makingfanfictionstosleep

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

sylus is my main.

that is why i am scared to write him. cause i dont know if i can finish it or do justice to his character (when it comes to romantic smut)

im scared that i might butcher his beautiful character. huhu.

but i wanted to write a lot of sylus.

you have no idea how my drafts look like, lol.

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

riding his waves

a/n : love and deepspace | rafayel smut | oneshot | mature and explicit | MDNI — not for kids | rafayel x femreader | read at your own risk | story masterlist : love and deepspace

The soft, cool sand was a stark contrast to the angry churn of the sea that had tossed you both like rag dolls just hours before. Now, only a gentle lapping sound broke the stillness, the waves themselves seeming to whisper apologies under the vast, moonlit sky.

You shivered, pulling the damp fabric of your clothes tighter, and glanced at Rafayel beside you. His usually vibrant purple hair was slick with seawater, clinging to his face, but his eyes, bluish-pink and iridescent even in the dim light, held a quiet intensity as he stared out at the ocean.

"Crazy night, huh?" you murmured, a half-laugh escaping your lips, still tasting of salt and adrenaline.

He turned to you then, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips, his gaze calm as he assessed you.

"Looks like we made it out relatively unscathed," he commented, his voice a low, smooth cadence that could calm any storm. He leaned back slightly on his hands, his posture relaxed despite the recent ordeal. "Not exactly how I pictured a beach trip, but... interesting."

"You too," you responded, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the fading chill. Stranded on this isolated shore, under a sky ablaze with stars, felt strangely intimate. The usual playful banter and his often teasing demeanor had fallen away, replaced by a shared vulnerability that felt strangely comfortable.

You found yourselves talking, the conversation flowing easily between the ebb and flow of the quiet waves. He listened with an attentiveness that was rare, his eyes never leaving yours as you spoke of little things, then bigger ones, until a long-buried secret found its way to your tongue.

"You know," you began, tracing patterns in the sand with your finger, feeling a sudden rush of shyness. "I have these dreams sometimes. They're always the same, or variations of it."

You hesitated, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "I'm deep in the sea, surrounded by glowing plankton, and there's... a silhouette. A beautiful, powerful figure, definitely male, with a tail. A merman."

You paused, a wistful sigh escaping. "I can never quite make out his face, just the strong, graceful outline."

Rafayel was silent, his gaze fixed on you, unblinkingly. The usual playful glint in his bluish-pink eyes was replaced by a profound, almost ancient knowing. There was a depth in his stare you hadn't seen before, an understanding that made your heart skip. When you finished, he finally shifted, turning his body slightly more towards the sea, but his attention remained acutely on you.

"There's an old legend," he said, his voice softer than usual, imbued with a strange, melancholic echo. His gaze seemed to unfocus for a moment, as if seeing something beyond the visible horizon.

"They say a long, long time ago, a powerful sea god was tricked. Trapped and chained in the deepest abysses of the ocean, waiting." He paused, and you could feel the weight of his words, even though you didn't quite grasp their full meaning. "Waiting for his bride to find him, to break the curse."

You tilted your head, a faint, incredulous smile touching your lips. "A god? Needing a bride to save him? What kind of god is that?" You meant it as a lighthearted joke, a way to lighten the sudden seriousness of his tone, which was so unlike his usual easygoing self.

Rafayel turned his head slowly, his profile illuminated by the moon, making the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his lips seem impossibly perfect. His gaze drifted over the vast expanse of the now-gentle sea, the same waters that had raged so fiercely earlier. A profound sadness seemed to settle over his features, a shadow you had never witnessed before, a silent lament woven into the moonlight.

"They say," he continued, his voice barely a whisper, carried on the soft sea breeze, "that the sea god needed his heart. And his heart... his heart was with his bride."

The words hung in the air, imbued with such a longing, such an age-old sorrow, that your breath caught. It wasn't just a story; it felt like a confession, a distant, aching memory.

You found yourself leaning in, captivated by the raw emotion that briefly flickered in his eyes, the subtle clench of his jaw. The legend, intertwined with your dreams, began to weave a strange, unsettling tapestry in your mind, pulling you deeper into a mystery you couldn't quite comprehend.

Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the melancholic facade vanished. He blinked, a faint, almost imperceptible shake of his head, and his signature chill, playful vibe snapped back into place like a well-practiced illusion.

He gave a soft, almost dismissive chuckle. "Yeah, something like that. Just an old story." He shrugged, his gaze now casual as he looked at the waves, though you caught the briefest flicker of something guarded, a quick retreat behind his usual easygoing mask.

You nodded slowly, still half-lost in the story, before you finally registered the proximity. You were sitting incredibly close, your knees almost brushing, the warmth emanating from him a comforting presence in the cool night. And as you shifted, your eyes met his.

The playfulness was gone. His gaze was no longer distant or casual; it was intensely focused, locked onto your lips. The soft moonlight painted them in silver, and you felt a sudden, inexplicable heat spread through you, a slow burn that mirrored the moon's glow on the water.

The silence stretched, charged with an unspoken desire, deep and consuming. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that mimicked the gentle lapping of the waves.

He leaned in, slowly, his movements deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent question in their depths. There was no demand, only a profound, quiet longing. You didn't pull away.

Your breath hitched, your gaze fixed on his, and you leaned in too, meeting him halfway. The first touch of his lips was soft, hesitant, a feather-light brush, then it deepened, becoming possessive, seeking, yet infused with an unspoken tenderness. The salt of the sea was on his skin, a taste that mingled with the sweet, intoxicating flavor of his kiss.

"Rafayel," you breathed against his lips, the question a whisper, "what... what are we doing?"

He responded by deepening the kiss further, his other hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you impossibly closer. His lips moved expertly against yours, coaxing, demanding, tasting. The kiss grew more urgent, a frantic dance of desire as his tongue sought yours, eliciting a soft moan that vibrated deep in your chest.

His fingers, cool initially from the dampness, began to roam, tracing the curve of your spine, then dipping lower, deftly finding the hem of your damp shirt. A shiver, not of cold but of intense pleasure, ran through you as he slowly, tantalizingly, began to pull the fabric away from your skin. In turn, your own hands, fueled by an undeniable hunger, fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, eager to shed the damp layers that separated you. The soft moonlight bore witness as fabric was discarded, revealing glimpses of warm skin beneath.

He broke the kiss for a moment, pulling back just enough to press his lips against the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of searing heat.

"Sharing body heat," he murmured against your collarbone, his voice a low, husky rumble that sent goosebumps across your skin. "It's cold out here, isn't it?" The playful nonchalance was back, but the underlying intensity was unmistakable.

"You could have easily reignited the bonfire," you managed, your voice breathless, your fingers now grappling with the last button on his shirt, his warm skin a delicious revelation as you finally pulled it open.

He gave a low grunt, a sound of pure male satisfaction as his shirt joined your own on the sand. He then pulled you completely onto his lap, your bare legs tangling with his, your chest now pressed flush against the smooth, firm expanse of his, the warmth radiating from him an intoxicating furnace.

"This is more effective," he rasped, his arms tightening around your waist, pulling you so close there was no space left between you.

He pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes, his bluish-pink gaze intense and unwavering under the moonlight. His thumb stroked gently along your jawline.

"Should we continue?" he asked, his voice low, a silent question that held immense weight. There was no demand, only a clear invitation, a tender request for your permission.

Your heart throbbed, a wild drumbeat against his chest. Your breath hitched, and you simply nodded, unable to form words, your eyes locked with his. The quiet acceptance in your gaze was all the answer he needed.

Then, his mouth crashed onto yours, a sudden, hungry plunge that consumed your every thought. His tongue, no longer merely seeking, now dominated, intertwining with yours in a passionate dance that left you dizzy and breathless. You could taste him fully now, the lingering salt from the sea mixed with the intoxicating flavor of his desire.

His hands, no longer just roaming, were swift and purposeful, discarding the last remnants of your clothes, cool air momentarily caressing your bare skin before his warm, knowing touch returned.

His fingers splayed across your flesh, stroking, cupping, exploring, eliciting gasps that were swallowed by his fervent kisses. A thrill, sharp and exhilarating, shot through you at the thought of being so utterly exposed, so intimately vulnerable beneath the vast, open sky, where anyone could stumble upon you.

But the thought dissolved as quickly as it came, drowned in the overwhelming tide of sensations, leaving not a care in the world.

