eyes fixating on the ceiling of the baths so that you were not distracted by the intensity of his eyes. You spoke of the dozens of priests and priestesses that led the entire parade down the main avenues towards the amphitheater, carrying large golden statues of the gods upon their backs. How masterful musicians played in offering to the heavens on large moving wagons decorated with opulence that could rival Olympus itself, the acrobatic dancers who trailed behind them, their whirling and twirling awe-inspiring to the thousands that gathered and lined the streets.

As you continued to recall the tale, the space between you and Adrian slowly disappeared until your shoulders were completely flush against one another. When you had finished speaking, you faced him one last time, your eyes settling on the bow of his perfect lips. It was naught but a futile effort to attempt to banish any and all thought of how much you so desperately craved to know the taste of them upon your own. To feel the weight of his body pressing into you, the strength of his hands holding you close. How you wished for nothing more than to make a choice you feared might end in calamity.

His lips parted slightly, causing your eyes to tear themselves away and finally meet his gaze. You were so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your face, could see the flecks of white-gold in the center of his irises. Adrian's expression was unreadable, but his eyes scorched hotter than the sun, gleamed brighter than the most brilliant of stars.

Slowly, carefully, you leaned in, as did he, each of you providing the other ample time to pull away, to make the right choice. But neither of you did.

The gods themselves could not have prevented the moment your lips met.

The world around you fell away the instant his warm mouth pressed against your own, each and every sense overwhelmed by the taste and feeling of him. You kissed back, tentative, earnest, yet very much nervous that your inexperience would drive him away. It did no such thing.

Adrian responded to your earnestness in kind, causing tingles to course from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

You had always known, as much as witnessing your masters and betters doing the same could provide, that feeling and tasting another's lips was one pleasure that was unlike any other. But nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the all-encompassing ecstasy that was the taste and feeling of Adrian, of the mighty White Wolf, of the Champion of Pompeii. He consumed you mind, body, and soul. And you were all too eager to do the same to him, the dangers and subsequent consequences of your choices and actions be damned.

It was only when all the air from your lungs was gone did you pull away. Adrian rested his forehead against yours, his chest rising and falling in the same rapid succession as your own. He rasped something in his mother tongue before fully tearing away from you.

"Forgive me," he whispered, the sound of his voice edged with strain. He made to stand, his abrupt movements causing water to slosh over the edges of the stone bath. You watched him, wide-eyed and breathless before your hand shot out and tugged him back down to sit beside you. He made to say something more, only to be silenced by your lips capturing his own once again.

A low groan escaped him. Immediately he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer, your breasts flush against the hard planes of his chest. The warmth of his lips seared down into the very marrow of your bones, his tongue gliding across your bottom lip before entangling with your own. The new and unfamiliar sensation elicited a gentle moan to leave you, your cunt fluttering in eager anticipation.

"Gods," he rasped against your lips, finally pulling away for breath. "How I have longed to do that since the first day I set eyes upon you in this very place."

You blinked up at him from beneath your lashes, lips swollen and buzzing, your voice a breathless pant. "Oh?"

Adrian responded again in Dacian, his right hand leaving your hip to cup your cheek, his eyes roaming every inch of your face. You nuzzled into the warmth of his hand, your lips skimming over the edge of his palm.

You made to kiss him again, only for him to deny you with a gentle shake of his head, his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip. "It is late, woman. You should rest."

Your face heated ever more, yet you could not deny the amassing fatigue that threatened to consume you whole. "As should you, Champion."

The gladiator's eyes gleamed, once again drinking in every detail of your face before pulling away entirely, offering you a hand to step out of the pool. You took it silently, feeling a delicious strum of satisfaction course through you. Silently you crossed over to your stola and secured it back onto your body.

Once fully dressed, you turned to face him, an air of shyness and exhilaration settling over you. "Given the nature of the festival, I may be unable to slip away. If that is how it is to be, and I am unable to see you, I wish you good fortune and enjoyment at the festivities."

Adrian dipped his chin, eyes flickering back to your lips. You hoped he would lean in again, but he would not grant you your wish. Instead, he steeled his back and drew away. "You as well, amicae."

You felt his eyes on you the entire time you journeyed through the gardens and back to the villa, the weight of his stare fuel for the fires of your growing jubilation. You allowed yourself to recall the memory of the kiss in the safety of your room, your fingertips brushing over your swollen mouth. Your logical mind roared and reared that you had made a deadly, costly mistake, but you cared not. Not when you realized you had made the first true, meaningful choice in your entire life, the last time you would ever be able to do so.

It had always been ordained that all of your firsts would go to the highest bidder, to a monster in the guise of a man. That the first person to taste your lips would do so forcefully and without your desire.

But you had chosen otherwise. Despite all odds, you had been able to choose someone of your own desires, someone you dared call friend. Someone you found that you trusted implicitly. A man and warrior of such great caliber it made your head swim. You had never felt such elation, the feeling entirely new and cruelly intoxicating.

As you teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, your mind still visualizing the moment in the baths, you could not help but feel a tendril of dread that began to slowly snake its way around your heart. You had experienced a moment of the most unheard of blessing that nearly all slaves in the Republic would never know. You were terrified of never experiencing it again, could not imagine your future without it, were unwilling and unable to forfeit the need to taste more of freedom. More of him. But were you not careful, were you not as cautious as the gods themselves, it would all be taken from you. Everything. Your choice. Your life. His life.

You prayed, then, the quiet words tumbling from your lips as the deepest parts of your soul and inner voice shepherded your truest desires on their journey to the heavens above.

"My gods, hear me," you pleaded. "Grant us your favor, lend us your strength. Protect us, guide us. Should any harm befall us, he must be the one you save."

~

The Ludi Romani Festival finally arrived, springing forth seven days of continuous celebration. As the sun rose in the east, House Batiatus sacrificed a bull in honor of the mighty Jupiter, invoking him for the continued honor of his blessing for their glory. When morning fully arrived, you accompanied your masters to the arena, watching the grand procession weave in elaborate movements before the start of the nonlethal games against the gladiators of House Batiatus and the House of Attilius, the second favored ludus in the city.

That evening a large dinner party was held at your master's villa, the victor of nearly all of the games. You were fashioned at Aurelia's side the entire night, adorned in a glittering crimson garment that barely covered your nakedness and accentuated every inch of your body, the golden laurel collar heavy around your neck.

Every so often you would catch a glimpse of the Wolf as he was paraded around the atrium at Felix and Antonius's sides, both men vying to tout and boast the overall skill and success of their Champion. You paid special mind not to ever peer in his exact direction lest any leering eyes were witness to it. Though you were busy with tending to the endless tasks set before you and focusing on not looking, you only ever had one thing on your mind. The baths. The kiss. The never-ending desire and need for more.

With the wild whirlwind of the festivities, you were denied the opportunity to sneak away to your sanctuary. The second and third days were upon you within the blink of an eye, the former comprised of exhilarating chariot races, the latter theatrical performances that paid homage to the supreme lord of the sky.

The fourth evening, however, was different. The House of Batiatus had taken opportunity to hosting a most selective dinner party for a handful of Pompeii's finest, the promise of copious amounts of wine, opium, and desires of the flesh too enticing for the masters of the city to deny. You had been commanded by Aurelia to ready Corrina for the event, neither of you speaking as you did so. You adorned her figure in gold-speckled, shimmering paint, golden jewelry covering her nipples, attached by gold and ruby chains that hung off her frame, providing a false illusion of modesty. She refused to meet your eye, flinched away from your touch despite your extremely tender hand.

Your stomach coiled with a painful lash you refused name at the sight of her broken demeanor. You did not wish to call it pity, but you could not claim it as understanding, either. You would not be able to until the moment Felix fully forced himself upon you, commanded you to bear your body for his peers to use for their sick pleasures and all the horrors that came with it.

You dared not wish her well when Caius arrived to escort her to the atrium, adorned in an identical fashion as she. You could not bring yourself to dishonor her so. After all, what honor lay in well-wishes that were destined to fail?

"Salve," you greeted gently, attempting to meet his eyes.

The sapphire-eyed slave refused to meet you fully, instead giving you a tight-lipped smile. "Salve. Domina has commanded you remain in her chambers this evening, lest you be mistaken for the entertainment."

A rotten stone of guilt festered in your belly.

Neither of your fellows bid you farewell as they made their way down the winding corridors. You closed the door behind you, at once setting to task of keeping your hands busy to prevent your mind from spiraling.

You had begun to polish an emerald and amethyst circlet, the first of ten baubles you had set eyes upon when a nearly inaudible knock sounded from the door. Your froze for a mere moment before standing, eyebrows drawn in. Slowly you crossed the distance, gingerly wrapping your hand around the handle and pulling it towards you. Immediately your eyes landed on the form of the Wolf, his head covered with a makeshift hood originating from the golden and black tunic that adorned his broad form.

Your eyes widened, your heart stuttering wildly in your chest in the same breath he suddenly rushed forward, closed the door behind him, and crashed his lips into yours, pulling you so close and so quickly into his arms it made you gasp. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue licking deliciously across your lip, his teeth nipping at the tender flesh. A moan escaped you, and without thinking you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, perfectly synchronized with the moment him pinned your back against the chamber door.

Your mind could not conjure a single thought outside the heat and warmth of his lips, the solidness of his body against your own, the taste of him more intoxicating than anything you had ever tasted.

You wanted more. Needed more.

He pulled away for half a breath before his lips found the hollow of your neck, kissing and licking the tender spot just below your ear. You moaned again, your hands finding purchase in his golden locks. You pulled the tendrils at the nape of his neck, drawing him impossibly closer. A low, quiet groan rumbled in his chest. His lips founds yours again in an instant.

The room spun when he turned on his heels, his hold on you never wavering. Slowly crossed the distance to Aurelia's bed and with slow, controlled movements he sat upon the edge of the silk-covered mattress, positioning you so that you straddled his lap.

Your mind suddenly reeled with momentary clarity when your knees felt the soft fabric brush across your skin, reminding you where you were. The dangers that lurked below. You pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed.

"You cannot be here." you panted, shaking your head. "You should not be here. It is dangerous. Someone might see."

"I could bear our distance no longer." he grumbled lowly, pressing a hot, wet kiss to the tender spot below your ear.

You gasped, involuntarily grinding your hips into his lap.

"T-The masters-" your words faltered when he began to lick up your neck, his hands digging into the flesh of your backside.

"Too consumed in their gluttony to pay notice." he reasoned, voice straining as he hovered over your lips. "This moment is ours."

A small, distant voice in the back of your mind warned you against everything your heart and soul craved. If you were discovered, you would face a fate worse than death. But try as you might to heed it, you could not abide.

You let him claim your mouth once again, your hands moving to roam the hard planes of his chest beneath the silken fabric of his tunic. Adrian kneaded into the soft flesh of your backside, drawing you closer. The moment he did so, you felt something hard straining beneath the fabric of his garment, the sensation causing your cunt to clench.

Your Mistress's room was soon filled with the quiet, near-silent wet sounds of your mouths upon one another, punctuated with soft moans and sighs as you relished in each other's embrace.

It all came to a fever pitch when your tongues entwined, the full hardness of his thick cock more than evident as you slowly ground your dripping core up and down his covered length. Your kisses became faster, needier as you freely chased the delicious, elusive friction between your legs, too lost in the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through your body to feel any shame or embarrassment. Not when the tightening coil in your belly began to grow closer and closer to snapping.

You knew what you chased, what you need. Though you may have been untouched by others, there had been plenty of nights your fingers brought you to release over and over again. And though you knew how to please yourself, you could not deny the addictive ecstasy that was finding pleasure with another. Finding it with him.

Adrian swore beneath his breath, his lips latching onto your neck again when your hips began to move faster and faster, the word unrecognizable to you. Your hold around his shoulders tightened, crushing him to your chest, the proximity allowing him to feel the hardening peaks of your nipples beneath your stola.

You grinded into his lap even harder, your head lolling back when his straining, clothed cock brushed perfectly against your throbbing clitoris. A quiet grunt escaped him, hips bucking upwards into your own before he forcefully shoved them down, allowing you to continue you at your desired pace.

Your thighs began to burn and shake, your soft, breathy moans morphing into needy, hungry whines. Adrian found your lips again, swallowing the sound, his own breathy panting drowning out the roaring of your blood.

Your cunt began to flutter as you neared the precipice of release, your clitoris throbbing as strongly as your pounding heart.

In the breath before the coil snapped, a low, deep groan filled the air, the floor and walls around you beginning to tremble so strongly you and the golden-haired warrior nearly toppled off the bed. The grating sound of clattering vessels and furniture shattered the spell between you, a choked gasp rasping from your lips. The rattling continued to shake the villa before suddenly ceasing, brining with it eerie, quiet stillness.

You and Adrian froze, staring wide-eyed at one another as your minds hazily snapped back into the present moment. Your body felt as if it was set aflame, the cruel uncoiling of your lost orgasm slowly ebbing away with each lungful of air you inhaled. You took in the vision of his swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and heaving of his chest. You could only pray that you looked as ravishing as he did in dishevelment.

"The gods have spoken." he chuckled darkly, his hold on you tightening. "At such an inopportune moment, no less."

An amused huff of laughter escaped you. "Inopportune indeed."

You gazed into each other's eyes until he pressed his lips to your own for one last taste. The kiss was slow, reverent, claiming. It nourished a part of your soul you had no previous knowledge of even existing.

Wordlessly he pulled away as you began to untangle from each other's hold. He stood first, adjusting his tunic so that he could hide the hardness beneath and cover the top of his head with the makeshift hood. You followed after, wincing slightly as you became overly aware of the dampness between your thighs.

Once you had fully collected yourselves, you turned to face each other again. He stepped towards you, his right hand lifting to trace over your swollen lips.

You breathed shakily. "We are tempting fate."

"Yes," he obliged, leaning closer. "We are."

Just as he was about to kiss you again, the sharp, agitated cry of Dominus Antonius's voice bounded distantly down the halls, followed by countless marching guards making their way towards your direction.

"They must be inspecting the villa for damage." you realized, panic swelling. You pulled away from him and crossed over to the chamber door, quietly opening and checking to ensure there were no prying eyes. "You must make haste."

In the step before he crossed into the hallway, he pressed his lips to yours one final time before steeling himself to full height, adjusted his hood, and disappeared from view.

 ~

The following days of the festival blended into one another as you were all but consumed with thought of Adrian and your aching desires. By day you set your mind to task of tending to your Domina, the endless commands she gave you enough to shackle your wandering mind. But by the truest hours of night, they roamed free and haunted your dreams.

On the sixth night of the Ludi Romani, whose day was spent entirely at the amphitheater watching more games, your thoughts had escaped your grasp completely and left you tossing and turning in your bed.

Adrian had competed against a renown warrior known as Crixus, one of House Attilius's most prized gladiators. The fight between them was a marvel to witness, his victory grander still, and without the threat of death looming over your conscious, your mind had began to wander. You could not tear your eyes away from his magnificent form, the way his skin glistened with sweat in the blazing heat. His chiseled body contracting with every exacting movement. The aching and throbbing between your legs had become nearly painful as you watched on, hopelessly imagining the ways he could ease your suffering. Your thoughts did nothing but torment you for the remainder of the event and the long, arduous hours afterwards spent at a banquet held at the Attilius Villa.

And so, here you were, continuously bombarded by your ravenous desires as you lay awake in your chambers, aching for relief.

"Gods." you huffed, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Your nightdress clung to your clammy skin, your core drenched with arousal. Unable to deny yourself the release that was stolen from you any longer, your legs parted, your fingertips gently rubbing up and down your cunt before finding the aching bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs.

Molten pleasure immediately thrummed awake inside you as you continued your favorite ministrations, small, whiny pants tumbling from your lips as the coil quickly began to tighten. Your fingers swirled around your swollen clitoris before sliding down and parting passed your folds, the thought of Adrian doing the same instantly filling your mind. A moan escaped you at the thought, your cunt clenching in need.

It was not your hand that trailed up your torso, wrapping around your throat and squeezing, but his. It was not your fingers you fucked into yourself with wild abandon, but his thick, large cock. It was his name you quietly called out when your released crashed over you, him you clenched and fluttered tightly around as your high consumed you.

In the moments after as you came down from your release, your eyes fluttered shut. For the first time in many, many moons, you were blessed with deep, restful sleep.

ON THE SEVENTH AND FINAL NIGHT of the festival, the highest-stationed slaves of House Batiatus were permitted to enjoy the last day of celebration while the masters were away at another noble's villa. In a false act of generosity, Dominus Antonius announced that your peers' own celebrations would be held within the eastern gardens. A lamb would be put to roast, wine would flow, whores would be rented from the lupanar to quench the gladiator's never-ending thirst for cunt and cock. You, Caius, and the tutor Titus were among the nearly forty house slaves that were permitted to celebrate, along with gladiators, gardeners, builders, and stable-hands.

The evening of the party, your body hummed with buzzing, endless excitement at the prospect of seeing the Wolf again. Though you may not have been able to directly interact with one another, you longed to see him, even from a distance.

You bathed and dressed yourself in your favorite garment plucked from the collection Aurelia had commissioned you to wear for the previous banquets, adorned your arms and neck with your favorite jewels. With a deep inhale and exhale you completed your finishing touches, dabbed your skin with aromatic oils, and made your way down the all-too familiar path to the eastern gardens.

The moment you reached the hallway that led out into the celebrations, you were met with the rich wail of an aulos in perfect tempo with a sensual beat of a hand drum. The air was rich with the scent of wild flowers, smoke, and cooking meat. Countless overlapping voices floated on the gentle wind, loud and boisterous at a near-grating level. In the periphery of the garden shrubs, countless bodies undulated and writhed as they fucked in the shadows, uncaring they could be seen by all.

"Ahh, little bird!" Titus eagerly greeted you upon your arrival, bearing two goblets of drink, adorned in a fine gold and sapphire tunic. He pressed a kiss to your cheeks in greeting. "The gods bless us with your presence! Come, come! We must have our fill of wine! The mighty Jupiter would have it no other way for his final eve of honor!"

"You are too kind, Titus." you smiled graciously, gratefully accepting the bronze goblet he handed you. The rich flavor exploded on your tongue, a small hum of satisfaction leaving your lips.

He led you further into the gardens, closer to the center of the festivities. You could not help but glance around your surroundings, hopeful to see a familiar crown of gold. You would not be so fortunate.

You and the elder slave joined a large grouping of house slaves that danced around the rented musicians from the lupanar who were dressed in nothing but glittering gold chains and bangles. You were greeted once more by your fellows and wished a happy Ludi Romani. You returned their well-wishes in kind, and captivated by the magnificent music that filled the air, you began to dance amicably with Titus and the others in a rare moment of allowed celebration.

For nearly a half-hour you continued your stride before inevitably ending in a singing match against the elder slave, reciting your ballads and poems with the accompaniment of the instrument players. While you preformed, you were able to discreetly search for Adrian, your disappointment growing heavier and heavier when time continued to pass and you could not find him. You were forced to remind yourself that he openly claimed no desire nor interest in celebrating the holy days. Your disappointment settled ever deeper, however, was dampened by your true enjoyment for the music and company around you.

You entertained the growing crowd until your fifth and final victory before needing a moment rest, taking the opportunity to step away from the festivities when Titus found another opponent. You did not stray too far from the group, only a short distance away where you could drink in every detail of the towering mountain of Vesuvius and sip your remaining half-glass of wine. The stone giant was basked in the silver light of the full moon, allowing view of the orange, purple, and white wildflowers that dotted its rich landscape.

"Happy Ludi Romani." Caius's low voice sounded from behind you, drawing your attention to him.

You startled slightly, turning to lean against the banister and face him. He was adorned in a crimson tunic, eyelids painted with shimmering gold.

"Happy Ludi Romani."

He smiled softly, drawing closer. "You are well?"

You nodded. "I am. And you?"

"I am well."

A quiet, comfortable silenced passed before he inclined his chin. "And what of your pet wolf?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "Your meaning?"

Caius stared at you, taking a long sip of his own wine. "Since his arrival at the start of your game with Titus, he has appeared nothing short of murderous."

You tried to ignore the need to look for him and lost. Now standing near the roasting lamb, surrounded by the other most skilled and favored gladiators, was Adrian. He was clad in nothing but his subligar, allowing his rippling muscles and perfect, chiseled form to be on full display. His hair was loose from its braid, cascading in thick golden waves down his shoulders and back. He slowly sipped from a goblet, face schooled into stony neutrality, staring into the flames at his feet. As if sensing your gaze, his eyes glanced up to meet your own.

You were rooted in place, memories of your shared intimacy and passion flowing in the large void between you. It sent a bolt of arousal straight to your cunt. You wanted nothing more than to go to him. To be near him.

The male slave beside you cleared his throat, tearing your attentions from the Wolf.

You hid your embarrassment with another pull of your drink. "I know not. We have not spoken."

Caius's eyes narrowed. "You may speak the truth, " he offered sincerely, taking another sip from his glass. "Your secret is safely kept with me."

"Your attempted jest suggests otherwise." you muttered, turning away from him and back towards the mountain.

An uneasy silence settled between you, interrupted only when loud guffaws and jeers erupted in the gardens behind. Two gladiators were surrounded by an amassing crowd, all yelling affirmations towards their desired winner of their brawl.

A hand grazed your arm, drawing your attention from the fight. Your eyes at once found Caius's hardened gaze again. "I have told no one. All still believe him a brooding recluse. I swear it."

Unease began to settle inside you. It took every ounce of your will power to keep your face neutral. "I see."

When he realized you would not speak more on the matter, Caius dropped his hand to his side, dipping his chin. "Enjoy the festivities, amicae. I pray the gods continue to watch over you both."

For nearly an hour you stayed at the edges of the celebration, now overly aware of Adrian's position across the gardens, standing silently among his sword-brothers as they feasted and drank to their hearts content. Every so often your eyes would peer around the entire vicinity of the gardens, landing momentarily on him before glancing elsewhere.

