#him to do something so drastic and actually go through with doing It and multiple times Too hmm

[swordmaid]

my hag romance murder mystery au turning to magistrate astarion working with executor shri’iia we kind of like that development

[mandalhoerian]

Fish in a Birdcage ৎ୭

ৎ୭ ⸻ rafayel has quite the storm raging in his mind during his artistic expedition to aridum. which, the root of his crisis he was trying to wean himself off of wasn't supposed to tag along to make him spiral further. funny thing is, you just think he's sick. he is. just infected by something far worse than you can imagine: crippling dependency.

ৎ୭ ⸻ SO MUCH BUILD-UP, momentary sickfic, anxious attachment issues, rafayel being hot and cold with the reader, angst, exhibitionism for like 0.01 seconds bc of bond shenanigans, switch4switch and constantly changing dynamics that comes with it, handjob, slight obedience kink, impromptu bondage play with rafayel's neck piece praise kink, obedience kink blink and you miss it, p in v, CLOTHED SEX ITS SO HOT 2 ME, unprotected sex, multiple rounds.

ৎ୭ ⸻ hello lads fandom, FIRST WORK HERE (it sucked my soul out i've been working on this for like tHREE weeks)!!! this is my adaptation of rafayel's nightly rendezvous card intertidal zone. a lot of it is based on my reading and understanding of the card, i'm so sorry for releasing this when caleb just released but, i hope you enjoy, much love <3 ( lil tag: @comatosebunny09 )

ৎ୭ ⸻ 26K, read on ao3

In retrospect, finding out Aridum was a city in the middle of a desert should have made you stop and think more about how the climate would actually affect Rafayel before diving straight into travel plans.

You know, a Lemurian.

Who, logically, wouldn’t fare well in the dry heat.

Rafayel flicking off your genuine concern like it was a bug on the surface tension of his fish tank was the first red flag you should have paid more attention to. In your defense, since he’d been there before and was confident enough to initiate banter, it was easy to give in and trust he knew what he was doing as he batted his lashes at you with those pretty dual-colored, sparkly wide eyes that left you starstruck in the face and said, “As long as I’m with you, I’ll be fine.”

Well. He was with you now and he wasn’t fine.

Because for once in his life, Rafayel didn’t have enough energy to run laps around you. Just a few minutes outside the hotel, lingering near the grand fountain square framed by towering palm trees that offered scant shade, and he began to deflate pitifully like a garish balloon leaking its vigor into the sweltering air. His usual dynamism, the kind that pulled attention to him as effortlessly as a river carved its path, had dimmed to a sluggish ebb, so much so you found yourself glancing over your shoulder every ten seconds, vigilance heightened by the unsettling absence of his ever-present current. The languid pace like he was moving through molasses made him look like an entirely different person than the one tugging you through the airport with even the luggage excitedly rolling behind him.

And it had been just a single day since you’d set foot in Aridum.

That wasn’t to say the trip had been a disaster or he was in terrible shape — you two were still on day one. Back in Linkon, he was, on paper, enthusiastic about pointing out local landmarks for you to go together like he knew the city personally, but he had quickly lost that energy when it actually came to the execution. You chalked it up to him not being able to get any sleep the previous night because of a mix of jetlag and the discomfort of a new bed, but regardless, it was still concerning to watch him only interested in stopping by street stands where he could buy himself cold water bottles and stand in a shaded corner in order to drink them slowly under shelter, while also dragging you with him, so there wouldn't be even a split-second distance between you two.

You were thankful you didn't have many plans in mind. Rafayel always packed enough enthusiasm for the both of you, but now, as you watched with wide-eyed worry how his spark had suddenly wilted, the drastic shift in his personality left him finding everything he suggested doing utterly unnecessary for the day. On top of that, after only managing to sit still for five minutes or so, it'd become obvious to see that the environment of this city, complete with a sun beating down hot enough to cook you alive, had taken a toll on Rafayel's temperament far more drastically than expected — rendering his eagerness completely sour.

But still, you wanted to cheer him up, you did. It broke your heart seeing someone who brought so much life into every room shrivel down to such a defeated shell. Maybe that's why you couldn't help yourself when you caught him pouting at something on the phone screen as if it'd done him a great offense.

So, you began teasing. “Rafayel, we haven’t even been out for thirty minutes, you're sweating already?"

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you countered, only to squint at his face more closely. “Wait. You’re not?”

He threw his arms out like he was expecting a grander reaction. “Do you know what that means?”

“That you’re a human raisin in the making?”

He groaned, a sound that was more theatrical than pained, but you still caught the edge of frustration in it. “It means I’m seconds away from crumbling into sand. You’ll have to gather me up and carry me home in a jar.”

You started walking towards one of the fountains near some empty seats where shade was available, while he dragged himself behind you like a zombie. "Let's sit you down before you begin to form cracks."

The fountain’s spray misted faintly in the air, enough to make the stone bench beneath feel less like a skillet. Rafayel took extra care positioning himself on one of the seats before collapsing backward, draping one arm over his flushed face.

He took the bottle of yet another ice cold water you fished out from your bag without protest, but his free hand found your wrist and lingered there — light at first, then tighter, like he needed to anchor himself. The unexpected heat radiating from his skin sent a little jolt up your arm. You were about to comment on it, but then he tipped the bottle back and drank, and you swore you could feel the tension in his throat as if it was your own.

When he finished, he let out a breath — not a sigh, just an exhale that sounded heavy, deliberate, sprawling beside you, one leg stretched out, the other bouncing restlessly as he tilted his head back and squinted at the cloudless sky.

“I think I’m dying,” he announced, as if that wasn’t thr fourth time he’d said it today.

After your attention was made aware that he indeed wasn’t sweating by the dry hairline of his, though, the mood to banter had dissipated like a mirage. You began fussing. Was it normal that he didn’t sweat? If a normal person was like this, they needed to be taken to the hospital. However, Rafayel had done nothing but up the ante in complaining, that had to indicate nothing was seriously wrong, right? He’d know his body the best. Right?

“I told you to put on sunscreen this morning. Did you?”

He scoffed, “I don’t need it,” — and you heard the imaginary Lemurian in his tone rolling his eyes at your human expectations.

“Not with that attitude,” you shut him down, already skimming through your bag at an increasingly faster pace. “Now, keep still.”

Finding what you were looking for, you uncapped the bottle, reaching out with one hand to tilt Rafayel’s head left and right to gauge where to start. His skin under the pads of your fingertips felt almost brittle and paper-thin — unnatural on Rafayel, making you unconsciously rub like it was a stain you could get rid of. Without meaning to, you frowned, and he made a soft, lukewarm grumble, nudging your leg with his foot, reminding you what you were doing. Which was fussing over a grown man who should have been responsible from the start and able to take care of himself.

“Show me your forehead,” you said, wanting to get it out the way first.

He obediently carded his bangs back, silent, half-hooded eyes flicking everywhere on your face going ignored as you rubbed sunscreen in and felt what alarmingly was similar to a fever. It was a relief to hear him humming at the feeling, you hoped it would help as you quickly moved to spread the white lotion over his cheeks and smeared a stripe right across the bridge of his nose as he fixed his hair, squinting at your ministrations.

Though, somehow, he looked contented enough that you had to stop him from nuzzling into your hand. “Rafayel, I’m working here.”

All you got was a breathy, “Mmm,” as if he was speaking through the pleasant haze of sleep.

How contradictory of him, as always. For someone constantly grumbling about the unbearable heat, he leaned into every touch with a docility that defied reason — and worse, he initiated them, either molding against you like water taking the shape of the container it was poured into, or his fingers ghosting over your skin as though drawn by instinct. You couldn’t make sense of it. The mere thought of physical contact when the air was this heavy and oppressive made your skin crawl, but he seemed to revel in it. No, thrived on it.

It wasn’t just the way he didn’t flinch — he leaned in harder, his breaths hitching faintly, brow furrowed like he was wrestling with a need he barely understood. You’d swear the heat radiating from your skin would only make it worse, yet he tilted his face into your touch as though your thumbs brushing his cheekbones offered a balm, a strange, cooling relief.

Maybe, he perceived your skin to be indeed cooler than his.

It had to be something unique to his Lemurian physiology. His reactions didn’t make sense otherwise. What human would ever enjoy the sensation of warmth pressed against warmth in such sweltering conditions? And yet here he was, biting back what suspiciously sounded like a placid sigh, while you struggled to reconcile the peculiar contradiction.

“C’mon, don’t let me do all the work,” you muttered, quieter than you intended, the heat and the moment distracting you entirely.

You must have sounded a tad bit worried, because Rafayel didn’t react with his usual playful defiance or the melodramatic sulking he resorted to when things didn’t go his way. Instead, he fell silent, sinking more fully against your side as though he belonged there, and successfully narrowed the angle you were working with. His head tilted slightly, guiding your hand to the sharp line of his jaw with an unspoken invitation, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked, the haze of his voice turning soft and almost vulnerable. You couldn’t even see his face properly from looking at the top of the purple mop of hair blocking you.

"Do my neck too?"

Before you could decide, his hand encircled your wrist. Not tightly — not forcefully — but with a loose, guiding pressure that was maddeningly deliberate. He led your lotion-slicked hand to curve around his throat, the smooth, simmering heat of his skin pressing against your palm.

You hesitated, the instinct to pull away warring with the strange tension settling between you both, but his thumb found the delicate underside of your wrist and began tracing slow, thoughtful patterns that seemed designed to leave you paralyzed. You knew damn well how tenderly and skillfully he handled paintbrushes, and it was evident by the practiced precision of each touch that he was using the same sensibility on you, whether he was fully aware of it or not, which sent a warm burst of blood rising to your cheeks.

Seeming restless, Rafayel sat up straight and finally allowed you a clear view of him. His head tipped further back, exposing more of his neck to your hand, eyes darkened into to a shade of purple that seemed otherworldly in the harsh light of day. They glittered like faceted amethysts film-burned blue around the edges, soaking in every sunlit fleck of your features with a focus that made your chest tighten, like you were being studied with the assessment of the artist Rafayel before another’s painting, his focus unbroken save for the low hum he let slip, soft and unguarded.

You swallowed hard, aware of how exposed you were. The bustling world of Aridum hadn’t stopped turning just because the two of you had stumbled into whatever this was. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of your neck, but it wasn’t just the desert heat making you feel like you were suffocating.

This shouldn’t have been happening. Not here, not now.

Your breath shuddered as you finally regained enough sense to break the silence. "Do it yourself," you murmured, voice uneven as you pressed the bottle of sunscreen into his chest. You looked away, clumsily rubbing your hands on your arms to mask the way they trembled, pretending to rid yourself of excess lotion while wishing desperately to erase the heat radiating off your skin.

Rafayel sighed, a low sound of reluctant acceptance, as he pulled himself upright. His fingers glided over his neck, spreading the sunscreen where you hadn’t, his movements smooth and unaffected as he worked the lotion over his collarbones and along the nape of his neck. The sight was annoyingly graceful, as though he wasn’t feeling the same unbearable tension you were. If you’d have thought of bringing a small electric fan along today, it would have been inches from your face already.

"Maybe we should’ve gone out at night," you said abruptly, grasping for any lifeline to shift the moment’s focus. Your gaze darted to him as he worked, your cheeks burning hotter than the sunlight that baked the streets. "Now I feel bad."

"What for?"

"Making you come along. This must not be very inspiring.”

Rafayel let out an honest-to-goodness laugh. It rolled from his throat so easily and naturally that it seemed even he wasn’t aware of it until the sound tapered off into a quiet chuckle. Shaking his head, he leaned toward you until his temple rested lightly on your shoulder, his gaze unfocused as he stared absently at the fountain ahead. "I’m not giving up time with you just because the sun here wants me dead."

He completely bypassed the part about inspiration, but the sincerity in his words hit you like a splash of cool water on overheated skin. Your shoulders relaxed as you melted into a sigh, letting your head fall atop his, but the sticky warmth made the closeness unbearable almost instantly.

You promptly peeled yourself away with an, "Ugh.” He had already filled his making-you-feel-hot quota for the day, in every sense of the word.

Rafayel straightened just enough to meet your gaze, "That’s how you answer my heroic declaration?" he asked dryly, one brow arched in faux offense.

He didn’t budge, though, even though the heat seemed to bother him more than it did you. The stubborn set of his jaw spoke volumes, and it took a gentle nudge of your elbow to get him to finally sit upright. Even then, he let out a dramatic whine from deep in his chest as if being forced to separate was a personal betrayal.

"You’re lucky I’m rewarding it with mercy," you shot back, brushing a hand through your hair to vent your own rising frustration with the heat. "Come on, let’s head back. I need to get my fishie in the water before he dries up completely."

"But you wanted to see—"

"There’ll be plenty of opportunities in the future," you interrupted with a wave of your hand. "If anything, this was a good lesson about choosing the time we go out more carefully."

To your relief, Rafayel didn’t push back. He rose to his feet with you, though his sluggish movements and the slight downward pull of his lips suggested reluctance. As much as his leaning on you had been irritating in the heat, the sight of his faint frown made your chest tighten, and without thinking, you looped your arm through his and pulled him closer, even though the contact made your already overheated skin feel unbearable. His shoulders straightened slightly at the gesture, but the small crease between his brows didn’t disappear.

"I hear it’s seafood night at the hotel restaurant," you offered, attempting to lift his mood. He was obviously bummed out, but his stubbornness refused to show why outright. It was cute to a degree — childish almost, so endearing you couldn't find it in yourself to grow impatient with him. But you hated seeing him down. "If we head back now, we might snag a rooftop table.”

"Snag? Puh-lease. Worst case scenario, one glimpse of me and I could get us prime seating any time, anywhere," Rafayel scoffed. Still, the corner of his lip twitched upward as if tempted to smile, and you found yourself mirroring the reaction immediately. “And that whole thing would still be less bothersome than you assuming I haven’t secured us a reservation already.”

Later that evening, after dinner on the rooftop, the mix-up with the room service attendant delivering Rafayel’s envelope to your room turned out to be a convenient excuse to check on him. It had been hours since you insisted he take time to rest, and while he promised to settle in and let you know how he felt after freshening up, you hadn’t heard from him since.

You were greeted by the humidity hitting you in the face like a solid wall of rain when the door got opened though, instead of your boyfriend. Thick as fog like it had its own gravity.

Rafayel stood in the doorway, his hair dripping and clinging to his flushed skin in lazy dark purple rivulets, robe loose, the soft fabric blotched dark with water where droplets had slid from his neck and shoulders.

The room behind him radiated a different kind of heat — not the oppressive dryness of the desert, but the heavy, steamy warmth of someone trying to crawl their way back to comfort in the only way they knew how.

He looked better, at least.

The brittle edge that had been clinging to him seemed softened, as if he’d soaked away some of the tension in the beath he’d clearly stepped out of upon you knocking on his door.

Still, the sight of him — damp like a wet cat instead of a fish in his natural environment, robe-clad, the faint sheen of exhaustion still lingering in the way he leaned against the door frame left an odd twist in your chest.

He didn't look any worse for wear than he had earlier in the day when he’d claimed he wanted to spend the rest of his night marinating in ice cold water, and while seeing him not suffering was a relief, you clearly weren't expecting for him to actually mean what he said, even though the water obviously wasn’t ice cold.

The envelope, as it turned out, held a ticket to the memorial hall and an invitation to an art salon gathering hosted by one of his friends. Neither looked to be sparking any interest in Rafayel, however, despite him having come here for as much stimulation as possible for his inspiration.

You understood. It just wasn’t possible when he wasn’t feeling well.

The room itself was telling the entire story, in fact, chaotic in its stillness against the beauty of the floor-to ceiling windows framing the desert skyline in soft, shimmering lights of the city crowned by the full moon hanging proudly above. Papers were scattered across the floor in uneven piles, some curling slightly at the edges where they’d caught the artificial moisture in the air, blank and untouched, and some haphazardly sketched in a way you couldn't even begin to guess what they would become later. A few uncapped pens sat nearby, ink untouched, next to a can of soda that had long since gone warm. It wasn’t hard to guess what he’d been doing — or trying to do — in the hours since you’d left him.

So, you told him to stop forcing himself. Come enjoy the scenery with you.

It was your first instinct, but the words didn’t feel enough. You weren’t an artist, you didn’t know what would be good for the block he was going through. Even though your concern was genuine, you were clumsy at best at consolation.

But, he did lower himself onto the floor beside you anyway, his hands brushing against the scattered papers as he sat and leaned back on his palms. Like this, it was easy to imagine him search for his vision to come to him among the mess as he was attempting to draw, and end up with his gaze drifting out the window instead.

And then, as if he were a tide and the moonlight was pulling him inexorably to shore, he began to open up. Pushed by your mention of watching the view together, he spoke of sceneries. Of what traveling to discover secret corners of nature meant to him before everything changed — before he started creating. About how he used to just look at the world and feel it. Admire it. He didn’t need to do anything with it back then. A sunset was just a sunset, the sea was simply the sea, and neither asked anything of him but to exist alongside them.

Once he began to create, however...

Those discoveries done from a place of pure enjoyment became material, their beauty and pain turned into fuel. The act of looking became an act of taking. Of extracting. He started to see the world not as it was, but as something that could be stripped bare and transformed. A beautiful, bleeding wound. Every sunrise painted became a slice taken from the sun. Every ocean wave he put down on canvas was a handful of ocean lost. He couldn't experience sceneries for themselves anymore without having to to capture and translate them into a demand.

He didn’t look at you while he spoke, but the portrait of his honesty could be interpreted by even the most art-blind.

It was then that he dropped the bomb on you: “If one day, I become someone who only takes from you… If I were like that, would you leave me?”

That question dropped into the space between you like a stone in still water, sending ripples through everything you thought you understood about this moment.

But Rafayel was watching you in a way that made your pulse trip over itself, dissecting every flicker of your expression, like you were sitting in the middle of a high-stakes exam you hadn’t studied for. His fingers splayed on the ground besides yours were mere inches away, but even in that minimal distance, you sensed him drawing further back — a subconscious, reflexive reaction to fear, as if he needed to protect himself by retreating into some remote part of his mind, distant and closed off from the rest of him.

"Oh you silly fishie..." was your immediate response despite the whiplash he'd inflicted upon you, fondness rolling off your tongue easily, folding over itself into a dull ache for the struggle he was going through. "I won't leave you."

Your hand slid towards him, pinky finger crossing over until it brushed against his — gently, giving him ample chance to pull away before you covered his entire hand with your palm.

He was feverish again, despite all attempts made to soothe him, and the urge to smooth the pads of your fingers over his flushed skin, mapping each ridge and freckle that dotted his knuckles, surged forward within you. And you gave in, trying to make up for what you knew words would never be able to express, as you lightly rubbed lines onto the back of his hand.

It seemed to melt something in him, and he eased into your touch. It was an involuntary response to you reaching out for him — he tilted into you like he always did. It only lasted a second or two, however, before you felt him falter; like he noticed the instinctual motion midway, then consciously pushed down the reaction by gripping his thighs in an effort to sit back and avoid leaning in. Your heart dropped a little, confused, and you stole a peek at his face through the corner of your lashes to try to guess what he was thinking about.

What you saw only amplified how wrong everything felt. His features, which normally softened whenever you reached out for him, tightened, pensive. He frowned, holding back — hesitant about something, unreadable except for a subtle unease creeping in around the edges.

Even before he broke the silence, you had the awful premonition that his next words weren't going to be what you hoped to hear.

"Are you sure?" he asked, measured and quiet, and you knew you were right. This was trouble.

You squeezed his hand lightly despite wanting to do the very opposite, reassuringly, "Do you really think I’d stay even a second longer with someone I know is bad for me?"

He remained unresponsive.

“Rafayel?”

You made it about yourself, idiot, you realized.

Instead of acknowledging him and his cue for more reassurance and affirmation, you'd shifted the attention from him to trust in your decision making. You hadn't meant to, you hadn't done it deliberately — but...

Gosh, you were absolutely terrible at this.

So much so that Rafayel being the more emotionally in-tune of the two of you even in his vulnerable state was setting a humiliating new standard for how low you could go.

It was pathetic, really, how utterly you failed to pick up on what should have been an obvious cue. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in your mind that he’d taken your clumsy words as a glaring sign you found his struggles trivial, insignificant compared to your own convenience. All you’d managed to do was shove him deeper into the spiral of insecurities he was already battling.

This was supposed to help him clear his head. All it had achieved so far was adding onto his concerns.

Despite your determination to pour everything you had into assuaging the gnarled knot of his self-doubt, you were woefully unqualified for the task. Unmoored, you floundered blindly through half-finished thoughts, grasping for ways to communicate your feelings — gracelessly, imprecisely — all in hopes of soothing whatever ugly thoughts tangled around your boyfriend's brain like weeds choking the life from fertile soil.

Your stammering words stuck to the roof of your mouth like taffy, thick, unwilling to yield, and suddenly useless, coming out slow as you spoke. “What I mean by that is… My life has been consumed by you. In the best way possible. You made it ito a beautiful, chaotic mess bursting with life. I couldn’t possibly leave you.”

And he heard it — you felt it in the faint shuddering breath he drew as a silent response.

His thumb swiped over your pinky in absent response, stroking soothingly over the thin bones as he stared at your joined hands. His shoulders hadn't relaxed even marginally, but there was still an immeasurable kindness in the gesture.

“Besides, you’re not someone who takes. That’s not true at all. You’re just…”

He looked up then, turning his head to you, a doe-eyed, half-dazed blink breaking past the glassy stare he'd fixed on the empty space in front of him. His hand twitched underneath yours, flexing as he made a questioning noise, wordlessly urging you to elaborate as he invited comfort from your explanation. The way he tilted his head, the corners of his furrowed brows slightly angled upwards — the effect was childlike, innocent almost.

Receptive.

Breaking through your hesitation to touch him lest he shrink away again, you lifted both hands to cradle his cheeks gently, smoothing your thumbs across the high sweep of his cheekbones until his eyelids slid shut.

A soft sigh fell from his parted lips, his body pliant in your grasp as he melted under your fingertips, as if the gesture were more potent than any reassurance you might offer. The climbing tension within your ribcage dissolved with a single exhalation at the sight — helplessly endeared by his sheer willingless to submit to your awkward, inexpressive attempt at consoling. Subtle adoration burned quietly beneath each featherlight caress you placed along the slope of his nose or the soft patches underneath his eyes.

"You're just feeling a little anxious," you continued carefully, brushing a stray piece of damp hair away from his temple. It stuck stubbornly, refusing to let itself be tucked behind his ear before you tried again, gentler this time, hoping to soothe any lingering reservations you hadn't managed to wash away. “That’s probably why you’re overthinking things.”

In the brief silence that followed, anxiety bubbled low in your stomach once more, especially when he seemed to be focusing somewhere on your neck and ignoring looking you in the eye directly. It came as yet another whiplash and a sinking feeling simultaneously when he covered one of your hands with his, tilting his chin to plant a kiss into the centre of your palm as if making up for the withdrawal from earlier.

"What, were you playing tricks on me?" you murmured.

Shaking his head, "A token of my gratitude," he clarified. A gentle huff of laughter slipped past his lips, so faintly that you would've missed it had you not been staring at him with rapt attention in your bewilderment. "For you. Who accepted someone like me."

You frowned, eyebrows immediately drawing close. “Rafayel—”

He leaned in all of a sudden, one of his arms slid behind your back, while the other stretched across in front of you, caging you in with an unnerving ease. Both his hands rested flat against the floor now, framing you on either side like a living barricade. Your own left arm shot down to slap a palm down so you wouldn't topple over on your side. The droplets falling from his damp hair onto your neck was a sharp, sudden cold in comparison to the alarming heat radiating from his body, making you jolt in place as he loomed close enough for his breath to fan across your face.

"You're burning up again," you said weakly, trying and failing spectacularly to disguise your nervousness with indignance as his lips brushed softly against the apple of your cheek before ghosting lower, pausing just beneath your ear, testing for a reaction.

Meanwhile, him taking your hand that was balled up in a fist on the ground to slowly bring it towards his mouth left you frozen and dizzy from the contradictory sensations prickling under your skin.

Rafayel hummed against your wrist in response, dropping light kisses along the ridge of bone connecting your thumb to the rest of your fingers in the interim. It was impossible to ignore how every one of his touches ignited something different within you — the sensation of him painting the length of each finger with tender brushes of his lips and heated exhales sent pulses of liquid warmth flowing through your bloodstream.

The abrupt shift had left you uncertain about many things, chief among which being whether your previous efforts actually sank in at all or not.

Apparently they had.

The combined assault was distracting, but even amidst the whirlwind of thoughts vying for attention, you struggled to fully comprehend just how drastically the moment had veered off course — how your own worry-stricken attempt at appeasing him ended here instead, with your pulse hammering in your ears as he pressed even closer, draping his arm around your waist to turn you sideways until you were nearly sitting on his lap, faces inches apart.

A glimpse hope of maintaining control over the situation arrived in the form of a can toppling over during his handling of you, clattering on the hardwood flooring and startling you enough to snap free of the strange trance Rafayel had ensnared you in during his momentary lapse in focus.

Being so close gave you a good look at the change in him that manifested suddenly; his features visibly hardened as he turned his head at the disturbance, seemingly irritated to have been interrupted midway — a dark glint shone through his lashes before shifting over to you, misty, hazy, indescribable in its raw complexity.

His bathrobe hung loose, the neckline slouched further down one shoulder from having moved so much earlier, displaying more skin than was appropriate, and you weren’t sure if you were imagining the faintest hint of familiar coloration mottling his chest.

Which was dry.

Not only had his skin absorbed all the moisture that clung to it like a sponge after stepping out of the bathroom, there was no hint of perspiration whatsoever — not a bead of sweat lining the ridges of his collarbone or dampening the strands of hair stuck to his forehead.

As if responding to your inner thoughts, he lamented, "As you said, I'm anxious... Well, more like... Restless," before leaning in further to bury his face in the crook of your shoulder. "Ever since I arrived here, I feel..."

His arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against the expanse of his chest and filling your nose with the scent of bodywash. It was no less than holding a solid block of heat capable of radiating more than enough warmth to replace an actual human furnace. The sheer amount of radiated temperature seemed ridiculous in such conditions, but the way he tried the loosen the already disheveled robe covering his other shoulder despite coiling around you, which had to be the source of the biggest discomfort concerning heat, was even more ridiculous. Shouldn’t he have let go of you before complaining?

"The air feels like it's burning, like there's not enough moisture anywhere. My heart's racing and I feel so miserable," he admitted quietly, muffled in the material of your shirt.

Yeah, you were taking him to a hospital.

This wasn't normal by any means, especially since you were now a hundred percent sure Rafayel couldn't sweat in order to regulate his internal body heat.

How could you let this go on for so long? He had been suffering these symptoms for a whole day now, hiding it all under layers of petulant frustration and overdramatic complaining to escape having to ask for help.

He was always like this. So secretive and reserved about his struggles underneath all the goofiness, especially those directly related to him being a Lemurian.

You put a hand on his burning chest and pushed yourself away to put some distance between the two of you and this moment, ignoring his quiet gasp and the way he clutched your waist. "I'm taking you to a—”

Suddenly, the world spun off its axis, a dizzying blur of motion that ended with your back colliding against the floorboards.

The impact sent a ripple through the room — drawing pens clattering and rolling away, half-sketched papers crumpling beneath you, while others scattered into the air like startled birds, carried by the gust of displaced air.

As you blinked up, trying to shake the daze from your mind, the world sharpened into focus.

The light cascaded over Rafayel like liquid mercury, accentuating every sharp edge and soft curve of his form. His bare legs straddled your hips, knees pressed firmly into the ground on either side of you, pinning you in place with an effortless authority. His hands had found yours in the chaos, and now your wrists were restrained above your head, his long fingers encircling them with a grip that was firm yet somehow shaky.

The bathrobe he wore hung precariously, one shoulder already exposed to the moonlight’s caress while the other threatened to follow suit, the fabric dipping low to reveal a tantalizing V that stretched from his clavicle down to his navel. Tendrils of lilac hair curled lightly downwards with gravity, catching the light from outside, glittering like morning dew against a canvas of violet satin and plopping down onto your face, each impact making you blink. And his face, suffused with a flush so intense that it seemed to glow under the pale lighting, as if all the blood in his body had rushed to stain his fair skin with an undeniable rosy bloom.

The cool floorboards beneath your skin were contrasting harshly with the heat of his touch, and the helpless position left your pulse racing in a way you couldn’t entirely blame on adrenaline.

Rafayel lowered himself until his nose brushed lightly against yours, his breaths shallow and uneven, eyes caught halfway between hazy drowsiness and burning intensity — a vivid shade of sunless plum made darker not by the shadows cast across his features, but a deeply buried and masterfully concealed emotion on the verge of making itself known to you.

To call it desire wouldn't do it justice.

It was something far stronger than fleeting arousal or casual infatuation — you hadn’t been looked at this way before. Weren’t even sure if a man could look at someone like this. There was nothing superficial or mundane about this particular weight. It sought to consume you. To burn you alive, leaving you to crumble into ashes like incense offered up to a deity. And the worst part? You had no idea what exactly you were being consumed by, or why.

All of this, because you had merely wanted to—

“No. I’m not going anywhere,” he hissed as if sensing your plan, breath dragging along the edge of your ear. "I'm just... restless.”

But—

“In every sense of the word.”

Oh?

Your mind reeled, dizzy from the intoxicating cocktail flooding your senses — from his breaths washing over the side of your neck, to the overwhelming sensation of Rafayel on the verge of draping over you like a living brand, hot and firm, trapping you in place.

"Especially when you're by my side," he purred.

Oh.

He pulled back to stare you down, heavy-lidded and glinting like knives honed razor sharp, yet somehow tender in his approach. If anything, it served only to accentuate the danger of whatever it was simmering below the surface. This was different than his Ebb Day state, but similar enough in its intent to be instantly recognizable — especially since it bore all the marks of the manic rush he fell victim to when succumbing to the lure of his instincts.

It was something primal in you that scattered your thought process into oblivion and made you look away instinctively, averting your attention toward the window off to your left — but the sparkling view of night time in Aridum was soon curtained by a flash of Rafayel's hand as he cupped the side of your face in one smooth motion.

The slight roughness of the pad of his thumb brushed along your cheekbone until his fingers sank into your hair, fanned along the outer edge of your ear, and turned you back to face him. The gesture felt proprietary, like he wanted to make certain he'd captured every last scrap of your undivided attention, like it physically hurt to allow even the smallest opportunity for you to withdraw and escape his grasp.

“Rafayel,” you forced your common sense to come out of its hiding place. “I don’t think—”

"But even so, I can't let you go. I don't want to," he breathed against your lips, punctuating his command with an achingly slow drag of his nose tracing yours. The contact made something molten unfurl in your belly, warm and sticky-slick and pooling in the hollow space below your navel, curling its tendrils through your veins like sweet, syrupy nectar. "What should I do?"

It would be easier than breathing to surrender and give him whatever he was asking for, but... but...

It felt wrong when he was so distressingly hot to the touch, not to mention you couldn't shake off the feeling he was doing his best to distract you from your worry by acting more brazenly suggestive than you'd ever seen him be before.

"You should rest, I don't think you'll enjoy getting worked up in your current condition—"

Your efforts were derailed with the subtle scrape of chapped lips running up the slope of your neck and a bite into the fleshy part below your ear as punishment for daring to answer his plea with platitude.

A shudder shook your frame, nerves firing off confused messages in quick succession throughout your brain, half demanding the sudden pressure recede and half urging more from the tingling heat. Your hand flew to grip his bare shoulder, fingers digging in until the tight bunch of muscle strained beneath his fevered skin — not enough to stop his ministrations, but enough to serve as a weak deterrent.

"Such lovely lips, spinning such pretty excuses," Rafayel huffed, drawing back and sweeping his thumb across your chin with gentle disapproval. "When we both know you don't want me to let you go either."

The words trailed off into something softer, tender, almost wistful, and were followed by the pad of his finger slipping past your parted lips, stroking along the underside of your tongue before drawing back and skimming across the wet patch he'd left glistening upon your bottom lip. As if magnetized, his smoldering stare followed, entranced by the minute trembling of your mouth, darting occasionally upward to capture your own hooded eyes at the sudden boldness of his gesture. He licked his own lips slowly as if thirsty, mirroring the same lazy stroke he'd used against your mouth, allowing you to take your fill of the sight.

No.

Before you could fall into his enticing trap again, your palm pressed firmly against Rafayel's chest until he eased back obediently, giving you space to rise, every single sensation previously pink at the edges quickly melting into clarity about taking care of him properly.

"This isn't the right time," you insisted breathlessly once you managed to catch your breath and speak, steadfast with the strain of iron will alone — pushing forward when your mind threatened to wander where his moistened lips had been just seconds before.

The mood was quickly dispelling, much to Rafayel's clear irritation, judging by the petulant slouch of his shoulders. You emphasized your point by putting your hands on his forehead, cheeks, neck, every patch of skin you could reach, the clear intent of medical examination being communicated silently until he relented with a dramatic sigh, turning his face upwards to expose more of his throat as if giving permission.

"It's fine," he groused reluctantly, although his grumbling somewhat relenting in volume under your gentle inspection. "I'm not dying."

"That's the opposite of what you said earlier today. Are you sure you don't want—"

His hands closed firmly around your wrists, tugging you off gently before you could finish speaking. "It's really not that bad.”

You’d be more convinced if he'd just told you about how miserable he was feeling.

"Is it a Lemurian condition?" You frowned up at him, taking note of how carefully he cradled your hands in his palms, stroking the insides of your wrists. "If it's making you feel awful, shouldn't we see someone about it?"

Rafayel tilted his head at you with a peculiar sort of fondness written across his features. It was difficult to identify what precisely made his smile curve upward into something distinctly knowing, yet warm — something infinitely affectionate yet impossible to quantify.

"Already doing that," he answered cryptically, tilting forward until he met your forehead with his own, nuzzling into the creased spot directly between your brows, eyelashes fluttering shut.

Ugh, this man.

"Do you know for a fact if you'll be okay?" you asked as delicately as possible without sounding too overbearing. That would definitely push Rafayel closer to defensive territory again and have him brush off any attempt at assistance, or even conversation, so you needed to walk the tightrope of concern while still keeping it mild enough for him not to clam up. "This trip still has a few more days left. What if you don't get better?"

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly with a ghost of a smile, perhaps pleased by your attentiveness —— "I enjoy this kind of concern."

—— which was starting to irritate you a little. "Well, I don't. Seeing you suffer and not doing anything isn't enjoyable."

He had the audacity to grin at that, broad enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes as he ducked his head coyly before turning it sharply to brush the tip of his nose against the shell of your ear and murmuring, "Not enjoying seeing me suffering does imply some enjoyment in seeing me otherwise."

"Rafayel!" You snapped finally, jerking out of his embrace with exasperated incredulity, only to meet an unrepentant smile waiting for you beyond your escape. He wasn't deterred whatsoever, which was a little unnerving.

Or rather, the rapid shift to your own pent-up restlessness was about to become in the next two days.

The limbo between then and the memorial hall day unfolded in a whirlwind of contradictions, each more puzzling than the last — starting from the abrupt ending to your interlude in front of the window, where he suddenly pulled back without any warning at all, leaving you cold and stunned with the excuse that he wanted to go to sleep, subsequently kicking you out of his hotel room as if possessed by a demonic force capable of inducing selective amnesia.

Like he wasn’t asking to fold you in half like a laptop mere moments ago.

The result was you forcing mandatory house rest until the day of the memorial hall visit came, settling awkwardly between coddling and hovering — a weird blend of fussing over his health like a mother hen and trying desperately not to make him feel infantilized as a result of said fussing.

All of that only ended with him either clinging close or deliberately distancing himself in confusing waves that seemed to occur at random intervals with little rhyme or reason.

It was simultaneously bewildering and heartbreaking. You had no idea how to react when he gave you zero insight into his thoughts and behaviors unless coaxed open, and even then, his answers were cryptic.

(So much for enjoying your concern.)

Really, this was your fault.

Maybe you shouldn't have pushed. But you worried.

Especially when he was dismissive like that despite being openly going through something other than a fever and a creative block, made worse by his inability to leave the hotel due to the hostile environment. Both of which you could do nothing to help with.

He would sit at the edge of the bed, his sketchbook propped open but untouched, pencil hovering above the page as though waiting for some divine spark that refused to come. At times, he’d stand by the window, reminding you of a cat sitting by its food dish for its owner to fill it with dinner, paw swiping irritatingly at its empty confines. Then, just as abruptly, he’d abandon his spot to sprawl across your lap instead while you were busy with paperwork online, one arm draped loosely over his stomach as he stared blankly at the ceiling in defeat, and demanding you play with his hair.

Then, some time later, it was back to deciding being near you was unbearable, pulling away entirely whenever you reached out for reassurance, no matter how casual or friendly your intentions, retreating back into his personal bubble to focus on attempting to get something on paper mindlessly, pages fluttering with restless action, crumpling here and there under the rough treatment before being smoothed out hastily.

The cycle continued nonstop. Restlessness, fatigue, clinginess, building you up while you didn't let it show because time and place, solitude, then back again — you never knew what Rafayel's whimsies were going to bring, and the uncertainty of it wore you thin, fraying your already wan nerves.

The humidifier was a desperate, last-ditch effort, the kind born out of sheer frustration and the kind of exhaustion that makes rationality optional.

You’d bought it from a small local shop at the crack of dawn, spurred on by the memory of walking into Rafayel’s suite only hours before, where he’d bullied the hotel staff into delivering two oversized sacks of ice — each roughly the size of a small child — and ordered them to be dumped unceremoniously into his bathtub.

At 3 AM. In the dead of night.

By the time you returned and set it up, the machine had barely begun spitting out its first gentle stream of cool mist before Rafayel sat down beside it, legs folded beneath him like a solemn monk meditating in front of some sacred relic. His quiet intensity as he stared at the thing made you wonder if he was grateful, resentful, or some combination of both — because with Rafayel, it was never as simple as one emotion at a time.

Still, the day turned out to be noticeably easier on him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, the worst had passed.

He still looked like death warmed over, often pink on the face and worn, but at least he wasn’t on the brink of staging another late-night ice-bag heist.

He even tolerated your awkward attempts to distract him, accepting your offerings of snacks, endless glasses of ice water, iced tea, whatever cold beverages you could scrounge up, and a marathon of that one TV show the two of you had been meaning to watch together.