He shifted, aligning the tip of his hard cock against your throbbing, wet entrance. A breathless moment of anticipation, then he moved, slowly, sheathing himself within you, stretching you, filling you with his size.

You gasped, a sharp intake of breath, a delicious ache blooming deep inside.

Your forehead fell onto his shoulder, the soft curve of your neck exposed, your nails digging gently into the taut muscles of his back. He began to move, a steady, rhythmic pace that built with each powerful thrust.

The silence of the beach was now filled only by the ragged sound of your combined panting, the rhythmic whisper of skin colliding, and his low grunts and growls vibrating against your ear.

"Rafayel," you uttered, a raw, desperate prayer torn from your throat with each movement, begging for him to do more, to take you deeper into the intoxicating oblivion he offered.

He answered your plea by abandoning your mouth, his lips descending to capture one of your nipples, drawing it in with a hungry suckling motion that sent a jolt of pure fire through your veins. He covered it with his tongue, then teeth, pulling, nipping, as he continued to drive his cock inside your pussy.

Each thrust found that exquisite spot, making your toes curl, a delicious torment that pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Just as the waves of sensation threatened to consume you entirely, his voice, a low, husky command, reached your ear. "Look at me," he whispered, breaking contact from your breast to gaze into your eyes, his bluish-pink irises blazing with an intense, raw desire.

And you did. As the first wave of climax seized you, you met his gaze, clinging to his arms for dear life, riding the overwhelming sensation, your vision blurring with pleasure.

But Rafayel did not stop. He used the very force of your release, the sudden clenching around him, to drive even harder, deeper, hitting that very same spot. Wave after wave of intense sensation crashed over you, making you lose yourself completely in the oversensitivity, until you climaxed for the nth time, each one more intense than the last.

Only then did Rafayel slowed down, his powerful thrusts becoming languid, a gentle rocking motion. He pulled your naked body fully against his, pressing you flush, as if this rhythm, this slow dance, was his way of memorizing every curve, every gasp, every scent of you.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. He continued that intimate rhythm, a soft, hypnotic sway, until gradually, it began to quicken, becoming faster, then frantic. You felt the raw power building in him, knew he was close.

"Milk me dry, beautiful," he rasped against your ear, his voice strained with impending release, a final, fervent request.

And you did. With a final surge of strength, you rode him, milking his cock dry, until with a shared, desperate cry, you both came together, a violent, beautiful explosion under the moonlit sky.

You remained that way for a long moment, collapsed against each other, the only sounds the pounding of your hearts and the gentle lapping of the waves. Basking in each other's embrace, you savored the shared ecstasy, the profound intimacy of the moment. Rafayel's chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your ear, his ragged pants gradually evening out.

He stirred, pulling back just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, then your jaw, before nuzzling into your neck once more. "Next time," he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rumble against your skin, a playful edge returning to his tone, "it'll be in a proper bed. Where I can fuck you into my mattress without the sand."

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

ur writing has improved so much! i know ur firefistprincess on ff.net (cause i ❤️ ur stories abt law x nami, gray x juvia)

and i have been following u here for quite some time... i feel like i am part of ur writing journey.

and now ur a lads girlie too.

❤️❤️❤️

oh wooooow. please please please dm me cause i wanna talk more.

but thank you for staying with me throughout those years.

its really tough, cause at some point i stopped writing. i remember back then... when i had to use google translate so that i can publish a story in english.

i still have a lot of opportunities for improvement, especially since I have a tendency to ramble (not just in real life lol).

and i have toooooooooooons of drafts, then would snip parts of it and merge it with the others.

i am also grateful that i have friends who support me and would read my drafts, give comments on how i would be able to deepen the emotions, etc.

thank you for dropping by ❤️

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

if you think rafayel is the pettiest among the five, i beg to differ cause i think the pettiest would either be zayne or sylus.

hear me out.

while rafayel is the loudest, i dont think he is that petty during arguments cause he is very vocal and he would kinda do things on whim, like right then and there.he can be very dramatic — no doubt about it, also exaggerate — yes, but not too petty. probably occasionally, if he knows he is right. he is more sulky than petty i think.

caleb? maybe, a bit, but he's pretty softie on mc. sure, he locked her out in the attic only bec he's trying to keep her safe from the bullies (but i have a theory they were ppl from ever but that's for a different post). other than that, he'd probably let mc win (most of the time as long as its not her safety on the line).

xavier? 50/50, depending on his mood, possibly yes because he's a prince, but then again he is some sort of public servant to his subjects like he is trying to save his planet, take his people back to philos so maybe not that much. sure he could be competitive, but he can admit defeat reasonably.

but talking about zayne and sylus...

zayne hates to lose due to his know-it-all nature and science-factual-shit. and he will be very petty just to prove a fucking point. he would translate things in a painful, annoying, literal way that would make mc just give up because the man would do a play-by-play commentary, complete with citations and sources, just to prove his point. and he can be very sulky and broody in his own way.

now sylus. sure he is the sweetest, biggest teddy bear inside that scary dragon, but that's where his dragon nature would show. if mc says she's a big girl and can handle things on her own — you can bet that every jar in the house is locked tight so that mc would need to call him for help. and sylus would strut — yet strut that fine ass in whatever room mc calls him from, face smug, brows raised , would probably say, "what does the big girl need help with?"

i am also willing to bet that this happened at some point probably

but this is just my pov. 😂

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

squishy mephisto

one of sylus' biggest stressors would be the rivalry between you and his mechanical-winged crow.

yes — you and mephisto.

he was done, so done with it, that he sat you both down and gave you both a stern warning or a plea — however you look at it.

and you realized how silly it was, probably you looked stupid as you argued — with a bird — a fucking bird with bionic wings, almost on a daily basis when you're staying at your boyfriend's place.

so you decided to be the better person, or better one — or better whatever between you and the stupid bird.

you thought the best way to make it your ally is to bribe it with treats.

it started small, just a small treat, every time it would greet you nicely, or treat you without hostility, or when it caws at you with no traces of mockery.

then it became frequent.

and slowly, it became affectionate towards you.

sylus noticed the change, didnt mind the treats, didnt see anything wrong with it, as long as there is peace in his house — none of his crow's mocking caw-caw-caw or your annoyed shrieks at it, he is fine with it.

until one day, sylus noticed that mephisto had trouble with its wings. he thought that his mechanical wings are due for a maintenance session.

but then as he picked it up, he felt its rounded belly and noticed how its once slender neck seemed shorter, or rather wider.

he tried to understand how it happened and realized exactly when you stepped inside his room.

"sweetie," he called you, trying to even his tone, even if he knew exactly what the answer was to his question, "how often do you give mephisto treats?"

you plopped yourself on his big, plush bed, browsing on your phone without looking at him. you paused for a while, thinking of the frequency and answered, "im not sure, sy. hmmmm... every time it behaves well towards me," in your most nonchalant tone, not realizing that your boyfriend is trying to solve the reason his bird can't seem to fly normally.

sylus pinched the bridge of his temple as he mumbled an exasperated, "of course you would," under his breath and stared at the fat bird on his hand, noticed how heavy it is, as it looked at him in curiosity, then at you with a glint of hope that you'd give it more treats.

"you greedy bird," sylus softly scolded mephisto, then turned to you, "and how is mephisto treating you recently, sweetie?"

you paused again and stared at your phone blankly, assessing your current relationship with his sassy crow, "i think he is treating me better now, sy. the treats are working."

then sylus moved towards you, stood on the side of the bed, holding mephisto with its rounded belly flat and almost spilling on his large palm.

you saw sylus' exasperated and unamused look, brow raised at you, while he extended the hand that sits a fat, overfed crow, looking at you with its eyes twinkling as if begging for you to give it more treats.

as soon as you saw mephisto, you beamed immediately at it, and pulled a couple of treats from your pocket.

"aw sy! look at it giving me twinkly eyes!" you cooed and was about to feed it with more treats, but sylus retracted his hand, making you confused and mephisto caw sadly.

"what are you doing sylus? i have to give it a treat for being so cute towards me!" you whined and mephisto caw-ed in agreement, both of you staring at sylus, who is contemplating if it was better when you were both arguing with each other.

"sweetie, mephisto can't fly," he said in a deadpan voice.

"what? of course it can. its a bird," you replied.

then he placed mephisto in your small hands and you realized exactly what sylus meant as you felt its squishy, rounded belly.