When you had finally finished your first cup of wine, your gaze made its rounds again. Nearly every slave in the gardens was fully gone with drink, their slurred voices clumsily attempting conversation. You were witness to countless carnal acts as the brotherhood openly sought their pleasures with the women and men of the lupanar, your fellow house slaves seeking their own with one another.

The sights and sounds around you were heightened as the wine coursed through your veins, rousing your own budding desires. Before you could stop yourself, you dared another quick glance in his direction.

He remained in the same place, sipping the same wine. However, his eyes were no longer trained on the roaring flames and were now fixated solely on you. You could not bring yourself to look away, did not have the strength nor will to do so. You watched each other from across the garden, hot bolts of lightening crackling between you.

The Wolf slowly raised his goblet to his mouth, eyes never leaving your own. You watched as his throat bobbed when he swallowed, followed the movement of his tongue when he licked his lips.

He shifted slightly, his movements controlled and precise before barely tilting his head in the direction of the villa, away from the raucous chaos of the gardens.

You knew well his meaning. Knew well how foolish it would be to attempt to act upon it surrounded by so many potential witnesses. But you also knew all would be too consumed with their own vices and pleasures to even care to take notice of you seeking your own. That this night was a night of freedom.

Searing anticipation pooled in your lower belly as you gracefully set your goblet down on the nearest table, overly aware that he watched your every move as you made your way towards the villa. No other single soul spared you a glance, too enraptured in their pleasures to even attempt to take notice.

Every step made your body burn hotter and hotter. You stilled in the deserted hallway near a storage room, shielded from direct view by a stone column.

You felt his arrival before you saw him. You had no time to fully turn to face him before he crowded you, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. You clutched his shoulders tightly, immediately melting into his embrace.

"You are blessed by the gods." he growled against your mouth, pushing you up against the storageroom door. It rattled gently when your back made contact.

You huffed a whimper, chasing after his lips, the sound light and breathless. "By your gods or my own?"

His large hands squeezed your hips, grinding his hardening cock into you. "Most certainly my own."

You moaned softly, your own bucking back into his as you pressed a sloppy kiss to his jaw. "T-That holds little meaning. They are unknown to me."

"Do you wish for them to be known to you?" his hold on your hips tightened before straining against the swell of your backside.

Your breath hitched as you peered up, drinking in every detail of his devastatingly beautiful face. "More than anything."

He hummed in appreciation, watching as you squirmed beneath him. He pulled away, but not before dipping to nip at your neck. "I wish to give you a gift."

"A gift?" you breathed out, biting back a soft gasp when the tip of his tongue licked the shell of your ear.

"You have tended to me on more than one occasion, amicae." his lips trailed back up until he captured yours with another kiss. "I wish to do the same."

Your hands clawed against the muscle of his chest. "Oh? And what is this mysterious gift?"

His eyes finally met your own, the molten heat of his stare causing the coil in your belly to tighten deliciously. "A bath."

You blinked, eyebrows furrowing. "A bath?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. The oil lamp above your heads flickered, the shadows dancing over his statuesque face. "Indeed."

You could not help the small, incredulous laugh that bubbled from your lips. "You wish for me to bathe? Does my scent offend your delicate senses?"

"It rouses them, yes."

Your face burned, and unable to maintain his stare you pulled away. "To the slave baths, then?"

Before you could take a single step further he wrapped his hand around your own, halting your stride. "I have a more private location in mind. Your Domina is away, yes?"

You whirled on heels. "You jest, surely?"

"I do not."

"There is no such liberty that I possess that would allow me to enter her chambers alone with a gladiator." you reasoned with a shake of your head.

"There are none to bear witness to it," he countered with a tilt of his head, "the minds of the guards are foggy with drink, lost in the haze of celebration. And for unfortunate few who do not partake, their attentions will solely be focused on the gardens. It is a night of freedom."

You stared at him, heart hammering in your chest. Every single rational thought told you it was unwise, that it would not be within reason to tempt fate more than you had already done so. But another part of you, who knew with utmost certainty that he was right, claimed otherwise. Your masters were away, would not return well until after dawn. Nearly every house slave and gladiator spent their evening drinking, feasting, or fucking within the bounds of the gardens, all witnessed by the house guard. It was the perfect opportunity for something so deliciously daring, and you did not have the heart to deny yourself the desire to seize it.

"Very well," a small, tentative smile graced your lips as you laced your hand tighter into his own. "This way, Wolf."

Adrian chuckled before pulling you back, momentarily pressing his lips against yours before he allowed you to lead him towards the direction of Aurelia's and your joint chambers. With each step a palpable, thrumming energy coursed between you. The moment before it became too much, you crossed the threshold of your Domina's room and gently closed the door. Without speaking he gently pulled your hand, leading you towards the intricate marble baths. Your eyes absentmindedly swept over the hanging oil lamps that illuminated the vibrant frescoes and mosaics until finding his heated stare.

"Well?" you tilted your head, watching him expectantly.

"Undress."

Searing heat burned inside your being at the simple command. A sudden wash of shyness consumed you wholly, stuttering your breath, before it was promptly consumed by unabashed desire.

Slowly you loosened your garment, your dominant hand gently clutching it to your breasts before you released your hold. It instantly fell away from your body, revealing you and your nakedness in its entirety. A near-inaudible whisper escaped the warrior in front of you as his eyes slowly trailed down the entire length of your being.

With surprisingly graceful movements you gently stepped out of the bunched material. "And now?"

Adrian's eyes darkened, tearing away from the sight of your clenching thighs and fixating on your face. "Enter the waters."

A shiver ran down your spine as you did as he bade. Slowly you descended the marble steps until your entire bottom half was submerged.

"Sit," he rasped, kneeling at the edge of the stone bath, "here, with your back facing me."

You waded through the water, crossing the distance between you. Carefully you sat against the edge of the bath in the very same spot your mistress had perched upon a hundred, hundred times. A strange, intoxicating thrum of excitement and satisfaction coursed through you at the realization.

"Lean back." the Wolf's deep voice rumbled in his chest, and without question you did so.

From behind you, you heard the familiar clinking of the clay jars and vessels that housed the scented oils and soaps twinkling off the stone walls of the room. With each passing moment your heart began to beat harder and harder, your breath uneven.

"In my homeland, it is a considered the highest honor to be cleansed by the hand of another." Adrian's deep, low voice murmured from behind you in the same moment his large, warm hands began to scoop and massage water onto your shoulders and neck. An involuntary sigh escaped your lips at the new contact. "We believe that it is a sacred act between two souls. It is as honored as lovemaking."

Your head snapped to face him, lips parting in surprise at the thought. "Truly?"

"Yes," he replied thickly, grasping the rose and chamomile infused soap at his side before beginning to lather it in-between his hands. Within a moment they were upon your neck and shoulders, gently gliding over your dampened skin. Another gasp fell from your lips as his strong hands began to massage the junction of the left side of your neck and shoulders, the bundles of tension and pain soon melting away under his touch.

"It is an honor. A showing of respect and trust." Adrian continued lowly, still slowly but firmly working your muscle.

"Mhmm," you breathed, head lolling to the side to allow him better access to your neck. "Feels divine."

He did not offer reply, shifting his attentions to the right. Your eyes fluttered shut as you eagerly succumbed to the pull of absolute ease that flooded your being. Adrian continued his ministrations for many moments, silent and focused until your upper back and neck were completely pliant under his touch.

You felt him shift forward, his fingertips skimming the curve of your shoulders before trailing down the sides of your arms. You heard water trickle and lap up against the stone bath as he gathered some in his palms, gently rinsing the soap away. Your body bowed half an inch as it chased the warmth his touch. Immediately his soapy hands were upon you again, trailing up your arms before tantalizingly skimming over the tops of your breasts. A nearly inaudible moan escaped you at the sensation.

A low, deep chuckle vibrated within his chest. "Is my touch pleasing to you, amicae?" Adrian's hands dropped a fraction lower before stilling. "As pleasing as yours is to me?"

You craned your neck to the right, wide eyes finding his own. The Wolf stared down at you with the intensity of the sun, the coil of desire burning ever more within you.

"Yes," you panted, his hands dropping even lower, his fingertips now a breath away from your nipples.

His shoulders went taut, eyes never leaving your own. "How pleasing?"

You shuddered, arching your back deeper into his touch. "Very."

The muscles of his forearms flexed, hands dropping a fraction lower. "Do you desire more?"

You had never wished for anything so desperately in your life.

"Gods, yes."

All at once his hands finally fell and cupped your breasts, the pads of his thumbs rubbing gently over your hardening peaks. Your body jerked into his touch, a muffled moan escaping you. You bit your bottom lip, attempting to suppress the sound. Adrian's hands released you for half a moment before returning, lathered in the floral-infused soap. His hands continued to glide, fondle, and caress the entire expanse of your chest, neck, and breasts. A string of unfamiliar words in Dacian fell quietly from his lips, fingers once again making contact with your nipples. Your eyes fluttered shut when he pinched the swollen buds, your head dropping backwards and hitting the sturdy surface of his thighs.

Adrian's hands slowly trailed up your torso again before gently wrapping one hand around your neck, the other making to rinse your body of soap. You opened your eyes, peering up at his hovering form. Another wave of molten desire rushed through you when your gazes collided. The hunger that swirled within his eyes was unmistakable.

"Join me, Adrian." you breathed, slowly sitting up and facing him. "Please."

The Dacian froze for half a breath before inclining his chin, releasing you from his hold. His subligar rustled to the floor beside your own garment within one moment, and in the next he lowered himself into the bath beside you, pulling you onto his lap. Your pliant body easily adjusted on top of him, gasping when you felt the hardness of his cock brush against your cunt beneath the water.

You pulled back an inch, your hands braced against the hard planes of his muscled chest, eyes scanning the entirety of his exquisite face. His eyes were dark, blown with arousal, the perfect curve of his cheekbones dusted pink.

For a long, long moment you stared deeply into each other's eyes. His hold on you never wavered as he allowed you to gaze upon him, he upon you.

"I-" the word died in your throat as you were overcome with a violent storm of countless emotions.

Your mind conjured thought of Felix, how someday soon you would belong to him. He who would forcefully steal your maidenhead and fill your life with overflowing misery. You thought of Corrina and how her choice was ripped away from her, along with countless others who had been subjected to the same cruel, horrific fate. You thought of how you never were able to choose anything, reminded yourself that had always been the case. Until now. Until him.

"I want you, Adrian." you rasped, voice cracking. "I want you to be the first man I lie with."

He froze, body morphing into stone.

"I do not want my maidenhead stolen by that monster." your teary eyes met his wide gaze. "I wish to give it freely to someone of my choosing, someone I trust. Someone I care deeply for. I choose you, Adrian."

Heavy, suffocating silence descended in the baths as he stared at you, his face contorting with a mix of too many emotions to name.

You knew the severity of what you asked for. Knew the deadly dangers that loomed above you both should discovery of your betrayal be learned of by your masters. But you could not bear it if Felix took what was rightfully yours. Everything else already belonged to him, just as you would come the Augustalia. You refused to let him have this, too.

"Please." you pleaded, your right hand leaving his shoulders, cupping the marble of his face.

"Are you certain?" his voice was hoarse, edged with strain.

"I am."

For a long, long moment he stared at you, his hold on you tightening imperceptibly.

"Not here."

You blinked, throat constricting as you were bombarded by a painful lash of disappointment before it was promptly eradicated when you felt his large hands grip the swell of your ass, pining you flush against him as he stood swiftly from the bath. You gasped, flinging your arms around his neck, your thighs wrapping securely around his hips.

"Which way to your chambers?"

You barely finished giving him the directions before his lips were upon your own, effortlessly carrying you across the distance of Aurelia's room. You melted into his touch, the quiet sound of the door closing behind you drowned out by the thrumming of your blood coursing wildly in your veins. When the familiar softness of your mattress greeted your back, you slowly opened your eyes.

Adrian carefully maneuvered between your legs, his eyes never leaving your own. "If anything I do feels unpleasant, or is not pleasurable, you must say so."

You smiled shyly despite yourself, nervous exhilaration buzzing hotly inside of you. "Do you doubt your self-proclaimed skills with your fingers and tongue?"

His eyes darkened to an inhuman, wolfish degree. "Never. In fact, I am eager to prove my claims truer than the fates."

You made to reply, but it was instantly silenced when his lips found your own, kissing you until you could not breathe. He pulled away, drawing a whine from you, before his head ducked down and his warm, wet mouth covered and licked your left nipple.

A breathless gasp bubbled from your lips as he swirled his tongue around the sensitive bud, stopping momentarily until he began to do the same to the right. You squirmed beneath him.

Adrian continued to kiss and lick down the expanse of your stomach, down the tops of your thighs, before stilling a breath away from your cunt. He moved carefully down your bed, causing the worn wood to quietly creak. Before you could begin to conjure worry of someone hearing the noise, you felt the warmth of his breath fanning over your slit, his hands and arms cupping the underside of your thighs, the tip of his nose nuzzling between your slick folds, only to be immediately replaced with his tongue licking an agonizingly slow stripe up your slit.

An involutionary sound left you, the hands that attempted to find purchase within your linen blanket snapping to entangle themselves within his thick hair. The reaction spurred him on, nuzzling deeper into your cunt, beginning to lap at your growing arousal.

He growled lowly, jerking your hips closer into his mouth, licking a particularly cruel, slow stripe up and down your core. "You taste sweeter than ambrosia."

The Wolf continued to ravish and lick at your cunt over and over until your slick and his saliva pooled down your thighs and stained the sheets beneath your body. Your mind was gone with the overwhelming, searing heat of his mouth latched over your clit, his tongue strumming over it again and again and again in the ways you needed most, your sounds of pleasure quietly filling the stone room of your chambers. You could do nothing but tug at the roots of his hair, to get lost in the darkness behind your eyes and the ecstasy that his tongue bestowed upon you. It was only when you felt the sudden coldness of his mouth leaving your core did you open them, hesitantly releasing the hold on his hair.

Adrian now leaned over you, his ring and middle fingers hovering over your mouth.

"Open."

You blinked, confusion swirling within you before his fingers pressed against your lips, gently forcing them apart. You opened wider, allowing him in.

"Suck."

Another lash of heat went straight to your cunt as you did as he asked, your lips closing around his fingers, your tongue swirling around the large digits. Adrian huffed a sharp, quick breath as your cheeks hallowed out around him. Your eyes never left his as you did so, too enraptured at the pure need that swirled within the golden depths of his own.

Once satisfied, he pulled his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva following in their wake. He settled his wide shoulders back between your legs, beginning to rub your aching cunt with the pad of his fingertips.

Your hips jolted at the feather-light touches before you felt him part your folds and slowly enter your dripping heat. You both moaned quietly in the same moment, you overcome with the feeling of his long, thick fingers stretching your pulsating walls, he by the soaked warmth that took him in so eagerly. Slowly, cruelly he began to ease his fingers in and out of your glistening cunt before curling them upwards into the spongy spot that made you cry out.

"Good amicae," he murmured, his two fingers thrumming with slightly more pressure than before.

Your hips snapped up to meet his hand. "Please."

"What is it you beg for?" he breathed against your inner thighs, nipping the sensitive flesh of your left when he hit that delicious spot again.

You could not think, could not breathe. You could only writhe beneath him, your response a needy moan. "M-More."

A low, deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. At once you felt his mouth lower overtop your core while pushing his fingers impossibly deeper inside of you. Another cry tore from your lips as his fingers began to pump in and out in the same delicious rhythm in which he licked your cunt. You felt as if you would combust into stardust, his name but a helpless moan from your lips when he started to curl them again in the spot that made you see stars. Made you want to give yourself over to him for all eternity.

Your own fingers never felt like this. Could not reach so deeply as he did. Did not fill you up as his did.

"Adrian!" your hands shot back out to find desperate purchase in his hair, to draw him closer as you ground your hips into him. He answered you with another deep, mind-shattering curl of his fingers and increased pressure of his tongue.

Your room fell away from your conscious, your mind completely consumed with the agonizingly divine pleasure that flooded over you. You could not hear the loud, wet sounds that filled the air, could not feel his heavy panting between your legs. All you could do was let wave after wave of pure, molten pleasure overtake you with each thrust of his fingers, each lap of his expert tongue.

Your heart hammered loudly in your chest as you were brought closer and closer to the precipice of release, the tightening, burning coil in your lower belly growing impossibly tighter with every passing moment. Your sounds grew more desperate, something between a plea and invocation for him not to forsake you, for him to never stop.

Your orgasm exploded with the force of a lightning bolt, your back bowing off the bed, his fingers never ceasing their movements even as you cunt squeezed around him and made it nearly impossible to move. Adrian lapped up every ounce of your release as you continued to soar, only ceasing when you came down from your high, chest heaving, your hands involuntarily pushing him away from your oversensitive core.

Slowly he pulled his fingers from your drenched heat, his molten eyes never leaving you, even as he took his slick hand and wrapped it around his hard, leaking cock. His hips jutted and stuttered as he pumped the flushed pink head, his thick, veiny shaft glistening with the mixtures of your arousals. He fisted himself two more times, a sharp curse in his native tongue escaping his lips. He leaned over you once more with one hand, the other beginning to rub the tip of his cock up and down your soaked entrance.

Your nails dug into the muscles of his broad back, heart thrashing wildly against your ribs. A curl of nervousness coursed through you as you watched him nudge your thighs further part, his tip kissing your folds.

Adrian's abdomen tensed and flexed as he slowly began to sheath himself within you. At once you were flooded with the overwhelming sensation of being filled, of being stretched so far beyond anything you had ever experienced. A broken cry ripped from your lips, your back arching off the bed at the near-painful intrusion.

The hand that had guided him inside gripped your hip tightly, the searing heat of his palm burning your clammy skin. Inch by pulsating inch he eased in, your cunt burning as it adjusted tightly around his cock. Your glistening eyes screwed shut as he pushed in deeper and deeper, a low grunt punching out of him when you involuntarily clenched, so unused to being filled.

Your ears rang when he finally sank all the way to the hilt, stretching and filling you in a way you would never, ever forget. 

A sudden, vicious vision of Felix struck you so horribly the blood in your veins turned to ice.

What had you done? How could you betray your masters so foolishly? How could-

Your thoughts shattered when he whispered your name, the sound barely audible over your thundering heart. 

You dare open your eyes again when you felt him still, body trembling. Adrian hovered over you, his pale, scarred skin beginning to glisten with sweat, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I am fine," you rasped quietly, willing the frost of your panic to thaw.

His jaw clenched and tightened with disbelief before making to pull out and away from you.

Your nails bit deeper into the flexing muscle of his back, keeping him firmly in place. The movements caused another twang of pain and something more to erupt in between your legs.

Immediately he froze staring down at you, the searing molten of his eyes glowing, the curtain of his golden locks shielding the room from view. "Tell me to stop."

Your hold on him desperately tightened. "No."

Adrian shuddered, a strong shiver running down the course of his spine. Slowly he drew his hips back and forth, his deep breathing becoming erratic.

You whimpered, a small jolt of pleasure blooming in the aftershocks of the lingering discomfort. Again he rolled his hips, his thick, large cock slowly sliding out before driving back in fully.

Your hips ungracefully bucked up into his own the moment the pain began to ebb away into pure, blinding pleasure. The muscled arm that braced beside your head tensed and flexed, his rippling shoulders contracting violently. His hips stuttered before slightly increasing in tempo, the bed creaking quietly in protest.

Your nails clawed into his back, a euphoric moan escaping you. Your eyes rolled as you greedily wrapped your shaking legs around his hips tighter, drawing him closer.

Adrian's movements faltered again. You peered up at him, eyelashes slick with tears now borne solely from the divine pleasure he gave you.

The masters' wishes no longer mattered. He was your choice. The man you wanted. The man you needed. The one worth risking everything for.

Adrian ducked his head into the crook of your neck, barely containing a deep groan when you whined his name. The snap of his hips slightly sped up, your own falling into imperfect rhythm before outpacing him.

You wanted more. Needed more.

He was the only one who could give you what you deserved.

The Wolf growled, the sound vibrating in your chest. He hiked your legs higher upon his hips, pushing impossibly deeper. He pulled away from your neck, ravenous eyes boring into yours, his chiseled, flexing lower abdomen snapping faster against you. His hot lips smashed into you, claiming your mouth and stealing your ragged breath.

He pulled away before you could even react. Adrian pressed his damp forehead against yours, his eyes pinning you beneath him. You whimpered, submitting completely. As was your most desperate wish.

Something broke in him then, the hand upon your hip jerking you roughly against him. His hips snapped forward at a brutal, intoxicating pace. He was so heavy upon you. So deep inside you. So hot the heat between your bodies rivaled the sun.

You could do nothing but hold on to him. To beg him to keep going. To go faster. Go deeper. Harder.

He obliged you completely, giving you what you asked for. What you both wanted. What you both needed.

No other soul would ever make you feel what he did.

His hand suddenly released his hold on your hip, closing around your throat. Your cunt clenched tightly, making you feel so stuffed full you sobbed.

He growled, plunging his cock harder inside. Your whole body trembled, wreathed and writhed against him. So willingly at the delicious mercy of his cock.

Your body was his to do with as he pleased. As was your choice.

Adrian fucked into you faster. His entire body glistened and dripped with sweat, the hand around your throat tightening.

All you knew in that moment was him. The heaviness of his body. The searing heat of his skin. The sounds of his deep, erratic breathing. The perfect fullness of his cock.

His hand left your throat, plunging between your two bodies, making to rub circles around your throbbing clit.

"Adrian!" you whined, so wrecked beneath him. So utterly divine. Entirely his. And he, yours.

"Yes." he panted, hardly louder than a whisper. "Yes."

It all became too much. You shattered against him, breaking apart completely. Searing, euphoric pleasure crashed over you, drowned and consumed you whole. Your cunt pulsated around him so tightly he swore pleadingly with his gods, hips stuttering violently.