And, of course, there was the doting.

So much doting.

Which was rare for you.

You were not, by any stretch of the imagination, the kind of person who showered people with attention. You weren’t the mom friend. You didn’t hover. But something about Rafayel in this state, rightfully whiny, subdued, far too fragile for your liking, made you want to roll him over in bubble wrap and shove him in your pocket to keep him safe from everything.

In some ways, you were more anxious than he was.

The helplessness swung at you like you were a tree and it was an axe, the inability to snap your fingers and fix him, to just make it better was torture. Worrying felt inevitable, but useless. And the not knowing what to do with yourself in between bouts of fretting? That was worse. Still, he wasn’t showing any signs of further deterioration, which felt like a victory you didn’t want to jinx.

You were so relieved you briefly considered leaving all your savings to the shop clerk who’d sold you the overpriced humidifier. She had probably thought you’d lost your mind, judging by the way you thanked her like she’d just handed you a ticket to salvation, practically singing her praises as she rang up your purchase. And honestly, if you could go back in time, you would’ve thanked her even more profusely.

Because it worked. Rafayel was better — well, better-ish. Better enough that you decided it was safe to move forward with the plan to visit the memorial hall.

Which, eventually, became a visit to the ocean.

An ocean.

In the middle of a desert.

The sheer impossibility of it left you breathless, like you were standing at the edge of a fever dream made real. The water stretched out endlessly, shimmering beneath the brutal sun, and you couldn’t stop marveling at the sheer absurdity of it — a body of water so vast, so alive, nestled in a place it had no right to be. It felt like a miracle.

It was a miracle.

And just when you thought the desert couldn’t surprise you further, the skies proved you wrong soon enough later, crowning the experience with snowfall at the end of the trip. Snow, delicate and silent, drifting from the sky like a benediction.

You couldn’t help but marvel at it all — at how the world had managed to gift you two impossibilities in the span of a single day. It felt like the desert itself was defying logic, bending over backward to offer something beautiful, something extraordinary, as though it wanted to prove it wasn’t all hardship and sunburnt misery.

But Rafayel stood by the edge of the ocean with a look that made your chest ache — a look that spoke not of wonder, but of mourning. To you, it was a miracle, but to him, it was a tragedy: a dying ocean trapped in a place it could no longer thrive, its very existence a reminder of something slipping away. An everlasting eulogy engraved into reality.

He didn’t look away from the canvas of pain he had set up and started painting for himself until you voiced all of what you thought out loud for him to see.

And this time, you truly felt like you had broken through — like you’d reached him in a way that mattered.

It was there, in that rare, fragile moment, that Rafayel dove straight through your hesitation, sidestepping the awkward pauses you were fumbling with, and pulled you into an embrace before you even had the courage to ask if you could. It was as though he had heard the unspoken thought aloud, plucking it out of the air with startling precision.

And then he’d confessed — softly, almost too softly — that at the time, he had wanted to come here before, with the most important person in his life.

Those words lodged themselves in your chest, a bittersweet ache blooming alongside the unmistakable joy bubbling up within you. You hugged him back as tightly as you could, pouring all the gratitude you didn’t know how to put into words into that one simple gesture. Gratitude for trusting you enough to share that. Gratitude for showing you yet another new side of himself, something unguarded and rare. A treat, indeed, one you hadn’t expected but cherished all the same.

Relief flooded through you, so potent it felt like a physical weight lifting from your shoulders. You hadn’t even realized how tense you’d been until that moment. Your body relaxed, and with that relaxation came fatigue, the kind that crept up on you and left no room for resistance. Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep during the entire way back, lulled into a rare sense of peace you hadn’t felt in days.

And yet.

Like clockwork, he withdrew the instant you arrived back at the hotel.

Rafayel never thought he’d truly understand what it meant to drown.

As a creature of the sea, he wasn't meant to in the first place.

Not until you.

The realization had hit him like a storm breaking over still waters — not all at once, but in slow, rumbling waves that built. He didn’t even feel himself breaking; it was more like a slow erosion, the kind that wears stone into sand. Quiet, but irreversible. Your optimism. Your touches. Your encouragement. Inching in and in and in one step at a time.

(It was snowing in the desert.)

He had been holding himself together in the driver's seat, hands knotted around the steering wheel and knuckles bloodless with how tightly he gripped. Every inch of him vibrated with anxiety, away from where you lay fast asleep beside him, breathing shallow and uneven like he was afraid of exhaling too loudly. But there you were, oblivious, asleep, your head leaning softly against the window as if his world hadn’t collapsed in on itself.

(It was snowing in the desert.)

It wasn’t the desert heat that was killing him, though it might as well have been. (Everything about this place grated against him — the air, the dry scrape of his skin, the silence of the fading ocean that was too vast to be comforting. Too big. Too empty. Fading. Fading. A warning from cities away that this land was no place for a creature like him.) He wasn’t meant for this — for the cracked earth and the relentless sun and the suffocating absence of water. His body ached for moisture, for the cool, familiar embrace of the sea, but it ached even more for you. (He didn’t even realize how long he had been watching you from the corner of his peripheral vision — how long he had been unraveling, thread by thread.)

You’d tilted his world off its axis, turned everything he thought he knew into something unrecognizable. Once, pain had been his anchor. It was always there—constant, unyielding, something he could hold on to when nothing else made sense. It had driven him, fueled him, given him purpose when nothing else could. He had sought it out like a man dying of thirst seeks a mirage, and it had never failed him. Pain was constant. Pain was reliable. Pain was everything. Inside. Outside. It was all he had ever known, and it had kept him alive — fed the anger that gnashed his insides with teeth and claws, soothed the beast that prowled just under his skin, tempered the instinct that drove him relentlessly onward. Toward destruction. Towards home.

He had used it as a shield, as armor, as the whip he wielded against those who dared to clip the tails of his people. A weapon. A tool. A brush.

And then there was you (who he'd willingly sought out, angry and grieving and resentful and hurt.)

You, who didn’t fit into his carefully crafted world of suffering and art and revenge. You, who had made him forget (as easily as you forgot him) what it felt like to hurt, to ache, to yearn for something greater than himself. To hate. To see others bleed while his fingers flew across canvas after canvas, leaving only beauty in their wake — only soaring wings, only gleaming scales, only flowing water, only living fire, only reaching skies, only rushing wind, only rising floods...

Only you.

(It was snowing in the desert.)

Except now, he did yearn. He yearned in a way that was foreign and unbearable, in a way that felt like drowning — not in water, but in light, in warmth, in the overwhelming weight of wanting something too much. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he wanted you this much — needed you this much — when he didn’t even know who he was without all the hurt and hatred inside. It wasn’t fair that he felt something hot and ugly churning under his skin whenever you smiled up at him in admiration, filling his stomach with lead until he thought he might collapse beneath its heaviness. It wasn't fair that there were times when he thought it might actually be better not to have met you again at all.

(That thought filled him with dread so immense it threatened to crush the breath from his lungs; the possibility of having spent his entire life stumbling aimlessly through darkness towards a destination he was no longer sure even existed — )

He watched you sleep, the rhythm of your breathing steady and unbothered.

His gaze lingered on your hands, resting loosely in your lap, fingers twitching faintly as if even in sleep, you were reaching for something. (Reaching for him?) He wanted to take them in his own, to press them to his lips, to hold on so tightly he’d never have to let go. But he couldn’t. (He wouldn’t.)

Because the moment he did, he knew he’d lose whatever fragile standing he had left.

(“Isn’t it a surprise that there’s an ocean in the desert?”)

His thoughts spiraled, looping back on themselves in a tangle of contradictions that refused to resolve; questions without answers, fears without resolutions. What had he become, to need you like this? To depend on you like this? To depend on you so completely that even the idea of your absence felt like the loss of something vital — something essential — an emptiness he wasn't prepared to face.

(What must you think of him? Did you even know what you did to him? What would you think of him?)

He had told himself he could manage it, that he could stay close enough to feel your warmth but far enough not to burn. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? He was already burning. He had been burning since the moment he met you. An addictive pain — the kind that made him ache for more even as it seared him from the inside out.

And before he knew it, the car was parked beside the hotel entrance around the far corner of the garden, and Rafayel didn’t remember driving there at all.

He blinked, confused for a moment as to how exactly he had managed to pilot the vehicle, when you stirred quietly in the passenger seat, drawing his attention like a moth to flame.

You groaned softly, eyelids fluttering, but remained firmly locked within slumber's grip as he unbuckled your seatbelt for you, as gently as if he were handling fine china. Your head leaned sideways against the headrest and faced him, slack and soft with sleep. His fingers twitched around the plastic buckle, curling into a fist until he thought they might cramp under the strain.

He leaned forward, forehead coming to contact with the cool leather surface of the steering wheel, squeezing his eyes shut tight enough to blot out your presence entirely.

There was too much to process — too many feelings, thoughts, sensations threatening to overwhelm him if he looked directly at them, instead swirling through his head like debris caught in a vortex, invisible yet disorienting nonetheless.

But they all blipped out of existence the moment he turned his head around, following the impulse to look.

(“Isn’t it a surprise that there’s an ocean in the desert?”)

The urge struck Rafayel with all the force of a lightning bolt — bright, sudden, unavoidable — and suddenly the knuckles of his fingers were sliding across your cheek, feather-light in gentle arcs along the arch of your cheek, savoring every inch of satin flesh as it shifted beneath his caress.

The sensation of touch buzzed pleasantly underneath his skin previously starved, reveling in the sweetness of contact after so many days of withdrawal.

The artificial light coming from outside bathed your sleeping form in a glow that cascaded like a gentle waterfall, chiaroscuro shadows casting angles upon your features, emphasizing every line and curve, and for a long time, all he could do was stare. He could feel your breath against the tips of his nails, warm puffs of moist exhales against his calloused flesh, and found himself fixating on the gentle undulation of your chest as you breathed — unconsciously, mindlessly unaware of what such a simple act did to him.

The memory of your voice echoed in his mind, soft and certain, cutting through the chaos like a beam of light.

"Isn’t it a surprise that there’s an ocean in the desert?"

You had a way of reframing everything, of taking the pieces of his broken world and rearranging them into something that almost looked like hope. (He hated it. He loved it. He hated that he loved it.) It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

You hadn’t asked to become such an integral part of his existence — so intrinsic and fundamental and irreplaceable. Yet somehow, here you were. Here he was. The absence of water, the grief of it. The grief of what it meant to lose something so essential, so intrinsic, that one didn’t know how to live without it. And that grief had found a new home in you. You, who had become his ocean, his escape, the source of every ache in his chest and joy in his heart.

(Isn't it a surprise that there's an ocean in the desert? Isn't it a surprise you're the muse calling to him and not the muffled, fading cries of the dying ocean in pain, not the skeletal remains of an era he'd never get back?)

He gazed, and gazed, and gazed, drinking you in like a thirsty man lost in a sea of golden sands, watching the subtle play of lights over the curves of your face — the delicate angle of your chin, the arch of your nose, the graceful slope of your neck as it curved into collarbone and shoulder — memorizing every detail he could, without the pressure of having to wrench himself back before he drowned in your wake, without the need to pretend to your face he was anything less than desperate to be with you all day, every day, in every way possible. And that the sound of your voice in his ears was enough to get the paintbrush running across paper from the sheer momentum of his imagination.

But he couldn't keep going like this.

Somehow, somewhen, between the start of your journey and now, this thing had begun shifting irrevocably past his ability to contain it any longer. Had grown exponentially until it seemed to dwarf his capacity to handle it. All it would take was being away from you for a mere few hours to bring him to a level of misery that was honestly embarrassing.

And you had no idea.

No idea that orbiting around him in these past few days like a second moon had only served to exacerbate the foul joy of watching you fawn over him.

It made him sick to his stomach to admit it, but soaking in the knowledge (in his soul, through the bond) that you cared so deeply for him went straight to his head like some drug he hadn't realized he needed.

It felt so despairingly good that he would wrap himself around you like a vine climbing towards sunlight if he could for the rest of his days, absorbing your rays of affection like photosynthesis... or a parasite.

(Was he being punished by the sea that this love was eclipsing his fury and vengeance? Or rewarded that he held both equally in his grasp despite how terribly wrong it felt at times? Regardless, his inspiration was the punchline, once only capable of singing into the canvas elegies of lament and sorrow, now composed ballads and odes that poured out effortlessly.)

You would hate him if you ever found out just how perversely his emotions swung in every direction; so high one moment that the ecstasy of relief nearly shattered his reserve of control, and so low the next that he feared he'd choke to death from the guilt that clawed up the back of his throat like a strangled animal's cry for mercy.

This entire ordeal had flipped the script completely — instead of keeping you at arm's length as he normally did (regarding… everything), Rafayel now clung onto you desperately like Tantalus to a branch of fruit he’d finally gotten a grasp of, and what if he was exposed? The question rose like bile in his mouth whenever he began slipping.

“I won't leave you.”

Liar, his grudge wanted to answer.

It remembered. It never forgot. It told him you'd flee and never look back if he let a sliver of this dependency that bound him tighter to you with each passing day slip out from his fingertips — if he allowed you even the tiniest insight into the strange workings of his head and his heart.

Because you didn’t understand. You couldn’t. You had no idea what you were talking about when you told him you wouldn’t leave. How could you, when you didn’t know the depths of what you were promising to stay for? You didn’t know the true nature of Lemurian love, its ferocity, its weight, its cost. The all-consuming, all-encompassing reality of it — how they loved as if it was the only thing tethering them to existence itself. How they lived for it, how they died for it. How he had been dying for it.

If you saw it — if you saw him — you would run. He knew you would. Because if he laid bare just how much he depended on you, how much of his breath, his will, his very being hinged on you, you’d be overwhelmed. You’d leave.

Why else would he be tearing himself apart like this? Miserably trying to wean himself off you, forcing himself to let go only to grasp harder each time he felt you’d finally come to hate him and slip away?

He didn't know how long he sat there in silence.

Just a bit longer, he would keep watching you with these feelings out in the open. Just a little bit longer. He couldn’t bear to wake you up.

By the time you stirred, groggy and disoriented but blissfully unsuspecting, it felt as though several eternities had passed in the span of minutes, and he had to struggle with all the strength of a raging current to force himself back into this skin of his that felt too tight and suffocating around him.

But, still resting his temple against the steering wheel with an arm slung on top of it and another hanging lazily at his side, feigning ease, nothing betrayed his inner turmoil.

He watched quietly as you slowly regained your bearings, resisting the temptation to reach out and brush aside that one piece of hair out of place on your head, letting you find the words first.

(So adorable. So endearing.)

(It was not only snowing in his desert. There was also an ocean in there.)

"Rafayel..?"

"Yeah?"

"How long was I asleep?" You blinked at him blearily, one hand lifting to rub the lingering tiredness from your eyelids as you peer into the darkness of night beyond his silhouette. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Everything he'd been thinking about vaporized and left behind nothing but softness, so tender it scared him; it seeped into the spaces in his heart left vacant and curled inside them, filling every corner, until it made the next smile he offered you come free of burden. "You were sleeping so well, cutie. I didn't want to disturb you."

The unconscious put of your lips and the way that strand of hair bounced around when you slid down your seat a little had him leaning in before he knew what he was doing, smoothing the unruly thing, fingertips betraying him by skating across the outer edge of your ear while he watched you tilt your cheek instinctively.

His body warmed immediately, gravitating towards you in a half-hug that kept you cradled close to the side of his frame as he nuzzled into your hair above your temple with a hum, dipping his nose deeper into the crown of your head near where your neck curved gracefully upwards before inhaling deep — greedy, thirsty, like he’d die if he couldn’t seep up all the scent of you.

Your breathing hitched a bit, and that’s what halted him right at the corner of your mouth with a sharp exhale — he couldn’t be doing this, he was just thinking about how he needed to pull back and —

Art salon.

Yeah, the art salon gathering.

He was supposed to be on his way to there like yesterday.

If only his body didn’t move like a most willing pupped tethered by strings to yours and refused to walk away whenever he tried.

“…Rafayel?”

It suddenly hotter in this car like a tide pool at noon. So stiflingly hot he was breathing fire even with the snowy weather outside. So unbearable the deepest V-cut known to mankind that had his whole chest out for the world to ogle did nothing to help.

He could… He could skip.

Yeah, he needed this. It had been literal days of non-stop withdrawal and a push-and-pull of his frustration that you wouldn’t touch him (because oh noo, he was sick — which, he wasn’t!) and stubbornness to not let you touch him. He’d gotten to a point that he was drunk off your scent alone and he couldn’t keep doing this forever, and why should he? Why did it matter about this event at all? Who cared — who cared about some stupid gathering? He wasn’t functioning anyways until he—

Stop. He had to stop. He was already so late.

He imagined catching himself by the scruff of his neck and yanking himself back to the driver's seat, within safe borders. Far away from your mesmerizing lips and wandering eyes and cute squirming in your seat under the thin cover of innocence.

And pulling away and practically fusing with the car door was exactly what he did.

He needed to prove to himself, just this once, that he could function without the constant reassurance of your presence — that he wasn’t helplessly anchored to you, no matter how much the pull of your moon whispered otherwise.

He had to dilute himself. This — and his inspiration problem, involving you or not, was his to figure out. And he had to figure it out if he wanted you to stay by his side.

"...Do you wanna go back to your room first?" he heard himself ask you quietly.

"You're not coming with me?" The tiny furrow of worry between your brows spoke volumes about your confusion, and despite wanting to reach out and smooth it away, to wipe every ounce of uncertainty from your face with a tender kiss, Rafayel clenched his fingers around the door handle of the vehicle until they cramped, his heart aching strangely inside his chest as you stared quizzically at him.

He brought out the invitation that came with the memorial hall ticket, waving it a little with little to no enthusiasm, "I still have to attend my friend's art salon thing."

The way your shoulders deflated and face dropped at the mention made him waver in — not enough to follow through with ditching the whole thing, but certainly making his resolve weak enough to crack like glass under pressure. "But you don't look well. You need to rest."

How could someone manage to resist getting spoiled like this, he thought miserably as he closed his eyes while you continued fussing, peering worriedly up into his face with the cutest scrunch to your forehead, palms searching along his cheeks heat before trailing down the length of his arms, and he wanted nothing more than to give in to that impulse of being coddled to bits by your hands alone.

He was a weak man.

You nearly lifted off the passenger seat and fell into his lap the way he embraced you, his arms coiling around you like kelp around a rock, holding fast as though you might slip away with the wind. His face buried into the crook of your neck, breath warm and uneven against your skin, his grip snug yet teetering on the edge of too much — like he didn’t trust himself to let go. There was a desperation in the way his hands trembled slightly, his fingers pressing into your sides, not hard enough to hurt but enough to leave the faintest impression of how badly he needed this. When your pained whine broke through, it was like snapping a thread, he instantly loosened his hold, guilt washing over his features as he pulled back just enough to make room for you to breathe. But he stayed close, his forehead dipping to rest against your shoulder as a heavy sigh rumbled deep from his chest, raw and apologetic. You leaned heavily into him, your fingers threading into his hair in a gesture that should have comforted him, but instead left him drowning deeper in the tangled sea of his emotions.

"See? You're burning up again," you mumbled as your cool lips grazed his temple in a comforting kiss. He was no better than a child. He knew it. And he hated how much he basked in your coddling, reveled in the unspoken message behind your words: Don't hide it. Tell me when you hurt. I care. "Maybe we can go together? Will you feel okay if I'm there?"

He would. He would feel more than okay, because that's what made him function.

But he couldn't keep being like this.

"Do you wanna turn me into a sea creature beached on the sand after the ocean recedes," he whispered, mostly kidding except not really, hiding in the dip of your neck just below your ear, hand tracing absent shapes into the small of your back above your tailbone. "Unable to breathe on my own, waiting helplessly for your tide's return?"

Your fingers stroking through his hair slowed, then stilled entirely at the edge of his nape. You pulled back only far enough to meet his lowered stare, confusion dancing within your own, bright and clear and genuine. You had no inkling of what was going on with him, and he didn’t want you to find out either. He would be fine. He was going to handle it.

"Don't you trust me?" Rafayel said. "How about we make a promise? I promise... I'll be okay without you tonight."

It hurt to lie to you so directly, but seeing your doubt dissolve to appease him helped soothe that sting considerably. (Even if it felt a little too convenient to rely on such flimsy methods.) You nodded, seeming convinced in spite of yourself, and his stance firmed — strengthened with your faith and affirmation alike, like he'd just taken a double shot of espresso. He would be okay. He wasn't going to keep imposing his feelings upon you even if a part of him desperately yearned to, no matter how difficult the prospect seemed.

(Say no, a small part of him whispered traitorously, selfishly, insistently. Ask me to stay. You know I can't say no to you, he wanted to plead. Needed to be affirmed once more, reassured that he was welcome to indulge, to remain, to lean into the comfort you offered freely.)

"Okay..." you echoed uncertainly, but gave him another soft smile — tentative yet warm, gentle encouragement. He watched quietly as your expressions shifted in quick succession, cycling through shades of hesitation and worry before settling on resignation. You nodded again, firmer this time, seemingly steeling yourself against whatever doubts you harbored. He wanted to kiss it all away.

But instead, he gently pushed you back, sinking further into his seat, looking out the view beyond the windshield to gather his wits against the force that was your presence beside him.

"You can head back," he repeated, not turning to meet your searching stare. "I can handle it."

The art salon had an air of cultivated elegance, grandiosity reflecting into soaring ceilings and walls adorned with curated artworks, with conversations floating in fragmented pieces, the occasional laughter punctuating the steady hum of "cultured" discourse — all the while Rafayel stood at the periphery, his posture consciously maintained with the kind of deliberate nonchalance that masked a profound discomfort, one hand buried in his pant pockets and the other holding a flute glass of champagne, ghosting the suffocating room with an expression of aloof disdain, attention drifting from painting to painting without ever settling. Humans circled him like murmuring specters, their faces a study in muted curiosity and empty civility. He loathed their presence. (Yet, here he was.)

The room's overwhelming sensory overload grated against his composure — cloying mingling of varnish and wine, sharply polished sheen of curated lighting, artifice of smiles that never reached their eyes...

He should leave. (No, he had to stay.)

The dichotomy was a pendulum swinging between contempt and an unspoken compulsion to endure. He’d insisted he didn’t need you here, insisted on proving — to himself as much as to you — that he could function without your constant presence. But the more he replayed his own words in his mind, the more it was obvious the joke was on him.

He rolled his eyes as an overly enthusiastic laugh erupted nearby, a sound sharp enough to pinprick through his already thinning out patience. His hand twitched in his pocket, the movement a reflexive manifestation of his barely-contained frustration.

(Focus.)

The art, exquisite as it was, did little to distract him as the chatter blurred into a meaningless drone, the edges of the room constricting him under the weight of pretense.

And then. The tug.

At first, it was delicate — an unsuspecting tremor sifting through his awareness, like the faintest ripple across an otherwise still surface that he thought he was imagining and hoping this was you. But it swelled rapidly, a deluge of sensations sweeping him off his feet towards your pull with a force that left his breath stuttering and the floor wavering beneath, erupting into vivid, agonizing clarity.

His lips tingled, a ghostly imprint of a kiss not yet given.

Heat bloomed under his skin, first at the base of his throat, spreading like a slow, insidious current. The faintest pressure, then, at his collarbone, radiating outward, like silk dragging over sensitive skin, a tingling warmth that prickled and spread, until it seemed to rewrite the very contours of his form, leaving him trembling with phantom caresses that lingered far too long to ignore.

He could feel the press of your palms against his chest, the drag of your nails over the planes of his stomach, each sensation so precise it made his breath catch, and the ache in his hands mirrored the way you gripped at yourself. Every brush of your hand — every hurried, seeking stroke — burned through him like smoldering embers, and he swore he could hear the faintest hitch of your breath, feel the tremor in your thighs.

A siren song of need that echoed his own, calling him under, drowning him in you.

Come to me, come to me, stay with me.

His breath hitched with the oxygen turning into lava-hot needle prickling in his lungs, his legs going limp as noodles and giving way. He collapsed into the nearest chair with a jarring lack of control, the motion abrupt, almost violent.

One hand clamped onto the edge of the table as he hastily discarded the champagne glass to cover where the bond was glowing, fingers digging into the wood as if it were the only thing keeping him from being swept away.

A single candle at the table’s center responded instead of Rafayel, its once languid, uninterested flame quivering violently, and then erupting into an erratic flare, a burst of light so sharp and sudden it cut through the room like a gasp. The activity drew murmurs from those nearby, heads turning, eyes widening as the flame seemed to writhe with a life of its own as wax spilled over the edges of its holder, dripping down in frantic rivulets, glistening like molten gold beneath the trembling glow.

"Hey, Rafayel, man, you good?"

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch violently and slap it away, the contact snapping him partway out of his spiraling thoughts. "Don't."

He was already rising, the chair scraping noisily against the floor as he pushed himself upright with a force that bordered on frenetic. The friend stood as well, confusion clear, but Rafayel didn’t wait to explain — with a curt shake of his head, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, leaving the other man standing there with his hand half-raised, a bewildered, "Hey, where are you going, come back!" hanging unanswered in the air.

The murmurs of those left behind — curious stares, the faint scrape of chairs and clothes ruffling — faded into irrelevance, they barely even registered. The bond burned like a tether, yanking him back to you, and he had neither the strength nor the desire to disobey.

By the time he reached the cool air of the night outside, he was seething. He had heard you loud and clear.

You merciless, cruel, horrible witch of a woman, punishing him with your sweet truth in an act so loving yet selfish, selfless yet entirely possessive, driving him completely to his wit's end until the only remaining thought was yours — to worship you wholly, thoroughly, obsessively, as deeply as he wanted.

He was in love.

You were in Rafayel’s room.

Because for his sanity to be tested like you intended it would be, of course you had to be in there of all places.

He was able to crash in the way he wanted like a dam bursting without knocking holding him back. In fact, he didn’t even bother calling out at all.

And honestly, he wasn’t even lucid enough for coherent thoughts such as those the moment his vision tunneled on your frame in the middle of his space, your back turned to him, an unaware and unintentional siren in a fluffy white robe loosely tied at your hips.

His robe.

Rafayel was moving before he registered the full picture — prowling the distance between you within seconds, hand snatching up yours and spinning you around. Just being this close and touching you uninhibited got the synapses firing faster than bullets in his head. He pushed forward into your space with no preamble, crowding you against the floor-to-ceiling window. He spared another two or three precious seconds taking in your startled expression with vindication (“Rafayel, what are you doing here?” before putting a stop to all the unnecessary talking with a kiss.

How could he expected himself to stay away from this?

One knee pushed between your thighs, a subtle but undeniable acknowledgment of what he’d felt, and you faltered, clutching the sides of his shirt so abruptly the lily decorations peppered through out clinked. A quiet noise escaped past your lips, muffled by his own and intensifying the building pressure simmering in his gut as he played with the collar of your robe — his robe — and drank greedily from you.

He felt a push at his chest.

The separation between you that couldn’t be more than a tight space to breathe each other’s air brought the world rushing back into focus — Aridum’s quiet, serene snowfall materialized behind your head like a mockery of their frenzied tangle of limbs, the ambient sounds of the city bustling in the distance dampened.

Your eyes searched his, glazed and hazy with steadily-building arousal, yet waiting nonetheless for an answer, shiny lips parted in wordless wonder.

Rafayel could say nothing. The words were there, soda fizz under the surface threatening to erupt into something incomprehensible at best if he opened his mouth.

His palm engulfed your cheek and drew you right back in, continuing the kiss with more urgency to prevent you from tumbling out from his grasp again — let the action speak for him.

The need that thrummed deep beneath rendered him mute, save for strained sighs and grunts of effort louder than the rustle of fabric and the thuds of feet shuffling around on the floor as he plundered your mouth, tongue chasing yours. It tasted like toothpaste and chapstick, like fresh mint leaves, like nurturing warmth cooling his into something calmer.

Rafayel’s hand left your face and slid down your back to seize your waist, dragging you closer, flushing your hips against his firmer and pushing his thigh more brashly. Not even a second later, his other hand bracing your wrist against the window pulled your arm into him to spin you around like in a dance, switching positions without breaking away.

And you bit him.

He recoiled with an “Ah,” that was more surprised than pained, drawing away just enough to swipe his thumb over the curve of his bottom lip where your teeth had punctured him.

“Why are you here?”

Something rotten and vicious was about to bare his fangs at you through a smile he barely stopped from telling on himself by holding back, ‘You called,’ from slipping.

The other, more acceptable answer came in a quick and effortless sweep of your legs off the floor, draping them over either side of his waist, one palm supporting you underneath like the cradle of a hammock as he pivoted towards the bed. “This is my room,” he said — low, simple, keeping eye contact to witness your frustration. “You’re the one who walked in here.”

He saw in the curl of your mouth that you would’ve continued arguing semantics if not for Rafayel bending to deposit you gently atop the bed for you to settle safely beneath him. The mattress creaked under his shifting as he eased further and started descending to resume getting lost in your kisses until a finger landed upon his lips.

“What I meant was,” you started, and Rafayel exhaled against your touch and nuzzled into it like an obedient pet coming to heel with a lowered tail before his master. “Shouldn’t you be at that art salon?”

He stared, blood about to keel over the boiling point.

His beloved was pouting. So adorable that he wanted to bite down.

You’d been so patient with him, hadn’t you? The little divot between your brows called out to Rafayel, begging to be kissed.

“I regret going in the first place,” he said, getting closer to breathe those words directly against the curve of your ear, savoring its delicate shell and the heat emanating from it against his lower lip — basking in the short tremble he could pull out of you that told him all he needed to know. “Stay here with me—”

His arm dipped around your waist and tugged you insistently closer, shakily eager, while your hands scrambled at his biceps, the side of your neck stretching upward to meet his halfway and melting further into him like candle wax molding against Rafayel and pooling liquid sweetness inside him like a basin filled.

Ring — ring — ring — ring — ring — ring — ring!

What the hell? Now?

A surge of irrational anger flared inside Rafayel, sharp and sudden, as if the hotel room phone had personally wronged him so bone-deep that his ancestors themselves had been insulted by its shrill, untimely ring. He clicked his tongue sharply against the roof of his mouth, a frustrated noise brimming with disdain as he reached out with the intention of silencing the nuisance immediately.

But before his hand could reach the red button, your fingers curled gently around his wrist, halting him mid-motion. The touch was soft, warm, and unassuming, yet it cut through his irritation more effectively than words ever could. His breath hitched as he glanced down at your hand, stilling under the quiet weight of what you were going to say next.

“Wait,” your dulcet murmur came. “What if it’s something important?”

More than this?

The irritation got you a side eye for that — but he quickly caught onto where this was heading from the way you gave him a pointed, sultry glance under your lashes and the faintest devilish curl at the corners at your lips. The grip around his wrist turned into your fingers interlacing with his as you guided him to accept the call, holding his gaze so intensely throughout that the beginning of the reception’s announcement went unheard in his ears.

“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message."

Rafayel hadn’t even found a chance to breathe, let alone process what was even happening when you pushed him off and knocked him flat onto his back, straddling his hips with surprising speed which elicited an involuntary jolt from him.

He froze, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and the thick, burning, moistureless air that was overheating him. A thousand words tumbled in a rush into his mouth at once, all died under his breath in a sigh as his senses swam and short-circuited in response to your boldness, the sheer power radiating off your figure captivating him. For a single, stretched heartbeat, all he could do was look up — look at you.

The light from the ceiling framed your form in a way that bordered on divine, spilling past the loose strands of hair that fell around your face and catching on the curves of your silhouette like a lover's caress. Shadows slithered around you, dipping into the soft folds and valleys of the bathrobe that clung to you in all the places his gaze couldn’t help but follow.

And then the vision struck, slicing through his mind like a blade dragged cleanly through water.

No, you brought it to him, conjuring it as surely as though you had whispered it directly into his mind.

The blues wouldn’t just be blues — shadowy cobalt would bleed into the depths below, heavy and still, fading into fractured glacier blue as the water grew lighter near the surface, where the sun struggled to break through. The greens would soften into glassy jade, shimmering faintly, caught in the shifting light as if the water itself pulsed with life. Shadows would stretch in drenched charcoal, not oppressive but endless, framing the brightness above almost like curtains opening.

And there, close to the surface, you would hover like the sun underwater, light spilling from you in ripples and shards. Your form would glow with submerged gold, warm and radiant, a halo of sunlit pearl surrounding you where the sunlight hit the water and scattered around your silhouette. You wouldn’t simply stand still — you would drift, your movements impossibly fluid, arms outstretched in a gesture that could be comfort or inevitability, a quiet invitation to a homecoming. Shadows would gather around your curves in bruised honey, soft and subtle, fading into the glow that surrounded you, the kind of light that looked almost too warm to belong in the cold ocean.

The person who the painting was drawn from the perspective of would see you not as a person, but as something greater. His arms would float above him, slack and surrendered, the only movement from his fingers angled upwards, glowing faintly with washed ash gold, the last vestiges of warmth clinging to his skin, while the rest of his form darkened in the embrace of storm-drift gray. Faraway air bubbles would be glacier silver-blue catching the warm light as they ascended toward the unreachable surface, reflections flickering like distant stars against the background of salt-shadow teal.

This was a homecoming.

The bursting of colors landing on his imaginary canvas came to a head when the branding heat of your mouth found his ear, screeching into stuttered motion and scattering like seagulls afterwards. His head lolled sideways under the zapping pressure, inviting more of the world-halting caress that left him all limp.

Then it was gone — only a cool tingling remained where yout moist breaths once ghosted him —

"Hey bro, why'dya leave? Get back here—"

Shocked as if he had short time memory about it being a voice message, he squirmed for a beat, eyes flitting in panic between the call display and you with the mortification of every single drop of blood in his body rushing southwards.

His friend’s voice fractured into static buzzing under the pounding of his ears when you bowed forward once more, towards the red mark on top of his mark that was practically vibrating under his skin, trailing kisses across its glow. Every skin contact point with you burned even with the layers of clothing in-between, melting into an acute throb as you reached the base of his throat and dipped into the hollow between his collarbones — fingers dancing along the strip of his neckpiece before delving underneath, dragging down and delicately, deliciously tugging.

That was all it took for Rafayel to flip your positing and roll you beneath his body, propping himself up with one forarm and holding your wrist to just — stop you for a minute, expression tight as he asked, “Are you sure?”

Your intentions were crystal clear, but it was necessary to check in before continuing any further even though he needed this like air right now, and the prospect of hearing it straight from your lips that he was wanted —

Looking somewhere off to the side, you replied, “Otherwise you’ll actually go back,” thoughtfully, but there was something resentful in there, the statement almost bitter sounding in its delivery.

The overjoyed press of his lips to hide the smile he just knew would annoy you betrayed what he was thinking on the spot.

“So cute,” breached containment however, full of affection as he moved aside your hair behind your ear tenderly, fore and middle fingers taking your love’s sensitive edge between them and caressing, causing you to turn your face further away from him. “You must have missed me quite a lot.”

That sentence was accompanied by the press of his knee into the junction between your inner thighs, innocent enough unless you factored in that one certain revelation of earlier that entirely changed the context in intent. Especially when your pupils dilated visibly before him as you choked out a tiny gasp of surprise, revealing your guilt in glaring clarity.

“What, not pleased you got caught?”

A wicked impulse seized him — one daring him to keep playing this card to unlock so many possibilities as to how he could have you tonight.

He could have you show him what you’d done while he watched until you begged to be touched — on your back with legs wide open for his viewing pleasure, or hovering right above his face in 4K Ultra HD quality that he could just lay down and enjoy and perhaps contribute with his breath if he felt generous enough. You were having fun all on your own, yeah? He just wanted in on it. Not knowing wasn’t a sin, but not learning was.

If you didn’t think you were ready to bear the consequences of this decision of yours, you should have rethought before choosing the room he frequented, shouldn’t have turned him into a fish out of water in public by calling out to him like that, should have known better that Rafayel could be the vilest when he was provoked.

“Or, are you?”

His words were a double-edged knife. Pick the surface-level meaning and you ended up with him teasing you about missing him quite literally, nothing more, nothing less. Take him for what lay beneath, however...

Unfortunately, or, fortunately, you were one slippery fish.

"Why should I be ashamed?" The confidence that dripped from your reply rang genuine. You were so unbothered by his instigation that he realized this was going to be harder than expected, perhaps more rewarding as well. A delightful prospect. "Do you wish I wouldn't miss you?"

Oh, your pride, your grudge was truly an impressive sight —

gleaming razor-sharp even under scrutiny, glittering steel reflecting his image in fragments, and yet tempered by enough warmth to invite him closer instead of warding him off.

"Not at all." His heart sang. "But it couldn't compare to how much I missed you."

"And you still left," came a mumble, sounding more dejected than anything, carrying the weight of his deeds for the past two days.

It was that easy to change his mood.

Rafayel cooed instinctively, rubbing soothing circles into the skin above your knuckles as he pressed a string of quick kisses into the curve of your wrist — lips brushing tender apologies along its path until he reached the palm of your hand cupping his face, where he lingered to feel you stroke delicately over his lower lashes.

"I'm here now," was his gentle promise, one spoken nuzzled against the backs of your fingers. "I'm not going anywhere."

"What are you going to say to your friend? You didn't even pick up his call," you admonished softly, drawing his attention towards where the voicemail was still being displayed on the hologram screen hovering from the nightstand, accepting a prompt about how to proceed.

Rafayel made a show of leaning back to sit back on his heels, staring down at you as he slipped his fingers underneath the tightly-belted thick, sash-like band to pop the clasp to the side apart, the metal closure disengaging with a small clack as the ends slid free and exposed the zipper underneath.

He drank in your every reaction — every detail of you sprawled out before him: your robe coming undone ever so gradually, tantalizing glimpses of skin peeking between its parted folds, a little bit of collarbone here, the curve of your breast there, teasingly hinting at the shape of a nipple underneath the white fabric, then another flash of thigh, an exposed inch of inner leg from your feet shifting restlessly alongside his shins.

He pulled the whole belt free in one smooth yank — the sudden momentum making it snap with a harsh crack. It curled like a ribbon in his palm as he surveyed you, gauging your reaction; watching your widened stare catch onto cloth held loosely in his fist as he flung it haphazardly to the side.

Then, he started tugging at your ankle to raise it higher — dragging his knuckles along your heel, the sole of your foot, caressing into the arch of your instep, traveling along the softness of your calf all the way down to your knee, a single fingertip trailing underneath, slinking gradually but surely toward the inner side, tracing hypnotic spirals into the silky flesh that made your breathing hitch unevenly.

