Latest Posts by neogogori - Page 2

why can i already imagine the scenario in my head? el tío sukuna es el tío raro

Board games with uncle Sukuna :)

They are taking this thing seriously, already take the cards out of the game

Board games with uncle Sukuna :)

They are taking this thing seriously, already take the cards out of the game

so like yesterday I went to a strawberry farm were you like pick strawberries and I was thinking how would the jjk men act or like what would they do. sorry if it's a dumb question😭

There is absolutely nothing dumb about this, it’s freaking adorable😭😭 thank you for entrusting me with this!! I hope you had lots of fun picking strawberries 🍓 and I hope you enjoy reading about picking strawberries with these silly lil men☺️🫶

Picking Strawberries with the JJK Men

Fluff

JJK men x gn!reader

Warnings: small mentions of bugs/insects

Yuji:

You and Yuji walked along the path, admiring the glow of the red berries surrounding you.

“This one looks really good,” Yuji said, bending over to pick a particularly plump strawberry. He grasped the stem and held it to your lips.

“Try it!” he encouraged, and you happily obliged, taking a big bite.

“That’s seriously delicious,” you complimented after eating the fruit. "Now let me find one for you."

You walked hand in hand with Yuji, scouring the ground until the perfect berry caught your attention. You held the stem while offering the rest to him, just like he had done for you. Yuji, being the menace he is, ate the whole thing in one swift bite.

“Is it yummy?" you asked, anxiously awaiting his reaction.

"It's delicious!" Yuji exclaimed, mouth full of half chewed strawberry. You wanted to be grossed out but the delight in his eyes was too adorable for you to think about how nasty it was that he was talking with his mouth full. He swallowed the fruit with a gulp, then wrapped you in a big bear hug.

"The strawberry was sweet, but you're sweeter."

Megumi:

“I really should’ve thought this through.”

You realized you ran out of hands when you went to pick a strawberry but couldn’t due to your grasp being occupied by both a basket and an umbrella to keep the sun from burning you. You switched gears, putting the basket on the ground and pulling strawberries from your now free hand, but the umbrella kept falling every which way. Megumi, meanwhile, was watching all of this unfold and trying his hardest not to laugh at your predicament.

“Here, let me help you,” he eventually said after watching you struggle for a bit. He was waiting to see if you were going to come up with a solution yourself but it certainly wasn’t happening any time soon and he didn’t want you to get too frustrated (no matter how cute he thinks you look when you’re grumpy). Megumi took the umbrella from your flailing hands and immediately you no longer felt like throwing it in a fit of rage.

“You’re a real lifesaver,” you said, getting an eye roll as a reply.

“That was too painful to keep watching without doing something.”

You narrowed your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him, going back to your berry picking. It was much easier now that Megumi strolled alongside you, one hand in his pocket and the other tightly wrapped around your umbrella, basking you in cool shade. He wouldn’t say it out loud but he was beyond relieved he could assist you, no matter how insignificant of a task.

Yuta:

You and Yuta happily strode along the strawberry bushes, hand in hand, and picking the ripest fruit to bring back home. Being ever the gentleman, Yuta held the heavy basket in his free hand while you were in charge of selecting the berries.

“This is, by far, the cutest date I’ve ever been on,” you confessed, a strawberry dangling by its stem in your grasp.

“O-oh, really? I’m really glad you’re having fun,” Yuta replied, a blush blooming on his face.

“Whats wrong, Yuta? You’re almost as red as this berry,” you teased with a giggle, taking a big bite of the fruit you picked a few seconds ago. That made the poor boy blush even more as he imagined what those plump lips of yours would feel like on his own rather than the strawberry.

“Yuta? Are you in there?” you asked. You had been waving your hand in front of his face but he was too busy staring at you to respond until now as he stuttered out an apology.

“It’s all good,” you told him, “you’re cute when you’re spaced out. My offer still stands if you want a bite of this strawberry though since you were practically gawking at it.”

“Yes! Right. The strawberry,” he stammered, “that’s exactly what I was looking at. You’re so right, it looks really good. Thank you.”

You held out the strawberry in question to feed it to him and Yuta felt his heart leap out of his chest—how did he get so lucky to date someone as sweet as you?

Inumaki:

“Strawberry.”

Your jaw dropped at the surprise introduction of a new word into your boyfriend’s vocabulary. You two decided to go on a date at a strawberry farm but the last thing you expected from today was to see Toge enthusiastically pointing his finger back and forth from you to the berries while repeating the word like some sort of incantation.

“I have a feeling you’re making a really good connection between these things but I don’t understand it,” you said tentatively, taking note of the giddiness that shone in Toge’s purple eyes. He quickly pulled out his phone, furiously typing out something in his notes app. When he showed you his screen, you felt like drowning the earth beneath your feet in tears:

Strawberry!! I can say it without hurting you!! That’s gonna be reserved for you only :)

“Toge,” you half whispered, your voice failing you from the love that was overwhelming you, “that means the world to me. Thank you.”

“Salmon,” he said, meaning “you’re welcome.” He then pulled you into a tight hug to show you how much he cared when words failed him. When you pulled apart, he showed you his phone screen one more time:

Also you’re both very sweet <3

Noritoshi:

It was nice to get away from all the hustle and bustle of your daily duties with your boyfriend Noritoshi. You knew he put a lot of pressure on himself 24/7 to be perfect in all facets of his life so you figured getting away to somewhere quiet and calm would do wonders for his mental health. Thankfully, you were correct. You’d never seen Noritoshi as relaxed as he was amongst the strawberries, softly smiling as he watched a bug climb along a vine. He leaned in closer to get a better view of nature at its core, deeply appreciating the simplicity of the outdoors.

“Y/n, look. It’s a ladybug,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb it. You scooted in closer as well to catch a glimpse but were quickly taken aback when the insect flew off the vine and landed on Noritoshi’s nose. He was extremely calm about the whole ordeal and you were delighted to see such an adorable scene unfold in front of you. His gray eyes were slightly crossed as he watched the ladybug in amusement, its speckled body tickling his smooth skin. As it started heading up his nose and toward his eyes, he put his finger out to block it, guiding the plump bug onto his outstretched digit.

“You know that means you’re going to be blessed with an abundance of luck, right?” you asked, heart instantly melting at the gentle gaze he held you under.

“With you in my life, I already knew I was the luckiest man alive.”

Todo:

You never knew what to expect from your boyfriend on a day to day basis so when he started spouting strawberry facts at you while you explored the grounds of the farm, you couldn’t say you were surprised.

“…strawberries today are a result of the cross between F. chiloensis and F. virginiana. Did you know strawberries are a type of rose? And they have more vitamin C than oranges.”

You listened intently to Aoi’s rambling, his arm slung easily over your shoulder in a display of his affection toward you. You were looking at him like he was speaking about the most important topic in the world and you were so proud of the fact that he was subverting expectations, being extremely strong and smart.

“Wow, Aoi, you’re so knowledgeable!” you exclaimed, “how did you learn all this?”

He just shrugged, shooting you a wink. “I’ll tell you if you let me walk you back home after this.”

You playfully nudged him on the shoulder. “We’re going back to the same place, dummy.”

A look of realization dawned on his face, replacing a concerning amount of shock. “You’re right, we are! I forgot!”

You grimaced, trying not to outwardly groan for the sake of being a patient partner.

“Don’t worry about it, handsome. Let’s just enjoy some strawberries, yeah?”

Aoi let out a triumphant laugh after kissing your cheek. “Sounds good to me!”

Ino:

Going to the strawberry farm with Ino was nothing short of a good time. You spent hours collecting only the finest berries, carting around heavy baskets and dreaming up all types of desserts you’d be making with your haul. You also spent a good chunk of that time eating the berries right off the vine and making each other share in the disgust of any surprisingly unripe berries you pulled.

“Babe! Here, this one’s straight up disgusting,” Ino said, thrusting a strawberry with a big bite chunk out of it your way. You took a bite and immediately made a face.

“Ew! That one was nasty! And to think it looked so good, too,” you whined, glaring at the rest of the deceptive glowing red skin.

“You wanna wash it down with a milkshake? They’re selling them at the front.”

“Please,” you said, nodding eagerly. Ino lazily threw his arm over your shoulder and you scooted in closer to your boyfriend as he guided you to a much needed sweet drink.

Gojo:

Satoru was watching you sit next to a strawberry plant with inquisitive eyes, his signature blindfold gone and in its place were sunglasses that reminded you of his yesteryears.

“I still don’t get why we have to pick the strawberries ourselves when we could’ve just gone to the store,” he questioned, bottom lip jutted in a pout.

“Because Satoru,” you said, giving him a kind smile, “it’s good to support local farms. And don’t you feel a sense of accomplishment picking them yourself rather than grabbing the first plastic container you see at a store?”

“I guess,” he said, reaching down to pick a strawberry off its plant before quickly retracting his hand. “The farmers should’ve cleaned up a bit before I came, though. The bugs and dirt are seriously grossing me out.”

The urge to roll your eyes was strong, but the love you had for Satoru was stronger so you refrained.

“Come over here and try this one. I made sure there weren’t any creepy crawlies on it that were out to get you.”

The white haired man didn’t pick up on your teasing, instead sending a solemn “thanks” your way. His long fingers hesitantly plucked a big, red strawberry from the vine.

“Go ahead, taste it,” you encouraged.

He did so, a look of pride overtaking his features.

“This is literally the best strawberry ever.”

“Wait, don’t eat the whole thing! I wanna try some,” you said. Your boyfriend extended a hand, helping you up from your place in the plants.

“I feel like a strawberry being pulled off the vine,” you joked, wiping the dirt off your pants.

“I really do know how to pick ‘em,” Satoru said, smirking.

Geto:

Suguru was the perfect man to take strawberry picking. He was in awe of the tranquility he felt somewhere like that, the peaceful atmosphere doing more to ground him than most anything he’d tried before. He eagerly picked two strawberries, feeding you one then taking a bite from the other for himself.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he said, brown eyes gazing lovingly into your own as the sun shone brightly over the two of you.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, my love,” you replied, your hand gently placed on his cheek. He nuzzled into your touch the slightest bit, not caring if any passerbys took notice of you. He could smell the sweet scent of strawberry on your breath as you closed in toward him, placing a delicate kiss upon his lips. You didn’t want to be indecent in public so you kept it chaste and though Suguru desperately wanted to kiss you passionately enough to make parents cover their children’s eyes (and maybe even their own), he showed restraint. When he eventually pulled away from your kiss, he took hold of your hand that laid on his cheek and placed little kisses on the pads of each finger—also smelling of the red berries you had spent hours hanging around.

Nanami:

When you told Kento you were in the mood to make a strawberry pie, but had no berries, he was quick to come up with the idea to pick fresh ones from the local farm. Now, here you were, baskets in hand, weaving through patches of ripe fruit.

"How's it going, Kento?"

"Well. I have about half a basket full. How about you, my love?"

He never failed to make your heart flutter with his sweet pet names and the syrupy way they fall off his tongue.

"About the same. I'm going to get a few more and then we should be done."

You bent down to gather more strawberries when a gust of wind suddenly picked up, taking your sunhat right from your head. You barely had time to react before it was placed gently back in its rightful place by none other than your boyfriend.

"Oh, Kento, thank you! That's my favorite hat, I would've been so sad if I lost it."

"Then it's a good thing I'd do anything to keep you happy, darling," Kento replied, a soft smile on his lips as he gazed at you like you were the sun and he was a berry plant, relishing in your warmth.

Choso:

Choso couldn’t contain the huge smile that appeared on his face when he saw the strawberry fields for the first time. It reminded him of the bygone era where many were farmers, a time that he and his brothers were born in but never got to experience outside of their glass cases.

“People still farm?” he asked, his voice laced with amazement and his brown eyes glossing over the never ending rows of ripe fruit in front of you.

“Yep! Isn’t so neat how much society has changed over a hundred and fifty years, yet stayed the same?” you questioned, Choso nodding in a quiet bout of deep thought. You grabbed a few baskets and began filling them with berries, working diligently in comfortable silence.

“We should grow a garden,” Choso eventually piped up, taking a bite from a strawberry he couldn’t resist the temptation of.

You felt a smile settle on your own face. “Really? You’d want to do that with me?”

“Of course. I’d much rather go out to my yard than a store for fruits,” he replied, taking a break from berry gathering to look you deeply in your eyes, “and there’s symbolism in the whole thing, too. What’s mine is yours, cultivating life together… it’s all strangely…” He faltered.

“Domestic.”

“Domestic. Exactly.” He reached for your hand and you gladly let him take it, fresh strawberry juice from his fingers leaving a bright red stain on your skin.

Toji:

The sun was beating down on you and you were exhausted after a long day of strawberry picking. Taking a seat on the ground, you felt relief flow through your legs as you gave them a rest.

“You’re getting absolutely filthy,” said Toji, scrunching his face as he looked at you with something akin to disgust. “Get up. You’re not a baby.”

“I’m your baby,” you teased, earning an eye roll from your boyfriend. “Besides, I’m tired and it’s a long walk back to the car. It’s either this or you carry me back.”

With one fell swoop, you were off the ground and in the strong arms of the muscled man.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" Toji grumbled, but he wasn't the least bit upset at having you so close to him.

“I do,” you said, cheekily planting a kiss on his exposed bicep.

love me not! | plucked<< branching out >>broken twigs

pairings: baby daddy!Geto x f!reader x coworker!Nanami

content: MDNI, coworker AU, angst, accidental pregnancy, bullying, rivals-to-coparents, hidden baby trope(sorta), work crushes, pining

Asking for a favor from Nanami Kento was selfish.

But who else would help you?

Your thumb hit the call button you'd spent the past half-hour staring at between biting your nails and fiddling with what you wondered was the only ring you'd ever get to wear. He answered before you could continue lamenting on your current status as a single mom-to-be. Yet there was just a heavy pause, just static and silence greeting you.

"Um, hi, it's me," You cringed immediately. Of course he knew it was you, he had your fucking number.

"If this is about work, I would rather discuss it in-person during office hours." His voice was thick with exhaustion, his tone coming off clipped and cold.

"I'm sorry, it's, um, well," You stammered, face heating up while you tried to find it in you to spit the reason out.

"Is everything alright?" He sighed, and you couldn't help but wonder if the concern you detected was wishful thinking or really there.

"I've, uh, been applying to new jobs, and I was just hoping I could put you down for a reference," You mumbled into the phone, tucking it between your shoulder and your ear while you paced, a hand absentmindedly resting over your stomach. It hadn't started to grow or swell, but it still felt natural. Comforting. "You can say no, but-"

"You're resigning?" He interrupted your rambling, while you desperately tried to swallow the lump in your throat.

"Yeah, I am," You admitted. There were only so many days you could find excuses to work remote from, only so many times you could slip out to the bathroom to get sick discreetly before Suguru would notice your growing symptoms. You'd only been to the doctors once, an appointment where you got shoved in and shoved back with a packet on all the 'do's and 'don't's out after peeing in a cup and letting them prick your arm a bunch of times to take your blood.

And how long after that would it take him to piece together you were pregnant with his baby?

It wasn't that you were scared to tell him.

Honestly, you almost hoped he'd hate it if he knew. Would pull out a wad of cash and shove it at you or scoff at you for ever thinking he'd want to play daddy just because he knocked you up.

No, you were terrified of just how much of your life he'd be able to take over if he wanted this too. Would he want a say in what clothes your baby wore? Where they went to school and what doctors you went to? Demand the baby have his last name? Would he expect you to move in with him? Marry him?

Of all the things he managed to twist and turn his way since you met him, you refused to let this be one of them.

This baby was yours.

"Oh." There was a finality to Nanami's voice you disliked. As if your unrequited crush on him hadn't been the only reason you stayed working with that asshole for so long anyway. "You should already know its fine to use me."

You both knew you'd never be able to put Suguru down for a reference.

"Yeah?"

"You're an excellent worker," He easily replied. Any compliment from someone of his caliber felt like a kiss on broken skin, soothing the ache of your splintered self-esteem.

"Well, thanks, Nanami," You muttered, looking down at your feet while you kept pacing. "Really, I appreciate it."

"Do you already have something lined up?" He asked when you were waiting for a hurried goodbye, for him to hang up on you and get back to his probably peaceful night. You weren't sure what exactly he did with his free time - if he had friends he spent it with or someone waiting for him there. He never wore a ring on that fourth sturdy finger, which you would have definitely noticed after spending so much time staring at the veins on his hands while he typed.

"I have an interview tomorrow," You answered, reminding yourself that even if he wasn't taken, any interest he might've ever had would be snuffed out the second he found out you were pregnant.

"You'll do fine."

"You think so?" Fishing for what you wanted to hear was probably wrong, but you couldn't help yourself when his voice was on the other end.

"I'm sure of it," He simply said.

"Thanks," You bit back a smile while you softly replied. "Again."

"Good luck," He sounded so calm, almost confident, like he thought you might not even need it.

You hadn't expected him to be right.

But perhaps the universe was taking pity on you, getting you an official job offer two days later, at a place that provided better maternity leave and small pay bump anyway.

And when the next morning came, you spent ten minutes in the car tapping you fingers against the steering wheel before you worked up the nerve to go inside and deliver your resignation to HR instead of Suguru. They'd be the ones hiring to replace your position anyway. All telling him would do was give him another reason to treat you terribly before you left.

Although, you did sort of wish you could see his face the moment he found out - or be there when someone new was sitting at your desk.

Luck was funny though, because you heard it instead waiting for the elevator to open up so you could make your escape after you finished up your final day at work once your notice was up.

"What the hell is this?" Between all the anger and irritation, there was a tinge of panic to his deep voice too. Hurt hiding under the disgust. Your pulse might've been pounding, but pride was there too, flaring up under the surface at being the one who got the last laugh. "Why are you only telling me now?"

You couldn't make out the response of whoever he was talking to when he was still inside his office, not over the clicking of the keyboards and the quiet chatter of gossiping from your former co-workers.

Only Nanami was looking at you, his head cocked to the side in a strange stare like he could somehow see straight through you.

"You seriously didn't think to tell me sooner? What about a counteroffer?" Your attention shifted back over to the closed blinds of Suguru's office, trying to shut down the sliver of you surprised to discover you were worth more to him than you realized. All you'd ever been to him before was someone to use. But the ding! from the elevator doors opening pulled you back before your thoughts could linger there. "Fuck. Is she still here?"

You were already hitting the button for the first floor.

next chapter will be in Suguru's pov <33 | divider by @bronzewasp

it was exactly 1:03 am when your careful movements had screeched to an abrupt halt, and you swear your heart nearly lurched out of the confines of your chest as a large shadow loomed over you.

you instantly whipped around, mouth stuffed with food, slightly backing up against the refrigerator and glancing up at the man you call your husband— who was solely responsible for the jumpscare.

for a moment, you just stared at him with wide eyes, and he simply stared back. no words exchanged, the peaceful silence of the night replaced by the thumping of your own heartbeat being the only sound. you hastily swallow your food before finally parting your lips at last.

"you scared me!" you whisper-shouted, your hand flying up to press against your chest where your heart was still racing erratically.

finally, his expression shifted— his lips curving into a small, sheepish smile; lightly ruffling the back of his hair as he took a small step back.

".. sorry, i didn't mean to scare you."

his voice was thick with sleep, a touch deeper than usual.

your expression softened, the fright from earlier easing up as you gently closed the refrigerator behind you, now the only illumination in the kitchen being the soft golden hued dim light.

"it's fine," you chuckle softly. "my bad, did i wake you up when i got up?"

you did, yes. was that a bad thing? hardly. your husband was just simply too used to having you in his arms as you both slept, safe and sound within his snug and comforting embrace. he always seemed to stir awake whenever he felt you moving away from his arms, just as he did earlier.

he assumed that maybe you had some business to finish in the bathroom, or that you had simply gotten up to fetch yourself a cool glass of water. so when 10 minutes passed with no sign of you coming back to bed, naturally, he was starting to feel the worry creep in. he was a man on a mission to find his wife and bring her back right where she belongs— in his arms, of course.

and now, here he was.

"it's not a big deal," he shook his head. "were you hungry?"

"uhh.."

"want me to make you something?"

"no, no! it's okay, i just woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't fall asleep for some reason." you finally said, although warmth bloomed in your chest at the way your husband was willing to cook for you in the dead of the night just because his beloved wife had a small craving.

he nodded his head in understanding, the remnants of sleep in his eyes slowly beginning to fade away. you moved away from the refrigerator to walk towards the counter, bringing a glass forward. just before you could reach for the jug, you stilled.

in 2 strides, he had closed the distance. he was standing right behind you now, his broader frame hovering over you— the solidness of his chest almost pressing against your back, as he, too, reached for his glass, while his other hand absentmindedly came up to rest on your waist. your heart skipped a beat at the sudden proximity.

... not that you were complaining.

before you knew it, he was already bringing the glass to his lips. your gaze darted down at your own glass which he had also filled while he was at it.

"well, someone's quiet."

now you were pretty sure he was doing this on purpose now. his hand? still on your waist, his thumb drawing small, featherlight circles over your skin. and the man himself? still standing right behind you, the warmth of his body intertwining with yours.

you could very clearly hear the smirk in his voice.

you huffed, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed up as you gulped down your water.

"you're being awfully flirty for someone who just got up from bed," you shot, finally turning around to face him. and the moment you did? his face was close. too close.

"what, i can't flirt with my own wife whenever i please now?" he raised an eyebrow, leaning down just slightly— his nose lightly brushing against yours in a ticklish, teasing gesture.

you rolled your eyes in response, yet you couldn't help the smile spreading across your lips. you merely hummed, your hands sliding up to wrap around his neck, tugging him down towards you just slightly, and he leaned down instinctively. you placed a soft, fleeting peck on his lips, watching the way his playful expression softened. both of his arms had already found their way towards your waist, gentle and steady.

"give me another kiss, pretty. preferably one that lasts longer."

you giggled, slightly shaking your head. greedy. you reached up again, your lips claiming his in a sweet kiss, slow and unhurried. and he returned the kiss in no less than a second, each movement of his lips against yours speaking like a soft confession of his unwavering love and devotion for you. he pulled you closer towards him, his hold on you tightening— but not uncomfortably. you instantly melted into him, nails gently grazing his scalp.

his lips tilted into the faintest smile in-between the kiss.

you immediately felt it, and smiled too.

that, in turn, made him smile a tad bit wider.

after a moment, you pulled away, lips slightly parted. a soft yet undeniably lovesick smile was present on both of your faces, and the way you two gazed into each other's eyes said more than what words could at that moment.

wordlessly, he began gently swaying with you still between his arms, guiding you into a slow dance. a surprised laugh left your lips, and to him, that itself was the melody for the impromptu dance— your steady breaths mingling with his, shared laughter, stolen kisses and hushed confessions.

perhaps getting caught in the kitchen past midnight wasn't so bad after all.

♡ gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, itadori yuji, okkotsu yuta (jjk), zayne, sylus, caleb (lads), kurosaki ichigo, ishida uryuu (bleach), mammon, satan, solomon, diavolo, simeon (obm), uzui tengen, rengoku kyojuro, tomioka giyuu, kamado tanjiro (kny), eren yeager, armin arlert, jean kirschtein (aot), anyone else you'd like. (honourable mentions; sung jinwoo and wriotheseley because they're fine.)

Princess

Kakuzu x Reader x Hidan

For @itzcleetus

4k

Threesome, stripper!reader, blow-jobs, choking, rough sex, facials, face-fucking, squirting, creampie, oral, dirty talk, aftercare, praise kink, degradation kink.

"Hey, Princess!"

You finished strapping on your heels before lifting your head to see who was calling your name, "What's up?" you stood up, checking yourself in the mirror and making sure the fishnet tights you wore didn't get bunched up with the bodysuit and end up tearing mid-dance. Wardrobe malfunctions in the middle of a routine were incredibly annoying.

"Your boy toy is here, brought a friend too", the dreamy look in her eye made you snort, "When I say; tall, dark and handsome- I mean literally!" She fanned herself with her hand dramatically, making you laugh loudly, turning the heads of some of the other girls in the dressing room.

"Okay, relax", you rolled your eyes playfully, your laughter dying into gentle chuckles, "If he's not all that- I'm holding you personally responsible". You wanted to believe your friend, but you couldn't trust her judgement when it came to men. Diamond had an odd taste in men; case in point, her old boyfriend who considered a matching tracksuit as "formal wear" and a trip to the barbers as a foreign concept. So, when she came tittering into the room, babbling about a tall, sexy man, it was easier to let her fawn and make your own observations later.

You fluffed your hair, applied a small layer of lip gloss, then strutted out of the dressing room with your friend Diamond in tow. "I'm serious!'' She said close to your ear, the loud music making it difficult to hear each other, "He has this 'touch me, and I'll kill you' vibe that's just-" she sighed blissfully with a small smile.

You scoffed, giving her a quizzical expression with squinted eyes and pursed lips, "And that's...hot?" you asked hesitantly, already concerned with the answer she would inevitably give you. Instead, you just shook your head, "Forget it, don't answer that", you ignored her stutters of an explanation of her odd attractions, "I'll see you during our break, okay?" she rolled her eyes but kept the smile and locked pinkies with you, "Empty their pockets".

"Always!"

The two of you went to separate polls and started a flawless dance routine. The money rained around you when you dropped to a split, hearing your loudest cheerleader whoop and holler from his seat by the stage, making you grin wide and perform extra tricks to hear his laughter.

You gripped the pole tightly as you spun slowly, then swayed your hips while dropping down into a squat with your legs wide open for the men in front of you. Hidan grinned, throwing more money between your legs, "Hey, princess", you took his hand and allowed him to help you step down from the stage- into his awaiting lap.

"Hi, cutie", you pressed butterfly kisses on his jaw while rolling your hips against him to the beat of the music. Hidan's smile stretched, his large palms running over your thighs covered by your fishnets, "The usual?" you whispered in his ear, then nipped at it softly so you could hear his delicious groan.

"Nah, a little extra, Princess", Hidan gestured over to the glooming hunk sitting on the chair beside him, "I brought a friend, figured you could cure his grumpy mood", he teased while slipping a wad of cash tied with a rubber band into your bra.

Hidan was the only man you did this with; this, as in, sleeping with a customer. The first time it happened, you decided to call it a lapse in judgement- overlooking the fact that you were completely sober. Hidan sauntered into the strip club, throwing money and taking dances from practically everyone. He was fun and sexy, so you decided to take him home for the night.

To your delight, Hidan turned out to be the best lay you've ever had. After an excellent night, you both parted ways- that was until you saw him again a week later- and the week after that. You told yourself there was nothing wrong with having a weekly fuck buddy- it just made you feel weird when Hidan would slip in some extra cash for your services.

You grasped the wrist that carried the money, "I told you, I don't fuck you for the money", it was meant to come out as firm, but it only made Hidan chuckle and press a kiss on your neck.

"I don't give you the money for that, Princess", his other hand started venturing up your thigh, "I want you to have nice things". His warm breath ghosted against your pulse; you gripped his shirt tightly, feeling the firm muscles on his arms tighten around you, "I like to spoil pretty princesses", Hidan murmured huskily, "Let me spoil you, okay?"

You nodded slowly; morals started slipping whenever he talked to you in that voice. All deep, dark and filled with lust. You discreetly accepted the extra cash, then stood up from his lap, "The back room is free for private dances", you winked at him, enjoying Hidan's cheeky grin and visible enthusiasm through his pants. You took his hand, then led him to the backroom, completely forgetting that he bought a friend until the three of you stood in the secluded, sound-proof room.

You stared up at the second man in the room- now you understood what Diamond meant. He was a hulking black man with long dreads and piercing green eyes that made you go weak in the knees. He looked older, no- his eyes looked older, but his arms, chest, muscular thighs clad in jeans- all screamed a strong physique. The man towered over you, the tattoos of stitches that ran across his mouth seemed to strain under his scowl.

He just seemed to radiate dark and ominous energy that had you both terrifying and turned on. Perhaps you were just as crazy as Diamond- or maybe that's just how he made every woman feel.

Hidan stood behind you as openly stared at the other man. His hands wandered around your waist and down your hips, "This is my friend, Kakuzu", he began to say with his lips pressed against your collarbone, "I told you about him, remember?" An odd tension disguised by the lust started to rise as Hidan continued to speak, "I told him about us- I told him I found a pretty princess for us to play with".

"Kakuzu..." you breathed out gently, testing his name by letting it roll off your tongue. He looked down at you with an expression that almost looked bored if you hadn't noticed the slight tensing of his jaw and the way his eyes followed Hidan's hands on your body. Your nerves began to ebb away the more Hidan's touch became bolder; his hands left a searing heat in their wake- awakening your pussy of the intimate feeling.

The air became hot and thick; a soft whine left your lips when Hidan pushed his bulge against your ass, "What do you say, Princess?" his mouth returned on your neck, "Think you can take us both?" Hidan began to unzip your bodysuit slowly as if he was waiting for you to back out, but oddly enough, you didn't want to.

You knew what Hidan had to offer- the little kitty inside you was curious to find out what Kakuzu was offering.

"Yes".

You could feel his grin on your skin, "Good girl", your bodysuit slipped off your body, leaving you in your underwear and fishnets. Hidan smacked your ass playfully, "Kakuzu is just gonna watch at first, okay?"

The man walked past both of them and sat down on the sofa opposite. The seats ran along the wall in an L shape with some footstools and plenty of plush pillows. There was a small music station and a mini-fridge with plenty of drinks with soft lighting and LED lights, but those remained off for now. The room is usually reserved for private parties. Kakuzu leaned back, draping his arm over the back and settling his gaze on the way Hidan touched your body.

You turned your head so you could capture Hidan's lips into a kiss, deciding on regaining some pride and control after gawking at the older man for what seemed like centuries. You reached back, grasping the back of his neck and using him like a pole to grind and sway against Hidan, giving Kakuzu a show of your moves.

"Take off her bra", Kakuzu's deep baritone startled you, almost as much as how quickly Hidan obeyed that command because now you stood topless with your breasts on full display. You whimpered into Hidan's mouth when his calloused palms started massaging your soft mounds, "Come closer".

Hidan nudged you forward with his hip, never breaking the kiss and keeping his hands kneading your tits, forcing sweet sighs out of your mouth. You both walked towards him until your knee bumped against Kakuzu's. Hidan pushed his thigh between your legs, using it to rub against your cunt already staining your panties. You ground your hips on his thigh, mewling softly from the friction upon your clothed clit.

"Bend her over".

Hidan let go of your mouth and made you fall forward by the waist, forcing your face to be inches from Kakuzu's. A deep full body blush burned you as you stared into the older man's eyes; you could see the dark convent of desire that stirred beneath his scowl. You wanted to be the one to break his mask, to have him untamed and wild.

"Go on, Princess", Hidan sank to his knees and ripped your fishnets, "Don't you want to touch him?" you could hear his grin, "He's sexy, right? I knew you'd like each other", he smacked your ass playfully before dragging your panties down, watching a thin, silvery string drip down with the fabric. A throaty groan rumbled from Hidan, "Fuck- you're so perfect, Princess", his large palms spread your cheeks, exposing more of your glistening cunt to his greedy sights.

You whined softly, ducking your head to escape the embarrassment of Kakuzu's intense eyes and wriggling from Hidan's groping and intrusive gaze, "H-Hidan-". You weren't a shy woman, but being at the mercy of two men like this was a little too much.

"Look at me", Kakuzu grunted, and when you didn't- he seized your chin, forcibly making you look up at him, "Is a stripper becoming shy?" Hidan barked out a laugh from behind you before delving face-first into your pussy- you jerked forward with your cry of surprise swallowed by Kakuzu's mouth.

Grunts, sighs and sounds of your cunt being devoured filled the room. You pushed back against Hidan's face while your hands started petting Kakuzu's broad shoulders and firm chest. He tasted spicy and faintly of cigarettes, but that didn't bother you. Kakuzu's other hand palmed your tits, rolling his fingers against the hardened bud and drinking your sounds of pleasure against his mouth.

"More", you whined upon his lips. You could feel Hidan's tongue stroking up and down your slippery folds before capturing your clit and suckling on it softly. Kakuzu pinched your nipple to gain back your attention.

"Hear that, little slut wants more", he grunted towards Hidan; the man smacked your ass in response. Kakuzu's grip on your chin tightened as he jerked your head to the side so he could place hard, open mouth kisses on your neck, "You're a greedy little thing, y'know that?" You set your hands on his knees for leverage, soft moans leaving your mouth as Hidan's fucked you deep. "Begging for more when you haven't even touched us yet", he chastised with heavy gruff and darkened eyes.

You tried to answer, but the heat that pulsated between your thighs and pooled in your belly was too intense to ignore. Heavy pants and sweet moans were the only sounds you could muster. Hidan's loud and enthusiastic slurping continued, causing your thighs to tremble as you fought to keep standing. Your eyes rolled back as the dam threatened to burst inside you and coat Hidan's face with your juices.

"I think you've spoiled this little princess too much already, Hidan", your eyes shot up to him, seeing a sinister look in Kakuzu’s eye that promised sweet agony and delicious punishments.

Your orgasm was so close, "N-no, please-"

Kakuzu grasped your throat, cutting off your pathetic sounds of protest in replace of desperate gulps of air. His rough actions only made you wetter, and he could tell from the way your lips parted in a silent moan, "Hidan, stop".

The power in his voice had you whining low in your throat, whereas Hidan huffed before parting away from your quivering pussy and standing back up, "I felt her tightening around my tongue- god", he groaned, unbuckling his belt, "You should have a taste too", Hidan grinned, wiping his face with his shirt before tugging it off, "Princess, you should taste Kakuzu-" his large palms rubbed your ass, "Her mouth feels just as good as her pussy".

Kakuzu released your throat, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger again.

You gasped, quickly regaining your breath. "I want to", you whispered, looking up at Kakuzu through your lashes and giving your best pleading pout. Your hands ventured up to his thighs slowly to reach the thick bulge that strained against his jeans, "I could taste you, now"- you felt his mouth curl up into a smirk against your neck, "Let me taste you, daddy", you pleaded sweetly, grasping the thickness that lay between his thighs.

"Hey! You said you didn't have a daddy kink", you looked over your shoulder to see Hidan scowling with his hand stroking up and down his shaft in idle strokes.

"Sorry, baby", you hadn't meant to say it- Kakuzu just had an intensity to him that felt different to Hidan, "You're still my favourite, though", if it weren't for him playing matchmaker, then this never would have happened.

Kakuzu chuckled, allowing you to unbutton his jeans, "You just don't have that vibe, man", you managed to pull his cock from his pants, licking your lips unconsciously and greedily drinking in the sheer size of him. Your smaller hands could barely wrap around the base of his shaft; Kakuzu had a girth that made your mouth water and pussy clench.

"Go on, princess", Hidan appeared beside you, looking down at you between Kakuzu's thighs with a wide grin, "Are you scared? Is it too big for you?" he taunted with a cruel smirk, "Show him what a good little slut you are". Hidan brushed your hair back from your face as both men watched you wrap your lips around the engorged cock head and give it gentle little sucks before widening your jaw and swallowing down his length.

Pathetic gags ripped from your throat, making them chuckle and humiliation flame your cheeks. You breathed through it, determination and pride fueling you to grip the base of Kakuzu's shaft with both hands- allowing the drool trickling down your chin to act as lube before bobbing your head up and down his length.

The deep groan that vibrated through his chest spurred you on. Hollowing your cheeks, you twisted your hand and stroked him through your suckles. You felt Hidan's cock poke your cheek impatiently, obviously dissatisfied from being left out. You slapped his hand away and replaced it with your own, stroking him hard and firm, the way he liked it.

"That's my little princess", Hidan groaned, thrusting his cock into your fist lightly, his gaze never leaving the way you drooled and slurped up on Kakuzu's fat cock. Where Kakuzu had girth, Hidan was slender and curved slightly at a perfect angle to hit your sweet spot every time. Your cunt ached in anticipation to have either man inside.

Kakuzu grunted loudly when your teeth unexpectedly grazed against his sensitive flesh- though it was a deep groan of pleasure rather than pain. You figured a man that was friends with Hidan had a pain kink too. His hands tangled in your hair, pushing your head a little deeper until your throat constricted around his head, "Hidan, face or pussy?" he gruffed, lust heavy in his tone.

Hidan's shallow ruts into your fist faltered as he considered the question, "Nah, the better question is-" his grin turned feral as he looked down at your tear-stained face, "Creampie or facials?"

Kakuzu groaned low in his throat when you moaned around his cock, "Fuck-" he panted, abdomen tense as he fought against his impending release. "You creampie, and I'll give this pretty princess a nice facial, hah", Kakuzu's grin seemingly stretched the tattoos of the stitches across his face- it made him look incredibly sexy and terrifying at the same time. He jerked into your mouth, "Would you like that?" he watched you nod weakly, mouth stuffed with his dick, "Want me to ruin that pretty face?"

You hummed around his dick in response, causing him to groan and chuckle at the same time. The noise went straight down to your clit, your pussy slick and clenching around nothing as you wriggled your hips. Kakuzu gathered your hair in a fat fist and signalled to Hidan to return to his position.

"I got you, baby", Hidan slipped out of your fist and walked back to your ass. He grasped your hips, grinding his dick against your slippery folds and moaning from the friction, "Gonna make you milk my cock dry". You pushed back against him, your tongue busy swirling around Kakuzu's length to speak. Hidan grunted, "Impatient, huh?" he chuckled before spreading your cheeks open and pushing his mushroom head against your tight entrance. Hidan panted softly, your pussy quivering from the intrusion.

You moaned, sighed and whimpered upon Kakuzu's cock until Hidan's length was nestled firmly into your cunt. Kakuzu wiped a tear from your face before looking up at his partner, "Ready?"

Hidan smacked your ass with a wide grin, "Fuck yes!" both men began rutting their dicks into your holes. Your body shook from the onslaught; Kakuzu held your hair in a tight grip as he fucked his fat cock into your throat, Hidan snapped his hips into you, his curved dick slamming into the spongey spot that had you seeing stars and crying into Kakuzu's lap. You slobbered and choked around the thick grith that stuffed your mouth.

"You should see her face", Kakuzu grunted, rutting his hips in a firm pace, "Pathetic and drooling". He grinned down at you, his eyes cruel and dense with a thick layer of lust that matched the potent stench of sex in the room.

Hidan groaned, his hips faltering when you squeezed around his cock, "Dirty little princess loves it when you say shit like that", he gripped your hips tightly, "I can feel your sloppy pussy squeezing me". Hidan went back to slamming into you mercilessly, grinning widely at the sounds of pleasure you babbled pitifully.

Kakuzu cradled your head, watching the muscles constricting around his length in rapture, "Is that so?" he whispered, "You like being ruined by two dicks, is that it?" the tears that clamped in your lashes rolled down your cheeks as he shoved his cock down your throat, "You're a slutty little girl, letting us fuck you like this".

You cried when Hidan slammed into you so hard, your orgasm washed over you abruptly, and Kakuzu's cock slipped deeper down your throat- making you gag and slobber all over him. Your thighs trembled, causing you to collapse, except Hidan wrapped a solid arm around your waist and lifted you from the floor. One hand gripped your waist while the other held you firmly as he continued to thrust into your sopping cunt. You held onto Kakuzu's thighs for leverage as the men used your body to chase their release.

"Princess, you made a mess on me", Hidan teased, his cock dragging along your fluttering walls and abdomen painted with your wetness, "Think you can do it again?"

Kakuzu huffed, "I'm sure she has another one in there for us", his grip on your hair tightened the more he pushed your head up and down his thick length.

Your body ached, throat burned and pussy throbbed as you accepted their harsh movements and cruel taunts. You squeezed your eyes tight, your vision blurring while you tried to keep up with Kakuzu's thrusts and keep yourself breathing enough not to completely choke on his cock. When you heard Hidan's curses become louder, you purposefully clenched your inner muscles around his length- it was always his sign that he was close to cumming.

"God- fuck!" he shouted. Hidan leaned over; his solid chest pressed firmly against your back as his hips spluttered and rammed hard into you, "Gonna stuff you full of my cum, baby", he groaned low in his throat, biting the tender skin of your neck as he fucked you hard and fast with his balls slapping against your puffy clit.

Kakuzu's pace picked up too, using your throat to chase his own release as he watched your pitiful face contort into pain and lust, "Cum on his dick, princess", you whimpered, shaking your head weakly while swallowing around his cock. You couldn't- it was all too much. Kakuzu grasped your throat with his other hand, groaning when he felt the way you clamped around his size, "You can, and you will- do it again", the demand rasped through his voice, "Be a good girl, and do what daddy says".

You whined loud- Hidan cursed, his orgasm tearing through him aggressively, three pumps of his hips, and he was emptying his cum into your sloppy cunt. Kakuzu chuckled, then groaned when you dragged your bottom teeth against the thick vein that ran along his length and lapped up at his slit at the same time. Kakuzu slipped your mouth off his cock, relishing in the way your tears, snot and drool spluttered as you coughed for air. He stroked himself to the lewd expression on your face, groaning low in his throat as his cum painted your pretty face.

Hidan rubbed frantic circles on your clit, his cock still buried deep inside you so he could feel the walls clamp around him as a clear liquid gushed from your pussy. Your lips parted in a silent scream, your orgasm ripping through your body and splashing Hidan with your juices. The dark carpet became stained with your essence.

"Wow!" Hidan laughed, his fingers never stopping, even when you squirmed and jerked away from his touch, "Didn't know you had that in you, princess".

Kakuzu wiped your tears, hypnotised by your lovely face coated with his thick ropes of cum. He watched you cry and whimper, biting your lip to stop the noises then moaning when you tasted the rich substance on your mouth. Your body slumped against them both- you had no strength left in you after that. Hidan picked you up then gently set you down on the sofa.

"Where are-"

You pointed to the box on top of the mini-fridge; it had tissues, wet wipes and condoms in there for any shenanigans.

Hidan brought the box over and crouched down beside you, wiping your face gently, "You did so well, baby".

Kakuzu took a wipe and gently rubbed your abused pussy, your folds coated with Hidan's cum as it dribbled out in thick gobs, "Such a good girl", he murmured while cleaning you up.

Their whispered praises and gentle ministrations lulled your soul into a calm state, peacefulness washing over you the way their hands did on your spent body.

Hidan must have cleaned himself up when you slipped into unconsciousness because now he sat with your head in his lap and hand stroking your hair, "You ready?"

"Mmm?" you murmured gently, lifting your head to see Kakuzu's intense gaze settled on you and his large palms caressing your thighs, "Ready for what?"

Kakuzu's eyes darkened in that way you became familiar with- the look that promised sweet agony, "For round two, princess".

“my wife” ft. nanami kento

in which the married man nanami kento cannot stop using every single excuse to call you his wife. he just can’t help it, it sounds really nice.

at the bakery, instead of looking for it he went to the counter to ask, “excuse me, do you have whole wheat bread? my wife prefers that over the plain one.” was there a reason for him to mention you? nope. is he going to to it again? absolutely.

he now brings home cooked lunch to work. the man who usually dreads the small talk from his coworkers now becomes quite eager when they notice the bento and asked him about it. “my lunch looks great? thank you. my wife cooked this for me.”

or when it’s after hours and there’s random talk amongst the workers such as places to visit on vacation. “these are really good recommendations, i’ll have to visit them with my wife if i have the chance.”

when he’s on grocery shop duty after work when you asked him to buy something from the market. kento tasted the one of the sample food and perked up, for two reasons. reason one is that he finds something you’d like, second reason, “where can i find more of this? my wife would love this.”

when a random stranger flirts with him and he didn’t miss a beat to say, “ah, you find me charming? thank you, my wife would agree.”

his phone would ring while he’s occupied in a work discussion and he had the slightest smile on his face as he stood up, “excuse me, my wife is calling.”

the way he always tried to insert you in every conversation even if the topic barely correlates to you. “i seriously almost drowned that day, the beach can be really dangerous,” one of his coworker said, finishing a story. and who would be able to know why kento felt the need to say, “my wife quite likes the beach.”

even in front of mutual friends such as gojo, as he knew the both of you back from high school days. “let me ask my wife first if she wants to come.” oh now it’s gojo’s turn to roll his eyes after so many years he has tormented the blond man with his antics. “you know that i know ‘your wife’ right? that she’s my friend too?” nanami looked at him, “what’s your point?” he deadpanned.

on the most random time of the day, his mind wandered to you as always. “i miss my wife.”

-

guys i think he has a wife

…Do You Want Some Toast?

Fluff

Kento Nanami x gn!reader

When Nanami wakes up and doesn’t feel you by his side, he’s determined to figure out what happened to you.

Warnings: unsettling imagery (blood mention)

Kento Nanami is a peaceful man.