He continued to wildly pound into you, prolonging the aftershocks of your release and desperately chasing the near arrival of his own. It struck him when your cunt began to flutter faster around him, the hot heat of your cunt squeezing him tightly. Roughly he pulled out, his swollen cock coated in your slick, viciously fucking into his fist. Thick, hot seed began to spill from the tip before erupting all over your swollen cunt, a deep, choked groan tearing through him. You felt the warmth of it oozing down your leaking core.

Adrian collapsed on top of you, chest heaving. For a long while he lay his damp head upon your breast, your eyes fluttering shut, relishing in the languid tranquility that coursed through your entire being.

He spoke lowly in his mother tongue before peeling away from you, reaching for the nearby basin of water and cloth atop the stone shelf of your altar. You cracked your eyes open the moment you felt him pressing the damp cloth against your soaked entrance.

You bucked slightly at the tenderness and sensitivity that erupted between your legs.

"Allow me," he murmured.

Your face heated, yet parted your legs and allowed him to wash you thoroughly. When he was finished, he left the room to retrieve your garments from Aurelia's baths. A lash of disappointment began to form before he closed your chamber door, set your clothing aside, and laid on the edge of the bed, facing you.

"Gratitude," you whispered, overcome with emotion, your hand rising to cup his flushed cheek. "For being my first. It is a kindness I will never be able to repay."

Adrian's expression hardened. "You honor me, amicae."

A moment of charged silence filled the air as the weight of your actions finally settled over you both. You were now damaged goods in the eyes of your masters. A traitor to the House of Batiatus. A grossly misbehaved slave. An unworthy, ungrateful whore who cheated their purse of thousands of denarii. But more dangerously, you had directly slighted Felix. Your cruel, monstrous master who had claimed right to your maidenhead - and you and Adrian had stolen it from him.

As was your choice. As was your right. You stole nothing that did not belong to you.

After all, it had never been his to claim. Nor Aurelia's. Nor that of the fucking Emperor or Republic. It had always been your own. Your birthright of the freedom of choice.

And you did not regret your choice. You never would.

Your chest bloomed with the warmth of contented pride and grounded elation, however, you could not ignore the gnarled, thorny tendril of dread that began to coil around your heart.

By the next full moon, you would belong to Felix, never given the chance to know freedom again. You would be forced to watch Adrian fight to death in the arena. You would pray to the gods for his victory, for his life to be preserved. In doing so would seal your horrific fate. Felix would force himself upon you that very evening, claiming the spoils of his successfully wagered bet that his Champion would emerge victorious.

Never again would you be able to seek Adrian's presence in your shared sanctuary, for the dangers would be too great. The affair between you would have to end. Whatever ties you had forged would need to be severed. If they were not, great sorrow awaited you both.

It would be more merciful and wise to do it now before it led to catastrophic end.

Led to the devastating heartbreak of having to live so close yet so impossibly far from one another, watching the other be tortured with no end in sight.

Led to the moment of him being unable to spare you from Felix making you his, unable to spare you from the day your womb would swell with your master's seed.

Led you to the inevitable moment he fell in the arena, too battered, too old, too broken to fight any longer, you powerless to save him.

You had both foolishly allowed yourselves to indulge to the point of no return. Parting now was the most logical way forward. Agreeing never to see each other again was the safest course. You knew it in your bones to be true. And by his darkened expression, so did he.

And yet, you clung to one another. Your bodies drew closer. Your limbs entangled. Your lips melded together.

"Swear to me-" you moaned into his lips when he rolled on top of you, his hardening cock bobbing against your core. "S-Swear we will see each other again. B-Before the Augustalia."

"That would be unwise." he groaned lowly, the tip of his leaking cock beginning to press passed your slick folds before pulling back.

"Please," you whimpered, blindly reaching between your bodies, your hand wrapping around his thick shaft. He bucked into it, forcing you to grip harder.

He rasped your name, the sound thick with his accent. He pumped his cock into your hand, his cum warm and slick against your palm.

You could not change what was to come. But the gods were kind enough to gift you a fleeting opportunity to experience freedom again before the end. You just had to be brave enough to seize it.

His swirling, molten eyes bore into your own, jaw tensing. You gently guided him to your puffy folds, nearly pushing the tip of his throbbing cock through. You stared back at him with equal intensity, equal desire.

"Please, Adrian."

He captured your lips with a heart-stopping kiss, pushing into your oversensitive, swollen cunt with one deep thrust.

"I swear."

a/n: holy shit yall. HOLLY SHIIIIIIIIT. AHHHHHHHHH! I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS AHAHA.

"That is a rather bold conclusion," Zayne responded, reaching above his head to snatch a produce bag from the supplied roll. Methodically, he used his fingernails to split the plastic, and began inspecting the bell peppers with an eye only possessed by a doctor. "What evidence have you gathered to make such an accusation?"

"You haven't kissed me."

He faltered, a minute twitch of his index finger as he reached for the piece of fruit he had determined as adequate. Slowly, he deposited the bell pepper into the bag, then grabbed another one. You stepped closer, invading his space. His eyes glanced at you, a simple observation, then he was rounding the cart to place the bag next to the frozen lasagna. 

"Zayne," you prompted, an edge to your voice indicating frustration, "I can't do this anymore."

"The produce section of the grocery store is not where we should be having this conversation," he continued to grab more items, this time, filling a bag with celery. 

His professional demeanor had always attracted you to him: his polite respect for strangers and companions, his near damn perfect posture, his relentless ambition to get things right. It made when he lost control that much more enticing. The filthy words, his blazing eyes, the grunts as he buried himself to the hilt. It was one or the other, no in-between. 

You wanted the domestic side. Yes, shopping together was domestic indeed, but you could do such chores with your friends and family. You wanted the romance, the kisses in the kitchen while cooking, the hugs from behind as he explained the hardships of the day. 

Pining after this man for so many years had its downsides. You were desperate, on the brink of pushing limits, placing him in an uncomfortable situation. 

Around Zayne, you had been calculated. His words were sometimes few, but resonant. If you were about to enter a conversation with the potential to expand, you would become his focal point. And that stare of his, pure as ice, always melted your resolve. 

On a whim, out of fear of the serious, you had navigated a conversation months ago, ultimately settling upon a new dynamic. Friends, you two had forever been, so what was the danger of some benefits? Other men barely caught your interest, and if they did, it was fleeting. Zayne, on the other hand, had been the first person you imagined kissing when those thoughts were born from puberty. 

"Well, you don't seem to want to have this conversation anywhere else," you replied, venom curling your pronunciation. That wasn't true, you knew Zayne would be open to a conversation late in the evening, maybe at the coffee shop you two frequented before work. He would even consider it as you two caught your breath underneath his fancy blankets, skin marked in bites and bruises. 

You were projecting. 

Zayne had moved onto cucumbers. The sleek shine of the vegetable's skin pronounced beneath his pristine hands. He twisted his wrist, scouting for any imperfection. And your brain, lost in some delirium, reminisced. 

His hand had cradled his own erection quite similarly the night prior, near the base, poised so you could sink down upon him easily. That smirk he wore as your rode him sprinkled burning sparks across your skin, and your nails had dug into his chest, a form of restraint to prevent your mouth from finding his. 

You had always taken the initiative, Zayne had always guarded his inhibitions. You wanted his lips fused to yours, his tongue spearing deep and meeting your tenacity.

"Insertion of this vegetable has become more common."

You choked on nothing but your own saliva, "you aren't suggesting we - nevermind."

"No, I was just stating what I had learned at a meeting this week."

You weren’t entirely sure how to carry on the conversation after that. So, you didn’t. Zayne had always been comfortable with silence between you two, and of course, you had too. 

The rest of the grocery trip went by with mindless glances at random products, and occasionally looking at your phone. Zayne kept to his routine, checking expiration dates, comparing prices, and purchasing products only his personal research had approved of. 

It wasn’t long before the cart was tapping the bumper of his car, filled with the reusable bags he had taken from their designated spot in his pantry. Zayne unloaded the groceries into the trunk as you leaned against the passenger side door. Usually, you would aid in emptying the cart, but a petty stubbornness had compelled you to just watch. 

Zayne expressed his own dissatisfaction, huffing when he latched the trunk hatch and walked the cart to its corral. 

You observed, noting his stride, the confidence in his step. You went to open your door, only to find it locked. 

You frowned. 

Zayne strode past his vehicle to meet you at your side. Rotating so you faced him, your back to his car, your mouth opened. 

“What are you -” 

“For once, I won’t ask for permission.” 

His kiss was like ice shattering, a foundation crumbling beneath your feet. 

Zayne was rough.

Zayne was taking control, he was dominating.

And hell, if you didn't devour him in return. 

The handle of the car door dug into your waist, but that was the least of your worries, especially with the doctor bending your back over the curve of the car. Your hair brushed the roof of the chassis, hands grappling onto his upper arms. 

"I've wanted to kiss you," his voice was feather-light, that monotone, yet beautiful timber he often consulted you with, "for quite some time."

"Then why didn't you?"

He considered your question, lips resting over yours. His sharp nose nuzzled your cheek as he playfully nudged you. 

"I knew once I did, I would completely fall."

Your gasp felt unnervingly loud in the parking lot. A shopping cart rattled in the distance, car doors slamming. And here was one of the most composed gentlemen you had ever known, prying your lips apart with his tongue, and sweeping inside to taste. 

His breath punctuated his movement, harsh sounds relaying his desperation. Each smack of your lips drew heat into your abdomen, accumulating, eventually seeping from between your thighs. 

"Please do," you urged, "fall for me completely as I have for you."

His heart thudded against your chest, lips departing from your mouth to trail over your jawline. Above, flakes of snow swirled, caught in the overhead lights of the parking lot. They littered his hair, dots of white against raven-black. Your hand raked over them, the minor chill exhilarating. 

"I love you," he rasped, navigating to your neck, "couldn't you tell by the way I fucked you."

"Perhaps I need to reassess your performance."

His chuckle was saturated in mirth, "I always recommend a reevaluation before submitting final results."

Pain erupted from the slope of your neck, his teeth capturing a portion of skin to pinch. He suckled, each pull confirmed with a messy lick of ease. 

"Where did those pretty sounds go?" He teased. 

"Zayne, we are in public!"

"I'll admit,” he paused, catching his breath, “there's something undeniably addictive about stepping out of line.”

He wasn’t finished. 

“I don’t know where to start with you,” he exhaled, as if restraining those words had been a considerable burden.

With your head tilted back, flakes rested upon the skin of your neck, thawing in time with each swallow. Droplets trailed down to soak your hoodie, and Zayne watched, eyes riveted by the slopes of your body. It gifted you some time to observe his mouth, and how those lips had finally touched yours. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you rose, rising on the toes of your shoes to kiss him. He took one step back, bracing from your momentum. His body always had moved in ways that were subtle, never explosive, always a source of consolation. But his hands grasped, nearly clawing at your hips. An ache registered as he applied pressure, arresting your freedom, and yanking you against him. 

“Feel me,” his demand was carried by a whisper, hands roaming to your rear, nails digging into your flesh through your sweatpants. Your hiss was stolen by his ministrations, your body surrendering to his lead. “Feel exactly what you do to me.” 

You did. Pressed this close together, his length nudged against your navel. 

There was a joke buried in this situation, one hinting at the use of a cucumber. You would have verbalized it if it wasn’t for the onslaught of his lust. 

Your leg steepled, hooking your knee over the jut of his hip, cradling his cock in the vent of your heat. All he had to do was push your waistband down, undo his zipper, and vault his hips forward, sinking deep into the crease of your cunt. 

If he had wanted. 

Zayne wouldn’t. 

“The ice cream is melting,” he noted despite the reaction of his body as he lurched, driving the crown of his arousal over the outline of your pussy. “And we have perishables.” 

You knew him too well. 

“So shall we go?” You suggested. 

“It’s not safe to drive when distracted,” he reasoned. 

His hand dug into his pocket, procuring his keys. The car beeped, his arm outstretched, hand grasping the handle for the backseat. Your heart stumbled to a near stop, your limbs would be tangled in the narrow space provided, the windows would fog, and the chassis might rock. 

Zayne had a plan, the glint of his eyes ensuring security. 

With a voice laden in satin, he ordered regardless, 

“Get in.”

“Then why don’t you…,” you press your elbows closer to your chest, subtly enhancing your cleavage, “…start touching yourself for me?” A faint smirk tugs at his lips. You see him moving his hand out of view as the video briefly turns slightly unsteady, as if he’s adjusting himself off screen.

“Shouldn’t you be joining me?” he asks curiously. “Hm… not yet~” you titter, your fingers lightly tracing your collarbone.

Zayne exhales a quiet laugh. “I see…the screen is giving you courage. You wouldn’t be this bratty, if I was before you.” “Too bad. What are you going to do about it now, Mister?” He raises an eyebrow and an amused look is crossing his face now. “That’s easy.” He turned off his video.

“HELLO?? NO, ZAYNE, THAT’S SO NOT FAIR!” You can hear Zayne let out a laugh. “Shall we start over? With better manners? Again, shouldn’t you be joining me?”

You smile and give in. You position your phone on the night stand in a way that grants him a full view of your body. “Now you’re behaving,” he says content. “Let’s see how long that lasts~ Lift your dress for me!” Zayne orders. “I want to see what you’re wearing underneath.”

“I’m not wearing anything underneath the dress,” you tease. “I’m aware,” he says. “You never do.” There’s a mischievous smile on his face. “I just can’t win with you, huh?” you laugh and lift your dress, slowly touching yourself for him to see. “But Zayne..don’t I deserve a reward?” Zayne flips the camera and shows you now how he’s slowly stroking his cock. “Is this…what you wanted to see?” he asks.

Your core is burning up. It’s like you were starving and are suddenly being offered the one meal you can’t say no to. “Zayne…I- I almost forgot how big you are,” you squeeze your legs together now. “Don’t stop touching yourself”, he says quickly. As you rub your clit, you hear Zayne’s breathing become more and more unsteady. You then turn off your video.

Zayne flipped his camera back to his face and you can see his eyebrows furrow. He exhales loudly, his patience visibly tightens. “I see, you have not learned your lesson.” You don’t answer him immediately. You stare back at him, before firmly saying: “Zayne….I need you to fuck me. Properly.”

Zayne’s holding his breath. He has been too deprived of you. He doesn’t even masturbate, he prefers doing it with you. He stares at the black screen for a moment, before breaking the silence. “Alright then.“ He hangs up the phone.

You blink. A little surprised at how sudden it was. Is he coming over? Is he mad at you? Is he excited? His face was unreadable. Not long after, you hear your doorbell ring — It’s Zayne.

You sit idle at Zayne's office, you can sense faint notes of lemongrass and jasmine filling in the room. His office is clean and tidy, with cabinets lining up the walls. It's starkly too white, well, that was until you gifted him several plants throughout the years you've been with him.

'you can't just work in some torture chamber all day! Decorate your office with some plants at the least! ' you recall telling him the exact sentence when you gifted him his first office plant.

It was late at night, the windows were shut and the curtains drawn. No sounds were coming out of the room. If anyone were to look in from outside, they could tell there's no one in this office.

But there was you, and him.

Zayne is sitting across from you, typing some document, perhaps your patient information, into the computer. His face looks blank, but you can sense a faint waver in his fingers. You both weren't speaking to one another. You were nervous, but you didn’t know why. It wasn't exactly your fault.

Well, maybe, perhaps— you WERE a little reckless today.

You trace the shadows stretching across the room, letting your eyes wander elsewhere but at him. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, thick with emotion he's desperately trying to hide.

The silence stretched between you for what felt like an eternity.

He finally speaks, "You're lucky you're still sitting there,"

"But I'm here," you look down, idly rubbing your thumbs together.

Zayne taps his pen on his desk. He's agitated.

"Hey, I know—"

"You almost died." His voice snaps through the air, raw and laced with a tinge of vulnerability.

"Alright, DIED, is kind of an overstatement."

To be fair, you thought you were going to die out there today, too. But you didn't want to admit he was right. You were collapsed by a dilapidated building, debris falling right to your leg. Got buried alone in the disaster with no signal.

It was lucky, you were lucky. It was a miracle that you got away with just some scratches, bruises, and cast on your crushed leg. As a Hunter, you understood the reality of the job and the consequences that came with it. As your primary care doctor, Zayne should have been desensitized to it too. Yet, this time, the toll it took on him was breaking through his professional stoic armor.

"Zayne…" You try to defrost the tension in the air. When you looked closer at him, you noticed the glassiness in his eyes. "Hey... honey. I'm okay."

Ignoring the dull ache in your leg, you hobbled around the desk to close the distance between you. The moment you were within reach, Zayne pulled you into him. His arms wrapped around you with desperate strength, his shoulders tensing and visibly shaking against you.

"I… I thought…." His voice broke on the words.

"I know," you murmured, tangling your fingers into his hair to soothe the tremors. "I'm sorry. I was careless. But I'm here, Zayne. I'm right here."

He squeezed you tighter, burying his face into you as if letting go meant you would dissolve into thin air. The earlier tension has evaporated, replaced by a quiet, fragile stillness, unspoken agreement to cling to the fact that you were there with him.

The silence broke when you shifted your weight. Standing on one leg was starting to strain you. Zayne noticed immediately. He slowly peeled himself away, steadying his breath.

"I'll see you at home, yeah?" You gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

Instead of answering, Zayne abruptly pushed back his chair and stood. He began walking straight toward the office door. You sensed a sudden heat in his gaze, but you thought it was just your imagination. You shook your head dismissing your vulgar thoughts.

'come on, Zayne wouldn't do that'

A click of a doorknob echoed in the room.

'oh, Zayne would do that'

You swallow hard as a wave of heat washes over you. Zayne pivots to face you, his eyes burning with a silent, intense focus that makes your pulse spike. Instinctively, you take a cautious step back, your movements heavy as you back into the corner of his office.

You cough out, "Hey… it's all okay. I'm okay." You are trembling anxiously, but your body knows itself. Anticipation pools deep within you, and your breath hitches as the air in the room suddenly feels heavy and close.

'Was it always this tight in here?'

In quick steps, Zayne is already towering over you, his presence completely engulfing your personal space. "Then would it be okay if I did this to you?"

He leans down, his mouth meeting yours in a gesture that is more tender than you expected. He brushes his palms against yours, hooking his fingers through your own to lock your hands together, pinning you both in the moment.

Sighs and moans were exchanged as your lips met. You can feel Zayne's restraint vibrating through him, trying to not lose himself in the kiss, aware that your body is still healing. His touches were delicate, careful to not squeeze your skin too hard. Tactically avoiding your bruises around your waist, his hands found your hips, pulling you closer so he could deepen the kiss. You smiled against his lips, slipping your hands up to get tangled in his hair.

The movement of the kiss shifts, growing more passionate and wet. You moaned into him as he clamped his mouth over your tongue, gently sucking on it. Heat radiates between you as the world outside the office walls disappears. Desperate, you push more into him, and as you push forward, his back hits the edge of the desk with a heavy thump.

Zayne groans softly, in that moment, the careful distance he maintained dissolves, replaced by a raw, urgent need to be near you. He carefully undressed your top and bottoms, wasting no time trying to be coy.

"Get on the desk," He breathed out.

You let him guide you to his clean desk. As you sit down, cold sharpness shocks your bottom. You shivered, bracing your hands on the edge. "Zayne, it's cold." Coming off little pouty.

"Then I'll warm you up."

He leaned back in, dipping low to capture your mouth in a kiss that erased the chill entirely. His hands began to roam all over your body, tracing your shape, his palms warm with heat. Even in his desperation, he still gripped you with softheartedness, pouring every ounce of his unspoken fear and relief straight into the kiss.

With one quick, decisive move, he unclasped your bra, freeing your chest to the cool air of the room. You let out a quiet whimper as he lightly grazed your sensitive nipples with his calloused fingertips, sending a sharp jolt of electricity straight to your core.

"Are you turned on by the thought that someone might hear us?" Zayne whispered against your ear, his breath hot and uneven.

A sudden wave of uneasiness flashed through your mind, "I thought it was getting late…"

"So? It's still a hospital, love. People work late hours here." He trailed a line of kisses down your neck, his lips pressing over your racing pulse. Feeling the slight tension in your frame, he immediately pulled back, "Are you nervous? We can stop here and go home," As much as he wanted to take you right here on this desk, he was still considerate not to cross your boundaries.

"Ah… no!" You hastily reach out, grabbing his arm to keep him close. "I mean…" Your face was burning up as you realized your exclamation was probably too loud.

Zayne gave out a low breathy chuckle, "If you promise you will be quiet…" He leaned back in, his focus entirely on you as he peppered soft, teasing kisses around your jaw and cheeks. "We might just get away with it."

Your pulse quickened meeting his gaze.

Oh how risky this game was, 'Could he get fired? Can I actually keep my composure?'

While your brain scrambled to find logic and reason in all this, your body was already moving without your permission. Moving entirely on instinct, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you once more, biting down on his lower lip.

Zayne's expression softened, his hands resting gently on your waist. Every tender touch of his fingers makes you quiver. You whimper as he sucks your tongue with utmost furor. Any concern of you two getting caught swept over you, you get lost in him, head getting dizzy, body burning up. At that moment, the world outside the office didn't seem to matter.

He pulls away the kiss, lingering over you as you can see the slick of your spit glistening, making a bridge between your tongue.

"Can you be good, and try not to make a sound?" Zayne pinches your nipples, making your eyes flicker.

"Y-yes"

"I was afraid that I was making you do something you weren't comfortable with." Zayne pressed his fingers gently at your entrance, resulting in your panties smearing a wet spot. "But I think I was worried for nothing"

You moan, as he firmly presses his fingers into your burning cunt.

"Zayne…" You tremble, holding on to his arms to anchor yourself.

He slides your panties to the side, allowing him access to the source of your wetness. He uses your slick to lube up his fingers, then slowly, he presses them inside you. You melt into his touch, as he presses deeper and deeper.

"Mmmm. Zayne…" You sigh out,

He plunged his two fingers, in and out, your warm hole sucking his fingers in tightly.

