sypnosis:- the biggest mistake in your life was falling for katsuki bakugou and the biggest misunderstanding in your life was thinking that he was falling for you too.
warnings:- swearing, mentions of bullying, unhealthy relationship dynamics.
part 1 part 2 part 3
for as long as you could remember, bakugou was yours and you were his.
at first, it seemed that you two would grow up to be completely different, but you ended up becoming more like him than you were comfortable admitting.
you were naturally kind and loud, sweet but in a way that was overbearing to others. people didn't want to be your friend at first, considering you too loud, simply because you were a very expressive child.
you tried to not let it bother you, puffing up your cheeks and holding your nose up high whenever another kid at the playground refused to be friends and left your outstretched hand waiting, hovering in mid-air as they ran away.
but you were just a child.
you wanted to be loud, you wanted to be expressive...but you wanted friends too.
you sat on the playground, playing with fistfuls of sand as your vision turned blurry. suddenly, a pair of red sneakers came into view. you looked up to see a tuft of blonde hair belonging to a boy of your age.
you stared up at him and he stared back. then he huffed and crossed his hands over his chest, "what, you gonna cry now? i saw the way you ignored that extra over there when he didn't shake your hand. you cant cry now."
you stood up, puffing up your cheeks, "i can cry whenever i want. don't tell me what to do!"
he wasn't intimidated by your flailing arms, "ok crybaby. you can go back to crying. i just though you were cool back there for a second. guess i was wrong." he shrugged and started to walk away.
you wiped your face with your chubby fingers as his words ran in your head, completing a few laps before you grasped the meaning.
..cool?
he thought you were cool. you. when everyone else thought you were too overbearing, too clingy, too much. he had just called you cool, hadn't he?
your body reacted before your mind could as your hand reached out to clasp his arm, making him stop walking.
"..w-wait! you think i'm cool?" you stammered out in a rush of breath. he looked down at your hand holding his and back at your face, "i thought you were cool. i'm not sure anymore."
your eyes widened, "no..no..i'm cool. i'm so cool! i'm not even crying anymore see?" he turned back, one of his hands in his pocket, "..i guess you're cooler than before." your face broke out into a huge grin, "i am! and y-you're really cool too! i'm yn! wanna be friends?"
you dropped his hand and held yours out, silently preparing yourself for another rejection. you shut your eyes closed, shrinking into yourself slightly.
with every second that passed and you didn't feel his hand in yours, your heart dropped a little more. you scrunched up your eyes tighter, preparing yourself to open them and see him long gone. but then suddenly, you felt a slight weight on your palm.
your eyes fly open as you see the little boy holding your hand, shaking it not at all gently.
"i'm bakugou."
ever since then, you were two peas in a pod, connected at the hip by an invisible rope. if one of you was present somewhere, the other was not far behind. you were each other's person. teachers asked one of you where the other was when they were absent, your parents got a new son and his parents got a daughter.
however, things weren't all sunshine and rainbows. your relationship with katsuki was...conditional, which both of you were somehow oblivious to.
the closer you got to him, the more you shaved away parts of yourself unknowingly. you knew what you were getting into, being friends with him. you knew his gruff, bully behaviour. you had seen him kick midoriya around, tell him horrible words and the old you, the girl who was never afraid to say whatever she wanted to, would have immediately shut him up, would've happily stood infront of midoriya, shielding him.
but...you couldn't. you never partook in bullying midoriya, but you never stopped it either, fearing that you'd loose katsuki. the guilt ate you up, until you packed it all away and shoved it inside a box far into your mind.
every time katsuki picked on midoriya, the first thought that came into your mind wasn't 'i should help him.' or, 'i hope he can hold on.'
it was, 'i'm so glad i'm not the one in his place.'
and every time you thought that thought, you felt like puking. you couldn't believe you had turned into such a monster. but you learnt to store it all away. you convinced katsuki to leave midoriya alone, talking about how he was a loser that didn't deserve his attention.
the little girl who you had slowly disconnected from, scowled in disgust at your inaction and couldn't stand to watch you dig yourself into a deeper hole. she took your box of guilt and receded deep in your mind, until you had no idea how to ever get her back.
you and katsuki grew up together, and though neither of you ever labeled anything, it was clear to you that you were both more than friends. he was your first kiss and you were his.
one day, you were in katsuki's room, after having ate the dinner mitsuki prepared. you were lying on your stomach, on his bed, trying to catch up on some homework. he was sitting on his desk, soft afternoon filtered in through the window, falling on him. neither of you were talking and as you watched him work, you suddenly realized how.. ethereal he looked when he was relaxed.
this explosive boy who had in a way, saved you. you could not imagine your life without him. you felt a small smile creep on your face as you watched his peaceful form and before you knew it, the words were coming out,
"..i love you."
instantly, both of you froze. he turned his head to look at you, surprise and warmth in his eyes. you mirrored it back. his eyes softened as his ears turned bright red, "yeah yeah. i know you do. don't go getting all sappy on me now." he said as he turned back to work, visibly flustered.
you giggled. cute. you looked out the window, swinging your legs, your hands cupping your head, elbows on the bed. you closed your eyes against the soft breeze that entered the room.
the sound of the scribbles on paper as katsuki did his homework filled the room again, lulling you to sleep.
in all the comfort and warmth around you that day, you missed the fact that katsuki didn't say it back.
you were beyond happy. you felt like everything in your life was finally being set in place, with him by your side. you thought he felt the same.
neither of you ever labeled anything but you didn't need to...right?
you had moved into the ua dorms a few months ago. you and katsuki had already established a steady routine. you'd do your classes and then go to your respective rooms to study for a bit. then you'd go hangout with your classmates while katsuki went to train. the end of the day was always reserved for each other. you'd both go to either your's or katsuki's room, usually his and you'd simply end the day with each other.
some days, you'd go back to your dorm to sleep, most days you'd end up in his arms.
the routine was simple and comforting. it was never monotone, considering how unpredictable your hero studies was. you were happy and you thought katsuki was too.
the change started small, unnoticeable to everyone else but you. he would talk less, start seeking you out less. you brushed it off as him being tired at first. a soft, " 'm too tired." whenever you asked him to hangout. a muttered, "another time." whenever you asked him to come over to your dorm to watch a movie.
but soon enough, it became impossible to ignore when your weekly interactions thinned to zero. he was distancing himself and you had no idea why. you scrounged your mind, searching for somewhere you messed up, going through every conversation, every interaction but everything came up empty.
you wondered if he even knew what he was doing or if this distancing was unintentional.
something else also changed. he was texting more often and..he went out of the dorm a lot. not strange behaviour in theory, but for him to do this? it felt like the world had turned upside down. he would never go out without telling you he was leaving before but nowadays you barely saw him in the dorms.
your were being stretched thin. you couldn't focus on your classes and your friends started noticing your change in behaviour. you had to talk to him.
he was sitting on his bed, scrolling on his phone when you entered. "ok, what is it?" you sat down on the bed.
he looked up, eyes widening, "what's what?"
"you're acting really weird. you've been acting so weird for so long, what happened...did i do something?"
you expected him to shrug you off with a simple, 'nothing's wrong, 'm fine.' like usual so when he sighed and set his phone down, your heart dropped to your toes.
he hesitated. "..i have a girlfriend."
"...."
..what?
a girlfriend? you were his girlfriend. what the fuck was he talking about. you laughed nervously, "yeah ok. haha. you're a comedian. stop with the bullshit. what's actually going on?"
he scowled, "i'm not fucking lying. i got a girlfriend. her name's hana."
you just stared at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, " 'suki..what the fuck do you mean, a girlfriend? you already have a girlfriend!"
his eyes widened as he gave you an incredulous look, "huh? no i don't?"
you were going to go insane.
"i'm your girlfriend!" you were shaking, your hands were trembling. katsuki looked even more confused, "no you're not?! yn what are you even talking about. we're not dating? we're just friends, for fuck's sake."
you could not believe your ears. there was simply no fucking way, "..what?"
"i never asked you out and neither did you. what in the world makes you think we're dating?"
"oh i don't know! maybe the fucking fact that we cuddle and hang out and tell each other i love you??" he looked confused. how dare he look confused? "you're my best friend. best. friend. that's it. that's all we are, all we ever were, yn."
you were shouting now, "do you kiss all your best friends, katsuki?"
he was standing now, his tone matching yours, "that was one fucking time, we were kids! it was just hormones." your vision was blurry, you could feel tears drip down your cheeks.
"are you seriously trying to say that everything that we had, our whole relationship was just...hormones?" you couldn't even see his face anymore, it was too blurry. he became reduced to a blonde and red smudge.
you couldn't even gather the strength to wipe the tears away. he crossed his arms and took a breath, lowering his voice, "look, i don't know what even gave you the idea. but we are not anything, yn. we were never anything. i have a girlfriend now and ..honestly she's been telling me how you act too clingy and shit and.. i get it now..i-i.. she told me to stop talking to you."
you felt sick. you were going to be sick. you could deal with katsuki not loving you back, but a life without katsuki altogether? you were going to throw up.
"w-wait..you..you're not going to listen to her right?" you hurriedly wiped your eyes to see him look at you with...regret?
fuck fuck FUCK nonono this could not be happening right now.
you took a step closer to him, "i-ok..i'm sorry. i read things wrong. but you won't leave me right? katsuki..you can't."
he shook his head. he wasn't looking at you. why wasn't he looking at you?
"look..i just think we both need a break from each other. we're obviously not in the same place right now. we need some distance."
you shook your head furiously, "no no no. you can't do this to me! you promised, katsuki. you promised you'd never leave!"
he looked pained, he opened his mouth but no sound came out. he was shaking now, "get out yn. please."
you were sobbing now, your sobs racking your body. "you can't..you just can't." katsuki looked like he was in physical pain. but he didn't do anything. didn't touch you, didn't try to comfort you.
you took deep breaths. you would not embarrass yourself any more. you were used to rejection. if the little you could hold her head up high then why couldn't you.
you straightened, "..ok then. i...i'll get going." you turned and walked towards the door. stop me katsuki. don't let me walk out katsuki.
but he didn't stop you and you walked out. you didn't turn to look back at him as you shut the door behind you.
you went to your dorm room as your world came crashing down around you. what now? is it really over? just like that?
your heart seized in your chest as you sat on your bed. your hand was twitching for your phone. whenever you unraveled like this, your first instinct was to go talk to him.
it was ironic. the only person you wanted to talk to about katsuki breaking your heart was katsuki.
i live only for gut-wrenching angst. so i hope i was able to do it at least a little justice <333
dividers by @cursed-carmine and @thecutestgrotto ᯓᡣ𐭩
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light yagami, who doesn't hesitate to write down the name of that pesky guy who keeps bothering you . . .
his ears perked when you mentioned his name - which you only knew because the guy had insistently told you it multiple times.
you were laying on his bed, playing on your phone while he studied at his desk. he lets you stay when he’s studying because he likes how you won’t bother him too much.
but you wanted to talk today.
you’re blissfully unaware of the two-meter tall creature in the corner, making side comments every so often while Light simply ignored him.
Light wasn’t laying much attention to your rambling until he heard a name. a male name.
“who is he?” he asked, making sure to put on a careful tone of simple curiosity. he won’t let the jealousy come up yet. not without answers.
you sighed before saying, “he’s this guy who is always outside my class when it finishes. he keeps asking for my number while shouting his at me.”
Light doesn’t make a sound, but he stops his quick pen work.
“And I always tell him to go away because I have a boyfriend but he always shows up the next day. He says it’s a pure coincidence that he’s walking by at the time I get out but I know it isn’t.”
“Has he done anything else?” He asks, pondering.
you hesitate for a second before saying, “yesterday he grabbed my arm when I tried to walk away.”
and so Lights mind was made up. He didn’t even glance at the drawer containing the deadly notebook, or at Ryuk in the corner, but the shinigami already knew what Light was planning.
“I’ll wait for you tomorrow and walk you out. To make sure he doesn’t try anything else.”
Light was true to his word. His brown head of hair was the first thing you saw when you left your classroom the next day, and you quickly rushed to his side.
“Thank you, Light.” You said, slipping your hand in his. His fingers stiffened for a moment, still getting used to casual acts of affection in public, but then held yours with calculated ease.
“No problem, really.” He said calmly. “It’s my duty. Just tell me when you see him.”
And sure enough, the guy was there. you gave Lights hand a small squeeze right before the guy approached you.
“So, have you thought about my offer yet-“ He starts before he’s cut off.
“No thank you, sir.” Light says, his jaw slight clenched. “She’s perfectly fine. I recommend that you start respecting people when they decline, otherwise there could be real consequences.”
You glance at Light, slightly surprised. He usually isn’t very chatty with strangers, keeping polite and respectful when he does talk. But this is a nice change.
The guy mutters something under his breath, but Light holds your arms and steers you away from him. He feels a small sense of approval towards Ryuk when he sees that the shinigami has placed himself at the other side of you.
Light glances back once, and takes a long look at the guys face.
That evening, he sits in his room with the Death Note open in front of him.
He had walked you home an hour earlier, asking if you were okay and that you could call him if you felt you were followed. After you walked inside, Ryuk told him, unprompted, that there was nobody suspicious in the area.
Light didn’t hesitate before writing the guys name down, picturing his revolting face in his mind for those seconds.
“Well, it appears you’ve gone soft.” Ryuk chuckles.
“Nonsense.” Light says, moving on to repeat the process of writing down criminals names. “I said I would rid the world of evil. He certainly isn’t good.”
That was the act justified in his mind. That has been his mission from the start, right? Even if the guy didn’t have an official criminal record, Light simply saw it as him cutting the evil in the bud before it grew. Besides, if he was bothering you, that’s reason enough.
Another thing that Light would make clear in his perfect world is that nobody touches what belongs to him.