The ends of your robe were riding further up past your thigh along with the slow march, your naked skin revealed in gradual increments the higher his palm slid — revealing more and more until his hand stopped at the underside of your thigh, entirely disappeared from view because of the bunched up cloth, and pulled your leg up gently to drape it over the curve of waist.

Falling right back in on instinct, he leaned down, propped above your splayed form on his forearm beside your shoulder and bent to drag his nose upwards along the line of your cheekbone, saying, "I'm busy."

Your answering snicker was endearing and familiar, drawing forth a swell of warmth inside him like the sun rising over a tranquil ocean's horizon. "Still trying to run away?"

“Just returning to the original plan.”

There would be no running away now — not anymore, not ever, at least not from you and what you made him feel. He'd tried; failed, obviously, as evident in his return here, where the answer awaited him with open arms.

"Who says I'm going to agree? I still haven't forgiven you.”

Rafayel adored that one pout of yours, the one that curved at its edges like the swoop of a bird's wing, delicate and lovingly rounded in its downturned shape. It drew his mouth upward to meet its match, slotting perfectly against its twin seamlessly in the union of a kiss, lingering as if they belonged together like puzzle pieces. You melted sweetly under the fondness contained within the gesture, sighing quietly in surrender; every angle of his mouth was drawn to yours inexorably, it was gravity pulling falling stars back to their courses.

"Not yet," he amended dutifully once he could manage words again, and felt your smile widen before sealing his mouth over it. "Let me."

"If you beg," you shot right back, the curve of your mouth pronounced against his chin, smug satisfaction dripped from every word and its delivery as you pulled away again just enough to meet his half-hooded stare evenly — daring him to refuse you. "Properly."

You kissed the little groan that was about to spill past his lips, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Neither was it intended to.

"How would you like me to repent?" He dragged the question into an offer, a honey trap ripe for plundering. "On my knees? On my back?"

He let his arousal to show on his fact at those mental images, conjured by practiced ease, crafted to seduce. The soft puff of your exhale danced across his chin, sending his nerves tingling. A sign he was on the right track? Or did it merely betray surprise at whatyou had in mind? Either possibility stirred his blood.

"You know what someone in your position shouldn’t do?" you whispered, low and hushed, conspiratorial yet laced with a dangerous authority that quickened his pulse. His brows rose involuntarily, the shift in your tone sending anticipation skittering down his spine. Your lashes swept low, casting faint shadows on your cheeks as your pointed stare locked onto him, sharp enough to pierce. "Ask me what to do when you’re supposed to be coming up with ideas on your own. That’s weaponized incompetence."

His head snapped back so fast that something audibly clicked in his neck.

Mouth wide open.

"Weaponized in—" The sensual, submissive haze he’d been wrapped in evaporated like morning dew under the brutal heat of the desert sun, vanishing so quickly it left him sputtering. The words faltered on his tongue as insult overtook every carefully cultivated mood, his composure fracturing into clumsy indignation. Propped up on his elbows above you, his face twisted into a comically muddied mix of offense and disbelief, his tone taking on an incredulous sharpness as he glared down at you.

"Say that again and I’ll spit bubbles at you!" he snapped, his threat hanging in the air like a gauntlet thrown by a petulant prince.

"Pffft!"

The insolent brat you were being in that moment, daring to laugh straight in his face, was both impossibly cute and maddeningly infuriating. He stared down at you, eyes narrowing with mock offense, the knowledge that your laughter was entirely at his expense gnawing at his frayed patience. He was torn between kissing you senseless or flipping you over and finding some other way to wipe that smug, adorable smirk off your face.

"What do you mean weaponized incompetence?" Rafayel shot back, the words almost trembling with disbelief. "You think I can't please you properly without you guiding me through it step-by-step? Is that what you're saying?!" His irritation swelled, a balloon of indignation puffing up and threatening to burst as he fought, tooth and nail, to keep the whine rising in his throat from escaping. "I like you telling me what to do because I enjoy indulging in your desires! Not because I’m incapable of being creative in bed!"

A frustrated huff crowned his ranting, "Stop laughing!" he barked, though his rising pitch only seemed to add fuel to your uncontrollable amusement.

You shook your head firmly, slapping your hands over your face to muffle the sounds of your laughter, but it was no use. Your entire body curled inward instinctively, knees drawing up as you rolled to your side, burying yourself deeper into the cocoon of your mirth. It only made it worse for his pride — your stifled giggles shaking through you like tremors, every failed attempt to contain yourself sending them bubbling up again.

Rafayel let out a growl of frustration, throwing his body off yours with an exaggerated thud, landing face-first into the pillow beside you in utter defeat. The mattress jolted slightly from the force, but the muffled yell he buried into the pillow caused a chain reaction that only made your laughter harder to suppress. The giggles came fast and bright, and he swore they sounded far too gratifying for his current temperament, his scowl deepening with every shake of your shoulders and every wheezing gasp for air that he felt in the bed, he didn’t even need to look.

The fact that you were utterly immune to his wrath, impervious to every “Stop,” he threw your way, made it all the more maddening. How was he supposed to maintain the upper hand, to reestablish even a shred of dignity, when he couldn’t even intimidate you?

"I'm sorry," you gasped finally, though the apology was weakened by the cracks of laughter still slipping through. You managed to sit upright, though it took visible effort, your hands brushing away tears from the corners of your crinkled, joy-stricken eyes. A few lingering giggles escaped as you cleared your throat, attempting to sound sincere but failing miserably. "I didn’t think you’d have such strong feelings about this topic."

Rafayel lifted his head from the pillow, his hair disheveled, his glare shooting daggers your way, though the deep flush blooming across his cheeks betrayed his struggle to keep his composure. He opened his mouth to retort, to say something, but instead all that escaped was a muffled, irritated groan as he flopped back down into the pillow.

“Rafayel.”

He rolled onto his back with dramatic flair, hands folded primly over his stomach and ankles crossed, the picture of theatrical innocence. The pout he wore, however, was pure spite, lips pushed forward just enough to make his point. “If you think I’m sooo weaponizing my incompetence, maybe I should actually start doing that. Let you handle everything yourself. Clearly, you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Rafayel…”

“No, no, go ahead,” he cut in, stubbornly resolute, almost belligerent in its exaggerated persistence. “I’m useless, right? I don’t know what I’m doing. Teach me. I won’t even lay a single finger on you.” He puffed his cheeks, a childish act of defiance paired with the way he turned his head away, sulking with the finesse of spoiled royalty.

The exaggerated display drew a sigh from you, long and exasperated, but tinged with a quiet amusement that he didn’t miss. He wasn’t fooling you — not for a second—but he relished the moment all the same.

“Well,” you began, feigning hesitation, with false reluctance. “Since you’re already laid out, I guess…” You trailed off as you shifted to straddle him, slow enough to test the limits of his so-called resolution, the soft white robe you wore parting ever so slightly as you moved, revealing tantalizing glimpses of skin before your knees closed firmly around his hips, framing him like twin prison bars.

His eyes darkened as he watched you, taking in the sight hungrily, every detail sinking into him like a drug he couldn’t resist. His hands betrayed him almost immediately, fingertips skimming the hem of the robe where it hung loosely, their touch feather-light as they ghosted over the tops of your thighs. It was instinctive, reflexive — completely unrepentant.

“I thought you weren’t touching me,” you teased with a playful lilt that interrupted the heat thickening the air between you like an unwanted knock on the door.

His hum was deliberately innocent, his head tilting as though to feign ignorance. But the dark gleam in his eyes and the smirk curling at the corners of his lips told a different story entirely. “I really like this robe,” he murmured with a calculated drawl. “What, I can’t touch my own clothes now?”

The claim was absurd — blatantly so — but it made you pause, his fingers grazing the fabric in question as though testing its texture, when in reality, it was clear he was savoring the warmth of your skin beneath it.

(Truthfully, it was also you who looked lovely draped in what was his — but that went without saying.)

Your mouth opened, the gleam of a retort on the tip of your tongue, but the words dissolved into nothingness as his hands shifted, palms hot against your sides, skirting along your ribs in an intentional, testing motion. He knew the heat of his touch stole the breath from your lungs, burning through the fabric like a spark setting fire to paper.

“You go on,” he said, infuriatingly smug as he leaned back into the pillows, his hands never straying far from your sides. “Help yourself. Take as long as you need. I’ll just… be appreciating this fabric in the meantime.”

His fingers traced the lines of your ribs, the motion slow, languid, before sliding downward to hover just above the curve of your stomach. They lingered there, resting near the knot of the belt holding your robe together. The edge of his thumb dipped just slightly beneath the fabric, brushing over its folded loops, a movement so subtle it was barely there, as though he wanted to test how much he could push you. He toyed with the fabric, rolling it between his fingers like he was unraveling a puzzle.

The pause in his pent-up desire — the break that had proven to be a blessing — was wearing thin. The front he was putting on, all casual indifference and smug bravado, was crumbling, betrayed by the way his gaze kept flickering back to you, and, of course, the growing press of his impatience beneath you, hard and neglected, made it abundantly clear that he was more than ready to pick up where you’d last left off.

You broke first.

With nary a warning, your hand shot out, snatching the ends of the thin, ribbon-like scarf draped loosely around his neck. You wound the fabric around your fist once, twice, tightening it just enough to make your intentions clear…

Then you yanked.

The pull wasn’t violent — no, it was far too calculated for that. Enough pressure to catch him off guard, to tip him forward slightly, but not enough to hurt. It was a demand, plain and simple, one he found himself surrendering to before he even had the chance to consider resistance. His wide-eyed surprise melted almost instantly like cotton candy in water into something darker, something sharper, as his lips curled into a grin that spoke volumes about just how much he was enjoying this game.

"First, you ask to beg for my forgiveness," you continued, pulling him a little closer, and his chest tightened as though the leash around his neck extended all the way to his lungs.

Your gaze pinned him down like a blade, your lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a smile — something far more addictive.

"And then," you murmured, sweet but laced with unmistakable bite, "you start ordering me around like a brat."

A jolt of concentrated heat shot through him, not from embarrassment but from the sharp edge of thrill that ran through his veins. He let the tension in his body slacken just slightly, a calculated move that allowed him to lift from the bed a little, meeting your challenge with his own. The faint tug of the scarf against his neck only heightened the electric energy between you, and he found himself biting back a grin.

“Well," he said at last, letting his weight sink into the bed with a noncommittal shrug, the barest shift of his shoulders enough to convey his defiance. "I’m just playing my part." He tilted his head just enough to make the scarf strain, wanted to see what you’d do with the provocation. “The sleazy husband.”

“You want a reward for that?”

“Acknowledgment of how committed to the role I am would be nice.”

“Oh yes, the most infuriating actor—”

“Aaand you goofed it—”

“—impossibly—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—”

“—handsome," you went on, and his smirk faltered ever so slightly. “Disarmingly clever, annoyingly witty," you added, the sharp edge softening with each word, though the grip you kept on the scarf didn’t loosen. If anything, you pulled him closer, closing the space between you inch by inch. "—and worst of all," you finished, dropping into something softer, something so intimate, "Completely, devastatingly, undeniably competent."

“Well, aren’t you good at apologizing…” he said into himself, embarrassingly beet-red at having fallen for your trick.

“I’m still waiting for yours, you know,” you pointed out distractedly, playing with the crystal flame lilies scattered on his wine berry shirt, tracing the petals of a bloom while seemingly entranced, following the silvery droplets dangling in a chain. “But I’ll be graceful this time and keep going with mine...”

Before he had a chance to blink or register the motion — your free palm slipped underneath the thin fabric covering his heart, caressing right alongside the pulsing red mark — and squeezed with a vengeance (such a fierce boob grab!), applying enough pressure that the pads of your fingers sunk into flesh, then widened the buttonless V-cut of his shirt by yanking, no, downright ripping it open by the lapels with both hands, and Rafayel damn near felt like a virgin at how scandalous that single action was that he almost covered himself up.

But then again, he could hardly claim innocence right now, could he? He was practically a champagne bottle about to pop down there. Just from that. Who was he, the main female character getting her corset ripped in a bodice-ripper novel?

“Ohmyg—hi? What happened to hello? How are y—”

“Shut up or no head.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kisses were rained along his collarbone, the length of his neck, and nipping gently at the spot behind his ear that got the hairs on his nape rise to attention. It would’ve been funny what a child’s play it was to tease him until his ears matched the scarlet blossoms on his shirt, except nothing about this particular situation bore humor — least of all, his response to it.

Which was practically none at all. Because he simply lay there, stiff as a plank from how turned on he was, and you worked him diligently as if he was an instrument and you were the virtuoso.

It was also because he was zeroed in on the cleavage peeking out from the gap in your robe as you made your way further downwards, tongue flickering along the dips and bumps of his upper abdomen — surely able to feel more than hear each inhale and exhale getting closer to moaning territory the longer you kept teasing. He even caught a nip slip here and there, getting impossibly harder in response, culminating in him twitching and tightening beneath you whenever you — purposefully! — brushed against his erection.

“Rafayel,” you sighed dreamily, and he moaned for real this time at how his name fell softly past your parted lips, pouring into a pleased hum against his navel where a trail of wetness gleamed — followed by fingertips curling gently around the hem of his pants’ band. “You’re so quiet. Not leaving it up to chance, huh?”

And the only response he gave was an impatient roll of his hips toward your head, granting you permission — eager acquiescence, even — while a loud, unabashed gasp slipped into his lungs as your hands found the zipper of his pants. With a practiced tug, you freed it from its track, and his pants slid low on his hips, just enough to reveal the waistband of his underwear. Your fingers followed immediately, hooking under both fabric barriers to ease them down until they rested tautly just below his hips. The motion tugged on his shirt as well, once secured by the overlap tucked into his waistband, and with nothing anchoring it anymore, the luxurious fabric parted effortlessly, exposing the sculpted expanse of his chest and abs in one sweeping reveal. His stiffening length, freed from its confines, ached visibly — leaping subtly toward contact, as though craving the touch it had been denied for far too long.

"See? You're being so good... why do you keep wanting to provoke me?" came your lilting reproach, spoken against the soft skin of his pelvis, lips fluttering teasingly across its planes in playful grazes of their silky plush. "

“Permission to talk?”

A sharp, in-drawn breath escaped him the moment a single finger traced along the underside of his shaft, lingering over a wildly pulsing vein — evidence of the frenetic race of his heart currently pumping pure liquid lightning straight through his veins — but he recovered quickly, allowing it to dissolve into an exhale long and drawn-out instead.

“Go ahead, handsome.”

His hips lurched instinctively in search of something tangible, of a sensation besides the torturous tickle of warm breaths dancing lightly along his arousal, "Give me my reward, then. I've waited so long for this, it's been torture."

“Doesn’t sound like you minded the wait. You left me, didn’t you?”

Ah, yes. The grudge. You were becoming like Rafayel the longer you stayed by his side.

"You know I hate waiting. Let alone like this," he said, all whiny and punctuated with a shudder — one that was met with an accompanying jolt that surged straight from the base of his erection when your lips brushed teasingly alongside it. "I didn't think you'd be this cruel..."

"Are you really asking?"

"Can you give it to me instead of wasting time talking?" came his blunt retort, brows drawn together in an impatient furrow that radiated ‘I’m being wronged,’ energy.

"Not wasting time at all, just wanted to spend more time with you. Feels nice, right? You deserve this,” you murmured comfortingly against the swell of his abs rising and falling with each heavy breath — and oh, he almost melted into a puddle at that, visibly deflating with his chest cavity just filling up all warm and fuzzy with love.

It did feel nice but — just — just — fuck — he needed to be touched or he actually was going to disintegrate into sea foam. Not joking.

A brief kiss landed on on the left side of his Apollo belt in consolation before a drag of your tongue along its path followed, transitioning into you breathing more warmth directly into his base, then placing a loving peck to his tip — eyes twinking at the tremble that surged through him. “I really love seeing you so reactive. Does it feel that good? Just breathing on you like this?”

His hips pushed upward in tiny nudges, bumping insistently against your cheek, practically begging to be held properly inside your mouth. "It doesn't feel good at all — just, come on, hurry... I keep my lube in the top drawer on the left... It's edible, you know..."

Thankfully, you didn't smirk at him. Didn't stop to tease him about his eagerness, either, wordlessly going about reaching over to rummage for a bottle in his nightstand — an act that forced you to draw away from his straining member completely, your warmth vanishing suddenly in one agonizing instant, causing him to nearly whine from the loss.

You popped open the lid to squirt some lubrication into your palm and recapped it while staring down at him with a curious gleam. "You had something like this with you the whole time—"

Your words got cut off upon him grabbing your dripping hand and directing it straight where his impatience stood angry at the delay, shuddering out a moan at how incredibly silky the glide was.

"Finally... yesss," he hissed, thrusting upwards to feel more friction — the delicious slickness spreading across your enclosed grip driving him absolutely wild. "Ahh—kkhfff... Keep going, you have to keep going, don't let go... Please. Please?”

Something in your face twisted weirdly at his breathy begging, making his heart flip at the unflinching lust in your widened gaze trained firmly onto his jerking hips.

He had your fist trapped around his swollen cock, urging you into pumping it once you settled into a steady rhythm stroking its turgid crown, twisting and curling into each new swipe upwards along his pulsing flesh; encouraging you by squeezing tighter every few strokes until you took over completely. Then, he threw his arm over his forehead haphazardly, basking in the blissful waves flowing through his veins at long last, watching you watch yourself pleasure him through fluttering lashes, breathing hard through half-parted lips.

"That's it," he sighed huskily, rocking his body into the hand rubbing and grinding against his dick's ridge with expert motions; thumb circling its glistening head and caressing alongside its slit where precome beaded out generously, smoothing over the entirety of its surface and working into the underside, swirling tantalizingly over the bulging vein there until all his thoughts melted into a haze of pure sensation, mind wiped clean of everything except the singular, simple fact that he desperately needed to come. "Like that — nnhhh, yes! That feels amazing — feels perfect — love those sweet little fingers... So close already, I can't, I can't—"

At his muttered groans, your pace stuttered noticeably before resuming its previous speed, which wasn't fast enough according to the stretching throb inside his core, his blood rushing loudly through his ears like boiling rapids. "No, faster..." he urged you, rutting into your palm even harder in a frantic effort to increase the pressure and bring him to the precipice quicker. "I can't hold on much longer — need more, I need more. Tighter. Tighter."

The corners of his vision pulsed white and Rafayel whimpered as he jumped inside your curled fist when the unexpected sensation of having your forefinger slide through his sticky fluids gathered at its tip, swirling clockwise before ascending back up in an unhurried stroke that carried a slippery coating alongside it to smooth out the glide to put pressure right into the slit — a sensation that lingered for seconds afterward with ghostly echoes, drawing a sudden choked gasp from his lips at how intensely good that single touch felt.

“Thaaaaat’s it, yeah, I love that, you have such a beautiful voice.” Your free palm swept up alongside his ribs to rub gently against their curve as though to soothe the ragged sounds ripping past his throat; traveling upward to cradle his head against yours where your cheek brushed alongside his temple, holding him still with tender care and easing some of the tremble wracking through him. "Can you feel how much I'm enjoying us being together like this — how badly I've missed you? Please let me hear those pretty sounds, I wanna hear them loud and clear. Will you be generous for me and share it all?"

His reply died in his throat in favor of a low keening sound — something raw and broken — when you squeezed tighter.

The way your nails dug ever so delicately into the sides of his cock, applying pressure just shy of pain was truly exquisite torture, making his head swim and rise up from the bed so he could crush his lips against yours, biting hungrily into your plush mouth and delving deep into its depths until oxygen became nothing but an afterthought. Every neuron of him burned alive in chain reaction as your tongue wound and slid alongside his, curling along the underside before retreating for him to suckle on your lower lip eagerly until it swelled red.

"Mmnghhfuck! Hhhaaa—keep—" Words spilled past his slackened lips like ribbons unfurling, senseless as he struggled to convey how excruciating it was to contain his euphoria within, desperate for any sort of outlet to relieve the pressure rising inside him rapidly —

— and then broke off suddenly on a low moan when he caught a flash of your unoccupied hand that was just cradling his neck having found its way between your thighs, the view out of sight because of the robe —

Then, Rafayel saw the pearly gates.

His orgasm slammed straight into him, so unexpected and yet wholly expected all the same that he gasped around it like he was in a headlock, utterly disoriented by the sudden assault on his senses, soaring impossibly higher with each jerk of his hips into your fingers' grasp and shooting thick white streaks across his stomach; leaving behind faint smears wherever it hit its mark — warm, sticky ropes landing atop his defined abs and even reaching as far as his sternum.

He knew something was wrong when it didn't stop.

Far from it, really: each pulsing contraction seemed to force more of its fluid past his cock's narrow slit, painting your pumping digits liberally with his release — even staining the lapels of your robe in messy spots. It lasted so long that Rafayel started seeing stars sparkling around the edges of his blurring vision; making everything appear fuzzy like static. "Nggh—too much—ah! Aaa—hhh! Nnhhfff... Khhffffcking hell... Can't believe—still going—"

"Don't hold back now, just ride it out, nothing wrong with it," you murmured fervently, brushing some hair back from his sweat-soaked temple and — then — kisses, so many kisses. "I know you wanted this so badly, it's okay... You deserve this. Let go for me, yeah? Can't you let go for me? All this stress will go away. Isn't that nice?"

What came out instead was an embarrassingly high moan, hoarse with overuse, entirely at odds with the self-assuredness he'd wanted to project with each thrust of his hips, spurred onwards by instinct alone in a mad dash for euphoria.

Just how pent-up was he?

He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt pleasure this acute, sharp as shrapnel beneath the layers of desire, making him so out of it that he wasn't even aware of the embarrassing mess he made like he’d just wet himself being cleaned up with a tissue by you.

And it still wasn't nearly enough.

He surged forward, wound his arm around your waist and tossed you to the side gently so your back lay flush against the sheets before following suit in a tangle of limbs that ended with you under him — where he belonged: cradled between your thighs, seated fully inside their heated clasp as he hovered above you — one elbow propped beside your shoulder while the other wandered aimlessly downwards and undid the trusty knot holding your robe together in one go.

"Rafa—"

“Sorry, I'm sorry, I can't, I'm so thirsty," he said, as he raised the lube-and-come-sodden hand of yours up to his mouth to lap at the trails trickling over your wrist; sucking on your fingertips in apology — no trace of shame coloring his cheeks as he did, far too focused on the task of cleaning them thoroughly to be distracted by something as trivial as embarrassment. He didn’t even taste himself. Just the blueberry.

So engrossed in it that he didn’t even notice you burning holes with your gaze at his lips sealing around your thumb while he ran his tongue underneath it in short, quick flicks until it was glistening once more, except this time with spit instead of lubricant.

All the while, he traced the clean strip of skin revealed by the parted folds of your robe with a searing hand, starting from the valley of your cleavage between your breasts all the way down the slight convex curve of your torso leading towards the V that marked the point where your thighs began, drawing delicate circles into your navel, slipping downward inch by tantalizing inch in search for hidden oasis.

Taking notice of how wrecked you looked through the curtains of your fingers splayed over his eyes and forehead, Rafayel rewarded you an equally debauched looked as his lips curled into a smirk against your palm.

A loud, viscous pop of your wetness echoed in the room when his fingers tenderly made contact — positively dripping for him. Your mouth flew open upon feeling him draw his forefinger's pad gently against your entrance, lingering teasingly at the seams in an excruciating crawl, tracing lightly around it as you pulsed hungrily against his fingertip.

"So thirsty," he mumbled absentmindedly to himself — mouth watering.

Rafayel pushed open your legs by the backs of your thighs to allow his head better access. If he was on a normal day, he would plant feverish kisses on the insides of your quaking knees and thighs and mark you everywhere, made it more sensual, more teasing, but he was borderline parched — not to mention more impatient than a driver stuck behind a cyclist in a one -lane road.

You yelped at his mouth diving between your legs in reckless abandon. His tongue lapped up your slick in deep, obscene flicks, then plunged inside into the warm haven awaiting him inside, devouring your sweet nectar in loud slurps, uncaring of how sloppy and unrestrained he was currently acting; far too hungry to concern himself over anything save for indulging greedily in your flavor.

"Rafayel, shit, that feels—oh my god..." He had to push your hips down by splaying his hand along the plane of your stomach as you arched helplessly, otherwise you would have simply lifted right off from his greed ravaging you without mercy or restraint. "That's so—you're so—fuck! What—what’s gotten into you? Ahh...!"

Any hope of responding to that died the second your hand tangled itself tightly into his hair and tugged to bring him impossibly closer against you, his head blanking. It felt so good when your heel planted itself onto his shoulder blade and pressed insistently there in a silent plea for more, sending ripples of heat fanning out across his nerve endings in their wake.

Without hesitation, he latched his lips around the swollen bud peaking proudly from beneath a layer of velveteen flesh and flicked upwards, suckling hard before closing around it fully — then rolled his tongue in circles around its rim with the intent to render your world spinning madly with each passing stroke. The fingers locked around your trembling thighs kneaded deeply into their skin, coaxing the delicious, involuntary spasms coursing throughout you until the only thing you knew was the blissful torment his hot mouth wrought.

"You're so delectable on my tongue, did you know? The prettiest moans come pouring out from your lovely lips when I'm between your legs like this," he said, the sentences pieced together like beads on a pearl necklace fragment by fragment between licks and sucks, sounding just short of reverence. "Your taste drives me wild, I swear it's addictive... Am I making it up to you yet? Please say yes. Tell me it's working."

"Yesyesyesyesss—" A sharp inhale cut off anything else you tried to babble further as Rafayel rewarded you with another generous helping of his enthusiasm by diving back in and running his tongue in earnest up through your center. "You feel amazing, you — feel — so — g-good—"

"—don't think that's enough, though. Didn't you call me incompetent earlier?"

"What," you choked out angrily when a puff of warm breaths skated dangerously close to where you were most sensitive. "Oh my god—"

"I hold grudges, cutie. You taught me that," he said in a sing-song reply, lighthearted in tone, nearly drowned out by the thready groans bleeding through.

"I apologized already — what more do you want? Stop teasing, Rafayel!"

A pregnant pause followed as he stared up at you from between your legs, and saw your eyes widen with realization at just what you'd requested.

"As you wish," he relented, a dark edge to his mischievous grin when he rose back up and braced his knees against the mattress better, pulling your hips tight into the cradle of his thighs until one of your legs was thrown over his shoulder. "Have it your way — and don't forget you asked for this."

The slow sink inside your wet heat was traitorously misleading: a gentle, sweet meeting at first that masked what was brewing underneath.

A dragged out whine fanned his flames as you threw your head back. “You asshole—”

"I could have made you come once, twice..." he said, in a smooth purr that dripped sinfully past his lips.

Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp; the first wave of pleasure rolling through you upon being filled suddenly in one deep plunge. Your torso twisted to allow you to hide your face into the curve of his forearm draped next to your shoulder.

"You know I love taking my time with you," he continued, pausing to bury his face into your hair to breathe you in deeply, adjusting your leg to fall from his shoulder straight onto his hip. You took advantage of Rafayel getting close, grabbing onto his back so quickly that you missed the first time and yanked his shirt down to bunch halfway down his midsection and get stuck at his elbows. "And you just had to take that from me. I don't know which one of us is greedier... "

An apology was voiced, muffled by the crook of his elbow, almost incoherent by your gasps.

He cupped your chin and made you look at him. “Are you comfortable? Not hurting you, am I?”

Your throat clicked audibly. Then you shook your head rapidly in answer to both inquiries: yes — no — everything was okay — and Rafayel breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

And then, out of nowhere your fingers started moving around the expanse of his upper back, and before he could question the non-sexual way it came across when he was literally inside you, you said, "You're sweating."

"Yeah...?" Confusion muddled his hazy mind clouded with dull pleasure begging for him to start moving again, but you looked at him with wide, eager expectation dancing behind your expectant eyes — as if you couldn't quite believe what you'd seen.

"No — your temperature. It's still high but you're sweating now," you told him excitedly. "Rafayel — that's huge! This means your body is cooling itself down!"

He huffed.

"Of course it is, I've got the hottest woman in the world under me," he said with a roll of his hips, earning an enthusiastic moan from you in the process. Your arms snaked themselves around the back of his neck tighter until both forearms crossed at their crease, palms moving upwards in an intoxicating drag through the back of his skull. "You the cure to all of this..."

His forehead dropped unceremoniously yours where it stayed, and he sucked in an uneven, shaky groan that tapered into something resembling a whine as he started rutting steadily against you, driving into that spot where you liked it the best with growing desperation with the occasional staccato grunt at the fluttering squeeze and murmured encouragement.

At some point, his mouth wandered towards your pulse, scraped his teeth against it gingerly before latching on it in an open-mouthed kiss that was hard enough to bruise.

You tilted your chin skywards with a sigh to give him better access and tangled your fingers encouragingly deeper into his hair, and something inside him sparked awake in response, a fiery need demanding him to paint every inch of your skin violet, rose and mauve so that it may glow evermore brightly for everyone to see —

"Way too beautiful for your own good... Driving me crazy... Every single day... Couldn't keep my hands off you the moment I got in here..." he hissed furiously as though he were possessed, snapping his hips harder upon finding the angle he desired, searching relentlessly for something within you both to satisfy the frenzied race to the peak taking control of him completely; searing kisses littering everywhere he could reach along the underside of your chin and neck whilst spewing senseless litanies into your skin in between them. "Can't believe I could have this forever... Right? Say I can have this forever. It'll drive me insane if you don't, I swear—"

"Forever," you echoed hoarsely, your nails digging tightly into his scalp as his pace increased once more. "Y-you can have me forever—anytime, wherever—"

Your assurances came with a startled cry of ecstasy as he sank his teeth into the juncture connecting your shoulder and collarbone in a bite that bordered on a savage instinct to ensure he was there, he'd been there, and would always be there. "You're not leaving, are you? Aren't gonna leave me anytime soon, right?

Every syllable was marked with a measured grind into you as if determined to force every word inside your head by burying it deep in your core — imprint it permanently into your brain; until the only thing filling your thoughts was him and him alone. "Not letting you — I'm not letting you. I can’t let you go, it’s too late — too late. Say it. Say it.”

"As — many times as I ne-ed to," you panted underneath him, arching upwards so beautifully for him as his grip loosened marginally to let you find that perfect angle that caused your back to bow like a perfectly tuned instrument in his hands; singing nothing but divine music. "'S not changing, ever. Won't change... Agh!"

His hips bucked in answer to your nails sinking deep into the skin of his shoulders as though clawing for dear life. "Yeah? Yeah? Promise—?"

All you could do was sob into his mouth hungrily swallowing yours — a mess of moans falling endlessly past your lips swallowed whole, accompanied with plaps and slaps of wet thrusting. There'd never be a time when he wasn't craving the taste of your flesh burning scorching white hot against his own, craving more and more until everything blurred into a haze of delirium.

"Tell me... Tell me—hah, tell me, princess. Let me hear it..." His chest rumbled deep within where yours rubbed deliciously against his bare flesh with each fervent roll of his body. Even then, it wasn't nearly enough; couldn't possibly be, not with how ravenously thirsty he was for anything and everything having to do with you: your sounds, your expressions, those intoxicating stares filled with nothing but need for him and only him. Not while his stomach twisted itself in knots tight enough to tie sails and yet remained impossibly empty at the same time, yearning for the sweet relief of gratification flowing freely and quenching his deepest thirst. "Wanna hear you, gotta hear you say it—"

"I'm right here, m'here, not going anywhere, not leaving... I'myours, just don't let go, don't let go of me—"

He heard it as though you were underwater; faint, muffled underneath the thick fog clouding his senses, so indistinct yet simultaneously loud enough to drown out anything else within reach.

Every coherent thought vanished from his mind, melting into thin ribbons streaming across an ocean of red flames, then bursting forth anew into embers scattering throughout his vision in a dizzying display, igniting behind his eyelids with blinding light every time he blinked them closed. When he opened them, new constellations blossomed instantaneously; bright orange ones with maroon tinges shining bright among the black canvas.

"M'not gonna—! Can't let go—couldn't even if I tried. They wouldn't even be able to pry you away from my cold, dead hands."

More vivid blotches appeared before him at random intervals, painting his desert landscape in abstract patterns shifting so erratically they threatened to form fractals at any moment, jagged shapes overlapping and warping themselves until they resembled colorful stains splattered across walls in chaotic messes; or perhaps simply the shadows of clouds skirting the edges of his sight drifting past without a care — all blending together and merging seamlessly as though water droplets bleeding into fine lines until none could tell where one ended and the others began.

"Gonna be... gonna be stuck with me for life," Rafayel said, sounding entirely half out of his mind with the way he was babbling endearments (something about a bride) in-between little laps that trailed upwards along your quivering sternum toward your heaving chest; kissing you so fervently as though possessed, driven wholly by base instincts demanding he give in to whatever compulsion overtook him. "Always been mine. Always. Always—can't ever leave, yeah? I won't forgive you—won't forgive you this time—"

"Rafayel, I'm gonna come, please..." you whispered hoarsely against the crown of his head nestled between your breasts, your hands grasping onto his shoulders helplessly in an attempt at anchoring yourself. "I can't keep going, I'll fall apart. Please, don’t stop, don’t stop—"

One of his fingers slid down to repeatedly flick through your swollen folds, teasing and circling around your clit while his tongue swirled around a nipple; pulling and sucking hungrily with fervent desire, giving a pointed twist once he'd latched on.

"Come for me, then, do it, c'mon, cream all around me, let me have it, let me have this — you can do it, I’ll help you along.” His lower body lifted suddenly, pulling back until only his cockhead remained caught inside; followed by a quiet pop indicating his lips breaking contact from where they were buried in your chest. "I need you so bad I can hardly stand it anymore... Wanna feel you — feel all of you — need all of you..."

All it took was one sudden shift after a steady build-up of rhythm of shallow, quick thrusts: the smallest rotation of his pelvis and thrust straightwards, hips knocking against yours in a violent shove of flesh meeting slick flesh for you to fly apart spectacularly when he buried himself into that specific area right below your cervix.

With a shuddering breath that dissolved instantly into a shrill cry tearing through your throat, your thighs locked tight around his waist — holding him prisoner while your nails sank fiercely into his scratched back as your entire body trembled uncontrollably through the aftermath.

“Yeah, there you go, cutie.” A comforting, grounding caress landed on your forehead, tracing the arc of its curve towards the back of your ear; then repeating itself multiple times in slow, unhurried strokes — to remind you he wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon. “There you are, that was beautiful. You got me seeing stars.”

"It's... It's snowing outside... In the desert," you said faintly, eyelids slow in their blinking, and Rafayel thought how utterly gorgeous you looked, all worn down and exhausted and so drunk in your post-orgasmic euphoria to talk nonsensically about what was happening outside.

"Yeah," he agreed, equally hushed as he peppered a trail of soft kisses across the bridge of your nose. You closed your teary lashes instinctively against the ticklish sensation. "It's so soft... and beautiful..."

You were the snow in his desert. Though, too blissed out to pick up on what he was implying.

Too busy stiffening up when you felt his cock jump inside you.

"You... you're still hard?"

“I didn’t come in the first place, whoops. Busy being too competent, I guess,” he said breezily, tilting his hips so that he pressed deep inside, directly into the tender spot inside you where pleasure flared to life unbidden.

"Let me... Let me rest, fuck, give me a minute..." Your hands scrambled for purchase against his scarred back; anchoring yourself by clawing surface level trenches down along its expanse and dragging red tracks as he continued his grinding in torturously slow and shallow rolls. "Need — I need to catch my breath, you're gonna make me pass out, shit, hold on — !"

Rafayel had you for three more times after that.

The first was the short prologue to what was coming, picked up from where he’d left off in the same position — head buried in your neck, making you tightly embrace him like he’d fly off the earth if he wasn’t held. No sooner did his hips start bucking roughly against yours before he spent himself inside in long pulses that coated you inside in heated spurts, sending sparks rippling out into your limbs from where you clenched weakly around him through your own release that hadn’t yet run its full course.

The prettiest sounds in the whole entire world spilled from him as he pulled out with a schlick, dripping his neglect-thickened seed onto the sheets, and you were naive as to think this was it. You both had indulged yourselves enough for the night, fucked through the absence-abstaining makes the heart fonder phenomenon, it had been fantastic to witness him get so serious. Surely now would be a good time to cool off and step into the bath together now that you’d been able to make him sweat and the sex-heavy humidity clinging thickly to your body was getting more comfortable the more you became aware of it. The room was absolutely boiling, stuffier than a sauna like he’d projected all the heat trapped inside his body everywhere. Perhaps opening up a window wouldn’t hurt…

“That was one,” he said then, staring down at his flushed erection straining proudly between his legs like a compass needle pointed north — the faint strand of semen connecting his tip and stomach swaying and snapping apart. “This isn’t anywhere near enough.”

To your shock, Rafayel got off the bed, hauled you in by your legs until your bottom half was dangling from the bed, and folded you completely in half with no warning. Your legs were pushed against your chest and were hooked over his shoulders, and the speed of with which all of it happened punched out a wheeze from you.

"Can I? Are you okay?" he asked urgently, patting your thigh rapidly twice, pausing — then adding another firm slap there before you nodded hurriedly in confirmation rather than a verbal response, because fuck, his weight holding you down felt absolutely incredible like this.

Your ankles started bobbing in sync with his hip thrusts as he drove deep inside your heat, the sink easy, smooth and soft and the mess you both made between your legs pouring out and splattering everywhere as he kept mumbling, “I can’t stop, I’m sorry, I can’t stop, can’t stop—”

This round lasted longer, though it was the worst frenzy you’d seen Rafayel in. Nothing was slow about it, he was mercilessly pistoning himself into you and unpredictably switching between shallow and deep that had your clit being scraped against and A-spot drilled into. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open from how intense pleasure was kneading you violently like a dough. If it wasn’t for his mouth gluing itself onto yours, the entire floor and the poor downstairs guests probably would have heard what was happening with how loud his moaning became — because he was downright voluntarily overstimulating himself.

With one particularly desperate sob, Rafayel finally buried himself to the hilt within you — throbbing — in harsh jets of liquid fire with jerking, abrupt twitches of his hips, milking himself into your body as he found yet another release that was as intense and concentrated as the previous. You cried brokenly, shuddering as that final thrust abused your clit over the edge of orgasm number two, involuntarily flinching and trying to get away when he pushed all the accumulated, positively flowing stringy mess right back into your puffy cunt with a strange, entranced look on his face. You had to slap his hand away and kick his weight off you, powerless and exhausted and fully feeling like your vagina was gaping and would never close back up.