"Zay—ne— hic- don't stop,"

"I don't want to"

You grip him more tightly, pressing your hips into his hand in a desperate search for friction. Zayne pulls you in close against his chest, hearing his raging heart beating in rhythm with his ragged breath. His thumb finds your clit, applying a deliberate pressure that sends a jolt straight to your chest, leaving your heart hammering in your throat.

He leans down, claiming your mouth in a deep, wet kiss, his tongue tangling hungrily with yours. Your breath hitches into rapid breathless moans. Every muscle in your body tightens, your body trembling with a burning intensity as you hover right on the edge.

The tightening of your muscles tells him everything he needs to know, and he holds you steady, holding you through the peak of your release.

Slowly, Zayne withdrew the kiss, giving you space to breathe and catch your breath. He drags his fingers out of you with leisure, bringing them straight to his mouth to lick and suck them clean, his darkened green eyes never leaving yours.

The air in the room suddenly felt too heavy. You're slumped on his desk, completely undone, your chest still heaving in a slow, ragged rhythm. And yet, why do you feel a buzzing heat lingering deep in your stomach?

As if Zayne noticed your lust still lingering in the air, he drops to his knees in front of you.

"May I taste you?" He looks up with those pleading eyes. How could you say no?

With a swift movement, he hooks his fingers into your well ruined panties, pulling them down your feet. He lifts your knees, draping your legs over his shoulders to open you completely to him.

He started by leaving lingering kisses down your thighs, eventually, leading them up to your folds. You feel his warm breath whiff over your most sensitive spot, making you squirm. Zayne gently sucks on your swelling wet cunt, before delving his tongue in.

His sudden movements drove you crazy, making your legs tremble uncontrollably. You just came, every touch and feeling was just overly sensitive.

"Z-Zayne… hah.. Too— much—" you cry out. Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to process the sheer overload of it.

Zayne wasn't listening, he's lapping your arousal to utmost attention, sucking up every lewd juices your pussy oozes out.

Your skin was flushed, hot to the touch. You couldn't move, you didn't want to. You were trapped in that exquisite, agonizing aftershock where the boundary between pleasure and ache completely blurs.

"Nn— Ah! Za-Zayne—" you sob, "It— hah.. feels… feels good…" Your shaking fingers clawed deep into his desk.

As Zayne is dedicated to devouring you wholly, he slides up his finger to your opening, spreading you open. Slowly, he pressed his fingers into you, your insides wet and warm, welcoming him back again as it swells on his fingers. He gradually curved his fingers upwards to hit your most sensitive spot. Your head swings back, spine arching as the sheer intensity of the pleasure takes over.

"Mnng?!" At this point, you can't make up any coherent words anymore. All turning into babbled cries.

You grasp what you can, his hair, anything. Zayne pleasuring every inch of you is becoming too much to bear. The heat of his mouth, wet tongue, and the glide of his smooth fingers, all of it relentless, driving you closer to the edge.

"You taste perfect, love. Come for me."

The gentleness of his words makes your heart burst, you can't hold yourself anymore. Your hips start to tense up, trembling, your back arches as you pulse in pure bliss.

Your body goes limp, toppling over a second time. Your brain is buzzing, unable to make any clear thoughts. Zayne leans on your thighs, reaching out for your hands, gently rubbing circles on your knuckles.

Your chest rising and falling in exhausted paces. Every muscle in your body felt like a warm wax, completely melting into his embrace. Your eyes were heavily glazed, struggling to hold focus as the room slowly tilting from the two orgasms he dragged you through.

Zayne stands up, looking entirely too put together, while you were a beautifully wrecked disaster. His fingers slid up to cup your jaw, his thumb rubbing on your lower plump lip. The simple touch sent fire straight down your spine, making your breath hitch all over again. With the faint vision from your eyes you could notice him taking his glasses off. You were still flowing somewhere above ground, your brain still foggy and your limbs feeling like goo, but as you looked into his eyes, his words cut through the trance.

"Do you think you can go for more?"

Your body can

You give a weak nod, offering him a silent reassurance that you are entirely his in this moment.

"Then love, will you give me the permission, to make you feel even better?" Zayne’s voice is a low growl. Guided by his touch, your hands find the edge of his belt, letting your fingers trace down to his throbbing cock. A low groan escapes him, when you pressed on his stiffness, making your mouth water.

Zayne swallows the aching lump in his throat, he unclasps his belt, freeing his thick shaft. He grabs his cock by the ridge, slowly rubbing his tip at your swollen entrance. His free hand slides down to grip your waist, his fingers digging in gently but possessively, pulling you close against him until there is absolutely no space left between you.

The sheer warmth of him radiates through you. Slowly, deliberately, he begins to move, pressing into you with a steady, gentle friction that makes the rest of the world completely fade away.

With a gentle, final thrust, he's all the way inside you. "You are so wet for me."

You whimper as his size spreads you open. "Mmm. Zayne…"

Zayne starts to move his hips, sluggish at first, letting you accommodate his size. Then with a fierce tempo, he drives into you. You cry out at his abrupt speed increase, grasping his shoulders, digging your nails into his shirt.

"Ah! Z-Zayne!! Anhh— not too— fast—"

The room is now filled with your lustful cries and the ragged breathing between you two. The scent in the air is all too musky, the pleasant aroma that was lemongrass and jasmine, is exchanged by your sex juices and sweat.

"Shh." Zayne grunted into your ear. "You— fuck— don't want my co-workers— nng— to hear your erotic cries… Do you?"

"M-Mmnnh—" You muster all the consciousness you have left, and bite down into his shoulders. Scabbling his shirt, now ruined with your saliva and torn seams, you cry out long desperate whimpers. Your eyes water, body shaking violently. You realize you are making noises but you can't hear anything.

You are all so soaked for him, dripping all over his desk and down to the floor. Your mind drifts away again, blood buzzing in your ears.

Zayne, not caring if you could or could not hold your voice down, fucked you harder and deeper. The table rattling, and papers flying off the desk, as he picks up the pace. Anyone who walks by would hear you and Zayne's illicit activity.

It's when you are coming close to another orgasm that you hear footsteps in the distance.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Like a wakeup call, you are conscious again. All your senses come alive, heightening all sensations you are receiving with his fat cock.

"Ahnng—" you cry out.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Shhh… someone's coming" Zayne curls into your neck burying his nose into your hair.

The steps are getting louder and clearer, it might be just down the halls. Your heart is racing in the thought of you two getting caught. You thought Zayne would slow down, but instead he lifts you off from the desk, holding you up, piercing you with his dick.

"Z-Zayne!" You whisper loudly into his ear.

Oh the scolding you would do, once he's done… Wait, is he getting bigger?

Zayne's breath is ragged, growing heavier and hoarser each time he thrusts into you.

You almost moan his name in pleasure but that's when you hear the knocking.

Knock. Knock.

"Dr. Zayne? Are you still here?"

A night nurse.

The voice is coming from right outside the walls, just a couple feet away from you. Your blaring heart lurched to your throat choking out air. Your eyes flew open, trying to hold back a moan.

At first, you thought he would stop, and pretend no one is in here. Let her leave in peace, so you can finish in silence. But to your surprise, he still thrusts in a steady rhythm, and in a raspy voice he speaks out,

"Ye-s. I'm about to leave…"

'Is he crazy?'

"Oh! I just wanted to let you know, there's files for—"

"Hnng— Y-yes. Could you leave them… by the door."

'He's crazy'

"You alright doctor?"

You try your best to hold on and muffle your breath by chomping his shoulders down hard. You give him a silent glare.

"Yes— thrust

I'm— thrust

quite... alright— thrust"

"Annhg!" You couldn't keep this cry out.

"Oh..! I see. I'll see you tomorrow doctor." You can't see her, or know who she is, but you can undeniably make out her blushing face.

The steps quickly disappear away, leaving you back alone with sounds of your breaths and squelching sound of your wet pussy.

"H-hey what was that!" you stammered, your breath catching. "What if she knew what we were doing in here"

"Oh, she knew."

Without saying anything else, he set you down gently, bending you over the desk thrusting back in.

"Zay… ne— Anhhn— Li! When I— fuck— get you… ! "

Zayne's laugh echoes along the room with the sloppy wet sounds you are making with this dick. His hand gripped your waist, circling his thumbs affectionately.

"You were— fucking— tightening up…on my dick. I thought— you— loved it." He groaned. His body leaned over, weaving under your body with his right hand finding your clit. With a quiet flick of his Evol, a slight chill crept into his fingertips.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as the chill fingers press against your sensitive bud. You clench up around his length in reflex.

"Just like that."

All your efforts to hold back your voice were useless. You wailed so loudly, you might as well have broadcasted your lust to the entire hospital.

You could not take it any longer. This was all too much for you, his thick cock penetrating you to the fullest, and his evol overstimulating your clit.

"Fuck— You are so— so good." Zayne groaned in your ear, biting down on your shoulders, giving back what you gave him.

You cry out in something between pain and pleasure, tears falling down your cheeks. Your entire body goes numb and tense at the same time.

"Zayne! Zayne.. please—"

Zayne's cock trembled inside you, "I'm … close." He picks up speed, rubbing your clit in circles, trying to take you both to climax.

"I'm… hah— I'm going to fucking fill— you up—" Zayne moans out your name, your back arches up to him, "Come, come for me love— With me."

You grip on to the desk, bracing yourself for your feverish ecstasy to take you over. You cry out his name as you can feel his cock throbbing inside you, as your walls pulse around him and your vision fading black. Zayne's hips stutter for a brief second, before he empties inside you, endless streams of cum coating your walls. He pants out, rocking his hips slowly as he rides out his orgasm.

You let out a drawn out moan before collapsing onto his desk. He clings on to you as you both catch your breath. Zayne gasps, still inside you, leaving kisses on the shoulder where he bit you.

"Does it hurt?"

Still out of breath, you sway your head in 'no'

Zayne slowly pulls out, his cum dripping out of your pussy in the process. He doesn't quite clean it up yet, he settles back back onto his chair, and draws you onto his lap. As his arms wrap around you, the warmth of his embrace helps steady your ragged breathing and racing heart.

You lean into his chest, savoring this moment together. Hearing his beating heart in sync with yours, you draw circles in his chest. Zayne looks down at you, kissing your head, a gentle reminder that he loves and treasures you.

Although, that blissful moment is gone instantly once you gain back consciousness, you scowl at him, "We got caught! What if she gets you fired."

"It's okay. She knows I'm madly in love with you."

"That's not the issue!"

Zayne kisses your temples, "I doubt they can fire the best surgeon in Linkon City."

You sigh at his face in disbelief. "Now when did you get this sassy?"

You finally take in his changed expression. His jaw relaxing, the hard lines of his anxiety dissolving into a radiant smile. Beneath your palms, his frantic heartbeat slows to a steady, comforting rhythm. He weaves his fingers through your hair, pulling a single lock to his lips, as if it's the most precious thing in the world. A long, warm exhale brushes against your neck as his lips linger, carrying a soft, tethered whisper, "I love you."

he grabbed your hair in a makeshift ponytail, pulling you towards him until the back of your head rested on his shoulder. “want me to slow down? nah, i know you love it when i fuck you like a whore.”

tears spilled from your eyes as you searched for something to grab onto for comfort; the edge of the headboard, bedsheets, even his arm—anything to ground you as he fucked you within an inch of consciousness. xavier laughed as he watched you struggle, pressing down on your lower abdomen and moaning when your walls tightened around him. “say it. fuckin’ say you’re my dumb cum slut”

he punctuated each word with a bruising thrust, finally pushing you over the edge as you screamed out your safe word “bluebell”. his movements stopped immediately, the grip he had on you now gentle and holding you steady.

sobs wracked through your chest as he slowly withdrew from your throbbing hole, sitting you against the headboard before grabbing a tissue from the bedside. he wiped your tears and the sweat from your face before brushing your hair from your face, letting you calm yourself before daring to speak.

when your cries finally morphed into hiccups and eventually sniffles, xavier grabbed the cup of water next to your bed and watched you eagerly gulp it down, chuckling before stroking your hair.

“okay?” he questioned, voice a full 360 from just minutes ago. you nodded, beginning to apologize only for xavier to shut you down immediately. “hey, i was pushing it. i’m sorry, thank you for using it. why don’t we jus’ sit a bit, yeah?”

you nodded, appreciating the kindness and understanding from your partner. xavier sat next to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as he stroked up and down your arm, listing the new plushies available in the arcade near your house to help ease the tension in the air.

ㅤꨄ︎ zayne

you vision went white as zayne drew another orgasm from you, wetness shooting from your cunt onto his eager face as his fingers continuously rubbed that one spot he knew all too well.

his lips attached to your clit, sucking vigorously as his long digits began to scissor inside your hole once more, your hips trembling under his grip. he laughed against your cunt, giddy at the reactions your body so easily gave him. “so easy for me, huh? don’t even have to try and i have you creaming on my tongue”

you whined his name, hands desperately trying to push away his head from your overstimulated core only for him to grab both wrists with his free hand. “you begged me to cum and now you’re complaining?” he scoffed, pulling his fingers out only to suck them into his mouth before roughly shoving them into you again. “we’re done when i fuckin’ say so”

“z-zaynie…please, need a break” you sobbed, heartbeat thumping in your ears as you felt another mind shattering orgasm coming. your cries only fuelled his ministrations, climax suddenly washing over you with your legs going limp as uncomfortable shocks ran through your body. just as you thought he was finally finished, zayne began slapping your cunt, drawing more spurts of fluid from your entrance. the cruel overstimulation had you screaming out “lilac” before you even knew it, zaynes insistent movement ceasing at once.

he wiped his hands on his pants, quickly moving up towards you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “hi sweet angel. i’m so, so, so sorry, tell me what you need” he muttered between small pecks, pulling back to see tears welling in your eyes. his heart ached as he realized your current state was because of his actions.

“j-jus’ need a sec” you hiccuped, reaching for him and pulling him towards your side. “don’t wanna stop, just need a breather”

he let out a sigh of relief, nodding and quickly slinging an arm around you as you curled into him. your body trembled while the rise and fall of his chest soothed you, nerves slowly easing as each second ticked by. zayne stayed close to you, brushing his fingers through your hair and taking up the space you allowed him to.

ㅤꨄ︎ raf

your throat bulged with rafayels cock as he rutted into your mouth, groaning when your nails raked down his thighs. your head hung off the edge of the bed, the slap of his heavy balls against your face with every thrust making you dizzy with lust. you felt his length still inside your throat, a large hand stroking the outline of his huge cock over your neck.

“m-made for this, right? fuck you take it so good” his needy voice moaned, palms roughly slapping your tits before he started his movements again. “loosen up for me princess, breathe through your nose like i taught you”

you tried to follow his instructions, lungs burning as your nostrils flared with effort, trying to inhale any air you could. your hands began to shake as you started to push his hips away, unable to suck in any air with his steady presence over you. he laughed before withdrawing his cock from your lips, pupils dilating while watching you gasp for air.

just as you felt your body begin to calm down, rafayel slapped the tip of his length against your lips, motioning for you to open your mouth for him once more. you shook your head desperately, hoarse voice rumbling out “tulips” twice before he finally understood you.

rafayel immediately helped you up, a hand steadying your back as you continued to even your breathing. you pulled his looming body towards you and inhaled the familiar floral scent of his laundry, forehead resting atop his flowy shirt. the tightness in your chest eased as he stroked your back, apologizing for going too far. you sat like that for a few more minutes until finally moving back at the feeling of his body beginning to shake.

your eyes flitted up to find rafayel crying, his long fingers quickly swiping away the tears before apologizing. “i’m sorry, jus’ feel so bad i pushed you.”

you chuckled at the endearing display, pulling him next to you on the bed and trying to ease his overwhelming emotions the same way he did you.

ㅤꨄ︎ caleb

you watched with bated breath as caleb increased the pace of the bullet vibe inside of you, messy cunt dripping onto the sheets under you while your limbs pulled at the restraints he had you tied in.

he’d edged you three times already, punishing you for “laughing too hard” at your coworkers joke. this wasn’t new for the two of you, one of caleb’s favourite things to do being you tied up, begging and crying for him to let you cum. the sound of your voice pitching up while tears trailed down your face was simply music to his ears.

today though, you felt yourself rapidly approaching your limit, body beginning to shake uncomfortably as he ruined your climax once again with an evil grin.

“awww, what’s wrong pips? ya mad i’m treating you like a whore? maybe you shouldn’t act like a free-use slut then, hm?”

the mean words had your cunt squeezing around the vibrating toy buried between your walls, an intense burn running through your nerves as he raised the intensity to the highest level.

“wanna hear you tell me why im punishing you. let me hear you say you’re a brainless cockwhore”

a sob ripped through your throat at the cruel tone in his voice, body twisting as you tried to get away from the stimulation. his raucous laugh was your last straw, the word “sunflower” falling from your lips making him turn off the vibe completely.

you continued to shake as he untied your restraints, massaging the tired muscles as blood flowed back into them. caleb crawled towards you after soothing the red skin, gently laying your head on his chest and lightly patting your back. “did too much, i’m sorry baby” he whispered against your scalp, letting your breathing steady before finally sitting you up.

he wiped the tears on your lash line before grabbing the cup of water on your bedside table, letting you sip it slowly. after he was sure you were fully calm and back in your body, caleb asked you what you needed next, letting you lead his movements in a way you wanted.

ㅤꨄ︎ sylus

the sharp sting of sylus’ hand against your ass had you screaming, blood-red skin tender to the touch with each heavy hit he landed on you.

you intended for the night to end this way, hoping your teasing touches and annoyed glares would be enough to make him “punish” you. sylus knew this of course and was glad to fulfill your wishes, but he was unintentionally taking out his work stress on you as well. the month had been slow and while he didn’t have to worry about money, he still did. he was always concerned he wouldn’t be able to give you the life you deserved, so any time business was slower, his worries crept to the front of his mind.

his jaw tensed as you began to squirm in his hold, trying to wriggle out of his harsh grip to no avail. he scoffed at your movements, stroking the burning skin on your ass and watching how you flinched with every touch. “pretending you don’t want it when i can see how wet you are.”

you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together, shame filling you as you questioned whether or not you were sick for getting off to this. your train of thought was interrupted as he landed four consecutive slaps to your upper thighs and each cheek, a hoarse scream falling from your lips before you began to continuously mutter “roses” under your breath.

you weren’t sure if he’d even be able to hear you (he was old asf his hearing was leaving fr) but sylus immediately turned you over and cradled you in his arms, making sure to avoid the sensitive skin on your bottom. tears continued to flow down your face as he soothed you, mumbling ‘what a good girl you were’ and how he was ‘sorry he went too far’.

you let him carry you to your bedroom and lay you on your front, applying a gentle analgesic to the tender skin on your behind. after you were settled sylus climbed in next to you, gently rubbing your back and letting your brain quiet before asking what you needed next.

ㅤꨄ︎ valko

valko tugged the leash attached to your collar, pulling you along as he walked to your bedroom. “t-too hard” you tried to speak, quickly cut off by another harsh pull on your throat.

“dogs don’t fuckin’ talk—you wanna speak, you’re gonna bark like the bitch you are”

you were the one to bring up petplay, asking if it was something he’d be into. valko immediately agreed, listing off the reasons why he’d be the perfect pup until you corrected him and said you wanted to try it this time.

he easily fell into the role of a dominating owner, rough movements indicating he’d been imagining this for a while now.

you watched as he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting until you crawled between his knees before giving you your next instruction. “let me see your pretty tongue, puppy”

you hesitantly stuck out the muscle, eyes widening as he spit on it. you were about to swallow it until he roughly grabbed your tongue between two fingers, shoving another two digits down your throat and smirking as you took them eagerly. your eyes rolled back as he touched the back of your throat with ease, gagging when he pushed further.

you expected him to withdraw them at the first sign of resistance, but valko continued to tease your throat, forcing his fingers down and encouraging you to take them until you felt yourself preparing to vomit.

a gurgled version of “lilies” fell from your lips, valkos eyes widening before finally relenting and letting you swallow down your nausea. he stared in surprise as he realized he’d gone too far, apologies quickly falling from his lips before he scrambled for a tissue to wipe your face with.

you laughed at his antics before stroking his cheek, letting him know you just needed a break. he loosened your collar to give you more room to breathe, moving to get you a cup of water and letting you gulp it down before letting you lead the way.

© all work belongs to @luvyizhou on tumblr, 2026. do NOT use, repost, or feed any of my work into AI or other websites.

If Dawnbreaker isn’t careful, history is doomed to repeat itself. If he cannot find a way to exorcise Zayne and all of his self-sacrificing pursuits, they’ll both lose you. Again. Like they did atop the Tower of Thorns. Like they did underneath the Sacred Tree.

Those memories tend to bring Zayne to the surface, so he does what he can to avoid them. Dawnbreaker isn’t interested in Zayne’s judgements or opinions, and he certainly doesn’t want to feel Zayne’s pain—Zayne has a lot of that since his repressed disposition prevents him from soothing any of his aches, too restrained, even, to get himself off to the thought of you beneath him, soft and gentle and oh-so willing…

Anyway, it isn’t hard for Dawnbreaker to anchor himself to this reality. It is, after all, so different from his own. All it takes is a quick look around the room, at the warm yellow sun streaming in through the wall to ceiling windows, at the pillowy tuffs of smoke that billow from his freshly brewed cup of coffee, at the buttery croissant he intends to eat alongside the drink, and he calms his beating heart enough to push Zayne down, down, down, and away.

(See, doctor? He is capable of repressing things too).

Or, rather, Dawnbreaker is capable at suppressing things. Because, there’s a difference, isn’t there? Between the two. Zayne is a victim of his mind’s ability to ignore and disregard his wants, to passively reject his feelings and his needs. Dawnbreaker’s suppression of Zayne is an active process—and a tiresome one at that—a skill that takes days, weeks, months to master.