Pairings: avatar! Lyle Wainfleet x fem mangkwan! Reader
Summary: quiet tension turns into certainty as unspoken feelings finally surface, pulling them together.. where jealousy fades, closeness deepens, and everything narrows the pull between them.
Warnings: weapon use, fluff, slow burn undertones, sexual content (oral sex fem!receiving , p in v) possessive/dominant behavior, jealousy, intense physicality… let me know if i missed anything!
Notes: i was quite literally racking my brain on how to write a part 2 for you guys but after multiple naps… I got it done yay! I’ve never written smut before so i hope you enjoy and ty for reading! BTW not proofread!
His thumb lingers at your jaw,rough and careful all at once, as if he’s reminding himself where he is.
Outside, laughter rises.. feet pounding the ground, voices lifted in a song.
“You know,” he murmurs, almost amused. “Back on base, this isn’t exactly the regulation.”
You huff softly, tail flicking. “Good thing this is not your base.”
That earns a quiet chuckle from him.
The sound vibrates through his chest, through you.
He leans back just enough to really look at you now.
Paint on your fingers, ash smudged along your cheek, eyes bright.
‘pretty’ he thinks.
Silence settles, heavily. Not awkward.
Outside, someone shouts his name, calling him back to the fire, to the cheers, to the role he’s been playing all night.
He exhales slowly, glancing toward the hut entrance before looking back at you. “They’re gonna notice I’m gone.”
You lift your chin. ‘’ then go. Let them see you.”
He squints. “Barely covered and painted?”
“Yes,” you say, without hesitation. “Let them see who fought with us.”
For a moment, he studies you. Really studies you, then nods once. Decided.
“Alright,” he say quietly. “But you’re walking out with me.”
His hand finds yours, firm and grounding. When you step back into the firelight together, the clan notices instantly. Cheers get louder, drums picking up, eyes drawn to the red paint streaked across his skin and the way you stand at his side like you belong there.
The night stretches on, thinning the noise until it’s just fire.
🐾
Sunlight filtered through, dappling the forest floor gold and green as you darted through the roots and ferns, bow held tight in your hand, heart hammering with excitement as birds scattered every step.
Lyle’s heavy footsteps pounded behind you.
“You will never catch me’’ You called, tail swishing like a whip, your laughter spilling through the forest.
You veered around a crooked tree, expecting him right behind you but silence answered.
No footsteps. No breathing, just rustling leaves.
“Lyle?” You whispered, scanning your misty surroundings. “Where are you?!”
Before you could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.
“Caught you.” Lyle murmured behind you, breath warm at your ear.
“You skxawng!” You shriek.
He grinned, unapologetic. “You run like prey.”
Your ears flattened. “ i am not prey.”
He set you down carefully, giving you space but keeping the teasing glint in his eyes. He tilted his head, amused. “Could’ve fooled me.”
That did it.
You step into his space. Chin lifted, eyes wide.
“you think that sneaking up on me makes you skilled?” You challenged. “You rely on strength and noise. That is all.’’
His smiled faded just a touch. “You saying I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“I am saying,” you said slowly, circling him, eyes sharp. “ that you would not last one hunt without a gun… and that is embarrassing.”
He turned to track you, jaw tightening. “Careful, darling.”
You stopped in front of him, close enough that his chest rose inches from yours.
“Let me teach you,” you said. Not a question. A dare.
He scoffed. “Teach me what?”
“The way of the bow,” you replied coolly. “A hunters weapon. Not your metal toys. Mine.”
“I don’t need-“ he started.
You cut him off, stepping closer. “ you do. And you know it.” Your fingers reached out, tapping his chest once.
“You chase well. You fight well. But you do not listen to the forest. I do.”
Something conflicted flickering through his eyes. “And why would i let you?”
Your lips curved. “Because you want to see if i am right.” A beat. Softer, quieter. “And because you do not like to be challenged”
He eyed you for a long moment. Then, reluctantly, “one lesson.”
You smile, victorious. “Good. Za’u!”
You lead him deeper into the trees, movements fluid, confident.
When you stop, you hand him your bow.
“First, you need to learn how to hold it. Relax and grip the string lightly.” You say, firmly.
He exhales, trying to mimic your instructions.
You roll your eyes but can’t stop the grin from forming on your lips.
Sliding your hands over his, correcting the angle, guiding his fingers along the string.
“Here,” you sigh, “your fingers must curl over the string like this. Not stiff. Like this.”
You step back to give him room before huffing. “Your stance.” You say, shaking your head. “It is all wrong. You are stiff, like a tree.”
You step in front of him and gently place your hands on his hips, guiding his weight. “Feet should be shoulder width apart and back should be straight. Balance your weight evenly, do not lean too far forward or back.”
He lets out a soft laugh, but you ignore it, slipping your hands up to his shoulders adjusting them.
You examine his stance, and hiss lowly as you smack his elbow up, straightening it when you do.
“You must stay straight , chest open… yes, just like that. Now feel the forest under your feet. Let it support you, not the other way around.”
“Draw,” you murmured. “Ki’ong”
He did, bowstring trembling.
“Stop flailing.” you scolded softly, fingers grabbing his wrist lightly to steady him. “Breathe.”
He exhales sharply, draws the string, and lets the arrow fly. It whistles through the air… and clatters harmlessly into the underbrush.
You huff a laugh, tail flicking.
“kanfpìl, try it again.” You gesture toward the bow.
He draws another arrow, slow, calculated this time. Your hands hover near his, almost brushing. The arrow shoots forward. Thunk. Right into the center of the tree.
You gasp softly, tail curling in delight, and step around to face him.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” You repeat the saying, you’ve heard him say many times before.
His chest rises in a proud breath, eyes sparkling with accomplishment. “Looks like someone’s a good teacher.”
You grin, brushing a strand of hair from your face, tail flicking in amusement. “I am just getting started.” you tease, stepping back slightly to give him space, eyes locked on his as you encourage him.
And so it goes, shot after shot, laughter, teasing, and the subtle brush of closeness.. him shooting arrow after arrow, you guiding, correcting, and enjoying every single second of making him learn…. all while the forest sun beams down on the two of you.
🐾
The village was loud with evening life.
Children darted between huts, elders talked low near the fire. You were weaving through it all, distracted, until a familiar shape caught your eye.
Lyle.
He stood near the central fire pit, laughing. Actually laughing. His shoulders loose, posture open, her hand brushing his arm as she spoke, tail flicking with interest.
You stopped a few steps away, watching just long enough to understand what was happening.
He wasn’t encouraging it. His hands stayed to himself. His attention drifted, gaze lifting as if searching.
Then his eyes found you.
His expression shifted instantly. Relief first. Then something warmer, gentler.
“There you are,” he said smiling like he’d been waiting.
The woman followed his gaze and turned, her eyes sliding over you, judging.
Her hand didn’t move from his arm.
You stepped closer.
“I was looking for you,” You said calmly, though your ears had angled back.
The woman cut in. “We were just talking.”
Your gaze shifted to her at last. Cool. Unblinking. “I was not speaking to you.”
Her ears flicked back slightly. Her hand still lingering on his bicep. You glanced at it.
"Step back," you said.
The girl's ears flicked, eyes narrowing as she looked you over. "I was speaking to him."
"And now you are speaking to me," you replied. "Your hand has no reason to be on him."
Her tail lashed once. "He did not move away."
Lyle blinked. "I didn't realize—"
You didn't look at him.
Instead, you leaned in slightly toward her, voice low and sharp. "Because he is polite. I am not."
Lyle stepped away from her. “I should go,” he said, firm now.
“Already?” The girl frowned.
“Yes, i will talk to you later.”
Your eyes snapped to him as he spoke. “You will not.” You snarl, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away. “Za’u.”
he didn’t argue.
You pulled him through the village, past curious glances, past whispers.
“Where are we going?’’ He questioned, stumbling behind you.
“my hut,“ you said, simply.
That got his attention and he let himself be dragged.
You didn’t stop until you were inside your hut, pushing aside the woven entrance covering and turning toward him the second it closed.
“You let her touch you.” your head tilted.
His lips twitched. “I didn’t even notice.” He said honestly.
You scoff softly, a sharp little sound in your throat. “ you did not notice,” you repeat stepping closer.
“I was waiting for you.” He says, no excuses, no defensiveness. Just the truth.
You plant a hand flat against his chest. “Then why did you let her stand so close?” You asked quietly.
His jaw tightens, not annoyed but focused.. “because I didn’t think it mattered.” His eyes dip to where your hand presses into him.
“Srane, it matters.” You murmur, leaning in, your breath brushing his mouth without touching it.
You guide him backwards without force. He lets you.
He lets his calves hit the edge of the furs.
Let’s himself go down on to them with a quiet exhale, eyes never leaving your face.
You climb over him slowly, straddling his thighs, knees sinking into the soft pelts.
You hold his gaze, hands sliding onto his shoulders. “You let her think she had a chance.” You hummed.
He laughed softly, shaking his head, his hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing warm lines along your ribs. “I like that you didn’t.”
Your lips curl into a small, satisfied smile.
You shift your weight, letting him feel it, letting him feel you. Your fingers trail up his neck and onto the base of his kuru, your hand wrapping firmly around it.
You pull, he grunts.
You tilt his back just enough as you dip down, lips ghosting his jaw, his throat.
“do you want me?” You ask quietly.
Not playful. Not teasing. Real.
His answer is immediate. His hands tighten on your waist, grounding you. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.’’ He says low.
“Say it,” you murmur, hand sliding down his kuru. “Say it so I do not have to wonder.” Your eyes meeting his.
His forehead presses to yours. Noses nearly brushing. His voice drops, rougher now. “I want you.”
Your lips part slightly. “Then.. take me,” you whisper, voice trembling with desire.
His eyes darken, and without breaking eye contact, he leans closer. Slowly, he reaches behind his head, and then you feel it… the delicate, electrifying brush of his neural tendril against yours.
Tsaheylu.
A jolt runs through your body, your skin tingling, nerves alive in a way that no touch alone could achieve.
Heat blooms in your chest, spreading through your limbs like fire. Your tail curls, gasping softly as his tendril entwines with yours.
His hand finds your jaw, gripping lightly. “You feel that?” He murmurs, low and rough. “It’s just us… no one else.”
The connection hums between you, every heartbeat amplified, every breath shared.
His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, tilting your face upward, lips grazing yours.
“Oe-yä,” he murmurs, teeth grazing your bottom lip in a teasing bite.
His thumb drags across your cheek, then slides down your neck, resting at the base of your throat, squeezing lightly.
He growls low, lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine, nìftxav nga oe!”
“Yours.” You nod, tongue dragging along your bottom lip. “i am yours.” You breathe out.
His hand moves from your neck down to your waist, carefully changing positions, grounding you.
The firelight dances across your skin, throwing shadows over the furs, over him, over the places where your bodies brush.
Tsaheylu thrums between you, vibrating through every nerve, every muscle, every pulse of desire.
He leans in again, chest pressing heavier into yours, his tendril tightening around yours as if drawing every ounce of your attention.
You feel him everywhere all at once.
the subtle curl of his fingers at your waist, the steady weight of his body pressing yours to the furs, and the bond that hums and writhes like a living pulse.
You arch into him, pressing harder, letting your hands roam freely across his back, clawing, feeling the taut lines of muscle.
His lips trail down your jaw, over your neck, teasing your pulse with his fangs, brushing, claiming, drawing a quiet shiver from your throat.
Your hand finds the nape of his neck, gripping lightly, pulling him closer, letting him know that you want him to take the lead, that you crave this full, unrestrained intimacy.
He lowers his mouth to your chest, peeling your top off with his teeth.
His lips teasing, teeth grazing, sucking lightly, marking.
You press your hands into his shoulders, tugging him closer, feeling every line of muscle beneath your palms, every subtle twitch as he grinds his hips lightly into yours.
thighs parting instinctively as he slides lower, palms brushing along your sides, hands tracing the curves of your hips and stomach.
Lips move lower, brushing your hipbones, teasing along the sensitive skin, each touch pulling little moans from your throat.
His hands slide up your thighs, fingers brushing along your skin until they reach the knots of your loincloth.
The loincloth falls away, pooling on the furs beneath you, and he doesn’t hesitate.
His hands grip your hips, steadying you as he lowers his face, lips brushing the sensitive skin along your inner thighs, leaving a trail of little wet kisses.
A low growl hums through him.
He lowers his head between your thighs, exactly where you want him and the first touch of his tongue made you arch off the fur with a cry.
He pauses, “Fnu,” he grins, eyes locking on yours, filled with desire before he licks a slow stripe up your cunt.
You hiss softly, tilting your head back.
he licked and sucked on the sensitive bundle of nerves and his thumb slowly circled the little nub with the same focused attention he brought to everything.
Your hips lift, He groans, and presses his large hand flat over your lower stomach, keeping your hips down against the furs with firm, commanding pressure.
you came with his name on your lips.
He kissed his way back up your body as you came down from the high, his lips glistening with your release, and when he kisses you, you could taste yourself on his tongue.
“kalin,” he moans into your mouth.
“Ma’ Lyle” your hands find the ties of his loincloth, and you felt him tense, his breath catching.
“are you sure?" his voice was strained.
“I want this. Oel ngati sivi.” You say quietly, with certainty.
he dipped his head down, towards the dip between your neck and collarbone, pressing soft kisses along your skin.
Slowly he pushed forward with a loud groan. “Tse ‘ekxin.” his face contorting with pleasure, the stretch was intense.
When he was fully inside of you, he stilled, breath ragged, letting you adjust the size of him.
He moves slowly, biting down on your shoulder, gently.
"more," you gasped, your leg wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him deeper.
his hand slides under the back of your thigh, placing your leg over his shoulder, pounding relentlessly.