"you made it fat," sylus saidd, making mephisto glare at him in embarrassment.

"oh," was all you could say as you observed how its wings seemed to be smaller now, your palms can feel how soft and squishy its belly is.

"im... sorry?" you sheepishly said, cradling mephisto to your chest, "i'll do some research on bird workout routines, i guess?"

"both of you are troublesome," he exhaled, staring at his now-oversized bird and you, already decided that he'd have to do some adjustments to its wings so that it can support its weight.

"at least we're now allies, right mephisto?" you said in consolation, hoping it would help, but it didn't. not really.

mephisto caw-ed in agreement.

sylus sighed in defeat.

saw a picture of fat, squishy mephisto. tried to find it but its lost in deepspace huhu. so i drabbled instead to commemorate it, hopefully i'd come across it again cause its cute and fluffy .

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

author's note — defying fate

okay. six chapters up at the moment.

this is probably my biggest writing challenge right now — especially for someone who has no technical writing skills (and also english is not my first language) and relies on google for synonyms and antonyms just so that i can use other words. lol.

but so far, i am enjoying writing this. i have to pause and take a break before reading the drafts, just so that i have fresh perspective. there may be loopholes — kinda just winged it and went with the flow, so some of the details from the game were spun off.

im kinda proud of how chapter 5 — dying star turned out. didn't think i could make it that emotional, but it somehow worked out.

there you go — hope some would find this their cup of tea :D

back to headcanons and one shot drabbles ^^

story masterlist : love and deepspace

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

defying fate

a/n : love and deepspace au | reverse-harem | mature and explicit | MDNI — not for kids | lads boys x femreader | read at your own risk | story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous ... next

CHAPTER 6 : FINDING ORDER IN CHAOS

Days after Xavier's vanishing felt like a suffocating eternity, each passing moment a stark, aching void where his presence used to be. The grief was a physical weight, it was crushing.

Then, Zayne, ever the quiet anchor in your storm, sat you down. His hands were gentle as he guided you to the sofa, his eyes, usually so analytical, softened with a profound compassion that pierced through your numbed despair.

"Baby," he began, his voice low, steady, "Xavier… he didn't just vanish. He figured out a way." He explained, patiently, the last-minute results of Xavier's frantic investigation, the desperate, brilliant plan to return. "The tricky part isn't his return, it's finding him. And… making him remember."

You stared at him, confusion clouding your grief-addled mind. "Making him remember? What do you mean?" The words felt foreign on your tongue.

Zayne sighed, a deep, weary sound. He reached out, his hand gently settling on your trembling knee, his touch a grounding force.

"He theorized that making him remember would be the easier part. He found out his current state in this very timeline, that some kind of time paradox happened while his presence was disintegrating… or rather, going back to where he should be, in Philos." His gaze was steady, unwavering. "The truly tricky part... is actually locating him."

A cold dread seeped into your bones, replacing the numb sorrow. "Making him remember is the easy part?" you repeated, a bitter taste in your mouth. "What could possibly make that easy?"

Zayne took a deep, steadying breath, his eyes darkening with a flicker of distant pain, a silent preparation for the coming revelation. "Xavier had a theory," he continued, his voice barely a whisper, "that this is the exact timeline when EVER first started working on him. Before… before he became the Xavier we knew."

He paused, giving you time to absorb the chilling implication, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on your knee.

"This version of him… he's much different. He's one of their most successful subjects. One of the most powerful."

He inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly, the air thick with unspoken warnings. "It's going to be very tricky. Because after we find this version of Xavier… we may have to subdue him first."

Zayne's thumb stroked your knee, a silent apology.

"According to Xavier, the thing on his neck… that necklace… it somewhat limits his use of Evol. The version we're about to meet? He won't have it. He'll show his real strength."

Your eyes widened, a gasp catching in your throat, and you mumbled, disbelieving, "But… the Xavier we know… he's already powerful enough to fend off hordes of Wanderers, capable of clearing missions alone without backup, coming back unscathed and unharmed."

Your voice cracked, the memory of his fading light too raw, too fresh. "Not until… not until those final months when his time was almost up."

You looked at Zayne, your eyes burning with disbelief, with a sudden, overwhelming fear. "You mean… we're going to fight a version of Xavier who has no necklace that limits his powers? The full force of him?"

Zayne nodded, his face impassive, indifferent, but his eyes, those deep, knowing eyes, screamed volumes—a profound weariness, a shared sorrow, and an unwavering resolve.

Then, his voice continued, now in a much more worried tone—for you.

He reached out, his hand lifting from your knee to cup your cheek tenderly, his thumb stroking your skin with agonizing softness.

"Xavier knew you would exert yourself. He knew your heart might not withstand fighting this version of him. It will hurt you, darling."

His gaze was intense, burning into yours. "I don't want you to get hurt. None of us do. But… nobody would get in your way. We all agreed to give our full support, in all ways. Whatever you need."

A soft, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, a flicker of gratitude amidst the pain. You reached up, your fingers lacing with his hand that cupped your cheek, holding it tightly. "Thank you, Zayne," you mumbled, your voice thick with unshed tears.

He looked into your eyes, sensing the flicker of guilt, the conflict in your heart. Zayne’s expression softened further, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

"There's no reason for you to feel guilty," he reassured you, his voice a balm to your wounded soul. "None of this is your fault. It's not anyone's fault."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the empty space in the room, then back to you.

"We all agreed to this set-up. It's twisted, yes, and scandalous by any normal measure, but it seems like… it's the only way to break the sick cycle of our doomed destiny. This is our chance. Our chance to beat the odds and go against the predestined doom that awaits each of us."

His eyes held yours, earnest and unwavering. "We all knew how you love us. Equally. And differently. There's no need for you to feel resentment towards yourself. No need for that impossible choice anymore."

He leaned forward, slowly, giving you time, then captured your lips in a soft, sweet, reassuring kiss. It was a promise, a solace, a silent understanding passing between you.

You returned it, pouring all your fear, all your love, all your desperate hope into the contact. As he pulled away, he kept his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours, his eyes searching your soul. "Are you overwhelmed?" he whispered, his voice laced with concern.

"No," you breathed, shaking your head, your voice firm despite the lingering ache in your heart. "I'm not. I understand the risk. And… I want him back. We should start planning soon. We have a lot of cursed destinies to break. And," a fierce glint entered your eyes, "we also have to kick Xavier's ass first to make him remember us."

As if on cue, the heavy door clicked open, and Sylus stepped into the room, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere, bringing a new wave of calculated intensity.

He moved with silent grace, sitting behind you on the sofa, and without a word, respectfully pulled you back, away from Zayne's embrace, drawing you against his broad chest.

Zayne didn't mind—he didn't even look offended, merely adjusting his position, as if this shifting of allegiances, this seamless rotation of comfort, was the most normal thing in the world.

Sylus pressed his lips against the back of your head, a soft, possessive touch, while his large hands rested protectively on your stomach, warm and grounding. Zayne's hand, no longer on your knee, settled softly on your thigh, a lingering connection, a silent claim.

"Don't worry about the sleepy head's ass, sweetie," Sylus mumbled, his soft voice rumbling against your skull, a low, comforting vibration. He then handed you something cool and metallic—a biometric key.

"Xavier game me this," he explained, his fingers brushing yours as you took it, "an advanced technology from his time, but it should work on EVER's systems to trigger his memories. Pure encryption bypass."

Then, he handed you another, identical biometric key. "And this one," he stated, his voice precise, "is for the Colonel's chip. The one that harms his memories, the one that controls him. It should neutralize it, make it possible to extract it without damaging anything. But we have to get the right timing. It's delicate."

You allowed your head to fall back against Sylus's chest, closing your eyes for a moment, the weight of their combined support a strange comfort. You stared at Zayne, absorbing everything, the technical details, the impossible plans, trying to prioritize what should be tackled first, your mind racing, trying to find the order in the chaos.

Sylus gave you another soft kiss, this time on your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. "We'll figure things out one at a time, kitten," he murmured, his voice laced with a quiet confidence that was both reassuring and utterly terrifying. "For now, we have to wait and see what Rafayel has for us."

Then, Sylus's arm tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until your back was flush against his chest.

Without warning, he turned your face, his fingers gently guiding your chin, and captured your lips in a claiming kiss.