It’s lonely sequestered away in Zayne’s home, something Dawnbreaker thought he’d grown accustomed to after all those years spent holed up in his dilapidating apartment, where the only voices he ever heard were those from the old tv. It’s your fault, he knows, that he no longer enjoys his solitude. You are a hair’s breath away from him, yet still out of reach and it’s killing him slowly, each second without you an indescribable agony.

A few of Zayne’s colleagues check in from time to time. Some woman named Yvonne texts to ask him how he’s doing, and some man named Greyson texts him patient updates—the grouchy man in room 101 continues to improve, and in room 102, the little girl Zayne operated on died suddenly in her sleep—but Dawnbreaker leaves them on read. It isn’t their company or companionship he’s seeking; it’s yours.

Though his self-imposed isolation comes at a price, it does have its perks. The biggest, of course, is that he’s free to daydream about how he’s finally going to do it. About how he’ll finally steal you away from everyone that threatens his ability to have you. There’s that coworker of yours that the good doctor never seemed to like, and your adoptive brother who’s love for you always felt a bit more than familial…

He thinks he’ll have to kill them, but he’s wrong.

The day you show up at his doorstep is a surprise, albeit a welcome one. Saves him the trouble of having to hunt you down—though a sick, twisted part of him thinks he would have enjoyed that, him a cat, you a mouse, a near capture, a futile escape. Your eyes widen in surprise when he opens the door. Your shoulders sag with relief.

The anger comes next, rolls in loud and angry like a great tumultuous storm. The look you flash him is a lightning strike. The words that spill from your lips crack like thunder. You were worried. (Obviously). You called him. (He knows). Rage soon fills the entrance to the house, thick, tangible, perhaps enough to tear it down.

Maybe he should interrupt you, but he doesn’t, he can’t, eyes drawn to your each and every tic. The way your nostrils flare as you suck down lungfuls of oxygen. The way your fingers twitch before clenching into fists. The way your tongue kisses the tips of your teeth as you say his name over and over. Zayne. Zayne. Zayne.

(His calves tense once it’s out of your mouth, as if they mean to move back, to move away. As if he’s going to withdraw into the house that isn’t fully his—into the house that is somehow too big and too small all at once—and leave you there on the front porch step, billowing and blowing at the door in your face).

“Would you like to come in?” he asks, struggling to keep a smile off his face, lest he scare you away, lest you sense that the man before you isn’t your doctor Zayne, but a different man entirely.

You cry then, anger giving way to something else, and he takes the opportunity to reach out and touch. A thumb first, on your cheek, now wet with the salt of your tears. A hand next, on the scruff of your neck, which he uses to coax your forehead against him once he’s closed the gap between you.

Easily and willingly. That’s how you fold yourself into him. Shaking arms around his waist. Shuddering chest against his own. He pets at your head wordlessly as you empty yourself of your sadness, knowing full well the worst of it is yet to come.

Because you think he’s your Zayne, you allow him to guide you into the living room where he plops you down on the sofa with a soft blanket and a snowman plushie that—thanks to Zayne’s memories—he happens to know you like.

He’d like to brew you some of that jasmine tea you bought with Zayne at the farmers market when he was still around, but you don’t seem ready to part yet. A shy hand catches the back of his pants, and he knows the minute he looks down as your glassy eyes that he isn’t ready to either. Not now. Not when he finally has you.

The cushions sigh as he settles next to you, a fingertips length apart, not yet bold enough to initiate contact again though he really, really wants to. It wouldn’t seem out of character—Zayne was always so affectionate with you—but, despite the shared memories, he’s worried that he will act in a way that shatters this precious illusion (because that’s all this is really, a false reality where his hands save lives instead of end them). What if he touches you somewhere wrong, and you know that he’s not him? Will you wait patiently for him to explain? Could he possibly even put into words what it’s like miss someone he’s never even met?

It's probably better to just rip off the Band-Aid, to tell you the truth about who he is now instead of later. Prolonging the lie will only make this worse for you. And for him, probably, since he has no intentions of letting you go no matter how much you beg. Or fight. Knowing what he does about you, it’ll probably be a fight. Which is fine. He’s prepared for that.  

Because Zayne’s place is nice. Spacious. There’s a basement he’s fixed up with some bondage equipment—jute ropes, mostly, to minimize chafing, though there’s also some duct tape and cold, metal cuffs—if he needs it, but he really, truly, hopes he won’t. He also hopes he won’t need any of the sedatives he stockpiled from the hospital right before Zayne quit, but only time will tell.

All thoughts of locking you away bleed from him as you fold yourself against him, limbs sprawling across the couch, head coming to rest in his lap. All thoughts of confessing bleed from him too. He deserves this, doesn’t he? A bit of calm before the storm. Where’s the harm in letting you believe he is someone else, if only until tomorrow? Besides, he is technically still Zayne, just a Zayne that doesn’t meet you when he needs to, a Zayne who doesn’t learn, then, the threat his Evol poses, who doesn’t injure you in childhood or become a surgeon.

Which, whatever, he’s meeting you now.

It's late enough that you drift off to sleep, lulled by the steady hand rubbing soothing circles into your back. There’s a serenity to you now that your dreams have found you, all the rage from earlier nothing more than a specter to haunt him, to remind him of what’s to come. Green eyes glide across your face, savoring the gentle curve of your lips, slightly parted, the corners just a touch wet as you exhale and drool. He wants to remember how you look without defenses, how loose your body can become in the presence of someone you trust your full self with; he isn’t sure when he’ll get to see it again.

There is no rest for him this night. Sleep is unwanted and dreams unwelcome. Because there’s a chance, still—even if just a teensy, tiny, small one—that Zayne’s mind will switch back the moment he slips unconscious, that he will lose you mere moments after meeting you. And, well, that’s a risk for another sunrise. Not this one. No, this dawn is his to break.  

Which he does. The inky midnight sky splits open as the birds outside begin to sing, darkness retreating, chased back by muted morning colors. Pink and orange hues burst into the room, and Dawnbreaker suddenly wishes he’d had the foresight to close the shades. As beautiful as you look awash with the shades of dawn, it’s only a matter of time before the sun wakes you and ruins his ruse.

His disguise unravels slowly over the course of the day as you pick and prod at the threads of it. Memories of you and Zayne are woven throughout him, but a memory is just that, a thing of the past, something that sets up the future the way a playwright does a scene; there is stage direction, dialogue, but a bad actor will still fail to sell the fantasy if he does not understand the person he’s meant to embody.   

So, slowly, he comes undone. Stitch by agonizing stitch.

The morning passes largely without incident. Breakfast is homemade pancakes, garnished with a river of fresh maple syrup and dollops of whipped cream. The food is mouthwateringly sweet—just how the doctor liked it. By the time the last of the batter hits the griddle, flour dusts his hair, fine and pure like snow—Zayne once froze the rain for you, turning fat, wet droplets into cold, powdery flakes. There is laughter in your throat as you tousle his hair, just like then, like when you said those vows.

It's easy, then, to act like Zayne. It’s easy to flash you a warm smile, to offer you bite after bite of the warm, sugary dough that’s been grilled by him to a golden perfection. The food, cut by his hand. The pieces, speared on his fork. You, insisting, rather vehemently, that the pancakes on his plate are somehow better than the ones on yours.

The hard part comes later, after the food has been eaten, after the dishes are washed and dried and put away. When your mirth begins to fade and your questions begin. You want to know where he’s been these past few weeks (here, he’ll tell you, which isn’t a lie), and what made him quit his job at the hospital (he had too; another honest answer—Dawnbreaker doesn’t know the first thing about treating protocore syndrome), and, worst of all, why didn’t he return your calls?

He isn’t sure what gives it away—what he says or doesn’t say that finally tips you off—only that your eyes begin to wander off into the distance, staring at something that isn’t there, teeth worrying at the inside of your cheek.

At some point, your questions begin to change. You ask him things you believe only the real Zayne can answer, as if testing a potential theory. Like the name of Doctor Noah’s fox. Like the passcode to his phone. Like his favorite sweet. Movie. Color. Show.

Each correct answer is met with squinted eyes and furrowed brows, lips pursing, face scrunching, as if you’re sucking on something sour, tonguing it back and forth between the inside of your teeth.

He knows when the question you need to ask finds you. It’s your eyes that betray you; they widen as the rest of your features relax. They steal scrutinizing glances at him too, when you think he isn’t looking, as if your vision alone could uncover the truth. As if staring at something long enough will reveal its true nature.

“Zayne,” you say, voice carefully neutral, though it wobbles with the ghost of some painful emotion. “Will you make me a seal with your Evol? Like you did when we were kids. Right before you left.”

And, Dawnbreaker is not so different than Zayne; they both find it so hard to deny you.

The seal he creates is an exact replica in every way but the one that counts. It’s small. Palm sized. Round like a ball. Two little flippers and a cute little tail. It is the very seal that your Zayne made you all those years ago.

Except for the fact that it is, of course, pitch fucking back.

You stare at the onyx offering, for a while, remembering, maybe, the first time Zayne made the seals for you—white, fluffy—how you tossed them, thinking the seals were snowballs. How he remade them for you years later after meeting you again.

When your eyes finally slide from the seal to him, they are brimming with tears. A few fall despite your attempts to blink them away, throat bobbing as you swallow down your cries, and this contained reaction startles him more than yesterday’s anger. Where is the sound of your fury? Where has all your thunder gone?

“Is he dead?” you ask, once some time has passed, voice steady despite the way your lower lip trembles.  

“No,” he replies. “But you can’t see him.”

The argument he expects never comes. A heavy silence fills the room as you quietly consider him, as if looking for the place this Zayne ends and yours begins. Deep beneath his ribs, his heart begins to hammer. It isn’t that he’s worried you’ll find any such seam, but that any moment now the fight he’s been anticipating will start.

“We’ve met before,” you finally say, locking eyes with him. There’s a challenge in them, even now, even rimmed with grief, you are daring him to lie to you, to deny who he is.

“We have.”

“You handle the Alterum.”

“I do.”

The tears you’ve been battling back surge forth, spilling down your cheeks. Your gaze slides away from him then, to that troublesome thing off in the distance, and he finds himself wishing he could read your thoughts. Is there anything you’d like to ask him, now you know the truth? Don’t you want to know why he’s taken possession of the doctor? Or what he plans to with the body now that he has? Are you worried, maybe, that he has plans to kill you?

The quiet begins to unsettle him.

“Are you afraid?” he eventually asks.

There’s a strange smile on your face when you respond, “Not of you.”

Whatever it is you're afraid of, you keep to yourself. A secret. Perhaps the only one you are able to keep.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk-”

“You’re right,” you cut in, standing up, as if to leave, “I don’t.”

“You can’t leave,” he says, his voice just firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

“You’ll stop me?”

“I will.”

Your head cocks as you consider him, likely contemplating your odds. You’re a formidable Hunter. Skilled enough to take down high ranked Wanders, often without aid. But are you strong enough to beat him? Are you faster than his ice? Could you raise a hand against a body you know so intimately?

A deep inhale followed by an exacerbated exhale; it seems you’ve decided you don’t like your odds.

“I’m tired,” you tell him, before slinking off to the guest room—you usually share Zayne’s bed when you stay over, but it’s fine; he will wear away at your resolve one day at a time. And, anyway, when you do join him in bed, he hopes you do so enthusiastically. That your legs spread without coaxing. That, when he gets his fingers in your cunt, they’ll come away undeniably wet…

Only, you don’t warm up to him. You stay, sure. You don’t run. Don’t hide. Don’t fight. You don’t do much of anything, really, especially those first few days. The words you do exchange with him are clipped, curt, like it physically pains you to communicate with him. When you glance his way, it’s to snarl at him, teeth bared, hackles raised, like some feral fucking beast. You swat away his peace offerings, claw at him when he offers comfort. It’s not like he plans to harm you—well, he’ll declaw you, perhaps, if needed—so why do you resist his every effort to bond?

House rules are devised as needed. There aren’t very many; he does want you happy after all. You’re not permitted to leave the house and you are not, under any circumstance, allowed to ask after the heart surgeon. The first rule he establishes day one. The second comes later, after you ask one too many questions about your doctor and absolutely none about him.

(Aren’t you even a little bit interested in getting to know him? Curious, maybe, what life was like for him in his world? About the cracking grey walls he called home? Don’t you want know why he worked so hard to hop realities? Shouldn't intrigue have trumped anger by now)?

The first rule you tolerate with a stubborn sort of grace, eyes frequently sliding to the door, then the windows, as you no doubt think about making an escape. He wonders sometimes why you don’t ever make a break for it; it's clear you want to. Perhaps you truly don’t think you could best him in a fight. Or maybe you’re just too scared to try.

It could be the consequences he’s laid out for you should you attempt to run are enough to thwart your attempts. He shows you the changes he’s made to Zayne’s basement. The jute ropes and handcuffs and tape. (You’ve seen the ropes before, he knows, the surgeon was quite adept at tying knots). The paddles too, are likely familiar to you, though the doctor did always prefer his hand.

The second rule seems to challenge you on a cellular level. Usually, he chooses not to energize the unwanted questions; he’ll simply ignore you until you ask about something else. If you insist on disrespecting the rather reasonable boundary, he’ll remind you what happens to girls who don’t mind their manners: a spanking, over his knee, under the clothes. One lash for each word spoken out of term—a game he knows for certain you’ve enjoyed playing with Zayne—should the warning go unheeded.

Your cheeks heat at the implication, and you learn to bite your tongue, though selfishly he hopes one day you’ll grow bold enough to truly violate the rule. He longs to get his hands on you, and while he’d prefer his touch be gentle, caressing, he’ll settle for a few quick swats on the butt…

You are allowed your own room—once he removes the lock, of course—as long as you leave the door ajar while you're in there. The hinges are old and rusted, the floorboards worn and creaky, so he’ll know if you attempt to sneak out after hours.

Which, eventually, you do.

Late one night, he wakes to the sound of you shuffling around the kitchen, to the opening and closing of doors and the soft pitter-patter of anxious footsteps. You’re leaving him. After weeks of good behavior. Fuck, you’re leaving him? You've finally given up on your medic of the arctic and are slinking away, out into the night? The Zayne from this universe might respect your wishes, but he doesn't. He can’t. He isn't letting you go again. Not now. Not ever.

With a hammering heart, he bolts out of bed and rushes to meet you. Your eyes widen in surprise as he comes barreling out of the room, body encased in a thick sheen of black ice. The dark icicles shoot violently towards you, pinning you against the wall by the fabric of your pajamas before wrapping around your wrists, your ankles, your waist. 

Dawnbreaker is breathing hard by the time he’s close enough to touch you, sweating despite the ice crystals he wears like a second skin. There's a biting word on his tongue, a threat he's ready to lash out with, but it dies in his throat when he sees the salty tears you've silently begun to cry. 

"I-I couldn't sleep," you croak. "I was just getting some water."

Dawnbreaker takes a step back and feels it, the distinct sting of broken glass piercing skin. You must have dropped the cup when he charged at you earlier. 

"Are you hurt?" he asks, trying to lock eyes with you. 

You shake your head, eyes fixed on the floor.

Slowly, Dawnbreaker releases the crystals holding you. You sway on your feet once they fully recede, knees weak, legs unsteady; he stabilizes you with an arm around your waist. You flinch at the contact, and he doesn't like that. He doesn't like that one bit. All he wants is to take care of you, yet all he seems capable of doing is causing you pain. 

"I'm sorry," he says, tucking two fingers under your chin, guiding your gaze towards what he hopes is his own reassuring one. "I didn't mean to frighten you." 

For a moment, it looks like you might reply, but then your lower lip begins to tremble and the sobs you've been quietly holding back break free. He folds your head against his shoulder and rubs a soothing palm down your back. 

"I'm sorry," he says again. And he is. Gods he is. What were you thinking in the brief moments before the sharp tip of his ice pinned your nightgown against the wall? Did it reminder you of that incident? The one from way back when… "Everything will be alright. Please don't cry." 

After a few minutes, the worst of the tears subside. He brushes a few lingering ones away with the pads of his thumb. You're still shaking, skittish, so he says what he thinks you need to hear, "I'd never hurt you." 

You blink at him, then a new expression flicks across your face. So, you were thinking about it then.

"Not again anyway," he adds, softening his voice. "What happened back then...I was a different man. That isn't me anymore. You make me want to be better, to do better. We're good for each other. I know it."

He looks at you eagerly, waiting for your response. 

"I'm so tired," is your only reply; the three words would wound him if you didn't also look it—puffy, purple bags under your dull eyes, drooping lids you fight to keep open. His apology, it seems, and your acknowledgement of it, will have to wait until morning.

With a hand on the small of your back, he guides you to his room, ignoring the trail of bloody footprints he leaves in his wake. He curries you to bed—to his bed—and is pleased, despite the events leading to this, that you fuss less than usual as he tucks you into it.

Tempted as he is to crawl in after you, to coil himself around your soft, sleepy form, he instead sits at the foot of the mattress watching, waiting, for you to drift peacefully off. But sleep doesn't come easy to you any more, not like it did that first night. Now, you toss and turn as he stares at you, agitatedly, likely, by the events from a few moments prior. 

Eventually, he lays a comforting hand on your calf. You stiffen, but don't shake him off. 

"Would you like me to help you sleep?" he asks, inching his fingers further along your leg.

You sit up, yanking yourself from his grasp. He almost regrets speaking to you.

Almost.

"I'd sleep easier if you'd stop fucking gawking at me," you spit. "Go eye fuck something else."

He smiles, not sweetly, when he says, "I know what the good doctor used to prescribe you. Not a pill but rather..." he's close enough now that he could kiss you, if he wanted. His hand finds the sensitive groove of your hip. Your breath hitches but you don't push him off. Feeling bold he adds, "I'm just as gifted with my fingers as the surgeon. Perhaps-"

"No," you say, but it doesn't sound quite like you mean it. The word comes out breathy, light, without vitriol he’s grown accustom to.

Dawnbreaker backs off anyway. He has no intentions of forcing you, though he does trace his index finger down the exposed skin of your thigh as he pulls away, "If you change your mind..."

You start sleeping in his room exclusively after that. He tells you it's to avoid another misunderstanding, but the truth is, he just likes having you close, feeling the warmth of your body, just inches away from his own. The softness of your breaths lull him into a sleep so deep not even his nightmares can find him. There’s no bodies. No blood. No Zayne.

Dawnbreaker gets used to having you close. Too used to it. A few weeks into the arrangement he comes to his senses already upright in bed, lips pressed against your own, a palm on your breast. His body freezes momentarily, and that's all the time you need to pull away, eyes glistening with tears you try to blink back. 

He reaches for you as you roll off of him, despite knowing what this is, despite understanding what that was. Not an attempt to seduce him awake, but a shameless effort to reach that oh-so-fucking-precious doctor of yours. An anger pools low and hot in his belly as he watches your body stumble out the door.

Anger is an emotion Dawnbreaker is familiar with, though it's admittedly one he struggles to control. The trouble isn't the anger itself, but, rather, all the adrenaline that accompanies it. Something about that pesky little neurotransmitter makes him vicious, makes him mean. So, in lieu of several calming breaths, he throws off the covers to storm after you, ranting and raving about your disobedience and disrespect.

He finds you curled against the corner of the bathroom, head in hands, the heels of your palms jammed into your eyeballs as you will the tears to stop coming, and as much as he'd like to keep berating you, the site of your body wracked with sobs temporarily quells his anger. He drops beside you, loops his arms around you, coos that everything is going to be alright. That he can take care of you. That eventually the place will feel like home.

Exhaustion soon lulls you to sleep, but Dawnbreaker lays awake that night shaken by the incident. He was so sure he had the doctor under strict lock and key, yet someone you were able to reach him while he slept.

"How'd you do it?" he asks you the next morning, voice calm but firm.

"Do what?" you throw back, playing coy.

"How did you reach Zayne?"

For a second he isn't sure you'll answer him, but you eventually confess, "My Evol. I resonated with you last night while you slept. He must have felt it somehow. It must have brought him to the surface."

And, fuck, how could he have been so stupid? Why has he never considered this before? In the past, you’ve been able to help Zayne suppress him with your power. His mind drifts again to Zayne’s basement and the sedatives he's ferried away in case of an emergency like this.

He waits for you to look him in the eye before saying, "Pull a stunt like that again and I will break your fucking wrists,” tone conversational despite the threat. 

Instead of cowering, your eyes harden. When you look away, it’s to roll them.

“Am I understood?” he asks.

“You don’t realize how fitfully you sleep,” you tell him.

“Pardon?”

You huff now, clearly irritated, “You were having a nightmare. A pretty bad one too. The black ice started creeping up your body. I wasn’t trying to reach Zayne; I was trying to stop you from killing us both. His reemergence was a side effect.”

And that’s…you…you were trying to protect him?

“You kissed him,” he says, voice harsh, accusatory.

“Can you really blame me for wanting to say good-bye?” Then, mistaking his silence as anger, you add, “Punish me if you want. I don’t care anymore. Lock me up. Beat me. There’s no pain you can inflict on me that’ll hurt any worse than losing him does.”

“This pain you feel over the loss of the medic will pass,” he offers you. The words are meant as an olive branch, an acknowledgement of your pain and how it—like all pain—will ease as your life with him grows around it. Then, remembering something Zayne once told you, “You’ll grow accustom to the sorrow.”

"I hate you.” 

Even if that were true, he's not sure he'd care. All that matters to him is that you are safe. Well fed. Warm. And you are all of these things when he's with you. You are safe when he’s with you. Protected from Astra and fate and everything that has ever threatened you and your relationship with him.

“I love you,” he replies, and your eyes grow cartoonishly wide. “Affection, I admit, is a stranger to me, but I am certain that is what I feel for you. Love. Pure and unconditional.”

“Did I die in your reality?”

Finally—the question he’s been waiting for. The door he needed you to open. The chance he needs to explain to you why he travelled across all of space and time to meet you. You’ll understand, surely, where he’s coming from, why he’s done what he has, once he shares with you the extent of his loneliness.