He doesn’t like to fight, he’s never quick to anger. He gets frustrated that his sighs of resignation and irritation often fall on deaf ears, though he’s never all that worked up about anything anyway. He’s a rational thinker and never gets too lost in his imagination before figuring out an answer to a problem.

Usually, that is.

He turned over in bed, in that state between asleep and awake where nothing matters except cuddling with the one you love and falling back into restfulness. That was exactly his plan, his arm reaching over to the spot where you lay faithfully each night, eager to cozy up into your blonde boyfriend’s gentle grasp.

The bed was cold…

Why was the bed cold?

Nanami opened his eyes, his vision adjusting to the dark that encompassed him. He tentatively patted next to him, double checking that you really weren’t there and that he hadn’t just missed your sleeping form in his tiredness. He lied stiffly for a few minutes, listening for sounds of you finally walking back to bed but they never came. His mouth was turned into a frown as he looked at his bedside clock: 3:32 AM. This behavior wasn’t like you. If you had gotten up for a bathroom break or glass of water, you would’ve been back by now. Did you fall? Were you hurt?

As Nanami peeled back the covers, ready to begin searching your shared residence to find you, he stopped abruptly. He heard a loud slam from a room toward the front of the apartment.

Had a burglar, or worse, a curse found its way inside?

Kento wasted no time getting out of bed, opening his wooden nightstand drawer as quietly as possible, grabbing his trademark knife and glasses. As he creeped down the hallway, his mind wouldn’t stop wandering, picturing various grisly situations you might’ve been in like you were in some sort of messed up horror movie. At times, your guys’ lives were like a horror movie, battling terrifying incarnations of cursed energy. Nanami knew it would be easy enough to take down any sorcerer if they weren’t expecting an attack in the middle of the night in their home.

Well, maybe not Gojo, but Nanami really didn’t want to think about that man so early in the morning, if ever.

Nanami took a deep breath and took in his surroundings. He listened for your cries, smelled the air for blood, willed his eyes to scan for shadowy movements.

There was nothing.

And then there was something.

His ears perked up at a strange noise coming from the kitchen. He registered some sort of rhythmic scratching, though he couldn’t fathom what it could possibly be. A curse trying to get in the window? A curse that had already killed you and was now using your fingernails and blood to paint a picture?

There was only one way to find out.

Nanami’s knuckles were ghostly white as he gripped his weapon and walked slowly with one hand trailing the wall next to him, praying his glasses would shield his eyes from the light that was about to flood the kitchen.

“Don’t move!” he yelled out, finding the light switch easily and turning it on to stun his opponent. Thankfully his glasses did help, allowing him to see what type of intruder he was dealing with.

Actually, he didn’t need the light at all—your scream of “Stop right there!” was answer enough.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” he asked earnestly, abandoning his glasses and knife on the countertop when he saw you weren’t dead, barely moving in a pool of your own blood, or whatever other terrible scenario he had thought happened.

Though you hadn’t answered him, Nanami spied you putting down your own knife, apparently ready to strike at whoever was sneaking up on you in the dark. He looked around the kitchen and saw various items sprawled about: butter, a plate, a loaf of bread, and a toaster.

Kento Nanami had never felt dumber.

“…Do you want some toast?” you gestured, offering him a sheepish smile, your cheeks filled with the toast you had just taken a huge bite of. Nanami sighed, running an exasperated hand through his hair.

“You were in here making a snack this entire time? I thought you… I thought someone had come in, or a curse. If you had gotten hurt, I don’t know what I…”

Nanami was a loss for words, visibly in distress, and you felt awful.

“Oh Kento,” you said, rushing over to give him a hug, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to stress you out so bad. I was trying to be quiet so I didn’t wake you up but I accidentally dropped the toaster and then I made the toast too crispy so then buttering it was really loud and then-”

“Don’t apologize,” he cut you off, his brown eyes finding comfort in your own, “I should’ve checked to see if it was you first. My imagination got the best of me tonight and for that, I apologize to you.”

“You have no reason to be sorry either,” you told him, smoothing your hands over his pajama top, “I’m lucky to have such a caring, fearless boyfriend like you. You were more than ready to take down whoever was in here.” You let out a small laugh as your palms rested on his broad chest. “Even though I was about to be on the chopping block, I thought you looked really hot in your attack mode.”

Nanami felt his cheeks warm as a blush made itself evident. He cleared his throat, your flirting flustering him and his sleepy, muddled brain.

“Finish your toast, darling, then come back to bed, okay?”

You stifled a chuckle with another bite of your mid-night meal, giving him the thumbs up.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, kissing some crumbs off the corner of your mouth before scooping up his belongings and heading back into the bedroom, ready to cuddle up with the love of his life and put his overactive thoughts to rest.

That night, as he held you close, Nanami dreamt of taking you to the finest bakeries around the world.

nanami is a disciplined man, a creature of habit. he wakes up early, gets ready for work with precision, and leaves the house on time. but there is one part of his routine that he refuses to rush—those ten precious minutes before he has to leave, where he gets to hold you, kiss you, and remind you just how much he loves you.

this morning is no different. the alarm has gone off, but instead of getting up immediately, nanami rolls over, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. you’re still half-asleep, curled up under the blankets, but you hum softly when his lips brush over your shoulder.

“i need to get up,” he murmurs, though he makes no effort to move away. his hand slides over your waist, warm and steady, pulling you closer.

“no,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep as you nuzzle against his chest. “stay.”

nanami exhales a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “you know i can’t,” he says, though he sounds just as reluctant as you feel.

“you can,” you argue, tilting your head up so he has no choice but to kiss your lips next. he does, soft and lingering, as if you’ve got him under a spell. maybe you do. maybe you always have.

“ten minutes,” he whispers against your lips, a reminder for himself more than for you.

those ten minutes belong to you. they always do.

his hands wander, tracing over your back, memorizing the warmth of your skin. his lips press over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, before returning to your lips like he’s drawn to them. he whispers between kisses, voice low and reverent.

“i love you.”

kiss.

“i love you so much.”

kiss.

“you make it impossible to leave.”

another kiss, deeper this time, until he hears you sigh against him, fingers curling into his shirt like you’ll never let go.

“so don’t,” you plead, and nanami’s resolve wavers. it always does when it comes to you.

“you’ll be the death of me,” he groans, burying his face in your neck again. “if i call in, it’s your fault.”

“i’ll take full responsibility,” you promise, and he knows you’re smiling even with your eyes still closed.

he exhales, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your lips before finally—reluctantly—pulling away. “i’ll come home early,” he assures you, smoothing your hair. “and then i’ll make it up to you.”

“you’d better.” you mumble, already drifting back to sleep as he tucks you under the blankets.

nanami lingers at the door for a moment, watching you, memorizing you, before finally stepping out.

but even as he leaves, his heart stays with you.

💘

girls girls girls! 🌸🍊

Just thinking about Sylus giving you attitude when he mimics your words during the event, but he really hates when you flip it back on him... especially when it means you stop begging/talking to him next time you have sex as revenge.

Best believe he's pounding you deep into the mattress as soon as he realized what you're doing, nonstop filth coming out of his mouth as he begs you to forgive him and let him hear you once more as you fight nearly to tears to keep your sounds muffled just to torture him a little longer.

Inked

Synopsis: Somehow you won a free session from the most famous tattoo artist in Linkon. You never expected to be sucked into his world, but you’re slowly becoming even more obsessed with him. And with who you are when you’re with him. When you finally discover what he’s involved in, will he push you away or show you a whole new world? 

AN: This fanfic was inspired & entirely fueled by the artwork above, done by the amazing @obligatedart - thank you for letting me use your work as the cover art! Go check them out and see the other tattooed Rafayel pieces they’ve done. I’ve written over 80 pages in a week so... comment if you want to be tagged for part 2!

Content Warnings: explicit language & sexual content, alcohol consumption, public sex, threesome, oral (m&f receiving), creampie, PiV, birth control mentioned (yay protection), mentions of needles (tattoo needles, not medical), genital piercings, vehicle accidents, injuries, blood, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 16k 

“I still can’t believe you won the fucking contest!”

Tara punches you in the arm and you grunt, swatting at her with a pout. She leans away from you to protect the coffee in her hand before giggling and gently rubbing the spot she hit.

“Sorry, sorry, I just… I spent so much money buying like 50 raffle tickets and you bought ONE and beat all the odds. Did you cast a spell? Are you a witch?!”

Tara’s animated voice draws the attention of the other cafe patrons. You sip your latte silently and try to avoid their judgemental gazes. Tara sets her cup down and crosses her arms. She leans back, squinting at you.

“So it’s tomorrow, right?”

You nod and lean on the table in front of you to pick at your blueberry muffin. Tara snatches the muffin away and you look up at her with wide eyes. She’s definitely irritated with your silence. But what can you possibly say? Sorry? Sorry for winning a once in a lifetime raffle to get a free tattoo by the best tattoo artist in Linkon? Who has a 5 year waitlist? Who has tattooed the biggest celebrities? Who was a judge on the #1 reality show for 3 years running trying to find the next big artist? Who is absolutely, positively, undoubtedly the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life? Fuck no, you are not sorry at all.

“I know you wanted to win so I don’t want to talk about it and make you upset.”

Tara rolls her eyes and plops your muffin back on its plate. You sit back and sigh, looking Tara up and down. She didn’t seem like the type to have a lot of tattoos, but she hid them well. When she wasn’t in her uniform she was showcasing the artwork on her body. The designs were gorgeous and you wished you had been more patient when getting yours. You basically ran to the tattoo shop on your 18th birthday to get a super basic bitch tattoo just because you could. 

“I want to hear about it! I am going to live vicariously through you. Spill bitch.”

You chuckle and finish off your latte before pulling out your phone to show Tara the email chain you started with the artist. She grabs your phone instantly and scrolls through the messages.

“Oh my god, even his emails sound hot.”

You roll your eyes and watch Tara’s eyes light up when she sees the design.

“Holy shit. You are BRAVE! AN underboob tat?! You’re gonna show him your tits the first time you meet him?! Biiiiiitch!”

She squeals before zooming in on the design and ogling at the details.

“This is so pretty! The seashells and the little pearls and chains? Amazing. It will match your chest piece really well too!”

She was right, the seashells and pearls would tie into your mermaid chest piece perfectly. It was the first tattoo you put a lot of effort into, getting the design nailed down and taking your time finding a good artist. You wanted this next piece to compliment it and expand on the original concept. The shells would be a dusty pink to match the tails with the beading and pearls adding a little sparkle. You smiled, your pre-tattoo butterflies swirling. 

“OH! You sent him a picture of your chest piece.”

She slapped your shoulder excitedly.

“In a bikini top! Are you KIDDING ME? Imagine him opening that picture and just getting to stare at your gorgeous tits and that tat? I’m horny just thinking about it.”

You grab her wrist to stop her flailing, your cheeks are burning since her voice is just a little too loud. She glares at you, her sly smile absolutely beaming. 

“Jesus Tara, shh! It’s not a big deal, I’ve wanted this piece expanded for a long time and Rafayel’s specialty is literally anything ocean related. He’s going to touch up the girls too.”

She raises her brows and drops her eyes to your chest and you quickly realize your mistake.

“The mermaids, you horny bitch, the mermaids.”

She nods slowly.

“Uh huh… sure!”

You don’t argue with her, let her think what she wants. You were already anxious thinking about the appointment. She was right about one thing, you were basically showing him your tits the same day you officially met. It’s like “Hi, nice to meet you, here’s my tits” - nice.

When you get home that night you spend extra time prepping your skin and finding the right outfit. Sure you’d be taking off your top and just wearing pasties, but making sure you felt your best beyond that was important too. You drink your sleepy time tea, since the pre-tattoo butterflies had turned to pre-tattoo anxiety.

You slip on your nightgown and settle back, trying to force yourself to relax. About 30 minutes later, you’re on your phone. You just couldn’t help it, you scroll through your feed liking Tara’s selfie with her boyfriend, Jeremiah. A photo of Caleb at a bar, he must have gotten some R&R today. And what’s this? Zayne posted a meme? Doctor Zayne? Oh, Greyson won a bet - that makes more sense. 

As you scroll, you start finding posts reposted by Lemuria Studios, recent clients, sketches done by artists and then a video that makes your chest tighten. Rafayel sits hunched over the arm of some buff dude in a tank top, the tattoo gun in his hand moves steadily against his skin. God, he looks hot. He’s just sitting there, doing his job, why are you freaking out? You want to put the phone down, watching him work is only going to make you more anxious for tomorrow. But you can’t seem to let it go. You’re mesmerised by the outline of the muscles of his forearm, barely visible under his own colorful tattoos, they twitch as he colors in the lines he just made. His dusty purple fringe brushes his cheeks, his earrings sway as he bobs his head to whatever music is playing. He stops and wipes the guy's arm with a towel before leaning back and looking at the camera. He smiles and… fuck… You drop your phone and stifle a moan. You’re not going to survive tomorrow. 

The next morning, you wake up early to get ready. You cook a huge breakfast, as difficult as this session was going to be, you didn’t want to make it worse by passing out. You down a huge glass of water while you do your makeup. You sweep your hair over your shoulders in two long braids and slip on a beanie. Your joggers sit comfortably on your hips and you change out your fitted halter for a dark cut off t-shirt. You were committing to the comfortable vibe, especially if you were going to be mostly uncomfortable very soon. 

Your phone rings and you race to the kitchen to see Tara’s picture flash on the screen. You answer and put it on speaker as you lace up your boots. 

“What’s up?”

“I’m just checking in before your session. Are you nervous?”

You chuckle under your breath. She has no idea.

“Oh yeah, I always get pre-tattoo jitters. They’ll go away when I get there.”

“I doubt it! Girl, his face is going to be inches away from your tits. I’d bring a change of panties if I were you.”

“Tara, what do you think people at work would say if they heard you talk like this?”

“Oh, they’d lose their minds! Sweet, innocent Tara would never warn you about imagining him dropping his tattoo gun and climbing on top of you, ripping your pasties off and –”

“TARA!”

She giggles for a minute straight, barely able to catch her breath. You swing your backpack over your shoulder and jog down to the garage. 

“Sorry! Honestly, I think you’ll have a great time. You’re gonna look hot with the new tat and I can’t wait to see it. Send me pics!”

“Of course. I’ll text you during breaks.”

After you hang up, you secure your helmet and hop on your bike. You take back roads instead of the highway since you know you’re too nervous and driving fast would be a bad idea. By the time you get to Regent Square, you can feel your heartbeat pounding against your ribcage. You find a long term parking garage and pay the outrageous fee. When you check your phone, you realize you only have 10 minutes before your appointment. You were supposed to be there at least 15 minutes early to fill out the paperwork. You jog down the street, only slowing long enough to catch your breath before heading inside the studio. 

Lemuria Studios is gorgeous, the pictures posted online don’t do it justice. The floor to ceiling windows bathe the room in sunshine, the weathered brick walls covered in bright graffiti, neon signs with what you assume to be words - although you are not sure what language it is and the hardwood floors are covered with vibrant rugs with intricate patterns. A large sectional couch corners off the waiting room where a few patrons wait for their artists. There are various tattoo stations, each decorated to suit a different artist. Towards the back of the studio there is a door with an ‘R’ in what looks like ceramic tiles. Must be Rafayel’s private room.

You approach the front desk and greet the receptionist with a smile. She passes you a clipboard with release forms and leaves to walk to the door at the back. You watch her knock and crack the door open, she says something before turning back to look at you. You quickly refocus and fill in the paperwork. You place the clipboard on the counter and take a seat on the couch, fiddling with the tassels of the pillow next to you. 

You’re about to stand and start pacing, your nerves getting the best of you, when you hear a door squeak open. You lift your eyes to see the man himself, emerge from the room and stroll towards the front of the studio. You clench your fists, yep, he’s even hotter in person. 

He’s dressed casually, his button up is definitely not buttoned up. His neck tattoo swirls down his neck to the center of his chest, two koi fish swim in a circle around his Adam's apple, the fins extend towards his jaw and down his neck with pink lotus flowers complimenting the red scales of the fish. Cut off sleeves let you see his signature tattoos, full sleeves on both arms. Not an inch of skin untouched, the full color underwater scenes are vibrant, bright orange and purple coral, dark blue waves highlighted with teals and white, schools of yellow and blue fish swim in circles around his forearm and a dolphin soars over the waves. His fitted jeans hide the leg tattoos you’ve seen in photos, the ocean waves that look more like flames than water that spiral from his ankle to his hip. He also supposedly has more tattoos on his torso, but you avoided looking up any photos of him shirtless because, well… that would be dangerous.

His shaggy hair casts a shadow over his eyes, but his smile is on full display. He turns to you and you hold your breath to avoid giggling like an idiot. His blue eyes are so bright, the wash of pink in them shines in the morning light that streams through the windows. As he approaches, you awkwardly stand and put on a shy smile. 

“Hi! I’m Rafayel, nice to officially meet you.”

He extends a hand and you nearly fall back onto the couch, finally taking a breath. You take his hand and revel in the softness of his skin. He suddenly yanks you forwards and starts pulling you toward the door at the back of the studio. You stumble along after him.

“I can’t wait to show you the final sketch, it’s everything you described but I added a little something that I think you’ll like.”

You giggle as he pulls you into the room. The bright purple walls are covered in either framed sketches, polaroids of tattoos, or random tattoo designs scribbled on a napkin or envelope. A vintage jukebox, with a modern AUX attachment, sits in the corner. A stack of canvases leans against the wall and a bucket of various spray paints sits on the floor. His drawing table has countless sketches pinned to it, including yours. The design is exactly what you imagined, but there’s an additional element. The centerpiece that directly connects to the chest piece is now slightly larger, having a net pattern woven behind it with a few fish and broken shells. 

“That’s amazing, holy shit! But it’s a bit more than we originally planned on, are you sure you have time?”

He immediately starts getting the transfer paper prepared. You see him shrug.

“The whole day is yours, it was booked by the radio station that set up the raffle. It’s actually pretty nice only having one client to work on, I can take my time.”

You feel your cheeks flush. He would take his time on your piece, it was flattering and nerve wrecking. You set your bag down on a chair in the corner and stuff your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, awesome, I didn’t realize…”

“You’re nervous aren’t you?”

You huff out a laugh and put your hands on your hips.

“Not at all, I have plenty of tattoos. I know the drill. I’m totally fine, just excited.”

He turns, the transfer paper in hand, and walks over to his station. Everything was meticulously set up from the tiny cups of ink to the paper towels to his tattoo gun. He sets the transfer paper down before heading to the sink in the corner and washing his hands.

“Do you need tape?”

You watch him scrub his hands, it was almost like he was a doctor preparing for surgery. You tilt your head and hum to yourself, trying to figure out his meaning. He dries his hands and looks at you, his lips set in an amused smirk.

“For your nipples.”

You immediately drop your gaze and try to laugh to distract from the blush rising to your neck and cheeks. You clear your throat and meet his gaze.

“No, I wore pasties. Like I said, I know the drill.”

He smiles and motions towards the table. He puts on gloves and gives his bottle of transfer cream a shake. He eyes you expectantly.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

You turn away from him and face the padded table in front of you. You tug your shirt off over your head and toss it over your bag on a nearby chair. You hesitate to turn around. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous - sure you are literally half-naked in front of a guy you could only dream of, but he’s done this countless times! Your tits are not the first ones he’s tattooed under. You turn to face him and watch his eyes drop to your chest, he glances at the transfer paper and back to you, mentally lining up the art on your body. 

“Yea, this will look amazing on you.”

His voice is rougher than before, you clasp your hands behind your back and rock on your heels.

“Thank you… uhm… do you want me to lie down or?”

He walks up and squeezes some transfer cream onto his gloved hand. 

“Just stand right here. This might be cold.”

You brace and when his fingers touch the skin just under your breast, you gasp. Not from the cold, but rather from the jolt of electricity that sparked through your system. 

“You were right, s’cold.” 

He chuckles and continues to rub the cream along your upper rib cage, under your breasts and down the center of your chest. He grabs the transfer paper and lines it up.

“Can you hold 'em up for a second?”

You blink.

“Your… breasts. I want to make sure this will line up properly.”

You silently curse at yourself for how stupid you feel. You really should have chosen maybe a leg piece or maybe a cute little forearm number, but no you had to do this. You cup your breasts and lift them, staring at the ceiling to avoid eye contact. He lines up the transfer and presses it to your skin, slowly peeling it away. 

“Fuck yes. That looks perfect. Take a look in the mirror and let me know what you think.”

He turns away and changes his gloves while you check his placement. Just the transfer looks insane, your previous embarrassment melts into excitement. You turn back to him with a huge smile. 

“I love it! It’s gonna look so good!”

Rafayel smiles and you skip over to the table. You miss the flush that spreads across his cheeks as he watches your tits bounce on your way over. You hear him clear his throat as he leans to drag his chair over with his foot. You lay back on the table, your head sinking into the pillow and your hands resting on your stomach.

Rafayel sits and slides closer to you on his chair. He picks up his tattoo gun and dips the needles into the ink. He looks up at you, shaking his head to get his fringe out of his eyes.

“Ready?”

You relax your shoulders and sigh, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Hell yeah.”

The outside of Rafayel’s palm rests against the side of your breast, holding the skin taut as he begins tattooing along the edge of your rib cage. The pain is about as bad as you expected. The vibration of the tattoo gun against your ribs makes your teeth chatter. You close your eyes and try to distract yourself while adjusting to the sting of the needles. 

“So, why mermaids?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks up the monotonous buzz of the tattoo machine. You tilt your chin down and look at his god-like profile. With his attention on your tattoo, you finally let yourself examine his face. The ear you can see is littered with piercings. Double conch, helix, daith, an industrial with a little fish charm attached. His eyes have a hint of black smudged along his lash line, of course he wears eyeliner… of fucking course. And it looks so damn good too. 

He has a variety of facial piercings, which look amazing and now you want one… or two. A small silver septum hoop. You notice he occasionally wiggles his nose, rubbing it across his top lip, a nervous habit perhaps? His lip piercings have you in a trance, the shark bites, the vertical labret - how would they feel against your lips? You also caught sight of a tongue ring. The things this man could probably do with his tongue…

“Still with me, cutie?”

You are glad he was refreshing the ink on the needles as you have a very physical reaction to this new little nickname he’s given you. You cough and try to steady yourself, once you are still he continues his work.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just distracted.”

“Oh yeah, by what?”

He’s teasing you now. Great. But you never back down from a fight and if he wants to poke at you with his cute little comments - and not just the needles in his tattoo gun - you’ll give it right back to him.

“By you.”

He laughs, a hint of surprise on his face.

“Oh really? What distracted you exactly?”

“I was just admiring your piercings. I haven’t gotten nearly enough.”

“What piercings do you want?”

His tattoo needle continues to buzz and the pain slowly fades to a numbness. 

“Definitely more on my ears. I like the tragus. And then maybe my navel, basic, I know.”

“No way, the navel is a great piercing. There are a lot of creative jewelry options too. I love mine, I’d recommend it to anyone.”

“You have your belly button pierced?” 

He chuckles and shifts his hand, his pinkie dangerously close to your pasty making your heart flutter.

“Yup. Was one of my first actually. After that it was all downhill. Now I have too many to count.”

“Really? What other piercings do you recommend then?”

He hesitates and glances up at you. His eyes flick to your breasts and back. And you swear you caught him biting his lip for a moment. 

“Body piercings are fun. But if you’re not ready for that but bored with your ears, facial piercings are a good place to start. Septum made me cry like a bitch, but it’s a great one.”

“Made you cry like a bitch, huh?”

Your mocking tone makes him pause and look at you, his lips set in a pout. You giggle at his pathetic, yet adorable, expression.

“It’s because it fucks with your sinuses or some shit, not because it hurt!”

“Okay, okay!”

“I’ve gotten some piercings that make grown men weep and didn’t flinch, trust me, it was not because of the pain.”

You raise your eyebrows at the implication, but you decide to hold your tongue and not entertain the thought of what those “other” piercings might be. You settle your head back and take a deep breath.

“And what about tattoos? Which one was the most painful?”

He hums to himself, his hand once again shifting and pushing your breast slightly upward as he colors in a line. 

“My neck was the worst, by far. I’m glad I didn’t pick something that went directly over my Adam’s apple cause I would not have survived.” 

“That piece is really nice. Did you design it?”

“I did. Then my apprentice tattooed it. Never been prouder of the kid. Now you’ve asked a few questions, I think it’s only fair you answer one of mine.”

You sigh dramatically and chuckle when he stops working. You know he is staring at you, probably pouting again, so you stare at the ceiling. 

“Alright, fair is fair.”

“Why mermaids?”

“Oh uhh…” You stutter as you try to find the right words. “Because they’re tragic yet beautiful.” 

Rafayel stops again and looks at you, his brows raised. 

“Art and literature depicts them as beautiful creatures, but their counterparts are much darker. Sirens lure sailors to their watery graves. They’re… underestimated? Like their beauty distracts while their voice reels them in. It’s powerful.”

“Was there something that prompted the need for a constant reminder of their power etched into your skin?”

You shift your gaze to his hands, resting on your stomach, the tattoo gun hovering over your skin.

“I spent a long time under someone’s thumb, feeling powerless. He always felt like he had to protect me. I was… lost… for a while. Then I read a book about a siren, using the form of a mermaid, who charmed the men in her life into submission while planning their downfall. I didn’t want Ca– my friend to be hurt though! I decided to put on a ‘damsel in distress’ act for him but I’m still in control, ya know?”

Rafayel nodded sharply, his gaze more intense. He shifted on his stool and the familiar hum of the tattoo gun started again. With his focus back on your body, you felt your mind start to spiral. Was your explanation dumb? You know sirens are not exactly mermaids, but mermaids looked better. Did he think you were dumb and confused them? Should you have said ‘cause they’re pretty’ instead?

“Most people don’t realize sirens and mermaids aren’t the same thing. Seems like you do.”

“I do! Yeah, I just… I guess…”

“Liked how mermaids looked better than a half bird sea creature?”

His voice was light, sarcasm had found its way back to him and you sighed in relief. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I saw some good siren designs but nothing clicked. This one did. Plus I think it makes my tits stand out.”

Rafayal lets out a breathy laugh and sits up straighter in his chair. He grabs a paper towel and wipes the excess ink from your skin. He moves his chair forward and settles his arm over the top of your breast, his hand resting at the center of your chest. You can feel his breath fan across your skin and you have to bite your lip, hard, to avoid shivering.

“It does, but I have a feeling they looked perfect before too.”

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel slightly dizzy. Did he just? Did he? He complimented your tits. This man complimented your tits, with his face inches away from them, while stabbing you repeatedly with a needle. How are you supposed to respond to that?

“Thank… you.”

Rafayel laughs at your whispered appreciation. His hands work carefully, shifting and sliding to draw the centerpiece.

“Okay, next question.”

Over the next four hours you and Rafayel go back and forth with questions. It almost felt like you were on a first date. You talked about your favorite music, his favorite movies, your job at the Hunters Association, his secret sushi restaurant that’s opening in six months. On your break at the two hour mark, he offered you a soda and walked in circles around the room, stretching his legs, while talking animatedly about a rave happening later this month. And when you begged him for the details so you could get tickets, his smile grew tenfold.

As he was adding the final touches, he stood bent over you poking and dabbing away ink until you were nearly ready to scream. His hair would brush against your shoulder and you’d stiffen, leading to Rafayel joking about ‘staying loose or it’ll hurt more’ which made you squeeze your thighs so tightly you nearly cried. When he finished and was doing the clean up he surprised you, his cheeks were a tad rosy and his usually playful tone more serious.

“I haven’t had this much fun during a session in a while. So… Thank you. I hope you like it.”

You took his hand and sat up, hopping off the table to turn and face the mirror. You were speechless. The lines were sharp and straight, the colors bright, the shading made everything pop out as if the seashells were just sitting on the surface of your skin. Your mermaids were glowing - their scales nearly sparkled and the ocean waves surrounding them looked so real. Tiny sparks floated around the mermaid's hands, creating a shield of fire. Like they were putting on a show or putting up a forcefield. You couldn’t stop yourself from squealing with excitement before you turned around and lunged towards Rafayel, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh my god…”

As soon as your chest collided with his, your excitement faded and pure terror replaced it. You jumped back, instinctively covering your chest with your hands. His ears were bright red and he stared at you, unable to blink it seems. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think! I was so excited and… Shit… I –”

He reaches out and takes hold of your arms. You snap your mouth closed.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you love it. I do wish that you hadn’t… pulled away so quickly though…”

You blinked rapidly. He was pouting again, pouting because you pulled away from hugging him. From hugging him while… His thumbs brush against your skin and you tilt your head, scanning his face for confirmation that what he said was real.

“I was going to wait to ask you out until after I bandaged you up and you had your shirt on, but why waste a perfectly good moment?”

Your mouth hangs open and you feel your knees jerk. Rafayel’s hold on you tightens and he helps you lean back against the table.

“Shit… let me get you some juice, you’re probably crashing a bit.” 

Oh, he has no idea just how badly you are crashing out right now. He jogs out of the room and returns with a small bottle of orange juice. He opens it for you and holds it to your lips. You take a sip and lift your hand to hold his wrist while he helps you drink. His eyes meet yours and you stare at him, he doesn’t look away, his gaze burns straight to your core. He sets the bottle down and grabs a paper towel, dabbing at your leaking tattoo gently. 

“Yes.” You whisper.

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

If you thought you’d seen him excited before… He smiles, his dazzling teeth take your breath away. You raise a brow when you realize he has gems adhered to his canines - can he get any sexier?

“Well, I’d say this session went swimmingly.” 

You giggle and rest your palms on the table behind you. He gets to work cleaning your tattoo and snapping a few pictures for you before covering the fresh ink with Saniderm wrap. You pull your shirt back on and down the rest of the orange juice - you were starting to feel your endorphins fade away and your body was reeling from the experience. 

“How does tomorrow night sound?” 

He holds his phone out to you and you take it, seeing he already set up a contact for you. You feel your cheeks burn when you see the contact name “Tattoo Cutie.” You don’t correct it, just add your name beside it and punch in your number before handing it back to him. 

“Sounds perfect.”

You wake up to a banging on your front door, it’s so loud you’re sure your neighbors will complain to you later. You don’t even bother putting on your robe and jog through your living room. You swing the door open and Tara flies through, nearly knocking you over. You close the door and follow her through the hall to your living room.

“You’re casting a spell or making one of those wish bottle things or whatever it is that you’re doing to make your life so damn perfect.”

She plops down on your sofa and crosses her arms. She stares up at you with a stern expression. You try not to giggle since Tara’s version of “stern” comes across a lot like Rafayel’s pout. 

“I didn’t cast a spell. I just –”

“You just what? Became the luckiest girl in the world without even trying? That’s even worse!”

You finally let out a laugh and sit down next to her, pulling your legs to your chest.

“Listen, I have no idea what’s going on, I am just trying to enjoy it while it lasts. It feels like I’m going to wake up any moment and realize it was all a dream.”

She shifts on the sofa and turns to face you.

“I don’t want to sound like I am jealous in a mean way, I am jealous in a ‘give me some of your luck’ way. Maybe then Jeremiah will finally propose…”

You grab her hand and squeeze gently.

“Oh come one, you literally picked out your ring with him! He’ll propose, he’s obsessed with you. He’s also terrified of you, so he knows better than to half-ass a proposal. Give him more time.”

Her cheeks flush and she looks down at her hand, holding up her ring finger. She lets out a sigh and looks up at you with determination.

“I want to know everything about last night. Every dirty detail. Spill.”

She kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs under her, fully facing you. She won’t let go of your hand, so you’re trapped on the sofa with her until you tell her about your date.

“He picked me up on his bike and –”

“He rides a bike! Oh my god that’s hot - what kind?!”

“A Kawasaki. It was really nice, dark blue with bright blue headlights. He told me he collects them so –”

“He collects motorcycles? Oh my god…”

“Are you going to let me tell you about the date or not?”

Tara huffs and lets go of your hand. She lifts her fingers to her mouth and pressed her lips together, “zipping her lips” so you can continue.

“We drove around for a while and then he took me to – oh I don’t know if I can tell you…”

“BITCH IF YOU DON’T –”

You laugh and lean away from her flailing hands. You raise yours in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but you have to promise not to say anything, swear.”

She places a hand over her heart.

“I swear on Winterford the 3rd I will not speak a word.”

“Woah, swearing on your dog's life is intense Tara.”

She crosses her arms and glares at you. You roll your eyes and continue.

“He is opening a sushi restaurant in a few months, so he took me there to show me around. It’s down at the pier near Whitesand Bay.”

Tara opens her mouth to say something but instantly closes it. You nod in approval, her self-control is improving. 

“He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but the interior and kitchen are done. We made sushi together and ate on the rooftop terrace looking out over the water.”

Tara lets out a closed-mouth squeal and claps her hands. She motions with her hands for you to continue. 

“We walked along the pier and talked for a long time. When it got dark he offered his jacket - I know - and then we went back to his bike. He drove down this alley where graffiti artists practice and gave me a can to try it out.”

“Wait - sorry - you defaced public property?”

“Rafayel owns the building and advertises it as, and I quote ‘an artists playground’ so no I did not.”

“That’s a shame, it would have been hot.”

“Tara! I’m a public servant! I’d lose my job.”

She pokes your shoulder.

“Only if you get caught!”

You rub your temples and suppress the urge to laugh at her antics. 

“What happened next?”

“He drove me home.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She punches your shoulder and you fall back onto the couch.

“TARA!”

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN GET A KISS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I DID! Just not… okay… he kissed me on the cheek when he said good night. It was cute.”

“CUTE?”

You sit up and push her, she doesn’t even move. 

“I don’t want to rush things!”

“At least tell me he made plans for a second date with you?”

“He did. We are going out on Friday night.”

“Thank god. Please, I beg of you, get laid or at least make out with him!”

“Tara, I swear to god…”

“You have been insanely stressed lately and from what you’ve told me, he is super into you. Just let go babe, enjoy it! Enjoy him.”

You cross your arms and shake your head.

“It’ll happen when it feels right. I won’t lie, I hope it’s sooner rather than later, but I also am willing to wait. I –”

You stop yourself, feeling your cheeks heat up. Tara’s expression softens.

“Oh. Oh.”

You get up from the couch and head into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Tara is right on your heels.

“You liiiiike him. Aww, babes!”

She wraps her arms around you, hugging your back as you pour coffee beans into your espresso machine. 

“I just started seeing him, it’s too early to tell.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

She releases you and slides onto a bar stool, her arms leaning on the island. You start chopping up fruit and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. The sound of your coffee machine cuts through the silence and you avoid looking at Tara, knowing she can read you like a book. Maybe it was after the tattoo session or when you were holding hands on the pier, but at some point you realized you really liked Rafayel. He made you laugh and he asked the most bizarre questions that made you think about life in a new light. You wanted more and god, you hope he does too.

By the time Friday rolls around you are definitely ready for some fun. You’ve been constantly sharing memes back and forth with Rafayel all week. It’s certainly eased the stress of work. But you want to see him and you’re eager for his call when you finally clock out and head home.

You’re barely in the front door when you hear your phone buzz. You see Rafayel’s name light up your screen and have to force yourself to count to ten before answering it. You don’t want to seem that eager. 

“Hey, you.”

“Hey cutie, how was work?”

“It was okay, not too much activity today so I was stuck cataloging old reports. I almost fell asleep like three times.”

“I bet. I… shit… I have to tell you something.”

You clench your fist and lean against the door to your bedroom, dropping your bag to the floor.

“Okaaaay.”

He sighs and the knot in your stomach tightens.

“I have to reschedule.”

And there it is, your heart sinks.

“Oh… yeah okay.”

“Not because I want to, trust me. I owe someone a favor and have to be at a party.”

You bite your lip, propping your hand on your hip as you start to pace.

“I see.”

You can’t mask the edge to your voice. A party? Someone is calling in a favor for him to come to their party? He is famous, so it would make them look good, but why couldn’t he invite you? Was he embarrassed of you? Did he not want people in his life to know you were dating? Or seeing each other? Or just talking? Are you even dating?

“It’s more like work, she’s offering free tattoos to the guests. The other artist fell through so she’s calling me in so her party doesn’t ‘crash and burn’ - her words not mine.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, you’re pissed.”

You stop dead in your tracks and straighten up.

“I am not!”

“I can hear you pacing.” 

You look down at your shoes. Of course you wore your chunky boots with the clicky heels today. The taps on your wooden floors were that loud? Damn.

“I’m not mad, I promise.”

“Then you’re irritated?”

“No…”

“What is it? Come on, tell me.”

“I guess… confused?”

“Confused about what?”

You close your eyes and sit down on your bed. Bracing yourself for the embarrassment you’re sure will wash over you after your next statement. 

“Is there a reason you couldn’t bring me? I know you said it was more like work, but I guess… You know what, nevermind.”

You flop back onto your mattress and cover your eyes with your arm.

“Nope! Not ‘nevermind-ing’ - I would love to bring you, I just… I… fuck how do I explain it?”

“You don’t want anyone knowing about me?”

“No! Fuck no! That’s not what I… shit… okay, I didn’t think you’d want to come. It’s not a normal party. Not everyone is… comfortable with this sort of thing.”

You sit up immediately. Your hand tightly grips your phone. 

“What kind of party is it?”

He pauses. The silence stretches for what feels like hours. He finally sighs and chuckles under his breath.

“It’s a sex party, babe.”

You audibly gasp and slap a hand over your mouth. You shake your head and ignore your throbbing clit to continue the conversation.

“Oh, I… right… I get it. Sorry. Uhm…”

“You’re more than welcome to come as my plus one, but only if you’re comfortable.”

You take a moment and consider your options. A sex party. As Rafayel’s plus one. You’ve never been very adventurous with your sexual endeavors. You didn’t even realize sex parties happened in real life. You’re practically salivating just thinking about it. You stand and face the mirror hanging next to your closet. What have you got to lose? 

“What should I wear?”

Rafayel laughs, he clears his throat before continuing. 

“Something sexy, but that’ll be easy for you. I’ll bring you a mask.”

You pause after opening your closet. 

“A mask?”

“Yeah, everyone wears masks to add to the ‘experience’ - everyone at these parties knows each other most of the time, but the masks offer a sense of freedom. Everybody can do what they want for the night, no consequences.”

You tug at the fabric of a sleek black dress as you mull over the idea. Just for the night. No consequences. Maybe Tara is right, maybe you should just let go. 

“What time?”

“It starts at 9. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“See you then.”

After you hang up you get to work figuring out your outfit. Rafayel might have confidence in your ability to pick out a sexy outfit but you certainly didn’t. Should it be sexy and cute? Just sexy? Sexy and slutty? Sexy and fancy? You pull dress after dress from your closet and nothing feels right. You finally decide to forgo dresses completely. The first skirt you pull out is the one. You can visualize the outfit and while it’s much more revealing than you’re used to, you are pretty sure you’d be wearing more than most of the party goers regardless. 

You zip up the pleather mini skirt, adjusting it so it sits high on your hips. Your legs were on full display, the skirt mostly serving to just cover your ass. You grab your favorite black bra and shrug on the mesh top. Layering gold necklaces so your torso doesn’t appear so bare. You look in the mirror and jump up and down with excitement. Your tattoos are fully visible through the mesh. You had lathered lotion onto your new tattoos so the peeling wasn’t noticeable and carefully applied perfume, avoiding the healing skin. Your red pumps sit next to the door with your red crossbody clutch. You were ready, well sort of.

Rafayel called you only a few minutes later and you carefully made your way to the first floor. You were comfortable wearing heels, opting to wear them all the time when hitting the club with Tara or going on dates. But tonight, your nerves were making your ankles a little wobbly. The elevator door opens to the front lobby of your apartment building and you spot Rafayel leaning against a car just outside. Fuck.

He had a button up, that was actually buttoned up this time, tucked into shredded jeans. His boots were laced with gold laces. He had multiple chain necklaces around his neck. As you got closer you realized his shirt was also see through, just little golden floral appliques scattered over the sheer fabric. You could see everything and god, it was a sight. The definition of his abs, the dark lines of a tattoo on his side and swirls of ink trailing from his neck piece down his chest. You spot his navel piercing, sparkling as the setting sun casts what almost felt like a spotlight on him. Something else sparkles, nipple rings. You swear under your breath. He’s going to kill you, not literally, but - well he might with how fast your heart is beating. 

He finally looks up from his phone and spots you. His eyes widen and he stares, jaw slack, for at least a full minute. Your cheeks burn and you have to focus on his face so you don’t sneak a peek at his torso again. 

“Fuck, you look amazing.”

His words make you stammer. You swallow hard, working up the courage to respond.

“I can say the same for you.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek. You feel his body against yours and sigh, wishing you could delay him letting you go.

“Ready to go, cutie?”

You nod and he opens the passenger door for you. You slide in and finally take a good look at the car you’re in. You’ve never ridden in a Bentley before - the seats were soft under your thighs. The leather is silky rather than sticky against your skin. The car was painted a similar dark blue to his bike and had the same bright blue headlights. You already knew he liked the color blue, but this just made it more obvious. 

He settles into the driver seat and the engine revs to life. 

“You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?”

You lean on the center console as you face him, leaning forwards.

“I’m sure.”

“We can leave at any point, Talia will just have to deal with it. Just don’t hesitate to –”

You press your index finger to his lips, silencing him. The surprised look on his face makes your smile hurt your cheeks.

“Rafayel, I’m sure.”

He smiles and you drop your hand, but he grabs it immediately and laces his fingers with yours. He rests your hand on his thigh, rubbing your hand with his thumb as he sets off down the highway.

As the gates to the mansion open, you squeeze Rafayel’s hand trying to quell a wave of nerves. This mansion is huge, you spot two guest houses and a pool with a waterfall - a full ass waterfall - nestled in the backyard surrounded by hundreds of trees and flowers. The cobblestone driveway leads to a massive mahogany front door, where two men stand, dressed in black. Rafayel continues rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“It’s intimidating, I know. It’ll be better once we’re inside.”

You watch party goers enter, getting pat down briefly before heading inside. From what you can see, they’re dressed fairly normally. Dresses and heels, suits or blazers. Rafayel parks in the garage of one of the guest houses and rushes around the car to open your door. You give him a playful glare.

“You know I can open my own door, good sir.”

He takes your hand and helps you out, bringing your hand to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles. 

“I’m aware.”

You don’t argue when he wraps an arm around your waist as he leads you to the main house. He enters through a backdoor and a security guard greets him with a smile.

“Raf, good to see you. Talia is in the main room already. She told me to show you to the booth. And who is this with you?”

His voice hardens when he spots you. Rafayel leans over and kisses your temple.

“She’s with me.”

The guard nods and unlocks a door, ushering you both inside.

All the lightbulbs have been replaced with warm red bulbs, fake candles cover every surface, cushions and blankets are tucked in corners. Rooms that typically never have beds have become makeshift bedrooms. Wait staff stroll in and out of the kitchen with platters covered in hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne. A DJ is perched on a balcony overlooking the main floor, the music a mix of soft jazz with sultry singers. 

You’ve yet to spot any party goers, so you relax a bit as you take in the lavish interior. You’re pulled behind a curtain, a small room sits behind it with a padded table, a small cabinet, a portable sink, a large medical light and a few stools. Rafayel walks up to the cabinet and crouches, examining its contents. You spot a large collection of tattoo equipment. As Rafayel sets up his station, you peek through the curtain and see people walking around. Everyone is wearing masks and at least some form of clothing. You hear Rafayel call your name and you jump back through the curtain.

“Curious, are we?”

You scoff and cross your arms. He turns to you and holds something out. You take it and realize it’s a simple black eye mask, made of simple fabric with a thick elastic band. When you look back up at Rafayel, he is already putting his on. You slip the mask on and fiddle with the elastic, unsure if you should tuck it under your hair. Rafayel touches your hand and you pause. He turns you around and collects your hair, holding it up so you can slip the elastic band underneath. He lets your hair go and smoothes it back in place. 

“You’re welcome to look around, you don’t have to stay here with me.”

“I’ll stay, at least for now. I can be your assistant.”

He smiles and brushes his thumb across your cheek. He stares at you for a moment, his eyes bouncing from your eyes to your lips. You hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and he leans closer. Is he going to –

“Raffie! Oh my god thank you thank you thank you!”

A woman with long purple waves bounces through the curtain. You almost let out a gasp when you see she’s naked from the waist up. Rafayel slaps a hand over his eyes and sighs.

“Talia… You might be the one person at this party I absolutely do not want to see naked.”

“Raffie, you’re so dramatic. I have pasties on!.”

If she did have pasties, they were… camouflaged. Her teasing voice only seems to irritate Rafayel more. Or maybe it’s because of her cute little nickname for him.