The new angle has you moaning out before they get swallowed by his mouth.
“Fnu,” he says again, breathlessly against your lips, grunting above you.
His lips move against yours with what feels like desperation, your lips part in response, allowing him to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.
His hips snapping against yours at an abnormal pace. “Ma’ muntxate”, his thumbs splayed over your hips to keep you pinned, your moans grow louder a mix of pleasure and surrender.
Your hands clutch him, dragging him closer and a breathless hiss of your name escapes his lips, loud and unrestrained.
The hut is alive with your moans, hisses, every brush of skin against skin, every press and tug amplified by the neural connection, until the world beyond the hut is nothing.
His hands slide along your thighs, gripping lightly, pulling you flush against him as he thrusts.
“oh fuck,” he grunts in your ear, his hand clasped over your mouth, muffling you as you cry out.
Every nerve in your body screams, every heartbeat pounding in sync, every pulse of tsaheylu making it impossible to resist, impossible to think… only to feel, only to melt into the heat, the possession, the intimacy of him.
𝜗ৎ tags/tw: miscarriage, fertility issues, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, not proofread
ও˖ ࣪⊹ pairing: jason todd x f!reader
𝜗ৎ a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for well over a year, it was technically the first fic I ever wrote but I never posted it. anyways, I've been battling whether I should post it or not, and I decided to. if you're going or went through something like this, just know you're not alone<3
When you met Jason Todd, he swore up and down that he'd never ever have kids. Or get into a serious relationship for that matter, he was far too broken, too hollow to ever give someone what they needed from a partner. At the time, you weren't interested in a relationship either, after dealing with your cheating ex you were pretty done for awhile.
However, time and feelings are a funny thing. Through your mutual friends, you both inevitably kept hanging out, and a friendship formed not long after. You were quick to forget your "no feelings" era, because the way your heart did happy laps every time it saw Jason's smile was concerning. His feelings for you came very much in the same way. Unannounced, agressive and strong, like a bullet being shot.
He didn't have a usual job, much less a usual life, it was not everyday that you got killed and then revived, it also wasn't everyday that you tried to kill your father after coming back. His trauma was a long deep running river that threatened to overflow the tide next to it, but.. With you it was so worth it. You were well and truly, perfect. It made him feel crazy, what sort of spell had you made to get him wrapped around your finger so tightly? He got giddy just hearing your name for heaven's sake! He was a scary vigilante, he wasn't supposed to act like a lovesick puppy.
Despite feeling strongly for eachother, you two battled off your feelings like they were the plague, while everyone but yourselves could see you were totally head over heels. To no one's surprise, you two eventually came around and got together after a few months of pointless fighting against something that was far too deep.
It had been six years from then. Three years married, three dating, and the only reason that Jason didn't propose to you sooner was the fact that he went through a lot of therapy and did a lot of inner work to become the man you deserved, because for you, he was willing to fight the scariest demons his mind posessed.
Now, you were ready to start your little family. One of the things that always worried you was his insistence on the fact that he'd be an awful dad, therefore he would never have kids. But what you didn't know was that as soon as Jason came to terms with the fact that he loved you all those years ago, and that you some miraculous way loved him back, all he could think about was how much he wanted to marry you, and how much he wanted to make you the prettiest mother in the world.
What none of you ever accounted for was the fertility issues. You had been trying for a few months when you started to worry, and there was nothing on this planet that Jason hated more than seeing your devastated face anytime your period came once again, so he always soothed you, whispering "There is nothing wrong with you, love. You're just stressed, we'll have our family one day, yeah? I love you.", while you sobbed into his arms at night.
There was, however something wrong with you indeed. After all the missed attempts you went to the hospital, and the doctors told you what you dreaded to hear. Fertility issues. Low chance of pregnancy. Any pregnancy will be of high risk. That day, you cried so hard you almost blacked out, it was a wonder how all the water from your body didn't get drained. And even then, Jason held you through it all, physically and mentally, because you were sure that if not for him, you wouldn't have persisted for so long. You thanked all that was holy for your husband, because not once did that man utter anything less of loving and supportive words in you ear. Never did he plant a kiss on your skin that was not utterly filled with love and adoration. In your head, you were broken, but to him? Oh God, to him you were the most perfect being on this Earth and he would not let you crumble.
When your period took too long to arrive three months ago, you didn't dare to hope. Honestly, you didn't even want to take a pregnancy test, after all, there had been times where the same happened and you ended up curled in bed crying. But, like always Jason gently encouraged you, and after one, two, three, four positive pregnancy tests, you were overjoyed. It couldn't be wrong this time, and it also couldn't be more perfect. Jason hugged you like his life depended on it and once again, his presence, his touch, it all kept you grounded, it kept you intact under the sea of emotions you were feeling.
The next day he arranged an appointment for you. After going to the doctor's and hearing that you were one month pregnant already, and that so far you and the baby were healthy, you felt like your life couldn't get better. Jason immediately stepped down from being a vigilante, he wanted to be there for every step of his baby's life, and he also would never forgive himself if he ever ended up leaving you two, so he wouldn't risk his life. He got a normal job at Wayne Enterprises, curtsy of Bruce Wayne who had spent the last few years becoming the father Jason needed (he was also overjoyed about becoming a grandfather soon).
Finally everything felt like it was right. You and your husband had a fairly normal life, you were going to start a family, the baby was healthy, the nursery was being made, you had plushies for the baby already, you-
Everything crashed down on what seemed like a normal sunday. It was a beautiful day outside, and you had stayed home, having a very high risk pregnancy and all. You had done nothing more than sleep and talk to your baby, you two even listened to music together (someone had to pass down their superior music taste). That was until you went to the bathroom after lunch. You felt a weird faint pain but didn't think much of it, that was until you looked down and the metalic scent of blood invaded your nose.
At first you couldn't believe it. Surely you were having a nightmare, because this could not be happening. You were frozen on the toilet, barely breathing as you looked at the blood, the very real blood that signalled that your baby wasn't okay. It was too much, and you couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't cry, it was all blood blood blood blood...
Jason arrived home from work a few hours later. Hours? Minutes? You didn't know anymore. All you knew was the blood. The blood and the fact that you remained on the same spot, unmoving, completely shattered. He called for you but you didn't answer. It didn't take him long to find you, and when he did he immediately understood.
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry." Was what you were able to make out, a heavy low murmur that ricocheted on the walls, embracing you and trying to keep you there. In a second he was kneeling in front of you, cradling you in his arms, kissing your head, talking about hospitals, and what could you do if not let him take care of you? Almost mechanically you got out of the bathroom and got ready to go to the hospital.
On the ride there he held you hand. He held you when the doctor told you that you had miscarried. And most importantly, he kept you grounded when the shock finally wore off and you weeped on the hospital corridor. You kept asking "Why?" over and over again and he comforted you, tried his best to give you the peace he barely had in himself, because for you, he'd carve out pieces of his soul if it meant you'd feel the slightest bit better.
When he told his family they were devastated, and in an attempt to make you feel better, the two of you were invited to dinner two weeks after. Jason assured you that if you didn't feel well enough to go, no one would hold it against you, but you wanted to be away from your apartment for awhile. The nursery was left untouched and you spent too much time in there, like somehow looking at the stuffed animals would make you wake up from this nightmare.
The dinner was going well, everyone tried their best not to mention anything, no one had so say anything when the silent hugs you received said more than what spoken words managed to say. You could see why your therapist told you to socialise, it was really helping to keep your mind off everything that happened.
At some point, Bruce turned to you and gave you a kind smile. "How are you feeling?" You gave him a tired smile and shrugged, but you could see in his eyes that he was also mourning. Everyone was. And suddenly the damn burst once again, and you were repeating 'I'm sorry' over and over again, Jason tried to soothe you and gently guided you to his childhood bedroom.
You didn't even know who you were apologising to anymore. To Jason? To his family? To everyone for ruining dinner? To yourself and to the baby you lost? No one blamed you, but no one was needed for that when your mind existed. Jason held you for what felt like hours, whispering about how none of this was your fault and that everything would be fine. It seemed hard to think it would, but... No matter how hard this was you knew that he'd be there to make everything okay once again.
You would get through this together, like you always did.
Can I ask you about Light and L (separated) when their girlfriend falls asleep next to them with her head on their shoulder while they are at the computer?
Death Note ~Did you just fall asleep?~
Manga/anime: Death Note
Warnings: nothing
(Y/N): your name
After a busy day spent between university classes and intense studying, Light was still at his computer taking notes on the next criminals to write in his Death Note. His girlfriend (Y/N) was reading, sitting in the chair next to him.
About an hour had passed since he had started his research, and it was now late at night, but the boy didn't give up on his goal, to take note of at least thirty people to execute. At a certain point, though, he heard his shinigami, Ryuk, chuckle while at the same time he also felt a weight suddenly fall on his shoulder: (Y/N) had fallen asleep, and her head had slipped against him, looking for something to lean on.
Light was sure his heart skipped a beat when he saw his beloved's beautiful face, as he mentally traced all her face's features, from the curve of her mouth, which he loved to kiss, to her closed eyelids, and silently promised himself to make her the goddess of the world he would create and become the god of.
However, he soon began to notice how her chair, which was on wheels, was moving away from him and his girlfriend would fall to the ground, hitting her head, if he didn't do something, so his body reacted before his mind could process and decide how to act: his arms quickly wrapped around her waist, pulling her to sit on his lap, her head still resting on his shoulder. (Y/N) groaned in annoyance at the change in position and shifted a little, and Light feared she might wake up, but then he breathed a small sigh of relief when she calmed and stopped moving. Nevertheless, a light dusting of red immediately spread across his face (that made Ryuk laugh a lot, so he earned a dirty look from Light) as soon as she moved, clinging to him with her arms wrapped against his torso and her head in the crook of his neck.
After recovering from the insanely rapid beating of his heart, the boy squeezed his girlfriend gently to keep her from falling, and then went back to typing furiously on his computer keyboard to distract himself from thinking about the beautiful girl sleeping against him.
"Oh? What will your fans think if they know you're a softy for your girlfriend?"
"Shut up, Ryuk."
It was the dead of night in Japan.
All was quiet except for a medium-sized room in a Tokyo hotel, where the sound of a computer keyboard being pressed could be heard and a faint light coming from it through the window could be seen: L was still working.
"L?" The man was interrupted in his research on the Kira case by the voice he had grown to love, that of his girlfriend (Y/N).
"(Y/N)? What are you doing awake? You should be sleeping: you know, men should sleep about a third of the day, that's eight hours."
"But that means you also need eight hours of sleep... You've been there for hours, and it's the middle of the night; are you coming to bed with me? I can't sleep without you..."
"I'll be there in a few minutes, I'll finish my research."
"Then I'll stay here with you." After saying that, the woman grabbed a small armchair next to their bed and quietly dragged it to her boyfriend, and she curled up on it, absentmindedly looking at the computer screen with data she was too tired to read and commit to deciphering on it.
The rhythmic and regular noise of the keyboard and the presence of her boyfriend lulled (Y/N) into a deep sleep, so much her body slumped in the armchair and her head lolled a little until it rested on L's shoulder. And he, the greatest detective, the most analytical person in the world, who was literally never surprised, gasped and froze.
"Did you fall asleep?" Hearing no response, he turned his head a little, just enough to see her face, and he then blushed for the first time in his life: (Y/N) was what he could describe as the closest thing to an angel.
The man had to admit it wasn't a rational thought but, when he was with her, he always felt like all his rationality was canceled out and he was incapable of formulating a coherent thought. Was that the feeling of true love?
L was diverted from his thoughts by a warmth on his hand, which had unconsciously moved towards hers and squeezed it gently, and so he decided he had worked enough for that day: he rose from his crouch and, gently taking (Y/N) as a bride, he carried her to their bed, lying down next to her and falling asleep shortly after having taken one last sweet look at the gorgeous woman at his side.
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Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), light fluff, mutual pining, light angst, love confession, smut (handjob, fingering, p in v sex), Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.
Summary/Warnings: The Mark reaches a breaking point. Usual Warnings, little angst, lotta smut.
Author's Note: I am of the firm belief Rowena would’ve said cunt religiously if the CW wasn’t full of a bunch of pussies.
Chapter title from Video Games by Lana Del Ray
Word Count: 8.7k
Read on A03!
Chapter 5
Dean can breathe. Not easily, but he can. He can feel the weight of something airy and thin wrapped around him, stuck to his skin and far too heavy. There’s a hand on his brow, and it’s not the right one. Dean’s not sure what the right one would even be, but he knows it’s not this one. This one feels a little wrinkled, and the nails are too long, and it doesn’t satiate the betterlust. It’s just there, pressed to his skin like it’s looking for something and not all too pleased with what it finds.
The longer it’s there, the more the betterlust pounds and stabs and scrapes at him. Rots his guts and carves open his skull and rips through his chest. It’s searching for something that’s not there, and Dean’s head is too clouded with pain and ache and sickness to figure out where he should even be looking. Not in the hand. Not in the thing around him like a shroud–hot and clinging to him like a plague—but maybe somewhere close. Because wherever Dean is—he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have enough of a brain to guess right now—it’s unfamiliar, but feels right. He’s lying on something soft, and it smells good, and when his fingers flex, they’re tracing over an impression left on the area next to him. An indent left on the space by something that could curve and press into Dean exactly like he wants. Craves. Needs.
The betterlust starts to flare and bellow, almost drowning out the low voices around him, and Dean knows he might die if he doesn’t find what fits into that impression and take it.
“How long has he been like this?”
“I’m not sure, a few hours?”
“Well can you try to be sure, Samuel?”