A soft kiss on your cheek brought you back to earth.

“Still alive?” he croaked, gently maneuvering you higher up the bed and laying you back comfortably. You had to avoid the giant, wet and shining spot that had to be dripping down on the floor at the edge of the bed, face burning as Rafayel’s sweat-drenched forehead leaned against yours. “I’m not going easy on you… I have to say I’m impressed how good you’re taking it.”

You realized, once more with feeling, that he was rock-hard against your hip despite having already come three separate times — two of which had filled you to the point of pouring out of you — and had no sign of calming down any time soon.

He was beyond insatiable.

Though the third and final time was far sweeter, the pace much slower and drawn out as though he’d suddenly regained some sense and clarity. By that time, you were growing deliriously tired, the earlier carnal fucking accommodated itself to you by morphing into tender lovemaking. Rafayel had you on your side, comfortably able to hug pillows and anchor yourself, while straddling your thigh and hooking your other calf over his waist and held it there firmly, out from your space to let you breathe with his back straight. Just looking down at you with obvious, sensual longing to lean down for kisses the entire time and looking so fucked out had been enough to rekindle your desire.

He was driving himself languidly into you, either eyes closed and head thrown back, or focused dead-on at the spot between where he was slipping in and out of you — watching your cunt eagerly swallow his white-coated cock and attempt to suck him right back in each time he pulled out until only his tip remained buried. Over and over.

And eventually, his shaky breaths and sweet sighs started turning into fast-paced, restrained moans. You saw him hanging on the precipice of wanting to go fast again, the tension his body pulled taut like a bowstring about to snap.

At one point, your robe and his shirt had found themselves slingshotted into the far, opposite corners of the room at some point but he still had his pants and was positively drenched in sweat like he’d just taken a bath and shining under the dim lighting.

"Drained all of my stamina, I'm empty, completely dry... I’m gonna need an IV drip. I can’t believe it. This is crazy, you know... I could die happy like this... But I wanna come. I wan—nnah come inside you so bad again, wanna fill you up—make you full with me—"

He went completely motionless and stayed burrowed in you when your palms cupped his face gently, forcing him to look down at you with his shiny eyes. "You've got to calm down first."

“I don’t think I can,” he murmured, panting, “I really can’t. You feel so—”

Your thumbs stroked the outer corners of his eyes with aching tenderness. “We’ll stop and try to calm you down a bit continuing then, okay? Try for me. No need to rush when we have time to ourselves. No one’s going anywhere.”

He stumbled and nearly fell to his elbows on top of you. “Tell me to,” he said, in a begging voice. “You can just tell me to calm down. Anything you want, anything. You know I’ll listen.”

All these months of living with the revelation about the bond and it still came as a shock to you, but you figured if it was for his own good...

So you ordered him: "Calm down and relax, Rafayel. Everything’s fine, you’re okay."

And god, did he listen well.

You were shocked, as you always were each time, to see just how willingly compliant he was. Seeing his body literally change its chemistry to conform itself to your desires and let go of all tension was unbelievable. You immediately felt bad that you’d forced it on him somehow like some admitted, invasive tranquilizer, because you could have made him relax naturally, with your own labor, a glass of water and massage, maybe, gradually work him through it—

“There’s nothing to worry about. Don’t think about it too much. Just focus on me, yeah?” A quiet command that lacked any real intent to order accompanied an equally soft kiss planted softly against the corner of your mouth, and all thoughts went flying out of the window when you saw how mellowly at peace he was, gazing dreamily at you without the slightest care in the world.

After that, everything became a blur once again. But a pleasant one. Slow, like molasses trickling lazily throughout your bloodstream at room temperature — soothing all aches into pleasure-flavored coziness at being joined, no rampant race towards a climax involved. There was no concept of time whatsoever: just the two of you together.

After your pillow talk about what he believed inspired him — what he wanted would, you internally filled in the blanks — and how he was running out of reserves exclusively saved up for the purposes of his art, you had to make it clear to him that there would be no pain involved in your relationship.

You didn’t know if he expected to be hurt by you in the future or implied he had no problem with that happening, but you couldn’t even tolerate him saying those things for the sake of love, or whatever it was. Him being intimately familiar and nonchalant with the concept bothered you down to the bones.

Not only were you trying to work around the huge rock he’d just dropped on top of your heart with the revelation that Aridum had to represent pure suffering to him as a Lemurian, you were also slightly upset he’d wanted to subject himself to it because he was lost more beautiful things in life had made their way into his life to inspire him as well. His paintings, all of them, had taken a new context and an additional layer of tragedy with that revelation, despite the fact that he’d basically said you made him draw from a different fountain and clogged up the other one.

It was a bittersweet happiness to hear Rafayel wanting to explore brighter, happier sides of life together when the sketch he showed you he was working on while you were sleeping depicted a man drowning in the sea and a figure beckoning him from above, close to the surface. Something still very painful.

“That’s one bleak drawing.”

“Depends on what you see.”

“I see a dying man hallucinating. Maybe that’s someone close to him and his brain is comforting him with a vision. I don’t know.”

“Interesting take. Maybe it’s not just a man at all. Maybe it’s a reunion. It looks peaceful, doesn’t it?”

Now you looked again, it did look peaceful. Just like Rafayel was right now, next to you on the bed with his forehead almost touching yours.

"I'd like to think he isn't drowning, then."

Rafayel just smiled.

[veggiesxxx]

POV: You spend time with a guy "behind their back." (Part 2/4)

(reader is NOT cheating!!)

ft. Jealousy, fluff,

Sylus

Your phone buzzed, interrupting your conversation with your friend.

"And then, it started charging up it's attack-"

"Ugh, sorry. Somebody's spamming me." you mumbled, rolling your eyes, reaching to turn your phone over on the table, screen face down so you wouldn't have to look at the relentless messages.

"As I was saying-"

You tried to continue, only to hear your notifications blow up even faster, the buzzing incessant. You were convinced that if you didn't reply, your phone would combust in the middle of the café.

"Sorry. I've got to check this," you sighed, picking up your phone, lazily going to see who was the contact spamming you relentlessly.

"Sweetie who is that." "Is he bothering you?" "sweetie?" "Are you hurt? is he threatening you." "Y/N." "If u dont reply im coming over" "Why did you turn ur phone around." "Kitten who is he?"

Scrolling through the barrage of texts, your brows furrowed, immediately becoming suspicious. Sylus? How did...

You looked up, gazing intently at any pipes on the ceiling or dark corners a certain mechanical spy could be hiding. Knowing Sylus, and what to look for, it made finding the problematic Mephisto a lot easier. Your frown deepened, as the bird noticed you glaring at it. As if sensing your glare, the robot flapped its wings, cawing loudly. A customer walked into the café at that moment, and the bird cawed a final time, making it's presence known, returning your glare before taking the chance to fly out the open door before the owner chased it out. Poor man who walked in had to duck the diving 'bird' as it soared into whatever shadows outside.

After witnessing that 'spectacle', you turned your attention back to the phone in your hands, immediately tapping your thumbs on the screen, sending a reply to the spammer.

"Sylus? Why are you suddenly spying on me- in Linkon??" "I saw Mephisto. How long have you been watching me?" "No! Don't come!! I'm fine!"

You started to panic, heart sinking, frantically texting back so Sylus didn't appear and do something drastic-

"It's a bit too late for that, kitten. look up."

'What-?" You didn't get to snap out of the baffled daze before you felt a hand on your shoulder, and a rather threatening, unmistakable presence towering over you. You froze up, embarrassed that he was having this fit in front of your friend.

You glanced up at the Onychinus's big boss, your gaze following his— which was locked dangerously onto the man sitting opposite you.

"Sweetie, let's go." He snapped his eyes back onto you, his voice laced with not-so-subtle possessiveness and suppressed irritation, not leaving much room for argument. Sylus was obviously in one of his 'fits'.

Sighing, you shook your head in exasperation, getting up. You quickly apologised to your friend, shooting him a "sorry about him" glance. Sylus didn't wait for your pleasantries to be exchanged. In his eyes, getting you away from the other man was something to be done immediately.

Once outside the café, pulled by the hand, you confronted Sylus for his abrupt interruption of your peaceful lunch. "Seriously? You couldn't have waited for my answer? I replied in less than 5 minutes..."

"You turned the phone over." He asserted, like it was some important evidence. He crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow, not a hint of any teasing smirk on his face. This was serious, you noted mentally. In your head, it wasn't a big deal– he'd seen you flip the phone over multiple times when notifications became too annoying– but if he actually felt that this situation was significant...

"I did. Still, you know it's nothing- I do it all the time."

"Not to me. You always answer."

That.. was true. You never did ignore his messages.

"But you turned me away. For him." He continued, and you could swear you've never seen him so serious. Never.. not since your first meeting. "I thought something happened." his voice was low, however, it couldn't hide the trace of vulnerability. Like he was trying to pretend he was this concerned because he thought you were unsafe with an unarmed man, rather than just afraid of losing you.

"Nothing happened, I'm fine, Sylus." you murmured, putting your hand over his, uncrossing his arms for him. You gently squeezed his hand, not really wanting to let him off the hook yet. "He's my friend. Just a friend,"

"Friend or not. He can't have what's mine.'

Your cheeks flushed, not expecting him to express or even acknowledge his own feelings so openly. You didn't look up at him, and he was glad for that- so he could hide his red ears.

"Overprotective, much?"

His solemn eyes raised, missing their usual glimmer of mirth, meeting yours, tilting his head, and a piece of his hair bobbed against his forehead.

“Call it what you want, sweetie. I'll always be here to watch over you.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile. As infuriating as Sylus could be, his unwavering devotion had a way of making you feel safe—even when he went overboard.

“Fine, fine,” you gave in with a sigh. “But next time, just call me instead of sending your creepy bird, or yourself.”

Sylus’ smirk came back faintly, more like a relieved smile. “No promises.”

"I'm proud of you, though, kitten. You spotted Mephisto faster than I thought you would. How'd you learn that?"

"Yeah.. because all pipes have glowing red eyes.." you said, sarcasm slipping out.

"...Wait. Did you say next time?" His gaze grew more intense, eyeing you down.

"No next time. I'll snap his neck." He hissed, gripping your hand tighter in his.

"You keep those sharp eyes on me, sweetie. Where they belong."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧༶

Hope you enjoyed!! Pls leave a note if u liked yay

Next :

╰┈➤ Zayne/Xavier (Part 3/4) -voted below-

Previously :

╰┈➤ Rafayel (Part 1/4)

A/N: I don't know if this is too long lmao

Tags: @cordidy @liz9898 @crystalfay

[jadeoru]

thinkin about satoru with a gf thats just wayyyy cooler than him.

incl: alternative!fem!reader x loser!satoru, enemies to lovers-ish… kinda.. satoru’s just really stupid (+ cant talk to alt women), smoking, yn has tattoos, piercings + dyed hair but nothing is actually specified, meet-ugly, i got really carried away D;

No matter how hard he tries, how much effort he puts into his hair, or how much time he spends in the mirror practicing his ‘nonchalance,’ i.e. rehearsing his one-liners and shitty pick-up lines via talking to himself in the mirror and pretending it was someone else (which she has caught him doing it multiple times), she always seems to completely out-do him - stealing the attention of everyone passing by, stealing the eyes that deserved to be on him.

There were times when he considered dying his hair like hers, or getting piercings to seem cooler, but he was terrified of making such a drastic commitment (and he fainted when she tried to pierce his earlobes that one time, so needles were definitely off the table).

He was so used to turning heads every time he walked through a busy street, practically strutting through the bustling crowd with a confidence that screamed ‘I own this sidewalk, and you should be grateful to share it with me.’ He was so used to having girls swooning for him; constantly gawking at him and all of his 6-foot-something glory. He relished in the attention, and consistently abused his ‘pretty privilege’ to obtain whatever he wanted, handed to him on a silver platter.

But all that changed when he met her for the first time.

Her appearance was loud, bold, unique in a way that brought a whole new emphasis to the word, and he nearly gave himself whiplash from how hard he turned his head to give her a double-take. He was convinced that something in the universe shifted in that moment; he could practically feel the scales moving, as all the eyes at the party seemed to be glued to her. For the first time in history, he was no longer the coolest person in the room. And the most eloquent thought in his mind was,

‘What the fucking fuck.’

The music that, at first, was way too loud, suddenly seemed muffled, as he looked at her with a gaze that could only be described as ‘analytical.’ He noticed all of her facial piercings. It was probably the most metal he had ever seen in anyone’s face. His eyes slowly observed as many tattoos on her that he could see, curiously wondering what other ones she was hiding as they trailed off underneath the confines of her leather halterneck. She moved with all of the confidence of a victorian vampire. He had never felt so dumbstruck in his life.

Now, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew what an alternative person was. Hell, he had a massive crush on Gwen from Total Drama Island in high school, so he had plenty of credentials. He was as cultured as he could possibly be, but in a small home town like his, he rarely, if ever, came across an actual alternative person in real life.The closest he had was Suguru, but he wasn’t necessarily ‘hardcore’, more so just an angsty stoner that enjoyed the simplicity of classic midwest emo music. So seeing someone as cool as her was completely new, and he was experiencing a lot of new, and conflicting thoughts and feelings. Most notably, he was intrigued. (- and jealous that she stole his title as ‘the cool one that everyone wanted to be friends with’.) Unfortunately for him and his ego, he didn’t make the good first impression that he normally did. With a surge of confidence, he approached her, as he did the other girls he found an interest in, and said something along the lines of, “Hey, you’ve got a lot of piercings. You into pain or something? ;-)”. In a shocking turn of events, she didn’t giggle or swoon, she scowled at him, and called him a ‘fucking weirdo’, before walking away. Ouch. That definitely did not go as smoothly as he expected it to. But he was never one to back down from a challenge. He was determined to get to know her. He wouldn’t let her push him away so easily. Despite how much of a strange, red-flag she thought he was at first. He was frustratingly persistent.

Luckily for him, she was great friends with Suguru, and as fate would have it, they went to pretty much the exact same group functions. He had never been so grateful that Suguru was such a houseparty fiend in his life, and that's saying something since said parties were usually his domain. He could get any woman he wanted there with a bat of his eyelashes. Well, until now. It took a lot of miserable failed attempts to get her to actually listen to anything he had to say. Apparently, girls like her didn’t like to be called a ‘goth mommy’. He learned that the hard way, after she ‘spilled’ her drink on him and gave him the finger. He made a couple of insensitive comments. But it wasn’t his fault! Girls like her were completely different to what he was used to! He actually had to put effort into getting her attention! That never happened! He was so tired of always messing up, always saying the wrong thing. Damn it, why was she so unattainable? He had to recruit the help of their mutual friends, Shoko and Suguru, and with their wise guidance, and the help of many pep talks, he learned how to actually talk to her, and potentially earn her friendship. They told him her interests and little things about her, and he found himself slightly shocked when he realised how much they had in common. It was strangely unexpected. She dressed like she was always ready for a funeral, her face plastered with dark makeup that screamed misery and gloom. What did they mean she also loved marvel, just like he did?! The more he learned about her, the more he found himself falling for her. He was sick and tired of this parasocial, one-sided relationship.

He finally got through to her at a halloween party. When she showed up, dressed in a small black dress and covered in fake blood, in all of her vampiric glory. Despite the dark costume, he thought she looked nothing short of heavenly. As she recalls it, the story of their unlikely friendship stemmed from something very similar to Stockholm syndrome, but he denies that with every fibre of his being. At some point during that night, when the people around her got too drunk and annoying, and she disappeared to the balcony of suguru’s apartment for a smoke break, he followed her out there; finally having their first normal, civil conversation, that didn’t end with him saying something stupid and embarrassing, or her scowling at him and insulting him. A complete win-win. They talked for what felt like hours, and finally, really got to know each other. She finally realised that he wasn’t a perverted basement-dweller that viewed alternative people as a kink, (because, holy shit, she had met plenty of people like that), and he realised that she was pretty much the same as his other friends, except with thick eyeliner. She wasn’t ‘weird’, as people claimed she was. She was just… reallyfuckingcool. A friendship blossomed quickly between them, which then developed into something more. After a year of friendship, it was safe to say that he was pretty much completely head over heels obsessed with her, and he saw her as the coolest person ever. How could he not? She always wore the coolest outfits, and had a combat boot collection that was bigger than anything he had ever seen. She had the most niche and unique music taste, with playlists that consisted of small artists with like, 10 monthly listeners. She was so effortlessly awesome. He was totally jealous of how herself she was. She knew exactly who she was, and what she liked and didn’t like, and she totally owned it. He couldn’t help it when his harmless crush spiralled into pathetic obsession. And thankfully, his pathetically endearing, nerd demeanour that resembled that of an old, wet, kicked dog, had captivated her as well.

Their first kiss was shared at Suguru’s balcony, almost about a year and a half since their moment at the halloween party.

-

“Open your mouth,” she said, softly, her voice assertive, as she leaned closer to him and brought her cigarette to her lips. He listened to her before he even realised what was happening. Hell, he barely processed the moment until it was over. As he opened his mouth, she slowly blew the smoke into it. He froze, his eyes wide as he went completely still. Satoru has had full blown sex that was less romantic and intimate than that. The cold night air was hitting his face, and effectively working to cool him down before he literally exploded. Her movements were so sure, so precise, as she made sure to leave a breath’s distance between them. The only thing connecting them was the arrow of smoke that shot from her mouth and into his with a flawless precision. For a second, it seemed like cupid’s arrow; entering through his mouth and travelling down to capture his heart. That was almost the most romantic and perfect moment he had ever experienced, until the smoke didn’t end up reaching his heart, and actually hit the back of his throat. Fuck. He suddenly started fighting for his life as he choked and coughed. Of course that had to happen. The universe always had a way of bringing him down. She laughed hard, throwing her head back as she watched a pathetic, and flustered Satoru trying to hack his lungs whilst still attempting to be nonchalant. He was such a goof, the sight brought a smile of admiration and soft fondness to her lips. “You okay?” She asked with a sort of teasing grin. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, leaning his elbow on the balcony while feigning suave casualty. “Uh, yeah. Totally. Right as rain. Absolutely peachy,” he said with a goofy grin, snapping his fingers and pointing at her with both hands. She chuckled, “Remind me not to do that again. You’re not much of a smoker, huh?” She observed, bringing her cigarette back to her lips. Satoru was almost too distracted by how pretty her wine-red lipstick made her look, too distracted by how it stained her cigarette to process her words. Almost. But when he did, he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. “No, you could totally do that again. I can totally handle it. I liked that, like a lot. The- the smoke I mean… so, you could totally do that again. But, um.. Only if you want to..” He cleared his throat, before he had the nerve to continue, and dig his grave deeper, “Uhh.. I mean like, pfft, yeah, it was alright. Cigarettes are.. Cigarettes are.. Cool..” Wow. Epic save. He mentally slapped himself in the face. Way to go, idiot.

She looked at him for a second, her eyebrow slightly raised in amusement. She could see through him completely, well, not that it was very hard. It was always easy to tell when he was lying through his teeth. Especially right now. She could see the uncertainty radiating off of him as he practically vibrated with nerves. She let out a small chuckle. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew he was into her. He didn’t really try to hide it. “Satoru?” She suddenly asked, taking a step closer to him as she put her cigarette out against the railing. “Uh, yeah..?” He swallowed thickly, assuming he was seconds away from getting made fun of for how pathetic and loserly he was. Her next words made him want to bury himself alive and never see the outside world again. “You want to kiss me right?” She said it with such casualness, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. It felt like a blow to the stomach. Was he really that obvious? He cleared his throat again, suddenly producing so much saliva he felt like he was about to drown - and honestly, that didn’t sound too bad. “I- um- no.. haha.. Well..  I mean, like…. Ifyouwanttoiguess-”  Before he could descend into his typical awkward, nervous rants that he always scrambled to when he was nervous, she decided she already knew his answer; pulling him down by the collar of his shirt, and kissing him.

Although he was an atheist, Satoru was sure he saw god twice that day. First, when she kissed him, and second, when she pulled away and smiled at him. The softness in her expression, the way she looked at him with such fondness, was a stark contrast to her intimidating, unusual exterior. And despite originally thinking it was impossible, he found his little infatuation with her increasing tenfold. He was undeniably smitten. He immediately found himself missing the feeling of her lips on his, even if that meant ending up with his being stained a faded wine-red colour by the end of it. He couldn’t help but think that, if her costume was real that night, and that she really was a vampire, he would let her drain every last drop of blood from his body if it meant his skin would be grazed by her lips. He was so used to stealing everyone’s attention just by entering a room. He had become accustomed to constantly having to practically push women back from him with a stick. He took pride in his popularity, and wore the honour of being the coolest person ever with his signature cocky grin. But the world had other plans for him. Before he knew it,  Satoru Gojo reluctantly had to give up his title as ‘the coolest’, but he would gladly throw his ego aside and spend the rest of his days bragging to the world about how he managed to score such an awesome girlfriend. He accepted his number 2 spot with pride since it meant being able to look up at her. And still, the fact that he managed to make someone like her fall just as hard for him, definitely made him feel pretty neat too. So yeah, his girlfriend was wayyy cooler than him, in every sense of the word. But honestly? He liked it that way. He would continue to worship her every move, until the day he died.

a/n: hi guys... hey.. i didnt proofread this... and its definitely not my greatest work.. and the ending was very rushed.. but can we just appreciate the fact that i finally wrote something after oh so very long?? im giving myself a pat on the back hell yeah

i honestly have so many ideas for this au so i might post more oneshots about them bcs i hold loser satoru so dearly to me :-(

[despairots]

━━━━━━ NO. 1 PARTY ANTHEM

𓏵 top!phainon x bot!male!reader , p!chrysosheirs x male!reader , college/modern au ♱ suggestive , smut

⟡ ݁₊ . ˎˊ˗ most love stories start with a simple coffee date, not for you though. it starts with a party and a couple of drinks. dni if you’re fem aligned! this is all for my male readers because there are barely any, so if you have any requests about phainon or even mydei and anaxa, please request some! but it has to be male or gn readers so keep that in mind :p also reader wears glasses! this was going to be a sub!phainon but i was like nah…. next time.

phainon, amphoreus’s golden star for the football team. he’s everything a women can dream of, right? charming, handsome, athletic, talented, and has a personality of a puppy — something women often want in a man. that’s why he’s such a famous person all around campus, and it doesn’t help when he’s friends with your friends.

people come up to you and ask for his number, which you always turn down because it’s not your place to just share it around with people. its been collecting dust in your contacts, he’d send you a text asking where mydei was sometimes, just for you to answer with a simple ‘idk, sorry.’

you understood the appeal, you really did, but you didn’t have an obsession with him like others — never that. you don’t hate him, it’s more complicated than you think. if you looked at him, would you assume he’d actually go for men? if you hadn’t known him already, you’d assume with his dashing looks that he’ll go for women naturally. but just knowing how he acts with mydei already says a lot about him.

if he does go for men, who’s to say that he’ll go for you? the guy who always lingers around castorice and cipher? the guy who gets glared at whenever you enter the lecture hall with phainon right behind him? his fanclub was ridiculous and annoying, everytime his name’s brought up, loud screeching is heard.

it doesn’t help when he’s throwing a party at one of his houses (yes, plural). everyone he knows is invited, especially you but you’re honestly debating if seeing girls grind up against him is really worth it. it’s not like you enjoy parties, you do sometimes when it doesn’t involve phainon and his house. you know that just stirs bad news with multiple people — it doesn’t even matter which gender — assaulting drunk phainon.

but knowing how stubborn phainon can get, you doubt your peaceful afternoon will be anything close to ‘peaceful.’

he was currently terrorizing your time with castorice, the three of you in one of the private rooms in the library. phainon wasn’t even invited, he just texted castorice where she was, and entered like shit was all sweet. he sat himself down right beside, cheek on the palm of his hand as he flickered his eyes between the two of you.

“you two coming tonight?” phainon asked, simply, short and straight to the point. something unlike him, he’d sway you with words before asking. you looked up from your ipad, apple pen stopped midway through writing notes just to raise an eyebrow at him, “i’m invited?” phainon nodded excitedly, almost like a dog.

castorice giggled behind her notepad, seeing the drastic difference between personalities. phainon kept an arm around the back of your chair, rambling about wanting to see you there while you returned back to your notes, letting him talk your ear off and knowing you probably weren’t going to show up anyways.

“and if you don’t come, i’ll have to cancel the party! nobody wants that.” phainon pouted, trying to persuade you more, seeing how you clearly weren’t gonna give up. settling the pen down, you stretched your arms in front of you, cracking your fingers and turning your attention to the jock in front of you, “are you gonna keep annoying me until i say yes?” you asked with a tired look.

phainon nodded, “are you actually going to cancel the party if i say no?”

he hesitated for a bit before slowly nodding, you sweatdropped at it, ‘he’s probably lying but i’m not taking any chances.’ you thought to yourself, eyes falling onto castorice who watched intently, “if you go, i go, cas.” the girl blinked at your sudden words, thinking it over. she’s known you for a long time and how you liked parties that don’t contain phainon in the equation.

she looked like she was about to say ‘no,’ turning over to phainon and seeing the pleading look in his eyes. castorice has been friends with phainon since highschool, and ever since his set eyes on you, he has obviously developed a little something for you. people assumed phainon would be a confident person when it came to confessing, but that was completely wrong.

phainon turned it a shy man who sweats whenever the guy they like is breathing a little close to him. the only reason why he’s so composed is because he currently has castorice in the same room, if she wasn’t, well… he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

with a sigh, she nodded, watching your soul leave your body while phainon pumped a fist up, happy with her choice. castorice smiled, maybe this could be your opportunity to realize phainon wasn’t all that bad when it came to his fanclub. he really was just like any other normal university student that wants to get through the school year.

“see you later, you two!” phainon grinned, a hand on your shoulder that lingered a second too long before he left the room. you groaned, face buried into your hands, “why’d you say yes?” castorice shrugged, packing up her things with quick hands, she did not want you to crash out, “his parties aren’t that bad, [n]. phainon isn’t so bad either, this could be a good way for you to get to know him better.” you eye twitched, also putting your stuff back into your bag.

the only reason why you distance yourself from him is because of his fanclub. without them, you’d probably be great friends with phainon. so maybe you were being a dick for making his fanclub phainon’s entire personality but it was better being distant than having people send death threats to you, and trust me, they’re not good. for what you’ve heard, castorice has gotten some due to being friends with him despite having no romantically interest in phainon.

they’re crazy, so no one can blame you for not being close to phainon at all. even mydei agrees with you, and he’s constantly near phainon.

you stared at the mirror in front of you, outfit laying on your lap and hair already fixed because of the multiple crashouts that you were having. should you really go? phainon already expects you to be there but he’ll probably be drunk off his mind before he realizes you didn’t actually show up like you said you would. to be honest, it was more like castorice said you’d come, not you, so maybe ditching wouldn’t be so bad…

cas: if you don’t come, say goodbye to your free coffee.

your eye twitched when reading the message, of course castorice sent that right as you were about to put the clothes away. she knows you too well. before you knew it, the classic grey sweater and jeans was thrown on, locking your dorm and waiting for castorice and cipher to pull up.

a cigarette dangled in between your lips as you tracked castorice’s location, cipher’s loud and awful music signifying their arrival. cipher whistled, lowering the window down with a grin, “you come around these parts often?” you snorted and entered the backseats, your cigarette being crushed underneath your shoes. castorice pulled a face at the smell reeking off you, “you should quit that, honestly.” not bothering to put on your seatbelt, you leaned forward in space between the two.

“you should quit worrying.”

cipher laughed and earned herself a glare from castorice, “should you even be driving? you’re high, cipher.” you blinked, mouth dropped in utter horror, “what?” cipher rolled her eyes with a scoff, waving it off with her hand, “i drove to your dorm perfectly, stop it.” both you and castorice shared a look, the same thought going through you both: make sure she doesn’t get pulled over.

the drive to the party was stable, as stable as a high person could drive but regardless. some people were dressed in slutty clothes, probably to catch phainon’s attention or someone else’s eye. you forgot how many people just go to parties so someone can go ‘home’ with them. maybe you should do it too, get some stuff out of your system. you didn’t care who you’d go home with.

the second all three of you entered, you were hit with the natural party sweat scent and alcohol in the air. people grinding up against eachother, some sharing a vape, others playing beer pong — the classic party activities you’d see in movies. you wouldn’t be surprised if people were having sex upstairs somewhere.

phainon appeared out of nowhere, two drinks in hand with mydei close on his trail. he grinned at the sight of you, offering the second drink which you took graciously, “you didn’t ditch!” looking up from your cup, you stared at him up and down; phainon was wearing a classic white tee and grey sweatpants. you didn’t know what was in the air but shit.

he… actually looks good.

“cas forced me.” you mumbled into your cup, snapping your gaze somewhere else so he wouldn’t catch the growing red on your face. you’ve never looked at him that way, not once, but something about how he looked under the dark lights and the way you could see his muscles due to the short sleeves made you feel some way.

cipher and mydei shared the same knowing look, seeing how flustered you got from just catching a glimpse at his arms, you always were a sucker for them. phainon was originally gonna wear a sweater before mydei forced him to wear just a regular shirt, words that came straight from cipher in the gc called ‘pha[n] operation’. okay, yeah, they had a groupchat without you two and constantly waiting for either one of you to make a move, don’t blame them when they witnessed the most agonizing slow burn in person.

phainon blinked before grinning, wrapping an arm around you like it was the most casual thing for him. he was just a bit tipsy, whining to mydei about how much longer he’ll have to wait until you arrived, and when you did, he almost fell to his knees when he saw you. your outfit was simple — yes — but it made phainon drool in his mouth, he just wanted to touch you all over.

(cipher celebrated in the background, “go get that dick, [n]— mmpfh!” castorice covered her mouth with an exhausted sigh).

a few hours passed by, the party still going strong and you slightly buzzed, phainon attached by your hip. you stood on the opposite side of the table, the beer pongs being filled with alcohol as phainon smirked at you from the other side (you didn’t wanna acknowledge how it made heat creep onto your neck), “ready to get absolutely demolished, [n]?” you scoffed at his words, maybe he wasn’t so bad.

“you’re so cocky.”

“and rightfully so.” cocking an amused eyebrow, you got one of your balls into the far right cup, chuckling when you saw he was processing the aim. phainon whistled, drinking the alcohol quickly as the liquid slid down the corner of his mouth. your lips were pulled into a straight line, everyone can see the tension but you.

yeah, maybe you do have a thing for phainon. it took you this long to realize but its not like he actively tries to talk to you a lot, and maybe that was also your fault. you never did text him first nor did you ever bat an eye to him, but having him look at you like that made you feel some type of way. it only took a couple of months, a party, and a couple of drinks for you to realize you liked him.

his arm was behind you on the couch, the last drink from the beer pong being forced down your throat by phainon, who cooed sweet praises in your ears that you couldn’t process. you coughed, eyes squeezed shut at the liquid burning down your throat, some made it down your chin as you heaved heavy breaths, “screw… you. have some decorum.” phainon didn’t respond.

he was just staring at you; the way you didn’t bother wiping the liquid away, the way you didn’t move away when your legs were pressed against eachother, the way you stared up at him adorable with furrowed eyebrows. he wanted to eat you whole, watch you wither underneath him as you scratched his back.

you saw the way his lips were pulled in tight, making you more confused, “phainon, why are you so quiet—mmfh!” his hands held your face, lips placed onto yours as he slid his tongue inside your mouth when you gasped. phainon felt your hands clench onto his shirt before pulling him away, a string of saliva signifying the harsh kiss he initiated.

one of his hands went down to your waist, pulling you closer to him and hearing you yelp. you were always so distant and straight to the point, he couldn’t believe that you were being reduced to such a sensitive and shy person, by his hands. phainon rested his head onto your shoulder, hiding the redness on his face, “please [n], you have no idea what you do to me..” he whined into your neck, feeling your flinch when placed wet kisses onto your flesh.

to prove your effectiveness, he placed your hand onto his crotch, keeping it there to make sure you didn’t pull away. you sat there completely dumbfounded, background noise being tuned out when all you can hear is phainon’s soft pants as he grinding against the palm of your hand.

you stopped him, pulling phainon away from your neck, “not here…” whispering softly, you eyed the people around you who looked blissfully unaware that the man they came here for was kissing you instead. phainon nodded, pulling you up the stairs with haste and into a room that seemed like it was his. you just stared at the bed before he pulled your attention away with another breathtaking kiss, his hands sliding inside your sweater and gripping your waist like a squeeze toy.

“phai— wait, wait…” you stopped him yet again, the both of you on his bed with your legs straddling his waist, “what if someone walks in?” phainon rubbed his thumbs over your stomach, comforting you and coaxing you into grinding against him more, “let them walk in.” you hummed against his lips, pulling away slightly to take off your glasses before kissing him again, one of your hands rubbing against his abs and earning yourself a whimper.

sooner or later, his clothes were off and hands pinned above his head as phainon’s cock was in your hand, slowly jerking it off. you shifted in his lap, feeling your own dick strain against the uncomfortableness of your boxers. phainon’s dick was really pretty, and big but we’re not talking about this right now. you released the grip you had on his hands and dick, removing your sweater and bottoms slowly, making phainon impatient.

he flipped you around, mouth latching onto your nipples and making you release a surprised moan. your breath got heavier when he kissed slowly up to your neck, marking you with dark hickeys that would show regardless of the makeup that was gonna try and hide it, “you’re so beautiful.” he complimented, feeling your dick twitch between your bodies.

he tapped your mouth open with his index and middle finger, “i’m sorry… i came unprepared.” you sat up and engulfed his fingers into your mouth, coating it with salivia. seeing you suck on his fingers made it harder for phainon to not just rail you onto his bed, “i don’t have a condom either…” phainon trailed off, slightly embarrassed by how unprepared he was.

you just snickered, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, “it’s fine, i don’t like the feeling of condoms anyway.” phainon swallowed a gulp of saliva, fingers prodding at your hole as you let out a small gasp. hands were on his shoulders, head thrown back against the pillow when he loosened up your hole. “is this your first time?” you hesitated before nodding your head, phainon smiling softly knowing there was nothing soft about any of this.

phainon’s always wanted you like this. underneath him, moaning and squirming as he made you come undone over, and over, and over again. his dreamt about it, and every time he woke up, phainon would find himself with a problem only he wanted you to fix. he never wanted the others, just you. always you. seeing you confirm that he was your first made him run many laps.

“close, close—phai!” hearing you about to come on his fingers, he pulled out, biting his lips when you whined about the loss. you looked so devilish beautiful underneath him, eyes teary, drool down your mouth, hair a mess, and body filled with bite marks. you were fulfilling his wildest dreams by just letting him lay you onto his bed.

phainon lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, slowly inserting himself inside you and cursing to himself when your hole kept pulling him inside and squeezing his cock deliciously, he could come on the spot. when he buried himself inside you, phainon wrapped his arms around you, kissing the tears away as you adjusted to his size.

“you can move.” he pulled out just an inch before thrusting back inside, your head being thrown back as a broken moan left your mouth. phainon muffled your moans with a kiss filled with love, pouring everything he felt about you into this kiss. your hands reached up to hold his face close to you, feeling him gradually increase his speed.

breaking the kiss with a bite onto your bottom lip, his hand reached down to jerk your cock, matching his pace and eliciting himself a loud moan from you. your arms were around his shoulders, panting and moaning against his ear, a whimper of his name completely breaking him of any sense as he pinned your hands beside your head.

“fuck.. take it all. take every bit of it.” you didn’t expect him to be so good with his words, even during sex all he was saying were filthy things and praises at the same time. it was no surprise that your walls tightened around him, a chuckle leaving his mouth, “you’re so tight around me. you like what i’m saying, huh?” you whimpered, eyes shut and barely able to formulate a response from how good he was making you feel.

phainon wanted to see your eyes as he made you unravel underneath him. he gathered both your wrists into one hand, his free hand now holding your chin in place, “come on, sweetheart. let me see your pretty eyes.” he grinned when he saw you slowly open your glossy eyes, tears just at the corner of them.

“you like it, don’t you? let me hear you say it, pretty boy.” you bit your lip, debating if you should let the last piece of your pride go or not. does it really matter? phainon’s already destroying your inside but his sheer size, so you already lost at this point, “love it so much, phai. keep going—nngh!” one particular thrust hit that one spot, phainon’s grin growing wider as he moved both his hands onto your waist, hitting your prostate over and over again.

“coming—coming!” you managed to let out, phainon’s thrusting growing more erratic and sloppy, “i know, i know.” he muttered against your neck, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside you, feeling your legs tighten around his waist before going limp.

he pulled himself away from your neck, seeing you catch your breath and stray tears sliding down your cheeks, ‘crap…’ his breath hitched when he felt his dick twitch, embarrassed when you glared up at him through strands of hair, “are you hard again?” phainon nodded sheepishly, “just one more, please. that’s all i’m begging.” you sighed, cock also twitching when you felt him lick up the cum on your chest.

you’re not going home any time soon.

(“did you two finally fuck? we didn’t see you at the end of the party?” “cipher, he’s still inside me.” “WHAT?”)

[patriamrealm]

You know what this has been taking over my thoughts for a while so might as well get it out. This is going to be long so buckle up if you want.

There's something I never see mentioned in fics or anywhere else and that's the fact that Stanford was homeless for 30 years. Sure he was traveling from dimension to dimension but from what I can tell Ford was doing basically the exact same thing that Stan had been doing homeless for 10 years if not worse.

He can rationalize it away as all done for the greater good but Ford was a wanted criminal in what seems like hundreds of entire dimensions and likely not allowed to return to many (if he even could) much like Stan was banned from multiple states.

He had a huge bounty on his head and had to be paranoid and careful and on the run constantly just like Stan had been when he owed people like say Rico money.

The biggest difference I can see is that Where Stan was trying to both survive but also make those millions so he'd be worth something to his family and maybe they'd take him back, Ford wasn't expecting to get out of this alive.

Sure he was working towards killing Bill with this singular focus but it seems like Ford was fully expecting to die in the process. Ford fancied himself the hero sure but he was fully prepared to not make it out of that alive.