“Talia, please…”

Talia sighs dramatically and dives through the curtain for a moment. When she returns she has a silky purple robe on. She reaches up and yanks Rafayel’s wrist and pulls his hand from his face. His eyes remain closed.

“I put on a robe, Raffie. Chill out.”

Rafayel opens his eyes and shoves her shoulder playfully.

“Stop it with the Raffie.”

“I don’t know, I like Raffie. It’s cute.”

Rafayel stares at you and you can’t help but laugh. Talia giggles and grabs your hand, shaking it wildly.

“When Rafayel said he was bringing a plus one I was shocked. He never brings anyone around me honestly. You must be special.”

“Oh, no I’m –”

“She is.”

Rafayel cuts you off and you nearly choke on your own saliva. His hand grazes your hip, holding you close. Talia smiles and pokes his shoulder.

“I see. Well… here you go.”

She hands you and Rafayel a keyring with three cards attached. You flip the cards back and forth, not seeing anything printed on them. 

“In case you decide to… participate. Feel free to tattoo as long as you like, I only promised the service until midnight.”

Rafayel nods and accepts the side hug Talia offers. She gives you a quick hug as well - taking you by surprise - before skipping out of the room.

“So that’s Talia. She’s my aunt. And she’s so great at introductions.”

He puts his keyring in the cabinet and sits down on one of the stools next to the table. He starts spreading out a wide array of flash tattoos he’s designed, making it easier for selection. You fiddle with the keyring. 

“So what’s this about?”

He looks up and, even in the dim lighting you can see his ears turn red.

“It’s a… aha… a way to approach someone you want to interact with and express interest.”

You stare at him, letting your mind wander as you try to figure out how it works. You avoid Rafayel’s gaze, embarrassed that you don’t understand his implications. You hear him stand and approach you. His hand covers your own and he takes the keyring. You watch as he flips to the blue card.

“An individual will approach another individual, or a group of individuals, and hold up a card. They’ll wait until they’re chosen or refused. The card tells you what they want.” 

You lift your wide eyes to meet his.

“The blue card is for the male. The red card is for the female. And the yellow card is for both.”

You blink rapidly and clear your throat.

“So if I approached you and held up this.”

He holds up the red card.

“It means I want you… In whatever way I can have you.”

You take a deep breath and feel your chest tighten. You press your thighs together and basically beg your pussy to calm down. He places the keyring back in your hand and closes your fingers around it. He lifts his hand to hold the side of your neck. He leans closer, his nose brushing against yours, his breath fanning across your face. His lips barely graze your cheek, just above your lips. Every breath you take pushes your chest against his. It takes everything you have not to grab him and devour him on the spot.

You hear the curtain behind you flip open and Rafayel lets go of your neck, looking up to see his first client. You sit on a stool and watch Rafayel tattoo client after client. Most are completely naked, which takes you a bit of time to adjust to. You help him by cleaning the table - very well - between clients. 

Every time a woman enters, their breasts bouncing and pussy proudly on display, you feel a twinge of pain. And when Rafayel puts his hands on them to begin working, it feels like you’re going to throw up. 

Before you know it, midnight is less than a half hour away and your nerves start to swirl. What will Rafayel want to do once his “duties” are done? Just as you’re getting ready to ask him, a perky brunette with olive skin strolls in. Golden chains draped over her perfect body. She leans against the table and points to a simple jellyfish design. 

“It’s a popular one. Where’dya want it?” 

He clears the table and she lays down on her back. You glance down at your phone and check the time and when you look back up, she is laying with her legs spread wide. You hold your breath and look to Rafayel, who is still focused on getting his supplies refreshed. When he turns around a look of genuine surprise graces his face. He sets his tattoo gun down and crosses the room to wash his hands.

“Are you sure about that? It’s worse than a piercing and harder to heal. You won't be able to participate anymore tonight.”

“A night of passion or a tattoo on my pussy by the famous Rafayel? I am absolutely sure.”

Rafayel doesn’t look at you as he puts on his gloves. You tense and drop your gaze. He sits on his stool and slides over, when you finally look up you see him basically staring at her pussy. You gasp silently, you didn’t think it was loud enough for anyone to hear, but when Rafayel glances over his shoulder at you you quickly get up and dash through the curtain. 

You don’t look back and you don’t hear him call for you - not that you could hear anything over the music and moans. You walk through the various rooms, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter on your way. You finally find an empty room and sit down to catch your breath. You down your champagne in one go and fiddle with the stem of the glass. 

You know you shouldn’t be upset, you weren’t in a relationship and this was technically your second date. From the sounds of it, he’s tattooed that area before. Of course he has, it’s his job. It isn’t a big deal. You feel foolish for running out like that, he probably thinks you’re dramatic and can’t handle his job or his fame. You set the glass on a table nearby and cover your face with your hands. 

You finish off two more glasses of champagne before feeling brave enough to head back into the main hall. You take your time as you walk back to Rafayel’s tattoo booth, letting yourself watch the chaos around you. Clusters of people on beds, tables and even the floor. Riding, licking, sucking, moaning. You feel like you’re in another world, where shame and embarrassment don’t exist. If you weren’t so frustrated you might actually be enjoying yourself. 

You stop at the staircase, your eyes locked on a couple wrapped around each other. It’s not like the others, they take their time, kissing and touching before he lifts her to ride his cock. Her moans are soft and the smile on her face - she’s experiencing pure bliss. You feel your cheeks heat and your throat tighten. You want that, not just a night of passion with a hot guy. And maybe you aren’t able to handle Rafayel’s job or fame. Is that such a bad thing? That you know what you want? Or what you don’t want?

“Cutie?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks you out of your spiral. You feel his hand on your back and you turn to face him. You know your cheeks are flushed, your eyes hazy yet vacant as your mind tries to make sense of your newfound clarity. 

“I’m sorry I ran out.”

He places his hands on your shoulders and rubs your arms.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I know it’s your job and you’ve probably tattooed plenty of pussies - it’s not a big deal.”

“Really? I think it is a big deal if it upsets you.”

“I wasn’t upset. It doesn’t matter anyway, if I can’t handle it then maybe you should find someone who can.”

He stiffens, his brows knit together and his eyes darken. His voice drops and his tone becomes rigid.

“Is that what you want? For me to find someone else?”

“Maybe I am uncomfortable with the idea of you touching another girl's pussy, even if it is for your job. So yes, find someone who doesn’t care.”

He pushes you back against the wall. His hands move from your arms to tightly grip your hips.

“What if I like that about you?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he leans in, pressing his chest against yours.

“Do you want my hands on you? Only you? Only touching your pussy?”

Your chest heaves, pressing against him with every breath. His hands move up your waist, forcing your back to arch off the wall towards him.

“Cause that’s what I want. I don’t want to touch anyone else like that, not when yours is the one I can’t stop thinking about tasting.”

His nose rubs against yours.

“I told her to change the location or get out.”

His lips brush against yours, you can almost taste him.

“So don’t tell me to find someone else because you’re the one I want. So please, don’t run away.”

You let out a shaky breath and reach up to grab his neck, you capture his lips. He moans against your mouth and you bite his lip. He gasps and tries to pull back but you don’t let him. You hold him to you and slide your tongue into his mouth, which he quickly sucks in. His tongue dances with yours leaving you breathless. 

He leans down to pick you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands dive under your skirt. He grabs your ass and you roll your hips against his stomach. He walks over to an unoccupied sofa and sits down with you straddling his lap. You run your hands down his body, feeling the chill of his nipple rings against your palms. He pushes your hips down and you lower onto him, his bulge growing harder under you. He suddenly pulls back.

“Wait - do you want to go somewhere private?”

You grind your hips against him and he groans loudly. You can feel eyes on you and it makes you grind harder. You lean forward and press your mouth to his ear.

“I can’t wait… and I want them to watch you take what’s yours.”

Something inside of Rafayel snaps. He rips the mesh top from your body and pulls up your skirt over your hips. His hands roam across your back as he places kisses to your chest. Your relentless grinding makes him nip and lick at your skin in response. He unhooks your bra and tosses it over the sofa, his mouth moving to capture your nipple. You throw your head back and sigh, your breathing becoming more erratic by the second. 

He lifts your hips and you whine, the friction of his bulge against your clothed pussy wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He picks you up and stands, dropping you onto the couch. He kneels and unzips your skirt, pulling it completely off of you. You tug the buttons on his shirt loose and run your hands over his chest. He pulls off the shirt and you reach to unbutton his pants, but his hand stops you. You look at him, confused.

“I have to show you something first, okay baby?”

You nod and lean back. He unbuttons his pants and bends to pull them down completely - along with his underwear. Your jaw drops, literally drops, at the sight of his cock. Not just because he is well-endowed - not to the point of discomfort, but you’re sure you’ll be sore tomorrow. But because the moment you saw that glint of silver your pussy throbbed so hard you nearly came. 

Right at the base of his slit sat the silver ball, you reach out and wrap your hand around him. He shudders but remains still for you. You run your fingers over his slit, already leaking pre-cum, and roll the silver ball between your fingers. You feel the other end of the piercing underneath, you shift the piercing back and forth. He moans and his hips twitch. You stroke him slowly, working your way down to the silver studs at the base, sitting atop his pubic mound. You moan as your fingers rub across it, imagining how good it will feel against your clit. 

“Having fun, cutie?”

His words are broken, his breathing labored as you work him. You smile up at him and push yourself to the end of the sofa. He reaches his hand out and strokes your cheek. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out and lick his slit. His hands grip your hair and he pulls you away from him. He towers over you, making you lean back onto the couch. He climbs over you and leans down, pressing his lips to your neck.

“How wet are you right now?”

You roll your hips up against his cock and he growls into your neck. He sits back to tug your panties down your legs. He lowers himself again, pressing his entire body against yours. You moan with how hot his skin feels against yours. You wrap your arms around him and cling to him, your legs spreading wider as he settles against you. His hands roam your body, pinching at your nipples, fingering your weeping pussy, palming your ass - every touch sending shockwaves through your system. 

He dips his fingers further into your pussy and you pull your hips back. He looks at you, sweat already dripping down his forehead. You run your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes - those beautiful fucking eyes. 

“I don’t want your fingers Raf, please…”

He chuckles and slides his hand down to line himself up. You feel the chill of metal against your entrance and flinch. 

“Look at me.”

You tear your eyes away from his cock and meet his gaze. He leans forward and kisses you. It’s a slow and steady kiss. Your mind swims as you feel his tongue slide in. And then you feel that delicious stretch, his cock sinking into you, the metal balls of his piercing stroking your inner walls. The kiss turns messy as your moans and his gasps harmonize and fill the air around you. Finally your hips jerk forward and you feel his pubic piercing press to your clit. You pull away from the kiss to scream his name, the pressure and chill of the metal overloading your senses. 

Rafayel whines as he holds still to let you adjust to him. You claw at his back and he drops a foot to the floor beside the couch to angle his hips better. You know he’s about to pound into you and make you scream even louder. The thought of the people around you watching makes you delirious. 

“Raf.. I need you– I need you to move, please…”

He doesn’t hesitate and he pulls back until just his tip is tucked inside and then he rams his hips forward, sending you backwards on the couch. You squeal and moan as he finds his rhythm. He rests his forehead against yours and gasps for air, his chest turning red from the exertion. Every snap of his hips pushes his pubic piercing against your clit making it throb and the drag of those inside of you drives you crazy. Finally you feel it, that silver ball hitting that spongy spot that makes your legs shake. You whimper and ignore the tears sliding down your cheek, the pleasure completely encompassing your being. 

“Fuck… I need to come, ahh.. Shit…”

He starts to pull out, but you wrap your legs around him and lock your ankles. He looks at you, his forehead tight as he fights off his orgasm. You release his back for a moment to grab his face, pressing a kiss to his swollen lips.

“Come inside me, baby. Pill… I’m on the pill, just come for me…”

Your command is immediately obeyed, you feel his release and shudder as the warmth fills you. His pace never falters and the added slickness from his release makes his cock slide through you even faster. Your g-spot is hit every single time he thrusts and you finally feel your back arch and your body tremble, your orgasm hits and you scream.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes Rafayel fuck yeeeeessss…” 

As you both come down, you feel his body relax against you. You lean your head to the side and he nuzzles into your neck. His soft kisses help your breathing to steady. You open your eyes and gasp quietly. Rafayel lifts his head and follows your gaze. A small group of people are standing in a circle around the sofa where you and Rafayel are lying. Some of them are holding cards and leaning on each other, some are just smiling and whispering to each other. 

“They want to join.”

Rafayel whispers in your ear. You hold onto him, suddenly very aware of how naked you are - how naked everyone is. Rafayel lifts you, his cock slipping out before he settles you on his lap. He wraps his arms around you protectively.

“We can tell them to leave, if you want?”

You hear your heart pounding in your ears. Before tonight, you never would have thought you’d be interested in experiencing certain things, but now… 

“Are you uncomfortable with anything?”

He looks at you, his brows raised in surprise.

“Another man’s dick in you, for one. Or his tongue…”

“I meant, for you.”

He tilts his head.

“I thought…”

“I don’t want you anywhere near another girl’s pussy. But his… tongue…”

You look up and stare at a particularly attractive man standing on the outskirts of the small group, partially hidden in shadow. He’s tall, broad shoulders, the hard lines of his abdomen glisten with sweat. An intricate tattoo of a dragon starts at his chest, its wings spread across his shoulder and down his arm, the body trails down his side, curving over his abs before its tail spirals down his hip and coils around his thigh. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes shift and damn… you can appreciate a pretty cock when you see one. His black and red mask covers his whole face, but even from a distance, his eyes are piercing. Rafayel follows your eyes and sees him, a blue card in his hand.

“What do you want him to do to me?”

You lean into his ear and nip at his earlobe, his cock springing to life against your thigh.

“I want him to suck you off while I ride your face.”

Rafayel groans, his head pressed into your shoulder. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Only if you want to. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel good.”

He lifts his head and looks at the man, who you’re positive is smiling wickedly. Rafayel gives him a nod and he approaches. The rest of those watching move back slightly, giving your trio more room. The man pulls a large round ottoman over and kneels beside it. His voice is deep and smooth, sending shivers down your back. Watching a man like this make Rafayel writhe with pleasure sends a new slickness to your tender pussy.

“Your ass goes here pretty boy, you lay back with your head on the couch so your girl can sit comfortably.”

He pats the ottoman, now lined up against the couch. Rafayel stares at him, his mouth hangs open. You examine the man before you, you wonder if he’s wearing contacts. Crimson eyes stare directly at Rafayel. Just as Rafayel is about to speak, the man lifts a finger to where his mouth would be. He reaches around his ear and you hear a quiet click. The lower half of his mask detaches and he slides it off, his face now only partially disguised. His smirk is breathtaking, he licks his lips slowly.

“I’m a man of my word.”

You look at Rafayel and narrow your eyes. He shakes his head.

“I’ll explain later.”

You lean in and kiss him, he whines when you pull back. He stands up with you in his arms and sets you on your feet beside him. He approaches the man, who is at least 2-3 inches taller than him. The man places a finger under Rafayel’s chin and lifts his gaze. 

“Your legs don’t move and your hands stay still. If you thrust, I hold you down. I’m doing the work here. Just like she –”

He points at you over Rafayel’s shoulder.

“She is riding. You lay there and take it, got it?”

You watch Rafayel tense, but with how his breathing accelerates you can tell he is turned on. He lays down, positioning himself as instructed. The man kneels and places his hands on Rafayel’s knees. Rafayel looks down and watches the man slowly glide his hands up his thighs. You crawl onto the couch, watching the man caress Rafayel. Finally the man wraps his large hands around Rafayel’s cock and strokes him until Rafayel is panting. The man nods at you and you pull on Rafayel’s shoulders until he rests his head back on the couch. You lift your leg over his head and hover over his face, but he doesn’t let you tease him. He grabs your thighs and pulls you down without warning. His lips close around your clit. You gasp and grab onto his elbows. 

You feel the chill of his lip piercings, his septum ring brushes against the skin just above your clit. And you finally have your answer, how his tongue ring would feel… you’ll never be the same. The ball rolls over your clit, the sudden chill and pressure makes your vision blur. You start rolling your hips. His moans start to get louder and you look up to see the man has started licking Rafayel’s shaft, placing sloppy kisses to his tip. He sucks his tip into his mouth and suckles, the lewd slurping sound he makes pushes you to grind your hips faster. When he finally takes Rafayel fully into his mouth Rafayel’s hips jerk. The man stops and lifts his mouth off of him and you feel Rafayel shake.

“I told you, no moving.”

He presses his forearms onto Rafayel’s thighs and grip his hips. You feel Rafayel’s fingers dig into your thighs as he laps at your clit, making your core heat unbelievably fast. You watch the man take Rafayel back into his mouth, lowering himself until Rafayel’s cock is fully in his mouth. Rafayel shakes under you and whimpers loudly. Hearing him whimper like that could make you come untouched, you’re sure of it. You watch the man’s throat move as he swallows around his length. You grind faster, knowing Rafayel won’t last long if this mystery man is deepthroating him so easily. He finally thrusts his tongue inside you and you lean forward, resting your hands on his stomach.

“Tell him to finger you.”

The man’s rushed words take you by surprise. As soon as he says them he is taking Rafayel in his mouth again. You lift yourself up just enough to hear Rafayel take a deep breath and groan wildly. You shift and bring your knees closer to his head.

“Raf, fingers… in me.”

A cocky smile tugs at his lips.

“I thought you said… you didn’t want my fingers?”

He barely gets the words out before he gasps, the man has shifted and sucked one of Rafayel’s balls into his mouth, his hand stroking his shaft. You look back at Rafayel and smile.

“Do as you’re told, pretty boy.”

You sit back down before he can reply. He quickly lifts his hands and circles your pussy as he continues to work your clit with his tongue. His teeth graze the sensitive bundle and his fingers curl and scissor rapidly against your puffy walls, not giving you a moment to adjust. You lean down and run your tongue over his nipple ring, he rams his fingers into you harder in response, finding your sweet spot. You take the piercing between your teeth and give it a gentle tug and start rolling your fingers over the other side.

You watch as the man starts bobbing up and down, from tip to base he takes Rafayel’s cock over and over.. You swear you can see the outline of Rafayel’s cock in his throat. He starts groaning, the vibration sends Rafayel into a frenzy and you feel your orgasm crest. 

“I’m coming fuck fuck fuck… ahhhh yes Raf yes..”

You hear the man moan and look up to see Rafayel’s release leaking out of the sides of his mouth. That sight makes your climax so intense you worry you might blackout. You feel Rafayel start tapping your thigh and you quickly lift yourself away, he gasps for air but laughs as he relaxes. You crawl off of him and are mortified to see the couch around his head completely soaked, his face and hair drenched. But you can’t find a reason to care when he looks so pussy drunk.

The man stands and wipes at his lip with his thumb, you glance down at Rafayel’s cock and see not a drop of his release is left behind. This man really sucked him dry and cleaned up… impressive. Rafayel sits up and looks up at the man. 

“Debt is paid. See you next week, Rafayel.”

With that, he turns and leaves. You look at Rafayel and crawl onto his lap.

“I’m looking forward to hearing what that was about…”

You try to wipe his forehead with your wrist. 

“Leave it, I like  smelling like you.”

You slap his chest and he chuckles. He looks up to see there are still people waiting. 

“Still in the mood to experiment?”

You don’t even glance around, you just lock your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

“No, I want you to myself. I need to see if my mouth can make you whimper like that again.”

He glares at you and pinches your side. You try to wiggle away from him, but he grabs you and hauls you over to lay on top of him.

“I can promise you, when it’s your mouth, I’ll be so delirious I might speak another language entirely.”  

You kiss his nose. 

“That’s hot.”

He laughs and kisses your nose.

“Let’s get out of here, yea?”

You’ve basically lived at Rafayel’s apartment over Lemuria Studios for the past week. It’s closer to the Association and much nicer. Plus, waking up next to him is a great way to start your day. And being fucked senseless every night is definitely helping you sleep better. 

“You should go by your place after you get off work, pick up some clothes and shit.”

You put down your coffee and stare at him.

“I want you to be comfortable when you stay here.”

You stand up from the bar stool and walk around the kitchen island. He stops chopping vegetables to lean on the counter and look at you. His shirt hangs off your shoulders, the hem barely covering your ass. You run your hands down his chest, placing a kiss over his heart. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you press yourself against him. He rubs his hands over your back and rests his chin on your head. 

“I like changing into your clothes when I get off work. I like using your shower gel so I can smell like you. I like sleeping naked in your bed. I am more comfortable than I’ve ever been.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I want you wearing my clothes and sleeping naked…”

You feel his hands glide down your back and pull his shirt up over your ass. The cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver. He leans down to kiss your neck, his hands feeling the curve of your ass and diving lower between your legs.

“I just think you should have some of your own things, you know?”

“I’ll pick up a few things after work.”

His fingers press against the crotch of your panties and you shiver.

“When do you have to leave for work?”

You glance over his shoulder at the clock and smile. You giggle and grab onto his neck, keeping him close.

“About an hour…”

He plants his hands under your ass and lifts you up. He continues placing messy kisses to your neck as he walks you to his bedroom. 

“That should tide us over until tonight, yea?”

Work wasn’t boring, but you were itching to leave and head to your place. The more you thought about it the more excited you were to have your things at Rafayel’s place. You loved smelling like him, but your hair types are very different and his products are definitely not working for you. You planned your entire evening while working. Completing reports, canvassing Wanderer hotspots, scanning physical reports into the digital system - with every mind numbing task, you got closer and closer to the self-care date with yourself. 

When you open the door to your apartment you’re greeted with the scent of extremely ripe bananas. You forgot you’d gotten them the day before the party and now… You close your front door and drop your keys on the entry table. You enter the kitchen and stare at the bananas. As you poke at them, you have an idea. It’s been ages since you’ve baked banana bread, but your grandmother's recipe is a classic. You find the recipe book on your bookshelf and gather the supplies you need. But before you bake, you need “an everything shower.” Badly.

Your shower gel is more floral than Rafayel’s, which is refreshing. And your scalp is finally able to breathe with your products gently scrubbing away the buildup. Shaving takes forever, but it’s worth it, Rafayel’s silk sheets would feel like heaven against your skin tonight. You put on a face mask while moisturizing and dance around your kitchen in your underwear while you stack the ingredients for the banana bread on the counter

Once the bread is in the oven, you grab a small suitcase and start packing up a few essentials. The travel size versions of your hair care products, underwear, an extra work uniform, a set of pajamas - just in case - two casual outfits and your go-to little black dress. You throw the uniform you wore today in the washer into the dryer and go through your fridge in case anything went bad while you were gone. 

You’re setting the trash bag by the front door when you hear a muffled grunt. You press your ear to the door and hear more quiet groans and shuffling feet. You stand on your tiptoes and look through your peephole as quietly as possible. You see what looks like a white helmet and a purple jacket. They’re so close to your door you start to panic. You hear a knock at your door and you freeze.

“Cutie? Are you still here?”

Rafayel’s voice is muffled behind the door. You let out a sigh of relief and swing the door open, forgetting you’re only in your underwear. Rafayel is hunched over against the doorframe, the sleeves of his leather jacket are torn and the left leg of his cargo pants are shredded and bloody. 

“Shit! Rafayel what happened?!”

He tugs at his helmet but can’t get it off. You push his hands away and unhook the straps to pull the helmet off his head. His face is pale and he’s drenched in sweat, but he still smirks when he sees you.

“Damn… what a welcome.”

“Shut the fuck up…”

You lift one of his arms and wrap it around your shoulder. You carefully help him walk into your apartment, kicking the door closed behind you. 

You help him sit down on the couch and drag your coffee table closer to elevate his leg. The fabric is almost completely torn away from his skin and you can see the dirt and gravel stuck in his wounds. You help him remove his gloves and jacket, carefully inspecting his arm to see if there’s any wounds you haven’t seen. You tug his damp t-shirt off and look for any cuts. Bruises are already starting to darken over his ribcage. 

You rush through your room to the bathroom to get a first aid kit and a few towels. You toss your face mask in the trash and put on your robe, haphazardly tying the belt at your waist. When you return Rafayel has his head back on the cushion with his eyes closed. 

“Raf? You with me?”

He opens his eyes and smiles weakly. He tries to sit up, but clutches his side with a grimace.

“Rafayel, you need a doctor.”

He shakes his head, but keeps a hand pressed over his ribcage. 

“It’s not that serious, trust me. I just need it cleaned up. I’m sorry I just showed up like this…”

“Rafayel…”

“I’ll get checked out when my doctor gets back in town. I promise.”

You rub your forehead and reach to turn on another light. You place the first aid kit on the coffee table and rush to the kitchen to grab a glass and a bowl of water. You hand Rafayel the glass, set the bowl down and sit down in front of him. 

“Drink that.”

He doesn’t argue, he drinks the water slowly while he watches you work. You dip a towel in the water and gently try to clean the dirt and gravel out of his wound. He winces, but doesn’t struggle. You start putting a bit more pressure to see where the deeper cuts are and he groans. You look up at him and he has his eyes closed tightly. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

You continue cleaning the wound until it looks clear of debris. You shake a can of antiseptic spray, squinting your eyes at him as he shrugs.

“I crashed, no biggie.”

You grit your teeth and spray a more than generous amount on his leg. His leg shakes and he curses under his breath. He reaches for your hand and takes the can, chucking it across the room.

“Enough! I.. I think it’s clean…”

You flash him a smirk and grab a roll of gauze to start wrapping his leg. 

“I haven’t crashed in a long time, but these things happen. I’m okay.”

You continue wrapping his leg in silence. The feeling he is hiding something ripping into you like a knife. This is a serious injury, he could have lost his leg or worse. He’s a careful driver, you know that. So what caused him to crash? You finally look at the helmet on the floor next to the couch. The white paint on the side is scraped and you can see a thin crack along the visor. But what catches your eye is the intricate red design on the front. 

“Nice helmet.”

“Thank you. I don’t get to wear it often. Guess it’ll be retiring until I get it fixed up, huh?”

You nod. He leans forward and grabs your hands.

“I know it looks bad, but I’ve had worse. Come on, look at me, please?”

Just as you meet his gaze his phone rings. He grabs his jacket on the couch and digs his phone out. His gentle smile drops when he sees the caller. 

“I need to take this, I’m sorry.”

He lifts his leg and tries to stand up, but you push him back.

“I’ll go, you need to keep your leg elevated.”

You walk to your room, closing the door behind you. Holding the handle, you don’t let the lock click. You wait until you hear a hushed “hello” before pulling the door open a crack. You press your ear as close to the opening as possible. Rafayel’s voice is hushed.

“I need to know their name.”

“No, I know. I know. I’d never seen them before.”

“I don’t give a fuck, they almost got Ryūō caught. Cops knew which bike to follow.”

Your eyes widen at the mention of cops. Who is Ryūō? Is that really a name?

“Yea, they caused my crash. No, Zayne’s out of town. Of course I’m not at the hospital, I’m not a fucking idiot. I’m okay, seriously, I need to focus on Ryūō.”

Zayne?! As in your childhood friend, the head of cardiology? That Zayne? Is he Rafayel’s primary physician too? Why can’t Rafayel go to the hospital?

“I want a name by the end of the night, put any expenses on my card.”

“No, don’t say anything. I’ll set up the next meeting and fill everyone in.”

“Yeah, fuck… Okay, have Ryūō call me.”

You’re tempted to swing the door open and confront him immediately, but your brain is swimming with theories. 

“Cutie? You can come out now!”

You open the door slowly. Your eyes narrow and you glare at him from across the room. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and your stomach tightens. As you approach him, he shifts uncomfortably, your gaze finally unsettling him. Just as you sit down to finish treating his leg, his phone rings again.

“Is that Ryūō?”

He looks up from his phone, his expression darkens. You don’t leave, instead you continue wrapping his leg and sit in silence while his phone continues to ring. Finally, he answers it.

“Hey.”

“No, doc’s out of town. I’m okay. It could have been worse.”

“Where’d you stash your bike?”

“No no no, I’ll send someone to get it. Keep your head down for a few days.”

“I’m looking into it.”

“He put down Onryō so I’m guessing it’s personal. Could be you, could be me, or both. I’ll have more info by the end of the night.”

Onryō? As in the Japanese yokai? You remember reading about popular yokai’s before your vacation to Japan after you graduated college. You recall they are ghosts who hyperfocus on vengeance. Their passion could be born out of jealousy or hatred. Does he think this person is trying to hurt him and this Ryūō person? Now Ryūō makes more sense. Another yokai.

“Sy, I am asking you not to look into it. It’ll get too messy if you get involved.”

Who is Sy?

“I know what you can do and I am asking you not to do anything. Please. I will call you as soon as I know anything.”

He hangs up and tosses it on the couch. He covers his face with his hands and groans, running his hands through his hair before looking up to stare at you.

“Go on, ask.”

You secure the gauze with tape. Picking up a new towel, you dip it in the water and squeeze out the excess before moving to sit next to him. You wipe his face and he relaxes, you continue down his chest. 

“I’m pretty good at puzzles. So… I think I pieced most of it together.”

“Do tell.”

You feel his fingers trace your jaw. You pause and look at him.

“Bikes, cops, code names, someone is messing with you or whoever Ryūō is. My educated guess… Racing?”

He looks down at his leg, his brows furrow.

“Am I wrong?”

He sighs and looks at you again.

“Spot on.”

“So can you tell me what really happened now?”

He pulls the towel out of your hand and pulls you to him. You lean against the couch, careful not to put any pressure on his ribs. Once you settle, he takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been a part of the racing scene for a few years. Ryūō and I started around the same time. Now, we’ve become leaders… kind of? We’re used to having targets on our backs. So we’re careful about bringing new people onto the scene. Today, we held an open race to test the waters and it bit us in the ass.”

“Onryō? You mean?”

“Yeah... They signed in and before the race even started, cops rolled up. They targeted Ryūō and he pulled off the race to pull the cops away from us. That’s when the prick kicked me off my bike on a turn and I fucked up my leg.”

“So you have people looking for this Onryō person, what will happen when they find them?”

“My people will call me. And I’ll deal with it.”

You cross your arms and glare at him.

“And how will you, “deal with it” exactly?”

Rafayel tosses his head back on the couch and closes his eyes.

“I can’t tell you that, cutie, you know that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am not going to put your job on the line. You have a duty to report this kind of thing, right? The less I say the better.”

“So Ryūō and Sy, they’re the same person, right?”

Your question makes Rafayel sit up straight, he turns to you and grabs your shoulders tightly.

“Drop it. Please.”

“No. You came to my door, bleeding and bruised and you’re expecting me to just ignore whatever shit you’re into that caused all this? Really Rafayel?”

His grip tightens.

“You’re not getting hurt because of me.”

You reach up to hold his face in your hands. Your thumbs brushing under his eyes.

“I’m a hunter, I am good at taking care of myself. I’m not afraid of whatever it is you’re involved in, but what I am afraid of is you getting hurt.”

He leans into your touch, his cheeks warming and his pale skin starts to flush.

“I know you’re able to protect yourself, but these people… They’re different. They play by a different set of rules and I don’t want you to risk your job or your safety for me.”

“That’s my choice.”

He huffs out a laugh and leans his forehead against yours.

“I know, I just… fuck…”

You kiss his nose affectionately and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You curl up beside him, pressing your face into his neck.

“Let me choose you.”

He rubs your back and your body relaxes next to him.

“So…”

He kisses the top of your head and hums encouraging you to continue. 

“What’s your name? Like your racing name?”

He chuckles and leans back, tucking you into his side. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“Kiko.”

You close your eyes, it seems all the racers pick a yokai as their code name. You try to remember the lore behind Kiko. 

“That’s a type of Kitsune, right? A holy fox? No, spirit fox!”

“Yep.”

You shift so you can look up at him. 

“I thought you’d pick something ocean related like… Kōjin or Tatsu?”

“A biker with an oceanic racer alias, purple hair and brightly colored Kawasaki?”

“Oh…”

“Yea, I don’t need cops breathing down my neck at the studio. So I chose something, I guess, that fit my personality?”

“You relate to a fox, huh?”

“Curious, playful, intelligent. Yea, I think so.”

“They’re also very loud if they don’t get love and affection.”

Rafayel nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, you giggle, swatting at him to sit up.

“I guess it’s an accurate description then.” 

You look down at his helmet and squint. The white base and red lines around the eyes and at the center.

“Ohhh… that explains your helmet!”

“Yeah, usually I wear a white leather jacket but I was in a rush today.”

“You don’t race the blue bike you’ve been driving me around on, do you?”

“No, I have a different bike for races. Different colors and fake plates.”

You sit up, cross your legs and face him. 

“Take me with you.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

“Like, on a ride?”

You smile, a wicked gleam in your eye.

“On a race.”

He stares at you, his mouth open and eyes unblinking. You stare back, your smile unwavering. 

“You realize it’s illegal, right?”

You nod.

“And dangerous?”

You nod.

“And you might –”

You slap a hand over his mouth. He chuckles, the vibrations tickling your hand.

“I know the risks. I want to see more of your world. Especially when mine is so… blah…”

“Hmm mmh mmh hmm huh mhm!” He mumbles, trying to speak to you through your hand.

You move your hand away and pinch his cheek. He grabs your hand and holds it tight.

“You fight Wanderers for a living! That’s not ‘blah’!”

“Fine. I want to see more of your world because I…”

You look down at your lap, trying to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. He grabs your chin and lifts your face to meet his gaze. 

“Because what, cutie?”

“Because I hope I can be a part of it…”

He plants his hands on your waist and lifts you, plopping you down on his lap. His hands hold onto your ass and he pulls you closer. It’s at this moment you realize you’re still not wearing any pants and the rough fabric of his cargo pants rubbing against your nearly bare pussy makes you twitch. You grab onto his shoulders and try to lift yourself off his lap.

“Your leg!”

“It’s fine, stop squirming.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and shift your knees wider to properly straddle him. He squeezes your ass and rubs his hands down your thighs. You run your hands down his chest and start to play with his nipple rings, which earns you a deep groan. He takes the hint and stops teasing you.

“I want you to be a part of my life, but it’s a complicated one. Are you sure?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through his hair. You lean forward and place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Show me a whole new world, Aladdin.”

He chuckles and bites his lip as he looks up at you.

“My dick is not a magic carpet, but I will take you for a ride.”

You slap his chest and try not to laugh.

“You’re so stupid…”

He seizes the opportunity, with your hands on his chest, to grab your face and pull you to him. He kisses you until you can barely breath, your worries fade. You’re not sure what you’re getting yourself into, but you’re sure of one thing - Rafayel has made you feel more alive in the past week than you’ve felt in years. And you’re going to chase this feeling, for as long as possible.

Rafayel finally lets you breathe and you smell something burning. He scrunches his nose and you sniff the air, trying to determine what it could be. Your eyes widen and you scramble to crawl off of Rafayel’s lap.

“My banana bread!”

(AN Part 2: Surprise! It's also a crowfish fic. Smile.)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 10

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, family issues, generational trauma, self-growth, personal issues (and dealing with it), hurt and comfort, hmmmm…. let’s leave it at that for now :) A/N: Final chapter, guys! Thanks so much for reading <3

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

“Oh, what the hell—since when do you cook?”

“Bitch,” you laugh, nudging past them, the ceramic pot still steaming in your hands. “Do you want the risotto or not?”

The scent of garlic and pecorino permeates the air as you stand in front of the small foyer of the duplex where your friend—questionable, at the moment—lives. Your most recent culinary masterpiece, deemed safe (enough) for public consumption, rests between your hands in silent offering to the skeptic figure who’s barring you from crossing the threshold. 

It’s still warm, and you’re not one to brag, but you think you’ve outdone yourself with this one. Not that it matters—everybody’s a fucking critic these days.

“Risotto?” Khol parrots in disbelief. “You don’t show up in forever, suddenly you’re all cuoca straordinario or some shit. Get out of here with your Mario ass–”

“Don’t mind them,” Anna interjects from behind your biggest hater, all cheer as she plucks the pot from your hands. “This smells amazing, actually. Come in!”

With that, she vanishes inside, leaving you and Khol alone in the doorway. You give them a knowing look.

“Oh wow,” you remark, all mock surprise. “You live together now?”

Khol rolls their eyes, already tired of you. “You missed the biggest arc of the last five months, but yeah.”

You step inside, and right away, something feels… different. It could partly be due to how much time has passed since you last visited, and it’s clearly still their place—the brooding industrial-emo aesthetic remains intact, still suspiciously close to resembling the lair of an angsty comic book antihero on acid—but it’s been overtaken by bits of boho-chic scattered all over the space.

Where there was once nothing but charcoal, vinyl, and concrete, there are now textures. Colorful woven throws drape artfully over the arm of the leather Eames sofa they won off a Craigslist bid. Tasseled pillows have multiplied across every seat surface like some kind of fabric-based contagion, while pothos vines dangle lazily from macramé hangers, stretching towards the moody Edison bulbs like they’re trying to escape the existential crisis of living here.

And then there’s the rug. Oh god, the rug. 

A comically massive tufted ‘Flower Power’ rug sprawls across the center of the room, a swirling explosion of pinks and oranges—a final, cutesy fuck you to the apartment’s formerly depressing atmosphere before Khol’s new roommate staged her cheerful coup.

It should’ve been a hilarious sight, like a chaotic school art project where every kid picked a different medium to color and refused to compromise. But somehow… it works? 

Against all odds, the goth cryptid and the hippie gremlin have found domestic equilibrium.

“Love what you did with the place, Anna,” you call out, toeing off your shoes at the door. “It doesn’t look like a twelve-year-old’s fantasy bedroom anymore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Khol laughs, shaking their head. “As if you’re one to talk. Last time I visited, you still had that stupid-ass sofa. Is it still there?”

You sniff haughtily. “Excuse you, but that’s a custom piece. You wouldn’t get it.”

"Alright, you two," Anna says, leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen, one hip propped against the frame. "Both of you have terrible taste in decor. Now, I have a fabulous Prosecco to pair with the risotto." She tilts her head, shooting her partner a pointed look. "Khol, darling, be a dear and grab the crystal from the cupboard?"

"Whipped," you sing as Khol, predictably, does exactly as told. They don’t even bother with a comeback, just flashes you a lazy middle finger over their shoulder as they disappear from view.

You grin, shaking your head. The moment stretches into something easy, comfortable. It’s nice—being here, bantering like no time has passed. You let yourself sink into it, tugging off your beanie as you cross the room.

The creaky couch welcomes you like an old friend, and you flop down unceremoniously, stretching your legs out, rubbing your feet against the oversized monstrosity of a rug that is... honestly, pretty fucking comfortable, actually.

Anna follows suit, settling beside you with far more grace, tucking one foot under the other.

She watches you for a moment, expression warm but slightly inquisitive. “We haven’t seen you in a while.” 

You exhale, tipping your head back, staring up at the beams on the ceiling. "Yeah, sorry. Been a little out of it these past… couple of months, I guess."

Anna makes a quiet noise, something between understanding and acknowledgment. "You’re doing okay now?"

The easy answer sits on your tongue—yeah, of course. An automatic response, a reflex built from habit. Another front to put up, another lie to slip behind.

But you’ve been working on this. So instead, you take a breath and say,

"Not… really." 

The words feel foreign, heavy, but oddly freeing as they leave your mouth.

Your gaze flickers to the side table—framed photos of Khol and Anna, smiling, sunlit. You don’t linger.

“I mean, better now compared to, maybe, a few weeks ago. I’m getting there.”

Anna’s brows lift slightly—not in surprise at the sentiment itself, but at the fact that you admitted it out loud. There’s something thoughtful in her expression, something softer around the edges. “Good. That’s good.”

You can tell she means it. Maybe even more than you expected.

"Yeah."

There’s a brief lull. You catch yourself tugging at the edge of your cardigan—a nervous habit you never quite broke. The warmth of the apartment is settling in you quite comfortably, but there’s something about sitting still under Anna’s gentle scrutiny that makes you restless.

From the kitchen, there’s the unmistakable clink of glass, followed by a muffled, “shit.”

Anna exhales, long-suffering. “I don’t know why I even bother buying nice things.”

“‘Oy,” Khol’s voice carries from the other room, “get in here and help. We have, like, seven things to carry.”

You take that as your cue, trailing after Anna into the kitchen. Between the three of you, it’s quick work—bowls of warm, brothy risotto in hand, glasses of white wine balanced carefully between fingers.

By the time you step back into the living room, Khol is already dropping onto the blue accent chair near the window with all the dramatics of someone who’s worked far too hard for far too little.

You settle into your usual spot, Anna beside you. You don’t touch your food. Your appetite’s still in remission, though it’s been steadily improving lately.

Khol notices. “Now, why the hell aren’t you eating?” They shoot you a side-eye like you’ve personally offended them. “I knew it. You put something in this, didn’t you?”

“Jesus, Khol,” Anna sighs, exasperated, already two spoonfuls in. “Your diet was literally gas station burritos and eight-pack Coors before I moved in. You’ll live.”

She pauses, though, casting you a look. “Don’t get me wrong—this is really good.”

“Ha,” you retort as Khol prods suspiciously at a floating mushroom. You glare. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

“Alright, alright.” With an exaggerated sigh, Khol finally takes a bite. They chew once, twice—eyes narrowed in concentration, acting like some hard-ass seasoned judge from Top Chef. You can practically see them digging for something snarky to say—until, begrudgingly, they nod.

“Shit. This is actually pretty good. Who are you?”

You preen at the praise.

For a while, there’s nothing but the quiet clinking of spoons against ceramic, the occasional satisfied hum. It’s… nice. Comfortable in a way you haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

You’ve missed this.

Missed being here. Missed being with people.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the last few bites of risotto, Khol angles their head toward you, their curiosity piqued. “How come you’re free today? You on leave or something?”

You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the light catch on the amber surface before answering. “Oh, I quit my job.”

There’s a beat of silence. You don’t know what reaction you were expecting, but Khol just blinks at you. "Huh. Finally."

Anna looks mildly more concerned. "You quit?"

You nod, stretching your legs out beneath the coffee table. “Yeah. The OT was getting ridiculous, and they had me working night shifts again. That was kind of the last straw for me.”

Khol grunts in agreement. “Good fucking riddance. That job was killing you.” They pause for a beat, turning serious, contemplative. “You’re not hung up about it, are you? You’ve been bitching about that job for ages.”

You exhale through your nose, staring at the rim of your glass. “Yeah, no. I’m glad I left.” The words come easily, and they’re mostly true. But still—there’s something about suddenly having all this space, this aimless in-between, that makes you antsy. 

A thought strikes you, and you glance up. “Hey, you know if Marion's still looking for someone to work part-time at the bistro?”

Khol raises an eyebrow. "You looking to apply? It’s minimum wage, just telling you in advance."

"That’s fine," you assure them. "I just need something on the side. I’m doing freelance work right now, I just want something to fill in the gaps."

Anna perks up at that. "I think that’s a great idea. I can hit up Marion later, but I’m pretty sure they’re still looking."

Khol stares at you, and for once, they don’t have a quip lined up. No sharp-edged humor, no quick banter—just a quiet look of something almost foreign on their face. Pride. Maybe even relief. You’ve worried them. The realization jars you like a pebble dropped into a clear pond, sending ripples through the stillness of your self-imposed isolation. You hadn’t meant to, not really. It wasn’t like you deliberately wanted to disappear... But you did, didn’t you? You let the days blur into weeks, then months, telling yourself naively that no one would notice if you just—vanished for a while. Five months, to be exact.

You press your lips together, clearing your throat against the tightness creeping in. “Thanks,” you say, quiet but sincere. “Really.”

Khol snorts, and the moment shatters. “You can show your thanks by knocking ten percent off the cocktails when we visit.”

You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Get me the job first, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Anna grins, raising her glass. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

––––

You get the job.

You stand in front of the fogged-up mirror, dragging your palm across the wet glass. The reflection that stares back is warped, smudged—half-formed, half-there—but unequivocally yours. 

A month ago, you wouldn’t have been able to say that with certainty. Back then, the figure in the mirror had been more ghost than person—distant, spectral. Fractured. Someone you watched from the outside, not as a host of the flesh you inhabit. 

Now, though, the pieces are starting to slot back into place. Some are still missing, and others don’t quite fit as they once did. You doubt it will ever return to how it was… But slowly, a familiar shape is coming back into focus. More than the shadow of a woman, but you.  Time moves like water carving through rock—gradual, barely perceptible, but steady. Inevitable.

The shifts are diminutive. A morning where you wake up feeling less crushed by the weight of grief in your chest. An afternoon where you suddenly break into laughter, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard it in weeks. A quiet night where you go to bed without feeling like you’re stuck frozen in an endless loop of wishing, waiting for the impossible.