“Worse,” he says, “you don’t exist at all.”

The empathy he expects doesn’t come. You actually look angrier than ever, which is unexpected and, frankly, rude. He’s opening his heart and mind to you. Trying to connect on a deep, meaningful level. And, how do you reward his efforts? With the world’s most scathing glare?

He lets it slide, figuring you just need some time to digest, but days pass and your behavior towards him only worsens. You interact with him, sure, but only when absolutely necessary. You don’t talk to him. Don’t look at him. And you definitely don’t touch him.

And, okay, Dawnbreaker is a patient man, but even he has his limits. Do you not understand what an undertaking it was for him to get himself here with you? Do you not fucking get how difficult it was to traverse all the universes—known and unknown—to share his life with yours? Nearly six months of cohabitation, and you remain as incorrigible as ever. Still such a feral little thing. All teeth, no heart.

It's like you want to find his limit. Like you want to force his hand. He watches you dump the tea he makes you down the drain and trash all the dinners he prepares. He bites he tongue when you refuse to hold yours, offers his rotational platitudes in his efforts to reassure you. Even as your aggression begins to escalate, he stays he hand. Let’s you push and shove him. Let’s you bat away his fingers. Let’s you fight your way out of his bed.

Then, you find his limit, on the cutting edge of a knife.

The blade is stuck in the meat of his stomach, pressing up against his bottommost rib. There’s pain, of course, but it’s distant, sharpest in his heart, where the weapon doesn’t even reach.

His Evol reacts to his emotions. Black ice threads its way around you before he even can even think about the consequences of that. You scream, maybe, he isn’t sure. He can’t hear much over the rush of blood in his ears. Like he’s holding a shell up to them. Like he’s being held underwater. Like he’s about to drown.

This is unexpected. Not something he thought you capable of. He thought you loved Zayne too much to risk killing him. When did you start to value your own freedom more than the body of your beloved? He tries to remember when your anger first became violent. Tries to remember if any of your past behaviors have alluded to this. Looks for warning signs he may have missed.

There’s a needle in his hand he doesn’t remember grabbing. There’s blood covering his hands. In a brief moment of panic, he thinks maybe he’s killed you, but then the room comes into view and he realizes the only blood on him is his own. The needle in his hand is stitching up his torn flesh. The blade didn’t hit anything vital. The wound feels deadly all the same.

The human body can go several days without food or water before it starts to die. The stomach cramps and the lips chap, but there’s no real risk if he releases you from your icy prison within, say forty-eight hours? He could do it; he could leave you suspended in the kitchen like a piece of horribly beautiful decor and let you think about what you’ve done, but that isn’t how he wants to handle this. That isn’t how he wants to handle you.

Instead, he carries you kicking and screaming into the basement, uses the jute rope to tie your wrists together—a double column, he’s been practicing—and secure you to the bed. He’s angry, yes, but not enough to hurt you. He never wants to hurt you. Not ever again. That isn’t what this is. That isn’t what he’s doing. This is behavioral modification. This is a course correction, the removal of an unwanted behavior, something he can achieve that with a carrot just as much a stick.

“I love you,” he tells you as he hikes up your nightgown—you’ve been free to dress yourself these past few months, but you’ve had to choose from clothing he’s preselected. Your panties are blue, cotton, also preselected by him. He fingers the lacey trim, thinks about how you’d look in the matching garters that he knows are collecting dust upstairs, “and I forgive you.”

“Zayne,” you scream, and he isn’t sure, really, if you’re begging him to stop or begging him to take over, if you’re hoping to placate Dawnbreaker or hoping to bring forth the medic, but it doesn’t matter. It’s been weeks since he’s last felt your Zayne stir within him.  No more muscle spasms. No more unexplainable changes in breath. “Don’t do this. You don’t want to do this. Please.”

“Shh,” he coos as he places a chaste kiss between your shoulder blades. His fingers dip beneath the soft fabric of your panties. His palm presses gently against your sex. “I know you’re scared. I am too, but I promise you it’s going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob as you thrash against your bindings. He wishes you’d stop pulling at them. Jute is forgiving only to an extent. You’ll rub your wrists raw if you continue straining against the tie. “I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“I know you won’t,” he says, petting at your scalp soothingly with his free hand. “Because I’m going to show you how good your life will be with me. I’ve had lots of time to study you. Where you’re sensitive. How you like to be touched. I was waiting until you asked me to show you, but even my patience has its limits. I think it’s best we get this out of the way.”

He seats himself between your thighs, uses his own to butterfly you open. They’re thick—his thighs—due to all the years the doctor spent running, building up his stamina and endurance for long surgeries, strengthening the muscles of his legs.

The fingers not currently buried beneath your panties ghost lightly down your spine. He watches the skin their pimple as you arch away from his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, tracing another path across your body, mapping out all of its valleys and dips. Back up the spine this time, fingertips grazing each and every notch. Then down once more. He presses his palm firmly into your lower back to deepen the arch that’s already forming. “Think you can stay like this for me?”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you shout as you attempt to fight your way out of his lap.

Dawnbreaker likes the sound of swears in your mouth even less than he does the look of kitchen knives in your hand. The words are unattractive. Unbecoming. He’s certain you can behave better than this. In fact, he’s seen it.

There’s no doubt as he stretches himself out across the expanse of your back, dwarfing your trembling form beneath him, that he can help you remember your manners. It’s just a matter of reinforcement. He cups your jaw between his pointer finger and thumb, forces you to look him in the eyes as he admonishes you.

“I would prefer to keep this experience collaborative, but if your combativeness persists, I can always retrieve a gag. The spider one perhaps, so I can watch you drool.”

(There’s a memory Zayne would sometimes revisit—when he still had control of his body that is. You kneeling on a pillow. Your head on his lap. A gag tucked securely beneath your teeth, preventing you from distracting the good doctor from his work.

A minute passes. Then another. Eventually Zayne’s finishes his task. He thumbs at your temple to get your attention. Waits for you to sit up. To consent. Then he slips his untucked cock into your mouth and lets you warm it for him).

Dawnbreaker likes this memory almost as much as his other half. He could never understand it, could never understand how you could trust someone so completely with yourself—what if Zayne had taken advantage of you or done something you didn't want? What he can understand, however, is the doctor’s adoration of your submission. How it left him off balance. How it always sent an ungodly amount of blood rushing from his head to his cock…

Another time, maybe. Dawnbreaker has the rest of his life to help you relearn obedience. Tonight’s goal is pleasure—his and yours—and he doesn’t need cheap trick or props to get you off.

“Let me do this for you,” he says, letting the tips of his fingers trace the outline of your lips. You aren’t wet, which he’s anticipated. It could take time even then for your body to slick up. “Let me do this for us.”

He pulls his fingers from the heat of your panties to slip them into his mouth. Next time, he’ll have you lube his fingers for him, worshiping the lithe digits with your pink little tongue, but at present he doesn’t trust you not to bite. After the stunt you pulled in the kitchen, he really would have to punish you then. His mercy, like his patience, has its limits, and you’ve just about found the edge of his.

“Like this, yes?” he asks, as he slowly sinks a finger into you. The question is rhetorical. He knows how much you enjoyed having the doctor’s fingers inside you. You liked it almost as much as if not more than the man’s cock.

“No,” you whine, though your thrashing has significantly subsided. Even your sobs are quieter, less violent than before. “Please, please, I’ve learned my lesson. I shouldn’t have stabbed you. I’m sorry. It was a minor lapse in judgement. It won’t happen again.”

Dawnbreaker sinks a second finger inside you. He kisses the shell of your ear.

“I’ve already told you I believe you,” he soothes as he begins to work his fingers against you. This part is trickier. The medic’s memories alone won’t help him find what he needs. “And I meant what I said about not hurting you. That isn’t what this is.”

“This does hurt,” you insist, unable to prevent yourself from squirming beneath him. A lie, he knows. This doesn’t—no—this can’t possibly hurt you. Both his fingers were wet enough to slip into you without any resistance. Pain isn’t the source of your writhing. “You’re hurting me.”

“I’m not,” he says, settling his stomach against your back, pressing you down into the mattress to further limit your protests. He sinks the two fingers in deeper, nearly to the knuckle as he continues to pump the pads of his fingertips against you. “I happen to know how much you enjoy this. I know it’s new for me, but I’m a quick learner. Though this would be easier with your help.”

A noise—an ugly noise—escapes you, deep, throaty, like a scoff. The sound tears through him like a bullet, the pain of it worse than the throbbing in his side. All of your squirming has aggravated the injury. Several stitches have torn lose.

Dawnbreaker snakes his other arm under your tummy, hugging you to his chest. In a matter of minutes, the rest of this fight will bleed from you. The energy you have to resist him is limited. Much of it has already been depleted trying to break free of the restraints. He continues to stroke you experimentally as he waits for the remainder of your adrenaline to wear off.

“Easy,” he coos, nosing at the crook of your neck. A bit of sweat has begun to pool around your nape. His tongue is licking at the salt of it before he can even think resist the impulse. “Just relax for me, yeah? You can cry if you need, I know this is overwhelming. I promise I’m going to make all the hurt go away.”

“Zayne, please,” you beg, voice desperate and raw. “I don’t want this. Not right now. Can we please talk about it first?”

Another dirty lie. Dawnbreaker can feel how wet you’re getting for him as he works your cunt. Arousal—your arousal—is beginning to trickle down his fingers, seeping into the fabric of the sheets.

“Now’s as good a time as any,” he muses as he starts to steadily grind the heel of his palm against your clit. “Can’t you feel how wet you’re getting? Can’t you see how much you need this? I bet it’s why you acted out earlier. Too much pent-up libidinous frustration. But, don’t worry; I won’t let it get this bad again.”

The fingers drumming against you are picking up speed. He wants you to hear the squelch of them against your walls—undeniable, audible proof of your desire. And not desire for the doctor, then, there, but rather, desire for him. Here. Now.

You're getting close; he can feel it. Your whole body begins to shiver as your orgasm builds. A twitch in your calves. A tensing of the thighs. Then the walls of your pussy begin to spasm, squishing and squeezing the fingers he's stuffed there.

Your breath hitches, but it’s controlled, too controlled, like you’re counting the moments between each bout of air. One last protest, perhaps. One final act of rebellion. Hoping—and vainly, might he add—to that your breath work may prevent the inevitable. That you can box breathe your climax away.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

He finds it then—the spot he’s been looking for—the one he needs to bully to send you teetering over the edge. He knows he’s found it because you jolt as if electrocuted when his fingertips press against it, the two digits working in tandem with the pressure his heel has on your clit.

There’s a brief moment where your laboring breath hitches, and your whole body pulls tight, and he knows, then, despite your lack of communication that he’s succeeded, that he’s made you cum, that his fingers—his, not the doctor’s, not the medic’s, his, his, his—have wrung hard earned pleasure from you.

And, here’s the thing, Dawnbreaker knows, realistically, that orgasms last only a couple of seconds—about ten if the surgeon did his research right. It’s just, he thought, especially after all this time, after all these months spent patiently waiting, that is, he thought, well, he just expected something a bit more than gratifying than this.

“Feeling better?” he asks as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He sucks the skin there into his mouth, worries at the top layer with the tips of his teeth.

Pressed this close, he can feel the rhythm of your heart against his chest. It’s rapid, rabbit like. Almost as fast as his own. If he closes his eyes, lets the world fade away, will it feel as though they’re beating as one?

“Fuck you,” you sob, jostling your shoulder in an effort to relieve yourself of his incisors. “I hate you. I fucking hate you. I shouldn’t have aimed so slow. I should have gone for the neck!”

So no, then, you aren’t feeling better. There’s a restlessness to you still, the low burning embers of a fight.

You’ve resumed your kicking, not that there’s any strength to it. Still, there’s pain in his side where the wound has torn back open. There’s a wetness to you not entirely born from your arousal. Some of his blood trickles out of his wound, spills onto your dimpling skin. Maybe if he waits long enough to tend to it, the platelets will change you at the molecular level, making you unequivocally, undeniable his.

“You’re so disobedient today,” he says. Your pussy clamps around him as the words register. Deny it if you want, but he feels your walls constrict around him, feels your cunt beg him for more, more, more. “It’s almost like you want me to punish you.”

And, there's a novel thought. One that's never occurred to him before. Maybe it’s easier for you this way. Perhaps you need to make this hard. That way, you can pretend you don’t like him as much as you did your doctor. If you act out, if you force his hand, your belief that he's a time-traveling savage can persist.

“One more, I think,” he says, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the bruise he's sucked into your clavicle. “And if you’re good for me perhaps after I’ll reward you with my cock.”

Is his desire to get you off again selfish? Perhaps. But after the life he's lead, the people he's killed, why shouldn't he finally prioritize his own pleasure? And, anyway, you'll enjoy a second climax too. He knows you always do. See, there’s a space in your mind where your thoughts can’t reach you; the troublesome things drift away like leaves down a stream. He's seen it in the part of his consciousness that is neither his nor the other’s. The old Zayne. His dexterous fingers. You floating up, up, then away.

This is where Dawnbreaker wants you now. Weightless, untethered, body free from the burden of its physical form. Gods what a site you made for your love sick doctor in those moments. How he'd dote on you in that catatonic state! The memories blend together in his head, snapshots with their subject just out of focus. Warm baths. Soothing music. You, sitting there. Doe-eyed. Doll-like. Eucalypts lotion slicking your skin.

A disembodied noise brings Dawnbreaker back to present; the sound, he realizes, is coming from you. A strained whine that starts in the back of your throat and unfurls itself against your teeth. It’s a sound born from pleasure, from him and his love and his absentmindedly renewed efforts to make good on his promise to you. One more. Yes, that should do it. One more, then he give you his cock.

“What’s the matter,” he hums, teasing your entrance with a third finger. Your orgasm has left you wet, pliable; it doesn’t take much coaxing for your walls to swallow it up alongside the others. “Two aren’t enough for your greedy little pussy? Your eager cunt needs more?”

“Zayne,” you hiccup, and again he isn’t sure which Zayne you’re asking for. If it’s him you want or the other. Your hands are balled into fists, nails biting into the flesh of your palm, skin of your knuckles pulled tight. “Please, I can’t. I can’t.”

“Come now, we both know that’s a lie,” he tuts, dropping a hand to your swelling clit. He toys with it experimentally, touch teasing and light. “I believe your record is five. The night you came back from that business trip. Do you remember? There were some breaks of course, your doctor wasn’t cruel. He knew exactly how much your poor pussy could take. And because of that, so do I.”

“Hurts,” you sob.

The overstimulation or the memory, he wonders. The answer is likely both.

“It won’t for long,” he tells you. “You’re just getting close again. No need to ask this time either. When you’re ready, just let go.”

There’s some half-hearted bucking, a brief clawing at the air, then your walls are contracting violently around him once more. This orgasm is longer, louder, more intense than your first. He watches in awe as your body gets taut, tauter, and tauter still. Abs straining. Glutes flexing. Everything, all across you stiff and rigid like a bowstring before its arrow is loosed.

Then, you're squirting. Hard. All over his fingers, his wrist, his clothes. A concentrated torrent of semi opaque, glossy juices, unlike anything he's dreamed possible, soaks him, and Dawnbreaker is ecstatic, elated that his three fingers alone were enough to do this to you. That some simply heavy petting was all it took to get you off.

“That’s it,” he smiles, nuzzling your cheek. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels right. No different than when you were with him. Nothing you haven’t experienced before.”

“You aren’t him,” you cry, the words angry and raw. “You’ll never be him, and you can’t replace him. My feelings for you are different than they were for him because you’re a different version of him, someone else’s version of him.”

“You’re right about that,” he concedes, pressing a kiss against your temple in apology, still three fingers deep in your ruined cunt. “I know I’m not him. But I need you more than he does. If either of you could see the city I lived in, I think you’d both agree.”

Though your crying persists, you don’t argue with him.

“I know you miss him,” he says, hands traveling down his body to relieve himself of his slacks, “and I know it’s a painful loss, but we can make this work. I can make this good for both of us. I promise.”

You wince as a hand find your ass. He kneads your right cheek with it while the other works his cock, spreading his pre down the length of his shaft, lubing himself up for you.

Not that you need the additional lubrication. Your cunt’s a dripping, drooling mess after the two consecutive orgasms he’s wrung out of you. It's gaping too, from the stretch of his three fingers, and, Astra forgive him, but with an invitation like that, how could he resist a sneak peak inside?

Your walls are puffy, swollen, pumping like a heart. The poor thing is practicaly begging for his cock, for the weight of something solid, thick, anything to soothe the lecherous ache. He stares at your twitching hole as he slowly strokes himself, top to bottom, gathering and redistributing any premature spend already leaking from his painfully hard tip.

“Don’t resist,” he says as he slips his cock between the fat of your thighs. “His cock, my cock, they’re one and the same. This isn’t anything you haven’t had before.”

The first time Danwbreaker let himself explore this body, he was surprised how similar it was to his own. Same haunted green eyes. Same pale forearm scars. Same thick, uncut cock. The only real difference was the trimmed pubic region. Doctor Zayne manscaped ritualistically, something Dawnbreaker hasn’t kept up with. The hairs grew back dark and wavy, erasing the last physical reminder that this body isn't really his own.

Dawnbreaker takes a moment worship this new body, enjoying the glide of his member against your slippery folds—pausing periodically to tap his tip against your sensitive clit, rejoicing when your hips jerk in response. The sensation is unlike anything he’s ever felt before, something he doesn’t have the words to describe. Overwhelming. Underwhelming. Both, somehow, together, all at once. A precipice of pleasure. The beginnings of a tumultuous storm.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he tells you, lining himself up with your entrance. You’re protesting still, despite his request for compliance, desperate pleas muffled by the pillow your face is pressed against. A symphony of snuffed out 'stop’s' and 'no’s.' It makes him wish he’d chosen a different position for your first time together. It makes him wish he could see your face. Cheeks flush with color. Eyes webbed with red.

He curls himself around you as he feeds you the beginnings of his cock. Your cunt welcomes him eagerly, swallowing him up inch by agonizing inch. He keeps his descent slow, steady, letting your pussy appreciate the entirety of his girth, then, finally the entirety of his length.

He lays like that for a moment, tip kissing your cervix, hips pressed against your ass, savoring the way your walls begin to milk him, clenching deliciously around his straining cock.

With the wound in his side, it's a challenge to actually fuck you. Even with all the endorphins coursing through him, there’s a lingering pain where his flesh is parted, one that can’t be ignored. He needs to finds a rhythm that satisfies his cock without aggravating his injury further. Which, fine, he supposes there's really no need to rush things. There’s pleasure enough simply filling you up this wholly, this completely. He ruts cautiously into you, pace languid and relaxed.

“That’s it,” he pants as your hips begin to buck against him. How the good doctor ever got any work done with you around is beyond him. All he seems capable of thinking of now that he's had you like this is how he can keep you on his cock. “Such a good girl. Taking me so well.”

You whine out another series of protests that he quiets with a hand on your breast and a playful nip at your ear. Your breath catches when his teeth graze against the cartilage, and it takes everything in him not to follow the action with a bite.

Even at the leisurely pace he sets, his orgasm builds quickly. It starts as a fluttering in his stomach, graduates to a tightening of his sac. He’s cum before of course, down the drain or into his hand when he doesn’t have the foresight to get himself to the shower before his apex, but none of that compares to this. His hands, skilled and warm as they are, have nothing against the heat and grip of your pussy. It’s the perfect receptacle for all his love.

“I’m close, beloved,” he tells you, fingers seeking out your sensitive clit once more. “Think you can cum with me?”

Your head shakes weakly against the creaking mattress. He trains his eyes on what he can see of your face. Your eyes are squeezed shut, hidden behind the thickness of your lashes, glistening with tears. Your mouth hangs loosely open, lips glossy with an ungodly amount of spit. What the mattress is unable to soak up pools around your jaw.

“Next time will be easier,” he promises you, placing another placating kiss against your crown; the texture of your hair tickles his lips. “We can even forgo the rope, if you’d like. As long as we understand each other that is.”

He’s rolling your clit between two of his fingers now, touch feather-light. There’s no need for him to treat the nerve bundle roughly. He doubts it’ll take much coaxing for it to send another wave of electrifying pleasure burning though your veins. You're sensitive enough a simple tweak of the nipple might do it. Maybe he'll experiment with that another night.

You scream as your third orgasm slams into you, body convulsing and contorting as your release rips violently through you, building then crashing like a great ocean wave.

His own orgasm is every bit as violent as your own. Rope after rope of seemingly scorching hot cum burst forth from him as he fucks himself to completion, spraying your insides white. There’s a ringing in his ears when its over as if his brain has a short-circuit, like cumming has emptied him of all life.

He’d like to stay like this a while, notched to the root inside you, letting your overstimulated walls feel it when he finally begins to deflate, but a noise from you has his systems rebooting, it signals his brain to come back online.

“Mercy,” you choak, as he gently strokes your ribs. “Mercy, Zayne, please, please. Mercy. Mercy.”

And, fuck. That word. Dawnbreaker knows that word. It’s your safe one, established by Zayne the day you expressed an interest in blindfolds and paddles. The good doctor wouldn't even entertain the idea of that stuff without a safe word in place, insisting it was a necessary precaution for that sort of play. Neither of you ever need it, of course, but he made you repeat it each session just in case.

“Mercy,” you sob again, only this time it sounds like you’re having trouble getting the word out. He feels your body hiccup as it tries to suck down air.

He pulls out of you immediately, begins the work necessary to unbind your wrists. The involuntary spasming of your body makes it hard for him to keep his grip on the rope. It takes him several minutes to get the bindings undone.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, taking your right palm in between his fingers, massaging circulation back into the cold limb. “Poor thing. You were so good for me. So very good.”

It didn’t usually take long for the doctor to help reregulate you when you got worked up like this. But, then, you'd never gotten this worked up after sex. Usually you're spacey, boneless, all smiles and batted lashes in the aftermath. This is new. This is scary. He scrolls through all the memories he’s logged of Zayne placating you, trying to remember the strategies he used to help you calm.