“I got here the same time you did, how am I supposed to be sure-“
“Ask our resident Dean Expert, the poor girl has been stuck with him all week-“
“No, I’m not going to make her do more. And, uh,” there’s a long sigh, and Dean still isn’t really sure what’s going on, or who these people are, or why they’re talking about him. “I don’t think it’s safe for her right now. To be around him. He said he didn’t want her-“
“He obviously lied, you idiotic boy-“
“He didn’t want her to know, Rowena. And it’s not my place to tell her-“
“She’s a big girl, she’ll survive a little bit of emotions.”
“He’d, he’d fucking kill me-“
“And he will kill himself if he does not accept what he needs! It’s quite honestly a miracle he was a stubborn enough arse to resist the Mark’s demands this long.”
Dean’s really fucking confused. There are two voices, one that sounds a little like his and one that very much doesn’t, and they’re both talking about him like he’s important. He doesn’t feel important. He mostly just feels tired, and bad, and sick. Sweaty and hungry and desperate for something he can’t name, but they say he needs to name or he’ll die, and he doesn’t even really know what names are right now-
“If I tell her, this becomes her responsibility-“
“Well, Dearie, I wasn’t aware you were stupid and blind-“
“Hey-“
“You cannot look me in the eyes and say that she would not welcome the responsibility, boy. She is so pathetically obsessed with him it makes me feel ill.”
Dean felt his mouth try to frown—he can’t figure out how to move, so it more of a twisted grimace—as he racked his mush of a brain to figure out who they could possibly be referring to. He couldn’t remember names, but he could remember presences. Remember that the voice like his was good, and he was supposed to protect it. The voice that wasn’t like his was bad, and kind of a bitch, but helpful when they ran out of options. There wasn’t a third voice, but there was a smell that he really liked. Loved. Craved. Needed-
That was the imprint. And it wasn’t here right now, but the betterlust and already spiraling around it and constricting his lungs as he tried to find it. He needed it, and it didn’t need him, and he was going to die-
“I know,” the familiar voice sighed. “Believe me, I know, but I can’t ask that of her-“
“She’ll shred your sorry arse apart if you don’t-“
“And Dean will put a bullet through my brain if I do!”
“He will die before he gets the chance. Have I not made it clear that, unless Dean receives the help our lovely, pretty, lovesick-“
Then the voice that wasn’t like Dean’s said a name, and the betterlust exploded inside him. He knew that name. He’d die and kill and cut himself to pieces for that name. He wanted it. He couldn’t have it. He needed it, more than he needs air or water or food or music. The betterlust demanded it, and was shredding apart his insides because he refused to take it, but was also lending him the strength to find it. To find Her. Dean needed to fucking find Her, or nothing would ever be good again-
His eyes fly open, and for a long movement everything is only a blinding blur of color. There’s noise around him—both voices shouting words that sound like they’re for him but he can’t understand—and Dean’s brain kicks into a vigilant, borderline feral function as he hauls himself up, something pushes him back down, and the betterlust grew feral.
“Rowena, grab the other arm-“
“I am not meant for brute labor, Samuel-“
“Are you fucking kidding me-“
Dean roars Her name clawing and grabbing at the air to try and go, try to get to Her, because he was going to fucking die, and the betterlust told him She could fix this, make this better, make Dean better-
“Oh for- Fine.”
The voice not like Dean’s says something he can’t understand, his whole body tightens. Like a weight has been dropped on his chest, and ropes have been wrapped around his limbs, forcing him to collapse back onto the bed with a noise that might have been a whine.
“Dean.” Rowena appears in his vision, her face drawn in annoyance. “Blink twice if you understand me.”
Dean scowls, but blinked twice.
“Good. Are you going to try and kill us again?”
Dean glowers at Rowena, keeping his eyes wide open in a gesture of no, and she sighs.
“Good boy. I’ll let you up, but if you ever try and grab my hair again, I’ll make you regret having hands, aye?”
The tension vanishes from Dean’s body, and he sits up slowly, pinch the bridge of his nose to try and curb the pounding ache behind his eyes, taking deep, mechanical breathes to get some fucking control over his body. Over the betterlust. Over himself.
“Dean, are you feeling okay?“
Sam looks worried. He’s frowning and scanning over Dean with concern, like there will be wound on his skin they can patch up to fix this.
But only one thing can fix this. And Dean still isn’t strong enough to not know where She is, not when all he can remember is dragging himself to Her room, and hearing her voice, and seeing her pretty face before it all went dark.
Dean mutters Her name, his voice low and gruff, and Sam and Rowena freeze. “Where is she.”
“She’s eating.” Sam mutters, bracing his hands on his hips. “I told her to get some rest. You freaked her out, dude, she-“ Sam shakes his head, giving Dean a look he doesn’t understand, and doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher. “She was really shaken, when we got back. She needs-“
“She needs you.” Rowena interrupts Sam, and he shoots her a venomous glare. “You’re too much of a meat-headed dolt to see it, but that darling girl looked as if she’d been devastated over you.”
“Rowena.” Sam hisses. “We agreed-“
“You agreed. I made no promises-“
Dean raises his hands—they both need to shut up, or his skin will fly off his body—and their argument stutters off.
“How bad is it.” He looks to Rowena, the moment alone an act of labor. “And don’t try to lie or sugarcoat it. How long I got.”
Rowena sighs. “If you insist on keeping your head up your own arse, a day. Maybe two.”
“But we’re going to try to reverse it.” Sam jumps in, his voice desperate. “And Rowena gave you something to keep you going-“
“But, as I told your brother,” Rowena’s words are harsh, and Dean appreciates it. This really isn’t the fucking time for dancing around anything. “It is a very temporary solution, and the reversal will take time you no longer have. There is an obvious fix to your little problem-“
Dean lets out a dry chuckled. “My problem? Last I checked, Rowena, you were the one who fucked this up-“
“I did not fuck anything up, you petulant man child-“
“Rowena-“
“No!” Rowena cuts off Sam with sharp words, holding Dean’s glare. “I did my job, Dean Winchester, but you are too much of an arrogant, brooding little cunt to do yours.”
Dean narrows his eyes. “Watch it, bitch-“
“I did not have to help you,” Rowena hisses. “But that poor, desperate, lovesick woman begged me to. You know exactly what you need, and you are too cruel and stupid to do it.”
Dean’s hands curl into fists on the sheets. “I said fucking watch it-“
“She’s right.” Sam mutters, and Dean’s gaze whips to him, his mouth falling open at Sam’s pitying, exhausted expression.
“I’m sorry, I must be going insane, because there’s no fucking way you just sided with Rowena-“
“I didn’t side with her.” Sam snaps, running a hand over his face as he shakes his head. “I’m just trying to get you to think for five seconds. I’m trying not to lose my brother because he can’t see what’s right in front of him-“
Dean scoffs. “There’s nothing in front of me, Sam. Rowena botched the spell, and now I can’t do anything but-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, a stab of pain twisting over his ribs, and Sam throws his hands in the air.
“For crying out loud, Dean, you’re dying because of this self-righteous, sacrificial bullshit you always pull! Rowena didn’t botch the spell, you’re just refusing to give the Mark what it wants, and until you do-“
“It doesn’t matter what I want!” Dean roars, slamming a hand down on the mattress. “Fuck, Sam, I’m not going to force myself onto her just because-“
“Because you think she’ll say no?” Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, you can’t be stupid enough to really believe that-“
Dean scowls. They don’t fucking get it. Sam and Rowena don’t know Her like Dean does. They don’t understand that She would say yes, but she wouldn’t really want it, and Dean would stain and mark Her in a way that they’d never come back from. She’d never smile at him the same, and he’d have to die alone in the dirt when she finally got the memo that he wasn’t worth helping. When She left him, her soul more tainted than when she’d found him. When his poison sunk into Her skin, and she would still be so pretty and amazing, but ruined and marred from Dean’s touch. From how weak and pathetic and toxic he was.
He couldn’t do that. He’d rather fucking die.
“Just drop it, Sammy.” Dean mutters, his gaze falling to that imprint of Her on the bed. Her bed. Dean was finally in Her bed, and he didn’t even get to enjoy it. “It’s not happening. And you’re not going to convince me, so either fix this, or let me die without goddamn yelling at me.”
There’s a moment of wired silence, Rowena silent in the corner of the room as Sam and Dean glare at each other, and Sam shakes his head like he can’t believe Dean’s nerve. Like Dean isn’t saving the only good thing they both have. Protecting the only person that’s stayed with them, that they both love, even if Dean’s love is made of undying, animalistic, grime and dirt covered devotion, and Sam’s is purer, softer affection that could never cut and scar Her like Dean’s.
“She was crying.” Sam finally says, his tone colder than Dean’s heard it in a long time. “When we got back, she was sobbing, Dean. Have you ever seen her cry? Ever?”
He hasn’t. Dean has seen Her grit her teeth and bite back sounds of agony from injuries, seen Her scream and flail when they’ve lost people, and seen Her so angry it scared him a little, but he’s never seen Her cry. She didn’t cry. Her eyes got glossy, and her voice grew tight and choked, but she didn’t cry. Sam has to be lying, and he doesn’t look or sound like he is, but he has to be. She doesn’t cry, so why the hell would that be the truth? But why would Sam lie, and why has She stayed this long, and fuck, everything hurts and Dean’s too damn tired to figure out what the hell Sam is trying to tell him but the betterlust is scratching at his heart to know-
“Sam,” Dean swallows, watching his brother carefully. “I-“
There’s a knock at the door, and everything in Dean flies to the sound. It’s Her. Before Sam’s hand is even on the doorknob, Dean somehow knows it’s Her. Here. Maybe for him, maybe not, but the betterlust doesn’t seem to care because it’s Her-
She looks horrible. Still so fucking pretty, but horrible. There’s a slump to Her posture as she stands in the door—hair tangled and shirt wrinkled—and Her gorgeous face is slightly puffed. Her lips pouting. Her eyes lined with red.
Like She’s been crying.
Sam says Her name in question, and when She speaks her voice is hoarse.
“Look, I know you to told me to rest, but-“ Her mouth falls open as her eyes land on Dean, and Her sharp inhale feels like it shoots adrenaline right into his blood.
He tries to offer Her a winning, I’d be happy to see me too smile, but it doesn’t feel right on his face. It feels too vulnerable, where it’s always been like a shield. It feels like it’s a lie, or trick, or act of cruelty when Dean’s rarely met a woman who doesn’t flush and giggle under that attention. It’s supposed to make him feel good from their happy, hopeful eyes. It’s supposed to make them feel good from Dean’s well-crafted, carefully wielded charm.
But right now he still just feels like shit. Bottom of the gutter, horrible, flea-ridden and matted shit. A fucking piece of shit that might have made Her cry, and isn’t even smart enough to know why.
He tries again, making the smile wider, adding his most casual drawl. “Hey, Sweetheart-“
She makes a strangled sound—loud and pained, making the betterlust start to snap at Dean’s brittle spine—and all but runs to the bed, almost falling to Dean’s side as Her hands begin to grab at his face and run over his skin. Angling him for Her to examine with frantic eyes and words, igniting little paths of insatiable fire wherever She touches.
“Are you okay?!” She turns his head to the side, her fingers tracing his jaw and cheek like boils or scars might have just appeared. “Your fever is gone,” the back of Her hand presses to his brow, flipping to touch it with Her palm. “But shit, you’re covered in sweat-“ Her glare whips around to Sam, Her grip still tight on Dean’s face. He doesn’t really mind. The betterlust is still trying to climb out of his throat, but he can fight it—for Her—and this can be enough. It’s all he’ll get before he’s gone anyway. Her touch, and loud almost furious shout at Sam. “Why didn’t you change the sheets like I told you to-“
“He was dead weight,” Sam says Her name, his voice a hell of a lot kinder than when he’d been talking to Dean. “And you also told us to make sure he got some rest. Rowena said the fever broke, and he’s lucid again-“
“But this is gross Sam, and you could’ve moved him if you tried-“
“Moved him where? He started freaking whimpering when we took away your comforter-“
Dean scowls. “Can you guys stop talkin’ about me like I’m not right fucking here-“
Her gaze turns back to Dean, the odd, aggressively mind-numbing panic and care returning to her eyes as she begins to examine him once more.
“You seem better, but you’re redder than you should be, and, shit, was that scar always there-“
Her finger’s trial over Dean’s chin, dangerously close to his mouth, and he has to bite down a groan as he says Her name. “That’s been there at least a decade-“
“What about this one-“
“Three years, you were there when I got it-“
“Fuck, you’re right.” She shakes her head, Her eyes suddenly boaring into Dean’s and settling warmth in his gut. “Well, are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt, or feel sick, or feel numb-“
“Sweetheart.” He catches Her hand, and she falls silent with wide eyes. “I’m-“
“And,” She moves his gaze onto Her’s, and fuck She’s always so pretty. Even when She’s pissed at him. Especially when She’s pissed at him. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Winchester, I’ll stab you-“
He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, but maybe the realest sound he’s made since he woke up. “I don’t doubt that, Sweetheart.” He drawls, and she lets his guide Her hands away from his face. “But I promise, I’m feelin’ better.”
She nods slowly, and Dean pretends he can’t see Sam’s eye roll in the background.
“Oh. Okay.” She turns at Sam and Rowena, her voice slightly unsteady and weak. “Have you, um, have you both been in here? The whole time I was eating?”
Sam nods. “Yeah.”
“Oh.” She swallows, and Dean notices Her body go slightly rigid. Sam must notice too, because he tilts his head and frowns at her.
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah, sorry, it’s just…” She trails off, staring at her nails as her voice drop to a mumble. “There’s a lot of people in here. Makes me nervous.”
“Shit, sorry.” Sam says Her name, his voice apologetic. “Didn’t know that. We can go, if you want.”
There’s a long moment where She’s just staring at Sam, Her mouth slightly open, and her body curled in on itself like she’d been punched. Sam repeats Her name, his voice cautious, and when She snaps out of it, her voice is still soft and anxious.