I actually think that, that whole mindset started even before he fell through the portal. He'd been tormented by Bill physically and mentally for at minimum a month by this point if not longer so when he was desperate enough to reach out for help from Stan. If Stan had taken his journal and left like he wanted I don't think Ford was planning on living much longer. To him there was no way out and if for all his smarts he'd still fallen for Bill's tricks.

For as much as he tried to cover it up he was still terrified that Bill could get to and hurt Stan. He didn't think he was worth saving but the world and everyone/everything was. Unless someone else stepped in I fully believe that Ford would have done something drastic if Stan had taken the journal and left that would have ended in his own death but at least everyone would be safe from Bill. Had no one stepped in in any case.

And I think that carried over on the other side of the portal. His single goal was to kill Bill, and it very much seems like he was prepared and ready to die doing so. He was already doing something drastic.

All this to say I think among all the new quirks and changes that Stan sees, I think he'd see some habits and things he did while he was homeless in Ford. Given enough time while on the ship I think they'd bond more over those shared experiences, and spot those key differences as well.

I think these things could be taken advantage of a bit more.

[punktactical]

HIHI!! turns out i could not rmbr wat i was gna originaly request (sadly)

but!! i have a better request!!

pervert!sanji x pervert!reader but theyre both perverts in a way that is concerning and probably criminal :>

(thanks and i hope you have an amazing day!!)

CREEP , sanji

★

summary ; your panties are missing! who could've stolen them? it couldn't have been sanji! he would never.

warnings ; 18+ content , fem y/n , mutual masturbation , panty sniffing , dick slapping , degradation , slight femdom? , sanji is the reader's roommate and good friend !

a/n ; thank u for requesting !! this is kinda bad but i hope u like it. have a wonderful day/night!

★

★

it was just another evening in the shared apartment of you and your roommate, sanji. it just so happened to be laundry day. sanji had just come back from work, tired and sleepy.

slamming the door open, he enters the apartment, groaning and mumbling. you laid on the couch, raising a brow at him. "rough day?" he nods his head, tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter. you smile at him, standing to your feet. "i'll do the laundry, you can go rest." he looks at you, a grateful look in his eyes. "thanks, god knows i need it." you laugh, walking to your bedroom to collect your clothes.

sanji watches you as you walk away, biting his lip.

fuck, he couldn't wait to cum to the countless images of you he has stored in his phone.

★

you separate your clothes into specific categories, humming a sweet tune. once you've finished that, then you began popping them into the washer. but there was a problem!

"the fuck . . . what happened to the rest of my panties?"

you only had two panties, a drastic difference from the multiple you used all week. you checked through all the other clothes you had, but nothing. standing to your feet, you rub your neck. "probably just forgot some back up in the apartment." sighing, you drop the rest of your clothes into the washer and begin walking back upstairs.

opening the door to your apartment, you make sure to enter extra quiet. you're sure that sanji is sleeping right now, which is reasonable after such a slow day.

creeping over to your room, you stop upon squelching noises and soft whines of pleasure from sanji's room. heat immediately rushed between your legs, making you blush. peeking into the half-open door, you're only able to see small movement through the crack.

one thing was for certain though, sanji was jerking himself off with something. something white and striped pink. you squint, leaning in a bit further, unaware of how you've pushed the door open more.

now having a better view, you've come to a horrible realization. "holy shit . . . "

those were your panties. he was jerking himself off with your fucking panties.

you probably should've been mad, really mad. but it was sanji and you would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about him a couple of times.

more than a couple, actually, but that's besides the point !

you watched as he pumped himself, whispering words of praise and affirmation. it shouldn't have been hot, but god was it fucking sexy. your hand travels down to your cunt, slipping into your shorts and feeling yourself. slick coats your fingers, making you shiver.

"you feel s'good, so good for me. fuck, you want m'cum? mm . . . "

you hush your moans, slipping two fingers into your cunt. you began to fuck yourself, watching your roomie sniff your panties and pump himself in delight. you got so caught up in your pleasure, you hardly noticed how the door was now basically fully open.

sanji doesn't notice though, he just keeps going.

"yesyesyesyes, you love this cock, right? shit- it's just f'you, all yours, sweet thing, oh fuck!"

"i love it, fuck yes i love it. ah . . . !" you gasped, speeding up your movements. your shorts were now on the ground, completely disregarded and your panties were hanging by your knees. tears began to well up in yours eyes, fingers covered in your juices. you were so, so close. "give it to me, sanji. i'll take it all ~ !" you shrieked, cumming right on the spot.

you swear to god you were seeing stars.

juices dripped down your thighs, shaking in pleasure. sliding onto the floor, you huff.

"fuck- [y/n]?!"

shit, you forgot.

you jump to your feet, slipping your panties back on, drenching them. sanji hid his cock with a pillow, his face beet red.

"s- sanji, the fuck were you doing with my panties?!" he sputters, having trouble coming up with an answer. "it's not what it looks like, i- i i just needed to let off some steam- ah!" you raised a brow at him. his arm was still moving from underneath the pillow. "holy shit, are you still jerkin' off? you gross asshole!?" you slap him across the face. he moans, throwing his head back.

"you fuckin' perv, you like that?"

"[y/n], s- stop, you were watchin' me too!!" he defends himself, eyebrows furrowed. you groan, wiping your fingers on your shirt. "cuz yer jerkin' off with my panties?! how was i supposed to just walk off with that image in my head! fuck . . . " you sigh, shaking your head in exasperation.

sanji grunts, tossing the pillow off of himself and displaying his cock to you. the tip is red, glistening with slick.

"do you have no fuckin' shame?!" you slap his dick, watching as it pulses. he bites his lip, groaning. "yer . . . not any better- shit !" he was right, this was fucking hot. but you wouldn't admit that. sanji speeds his movements up, hand gripping his cock harshly. "ya gonna cum right in front of me, sanji?" you mock him, already slipping your fingers back into your dripping cunt.

he shakes his head, embarrassed and ashamed of his own actions. how could he deny it any longer? he just needed a final push, something to-

"cum, fucking cum, perv."

thick shots of cum dribble out of his tip's slit, coating his whole hand in white. he continues to pump himself, milking him of every drop of semen. he growls, eyes never leaving you. smirking, you crawl onto his bed and position yourself above him. "now that you're done with that, are ya gonna help me or what?"

★

[miss-musings]

My fic "Crosshair Accepts a (Helping) Hand" just hit 3K views on AO3!!

So in celebration, I'm going to share some of my favorite tidbits and BTS facts about the fic (in chronological order):

If you haven't read the fic already, here's the link.

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Several things throughout the fic are based on my real-life experiences, namely:

Although we see what Alderaan and Aldera look like briefly in "Revenge of the Sith" and "Obi-Wan Kenobi," I did include some real-life details from mountainous places I've visited.

Crosshair's procedure includes some aspects from my then-recent dental procedure and other experiences donating blood and whatnot

Crosshair testing out his new hand is based on how my mom (a physical therapist) helps her patients recover their mobility, etc.; and

Omega's fear for Crosshair & Echo going to Alderaan and her tearful reunion with them is based on my experience with my dad traveling by plane shortly after 9/11.

In Chapter 2, Crosshair decides against taking Omega with them to Alderaan because it'll be a danger and a distraction; but his brothers fully expect him to change his mind once Omega finds out and complains. They know he's a total pushover when it comes to Omega. (He actually stands his ground for once, but it's still funny that that's what they expect.)

The red bandana Omega wears in the TBB epilogue is something Hunter gave her shortly after settling on Pabu in 3.15. But, she lends it to Crosshair to help him through the procedure on Alderaan. It's mentioned in almost every chapter from when she gives it to him in Chapter 2 to the end of the fic, even in the epilogue.

Throughout the fic, there are a few snippets of description that echo lines from "Pride & Prejudice." The bit in Chapter 4 about Aldera being "perfectly situated" is similar to language used to describe Elizabeth seeing Pemberley for the first time.

Dr. J'ones being based on James Earl Jones will never fail to make me tear up.

In Chapters 6-14, the dynamic between Dr. J'ones, Echo and Crosshair is so powerful: All three have lost limbs and have had their lives/livelihoods drastically changed as a result.

The end of Chapter 9 and the beginning of Chapter 10 were purposely written and organized to act as the fic's pivot point. Because Chapter 20 is the epilogue and isn't part of the "main story," that means the fic's midpoint (chapter-wise) is between Chapter 9 and Chapter 10. Thus, these chapters are titled differently from the others to reflect their importance in the story. It's almost like you can see the story shift on its axis between the end of Chapter 9 and the beginning of Chapter 10 -- or at least that was the intent.

Everything between Crosshair and Leia in Chapter 12!!! I die every time I reread it, especially the bit where she doesn't want to go with her father and hangs onto Crosshair instead. 😂

When Crosshair first meets Arzee in Chapter 6, he's initially dismissive of her, even making fun of how long her name is. But by Chapter 14, he compliments her for a job well-done. Crosshair doesn't have the best dynamic with droids in either TCW or TBB, but he can bond with them when given the opportunity. He even refers to Arzee as "a friend" when he's talking to Omega in Chapter 18.

The jewelry box vendor at the Royal Market thinks Crosshair is attractive, and Echo picks up on it while Crosshair is completely oblivious. LOL

Crosshair is the one who bought Omega the flight jacket she wears in the epilogue!! ❤️

Also, assuming the salesman wasn't lying about the jacket, Omega now has souvenirs from both Leia and Han's home planets. The jewelry box is from Alderaan and the jacket is (supposedly) from Corellia. Now she just needs something from Tatooine...

Just everything about those final moments on Aldera and then over Alderaan in Chapter 15 is just ... 😭

Chapter 16 being titled "The Retreat" has multiple meanings (as do many of the chapter titles). It means the physical retreat from Alderaan, as Echo and Crosshair return to Pabu. It also means their collective retreat from the physical world, because they're alone on the ship in hyperspace and finally have the time to mentally regroup. But it also refers to Crosshair's retreat from Echo, because he once again secludes himself, although this time, it's for good reason.

Echo picks up on the resemblances between Leia and Anakin. ❤️

In Chapter 3, on the flight to Alderaan, Echo finally sees just how bad of shape Crosshair is in: thin, sleep-deprived and stressed. Then, in Chapter 16, on the flight from Alderaan, Crosshair finally sees how bad of shape Echo is in: gaunt, pale and exhausted. It's a nice parallel/bookend to their journey.

At various points in the fic, Crosshair, Echo and Hunter all say "I'm fine" when they're really not. They're all majorly stressed/exhausted/sleep-deprived, etc.

Not Crosshair thinking about how well Tech and Dr. J'ones would've gotten along... 😭😭

In Chapter 17, we hear how Omega couldn't sleep because she was so worried about Crosshair and Echo, that she went to the living room and slept in Crosshair's chair. She wanted to be right by the front door so she wouldn't miss when he and Echo returned.

In Chapter 18, when Crosshair and Echo start talking about the Royal Market, Hunter quickly realizes they got Omega a souvenir.

Crosshair gives Wrecker the "ugly" necklace just because he complained Crosshair didn't get him a souvenir too. Wrecker and Crosshair had a really fun bond through TCW and TBB, and that's on display again here.

Throughout the fic, three of Crosshair's siblings convince him to do something by using the excuse that it would be good practice for his new hand. They are:

Echo encouraging Crosshair to learn hair-braiding as a distraction during the procedure in Chapter 10

Hunter joking with Crosshair that he test out his new skills on Hunter's hair in Chapter 18

Omega convincing Crosshair to carry her to bed because she's too tired to get up herself in Chapter 19

Both Echo and Omega even use the exact same wording: "It'd be a good way to test out your new hand."

In Chapter 20/this fic's epilogue, we get this line: After all, wasn’t it every kid’s job to leave the nest once they’d grown up? And Omega’s wings were strong. She had been ready to fly for a long time now. "She had been ready to fly" has a double meaning: She's leaving the proverbial nest by literally flying away, and she's going to be a pilot for the Rebellion.

In the TBB epilogue, we see Omega asking Hunter to "keep an eye on Wrecker and Crosshair while I'm gone," and then Chapter 20, she asks Crosshair to keep an eye on the others. She basically charged each of her brothers with looking after the other two, because she knows how they think and operate. They need "a mission" -- something to do while she's away. Each of them would probably struggle to take care of themselves, but they would definitely take care of each other, and she knows that.

Some of Omega's dialogue in the recording she leaves for Crosshair echoes lines they said to each other earlier in the fic -- namely when Omega initially told Crosshair "Now you have to come back" when she gave him her bandana and then Crosshair telling his family "See you all soon, I promise" before leaving for Alderaan.

Note: I might add a few more things if anything comes to me. The fic is so long, it's hard to remember everything I put in there. LOL

Thanks for reading this! If you haven't I recommend checking out the fic:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61267762/chapters/156584668

[menofprogress]

Random thoughts:

i dont think viktor was entirely gone. I do think what we see of him in s2 act 2 was mostly the hexcore making decisions and talking to ppl (at the very least heavily influencing him), but hes definitely still in there. Also his "soul" is still entirely himself, as far as i can tell.

this makes me wonder if sky is really sky's soul or either some part of viktor's soul that has split off or a manifestation of the hexcore.

if viktor isnt entirely gone yet, why did jayce feel like he needed to kill him, instead of trying to talk to him? There are multiple theories about this: he saw the future, he was stuck in a timeloop or he is also posessed by something (the arcane OR viktor) and he feels like this is the only choice he has.

the thing is, jayce killing viktor isnt actually whats confusing me. Viktor was absolutely leading a cult that was doomed to fail and the hexcore was probably going to take him over entirely. I get that jayce (probably) has a justification for killing viktor, however drastic that may be.

What IS confusing me is the WAY jayce killed him and the way he acted around him. If he, after hundreds of timeloops, finally broke down and accepted that killing viktor is the only way, he would be absolutely distraught, upset, maybe in tears. From the moment viktor started speaking to jayce through salo, jayce was aggressive and downright hateful. Hes immediately antagonising viktor and provoking him. Also one thing hes upset about "i thought you were done with [...] me" happened before any timeloop or vision in the hexcore. Another thing thats really bothering me is that hes not going to viktor after he shot him? Hes not more sad afterwards, hes not distraught about how he just killed his best friend, honestly the most upset we see him is when he sees viktor for the first time.

So we know jayce is having visions when looking at viktor and his followers, the question is: how true are these visions? Bc to jayce his visions fully justify killing viktor, his followers, wreaking havok on the community and hes not even visibly sorry about it. Bc to us, the viewer, viktor and his followers seem definitely off, but not worthy of murder (yet).

What did he see that so fully killed all affection he has towards viktor? Does he think VIKTOR kept him trapped in the hexcore?? Is he even in his right mind rn?

Also, it really looks like viktor (or the hexcore if its controlling viktor) didnt expect to get attacked by jayce. He invited jayce, but it wasnt to lure him in or to invite him to fight. Viktor wasnt expecting to get attacked, he looked shocked! Makes me think that he wasnt going to do anything to jayce either and he definitely didnt have anything to do with keeping jayce, ekko and heimerdinger locked up. He WANTED jayce by his side.

Raaahhh, much to think about...

[builtbykittie]

Dirty secrets

S.f.k x f!reader

summary: a movie night with your best friend takes a drastic turn after walking in on his insufferable roommate.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, enemies to lovers-ish, SMUT, mentions of masturbation, fingering, slapping, overstimulation, oral(m & f rec), unprotected sex (you know better), sam is kind of an asshole, multiple orgasms, choking if you squint

A/N: once again not edited because I'm lazy... Sorry for any mistakes!! Enjoy!

.

"Heyy beautiful!" Danny smiles, holding the front door open with a wide grin.

"Hi Daniel," you grin, holding out your arms for a hug. You have to admit, you're excited to finally get to spend time with him at his place. You've purposefully avoided going to Danny's house ever since he and Sam moved in together, so most of the time you'd be at bars or parties.

Sam had gone through a breakup not very long ago, he didn't want to stay at his house and moved out. At first, it was just until he got over her and found a new place, but he gets over girls questionably quick and it doesn't seem that he's moving out any time soon. At least not until he moves on to the next girl.

The second you saw that Sam's car was missing from the driveway, you sat up in your seat. You hoped that Sam might've taken off once Danny told him you'd be over. The thought of him being so petty that he leaves makes you giggle, until you remember you'd do the exact same. Is it childish? Absolutely. But maybe you're allowed to be not so mature for once.

But your hopes are crushed as Danny leads you into the house.

"I know you and Sam... aren't the greatest friends," he pauses "but he's at the store getting food. He'll be back sometime soon."

You stop in your tracks, all color draining from your face. "What?" is all you can get out.

After a moment, you finally collect your words. "Danny I thought it was gonna be just us?" You try your best to seem calm and act mature, but the red tint covering your entire body tells otherwise.

"Y/N, I'm sorry. If I had told you any sooner you wouldn't have come," Danny says, further fueling the fire that is your temper.

He can tell you're about to say something and stops you. "Sam was supposed to be out but after I told him what was going on he got defensive and insisted on staying here," Danny shrugs, looking defeated. You can tell they got in a little argument over this and you decide not to go too hard on him, even though he failed to tell you you'd be hanging out with your sworn enemy. The man at the core of all your arguments.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I thought it was gonna be just us. I wish it was," he offers you a smile, but it doesn't help. It makes no sense. Why would Sam of all people want to stick around? To torment you? To show you that this is also his house and he's allowed to be around? He does help Danny pay, after all.

It takes about half an hour of scrolling through streaming sites and saying no to every suggestion to finally decide on a movie. Sam still hasn't returned.

The two of you sit around for another thirty minutes waiting for his return, but it doesn't come. Maybe he really did take off. "Let's just start the movie," Danny finally suggests, you didn't want to say it in case he'd take it as you being upset over Sam, which you are.

You grab a blanket, bringing your feet to your side and cuddling up to his arm. The movie starts, and about ten minutes pass until Sam is finally walking through the door. The second you see him you roll your eyes, already blocking out whatever dumb excuse he has for his tardiness.

But he doesn't say anything, just walking over to the opposite side of the room from you and dropping the bag of food on the coffee table. "Jesus, took you long enough," Danny pauses the movie. "We started the movie, hope you don't mind.

"I do, actually," Sam says as a matter of fact. You try your best not to just get up and walk out. Or scoff at him. Or let your emotions get the best of you.

Danny just looks at you, silently asking if it's okay to rewind. "I don't care. It's only ten minutes," you say rather bitterly, deciding to avoid as much conflict as possible.

Oh, but that stupid face of Sam's drives you crazy. He's got a smug smile playing on his lips, looking right at you. Heaven only knows how badly you want to get up and slap him right in his dumb, pretty little face.

Something about Sam is he thinks that because he's attractive that he can be an asshole. Because he's attractive, life is 10x easier. Getting a girlfriend is incredibly easy, everyone is nice to him, and he always gets his way.

He never really did anything to you, besides being an asshole. You just hated his pretty privilege, attitude, and presence. Something about him just being around puts you in a bad mood. Drove you crazy. The sight of him. The smell of his cologne. The sound of his voice.

And maybe you were attracted to him. Maybe that's what made you hate him the most.

You tried to ignore him. To enjoy the movie, but you just couldn't. Sam's presence is all too distracting. Danny attempts to break the tension by commenting on the movie but that fails miserably, perhaps even making it worse at points.

Finally, Sam gets up and storms off to his room, his cheeks bright pink. "Jesus Christ," Danny sighs, stretching his arms out. You'd be a lot happier if he hadn't left at the last couple of minutes.

"Hey, Danny can I stay here tonight? It's pretty late and I don't wanna drive home half asleep," you yawn, sitting up and stretching.

"Yeah, I just gotta be somewhere in the morning so," he sits up slightly "you done with the movie?"

You feel bad because the entire movie you sat there annoyed and in a bad mood, but it was long and you're tired "Yeah." You stand up, folding the blanket you used "Should I just stay here on the couch or...?"

"Oh, no. There's that guest room by Sam's. If you go down that hall it's the one right across from his. Got its own bathroom, remember?" he yawns, turning the television off, followed by the lamps surrounding you. "Okay I'm going to bed," he mumbles, placing a hand on your head and ruffling up your hair.

"Goodnight, Danny," you place a quick friendly peck on his cheek and pad to the kitchen. You're practically dying of thirst, grabbing a glass from his cupboard and filling it with cold water.

You sit there silently on his counter and sip your water, listening to the faint rustle coming from Danny's room as he gets ready to go to sleep. Slipping off the counter, you gently discard the glass and find the hall that hosts the guest room. You were positive you knew which room it was, but now that you're standing at the entrance of the dark hallway, you have no idea which one it is.

There are three rooms. One on the right side, one on the left, and one at the end of the hall. It occurs to you that you have no idea which room is Sam's. You listen for any sign of life in the rooms, listening to which side it may be coming from. Very faintly, you hear a soft groan, but you can't decide which room it may have come from.

You hear it again, this time you're sure it was from the right, so you head for the left. Just to be sure, you stop and listen again, but you hear nothing, so you turn the knob and open the door.

Instead of finding an empty room with a cold bed, you find shirtless Sam sitting lazily in a sofa chair. His head is thrown back, hair clung to his neck, lips parted, and cheeks bright pink. It takes you a moment to process what you're seeing, even then you can't seem to look away. His hand swirls around his impossibly hard, angry cock as he mouths something you can't quite understand.

His head snaps over to you, movements slowing down but not stopping. It feels as if you're in a daze, your eyes fixated on his sweaty body and your mouth slightly open. "Get the fuck out," he blurts, his voice rough as if he'd been choking it back.

You practically run out, pulling the door but not fully closing it. You stop in the kitchen, trying to process what just happened. Trying to calm yourself down, you grab the same glass from earlier and pour yourself more water, cupping some in your hands and splashing your face with it.

You throw back the drink, chugging the cold liquid and giving yourself a brain freeze. For a while, you stand there fidgeting with the cold glass and staring at nothing. All you can think about is the way he looked, all red and sweaty. Your mind wanders to his cock, the way his hand glided along the incredible length.

You're startled out of your daze once you hear the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. You spin around to find Sam, still shirtless but with boxers on that fail to hide his bulge.

He angrily stares at you for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest. "Sam I- I'm sorry I didn't kn-" you start to stammer, but he cuts you off.

"Don't fucking tell anyone, Y/N," he takes a step closer to you. You frantically nod your head, finding yourself motionless against the island as Sam slowly moves closer and closer to you. "Say it. Tell me you won't tell anyone," Sam's voice slightly raises, but still quiet enough to not wake Daniel.

"I- I won't tell anyone, I promise," you practically whine, cowering away from him.

"How do I know you won't use that big fucking mouth of yours, hm?" Now his face is only inches from yours and although you're trying your best to avoid his face, he forces you to look at him.

For a moment, you both stand there, silently staring at each other. Your entire body is flushed, the tension is palpable, and the silence is loud.

One of his large hands finds the waistband of your shorts and dips past it, your breaths growing heavier as the rough tips of his fingers begin to trace your hip bone. "Sam.." you mutter, grabbing his wrist, but he slaps you away.

A throbbing sensation pounds at your core, a feeling you know all too well. You hate it. You hate it so much you just wanna slap him. You've fallen into his trap.

But at the same time, you need him. You need him so bad it's embarrassing.

His hand reaches your panties, and you can't help but grab onto the counter behind you, looking down at where his hand is in your shorts. "Look at me," he says roughly, the hand not teasing at your panties coming up to grab your chin, forcing you to make eye contact.

A soft, whiney breath escapes your open mouth once his two middle fingers press against your needy clit. "Yeah, bitchy girl likes that, doesn't she?" Slowly, his fingers begin to massage your clit through your panties, looking into your eyes.

You can't nod, you can't let him know he's right. But even without flat-out telling him yes, he still knows. He can tell by the way your hips buck against his hand, the way you softly moan, and the way your mouth falls open at the smallest movement.

"Doesn't she?" His voice comes out rough, startling you. His finger hooks under the side of your panties. "If you say no, I'll let you go to bed," he slowly moves the fabric to the side. He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear "if you say yes, I'll give you what you want. Spoil you. Give you something you don't deserve."

His voice sends a shiver up your spine, freezing you in place. He slots his fingers between your folds, just barely brushing against your clit, eliciting an embarrassing whine. He has his answer. He knows. He just wants to hear it.

"Sam," you start with the intention to protest, but quickly realize it's no good once he circles your entrance with his middle finger. "Oh fuck," you struggle to keep your voice a whisper.

It takes you a moment to collect your words and put them into a proper sentence. "Yes," you start, but the tip of his finger just slightly slipping into your entrance interrupts you. It doesn't take long for you to realize that you're not gonna be able to get that sentence out, watching as a smirk grows on his stupid face and his eyes become unbelievably dark.

"Good girl," Sam purrs into your ear, leaning even closer and taking the shell of it between his teeth. That alone could make you whine, so when he shoves his two middle fingers into you, a cry flies past your lips.

His brows furrow and the hand not toying with you clamps over your mouth. His fingers curl harshly up into you before he slides the digits out of you and brings them up to his lips. That pounding at your core grows even worse as you watch him take the fingers into his mouth, licking up your juices and releasing them from his mouth with a pop.

The hand over your mouth moves to be prying your jaw open, shoving his fingers into your mouth. He closes your mouth around the digits, forcing you to taste the mix of your juices and his saliva and you start to gag on his fingers as he shoves them further and further into your mouth.

By the time he finally takes them out of your mouth, you're practically gasping for air, the tips of his fingers keep your tongue sticking out of your mouth. To your surprise, he leans in, his mouth incredibly close to yours for a moment before he sticks his tongue out and licks yours.

You suck in a loud gasp at the action, and you hate yourself for how much you enjoyed it. He hums, dropping his hands to the small of your back, licking along your jawline and sucking a the soft flesh into his mouth. "S- Sam," you whine, trying to push him away but to no avail.

"Don't do that," you push again, your brows knitting together. The last thing you want is to wake up with ugly purple splotches covering your neck. He simply huffs a laugh and you feel him smile against your skin before he takes the flesh between his teeth.

He lifts that same hand up back to your mouth and once again practically shoves his fingers down your throat. You let out a cry of surprise, your eyes growing comically large as you realize how loud it was.

Before you can even blink, Sam takes his fingers out of your mouth, raising his hand up and letting it come down against your cheek. You try to stifle the yelp that threatens to spill past your lips, but you're not very successful. The stinging sensation that follows hurts so good.

His wet fingers squeeze your cheeks and he leans in, his face mere centimeters from yours. "Y/N, you make one more noise, and I'm taping your mouth shut. Got it?" His dark, lust blown eyes stare so intensely into yours that you just want to curl up into a ball and shrink in size.

He lets go of your cheeks and you frantically nod your head. A smirk grows on his lips at your response, his hand slowly making it's way down your torso till it reaches the waistband of your shorts. He uses his thumb to pull the band, creating an opening for his fingers to meet your core.

His other hand comes back up to your mouth, and you whine against his palm at the pressure. Thank God for his hand, because the whimper that slips past your lips once his fingers reach your core could've easily woken anybody near. He's staring into your eyes, but his gaze narrows and his brows furrow in annoyance at every single squeak you fail to hide.

He spreads your arousal around your folds, bringing it up to your clit and drawing small circles over the needy bud. Your hand flies to his wrist, digging your nails into the soft flesh as his fingers speed up against your clit. Every time your eyes wander off or your eyelids start to flutter shut, he forces you to keep your eyes on him.

So many emotions rush through you. Anger. Annoyance. Lust. Frustration. Desire. He's driving you crazy, and he loves it. Every single whine you let out, every time you squeeze him, every time your knees threaten to buckle, puts a smile on his stupid smug face.

He hates you. You hate him. For some sick reason it intensifies your desire for him more than words could ever explain. And he'd be a complete and utter liar if he said he didn't feel the same.

You hate it so much you could cry, but at the same time you can't get enough. You couldn't be able to walk away if you wanted to. He's too alluring. His body is like a magnet.

Your eyes roll back into your head, involuntarily bucking your hips against his hand. Sam lets out a low chuckle at your reaction and presses against your clit. "Yeah, that's right. Feel my fingers. They feel good, huh little slut?" He comes down to your neck, biting the flesh as his fingers speed up against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You frantically nod your head, grinding against his fingers. Those skilled hands of his work deliciously over your poor sensitive clit and your whines against his hand grow louder. You don't know how much longer you can go before you're sent hurdling over the edge.

A pressure builds right below your belly button and its getting harder and harder to keep your voice down. Even muffled by his hand you're still embarrassingly loud. Your knees buckle and your thighs tremble, his fingers show no mercy for your bundle of nerves as he hums against your neck.

It's just his fingers, but they're so skilled. So incredibly experienced. You throw your head back, mumbling profanities against his hand, ultimately coming out inaudible. As your pleasure intensifies, so does his pace. So does his pressure against the sweet sensitive bud.

"Yeah that's it, cum for me doll," his fingers move from your clit and effortlessly slide into your entrance, flicking against a soft spot. His hand around your mouth forces your head up to look at him. Your eyes widen and you let out an incredibly loud whimper against his hand as that band of pleasure snaps.

"Such a good little whore," he comes down to whisper against your neck, and you feel his shoulders bounce. He's giggling. His fingers don't slow down, and his thumb starts to play with your clit.

You violently shake your head against his hand, your eyes wide as you fight against him. Despite your efforts, he doesn't stop. In fact, he speeds up. Your eyes prick with tears and you watch as he sinks to his knees in front of you.

The hand that was covering your mouth slowly slides down your body, stopping at your navel "take your shirt off." Your brows knit together and your eyes flick to the direction of Daniel's room, but you do as he says. Slowly, you lift the hem of your shirt, hooking your fingers under your bra as you go. Sam's eyes study every second. Every inch of your torso. He watches carefully as you lift the thin fabric over your head and it drops to the floor.

His hand is still toying with your cunt, the other starting to slowly pull down your shorts and panties. As your clothes go lower down your body, so do his kisses. His lips start at your belly button, then slowly move down till they're right at your slit.

Now you're completely exposed. Daniel could walk in at any second and see you and Sam like this. For some reason, the thought goes straight to your cunt, turning you on even more.

His breath is warm against your heat, fueling the fire inside of you. Suddenly, a yelp slips out of your mouth once his tongue finds your clit. His dark eyes angrily flick up to yours and you clamp your own hand over your mouth.

His tongue dances so delicately around your folds, tasting you as if you're the sweetest honey he's ever had. Your entire body shudders, the feeling of his sweet tongue over your overstimulated clit sends shocks of electricity through your body.

His fingers move in sync with his tongue, his other hand squeezing your thigh. Your thighs are trembling and shaking at an immense speed, your knees threatening to completely give out. You're already there. His fingers curl up into a sweet spot that makes your eyes roll. You've gotten over the overstimulation, now you're falling over the edge.

You let out a cry against your hand as your orgasm clouds your head for the second time in a row. Sam withdrawals his fingers from you just in time, because suddenly your legs give out from underneath you and you're collapsing in his lap.

He lets you sit there for just long enough to find your composure before he's forcing you both up. Once he's on his feet, he grabs your hair in a bundle and pulls you up to meet him.

A surprised whimper falls past your lips once he spins you around so that your back is flush to his chest. One arm wraps around your body at your bust, the other holds your ass firm against his body. "Feel that?" His low voice sends a shiver up your spine as he whispers into your ear. "Feel my cock against your pretty little ass?" He presses harder against you.

"This little problem," he growls "do you have any idea how annoying it is?" He wiggles his hips against you, and you feel that pounding return to your core. "Now you're gonna help me fix it. You're gonna take every inch of my cock like the little slut you are."

You don't try to hide the soft, breathy moan that falls past your lips at his words. Your entire body becomes flushed a deep red color, so intense to the point that it starts to give you a headache. Without warning, he's sweeping you off your feet and carrying you off to his room, your clothes still on the kitchen floor.

Everything happens in mere seconds. He's practically running to his room, sending the door flying open and throwing you on the bed. He eagerly climbs on top of you, marveling at your naked body. He leaves a trace of kisses down torso, sucking the skin of your hip into his mouth.

He gets up, frantically closing and locking the door. He turns back to you, sliding his boxers down his legs, his cock springing free. He tossed the fabric off from around his feet and takes himself in his hand. The sight drives you mad. His long, hard cock in his large hand. Just so eager to feel you. Begging for pleasure. You can see every vein, even from where you are. He's so turned on it's unbelievable.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on the flesh at the sight of him. His brows are furrowed as he stares at you, his large hand starting to slowly pump his length. It takes everything in you to not give in and touch yourself, the pounding at your core has become so incredibly unbearable just the slightest touch would break you.

Silently, he walks to you, his angry pink tip dripping with precum. "Sit up," he demands, still stroking himself at such a slow pace that it makes you wince. You do just as he says, not even bothering to think about how desperate you probably look.

Sam slowly crawls onto the bed, moving up so that his knees are on each side of your thighs and you're face to face with his cock. He doesn't even give a warning or anything before he grabs your hair in a bundle and forces your mouth onto him. You're just lucky he didn't force his entire length down your throat.

You quickly adjust to his thickness and start to glide your tongue along his cock, his hand guiding you. Sam lets out a breathy noise and his grip on your hair tightens once you start to speed up. "Fuck- that's it, Y/N," he mutters, feeling your mouth as you suck harder around his cock.

His hips start to buck forward, making his cock tickle the very back of your throat. You take him as far into your mouth as you possibly can, your eyes filling with tears at every thrust of his hips. You pull back, wrapping your hand around his cock, squeezing him tight as you start to lap at his slit. His head falls back and strings of profanities escape his plump pink lips, you know he won't last much longer like this.

The hand around his cock starts to stroke along his length, not once loosening your grip as you tease his angry tip. "Oh fuck-" he blurts, his voice rough and his hips jutting forward at the sensation. His hands tug harshly at your hair, and you use it as encouragement, every pull of your hair you reward, sucking harder or stroking faster.

It's almost humorous how fast you drive him to the edge, every profanity in the dictionary is flying past his lips and he's bringing you to tears with how hard he's pulling your hair. Suddenly, he forces your hand off of him and grasps the back of your head, practically shoving his cock down your throat. He thrusts once, and that's all it takes for his hot release to spurt into the back of your throat.

For a few moments, he keeps you there, forcing you to swallow every last drop of him. "Shit-" he speaks, out of breath. "Where'd you learn that?" He removes himself from you, but he doesn't give you enough time to answer before he's forcing you around onto your stomach. His calloused fingertips grab at the supple flesh at the back of your thighs, forcing your legs open.

A loud, surprised moan escapes your lips as his fingers just barely touch your cunt. He collects your arousal on his fingertips, spreading it around your core. "Jesus Christ," he groans "you're so fucking wet." The pillows stifle the moans and whimpers that you make at the slight touch.

"So fucking horny," His fingers start to massage your clit, but before you can even begin to enjoy it, he moves his hand to slap your ass, eliciting a loud yelp. "So needy. Wouldn't wanna have to make you beg for it, would I?" he comes down, and you gasp as he starts to place open mouth kisses to your ass, his tongue lapping at the red skin.

"Please, Sam," you practically cry into the sheets, clawing the fabric. He simply just snickers at your plead, continuing to kiss everywhere but the area you need him to touch the most.

"Sam," you whine, but he's just ignoring you. "Sam Kiszka I swear to fucking god," you say harshly, moving your head so that he can hear you clearly. You feel him huff a laugh against your inner thigh, "fine. If you want it so bad." You let out a sigh, a little squeak following it once his tongue reaches your core.

He circles your entrance with his tongue, the very tip of it prodding you. He repeats this until you're a sweaty mess, your hair clung to your neck, your thighs shaking from trying to create any sort of friction, and your hands grasping onto the sheets for dear life. You can't form a sentence, every word you try to speak just comes out as a squeaky whimper and you can tell he's enjoying this 10x more than you.

You let out a squeaky sigh once he pulls back, and he brings his cock to your entrance. He slides his tip through your core, groaning as he feels the wetness of your folds around him. Pathetic moans roll off your tongue and you try to clamp your thighs around his lower body, but he slaps the back of your thigh and pries your legs apart.

A loud, whiney cry rips through your chest as he sinks into you, and the sting of his cock stretching you out without warning robs you of any self respect you had left. "Oh- fuck," Sam groans, bottoming out inside you and staying there for a moment. You claw at the sheets, a yelp escaping your mouth once he starts to mercilessly thrust into you.

One deep and intoxicating thrust, then another, then another until he's worked up the perfect pace that drives you mad. "Oh Sam- fuck," you cry, arching your back into the bed. "Shit, Y/N," Sam mutters, having to practically rip your hands off the sheets to hold them behind your back.

You cry his name at a particularly sharp thrust, and curse yourself for how much you're enjoying it. He feels too good, you hate it. You hate the fact that you're just like every other girl he's hooked up with. But most of all, you hate the fact that you denied him for so long. Forced down those dirty thoughts that would surface in your mind about him. "Yeah, feels good doesn't it, little slut?" He punctuates his words with sharp movements.

You fail at trying to form a sentence. Every time you open your mouth, a pathetic moan falls past your swollen red lips. You hear him snicker behind you, and the hand not firmly holding your hands behind your back moves to your ass. He grabs at the supple flesh, kneading it in his hands as he fucks his anger out on you.

"yes," you cry out "so fucking good, Sam." You know Daniel can absolutely hear, but you're past the point of caring. "I've seen the way you look at me. You try to act like you don't touch yourself thinking of me but really, you're just as bad as the rest of them. Just dying to let me use you like the little whore you know you are." Sam starts to go even deeper, as if that was even possible, his tip is all but brushing against your cervix. And oh how he's so right.

"holy fucking-" you're on the verge of screaming, tears pricking your waterline once again. "God, who would've known you're so filthy?" You hear the grin in his voice, and his hand grasps your ass so hard you're sure you'll wake up to bruises. "I mean, really. Letting me use you like this. Cumming all over my hands in the kitchen," He breathes, and you can tell he's struggling to keep a steady voice and form coherent sentences of his own.

"You know, Daniel could've walked in at any time. Saw you acting like the little fucking whore you are for me," he sends a sharp thrust into you, hitting a part of you that you didn't even know someone could reach. "But I bet that just turned you on even more, huh? The thought of being so exposed in there just made you cum so hard, didn't it?" With every single word comes a rough movement of his hips, and you can't see him, but you know theres a stupid smirk playing on his face.