It wasn't soft or sweet like Zayne's; it was deep, demanding, a silent assertion of his presence, his devotion. "This should take your mind off your worries, kitten," he mumbled against your mouth, his voice a low growl that vibrated through you.

You melted into his lips, returning the desperate urgency of his kiss, your own anxieties momentarily eclipsed by the surge of sensation. His hands, large and warm, slipped inside your shirt, fingers splayed wide as they caressed the bare skin of your stomach, sending shivers through you.

From the front, Zayne leaned forward, his breath hot against your neck, nipping soft, possessive kisses along your pulse point, sandwiching you between the two of them. You were a fulcrum of raw emotion, caught between Sylus's passionate claim and Zayne's gentle, yet firm, adoration.

The second your lips parted from Sylus's, Zayne gently, but firmly, pulled you forward, away from Sylus's embrace, drawing you into his own space.

Sylus's hands, still inside your shirt, moved higher, his large, calloused fingers finding the soft mounds of your breasts, expertly massaging them through the fabric, making a low moan escape your throat and into Zayne's lips as he captured your mouth once more.

Sylus leaned in close to your ear, his voice a warm whisper that bypassed your mind and went straight to your reeling senses, "Just let go, kitten. Let us take care of you."

Zayne pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes, usually so guarded, now alight with a fierce tenderness.

"Will you let us, baby?" he asked, his voice soft, a clear invitation. You gazed at him, your vision hazy, your body humming with a pleasure that momentarily dulled the edge of grief.

You simply nodded, a slow, dazed agreement, giving them your implicit permission.

And just like that, in that moment, sandwiched between their warmth, their desire, and their unwavering protection, they made sure that you forgot all of your cursed fates, the relentless loop of doomed destiny, and the agonizing weight of the world.

For a precious few moments, there was only them, and you, and the intoxicating promise of shared oblivion.

an : i figured out what was missing, checked my file and saw that i was not able to paste everything. so here you go — the missing part added towards the end. :)

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

defying fate

a/n : love and deepspace au | reverse-harem | mature and explicit | MDNI — not for kids | lads boys x femreader | read at your own risk | story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous ... next

CHAPTER 5 : DYING STAR

Days bled into a relentless blur, each one a stark reminder of the ticking clock. You all knew Xavier's time was limited—his essence, his very light, dwindling with terrifying speed.

You didn't know how long you had, but his power was dimming, weakening, a cruel erosion that gnawed at your soul. Prioritizing felt impossible when every moment was a race against an invisible current pulling him away.

With Sylus's strategic brilliance, you pinpointed another Aether Core, a twin to the one beating within your own chest. It was the exact composition, the exact resonant frequency that Philos needed to anchor Xavier and to save it, to pull him back from the void.

This wasn't just a mission; it was a desperate, agonizing gamble for the life of someone who had already sacrificed so much for you.

Obtaining it meant tearing through the heart of one of EVER's most heavily guarded bases. It would be brutal, a descent into the very maw of the beast, but not impossible.

Sylus, the expert in handling undercover missions, argued he should go alone with Mephisto. "It's easier, less complicated if it's just the two of us," he'd said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet his eyes held a steely resolve that belied his calm.

"No!" you had argued, your voice raw, laced with frantic desperation. "I'm coming! I have to!"

You knew the risks, but the thought of letting him face EVER alone, for your sake, for Xavier's sake, was unbearable. He refused. All of them refused.

"You're EVER's number one target," Caleb had stated, his jaw tight, his eyes grim.

"We can't risk you." Rafayel had simply shaken his head, a dark cloud in his usually vibrant eyes. "Too dangerous, little fish. Stay here."

Zayne had merely placed a firm, grounding hand on your shoulder, his silence heavier than any spoken word.

So you waited. You waited, trapped in agonizing limbo, while Sylus and Mephisto ventured into the darkness.

But then, the universe, in its twisted mockery, dealt its cruelest hand. You did not anticipate that Xavier's time was already up.

You had just returned from a small, local mission, resting on a quiet hilltop under the deceptive calmness of the moonlight. The gentle breeze rustled through the tall grass, a stark contrast to the storm raging in your heart.

Suddenly, a sharp, choked gasp tore from Xavier's lips. Your head snapped towards him, your blood turning to ice. His hand instinctively flew to his chest, his eyes wide, a flicker of profound pain blossoming there.

You scrambled to his side, your heart hammering against your ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. As you reached him, your hand hovering, you noticed it: a faint, ethereal glow emanating from his skin. Not the vibrant, powerful light you knew, but delicate, shimmering dust motes, like tiny stars scattering from his very being.

His presence was slowly, undeniably, disintegrating.

"Xavier!" you cried out, your voice shrill with rising panic. You pulled him close, your arms wrapping around him, trying to hold him, to anchor him to this world, to you. His body felt warm, but insubstantial, like holding mist.

"Hold on! Please, just hold on! Sylus is almost there! He's close to getting it! Just a little longer!" Your voice was a desperate, pleading sob.

He gazed up at you, his eyes softening, a faint, heartbreakingly familiar smile gracing his lips. "It's okay," he whispered, his voice weaker than you'd ever heard it, already sounding distant.

He lifted a trembling hand, his fingers translucent, to cup your cheek. "You don't have to worry. Everything… everything will be okay."

You were in a full-blown panic, your mind a chaotic mess of static and terror. You couldn't process his words, couldn't allow them to sink in. Your entire being was focused on finding ways, any way, to keep him tethered to this world, to you.

You pressed your face against his shoulder, clutching him tighter, feeling his very essence slowly fading, like a whisper in the wind.

He tried to assure you again, his voice growing fainter, his form becoming more translucent with every agonizing second.

"I'll only be gone… temporarily," he emphasized, his words a desperate, final instruction. His hand, still on your cheek, felt like a ghost's touch, a chilling caress. "But this time… you'll have to do the work. You'll have to find me. Somewhere in this very timeline."

You pulled back, your eyes wide with unshed tears, staring at his translucent body, trying desperately to hold onto every shimmering particle, every precious second. His smile, his loving gaze, his very being—all fading right before your eyes, dissolving like dew in the morning sun. It was an agony so profound, it threatened to rip you in two.

He kept repeating it, the words echoing in your ears, a desperate mantra from a fading soul: "Find me… Make me remember… It's going to be okay… Sylus was able to do his part… Philos is going to be okay… We'll be reunited soon…"

But you were too devastated, too consumed by grief, too shattered to fully grasp everything, to understand the desperate hope beneath his words.

And then, with a final touch of his lips to yours, a heart-wrenching sigh, he vanished.

Not a trace remained, just small particles of light shimmering for a moment, then dissipating into the cool night air.

Your hands shot out, grasping desperately at nothing, at the empty space where he had been.

"No! No no no no! Xavier! Come back! Please!"

Your voice was a raw, primal scream of anguish, tearing through the quiet night. You cursed fate, cursed the universe for this cruel, unbearable torment, for ripping him from you again.

You collapsed onto the fields, sobbing, clutching the empty air, grieving with every fiber of your being as you lost Xavier.

Again.

You don't know how long you stayed that way, a broken, empty shell, lying in the cold grass under the indifferent moonlight. Time ceased to exist.

But then, a familiar, steady presence. It was Zayne who found you. He knelt beside you, his strong, warm hands gently pulling you into his arms. He didn't try to explain, didn't try to offer false comfort.

He knew you wouldn't be able to absorb anything, not the details of Xavier's desperate plan, not that he had figured it out last minute, not that Sylus was already on the move with the help of Caleb's influence as fleet commander and Rafayel's underground connections.

He knew it was too much.

He just took you in his arms, holding you close, his presence a solid anchor in the storm of your grief.

You clung to him, your body weak from crying so hard, your mind exhausted and shattered, your heart torn open and bleeding.

Zayne just soothed you with quiet murmurs, stroking your hair, kissing your temple, allowing you the time to simply exist in your pain.

He eventually lifted you, carrying you back to your new home, the mansion that was meant to hold you all.

He gave you calming pills, gently forcing you to take them, his touch firm but tender.

He laid you down, covering you, holding you in his arms as he waited until the darkness claimed you, until sleep, mercifully, offered a temporary escape from the crushing weight of loss.

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen

<…previous ... next…>

FORTYSIX

Nanami’s Room – Late Evening

The door clicked shut behind them with a sense of purpose—and trespassing. Nanami sighed heavily, pinched the bridge of his nose, and stared at the two intruders now sprawled across his minimalist couch like they owned the place.