“That would be good.” She whispers. “Thank you.”
Sam nods. “No problem. Me and Rowena,” he shoots the witch a glare, and she rolls her eyes. “Are gonna go try to fix this. Text me if you need anything, either of you.”
She hums an acknowledgment, Her attention never leaving Dean as Sam and Rowena close the door, and Dean’s whole existence begins to curve into only the feeling of Her as her fingers trace over the back of his hand.
After a long moment of silence—only the sound of Dean’s heart in his ears and the shifting of blankets under their bodies—she swallows, her voice barely a breath. “They can’t fix it, can they.”
He blinks at Her. “They’re gonna get it-“
“Don’t lie to me, Dean.” She gives him a soft smile that makes her look like she’s already grieving, and something in him lights up and withers away in the same second. “Please.”
He swallows. He is really tired of lying to Her. And he can say something closer to the truth and still hold his ground. He’s not quite that weak. Not yet.
“It’ll be close.” He grunts. “But I’ve survived worse. I just gotta pull through-“
“You don’t, though.” She whispers. “Rowena said you just have to-“
“Rowena can eat me.” Dean mutters, glaring at the door. “I’m not doin’ whatever the hell the Mark tells me to, that was the fucking point of this.”
“The point was to help you, Dean.” She sounds so freaking sad, and it’s pulling Dean apart. His will and mind all being reduced to Her. Too good and pretty to be sad. And it’s just Dean. She shouldn’t be this sad over only Dean.
“Sweetheart-“
“I don’t,” She swallows, speaking over Dean with quiet, soft words. “I don’t know why you’re being such an ass, Dean. Why can’t you just do what the betterlust wants? Isn’t it what you want-“
“It is.” Dean has to push the words through his teeth, because She so close and it’s not close enough and everything fucking hurts. “But I can’t have it, so we’re dead in the water. But Sammy and Rowena-“
“Dean.”
He can’t look Her in the eyes. Her voice is so gentle and nervous, and he’s not strong enough to look Her in the eyes and see all that worry and pity in them. He can barely even grunt an acknowledgment for her to continue.
“What do you want?”
“I’m not gonna-“
“Is it me?” She whispers, and Dean’s eyes shoot to Her’s. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but stare at Her and try not to die as he realizes this is it. This is how he loses Her. Forever. This is the last time he gets to look at Her and bask in her beauty and kindness, the last time he gets to drown in the smell of cherries and feel a little more alive under Her touch.
But She doesn’t look afraid, or disgusted. She just looks urgent. Desperate. As confused and hopelessly hopeful as Dean feels.
And he can’t speak, or think, or do anything but stare at Her as she speaks again.
“Dean, do you,” She takes a shaking breath, and Dean needs to touch Her. “Do you love me?”
——————
He’s not saying anything. Dean’s looking at you like you’ve shot him right through his heart, ripped it out, and taken a bite. Gaping like he’s trying to ask you for it back but can’t find the breath to, blinking like he’s trying to test if you’re really there. He reaches a hand up to run over his own face, reaches out to touch you—trace broad, calloused fingers over your cheekbones and jaw, over your chin like he’s wiping something you can’t see away—and jerks back suddenly, like you’d hurt him. Burned him. Branded him.
He’s branded you. You’re never going to forget his voice in your head, sounding like he’s overdosed on something awful, and doesn’t think he’ll come back down. Like he’s trying to cleanse himself of something by whispering words that will either haunt you past the grave or feed you for the rest of your life. Your heart will never forget the way it stopped for only a second before kicking into a pace that was all too fast when Dean’s eyes closed, and your hands will always remember the cold fever of his skin.
“Dean.” You have to make your voice strong. Steady, like you’re demanding something from him and not praying to him. “Please-“
“Why-“ His voice is hoarse, almost strangled, and it makes your every muscle feel a little weaker. “Why would you ask that.”
“I’m, I can’t tell you, just please answer me-“
“Did Sam tell you-“
“Sam?” You frown, shaking your head slightly. “No, I just, this has nothing to do with Sam-“
“Then why the hell are you-“
“What would Sam have told me?”
Dean falls silent, opening and closing his mouth as he goes red, his eyes looking almost feral. He looks like a cornered animal, something starved and needy, unsure if it should bite the hand reaching for it or grab it and never let go.
You want to hold him and never let go. You want him to grab your hand, and hold it, and never think to drop it again. You want to hear him say those words again, and have his voice be certain. You want to touch him, no matter if he’s like this or breaking or furious or—in those rare, priceless moments—happy. And you need to know. Dean’s never owed you anything, and he never will, but if there’s only one thing that he can offer you in universe, it would be really nice if it was this. If Dean ever gives you anything, please, dear God, let it be this.
“Dean,” you whisper, moving your hand to his knee and holding his almost fearful, rabid gaze. “Please answer me. Tell me what Sam-“
“He,” Dean swallows, voice gruff. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything. He fucking swore he’d never-“
“He didn’t.” You repeat, unsure if he’s even understanding the words out of your mouth. “All I’ve talked to Sam about is the spell. But why-“
“Rowena.” He mutters, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Rowena must’ve open her bitch mouth-“
“I haven’t really talked to Rowena at all-“
“Must’ve been some fucking spell-“
“Dean!” You scream, your nails digging into his leg like you can hold him with you forever. “It was you! You told me you loved me! You had a fever and you told me you loved me, you said my name, and I just,” Your voice cracks, desperation starting to break through your blood, out of your mouth in spit. “I need to know, please, you need to tell me if you meant it-“
“Sweetheart-“
“Please.” You refuse to look him in the eyes. The moment you look in Dean’s deep, pretty eyes you’ll know what he’s thinking, and you’ll lose him forever. Everything in you is screaming to know, but you’re still not able to just look into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, please tell me.”
“Why.”
For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. The question startles you enough to make you look up, and the moment you see him something snaps inside of you. He looks wounded. Nervous. Almost as afraid of you—of your words, and what they might be capable of doing to him if you use them wrong—as you are of him.
“Why would you need to know.” He rasps, staring at his own hands. Flexing in his lap, seemingly against his will. “You’re not- It’s not somethin’ you’re-“ He looks up to you, his eyes almost pleading. “Why would you give a shit about-“
“About you?”
Dean’s throat bobs, his nod short, and you summon more bravery than you’ve ever been capable of before. Enough to reach out, over the space between your bodies that so small—but still feels like miles—and place your hand on his cheek. Keeping his gaze on yours.
“I always care about you. I-” You take a shaking breath, the last words falling off your tongue. “I love you.”
Dean’s hand shoots up to cover yours. To hold you against him, with a grip that tells you he might be trying to sear his skin into yours.
“You-“ His voice is so soft. His hand over yours is like iron, but everything else about him seems to be dreamlike. Hazy and uncertain, both of you watching each other like you’re sure the other will vanish if you look away. “You love me?”
“Yeah,” you try to smile at him, and it’s not charismatic. It’s pleading and tragic and so fucking delicate. “I do. I mean, I have. For a while.”
“How-“
“Four years.“
He blinks at you. “No, I, I meant-“ He swallows, shaking his head. “I meant how. How did that happen.”
It’s your turn to frown at him. “How did that happen?”
“You shouldn’t love me.” He mutters, his hand over yours flexing. Like he’s trying to pull it away but doesn’t know how. “It’ll get you hurt.”
You raise your brows slightly, running your thumb over his cheek. “Are you going to hurt me?”
Dean’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I-“
“Are you?”
“Of course not, I’d never-“
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter why-“
“It does.” You whisper, folding your legs under you to rise on your knees, dropping your brow to his. Holding his gaze the whole time. “It matters to me, Dean.“
He makes a choked sound, but doesn’t move away. “Why?”
“Because I love you.” You whisper. “And it would be really cool if you loved me.”
Dean’s only staring at you, his eyes flicking between your own, slightly blurred gaze that can still see him so well, and your lips.
“And it happened,” you push on, your voice growing a little weak when he still doesn’t respond. “Because it’s really easy to love you, Dean Winchester. You’re a good man.” You offer him a smile, and his own mouth falls open just a little. “And even if you don’t love me, I wouldn’t have you any other-“
Something in Dean’s eyes flickers, and he moves before you’re sure what’s happening. Yanking you into his lap with his hand—fingers now tangled in yours—catching you with an arm around your waist, and kissing you.
Kissing you. Dean’s kissing you.
Your body sparks into action—even as your brain becomes fogged with a hazy, Dean-shaped lust—and you fist a hand into his shirt, pulling him as close as the world will allow. He’s holding you so carefully, leaning down in a slight dip, and there could be a storm raging around you instead of the soft, romantic rain this feels like it belongs to, but you wouldn’t know. Because this is a kiss people wage wars over.
It’s louder than music in your ears and electric in your blood, but sparks isn’t a strong enough word. It’s like lightning. Shooting through your spine and lighting up every nerve in your body to Dean. Soft lips molding perfectly into yours, warm and calloused hands skillfully mapping over your skin, a groan down your throat that you can feel settle in your lower gut and start a wildfire. You’ve been hungry and you’ve never dared to eat, but Dean is here now and you’ll either be starved for the rest of your life or never want for anything again.
When Dean tries to pull away, you just follow him. Chase after his lips with yours, trying to get just a little more before this all comes tumbling down. Before the thought can even dare to cross Dean’s mind—that he’s not good for you, and he should go—because this is all you’ve ever wanted and you’ll be damned if you don’t cling to it for as long as he’ll allow. You’ll fall all the way down, until your body is only supported by Dean below you, and you’ll forsake oxygen until your body demands it. Maybe a little while after, too.
And Dean doesn’t seem to care to let you go. Every time he tries to pull back it’s a jerked movement, and every time you collide again he grows more and more feral. His groans turn into deep, animalistic growls, and his touch on your skin becomes rough. Not painful, never painful, but urgent. Uncontrolled. Pulling at your skin like he’s trying to meld it into his, kissing you with bruising force, bucking up into you with his hard cock brushing your inner thighs.
You grind down onto him once—when he hits closer to where you’re beginning to ache for him, and your own need grows stronger than you’re desire to let Dean control this—and he bites you. Dean catches your lip between his teeth, sucks in into his mouth, and grins like he’s won a prize when you whine a plea of his name.
“Holy shit,” he mutters your name, pressing his brow to yours as you both catch your breath, grabbing your waist to stop the next roll of your hips. “I’m not- I can’t do this to you-“
“You’re not doing anything to me,” you whisper. “I love you. I want this.”
Dean catches your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and staring at the movement, his voice so low you almost don’t hear it. “Say you’re lying.”
You blink at him, and shake your head. “No.”
His eyes flash, shooting back to yours as he grunts your name. “You need to say you’re lyin’ right now, or I’ll-“
“You’ll what?” You lower your face back down, until you’re sharing Dean’s every breath. “Fuck me? Actually say you want me?”
His throat bobs, voice rough with lust. “You, I can’t fucking control it, sweetheart, if you’re fuckin’ with me you need to take it back now-“
“Dean.” You grab his face between your hand, forcing his darkened gaze back to yours. “Answer my fucking question.”
He shakes his head weakly. “You don’t-“
“I love you.” You hiss. You need to make sure he feels it, in the slightly spit on his face, that still tastes a little like him because it’s pushed through lips that are swollen from Dean, and Dean alone. You glide a hand down his chest, the kiss apparently fueling something bold inside you that hadn’t been there before. Your fingers trace down, over his abdomen—hardened from work but still soft in all the best places—and Dean takes in a sharp breath, his hands on your hips tightening enough to leave a mark, and you lean back. Just enough to open space between your bodies, just enough for you to palm him through his sweatpants.
He’s huge, and twitching under your careful, light fingers, and God, you need him inside of you in any fucking way—between your hands or filling your mouth or buried deep into your cunt—but Dean’s still just staring at you. His chest heaving, eyes so dark and wanting you might cum just from his attention, and nostrils flaring as you move your hand up, resting right over the hem of his pants.
“I love you, Dean,” you whisper, the rush of confidence barreling down as you wait for him to do anything. “And you need to tell me now that you don’t love me, or-“ you take a long breath, dragging up the last bit of your nerve. “You need to say you love me, and do something about it.”
Something shatters in Dean’s gaze for the last time, and whatever war he’s been waging with himself reaches a brutal end as he surges back up, kissing you with all spit and bloody need. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever dared to have on his tongue, and he might be trying to chew off a bit of you to keep.
He won’t need to. He has you. He’s had you for a while, and when he leans back to watch you with glazed, hungry eyes, his words seal some deep, fragile part of you to him forever.
“I love you,” Dean grunts your name, scanning over your face like he’s afraid the words will yank you from his hands. They won’t. “I need you. I gotta have you, but I’m- I’m not in control of it right now-“
“I can take it.” You push your hand into Dean’s sweats, taking his cock in your hand. He groans, eyelids fluttering, and when you run your thumb over the head of him—pressing into the weeping slit and squeezing just so lightly—he hisses your name like a prayer. “Please, Dean. I want it. Please.”
You pull down his pants with your free hand, taking his boxers with them, and start to slowly pump your hand up and down his impressive length. There will be bruising marks of Dean’s hands of your hips for a while, but you’ll survive. It’s worth it, to watch him unravel below you, to see Dean’s pretty eyes grow glazed with lust for you, feel his dick throb and hips jerk under your touch, hear his low growls and grunts as his jaw clenches and he doesn’t pull you away.
“God,” he moans your name, and you start to squirm above him, desperate for a bit of your own relief. “I wanna- Wanna taste you. Fuck you. Ruin you-“
“So do it,” you slip your other hand down—trusting Dean’s hold to keep you upright—and squeeze his balls. “You say you love me, Dean, but you haven’t proved it-“
The words do exactly what you’d wanted them to. Dean yanks your hand from around him, crashes his lips into yours with a fervor that might have been dangerous if it didn’t taste and sound and feel like Dean, and lets go.