"Sam I- I'm gonna," you whine, clawing at his wrist. "Yeah? Little slut gonna cum?" He snickers, his pace slowing down, his thrusts becoming slower as he sinks completely into to, hitting every sweet spot known to woman kind. "Yes. Yes yes," you bite the sheets, your nails still digging into his wrists.

Your cries and moans grow unbelievably loud, intensifying with each movement. "That's it, baby, cum for me," Sam grabs your hips, lifting them up off the bed so that your ass is in the air. With one final thrust, you're coming undone. Completely unraveling beneath him. "Fuck fuck fuck," you moan, burning white flames of pleasure dancing viciously around your tummy.

Sam almost immediately pulls out, your juices dripping down your sweaty thigh. He drops your hips and you fall back down on the bed, softly moaning and whimpering as you come down from the high.

A surprised whimper slips past your lips once he grabs you by your waist and flips you around "don't think for a second that I'm done with you." He grabs you by your waist, picking you up and throwing you against the arm rest of the sofa chair you walked in on him in.

It's as if you regained consciousness because right before you hit the furniture, you brace your arms against the other side of the sofa, catching yourself. "Sam what are you-" you start, but he cuts you off. "I'm gonna make you cum as many times as I want, sweetheart," he grabs his cock, pumping slowly a few times.

"Sam I don't know if I can.." you whine, but this just makes him snicker. He ignores you, and you yelp once he thrusts into you. He doesn't wait. Doesn't give you a moment, he just starts fucking into you. He sets an intoxicating pace almost immediately, you're completely drunk off of his cock.

You repeat his name over and over like a mantra, your moans growing louder and louder with each thrust. His cock rams into you, and Sam's making sure he's going as deep into you as he possibly can. "Shit. You're so fucking-" Sam groans, but he doesn't finish his sentence. He bends over, his chin resting against your bare back and he takes the sweaty flesh between his teeth.

You claw the fabric of the sofa, the lewd sounds of your skin snapping together and your sexes mixing fill the humid air, not to mention the volume of which you're screaming his name. "So fucking dirty," he speaks breathlessly between thrusts "taking my cock like such a good girl."

He stands up again, and your forehead practically slams against the furniture. "Oh fuck me-" you cry, pushing yourself back onto his cock with shaky legs. "But you're so fucking far from that. You're the filthiest little bitch I've ever been with," he roughly thrusts into you after every single word, it's unbelievable how much stamina this man has.

"At least I know how to shut you up now," His hand wraps around your body till it finds your dripping cunt, and elicits a loud yelp once his fingers start to dance over your swollen, oversensitive cit.

"Y'know, I oughta spank you," he groans "dirty little slut." Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the feeling of his skilled fingers working your clit mixed with his cock burying itself deep into your cunt over and over drives you right to the edge. If its even possible, the roaring fire in your tummy intensifies even more.

That same fire burns at the coil of pleasure pulled tightly until it snaps in two, white electricity flowing through your limbs. Despite the fact that every inch of you is trembling and you're overstimulated to the point of tears, you still clamp around his cock, determined to beat him.

"The fuck are you doing?" He slaps your ass and pulls out in one quick motion. Your body goes limp and suddenly, you lose your train of thought. Your words fail you "I- I..." Sam stops you, grabbing you by your torso and flipping you around. "I'll cum when i decide it's time," he speaks lowly, taking your lips in a sloppy, humid kiss before dropping you into the seat.

He hasn't given you any time to cool off, he's already staring down at you with those eyes and stroking his length. "Sam I-" you stutter "Sam I don't know if I can. do another one." You knew you weren't getting out of this one, but the amused look on his face pisses you off.

"It's not that I don't want it I just-" you say rather bitterly, cutting yourself off once you become conscious of the fact that you're almost completely out of breath. "Don't worry, darling. I'll be more gentle this time," he smirks.

You take a deep breath and nod, bringing your legs up to rest on each side of the sofa. His eyes widen at your glistening core, but soon relax as a grin starts to grow on his face. He leans down, breathing heavily on your neck and taking your earlobe in between his teeth. "I still hate your fucking guts," he growls, sending a shiver up your spine.

You let out a breath at the words and reach down to grab his cock, and you start to swirl your hand around his hard length. He nips at your ear again before slapping your hand away, grabbing his cock and dragging it through your soaked folds.

Your head falls back and you grab his arm as his tip starts to tease your clit. "Sam.. please," you whine, arching your back off the arch. He moves himself to like up with your entrance, his tip just barely sinking in. Just that alone elicits whiney moans from you, so when he sinks fully into you a loud cry flies past your lips.

He almost pulls completely out before thrusting back into you, the sensation making your eyes roll back into your head. "This slutty little pussy feels so.." Sam breathes, setting the perfect rhythm. Your hands slowly snake up his body, the tips of your fingers reaching his collarbones, then moving up to the base of his neck.

His deep, slow thrusts are addictive and perfect, but you quickly realize they aren't gonna cut it. You crave more. You need more. Gentle Sam can wait for another time. "Sam... Harder."

Your hands gently wrap around his neck, squeezing slightly as his pace starts to pick up. So much for being gentle. Sam's fingers find your clit, ever so slightly putting pressure on the sensitive bud. "Look at you. Asking for more after complaining about having to fuck me again," Sam purrs, rolling his hips up into you.

"Oh fuck- right there Sam," you mewl. Every inch of your body is trembling and within minutes you're riding the edge of euphoria. "How does it feel, baby?" Sam finds a particularly sensitive spot that elicits the loudest moans and babies it, and his hand that's toying with your clit speeds up. "So fucking good," you whine, your back fully arched off the sofa.

Your moans and cries and mewls grow louder, you're not gonna last much longer. Sam's free hand presses down on your lower tummy, intensifying your pleasure. "Is my little slut close? You gonna cum, baby?" His narrow eyes staring deeply into yours.

"Fuck Sam im-" a guttural moan ripping through your chest cuts you off, and suddenly your vision blurs, your mind fogs, and burning hot white flames of pleasure flow through your limbs. "Oh shit- fuck," Sam grunts, and within seconds his hot release is spurting inside you. Warm ropes of ivory release paint your insides, the feeling making you roll your eyes back into your skull.

His thrusts and fingers slow down but don't stop, helping both you and him ride out the high. Your hands release his neck and drop to your side, the two of you stay just how you are for a while, the sounds of your heavy breathing and occasional whimpers filling the humid air.

"You know. I'm not the little slut you think I am," you roll your eyes. "Well, you certainly fuck like one. I mean, look at you," he looks down at you, and you hate to admit it but you do look filthy. Your legs are as far open as they can go and his cock is covered in your release as he slowly pulls out, juices dripping down your ass.

Your cheeks go a bright shade of red and you look down at the area "Whatever." His fingers collect the release, bringing it up to your mouth and once again forcing you to taste both yourself and him. You moan against his fingers at the taste, a smirk growing on his lips.

His fingers leave your mouth with a pop before he licks up your saliva and the rest of the juices. Sam walks off and you hear his feet pad across the kitchen, coming back with your clothes. He drops them on the floor, walking right past you to the bathroom.

He stops, realizing you're not following him "You wanna clean up or what? C'mon."

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Buck (and Eddie) mini meta - 7x10 (probably but could also be 7x09!)

I was going to make a quick post about this new shirt we have bts pictures of Buck and Eddie wearing - but well, I spiralled and it turned into this!! (under the cut to save your dash!)

So let's do Eddie first shall we!!

there are actually two shirts we've got bts of Eddie wearing which have me 👀👀👀

first up is this green number we have bts of him wearing at the firehouse (not 100% sure if this is an actual costume or just Ryan's clothes but I'm fairly sure it's an Eddie outfit!)

Why am I side eyeing so hard at this do you ask? well its a very similar shirt to the one we have seen him in before - in 5x13 when he has his break down. Its not the same, but similar - no cut off sleeves, but its the same army green.

We see this tee at he culmination of Eddie isolating himself from the fire fam (especially Buck) through the start of 5b and then blowing up his life in 5x13 - when he trashes his room and Chris calls Buck.

I think we're about to see something similar play out in the last couple of episodes of season 7 - Eddie increasingly choosing to isolate himself from the fire fam (especially Buck) as he spirals out with this vertigo arc. Ryan has said in interviews that Eddie will be isolated by the end of the season, this costume therefore parallels Eddies arc of 5b - especially if we include the use of white on Eddie as well (and Buck in Blue in the same scene!). Eddie does something drastic and then pretends everything is ok - before proceeding to spiral out and blow up his life in some way.

5x11 - we have the aftermath of Eddie leaving he 118 - dinner with Buck and Taylor when he and Buck have a mini disagreement about Eddie coming back to work - which is preceeded by us being shown how Eddie is not actually ok - leading in to 5x13 when Eddie has his breakdown whilst wearing an army green tee and Buck breaks down the door to get to him and literally steps in to the mess, bringing the 118 into help as well (represented by Bobby being there when Eddie wakes up).

Then we have season 7 - the aftermath of Eddie asking Marisol to move in with him and then it is made clear that Eddie has moved too fast, that he doesn't actually know Marisol, or ultimately feel comfortable with the relationship - and now we've watched him (still in white in the scene where he sees Kim) spiralling out and heading towards isolating himself in the same way he did in season 5. The use of a similar army green tee in 7x10 suggests that we're going to see something similar unfold as things come to a head in the vertigo arc. Im especially intrigued because Buck it seems is going to be in uniform for the scene (which side note plays into the Buck and Eddie blue green colour palette they've been using and in a reverse of the gym scene from 7x05!) we don't know where in the episode this scene falls, but my guess would be that its actually a scene from earlier in the episode - allowing for the blow up to happen and the fall out begin. (I also think this because of Helena and Ramon appearing - which I think will be later in the episode and in response to Kim's existence being more widely known about, but thats just me speculating!)

We do also have the t-shirt from 7x01 - which is not the same as the other two - its darker and more brownish than the two above, but it does play into a similar narrative - Eddie finding out about Chris and his multiple girlfriends and Buck stepping in (at Eddies request this time) to help and support the Diaz boys!

Eddie outfit two!

Then we have this outfit - which is contrary to popular belief, not the will reveal outfit, but actually the Ana as Eddies girlfriend reveal to Chris outfit.

The two outfits are very similar, but the will reveal outfit is a navy blue shirt (which is important as it plays into both blue/green and blue/yellow theory - which gains even more significance now we know that it is likely this was meant to be the beginning of at the very least a queer narrative for Buck and the implication is that it would've been the beginning of buddie canon) this shirt and the Ana reveal shirt are both black and have silver eyelets on the shirt opening

For me, the fact that it is the same outfit as that reveal rather than the will reveal is suggestive that this outfit is in some way going to be connected to the reveal of Kim. In the same way that the Ana reveal outfit is connected to two scenes

- Eddie telling Chris and the salad bowl getting smashed,

- Eddie realising Chris has gone missing only to find out he's run to Buck's

I feel like this one is also likely to be connected to two scenes - what they are and where this hospital scene fits within the wider episode, it is hard to fully form ideas on the full meaning behind the fact that he is wearing the same outfit. Because does this scene come before or after the arrival of Helena and Ramon, what is the connection to Bobby being in the hospital and Eddie wearing this outfit? My personal opiion is that this outfit is going to be involved in people finding out about Kim.

As an addition to this, we should also talk about the fact that Eddie always wears black in relation to key scenes with Marisol and Kim and it continues a trend of Eddie wearing black in key scenes in relation to his relationships.

When Eddie and Marisol meet at the hardware store he is in black, when asking her to move back out, black shirt. Then with Kim -both scenes with her when he talks to her he is in black - black shirt in the store and a black jacket when they go on their date.

He was also wearing Black in key moments with Shannon (divorce request scene as well as in flashbacks) and with Ana ( first meeting and panic attack scenes). I've spoken before about the choice to put him in a black singlet when he's in an emotionally vulnerable place, but with these additional scenes in mind, as well as the fact that we see him wearing black in the hospital during Bucks coma, as well as the fact we also get a similar shirt on Eddie back in 7x01.

I think its fair to associate black more generally with Eddie being in a vulnerable place emotionally - the singlets are just worn at points when those vulnerable moments are about to tip Eddie into something stupid and this makes the use of the singlet in 7x04 for the basketball game even more interesting as it places Eddie into emotional vulnerability around Bucks bi journey and less about Bucks own emotional vulnerability - plays a little into the idea that they were going to have Eddies queer journey come before Bucks!

From a purely speculative position - my feeling is that this outfit comes after the arrival of Helena and Ramon and possibly towards the end of the episode.

The fact Eddie is wearing it at the hospital is possibly important, but I get the feeling it will be an outfit with more than one key scene attached to it (much like Eddie being in a black shirt when Buck came out to him was in two key scenes - Bucks coming out and Eddie asking Marisol to move out).

In the same way that in season 4 the Ana reveal was paired with a scene where Chris runs to Buck my feeling is that we're going to see something similar in season 7 with this - further adding to the parallels between the two seasons (see this excellent post by @iinryer for more on those!).

Part of my thinking comes from the fact we had this other bts of Buck, Eddie, Chris and Helena and Ramon. So we know that Eddie will be wearing a maroon henley for a scene in this episode.

I've spoken about Eddie wearing maroon long sleeved tops in relation to things being about Chris and Eddie parenting, and this one is likely to follow that theme, especially with Chis seemingly wearing the same outfit he was wearing when the fact he had multiple girlfriends was revealed.

The fact that buck is in a reverse outfit to the one from his discussion with Chris after that reveal (navy blue bottoms and yellow ochre top v yellow ochre bottoms and navy blue top), suggests to me that the are trying to do a couple of things here - they are flipping the scene - so it is still about a multiple girlfriends reveal, just Eddies rather than Christophers. It is also possibly a way to contrast the fact they set up Buck as sitting in parallel to Shannon (from both a costuming and directorial perspective), now they are reversing it and setting them in juxtaposition with one another - playing on the concept of one being alive while the other is dead and contrasting the actual reality of Eddies life with Eddies rose tinted version of things - the version he's trying to recreate with a doppelgänger.

Onto Buck

The shirt that changes colour depending on which picture you look at - is it brown and cream or dark greyish brown and blue/grey?!!

My personal feeling is that it will look more brown and cream on camera, but that we might see a little bit of the blue pinstripe come through! This means we need to not only look at Buck in pinstripes, but also when he has worn brown!

So lets look at when we've seen Buck wear brown!

We have 2x05 - a scene where Maddie is ranting about Gloria calling her constantly. In this scene Buck is in a brown marl tee (you'll have to take my word for it - I ran out of pictures and this one was the least important!), personally I don't think it fits into the narrative as it is a tee rather than a shirt or jacket, so I'm not including it in my wider anaylsis!

We get Brown sports jacket Buck - in 3x04 when he delivers the results of the 118's assessment and discovers Lena filing his space - Buck gets jealous and a little mad. (had to include the still where Edie is checking out Bucks ass because it will never not be funny and now has the added layers to it`!)

one episode later and we get more brown in the divorced buddie era 1.0 supermarket arguement of 3x05.

Things go quiet on the brown front for Buck until 4x14 and the 'it would've been better if it had been me who got shot' scene - this is is a borderline brown - it sits in the yellow ochre spectrum, but is closer to brown than yellow! This, like the last tine he wore brown, comes in the aftermath of Buck doing something stupid (climbing the crane)

Then Buck doesn't wear any brown in season 5, so its on to season 6 where we have 6x04 and this russet brown (which is a reddish brown) which Buck wears when Connor pays him a visit regarding the sperm donation.

Then later in the same season - 6x18 - we have the most recent Buck in brown sighting - when he is talking to Connor once more about Kameron being at his loft. with the added bonus of this being veritcally ribbed making it look like stripes!

As you can see we only see Buck wear brown in very specific moments and they tend to come in pairs - we get bright russety browns in the build up to Buck doing something stupid followed by a darker more muddy brown in the aftermath (in both s2 and s6). Only the one from season 4 doesn't fit the pattern as it doesn't have a pair.

But while events in seasons 3 and six are essentially of Bucks making - he sets things in motion - season 4 is not - Buck is not the instigator, he is a bystander dropped into the middle of something, if anything the fact his brown has yellowish undertones plays into its having a reverse effect - that it is the same as the russet browns - setting something in motion, but its pair is the brighter yellow ochre shirt from the will reveal - which sits in opposition to the darker browns - its not something Buck needs or wants to try and fix - its more of an affirmation of Bucks belonging and not something he needs to fight for.

I've spoken before in various meta's about brown being a colour of stability support and protection. it is also a colour of wisdom and counsel - and I think all of these will come into play with this new shirt in some capacity, because to put Buck in brown at this point is definitely a choice with intention behind it.

Now onto Buck in vertical stripes!

We'll do the light ones first. It's still insane to me that the first time we ever see Buck in vertical stripes is the shooting scene in 4x13.

Then ten episodes later, in 5x13 we see the next white striped shirt and its when Taylor is moving into the loft. These are the only two we have in a white and black/grey colour way.

The next time we see light stripes is in 6x01 - only now they are cream and blue rather than white and black/grey - when Buck moves his armchair and decides he doesn't need a couch .

Followed by 6x08 when Buck is in Uncle Buck mode and looking after Jee and being given the run around by her - again cream and blue.

The last Buck in light shirts with stripes sighting is from 7x05 - when he meets with Tommy for coffee, this time its cream with black and red stripes.

Then we have a couple of outliers - this light blue jacket from 6x01

and this grey one from 6x09

Then we have the dark ones!

This one from 4x14 when Taylor appears back on his doorstep after the shooting and kissing him

This one from 5x09 - the most awkward 'I love you' scene in the history of mankind

6x04 when he tells Conor and Kameron that he will be their sperm donor

in 6x07 we get two - both when he is trying to donate sperm and not being successful in this endeavour

in 6x17 we see him in this shirt when Maddie comes by for help with getting her stuck engagement ring off

and finally we have Buck and Tommys first date - which ends in failure.

and now we have a brown and cream/blue one joining the mix!

I've written before about Bucks vertically striped shirts - in various episode metas, as well as a separate post which is linked on my pinned post under Buck, But I'm going to talk about them again because he just keeps on wearing them at really interesting moments!

Buck seems to wear them at moments when he is essentially ‘imprisoned’ by something mentally - at moments when he either steps forwards or backwards in his self development, or stays in stasis - and which of these it is, is determined by the colour of the shirt and the stripes. The lighter ones are connected to moving forward and ultimately escaping, while the darker ones are about Buck being trapped and moving in the wrong direction.

Starting with the white shirts - I know on the face of it, it isn't easy to see either of the white shirts with black pinstripes as Buck moving forward, but while the scenes they are worn in themselves may not seem to be freeing, the resulting actions - the will reveal for the first one and the second one reveals Bucks true thoughts on his and Taylors relationship and thus marks the beginning of the end, I mean obviously the kiss is the actual moment that marks the beginning of the end but this moment - when he is talking to Maddie, the audience is made aware that Buck really and truly isn't all in with Taylor and that he has imprisoned himself - his ability to recognise that - the fact he is able to verbalise that he is afraid of being left - that is the moment of growth and escape for him.

The unhappy moments, the moments when he is regressing or clinging are signified by the black shirts with white or silver pinstripes.

With Taylor the two scenes we get black shirts with pinstripes are connected to Buck being in trauma response mode - the first in the aftermath of the shooting - starting a relationship when he's in a super raw place - his best friend has been shot and he's looking after said best friends son and climbing cranes to try and protect the rest of his found family (also adding Maddie's impending PPD to this as well as the Daniel of it all although those are less central in this moment in time).

Then the second one comes in the 'I kinda love you for it' scene - and off the back of Buck feeling and fearing that he is being left - that Taylor is pulling away from him.

The three all connected to the sperm donation all play into the narrative that Buck hasn't thought the sperm donation through fully - that the universe is screaming at him and he's trapping himself in a prison - we do see some of that play out as the season progresses when he becomes embroiled in Conor and Kameron's marriage and pregnancy dramas when his part in it all should've been done.

The scene with the stuck ring is a scene very much about Maddie but Buck does drop himself in it on two fronts - the ring cutter and in letting Maddie know that Hen and Chim had an arguement over Chim proposing to Maddie.

Buck and Tommys first date - again a prison of Bucks own making - this shirt very much plays into the disastrous nature of the date - with Bucks 'I'm and Ally' and comment about going to 'find chicks'

Then we have the shirts that somewhere in the middle. - the blue one from 6x01 where we have a Buck doing some mental self torture trying to work out why he’s been passed over for the interim Captain job but finally figuring it out,

The three cream ones are all essentially the cure for the previous, darker stripes - they play into the idea that Buck is learning and growing - in a way he wasn't when it was just black and white shirts and stripes from seasons 4 and 5 when we got a white shirt followed soon after by a black shirt (4x13 - White - 4x14 - black) or vice versa (5x09 - black - 5x13 - white).

We have 6x01 with the blue then cream - Buck in a mental prison around what he wants in life, but choosing to embrace being on his own and seeing where life takes him by the end of the episode. 6x04 and 6x07's navy blues connected to the sperm donation arc followed by 6x08's cream and blue one of the very real children in his life - one who he gets to be an active part of watching grow up. 7x04's navy date shirt one followed by 7x05's cream, black and red shirt when Buck requests and is granted a do over with Tommy

So how is this brown and cream one going to fit in? Well that is the million $$$$ question isn't it! My feelings are that it's going to fit in with the pattern and have a reverse one to go with it. Now I have two theories - the first is that its actually the brown pair to the one from season 4 - that its going to connect into Buck's statement that it would've been better for Chris if he'd been the one hurt - and therefore connect into the will of it all, playing on the concept of Chris (and Buck) finding out about Kim - connecting Eddies outfit into the equation - and lead to Buck once again stepping up to look after or support Chris in some capacity (maybe we'll get a parallel of Chris running to Buck after finding out about Ana and have Chris running to Buck after finding out about Kim, who knows!).

The other option is that we'll only see the pair to this brown striped shirt later down the line - whether we see that before the end of the season or have to wait for the start of season 8 I do't know - it really depends on how they close out this season and the Buck and Eddie arcs.

I'd like to think the fact that its brown and therefore means stability, support, protection and wisdom, means that it will be connected to Buck discovering Eddies cheating and then stepping up to support him and Chris through the fall out (after perhaps taking a moment to consider things) and that it is tied into the season 4 parallels, but I guess we'll all have to wait and see!

Essentially all of Bucks striped and or brown tops have a pair and play on the idea of light and dark to varying degrees as well as the concept of being trapped or imprisoned by some form of traumatic event.

Hopefully this makes sense and that you've enjoyed reading this deep dive into Bucks stripes and Eddies wearing of black! I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

Tagged people below

@theladyyavilee @mistmarauder @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @bewilderedbuckley @spotsandsocks

@bewitchedbewilderedbisexual @rogerzsteven @wanderingwomanwondering @oneawkwardcookie @leothil

@copyninjabuckley @shammers86 @crazyfangirlallert @missmagooglie @katyobsesses

@radiation-run @gayandbifiremenofmine @bi-moonlight @crazyaboutotps @princesschez75

@alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sherlocking-out-loud @satashiiwrites @lover-of-mine @yramesoruniverse

@extasiswings @favouritealias @pop-kam @b-dwolf @maygrcnt

@chaosandwolves

[maddascanbe-blog]

Miracu-class girls are done! It took less time than I initially anticipated, thank goodness. Let's talk re-write's and re-designs shall we?

Sabrina so freaking cute, give the girl her hat. It was probably a gift from Chloe. For her redesign I thought she would be the kind to dress in cute blouses and flowy skirts. She has tennis skirts in every color for every occasion. As for her re-write- anyone who saw how I changed Chloe probably will guess that their dynamic is drastically changes as well.

Sabrina met Chloe when they were in their tween years, Officer Roger having worked security for the Bourgeois on multiple occasions. One day he had to bring his daughter into work and Chloe found her wandering the halls. When a kidnapper tried to abduct Chloe, Sabrina sprayed him with pepper spray her father gave her and then kicked him in the dick for good measure. Chloe then declared that Sabrina should be her full-time body guard, and she technically is being paid to hang out with Chloe. But Sabrina would have done it with or without the money since Chloe is actually very endearing once you figure out how she works.

Alix is next! Alix's violently pink hair could not be ignored, so I kept it (albeit a little less saturated) Also she is in fact still short. Her outfits are probably all variations of sports gear unless she has an event to attend at the museum. I also tanned her up since I imagine she spends a lot of time outside, girl is sunburnt. She is actually a year ahead in history, having gotten too bored with junior level classes. So she's friends with some of the seniors too. I won't get into Bunnix anytime soon but- let's just say it's a lot more tragic than cannon would ever admit. The rabbit's powers are changing, and Alix still has to live with that.

On a lighter note, Juleka, as stunning as ever. Tall queen. She is a year behind since her lack of participation in classes ultimately tanked her grade in several subjects. Her band director was more then happy for her to stay an extra year though, since she is trained classically as well as electrically on the bass. She may not like talking, but she has little fear of performing when the music can do the talking. Her twin brother actually graduated early, and he's working now to help pay for the band the two want to start. Her design doesn't change much from her cannon one other than the fact I switched her ripped leggings for lace ones. I imagine she actually has many outfits in this color pallet, since Chat Noir quickly becomes her favorite hero.

Mylene, okay the change I made here is pretty obvious. I debated for a long time on whether or not I change her skin tone. And when I did the line art? Wasn't planning too. But changed my mind last second, since I thought it helped the color pallet more. This would imply she is mixed, with her dad looking pretty much the same as cannon. it's hard to tell her unless you look closely but I gave her freckles that just cover every inch of her. She is Sunkissed. He character isn't super different, she is still easily startled, but she knows what she believes and will fight for it no matter what.

And finally, Rose! The lovely Rosey! The flower child! Her nonspecific illness still definitely happened, but I like to think she has actually recovered. I do not know enough about most chronic illnesses to make any sort of specification on what she has so nameless headache disease it is! She struggled a lot as a kid, but now she's planning to start a non-profit to help kids who are going through hard times of their own. She definitely still has her down days, the fact that she nearly died so young is not something she is quick to forget. But she will do whatever she can to give other people hope, sinee she knows all too well what it feels like to be hopeless.

As for her design, she had a bucket of pink upturned on her. She did have to have her hair shaved as an affect of her illness but now it's growing back faster than ever. She gets it cut every time it gets past a certain length to donate it.

Luka is next!

[sleepysupernovax]

Link Click Theory Time!

Alright, I’ve been thinking about the ending of the Bridon Arc for a while, so it’s theory time. Let’s go over what we saw and, more importantly, what we didn’t see. I have multiple different theories, but here is perhaps one of the more far-fetched ones that I don’t think I’ve seen voiced yet.

For this theory, I want to focus on Liu Xiao, Xia Fei, and Vein, and then tie everything back to the first two seasons. We know that Liu Xiao is the hidden mastermind of everything that happens, given his PV and title as Manipulator. We don’t actually see a lot of him in the Bridon Arc, which is to be expected. We’re led to believe that Vein is and will be the main antagonist, the one who kills Cheng Xiaoshi, and that perfectly fits the hidden mastermind theme. We’re not shown anything that directly antagonizes Liu Xiao, and we’re only given small signs that he’s working against the other two: having Xia Fei track them, gaining information about Cheng Xiaoshi’s dad, stealing the note left in the book by said dad, etc. Much smaller things in comparison to Vein shooting at the two. But it’s important to note that Vein will likely be manipulated and used by Liu Xiao the same way Xia Fei is.

Everything that happened at the end of Bridon Arc was in Liu Xiao’s favor, particularly Vein’s faked death. We know that Lu Guang took control of Wang Qing (how he gained the power to do so is an entirely different problem, for it’s not the ability he got from Cheng Xiaoshi; we do at least know that powers are inherited either through blood or death, so it’s very possible it came from a parent, especially since Lu Guang hints at having learned about abilities from someone else. It’s also important to note the difference in eye appearance from when he usually uses his powers.) and used her ability to fake Vein’s death. (Wang Qing can fake a death if she knows someone’s full name, hence why she called out Vein’s real name. Also a smaller detail, but I think it’s safe to say that Lu Guang wasn’t able to possess her sooner because he had to wait for Cheng Xiaoshi’s mom to stop possessing her.) Some people argue that he intended to kill Vein, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. We know he’s done this all before, so it’s very likely he’d know exactly what her ability is. Not to mention that when he talks to Vein beforehand, he states that he knows he can’t stop Vein, but he can at least delay him. He knew he couldn’t kill Vein, but he could do something drastic—like temporarily kill him—to set him back. And that exact setback is what’s going to work against Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi.

Vein has been pronounced dead, which means he’s now an unknown player. There’s a certain level of freedom that comes with faking one’s death, and Liu Xiao is going to use that. In the post-credit scene, when we find out that Vein is alive, we see a hand open the bag. And that hand is Liu Xiao’s. We can tell from the rings. Liu Xiao knew exactly what happened, knew that Vein was still alive, and got ahold of his body bag to be there right when he woke up. It’s possible it has to do with his ability, and he heard Vein’s heart beating from inside the bag. Or it’s possible that Vein didn’t have a pulse at all until the moment the bag opened, and Liu Xiao simply knew ahead of time that he hadn’t really died. Either way, he now has ahold of a cannibalistic mafia boss who’s been pronounced dead and can get around unmonitored. Vein also now likely knows about abilities—assuming he didn’t before—and knows that Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi are his enemies. And in the small chance he didn’t realize that, I’m sure Liu Xiao will tell him. We also know that Vein has a weakness Liu Xiao is fully aware of—a person Vein would drop everything for and show up to defend, a person he has saved countless times, the only person who truly seems to have a close bond with him.

Xia Fei might be the most overlooked piece of this puzzle. He’s not antagonized in the Bridon Arc—quite the opposite. He becomes friends with Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi and ends up wanting to help them out. He even quits his arrangement with Liu Xiao because he feels bad about tracking them. Cheng Xiaoshi trusts him completely, and while Lu Guang doesn’t seem pleased around him, there isn’t the same murderous intent or anxiety that we see around Liu Xiao and Vein. He’s caring, lovable, and generally not seen as a threat, which is exactly why he’s the perfect person for Liu Xiao to use. Yes, he quit his arrangement with Liu Xiao, but I doubt that’ll last long. At the end of the last episode, we see that he’s gone missing along with Jack, a model who leaked internal information and got fired as a result (also notably the model shown trying to drown Xia Fei). This happens after he learns that Vein has been killed. Xia Fei already has plenty of reasons to want Jack gone, even dead, and now he’s lost the only person in his life that appears to be close to him. It’s not a stretch to say that he killed Jack and went into hiding after. We don’t have enough clues to say why with certainty, but there are a few obvious possibilities: maybe Vein’s death pushed him over the edge and drove him to do what he’d wanted to for a while, maybe he needed to shut Jack up since Jack had information that could hurt Xia Fei and Vein, maybe he suspected that Jack had something to do with Vein’s death, or maybe Jack attacked him again and it was self-defense. Regardless, we know that the two are missing and Xia Fei is probably on the run or in hiding. We also know that Xia Fei will stop at nothing to find Vein’s killer.

His exchange with Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang at the end gave us several important details:

1. Xia Fei believes that Vein is dead.

2. Xia Fei already suspects that supernatural powers are at play.

3. Xia Fei plans to hunt down Vein’s killer, which was ultimately Lu Guang.

4. Xia Fei knows about Cheng Xiaoshi’s father and warns him to quit before things get too dangerous. In other words, he generally knows where the two might be going and looking in the future, and he knows what they might find.

5. Xia Fei is staying in contact with the two, hence “let me know when you land.”

6. Xia Fei now knows exactly where the two live, thanks to Cheng Xiaoshi.

The first point is perhaps the most important, and it plays a role in most of the others—or it will, in the future (past? Future of the past? You know what I mean). Xia Fei genuinely believes that Vein is dead. Liu Xiao knows that Vein is alive. Liu Xiao could very easily tell Xia Fei the truth, but he won’t. Instead, it’s likely he’ll either directly reveal the existence of supernatural abilities to Xia Fei or lead him to find it out for himself, then explain that Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi used their abilities to kill Vein. Vein’s death will remain a driving motivator for Xia Fei (he’d still probably be upset if he knew the truth, but it wouldn’t be nearly as effective and emotionally shattering), and it’ll hit even worse with the betrayal of his (now) only two friends. With Vein dead, his only friends the murderers, and his own career pretty much over after he goes missing alongside Jack, what does he have left to lose? (It’s also important to note that his theme song directly says “I’ve got nothing to lose.” Which may not have been true before since he had a solid career and a close relationship with Vein, but now, it certainly is. Additionally, the following line, “All I do is pursue,” which originally could be taken to reference his career, but now takes on an entirely different meaning. He’s pursuing Vein’s killers. He’s pursuing revenge. He’s pursuing Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi, and it’s all he can do.)

The reason he’s the perfect person to send after the two is because he’s trusted by them and knows exactly where they are. Cheng Xiaoshi told him the name of the photo studio, and even if they’re not there, he knows who the two are looking for (it’s important to remember that he was Cheng Weimin’s student and therefore likely also has ties to Wang Qing and anyone else the two might go to for information on the man). If he knows what they’re after, then he knows how to find them. And either way, since he’s staying in contact as a friend, he could always just ask Cheng Xiaoshi if he can stop by and meet with them. He has the easiest way to find and meet with the two without drawing suspicion. And with everything that happened, he could easily pretend that he’s going to them for help or safety. He could work up some story about how Jack attacked him, he fought back in self defense but went too far, now he’s hiding, etc. You get the idea. Cheng Xiaoshi would likely easily believe him and want to help.

Let’s look back at Liu Xiao for a second, for we need to explain how he’d get Xia Fei working for him in the first place. I think it’s possible that after Xia Fei and Jack go missing, Liu Xiao finds him and offers his help. It’s also possible that Xia Fei would go to Liu Xiao for help. Who better to turn to when you’re on the run for murder than the shady guy who’s obviously involved in something illegal and incredibly intelligent? One way or another, Xia Fei ends up relying on Liu Xiao’s help, which puts him back under Liu Xiao’s control. Liu Xiao makes sure Xia Fei doesn’t find out the truth about Vein (he’d have to ensure the two are always in different places), reveals the existence of supernatural powers to him, and leads him to the conclusion that Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi were responsible for Vein’s death. Even better if he explains the fact that he’d had Xia Fei track the two by saying that he knew they were dangerous, threats, murderers, etc. and was trying to keep tabs on them or stop them from hurting people. That would be a sure way to make himself more sympathetic and appealing. But he doesn’t even necessarily have to explain that. All he has to do is give Xia Fei information that turns him against the other two and then sit back and watch, quietly pulling the strings from behind the scenes like always.

Assuming this theory is correct (it’s all speculation so take this as you will), we now have Xia Fei working from the inside to take down Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi and Vein still with Liu Xiao. It seems likely that Liu Xiao would use Xia Fei to keep Vein under control and also offer his assistance in keeping Vein hidden. We know that Vein is ultimately the one who goes after Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi, at least in the (or one of the branches of the) original timeline. And it’s entirely possible that Vein would go after them to avenge his own death, but that’s not what he says in the clip in episode 1. He says that it’s punishment for changing the past. He also noticeably misses nearly every shot despite being trained in combat. Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi are hardly dodging at all. It’s almost as if Vein is intentionally missing, and he even leaves before he can confirm that Cheng Xiaoshi is actually dead. He easily could’ve broken down the door and been sure to kill both of them. But he doesn’t, and he doesn’t look happy, either. We don’t see his eyes during this scene, which is also suspicious, for the show typically does that when someone is being controlled.

Which he probably is.

It would explain why he can’t shoot as well, why he’s focused on them changing the past instead of avenging the wrongs they’ve done (bonus points if he’s given more reason to hate them by making them have to hurt Xia Fei when they discover that he’s working against them, but that’s a whole other can of worms), and why he seems upset and leaves after Cheng Xiaoshi takes the bullet for Lu Guang. Lu Guang became insignificant the second Cheng Xiaoshi died, and this could be for one of two reasons 1. Cheng Xiaoshi was always the intended target or 2. The attack was meant to get Lu Guang out of the way so Cheng Xiaoshi could be used. If we go with the latter option, then Vein was not meant to kill Cheng Xiaoshi at all. Lu Guang was the only one he was supposed to kill, and Cheng Xiaoshi’s death was actually a huge mistake.

Because of course, under this assumption, the person controlling him would have to be Li Tianchen.

We don’t know exactly when Vein kills Cheng Xiaoshi, but we see the two wearing the same outfits they wore in seasons one and two, which means it took place around that same time. We also can’t be certain that it’s a different timeline than the season one and two timeline. The scene itself seems to span multiple timelines, considering the small changes to the background—blood splatters, pictures on the wall, minor inconsistencies—and if that’s the case, it’s entirely possible that it takes place after what we see in season two. We know that Li Tianchen is working with Liu Xiao by that time. If Vein, for some reason, discovers Liu Xiao’s secrets and manipulation and stops helping him, what’s stopping Liu Xiao from having Li Tianchen possess Vein and make him try to kill the two anyway?

And, if we’re following the theory that their intention was to remove Lu Guang and use Cheng Xiaoshi (which we already saw in season 2, so who’s to say Liu Xiao didn’t also play a hand in that?), then we know Li Tianchen has plenty to gain from the use of Cheng Xiaoshi’s powers. He wants his family back. He wants to change the past and save his dead mother (and now sister), which was established at the end of season 2. Liu Xiao could easily use that to talk Li Tianechen into killing Lu Guang and capturing Cheng Xiaoshi. It’s unclear what Liu Xiao’s own motives are in all of this, but we know that he has connections to Cheng Xiaoshi’s father, which gives him further reason to want to leave Cheng Xiaoshi alive and use him. Or kill him, depending on the nature of said connection, if we want to go back to the former theory. Either way, it seems likely that Vein was somehow possessed and forced to try and kill one of the two.

An argument could be made that Vein wasn’t possessed because he was shooting left-handed, as we see him do when he’s not being possessed. But it’s important to note that we also see Li Tianchen comfortably fighting with his left hand when possessing Qiao Ling and attacking Cheng Xiaoshi in the first episode of season two. He seems to be ambidextrous, so it wouldn’t be unlikely for him to continue having Vein shoot with his left hand, especially if that just comes more naturally to the body he’s possessing.