“Why is it always my room?” he muttered, setting down a mug of tea on his perfectly organized desk.

Satoru was upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest, his long limbs carelessly dangling.

“Because yours has the best lighting. And the least haunted energy.”

Suguru, who was already sitting on the floor with papers spread in front of him like some evil real estate broker, grinned.

“Also because your sheets don’t smell like sugar and narcissism.”

“Excuse you,” Satoru flicked a pillow at him. “That’s custom-blend cologne, thank you very much.”

Nanami exhaled deeply and sipped his tea like he was one breath away from resigning from life.

Suguru looked up from the paper in his hands, more serious now.

“Jokes aside, maybe it’s time we actually did it. Got a place together.”

Nanami looked up, brow arching.

“You’re talking about a shared living space. With all three of us. Under one roof. Every day.”

Satoru grinned like a child offered candy.

“And her, of course.”

Nanami stared.

Suguru nodded thoughtfully.

“We’ve been floating around for a while now. Between your place, the school, hotels, and wherever Satoru decides to call a bed for the night... it’s a mess. She's juggling us in between schedules, dorms, missions—maybe we make it easier. Make it... permanent.”

Nanami leaned back against his desk and stared down into his mug, his expression unreadable.

“She did say ‘mine’ earlier,” he murmured after a long pause.

Satoru sat up properly for the first time.

“Exactly. We’re hers. All of us. So what if we made it so she always had a home to come back to? One that’s ours. Cause as much as I hate to admit it, you bastards are going to be family if this works out.”

Suguru’s voice lowered with quiet sincerity.

“Somewhere she can rest. Somewhere safe. Somewhere we’re not waiting for the next knock on the door to pull her away.”

Nanami looked between them. Their posturing had dropped. No more teasing, no fake bravado—just two men who were ready to anchor something real. And, damn it, he felt the same.

He set the mug down with a soft clink.

“Fine,” he said flatly. “But I get the master bedroom.”

“Absolutely not,” Satoru and Suguru chorused immediately.

“I do our laundry,” Nanami reasoned.

“You do it because you can’t stand the way we fold,” Suguru smirked.

“I live in fear of Satoru attempting to cook,” Nanami deadpanned.

“First of all, rude. Second of all, accurate,” Satoru chimed in with a laugh.

They all went quiet for a moment—just existing in that room that had unwillingly become their sanctuary. A silent agreement settled over them.

This was happening.

They were building a home.

Faculty Courtyard – Late Evening

The night settled like a soft blanket over the campus, and for once, the weight of the world seemed a little less crushing. Satoru strolled lazily across the courtyard, spinning his sunglasses by one arm between his fingers, his white hair tousled by the breeze. His path home shifted when he spotted a familiar silhouette beneath the courtyard lanterns.

Yaga sat alone, nursing a quiet drink, his massive frame resting on a bench like he was holding up the entire day on his shoulders. He didn’t move as Satoru approached—he never needed to. He always knew when Satoru was nearby.

“You look tired, old man,” Satoru greeted softly, a hint of affection threading through his usual playful jab.

Yaga took a long sip and grunted.

“You sound like someone who should be sleeping.”

Satoru plopped down beside him with a content sigh, eyes squinting up at the night sky.

“Couldn’t. My brain’s still spinning.”

Yaga gave him a sidelong look, reading the quiet weight under his words. Then, slowly, he asked—

“Satoru. Can I ask you something serious?”

That got Satoru’s attention. He sat up straighter, sunglasses forgotten on his collar.

“Course.”

“This thing between you, Nanami, Geto, and her… It’s real?”

The question hung there for a moment. Satoru blinked, then chuckled—not because it was funny, but because it felt good to be asked without judgment.

“Yeah. It’s real.” He glanced down at his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “It’s messy sometimes. But it’s ours. We’re thinking about getting a place. Together.”

Yaga nodded slowly, as if he’d expected as much. Then he swirled the liquid in his glass, thoughtful.

“You might not have to look too far.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“There’s an old four-bedroom house inside the fortress. Near the river, just past the east perimeter. Quiet, beautiful view, solid foundation. Cliff-side. Secluded, but close enough to the school and shelter in case something happens.”

Satoru sat up straighter, interest visibly piqued.

“Why’s it just sitting there?”

“It was built for Master Tengen years ago. But he decided he wanted to live on the opposite end of the fortress. Said the flow of energy felt better there or some cryptic shit.” Yaga sipped again. “So the house was left alone. Tengen’s been thinking of selling the land—modifying the veil and wards around that area to cut it out from the fortress.”

Satoru frowned.

“Wait, but wouldn’t that create a security risk?”

“Not if you buy it,” Yaga said, giving him a knowing look. “If it’s you three—and her—Tengen won’t modify anything. He’ll leave the wards as-is. Hell, he’d probably be relieved to keep that land fortified with you living there.”

Satoru’s lips parted slowly, eyes narrowing in consideration.

“Four bedrooms… riverside… secluded…” His mind was already painting pictures. “That’s perfect.”

Yaga leaned back against the bench.

“Told you. If you want it, I can talk to him. You’d have to handle the paperwork and pay, of course, but… it’s yours if you want it.”

For a long moment, Satoru just stared ahead—quiet, contemplative.

Then he smiled.

“You know, for an old man who yells a lot and plays favorites, you’re pretty alright sometimes.”

Yaga raised his brows.

“Sometimes?”

“Mm. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

They both snorted quietly, lapsing into a silence that didn’t feel heavy or expectant—just comfortable.

Then Satoru tilted his head and grinned again.

“Think I’ll tell them in the morning. The place, the idea of… all of us under one roof… feels good.”

Yaga didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Because deep down, he was proud. Not just of the strongest sorcerer in the world—but of the man who was finally letting himself have a home.

Nanami’s Room – Early morning, next day

Their unofficial headquarters—Nanami’s otherwise minimalist and meticulously organized room—was unusually alive this morning. A half-folded newspaper sat abandoned on the desk. Satoru was lounging sideways in a chair, legs kicked up on Nanami’s bed like he owned it. Suguru was by the window, sipping his tea with his usual graceful quiet. And Nanami… Nanami was rubbing the bridge of his nose, wondering yet again how he had lost control of his own room.

“So,” Satoru started, sunglasses nowhere in sight, revealing those clear, thoughtful eyes. “I spoke with Yaga last night.”

Suguru glanced over his shoulder. Nanami raised a brow but said nothing, waiting for the punchline.

“He told me there’s a house. A real one. Four bedrooms. Inside the fortress, but tucked near the river. It’s supposed to be for Master Tengen, but apparently, the guy wanted the other side of the fortress for ‘better energy flow’ or whatever.”

Nanami blinked.

“And?”

“And it’s just sitting there. Strong foundation, secluded, close to the school and the shelter—but private. Yaga said Tengen was thinking of selling it. But if it’s us, he’d probably hand it over without changing a single ward or curtain. Still fully protected.”

Suguru slowly set his tea down, eyes narrowing in consideration.

“That sounds like it was meant for us.”

“Exactly.” Satoru nodded, sitting upright now, expression bright with an odd blend of excitement and caution. “But I think we should keep it a secret from her for now.”

That got Nanami’s full attention.

“Why?”

“Because,” Satoru replied seriously. “She’s already adjusting to all of this.” He motioned vaguely, as if “this” encompassed their complicated, fierce love, the chaos of school, their shared living situation, and the fact that the three most emotionally complicated men in the sorcerer world were in love with her.

Suguru leaned against the wall, nodding slowly.

“He’s right. She’s strong, but she’s been through enough. A surprise like this—something so permanent—it could feel too fast.”

“Exactly.” Satoru smiled faintly. “I want her to feel safe about it. Excited. Not pressured.”

Nanami crossed his arms, thoughtful.

“So what do you propose we do?”

“We feel it out,” Suguru said smoothly. “Gauge how she reacts to the idea of ‘home’ with us. Bring it up lightly, in passing. Let her dream about it before we make it real.”

Satoru clicked his tongue and pointed at Suguru.

“See? That’s why I keep you.”

Nanami sighed, clearly torn between being annoyed and agreeing with them.

“We’re seriously considering buying a house.”

“We’re seriously considering building a future,” Suguru corrected, voice low but certain.

Satoru leaned back again, folding his hands behind his head.

“Let’s do it right.”

The room went quiet for a beat. Not heavy. Just full of something solid. Something real.