His every movement is rough and uncontrolled, because his tether over every bit of will that had seemed to keep him restrained is gone, and in its wake is only the Mark. All its lust and fury and hunger, primal and focused on you. On taking what it wants.
And you’d give it to him, even if it left a few marks on your skin and bruising on your heart, but you realize that the Mark doesn’t seem to just want to use you. If it did, Dean wouldn’t be sucking on your neck and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while tracing big, warms hands around your body to palm your breasts. He wouldn’t allow you to grind onto him, or whimper his name, or scratch at his skin as he pulls you apart with barely anything at all. When he flips your over without any effort—only a low grunt and flex of his muscles—you feel like the most priceless bag of flour in the word. Perfect to be tossed around like that forever, but worth more to him—more the Mark—than just another body.
And you can’t see him anymore, but you don’t need to. You hear the sounds of him shuffling behind you, the muffled noise of his shirt being tossed onto the floor, and then his voice. Low and feral and saying your name in a way that makes your knees weak.
“Up.” He grunts, and you whine when he angles your hips up and pulls down your shorts, you already wet cunt being hit by the cold air. “So fuckin’ pretty, gonna ruin you, baby. You’re never gonna even think about a cock that’s not mine again-“
You nod a little stupidly, wiggling your ass back into him and moaning when his still-clothed erection presses right into you. “Fuck, Dean, please-“
He spanks your pussy—just once the stinging pleasure shooing up your spine—and you bury your face in the sheets to stifles your desperate moan.
“Need ya’ to listen.” He mutters. “You’re gonna have to talk to me, baby, lemme know what feels good, what you’re likin’, what you need more of-“
“You,” you gasp, and Dean chuckles, running a taunting finger between your folds. “God, I need you, Dean, need you so bad-“
“You need me?” He pushes the finger into your cunt, his body moving to covers yours as he whispers in your ear. “Need me to fuck this tight little pussy until you scream? Goddamn prove you how much I’ve wanted you, how much I’ve always wanted you-“
“Yes.” You nod frantically, grinding your ass up into him. “Show me, please show me-“
Dean moves your head to the side, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss, and hums in satisfaction when he crooks that finger right up against that deep, sensitive spot inside of you, and your hands start to claw at the sheets.
Then he’s gone. Without warning Dean draws back, yanks his finger out without warning, spanks your pussy again—chuckling at the high, needy sound that escapes your lips—and presses one hand to your lower back to still your writhing as he shuffles behind you
“Tell me whatcha want, baby.” He mutters, moving his hand to rub up and down your thigh. “And I’ll get it for ‘ya. But you have,“ He slaps your pussy one last time for emphasis, and you can only moan. “To say what you-“
“Your cock.” You whisper, spreading your legs wider for his to see. To look at your wet pussy—need dripping down to your knee—and take whatever the Mark is asking of him. “Want your cock Dean. Want you to fuck me, no holding back, please-“
He slams into you without warning. Burying himself at the hilt in one brutal movement, groaning above you as you go limp under him, trying only to twist and touch him, only to push back and somehow get him deeper. You feel so full, so fucking high on the stretch of Dean inside you, but it’s not enough-
“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.” Dean starts to massage your ass, with one hand, the other holding you up in the air for him to use. “Better than I dreamed, feel like heaven, gonna fuck you so good like you deserve-“
“Dean, fuck-” you clench around him, the praise feeding right into your cockdrunk daze of Dean, and he groans.
“Don’t do that,” he grunts your name, and it sounds like an order. “I ain’t gonna last if you-“ He moans as you squeeze around his massive cock again, and pulls all the way out before slamming back into you with a growl.
Your mouth falls open, a sound like a mewl escaping your mouth, and Dean starts to fuck you. Really, properly fuck you into the mattress, with low groans and an unforgiving pace, bumping your cervix and snaking a hand around your stomach to pull you up to his chest, rubbing your clit until you’re wrecked and seeing stars, thrusting up into you like a jackhammer and keeping you so blissfully pleasured and warm.
“So fuckin’ good,” he growls your name in your ear, and you squeak. “Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ well, all warm and tight, made for me. You were fuckin’ made for me-“
Dean’s thumb and fore finger roll your clit in a tight circle, and you cum with a scream. Light and color lining your vision, the far-off sound of Dean’s filthy praise making your orgasm ride out and out and out until you’re sure you’ve reached something like heaven. Your vision is still blurred when the satisfaction has washed fully through you, and you realize Dean’s stopped moving.
His hand tangles in your hair, angling your face back for him to see, and fuck he’s so handsome. Breathing heavy in your ear, lips puffed from sucking and kiss your skin, eyes glazed but still focused on you.
You must look like an idiot. Your expression is slack and needy, your eyes glazed a lips parted, but Dean looks at you like you’re a diamond and his cock twitches inside you as your eyes meet.
“Shit, baby,” he mutters. “You gotta say somethin’-“
“That-“ You let out another moan, your pussy still fluttering around him. “Good.”
He chuckles, kiss the very corner of your mouth with a smirk. “You got full words, Sweetheart?”
You swallow, the full feeling of Dean—throbbing inside you, still rock hard, pushing against that heavenly spot but with just too little pressure to send you over once more—crashing into you, and you say the only thing you can think of.
“Keep going?”
He stares at you for a second, then shakes his head. “No, I- I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself-“
“Want you to use me.” You’re practically whining, and you’d be more embarrassed if the words didn’t make Dean jerk up into you. “Please-“
He groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m not- you’re-“
“I said don’t hold back.” You whisper, rolling your hips against him and feeling pride glow in your chest at his moan. “Fuck me, Dean. I’m yours.”
And there it is again. You say the exact right thing, the thing you knew would work, and Dean gives in. He shoves you down, flips you onto your back—pulling out for only a second as he adjusts you under him—and starts to fuck you like an animal. Rutting into you at a near inhuman speed, hitting your cervix with every thrust, every word a low growl that coils release tighter and tighter in your lower gut.
“So fuckin’ greedy,” he grunts, slamming a little rougher. “Wantin’ more, begging me to fuck you, so fucking pretty comin’ apart on my cock, tell me how good it feels, baby-“
“Good,” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as the bed creaks around you, your whole body overwhelmed with pleasure. “Feel so full, Dean, feels so good, you’re so fucking big-“
He groans, and you start to babble. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, because every word feels like it’s spilling from your mouth. But every inch of your brain trapped in Dean’s skin slapping against yours, his muscles flexing around you, the low and primal sounds rumbling out of his chest as his movements grow sloppy and his cock starts to throb inside of you, and you couldn’t think about anything else if you tried.
“You feel so good, Dean, please don’t stop, want you to cum, I-“ You gasp as he starts to kill up your neck, your hands shooting into his hair. “Fuck, Dean, please, so good, God, I love you-“
His mouth slams into yours, and your orgasm rushes through you like a tidal wave. Longer and powerful, leaving you so fucked out you can only whine under Dean’s body, toes curling and eyes rolling back in your head as your pussy flutters around him.
Dean pulls out, keeping one hand gently on your knee as he pumps himself with an almost blurring fist, and cums over your abdomen and thighs. It’s hot and sticky, and part of you wishes you’d had enough of a brain to ask him to let you taste it, but you’re so completely spent that when Dean collapses over you—a heavy, comfortable weight you’re more than happy to be trapped beneath—your brain wipes every other thought but Dean away, and you decide to just stay here. Where Dean’s face in buried in your neck, and your sore from all of it but there will never be a better pain to experience.
“I-“ Dean breaks the silence, words muffled in your skin. “I feel better.”
“Oh.” You huff a soft laugh. “Good.”
“What, uh, what should we tell Sammy?”
You tug on his hair, just enough to move his gaze back to yours. “That we had sex?”
“No,” Dean groans your name, a smile pulling at his lips. “About the Mark. But we should tell him that-“
You make a mock, dramatic gasp. “Dean Winchester, are you going to brag about sex to your brother-“
“It’s sex with you, Sweetheart.” He winks, rolling you both over and caging you comfortably against his chest. “And Sammy’ll be thrilled to hear it, he’s been on my ass for years-“
“Years?” You squeak. “How many years?”
He shrugs. “I dunno, all of them?”
“All of them?! What do you mean all of them-“
“I mean since I met you.” Dean starts to rub soothing circles on your back, his mouth curling in smug amusement. “Deep breathes, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
You flush, still not really use to the baby thing. Or Dean’s hands on your skin, every touch lingering like an imprint that will never even try to fade. “Shut up-“
He shakes his head. “Nah. You love it.” A boyish, wide smile splits over his face. “You love me.”
You might die. You might explode into a million, tiny pieces of confetti and shimmering glass, because Dean looks so happy. There are no ghosts in his beautiful eyes, no loathing or dread stained over his perfect face. He’s happy, here, with you, and you’re not cruel enough to stop yourself from crawling up his chest and pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.
“I do love you,” you mumble against him, straddling his torso as you push yourself up flat palms. “But I’m still gonna tell you to shut up.”
He chuckles, the sound rolling and humming right into your blood. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Dean reaches up to tuck a little hair behind your ears, and freezes, his eyes trained on his forearm. On the Mark.
“We, uh,” he clears his throat, watching you carefully. “We do need to figure out what we’re gonna do about this.”
“Yeah.” You sigh. “We do. But I, I think-“
You cut yourself off, taking his hand in yours and running light fingers over the Mark in thought. Dean stares up at you with a slight awe in his gaze that makes you feel almost important, and your words fall to a soft breath.
“If you want.” You whisper. “We can turn it back-“
“No.” He shakes his head, sounding almost panicked. “I’m not goin’ back to that shit, not now-“
“Dean.” Your fingers still on his arm. “Was it me? That the Mark wanted?”
He swallows, but nods, and you sigh.
“We’re going to have separate sometimes. And we can figure out the bloodlust-“
“We should have to figure it out though, you don’t gotta put up with that-“
“I know.” You smile at him, and it’s not hard. Smiling at Dean is never hard. “But I will.”
“Do you-“ He stares at you, tangling his fingers in yours. “Do you not want me to keep the betterlust? You can tell me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to, for me-“
“God, no.” You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I’m just, I’m worried about what might happen when the betterlust decides I’m not enough. Or when this, um, when you-“
Dean says your name, slow and firm, and you swallow. “This is it for me. It’s you, and the Mark knows that. You’re gonna be more than enough, hell, you’re more than I deserve-“
“That’s not true.” You mumble. “You deserve the world.”
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “It’s adorable that you really believe that, baby, but-“
You scowl at him. “It’s the truth, Dean. You’re a good man, I meant what I said-“
“I know you did.” His charming, cowboy grins falters slightly. Not falling, but twisting into one you’ve never seen before. Still roguish, still well designed and stealing your breath, but with a slight crack that allows you to see deeper. To see the lonely part of him, that really thinks you don’t belong here with him. That’s trying to drag you into him, because he’s certain you’ll start running if he doesn’t. “But this,” he nods to the Mark. “Is still gonna be a problem. I’m still gonna be a problem-“
“You’re not a problem-“
He says your name, the word careful and tender and holy from his lips. It’s the best way you’ve ever heard it. The only way you want to hear it again. “Do you want me to keep the betterlust.”
You purse your lips, and nod.
“Words, baby-“
“Yes.” You whisper. “But I need you to promise me that if it stops working-“
“It won’t.” He shrugs, his voice flat, as if he’s speaking in fact. “And we’re gonna keep looking for a way to get this son of a bitch off. But we’re doin’ it together.” He pauses, scanning over your open features. “If that’s what you-“
You lean down, silencing him with a long, easy kiss. It’s not desperate anymore, but careful. Like you’re making art, or starting to spin a web that could unravel with a single tug, but neither of you will let it. You’ll never let this—whatever this becomes—fall apart. You’ll put your whole life into keeping Dean, fighting for him and helping him and reminding him that he’s not really a burden. Letting him remind you that he really does want you, and he’s never going to allow you to doubt that again.
“Together.” You speak against his lips, letting your content breath fall into his mouth. “I’d like to stay together.”
He nods, mouth curving into a grin. “Alright then. Together.”
End Note: Thank you so so much for reading!!! I've had a lot of fun with this one, and I'm so happy y'all have as well! I hope to see some of you soon for the next one, and if not, thank you. no matter what!!
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
synopsis: fate brings you into an unconventional way of reuniting with the man you used to love in your medical school—in your workplace during the freezing winter night, propelling you to be the most vulnerable you have ever been since losing him.
content: doctor zayne x senior doctor/pediatrician! reader, hurt/comfort, light angst, eventual romance, reunions
word count: 6,295
author's note: first time writing a piece after five years of slump...
cross posted in my ao3
“It’s a surprise seeing you here.”
Those are the first words that Zayne heard in the long, dead of the night. He swallowed thickly, mustering a soft, half-hearted smile, making eye-contact with those familiar eyes.
“I could say the same to you,” he replies following a soft nod to your presence, blinking at the bright overhead lights of the hospital’s reception.
You drink in the sight of your former junior, after years of being apart. Zayne seems to have grown a couple inches taller from the last time you saw him, his ebony hair still styled the same from his medical school days, albeit a bit more sharper now. He is clad in his usual dark coat over his similar toned sweater. He still wears the same deadpanned expression on his face, and yet you notice the reflection behind his glasses; you could see the uncertainty in his eyes.
You decide to shrug it off. “What brings you here, Dr. Zayne?” You ask. And the honorific before his name makes Zayne almost feel his heart break into two, realizing how formal the interaction is.
He opens his mouth to answer, but before he could, a meek voice greeting you formally cuts him off, “Good evening to you too Dr. Zayne,” the nurse slightly bows down to him before turning to you again, “Dr., as per our director’s directives, Dr. Zayne was the one who performed the surgery for our patient in room 325.”