You’re here, alive. Present. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you’re doing more than just holding on.

(You think he’d be proud of you.)

And the thought doesn’t leave you aching the way it used to.

––––

“You think I can handle taking care of another living thing? Like a plant?” You ask Maru, glancing at him lounging by the window, right where a sliver of afternoon sunlight spills across the floor. “I mean, I raised you well enough, I think. But you’re pretty self-sufficient anyway.” Maru looks unimpressed. His tail flicks once—dismissive, uninterested—before he returns to grooming himself, utterly indifferent to both your question and your sudden enthusiasm for gardening. “Well, if your dad can grow plants in that dungeon he calls a base, I’m sure I can manage,” you mutter unconvincingly. “How hard can it be?” 

–

By the middle of the second week into your little project, you begrudgingly admit that your tiny repotted begonia isn’t exactly thriving. You don’t want to be a pessimist, but the (browning) margins seem to curl inward—more than they should, if the reference pics on that “Indoor Succulents” blog you’re subscribed to are anything to go by. 

You eye it dubiously, trying to stay gung-ho about the whole thing, forcing yourself to look up care tips again. It’s just a plant. Not rocket science. So you do the research, gather more supplies, and give it another shot. You reposition it closer to where the sun lands—earning a disgruntled hiss from the sunbathing feline—and sprinkle a careful amount of water just beneath the leaves, closer to the root. Then you lean back, waiting, tapping your foot impatiently like it’s supposed to just... fix itself.

–

The next few days pass with you watching it more than you’d care to admit—checking, hoping, second-guessing yourself. 

You narrow your eyes at the leaves, more russet than Inca Flame red, still hanging limp like a sad testament to your lack of skill. 

But you keep at it, because you’re nothing if not stubborn.

–

A single flower has bloomed.

You stand there, spray bottle in hand, caught in quiet awe at the metallic pink sprout peeking through the foliage. It’s small, delicate, barely more than a bud, but unmistakably there—nestled among heart-shaped leaves that, for the first time in weeks, look alive. Brighter. 

A faint smile tugs at your lips. It’s not groundbreaking, not by a long shot. But it’s something.

The fragile blossom clings onto dear life, stubbornly seeking the sun rays, inching toward the warmth it needs to grow—larger, stronger.

You can’t wait to bear witness to it. 

––––

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up in this situation; all you could recall past the sweat blurring your vision is the memory of being in front of the reception desk, pen in hand, scrawling your name onto the sign-up sheet for beginner boxing lessons. 

It’s not… something you planned on doing, really. You’d been showing up for the past week, trying to convince yourself that fitness was something you could get into. Something you could stick with. But this one’s more of an impulse decision, fueled by a mix of post-workout endorphins and the misplaced confidence that sometimes follows after an extra few—unpremeditated!—minutes on the elliptical. 

It all started with a casual glance at a flyer taped to the wall beside the water dispenser.

GET TOUGHER, FASTER, STRONGER! SIGN UP NOW!

The cheesy tagline stared you down as you were in the middle of refilling your teal green AquaFlask. And for some dumb reason—sheer curiosity, definitely not because it reminded you of a certain someone—you thought: Why not?

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you’d marched straight up to the nearest staff at the counter, credit card in hand, and asked to sign up. Now, as you stare at the buff woman currently goading you to hit harder, reality sets in and you feel a little lightheaded. Even slightly delirious.

“Up, up–” your trainer urges, somehow not even remotely out of breath, despite being thirty grueling minutes into the session. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, red-faced and sweating like a fucking pig. “Keep your arms up at all times, alright?”

You pant, nodding weakly, fixing your posture. She gives you an approving nod in return.

It’s part of the whole self-improvement thing, anyway. Pushing yourself. Fitness, jazz, and all that. You’ve never had much inclination for sports or anything remotely physically taxing, as far as you can recall.

…Or maybe that decision was made for you the moment you tried out for volleyball in high school and took a spike straight to the face. A memory so humiliating, that your brain did you a favor and buried it deep in the recesses of your mind. 

But things are different now! You’re trying new things. You’ve done wall climbing, aerobics, even pulled a hamstring attempting HIIT Tae Bo. And if getting punched in the face is the next step in this… wellness journey, then, well, so be it. You’ll take it with a brave face and, hopefully, minimal bruising to both body and ego.

You slog through two sets of combos and thirty jab-straight-hook-uppercuts, punching like your life depends on it. You’re wheezing like an asthmatic child, and you’re about one bad punch away from toppling over.

Then, mercifully—

“Okay, that’s enough for today.”

Oh, thank god.

“You did good,” she tacks on, flashing you an encouraging smile, like you didn’t just spend the last half hour flailing at the focus mitts with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

You stare at her, unconvinced. Did I? Because from where you’re standing—wobbling, really—you’re pretty sure you looked closer to an overstimulated toddler throwing hands with gravity, but sure. It must’ve been in the fine print, to segue in a little positive reinforcement. Probably to keep people from bolting after the first session. 

Not that you’re planning to. No, of course not. You’re just... reevaluating some things. Like your life choices. And your capacity to lift your arms tomorrow. As you trudge your way out of the yoga-studio-turned-boxing-area, still gulping for air and very aware of the soreness settling into your limbs, someone calls out.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You turn your head, blinking in confusion. A guy—mid to late twenties, give or take—jogs up to you, looking offensively too fresh compared to how you feel. “Oh, hi. Sorry, do you mean me?”

He laughs as he slows to a stop, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “Yeah, you. I saw you training with Coach. Just wanted to say—you’re improving.”

You blink. Wait, what?

A wave of mortification rolls through you. Shit, you didn’t know you had an audience. “Uh—thanks, I guess?”

You shift your weight awkwardly, clutching your boxing gloves tightly against your chest.

His grin turns sheepish, as though he realizes how that might’ve come off. “Fuck, sorry. That came out weird, didn’t it? I swear, I wasn't, like, watching the whole thing or anything.” He makes a vague gesture to his left. “The studio’s right in my line of sight when I did my TRX reps. Hard not to notice.”

You force a smile. “Ah, yeah. Figures.” 

“I’m Byron, by the way,” he offers, sticking out a hand.

Now that you get a proper look at him, you notice he’s got this kind of… geeky charm going for him. Curly hair, sleepy brown eyes behind round, rimless glasses, and shy boy-next-door vibes—except for the fact that he’s jacked.

(Honestly? Work.)

You give him your name, still smiling awkwardly. You’re about to wave goodbye and turn away when— “So, what are you doing later?”

Um.

You hesitate. “I’m, uh… heading straight home after this?” Your voice comes out a little more uncertain than you intended, mostly because you’re not really sure why he’s still talking to you.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he replies quickly, glancing down like he’s suddenly nervous. “I just… thought I’d ask if you’d wanna grab coffee sometime?”

Oh.

It takes a moment for the question to fully register. The first thought that pops in your head is: Wait, how does he know I’m a barista?

… The second thought is one of pure disbelief. Holy shit, did I just get asked out? At the gym? By the Temu version of Peter Parker?

Your face burns hotter than it did mid-workout, caught completely off guard.

“I—woah, um.” You stumble over your words, eyes quickly darting away from him. “Sorry, I already have… a boyfriend. If—if that’s what you’re leading up to.”

You say it like a question. He picks up on it.

“You don’t sound too convinced,” he comments with a light chuckle, shaking his head. “If you’re not interested, you can just say that, you know.”

A prickle of irritation flares up, followed by something sharper—something that stings. You push it down. “No, he’s just… not around.” “Ah.” He clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Long distance?” “…Yeah.” You have no idea.

He shrugs, undeterred. “Alright, no pressure. We could always just hang out as friends, if you want.”

I… don’t think I do. “Um, maybe?” you answer instead, forcing out a laugh.

“Oh, come on,” he says, his grin widening. “You can even introduce me to your boyfriend,” he emphasizes the word out, “when he gets back. Does he work out? We could all hit the gym together.”

Social anxiety is afraid of this man, you think belatedly. Unfortunately for him, you’re the very embodiment of what fears him.

You’re so out of your element that all you can manage is, “He boxes too, actually.”

“Yeah? He any good?” 

That gets an involuntary snort out of you. Unthinkingly, you say, “Could probably beat you up.”

Byron laughs, startled but amused, shaking his head as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—message received.” He flashes you a wide smile. “Well, if you change your mind about the coffee, I’ll be around.” He jerks his chin toward the pack fly by the corner. “There, usually.”

Okay, nerd. Despite yourself, you can’t help but find the whole thing slightly hilarious. Then again, you find humor in the dumbest things. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You offer him a quick, half-hearted wave, trying (and failing) to mask your embarrassment with an exaggerated, too-casual show of nonchalance. It’s so painfully awkward, you can feel yourself internally dying from the cringe of it all.

Without another word, you spin on your heel and start speed-walking away, practically running back to the safety of your personal space.

Smooth.

––––

It’s another relatively easy night at the bistro. You’re on the last two hours of your shift, and you’re carrying a single glass of roseberry mule to serve at table four. As you round the corner, you catch sight of a student, glasses perched low on her nose, completely absorbed in a thick coursebook on Programming Languages. Papers are scattered across the table, and she looks to be utterly engrossed in her readings, unaware of the world around her. 

You don’t want to bother her more than necessary, about to set the drink down on the only clear space—by the iPad propped up on a tablet holder to her right—when something red catches your attention.

A familiar pair of crimson eyes stops you dead in your tracks.

For a moment, you feel like you’re suspended in time. The sharp memory of a similar instance where you’re in her place, and he’s there, keeping you company while he’s polishing a gun burns through your brain, and you don’t–you can’t think—

You stand there, rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and unmoving. Then, the girl’s gaze shifts to you, and a hot flush spreads across her cheeks, betraying her surprise.

With swift fingers, she locks the screen with a quick flick on the power button, pulling you away and breaking you from the echoes of the past.

“Oh, shit,” she giggles, a nervous edge to her voice. “That’s embarrassing.” 

You shake your head, forcing yourself back to the present moment. “No—no, don’t worry about it,” you chuckle weakly, setting the drink down beside her with shaky hands. “Cute guy, honestly.”

That makes her giggle louder, her eyes bright with an almost conspiratorial glint. “Oh my god, you have no idea.”

Fuck—you can’t breathe.

––––

The night hangs thick with stifling heat, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock as you catch your breath, your broken moans too loud in the heavy silence. The sheets cling to your feverish skin, damp and uncomfortable, as your body moves in a rhythm that feels unnatural now, but still—but always—familiar.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths as you force the draconic toy deep inside you. The heat, the fire—it licks at your skin, making your whole body yearn for more. To chase more of the feeling, to chase more of the memory of him. 

Errant strands of hair stick to your forehead, your chest flushed and burning, a quiet throb spreading through you with every friction, every desperate movement.

Your body aches, a relentless thrum urging you to push deeper, to find something—anything—to fill the gaping hole inside you, a wound you’ve tried to stitch shut over months, now threatening to tear its way open again, once more ripping from the seams. 

A sharp pressure builds inside you. Your body stretches too far, too much, struggling to take in what it can’t quite handle. It burns in a way that hurts, but you need it. You need to feel more, to fill the emptiness, to grasp at something that feels real.

“Yours, yours–” you tremble, desperate. “Yours. Just yours. Please.”

-

-

-

You lie in the wake of it—pleasure fading into something heavier, regret creeping in like a shadow, waiting as always.

“I miss you,” you whisper in the dark. You always do.

You try to ignore the pull of it, the sharp descent that comes with the high.

You were doing so well.

But it’s fine. You’re fine. 

Everything’s fine.

The words swirl and echo in your mind, until they’re swallowed by sounds that ring hollow. You let the moment wash over you, sinking beneath the weight of the tides, where sorrow and longing blur with the fleeting warmth of what you can’t keep.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another chance to try again.

For now, you let go of your grip on the fragile raft of sanity you’ve built, painstakingly, for months on end.

Tonight, you let yourself drown once more in the somber depths of loneliness and despair, confined within these four walls that feel—once more—like a penitentiary.

––––

The plane begins its slow descent, and through the window, the world comes into view—large swathes of land interrupted by winding roads that seem to follow no rhyme, nor pattern. A river glints faintly beneath the fading sun, while the sky turns a dull blue, a washed-out slate, streaked with the last embers of daylight.

Below, the small city stirs.

Tiny specks of color flicker to life, lanterns strung along the streets like beads on a thread, marking the season, an ending, and the inevitable turning of time. A chill hangs in the air, the wind whipping past you from the half-open window of the taxi, sharp and crisp in a way that you can only find in the province.

Your hometown. 

It all rushes past in a blur of light and shadow, an eclectic mix of old and new—some buildings unchanged, others unfamiliar, as if they’d sprung up in the years you’ve been away. It’s been a while since you last came back, long enough for the roads to feel... foreign, almost. Though muscle memory stirs when the car takes a turn. One you could have easily navigated even with your eyes closed.

Only your sister lives here now, her and her family—a couple of hundred miles far. Far enough to feel like another world, yet close enough for the past to catch up the moment you lay eyes on the old two-story house tucked away on the quaint cul-de-sac of this suburban neighborhood. 

The residential property was left to her, scrawled onto the title in an act of generosity, perhaps. Or maybe as a weight your mother never intended to carry, something meant to anchor her eldest child while she carved a different life for herself elsewhere. Free-spirited as she is, she left with the ease of someone shedding an old coat, slipping into the shoes of another, barely a glance over her shoulder.

But houses remember. And as you step out of the vehicle, your feet meeting the rough asphalt that once belonged to your childhood, you wonder if they remember you too.

"Maru, Maru!" Your five-year-old niece cries the moment she spots the grumpy feline peering through the mesh of his portable prison.

"What—no excitement for me too?" you tease, ruffling her hair. She giggles, scrunching up her nose.

"Auntie, hi! Hi!"

You snort at her enthusiasm, setting the carrier down. The second you pull at the zipper, Maru springs out, landing with a soft thud before stalking off with his usual air of disdain. Your niece shrieks with delight. 

"Ah! Cat!"

"Well, there go the chances of her socializing with her brother," your sister remarks dryly from the doorway, sauntering closer. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey," you greet, hoisting a handful of paper bags. "Where do I dump these?"

She eyes the bags. "Any of those for me?"

"You have three kids, and one of them insisted on a Lego set. Do you know how much those cost?" You shoot her a flat look. "You’re getting socks."

"Wow, stingy." She huffs but takes some of the bags anyway, hitching one onto her hip as she grabs your other hand-carry.

You step inside, and the house greets you with a riot of lights and color. Plastic tinsel and bright string lights drape across every visible surface—along the bannister, around doorways—leaving no space untouched by the festive chaos. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, nearly buried beneath an avalanche of baubles and sentimental ornaments collected over the years.

The room feels swallowed by the exuberance of it all, an almost overwhelming jamboree of holiday cheer.

It’s gaudy, excessive, and completely over-the-top, but beneath it all, the bones of your childhood home remain unchanged—familiar in a way that settles deep in your chest. The Narra wood floors are still scuffed with the marks of time, there’s still the distinct tang of turpentine mixed with waxy resin and citrus you’ve long since associated with home, and the odd decorative masks still line the far wall, their painted expressions frozen mid-celebration.

Your eyes land on the canvas floater above the mantel—a whimsical cross-stitch of three women flying kites, their stitched dresses rippling in imagined wind. You remember it well, though you never quite understood why your mother had chosen that particular scene to painstakingly sew into existence. Still, it belongs here, another piece of the house's patchwork history.

Your gaze shifts to the couch, where Andrew, your sister's husband, is sprawled out, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, the other holding his phone.

He flicks his gaze up at you, offering a half-hearted wave before turning back to whatever has him so absorbed on the screen. Beside him, your three-year-old nephew is perched on his knees, bouncing with energy as he mirrors Bluey's movements on the TV with exaggerated enthusiasm, his tiny arms flailing in childlike glee.

You sigh inwardly, rolling your eyes. Typical.

“There’s a few more hours before dinner. Want to hang out in the kitchen while I roast the ham?” She asks casually, setting down your bags by the foot of the stairs. “Actually, scratch that—you’re in charge of the punch.”

“You just want a head start on the drinks,” you tease, the banter flowing easily between you. “Hey, where’s the little squirt?”

She points toward the small crib, near the island counter. “She finally stopped crying, thank god. Don’t wake her up, or you’ll be the one in charge of putting her back to sleep.”

The two of you slip into the kitchen, where the air already carries the promise of dinner—cloves and brown sugar blending nicely with the lingering scent of citrus. A tray of ham sits on the counter, prepped and ready, the scored surface glistening under the fluorescent light. 

Your sister pulls a bottle of Luisita Oro Rum and Agimat Gin from the second-to-last cupboard and places them on the counter in front of you.

"Go ham," she quips.

You give her a flat look. "You think you’re funny.”

She shrugs, unfazed, and turns her attention back to where she’d left off before your arrival. 

The two of you fall into a natural rhythm, the kind that comes from years of cooking together. You work your way through cans of Del Monte, the metallic clinks filling the space as you drain the syrup and dump chunks of mixed fruit into the large punch bowl.

Your sister leans against the counter nearby, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the oven door, as if sheer willpower alone could make the meat cook faster.

In the background, the soft drone of the TV drifts in from the living room, punctuated by your nephew’s occasional giggles.

There’s no rush, no need to fill the silence with anything more than the occasional clang of utensils against glass and the low humming of kitchen appliances. The day is winding down to a close, and for now, everything is alright.

“So, Mom called,” she says casually, one arm braced on the counter as she leans in, glancing at you. “Kept calling, actually.”

“Mm.” You reply noncommittally, shaking the last can’s contents into the crystal bowl, watching as the fruit chunks bob lazily in the pool of alcohol.

“She’s worried about you.”

You don’t answer.

“She was. She is.” Her voice shifts, more serious now. She watches you closely, noting your lack of reaction. “You know that, right?”

Your fingers tighten around the can opener, but you pull your gaze away from the bowl. “I know.”

She sighs, resigned, already familiar with this song and dance. Familiar enough to know there’s no winning this one, not tonight. Not anytime soon. “I am too.”

You blink, before looking away. “Oh.”

And maybe she does worry—your mother. But any hope of truly knowing is swallowed by the chasm between you, the one that keeps your conversations at surface level, never breaching the depths beyond. 

Your body, born from hers, perhaps more alike than you realize, might have been brought into this world with the same pains that she’s carried. The pains of separation. The unresolved hurt of being unwillingly removed from your person—her former husband, your father—and that if you and your mother were closer, you could have opened up about your own situation. Perhaps then, you wouldn’t feel like a ship that has lost its ballast, drifting endlessly in the same turbulent seas for the longest time.

But you are your mother’s daughter, and she is her mother’s daughter. There is the truth that the women in your family are not the best communicators, nor do they wear their hearts on their sleeves. So you were born mute and overly sensitive. Pain drips from you, unnoticed, like a purposeless leak in the heart. You’ll carry it with you until you die.

“But you look… okay,” she observes, cocking her head. “Are you okay?”

You swallow. For the same reason you compare your mother to a storm you can't outrun and your sister to an intermittent drizzle, you find it easier to admit, “I haven’t… been okay for a while.” 

Not wanting to bring the mood down, especially on a day like today, you quickly add, “Things are better now, though.”

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Could be a little more specific there, but I’ll take it.” She gives you an exasperatedly fond look. “You let me know if that changes anytime soon, ‘kay?”

Your lips quirk in the faintest semblance of a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

–

It’s ten minutes before midnight.

You’re leaning against the island counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, nursing a glass of the fruit punch (though it’s mostly gin, with the teensiest amount of fruit), watching your sister’s family at a distance as they eagerly wait for the clock to strike twelve. The blinds of the large living room window have been pulled up, giving an unobstructed view of the sky, ready for the first firework to light up the dark.

For a moment, you feel like an outsider, watching through a lens, as if you’re not quite part of the scene. There’s a strange sense of detachment—voyeuristic, almost—as though you're peering in on a private, intimate moment. 

Your sister cradles the infant in her arms, and that all-too-familiar pang stirs to life—the same one that always does when you look at her.

You can't quite place what you're feeling, exactly. It’s tumultuous, and it’s complex. Andrew’s practically dozing off in his seat, and you see your sister shake her head in mild annoyance. Your nephew, fighting to keep his eyes open, starts to fuss.

Something tightens inside your chest.

“Andrew,” she hisses, startling the man awake. He blinks, disoriented, before spotting their son and the early signs of an explosive tantrum.

He sighs, and pulls the boy closer to him. “Hey, hey, little guy. Look at the sky. In just a couple of minutes, the lights are gonna go boom-boom.”

Your nephew sniffs, his eyes blinking up at him as he processes the words. “Boom-boom?”

“Yeah! Just like the one we watched on TV!”

The kid’s face visibly perks up at that, bad mood quickly forgotten. “Boom-boom!”

You watch as your sister’s gaze softens, and a small smile replaces the earlier frown on her face.

And in that instant, you understand.

You look at your sister and, for a brief moment, all you see is a wretched mirror of yourself. She is all of your fears, all of your failures, and all of what you could’ve been rolled into one. Barely in her mid-thirties, and yet already carrying the weight of a family: three kids, a husband who feels like a faded echo of your father—a man who didn’t quite measure up, who never did, and just as unreliable. 

You feel the suffocating weight of it all, of being tied to a place that’s meant to be a home but feels more like a tomb, marking the passing of dreams unrealized. She’ll grow old here, buried in the same soil you both sprang from, fading into the landscape of this town that swallows its own.

You look at her and you almost feel the repressed pain of missing the last semester of college to give birth, the lament of a missed opportunity that life has stolen from her. 

You feel her pain as if it’s yours. You feel it in the marrow of your bones—her blood flowing through you. “3…” You look at her, and it feels like seeing someone bound, held down by an anchor around her foot, unable to break through the surface of freedom. You look at her and you see dreams once aglow, reduced to cinders. You look at her and see—

She glances up at you.

Oh. “2…” In the fleeting moment where your eyes meet—eyes you two share with your mother—you feel so small.

Just a kid. Shortsighted and unfairly dismissive. Too blind to see your sister’s quiet victories, too selfish to admit you’ve diminished them just so you could feel less alone about your own failures. A child grasping for meaning, unfair in the ways only children can be. “1…” And in the fraction of a second before midnight, it's as if you’ve been doused awake. 

You see her anew—what seemed like monotony is really the bedrock of stability; tenacity in place of routine. An almost single-minded doggedness to make something out of this life. You see the steadfast strength she possesses, the kind that gets her up every morning, to face the world and all its demands without question. With purpose. 

You see resilience. Compassion. Traits that you’ve always lacked, that you’ve long resented, the same traits your mother never learned to embody.

And now you see your niece in her arms, born from this, and you name the indescribable feeling that dwells in you—borne from the pure look of adoration in your sister’s eyes for her youngest daughter—as envy.

You know, with utmost certainty, that she will be okay, because she has your sister as her mother, and she is so, so loved.

As you watch them, something inside you shifts—a deep, aching realization. 

You see… home. Something you've always longed for but never truly found. “Happy new year!” The spell breaks. The two of you startle at the sudden eruption of fireworks, the distant chorus of car horns blaring from the streets outside.

Your niece and nephew jump and shriek, their laughter ringing through the room, celebrating something they barely understand but find joy in anyway. The baby in your sister’s arms lets out a wail at the commotion, and she is soothed instantly with murmurs of soft assurances. Her father struggles upright—then, with no small amount of effort, leans forward to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

The image before you is far from perfect, but it’s theirs.

“Auntie, auntie!” The little rascals cry out in unison, their voices overlapping in excitement. “‘appy n’year!”

A breathless, almost pained laugh escapes you. Still, you smile as you respond with your own, “happy new year!”

You’re tired—tired of running, of measuring yourself against the ghosts of your past. Tired of carrying the weight of a childhood that’s left you with more questions than answers, of making excuses for wounds that should have healed long since. You've spent so much time mourning the growing pains, the irreparable, that you never stopped to see what’s in front of you. 

This moment, this realization, feels like the final missing piece in the fractured puzzle of who you are.

The new year arrives, marked by the crackle of fireworks and the loud cheer from your family.

This time, you won’t hesitate. You’ll choose to embrace the change, both good and bad, with open arms. With the quiet resolve of someone finally ready to move forward.

You lift your gaze just as a brilliant burst of red explodes into the night sky, its iridescent glow bleeding into a softer silver before fading into the dark. 

A warmth settles deep in your chest—bittersweet, but steady. A quiet peace.

Happy new year, my love. . . . . . . .

.

.

.

.

. . .

The air at the threshold of Vagrant’s land is restless. Volatile. A hazy distortion ripples through it, folding and unfolding, like a lost mirage—an area of transition between worlds. Porch collapse, he calls it. 

Sylus has stood here countless times, watching the way this anomalous disturbance twists the very fabric of this reality, how it flickers in and out of form, erratic. Impossible to predict. 

It had taken him longer than he likes to admit to understand the phenomena for what it’s truly worth. Not just an alternate space caused by some spartan energy field. Not just any other protofield. But a thread. A connection. A door. 

A fault line between realities, an entryway that hums with the possibility of you.

Since the moment the idea took hold, he had thought of little else. It has consumed him in every waking moment; his entire being seeming to bend toward a singular purpose—getting to you. He had torn through endless streams of data, followed every unstable pulse of energy, mapped its fluctuations down to the smallest inconsistency.

Nights bled into days, and days bled into weeks, until he can no longer keep track. Not that the passage of time meant much to him at this point. 

He’s worked tirelessly through the stillness, through the storms of uncertainty, through the aching silence left by your absence. Ever since you’ve exchanged your temporary goodbyes. 

He had measured everything he could—the unstable frequency of radio signals streaming through the interstice. He had traced the influx in real time; recording the rate of deterioration, isolating the waveform, and filtering out outside interferences. 

But for all the data he gathered, for all the precision in his calculations, the core of this phenomenon remained just out of reach. His knowledge on the matter is rudimentary at most. He could waste years observing for abnormalities, trying to decipher how its presence has disrupted the very threads of this universe, but the why and how of it all will still elude him. 

Still, theory matters less than function. He doesn’t need to understand the full depth of it. He only needs to harness it.

It’s a gamble.

Contrary to whatever reputation he’s earned for himself, Sylus has never been one to play his cards recklessly. He deals in certainties, in probabilities stacked in his favor, in risks that—while dangerous—are still within his grasp to control. He has never been the type to leap without knowing where he’d land.

But this is different.

He has never needed to, before. Never had a reason to throw himself into the unknown with no assurance of survival, no way to predict the outcome.

He had no reason to—until you.

Now, it matters less whether or not the odds of his survival are abysmal, that he has no precedent to follow. That your world might reject him entirely. None of it matters. Because if the choice is between staying and never reaching you, or plunging into the great, endless unknown—

He’ll take the leap, every time. Without hesitation. 

He’ll leave this world behind, step beyond the edges of everything that has ever defined him, and venture into lands unseen, uncharted. Unknown. He doesn’t know what awaits him on the other side. If he’ll make it there in one piece. If he will make it there at all.

Sylus has never really questioned why he’s the anomaly in this world. The curiosities of his existence are yours to ponder. After all, he finds that he doesn’t care much of the answer as much as he cares about being with you.

Because wherever you are—that is home. 

He takes a step forward, and the universe dissolves into a blinding light.

-

-

-

Sylus wakes to the sensation of weight.

Something presses on him heavily, sinking into his limbs like gravity itself is wrapping around him for the first time.

The ground beneath him is unfamiliar, uneven—tangible in a way he’s never felt before. His fingertips press into the damp earth, leaving the faintest imprint, yielding beneath his touch. The scent of soil rises around him; a rich, bitter brown. 

This world does not recognize him, yet it cradles him like its own all the same.

Above, the sky erupts.

Fireworks split open the night, streaks of color exploding and dissipating in an instant—too fleeting to hold, too bright to ignore. A flashbang of incandescent reds and fluorescent greens, followed by bursts of crackling gold and shimmering silver scatter into tiny pinpricks before fading into the darkness.

The air is heavier here, denser in a way that feels almost… alien. It clings to the contours of his new form, seeps into his lungs with every breath. 

And oh, how it burns. Not in pain, but in its sheer presence. It rushes into him not as mere oxygen but as something real. Something palpable. He’s lost in the sensation. 

He exhales. Then winces. 

Immediately, he feels it—the weakness. The brittleness of this new body. Gone is the invulnerability he once wielded so effortlessly, the certainty that nothing could touch him unless he allowed it. 

That certainty is gone now, stripped away the moment he crossed the threshold.

He is flesh and bone. Finite. Mortal.

A lesser man might have feared it.

But in the middle of this empty field, miles away from civilization, Sylus can only laugh. 

He tips his head back, reeling from the sheer impossibility of it all, eyes tracing the brilliant display above—as if committing it to memory, a coronation of sorts. Of existence. Of arrival. Of a life finally his own.

Reborn. And for the first time in his existence, he is alive.

––––

It’s summer—the summer that marks two years since he left. 

Two years. It’s enough time to feel the weight of it, but not enough to make the events feel like something that happened a lifetime ago. 

The seasons cycle once more, as they always do, pushing time forward with a steady, indifferent rhythm. And with that change comes a familiar pang—a bittersweet ache, neither grief nor regret, just the weight of knowing that nothing stays the same. Mono no aware. 

You’re closer to thirty now, and the thought doesn’t terrify you as much as it did before. Your hair’s in a pixie cut—short and sleek, although the edges are a little ragged from the half-assed trimming you gave it a few days ago. 

It would have made you feel stupid, once upon a time, for trying out something drastic for a new look. Instead, you just take it for what it is—one more thing you did because you wanted to. Like the rest of the choices you’ve made over the past two years. It’s yours. Uneven, impulsive, maybe a little questionable. But yours.

It’s liberating. Even if it makes your head look like a pencil. 

The voice—the one that picks at your face, your body, your thoughts, everything down to the last imperfection—never really shuts up. It’s quieter now, easier to ignore, but it still lurks in the background, waiting for an opening, a moment of weakness. Maybe it always will. Maybe that’s just the price of being human.

But you don’t fight it anymore. You don’t let it drag you down to a breaking point. You carry yourself differently now, you'd say. No pep in your step just yet, but you don’t feel the need to drag your heels either. Literally and figuratively. 

The change has come in waves—sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh—but it’s there, marking you, marking the passage of time. Just like the earth, just like the seasons, you’ve shifted and grown. And perhaps that’s enough.

The sky is ablaze now, a deepening canvas of pinks and purples as the sun sinks lazily to the west. The fiery orange light spills through the large windows, bleeding into every corner of the room, and the world outside seems to slow, caught in the hour before dusk.

You’re behind the counter, wiping down plates with the kind of ease that comes from repetition, the motion so ingrained in you that it barely registers anymore. It’s all routine—the rhythm of it, the quiet hum of the bistro, the clinking of porcelain. The air is thick with the sticky smell of warm pastries, and it’s the sort of evening that feels almost liminal. A moment suspended in time.

You hear the soft tinkling of the door chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer. 

It’s a soft, unassuming sound, barely noticeable against the evening lull. You swipe your hands across your apron, turning on instinct, your mouth already forming the usual greeting. 

“Hi, welcome to—”

The words die in your throat.

It’s a slow unfolding—almost a gradual realization that stretches across the seconds like the last rays of sun dipping beneath the horizon. He stands in the doorway, a figure outlined in gold, and his presence fills the space between you, no barrier that separates, and it feels... impossible. Unimaginable. Inevitable. 

His height is the first thing you notice. He’s taller than you expected, and you know he’ll tower over you, even at a distance. His hair is dark now, the color of midnight, almost—not the silver you once traced with your fingers in your mind. The cut is still similar to what you’ve always known it to be, though a little more unkempt, as if he’s lived in this body long enough for it to take on its own wear.

Then his eyes. The red is gone—no longer the shade of crimson that used to see right through you, those sanguine pools you once loved. In its place, a stormy grey, deep and impossibly expressive, pulling you in like an undertow. The color is striking, alien in its own way, yet there’s a warmth buried beneath it—and the familiarity of it tugs at you.

Even with the changes, even though you’ve never met the person standing in front of you, you’ll know him anywhere. 

There’s a shift in the room, a subtle, yet unmistakable change in the air. It’s as if the whole bistro has drawn in a breath—and you with it. Time stretches thin, each passing second expanding into what feels like an eternity.

Your eyes lock—and for a moment, nothing else exists. 

It’s as if the world has shifted off its axis. Or, perhaps more accurately, it’s as though a piece that’s always been missing has finally snapped into place.

Something settles in you, something foreign and indescribably familiar at the same time.

Sylus smiles.

“Hello, my love. Have I kept you waiting?”

It feels like home. 

____

“Now I found myself this kind of love, I can't believe it I'll never leave it behind I thought I'd never get to feel another fucking feeling But I feel— This love, this love, this love Oh, I feel it.”

End A/N: So this is done! Wow! I'm kind of proud of myself for writing something this long in the span of, idk, three months? Basically, the entire duration of my "vacation" back home. Now with another term and a busier schedule coming up, I really wanted to finish this series before life catches up to me. *sobs* Anyway, I'm so, so happy about the reception of this fic, and you've all been so sweet :') Again, thank you for reading! I'll see you in the spin-off, or whatever shit I put out next haha <3 Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira

his white tank top 🤤🤤🤤🤤

when fratboy!satoru takes your virginity you kind of expect him to be an ass about it. he's cocky as it is, and has a habit of gassing himself up too much when it comes to his... skills in the bedroom. if you're not listening to him talk about how he's the strongest, you're listening to him talk about how he's the biggest.

being the only virgin of your friend group was starting to grate on you and... a small part of you might've wanted to find out if there's any bite to satoru's bark. it's not like the two of you were dating or anything, but you felt comfortable enough to walk up to him one day during lunch and ask, in front of his best friend:

"will you take my virginity?"

maybe you expected him to blush. or freeze up. or at least trip over his words. but instead, the stupid white-haired prick looked up at you with the most relaxed expression possible and shrugged.

"okay."

and that's how you ended up here, sitting criss-cross applesauce on his messy dorm-room bed with his tongue halfway down your throat. a few empty cans of beer and abandoned cheat sheets lay strewn over his floor, and you hate yourself for letting this be the backdrop of your entry into the sex-having life.

but you can’t hate yourself for long because as he runs a hand up your thigh and under your skirt, you start to feel more excited than you thought you’d feel. he pushes you back, slots his knee between your thighs and bites at your bottom lip before trailing down to your throat.

still, it’s satoru, so when he pushes your panties to the side and feels just how wet you are for him, he laughs. “you get this wet when you touch yourself or is all of this just for me?”

“shut up,” you groan as he nips at the skin of your throat and gently runs his finger through your folds and up to your clit. you’re surprised he knows where your clit is, even.

and he’s not wrong—you’ve never been wet like this before. you can feel just how damp the fabric of your panties are you as satoru pulls them down your thighs and hikes your skirt up to get a clearer look at your soaked cunt.

“pretty,” he licks his lips. “wannna taste her, that okay baby?”

his eyes search yours for consent and you’re stunned for a moment as he waits for ‘enthusiastic consent’. you didn’t expect this sort of check-in from a frat boy. your nod seems enthusiastic enough to him, but just for clarity—“use your words.”

“yes. please, gojo.”

“satoru,” he corrects you. “want to hear that name when you cum on my tongue. cant believe no ones tasted her before.”

the use of referring to your pussy as ‘her’ is odd but quickly overlooked when he delves into your pussy like he’s dehydrated. tongue flat against your heat just to flex and circle around your clit. he sucks and bites a little and pulls you to your first orgasm in nasty speeds.

you cum on his tongue whilst his eyes bore into yours from between your thighs. white hair pulled out of his face by your hand as you tug the strands in hopes that he’ll stop licking at your overstimulated clit. it takes until you’re shaking for him to finally pull back and free his angry cock from his pants.

you think you gasp when you see it. he said he was big but you didn’t think he was a truthful man in the slightest. his cock is so heavy it doesn’t even stand at full mast—it fights gravity. satoru sees the look on your face and instead of sporting a shit-eating grin like you expect, he climbs over you and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“let’s stop here?” he asks. “we could watch a movie. oooh what about die hard?”

you giggle, your nerves melting a little at his words. “i’m okay, i want this. i am not graduating as a virgin.”

satoru snorts and, after rolling a condom on, gently pries your legs apart enough for him to slot his wait in between them. he guides your ankles to link behind his back and slowly runs the tip of his cock through your slick folds. “tell me if you need me to stop,” he says. “just relax. i’ve got you, baby.”

you actually manage to relax a little, focus on the feeling of being stretched as satoru slowly pushes into you until his tip is completely hidden in your cunt. it’s uncomfortable, but not unbearable. “keep going.”

one of his long fingers dips down to rub soft circles over your clit to relax you a little more as he pushes deeper. you’ve never felt so full, so sore yet desperate for more… you wonder if it’s always going to feel like this, or if it’s just because satoru is the one breaking you open to find pleasure in your insides.

he lets out a pretty moan as he bottoms out inside of you, the weight of his heavy balls resting against your ass as he stills and catches your lips in a wet kiss. his tongue slips into your mouth, runs over your teeth and pushes against your tongue as he slowly draws out of you and then, with a grunt that you taste, snaps his hips forwards into you.

that hurts, but there’s an odd stitch of pleasure in the way he’s broken you open. “sorry,” he speaks against your lips. “it’s better that i just got it out of the way, it can start feeling real good soon. gonna make you cum on my cock, baby. you want that?”

you nod, eyes staring into his as your foreheads meet. satoru nods back, licking his lips and smiling. “yeah? you wanna be stuffed full, huh? always knew you were filthy. but i’m the only one that gets to see it.”

his arrogance pulls at your lips. “until i fuck the next guy.”

snap. his cock splits you open at that, and though you wince and screw your face us, you’re letting out moans made for porn too. his finger on your clit starts working a little faster as he draws back again just to drive into you even harder.

“no,” he dips his head down to bite at your neck. “not until you fuck the next guy. i mean you can try, baby, but it’s not happening.”

“ngh, what do you mean?”

another thrust into you sends you further up the bed. you’re sure you look a mess but satoru looks down at you with such wide blown eyes that you could be convinced you’re from the heavens. “not giving you up that easy,” he groans. “you know, i fucked someone last week just because they had your name. got to moan it without being slapped. again.”

your hand flies up to his chest, almost in an attempt to slow his now mean pace. “wait you—ngh god—you like me?”

“i’m far fucking past like,” he moans, hips starting to stutter. any discomfort has faded into glorious pleasure. your stomach starts to tighten again and you know you’re close enough that he’s going to try and time your orgasms. “you’re so perfect. so much better than i imagined.”

your eyes roll back a little at the thought of satoru fucking his fist late at night to the thought of you. how nonchalant he was when you asked him to take your virginity, you wonder if he went home last night and stroked himself to the sheer anticipation of being inside of you.

“satoru i’m gonna—”

he cuts you off with a deep kiss. it’s sex and want and lust, but it’s also soft in a way you can’t describe—maybe even a little anxious after his confession. it might just be his pending orgasm, but you swear his lips tremble between yours.

his cock throbs as he drills it into you, hits your most sensitive spot with every single thrust. it’s like he already has you mapped out, because you’re both cumming in tandem with each other before long.

a part of you aches to feel his cum spill into you instead of the condom he wears, to be claimed and filled by his seed over and over. would he fuck it back into you? clean you off with his talented tongue? would he plug you with his cock until he’s ready to overfill you with a second load?

he moans into your mouth and pulls back a little to revel in your fucked out expression. your legs still wrap around his waist, boxing him in and keeping him close. you worry that in typical frat boy fashion he’ll make an excuse and run off to recount the fuck with his friends. but satoru pecks at your lips, then your chin, then down your neck again.

“what are you doing?” you ask, vision slightly blurred from the intensity of your orgasm.

“gonna make you cum again,” he smiles against your skin. “didn’t you hear?”

“hear what?”

he pulls back to look at you, a soft smile pulling at his pretty lips. “that if you cum at least five times when you lose your virginity, you’ll fall in loooove.”

MEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

🥀

Good enough

Tags: Caleb x fem!Reader, smut, unprotected angry sex, Caleb’s back and he’s jealous, breeding kink, mdni, not proofread sorry, this shit is NASTY i fear.

An: This one is for a dear friend of mine 🙂‍↕️ Thanks for making me pull out of my writer’s block. LOOK i’m so sorry if this is bad but i had to write SOMETHING to pull me out of this funk… i hope you all enjoy

How did you end up trapped underneath your half-cyborg best friend who was legally deceased while taking the meanest deep strokes of your life? Well, there’s a simple answer. Caleb knew Xavier was home.

Actually, he knew everything: the dates, the tender moments, the secret times, the nightly rendezvous. Pissed was an understatement.

Had you forgotten? Had you forgotten all the promises you two made each other when you were younger? Had you forgotten that you were fucking made for him? You had to have. That’s why you were stringing along 4 different guys. You were trying to fill a hole that only he could fill.

That had to be why.

Regardless, Caleb knew Xavier was the type to listen to you through the floorboards of his upstairs apartment. He was a lot alike Caleb in that sort of manner. They were both possessive freaks who couldn’t stand the thought of you being with somebody else.

That’s why Caleb was fucking you so hard — pounding your pretty pussy so deeply into the mattress that you were seeing stars with each mean thrust.

He used his size to his advantage. It was fitting. He’d always loved how much bigger he was than you. That’s how you received your adorned nickname: pipsqueak.

He planned on his first time with you being a lot more gentle than this. He planned on being sweet and loving. He planned on cherishing your body the way you deserve, but you just had to go and give yourself to 4 other guys before him.

“Stop crying.” His voice rumbled as his piercing gaze found yours — so much different than the sweet childhood friend you had. His hand covered your mouth as he hunched over your figure, still ramming his cock head into you ruthlessly. “I know you can take it. I’ve watched you take it before.”

Your eyes blinked back tears as you looked up at him. He was being so mean. You couldn’t believe this was the same doting Caleb that you grew up with, and you didn’t even want to think about the face he had been watching you…

“Fucking pussy’s made for me, and you’ve been letting other men try to make her feel good.” He growled as he used his less-than-human arm reach down and gently rub against your small button of nerves.

“Caleb-!” You choked out as your body writhed beneath him. You could feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock splitting you apart, making you wholly his and his alone.

“That’s right… Say my name, baby. Tell me who’s making you feel so good.” He prompted with a confident smirk before he hauled your legs up above his shoulders, sinking even deeper into your dripping cunt.

Clawing at the bed, your back arched as you tried to cope with the intrusion. He’s so fucking deep it feels like you’re going to choke on him. “Caleb-“ You sob as your cunt pitifully clenches around him.

Feeling you wrapped around him so sweetly, crying out his name as you’re so overwhelmed with pleasure has Caleb revitalized with a new vigor. His hips work in tight circles, pumping his fat cock in and out of you as your cunt makes the most obscene squelching noises he’s ever heard.

“Such a fucking noisy girl. I should’ve know you were going to be a crybaby.” He teased before placing open mouth kisses along your neck snd shoulder.

“W-wait Caleb- calebcalebcaleb. I’m gonna..” You pant out nervously as his metal fingers were still rubbing languid circled around your cunt, and his tip was smooshing globs of precum against your cervix.

His fingers suddenly pinch down on your clit, making you cry out from the sensation. Your body went taut as you were being dangled on the edge of pleasure. His robotic arm wasn’t quite letting you get there.

You thought his arm was literally malfunctioning until you heard him chuckle from your suffering.

“You’re going to cum when I saw you can, okay baby?” He asked in that same condescending tone he always used when you two were younger.

His hips continued to roll after he was sure that you weren’t going to fall off the deep end, and he let out deep guttural groans, feeling your pretty pussy soak him. It was like you were practically trying to suck him in. He couldn’t believe he had waited this long to sink into your cunt like this.

and the best part about it was he knew your stupid upstairs neighbor was listening! Xavier knew you were down here getting railed, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Hell, if he even tried, Caleb would use his evol and force him kneel beside the bed as he drilled you even harder.

Fuck, the thought of slutting you out in front of every single one of your little boyfriends had his stomach tightening. His hips snapped forward into you with a pace that could only be described as feral.

You were a complete babbling mess at this point — utterly cock drunk as Caleb had you folded in half, filling you up to the brim with his length.

“Ohhh, that’s my girl.” He purred as he saw your glossed over look. “It’s coming, baby. I’m going to give you want you need.” He promised as he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that completely contradicted the ruthless way his hips were rutting into you.