Nanami sat at the edge of his bed, arms braced on his knees, staring at his phone for a long moment.

It wasn’t hesitation. Just... caution. A familiar companion in matters like this.

He finally tapped in the number and brought the phone to his ear.

It rang once. Twice.

Then: “Nanami,” Yaga’s steady voice answered.

Nanami nodded to himself before speaking.

“Sensei. About the house Satoru mentioned…”

Yaga exhaled slowly, like he knew where this was going.

“You want it?”

“Possibly,” Nanami said. “But we need time. She doesn’t know yet. And I don’t want it on record, or circulating through the school until we’re sure she’s ready to take that step.”

There was a pause. Then a quiet chuckle on the other end.

“You’re the responsible one, as always.”

“I’d prefer to call it being considerate.”

“Fair,” Yaga admitted. “I’ll keep it between us. The property will be marked as pending internal decision. I won’t tell Master Tengen or anyone else. Take the time you need.”

Nanami leaned back slightly, letting a breath go.

“Thank you, Sensei.”

“You’re doing well, Nanami. All three of you. For what it’s worth... I think she already feels at home with you.”

Nanami’s gaze softened at that. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe. But I want her to feel safe in that, too. No pressure. No rush.”

“Then I’ll hold the house until you say otherwise. Take care.”

Nanami ended the call and stared at the quiet room around him—tidy, predictable, safe. He thought of your soft laugh, the way you curled up next to him, how you fit into his life like you’d always belonged there.

“There,” Nanami said, tucking his phone inside his suit, “All settled. Time to work gentlemen.” 

Shoko’s Room – Last Day of Utahime’s Tokyo Visit

All four of you were crammed under the sheets of Shoko’s bed, legs tangled and arms thrown over each other, the scent of lavender from her diffuser thick in the air. The room was softly lit, calm, and perfectly safe. The kind of closeness that only years of trust and friendship could bring.

Utahime laid on her stomach, chin resting on a pillow as she kicked her legs gently in the air. “I swear, I’m gonna lose it with those two—Mai and Maki. I keep thinking maybe I can get them to be at least cordial with each other. Like Mimiko and Nanako. How did you do it with the twins?”

You chuckled, cheek smushed against Mei Mei’s arm. “They imprinted on me when they were young and traumatized. I didn’t really do much except love them until they healed enough to choose peace. I think that kind of bond just... grew with them. But even if those girls are close, they fight like crazy, but I guess that’s normal.”

Shoko rolled onto her back with a lazy stretch. “First step: get Mai and Maki in the same school. Preferably without knives.”

Mei Mei snorted, brushing her bangs back. “Then try getting them to coexist without killing each other. That’s step two.”

Utahime groaned, flopping dramatically. “You guys are no help.”

“She asked,” Mei Mei replied smugly.

“I did,” Utahime muttered into the pillow, defeated.

After a few seconds of quiet breathing and soft ambient music from Shoko’s speaker, Utahime spoke again. “So... how’s the shelter going? I heard Mimiko and Nanako are running things more lately.”

You smiled, proud. “They’re amazing. They’ve got donation drives going, campaigns circulating... lots of public support now. Suguru’s name is coming up more and more—in a good way. People are seeing how much he’s doing to change the jujutsu world.”

Shoko raised a brow. “That’s the elemental princess effect.”

You blinked. “What?”

She grinned lazily. “Your effect. You soften him without dulling him. You’ve changed the way people see him, too.”

“Definitely,” Mei Mei agreed. “And Suguru puts all his money to good use. Shelter, reforms, education—yet somehow, his bank account still overflows.”

“And don’t even get me started on Nanami,” Shoko added. “That man is the definition of financially responsible. He’s loaded.”

“Satoru is on another level,” Mei Mei drawled. “Old money. Gojo Clan. He probably bathes in yen.”

Utahime huffed a little laugh. “You really do love money, Mei Mei.”

Mei Mei gave a content little hum. “I love what money can do. Especially when I’m the one spending it.”

Then Utahime grew quiet for a beat, her voice softer when she spoke again. “Can I ask something serious?”

You all turned to glance at her. “Yeah?”

“If the boys asked you to move in with them... would you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “After last night... it probably crossed their minds.”

You stared at the ceiling, thoughtful. “Honestly? I wouldn’t mind. It’s bound to happen, right? We’re practically inseparable anyway.”

Shoko nodded from the other side of the bed. “Makes sense. The three orbit around you like planets.”

You laughed, hiding your warm cheeks behind Mei Mei’s shoulder. “Stop.”

Then, turning your attention back to Shoko, you raised a brow. “What about you, Shoko? Don’t you need a man?”

Shoko blinked. “I’m not opposed.”

“I know someone in Europe,” you offered playfully. “Sweet, grounded, a little chaotic but he’s got that smolder—”

“European guys aren’t really my thing,” Shoko interrupted flatly. “Maybe if you know an American guy. I could consider it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t—but Yuki might.”

The entire bed rumbled with laughter.

“You’re gonna set Shoko up through Yuki?” Utahime laughed, half-horrified. “That’s either genius or dangerous.”

“Both,” Mei Mei said, completely serious. “Which makes it worth it.”

Nanami’s Room – Mid-Morning, after Utahime left

It was supposed to be a productive strategy meeting.

The boys were gathered in Nanami’s room, which had unintentionally become their official base of operations—something Nanami resigned himself to with the quiet suffering of a man who knew resistance was futile. Suguru sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through some property listings on his tablet, Satoru lay sprawled on his stomach on Nanami’s low couch, and Nanami himself stood in the corner, meticulously preparing his coffee.

“So, how exactly do we test the waters with her?” Satoru asked, sunglasses pushed into his snowy hair as he rolled over dramatically. “Subtle hints? Strategic cuddling? Maybe one of us accidentally calls it home in front of her?”

Suguru didn’t even glance up. “You do that already. Every room you enter becomes your home, Satoru.”

Nanami sighed audibly.

“Okay, okay,” Satoru grinned, flopping onto his back with a groan. “Then what do you suggest, Professor Suguru? You’re the calm one. Enlighten us.”

“I suggested subtle conversation and emotional honesty.”

“Booooooring,” Satoru grinned, launching a pillow at Suguru’s face.

Suguru caught it easily—and threw it right back, smacking Satoru in the side of the head with a dull whump. “You started it.”

“Oh, it’s on, Geto.”

Chaos descended.

In the span of seconds, the two were grappling on Nanami’s carpet like bored teenagers. Satoru tried to pin Suguru with a leg sweep, Suguru retaliated with a half-hearted chokehold, and somewhere between the flailing and laughter, someone knocked over Nanami’s file tray.

Nanami, unfazed, sipped his coffee.

That was the exact scene you walked into: Suguru and Satoru mid-wrestle, panting and grinning like lunatics, and Nanami just… sipping. As if this were Tuesday.

You blinked, eyes wide. “Seriously?!”

All three men froze.

Nanami, to his credit, at least tried to look dignified. “I wasn’t involved.”

You shot him a flat look. “You didn’t stop them either.”

Suguru cleared his throat and slowly peeled himself off Satoru. “Technically, it was a brainstorming session…”

You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. “If this is what I’ll walk into every time I turn my back, how are we supposed to live together in peace?”

Silence.

You huffed and pointed a finger at the three of them. “I mean it! If we all want this to work, you need to play nice with each other. No brawling in Nanami’s room, no random chaos in the kitchen—especially around knives—and definitely no surprise wrestling when I’m not looking!”

More silence.

Too much silence.

You looked up and suddenly realized all three men were just… staring at you. Not with guilt or shame, but with that quiet intensity that made your stomach flip. Like you’d just handed them a winning lottery ticket without even knowing it.

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Satoru sat up slowly, blinking. “Say it again.”

You frowned. “Say what again?”

“That thing,” he murmured, lips curving, “about us all… living together.”

You tilted your head, oblivious. “What about it? It’s bound to happen anyway. I mean, after that incident the other night?” You shot them a look. “We traumatized Utahime. I’m not risking Mimiko and Nanako walking in next time.”

That did it.

Suguru, calm, composed Suguru, broke.

He let out a sharp laugh—pure relief—and covered his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning into your space and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

You blinked at him, brain catching up too late.

Satoru chuckled, flopping back onto the floor with a dramatic sigh of joy. “She wants to live with us. I can die happy.”