You blink owlishly at the nurse to which she just stares at you curiously at your reaction, “Is that so?” The nurse nodded and you could feel the pace of your heartbeat quickening, both in nervousness and embarrassment. “I see,” you reply, wanting to clutch your chest in an attempt to calm yourself down.
Instead, you turn back your attention to the man you once adored, giving him a warm smile, “I didn’t expect that Akso Hospital would bring the Dr. Zayne to assist us here at Chansia Hospital,” you say, placing both your hands on the pockets of your lab coat.
Zayne lets out a soft exhale as a reply that sounded more like an attempt to chuckle, “Of course. How can I possibly ignore the situation here?”
“Still as tenacious as ever, I see,” you reply. “Nevertheless,” you continue, tucking a hair behind your ear, “We are very grateful that Akso Hospital aided us in this case.”
He merely nods in agreement, boring his eyes into yours. The intensity of his stare almost makes you feel small and embarrassed, especially with the nurse still around as the audience to witness the reunion of two almost lovers. You clear your throat, darting your eyes to the nurse and to Zayne, “How did the surgery go? I presume it was difficult?”
“Not necessarily,” Zayne replies, “This kind of surgery is quite common now.” His answer brings a brief smile to your face, “Well I am glad that Dr. Zayne was the one who performed the surgery to one of our younger patients, then. It brings me at ease.”
Your words bring a whirlwind of emotions that Zayne thought he had buried under his restless nights of overtime and paperwork. He can’t find the right response to say at your compliment, his words stuck in his throat as he basks in your presence. The bright overhead lights of the hospital highlighting the deepening bags under your eyes, your weary smile bringing fine lines, and the shadows from your glasses slotting on your nose bridge. And yet, he feels the familiar skip in his chest, the same one he had first felt when he met you in the halls of his university.
You shy under Zayne’s intense stare, instead turning to the nurse, “How is the patient doing now? He’s Dr. Lewis’s patient, right?” You ask. The nurse nods, “The patient is recuperating well in his room, Dr. His vital signs have been stable ever since and his guardians have been keeping an eye for his recovery. Dr. Lewis notes that he may be discharged after a couple more days.”
“I see. That’s perfect,” you reply. You muster a half-hearted smile to Zayne, one that doesn’t reach your eyes. Zayne notices. “Well, as I’ve said, it brings me comfort that Dr. Zayne could assist us in these trying times in Chansia Hospital,” you continue.
The nurse then takes a step forward, her arm outstretched to the hospital entrance with her head slightly bowing, “Dr. Lewis would like to extend his deepest gratitude to you too, Dr. Zayne. He brought me here to assist you to your exit,” she says.
Zayne shakes his head, “There is no need for you to assist me. Kindly tell Dr. Lewis that I too am thankful for the opportunity to visit Chansia Hospital again,” he replied monotonously. The nurse picks up the signal to place her arm back to her sides.
In his words, the nurse then nods, excusing herself from the conversation before turning her heel away to return to the nurse’s station. On the other hand, you hesitate. Taking note of how earnest Zayne looks in your stead, as if he wants to say something. And yet, his lips remained sealed.
“It was short-lived but I hope you enjoyed your stay here at Chansia Hospital,” you say, humor lacing your tone as if you’re just hosting a visitor at a hotel. “It was nice seeing you again, Dr. Zayne,” you muse him a brief smile and after another second in silence, you take the signal to give him one last nod, and turn around.
As your heels click through the tiled floors, Zayne could feel you physically slip away from his fingers one more time. And before he could even think about what to say for you to stay, his mouth runs faster than his brain or legs.
“Wait,” his voice echoes throughout the halls and he slightly cringes at the reverberation. The sound of your heels clicking pauses. He clears his throat and calls for your honorific and name. You turn your head back, peeking him over your shoulder. “Is something the matter, Dr. Zayne?” You ask.
He shakes his head, “I would like to accompany you for the rest of the evening. If it’s not much of a hassle.”
You turn your heel around in hesitation, cocking your head to the side in confusion, and for the first time in the evening, you almost laugh, “Dr. Zayne, surely you don’t think I’m a masochist for continuing to work at,” you spare a glance at your wristwatch, “almost 12 midnight?”
He blinks at you owlishly, slightly surprised that you weren’t working further. “I suppose not when I still see you making rounds at,” he glances at his wristwatch, “almost 12 midnight.”
You shake your head in amusement, a soft giggle falling from your lips and your hand covering your mouth in an effort to stifle them, “Still the same as ever with your humor, Dr. Zayne,” you exhaled, “Regardless, your company will surely bring me comfort as I gather my things at my office.”
Your laughter felt like heaven to Zayne. It was the same one that he first heard at the halls of his university as you deliver your experience being an intern at the Akso Hospital in your senior year of medical school while he was still in the starting line.
“Come,” you urge, nodding your head to the side, signalling him to follow you. You two continue to walk through the silent halls of the hospital, your heels clicking through the tiles followed by Zayne’s footsteps padding behind you.
You pause at a familiar door, turning its knob. Behind you, Zayne admires the contrast of the dull, sterile halls with the colorful stickers plastered on your white door, making your office seem more inviting than the other ones.
As you enter your office, you flip the switch on and turn to your desk, gathering the clipboard and the tablet on your table. Zayne follows suit, his eyes darting across, observing every nook and cranny. The rainbows, a smiling sun on the corner of the room, and the random animals and flowers painted on the walls almost bring a soft smile to his face. He takes note of the colorful toys littered on one corner atop of the vivid play mat and the glow in the dark star and moon stickers plastered on the ceiling of your office.
“I assume this isn’t the usual office you would expect from a doctor, yes?” You ask, feeling his gaze all over the room. He nods, “Although this is to be expected from a renowned pediatrician, the rather… brilliant colors still take me aback,” he replies, eliciting a chuckle from you. You place your clipboard and tablet into their respective drawers before locking them shut, as you gather your bag from your seat, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “Well now I am quite curious as to how your office looks,” you say. You remove your lab gown and replace it with a fuzzy coat and a scarf around your neck.
“It’s quite dull compared to yours,” he replies, rather quickly. You hum, “Is that so? Well I’d like to be the judge of that.”
You walk past him and he trails after you as you both exit the office, your fingers flickering the light switch off and shutting the door behind you. “Once I need a cardiac check up, I’ll make sure to visit Dr. Zayne then,” you say, glancing at him who is walking beside you, expecting him to have a small smile on his lips at your joke. Instead, you see him frown.
“That doesn’t seem to be a funny joke,” he replies. You furrow your brows at him but the faint smile still lingers on your lips, “Oh come on, you know a cardiac check-up doesn’t necessarily mean something negative,” you reply, nudging his arm with your elbow. The short contact could almost bring you to your knees like a teenager touching her crush for the first time. Zayne shakes his head disapprovingly, “You know you can visit my office without any agenda behind it.”
You almost halt at your steps when his words fall to your ears. Suddenly, everything came hitting you all at once.
The man standing before you is no longer the boy you first met in your university, when you’re almost graduating from medicine school. He is no longer the feeble adolescent boy who had difficulties making acquaintances so he sought refuge in you and your senior friends. He is no longer the man who comes to your apartment right after your residency has ended for the day, with worksheets and food in hand to ask assistance from you. Though you were quite sure back then that he didn’t need the assistance when he could quickly answer your questions, he just wanted to be in your presence.
Zayne has grown. He’s now a renowned doctor with his very own office and colleagues, who respect and admire him deeply. His shoulders broader than you remembered, the shadows of his muscles taut against the fabric of his clothes are evident and his stature more confident and intimidating now, his steps more sharp and certain, carrying the weight of countless lives he has saved throughout the years–as well as lives he failed to prolong.
You continue to stare at him, both in awe and surprise, realization sinking deep that everything has changed between you two. Zayne glances at you through his peripheral vision for the lack of your response, almost making you jump. You clear your throat awkwardly, “Is that so? Well I’d say I’m quite grateful that Dr. Zayne is welcoming me to his office.”
As you reach the reception of the hospital, you wave goodbye at the receptionist with a cheerful smile. The receptionist returns the same grin, wishing you a safe walk home and to see you tomorrow again. You nod at him in response before following Zayne who was standing a couple feet ahead of you, his head slightly turned to the side, waiting for you to catch up to him.
Stepping into the chill of the evening, you hold your arm closer to your chest and burrowing your nose close to your scarf, almost shivering, “Nights in Chansia City never get easier in the winter,” you comment, white smoke exiting your lips. You look both sides, taking the lead in returning home.
“Do you usually just walk home in the evening?” Zayne asks, trailing beside you, noting how the receptionist mentioned how you travel home by foot. You hum in agreement, “My apartment is not too far here. And I like to spend a few minutes in silence at the nearby park before I head home.”
Zayne merely nods at your response, his eyes focusing on the street ahead.
“How about you?” You ask, tilting your head at him, earning a glance from him. “Where do you stay here?”
He purses his lips before mentioning the hotel name.
“Oh, that’s a bit near where I live. Just a couple of blocks away. Do you just walk when you go to the hospital?”
He shakes his head at your query, “The hospital provides me a shuttle service in the morning. In the evening I just flag a cab.”
“I see…” You trail off, “Would you like me to assist you in flagging a cab? Though it would be difficult now considering the time–”
“There’s no need,” he cuts you off. “I rather enjoy your company.”
Those simple words elicit a shot of heat striking your cheeks, urging you to look away from him and focus on the white smoke exiting your lips. You could see Zayne smiling from the corner of your eyes, as if your reaction brings him joy.
“Besides, walking has plenty of benefits for your health. For one, it improves your cardiovascular fitness and your muscle endurance, and strengthens your bones and muscles. It also helps you manage your weight,” he continued, earning a laugh from you.
“You do realize I know those things too, right? We went to the same medical school, after all,” you reply.
“I just thought you forgot,” Zayne says with a deadpan expression on his face, but you were certain you saw his lips curl up in amusement for a split second.
“Hey! I don’t forget things that easily, you know!” You protest.
“Is that so?” Zayne hums, “Last time I checked, a certain someone forgot it was her finals if it wasn’t for me to remind her.”
“Unfair! That was years ago, Dr. Zayne! And I just got out of my training that day too,” you laugh.
Right. Years ago.
As you two reach the park nearby, you find an empty bench and plop down into it, the collection of ice in the seat seeping through your coat. Zayne follows suit, succumbing to his feelings and sitting beside you at the bench. You freeze at the slight brush of his coat against yours and the engulfing warmth that he radiates, but you shrug it off once again.
The thick clouds drifting across the moon give you two company in the frosty evening. And while Zayne’s hands remain warm inside the pockets of his coat, your fingers are trembling in your pockets. In nervousness or by the bite of the cold, you’re unsure.
It’s been years since the last time you two sat together in silence. From the usual scraping of pen against paper and the turning of pages from the books, it turned into eerie silence. Silence brought by lingering regrets and loneliness between you two. Silence from the falling out between two almost lovers. The drunken glow of the streetlights accompany the solitary moon as it watches you two attempt to catch up from the sorrowful past you two have run away from. The cold coffee you had ingested an hour ago now shoots up to your bloodstream, sending alerts to your brain that everything in this situation warrants a good long rest after. And yet, despite the heavy dose of caffeine in your system, you were sure that one vulnerable question from Zayne, you could crash into his arms and sob.
“How’s Greyson?” You ask, avoiding the tense silence to linger any further before it could escalate into mourning from the past that could’ve been. “He is doing well,” Zayne curtly replies, as if he was uninterested in talking about his male colleague to the woman he’s only loved throughout the years.
“I remember your silly disagreements with him. It would take your seniors to break you two apart from the debate and make you realize that you two were wrong,” you continue, huffing a laugh from the memory.
Zayne remains silent.
Clearly, he wasn’t buying your reminiscence of nostalgia to fill the night. Nevertheless, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about the painful memory that transpired between the two of you.
“Do you always work overtime?” Zayne asks, breaking his streak of tranquility.
“Hm… These days I do. But I usually don’t. I’m just working on a research with Dr. Lewis recently. We plan to contribute and present it to our university in the upcoming alumni symposium for graduating students,” you reply.
“I see.”
“Mmhmm.”
Silence emerges between you two again, as if the universe was forcing the two of you to reconcile and face the troubled past together. Whether the universe was bringing you two together to write the closure to forever exit the chapter in your life or a new volume of your book, you’re quite uncertain.
“Have you…” Zayne starts and you continue to stare at your fingers fiddling atop of your lap, not daring to even spare him a glimpse. He inhales, “Have you been seeing anyone since our…” He does not dare continue finishing the sentence, afraid that once he does, vulnerability would engulf you two until you were sure you could collapse from it.
You, however, were taken aback by the sudden question, your eyes shooting up to him while his face remained stoic and focused on the flickering lamp post ahead of you, “Oh heavens no!” You quickly deny, “I am far too busy to start seeing other people. You know how it can be, Dr. Zayne.” You muster a nervous chuckle, a hand running to the back of your head, smiling at him sheepishly.
You could see Zayne’s adam’s apple bob up and down at his throat, “You can drop the honorifics,” he whispers. You blink up at him, “Pardon?”
He exhales, his mouth still hangs from the frost coiling in the winter air, “I hope that you drop the honorifics by now. We are no longer at the hospital and you are my senior. It would make no sense for you to continue calling me by my title.”
Especially when we had something together. He almost says.
“Oh,” you only say, dropping your gaze to your lap. “Okay, Zayne,” you humor him, the name falling from your tongue tastes foreign–like an old popsicle flavor from your childhood resurfacing from nostalgia.
“Okay,” he replies.