“C-caleb- Caleb no, wait.. Don’t cum inside-“ You stuttered out in a panic. You hadn’t been by the pharmacy yet to pick up birth control, so technically, this was all unprotected.

“Why?” He growled as his back curled over. He was fucking mounting you while holding your thighs in the prettiest mating press he’d ever seen. “You fucking let them fill you up. Am I not good enough to breed this pussy?”

His hips slammed into you. It felt like he was trying to push his way straight into your womb. It was mind-numbing pleasure, making black orbs and stars dance across your vision.

“Look at me, baby.” He ordered, dragging your face to look back up at him. You could barely see straight. It was all too much. “You’re going to let your best friend breed you, and you’re gonna fucking love it. You’re going to cum all over this fat cock until you can’t breathe. Understand?”

You dumbly nodded your head, halfway hearing his words. Your pussy was aching to cum. Your swollen puffy folds were greedily accepting him in with every thrust. You wanted this. Birth control be damned. Everyone else be damned.

Caleb gritted his teeth together as he gave you a few more good harsh thrusts for good measure. He then crushed his body against yours, burying himself all the way to your womb before his cock started to jerk and pulse inside of you, shooting rope after rope of his thick potent cum. The only thing on his mind was the need to see you, his childhood best friend, round with his baby.

He needed to see the look on each other of those pricks’ faces when they realized you were spoken for.

The cherry on top was when he felt your walls clenching around him, happily milking his cock for everything he had while you sobbed and hiccuped his name. It seemed like his childhood best friend was maybe just as twisted as he was. He’d have to give her an extra good reward for being such a good girl.

As the room went still and quiet — only filled with shared breaths and pants for air, the sound of someone stabbing a sword through the ceiling was heard, and Caleb chuckled deeply. He had definitely pissed Xavier off.

Love Me Through Every Lifetime

♱⋅── rafayel x fem!reader

♱⋅── synopsis: For a Lemurian, there is no greater curse than love. And Rafayel is beginning to understand its dangers, especially when the full moon turns him half-delirious and desperate to claim you as his— in every way that matters.

♱⋅── word count: 6.9k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, pwp, switch!raf but it quickly changes, merman/lemuniran heat, mates, breeding kink, oviposition, monsterfucking to keep it simple

♱⋅── art: @/–山渡川–

You think Rafayel might be dying. 

For two days, you have not heard a word from your overdemanding employer slash lover. Waking up around noon without a barrage of texts calling you a “lazy hibernating bear” or “neglectful partner” was unusual enough, but an irregularity you chalked up to Rafayel’s upcoming gallery exhibition. 

But by nightfall, you were confused, and by the next morning, cold dread had begun to creep in. He has still not sent a single text, not a call, nothing. Absolute silence. 

Despite agreeing to attend sparring practice tonight with Xavier, you rush out from HQ as soon as your squadron is dismissed from a mission briefing– you’ll make it up to him later. For now, you keep your Hunter’s suit equipped and reload both your pistols, tucking them into their holsters as you rev the engine of your motorcycle. 

Energy fluctuations always escalate before a full moon, and between the increase in Wanderers and the growing bounty on Rafayel's head, you feel your panic rise, the hollow ring of the moon looming overhead as you speed to Rafayel’s studio, praying that nothing has happened.

Rafayel is a mess.

It’s been centuries since he has last felt this insatiable heat, but to fall prey to his instincts was perhaps inevitable. After all, he’s finally found you again. 

Not only that, but he got too close once more, pulling you in from a stranger to an unwilling bodyguard to a friend and lover. Rafayel supposes he can only blame himself. His Lemurian biology has always keened in your presence, and he sealed his own fate when he finally coaxed you into bed with him. But he doesn't regret it— not for a moment.

However, it has been weeks since the first time the two of you had sex, and yet he still can do nothing but taste you against his tongue, nothing but imagine your face every time you unraveled against him, nothing but want you atop him, beneath him, beside him, so fucking bad he can’t think of anything else.

He had reunited with his mate. 

Of course his instincts now want to make you his, forever. 

Rafayel curses, his clothes chafing against his sensitive skin, making him burn under each suffocating layer before he hurriedly begins to rip and unbuckle each one. He wants you beside him, your touch on him. He wants so badly it burns.

With a groan, he collapses onto the coach, face buried in his hands as he genuinely worries he might die from the heat and desire pooling in his stomach and coiling through every nerve. Your name lights up on his phone, the light buzzing adding to the countless missed texts and calls on the screen.

Rafayel spares a glance at his phone before chucking it across the studio. He swears he might come from the thought of you alone. 

On cue, the studio’s front door opens with a bang. 

Disregarding protocall entirely you charge in, swinging both your guns around as you shout. “Rafayel! Yell if you’re trapped or injured, or... or just say something!”

There’s a crash behind you, and you nearly shoot, lowering the pistol only when you see a seagull that must have snuck in, topple over another vase, and flee through the wide open windows. 

No Wanderers. Not yet.

The studio is in ruins. Its usual “organized disorganization” would be considered neat in comparison. It looks like a thief ransacked the place, and a hurricane followed suit. Scraps of clothing and swirls of paint splatter across the floor like blood at a crime scene. 

Alarm creeps further into your voice, and you call for him again. “Rafayel! Please say something, anything, just let me know you’re okay.” You creep along the edge of the wall, turning into the main room, expecting the worst: to see him bleeding out, or knocked unconscious, or–

Lying on the couch. 

He’s lying on the couch. 

Sprawled against the cushions, you’re nearly convinced Rafayel is sleeping until you notice the audible rasp in his breathing, skin flushed red in a picture of debauchery. You felt your breath hitch as you scanned him up and down to check for injuries, his billowing shirt splayed open with all the buttons ripped off, and trousers shunted down at the front, clinging to the jut of his hips, trail of dark purple hair pathing the way to his hand, which was clawing against his thigh. 

You force yourself to look away, a tremor in your voice. “Are you injured? Do you need a doctor?”

“Stop talking.” Rafayel groans in pain and you holster your firearms before rushing to his side, kneeling by the couch as he flinches away from your body, his hand pressed to the lower half of his face. Your knees brush something rough and you look down, realizing the floorboards have been burned. 

“Your Evol,” panic returns and you reach out to check Rafayel’s temperature. “It’s acting up. We need to get you to a doctor.” Your fingers hardly brush against his forehead before they’re yanked away. Rafayel springs up, clutching your wrist so tightly you flinch, putting as much distance between the two of you as he could without releasing his hold. 

“No.” His chest is heaving, and you hardly hear him over the hand he still has over his mouth, muffling his words. “You need to leave. Right now.” 

“You’re the one holding me.”

Bewildered, Rafayel looks at his arm as though unaware of his own moments. But he makes no move to unhand you.

Slowly, you lean closer, letting your free hand rest against Rafayel’s cheek, gasping at how hot he is to the touch.

Fuck. Your hand is so deliciously cool against his skin that Rafayel can’t help but lean his entire weight against it, nudging his face into your palm as a strangled whine hisses through his teeth. A tug, and you gasp as you’re pulled down, tripping into Rafayel’s lap as his lips graze the sensitive skin of your inner wrists. 

The position is beyond compromising, especially considering Rafayel’s state of undress. Stumbling forward, your free hand pushes against his bare chest, and you try to free yourself, willing your eyes not to travel any lower to his unbuckled trousers. “Rafayel…”

“Don’t,” he curses into your palm, inhaling deeply before biting. He moans deep in his chest, licking up your fingers, sucking gently at each digit as you feel your body flush. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t move or breathe in my direction either.” 

He continues suckling against your fingers, and you would have snapped at his ridiculous demands if it wasn’t for the fact that you doubt you could form any words at all right now, dumbfounded as a dull heat throbs against your lower stomach. 

As if noticing, Rafayel’s mouth opens with a deep breath, cursing as he goes back to nipping and kissing your wrist. “Fuck,” he laughs, delirious, “I can smell how turned on you are. You– you’re an open book, cutie.”

Rafayel places another kiss to your palm before yanking your arm behind him, and you gasp when his head tilts, lips grazing the column of your throat, words slurred and raspy. His breath is scalding, every gentle brush of his lips against your skin sending your nerves on edge.

You feel dizzy. 

"Don't talk. Don't even move. Just stay- hah - stay with me."

His hands, both his free one and the one pinning your wrists, roam, caressing you as he presses wet kisses along your throat. It is all you can do to hold still, but when he sucks harshly against the pulse point at the base of your neck, a moan slips through your clenched teeth.

You try to squirm out of his grip, but the action only grinds against Rafayel's crotch, and you tense up immediately at the very obvious bulge, hot, sticky fluid already soaking through his trousers. 

The artist nearly sobs at the mere friction, expression a mixture of pained and pleading as he begs up at you. "Stay. Please."

He doesn't mean just for the moment. He means always, for eternity, for every lifetime he’s cursed to live. He’s never letting you go again. 

And you can do nothing but nod. 

You want to help him, really, in every way, endlessly, but taking advantage of him while he’s so helpless and desperate feels wrong. Worry sets in, and you cup his jaw, Rafayel keening into your touch with a whine. “Does this have something to do with Lemuria?”

Rafayel swallows, his hands sliding to your waist and gripping tightly, as though he expects you to disappear at any moment. You can see the indecision on his face, the conflict as he fights the desire clouding his brain. He opens his mouth, and closes it again. He tries a second time and succeeds, the words sounding painful and forced even as your thumbs trace his face, caressing every edge and curve. 

"I never imagined this would happen. You’re not- I mean, it only ever happens to Lemurian mates.” He’s shaking beneath you, eyes going unfocused as your touch ventures lower, down his collarbones, squeezing at his chest, tracing his abs, and further still. “I knew you were special, my muse, but not special enough to drive me into heat.”

He’s joking, teasing you, but you can’t help the flush of arousal at that statement. Your brows furrow, the gears in your head turning. You try not to sound too excited, the thought of Rafayel in heat is enough to distract you from the urgency of the situation. Again, Rafayel notices, inhaling your scent as something trills deep within his chest. 

"If you need my help, then you have it. Any way you want.”

Your fingers slide against the hem of his trousers, and Rafayel's breath hitches. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips- you swear his nails are sharper than normal- and a thrill shoots through you at the feeling. You can practically see his control slipping away, the last threads fraying, and he bites into your shoulder with a moan, fangs nipping through the fabric of your clothes.

Rafayel releases the bite and looks at you, expression wild. His pupils are dilated and his tongue licks the corner of his mouth, eyes darting back and forth between yours and the mark he's made.

"If you say things like that…" he warns, the hand around your wrist tightening. You can't help the soft gasp that escapes, and Rafayel growls at the noise. He lurches forward and kisses you hard, all tongue and teeth. 

"I-I can't," Rafayel pants. The expression he wears is so unlike him that it's shocking, and you feel your core clench. He's completely unraveled, hair disheveled, clothes torn and askew. 

And, fuck, you swear some of his pheromones must have infected you too, because you can’t stop staring at him. He’s gorgeous- more than usual- a furious pink blush from the tips of his ears down to the mole on his chest you can’t stop kissing, the color a beautiful contrast to his dark locks, now wet with sweat and stuck to his forehead in thick curls. 

His eyes never leave yours, not even as they roll in pleasure, their sunset hues dimmed with an animalistic sort of hunger that makes you shiver with every forceful press of his hips against yours. It’s punishing, brutal, and a violent contrast to the tears brimming in his eyes from the mere friction alone.

You want to ruin him. You plan on it.

"I won't be able to stop.” Rafayel whines, and you can't stop your hips from rutting back against him, the sensation pulling a choked sob from his throat. You swallow the noise with a kiss, the motion so gentle compared to his desperate, frenzied fucking. It's all he can do not to break, his control already slipping through his fingers like sand. “I won’t want to, I’ll fuck you until you can think of nothing else, just me. Only me.”

The idea sends a sharp spike of heat up your spine. His desperation for you is intoxicating, and you know his warning is sincere. He won’t let you go until you tell him to. You should be scared.

But all you can think of is his voice in your ear, begging and crying.

Your voice is hardly a whisper, "What do you need from me, Rafayel?"

"To breed you. To have my pretty human filled with my brood, to fuck you full."

You moan at the vulgarity of his words, and the sound goes straight to his cock. Rafayel groans as he fucks harder against your thigh, his own breath ragged as he tucks his forehead against your neck. 

But the mention of his brood has you nervous, and you gasp the question between moans at Rafayel’s insistent grinding. You don’t know much about Lermurian biology, but between the myths and Rafayel’s teasing, you have a vague idea that makes your head spin.

“How many, ah-” fucking hell, the word seems weird to think of, let alone say, “eggs do Lemurians usually have?”

Rafayel laughs at that, and you nearly sigh at the sound, the familiarity comforting. It isn't mocking, more surprised, and the sound is music to your ears, especially considering the delirious state he was in.

"Don't be silly, love," he teases, but his hips don't stop moving, undoubtedly soaking through his trousers and your pants. "We're not animals, we're civilized creatures."

His tone shifts, the light-hearted nature vanishing in an instant. The words are hissed against the shell of your ear, and a violent shiver runs through you. "I'll fill you to the brim, make sure you never forget who you belong to. Make sure every creature knows whose bitch you are. You're mine, and I'll mark you however I wish, however many times I must, until the message is clear."

A sharp pinch on the shell of your ear makes you gasp. He bit you. But the pain is gone as fast as it came, replaced with a wet tongue and warm lips. A whimper slips out, and you feel his cock twitch at the sound.

"So, my lovely mate, since you’re so eager, how many eggs do you want?"

He’s mocking you. Brat. 

Blushing furiously, you shove him down, pushing yourself up to a kneeling position as Rafayel whines at the loss of contact, hips bucking into empty air. You can feel his cock throbbing against your leg, and his hand reaches out for you, fingers barely grazing your skin before you roughly push him back down.

You give him a firm look, and the sight sends a fresh wave of arousal through his body, his cock jerking as Rafayel keens and throws his head back, unable to meet your eyes. He’s trembling, and the hand you pinned down flies to his face, covering his eyes as you scowl down at him.

“Alright, alright, ‘m sorry.” He laughs, trailing into a moan as you finally sit back against him. “It depends, our biology doesn’t favor us. We only mate once, and despite going into these seasons our clutches only take once a decade or so. Per season is variable too, anywhere from five to a dozen.”

Up to a dozen. 

A dozen eggs.

In you.

Fuck.

You must have made a sound because Rafayel looks at you with a cheeky grin, and a mischievous glint in his eye. He can smell the want on you, the scent is driving him wild, and you know it. But the realization of your need sends another ripple of desire through him, and Rafayel grunts in pain, writing against the cushions. 

"Fuck, need you. Need you so, so bad." He growls, grabbing your wrist and yanking you towards him. You lose balance, and your knees slide against the couch, falling over him with a gasp. “Need you now. Please, need my mate, need you to be mine—”

Greedy. 

You scoff before his mouth is on yours again, licking up into you.

He's insatiable, and as he presses closer you swear his teeth feel sharper, catching against your bottom lip.

“Poor baby,” you coo, palming Rafayel through his boxers as his eyes roll back at your touch. His mouth opens in a gasp, and you can see the hint of fangs, the razor edge of his canines. They glint in dusk’s low light, and you lean closer to get a better look. Rafayel can sense your interest, and his head lolls to the side, giving you a better view as he bares his throat, a dull blue shimmer now coating the sides, pulsing in time to his racing heart. 

It's a vulnerable position, one he would never allow anyone else to see him in. But you are not anyone, and he trusts you enough to offer himself up, trusts you to protect him as he succumbs to his desires, even if you’re the one that holds the knife. 

And you reward him for his loyalty. 

"Mmm, such a good boy, showing your mate what a pretty mess you are." Your voice is sweet and praising, and you feel Rafayel shudder violently, biting his lip deep enough to draw blood to stop the high-pitched moan that rips from his chest. Then he stills. “Did you just…” 

“Don’t tease,” he bucks into your palm, impossibly hard still in a way that is utterly nonhuman. “Just once more, make me cum once more, and I’ll fuck you properly. Promise.”

You hardly need to be told twice. 

Slipping off the side of the couch, you coax Rafayel to turn with you, settling between his legs as you work at his belt. “Then let me taste you.”

His thigh jumps at that, and Rafayel throws his head back against the wall with a dull thud, his hand already lacing into your hair. 

For all that talk his cock was still surprisingly human-like. It doesn’t look too different from before, still annoyingly well-endowed and leaking violently against the angry purple-red tip. But this time there’s a faint pale blue discoloration around the base, with a shine you can’t tell is a result of his Lemurian lineage or due to the copious amounts of precum he’s dripping down to his thighs. 

Gods, he’s messy.

There’s nothing sweet in the way you fuck him within your mouth, tongue trailing a prominent vein against the underside of his dick until you reach the tip once again. Rafayel goads you forward by pushing and pulling your head with his hand and his almost obnoxiously loud moans and mumbles of praise.

Both of your hands join, one stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth and the other massaging against his balls, each one heavy and tense, waiting to spill into something other than your mouth. The slick slap of skin on skin spurs you on, and Rafayel’s hand rips through the fabric on the couch with sharp nails you now feel digging into the back of your neck. 

“I’m almost–” He warns, and you nearly choke in surprise at the feeling of something swell against the base of his cock, a firm, round intrusion that has Rafayel sobbing. Then, he comes again, overflowing down your throat as you force yourself off, thick ropes of cum covering your face and shooting over his bare abdomen and chest, and then more. And more. 

All of that, and he’s still hard. 

Despite the strands of cum dripping between your hands, chin, and his cock, Rafayel still feels no relief. The bulge against the base of his cock inflates more, and he trills, a deep sound akin to whalesong deep in his chest. 

“It’s no use, I need…” A breathy moan, and Rafayel yanks you both to your feet. “Ocean. Now.”

His words devolve into incoherent rambling, and you nod, dragged alongside him as he clings to you like a child, his weight nearly toppling you both over as his knees buckle. You catch him, but his strength is inhuman, and even with the help of your Evol he could crush you.

You are his.

You will finally be his.

Rafayel’s grip around you tightens, and a possessive growl rumbles against his throat. He needs to feel you against him, inside him, his instincts screaming to mark you in every way conceivable. 

The studio's back doors lead directly to the beach, and the summer night breeze hits Rafayel with a delicious chill against his burning skin. The air tastes of salt and brine, the scent familiar and comforting— the smell of home.

The ocean is as gorgeous as it is terrifying in the midst of night. The roar of the waves and the silver reflection of the full moon are the only things illuminating the vast darkness before you. Yet Rafayel shows no such fear as he tugs you further along the beach, kissing and nipping and groping at you endlessly as he strips you of your clothes, his own following suit. 

"You'll regret leaving me after this," Rafayel whispers, pressing his lips to the pulse of your neck. 

"Silly fishie," you murmur, pulling him closer. “Why would I ever leave you?"

He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. You figured he was simply being overdramatic yet again, but Rafayel refuses to meet your eyes, smiling in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty.

“Of course, silly me. Why would anyone ever leave me?” He huffs, running a hand through his hair, preening. ”I’m perfect.”

You scoff, shoving him gently as you roll your eyes. Of course he would be cocky right before getting his brains fucked out.

"Well, you are quite pretty for a fish."

Rafayel laughs, deep and rumbling in his chest, a contagious sound that has you laughing too, until the cold spray of the ocean hits you with a light mist. The crest of another wave surges against you, curling around your bare ankles and knees as the tide ebbs and flows. Rafayel spares you one last teasing grin before running further into the ocean, disappearing beneath the waves without so much as a splash. 

You can’t help but feel nervous as you watch and listen for a break in the sea, knowing when your lover emerges, he will be a wholly different being than the one you’ve memorized every curve and edge of. 

But you want him to know you’ll accept him regardless. No matter how scaled or fish-like or ugly he may become. 

As if testing you, your mind conjures up a horrid fish-monster complete with swampy hair and a shark’s face before you chase the thought away, shaking your head violently. There’s no way a man as gorgeous as Rafayel could turn into a creature so hideous… Right?

Regardless, you’d help him. Regardless, you’d stay with him, love him. 

This you vowed.

And the ocean listens, seafoam curling around your ankles before it retreats, carrying with it your promise into its depths. Keeping it. 

A splash breaks the surface of the waves and you squint into the darkness. Sure enough, you see the outline of a man, cutting through the waves with a dull glow, as if parting the waters themselves. 

“Surely you don’t plan on making me wait any longer.” Rafayel complains, “Join me, my muse. My heart.” 

His voice coaxes you forward, and like a sailor drawn by a siren’s call, you walk further into the ocean. Each soft wave crashes higher against your legs until the salty spray hits the bare skin of your stomach, and you flinch from the chill against every sensitive part of your body. 

Finally, he’s close enough for you to see everything in the evening glow, and your breath leaves you entirely. 

He’s still your Rafayel, the mischievous glow against his duochromatic eyes reminds you of that much, but there’s a vibrant blue glow to them, a clearer blue than the ocean itself, one that freckles down his neck and body with bioluminescent markings. There’s also that familiar pointed smile he still wears, only, at the upper corner you catch the glint of fangs. Even longer than before. A splash, and your attention snaps behind him, where an enormous tail flicks impatiently out of the waves, a pale blue rippling into the color of the ocean’s depths, complete with purples and blues so dark it could be night itself. 

Dragging a hand across his cheek, you press your forehead against his own. “You’re gorgeous.” 

Rafayel’s pointed ears heat up, and he can hardly stop himself from succumbing to his instinct begging him to take you, to lure you into the stormy depths and to fuck you until you lay writhing, full of his brood on the seafloor. 

Instead, he lets you explore him, his new body, and what remained of the man you knew. Drunk on his siren’s call, you are pulled closer to him, waves lapping at your chest now as you trace the swirls of purple, vermillion, and gold markings dancing down his chest, scales of the same hues following down until the warmth of Rafayel’s skin turns to the cold, smooth feel of scales and he gasps against your touch. 

One moment you’re standing against the waves and the next you’re dragged back to shore, pinned against the sand.

“I’m sorry, I promise you’ll have more time to ogle and worship my body another day.” You scoff, about to throw a snarky reply when Rafayel presses his tail between your legs, yards of it still tailing behind the two of you as you’re effectively pinned. “But right now, I need to breed my pretty little mate full.”

You whine, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and leaning up to kiss him before he can babble any more nonsense. His lips taste like seafoam and smoke, and you gasp into his mouth as you feel his tail begin to roll into your hips, the motion smooth from the foreign texture of his scales and your own dripping slick. 

“Ah, you’re going to have to…” Almost embarrassed, Rafayel’s hand leaves yours, trailing down his own body as he prods against the underside of his tail. Curious, your fingers follow his own, finding a spot where the rough scales turn soft and smooth, a seam that feels like muscle, and within it, an equally wet slit. “There.”

You’re too desperate to even tease him, working your fingers in gentle circles until you ease one in, stroking the smooth velvet of his walls until both of your fingers can slip in. Then, something bumps against your fingers, prodding as you help coax it out. 

Rafayel groans, his enormous body convulsing as he presses against you. “Hurry up.” He grinds harder, nearly pulling you deeper into his slit. “Hurry up, hurry up, you’re taking too long.”

Rafayel has always been a demanding lover. But not like this. Not like he might actually die if he isn’t inside of you right at this very moment.

You huff, amused. Why not make him suffer just a little more? 

“What do we say when we want something, Rafayel?”

“Fuck. You are impossibly cruel, can’t you see I’m already suffering and yet still you make an effort to be so–” You curl your fingers up, knuckles roughly knocking against his still-sheathed cock. You very well almost come undone at the face he makes, twisted in pleasure as his eyes roll back, jaw slack with a high-pitched whine as he arches into your punishing touch. “Please! Please, ah, I’ll beg. I’ll beg, I’ll- fuck - I’ll fill you so well, I swear, just let me breed you.”

How could you say no to something so sweet?

Finally pulling his cock free, your breath catches at the sheer weight of it, heavy against your stomach and at least two inches longer and rough to the touch, ridges slick with how badly he’s leaking as you feel up and down his tapered length. But, unlike back at his studio, this liquid is clear and leaves pinpricks against your palm, almost going numb as he spills and drips onto your skin. 

Rafayel gasps, “Antispastic. It’s muscle relaxant to keep our mates comfortable and pliant for us.” 

Comfortable and pliant. You suddenly feel the very opposite, especially when you remember the end goal of this mating session. 

“Shh,” Rafayel coos against your ear as though hearing your fears, his fingers already working against your entrance as he whispers sweet nothings and praise into your ears. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t hurt any more than you want it to.”

And with that his fingers retreat, grinding his enormous form closer as you feel the nudge of his cock against your core, pushing in with the help of the gentle rocking from the waves, tapered tip making the stretch easier. 

You wince and Rafayel immediately kisses you, distracting you with his tongue before he hilts himself in one brutal movement, pinning you down as you thrash in protest. The pain only blinds you for a second, and then the relaxant does its work, filling you with a warm, tingling feeling that almost has you floating. You let out a garbled plea and Rafayel coos in response, lacing his fingers with yours. 

Despite already being fucked deep within you, Rafayel’s hips rut insistently against yours, pushing and pushing until you can feel the round bulge at the base of his cock grind against your clit, making you cry into his lips. 

Every ridge on the side of his cock catches deliciously against your walls, and you arch off the beach, your legs twitching against Rafayel’s tail until he lifts one up, nipping against your ankle and calf before hooking it over his shoulder, still suckling at the delicate skin around your inner thigh.

The intimacy of it all scares you. 

For the past month Rafayel has been insatiable, as if once he finally got you in his bed he never wanted you to leave again, always finding a way to lure you on top of him or trap you underneath, the perfect picture of lust. Regardless, it would always end with fast, frenzied fucking. But not like this. 

Not with him slowly rocking into you, pulling back until just his tip remained before grinding all the way in as he whispered songs in a language you could not understand. Not with him intertwining his fingers with yours and watching your every reaction with utmost receptiveness and adoration. Not with him kissing away your tears as you come undone. 

But for Rafayel, this was long overdue.

After all, he’s chased you throughout every lifetime, forsaking his people, giving up his heart, and vowing himself to you time and time again despite knowing how it ends— how it always will.

Your face goes slack at your sudden orgasm, but Rafayel helps you through it, one hand unlacing from yours as he thumbs your clit until your shudders subside. He whispers, not caring that you’re still too fucked-out to hear. “I’m not a patient man, you know. I’ve been waiting for centuries. And now you’re here, you’re here and you’re all mine.” Another kiss to your forehead before he feels that uncontrollable heat rise again, letting it take over. “I’m never letting you go again.”

When you come to the first thing you feel again is the rhythmic pounding against your sweet spot, and you writhe against the sand with a violent gasp. Desperate for some sort of relief, your hands push at Rafayel’s chest, futilely trying to force him back or at least get him to slow down until another particularly rough thrust has you sobbing, clawing at his arms and shoulders.

But Rafayel hardly seems to notice. He’s lost himself entirely, eyes glazed over as they fixate on where his cock bullies into you, muscles across his back and tail pushing him forward with a force that makes you scream. Fueled by your mindless whimpers, he forces his cock in deeper, chasing his release so he can finally, finally fuck you full. 

Rafayel also doesn’t last long, his third orgasm hitting him violently enough that he nearly collapses on top of you, purring against your throat with a trill that comes from deep within his chest. His fangs dig into the juncture between your shoulder and neck as he continues to come, rope after rope coating your cervix, filling you with a warmth alongside the muscle relaxant. You nearly come too, almost uncomfortably wet, slick enough that even the monstrous ridges alongside Rafayel’s cock slip deeper and deeper inside you with terrifying ease. 

Again, he moans something in another language, a series of clicks and purrs rumbling from his chest, eyes dark and unfocused as he forces you to look up at him. “You’ve been so, so good for me. Pretty little mate needs to be fucked full though, ya? Need to be filled with my brood?” You don’t even realize you’ve come at his words, something else squirming against your clit below his swollen base. Rafayel licks your tears away, tongue nonhuman as its length curls around your cheek, moaning at the taste of your sweat, arousal, and seasalt. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ll defy your silly human biology, make you a mommy.”

Fighting to prop yourself up against the sand, you reach down, hand trembling as it thumbs against Rafayel’s slit once more. But this time, something else has begun to emerge.

Rafayel sobs against your neck, keeping what you now realize is his first cock buried greedily inside you, unwilling to pull out by any more than an inch. Drunk off of him, you messily press two fingers into his slit, hiking your legs further up his shoulders to give you better access to where the two of you are joined against the splash of the waves. 

Dipping your fingers in, you inhale sharply at the squirm of something rough, thumbing the coil out as it writhes and curls into the warmth of your palm. his second cock is not, well, it’s a tentacle for lack of a closer human anatomical reference. All ridges and scales as you coax it to a similarly monstrous length as the first, but thicker, writhing as though possessing a mind of its own.

And right below it, you feel the obvious bulge against Rafayel’s tail where his eggs are. 

You’re suddenly very, very grateful for the Lemurians’ natural muscle relaxant. 

Despite the slick practically leaking from you, you still tense as the tip of the tentacle dick begins to flick and tease at your already full entrance, not giving you a moment to breathe before it begins pushing in alongside the first. It pokes and prods enough to have you whimpering before Rafayel holds your thighs still and thrusts, forcing both his cocks in to the hilt.

It feels impossible. It shouldn't be possible.

But the way he fits is perfect, a tight, burning stretch, the ridges along his first cock and the suctions on the second bruising you in ways that make you scream, vision going dark around the edges as Rafayel moans into your ears. Your cunt feels abused to the point of numbness, the pain dissolving as your mouth hangs open, jaw slack as nonsensical babbles and pleas fall from your lips. 

And, fuck, Rafayel doesn’t even bother waiting to let you regain your sanity before his two cocks start pistoning in and out of you, the bottom one curling and stroking against the first, effortlessly brutal along the slick walls of your cunt. His fangs ghost along the shell of your ear as he splays his huge, slightly webbed hand across your lower belly. 

"How deep am I?" He rolls his hips again, rougher. You cry as Rafayel’s weight forces you to tuck further under him, nearly folding you in half as your legs press against his tail. "Can I go deeper? Can I? Please, please, please—" 

You gasp, mewling and writhing as you feel the bottom cock begin to squirm again. Bullying its way into your cervix, it thrashes violently against that spongy spot inside you that has your vision spinning. Rafayel is fairing no better, losing the capacity for human speech altogether, moaning as his cock finally breaches the tight ring of muscle, fucking into your womb.

Even through the haze, legs numb and twitching, your body still convulses in protest as you feel the bulge pressing against your clit begin to move. Rafayel shudders right as it does, clawed hands digging into the back of your thighs as he forces you impossibly closer. The bottom cock twitches, coaxing your womb open, and you moan as you feel the bulge creep forward.

This should hurt, it should horrify you, and yet it only breaks you in ways that will ruin you for any future lovers. Not that you ever plan on leaving him. Not after this. 

Rafayel thrusts one last time, waves raging around you as he does so, and you nearly sob as you feel the bulge shift up his length, dragging slowly against your walls until it presses against your cervix. Even then you only cry in pleasure, nails digging bloody crescents into Rafayel’s shoulder as he does the same against your thighs, the antispastic doing its work in keeping you deliriously wet and pliant. You roll your hips desperately against your lover, and the sudden shift in position forces the first egg beyond the tight barrier, falling into your womb.

Gods. It feels heavy, it feels wrong, it feels so fucking good you come again with a silent scream.

Rafayel swallows every noise with a messy kiss, his serpentine tongue curling around your own and sucking, nearly fucking itself into your mouth as you get lightheaded from both the lack of air and the press of his second egg already at your entrance. You sob into Rafayel’s lips, greedily moving your hips against his own, forcing him in further before he obliges, shoving your thighs further apart until your knees touch the sand too. Then you feel the weight of the second egg bump against the first, overwhelmed as the next has already begun stretching you full again. 

The two of you are reduced to little more than animals, helpless fucking and licking and moaning against one another as the eggs come one after another, again and again and again until your womb feels bloated and abused, the feeling euphoric thanks to the copious amount of relaxant and cum already flooding you. Rafayel’s bottom cock convulses after depositing the seventh egg, its tip finally wriggling out from your cervix’s vise grip against it, sucking and soothing your abused walls as you come once again, sobbing and numb to the pleasure-pain.

“Perfect,” Rafayel coos against your lips, rutting insistently inside you as his fingers lace with yours, forcing you to feel the taunt skin over your womb, the bulge obvious and hyper-sensitive. “You did so well, my perfect little mate, you deserve a reward don’t you?” 

Unable to form words, you nod, your entire body trembling as Rafayel laughs, thrusting his hips again, each one sharp and punishing against your overly-sensitive cunt, pelvis smacking your clit as your vision spins. He trills, a shudder overtaking his enormous body as his scales glow, pale blues and deep purples flicking violently down his skin and tail as the waves crash around him, continuing until he comes inside of you. It’s endless, the warmth coating every aching surface of your cunt up until your poor stretched womb, hot and thick as you feel Rafayel futilely attempt to keep it all in you with his dicks and then fingers. 

What does end up squirting back down your thighs and onto his abdomen is lapped up by the ocean, and the waves offer a cool relief as Rafayel finally pulls out and collapses onto the sand beside you. You feel simultaneously horribly empty and heavy, something Rafayel takes note of as he pulls you against him, humming into your neck and wrapping his arms around yours, careful not to place any pressure against your sensitive middle. 

He groans against your ear, and you turn in panic, only to see him back to his human form, the only evidence left of his tail the deep valleys against the sand where it once rested. You immediately regret moving, however, as the weight against your womb lurches you off balance and you moan before stilling yourself on your side. Holy fuck, how long will this last? 

“R-” your voice is raspy and you wince, “Rafayel?” 

He hums in answer, already kneeling beside you before lifting you easily in his arms, carrying you bridal style as he litters butterfly kisses over your forehead and nose. “What you said about the, um, fertilizing thing. These won’t actually hatch, will they?”

Again, Rafayel laughs, pressing his nose against the top of your head as he inhales. Another giggle. “Maybe.” You hit him. Hard. “Ouch, meanie. No, even with all of that there’s hardly a chance Lemurian clutches take. Not to mention you’re a human, so therefore not our necessary host.” 

You choose to let his provocative word choice go over your head and sigh in relief. Thumbing gently against the bulge of your lower stomach, you lean further into Rafayel’s chest, nearly lulled to sleep by the sound of his heart thumping in time to the crash of the waves. 

“But,” Rafayel sings the word with a playful lit. “If any of them do happen to fertilize, we can just fish them out before they hatch.”

“We can what.”

Gods, what did you get yourself into?

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — GEM HUNTING INVESTIGATION RECORDS

Word Count: 13,138 Content Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, M/M sex, M/F/M sex, knotting, rough sex, copious amounts of body fluids, primal behavior, oral ( m & f receiving ), sex with strangers, no protection, breeding, creampie(s), A/N: I worked on this like non-stop for two days, probably should have slept more but I wanted to finish this so bad before I have to go back to work tomorrow. I don't really have time to write during work days, so I hope this sates everyone who reads it :3 Also thank you to @hyyih for being my beta and correcting my atrocious grammar. ao3 link

Beneath the sleek exterior of the website, Heat Haven was not a Dating Site. It was a lifeline for Omegas in desperate need, with suppressants hard to get due to political upheaval (they wanted more omegas to breed since the population of Alphas was dwindling). The platform bills itself as a "discreet, sophisticated service for Omega-Alphas seeking biological compatibility," but everyone knew what it was: the most reliable way to find someone to fuck an omega through one of the most delirious moments of her life— her heat.

No coy euphemisms. No prose or fake wining and dining or promises of long walks in the park ruminating about shared dreams of the future. Heat Haven catered to primality. It was about survival, desire and need.

The homepage was clean soft gradients of blue and light Grey giving it a calming effect to soothe an omega's frazzled nerves. "find relief, find safety, find who you need." — floated over the serene image of an omega half curled into a bed with her nest surrounding her.

Once logged in, the interface told a different story. This wasn't a place for purity; it was raw, brutal and a little thrilling in its honesty. The Users profiles featured key details like "Rut Status", "Knot Size Preference" and a graphic "Pheromone Match Rating" system that calculated compatibility based on submitted scent samples. Uploading your heat cycle schedule was an optional feature, but highly recommended especially for those Omegas who preferred to line up potential partners before their bodies turned them into a mess of slick and reduced them to a needy fevered haze.

And the reviews? Oh, the reviews. Each Alpha profile came loaded with ratings and detailed feedback from past hookups.

"Knotted me so hard I couldn't walk for two days, 10/10." "Not rough enough, felt like he wasn't committed; Beta? 3/10" But the Omegas left reviews too, their profiles a haunting combination of raw vulnerability and primal sexuality. Alphas could make their own requests, "Experienced Omegas only, no first-timers." whereas Omegas could also leave demands. "Breed me, knot me, leave - no games."

It wasn’t uncommon for pictures of their time to be uploaded; explicit heat photos, glossy-eyes and cock drunk expressions on their faces, a blatant challenge for Alphas who scroll the site hunting for that exact kind of submission.

She was desperate. Her heat was closing in fast just a couple of days now and the clinic had run out of suppressants. Fifteen fucking days until the end of the month, and they couldn’t keep stock? It was her first heat in eight long months, and the thought of facing it unprepared made her stomach twist. If she thought she could tough it out alone, maybe she’d lock herself in a padded room and try to sweat it out. But she wasn’t naive. She knew what would happen if she tried. Going her whole heat without even one knot wasn’t just miserable—it was dangerous.

The slick was the issue.

Without it, an Alpha could spiral. Too many ruts without an Omega’s slick, and they risked going feral—a state that was as ugly as it sounded. And Omegas? They weren’t any better off. Her body wouldn’t just let her skip a heat out of convenience. No, her heat would stretch on, lasting days longer than usual, until her body got what it was biologically screaming for.

An Alpha’s scent.

An Alpha’s knot.

She shuddered at the thought, scrolling over her Heat Haven profile as she fought off memories of the last time. It hadn’t been great. The Alpha had been too rough, angry even, and she left the encounter sore in ways that weren’t satisfying or cathartic. It was enough to make her hesitant now, her finger hovering over the keyboard as she considered her options. Sure, she could try to find someone outside the site, but the odds of getting a decent Alpha without going through Heat Haven’s vetting process?

Not worth the gamble.

She sighed, resigned, and got to work tweaking her profile.

First, she added a few selfies. Nothing too risqué, but enough to grab attention. Heat Haven had a brutal marketplace vibe, and standing out was half the battle. If she didn’t look good, she wouldn’t get offers worth accepting.

Next, she updated her heat schedule to reflect the urgency. Imminent. That single word was often enough to draw in Alphas who got off on that raw, fevered desperation. And fine, maybe she was desperate, but that didn’t mean she was throwing away all her standards. She added a note: Willing to host. That was non-negotiable. She didn’t trust some Alpha to throw together a decent nest for her. It would be her nest, with her blankets, her scent, her comforts. At least then she wouldn’t be starving on some bachelor’s floor because the idiot forgot to stock more than protein bars.

Lastly, she hesitated over the relationship status filter. Did it matter? Did she care if the Alpha was single, mated, or just some guy looking to scratch an itch? No. She deleted the filter entirely. If an Alpha could do his job—get her through her heat safely and satisfyingly, she didn’t give a shit if he had a partner at home or not.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the profile for a long minute. It was all there. The pictures, the urgency, the note about her nest. It wasn’t flashy, but it was honest. And with her heat bearing down on her, she didn’t have time to overthink it. Her body was already starting to turn against her, the low, dull ache in her core an unwelcome reminder of what was coming.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for her profile to start attracting attention. It never did. She was careful to present herself well—clear, direct, and unashamed of what she needed. But as the site gained traction in recent years, it had drawn in more users, including some real risks. A lot of Omegas still hesitated to trust it, worried about whether it could really protect them from predators or clueless Alphas with no sense of boundaries.

What those idiots failed to understand, though, was just how dangerous a scorned Omega could be. Ever heard the saying, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?" Well, multiply that by a thousand, throw in heat pheromones, and give her the instincts of a pissed-off wolf. There were Alphas who’d learned that lesson the hard way—leaving her nest unsatisfied, trying to push boundaries, or outright being reckless. She wasn’t the type to let herself get walked all over. Not ever again.

Her inbox lit up with notifications, the scent-matching algorithm already doing its work. Most of the messages were what she expected: blunt, one-line propositions from desperate Alphas or sleazy attempts at charm. But one message stood out.

A pair.

[AbyssalFlame Messaged You]

It wasn’t uncommon for Alpha-Beta pairs to search for an Omega together. In fact, it had its appeal. A Beta could temper an Alpha’s rougher edges, bringing a kind of balance that made the entire experience smoother for everyone involved. They weren’t just caretakers, though many played that role instinctively. Betas had their own unique place in the throes of biologically driven passion—they weren’t immune to the pheromonal intensity that heat and rut created, and sometimes, they heightened it.

Her eyes flicked to the profile. The Alpha was named Sylus and his presence practically leapt off the screen even through a few lines of text. His profile picture was classic Alpha energy—broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and a smirk that teetered somewhere between cocky and inviting. His description was just as straightforward: Alpha, mid-rut control certified. Looking for an Omega who values stamina and strength. Knot-friendly, non-aggressive but firm when needed. Paired with a Beta to ensure complete heat care.

Then there was Rafayel, the Beta, who looked like he’d walked out of a painting. His features were softer, more refined, and he had a kind of calm confidence that balanced out Sylus’s intensity. His profile hinted at a creative streak—he was an artist, apparently, with an obsession for oceanic landscapes. He’d added a personal note to the profile: Betas don’t just pour water on the fire; sometimes we fan it. I’ll make sure your nest stays in one piece and you’re never left wanting.

She felt a flicker of intrigue, despite herself. An Alpha-Beta pair wasn’t something she usually considered, but Sylus and Rafayel didn’t come across as your average duo. They’d clearly put effort into their profile, making it known they’d respect her boundaries but wouldn’t shy away from giving her what she needed. And right now? That was sounding more appealing than sifting through a pile of overeager Alphas who barely understood how to handle a heat.

Her thumb hovered over the reply button, her thoughts racing as she reread the message. It wasn’t particularly long or flowery, but it was direct and straight to the point. Sylus had written it, though it was signed with both their names. That little detail made her pause. Most Alpha-Beta pairs that messaged her on Heat Haven usually didn’t bother with that level of coordination—it was always one taking the lead and the other fading into the background. But here, Sylus and Rafayel were clearly presenting themselves as a unit. That alone gave them an edge over the sea of poorly thought-out messages clogging her inbox.

The message read:

"Saw your profile—noticed you’re looking to host and have your nest set up. That’s a good call. I’m Sylus, and this is Rafayel, my Beta. We’ve got experience with Omega care, and we make a good team for heats. You’ll get my focus, strength, and stamina, and Rafayel’s here to keep things balanced and make sure everything stays smooth. If you want to talk specifics or see our heat-session reviews, we can share them. Your profile caught our eye, and we’d like to help. Heat’s a hard thing to face alone. Let us know."

It wasn’t pushy. There were no assumptions, no condescending overconfidence. They didn’t jump right into over-the-top promises of how great Sylus’s knot would feel or how Rafayel could pamper her in the aftermath. Just a straightforward offer, clear boundaries, and a hint of experience without coming off cocky.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at their profile pictures again. Sylus’s eyes practically burned through the screen, that quiet Alpha intensity impossible to miss. Meanwhile, Rafayel’s smile was disarmingly calm, his body language radiating an effortless kind of reassurance. They balanced each other out in ways that felt… solid. Reliable. Like they actually knew what they were doing and wouldn’t treat her heat like some glorified hookup.

Still, she hesitated.

Her last experience had left her wary—an overly aggressive Alpha with a nasty temper and no self-control, who’d turned her carefully constructed nest into a disaster zone. She had promised herself after that she wouldn’t rush into another arrangement, no matter how desperate her heat made her. And it was coming—oh, it was coming. Her body was already betraying her, the dull ache in her core growing worse with every hour. The pre-heat signs were undeniable: the way her skin prickled, the way her scent was shifting, growing sweeter and thicker in anticipation. She had maybe two days, tops, before she’d be too far gone to make rational decisions.

Sylus and Rafayel’s offer felt safe, or as safe as anything could feel in a situation like this. They weren’t asking her to give up control, and they seemed to respect her autonomy. That mattered. She wasn’t about to let some Alpha waltz in and try to dominate her on his terms. This is my heat, she thought, her lips pressing into a firm line. I decide how it goes.

But there was a nagging curiosity in the back of her mind, too. What would it actually feel like to have both an Alpha and a Beta tending to her? Most Omegas swore by it, claiming the dual dynamic was unmatched for heat care. The Alpha for the primal need—his knot, his pheromones, the raw power she’d crave when the heat really hit. And the Beta for emotional steadiness, the touch that wasn’t purely driven by instinct but by deliberate, soothing care. It wasn’t just about survival—it was about satisfaction. Fulfillment.