There are still a lot of gaps to fill and loose ends to tie up—Liu Xiao’s motivation, Xia Fei’s connection to Cheng Weimin and his full role as an antagonist, Vein’s relationship with Liu Xiao over time, who the other survivor of the fire is (taken from the ciphers in the intro), the mysteriously appearing sign in the elevator, and perhaps most importantly Qiao Ling (likely to be a central player with her newfound abilities, maybe even the one to get them out of this mess. I’m a fan of the theory that the Bridon Arc is at least partially seen through her eyes as she looks into Lu Guang’s past and pieces everything together across multiple timelines, which would account for the inconsistencies in the backgrounds of frames)—but I think this theory is fun and could have a lot of potential in tying together all three seasons so far. I’d also like to learn more about the importance of the recurring eye symbol. We see an eye or at least symbols and patterns that resemble eyes on the book Vein steals from Wang Qing’s office, above the door of the bookstore, on the rug at the entrance to Xia Fei’s apartment, on a book in the drawer of Cheng Weimin’s desk at school in the past (appears to be the same as the one Vein stole but we can’t be sure. If it was, it could contain more information on the school, the fire, and potentially lead to the other survivor), the whole title of the opening theme, and more places I’m sure that I missed. It’s interesting that the symbol is an eye, too, when we see eyes and eye color most notably tied to powers. Maybe the book and information Vein was after had something to do with supernatural abilities. This is all probably very wrong, but I’d like to see at least some elements of it come into play. I need the next season like yesterday.

[astr0disiac]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐘

𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 (𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐗 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎) 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂

SUMMARY: In which Tiana wants to figure things out her way, but Nanami is keen on getting in the way. (I took this way too seriously)

WORD COUNT: 14k

CLICK HERE FOR MORE CHAPTERS AND INFO

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏: 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏

Nanami couldn't read her mind, no matter how hard he tried, and he often did. And every time he tried to navigate the enigma that was named Tiana, he found himself perplexed as to why he tried so hard to untangle the mess that resided in her mind.

Brown skin, even bronzer eyes that shined with the same grace as the lonely moon on a sullen night. Hair in tight kinks and coils as they bounced around her shoulders when she walked down the tiled halls, lips in a slight frown, but not as deep as when she first arrived. Nanami didn't know what to expect when his cousin Charlotte begged Nanami over the phone to give her friend a job.

Now, Lottie was always known to get whatever she wanted, especially when it came to her soft-hearted (and bodied) father. Nanami admits that even he would melt at her request; he couldn't help it, he would spoil her rotten when they were kids and her request knew no bounds. It would also keep her from throwing a fit, which would in turn keep Eli La Bouff off his neck and make him obey her commands regardless. It was just easier to comply with her majesty.

But Nanami didn't expect Lottie to ask such a request. Giving a random woman a job overseas with no qualifications? No credentials, and barely half a cent to her name? Nanami had a heart, but he was also a businessman, with emphasis on the business aspect. There were so many things to consider; what position would this mystery woman play at the company, or how to properly accommodate her stay in Japan. Whether they would be comfortable in a place where it's mother tongue differed drastically in syllables and enunciation. He gave Lottie a firm-

"No. Charlotte," He rarely called her that unless he was serious, "I can't do that. And so suddenly?"

"Oh, Ken, please!" She begged over the phone, and Nanami could practically hear the tears splatter on the ground as she sputtered into the receiver. "I-I'm begging you! I-I promise I'll never ask for anything again if you just do this one favor for me, please!"

Nanami ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. He hadn't heard her cry in so long, especially to this extent. She was in turmoil, but this was a situation where he had to put his foot down. This wasn't something as simple as a new car, or an exotic pet that she was asking for. Lottie was asking for him to break so many rules and regulations for someone he had never heard of or seen before. To skip processes and engage in underhanded acts that went against his own principles. He was a man who was fair and just, and he planned to keep it that way.

"Lottie," He tried to soften his voice to ease her sorrows. "It's not like that. My job is a place of business. Not a charity case. I can't just go around giving out jobs to everyone in need all willy-nilly. It wouldn't make a very sound business practice."

"What do you need to know? I'll tell you everything-" Lottie sniffled, and Nanami heard frantic shuffling in the background as static popped in his ear. "She knows a lot about business- she even owned one with her-" Lottie stops, gulping down her next set of words.

"She owned a restaurant." She continues. "She was actually in the process of opening multiple chains-"

"And then what happened?" Nanami raised a brow. He leaned back in his office chair, the leather popping underneath him.

"W-well she...the business went under." Lottie seemed ashamed to admit this, but it was a truth that was necessary for Nanami to know, and he couldn't help but frown. "But it wasn't her fault-!"

"Then whose was it?" Nanami asked in a bludgeoning tone. Lottie felt cold, Nanami never talked to her like this. Even when he told her no, or chastised her it was in a much more upbeat cadence and in good humor, then she would get what she requested regardless. She wondered if this was the same cousin who'd give her the world on a jeweled plate if she asked.

"Businesses don't just 'go under'. Her irresponsibility is proof enough that she would be more of a hindrance than a help."

Lottie didn't respond. Just soggy sniffles crackling into his ear.

"What do you want me to do? What will it take for you to say yes?" Lottie pushed.

"If you're her friend, why won't you help her?" Nanami said, quite more harshly than he meant to say. "Your father has hundreds of thousands to spare- why come to me?"

"Tia is...a very prideful person. Believe me, I've tried, and tried, and tried some more. But she is so hellbent on standing on her own, no matter how beaten and battered her legs are."

Nanami scoffed. This kind of person sounded almost impossible to work with, especially on a team where multiple people are required to do specific tasks to achieve a common goal. If she decided to shoulder an entire project by herself and it fell through, or if she refused to ask for help from those more experienced than her, it could be disastrous.

"She won't take anything from me. Not now, and not even when we were kids. She's always been like that, and I admire her strong will. Sometimes I wish I could be as independent as her." Lottie sounded reminiscent, her mind reeling memories Nanami couldn't see. "But I'm not, hell, I'm not even mature enough to help her the way she really needs me to at this very moment. I can only rely on those around me and right now I am relying on you, Nanami. Please."

"Even if I said yes, your plan has too many holes." Nanami leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "What happens when she finds out we're related and you used your power to get her such a high position? If you know she doesn't appreciate your pity, won't this make matters worse beyond repair?"

"That's why she can't find out, Ken." Lottie exasperates. "I told her she needed a change of pace, new scenery, and she finally agreed to let me help her find a job out of this damn swamp. She doesn't want to leave, but she needs this, Nanami. You just...you just wouldn't understand."

"But in order for me to comply I need to understand, Lottie. How dire can her situation be if she's trying to leave the country?"

Lottie ignores his question, continuing to voice her good-hearted schemes.

"I'll be helping her send out her resume everywhere, but I can't keep an eye on her everywhere. I can't leave her alone, but I can't go with her, and I really want to. But you're so ideal. You can keep an eye on her for me, it's so simple and efficient, and-"

"And up to me to agree. I'm not a babysitter, Lottie."

"You used to babysit me." Nanami could hear her pout as she tried to conjure up justification out of thin air.

"When you were a baby. I'm not hovering over a woman. This is undignifying and unprofessional, and slightly inappropriate when taken out of context."

"Please, Ken. Will you at least give her a chance?" Charlotte asked in a soft tone, not in forceful or pressing matters like her other demands. It was almost humbling, a sense of responsibility ringing through her hoarse voice.

Nanami purses his lips, fingers drumming on his metallic desk.

"You've grown, Lottie." Nanami sighs, feeling his will bend at the hand of the woman on the opposite line. He couldn't outright say yes, but the possibility of saying no had shrunk to near impossible. "She'll still have to go through the process like everyone else, though. At least if she makes the cut, it will make it look more realistic on your end."

Lottie exhales sharply, nodding her head frantically on the other line, though Nanami couldn't see it. "Oh, thank you, Ken! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Her voice shrills at the end, and Nanami moves the phone away from his ear to protect his hearing.

"Don't thank me just yet." Nanami rubs his forehead, massaging his tense brows. "I'm not the only one who has a say in this. With the minimal credentials she has she may be offered an intern position, which can be beneficial because we offer housing; most interns are either in college or trying to stand on their own after graduating with thousands in debt."

"Intern?" Charlotte says, disgust riddled in her words. "Tia ain't everyone else, Ken. She's too good for a lowly job like that. I was thinking more like assistant or-"

"Charlotte." Nanami warns her, and she immediately clamps up.

"Right. Got it. Be grateful. Thank you, Ken! I love you so much!" Charlotte exclaims, an exaggerated "MUAH" sound followed by her praises before the line clicks.

All Nanami could ponder as the tone rang in his ear was what had he gotten himself into?

The question rang even louder when a few days later, he received an email titled "tia's resume :)", from princesslottie@mail.com; not only was there a lack of capitalization, but also decorum. Nanami gritted his teeth, temple pulsing as he sent her a text.

You can't just send me an email, especially to this degree of pandering. It's suspicious.

oopsies

Can you at least pretend that you care?

But i DO care ken :((

Send in her application through the website like everyone else.

shes NOT everyone else >:((

Just do as I say.

This situation gave Nanami such a headache, and seemed to stress him out more than it should have. He doesn't even know the woman, and her fate isn't entirely in his hands alone. So why did it seem to weigh on him so heavily as he looked over her stacked resume?

"Well, it seems she has good work ethics." Nanami muttered, flitting through the thin pages that seemed to make a short story of Tiana's life. The other executives at the table seemed to agree, some huffing in annoyance as they tossed the booklet aside while others admired Tiana's tenacity.

"She seems like a try hard, don't you think?" Satoru said, leaning back in his chair as he propped his heels on the table. "All these different jobs, all this experience, yet can't keep her own business from plummeting? Sounds too good to be true."

"But her letters of recommendation are all there." Getou spoke, eyes skimming the pages quickly, then pushing Gojo's feet off the long table with a solid thud. "They all said she was a delight to work with: bright, energetic, and gung-ho for whatever she wants. I doubt her previous employers would lie on her behalf, but most are in food service which doesn't quite translate well in what we do." He continues flipping through the pages. "Even so, she has some letters from previous professors, though she didn't finish her initial studies."

"How would a culinary degree help us anyway? What's she going to do, cook appetizers to appease our competitors?" Ijichi spoke, shifting his thin glasses.

"She minored in business." Nanami said with a wary tone, which he covered with the clearing of his throat before anyone took notice. He couldn't help but feel a slight tug in the back of his neck that made him shift in discomfort; torn between what was politically correct and following his heart. Acting as casual as possible, but not too nonchalant, but not too pushy. He had to let the chips fall where they may and be okay with the outcome no matter who got hurt. His eyes whisked around the table to view his colleagues' expressions: Gojo twiddled on his phone, his feet finding refuge in Getou's lap, Shoko chewed the inside of her cheek, and the others look either interested in this woman's debacle while some looked as though they wanted to be anywhere else but here.

"How'd she even open a business to begin with so young anyway, without a piece of paper to her name?" Shoko hummed, blinking slowly. "It took us ages to get to where we were, and we only own a portion."

"You don't need an education to start a food business, just yearly certifications and an up to date facility. Don't be dense." Mei said through upturned lips. Shoko shrugged indifferently, eyes heavy as she seemed to force herself to stay awake.

"But for it to be so grand? Someone with old money must have been involved."

"Romantically, to be specific." Gojo spoke up, his voice cherry as if he discovered a secret that was just too juicy to share. "A quick Google search tells you most of what you need to know." His eyes lifted from his phone as he slid it across the table to Nanami. The device halted right before it tilted off the edge into his lap, displaying multiple links to articles and news outlets saying most of the same thing; something along the lines of a new restaurant opening in the heart of New Orleans by a bright young woman. But his eyebrows raised in shock when he saw a dark skinned woman standing affectionately close to a familiar young man, poised in front of a large brick building with the words "Tiana's Palace" in bright, neon lights above the establishment. Nanami skimmed over the article summary, reading it aloud for his fellow friends.

"Tiana's Palace foreclosed on the one year anniversary of the estranged 'Prince' of the Maldonia Estate's tragic death?" Nanami blinked, eyebrows furrowed as he read the words. He clicks the link, eyes wandering over other facts and events that had been unbeknownst to him as the room filled with hushed murmurs.

"Remember Naveen? She was married to him." Gojo hums in content, lips slightly curled at the end.

"The runaway son of one of our biggest competitors, Naveen?" Ichiji raises a brow, unable to believe such a statement. "The one who passed a few years ago, Naveen? Are you sure it's that one?"

"I had heard he had eloped after being disowned by his family, but the fact that he kept his business and private endeavors so quiet even after his passing is quite admirable." Getou spoke, rubbing his chin.

Gojo tutted his lips while folding his lanky arms. "Apparently their marriage wasn't discovered by the majority of the public until a few months after his passing, and even now no one makes a fuss about this 'Tiana' woman. I'm guessing the Maldonia's kept it under wraps not only for them but to keep the heat off that poor woman."

"Naveen fucking died?" Shoko looked at the phone in disbelief after it was passed around by Nanami. Mei turns to look at her, absolutely dumbfounded.

"Don't you remember? We signed a card and sent a care package to Ralph's house?" Mei says. Again, Shoko shrugs.

"Where have you been for the past, like, four years?" Getou said while shaking his head. Nanami was intrigued, yet at the same time baffled by the information, all the more befuddled that Charlotte failed to mention a detail so important. He couldn't help but frown as he slid Tiana's thick resume away from him.

"This doesn't add up." Nanami spoke in a frigid tone. "His family refused to lend him a dime when he ran away, I doubt they would prop up the woman who caused their son to derail off his path."

"I mean have you seen her job credentials? The woman must have done some heavy saving." Ichiji said, impressed as he circled her name on his list of applicants.

"Her tenacity plus Naveen's keen sense of business probably made them a dangerous duo." Mei said in agreement, highlighting her name as well. "She had to have worked her ass off. It's respectable enough."

"And?" Nanami said. "We have plenty of applicants who have 'worked their asses' off for the lowest clearance level that we have with far more qualifications. Are we really going to let her in because of a connection with our competitor?"

"If you put it that way, I don't see why not." Gojo smiled keenly. "Seems like a win for us. The silenced widow of the Maldonia family working for G Corps.? I'm sure we could use this to our benefit, bump her up to an assistant or something flashy."

Nanami opened his mouth to interject but Getou stole the words right from him.

"We're not using a woman's grief to our advantage. If that's the route you want to take, then I'm voting no." Getou scribbled a quick "x" over her name, and turned away without a second thought. Nanami swallowed thickly. "Giving jobs because of status and connections is not how we do things, we go by work ethics. Bypassing all other levels and placing her into such a high position is absurd."

"But her ethics are clearly there, you can't deny it." Gojo argued back, and Getou squinted his eyes at his partner.

"You're trying to twist my words." Getou seethed.

"You're twisting mine." Gojo poked out his tongue in a childlike manner. As tension built on one side of the table, Shoko spoke up.

"I'm gonna have to say no as well." Shoko said. "Not because of Gojo's scheme, but realistically, she doesn't have any prospects. She never finished school, and the one business she owned failed miserably. It may have been because of grief, but it doesn't matter. If you can't separate your personal life and your business life then you have no reason to work with us."

"That's a bold statement to make when Getou and Gojo act the way that they do." Mei mumbled, but Shoko continued.

"Does she even speak japanese? Will she be comfortable moving across, not the continent, but the world? Will she let her grief cloud her judgment and erode her motivation? If she's using this job to 'run away' from her problems but ends up bringing them here, it could be an unnecessary headache. We aren't a social club, nor are we some sort of therapy group."

Nanami pursed his lips, his teeth gnawing at the fleshy part of the inside of his bottom lip.

"What's that then? Three yes' and two no's?" Gojo said, as Getou glared at him. Gojo's cerulean eyes landed on Nanami, piercing through him with a wicked look. "Nanamin, you've been really quiet. What does Mr. Logic have to say about all this?"

Nanami leaned over the table, thinking long and hard about this decision. The fact that he had power in the final say irked him beyond comparison. Too many pieces were in play. Lottie and her schemes, Gojo and his plans; everything seemed to muddle inside of his head as he voiced his decision.

"I said no, Lottie." Nanami spoke into his office phone, and the other side simply crackled in between the silence.

"You're dead to me, Nanami." Charlotte's initial excitement when her cousin called her with an update shriveled into something bitter.

"Lottie, listen." Nanami blew a huff of air past his lips. "You...you lied to me." Charlotte scoffed in disbelief on the other line.

"L-lied? I ain't lie about nothin'!" Charlotte exclaimed.

"You omitted the truth, that's lying." Nanami said in a stern voice that seemed to boil from his throat. "She was married to Naveen? You didn't-" Nanami looked around his empty office, hoping his voice didn't echo past these thin white walls. "You didn't tell me that. What the hell, Charlotte?"

"Yeah, because you would have jumped for joy at the mention of that." Charlotte said. "Why does that even matter?"

"He may have been estranged, but he was still once the heir of our biggest competitor. That puts Tiana in a rough position here." Nanami's foot tapped rhythmically on the tile as her name rolled off his tongue like the jade swells of a valley. "The wrong person gets their hands on information like that, and the quiet life you want her to live out here won't be as such."

"You said no anyways, so it looks like we'll have to try for someplace else." Charlotte said sharply. "Thanks for nothin'." Charlotte went to hang up the phone, until Nanami's smooth voice spoke through the speaker.

"I said no to her having an assistant position." Nanami interjected. "One of my coworkers wanted her to work directly under him, and I disagreed. She'll work as an intern for now. At least that way, she'll have a place to stay."

Nanami moved the phone away from his ear as Charlotte squealed like a pig on the other line, which made the corner's of his mouth tilt slightly at the comparison as he was reminded of her fascination with the color pink. He put the phone back to his ear just as Charlotte came to the end of her garbled praises and thank you's.

"-ank you, Ken! Thank you so, so, so, so, so, so much!" Charlotte gushed on the other line, her excitement returning tenfold.

"No need to thank me, I was simply doing my job." Nanami said with a sigh. When all was said and done, he still gave Charlotte what she wanted, even though it wasn't wrapped in a glittery pink box and instead in the form of a much grander favor.

"But I must ask, Ken," Charlotte said, her words dragging with a southern drawl. "Why didn't you just let Tia work under you?"

"No." Nanami immediately cut her off, severing the possibility from his own mind. "No, that'd be way too obvious, don't you think, Lottie?"

Nanami didn't understand why he had this premonition of impending doom lying within his heart. The foreboding feeling was so strong that it made him tug the collar of his ironed shirt away from his slightly damp neck. Maybe it was because he knew of Tiana by association, and didn't want to cause trouble for her, or for himself in the near future. They would soon be working close together, but thankfully not too close. Keeping a close eye on interns was more so Shoko's job, so thankfully he could use that excuse to get Charlotte off of his back. It would be suspicious otherwise; a man of great renown aiming to be promoted to CEO of the company interacting with an intern who wouldn't even be a part of the branch in his current department? It was so absurdly hilarious that Nanami wanted to laugh.

So why was he being put in charge of picking the poor woman up?

"Shoko, aren't you supposed to be picking up Tiana from the airport? You're late. Really bad first impression for the company." Nanami had asked the woman who was swamped with tilting stacks of paper, threatening to spill onto the floor of her office as she scrambled over each individual page.

"Shit, shit, shit..." Shoko muttered, not slowing for a second. "I can't right now. Nanami, you do it."

Nanami scoffed, raising one of his blonde brows. "You can't be serious? That's your job."

"Well as you can see," She motioned to the papers, careful not to knock them over, "I'm busy doing my other jobs. I know you have nothing better to do."

"Maybe if you didn't slack off and let your work pile up on you..." Nanami began, and Shoko placed her hands firmly on her desk, looking up at Nanami with a tired look.

"I didn't want her working here in the first place. I told you it was a bad idea." She reiterated. "You gave the final say in her position here, so she should really be your responsibility."

"Shoko-"

Shoko ignored him, picking up her office phone and dialing a specific set of numbers. "Y'know what, I'll just get Gojo to-"

"No, no. Nevermind." Nanami cut her off quickly, holding his hands up in defeat. The last thing he needed was for that fool to make her feel uncomfortable with his curiosity and overbearing personality. There was a silver lining to this; he could meet the woman his dear little cousin was so eager to stick her neck out for. "I got it."

"I know you do." Shoko says, returning to the papers. "And take the good company car. It works with everyone else. A ride in that luxury mobile usually makes up for most mistakes."

Most not being this one.

Nanami stood with a sign in bold writing labeled "Tiana", and he wasn't there for ten seconds before a woman paced up to him.

Her expression was anything but happy, but who would be after flying for almost a full 24 hours, and the ride provided for them, which just so happened to be the company she would be working for, was almost two hours late? Nanami's lips were pressed in a thin line, embarrassed and frustrated that he had to be the face of his company's, or better yet, Shoko's incompetence.

"Hm..." The woman hummed slightly, and Nanami's face twisted into a scowl. He knew what she was thinking; it was knitted between her thin brows. She was dressed for comfort, but still looked very presentable despite being held hostage in an enclosed compartment for hours. She wore a yellow tracksuit with green detailing, and her luggage was a forest green with brown trim; for some reason the design reminded Nanami or something of the early 1900s. She had large brown eyes, a nose that was scrunched in distaste, and that frown. That frown that resided deep within her pigment, embossed in her forehead. Despite looking so soft, she looked bitter, angry at the world, and she had that right at this particular moment.

"I'll grab that for you." Nanami said in English, grabbing the large luggage by its handle, brushing her hand in the process. Tiana muttered a "thank you", hesitating as the syllables spilled from her tongue in a foreign language as she clutched her chest.

Now from Tiana's point of view, she was puzzled, and a bit dazed from the most recent events. She received an email about an online interview after her resume was approved, and it seemed to go well, but she didn't expect to actually get the job. It was across the planet, she only did the interview because Lottie pushed her on the matter so much. But to her surprise, she received the position, and while it wasn't the only job she got a call back from, Lottie was adamant that Tiana chose this specific one. Tiana didn't even get to see what Lottie threw in her luggage as she shoved things in there, and the next day after she received the news she was out the door, headed to the airport. Tiana fought Charlotte on the plane tickets, but Charlotte claimed she "didn't want the opportunity to go to waste" and that "Tia should leave right now", so she allowed Charlotte to buy the tickets, only if they were basic economy with no added perks. After a 17 hour flight and then some, she was sure her ride from her new job would be there waiting for her, but lo and behold, here a man was almost two hours late to take her to her destination.

So CP time exists here too, she thought.

Tiana followed behind the man who definitely had more than an inch or two above her; he was pressed in a blue shirt with a very wacky tie decorating his neck and some loose khakis. A circular pair of shades rested on the bridge of his nose, which was very sharp. In fact, all of his features seemed sharp: his cheek bones, his jaw, even the strands of blonde that sprouted from his head and framed his face. Everything about him seemed so angular, neat, and pristine, he couldn't just be a mere cabbie.

Tiana let out a sigh, blinking as she took in everything at one time, and it hit her so hard that it almost knocked the wind out of her. She was in Japan. Japan, of all places. No longer near the bayou, miles away from her childhood home, so far from her childhood friend. So far from everything that defined her while simultaneously destroying her. But this...this was good. Maybe this is what she needed, to start fresh. To start over, even if this method seemed a bit unorthodoxed. She hardens her heart, blinking rapidly as she twists the lonely silver band on her finger.

Tiana was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realize she followed the strange man all the way to the parking garage. She didn't ask the man any questions or anything; just followed a man who held her name written on a piece of printer paper up in the airport. She began to berate herself internally. He could have been anybody. What if this man were trying to kidnap her? Her mama didn't teach her to follow strange men around all willy-nilly. And while Tiana seemed to be having a battle with herself on the inside, Nanami swallowed thickly, the silence eating him alive as he opened the passenger door to let the woman slide in.

As he shut the door gently, he rolled her heavy luggage to the trunk, popping it open. God, she was pissed, Nanami thought. The tension was so thick it was almost suffocating. Not only was a new employee slighted on their first day in a brand new environment, but Nanami was sure that Charlotte would chew him out for making her wait so long in an unfamiliar place.

Letting out a weighted sigh, he adjusted his tie as he climbed into the luxury vehicle; sinking into the peanut butter leather, pushing the bronze start button, and letting his free arm rest on the wide console as his fingers delicately curled around the steering wheel. The ac whisked around the compartment gently, repelling the late August heat. Nanami glanced at the woman next to him, she seemed to be swallowed by the seat with her back pressed into it as upright as the midday sun, hands folded neatly into her lap, and ankles crossed as she looked out the window. It was so awkward that all Nanami could do was purse his lips. This is why he didn't deal with newbies, and it didn't help that he now had a personal connection with her. He felt obligated to go out of his way more than he usually would.

"I apologize for the tardiness. This isn't how we usually operate, and is a very bad first impression." Nanami tried to joke, but it fell flat.

"Your name?" Tiana turned to the man, again trying to replicate the language that was foreign to her mouth. The lack of confidence in her cadence didn't help, and it came out slightly garbled. She twisted her mouth as the man leaned his ear closer to her.

"Hm?"

Tiana felt herself moving away, clearing her throat as she gave up trying to communicate in Japanese.

"Your name? What is your name?" She said, and Nanami blinked as her real voice seemed to settle into his ears. It reminded him of Lottie's voice, but warmer. A fuller, and stronger tone like the wide trunk of a sturdy oak. The way it dipped and climbed felt like joyfully riding a seesaw on a summer's day.

"Kento Nanami." He said. "I am the CMO of G. Corps."

I knew he wasn't a cabbie, Tiana thought, but now her nerves became restless as they overcame her initial anger. She smoothened out her sweats, sitting up even straighter (if that were even possible), nodding her head. This man was the boss of her boss's boss. If he caught an inkling of agitation, he would probably fire her on the spot, throw her out the car, and drive off leaving her stranded.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Nanami." Tiana gripped her seats as she looked over at his hand. "My name is Tiana."

"I know." Nanami said a bit too quickly. "I reviewed your application. And had the sign."

"Right." She chuckled nervously, and the conversation died. The car crawls forward gently, as Nanami drives out of the dark garage, and makes his way to the busy streets. Battling the awkward silence, Nanami tries to revive the conversation.

"Again, I want to apologize for being so late. I promise this is not a reflection of how we operate as a business."

Much to Tiana's dismay, the man just kept talking. She would much rather wallow in her silence as they take her to the apartment complex, and avoid dry conversations such as this. But ignoring him wasn't the best decision. She turns to him again, providing her undivided attention as she gives him a clear and concise reply.

"I understand. A man such as yourself must be really busy."

"Well, no..." Nanami's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced back at her, then returned his eyes to the road. While her voice held a sweetness to it, the emotion didn't reach those wide, brown eyes. Nanami wasn't sure if it was towards him or something else, but a poorly hidden layer of resentment rested under her skin.

"My colleague Shoko was supposed to be the one to be here, and while it's no excuse, she found herself overwhelmed, so I took the task from her."

Though she knew it wasn't personal, Tiana didn't appreciate being referenced to as a task. She gives him a flat smile before turning back to the window, buildings blurring by as they speed down the road.

"How noble of you."

Nanami was positive the conversation had a giant "DNR" plastered on it, so he clamped his mouth shut. This is why Shoko should have been here, he thought. She was much more easy going, capable of lightening any bad mood, even the damp one he had to sit in for a few more minutes. Though Shoko wasn't a cherry person herself, she was always able to make someone comfortable enough to open up. Nanami bit the inside of his lower lip as they rode in silence.

In the silence, Tiana tried not to let her mind wander too far. She found herself repeating the same things over and over, practicing phrases in her head so she wouldn't make a fool of herself at her new job. Every time her thoughts drifted to places she didn't want to revisit, she'd repeat those same sentences again and again.

Hello, my name is Tiana. I'm a new intern from New Orleans.

She tried not to think of the subtle bumps on the rode, her senses suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of rough gravel underneath the spinning tires.

Hello, my name is Tiana. I'm a new intern from New Orleans.

She tried not to shake, gripping the armrest opposing Nanami, her nails bending into the leather. When was the last time she was the passenger in a car for more than five minutes? Were car rides always this long? Were the spaces always this compact?

Hello, my name is Tiana. I'm a new intern from New Orleans.

The ac was bone chilling, and the air was so sharp as she inhaled that it felt like it was slicing at her windpipes. She blinked, eyebrows scrunched as her vision became blotchy, as if someone had poked holes in her sight. Not now, she didn't want to think of this now. The whole point of this was literally to not think about it; to forget about it. To forget about all of it. She wasn't there anymore. She was okay. She was okay.

Hello, my name is-

"Tiana- Ms. Tiana...we're here." Nanami's voice yanked her out of the memories she had begun to drown in, and she felt immense gratitude for him breaking the silence she was so keen on keeping. As her eyes fluttered, leveling her vision, she saw them pull up to a gated community. It was quite fancy, reminding Tiana of the ritzier parts of New Orleans, but not as lavish as Lottie's home. Nanami rolled down his window, punched in a few numbers in the code box, and the gates opened gracefully as if welcoming Tiana into heaven. Tiana settled herself into the seat as they pulled in, tuning into Nanami's voice.

"Your apartment key, keycard, and gate code will be found in your apartment. You can change the code to your apartment door to anything, but the password to get in today is four consecutive zeros. Because we house interns and other employees, we do provide transportation to the different sites, including the main building which I believe is where you were assigned." Nanami said, glancing briefly at Tiana. He had taken notice of her subtle trembling, but chalked it up to nerves. It wasn't any of his business anyway, so he continued to give her a short tour of the small community. He circles the large pond and fountain, pointing out the pool which would be closing soon, the gym where you could work out, the bikes that employees could use at their disposal, the walking trail that outlined the entire facility. Tiana was impressed, all the buildings were white and trimmed in a sea foam blue. It was very pristine, modernized, and expected of such a large company. At least from here, it looked as if they treated their employees well. She twisted the silver band around her finger, the familiar grooves providing a sense of comfort.

"The main building is about a mile from here, so if you don't want to take the bus you could have a nice morning walk or use the bikes. Or carpool with others, you become very close knit around here." Nanami said, pulling up to a set of apartments labeled "A". As the car stopped, he shifted the gear into park and the engine hummed gently. Tiana lets out a sigh of relief, quickly unbuckling her seatbelt and fumbling with the car door. After a couple tugs, she realizes it's locked from the inside, and awkwardly turns to Nanami.

"Oh. My apologies." Nanami says, hitting the unlock button on his side. The doors in the car click in response, and Tiana gives that same flat smile, lips curled into a long, thin line across her face.

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami." Tiana says, swinging the door open. Nanami swings his door open as well, both closing the door at the same time. Tiana is a bit quicker, waving her foot under the bottom of the car and activating the trunk to open. She then begins clawing at her luggage, dragging it out of the trunk, until it lands on the asphalt with a loud smack. Nanami stands there, watching her struggle, his knuckles on his hips.

"Would you like me to carry that up?" Nanami raises a brow, activating the trunk so that it will close. Tiana shakes her head rapidly, pulling the latch up and balancing it on its two wheels.

"You've done more than enough, I appreciate it." She says, flipping her yellow hood down. A heap of dark curls rest on top of her head, a few stray strands falling in front of those big brown eyes.

This must be the stubbornness Lottie was talking about, Nanami thought.

"I'm just doing my job." Nanami says, adjusting his shades. Tiana nods, turning around to walk away, but Nanami calls something out to her before she is out of earshot.

"You don't have to try to speak in Japanese if you're not comfortable. A lot of people around here speak in English." Nanami tries to reassure her. "If you need something, one of the admins should be able to help." He throws in. Nanami, even if he wanted to, wouldn't be able to cater to her solely, though that's what Charlotte intended for him to do. Tiana was not his responsibility, and it made him uncomfortable to think about hovering over a woman so closely. Plus, it would look so strange. She will just have to use the same resources as everyone else.

Tiana nods, rolling the large bag up the sidewalk, and begins hauling it up the stairs. Nanami stands there, carefully watching her to make sure she gets in without any hiccups. He watches her lean onto the door, punch in the code, and literally fall into the room with her luggage in tow. The door slams shut, and Nanami's lips turn upwards into a weird expression.

"Alright then." Nanami says, pulling out of the driveway.

"Alright then..." Tiana winces as she collects herself. She looks around the room, it being pretty standard for a single apartment. Tiana swallows hard at the word "single", walking around the tidy abode. Everything was white and beige, and accents of the same seafoam green outside the building. It definitely lacked the cozy touches of home, but it was something she could fix over time. The kitchen had a tiny island with a single stool, a silver fridge with a touch screen and other basic appliances. She flipped on a light switch, a bright white light illuminating the area. As she walked past the open kitchen, she reached the living room, which already housed a large screen television on a wide media cabinet and two couches. A pair of curtains blocked the sliding door to the terrace; Tiana had observed that little detail from the outside when they pulled up. To the left led to the bedroom with a queen size mattress and a nice sized bathroom. Then to the right of the entrance was a small office with a computer resting in a large desk, which Tiana guessed was for working either from home or off the clock.

"They got money, money..." Tiana mumbled, lugging her bag to the fully furnished bedroom. Her body was exhausted, and definitely jet lagged, but she didn't want to sleep. A small part of her was too nervous to sleep, afraid that memories would torment her during her time of rest. So instead, she found herself leaving the apartment as quickly as she came, and finding one of the bike pods Nanami was talking about. She picks one, scans her newly issued ID card, and starts pedaling. There was so much she had to do to properly get settled, and though she had about two more days until her first official day on the job, she didn't want to waste it.

So she busied herself, getting lost in the city Sendai, trying to familiarize herself with the large city. Finding nearby stores, markets, and stalls, memorizing the route to the main building, and even purchasing some basic necessities to get her through the week. The beauty about Sendai was that the city followed Tiana's philosophy of never sleeping. The daytime was loud, and the night was thunderous. So on the following Monday, she allowed herself to close her eyes for just a second in the break room, curled over her fifth cup of room temperature coffee.

"Tiana." A sharp voice caused her to jump, knocking the coffee across the table, and spilling into her lap. Soft swears leave her lips as she jumps out of the chair. The brown drink seemed to creep everywhere, seeping into the floor, sliding across the white table, and staining Tiana's gray pencil skirt.

"Shit, I mean, shoot..." Tians mumbles, running to the counter of the room and grabbing a handful of paper towels, the cardboard dowel rattling against the metal rod as she yanks on them. She scurried to clean up the mess, wiping profusely at the table, the floor, then her skirt, and back to the table.

"Were you asleep?" The voice asks condescendingly, and Tiana looks up to a woman in a fitted navy suit with a tie to match. Her kitten heels clicked on the tile as she stood there with her arms folded, eyes glaring down her upturned nose.

"It was my break." Tiana defends herself, standing and dumping the soggy paper towels into the nearby bin.

"I know it's your first official day, so I'll give you a pass. But you really shouldn't be so tired."

"Well, Ms. Misha," Tiana began, standing up over the petite woman. "I haven't gotten quite used to this new sleep schedule. I'm still a bit jet lagged, is all." Tiana said, swiping at the stain on her skirt. It was such a hideous blob on her outfit, and it frustrated her more than the obvious lack of sleep. The jet lag isn't the only reason she was tired, her sleeping habits had been poor for a while now. The consequences just seemed to catch her at the worst time.

"I saw you biking over the weekend. Maybe you should have used that time to rest and prepare properly." Misha said through a tight smile, and Tiana felt her eye twitch. Misha, her boss, had been on her ass like white on rice since she walked in at six in the morning. Upon her early arrival, she and the other new interns for the third quarter went through an initiation of sorts, going over company rules and policies, touring the building, then broken into separate groups. Between six this morning and 1:27pm, which Tiana noted on the clock on the wall, Misha was quick to pester Tiana all day. First she got dress-coded for her skirt being too tight, but how can you penalize someone for filling in their clothes in all the right places? Next it was her hair, and by God, Tiana wanted to pop the woman's mouth when she referred to it as "untamed". Then, it was her enunciation of Japanese words. Misha claimed she nor the other interns could understand her, and she will speak to her in English "if she must". It was just micro-aggression after micro-aggression, and no one stood up for her, and God forbid she stand up for herself. Misha would simply wave her off, walking in the other direction, claiming she had "better things to do". Now she was tormenting her on her break? Why was she keeping tabs on her outside of company time anyways?

Tiana clenches her hands, blinking softly, a wry smile playing on her lips.

"You're right, Ms. Misha. I'll be sure to take note of that."

Misha gives Tiana a pitying look, her brows furrowed as she feigned concern, looking up at Tiana through her lashes.

"I know it may seem like I'm being harsher on you than anyone else, and the truth is, I am." Misha says as she places a pale hand on Tiana's shoulder, causing her to shudder. It took everything in Tiana not to shove the woman off of her. "But in reality, this business is tough. The people are tougher. If you still want to be here at the end of quarter two, you're going to have to grow some tough skin, and take my corrections and run with it. I promise, it's for your own good."

Tiana blinks, adjusting the band on her finger, taking it off and putting it back on.

"I will keep that in mind, Ms. Misha." Tiana says through pursed lips, knowing it was a load of bull. But there was nothing she could do about it right now. She will take this situation, and run with it until she achieves her goal.

"Good." Misha smiles, flashing her pearly teeth. She glanced at the clock, pondering something before speaking to Tiana. "Also, can you run and go get some coffees?"

Tiana looked at the clock as time ate away at her break. Now it reads 1:35.

"But my break ends in less than 30 minutes?" Tiana says, then motions to the coffee pot in the room. "And we have coffee here. Why do you need me, again?"

"The managerial team is pretty swamped, and since you interns don't have too much to do today, it would be smarter to send one of you."

"And by 'one of you', you mean me." Tiana smiles tightly, and Misha returns the expression.

"Exactly! You were the only one I could find on such short notice, everyone else seems busy. You'll be doing us a huge favor, might even earn you a permanent position."

Tiana grimaced. The idea of doing favors to one up someone made her sick. She would much rather prove her worth through her ethics.

"Mhm." Tiana simply responds, holding her tongue. She begins walking out the room, Misha calling out to her as she leaves.

"And change your skirt while you're at it."

From that day on, Tiana became the resident errand girl, because the job wasn't dignifying enough for a grown woman. Whether it was Misha, other admins, clerks, even interns on the same level as her, people were constantly asking her to make coffee runs for them while spewing bullshit excuses to justify themselves.

"It'll help you memorize the city."

"We'll remember this favor in the future!"

"You can practice your Japanese with the cashiers."

"We'll treat you next time!"

"You're not busy anyway."