You purse your lips together, tilting your head upwards to appreciate the silhouette of the trees merging with the inky black sky. An exhale escapes your lips, white smoke exiting from it as your eyes trail carefully to each branch that intersects with one another. Unbeknownst to you, the man sitting beside you was also engrossed in watching–but instead of the same view across you two, he’s fixated in memorizing your features.
Studying every freckle, blemish, and mole on your face. Despite your features maturing, he takes note of how you still retain that youthful glow he remembers years ago from when he would just immerse himself in your presence in your apartment. He engraves in his brain the image of you beside him, as if he was enchanted by having you again, even if you’re at his arm’s length.
“How long have you been at Chansia Hospital?” He suddenly asks, not tearing away from your features.
You stay still in your seat, busy admiring the night sky, “After my first year of residency, I got an opportunity to continue it at Chansia Hospital. I’ve been here since then,” you answer.
“I see,” he replies. “How have you been faring throughout your stay?” He asked.
You hum and shrug, “The workplace is good, there’s little to no drama and office politics. And I really enjoy caring for the kids there, the hospital has exemplary facilities for the pediatric ward, which I absolutely appreciate. But we still lack the human resource for capable doctors, especially surgeons, which is probably why they requested assistance from Akso Hospital.”
There was a pause between you two. “Perhaps I could ask for a transfer at your hospital, then,” Zayne replies blankly, as if a sudden change in his career is nothing.
You giggle at his words, burrowing yourself into your scarf and a hand hovering your mouth, “I’m sure there is no way Akso Hospital would let go of you, Zayne.”
“Why not?” Zayne murmurs and you swear you heard the pout in his tone.
You snicker and the words tumble out of your mouth before you could even think, “Well if I was your boss, I just know for sure I wouldn’t let go of my most capable and brilliant surgeon.”
“Then don’t,” he counters rather quickly.
You turn your head to him, surprised at both your words from just a second ago, “Pardon?”
He adjusts in his seat, directing his body to your side and you could see the eagerness glimmering in his eyes, “Don’t let me go,” he says in a hushed tone. You barely heard it, if you weren’t mere inches from each other, you could mistake his voice for the howling of the wind. But you picked it up. And his eyes are round, shining the most genuine gaze you have ever seen from him. You could tell from his stare alone that his words carry the weight of a thousand suns.
And you know deep in your soul that Zayne would do everything in his lifetime to bring you home.
Bring you to him.
And you feel the guilt creeping up your throat.
You swallow and shake your head, breaking away from his trance.
You were sure you could crumble from the sorrow and regret seeping in your bones. After years of burrowing all of these unfamiliar feelings and vulnerability, everything started to surface in his mere presence.
“I’m sorry,” you begin. Zayne looks at you curiously, “For what exactly?” He asks.
And you’re undecided what to apologize from. For using his title? Not really. For seeing him accidentally in the hospital hallway? It’s not really your fault fate brought you two together in the most unconventional way possible. For agreeing to walk with you home? Perhaps. For saying that if you were his employer, you wouldn’t let him go? Could be, but not quite.
But none of those things quite possibly slot perfectly with the puzzle you want to complete.
“If only…” You start, breaking the silence, “If only life was kinder and easier to us years ago,” your voice breaks, “I just want to let you know that I wouldn’t have… Slipped you through my fingers.”
It was like your subconscious was talking for you.
Zayne darts his gaze from the lamppost who finally dimmed its light to his hands resting atop of his lap. You gulp, “Everyday I–...” You let out a shaky breath, “I wish you well. Especially in your studies,” you say, a soft smile in your features as you hold back the tears that are threatening to fall.
Even after all these years, Zayne doesn’t understand.
“I don’t seem to understand,” he verbalizes, glancing at you who has your arms wrapped around your body, protecting yourself from the cold. “How can you drop it so easily?” He asks.
How can you drop us so easily?
You pause in your ministrations, before letting out a shaky laugh, “You were an exceptional student, Zayne. You were going to be a fantastic doctor after you graduate, we all expected that. I mean, we all knew that. It was evident. And I–...” You trail off, “I was older. I was graduating med school when you were only at the starting line. I can’t take that away from you, you know that. You have your whole university years ahead of you and I don’t want to take that experience away from you,” you rambled, wishing you could shut up.
You purse your lips together and Zayne opens his mouth to protest but you continue, “I cannot be selfish, Zayne. I couldn’t bring myself to. I didn’t want to impose to you the regrets I’ve had in my years at med school.”
Zayne remembers.
One night at your apartment, lying supine side by side in your twin-sized mattress seemingly squeezed into the tight space, a book long forgotten on top of Zayne’s chest while his fingertips gently brushes against your knuckles beside him, while the soft hum of the AC accompanying the two lost souls in the midst of a warm summer night. You were talking about your failed romantic relationship in your years of medicine school, spending the latter years over a boy who couldn’t provide you with the security and comfort that you longed for. You ranted over how he failed as a partner, not leading enough in the relationship, and how you had to play several roles to make up for his lack of initiative.
You expected Zayne to be indifferent. Or perhaps angry. Maybe even frustrated at your ramblings. But you didn’t take into account how the weight in your bed shifted and he peers into your space, turning your chin to his direction with his thumb and forefinger and cradling your face. He didn’t say a word. And neither did you. You merely stay frozen in your position while he grazes his fingertips over your cheeks as if to say “It’s okay. I’m here now.”
Zayne remembers that night all too well.
“But you did not impose your regrets on me,” he replies confusedly. “I’ve had more regrets with the fact that we didn’t try rather than trying at all.”
He was right. You knew he was right. You could taste the bitterness and remorse from your tongue still lingering after years of trying to forget it all. You release a pitiful laugh, unsure what to even say at this point. How the conversation turned 180 degrees, you were floored.
And as you prepare the mental strength to leave, to finally burrow into the comforts of your home where your plushies would not judge you for sobbing into the sheets for the same man you have cried over for years, Zayne gently hovers his hand over yours that were resting on the small space between you two, and he speaks up, “Don’t you regret the years we wasted being apart?”
You dart your gaze from his hand laying on top of yours and slowly turn to his hazel green orbs. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you muster up a tight-lipped smile at him, and you shake your head. “Not one bit,” you say.
Zayne was sure he felt his heart slowly shatter upon hearing your words. He retrieves his hand from yours and he slowly averts his gaze to his shoes, feeling the scrape of ice and concrete beneath the soles of his feet. You cringe at the lost of his touch.
“If it meant that it would bring you to today, the peak of your career and a successful name for yourself, I don’t regret it. Not one bit,” you continue, albeit shaky.
He swallows thickly, “I see.”
You nod, looking elsewhere than to gaze upon his genuine expression of dejection in his face. “Despite loving you with everything I have, I knew I couldn’t get in the way of your dreams,” you say. You inhale a deep breath, mustering up the courage to bring your hand on top of his cold ones, clasping around it tightly. He looks up at you, with a plastered smile on your face, “And whether or not things would’ve worked out, it doesn’t matter because I chose this decision to be in the future where you were successful. And I was correct, Zayne. I’d like to believe what I chose for us was right.”
You gulp, “I wanted to have a future where you were successful and thriving. I wanted to live in the future where I would see your name on news articles because of your expertise. And I suppose you could call me a coward for deciding to end our relationship for your sake but I had to. Because I loved you. So much so that I couldn’t afford to witness you lose. I…” You inhale a shaky breath, squeezing your eyes shut and your hand against his, “I love you.”
I love you so much to this day, that it physically hurts. You almost say. But you hold back. And you pull your hand away from him, settling it into your lap once again, where it belongs.
The begging in your voice as you explain your decision cuts through Zayne’s willful idea that you would come back and live through the years of what could have been.
Seconds ticked into minutes of silence and you could immediately feel the regret seeping into your bones as you admit the fears and the sacrifice you had to make for his future, unknowingly shutting out all of Zayne’s attempts to return back into your arms. And one thing is for sure, you could just never wrap your head around the concept that Zayne wanted to keep you in his life the moment he laid eyes on you and never let you go.
Zayne abruptly stands up and you turn your head to the side, not wanting to witness him walk away from your life. You clench your jaw, your hand clawing through your jeans in frustration as you inhale the icy air around you. You want to take all your words back, you want to break down all the walls for him and just embrace him and sob into his chest. You want to reach out to him, grab his wrist and ask him to stay. You want to ask him to come home to you. Anything that involves him back in your life you were sure you would be content.
You do nothing.
Zayne shoves his hands down his coat pockets as he lets out a shaky exhale, white smoke emitting from his actions. One heartbeat. Two.
You gulp, preparing yourself for waking up tomorrow with swollen eyes and zero energy, already imagining a life without him.
Zayne sighs, “You’re still stubborn as ever.”
You furrow your brows together, the insult distracting you from the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Excuse me?” You say, turning your head to look at him who still had his back turned to you.
You could’ve sworn you heard him laugh breathily. You click your tongue. “Is there a point to this, Zayne?” You ask, unsure where he is headed with his comment. You shake your head, “Or are we just here for the feeling of what we did and reminisce?”
Zayne takes a step to your side and faces you, earning a confused look from you. He gives you a soft smile and kneels in front of you, sending you into a frenzied state.
“Z-Zayne?! What the hell are you doing?! It’s cold!” You exclaim, placing your hand on each of his arms. “Stand up!”
He stays frozen in place, taking your hands into his, clasping both of it together. You watch him in confusion as he continues to cradle your hand into his, before he laces his fingers into yours, watching in awe at how his hand perfectly slots into yours, and before you know it, his lips hover into your fingers, pressing featherlight kisses into it.
You could feel the heat creep up your skin, the urge to pull your hand away strengthening.
But you don’t.
He pulls away from your hands and his lips turn into a small smile as he gazes into your eyes. “I did it already, didn’t I?” He murmurs.
You pause for a second, furrowing your brows together in confusion, before you ask, “Did what?”
“All the things you wanted me to become,” he replies curtly.
The creases between your eyebrows deepens.
“I accepted losing you, regardless of how I… dislike it so much. And you still express the same things you said years ago, of how you did not want to get in my way and desire me to be successful in my field. I have done it already, haven't I?” He asks, peering close to your forlorn expression.
You stay silent.
He huffs a laugh, “I may be just doing my job but you acknowledge that I’m successful in my field, did you not?”
“I don–”
“Only yes or no will suffice as an answer, my love,” he cuts you off. The nickname sends your brain into a frenzy, confused whether the man in front of you is truly your junior from your med school. “Well?” Zayne urges, tilting his head closer to you. You straighten your back, clearing your throat, “I believe I have acknowledged you are successful, so yes,” you reply rather formally, to which elicits a laughter from the man in front of you.
“With those factors into consideration, did you really think that I would let you go again?”
“Excuse me?”
He stands up to his full height, pulling you along with him albeit dazed from his actions. You feel like you could stagger and fall with how you could feel his heat and how close you are with him again after years of no contact. If it weren’t for him holding you up, you could’ve sworn you would’ve fallen to your knees.
“Before my travel here, I already asked Akso Hospital to take a week off for my vacation here with the girl I love at Chansia City,” he says rather straightforwardly. You blink owlishly at his words, confused at the turn of events, “I am sorry, Zayne but can you clarify to me what the hell is happening exactly?” You demand.
“Hm? I am simply taking back what’s mine,” he says candidly. He removes his hands from yours, placing one on top of your waist and the other cradling your face. “I would be a fool if I’d let you get your way again.”
You frown at his words, ignoring the way your body feverishly reacts to his touch, “What does that even mean?”
“If you think you can just push me away again, then you are mistaken. I have waited patiently for years for us. For you. While I still don’t understand why you pushed me away years ago, it doesn't matter anymore. I would rather have you in my proximity again than wait for you to stop being stubborn,” he answers, a soft smile gracing his face. He raises a brow at you playfully, “Because a certain someone would rather have the world stop spinning than admit that she is stubborn.”
“Hey!” You protest, ready to complain but the words die in your throat when he suddenly lunges forward until his breath fans your cheeks, the cold air grazing your rose-tinted skin. He presses you closer to his body, his hand gripping your waist firmly and the other one still caressing your skin. “Tell me you want me to come back,” he whispers, almost desperately. “I’d do anything to keep you in my life again. I no longer want to keep you at an arm’s length anymore,” he continues, his hazel green eyes boring into yours, as if he was trying to stare into your soul.
“Zayne…” You murmur, darting your gaze from his lips to his eyes.
“Just say it, darling,” he mutters, “You don’t have to do anything. We have all the time in the world to figure it all out together,” he assured.
You swallow thickly, the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes finally break, and you are confused whether they were tears of despair, grief, or happiness. Perhaps it was all three altogether. Because finally, for once in your life, you are going to jump into uncharted territory and not think about anything anymore.
“Zayne,” you begin and he looks at you expectantly. You inhale a deep breath, glancing at his lips again before darting back to his eyes. The breeze of the winter air skimming through your bodies, the moon’s muted glow casting over the dispersing clouds, and the lamppost from across you two finally lighting up again, giving you brighter access to his features. And suddenly, it feels like everything around you disappears, as if you two are the only ones in the universe, holding each other so carefully. “Please stay here.”
He inches closer to your face, a smile gracing his lips, “Of course.”
And for the first time in years, he wraps his arms around you, his hands that were once cradling your face, now holding onto the back of your head and the other embracing your entire body and engulfing you in his heat, every fear in your body to wash and melt away.
And for once in your life, you are no longer sobbing into the sheets, lingering of sorrow and regret–but rather into the arms of the man who found you again, despite your attempts to rewrite history.
author's note: comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated :") also didn't take into account the timeline that much! so if the ages are a bit wonky, ignore LOL
song inspirations: nike by frank ocean, stay here by surl, coming home by honne feat. niki, 18 by One Direction, maybe you are the reason by the japanese house