She inhaled sharply, the ache in her belly flaring at the thought. Fine. She wasn’t going to overthink this anymore. Heat wasn’t the time for overanalyzing.

Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard.

"Thanks for the message. I appreciate how straightforward you both are. Hosting’s a non-negotiable for me—I need my nest and my space. If that works for you, I’m open to discussing specifics. I’ll need to see both of your certifications and heat-session reviews before we finalize anything. My heat’s imminent, so we’ll need to arrange this quickly. Let me know if you’re still interested."

She hit send before she could second-guess herself. The knot of tension in her chest eased slightly, though the low hum of anticipation in her body only seemed to grow stronger.

It didn’t take long for them to reply. The little notification popped up less than ten minutes later.

[AbyssalFlame]: "Absolutely still interested. Hosting’s not an issue. I’ll send our documents and reviews now—you’ll see everything’s in order. Let us know what else you need. Timing-wise, we’re flexible. Rafayel’s great at helping prep nests if you want assistance before things kick in."

She clicked on the attachment they sent. Their certifications checked out: Sylus was mid-rut control certified, exactly as his profile said, and Rafayel had completed Omega care training. Their reviews? Impressive.

"Sylus is all raw strength, but never loses control. Knotted me exactly how I needed and left me feeling satisfied in ways I can’t even describe. Rafayel was a dream—he kept me hydrated, helped me recover between sessions, and his scent was so grounding."

The perfect balance of Alpha and Beta energy. I was nervous about trying a pair for my heat, but they exceeded my expectations completely. I didn’t even think about the time passing—I just felt cared for the entire time."

"Knots for days. Rafayel’s hands are magic. Enough said."

She found herself smiling faintly, despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Maybe...just maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all.

She sat back, chewing her lip as she scrolled through their reviews again, feeling her body responding against her will. The detailed accounts stirred something deep in her gut, fanning that slow-growing burn of her pre-heat. Her scent thickened in the room, sweet and heady, and she cursed under her breath. Get it together, she thought, shaking her head like she could somehow shake the heat away with it. But it wasn’t going anywhere. It was crawling up her spine, tugging at her insides, leaving her restless and far too aware of her body’s needs.

Sylus and Rafayel had their shit together, though. That much was obvious. The certifications, the reviews, the way they handled her concerns without a single ounce of pushback—it was all enough to calm her nerves, even if her instincts were screaming at her to move faster. The truth was, she didn’t have time to be overly picky. Her heat wasn’t going to wait for her to deliberate like this. And from the way her core throbbed every time her thoughts wandered to their message, her body had already made its decision.

Before she could overthink it, she fired off another reply.

"Everything looks good on your end. Let’s lock this in. My heat’s going to hit in about 48 hours, so I’ll need you both here tomorrow evening to prepare. Bring anything you might need—supplies, clothes, whatever—but understand this: my nest is sacred. Don’t mess with it. You can add to it, but nothing gets taken out or moved. If that’s clear, then we’re good to go."

She stared at the message for a moment, her thumb hovering over the send button. It wasn’t exactly warm, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t here to make friends. This was about getting through her heat without losing her mind or her dignity.

She hit send.

The response came almost immediately.

[AbyssalFlame]: Understood. We’ll respect your space. We’ll bring supplies and anything else you might need. See you tomorrow evening—looking forward to meeting you."

Her stomach twisted, a mix of nerves and anticipation settling there as she set her phone down. It was done. She had a plan, and if everything went smoothly, this would be just what she needed to survive the week. Still, the idea of having two strangers in her space, her nest of all places, made her uneasy. An Alpha and a Beta. Sylus, with his smoldering, intense energy, and Rafayel, with his disarmingly calm demeanor.

She wasn’t sure which one unnerved her more.

The next evening came faster than she expected. She spent most of the day distracted, her body increasingly betraying her as the hours ticked by. The ache low in her belly was no longer subtle, and her slick had started to come in spurts, her underwear damp enough to force her into constant wardrobe changes. She was grumpy and restless, her nerves shot, as she fussed over her nest for the hundredth time, rearranging blankets and pillows that didn’t even need rearranging.

When the knock finally came, her heart jumped into her throat. She froze, her hands gripping a blanket as her instincts flared. Her scent spiked, sweet and thick and impossible to ignore. She hated how obvious it was—how they’d smell her the moment the door opened and knew she was close to breaking.

She forced herself to move, smoothing her shirt as she made her way to the door. Taking a deep breath, she opened it.

Sylus stood in front, and she immediately understood why so many of his reviews had described him as "intense." He was tall, a lot taller than she expected – and broad, his presence radiating that distinct Alpha energy that practically demanded attention. His hair was white—she’d seen it in the pictures but she supposed it still shocked her , like he’d run a hand through it on the way over, and his sharp jawline made her swallow hard. His crimson eyes locked onto her instantly, and the way his nostrils flared as he took in her scent sent a shiver straight through her.

Behind him, Rafayel was the perfect counterbalance. Softer, leaner, but no less confident. His ocean-blue eyes with a shimmer of red or purple hues held hers for just a second before flicking to Sylus, as if silently checking in with him. His calm smile, paired with his easy stance, was disarming in a way that made her chest tighten. He carried a bag slung over one shoulder, and she caught a glimpse of supplies—water bottles, snacks, extra blankets.

He’d come prepared.

“Hi,” Sylus said, his voice low and steady, though she didn’t miss the slight rasp to it. His rut wasn’t far off, she realized, it seemed they were on the same page on that front. Not bad enough to lose control, but close enough that the edge was there.

She could practically feel it.

“Hi,” she said back, stepping aside to let them in.

Rafayel was the first to move, giving her a small nod as he walked past. “Nice setup,” he said, glancing around her apartment before setting the bag down near the edge of her nest. “We’ll stick to this area unless you tell us otherwise.”

Sylus followed him inside, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned to scan the room. “Your scent is already thick,” he murmured, his voice low enough that it was almost a growl. “You’re close.”

She crossed her arms, both annoyed and embarrassed by how easily he could read her.

“I know,” she snapped, before softening just slightly. “That’s why you’re here.”

Sylus’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk, and for a split second, she thought he might say something cocky. But Rafayel cut in before he could.

“Let’s get things set up,” Rafayel said smoothly, his tone so calm it was almost soothing. He crouched near her nest, carefully setting out a few items from the bag—water, nutrient bars, extra towels. He didn’t touch anything in her nest itself, just added to the edges, respecting her space exactly like she’d demanded.

Sylus, meanwhile, stood back, watching her with that same sharp focus. “We’ll take care of you,” he said simply, his voice soft but firm.

The words sent a shiver through her, and she hated how much she wanted to believe him. But as the first real wave of her heat hit, her knees threatening to buckle, she realized she didn’t have much of a choice.

Her legs felt weak as the first wave of her heat slammed into her, like an invisible hand gripping her from the inside, twisting low in her belly until her breath came in sharp, shallow pulls. The flames that licked under her skin caused a groan to escape her, she tightened her grip on the edge of the doorframe, cursing under her breath as her body betrayed her in front of them. The two men froze immediately, their gazes snapping to her as her scent spiked and pheromones flooded the hair like a heavy mist, heavy and cloying like sweet, overripe fruit. It was suffocating, but it was all she could do to stay upright.

Sylus was the first to react, his crimson eyes darkened as he took a single step forward, his entire posture shifting in that uniquely Alpha way, predatory, protective, and all instinct ready to act. He wasn’t out of control, on the contrary his movements were entirely deliberate. When he reached out a hand toward her, he stopped short, waiting for her permission.

“You’re already peaking,” he spoke, his voice rougher than before. The gravel in his tone sent a shiver down her spine, her body hyper aware of the Alpha before her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice sounded anything but.

“You’re not,” Rafayel said gently, his tone as smooth as silk. He stepped forward as well, his hands slightly raised like he was approaching a skittish animal. His eyes glistened in the light of her room, the ocean blue pierced through her with startling clarity. She noticed the faint stain of red in them now, just enough to give them an otherworldly depth, like a sunset bleeding into the horizon.

She hated how safe he looked, how disarming and steady he felt just standing there, it made her feel exposed.

“I just need to sit down,” she replied, forcing herself to take a step back towards the living room.

Rafayel followed her immediately, his movements fluid and careful as he kept his distance. “Let me help you,” he offered, his voice softer now. “We won’t touch your nest until you say so, but if you fall, I am catching you.”

She hesitated, her pride bristling at the idea of needing help, but another sharp pull deep inside her left her gasping and his arms came around her keeping her from hitting the floor.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered softly, moving her to sit in her nest, his hands on her waist guiding her as her legs were weak, his touch feather light like he was being careful not to set her off. Once she was nestled into the pile of blankets and pillows she’d spent the entire day obsessing over, her body sagged into the softness and for a moment she just breathed.

Sylus stayed near the door, his crimson eyes locked on her as he adjusted his stance. His presence was electric, his scent – like hers, was filling up the room like a heavy blanket, but he didn’t move closer. The amount of control this required should have impressed her but she simply had other concerns to deal with. His gaze flicked to Rafayel, there was a silent communication between them-one that she didn’t miss.

“Let me know what you need me to do,” Sylus said, his voice low and steady. There was a tightness in his tone, and she knew his rut was coming on just as fast as her heat – neither of them quite knew why. His nostrils flared, her scent was pouring off her now, wrapping around him, tugging at every Alpha urge in his body.

“She’s already close,” Rafayel murmured, crouching beside her nest but keeping enough distance to respect her space. His eyes softened as they landed on her, “You’ve been holding back haven’t you?”

Her eyes downcast, then nodded her head a little. The small croon that escaped him prickled her skin with a chill, a smirk curving his lips.

“Don’t worry, Cutie...we’re going to take real good care of you.”

Her body responded all too kindly and she felt her cheeks heat when she felt slick drip onto her underwear. If she were being honest, this was likely her least favorite part – the amount of lubrication her body made was obscene. She knew it was to help them adjust to the Alpha’s incredible size but it didn’t make it any better. It was messy and sticky, like silicone lube that could actually be washed away.

Her body tensed as another wave hit, stronger this time. A broken whimper escaped her throat before she could stop it, burying her face in her hands as heat flushed through her skin. Their gazes too added to the flames that licked at her veins, that centered inside her with undeniable want for pleasure.

“Let me come closer,” Sylus spoke, his voice strained. He wasn’t asking because he wanted to. He was asking because she needed him to and they all knew it. “I won’t touch your nest, and I won’t do anything until you say so but you need me near you.”

She raised her head from her hands, panting softly as her scent spiked again, flooding the room with the unmistakable sweetness that could only be from an Omega. Sylus’s crimson eyes flashed, her defenses faltering  as she took in the sight of him standing there, chest rising and falling steadily, muscles taught with careful restraint. She realized then, as much as she loathed to admit it- she did need him. The heat clawing through her body wasn’t going to ease on its own, and his presence, powerful and ground, was exactly what her body was screaming for.

“Come closer.” Her voice was soft and laced with desperation, her cheeks burned, the vulnerability of the moment hitting her. The walls she had carefully built to keep herself safe from overbearing alphas were slowly crumbling due to the very patient men before her.

“I—I need you here.” she motioned to the edge of her nest.

Sylus doesn’t hesitate even a second, the words left her lips and he was already moving across the room in smooth strides. He knelt at the edge of her nest, his size and presence seemed to fill the space instantly. Crimson eyes locked on hers, but he didn’t crowd her. He remained just where she’d told him to, waiting to be invited in further.

“Better?” he whispered, his voice low and even, unintimidating – just what she needed. The unmistakable rasp of arousal was tinging his tone now, His instincts were clearly pulling at him, but he had unadulterated control of himself, a feat not many Alphas could claim to.

“Better,” she admitted, the tension in her chest slowly ebbing away slightly just from having him closer. Her body still ached, her heat pushing at her limits of sanity, but the sigh of him; his broad shoulders, his sharp jawline and messy hair—was strangely calming.

Behind him, Rafayel shifted into view, his eyes flicking between the two of them with quiet understanding. He crouched beside Sylus and stroked his neck gently with soft contemplation, a delicate smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he felt Sylus leaning into his touch ever so slightly igniting a rumble in his chest..

“Do you need anything else before things get worse?” Rafayel asked, his eyes turning to her. “Water, food...anything you didn’t think to grab earlier?”

“I stocked everything earlier, I just.. I need you both to stay close.” She whispered hating how needy her voice sounded but by the look on her Alpha’s Sylus’s face he didn’t seem to mind it one bit.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Rafayel reassured her, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips – a tinge of pink flaming across his cheeks. Her scent was strong, unwavering and, normally, Betas weren’t supposed to feel this affected, However, there was something different here that none of them could place. “This is what we’re here for.”

Sylus leaned in slightly, his crimson eyes glowing faintly as his Alpha instincts flared. The scent of her heat was overpowering this close, and she saw the way his jaw tightened as he fought to keep himself steady. “Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

Her breath hitched, her body reacting immediately to the prospect. Every part of her was screaming yes, yet the words stuck in her throat, she hesitated, her fingers curling into the soft fleece blanket beneath her. She was on the edge of losing herself to this heat that was curling around her and dragging her into primal insanity – the pull of her instincts too strong to ignore any longer.

“Yes,” she finally breathed, her voice trembling. “Please.” a beg.

Sylus’s tension eased slightly, his eyes softening as he reached out and curling his hand against her jaw, his touch firm but careful. The moment his skin met hers, it was like a jolt of electricity shot through her, the tension in her body breaking as a small, involuntary whimper escaped her lips.

“You’re okay.” His voice deep and soothing, a rumble sounding  through his chest–a purr.

Rafayel shifted closer as well, his presence a calming contrast to Sylus’s intensity. “You’re in good hands,” he said softly, his gaze settling on hers. “Just focus on what you need, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Her body relaxed slightly under their careful attention, the weight of the heat pressing down on her feeling a little more bearable now that they were here. Sylus’s hand moved slowly brushing her jaw and neck gently, his thumb stroking her cheek softly. “Don’t fight it, kitten,” he whispered a small smile curving his lips, “I’ve got you.”

He was right, and she knew it. There was no point in holding back now—not when her heat was already dragging her under and not when this capable pair was oh so willing to do whatever she needed.

“I trust you,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Sylus’s eyes closed and he took a calming breath, “Good,” he said, voice low and steady.

“Then let's begin.”

With that, he leaned in, edging into her nest waiting for her to protest but she didn’t. Her hand moved and pressed to his chest as he was closer to her, his shoes were long gone and he could feel Rafayel behind him rubbing his back in gentle circles. He felt his Beta’s mouth on his neck and he lifted her jaw, “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured before claiming her mouth with his own.

The moment Sylus’s lips met hers, her mind went blissfully blank. His kiss was firm yet, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to savor her. His lips moved against hers with an intoxicating mix of control and heat, and when his tongue brushed against her bottom lip she eagerly opened for him. A soft, helpless moan escaped her, muffled against his mouth, and she felt the rumble of his purr vibrate through his chest against her palm.

Her hand curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and Sylus didn’t resist. His presence, overwhelming and grounding all at once, was exactly what her body craved. The raw pull of her heat sharpened, her instincts screaming louder now that he was finally giving her what she needed. She could feel the controlled strength in the way he cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of her cheek as if reminding her she wasn’t alone.

Behind him, Rafayel’s touches were steady and reassuring, the Beta’s fingers tracing slow soothing patterns along his back. The contrast between them was startling, but not unwelcome. Where Sylus was fire—intense and consuming—Rafayel was water, calming the burn and easing her into the storm.

“That’s it,” Rafayel breathed, leaning forward as his breath brushed against Sylus’s ear, “take care of our Omega,” he murmured before gently kissing his jaw, his eyes peering eagerly at where their mouths connected in a heated display.

The sound of his voice sent another shiver through her, and she turned her head just enough to meet his gaze. Her lips parted from Sylus's, who was heavy lidded with desire and thinly veiled control, feeling his pants tighten considerably as his rut edged closer the longer her scent was the oxygen he breathed.

“I can’t---I can’t think,” she admitted softly, her voice trembling as her heat clawed at her insides, leaving her slick dripping down her thighs.

“You don’t need to think,” Rafayel whispered, his tone firm yet reassuring. He reached out, brushing his fingers against her temple before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That's why we’re here—we’re going to take such good care of you, cutie.”

Rafayel stroked her cheek moving closer to her, her eyes fluttering close at his touch, the tenderness in his movements almost startling.

“You’re doing good, kitten,” he murmured against her skin, his mouth pressing to her neck as he gripped her waist and pulled her body flush against his own. “Let it happen, we’ll catch you.”

The knot of tension in her chest loosened at his words, and she exhaled shakily, her body instinctively leaning into him. Her heat was pulling her under, dragging her deeper with every second, but with Sylus’s strength and Rafayel’s calm presence surrounding her, she didn’t feel like she was drowning anymore.

Sylus shifted, edging further into her nest as she leaned back into the blankets, his hands moved carefully, one resting on her hip while the other continued to cup her jaw, keeping her grounded as his eyes searched hers. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes,” she breathed, the word slipping out without hesitation. Her fingers curled into his shirt again, pulling him closer as her heat roared through her, leaving no room for pride or second guessing. “Please.”

Sylus’s eyes darkened and he nodded once before lowering his head to kiss her again, this time less restrained and more heated. She melted into the blankets of her nest. Her body arching into his hand that tightened on her hip, his purr deepened, vibrating through her as he kissed her like he just couldn’t get enough.

Rafayel helped him take his shirt off, exposed the muscular expanse of his chest, he could tell his Alpha was warm and the last thing they needed was for him to overheat. Watching him with her had his own pants tightening and he tried to ignore it but the intensity was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Never had he ever felt this way when they were with other Omegas.

Rafayel tilted her mouth from Sylus’s and claimed her lips with his own, his kiss was so different from Sylus’s—softer, more deliberate, like he was savoring every second. His hand cupped the side of her face and, his tongue meeting hers as she gasped against his mouth while Sylus pressed wet kisses to her neck, leaving small marks against her skin.

Her heart raced, her body trembling as her instincts took over completely. “That's it, kitten,” Sylus whispered against her skin as he removed the button up shirt exposing her to their gaze. He groaned and moved his lips down her chest rutting against her hip.

Sylus’s growl was deep and guttural as his eyes raked over her now exposed skin, drinking her in like a predator who had finally cornered his prey. His hands slid over her waist and up her ribs, his touch firm yet reverent as he explored every inch of her bare skin. She shivered under him, the mix of his overwhelming presence and Rafayel’s more measured touch creating a whirlwind of sensation that left her gasping.

“Look at you,” Sylus murmured, his voice thick with arousal as his lips brushed over the swell of her breast. He licked a slow teasing stripe over her skin, making her arch into him with a soft needy cry. His mouth trailed lower, his breath hot against her nipple before his tongue darted out to swirl around it. He groaned as she reacted, her fingers threading through his messy hair tugging gently.

“Beautiful,” Rafayel murmured, his voice soft but laced with hunger. He leaned over, his hair falling into  his face as he pressed a kiss to her jaw, then down the line of her throat. His hands moved with delicate precision, sliding over her thighs and spreading them to give her relief from the heat pooling between them. “You’re incredible, cutie. And you smell so good.”

Her body trembled as Rafayel’s fingers found the slick dripping down her inner thighs, his touch so gentle it almost felt teasing. Her scent spiked, and Sylus groaned into her skin, the sound vibrating against her chest. His hips rutted instinctively against her leg, the hard bulge in his pants pressing against her as he tried to hold himself back.

The sounds of Rafayel’s fingers in her soaked heat caused him to groan, “Raf, don’t tease her…” his crimson gaze meeting his Beta’s oceanic one, darkened now with his own desire.

Rafayel smirked slightly, his fingers brushing higher, just barely skimming where she needed him most. “I’m not teasing,” he said, his tone playful, “I’m just making sure she’s ready.”

“I’m ready,” she moaned when she shifted her hips towards his hand and his fingers slipped past her soaked folds.

“You’re so ready,” he murmured his voice in awe of just how slick she was. He pressed a kiss down her chest nipping at her breast, tongue teasing her nipple and sucking it gently, grunting softly. He licked her skin down to her stomach and groaned as he rubbed against the scent gland on her hip before kissing her thighs. Her head fell back into the nest of blankets as the sensations began to overwhelm her, Sylus’s hot mouth on her lips and chest, Rafayel’s skilled fingers working into her heat with precision that had her hips bucking against his hand. The combination of their touches was too much and not enough all at once, driving her higher and higher as her heat burned hotter.

Sylus growled as his rut clawed at him as he watched her come undone around Rafayel’s fingers. He couldn’t hold back any longer, his thick fingers replacing his in her liquid heat and groaning. “Fuck,” hissed, “so fucking perfect.”

Rafayel leaned up, capturing her lips in another searing kiss as his hand stroked along Sylus’s arm, grounding his Alpha even as he added to the intensity. Their movements were perfectly coordinated, their touches seamless as they pushed her close and closer to another edge.

“You’re doing so good, cutie..” Rafayel whispered against her skin, “let go for us.”

Sylus’s pace quickened, his fingers thrusting into her as the other hand gripped her hip, steadying her. He groaned as her walls clenched around him, his control slipping further with every sound she made.

“Cum for me, Kitten,” Sylus growled, his voice rough and commanding as his fingers curled into her and his thumb stroking the bud at the top of her sex.

Her body tightened like a rubber band and snapped a strangled cry escaped, and Rafayel soothed her with praise as she spiraled. Her body trembled and twitched as he thrust his fingers through her release, lips claiming hers, swallowing her moans greedily. Sylus pulled his fingers from her heat and brought them to his mouth, his eyes blown wide with lust.

“Ready?” Rafayel asked him.

“I’ve been ready,” he murmured as he leaned down to kiss her after quickly discarding his clothes, wanting nothing more than to be bare against her soft skin.

His skin was feverishly hot against hers as he pressed her back into the blankets, his now bare skin flush with hers. His muscles were taught beneath her fingers, every inch of him humming with primal need. Her hands slid up his chest, nails dragging lightly over the hard planes of muscle, and Sylus shuddered at the touch. His breath was uneven as he buried his face in the crook over her neck, his lips pressing to her scent gland. “Fuck, Kitten…” he groaned, inhaling deeply, his tongue darting out to taste her scent directly from the source.

“You won’t break her, Sylus,” Rafayel soothed him, kissing along his spine, his fingers kneading the muscles there, “Breed her,” he whispered, “can’t you see how bad she wants it.”

The encouragement wasn’t needed but Sylus let out a rough exhale, his hands gripping her thighs spreading them further apart. He could feel the heat radiating from her slick drenched core. He felt as if he’d lost his mind; perhaps he had.

“Kitten.” He rasped, "I need to—”

“Yes,” she interrupted, her fingers tangling into his hand pulling him to her. “Sylus, please...Alpha…” she breathed.

That was all it took for his rut to truly snap into place. Sylus shifted, lining himself up, his thick cock pressing against her dripping heat. He hesitated for a second, feeling just how wet she was then pushed in slowly. She felt the burn as he stretched her in the most delicious way while the omega purred for the first time that night.

“Fuck..” he snarled, his fingers bruising against her hips as he forced himself to go slow, to savor that feel of her wrapped around him. “So fucking tight…”

Rafayel watched with heavy lidded desire, his lips parted as his hands slid over his back, “There you go, my love,” he whispered against his shoulder as Sylus bottomed out inside her his entire cock sheathed. “She can take you.” it was almost a sentence of awe, how no other Omega had ever been able to take him fully seated without some maneuvering.

She whimpered beneath him, her back arching as the thick length filled her to the brim, their combined fluids seeping out of her aching heat. The fullness inside her sent a shock wave through her already overheated body. Her nails bit into his shoulders and he groaned at the sensation.

“More,” she begged, her voice broken.

Sylus didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled out halfway before snapping his hips forward again, a filthy, wet sound filling the air as he buried himself to the hilt. She cried out, her hands clawing at him but he didn’t let up—his thrusts quickly building into a steady, punishing rhythm that had her gasping with every roll of his hips.

Rafayel’s fingers slid between them, too eager to include himself in the fun. He found her swollen clit, circling with expert precision. “That's it, cutie,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her open mouth as she panted, “You’re taking him so well, such a good omega,” he whispered into her mouth, swallowing her moans. They were his for the taking and he was ravenous.

Sylus growled against her throat, his teeth scraping against her scent gland. Marking in Alpha and Omega relationships was common, however, marking a scent gland was only done in very specific situations as it tied the alphas scent to the omegas. Bonding them. The fact that he was tempted at all was all too telling; they were a pheromone match and it had made them both delirious. Rafayel’s presence kept him grounded, kept him from completely losing himself in the mindless haze of his rut.

Rafayel chuckled, feeling the way Sylus was fighting himself, “You wanna bite her so bad…” he teased then nipped his ear lobe, kissed his shoulder and nipped it gently.

“Go ahead, she smells like she wants you to.”

Sylus groaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before he did bite—not hard enough to claim but enough to leave a deep possessive mark against her skin. She screamed as her entire body locked up as pleasure tore through her, her orgasm hitting like a freight train. Sylus cursed, feeling her tighten around him– he nearly lost it right then and there.

He slammed into her rough now, chasing his own release as her cries filled the room.

Rafayel kissed her through it, his fingers working her clit mercilessly, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she was shuddering beneath them, boneless and wrecked.

Sylus’s growl deepened, his thrusts turning frantic as his knot started to swell,  attempting to lock him inside her, his body desperate to fill her completely. “Fuck, kitten, I—”

“Do it,” she gasped, wrapping her legs tighter around him, her eyes wild and glazed with heat. “Knot me.”

That was all he needed.

With a final, devastating thrust, Sylus buried himself as deep as he could go, his knot catching and locking them together as he came with a broken snarl, his entire body shaking as he emptied himself inside her.

Rafayel groaned at the sight, pressing kisses down Sylus’s back as he rode out his release, his Beta’s hands stroking over his skin soothingly.

“That’s it,” Rafayel murmured, kissing the back of Sylus’s neck before leaning down to kiss her lips softly. “You’re perfect, both of you.”

She moaned weakly into his kiss, her body still trembling, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of everything. Sylus panted against her neck, his grip on her thighs loosening as he started to come down, his mind hazy but content.

“Fuck,” Sylus finally breathed, his voice hoarse. “You’re incredible, kitten.”

Rafayel chuckled, pressing a final kiss to Sylus’s shoulder before reaching for the water bottle nearby. “She is,” he agreed, bringing the bottle to her lips, helping her drink. “But don’t think we’re done just yet.”

Her eyes fluttered open, her breath still shaky as she swallowed the water Rafayel offered her.

Sylus smirked, tilting her chin up with his fingers, his crimson eyes still dark with hunger.

“We’re just getting started.”

Rafayel smirked as he set the water bottle aside, his eyes flicking between them. Sylus was still pressed close to her, his knot keeping them locked together as he pulsed cum straight into her. He craved that feeling. He’d taken Sylus’s knot more than a few times and while his physiology wasn’t necessarily made for it; it felt good. He leaned over her and kissed her softly, “You’re so soft,” he whispered, leaving a path of warmth in the wake over his hands that stroked her skin.

“I can’t believe how good you smell,” he murmured.

She whined softly as Sylus shifted slightly, his breath warm against her throat as he let out a deep, contented growl. He was still stuck inside her, his knot keeping them connected as his cock pulsed inside her pushing more and more cum into her. Rafayel could tell by the way Sylus’s fingers twitched next to her hips that he was watching, waiting, hungry to see what would happen next.

Her expression was dazed, her lips still swollen from the desperate kisses between gasps and moans. He brushed his fingers along her jaw, tilting her face up before kissing her again, this time more slowly, more indulgently.

Unlike Sylus, Rafayel wasn’t in rut; biologically he couldn’t ever be. But something was still pulling him in, something deeper. He had never felt this way before, never had an Omega’s scent affect him quite like this. She was burrowing under his skin, her heat more intoxicating than anything he’d ever encountered.

It wasn’t just biological—it was profound.

And it was making her feel it too.

She moaned into his mouth, her body arching toward him instinctively. Sylus groaned at the movement, but he didn’t complain. If anything, he seemed amused. “You’re already reaching for him, kitten?” he murmured, pressing lazy kisses along her shoulder, still dazed from his ongoing climax. “That desperate already?”

“Yes,” she gasped into Rafayel’s mouth where his tongue met hers in a frenzied but passionate kiss. Her fingers curling into his hair tugging him close.

Rafayel chuckled against her lips, but the sound was strained, his own control fraying. He wasn’t usually the type to rush things—Sylus was the one driven by instinct, by sheer force—but right now, he wanted her just as badly. He cupped her cheek and moaned into her mouth guiding her hand gently to the band of his sweats, she didn’t need to be told twice. Her hand moved down his abdomen and into his pants, finally finding what she was looking for, her hand wrapping around a hot and thick cock that was sticky in her palm. She stroked him slowly and he groaned into her mouth, his hips rutting up into her hand.

They stayed like this for sometime, waiting for the swell of their Alpha’s knot to go down.

Sylus’s purring rumbled through her as he lazily nuzzled into the crook of her neck, his nose brushing that scent gland that he desperately wanted to mark. His satisfaction radiated from every breathy exhale, the slow aftershocks of his climax still making him twitch inside her. Yet, even through the lingering haze of his rut, he was watching—his crimson gaze flicking between her and Rafayel with curiosity and hunger.

Rafayel groaned into her mouth, his hips jerking slightly into her hand as she stroked him, her fingers slick with his arousal. His body was burning for her, craving the warmth and wetness he could feel against his fingertips as they trailed over her stomach.

“You’re trouble, cutie,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with amusement and lust. “Can’t even wait for your Alpha’s knot to go down before you start making a mess of me too.”

She whimpered softly, giving him another slow, teasing stroke. “Don’t act like you don’t want it,” she whispered, licking into his mouth, her heat still burning hot inside her, still pushing her toward more, more, more.

Sylus chuckled against her throat, his fingers tracing lazy circles over her thigh. “Raf’s the patient one, Kitten,” he mused, his voice a slow, sultry drawl. “But you keep touching him like that? He’s going to lose all that careful control.”

And he was losing it. Rafayel’s breath hitched as she twisted her wrist just right, making his cock jerk in her palm. His eyes darkened, his usual playful, easy going demeanor starting to unravel. It was then that she felt the knot slowly shrink and Sylus popped free from her a mess of slick and cum dripping out of her making her whimper.

“Turn over,” Rafayel murmured, voice husky as he pulled back slightly, watching her reaction.

She shivered at the command and whined at the loss of Sylus inside her, the underlying authority in his tone sending a jolt of arousal straight through her. The moment she could bring herself to, she did as Rafayel asked, rolling onto her stomach—her cheek pressed into the blankets of her nest.

“Good girl,” Rafayel praised, his large hands sliding down her back, his fingers kneading into the muscles there. He took his time, trailing his lips along her shoulder blades, soothing her with soft kisses, gentle licks.

Sylus shifted beside them, propping himself up to watch his eyes still hazed over for the time being—they all knew it wouldn’t last. “You going to give her what she wants, baby?” he asked him, his voice dripping with lazy satisfaction but his eyes burned with interest.

Rafayel smirked as he kissed down her spine, stopping at the curve of her ass. His fingers spread her open slightly, his breath hot against her dripping cunt. “She smells like you,” he whispered, voice full of reverence. “Still so needy.”

She gasped as he licked a slow, broad stripe over her slick folds, his tongue teasing her clit before delving deeper.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, her body trembling as his tongue worked her open, lapping at the mixture of her and Sylus like he was starving for it.

Sylus groaned, gripping her hair and turning her head just enough to kiss her. It was deep and filthy, his tongue dominating her mouth as Rafayel devoured her from behind.

“Look at you,” he murmured between kisses, his fingers lightly tugging at her scalp. “So perfect like this—taking everything we give you.”

Rafayel hummed against her core, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through her limbs. His hands kneaded at her thighs, holding her open for him as he worked her with practiced precision.

“Raf...please,” she begged, her body tensing as the pleasure built higher and higher, “I need—”

Placing one last lick on her clit before pulling back, “I know what you need, cutie,” his voice was raspy and low. He pulled his sweats off and kicked them away as he positioned himself behind her, his cock pressing against her entrance.

Sylus grabbed her chin, making her look at him. “You ready for him, kitten?” he asked as his eyes searched hers.

“Yes,” she moaned, pushing her hips back, desperate for more.

He groaned as he pushed inside, his breath hitching at the tight, slight heat that immediately wrapped around him. “Oh fuck,” he growled, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he buried himself to the hilt.

She cried out at the stretch, the fullness, her body overwhelmed but craving every second of it.

“That’s it,” Rafayel groaned, pulling out just enough before slamming back in, his rhythm immediately rougher than before, fueled by need. “You feel..so fucking good.”

Sylus smirked, kissing her deeply, his fingers playing with her nipples as he watched Rafayel claim her—he admired the look of desperation on the man's face, his eyes trailing down the expanse of his chest. He felt his own cock twitching but he had more self control than that. At least for now.

Rafayel’s pace was fast, his body moving like he was made for this—like he was made for her. Every thrust sent shock waves through her already overstimulated body, and she could feel her release creeping closer, creeping up her spine.

“Close…” she gasped, gripping the blankets in her fists as her pleasure overwhelmed her senses.

“Cum for me, cutie,” Rafayel growled, one hand slipping beneath her to rub tight, teasing circles over her clit. “Wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

Unlike anything she ever experienced before, her body obeyed instantly. Pleasure crashing over her like a tidal wave, her vision going white as she sobbed through her release. Rafayel groaned as she clenched around him, his pace stuttering as he chased his own climax. “Fuck...fuck—”

He thrust deep one final time before spilling inside her, his body trembling as he came with a low, shuddering groan. His hands held her tightly, his lips pressing kisses onto her shoulder, his body still moving in slow, lazy rolls, riding out every last wave of pleasure.

Sylus hummed in approval, stroking her hair as he kissed her temple. “Told you, kitten,” he murmured softly and lifted a bottle of water to her mouth.

“Drink,” it wasn’t him asking, it was a command. For several minutes he made her drink a little water every time she let out a small sigh, she was contented but he could tell she was falling into a slumber she likely wouldn’t wake from till morning.

He sighed as her breathing evened out, her body finally surrendering to the exhaustion of her heat and the sheer intensity of what they had done to her. He brushed his fingers gently over her damp hair, his touch softer now, reverent. She was still working, slick between her thighs but her body was too spent to ask for more—for now.

“She’s out,” Rafayel murmured softly, his voice quiet in the dim light of the room. His hands stroked down her back absentmindedly, his fingers pressing slow, grounding circles into her skin. “She fought it, but I knew she wouldn’t last much longer.”

Sylus hummed in agreement, he studied her peaceful expression, the way her body remained pliant between them, trusting. He had never felt this settled before. His rut was satisfied for now—but his instincts weren’t screaming at him to get up, to pace, to search another fight or fuck. His Omega was here, their Omega, and something about that made his entire body relax in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

“She’s not just some random match,” Sylus muttered, almost to himself. His fingers trailed over the possessive marks he’d left along her throat, and shoulders, lingering at the deep imprint of his teeth he had left over her scent gland. Not enough to bond her, but...fuck, he had wanted to.

Rafayel watched him carefully, his eyes dark with thought. “No,” he agreed after a long moment, pressing a kiss to her temple. “She’s not.”

Sylus let out a slow breath. “This heat felt different.”

Shifting closer, his bare chest pressing against Sylus’s side, his lips trailed over his shoulder in lazy, absent minded kisses. “Yeah… It’s her, she’s different. It’s not just the heat making us feel this way.”

Turning his head Sylus catches Rafayel’s mouth in a kiss, slow and unhurried. It was messy, deep, their tongues sliding together as Sylus tangled his fingers in the soft waves of Rafayel’s plum hair. The beta groaned softly, pressing closer, letting Sylus pull him deeper into the warmth of the nest.

A soft chuckle escaped the Beta, “You’re still wired.”

Chuckling, Sylus shifting slightly, his cock already half hard again, pressing against Rafayel’s thigh. “Can you blame me?”

Rafayel rolled his eyes fondly, sliding a hand down his chest, over the taught muscles of his stomach, before gripping him loosely, stroking him just enough to make his breath hitch. “Poor alpha,” he teased, “Still needy, even after all that.”

Sylus growled, his patience snapping as he rolled Rafayel onto his back, pinning to the nest beneath him. His eyes gleamed as he pressed his weight against him, grinding against his stomach, their cocks flush.

“You knew what you were doing, teasing me like that,” Sylus muttered, dragging his teeth over Rafayel’s jaw before kissing him hard. “You love getting me worked up.”

Rafayel moaned, arching into him, his own cock twitching. “Maybe,”

Grabbing his wrists, Sylus pinned them above his head as he used the slick coming off his own cock to prepare him as he lined himself up. His breath ragged—he didn’t waste time—he couldn’t. Rafayel’s teasing, his scent, her scent, the way his lips were already swollen from their earlier kisses. It was too much.

He pushed inside slowly with a deep shuddering groan, feeling Rafayel stretch around him

Gasping, Rafayel’s eyes rolled back slightly. “F-fuck—”

Sylus didn’t start slow. He didn’t want to be slow. His body was still humming with need to take, to own and Rafayel knew that—wanted that. Sylus fucked into him with sloppy, desperate thrusts, his grip bruising on his hips as he chased the heat pooling in his gut.

Rafayel loved this, loved the way Sylus lost himself in him, fucked him like he was the only thing keeping him from going feral. His moans were breathy, punched out of him with every snap of his lover's hips, his body pliant, open.

Sylus growled against his throat, licking over his scent gland, tasting the sweat and heat on his skin. He wasn’t an Omega, but Sylus still wanted to mark him, to claim him in a way words couldn’t define. His rut was far from over, tamed for now by her slickness, but his instincts still roared for this, for them, for her sleeping beside them.

“Say you’re mine,” Sylus snarled against his jaw, his thrusts becoming erratic, rougher, sloppier.

He moaned, wrapping his legs around Sylus’s waist, his fingers digging into his back. “I’m yours,” he gasped, his nails scraping down his spine. “Yours, Sylus.”

A strangled groan escaped Sylus, his teeth clamping down onto Rafayel’s shoulder, enough to claim. Rafayel cried out, his entire body tensing, his cock jerking between them as he came, his release smearing between their stomachs.

Sylus wasn’t far behind. With a final, broken growl, he slammed deep into Rafayel one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his knot swelled, locking him inside. His body shook with the force of it, his cum spilling deep inside his Beta as he collapsed over him, panting against his throat, laving at the bite mark he’d placed there.

They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies tangled, sweat cooling on their skin.

Then, Sylus shifted, his knot popping from Rafayel’s tender hole, grimacing softly. He rolled onto his side and pulled him against him, kissing him softly. “You okay?”

Rafayel chuckled breathlessly, “I think you broke me.”

Sylus snorted fondly, nuzzling into his hair, pressing a lazy kiss against his forehead. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” Rafayel admitted, sighing contentedly as he melted into Sylus’s warmth. “I do.”

They both turned their heads toward the Omega sleeping soundly beside them.

“She’s out,” Sylus murmured, his voice quieter now, more certain.

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah,” he whispered, “she is.”

And this time, there was no doubt.

The next time she stirred, it was to the feeling of gentle fingers running through her hair and the distant sound of running water. The room was still warm, the heavy scent of heat and sex lingering in the air, but the haze in her mind had softened, the worst of her exhausting ebbing away.

“You awake, cutie?” Rafayel’s voice was soft, soothing, his fingers still stroking over her scalp. She let out a soft hum in response, nuzzling into the blankets, her body sore but pleasantly so.

Rafayel chuckled, shifting closer to press a kiss to her temple. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice dipped in fond amusement. “Let's get you cleaned up before you pass out again.”

She made a noise of protest, but before she could burrow deeper into the nest that smelt of them, strong arms slipped under her, lifting her with ease.

“You’re so dramatic,” she mumbled against his chest, too tired to put any real bite behind it.

“I know,” he replied with a grin, carrying her toward the bathroom, his ocean eyes gleaming happily. “But you love it.”

She would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t so damn tired. Instead, she let herself relax into his warmth, her limbs heavy and pliant as he brought her into the steamy bathroom. The shower was already running, warm mist curling around them, filling the air with the scent of clean soap. Rafayel eased her down carefully, helping her step under the spray, his hands never leaving her skin.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, more serious.

She nodded, blinking up at him. “Yeah,” she murmured, feeling the water wash over her, easing away the sweat and stickiness of the night before. “Just….tired.”

“Figured,” he smirked, stepping into the shower behind her, running his hands over her shoulders, working the tension from her muscles. “You were a little busy, after all.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, but before she could retort, Rafayel’s fingers worked over her scalp lathering in the shampoo with slow careful strokes. The sensation sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine, and she let out an involuntary sigh, her body sinking further into him.

He chuckled, “that good?”

She hummed in response, tilting her head into his touch, the intimacy of it making her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with her heat. Rafayel had been so careful with her, so steady. His hands worked over her like she was something precious, something to be careful of.

She wasn’t used to that.

“Let me take care of you, cutie, “he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just relax.”

So she did.

By the time they emerged from the shower, she felt lighter, more grounded, the sharpest edge of her heat dulled—at least for now. The scent of food hit her first, something warm and savory drifting through the apartment.

“You cooked?” she asked, her voice still a little rough from sleep as she leaned against the doorway.

Sylus, who was standing by the stove, shot her a smirk over his shoulder. He was wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweats, his messy white hair still damp from a shower of his own. “Raf cooked, “he corrected, “I just taste tested.”

She snorted, moving to sit at the counter, her body still feeling a little too loose and content to argue. Rafayel slid a plate in front of her—an omelet with onions, peppers, salmon and cheese. On the side, he had cut up some fruit and put it in a bowl with some granola. Simple, but it made her stomach growl on sight.

“Eat,” Rafayel said, nudging a fork toward her. “You need it.”

She obeyed, shoving a bite into her mouth. It was good—perfectly seasoned and warm, filling.

Sylus leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he watched her eat with an amused expression. “Guess she was hungry,” he mused.

“Told you,” the other replied.

Despite the teasing, something warm settled in her chest as she ate. This—whatever this was—felt natural. Comfortable.

And the way they were both looking at her, it made her heat start to rise all over again.

She didn’t mean to end up on her knees in her nest, but somehow, it’s exactly where she was. Rafayel was beside her, his eyes gleaming with playful competition as they both pressed closer to Sylus, who was now leaning back against the blankets, half-hard already from the way she and Rafayel had been teasing him.

“Think we can make him lose that famous control of his?” Rafayel mused, his lips brushing against her ear as his fingers traced over her thigh.

She smirked, eyes locked on Sylus’s already darkening gaze. “I think we can.”

Sylus scoffed, but there was a tightness to his jaw, his hands clenching at his sides like he was waiting for them to move. “You two are ridiculous.”

Rafayel grinned, reaching to wrap his hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly. “You love it.”

Sylus growled lowly, his hips jerking slightly into his hand, his eyes narrowing. “Shut up and use that pretty mouth of yours.”

Rafayel laughed, but he obeyed, leaning down to press a slow, wet kiss to the top of Sylus’s cock before licking a long and teasing stripe up the length of him.

She followed his lead, mirroring his movements on the other side, their tongues brushing against each other as they worked Sylus in tandem. The groan that tore from his throat was filthy, his head tilting back against the blankets, his muscles tensing beneath them.

“Fuck,” Sylus hissed, his fingers threading into Rafayel’s hair, then into hers, tugging just enough to make her whimper.

Rafayel shot her a smirk. “Watch closely, cutie,” he murmured before taking Sylus into his mouth, his lips stretching around his length, his throat relaxing effortlessly. She swallowed, heat pooling low in her stomach at the sight.

“Use your tongue,” he instructed, pulling back slightly, his hand still stroking the base of Sylus’s cock. "Like this.”

She followed his lead, dragging her tongue slowly around the tip, teasing just like Rafayel had. Sylus groaned, his grip on her hair tightening.

“Good girl,” Rafayel praised, shooting her a wicked grin before going down again, his mouth hollowing around Sylus as he sucked.

She followed, their movements synchronized, teasing, drawing ragged curses and groans from Sylus as his restraint started to crack. Their mouths and tongues each covering one side of his cock up and down his length soft whimpers from them both at his heady scent as their tongues touched in a partial kiss around his cock.

When he finally broke, he grabbed their heads and fucked up between their mouths with a desperate growl.