Nanami, still holding his coffee, finally allowed a small smile to curve his lips. “Well, that answers that.”

You stared at them, slowly turning pink. “…Wait. That was the test?”

“Yes,” all three replied in unison.

But then Suguru tilted his head, brushing a few stray strands from your cheek with a quiet softness. “Well. Technically… it wasn’t meant to be a test.”

Nanami, always the voice of reason, added in his steady tone, “We were trying to figure out how to bring it up with you without overwhelming you. Or making you feel trapped. Or like everything is happening too fast.”

Your brows pulled together, still half in your stern scold-mode. “Trapped? Fast?”

The weight of the words, the tenderness behind their concern, hit you somewhere deep. And yet—

You huffed, scoffing just a little as your arms crossed again. “Aren’t we all at risk of dying in every mission? There’s no such thing as slow or fast in our world.”

They stared again.

And that’s when it dawned on them. Not just how casual you’d been about this life-altering decision—but how emotionally grounded you really were.

You weren’t saying it in panic. Or with reckless abandon. You were just sure. Clear-eyed and calm at your core, even beneath all that fire and rage.

You let out a breath, shoulders relaxing a little as your tone gentled. “You’re scared for nothing,” you murmured. “I’m not some fragile little thing you need to tiptoe around. I’m not the one that breaks.”

You looked at each of them, eyes steady. “We’re the ones that break things. Remember?”

Another round of silence. But this time, it was golden.

“…So,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Are we moving in together or not?”

Nanami set his coffee down with a quiet clink. With all the solemnity in the world, he reached into his folder, pulled out a pristine empty calendar, and in his deadpan voice said, “We’ll need to map out a chore list.”

You lost it.

Your angry façade shattered like sugar glass. Laughter burst out of you, uncontained and bright, and the boys drank it in like they’d just survived something harrowing and divine at the same time.

Suguru chuckled, watching you melt. “You should expect friendly brawls from time to time. Comes with the Gojo package.”

“Regrettably,” Nanami muttered, “Gojo Satoru is part of the household.”

You laughed harder, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Fine. But no breaking furniture.”

Satoru raised a hand like a student. “Except the bed.”

Suguru followed with a casual, “Or the table.”

Nanami, almost too softly, added under his breath, “Probably the sofa as well.”

You stared at them.

Then sighed, long-suffering, hand pressed to your forehead.

“You three should be thankful I love you.”

Silence.

This time, not stunned by your logic. Not by your strength.

But by your heart.

Three sets of eyes locked on you.

And not a single one could speak.

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

defying fate

a/n : love and deepspace au | reverse-harem | mature and explicit | MDNI — not for kids | lads boys x femreader | read at your own risk | story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous ... next

CHAPTER 4 : POSSIBILITIES

The world had become a whirlpool of threats, each day bringing a new wave of fear. It was a well-thought-out plan: you wouldn't be left alone. For safety reasons, one of them was always by your side. It was a good thing they all agreed, because days later, incident after incident kept coming.

EVER was relentless, their shadowy organization still hunting your unique abilities for their twisted experiments. Smaller, lesser-known groups also emerged, all vying for the same prize.

UNICORN, your current organization, were barely keeping up.

Onychinus, through Sylus, had extended their offer of sanctuary, an offer you’d declined, leading Sylus to dispatch the watchful Mephisto to trail your every move.

Resurfacing Memories

The external threats were only part of the storm.

Inside, memory fragments, like shattered glass, kept resurfacing, each shard cutting deeper into your already tangled emotions. Your feelings for each of the men deepened with every passing moment, leaving you in a constant state of confusion and guilt.

Every time you were with one, you couldn't help but think of the others, a gnawing worry about how they’d react if they ever discovered the true depths of your entangled affections.

And the memories… they were the most disorienting of all.

Xavier's Fading Time

The truth about Xavier’s own timeline unfurled in your dreams, vivid and heartbreaking. You had been together before, trained, and fought side-by-side. He was the prince of your planet — Philos, in another lifetime, and he had searched for you relentlessly after you were swallowed by the Deepspace tunnel. The confrontation was inevitable.

You found him by the panoramic window in his apartment, the city lights a distant blur against the suffocating night. "Xavier," you began, your voice a fragile whisper, trembling with a volatile mixture of anger and a desperate, clawing ache that twisted your gut. "Tell me the truth. About… before. Everything."

He tensed, his broad shoulders subtly stiffening, his jaw clenching. You could feel it, the frantic flicker of a lie forming, the desperate urge to shield you from the crushing weight of a painful past.

But the ancient wisdom in his eyes, the deep, undeniable resonance between your souls, told him it would shatter everything.

He turned, his gaze meeting yours, and the silence that followed was his confession, a heavy, suffocating admission that hung in the air, thick with unspoken sorrows. His eyes, usually so fiercely protective, now held a raw vulnerability, a profound sadness that mirrored your own, tearing at you.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you finally choked out, tears stinging your eyes, a searing, bitter burn against your skin. "We were… everything. Our world, our future… it was ours. How could you let me forget?"

His hand reached out, trembling, hovering an inch from your face as if he feared his touch might break you, might crumble you into dust. Then, with a choked sound, it dropped, uselessly to his side.

"I couldn't," he rasped, his voice raw, laced with agony, a desperate plea for understanding. "Not when your memories were fragmented. Not when… not when my time is so… limited." His voice cracked on the last word, a sound that ripped through your heart.

You fumed, a tempest of anger and betrayal raging within, but beneath it, a chilling, gut terror gnawed at you, colder than any deepspace vacuum.

You knew.

You knew his time was up. He was fading, a slow, agonizing erosion of light and life, like sand slipping through your desperate fingers, impossible to hold onto.

"No," you whispered, stepping forward, your hands instinctively reaching, grasping his arm with desperate, bone-crushing strength, as if you could anchor him to this reality, to your reality.

"No, Xavier. I won't let you. Fate be damned, I will save you. I will defy fate itself, even if it tears me apart piece by agonizing piece."

Rafayel's Ancient Bonds

It was Rafayel’s saving grace, his shimmering, almost translucent Lemurian form, that shattered the barriers of your forgotten past.

The memories surged back, overwhelming and profound.

You had saved him once before, a sacrifice lost to the cruel mists of time. And then, further back, further still, you were his bride, offering your very life for his, a forgotten oath whispered on the winds of an ancient sea, a vow etched into your very soul.

Clarity and confusion intertwined, a dizzying, painful dance of truths that both illuminated and tormented you.

Rafayel was bound to you, and you to him, by threads of destiny older than time itself. He, the Sea God, and you, forever tethered to his ancient power, his very existence, his sorrow, his joy.

You cornered him after days of his deliberate, agonizing avoidance, his usual playful charm replaced by a skittishness that clawed at your heart, a haunted, distant look in his eyes that spoke of unbearable secrets. You found him by the ocean, the waves a cruel, mocking symphony of what you remembered, what you should have remembered, what you felt you remembered.

"Rafayel!" you cried out, your voice raw with desperation, a ragged sound torn from your chest, echoing over the crashing surf. He flinched, as if your voice was a physical blow, a harsh lash against his soul, his shoulders tensing.

"Why are you avoiding me? Why… why do I remember being your bride? Why do I feel like I died for you? What did I sacrifice?"

He spun around, his eyes wide with an ancient, unbearable sorrow, like the deepest, most shadowed depths of the ocean. "You —," he choked out, his voice hoarse, raw with suppressed pain, his hands clenching at his sides. "It was too much. Too much suffering for you to bear again."

But the memories kept coming, a terrifying, relentless flood, drowning you in forgotten grief, in echoes of a past love too profound to be forgotten.

A vision, hazy with time – was it past or future? – of the sea drying up, cracked earth stretching to an endless, desolate horizon, ancient bones bleached beneath a dying sun.

The desolation clicked into place, a horrifying puzzle piece slotting into your fragmented mind. You understood his disdain for humanity, the targeted deaths, all linked to Lemuria’s plight, to the dying echoes of his people, his very soul shriveling with their demise.

"The sea… it dried up," you whispered, the words catching in your throat, a desperate gasp for air, your own heart aching with a grief that wasn't entirely your own. "Is that why? Is that why you hate them so much? Why you’re so… broken? So alone?"

He closed his eyes, a single, shimmering tear tracing a path down his cheek, a clear drop of ocean sorrow, a perfect reflection of the pain in his soul. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, trembling with suppressed rage and grief, his body shaking almost imperceptibly.