But Tiana was in fact busy. Not only did she have her own set of paperwork to do, but other interns and at some points, Misha herself, her own boss, would throw other tasks at her that were above her clearance level, and way above her paygrade. Through the oncoming weeks, she found herself taking her work home and completing it throughout the night, causing her to turn it in a day or two late. And of course, Misha had plenty to say about that.

"If you can't handle this much as an intern, then how do you expect to work full time?" Misha would say, right before sending her on a lunch run or something. But Misha wasn't the only person taking note of Tiana's slacking.

"Your responsibility, Tiana, isn't doing so hot." Shoko told Nanami as she lounged in his office. Nanami exhaled loudly, turning away from his computer and to Shoko.

"Isn't she in your department?" Nanami frowned.

"But whose fault is it that she's there anyway?" Shoko said, sprawled on his office couch. Nanami's frown deepened, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"See, this is exactly why you're always swamped in work. You're here, letting others tend to your job without your careful watch. If she isn't doing so well, and her admin is failing to correct her errors, shouldn't you go do something about it?"

Shoko stares at the ceiling, pondering what Nanami suggested before shrugging.

"Nah."

"Alright then." Nanami turns back to his computer, aware that there was no victory for him within this discussion. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Nothing, actually." Shoko states. "If she can't make it past the first quarter, let alone the end of quarter 2, her contract will immediately be terminated, and we can send her home. We're taking the long way to get there, and wasting my precious raise money in the process, but it'll prove my point."

Nanami folds his arms, a bit frustrated. "Your point being?"

"That she used us as a little getaway. She's a hindrance with a nice track record and we wasted our time." Shoko said, wiggling her ankles as she threw her head over the armrest.

"I think you're going way too far." Nanami says. "What's she even doing wrong that's got you so hellbent on getting her out of here?"

"What's she doing right that's got you so hellbent on her staying?"

Nanami was taken aback by the question. Was he acting too defensive? He shakes his, waving away her accusations.

"It's not that. You're not even giving her a chance. You're telling me she's the only intern who's out there doing wrong?"

"No, she's just the only one I constantly hear complaints about. And if that's all she has to her name, then I don't want to deal with her. Everyone else seems to be doing their job quietly, except her."

"Fine." Nanami says, an unsaid "I'll do it" echoing within his skull. This annoyed him to hell and back, and he didn't want to, but the obligation was evident.

"If things don't improve, she'll be terminated at our first quarter debriefing." Shoko warns. "If she makes it that far."

Nanami pondered those words, the memory of the conversation overwhelming his mind as he listened to Charlotte rant on and on about something her father failed to do. Suddenly, Charlotte asked the question that Nanami had been dreading to hear.

"How's Tia?"

Nanami clenched his jaw, knowing that his answer would be far from fulfilling.

"She's...alive?" Nanami says as a question, more than a statement, and Charlotte begins to fume over the phone.

"Well, that's the bare minimum, Ken. You don't know, do you?"

"I'm sorry, Lottie. I just don't have the time to cater to everyone-"

"Tia isn't everyone. She is one woman going through hell right now." Charlotte whines. "She doesn't have any close friends there, Ken. And though she keeps trying to play it off, I know she is miserable right now. She needs someone who's there right now, and that person can't be me. Plus, the time-difference early morning calls are causing bags to form under my eyes, and they are not designer."

"Lottie, what more do you want me to do? You wanted her to get the job, she got the job; I did that. But being a shoulder to cry on is not in my line of work." Nanami says.

"I'm not asking you to coddle her, just to talk with her sometimes. Let her know that someone is in her corner, 's all." Charlotte asks. Nanami sighs, thinking it over. This was bound to be disastrous. Nanami hadn't spoken or seen Tiana since the stiff car ride home, and that was several weeks ago. How would he just strike a conversation with her randomly? Not to mention how strange that would look to any outsiders, and that doesn't even take into account how Tiana will respond to his sudden friendliness.

"I'll think of something." Nanami promised, but he wasn't sure how he was going to keep it. It wasn't until a few weeks later on a chilly October night that the thought struck him again.

Across the street, he spotted her amongst the crowd; despite not seeing her in over a month he still remembered what she looked like, but admittedly she also stood out quite a bit amongst the homogenous citizens peppered across the street. Her face caught the glow of the crescent moon, a gloved hand gripping a forest green hat as the other clutched a matching trench close to her chest while the wind whipped through the lonely streets. He watched her flee into the market, then found his feet stumbling after her.

I guess now is as good of a time as ever, he thought, his hands deep within his jacket pockets. He crossed the street with a slight jog, running into the market. His eyes adjusted to the yellow lights as his gaze swept across the aisles. Pursing his lips, he begins wandering the store, his work shoes clicking on the floor as he passes the shelves. He began to wonder, what could she possibly be buying this late at night, and why didn't she go right after her shift ended? Interns didn't work a full day, and even if they did, they wouldn't get credited for it, which was the downside of this internship, and why interns had way more free time than full time workers. She should have had plenty of time to do what she needed to do, and head home, instead of endangering her wellbeing by commuting at night. While internships are easier, they can still be taxing. Maybe this is why her work has been subpar lately.

While her personal life shouldn't be of any interest to Nanami, if it affected the corporation, then it was his business.

Only because of that. Nothing more, nothing less (if you didn't count Charlotte's death threats).

Suddenly, Nanami bumped into something, or rather, someone bumped into him. Nanami looked down, being met with those brown eyes that seemed to cause him so much duress lately. Tiana looked surprised for a moment, then that frown. That same frown she had when they first met. Nanami had no clue why she seemed so dissatisfied to see him. Nanami scoffed inwardly. It's not like he showed up late to the store to pick her up tonight or something.

"Oh." Tiana says softly. "Hello Mr. Nanami, funny seeing you here."

"Well, for something so funny, you don't look amused."

"Hm." Tiana's shoulders bounce subtly as soft air blows through her nose.

Nanami tilts his head slightly. Was that supposed to be a laugh?

"You're out late." Nanami obviously states, unable to make his observation sound smooth.

"Just...making groceries."

Nanami blinks at Tiana's short answers. She left no opening to extend the conversation, making it obvious she didn't want to be bothered. Nanami could practically hear Charlotte's voice squealing at him in his head, mixed with this sense of obligation that he couldn't seem to shake.

"What for? If you don't mind me asking."

Tiana's eyebrows relax slightly as she looks up at the man. I do mind, she told herself, but a part of her knew that wasn't the full truth. Her past few weeks had been so hellish, that she doubted she would ever have a friendly conversation with anyone here. She had been so used to being on the defense, even more on edge since moving here, that the thought of someone just striking a conversation with her "just because" puzzled her.

She massages the band on her hand, sliding it on different fingers while she answers.

"Well, Mr. Nanami...I've been looking for ingredients for the Halloween potluck on Friday."

"Ah." Nanami says, completely forgetting about the event. "I had forgotten all about that, honestly."

"I thought you weren't too busy of a man, Mr. Nanami." Tiana chides.

"I'm not. I'm just a little behind on the task."

"A little late. Hopefully no more than two hours this time."

This time, it's Nanami's turn to let out a soft laugh, his head dropping slightly at the memory. Tiana was quite quick with her rebuttals, and to think a loaded tongue like hers would hide behind such a vexing expression.

"Alright, alright. You got me there."

Tiana felt a bit warmer on the inside for the first time in years. But the warmth was soon sucked out of her when her phone rang, and one look at the caller ID made that frown appear on her face again. Nanami watched her carefully as she swiped across the phone screen, putting the phone to her ear.

"Hello, Ms. Misha. What can I do for you?"

Misha, Nanami thought. Why is she calling so late? And an intern at that.

"No, of course, I can do that for you. No problem."

Nanami was perplexed. He watched Tiana finish the phone call, frown and all as she shoved her cell back into her pocket.

"Misha, she's one of your admins, correct?"

"Yes, she is. Quite the lady, if I do say so myself."

"I've worked with her very briefly in the past. That phrase is an understatement."

Tiana's eyes seem to shine when Nanami says that. A look of mischief followed by what Nanami assumed to be her version of a sly smile.

"Mr. Nanami, that isn't quite professional of you to say about your employees to an intern."

"We're not confined to the building, so why be defined by those titles?"

Another puff of air exits the woman's nose, her curls bouncing as she tilts her head to look up at the blonde. It wasn't a genuine laugh, but amusement lingered on the corner of her lips.

"Well it's true." Nanami says. "About Misha, that is. I'm sure you're aware."

"I'm aware of a lot of things, Mr. Nanami, and the things I perceive aren't really yours to worry about, are they?"

So it's none of my business, Nanami thought.

"If it affects my job then unfortunately it will keep me up at night."

"But we're not confined to the building, so why discuss such matters right now?"

There it was, that sharp tongue that Nanami had become perplexed with in such a short time. He couldn't help but feel rather impressed, intrigued; not a lot of people dared go toe to toe with him from his title alone, and even if they did, Mr. Logic was always the victor. But out here, under the light of the buzzing fluorescents, they were almost equals.

"Misha." Nanami says, ignoring her statement. "What did she want this late?"

Tiana's eyes shift to the ground. "Just a favor for the party."

"Are you sure? It looked like a lot more than that."

Tiana blinks, sighing lightly.

"Look, Mr. Nanami. I appreciate your concern, but I promise I am alright. Yes, there are some moments, but every job has them, whether you work across the seas or across the street. It's just an adjustment, s'all."

Tiana's voice sounded so reassuring that Nanami wasn't sure if she was lying or not. It felt as though more needed to be said than she was allowed to slip, but he didn't really have the right to pry, at least not right now. Her work performance had proved his suspicion a thousand times over.

"All right. I'll let it go."

"Thank you. Now if you'll excuse me..." Tiana said, nodding towards the shelves. Nanami became conscious of how long he had held the woman up from completing her task. Nanami nodded, backing up away from her so that she could continue on without his pestering.

"Right, right. My apologies for holding you up."

"S'alright." Tiana shrugs, turning towards the shelves, but still glancing at Nanami over her shoulder.

"G'night, Mr. Nanami."

"Goodnight, Ms. Tiana."

The conversation left Nanami quite energized as he sat in the car, thumbs tapping on the leathered steering wheel, or maybe the right word was amused. The exchange caused Nanami to gaze through his window at the blue moon, which was carved into a thin crescent. Nanami stared so long that he could still catch its glow whenever he closed his eyes for a brief second. He wasn't sure how long he was there, before a blur of green whisked past his car. He sat up quickly, watching Tiana stagger with a plethora of paper bags. Raising a brow, he started his car, pulled forward, and rolled down his window.

"Ms. Tiana-"

"Jesus!" Tiana shouted, almost dropping the bags as she jumped at least half a foot into the air. Nanami winced slightly, feeling a bit of shame as Tiana turned towards him. "Lord, Mr. Nanami, you can't just creep up onto a woman like that in the middle of the night."

"I didn't mean to startle you."

"What are you still doing here?"

What am I still doing here, he thought. Nanami waves his hand, shrugging.

"I got lost in the moon." He gestures towards the sky. "It's kind of easy to."

Tiana huffs, a curly strand brushing out of her face, giving him a questioning look that told that she wasn't buying his story at all. Nanami turns back to the steering wheel, hands tracing it briefly before turning back to her.

"I was also wondering if you needed help. A ride home, perhaps?"

Tiana quickly shook her head no. The car was an automatic no for her, regardless of if it was Nanami or not. Nanami noticed the way her eyes flickered to the vehicle, so quick to shut him down.

"No thank you, Mr. Nanami, that's quite alright."

Nanami looked out into the dark streets. He couldn't possibly let her walk out here alone. The apartments were almost a 30 minute walk from here.

"Isn't it a bit dark?"

Tiana scoffs. "I've had worse nights in the bayous."

"I don't know how I feel about that, Ms. Tiana."

"What a gentleman you are." Tiana says. "But even a gentleman respects a lady's wish."

Nanami's lips skew to the side as Tiana refuses to budge. She then sighs, looking up at the bedazzled sky.

"I'm sure you'll relate to my sentiments with the moon. I like the walk. It helps clear my mind."

Again, that frown appeared, but it was much lonelier. As sorrowful as the moon when its beauty was shrouded in the earth's shadow. Nanami's eyes catch a glint on Tiana's hand in the moonlight, that silver band he noticed that she took refuge in when anxious.

"I understand." Nanami concedes, nodding gently. "Enjoy your night."

Tiana nods back, grateful to finally be let go. Nanami rolls up the window as Tiana continues her staggering stroll into the night. After a while of just her heels echoing on the cold pavement, she heaves a heavy sigh, one that brought a familiar sensation to her eyes.

"Naveen." She begins, but can't find herself to continue as his name gets caught in her throat. "It's been...a minute."

"I'm so sorry, Naveen. I know I only come to you to apologize, when my heart gets too heavy, but it's all I have the strength to do."

Of course, there was no answer. How could he? He was long gone, resting horizontally and abandoned on the other side of the world.

"Did you hear me Naveen?" Tiana called into the night, stalling her steps, waiting for her love to call back to her, to send her a sign, something.

"I said I am sorry. Please..."

She feels her knees grow weak, and pauses for a second, crouching down on the side of the road. Her stomach churned as memories flashed rapidly across her eyes. Reliving her turmoil over and over. The feeling of metal grinding against bone, skin peeling, screams of agony, and finally sinking in a bone chilling liquid.

"Naveen..."

The name didn't leave Nanami's head as he recalled Tiana's stubbornness, simultaneously dialing Charlotte's number. It was nearing midnight for him, so he was sure it was early morning for Charlotte. After attempting to call her twice, she finally picked up on the third try, groaning in annoyance while her voice was riddled with sleep.

"Nanami, I swear on all that is holy, this better be-"

"What happened to Naveen?"

Silence envelops both of them as Nanami awaits an answer. Suddenly, he hears the creak of bed springs, Charlotte sitting up as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"What?"

"Naveen...what happened to him?" Nanami repeated. "The articles I found don't say much."

"Ken..." Charlotte's voice softened, barely a whisper over the line. "You don' know what you're asking."

"I'm fully aware."

"That's not my business to tell."

"I'm not asking about Tiana."

"You are, you're just being indirect."

"Naveen and I were colleagues once."

"Competitors."

"Same difference."

"Nanami." Charlotte interrupts, so blunt it causes Nanami's heart to stall in his chest. "I can't believe you called me about this. That's...that's personal, and it's something I nor Tiana want to relive. It's not just Naveen involved, okay? It's...it's hard, and I don't want to discuss it behind her back."

"Was she- he in an accident? With a car, perhaps?" Nanami pushed, recalling his interactions with her. On the drive from the airport, her trembling and shallow breaths. The way she would rather struggle carrying multiple bags in her hands and strung onto her arms than take the ride home. Nanami could have chalked it up to being unfamiliar, but a tame version of terror resided in those brown eyes.

"I know you said she's stubborn and refuses help, but walking by herself at night when-"

"That's enough." Charlotte immediately shut him down, voice as cold as the tundra. "I asked you to make sure she was comfortable, and sticking your nose where you don't belong was not in that job description."

"That's rich coming from you after asking me for so much." Nanami threw back in her face, and Charlotte gasped.

"That is not my business to tell. It isn't- it's not and you're just gonna have to wait until Tia's ready. If she's ever ready."

Nanami grew quiet. There has never been this much tension between them, this cloud of animosity. Charlotte had never been this serious with him, nor had Nanami ever pressured her this much. It was like a damn one raindrop away from breaking and flooding their delicate paradise. Nanami clenched his jaw, looking down at his wooden floor.

"Now goodnight, Nanami. Well, it's morning for me but- well you get the point."

And the line dies.

Nanami tosses his phone onto his nightstand with a loud clatter. He leans back on his pillows, hands resting behind his head as he stared up at his dark ceiling.

Tiana was a mystery, a woman riddled with secrets that Nanami was cursed to deduce, and all he could do was place the blame on Charlotte to ease that nagging feeling residing in the throbbing muscle hidden between his ribs. Maybe it was because of her history, or maybe it was because of this usual amount of empathy he was beginning to feel towards her. It was strange, and that same strangeness seemed to lure him.

"She's so stubborn." Nanami muttered behind his cup, eying Tiana across the office. Everything was so lively in the main office: employees of all levels mixing and mingling, eating food and being grateful for their much needed break, even if the holiday wasn't as serious. People still took the opportunity to indulge in the recreation. Some were dressed up as simple things like black cats or witches, and a few went all out with fully organized costumes. And then there was Tiana, bustling around as if she were a server instead of an attendee, tending to others instead of relaxing herself.

"Who is?" Gojo said, trying to find who was in Nanami's line of sight, bright eyes peering over those circular shades that he wore year round, in every environment where the accessory wasn't even required.

"Ah, no one." Nanami concluded, walking towards the table filled to the brim with different foods. Now Nanami wasn't a picky person, but he didn't eat from just anyone's house. Some food looked appetizing, made with tender love and care, some looked like it was just stripped of its store packaging, and some looked rather repulsive. But there was one food that caught his eye.

A sweet, tantalizing smell wafted up towards him and it took him aback. He had never smelled something so sweet, yet at the same time it wasn't overbearingly so, it was as gentle as the tickle of a feather. He wasn't sure what it was, a pastry of sorts, dusted in flour? Or maybe powdered sugar? Either way, it kissed the dish like a blanket of fresh snow on a golden beach. Suddenly, he felt a gentle jab at his side, and he looked down to see those brown eyes.

Tiana looked rather warm; that same shade of green wrapped around her in a mock neck sweater dress that stopped right below her knees, and thigh high boots. She wore a green headband with two cartoonishly wide eyes on it, and lilypad earrings. Nanami let out an airy laugh, looking her up and down.

"Are you a frog?"

Tiana gave a slight smile, shrugging her shoulders. "How'd you guess?"

Nanami took another sip of his punch. "Frogs aren't scary."

"You're right, they're terrifying." Tiana said matter-of-factly, leaning in. Nanami leaned down to hear her, the scent of honey filling his nose.

"When I was a girl, I had a nightmare that I turned into one. Got chased by some birds, an alligator, then got lost in the swamp. Then to top it all off, when I woke up, there was a frog sitting in my window sill." Tiana said softly, followed by a nervous giggle. She shook her head after sharing the embarrassing secret, feeling as though she had shared a little more than was asked of her. When she looked at Nanami's face, she saw a hint of amusement, and cleared her throat.

"And what are you supposed to be?" Tiana said, motion towards his clothes. Nanami looked down; he was still in his work attire. He hadn't had time to go home and change like the majority, not like he had planned to anyway. Nanami raises his hands, imitating claws with a deadpan face.

"I'm every adult's worst nightmare." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Working a nine to five for 60 plus years with no promise of retirement. Boo."

And Tiana giggles.

Not the airy, single shoulder bounce she normally did. Though it was still restrained, it sounded as mystical as windchimes carried by the breeze.

"Very scary." Tiana says, composing herself.

"Yet not too far from true." Nanami chuckles.

"Is that so?" Tiana asks. "I'm sure you don't plan on staying here forever."

Nanami looks up, lips puckered in thought.

"That's not the initial plan, but who knows what could happen."

"Well then what do you want to do, Mr. Nanami?"

The question perplexes Nanami. No one has ever asked him what he wanted to do, not the chairman when he was thrusted into promotion after promotion without ever wanting the responsibility, not his colleagues, no one. He had never told anyone before, let alone been asked. Since Tiana shared a piece of herself, Nanami decided he should as well, at least to make things fair.

"To travel." He says. "Doesn't matter where or how. As long as the scenery is beautiful."

Tiana nods, soaking in the new information. Tiana didn't take Nanami for a man with the desire of exploration, but with their few interactions, she knew he was more than just a regular salaryman. There was a beat of silence as the two got lost in their own thoughts, until Tiana shook her head. She gestures to the table.

"I saw you eying my beignets."

"Ben...yay's?" Nanami says, confused. Tiana nods her head, her cheeks rosy as a small smile begins to break through.

"Made 'em myself. It was, uh...a favorite back home." Tiana's eyes flit to the side briefly. Nanami, while not knowing the specifics, had a feeling she was referencing her restaurant. Though there was this unwavering itch to ask, he wasn't supposed to know about that. He had to respect her boundaries, even if she hadn't voiced them personally to him yet.

"Really?" Nanami doesn't miss a beat, eyeing the pastry. He could say he was uninterested in trying it, but he would be lying to himself. Tiana nods a bit eagerly.

"It's been a minute since I made them, so I may be a little rusty." She admits, fiddling with a loose curl from her hair. "And the ingredients are slightly different...either way, I loved getting opinions on my cooking, so if you're going to try one I have to be here."

"Is that so?" Nanami looks at the pastry, and Tiana nods her head again.

"Well, go on. What are you waiting for?" Tiana asks, a glint in her eye as she waves Nanami away. Nanami uses a pair of tongs, grabs one, and places it into a napkin. He held it gently; it was so soft, and still warm. He raises a brow at Tiana, and she waves at him again, waiting for him to continue. Nanami looks back at the pastry, and takes a bite.

Nanami's eyes widen, then his eyebrows furrow as he chews the pastry; the outside was flakey but after that layer was soft bread, his canines tearing into it easily. There was a hint of honey, the substance mixing with the generous amount of confection sugar that dusted the corners of his mouth, the sticky substance sliding down the back of his throat as he made a loud gulping noise. Nanami had never, ever, never in his life tried a dessert such as this. It wasn't too sweet, and the thick dough used was fried perfectly. It was perfect for a man like Nanami who didn't care for sweets; something light on his palette. He brought a hand to his mouth, stifling the sound threatening to escape his throat.

Tiana, watching his expression, tilted her head. She felt her throat close, fiddling with that damned silver ban.

"Do you...you don't like it?" She asks softly, voice breaking as it was barely heard over the chaos of the crowd. She shouldn't of gotten her hopes up so high. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

Nanami coughs, shaking his head, quick to reassure her.

"No, no, I like it-" I love it, Nanami almost blurted out, but it felt a bit out of touch. "I really like it. It's really good."

Nanami watched as Tiana's disappointment shrunk as an unsure smile cracked across her face.

"Really?"

"Really, really."

"You're not lying to me, are you?" Tiana eyes him, suspiciously. "If you're doing this to make me feel better, then-"

"No, no I promise. I wouldn't lie-" Nanami pauses. He quickly changes the conversation, holding up the bitten pastry. "I'm not much of a sweets person, so this is perfect for me." He says, watching Tiana's face flow with pride. Suddenly, her eyes seem to fill with water, and she turns away, fanning her dewy eyes.

"Ms. Tiana?" Nanami asked, reaching out towards her. "Are you alright?"

Tiana was having a moment; one filled with relief and sadness at the same time. Her heart felt full yet so empty as she clutched her chest.

"I'm fine, I'm fine...it's just been a while."

It had been so long since Tiana felt anything but sorrow. She didn't know how bad she needed this.

"Been a while since what?" A smooth voice interrupts the two, and they both turn to see a silver haired man, arm linked with another man with long black and cat-like eyes. The one with silver hair was dressed close to a mummy, face covered in tan toilet paper and revealing a bright, cerulean eye behind dark shades. The long haired man had on a tux of sorts, a high collar cape, and fake blood running down his lip. Tiana quickly wipes her face, not wanting to be seen crying over something like this, especially with no context.

"Ah, it's been a while since I've been over the stove." Tiana says with a sweet smile, and Nanami catches a bit genuinity. Tiana sticks out her hand, her pearly teeth peeking from behind her glossed lips.

"Hello, my name is Tiana. I'm a new intern from New Orleans."

"Nice to formally meet you, Tiana." Gojo is quick to take her hand with a tight grip, shaking so hard it sends vibrations up Tiana's body. She voices her surprise with a slight "oh", but he didn't hear it. "I'm Satoru Gojo. I remember you quite well."

Tiana raises a brow as the long haired man takes her now free hand, shaking it once gently. "Suguru Getou. A pleasure to meet you. I was quite impressed with your resume."

Tiana's face flushes quickly, feeling awkward. These people had to be on Nanami's level to have gone over her resume personally. Awkwardly, she bows her head slightly, about to apologize profusely in Japanese for talking with them so casually, when Gojo stops her.

"Hey, relax. This is a party, not an interrogation." Gojo says with a shrug. "But like Getou said, we were quite impressed with your resume, right Nanami?" Gojo flashes a look to Nanami, who was clenching his teeth. Nanami wasn't sure what chaos Gojo was trying to brew, but he knew had to stop it.

"That is correct." Nanami said, wiping the white from his mouth.

Tiana nods deeply, not far enough to be a full bow, but still displaying recognition as she looked a bit bashful.

"Well thank you, I'm quite honored, and very grateful for this opportunity."

"Wow." Gojo says, acting as if he were wiping a tear from his eye. "That makes me feel so full, considering it's all thanks to me out of the three of us standing here."

"All thanks to...?" Tiana questions, and Getou gives Gojo a hard jab in his rib, causing him to keel over.

"You know better." Getou muttered, as Nanami cleared his throat, reaching for another beignet. He grabs one swiftly, as Gojo straightens himself up, wincing slightly.

"Hey, have you tried Tiana's homemade ben yay's? They're really good." Nanami rambles on, and before Gojo can retort with something to deter Tiana's credulousness, he shoves the pastry in his mouth. "It's good, right? Really good."

Tiana watches the exchange, yet her senses are keen. Obviously the silver haired man was discussing something rather private, and she was the subject of it. She purses her lips as she watches Nanami steer the conversation in another direction, avoiding her eyes in the process.

Gojo stops muffling protest behind the dessert as he takes a bite, and Getou takes the rest of the pastry before it can fall to the floor. Gojo's face lights up as he chews, humming in satisfaction as Getou takes a bite as well, nodding with his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, that is good." Getou says, going for another bite, before the pastry is snatched from his hand by Gojo. Tiana stared at the three men with a look of disapproval. Were these really the men in charge around here?

"Hey, that's mine." Gojo says, cradling the pastry delicately in his hand while shoving Geto with the other. "This is really good. Really, really good." Gojo tears his teeth into the dessert, swallowing between short breaths. Tiana's nose scrunched as Nanami shook his head in disappointment. But at least for now, Gojo was distracted.

"Can you make more of these?" Gojo said, a pleading look. "Can I place a personal order?" He bent down, getting really close to Tiana's face, and she backed up unconsciously into Nanami's personal space.

"I-I don't know..." Tiana's face was anything but pleased. She felt herself grow more and more uncomfortable under this man's glare. The pride she felt earlier had shriveled up and died. "I haven't really cooked or baked in a while...I don't know."

"That's a shame." Gojo said with a wide smile. "You sure you wanna work here? With food this tasty, you could open a restaurant."

Nanami felt Tiana go rigid, and Nanami knew he had spoken too soon when he assumed Gojo would play nice for once. Tiana didn't blink; she couldn't even breathe. All she could do was stare up into that man's cold, unforgiving, and prying eyes. Her lip quivered as she tried to mouth something, anything.

"Have you ever thought about that?" Gojo pressed. "Opening a restaurant? I feel you'd be very success-"

"Gojo." Nanami warned, and Getou yanked his arm, whispering a harsh "Satoru" into his ear. Gojo looked as innocent as a child as he shrugged with his lanky arms up.

"What? I'm just saying." Gojo said. He then cupped his hand around his mouth and shouted into the office, every syllable hitting off the roof of his mouth.

"Hey, everyone! Come try Tiana's ben yay's! They're absolutely delicious!"

Tiana couldn't quite understand everything he said, but with one mention of her name and the way the party-goers began to swarm the table, she could put two and two together. Her breath began to shorten as she tried to compose herself, her ear ringing with Gojo's words as people pushed up against her. Her eyes squinted close.

She felt as if she were drowning all over again.

As the crowd rocked to and fro, Tiana found herself being jostled like a battered raft lost in a rush of stormy waves. She wasn't sure if the feeling swelling in her chest was fear, sadness, or vomit. She had to get out of there, now. Tiana fought through the crowd, biting her tongue to keep the contents of her stomach and mind from spilling onto the floor. As she darted away, she couldn't hear Nanami calling after her.

"Tiana!" Nanami called again as he watched her headband get knocked from scalp and scattered across the room. Nanami furiously looked at Gojo, who simply shrugged with a goofy look.

"Are you serious?" Nanami seethed, his brows furrowed in distaste as he marched up to him, shouldering through the crowd, his hands balled at his side. "Was that necessary?"

Before he could get any closer, Getou placed a firm hand on his shoulder, giving Nanami a look of warning.

"Let's discuss this another time." Getou whispered, gazing among the crowd, trying to deescalate the situation. It wouldn't be good to have such a tense conversation amongst the party, especially with inquisitive ears around. But Nanami didn't care.

"You provoked her." Nanami said slowly, glaring at Gojo.

"I only asked a question." Gojo simply replied.

"What are we talking about?" A shrill voice said. Nanami looked down to a shorter woman dressed as a witch. It took him a minute to recognize her because it had been so long, but it clicked as soon as Gojo spoke her name.

"Misha! Right?" Gojo spoke cheerily. Misha nodded her head, but her attention seemed to be focused on Nanami as she stood uncomfortably close to him.

"Yes, we worked together last year." She said, looking up at Nanami with a sweet smile.

"Right." Nanami said, obviously irritated. He looked above the crowd swarming the table, trying to pinpoint where Tiana had run off to.

"So, what were you guys talking about?" Misha asked again, bouncing on her toes. "Or was it some sort of corporate secret?"

"We were talking about how good Tiana's dish was." Getou smiled seamlessly.

"They were good." Nanami muttered, glaring at Gojo. "But now they've gone sour."

"Oh, well that's too bad!" Misha said, waving her hands, dismissing the comment without a care. "I'm sure one taste of what I brought will cleanse your palette. It's kind of like a soup-"

"I'm not really in the mood, right now." Nanami said, continuing to look above the crowd. Suddenly, he sees a flurry of dark curls whisk away in the distance, headed towards the elevator. As Nanami continues to try to duck around the people, Misha moves to stand in front of him, blocking his movements.

"But Nanami-"

"Not now." He says bluntly, gently moving her aside by her waist, and sliding past her with ease. Gojo stifles a laugh while Getou frowns at the interaction. Misha sighs in defeat, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"What's wrong with him?" She asks, watching him scurry to the elevator.

"Nothing." Gojo says, turning to Misha. "So where's this dish you were talking about? I'm still kind of hungry."

Misha gives a small smile, leading them down the table.

"Right over there in the giant brown pot." She says, pointing to a pot at the end of the table that had bumps and scratches on the outside that proved it was well loved. Gojo's eyes glint as he rubs his chin.

"I never knew you were a cook, Misha."

Misha gives a bashful smile, swaying slightly. "It's a secret hobby of mine."

"Really?" Gojo draws out, and she nods. They walk up to the pot, and Misha uncovers the contents, a savory aroma filling the air with a mixture of seasonings and a hint of spice, maybe some sort of hot sauce? The steam rising from the dish mixed with the smell made almost everyone in the area's mouth begin to salivate. Misha grabs a plastic bowl, scoops a serving in, and hands it to Gojo. Gojo eyed the dish, and tried to restrain from laughing as he swirled the dark contents in the bowl.

"And what did you call this dish?" Gojo asked, a rich sense of amusement in his voice. He watches as Misha tongues the inside of her cheek, then gives a meek smile.

"Soup."

--

i have returned with a crackfic that i took a bit too seriously. you can read ahead on ao3.

it's good to be back.

-astro

[mithrandirl]

do you have a tutorial for those boromir x aragorn gifs you made?

oh it's pretty easy! i can give you a few pointers, i haven't touched my computer since so i miraculously still have the psds. otherwise my general advice for blending is to fuck around with it and see what looks good lol

so this method is nothing too wild, the basic premise is blending over black space. it's really all about scene selection. i'm always looking for dark scenes where it wouldn't look too off if they were layered with something else. general tip for blending smoothly is to think about the pacing of the multiple gifs and how they'll look together. sometimes one is just moving too fast for the other, or there's a perfect sync moment where your blend looks amazing but it's at the beginning of the frames for one gif and the end for the other, you know? anyway. slow motion shots are great for blending (sorry boromir)

obviously i'm already working with a dark scene (yay) and with coloring it became even darker, with the lighter areas getting brighter too so that less of the top gif will come through in those places.

for any coloring: i usually do an auto curves layer, then a selective color to deepen the blacks how i want them. and then if i need even more control over the contrast i add some levels/channel mixer etc.

for blending: i'm doing that but like more drastic lol. then i did most of the actual green/yellow coloring with a color balance layer after the blacks were darkened (this was actually the very last step because i didn't want to commit to a color until i had the blends for all three gifs down)

^this is nonsense btw i was being lazy putting this all on one layer lol

and the same for aragorn except switch the color balance with b&w. for this set i chose to just use black and green as the colors mostly because this aragorn scene was fully yellow and to change that into any other color would have looked bad when added to anything else, and same for the boromir scene though that one is the obvious one to keep color on since it has something besides wood paneling (yikes) to work with. so for the other gifs in this set i followed the same logic: play up the greens already there and make anything black and white that doesn't fit. very much following the path of least resistance.

he's going on top too so he gets a splotchy layer mask to hide his grubby boot and some of the wood around him that was catching too much light. and i set the gif to screen. you can do any of them but screen is my default especially for dark blends like this. oh and then i don't really believe in layer groups except in dire circumstances like when i'm doing something big and i get confused :( so i just clip each adjustment layer to the gif so it doesn't affect the boromir gif below it ✌️

so that's pretty much the method! it's all in the wrist (scene selection) honestly. my process is to just click buttons and move things around 5 million times. the other two from that set were more or less similar but if there's a more specific question i'd be happy to help. aaaand you can definitely find better tutorials for blending than this haha but i hope this helped somewhat <3

[yumeko2sevilla]

Yuukawa Aishiro_ traveller from neverland

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

"Let us all move forward without no turning back!"

_Yuukawa Aishiro_ Futuristical Traveller

Full Name: Yuukawa Aishiro

⤿Yuukawa (由宇河): A name of Japanese origin, combine between '由宇', meaning 'Reason, easve' and '河', meaning 'River'.

⤿Aishiro (愛白): A name of Japanese origin, combine between '愛', meaning 'Love' and '白', meaning 'White'.

Japanese: 愛白 由宇河

Other Names:

↳Yuukawa-san/Yuu-san_ By most

↳Yuuka_ By the first years + Kianisha (@/achy-boo)

↳Monsieur Rebelle_ Rook Hunt

↳Little Blue Whale_ Shironagasukujira-chan_ Floyd Leech

↳Melodious Rebels_ Dawn Libya (@/achy-boo)

↳Little DJ_ Tsukuyomi 'Shinonome'

↳My sweet DJ_ Yuzu Sakamaki (@/queen-of-ramshackle)

↳Aishiro_ Yukiharu Shirokami

Twisted From: None (Heavy inspiration from Yugo Asuma from Nijisanji EN and Aoi Miyake from D4DJ)

Voice Actor(s):

↳Japanese_ Authur Lounsbery_Kajiyama Fuuta_Milgram

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Age: 17 (Appearance Wise)_Unknown

Gender: Transmasc Non-Binary (He/Him Pronouns)

Species: Human

Birthday: May 14 (Taurus)

Height: 192 cm

Dominant Hand: Left

Hair Color: Obsidian Black_ Aquamarine Blue

Eye Color: Light Blue

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Homeland:___

Family: None

Dormitory: Sapphire Lake Dorm

Grade: Freshman

Class: 1-A_No. 28

Club: Light Music Club

Best Subject(s): Musicology, Alchemy

Favorite Food(s): Ramunes, Instant Noodles

Least Favorite Food(s): Raw Meat

Talent(s): Observant, Diverse Vocal Range, Mood Lighting Up, DJing, Absolute Pitch, Crochet, Charisma, Fashion Designing, Composing.

Hobbies: Singing, Sleeping, Listening to Musics, DJing, Crochet, Multilingualism

❝The DJ of Sapphire Lake Dorm. A first year who came from the future where everything became an apocalypse, he is known for his absolute pitch and friendly demeanor.❞

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───╯

┌──═━┈━═──┐

ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ

As opposed as his appearance could be, Yuukawa is someone that is full of charms.

This DJ has the ability to light up the mood, even when they are in dire situations. With him in the room, the atmosphere will change drastically from gloomy and heavy to bright and happy right away! The raves that he held as the hosting DJ, are actually famous across Twisted Wonderland as well. Yuukawa is capable of making your days brighter than it could ever be, if you have him as a friend!

Even if you know him, Yuukawa can also be quite an emphatetic person. With his soothing voice and calm look, any of your worries will be fade away instantly. It's easy to talk to Yuukawa, and it's also easy for him to talk to you as well.

Yuukawa likes to crochet and gift things for people he loves. If you have something that he give to you, then congratulation, you have became his No.1 property! He likes to spread love, as he has.. quite a lot of it.

However,, Yuukawa is cold. Too cold.

He sometimes stares at the distance, pretending to hear you when in reality he isn't. He who will do anything for his beloved, even went as far as killing their tormentors. He whose his smiles doesn't quite touch his face. He who prefers to stay in solitude.

He, who has been pretending for so long.

Which is the real one, you wondered.

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

✬Unique Magic: Abyss's Futuristical Sounds (アビスの未来的なサウンド)

"Because we will go to the future, without regret or grief.. So let's go! Shout out your songs, for the show begins! Abyss's Futuristical Sounds!"

↳ The user is capable of distorting themselves out of reality through glitching. When do this, they release multiple soundwaves made by glitches that hurt the opponents badly, slices through everything and everyone. They can also manifest their soul into the Cyber World, allowing them to manipulate technology.

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

↳Background: ???

↳Yuukawa came from the future of Neo Twisted Wonderland, a world where Andrienne take control and ban all forms of entertainments. Androids are patrolling everywhere, capturing rebels. But being the notable DJ, Yuukawa disliked that greatly.

↳Yuukawa can speak Japanese, Vietnamese and a bit of Swedish.

↳He likes to drink boba teas and ramunes.

↳Yuukawa has been doing a project that he crocheted multiple beanies and gave it to everyone in NRC. With the help of Kuni, of course.

↳Yuukawa likes to wear croptops and jackets! Although he has a habit to let his jacket lower than intented..

↳Main Asethetic: Cyberpunk and Techcore

↳He likes everyone in the Sapphire Lake Dorm the most! Like, boy will do anything for them and them. Even.. killing others.

@writing-heiress @achy-boo [Sapphire Lake Dorm belonged to her] @queen-of-twisted @abyssthing198 @yukii0nna @kousaka-ayumu