Sylus snapped. His grip in their hair was firm, controlling, as he fucked up between their mouths his cock slick with their spit, their tongues working together to drive him over the edge. His growls filled the air, ragged and demanding. His control shattered completely as his thick length twitched.

“Fucking—fuck,” Sylus panted, his head tilting back against the pillows, his muscles tensing as he used them, barely able to decide which one he wanted more.

She moaned as she felt Rafayel’s tongue meet hers as they lapped at his cock eagerly. Rafayel let out a breathy chuckle around his cock. It was filthy, and hot as they shared the taste of him.

Sylus’s breath hitched, his grip tightening and then with a sharp groan he came his cock twitching as ropes of thick cum landed on their mouths and face. They worked together to swallow down what he gave them, licking at him, cleaning him up with soft, slow drags of their tongues until his body sagged into the nest.

He looked wrecked.

But not done.

His crimson eyes flickered open, hazy, dark with the need still lingering in his gut. His rut was still there, but her heat-- the scent of it, the feel of it clinging in the air, still rising—was pulling him back under.

His growl was low, warning, as he grabbed her wrist, tugging her up onto his lap. His lips crashed against hers. His tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting himself on her, his hands slid over her skin, nails biting into her hips.

“You want me again, kitten?” he murmured against her lips, his voice teasing, “can smell it on your-fuck-your heats kicking back up isn’t it?”

She whimpered, nodding, rocking her hips against him, already desperate for him again. Rafayel hummed, licking his lips as he sat back on his heels, watching. “Guess she can’t help it,” he mused, fingers trailing over her spine. “She’s an Omega. She needs you, Sylus.”

A groan pulled from him, his cock already hardening under her, “Fuck, you’re right.”

And then he was flipping her, pressing her down onto the nest, his body covering hers, his hands gripping her thighs as he spread her open beneath him. She gasped, her body arching, and then he was inside her, hot and deep, stretching her all over again.

He didn’t start slow this time. He couldn’t.

Sylus slammed into her, his growl vibrating against her throat as he fucked her rough and deep, chasing the heat, the primal, instinctive need to fill her, to breed her.

“Fuck, kitten,” he panted, his hands gripped her waist, holding her still as he ruined her. “Feel so fucking good—can’t get enough of you—”

She sobbed his name, her body burning, her nerves on fire, her slick dripping onto the blankets. She could feel her orgasm creeping closer, every hard thrust pushing her further into it, making her whimper, making her beg. Sylus groaned, his pace stuttering as his knot began to swell again, one thrust, two thrusts, three and he groaned as it caught the fourth time.

“I got you, kitten,” he growled, “gonna fill you.”

“Yes,” she sobbed, her nails dragging down his back, “Please, Sylus—“

His cock stayed in her, stuck as he filled her with rope after rope of cum. Grinding deep as he spilled, her body opening up for him. She came with a broken cry, her walls clenching down and milking him, making him snarl into her throat. Tempted once again to mark her and make her officially theirs.

For a long moment, they just breathed, tangled in each other, the aftermath still humming in the air. When he slipped from her the sound of his cock slipping out of her soaked pussy made him groan.

Then, Sylus turned his head, eyes landing on Rafayel, his rut in full force now.

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.

“You look like you’re waiting for something,” Sylus drawled, his voice rough but teasing.

Rafayel huffed out a laugh, stretching out beside them, his own cock hard and aching between his legs. “You are good at reading me.”

Sylus grinned, “get between her legs.”

Rafayel’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening, but he obeyed. “Fuck, she’s soaked,” he whispered, his tongue darting out to taste her, his voice reverent.

Sylus chuckled as he moved behind Rafayel and lifted his hips up so he was on his knees, bent over with his mouth on her cunt. “Lick her clean,” Sylus commanded, his voice edged with something dark and possessive.

Rafayel didn’t hesitate.

His mouth latched on to her, licking deep, drinking from her, his tongue slipping inside, tasting both her slick and Sylus’s cum as he moaned against her.

The action had him feeling drunk, surrounded by their scent, his own cock twitching in anticipation. She cried out, her entire body shaking, the over stimulation nearly too much.

And then, Sylus was behind him. Strong hands gripping his hips, dragging him back. Rafayel groaned, his tongue still buried in her as Sylus used his cum soaked fingers to ready him for his cock. One finger, then two, then he pressed the head of his length to the opening before pushing inside in a single thrust.

“Fuck,” Rafayel sobbed against her, his whole body shuddering.

Sylus growled, his grip bruising as he fucked into him, his pace immediately unforgiving. Her moans, their moans all echoing off the walls of her room. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him tighter against her.

“Good boy,” Sylus purred, his breath hot against his spine as he fucked into him with deep short thrusts. “Just like that,” he whispered, and they all came together.

It was too much. It was perfect.

And none of them wanted it to stop.

The aftermath was a slow, breathless tangle of limbs, bodies collapsing into the nest, still warm and slick with sweat and release. Their bodies were exhausted but sated—for now. The room was thick with the scent of sex… of them. A scent that had become something familiar, something that felt like home.

Rafayel was the first to move, rolling onto his back, his chest still rising and falling in uneven breaths. A lazy, satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he turned to look at them.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice rough, “that was...something.”

She huffed out a breathless laugh, curling instinctively into Sylus’s side, pressing her face against his chest. “That's one way to put it.”

Sylus chuckled, his arm tightening around her, pulling Rafayel closer with the other, sandwiching them between his warmth. His fingers idly stroked over her back, then up into Rafayel’s damp, tangled hair, smoothing it out as he kissed his temple.

“Don’t think you’re getting rid of me now,” Sylus murmured, his tone teasing but laced with something deeper, something real.

Rafayel sighed contentedly, nuzzling into his Alpha’s touch. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She swallowed, tilting her head up to look at them both. There was an understanding between them, something unsaid but deeply felt.

This wasn’t just a heat arrangement.

This wasn’t just Sylus scratching the itch of his rut.

This was more.

And it terrified her—but it also settled something deep inside her, something she hadn’t even realized had been so restless before.

The desire for a family.

Sylus must have sensed the hesitation in her, because he cupped her cheek, tilting her face toward him, focused. “Kitten,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her skin. “Tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours.”

She hesitated, then let out a small, shaky laugh. “I guess, I just...didn’t expect this.”

Rafayel shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, watching her closely. “Expected what?”

“This,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, “to want this, to want you, both of you.”

Sylus’s grip tightened slightly, like he was afraid she might slip away. “You do want this,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

She exhaled slowly, her body still aching, still sensitive—but there was no denying the truth of it. She nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

His entire body relaxed as he pulled her in again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “Good.” he murmured against her skin. “Because I’m not fucking letting you go.”

Rafayel chuckled, rolling onto his stomach so he could drape himself over both of them. “Possessive.” he teased, “typical alpha behavior.”

Sylus shot him a flat look. “Shut up, you love it.”

Rafayel smirked, but there was nothing but fondness in his gaze. “I do.”

She felt warmth spreading through her chest as she relaxed into them, letting their scents surround her, wrap around her like something safe.

“We don’t have to define anything right now,” Rafayel murmured after a moment, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over her hip. “We don’t have to rush it, but we do have to acknowledge it.”

Sylus made a small disgruntled noise. “I already know what I want.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “I want you, both of you. And I will make you mine.”

There was no room for argument in his tone.

And neither of them wanted to argue anyway.

Rafayel smirked, leaning in to kiss him softly, “Yeah?” he murmured against his lips. “That's a promise, Alpha?”

Sylus growled, nipping at his bottom lip before kissing him again, slow and deep. “Damn right it is.”

She watched them, her heart swelling in her chest. This felt right. It felt good. It felt real.

For the first time in a long time she wasn’t afraid of it. She smiled, pressing a kiss to Sylus’s shoulder then to Rafayel’s cheek before settling between them. Their warmth cocooned her completely. “We’ll figure It out,” she murmured.

Sylus grunted, already half-asleep, his grip on them protective. “Damn right, we will.”

And as they drifted off, tangled in each other there were no doubts in any of their minds.

This was theirs.

And none of them were letting go.

Would you forgive him? 🤎

おやすみ 😴

Intertidal Zone

♱⋅── rafayel x reader

♱⋅── about: Nightly Rendezvous card, but now we finally understand why rafayel was so desperate when he came back to the hotel room.

♱⋅── word count: 6.7k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, porn with some plot, the belt scene, slight exhibisionism, sooo much kissing, slight oral fixation, Lemurian mating bond, needy raf

art credit to @/khouxy on instagram

You swear Rafayel is doing this on purpose. 

The first time it happens is right after your flight, the two of you only just managing to check into your hotel and change for dinner.

It's a fancy restaurant overlooking the vast desert, and the outdoor patio offered a clear view to gorgeous sunset. Furious spirals of orange and vermillion cast their light across the sand, making it appear to glow as winds kick up waves of golden dust along the horizon.

It’s beautiful, almost as much so as the man across you, who is still staring longingly into the distance as though committing every color to memory. As if repainting it entirely in his mind. 

Not hues of warmth, but those of the deep sea. Blues and purples and colors so dark they’d only come to life in the night. 

“How’s your drawing?” 

Rafayel sighs at your voice, tossing his pen across the dinner table with a huff before leaning back against the sofa. A stack of crumpled sketches litter your table among half-finished plates of food. He insisted on traveling here to relax, and yet he seems to be doing everything but. 

“If a few lines count as a drawing, then wonderfully.” Sassy as ever.

He sighs again, but this one sounds more pained, and you notice the red tinge highlighting his ears and neck as he leans against your shoulder. 

“You still don’t feel good?” You ask, voice hushed as you place a kiss against his temple, the skin burning beneath your lips. Raising a hand, Rafayel immediately nuzzles into your palm as you pull his chin up towards you, feeling the rising temperature along his cheek and forehead. “We can head back if you’d like. Take a bath, or shower?” 

You hoped the together was implicit by now.

But Rafayel only nods, placing a chaste kiss against your exposed shoulder. “What about the sunset? I saw you admiring it, and squandering a beautiful view is unacceptable for an artist. It’s one of the greatest offenses.”

Rafayel’s breath is minty and dry against your ear, and when you turn to look at him, his face is doused in the fiery hues of the sunset, each one casting deep purple shadows that only make his features all the sharper, half his face veiled in darkness. 

Some days you wish you were an artist as well, if only to capture moments like this—to show Rafayel just how gorgeous he was. 

Perhaps it’s only natural for a god. After all, no mortal could ever need beauty so violently arresting, so worthy of worship. 

You’re leaning in despite yourself. 

Rafayel meets you halfway, one hand on your waist as the other traces your jaw and bottom lip. But as soon as you feel the brush of his lips across yours, he pulls away. 

You open your eyes in confusion. Rafayel’s never denied you before. 

When you look at him in question, he only gives you a tired smile and pulls you to your feet with a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Sorry. I’ll feel better as long as I’m close to you like this.”

The second time it happens is when the hotel reception mixes up your and Rafayel’s rooms, leaving you to deliver some sort of formal invitation to him. 

But the letter is soon forgotten; you can’t be bothered thinking about it, not when Rafayel still looks so absent.

He’s right next to you, knees brushing yours as you sit side by side on the couch, and yet he seems to be miles away, gazing out the window as the dunes shift and rise like waves under the moonlight.  

"I used to really enjoy scenic spots before," Rafayel says, voice barely rising above the hum of the heater. "Catching sights of subtle things that might be easily overlooked used to feel like enough. More satisfying than finishing a painting, even."

A laugh. Dry, humorless. 

His fingers grazed the edge of his glass, tracing the condensation absentmindedly. A droplet trails down his wrist. "But now, sometimes, I forget why I even decided to travel in the first place.” 

You watch him, waiting. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

"I think," Rafayel continues, "somewhere along the way, I stopped just... noticing things. And I started needing them. Like the world wasn’t worth looking at unless I could turn it into something. Capture it, hold it in my hands, and call it mine." He shakes his head, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "It’s not a very generous way to live, is it?"

"You don’t need to be generous with everything," you say carefully. "Some things are just... for you to enjoy."

"Enjoy," he repeats, like the word doesn’t quite fit in his mouth. A pout. "It doesn’t feel like enjoyment anymore. It feels more like... hunger.” 

Like he’s always fucking starving.

Rafayel finally turns to look at you, eyes eclipsed in the dark. Nearly dilated black. 

“Sometimes I’m afraid that if I feed it, it’ll only grow worse.”

You turn to face him on the couch, sliding your leg between his thighs before perching yourself on Rafayel’s lap. It’s not lost on you how his heartbeat picks up, chest rising and falling rapidly as each shallow breath hits your lips. Perhaps it’s cruel, but you can’t help but touch him again, fingers tracing his full lips, up his jaw, fluttering against his eyelashes and into his hair.

“You think hunger gets worse when you feed it?" You finally ask, voice quiet, slow, daring to push back. "Doesn't it stop when you're full?"

Rafayel’s mouth quirks, a sharp, fleeting twist of a smile. "Not always. Sometimes it makes you realize just how much more you want. Or how much more you could take."

You frown. “You’re not demanding anything. Not from the world, not from me."

"Maybe not yet. But, if one day, I become someone who only takes… If I were like that, would you leave me?"

The confession hangs for a moment, the truth of it hidden. Something about the way his shoulders tense under your touch— like he's bracing for something, but it hasn’t yet arrived. A phantom pain from centuries ago, and a pain to come for a thousand years more. 

“Silly fishie, I’d never leave you.” 

Rafayel smiles in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty.

“Thank you…” he hums, finally pulling you closer as his lips skim alongside the curve of your neck. “for accepting me the way I am.”

His breaths come out in desperate huffs against your skin, and he inhales sharply, freezing, before finally placing a kiss against the crook of your neck. And then another, and another. 

“You’re just anxious,” you whisper, sucking a mark into Rafayel’s neck as he moans so sweetly against your ear. “I can help you relax.”

You wiggle your hips to better balance yourself on his lap and Rafayel looks almost near tears, one hand forcing you still while the other grabs your wrist, trailing kisses from your fingertips back up to your neck.

More. You need more. Rushing, your hands fly up into his hair, about to tug Rafayel to lay down on the couch when a crack echoes behind you. 

The glass lays shattered against the floor. 

Panting, Rafayel stares at the spilled water for a long moment before pulling away. You feel his erection digging into your thigh, the warmth of his fever spiking yet again as his skin burns against yours, yet he still refuses. 

“As you said, I’m anxious…” Still panting, Rafayel picks you up, gently lifting you up as he stands from the couch. “Or, more like restless. In every sense of the word.” 

The need in his eyes almost makes your knees buckle. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he could ever crave, like a bite would both be salvation and leave him hungry forever. 

“But see, now I can’t stand the idea of letting you go again, and you don’t want me to either.” He sets you down just a little farther than necessary, but his hands don’t leave your waist, trembling, waiting. “What should we do?”

“Rafayel…” You want him. You want him so badly it hurts. 

“Fuck.” 

You nearly jump at that. Rafayel curses again, his head falling onto your shoulder as his breath hitches. “I can feel your concern. That and…” another convulsion, his body burning up. “Fuck. You have to leave.”

You don’t even have time to retort before you’re pushed out of his hotel room, and the door slams shut behind you. 

By the third time, you know something is wrong. 

It’s not that you and Rafayel haven’t kissed yet. Hell, you’ve had sex before. The last time was quite literally on the night before you were supposed to leave for this trip. Obviously, Rafayel suggested that you stay at his place for the night—insisting he was closer to the airport and getting an Uber would be quicker this way—and one thing led to another, as is what happens nearly every time Rafayel and you are left alone for too long. 

But now it’s been nearly a week and Rafayel has barely touched you, let alone picked up on your not-so-subtle clues. 

So yes, it's safe to say you’ve become rather pent up. 

You’ve fallen asleep in the off-roader the two of you rented out for the day, bobbing up and down the dunes like waves flecked white not with seafoam but snow. There’s a chill as you drift off, but your dreams are anything but, plagued with memories of Rafayel. 

His hands, deft and talented with a brush, are even more so when teasing your skin, knowing exactly how to trace delicate circles against your thighs before roughly curling into your cunt. His tongue, every smartass comment and teasing grin now silenced as he licks and sucks against your clit. His body, the warmth of it, bearing down on you with every thrust, or perhaps writhing beneath you as you take him again and again and again— 

It’s the cold that wakes you up. 

Your eyes flutter open, first noticing the dim light of the hotel parking lot, and second, the burning desire still aching between your legs. 

“Rafayel?”

A shuffle makes you turn, and you find said man still seated in the driver’s seat, unbuckled as he sits with his head resting on his hand. 

“Yes, cutie?” Rafayel’s tone is teasing, but the way he stares down at you feels like anything but. The hunger is back. 

Sitting up, you clear your throat. “How long have I been asleep? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You seemed like you were having such a nice dream, I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

You inhale sharply. Glaring, you try and see if he’s teasing again or being serious, but Rafayel doesn’t let you read him for long, already leaning over the middle console. 

He places his lips gently on your temple, brushing over the skin, and then moves down to your cheek, his breath warm against your neck. He whispers your name, so softly you almost think it was a trick of your imagination.

Your mind goes blank when he kisses your jaw, a small noise escaping the back of your throat as you feel his hair tickle your skin.

"Raf," you mumble under your breath, but you know he hears it because he exhales sharply against you.

Rafayel trails a series of kisses up your neck, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, cutie." His body temperature is rising again, and the air in the van feels dangerously thin as he sways in your grasp. "I'm trying."

The hunger is back, all-consuming and hot as you genuinely fear you might burn up. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and you finally cup Rafayel's jaw, leading him towards your lips.

Yet again, he stops you halfway.

“Do you want to go back to your room first?”

At first you think he’s suggesting moving there before continuing, but you know better at this point. 

“You’re not coming with me?” 

Rafayel pulls out the invitation from before, waving it between the two of you as if all this was the letter’s fault. “I still have to attend my friend’s salon thing.”

“But you’re still burning up! Forget this, I can’t let you go out to who knows where when you’re still acting strange. Maybe we can see a doctor—”

“Cutie…”

“—No, no. Or maybe I can come with you.”

Rafayel says your name this time. Firmer. Cutting off your rambling as he places his forehead against yours. 

“Do you want me to turn into a sea creature that’s beached on the sand after the ocean recedes? Leaving me to suffocate when I come out of the water?” 

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, feeling his desperation in every word even as you struggle to make sense of it.

Rafayel continues, pulling away from you again. “Don’t you trust me? How about we make a promise?”

“What kind of promise?”

A smile. “I promise… I’ll be okay without you tonight.”

There’s no joke, no hidden meaning, just Rafayel who so violently hopes that this promise will hold true. 

So you relent. “Okay, just take care of yourself.”

Finally, Rafayel opens the car door, letting the desert night winds sweep in with a biting chill as he leans back against the driver’s seat. He lets out an almost inaudible sigh. “You can head back. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Rafayel promised he’d be okay without you tonight, but you don’t think the opposite could hold true. 

Not when the dizziness Rafayel caused remained. Not when you still feel the phantom touch of his lips and hands all over your body, burning you up, leaving you cold and empty and aching. 

You’ve been burning for the better part of a week now.  

Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you as you fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “This is pathetic.”

Even the damned sheets smell like Rafayel, pillows deeply laced with his shampoo and the smell of his cologne—amber, yuzu, and something salty like the ocean—surrounding you as though this were his hotel room and not yours.

Desert nights were cold, but even the room's chill could do nothing to quell your desire, arms shaking with it as you quickly stripped yourself of your shirt and bra. The room spins as you stumble around, leaving your clothes on the floor, another delirious whimper seizing you as you sprawl against the silk sheets. 

You need him. 

Fuck, you need him, and you hate him for leaving you while the growing ache between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole.

The sheets are deliciously cool against your flushed skin, and you turn your head to rest your cheek in the cool embrace of the pillow. But it only needs a second to heat from your desire. 

And then the room is all too hot once again. 

Kicking off your pants, your hand snakes down your bare torso, leaving half-hearted squeezes to your breasts and hips, failing to replicate the touch Rafayel already has you addicted to. The memory only makes you more frustrated. 

A hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and fuck, you’re dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. You force yourself to slow down, rubbing slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to have your hips bucking up against nothing. 

Inhaling sharply, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. It’s not enough.

You force yourself to draw each movement out, the curl of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the slick, obscene sounds echoing alongside your ragged breath. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the fingertip, two plunge back in this time, and your back arches off the bed with violent tremors as you imagine it was Rafayel's hand instead.

How he’d tease you in the early mornings to wake you up, how he’d take special care of every sensitive spot on your body, how he’d draw his fingers along your clit just the way that will make you come undone.

And as your fingers find that sensitive bundle of nerves, the way you cry his name into the empty room is no different.

Your head is spinning, falling, your thighs shake, and it's not long before you're gasping out, "Rafayel, please.”

Still not enough. Every rough thrust of your fingers brings you higher and higher, but without the pressure of Rafayel's chest pressed to yours, or his hot breath ghosting across your ear, his voice, his lips, his touch—

Without him.

A sob rips from your throat, your hips bucking uselessly against the air as you fuck yourself harder, deeper. But your fingers are only so long, and your free hand, fisting the sheets, is unable to make up the difference. "No, no please," a whine, and your free hand rushes to circle your clit, the other picking up pace.

You're close, so close, sobbing his name when the dizziness from the car returns tenfold, overtaking your body in waves as your eyes roll back. "Please, ah! Rafayel, m’cumming-"

The world goes silent as pleasure surges through you, muscles convulsing, a choked, garbled sound escaping as you come. Collapsing back against the sheets, you struggle to catch your breath, the stickiness of both the heat and your orgasm coating your thighs. 

There’s another tug, a violent pull against your chest, but the dizziness remains. 

You know you should change the sheets or at least move them aside, but you can’t manage to do either as you rush to shower before Rafayel returns from his friend’s exhibition. 

It’s only when you stumble into the bathroom that you notice it. 

Shit. This is Rafayel’s room. 

You must be trying to kill him.

Surely, this is the gods' cruelest trial—a final test of his resolve—to see if he’d bow once more, forsaking divinity and succumbing to the temptation of you.

Because it’s been barely an hour, and Rafayel has already resigned himself from the party, passing blank smiles and empty compliments as he quietly counts down the minutes until he can return to the hotel, when suddenly he feels it.

The tug of your bond flashes through his body as his dick aches.

Rafayel freezes mid-sentence, the polite smile he'd been wearing slipping from his face. The conversation at the bar around him, something about chiaroscuro in the artist’s latest piece, become muffled static as the chains tighten, digging into his heart. 

It’s unmistakable now. The rhythm, the rising intensity, the waves of pleasure that don’t belong to him but still manage to spark delirious heat up his veins.

Rafayel’s breaths quicken, body temperature rising as his Evol flickers out of his control. He glances around the room, feigning interest in the conversation, the glittering glasses of champagne, the faint hum of the crowd. It doesn’t work. The only thing he can focus on is you.

He should leave. Go outside, breathe in the night air, and let the tether between you both loosen, just to regain control. Just to prove to himself it’s not too late.

But the bond tightens, as invasive as it is intoxicating, demanding Rafayel’s attention like a leash coiled around his neck. It’s not gentle. It’s not kind. It’s primal, every nerve in his body pulled taut like you’re screaming his name over and over into the depths of his soul. 

It’s not fair.

No god can deny the prayer of a worshipper.

Your pleasure becomes his, and when Rafayel closes his eyes, he swears he can feel your phantom hands on him, dick already heavy and throbbing, leaking through his expensive trousers.

Are you in bed, thighs trembling as you grind against your own palm? Or maybe the shower, steam curling around you as you chase release? Or worse—are you riding something of his? His shirt? His pillow? Is this vengeance a cruel punishment meant to shatter what little resolve he has left? 

Shit. He’s hard.

“Hey man, what’s wrong? You good?” 

The slam of a glass brings him back. Gods, he hates these rich socialites. 

The champagne glass Rafayel was holding is now covered in cracks, blood trickling down his ring finger. He’s unraveling, composure fracturing with every pulse of your pleasure surging in and out as violently as a full moon’s tide. 

Rafayel looks up, smiling. “Stress. And apparently a very needy pet.”

The man laughs at what he assumed was a joke, but Rafayel sees his hesitation, the type animals give when they pick up rustling in the bush. Fear. 

Rafayel’s grin only widens, all teeth. “I should probably go check on her. Wonderful party,” he adds, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast before setting it down with a sharp clink.

As he steps outside, the desert air does nothing to soothe him. If anything, the dryness makes it worse as the pull becomes sharper, like you’re reaching for him, your need coiling tighter around his chest.

A growl, almost feral, rumbles low in his throat as he staggers down the cobblestone streets. He doesn’t need directions. He doesn’t even need to think. His body moves instinctively, guided by the bond, by you. 

Rafayel swears he can feel you all across his body, your heartbeat picking up as you get closer, the smell of your skin and arousal, the cries of his name that only become more and more desperate as you fail to bring yourself over the edge without him. 

You’re begging for him in a way his bond mistakes for worship, because Rafayel’s body feels like it’s burning. Like blood spilled on his altar, an offering of yourself to your god, your husband.

The thought that you might be doing so unintentionally only drives him further into madness.

But, beneath the frustration, there’s something else. A glimmer of something Rafayel hates to name but knows all too well: relief.

Because as much as he might deny it, Rafayel could never leave you. And now that you’ve reciprocated, now that you’ve begged for him oh so sweetly, he would gladly submit to his bond and become chained to you once again, forever at your mercy, unable to escape the inevitability of his fate.

He doesn’t even knock when he reaches the hotel room door. It swings open under the force of his hand, and the sight of you standing there—wide-eyed, startled, only in a bath towel—hits him like a blow to the chest.

There's a soft click as Rafayel locks the door. A hurried shuffle of shoes as he all but stumbles toward you, closing the distance between you in one hurried, unstoppable motion. A startled gasp as he grabs your face in his hands.

It's the last breath you take.

An arm wraps around your waist, blocked by only a flimsy hotel towel as Rafayel violently spins you around. Your surprise is swallowed by his lips as you’re pinned against the window, the chill of the desert snow, frosted against the glass, a harsh contrast to the burn of his touch. His hand pins yours at the wrist as he stares down at your fingers.

“Rafayel? What are you doing here?” 

The question barely gets out, not before he rushes forward to claim you in a kiss, if it was even that. A desperate, consuming need overtakes him, Rafayel pushing you back so insistently that your head hits the window with a thud, pain immediately distracted as his clothed knee grinds up between your bare thighs. 

Holy fuck, just a towel. Right.

You try to push him back, one hand pressing against his chest as the other flies back to tighten the towel. “Wait–”

Rafayel kisses you again. And again. And again. 

You can feel the cloth slipping.

But Rafayel makes it very hard to care. His hand traces your throat, your heartbeat, then drags you closer by your hips as he thrusts forward in time, still caging you against the window. He’s relentless, every kiss only broken with a ragged breath or gasp as though he’s given up on breathing entirely, content to consume you instead, his tongue sweeping against your lip before it coaxes yours to meet it halfway, licking and sucking into your mouth.

It’s obscene, animalistic, and you swear that there has to be something wrong with you because the dizziness is back, and this time it’s enough to make your knees buckle, the two of you blindly stumbling across the hotel room.

So you bite him. 

“Why–” Breathe. Remember how to breathe. “Why are you here?”

Rafayel almost looks offended, thumbing his bitten lip before licking away the smudge of blood with a lopsided smile. 

Fuck, he’s hard. You feel the heat of his cock jolt against your thigh, pressing into you as he surges forward again, kissing you as his hands squeeze and cup your waist, lifting you up.

"Why?" Rafayel laughs, roughly grinding up against you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. "This is my room, remember? You’re the one who decided to come in here." He growls the last part, licking, biting, sucking at your throat. 

“Or was that intentional?”

The look in his eyes is feral. 

There’s no hesitation left, no half-riddled questions, no sweet praises, no semblance of your devoted lover. Just hunger. He’s rushing, pushing forward even with nowhere to go, almost in revenge. In punishment. Your teeth click together, foreheads bumping, unable to talk because when you try to open your mouth his tongue only slides in deeper. 

The wet sounds echo against your ears alongside your racing heartbeat, only causing you to grind harder, rougher, before Rafayel ungracefully drops you onto the bed. 

Your body bounces on the mattress, but it gives you a moment, and you scramble to cover Rafayel’s lips with your palm before he can begin devouring you again. 

“What I meant was, shouldn’t you still be at that art salon?”

He all but collapses into your touch. Lips parted, he grabs your wrist, tongue darting out as he licks up your middle and ring fingers, moaning against your skin. 

“I tried. I tried going, leaving.” He's panting, breathing in your scent before biting your palm. “But you called me back, you cruel, selfish human. And now I’ll never leave again.”

Your words come out between moans, unable to look away. “I called? I didn’t do—” You’re cut off as Rafayel licks up your skin, sucking lightly at your fingertips as his eyes, half-lidded and blown out stare down into yours. 

Oh.

A hot flush of embarrassment seizes you and Rafayel must sense it because his eyes flutter closed. His hips snap forward, grinding his erection into the side of the bed, and he lets out a low whine.

Gods, the taste of your cum lingers in Rafayel’s mouth. Every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every horrid urge and simply consume until—

“You don't think I know? Don't think I can’t tell?” Rafayel goes back to kissing your wrist, needing something more, something stronger. His hand ventures to the edge of your towel. ”Can feel everything you do, no matter how far away I go. Gods, I feel it, feel everything, and it drives me insane. Need you so bad, need to hear you, feel you, taste you..."

A shudder runs up Rafayel’s spine at the mere thought, and he can't stop himself anymore, leaning down to suck your fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits, saliva coating your fingertips. He rips the towel from your body.

"Say you need me too," He’s begging, sinking down to your knees. "Say you need me just as badly. I–ah fuck—I can smell how much you want me."

Throwing the towel to the floor, Rafayel runs his hands down your chest, rougher, long fingers cupping and massaging your breasts as his mouth trails wet kisses down your stomach, his tongue dragging against the smooth skin, a clear goal in mind as he settles between your thighs, looking up at you as though you were a thing worthy of worship. His Goddess. 

He’d offer himself to your alter time and time again. So long as he was the only one who got to bleed for you. 

“Yes.” You’re already soaked, the sight of Rafayel panting between your thighs enough to have you babbling, ”Yes, Rafayel. I needed you so, so badly all week. Couldn’t help m’self, please.”

He freezes at that, pouting. “Right, you already came, didn’t you. So mean, cutie. Leaving me out.”

Before you can argue, Rafayel dips his head, dragging his tongue up your cunt before sucking roughly at your clit. 

Your legs thrash above his shoulders. “Ah– wait, not so!” It’s too much too soon. Still sensitive from your prior orgasm, your back arches violently off the mattress, but Rafayel pays it no heed, deaf to your cries as he sloppily makes out with your pussy, drool and slick connecting his lips to you in sticky strands even as he pulls away just far enough to talk. 

“She’s already so sensitive, s’not fair,” he pouts, mouthing against your thigh as he flicks your throbbing bundle of nerves. You jolt, gasping at the sharp jolt of pain. At the same time, Rafayel fucks his tongue into your cunt, just barely dipping in before he moves back to rub nonsensical patterns on your clit. “But this is mine. I don’t want you touching it without permission anymore.”

Fuck, if you had any semblance of a coherent thought you would have argued, maybe even laughed at the sheer audacity of the man.

Instead, all you can manage is a pathetic whine of his name, because the strange swirls and harsh lines he’s licking into your clit aren’t patterns at all but letters, spelling something over and over and over again. 

R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y—

The ring of the hotel phone buzzes from the nightstand. It’s the artist whose party Rafayel left only minutes ago.

“Tch,” Rafayel scoffs in annoyance, whipping his chin as he goes to decline the call.

But this gives you a moment to breathe, and all you can think of is getting revenge. Especially on the bastard you tried to take Rafayel from you tonight. 

“Wait,” you grab his wrist. “You’re just going to hang up? What if it was something important?”

Rafayel turns to you with narrowed eyes, knowing there’s no good intent behind your wicked smile. It turns you on more than you can admit, the sight of his glare, mad at both the call and you interrupting his feast. But Rafayel can't deny you anything and does as he’s told, pressing accept. 

“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message.”

Instantly, you have Rafayel on his back. 

His neck looks far too bare, and you climb onto his lap, enjoying the way his pulse kicks up under your palm. Ripping his shirt’s buttons off you begin biting dark spots down the pale expanse of his chest and neck. You’re about to aim right for the glowing mark on his chest when the phone beeps again, playing a voice recording of a clearly very drunk man. 

“Why did you leave, bro? Come back here r’now. One more round of drinks a—” Incoherent laughter and sounds of clinking glasses. 

No. No, Rafayel’s not allowed to leave you, not again. 

You don’t know where the fear comes from, but you force yourself closer on top of him, breasts pressing into his abs as Rafayel shivers beneath you. Leaning down, you kiss the glowing mark atop his heart, admiring the way it flickers and glows when Rafayel bucks into your touch, moaning as you begin to nip and suck in earnest. 

And then you’re flipped onto the mattress once more. 

Rafayel’s heaving, arms trembling to keep himself up. Away. “...Are you sure?”

“If I don’t, then you might actually leave. What will you say if you’re asked why you didn’t go back?”

Rafayel smirks, and you catch a glimpse of fangs as he sits back on his knees. There’s a click, the rough sound of metal on metal as he undoes his belt, unzipping his trousers with one hand as the other cups the inside of your thigh, yanking it over his shoulder as he drags you down the bed. “I’m busy.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

You’re lost, so hopelessly lost in each other that you fail to notice the phone beep once again, the monotone voice of the machine saying, “Please leave a message at the tone,” before flashing twice, still running. 

Again, Rafayel seems to forget the concept of breathing, gasping into your lips as he ruts his hips into yours. “You’re not leaving me, right?” Fuck, he’s leaking all over his stomach, pre-cum splattering across your thighs.

“Never. I’ll never leave you, Rafayel.”

“Then tell me you’re mine. Tell me, please, please—hah—tell me and I’ll do anything, promise cutie, promise.” He’s all but gasping between kisses, cock trapped between his body and yours as he grinds forward, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Say it, say you're mine, tell me, I need to hear it again."

He's talking in circles, rambling, the desperation in his voice palpable. Grasping the base of his cock, he sloppily fisting himself once, twice, before thumping against your entrance.

“I’m yours, Rafayel.” You writhe, grinding yourself up against him in hopes that he’s just hurry the fuck up.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, yours Rafayel.”

“Again, ah—again,” he’s nuzzling into your neck, lifting your leg higher and higher, pinning it to your head as he folds you into a matting press. Still, he refuses to press in, cock throbbing against your clit as he hugs you tight, every muscle in your body screaming in protest and pleasure. “Again, please, please.”

“I’m-” You’re either gasping or crying, words flooding out, ”Rafayel’s, I’m Rafayel’s.”

At that, Rafayel’s entire body convulses. He sobs, finally thrusting forward, bullying up into you bit by bit, forcing you to count every inch as the entirety of his weight bares down onto you. 

You can feel the way his muscles shift, the way his arms bulge and contract as he holds himself above you, hips flush against yours. The desert air must be infecting him, because Rafayel is dripping sweat, flushed from his ears to his chest as he begins to pull out and slowly grind himself back in. 

His voice is wrecked, breathless as he tries to kiss you, missing slightly as he sucks against your bottom lip, drooling. "I'm yours too, I'm yours." At the same time, his cock jerks in you, burying deeper with every filthy roll of his hips, throbbing against your sweet spots. 

Then something snaps, Rafayel’s lips sealed back on yours, and the rhythm he sets is brutal.

Rafayel's cock drags over your walls, molding you in ways you never thought possible. Each thrust is hard, deep, and leaves you gasping, eyes rolling back into your head as you arch off the mattress, nowhere to go as his body folds yours damn near in half, weight bearing down on you.

It's all you can do to wrap your arms around him, nails scratching into his back, drawing thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades as you try to stay grounded, keep your mind from being swept away as the dizziness returns.

But the pressure building up in the pit of your stomach makes it hard.

Harder still as Rafayel begins mumbling into your lips, the filth pouring from his mouth making you clench, cunt fluttering around his cock as he pounds into you.

He can see and feel everything like this. Unable to look away from your face only inches away, watching every expression with love-drunk eyes, hugging you closer, fucking you harder.

"Can feel you, can feel you getting tighter. You're close right? Say you're close, please, mhm fuck." he's panting, and if you focus hard enough you can hear the sloppy noises of him sliding in and out, wet and obscene, the harsh slap of his balls against the curve of your ass.

But then Rafayel’s pushing himself lower, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as his chest is pressed so tight against yours you can barely take a breath.

"You're mine, only I can touch you like this, feel this. My wife. Say it, say you're mine, wanna hear it, please. Please, ah, I’ll do anything, say it."

He's barely pulling out anymore, resigning to quick, deep grinds as though he can’t bear to part.

Too uncoordinated to kiss you, Rafayel's head falls to your neck, sobbing into your marked-up skin before messily kissing atop the bruises.

"Yours. Yours. I'm yours, your wife," the words spill from your lips before you can even think, and Rafayel nearly passes out trying to stop himself from cumming then and there. 

It’s like you’re trying to milk him, hugging him closer and ankles wrapped around his neck as he’s lifting your hips right off the bed. But now he needs to see it.

Needs to know the way you'll cry out his name, how your eyes will glaze over and roll back into your head, the way your chest will heave, the sweat that will pool at the valley between your breasts, the way the skin will flush from a soft pink to a burning red as you lose yourself in the feeling. To him.

It's the only thing he's able to concentrate on, the only thing he's able to think of. The feeling of your body beneath him, the sound of his name on your lips. 

And that alone is enough.

Rafayel’s orgasm is sudden, a jolt of pleasure that surges up his spine with enough intensity to have him collapse, pinning your body beneath him. You can feel it, the way his cum splatters against the walls of your womb, painting your insides, filling you up until the excess squirts out around his cock and your intertwined thighs. He can't stop his hips, can't stop the way he grinds his pelvis against yours, trying to get deeper and deeper still. 

"Mine, mine, mine," is all he can say, eyes wide and pupils blown out as he watches the way your body twitches, a mixture of sweat and cum painting your body as you nearly pass out in exhaustion. "Gonna- gonna fill you up, fuck, so pretty, my pretty girl, pretty wife, gonna make sure it sticks, so I’ll never leave. So you’ll never leave me again."

You're cumming.

He can feel the way your cunt spasms, the way your walls lure him back in, the way you tremble and shake as you throw your head back with tears. 

Rafayel can't stop himself from leaning down and biting, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, his hands grabbing at any bit of flesh he can find. All the while he fucks you through your orgasm, the mess of fluids creating the most obscene noises as they squish and bubble out, pooling out from between your bodies. 

As you’re swaying in and out of reality, you think you see it. A field of red flame lilies, a poison so sweet that when you drink it, you lick your lips and thank the gods. 

God. Just one, the one of the sea and the flaming sun. 

The one who's still kneeling before you. 

The one who you love. 

"Maximum voicemail length reached, recording sent."

♱⋅── a/n: Uber now canonically exists in the lnds universe, thanks. Also, I would have included the absolutely gut-wrenching aftercare included in the card with MC asking Rafayel to sing for her, but honestly I would not change that scene in the slightest and am content to believe that is exactly what happened next.

Oh the things I’d give to hear Raf sing~

SNAP AND BREAK

SYNOPSIS you piss caleb off by going on a risky mission so he makes you pay. dearly.

WARNINGS caleb x fem!reader, fights, arguments, tension, misunderstandings, secret relationship, pseudo-cest, punishment, unprotected sex, improper use of evol, gagging, cockwarming, restraints, bondage, bdsm scene, size difference, verbal humiliation, pussy job, dirty talk, multiple positions, orgasm edging, orgasm control, orgasm denial, nipple play, marking, biting, forgiveness, aftercare

DAWN SAYS another one for the cfgc <3 caleb punish me challenge mode: extremely hard. also, big thanks to bb vienna for tossing back some ideas and helping me shape up this bad boy ❤️

x / a03

It’s not often Caleb comes home for the holidays, and when he does, you want to make sure everything’s perfect for him. 

Sweat dots your brow, dripping down your neck as you spring around the house like a frantic OTTO-PHO, cleaning every inch of your old home and picking up after any mess left behind. With Gran in elderly care and your childhood friend stuck in Skyhaven, the onus is on you to keep the space spick-and-span—a duty you sorely neglected due to your erratic mission schedule. 

Damn it, you scowl, glancing at the clock. It’s already 9PM… Caleb could be home anytime soon…

Huffing, you bring out a box of Christmas lights, completely entangled together in a wiry mess, and you groan at the thought of spending hours trying to get one end loose from the other. Sure, Christmas Eve is a time for families to gather together and enjoy the festivities with merriment, food and one too many glasses of bourbon, but as much as you would love to spend time with Caleb on his rare days back in Linkon, there’s a lingering thought in the back of your mind, connected right to the Hunter’s watch on your wrist.

As you check through the notifs, you miss the front door clicking open, the soft scuffle of boots on the wooden floor only reaching your distracted ears when the person was a few feet from you. Despite your wicked fast reflexes, Caleb is quicker, caging you in his arms, pulling you tightly to his chest as his boyish laughter grazes your ears. 

“Really, pipsqueak? Being distracted could cost you some Hunter brownie points.”

“Caleb!” you squeal, whirling around and smacking his chest, your eyes sparkling at the sight of him. “When did you get here?! I didn’t even hear your bike.”

He releases his grip on your waist, spinning you to face him, taking you in with his warm gaze. You didn’t miss the dark circles under his eyes, stress-induced from nights in a world so far above the ground, with secrets you sense he could never tell you. 

“Guess someone was more distracted than I gave her credit for,” he teases, ignoring your probing gaze.

You tighten your grip on his arm, and pull him closer, scrutinizing him from head to toe. “And you look like you haven’t slept in days.” 

“Jeez,” he worms out of your grasp, though his cheery disposition remains unflappable. “Are you trying to steal my thunder? I’m the one that’s supposed to be the nagger, not the other way around. And you look like you’re short of a few days of sleep, too, Pips.” 

It never surprises you how at ease he makes you feel. Banter and laughter flow freely between Caleb and you, and where words fall short, the silence remains warm and companionable. The scent of food is in the air, and you take a moment to inhale the fragrance of warm bread leaving the pan greedily. Caleb makes your favorite baozi, the sweet dough mingling with the succulent fattiness of the pork belly sandwiched between the two buns melting on your tongue, sending sparks of serotonin straight to the pleasure center of your brain. 

He watches you eat with a twinkle in his eye. “Good?” 

"Heavenly,” you practically moan, and take another bite. You miss his eyes darkening, the quick aversion of his gaze from your blissed-out face.

“Mhm. Glad you love it,” he raps the table with his knuckles and stands, focused on the tasks ahead. “We’ll pick up Gran from the care center tomorrow and return home. Can I trust you with the turkey, Pips?” 

You nod, dusting your fingers free from crumbs and standing, too. “Got it. Turkey. What about the cupcakes?” 

“Oh, I can get them delivered. Don’t worry,” he reassures with a grin. “Wouldn’t want Gran to worry about us stuck in Christmas traffic.” 

He’s got a point. When Christmas Eve arrives, the streets of Linkon bustle with throngs of bodies hurrying down the sidewalks, a sense of urgency and excitement in the air. You’re carrying the turkey back to your bike when a familiar vibration on your wrist pulls your attention from strapping the bird tightly into your rear basket, and your heart falls when you see the fluctuation pattern. 

Wanderers. 

Your mind rushes with the implications of what comes next, and in your ear, the ever-present comm beeps, Nero’s voice on the other end briefing Team Alpha. 

“... interrupt Christmas break… urgent deployment to Chansia City—team of explorers—Caves—” 

It comes in bits and pieces. You’re struggling to listen while kicking your bike into gear, revving back home to pack for the overnight mission. 

“Nero, slow down—which part is overrun?” Jenna demands, her voice crisp from the other end of the line. 

“—Chapel Bay. We need reinforcements—”

Kicking up dirt in your wake, you zip back home, arriving in time for Caleb to poke his head past the door, his greeting dying on his lips when he sees the tension radiating off you in waves.

“Pipsqueak, what’s wrong—?”

There’s no time to consider softening the blow when an entire neighborhood is at risk of being wiped out by Wanderers.

“I just got a call to go to Chansia. There’s been a huge Wanderer attack.” You pry the turkey from your bike’s rear basket and hand it to him, sprinting back into the house to pack when a tight grip on your wrist stops you.

“Slow down, Pipsqueak,” Caleb urges, his eyes wide with trepidation. “Did you just say Chansia?” 

You nod, and something in his expression darkens.