He pulls you up and into his lap for a reassuring embrace, presses a kiss against the top of your head, but the startling sounds you've begun to make—harsh, wheezy—don’t stop. He rubs his hands up and down your arms soothingly, trying to help you ground, hoping you can't feel the way his own heart rate has spiked alongside yours.

“Tell me what you need, sweet girl,” he all but begs. He’s startled to hear a slight tremble in his voice. He doesn’t want you to know how much your panicked state is affecting him.

“C-can’t,” you sob loudly, violently. “Can’t-”

“Can’t what? Can’t tell me?”

“Can’t breathe,” you wail, fingers clawing at your throat, “Can’t breathe.”

Fuck, Dawnbreaker thinks. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What he says is, “Together, yeah? Let’s try to breathe together. I’ll count the seconds for you.”

And Dawnbreaker tries, really, he does, to help you breathe in for a count of four, but the words are either lost to the fog of your mind or you're simply too far gone already to obey him.

There has to be something else he can do, something else he can try. There’s a memory—the doctors—he has of you waking up from a nightmare in a state not unlike this. The doctor used his Evol to cover his hands in a thin sheen of ice and press them against your head.

He does that now, lets the blackened ice engulf him, presses his covered palms against your perspiring neck. The cold is supposed to shock the system. It allegedly can deactivate your fight or flight.

Your hands drop from your throat to your chest; they press over your heart, and Dawnbreaker realizes then, that he’s made a critical error in his efforts to connect with you tonight, that’s he’s forgotten something crucial about your body and the organ that keeps your blood pumping, about the syndrome caused by the Aether Core fragment housed behind your ribs. Arrythmia. Murmurs. Symptoms Dawnbreaker doesn’t fully understand.

“Shit,” he swears aloud, unable now to keep the panic from his voice. He can feel the power of your Evol around him, reacting to the intensity of your feelings like his own did earlier. He presses a finger against the pulse point on your neck in an effort to establish its current rate.

“Z-z,” you wheeze. “Zzzzz-.”

You can’t get the word out but he knows what you’re asking for, knows what you want to say.

“Hush now,” he says. “Don’t talk. Just focus on your breath.”

He drops a hand to your belly, just above the diaphragm to monitor the intensity of your body’s spasming.

There’s a position, right, one that helps with this sort of thing? Sitting upright with your head between your knees. After your grandmother died, your grieving heart needed extra help to keep you going. Zayne wanted you to speak with a professional about it, and when you wouldn’t he did research of his own.

Dawnbreaker maneuvers your body like that now, pulling your calves up and against your thighs, dropping your chin against your chest. It's important that he himself remains calm while you're in crisis, so he tries—unsuccessfully—to ignore the worsening discoloration of your lips.

“Try to take tiny sips of air. Keep your breaths shallow for now. You can deepen them once you have better control over everything again.”

You’re trying—maybe, he really can’t be sure—but the air you manage to take in is too quickly dispelled. He doubts much of it is getting to your brain. If this persists much longer, you could incur serious damage to your faculties and cognitions. He needs a plan, a good one, and he needs it now.

And, Dawnbreaker knows, realistically, what it is he has to do, knows who amongst you has the knowledge to treat your heart. And it isn’t him, not in this life anyway. If he wants to save you, he's going to have to let you go.

Because, it wouldn’t be right, would it, to hold onto this reality a bit longer on the off chance your condition naturally subsides? That’s not what all this was for, not why he came all this way. His presence here was supposed to protect you both from harm; instead, it's only perpetuated it.

Problem is, he’s never tried to summon Zayne before. He’s only ever tried to tamp him down. Is the doctor still in him somewhere, simmering beneath Dawnbreaker’s level of consciousness, waiting restlessly to resurface? What will that mean for him, if Zayne retakes control? Will he ever see you again? Does he have the strength to fight his way back?

There's no time for these questions. Each moment he spends in quiet contemplation is another you go without air. He either lets Zayne take over or he’s as good as killed you. Your life, your death, they're both quite literally in his trembling, bloodied hands.

Dawnbreaker turns inward in search of the doctor, hoping the man can feel his surrender and submission. Please, he begs—no, prays—silently, we need you; she needs you. Can the doctor hear him? Will he respond? Dawnbreaker feels his pointer finger twitch against your shaking shoulder, wonders if that’s his doing or the other’s.

He clutches you tightly as he wills the world to fade away, repeating his silent prayer to a man who may not answer, to a man who may no longer be there. Dawnbreaker sucks in a deep, steadying breath of his own, fills the inside of his nose with the softness of your scent; it's subtle, sweet, like jasmine, though rationally he knows this isn't possible, that what he's smelling isn't truly there.

Be safe, he wills you as he forces himself to let go of his senses; his hearing first, so he need not hear your cries. Soon they'll quiet, as if occurring somewhere off in the distance, intense, but varying, synthesized like white noise.

I’m sorry, he thinks. A useless confession. Unspoken words stuck behind clamped lips.

And, now he's crying; now tears of his own have begun to fall. The wet droplets have the edges of his vision blurring. Soon he won't see anything at all. Too late, he realizes that this may be his final glimpse of you. His eyes seek out your features, but they're obscured and undefined.

There's the scent of jasmine again, as his grip on this reality loosens, as the physical world fades from view. There's a gasp—yours, he hopes, for it's muffled, disembodied—then there's nothing. A darkness. A coldness. Like he's buried under snow.

Xavier's tongue was tracing the edge of his knuckle where your first release had coated him. His eyes had gone almost entirely black, pupils blown so wide there was barely any color left, every bit of that darkness was fixed between your thighs.

Behind you, Zayne exhaled, low and unsteady, the sound catching in his throat before it reached your skin. He hadn't moved back. He had moved closer, pressing his hard cock between your ass, the friction made it clear his medical textbooks hadn't prepared him for how much he actually wanted to ruin you right now.

"That requires an entirely different approach," Zayne's voice was thicker and rougher than it had been. His hands tightened on your waist before he said anything else. Then he bent his head, lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear.

"Are you alright with this? Do you want to show them?"

Your head had already begun to fall back against his shoulder and the whimper that came out of you wasn't something you'd planned.

"Yeah"

His patience didn't leave exactly, but it changed shape, it became something slower. His hand moved from your waist, sliding up until his palm curved around your breast again, broad, warm and unhurried. His thumb found your nipple without searching for it and he began to roll it between his fingers with a steady pressure that sat right on the edge of too much and didn't waver.

"The G-spot," he said, his voice settling back into something that almost resembled composure, "isn't about surface stimulation. It isn't about rhythm either." He pinched your nipple lightly, and your breath caught. He continued as though he hadn't noticed, or perhaps because he had. "Squirting isn't something you can rush. We've spent nearly twenty minutes on foreplay and that's perfect because the entire pelvic region needs time to fill with blood, to become fully engorged. Without that, it won't work."

His thumb moved in a slow circle around your nipple, like he had all the time in the world and intended to use it.

"The targets are the paraurethral glands. Small, about the size of a pea, sitting on either side of the urethra, close to her G-spot. Most people don't know they exist. Most people don't know what they're capable of." A pause. "You're about to learn."

Xavier's voice came quiet and low. "I want to try."

Whatever remained of the quiet, compliant boy from freshman orientation—the one who'd handed you a campus map and apologized for bumping into you—was gone. Completely. He moved forward until he was wedged between your legs, his thighs pressing firmly against your calves.

A cold spike of something, fear, want, the particular overwhelm of both arriving at once, shot straight down your spine. Your thighs tried to close on instinct, a reflexive flinch against the intensity of his gaze, the nearness of him and the reality of what was about to happen. Your knees had barely begun to move before something stopped them.

Caleb moved to the edge of the mattress and closed his hand over your right knee. Not gently. He pressed it down and out over Zayne's thigh, his grip immovable, the kind that didn't invite negotiation. You weren't going to close yourself off. He'd made that clear without saying a word.

Rafayel took your left. His fingers found the inside of your knee and held on with trembling pressure.

You looked down at them through the blur of whiskey and heat.

Caleb's jaw was locked, a muscle jumping in his cheek like he was chewing through something. The flush on his neck had darkened to something almost bruised, creeping up toward his jaw, his breath coming in audible hitches he wasn't bothering to hide anymore. Rafayel had his bottom lip caught between his teeth hard enough to drain the color from it, his eyes tracking every shiver that moved through your body like he was trying to memorize them.

And then lower.

A small, damp circle had bled through the gray of Rafayel's sweatpants. The front of Sylus's pants were pulled tight, a matching wet spot darkening the fabric, spreading slightly every time he exhaled.

"Keep her steady." Zayne's hips kept moving, that same slow roll against you, while his fingers worked both of your nipples at once, rolling and pinching until heat shot straight down through your stomach and didn't stop.

"Xavier." His tone shifted into something clinical "Two fingers, palm facing up toward her navel. Her arousal is sufficient as a baseline, but you need to use the lubricant on my nightstand. I don't want friction, I don't want any tissue irritation." A pause, weighted. "Once you're inside, feel along the anterior wall. There will be a ridge, different from the surrounding tissue. Think of the roof of your mouth."

Xavier reached for the lubricant and coated his fingers slowly, his hands were shaking. Then he brought them to your entrance, just the tips at first, barely making contact, and paused there for a breath that felt longer than it was.

He pushed in slowly.

Inch by inch, the stretch of it opening you around him, his fingers pressing through the heat and slick of you with patience. His eyes had gone wide by the time his fingertips swept up and found it, the ridge Zayne had described, unmistakable, exactly where he'd said it would be.

A cry tore out of you before you could stop it, fractured and too loud. It rang off the walls and you knew without question it had carried straight down the hallway outside.

Sylus shadow fell over you before he leaned down, face unreadable, there was a particular stillness of someone exerting tremendous control. His thumb caught your chin and pressed your jaw down, and then his fingers were in your mouth, muffling whatever came next. You closed your lips around them without thinking. Your tongue found his knuckles and you pulled him in, sucking hard, needing the solid reality of him to hold onto, something grounding while everything else was coming apart.

"Keep it down, sweetie." he said. Low. Almost gentle.

"Like this?" Xavier's voice came from below, strained thin.

He had begun to move, curling his fingers up, knuckles dragging against your entrance with every stroke while his fingertips pressed into the ridged wall above. He went deeper with each repetition. Not faster. Deeper, the hook of his fingers catching on the sensitive texture inside you and holding there just long enough before pulling back and doing it again.

"Slower."

Zayne's breath was scorching against your neck, his fingers never stopping, working your nipples with a precision that had stolen most of your ability to think. Behind you his hips pushed forward, heavier than before, a frustrated grind that he didn't bother to disguise.

"You're skimming the surface," he said. "Press into it. Maintain the motion and add external pressure to the clitoris, combine both. Increase as the tissue expands." His voice dropped slightly. "Can you feel how she's changing around you? How she's pulling you in?"

Xavier made a sound low in his throat, almost involuntary, his head dipping forward. His thumb came down against your pelvic bone and he adjusted his angle, pushing deeper until his knuckles were completely slick. His strokes slowed and firmed, each one pressing up into you with a patience that was clearly costing him something.

"It's getting tighter," he said, voice fraying at the edges. "It's... it's pushing back. She's so hot inside."

"She's engorging, the fluid is building in the glands. You cannot break the rhythm, not now, not for anything. If you ease up even slightly, the accumulation dissipates and you lose everything you've built."

He said it like a warning. Like he was saying it to himself as much as Xavier.

It was nothing like before.

Not the sharp, electric jolt of Zayne's thumb. this was something else entirely. Deeper. Heavier. A fullness that built with every stroke and didn't recede, coiling low in your abdomen like pressure with nowhere to go. Every time Xavier's fingers found that spot and pressed, a wave rolled through you, enormous and terrifying, making you want to beg for something you didn't have words for. You bit down on Sylus's knuckles without meaning to, eyes losing focus, your whole body tightening around a point you couldn't reach.

On either side of you, Caleb and Rafayel hadn't moved. Couldn't. Their knuckles had gone white where they held your legs open, and their eyes were fixed on Xavier's hand, on the way his fingers disappeared into you and came back slick, on the wetness that had gone past the point of containment. It was pooling at your entrance, spilling over and running down Xavier's wrist.

It was Rafayel who broke first.

"Zayne." His voice came out cracked, barely holding together. He swallowed hard, his gaze still locked on the fluid stringing between your skin and Xavier's hand, his body giving him away beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. "She's...fuck...it's leaking. Is she close?"

"She's almost there."

Zayne's voice had lost everything clinical about it now. Whatever composure he'd been maintaining had come apart completely, leaving only this—his fingers digging into your nipples, pinching hard, driving the sensation past the point of bearable while his hips pressed into you with desperation.

"Xavier. Fast circles on her clit, other hand, now." A beat. "Force it."

Xavier looked up at your face instead.

Your eyes had gone hazy, barely tracking, tears gathering at the corners from nothing but sheer overwhelm. Your lips were still wrapped around Sylus's fingers, your chest heaving in ragged pulls, small broken sounds escaping around his knuckles every time Xavier moved inside you. You were completely undone. Anyone could see it.

Xavier saw it too.

He didn't raise his hand to your clit. Something shifted behind his eyes, a flash of something reckless and deliberate, the look of someone who had been quietly calculating this exact moment and had finally decided to take it.

"You said anything I can do with my hands," he murmured, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper, "I can enhance with my mouth, right?."

His blonde hair fell across his forehead as he leaned down.

"Xavier—" Zayne's voice came sharp with warning.

Too late.

Xavier buried his face between your thighs.

The heat of his mouth hit you without warning.

Xavier's tongue sealed over your clit and the sound that came out of you was strangled, swallowed by Sylus's fingers, barely contained. He didn't tease. He remembered every word Zayne had said, flattened his tongue broad and wet against you, using the full weight of it to meet the pressure building from inside, while his fingers hooked harder and began to move in a rhythm that was merciless and gave you absolutely nothing to brace against.

"Breathe." Zayne's lips found your temple and pressed them there, warm and close. "What you're feeling, the fullness, the urgency, it will feel exactly like a need to release. That's correct. That's exactly right." His breath shook against your skin. "Don't fight it. Bear down. Let your pelvic floor go completely. Let it happen."

You stopped fighting.

You exhaled and let go. Your pelvic floor released and you bore down against the hook of Xavier's fingers, against the wet relentless press of his tongue, and for one suspended second everything went very still.

Then your body locked.

Every muscle seized at once, thighs convulsing against Caleb and Rafayel's grip. They leaned their full weight into your knees and held. Caleb let out a breathless "fuuuuck look at her". You bit down on Sylus's fingers hard enough to feel his knuckles against your teeth, vision narrowing to nothing.

It came in a rush, clear and forceful, spilling over Xavier's chin, across his cheeks, soaking into the fabric beneath you. His fingers stayed where they were, buried deep, riding out every contraction as your body clenched around him in waves that didn't stop, that pulled at him and wouldn't let go.

He didn't pull back. His tongue kept moving through it, his jaw working, his nose pressed to your skin while you sobbed through the aftershocks, open, head falling back against Zayne's shoulder again, with the full dead weight of someone who had nothing left to hold onto.

The room went quiet before you heard the slow, wet sound of Xavier withdrawing his fingers. Sylus drew his hand from your mouth just as slowly, his thumb dragging across your lower lip, catching a smear of saliva and wiping it away. He didn't look away from your face. The darkness in his eyes hadn't lifted. It had settled into something that made it very clear this wasn't over.

Xavier raised his head.

His face was flushed deep, his lips wet, a streak of fluid catching the lamplight as it ran down the line of his jaw and dripped onto his collarbone. He looked up at Zayne.

He looked like someone who had just discovered something he couldn't un know.

"Like that?" Xavier asked. The smugness in his voice was not even slightly hidden.

Zayne didn't answer right away.

He was staring down at the space between your thighs, at the soaked mattress, at the evidence of everything his careful, clinical framework had produced. His chest rose and fell hard against your back, his breath coming uneven against your neck, and you felt it before you fully understood what it was, a spreading warmth behind you, seeping through the fabric of his trousers, pressing into you. Unmistakable.

"Yes," Zayne said finally. His voice was stripped of every careful layer he'd spent the entire evening constructing "Exactly like that."

Perm tag: @thealunari @i-idk-i-guess @hopelesslala @pearlescenthoney @stillseiims @xavisastrophil @thelastpolarbear @groovyravenagain @nanaminsmuse @darkairenkagamine @lunahaswings @ks-collection @calebunny @aweebs @crimsonrubie @lemurian-girl @aiycnlyme

Tags for this series: @maescorners @bitterprincipality @cordidy @everythingistaken00 @weirdothatwrites @someonestopsoren @linearrr @space-grl02 @ahandacrossspace @fiyoripim @colonelkaboom @emmyemmaemmity @darkangeloftartaraus @zayniesnowangel @imsearchingforwords @kivvy-ryt-here @prchiquita8

Soooo, there will be more of this...if I forgot to tag someone I'm so sorry. Let me know if you want me to tag you on the next part.

Chapter 3:Rafayel

Chapter 4: Xavier

Chapter 5: Caleb

Chapter 6: Sylus

Late spring was the Princess’ favourite time. The flowers were in full bloom in the royal garden, the sound of birds singing filled the air. Usually, she’d be up in the branches, worrying Zayne with the fear of her falling. Today though, was different—she hadn’t climbed up a single tree and instead walked along the garden path with her hands folded behind her.

“No climbing trees today, Princess?” Zayne inquired, hiding his smile as she walked on her tippy toes, pretending to be taller than him.

They were eight and nine now, and the Princess was the same height as Zayne for the first time. She hoped to grow taller and surpass him, just so she could tease him for being shorter than her.

She sighed in response to his question, shaking her head. “Mother said I can’t get my dress dirty.”

“Why not?”

“King Oscar is coming and he’s bringing his son, Prince Caleb.”

Zayne nodded, unsure of what to make of the news.

“I haven’t met a Prince before.” she admitted, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

Just as Zayne was about to say something, the Queen interrupted. 

“There you are!” she walked over, extending her arm for the Princess to take. “King Oscar has just entered the gates. They’ll be here any minute!”

The Princess held onto her mother’s hand, but glanced at Zayne before turning to her mother. “Can Zayne come too?”

The Queen agreed, and the three of them, along with King Gentry, waited by the palace entrance. Not soon after, a carriage came into sight, and stopped in front of them. King Oscar emerged, along with Prince Caleb.

Prince Caleb was a carbon copy of his father, chocolate brown hair and seafoam eyes. Even though the boy was only eight-years-old, it was clear he was someone who was used to attention. It was obvious just from the way he carried himself.

As King Gentry met with the Princess’ parents, the Queen nudged the Princess. Remember your manners. 

She curtsied, bowing her head.

“You must be the Princess of Astraheim,” Prince Caleb smiled once she rose. He took her hand and placed a kiss on it.

She nodded shyly. “You must be Prince Caleb.”

Zayne didn’t know what he was feeling, but he knew one thing for certain: he did not like Prince Caleb.

“I have a gift for you!” Caleb exclaimed suddenly, digging in his satchel and pulling out a small pouch. He handed it to her. “Father said that Princes must always give gifts to Princesses. I hope you like it.”

She opened up the pouch, revealing a necklace. Simple, nothing too fancy—a gold chain with a small, diamond pendant. “It’s very pretty,” she traced the diamond with her finger. “Thank you.”

Caleb smiled, a small, shy one. Zayne cleared his throat. He did not like this feeling. The Princess turned to him, sensing his discomfort. 

“This is Zayne.” she said brightly. “He’s my best friend!”

Zayne awkwardly extended his hand towards Caleb. The Prince took it and shook his hand. The knight’s son accidentally squeezed the Prince’s hand harder than necessary. 

Zayne did not like Caleb. 

“How about you show Prince Caleb around the palace?” King Gentry suggested to the Princess and Zayne. Listening to the King’s suggestion, Zayne and the Princess started walking, with little Caleb trailing behind them.

Years passed, like they always do. The Princess grew into her royal training, and Zayne delved into the journey to knighthood. Where they once spent every waking moment together, now they lived in hurried whispers and chaste goodbyes. Zayne spotted her walking along one of the corridors, heading to her chambers after her Princess Etiquette Class.

Without thinking, he pulled her aside into a corner, his hand on her arm as he leaned in close to whisper. “Princess,” he started, a small smile on his face. When was the last time they snuck around together? Neither of them could remember. “Come to the gardens with me tonight?”

The Princess took note of how he was taller than her now, almost a full head. She realized she’d never surpass him in height. She was tired, of course, but she’d sacrifice any amount of sleep to be around him like before.

The Princess nodded, much to Zayne’s relief.

“I’ll see you by that old tree?”

She knew exactly which one he meant. When she arrived, she saw Zayne sitting on the bench, two pastries in hand. He handed one to her when she approached. A freshly baked, warm, puff pastry. 

His hand brushed hers as he passed it. Neither of them mentioned it. 

“How’d you–?”

“Lilith.”

The Princess shook her head fondly, sitting down next to him. “I should’ve known.” 

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, but was really only twenty minutes. The Princess realized she should be heading back before anybody discovers she’s missing from her chambers. 

“Thank you for the pastry,” she turned to Zayne, “I really should get going.”

He understood duty better than anyone. Yet still, a subtle frown tugged at his lips. 

Of course she noticed; she notices every detail. She just wishes there was something she could do about it.

“I miss being around you.” Zayne admitted softly, looking down. For a twelve-year-old boy, especially one training for knighthood, vulnerability was not common. 

“I do too.” She reassured, matching his soft tone. “Meet again on Thursday?” 

He nodded, watching as she stood from the bench. “I’ll see you then.”

Secret garden meetings turned into a regular occurrence, and that’s how they coped. Sometimes, only one of them showed, other times, both. But even routines built with the utmost care can break. 

One evening, Zayne didn’t come. 