“You can’t go.” 

“Wh—?” 

Before you can protest, Caleb slams the front door closed, barricading it with his broader build. “Pips, that area is certified Wanderer territory after the Profield Fall six months ago. Going there would be signing your death sentence .” 

His words ring in your mind, leaving behind a tremor of fear. But, your stubbornness and need to help takes precedence over whatever hesitation you might feel, and you shake your head.

“Caleb, it’s my job—”

“ Y/N, please.” 

No Pipsqueak, Pips, or short stack …

Your eyes widen as the realization hits you square in the chest. Caleb is completely serious about this. You take a step back when he corners you against the wall, those amethyst eyes shining with a desperate plea for you to listen to him—just this once.

“Trust me when I say this—the DAA knows what’s going on there and we’ve escalated it to Zone Three status. You could die there, Y/N—”

“Caleb, I can’t just leave my team behind!” 

He swallows hard, crossing his arms and in a tone brokering no argument, he utters: “Give me Captain Jenna’s number right now.” 

You gape at him, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “ Are you trying to get me fired? ” 

“Family code for the Hunter’s Association means family members can refuse to allow a Hunter to serve—”

“Now you’re just making things up!” 

Your cheeks burn hotly with indignation, eyes narrowing at the sight of his wilful glare. Deep down, Caleb is just worried for you, his overprotective big brother tendencies leaving him resolutely firm on not allowing you to go. But, you’re not a kid anymore, and this is the duty you swore to uphold. Family or not, Caleb has no right to stop you from leaving.

“No,” you reiterate, standing your ground. “Caleb, this is unacceptable. You can’t just dictate when I can do my job just like that!” 

“Oh, I can and I will.” 

You feel a firm tug around your waist, and to your horror, his Evol snatches your phone from deep inside your pants pocket. “Hey—!”

He holds it above your head, no longer goofing around like he usually does when he teases you like this; expression serious and unyielding. “Tell me your phone password now.” 

You seethe, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “Absolutely not!” Palm to his chest, he grunts, feeling the first stirrings of your Resonance piercing through the atoms binding his telekinesis together, goading him to explode. He grabs your wrist with the other hand, a mutinous and unfamiliar glare twisting his mouth into a sneer.

“Oh, don’t even think about using your Evol on me, little missy.” With a staggering strength you thought he would never use on you, Caleb drags you closer, pressing your thumb on the phone’s biometric sensor. It lights up and your phone unlocks, leaving him privy to your contacts.

In one swift motion, you kick him right in the bend of his knee, knocking him off balance. Caleb yelps and the turkey you so carefully transported back home goes crashing to the ground along with his knees hitting the carpet. Moving fluidly, you grab his shoulder, restraining his arm behind his back, forcing him to relinquish his grip on your phone where it clatters onto the floor. 

“Pips—”

You push your knee right in between his shoulder blades, forcing him to the ground. 

Caleb grunts in pain, but you’re too angry to even care about his discomfort.

“How dare you come in the way of my job?” You spit out, increasing the force of your knee into his back. “You have no right, Caleb. None.” 

“I was just—”

“What’s going on?!” 

You both glance up to find Gran staring at you in horror, frozen in her wheelchair. It’s been years since she saw a fight this bad between you and Caleb—the last one being when you two were angsty teenagers. At the look of dismay on her face, you hesitate and ease up, letting him go. Caleb rises with a derisive scoff, and without a second glance, tosses your phone back to you, remaining indifferent when you fumble to catch it. 

“Fine. But, don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you’re going through with this, then I have nothing else to say to you.”

He walks away, his head bent, broad shoulders tense with frustration. You watch him disappear back into the kitchen and glance down at the mess of the turkey scattered on the floor—reminding you of the chaos you’ve brought to what was supposed to be a day of family and celebration. How you single-handedly ruined Christmas Eve. 

“Gran, I’m—”

She raises a hand to stop your string of excuses and apologies. “Whatever you need to do, go and do it. Just come back in one piece, dear.” 

You glance at the deep set lines of her face, the kindness in her eyes you didn’t deserve. “Could you tell him…?” You trail off, and flicker your gaze to the kitchen. Gran nods, imperceptibly understanding your request. 

“I’ll speak to him, don’t you worry.” 

Taking one last look at her, you nod and hitch the strap of your purse higher, thoughts already racing on the logistics of returning to the Association base and retrieving your hunting gear. As you straddle your bike, you steal a final glance at the kitchen window, wondering if he could see you pulling away. But, the curtains are drawn, and the lights dim.

Feeling the melancholy of separating on such awful terms with him, you kick up the bike stand and zip down the highway to your unknown fate, ready to fight Wanderers despite how much every fiber in your body was screaming at you to turn around and make things right with Caleb. 

Caleb stares at the phone in his hand. It’s been three days since he last heard from you; since he last saw you. 

He’s gone through the entire cycle of grief the whole time you’ve been missing from his side: denial that you had the nerve to hurt him after all he’s done for you, anger at the way you dismissed his concerns and complaints about him mother henning you when all he wants is to ensure your safety; bargaining with the voices in his mind to forgive and forget; a crippling depression at the lack of consideration you had for him by not even bothering to reach out and finally acceptance that come what may, you had to return home.

He wouldn’t rest till he sees you again—till he makes sure you’re safe and whole.

But, when the fourth day trickles by with still no sign or contact from you, anxiety gnaws him right to the bone and he can’t focus on anything else but the chirp of his phone, heart pounding wildly and breath hitching as he picks it up, hoping to see the golden notification which will indicate you’re still alive. 

He’s disappointed time and time again. 

Yet, he doesn’t switch off his phone or mute it. Caleb reasons if you ever did call him, he would always be on standby to berate you. 

(And ask you when you’ll be coming home again so he can prepare to see you). 

His heart echoes a dull thud that grows murkier and darker with each growing day of your absence. Till he can’t take it anymore and punches in the emergency number you left on the fridge, hearing the dial tone that echoes forlornly in the background of this empty kitchen soaking in the last rays of sunset.

The call doesn’t go through, and he tries the other number you left for him. 

“Hello?” 

Mercifully, a woman answers and his white-knuckled grip on the phone tightens. 

“Hi,” he stutters and feels like a fool. “My name is Caleb. I’m… Y/N’s friend,” clearing his throat, he presses on. “I haven’t heard from her in days and I’m starting to, uh, get worried. Is she—?”

He barely gets the question out when the woman interrupts him, not unkindly. 

“Caleb, isn’t it? You’re her adopted brother. My name is Jenna and I’m the captain of Team Alpha. Unfortunately, I cannot disclose any further information about our Deepspace Hunters except that they are currently on a very important mission.”

Jenna’s tone is steepled in regret, and Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. I know, damn it.” If she finds his cursing crass, she doesn’t comment on it. “But, it’s been four days already. I just need to know—”

“Mr. Caleb, we understand your frustration, but please, do let us handle the mission on our end, and if there are any updates—”

“You’d only tell me if she returns in a body bag.” 

The transparency of his resigned statement floats uneasily like a greasy film over a thick coating of lies he’s very well accustomed to in the military and law enforcement world. The reality is this: he would never know if you were alive until you came back home.

Caleb thumps his forehead against the frosty kitchen glass, watching the white snowflakes dance in front of him with listless, pained violet eyes. The necklace you gifted him hangs from his neck like a noose, threatening to choke the last of his composure. He struggles to hold onto his temper, as he swallows and nods.

“Alright. Roger that. Thank you, Captain.” 

He doesn’t give Jenna a chance to reply, ending the call and, in a fit of rage, slams his phone onto the table. His sudden fit of anger doesn't go unobserved, Gran’s weary eyes watching him pace restlessly through the kitchen, not noticing her sitting in the dark corner. She wants to comfort him but doesn’t know how. After all, it was you who usually took the mantle of calming down this unnerving, determined young man during his rare, but terrifying bouts of rage. 

Gran sighs quietly and stares up at the ceiling as if she could see past the layers of plaster and unease and into the graying, snowy sky.

Caleb slams the front door on his way out to god knows where. Like always, she remains reticent and disengaged, sitting in the furthest corner where his disconcerting emotions could never reach her. 

You weren’t expecting anyone to wait for you back in your apartment when you finally returned home. 

Light snow coats the front of your lobby stairs, and the second he sees you, the doorman waves to catch your attention. 

“Oh, Miss Hunter! You have a care package waiting for you in the mail room.” 

Curious and weary from your arduous mission, you trudge to the mailroom to retrieve the package under your name. Clasping it in one arm, you drag your tired and bruised body straight to your apartment and push open the door, switching on the lights and air conditioning. The space smells of stale air and an underlying current of tension, greeting you with a lingering melancholy you couldn’t quite shake off. 

You carefully close the door behind you and set the package on your dining table. Glancing out at the twinkling lights of the street below, the feeling of missing out on an important holiday creeps back in, and you fight back the urge to sob.

Now’s not the time…your inner voice chimes. You need to eat something… shower and rest. Wiping your damp eyes, you take a deep breath. The time to break down and mourn over your guilt can come later. 

Tearing the package open, your heart skips a beat when you see a bento box filled with dehydrated vegetables, powdered cranberry sauce, dried turkey, and a side of instant mac ‘n’ cheese. A note, written in a blocky scrawl you recognize as Caleb’s, makes the lump of guilt in your throat thicken even more. 

Merry Christmas, Pipsqueak. We missed you. — C

You boil some water, microwave the food, and rehydrate the greens again, taking your sad pre-packed Christmas meal on the balcony. The food is good, and you have an inkling of Caleb freeze-drying it for you—begrudgingly making sure you could still enjoy your holiday even after the catastrophic fight you both had. 

As you chew listlessly on a slice of turkey, you glance up at the sky where you imagine the outline of Skyhaven to be, snowflakes clinging onto the ends of your lashes, falling like powdered sugar onto your bare hands. 

Caleb… your mind echoes forlornly. Did he return to the base? Is he still here in Linkon? 

One quick look at your Moments feed, and you see he’s still here, catching up with old classmates and grinning brightly in his photos like the two of you hadn’t been at each other’s throats just a few days ago.

The temptation to call him up is at odds with your bruised ego from the smothering behavior he exhibited days earlier. A part of you wants an excuse to see him again despite the growing distance since the argument—to thank him for the meal he prepared for you. 

Snowflakes melt in your hair, an unceasing chill creeping up on you. Despite the unusual distance creeping insidiously into your relationship, the chill, the reproachful silence—the meal he sent you was more than a peace offering. It was his version of an apology. 

Your mind floats a million miles away, thinking about Caleb, wondering if he is still mad at you. You heave a sigh. As much as you dread it, there’s only one way to find out. 

Pulling out your phone, you click on his number. The dial tone drones on and on, plucking on your nerves, and you reflexively nibble on your nails, waiting for him to pick up.

“Hello! ” You expel a rushed breath, an apology on the tip of your tongue when you’re hit with the realization that you’ve reached his voicemail box instead. “—probably busy. Please leave a message after the beep—”

Silence. You catch a staggering breath. “Caleb? It’s me. If you get this, let’s meet up, ‘kay? Talk to you soon.” 

There’s a hum in the night air, a tension drawing lines around your taut figure. You wait and wait for his return call, glancing at your phone every minute, checking on your messages in case he left one when your back was turned. The warm shower you took could barely flush out the thought of Caleb, your anxiety peaking when you decide to check on Moments, seeing him post a picture of his dinner with his friends, but leaving your message on read.

Crap. You’re in deep trouble now. Sighing, you run your fingers through your hair, rubbing your face.

There isn’t a hint of doubt that he’s punishing you now with the silent treatment. Caleb is never the type to avoid confrontations—he thrives on them. He loves arguing, challenging your worldview, and trying to prove his point, just to rub it in your face that he will always be right. 

The indifference is odd; this distance is not like him.

Before you can stop yourself from calling him again, you slip on your coat, tug on your scarf, and rush to your bike. 

I’m going to make him talk to me if it’s the last thing I do, you think viciously, revving up the bike aggressively—kicking up snow and dirt in your wake to break this frostiness between you two.  

In fifteen minutes, you find yourself in front of your childhood home, the kitchen lights glowing warmly. Gran is probably already back at the elderly care center, and since Caleb is still treating you as public enemy #1, he’s staying here to keep his distance from you. You kill the engine and march straight up to the door, unlocking it with your spare key.

Inside the house is warm and toasty, the faint smell of food drifting from the kitchen. You freeze when the sound of heavy footsteps reaches your ears, looking straight into his wide, amethyst eyes.

Caleb exhales a sharp breath, his mouth dropping open slightly. “Pipsqueak…” 

You remain nailed to the spot, wondering if he would kick you out—ask you to leave for daring to show your face here again. But, he does no such thing, beckoning you to close the door and come in. Though he doesn’t outright reject you, he doesn’t welcome you with open arms, either, the usual exuberance and grins he reserves for you nowhere to be found on his unsettlingly serious expression. 

Caleb goes back into the kitchen, picking up a towel to wipe down his hands. The paper plane bracelet you got for him years ago peeks past the sleeve of his gray hoodie, a reminder of happier times between you two. 

You hesitate for a single second by the doorway, wondering when the thought of home left you this cold and disorientated. 

Like a lost puppy, you trail after him, removing your jacket and setting it on the back of a dining chair.

“Thank you… for the meal,” your hoarse voice breaks the icy silence. 

Caleb glances at you from behind the kitchen island and nods. “You’re welcome.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, and the easy familiarity from years of knowing each other fades into a glacial stillness. You hear your breath leaving your lips, and sense the way he’s avoiding your eyes.

“Caleb—”

He scoffs at the sound of his name leaving your lips, and turns around, putting all his focus on the bread he’s baking. You know him well enough to understand he only bakes when he’s completely stressed out over something.

Without thinking, you touch his wrist, not anticipating the sharp way he draws his hand back from you.

“Caleb…” 

He doesn’t glance at you—barely gives your pain a second glance. “What’re you doing here, Pipsqueak?” He murmurs gruffly. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing a debrief report right now?” 

As much as his distance stings, his dismissal hurts even worse, feeling like a knife carving through your chest. 

“It’s Christmas season,” you whisper. “The offices are closed—”

“And yet, risky missions still prevail, huh?” 

His words bite straight to your core, and you wince. “Caleb, it’s not—”

“Save it,” your childhood friend cuts you off, jerking his chin towards the dining table. “Sit down there and don’t disturb me. I’m making sourdough focaccia and if something goes wrong, I will 100% blame you.”

Despite the warning in his tone, you can’t help but smile faintly.

“Okay…”

Taking a seat at the table, you watch him work. The sleeves of his hoodie stretch tautly over his bulging biceps, rolling up to expose his forearms as he works the dough into a malleable ball. The silence is something new, a phenomenon born from the supernova of your hasty mistakes, leaving gaping black holes of awkwardness surrounding the two of you. Any light coming through from your attempts to make conversation is shut down with a dismissive hum or grunt from Caleb. 

You can tell he’s avoiding any attempts to talk, focusing on making the bread and ignoring your presence in the corner of his eye. The childish part of you that grew up with his undivided attention screams, tearing and twisting in your chest, needing to reclaim his interest and care again. You pout, sulk, and heave numerous heavy sighs. But, he doesn’t turn to look at you, much too busy focusing on brushing basil oil onto the bubbling surface of the dough. 

So, you amp up the distractions. You circle closer and closer to him, pressing your face near his shoulder to watch him decorate the dough with slivers of cherry tomatoes. You linger when he turns to grab the container of sea salt flakes, playfully sticking your finger into the concoction to pop a bubble forming.

“Okay, that’s it—” 

He grabs your wrist and tugs you back into the living room, making you sit on the couch with a scowl on his face. The look of pure wrath in his expression startles you, and you barely have time to murmur an apology when he shakes his head, glare intensifying. 

“Stay out of my hair, Pipsqueak. I mean it. ” 

“But—”

He whirls around, silencing you with a deep and unmistakable glint of rage in his usually gentle purple eyes. You fall into a stuttering disquiet, unable to stop the hurt from flashing across your face.

“Caleb—”

“Don’t give me that look. And stay away from the kitchen.” Stay away from me. He doesn’t say it, but the warning is implicit. 

You’ve never seen him this enraged before. Your breath falls out in a huff, and you give him an incredulous look. Caleb turns around, completely ignoring you, and returns to his focaccia. A voice in your head chimes in, telling you to just own up to your mistakes and apologize to him. But, the stubborn part of your consciousness, the one who insists she’s right despite how poorly she had treated one of her oldest childhood friends, remains stubbornly set on not breaking the ice first.

Easier said than done. 

It’s hard. 

It’s hard for you to sit on the couch, quiet and seething when Caleb is just a few feet away. It’s absolute torture to not be in there with him, yapping off his ear with updates to your mission, or trying to sneak eat a few cherry tomatoes when his back is turned. You miss him, and you miss his shitty jokes and dopey smile. You miss him. 

You find yourself sneaking glances at him, wondering if he’s making an extra batch for you—hoping he isn’t too mad to deny you from having a focaccia slice. You know you’re being selfish and immature again, thinking he will be okay with you after the stunt you pulled on him when the reality of his dejection runs deeper.

Shamelessly, you stand and venture back into the kitchen, unlike a stray kitten who could never take a hint. You stand by his side, hovering around until he pays you a morsel of attention—gifting you back his sunny smiles and easygoing laughter.

But, Caleb remains steadfast in his efforts to ignore you, and you decide it’s time to bring out the big guns. Pressing closer to him, you lean your head against his shoulder, nuzzling your cheek into the soft material of his hoodie.

“Gege… don’t be mad at me…”  

He stiffens, and yet, you persist with your efforts. Playfully nipping the back of his ear, you find his weakness in an instant, hearing his breath catch in the back of his throat.

Caleb pretends you don’t exist, letting you fight for his attention, but you can tell his resolve is crumbling. You hear the hitch in his quiet groan when you lick the sensitive shell of his ear, the heat of your body seeping past the thick fabric of his hoodie.

Gran isn’t here, and you don’t have to hide your desires from her, free to mess around with Caleb as much as you can. 

You stand on your tiptoes, tracing the tip of your tongue down the curve of his neck, scraping your teeth against his sensitive skin.

Caleb hisses, and you fight back the urge to grin in triumph. His hands grip the marble island’s edge with a white-knuckle hold. You feel his resolution to ignore you falling apart, piece by piece, simmering in the knowledge of you offering yourself to him as a way of apologizing for the things you said—how you hurt him both physically and emotionally before your mission. 

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, gege,” you murmur against the salt of his skin, feeling his body heat under your touch. “Can you ever forgive me? Can you ever forgive your mei mei? ”

He bites back a groan, narrowing his eyes. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Pipsqueak…” he hisses under his breath. 

The way he says it, full of anger and warning, sends a sick, dark thrill up your spine. You resist the urge to lay off him, needing him to fully crack and give in to your whims like he always does—like he always will when it comes to you because you’re nothing if not Caleb’s spoiled rotten mei mei who always gets what she wants.

“Pipsqueak—” his words cut off into a low growl when he feels your arms belting around his waist, your hands sliding further down… fingertips teasingly brushing the bulge tenting under his pants. “Watch it.”

But, his warning lacks bite, and you gnaw on your lower lip, feeling his patience slowly dissipating. Caleb is once again putty in your hands, easy to mold to your desires. You grin against his back, feeling the same revulsive knot twisting in your stomach, the stench of the impending perverseness making your nostrils flare. 

“ Gege… ” you whisper again. 

It’s the final nail to the coffin of his attempts to resist you. Except when he snaps, he does it in a way you never expect. 

Caleb grabs your hand and spins you around, pinning you right to the counter edge. Without a second’s hesitation, he drags your pants down, baring your vulnerable backside. The stinging pain of his hit on your left cheek draws you up short, and you cry out, cursing profusely. 

“My, my,” you can hear the grin in his dark tone. “Such a mouth you have on yourself, mei mei … you need to be reprimanded.” 

Another sharp spank lands on your right cheek this time, and your head jerks up, a yelp slipping past your clenched teeth.

“C-Caleb—”

“Don’t you dare Caleb me,” he sneers and drags you like you’re a ragdoll to the bedroom—his bedroom. Inside, you’re faced with gege’s full wrath, as he stands before you, tall and imposing, those amethyst eyes barely wavering when he takes in your warm cheeks and the glimmer of pain simmering in your gaze.

“Strip,” Caleb commands, lifting a dark brow. “ Now .” 

You want to argue, to tell him to ease up, but the look on his face remains flinty and firm. 

Swallowing your trepidation, you start by pulling your shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor. Caleb’s expression doesn’t shift, not even when his eyes rake over the lace bra you’re wearing. His jaw tightens, and he gestures at your pants, silently telling you to go all in if you want to earn his forgiveness back. 

You reluctantly tuck your thumbs into the waistband of your pants and drag them down, leaving you shivering in your matching lacy panties.

He scoffs, running his eyes up and down your scantily-clad form. “You sure you weren’t thinking indecent thoughts, you shameless minx? Good girls don’t try to seduce their older brothers by looking like this.”

You flush warmly at his degrading words, feeling your bravado slipping. “I-I wasn’t—”

Your words die in the back of your throat when you feel the restrictive force of his Evol grasping your wrists, drawing them above your head. Caleb’s expression and outstretched hand don't falter, and he takes another step closer, bearing down on your helplessness.

“Be quiet,” he snaps. Flicking his fingers, he pushes you against the wall, hearing the gust of breath rushing out your lungs when your back hits the hard plaster. You grunt in surprise, struggling and failing to fight your way out of the bonds he has your wrists in. 

“Scared?” He goads, approaching you, taking your chin, and tilting your face up. The look in his eyes is borderline terrifying—you’ve never seen Caleb ( your sweet, lovely, kind, and sunny Caleb )—look this angry in your life. “This is what you wanted, right?” Grabbing your wrists in one large palm, he tightens his grip on you. “Teasing me… hurting me… you have a knack for breaking your gege’s heart, huh, Pipsqueak?” 

You shake your head, wanting to protest when he silences you with a punishing kiss. Caleb bites down on your lower lip, your words and coherence lost in the slurry mess of his tongue fighting yours, tasting the warmth and wetness of your mouth. 

“Mhm,” you moan into the kiss, tilting your head to the side to get more—taste more of him. He runs the tip of his tongue over the hard ridges of your teeth, squeezing your cheeks in a possessive hold, forcing your mouth to remain open and giving as he continues to take what he wants without a care for your pathetic whines.

“Don’t think I’ll go nice on you, Y/N,” he warns, tipping your head back, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. “You treated me like dirt before you left. You hurt my feelings—” He growls, biting down hard on your earlobe. “You selfish, bratty little Pipsqueak… I won’t go easy on you, do you hear me? Nod if you understand.”

You can’t do anything but nod, helpless in the face of his anger. The corners of his mouth twitch at the sight of your submission, the dark monster within he tries hard to suppress rearing its jealous head, beckoning him to devour you. With a surprising show of dominance, he tangles his fingers in your hair, yanking your head back with a grunt, exposing more of your throat to his wandering lips.

He licks, nips, and sucks his marks onto the pristine column of your throat, needing to see his marks bloom on your skin. Caleb is relentless in his attempts to remind you who you belong to.

The force of his touch sends sparks of thrill up your spine, and you gasp with every hot press of his open-mouth kisses to your vulnerable jaw and neck.

Caleb’s teeth scrapes your sensitive skin, drawing guttural gasps from your kiss-swollen lips.

“Ca-leb—” you break off into a hiss when his Evol rearranges your limbs, spreading your thighs wider; your arms restrained above your head. The last time he had you in this position was a summer ago before he left for a mission to Vagrant Land. You swore after that night when he was done with you, that you had to double your Plan B dosage less your body betrayed you and you conceived his baby. 

“Please—” 

He doesn’t hear your begging, taking a step closer, his bigger build pressing harder into your body. 

“I said: Shut. Up. ”

In one swift motion, his telekinesis holds your lips shut, your struggles and indignant squeals barely triggering a reaction from him. The look on his face sparks both terror and desire, your body responding to his unexpected dominance; proof of your arousal shining from between your thighs.

“Already wet? How pathetic…” 

He smirks, coating his fingers with the proof of your desire pooling right between your folds. 

“Mhmph—Cwaleb—” your desperate squeak shoots his ego straight up to the moon, and Caleb is on cloud nine. 

Such a desperate, little Pipsqueak. You want this so badly, huh? Mhm hmm. That’s right. That’s fucking right. You like my fingers in you? Good girl. Such a good, little Pipsqueak. You’re doing so well—fuck.

His anger aside, Caleb can’t help but praise you. It’s his default; his DNA. You drive him insane and he wants to punish you for getting under his skin—where you’ll always belong, not if he can help it.

“Something you wanna say, Pips?” he sneers, pumping two long, lithe, and callused fingers inside of you, catching on a spot that makes your toes curl. 

“S-swo…sworry,” you manage to spit past the pressure clamping your mouth shut, tears swimming in your eyes, “Cwaleb… mhm .”

He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy your struggle. The flush on your cheeks, the wetness glimmering on your lips. Caleb wants to see you completely and utterly ruined for him. 

“Beg,” he commands, slipping into his Captain persona with ease. In his eyes, you were nothing but an unruly cadet in need of a stern fixing. “Beg me and I might give you what you want.”

Thumb on your clit, he’s driving you delirious with feathery, teasing circles. Your eyes roll back into your head. 

Cwaleb, you groan against his Evol. Pwease—mhmph!

The pressure of his fingers gets meaner, the look in his violet eyes muffling the last of your protests. Giving up on trying to get him to relent, you submit with feeble sighs, letting him take full control. Caleb grins, feeling you succumbing to his ministrations, your squeaks and sighs growing louder and more distraught. 

He loves having you like this—on the edge, overstimulated, and completely relying on him.

Years of knowing your body and what makes you tick is enough for him to push your buttons—taking your limits past the breaking point.

He’s meticulous and sure with his punishment, doing whatever it takes to hammer in the anger and shame he wants you to feel—the lesson he’s trying to impart to your desperate body and distraught mind.

As he releases the pressure on your mouth so you can moan and gasp freely, Caleb’s quick with a foot of rope, using it to bind your hands in your front, allowing you just enough give to grip a pen in your shaky hand as he makes you sit on his cock and write ‘I will always obey my gege’ over and over again until your eyes swim, and your cunt is pulsing from every slight movement. 

He teases you with shallow thrusts, lips in the crook of your neck, and warm, large palms covering your heaving breasts; playing with your distended nipples till they blossom into a pretty blush shade. 

Driving you further into a pleasure-filled delirium, he rubs your clit with teasing circles, smacking your thighs when they start to snap close.

“I said—keep 'em’ open unless you know what’s good for ya, princess,” he sneers, leaving another stinging mark blooming on the plush flesh. 

“Please…” The plea drops from your swollen lips and he chuckles. 

“Struggling already?” 

Caleb peers over your shoulder at your almost illegible writing and shakes his head. “I thought you were better than this—didn’t you once win the best handwriting award in high school? Tch.” 

To your mortification and horror, he picks up the sheet of paper and tears it in half, ruining your hour-long effort of completing a hundred lines.

“Again,” he orders, and grabs a blank sheet, placing it in front of you. “And make sure your writing is pretty Pipsqueak. I wanna frame this.”

A strangled whimper tumbles from your mouth, and behind you, Caleb smirks at the sheer frustration at the sound.

Good.

Now, you would understand a sliver of the anguish he felt when you went missing for days. Now, you would feel the exasperation and outrage he did—and god, does it feelgood to watch you come undone for him. 

You pick up the pen, and with a teary, little huff, start to write again. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, breath warm and distracting against your neck. 

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, chest rumbling with deep satisfaction. “Look at’cha. Doing so well… I oughta reward you after this, hmm?” 

He teasingly trails his palm up your thigh, squeezing your flesh—enjoying how your pretty, tight pussy squeezes down on him with every rasp of his palm on your skin. The sight between your thighs is lewd, a creamy mess coating the base of his cock, dribbles of arousal gathering at the lips of your entrance which ripples around his thick girth. Caleb is equal parts mesmerized and thrilled by the sight, watching how your little clit shivers when he teases her with the rough pad of his index finger; how your body shudders, and the pen in your hand shakes.

“Much better,” he compliments your penmanship, giving your clit and nipple a squeeze. 

“Ah— mhm! ” You choke through your tears. This minute reaction costs you a firm smack on your thigh, his fingernails digging into the singing flesh. 

“Did I say you could take your eyes off the paper?” Caleb demands, and in a low tone, barks out, “ Write .”

Tears mist your vision, your hips twitching and muscles tightening around the fleshy intrusion lodged deeply in your tender pussy. Caleb wraps his hands around your waist and gingerly lifts you up and down, fucking you on his cock as the words on the paper get blurrer and blurrer.

I will always obey gege.

I will always obey gege. 

I will always—

The words get subconsciously stuck in your head, your lips shaping and breathing them out in shaky puffs. Black strokes of your obedience begin to fill up half of the page, and soon the whole sheet is covered with the affirmation. Caleb presses his lips to your jaw, giving you a much softer kiss, catching you off guard with his gentleness.

“There you go… lookin’ good, darlin’.” 

He takes the paper from you and scrutinizes each word, well aware of your body trembling; your sweet, tight cunt squeezing pitifully around his cock. You’ve made such a mess on his lap, Caleb is surprised how the powerful orgasm you’ve been holding back for the past two hours hasn’t taken you under yet. It seems like one single touch and you might blow.

He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back, and sets your work down, gripping your hip tighter.

“Good girl,” he croons in your ear. Those maliciously thick and long fingers slide up the length of your thigh, reaching to wrap around your neck.

“I did what you asked,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut and moaning at the sensation of his lips kissing down your throat. “A-am I forgiven yet?” 

Hmm, Caleb hums, his smirking mouth pressing on your pulse point. He loves how despite your lofty title as Linkon’s shining Hunter, you’re still so much smaller than him; your entire body dwarfed between his bigger build and the hard edge of the table. “... suppose I could show you some mercy.” 

He traces random patterns on your thigh and a sliver of hope takes root in your heart. Maybe you’ve done enough to fully earn his trust and love back. Maybe he might be merciful and kiss you—

As if you weighed next to nothing, Caleb’s strong arms carry you back to bed, setting you down on his lap again. He buries his nose in your hair and inhales like a starved man tasting honey for the first time, his tongue darting out to trace the jut of your jaw, trailing down your throat.

“You’re so sweet… so sinful…”

His grave murmurs send sparks of desire straight to your core, and you clench your thighs, whimpering.

“Caleb…” 

Your whisper is a fleeting plea of desire that disappears under his smothering kiss. Caleb devours your mouth, swirling his tongue with yours, his fingers holding your chin in place. Hungry, open-mouth kisses smear down your neck, right to your collarbone, where the ghost of his breath on your perky nipples makes you shudder.

He takes his time, playing with you while you’re all tied up and helpless. Caleb grins against your sternum, hearing your breath hitch when he parts your thighs and sinks a finger inside you with barely any prep. Your body takes him without resistance, and he nuzzles your bare breasts, relishing how soft your skin is against his cheek.

“You’re so eager… so ready for me…”

His dick throbs, but he pays it no mind, completely zeroing in on your pleasure. Caleb’s entire focus is on you—your whimpers, your sighs, how your poor, puffy pussy clenches down so nicely on his thick fingers.

You’re just ready to burst, darlin’ ... he murmurs huskily into your ear. Must be frustrating, hmm? Not being given the chance to come… I’m sure you’re aching…

His thumb circles on your greasy, little nub, hearing your soft moans and sighs in his hair. Caleb guides you to the bed, your bound body falling in a heap under him. He positions himself over you, forearms on either side of your head as he goes back to licking and sucking at your neck. 

The sting of his teeth leaving another bite leaves you light-headed with lust, your body throbbing for the slightest bit of relief.

Please… you whimper again, trying your luck. Caleb… I need you…

Yeah? He murmurs huskily. Where’dya need me, princess? 

You squirm, moving your hips and he feels you writhing underneath him. “Inside. All the way.”

His breathing hitches, blood growing hotter at the desperation and need in your tone. 

“All the way? You know what to say to get a man going, sweetness.”

“I— ohhh .”

Your words die in the back of your throat at what he does next. 

Caleb grins as he pushes your thighs apart, settling in between them. He carelessly tugs his pants down, ripping off his clothes to toss them to the floor, gifting you inches and inches of bare, tanned skin and defined muscles to gawk at. Ready, baby? Giving his cock a few good pumps, he lines the tip to your entrance, catching it on the rim of your pussy. 

Teasingly, he works the flush, sticky head up and down your weeping clit, circling your opening, pushing it in past the tight ring of muscle with taunting ‘pops’. Your gasps reach his ears, and he grins, enjoying drawing out your pleasure far too much.

Like that? He licks his lips, eyes half-hooded and heated. It’s all going in you, baby… just… at my… pace.

He punctuates each languid word with a few more inches sinking inside of you, coaxing more sweet sounds from your slack jaw.

Oh, yes… yes… fuck me, Caleb. Fuck—oooh.  

Your drawn-out hiss springs a wicked smile to his face. The way your eyes roll back; how your hips twitch. 

Spasming wildly, your sweet pussy draws him in, and Caleb can’t get enough of you. It’s excruciating how much he’s edging himself as much as he’s torturing you. But, the moment he bottoms out inside of you, all the tension condenses right to the point where you’re connected to him. 

Caleb sets a rhythm that leaves you gasping, legs wrapping instinctively around his fitted waist. His biceps and abs ripple with every thrust, those pesky lips you love too much finding the hollow of your throat, leaving behind his claim on your delicate skin for the world to see. His mouth presses to yours in a heated display of ownership, tongue delving past your lips to dominate yours. 

His taste—musk, salt, man—coats your tastebuds, and you’re swimming in his heat and scent. 

Caleb is everywhere and anywhere over you, all at once. 

His bigger build completely dwarfs you on the bed, expert hands pushing your thighs apart and pressing your knees to your chest, leaving you flushed and completely vulnerable to him.

He laughs when your clit trembles under his scrutiny, the little bud exposed with nowhere to hide. 

Zeroing in on your tender bundle of nerves, he presses his thumb to it, feeling the greasy little button twitch under his fingertip. 

You look so pretty like this… all tied up and vulnerable… just for me. 

“Caleb…” your moans begin to stutter, your hips beginning to spasm. You’re so close, all it takes is one misstep on his end to lead you down the biggest orgasm of your life.

Hours of teasing and drawing out your pleasure renders you an incoherent, babbling mess. 

Faster, faster… oh god, please. Yesyesyes. Caleb—Caleb… 

Anyone passing by the room could tell you were barely holding on by a thread. You look so beautiful under him like this: hair fanning across his pillows, cheeks warm and lips flushed. The glassy look in your eyes.

God, he’s so in love with you. 

Having you here, under him where you belong, heals the fissured part inside of him that still aches from your cruel dismissal of his concerns.

His thrusts grow more punishing, the tip of his long, girthy cock hitting your cervix. Caleb tilts your pelvis, making you take him deeper.

There ya go, sweet thing, he coaxes. Can you feel me here—? He touches your womb. Feel me where ya need me. Oh, darlin’... I’m gonna make sure you feel me for days.

Picking up his pace, the bed creaks and rocks under you. Caleb makes sure to tease your clit as well with every punishing thrust, feeling your thighs tremble around his shoulders. 

He’s so deep, so flushed against your body, he thinks you could suck him up and take him in your body forever.

Caleb is hard-pressed to admit he doesn’t want that—there is nothing in the world he desires more than to be one with your bones and breath. His movements get erratic, needing to bring you to the edge and back.

He can tell you’re close. 

The look on your face, the warmth in your cheeks. You’re holding back and he couldn’t be any more prouder.

“What do you want, princess?” He asks, eyes soft with affection.

You struggle to put your desires into words, completely wrecked at the end of his cock. 

“I… mhm— close… ”

He feels your muscles squeezing down on him, and chuckles breathlessly.

“Yeah? I can tell, princess. You want to cum—you need to cum, huh?” 

You give a teary, little nod that tugs on his heartstrings. But, Caleb isn’t done with you—not by a long shot.

He grins and without warning, switches the position, putting you on top of him. When you falter and almost fall face-first into his chest, the familiar stirrings of energy hold you upright, his Evol keeping you centered and balanced on his cock.

“Ride me,” he whispers huskily. “Show me how much you want this—prove to me how badly you want to cum.” 

The challenge in his tone drives you dizzy with lust. Licking your lips, you murmur a whimper which makes his grin stretch wider, and shift your hips, testing the give of his Evol.

Sturdy and sure, his grip on you doesn’t falter, and you quickly find a rhythm that makes his eyelids flutter shut. A groan slips from Caleb’s lips, his pretty purple eyes prying open to drink at the sight of you riding him feverishly.

Arduous and urgent, you move your hips like a pro. Caleb’s sure he’s never seen you this determined—the look in your eyes searing through him.

The sight of his dog tag and the apple charm you gave him years ago shining silver from his neck catches your eye, a stark contrast to his tanned and flushed skin. 

God… you’re killing me…

Caleb smirks at your breathless words. I do? Glad to know, princess…

His large palm collides against your plush ass, watching the flesh jiggle with each precise spank. Your sharp inhales and whines spur him on as he takes his frustrations out on your pert ass, venting the fear and anger he felt when you left him behind for that torturous week onto your willing body. 

Try to leave me again. His nostrils flare, eyes dark with promise. And I’ll make sure you’ll never have any use for your legs, you hear me, Pips

Possessive and passionate, he tangles his fingers in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the vulnerable skin of your neck. His Evol loosens its grip, and you go falling into his arms, his lips practically devouring your neck with heated kisses and nips.

You gasp when he works in another mark over one he just made a few minutes ago, the stinging bite of pain enough to get you fluttering all over his cock. 

“ Mhm… ” you groan. You’re lost to the sensations, drunk off the high he’s giving you.

Caleb is no better. He’s almost cross-eyed from the pleasure, drunkenly leaving marks on your jaw and collarbone. 

Sloppy. Languid. Caleb fucks you like he’s got all the time in the world.

He runs his hands down your back, over your sides, fondling your sore and stinging ass. Moving underneath you like a strong wave, he slowly rolls his hips up against you, pulling you closer onto his lap. 

“You’re so good… taking everything so well… my perfect pipsqueak…”

Caleb’s moans and praises get lost in the crook of your neck. He uses his free hand to grip and squeeze your breast, drawing your turgid nipples into his mouth one by one; his other hand continues to spank and grope your ass.

It’s too much—all too soon.

You’re on the edge and he still hasn’t permitted you to come. The need to be good is at war with your primal instincts to give in to the pleasure, your gasps and moans are a desperate symphony to his heated ears.

His thrusts get more erratic, the wet sounds of your bodies joining together bouncing off the walls. The windows of his bedroom start to fog up, the bed creaking maddeningly with every thrust.

“Caleb,” you gasp, feeling the familiar tension coiling in your lower belly. “Oh… oh… ”

He hears the note of panic in your tone and chuckles gravelly. Dark hair in a disarray, amethyst eyes shining with mischief. Caleb is the picture of ravaged underneath you, and there’s little doubt you’re in a much worse state above him. 

Licking his puffy lips, Caleb shakes his head, abs undulating from the release he’s also trying to hold back. 

“Uh-uh-uh, princess,” he taunts, voice dropping an octave lower. “Not yet…”

You clench your jaw and squeeze your eyes shut in despair. He grins, lips moving back to your neck, murmuring against the salt of your skin.

“I love seeing you like this… hearing you gasp and whimper… feeling you writhe so desperately above me…”

Caleb… you whisper his name like a prayer, one you hope he grants.

“Yeah, princess? Say my name… I love it when you say my name.”

“Caleb… oh… Caleb… ”

He nuzzles your neck in an unexpected gesture of adoration, feeling how tense your body is. 

“You’re so close, hmm?” He murmurs, unlike how a pet owner tries to soothe a fretting kitten. “I know you are, Pips. I can feel ya. So close… oh… and yet so… far .” 

At the last second, before you succumb to your pleasure, Caleb’s Evol lifts you off his cock, the sudden, gaping loss ripping the earth-shattering orgasm right from under your trembling body. 

No! You cry out in a thick voice, and you swear real tears spring in your eyes. No… no… please…!

Begging him shamelessly. That’s what you were reduced to. 

Caleb chuckles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He loosens his grip on you and guides you back onto his cock. You hiss from the intrusion, eyes rolling back in your head. Nothing but a puppet to her Master’s strings; Caleb is firmly in control.

He manipulates your body to his own pace, using his Evol to fuck you on top of his cock like you’re a lifeless doll, made only for his pleasure.

“Oh… oh… y-you ass—”

Caleb laughs, cutting off your tirade by gripping your hips tighter. 

“Don’tcha love it, princess? Don’t lie to me—you adore it when I tease ya. Make you work for my lovin’,” he mutters hotly into your neck. “You can deny it all ya one, Pips, but I know what you want… I know what you want deep, deep down…”

As he drawls out ‘deep’, his Evol loosens, making you slide down his cock until you bottom out. 

“ Ngh! ” You cry out, the tears in your eyes dripping down your cheeks. Caleb clicks his tongue and wipes the proof of your frustration away with his calloused thumb. 

“No need to cry, Pips. I gotcha. Gege’s got ya, don’t he?” 

You struggle to reply, the last of your coherent thoughts scrambled by his cock working you back to the edge again. 

Caleb… Caleb… you cry out, his name a mantra, a chant that grounds you as his cock continues to fuck you up. 

It seems like forever passes by when he brings you to the edge, abandons all motion, and does it again until you’re practically sobbing from the overstimulation. Caleb is a mastermind of your own body—he knows just how to get you trembling from the onslaught of pleasure without ever letting you fall over.

The torturous cycle starts and ends the same: with your begging and whining doing nothing to move him.

“Please…” you finally gasp, hanging your head, strands of your hair tickling his chin. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I’m so sorry…” Fighting back the lump in your throat, your shiny eyes beg him to show you some mercy. “I’m sorry I hurt you… s-sorry I— ah… mhmmm… treated you like shit… I’m so sorry—”

Caleb sweeps you into his arms, his Evol completely releasing its grip on you. “That’s all I wanted to hear… all I needed…”

He registers how you’re choking up and rubs gentle circles on your back. “Hey—ssh. Ssh. Apology accepted, Pipsqueak. Don’t cry, okay… come here…” Gripping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his, he gives you a soft smile. “You did so well… I’m so proud of you, hey? You wanna come, sweetness?” 

Without a shred of stubbornness left, you eagerly nod. He chuckles, and positions you back on his cock, purple eyes glistening with the pure adoration he has for you. 

“Alright—come on, baby… ride me good this time, okay? And don’t hold back—you deserve this… deserve all this for being such a good, little girl—”

It doesn't take long for you to get to the edge, hours of suppressing your release make you needy and very sensitive.

Come… come for me… he encourages you, rubbing your clit, pinching your nipples—doing everything in his power to get you to lose control.

The tension in your belly snowballs to something beyond your control, and you tilt your head back, expelling a long, drawn-out moan. 

In the ropes and under his cruel yet tender ministrations, you find the courage to fall apart—his name rebounding across the room like a screamed cry of relief. Caleb feels you shuddering all around him and gives in to his baser need to fill you up, grunting low and deep into the crook of your neck as ribbons of warmth coat your walls.

Drops of white dribble to stain your inner thighs and his lap, but neither of you cares.

Undoing the rope and relinquishing his Evol’s hold on you, Caleb catches you in his arms, burying his nose into your hair, soothed by your delicate scent.

The afterglow settles like a haze, enveloping your body like a warm, fluffy blanket.

Caleb traces patterns on your bare back, pressing soft kisses to your temple and cheek. He breathes in your light scent, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“You alive, Pips?” 

Nodding, your eyes flutter close, the comfort found in the crook of his body intoxicatingly cozy. Your heartbeat starts to slow, lulled by the gentleness of his breathing. His pulse steadies under your cheek, his arms tightening around you, pressing you closer to his chest.

“You did so good, princess…” he murmurs, stroking your head. “So proud of you—I’m so proud of my little Pipsqueak…”

His praise hits your system like a shot of red wine, warming you up from the inside out. Flushed from his gentle words, you eagerly rub your face against his throat, his boyish chuckles easing the guilt still swimming in your soul. 

“Caleb?” He looks down at you, taken by your small voice.

“Yes, Pips?” 

“Am I… forgiven?” 

He nods without a beat of hesitation. “You sure are. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about anymore, okay? Let’s put this behind us and start fresh, princess. How’s that sound?” 

Relieved, you nod, and the love you feel for him intensifies, radiating brightly from deep within. 

One thing you’ve learned about wounded hearts is this: with Caleb’s smile, everything can be healed.

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