The Princess waited at that bench for hours. The sunset turned to night—the birds stopped chirping and the crickets started singing. She sat there, fiddling with the fabric of her skirt. Night air nipped at her skin, causing goosebumps to rise on her uncovered arms. 

He’s just late, she convinced herself. Told herself he’d come running down that path like he always did. 

He didn’t. 

It happened again the next night. And then the night after that. Four days and he hadn’t shown up; she hadn’t even seen his face around the palace. She was getting worried. 

The first time he didn’t show up, she chalked it up to him being tired from training. The second time, she concluded he must’ve forgotten. The third… maybe he was busy with chores? The fourth time, she lost hope and dragged herself back to her chambers with her head hanging low. She stopped going down to the gardens and instead started waiting on her balcony.

“Lilith,” the Princess stopped by the royal kitchen, “have you seen Zayne?” 

Lilith knew what had happened, of course. But, she didn’t have the time to sit down and explain it to the worried Princess. 

The maid shook her head, a sorry smile on her face. “Ask Xander, maybe he knows.”

One, two, three knocks on Xander’s door and he opened it up. 

She got right to the point before the blacksmith could get a word out. “Where’s Zayne?” 

His lips turned into a line as he invited her inside. “Princess…” he hesitated, closing the door. “You might want to sit down for this.”

“Sit down?” She was getting irritated, yet tried her best to hide it. “Why-?”

“Captain Jace,” Xander started, unsure of how to keep going. There was no easy way of saying this. “Was gravely injured in battle. Zayne hasn’t left his side.”

She was stunned. “Is he…?”

The blacksmith shook his head. “They’re saying he won’t have long.”

She doesn’t remember the next few hours; it was all blurred together. With her skirt gathered in her fists, she was rushing down the hall to the infirmary. The nurses denied her entrance, saying only family was permitted.

Only family. 

She stood there, breath uneven, staring at the closed doors as if sheer willpower could force them open. They stayed shut. Voices murmured on the other side—healers speaking in tense whispers, footsteps moving quickly, the muted sound of someone crying.

None of it belonged to her. Slowly, she stepped back. The corridor felt colder than the gardens at night. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the front of her dress, trying to pretend she still had control over something, anything. She didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, Lilith knocked on her door. “He passed during the night.” She broke the news, dressed in black. Her voice was tired. “The funeral is in a few hours. You should get ready, Princess.”

It could be felt in the air. Captain Jace had been a loyal servant for decades—long before either of the kids were born. Astraheim felt still; she could feel it even though she hadn't stepped outside yet. The sunlight didn’t feel warm, and the corridors were empty instead of being filled with laughter. 

“Do you have any macarons, Lilith?” The Princess suddenly spoke, soft and quiet.

“Macarons? I don’t understand…”

“Just one would be enough.”

Lilith didn’t question further. “I’ll see what I can do.” and then she left the Princess’ chambers, closing the door behind her. 

The day moved on without her permission. She got ready, adorned in a simple black gown, hair cascading down her shoulders. The funeral arrived quicker than anticipated—it was closed casket. 

She caught sight of Zayne. She didn’t expect him to approach her, or to even look at her, but she still allowed herself to hope. Some might say it was foolish, but she missed her best friend. 

It seemed like he grew older in the four days they spent apart. His hair wasn’t as neat, the skin around his eyes was darker. The corners of his lips turned down. 

She hadn’t realized she was staring, and she didn’t remember when he turned to her. They locked eyes from across the room. 

He stared like she was his only anchor. 

Of course, they didn’t get a chance to interact at the funeral. Shortly after the ceremony, Zayne disappeared to his chambers. 

The Princess, after getting that macaron from Lilith, followed after him. 

She knocked, twice, before he opened the door. 

“Zayne-“

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence before he engulfed her in a hug, his silent sobs causing his shoulders to tremble. 

Her arms wrapped around him without a second thought, holding him. 

He pulled away, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry,” he let out, attempting to control his breathing, and in turn, his crying. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” her hands slid down his arms, her voice gentle and warm. “Not to me, anyway. I brought you something,” she revealed the treat. Macarons were Zayne’s favourite. “I thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe it would help. Even a little.”

He took the macaron from her fingers, his hand brushing against hers once more. 

“It does,” he whispered. “Thank you.” 

A silence settled over them. Not awkward, just… heavy. 

A knock echoed from down the hallway, followed by the stern voice of one of the knights, “Zayne. The King wishes to see you.”

Zayne stiffened. She caught it. How could she miss it?

Duty. Responsibility. All of it hitting him at once.

He looked at her one last time. She wanted to hug him again, to pull him back into the quiet safety of this room, but she didn’t.

Instead, she whispered: “I’ll see you later?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

But they both felt the shift—subtle but sharp. Something was changing. And neither of them knew how to stop it.

That night, she went back to the garden once more. 

Zayne didn’t come that night. 

The next morning, she couldn’t find him anywhere. She went to the King, wondering what was so important that he had to discuss with Zayne.

“I was just offering my condolences and support.” he brushed her off, but she knew he was bluffing. She didn’t press further, knowing it would be futile. There’s no point in arguing when your father’s the King. 

Zayne didn’t show up the next night either. 

The Princess waited, just like before. She’d stay out as long as she could before she couldn’t handle the cold anymore. She’d even bring two pastries, just in case he’d forgotten to eat, begging Lilith for them.

But now, the winter months were approaching, and she couldn’t handle the cold nights like she could in the earlier seasons. Instead of going out the garden every night, she started spending an hour or two outside on her balcony before bed. This way, she could still wait for him and have a view of the gardens. 

He just needs time, she’d rationalize, grief changes people. 

Zayne has changed; there’s no doubt about it. 

She’d catch glimpses of him around the palace. Zayne hanging out with senior knights. Zayne carrying a bundle of spears. Zayne polishing armour with an old rag. 

Training, she assumed, consumed him. He had that air of quiet, desperate intensity to him. He spent his mornings in the barracks, afternoons in the sparring yard, and evenings assisting knights twice his size. She understood duty better than anyone. Her etiquette tutor had doubled down on her ever since the funeral. 

“A great princess never disappoints her people.” her tutor said, over and over, until it was embedded in her bones. Her public appearances had doubled, and she had started traveling abroad. People would come from far and wide to see the Princess of Astraheim—she was truly beloved by the people. But understanding still hurt. 

Sometimes he’d acknowledge her. Small glances. A quick nod. The ghost of a smile she used to know. They barely saw each other apart from quick, polite greetings passed in the hallways.

At feasts, she’d see him stationed beside her father, posture straight and expression unreadable. Even though he was only a year older, it seemed like more. Sometimes she’d swear she’d catch him staring, but as soon as their eyes would meet his gaze would go elsewhere. 

In the softest part of her heart, she wondered if this is what growing up meant. Does growing up always mean growing apart? Would they ever return to how they used to be? A year and a half passed before they spoke—truly spoke— again.

The Princess spotted him at the Midsummer Festival out in the village, standing rigid beside some senior knights. They were old friends of his late father. Zayne looked older now. Sharper. His training had chiseled away the softness of boyhood, at the softness she once adored. It carved away at him and left behind angles she didn’t recognize and shadows beneath his eyes she wished to vanish. 

He was a knight, just without the title. She wondered if he still laughed the same.

As the festival was nearing its end and the villagers started drifting away, the music quieted and the Princess escaped to an alleyway. She was relieved to be alone, only accompanied by a stray cat purring at her feet. Alone at last—until she wasn’t. Zayne caught a glance of her petting the cat, and decided to go up to her. 

She noticed him instantly.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The air went still, thick with tension.

“Zayne–”

“Princess–”

She giggled. He let the corners of his lips turn upward, just slightly.

“…Princess.” His voice was deeper now, still gentle, but no longer the boyish tone

she remembered. Zayne bowed briefly, too formal for someone who used to steal pastries for

her.

She hated the bow. Hated the formality.

“You don’t have to call me that when it’s just us, you know.” she said quietly. 

He hesitated—and that hesitation cracked something inside her. “I wasn’t sure if I

could,” he admitted.

She blinked. “Why wouldn’t you?”

Zayne exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that made him look

ten-years-old again. “You’re busy. And I’ve had training. And after my father…” he trailed

off, swallowing the words he couldn’t say. “I didn’t really know how to be around you

anymore.”

Her chest tightened. She broke eye contact, looking down at where her fingers were fidgeting with the hem of her dress where the bodice connected with the skirt. “You could’ve just come to the garden.”

“I did, twice. You weren’t there.” he murmured softly, taking a breath before

continuing. “I figured maybe you’d moved on.” Zayne added, now looking at the cobblestone

beneath them instead of at her. 

Wait… twice? What is he talking about? 

She shook her head, looking up at him once more. When did he get so tall? 

“Twice? When?” her head cocked to the side as they made eye contact once more. “I went out every night, but you stopped showing up…”

“The first time, Xander stopped me.” he explained, taking a breath that raised his shoulders. “He said it was too late and you’d be asleep already. The second time, I bumped into the King on the way to the garden. When I told him where I was going, he forbade me and ordered me back to my chambers.”

She felt a flush of frustration. “Forbade you?”

He nodded. “He… he didn’t tell you?”

Zayne could see the way her jaw clenched as she looked down, back at the cat rubbing itself against her feet. The sound of her teeth grinding against one another answered his question.

The junior knight took another breath, eyes fixated on the orange fur of the cat. “You’ll be Queen one day. And I’m… I’m just trying to be a knight worthy of serving you.”

A minute passed before the Princess responded, leaving Zayne worrying he said the wrong thing. When she spoke next, her words were quiet and carefully chosen. “You were never just anything to me.”

His head lifted. Their eyes met—really met—for the first time in forever. The ache in

his expression nearly knocked the breath out of her.

“Zayne,” she stepped closer. The cat by her feet meowed in protest. “I’ve missed you.” her voice was so quiet the faintest of wind could’ve blown it away. The words hung between them like a fragile ribbon.

“I’ve missed you too.” he sighed, like a great weight was lifted when the confession left him. Then, his jaw clenched. “If I let myself be around you the way I want to be… I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

She didn’t know what that meant yet; not fully, at least. She swallowed, offering the smallest of smiles. “Then… don’t stop.”

For a beat, nothing happened. Then—very slowly—Zayne stepped closer. Only half a step, enough to make her aware of the scent of leather and metal that clung to him. It was different from the lavender and warm pastries she associated with him.

“I’ll walk you back to your chambers,” he decided

This time, the formality didn’t feel like distance. And for the first time in a year and a half, they left together. Slowly, their garden meetings came back. It wasn’t as regular as before, but they managed. Every so often, he’d swipe pastries from Lilith again, sharing them with the Princess on that old garden bench. 

One day while her tutor was teaching about… posture? Or maybe composure? The Princess wasn’t listening—she sat at her desk, chin on her palm, mindlessly drawing on the corner of her parchment. 

Lady Alice, the tutor, noticed she was drawing rather than taking notes. 

“Princess,” she snapped her fingers in front of the girl’s face. That got her attention, and quick. Before the Princess could stop it, Lady Alice snatched the paper. Instead of seeing her notes, she saw doodles of hearts in the corner. “What’s this?”

“It’s nothing—!” the Princess felt her face flush with embarrassment. 

Maybe she should’ve skipped class today. 

“Uh huh,” Lady Alice, shooting the Princess a knowing look. The friendship between her and Zayne was no secret to the people who lived in the palace. “I hope you’re not hoping for this to progress anywhere. You’ll end up marrying for duty, not love.”

The Princess realized, at that moment, how much Zayne meant to her. She wasn’t getting married any time soon—why couldn’t she pursue him?

For Zayne’s sixteenth birthday, she requested Xander to forge him a sword. Complete with carvings on the hilt and a royal red sheath, it was truly a piece of artwork. She waited in the garden like numerous times before, the early September air still warm even though the sun had dipped below the horizon.

She saw Zayne approaching, and she quickly stood from the bench to greet him. Zayne had two cupcakes this time, both decorated with pale blue icing. 

“Happy Birthday,” she said, the both of them biting into the cupcakes. 

“Father’s been talking about knighting you soon,” the Princess told Zayne, walking towards the bench. She had wrapped the sword in a dark cloth beforehand. Picking up the sword, she stepped back towards Zayne, holding it out to him. “But don’t tell him I told you.”

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed, confused by whatever’s in her hands. 

“Open it!” she encouraged, stepping closer. “It’s your birthday gift.”

Tentatively, he reached for the sword, unwrapping the cloth from around it. The way his eyes lit up when he realized what it was made her stomach flutter.

“Princess… this,” he swallowed, his fingers running over the intricate engravings on the hilt. It was perfectly balanced, sharp as glass, and a show of true craftsmanship. He was starstruck, to say the least. “This is exquisite.”

She gave him a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. Instantly, his hand came up to cradle the back of her head, his nose pressed against her hair while his other hand held the sword. 

I love you. “I love it.” he breathed out, inhaling the flowery scent of her hair. “Thank you.”

A week later, there was a royal gala. The Princess couldn’t care less for the reason for it, all she cared about was how she could feel Zayne’s eyes on her all night. He lingered by the walls, observing and people watching, not making any movies.

Truly a knight, only without the title. 

“Zayne,” she went up to him when she saw him at the dessert table. “Honour me with a dance?”

He turned to her, a grin playing on his lips. One of those charming boyish ones, reminding her of the boy who’d sneak around the halls with her. “Aren’t I supposed to ask you that?” 

She shrugged, “I don’t know, I don’t care. Come dance.” She took one of his hands in both of hers, gently pulling him towards the center of the room. “Please.”

How could he deny her when she looked at him like that? Big, pleading eyes that sparked with the light of the chandelier. She wore a pink ballgown, complete with delicate jewellery and the tiara refracting and reflecting light. 

“I don’t know how to dance…” he admitted sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I’ll teach you,” she decided, tugging on his arm again. “It’s not hard. Let’s go to the garden.”

Once in the sanctuary of the garden, she began her lesson with him. “Okay, hold my hand,” she extended her left hand. 

He took it, taking a step closer to her. 

“Good,” she stepped closer as well. “Now, place your other hand on the bottom of my shoulder blade.”

Zayne placed his hand on her waist, stepping closer so they were almost chest-to-chest. He held her carefully, like she was made of fragile porcelain. 

That works too. 

She placed her free hand on his shoulder. “Okay, now step your left foot back—wait, your right foot—okay good! And turn your body like this.”

“Perfect! Now step your feet together—yes, you’ve got it—and step your other foot out and turn your body the other way.”

They managed to fall into a clunky box step, both of them looking down at their feet, trying to coordinate their steps to the faint music from the ballroom. Soon enough, they were flowing with ease, timed with the tempo of the slow music being played by the orchestra.

Zayne let go of her waist, twirling her around before pulling her back to him, his hand returning to its spot on her waist.

Her laughter filled the air. “Wait, I wasn’t expecting that!” Their eyes met and the Princess’ giggles slowly dispersed, a giddy smiled still adorning her face. “You’re a fast learner.”

He leaned in, cheeky, whispering, “I had a good teacher.”

The yellow glow from the lanterns surrounding them casted a halo; it caused Zayne to look older and younger all at once. And the Princess? Well, anybody could tell she was royalty just by glancing at her.

Zayne’s heart fluttered against his ribcage, like a bird in a cage. 

They settled into a new rhythm, still matching the orchestra’s symphony. 

“I have something to tell you,” she broke the comfortable silence.

He blinked. “Funny—I have something to tell you too.”

Slowly, their steps came to a halt. They stood there, in front of their old bench, surrounded by the various flowers and trees of the royal garden.

“You go first.” the Princess looked up at him. 

“I’m getting knighted,” he exhaled, looking down and breaking eye contact. He looked up before he continued speaking. “Your father—the King, told me yesterday. He plans to do it at the Winter Solstice.”

Winter Solstice… oh.

Yet still, she was thrilled for him. “Zayne, that’s amazing!”

He didn’t seem excited. Not even happy about it. 

“Why do you look like someone told you terrible news?”

“I’m not ready,” he whispered like it was blasphemy. “I don’t feel like I deserve it. And because-“ he stopped himself, jaw clenching and teeth grinding. “Because everything is changing.”

She swallowed. Hard. That lump in her throat didn’t seem to go down. “I have something to tell you too.”

He looked up, eyes filled with worry. “What?”

“I’m… leaving.” the word was heavy. Still, she tried to make it sound casual, graceful—princess-like.

She was failing horribly. Taking in another breath, she continued. “Lady Alice and I are going to Zarmitia. A diplomatic trip. I’ll be gone until March.”

“You’re visiting Prince Caleb?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice to not break. 

“When do you leave?”

“Day after tomorrow…”

His body went sharp, his fingers tugging at the fabric at her waist. He pulled her closer, until they were chest-to-chest. Her hand let go of his, moving to cup his jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand joined the other at her waist, holding her to him.

Together for just a little bit more. 

“I… I know it’s far,” she murmured, “and long. But I’ll write to you.”

“You say that like letters could replace you.” a slight pout graced his lips as his eyes looked between hers. 

The words came out before he could stop them. Her breath stilled. Their eyes met, their breaths lingering in the air. He uttered her name like a sacred prayer and the air left her lungs. 

“I don’t know how to act around you anymore,” he admitted quietly, his green eyes flickering between hers. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to feel. Or want.” 

The Princess couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her heart in her ears. “What do you want?” 

He hesitated. Maybe for longer than he should have.

Then, a singular word, “You.” 

They didn’t think—they just moved.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. Testing the waters, it was nervous yet desperate. It was a question. She answered by committing. The kiss was soft and trembling, filled with every wish and every almost. His hand slid to her jaw; hers fisted at the fabric of his tunic. He pulled away, his thumb brushing her cheek. 

“Princess, I…” his voice left him, replaced by a ball in his throat. Was it a mistake? Gods, he hoped not. 

“Do it again.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. 

It was everything. Everything they had been too young and too scared to say. Shy at first, both being too tentative, they slowly figured it out together. They didn't know how long they stood like that, kissing as if the world had shrunk and it was only them remaining. 

Until—

“Princess?” Lilith’s voice called faintly. Neither of them heard.

Then again, but sharper. “Princess—oh!”

They broke apart so violently Zayne tripped on the gravel. They held their hands behind their backs, embarrassed like school children caught doing something wrong. 

Her face burned. Thank the Gods it was dark.

Another voice followed, “Where did these damn kids go—? Oh.” Xander stood behind Lilith, eyes wide before he understood. 

The Princess wanted to wipe that grin off his face. 

“I—um,” Zayne panicked, praying no one could see the way his cheeks and ears were dusted crimson.

“It’s not what it looks like!”

Xander and Lilith gave each other knowing looks, folding their arms over their chest. 

“S-Sorry—I should go,” Zayne stumbled over his words; a rare sight for everyone.

“Zayne, wait—“

He took her hand, looking up at her as he placed a chaste kiss on it. “Forgive me, Princess.”

He bowed—far too formal for something that just happened—and turned to walk towards Xander. He looked back, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

Her fingers trembled by her lips where his warmth still lingered, watching as he walked away from her. She willed him to come back—just another kiss, please—but he didn’t.

Zayne and Xander made their way inside the palace.

Lilith’s eyes softened as she walked up to the Princess, “It’s late, Your Highness. We should get inside.”

“Yes,” she cleared her throat and nodded, hands curled into fists and now at her side. “Inside. Of course.”

She didn’t see Zayne the next day. 

Once more, time moved against her will, and much too quickly for her liking. Before she knew it, she was bidding her parents and the villagers of Astraheim goodbye, getting onto the carriage that would take her to Zarmitia. 

She didn’t get to give Zayne a proper goodbye.

“Princess!” Prince Caleb’s voice filled her ears upon her arrival. He had been ecstatic for this visit. They hadn’t seen each other in at least two years. He welcomed her with a kiss to the hand, followed by a warm hug. 

“It’s nice to see you, Princess Caleb.” She curtsied, bowing her head in politeness. 

Over the next few months, he showed her around his kingdom. This was the Princess’ first official visit to Zarmitia. Caleb took her horseback riding to the woods, went out and about to greet the villagers, and even went to local festivities. 

While she was grateful, she would rather spend time with Zayne.

On the Winter Solstice, he was all she could think about. Zarmitia had its own ceremonies and traditions for Winter Solstice, but she was zoned out most of the time, her mind wandering back to Zayne getting knighted.

I wonder what Zayne had for breakfast. Does he have the sword I gave him with him? I should get him a souvenir from Zarmitia. 

Her mind was Sir Zayne this, Sir Zayne that. She tried her best to conceal it—and it seemed to work! Caleb was too excited to notice her inner turmoil, and Lady Alice was busy with other dutiful things. 

“When will you be back?” Caleb asked her before she went back on her carriage the next spring. 

“I’m not sure,” she told him honestly—the only thing on her mind was going back home. Back to Zayne. “Write me letters?”

Prince Caleb nodded, letting her climb into the carriage. He bowed, a bright smile on his face. “Safe travels, Princess.”

Upon her arrival back to Astraheim, her people were happy to have their Princess back. They held a celebration, filled with music and laughter and dancing. She attended, of course, but kept her eye out for the knight with dark hair and green eyes. She didn’t catch sight of him. Not even a glance. 

When she returned to her chambers after a long day, it was the same way she left it. Everything was in its place, aside from one thing. There was something on top of her bedside table. She walked over, seeing something carefully wrapped in cloth, secure with a bow of twine. Beside it, sat a letter. The Princess decided to unwrap the object first.

Undoing the bow and pulling back the cloth, it revealed a stunning dagger. Perfectly balanced and perfectly carved. It was obvious it was Xander’s work. It was a gorgeous piece of art; the hilt was white with gold engravings, matching the cross guard. Upon further examination, she discovered the pommel had a flower carved into it. It was a peony—the flower of Astraheim. 

She set the dagger down. Careful and cautious. She turned her attention to the parchment. She’d recognize that handwriting everywhere. 

Unfolding the paper, she read what was inside.

I’ll see you again, Princess

—Z

series masterlist | chapter one (coming soon!)