"They took everything," he hissed, pain lacing every syllable, every strained muscle. "They always take. But you… you were different. You were my light. My very reason. My sacrifice. My bride."

Regardless of the pain, you knew how vital Lemuria was to Rafayel, how deeply it was etched into his being, into every fiber of his ancient soul. You reached for him, tears blurring your vision, your fingers brushing his arm, then gripping, desperate to convey your unwavering resolve.

"I'll help you, Rafayel," you vowed, your voice breaking, raw with emotion. "I'll do everything in my power to save what remains. We’ll save your home. We’ll save you. I won’t lose you again."

Zayne's Hidden Struggles

Zayne's true nature was revealed not by a grand revelation, but by a journal, stumbled upon by accident in his neat, organized office. The words within spoke of a losing battle against his own power, an internal struggle that shattered the perfect façade of his unwavering control.

When you confronted him, he couldn’t find the words, only a weary acceptance and an explanation that felt like a quiet surrender, a final, painful admission. There was no point in hiding it any longer.

"Zayne," you said, your voice barely a whisper, holding up the worn leather journal, its pages almost brittle with age, trembling in your hand. "What is this? What does it mean, ‘losing control of your Evol’? Are you… are you dying?"

He looked up from his microscope, his eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, now clouded with a deep, aching vulnerability that made your stomach clench, a knot of dread. He sighed, a sound of profound exhaustion, of burdens carried too long, too silently.

"There's no easy way to explain it," he murmured, pushing his glasses up his nose, running a weary hand through his hair, as if trying to physically smooth away the truth. "I… I'm not sure if it's in the past or the future, but it's starting to happen. The power… it's becoming too much. It’s tearing me apart from the inside. Slowly. Irreversibly."

"I didn't want to worry you," he confessed, his voice barely audible, his gaze dropping to the journal in your hand, avoiding your accusing eyes. "I was trying to find a solution myself. To spare you. To bear it alone."

Your heart ached, a sharp, piercing pain that felt like a physical blow, a wound opening in your chest. This man, who always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, was crumbling from within, silently enduring an unimaginable torment, for your sake.

You walked over, gently taking the journal from his hand, and placed it on the desk. You reached for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his, a silent plea for honesty, for shared burden, for connection. His skin felt cold, despite the warmth of your touch.

"We’ll figure it out," you said, your voice firm, resolute, despite the tremor in your own soul, despite the tears pricking at your eyes. "Together. You are not alone in this, Zayne. You never were. And please… please, never hide anything from me again. Not like this. Not anything. Let me help you carry this."

He squeezed your hand, a desperate, silent promise hanging in the air, his fingers clutching yours as if you were his only anchor, his only lifeline in a swirling abyss. You felt the raw despair radiating from him, and you held on tighter.

Caleb's Painful Truth

The sight of Caleb in his room, hunched over, carefully fixing his bionic arm, sent a tremor of pure, unadulterated fury through you, a searing, hot anger that threatened to consume you.

The harsh glow of his desk lamp illuminated the sheen of sweat on his brow, the grimace of pain twisting his features into a mask of silent, agonizing suffering. He groaned, a raw sound of agony ripped from his throat, and it felt like a knife twisting in your own heart, a gut-wrenching pain that stole your breath.

You couldn't bear to see him like that, broken and in pain, at the mercy of something so cruel, so dehumanizing.

You slammed the door shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the small, sterile room, making him flinch violently. He snapped his head up, his eyes wide with surprise, then a flicker of apprehension, of knowing, as he saw the storm in your eyes.

"What happened?" you demanded, your voice laced with unbridled rage, a dangerous, barely contained edge you rarely allowed to surface. "Why are you always in pain? What did EVER do to you? What have they done to you, Caleb? Tell me!"

He had no choice but to explain everything, the experiments, the constant adjustments, the phantom pains that clawed at his very nerves, the insidious corruption of his own body, the way they had taken him apart and rebuilt him, leaving a part of him forever scarred.

He spoke in a low, even tone, his face a carefully constructed mask of stoicism, but his eyes, dark and haunted, betrayed the unbearable agony beneath, the quiet despair.

When he finished, a chilling, vengeful fury coursed through you, potent and undeniable, a primal urge to destroy. Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms, drawing blood, the sharp sting a mere flicker compared to the burning inferno in your soul.

A raw, guttural scream built in your throat, demanding release. You turned on your heels, ready to walk out, to unleash a storm of vengeance that would leave nothing but ash in its wake, to burn EVER to the ground.

"Don't," Caleb's voice was sharp, cutting through your rage, a command laced with a desperate, heartbreaking plea. He was already out of his chair, faster than you thought possible, blocking your path.

His good arm shot out, his hand grasping your wrist, his fingers a strong, unyielding band, pulling you back. "It won't solve anything. It will only put you in more danger. And I can't… I won't let that happen. Not after everything." His grip tightened, a silent promise to protect you at all costs.

You stared at him, tears blurring your vision, streaming down your face, the searing fury warring with a devastating, crippling helplessness.

You knew he was right, the cold, brutal logic of his words piercing through the red haze. But the injustice of it all burned hotter than ever, a consuming fire in your soul that demanded retribution.

Sylus's Unbreakable Cycle

You didn't have to ask Sylus. It was one of those quiet nights, both of you lost in thought, the city lights a distant hum, the world outside a muted echo, when he began to tell you a lore about dragons. His voice, usually so composed, so detached, now held a profound, aching sorrow that resonated deep within your bones, stirring ancient, forgotten pains.

"There are tales," he began, his gaze fixed on some unseen horizon, his profile etched against the dim light, almost ethereal, "of dragons cursed to repeat cycles, forever bound to a specific fate, to a soul they are destined to meet… and to lose. Again and again. For eternity."

Your heart knew instantly he was speaking of himself, of you. A cold dread settled in your chest. You swallowed hard, the bitter taste of truth coating your tongue, a premonition of grief already settling in, cold and heavy.

"I've had dreams," you confessed, your voice barely a whisper, thick with unbidden emotions, with the echoes of nightmares. "Memories, I think. Of killing you. And… of you killing me. Over and over. A dance of death."

He turned then, his eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, now filled with an ancient, unbearable grief, like staring into the heart of a dying sun, a cosmos of sorrow. He pulled you into a tight embrace, a desperate, crushing hug that spoke of a thousand lost lifetimes, of endless partings, of promises broken by fate.

His arms wrapped around you, possessive and despairing. "Our fate," he murmured into your hair, his voice raw, broken, a ragged sigh. "Is a cruel one. A relentless torment. A cosmic joke."

But you were determined to defy it. You would not be a pawn in some cosmic game, strung along by an unseen hand. You would break free, even if it meant breaking everything else.

Then, his voice, gentle but firm, cut through your thoughts, a surgeon’s precision dissecting your emotions, yet laced with a palpable, profound pain. He pulled back slightly, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones, forcing your gaze to meet his.

"Is this," he asked, his voice filled with a desperate assurance, a raw vulnerability, "the same promise you have given to others? The same hope you offer them?"

You stared at him, confused at first, then slow, dawning realization bloomed, a sick, churning sensation in your gut, the crushing weight of your tangled affections.

He was talking about the other four.

Your gaze darted away, guilt searing your cheeks, burning like a brand, a tangible weight on your soul. You had indeed entangled your fates with theirs, a complex, agonizing knot of longing and devotion, promises whispered to each, unknowingly.

Every single one of them.

Sylus’s fingers tightened on your jaw, gently, but insistently, tilting your head back, forcing your eyes back to his, pulling you back from the brink of despair.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice filled with a desperate certainty. "It's not your fault. No one is at fault for what fate has orchestrated. Not you. Not us. We are merely caught in its web."

"No," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, tears finally spilling over, hot and heavy against his thumbs, tracing paths down your skin. "It’s fate's fault. This sick, twisted design. And it is time to stop this loop, this disgusting cycle of us being played by fate. I won't be broken again. Not for them, not for me, not for us."

Sylus then suggested a meeting with the rest. His eyes held a flicker of something ancient and knowing, a dangerous resolve.

"We need to break this, together," he urged, his voice resonating with a quiet, undeniable power. You were adamant at first, the thought of them all in one room, knowing your shared secrets, your entangled hearts, the unspoken desires, was terrifying, a precipice you feared to cross. But deep down, a cold, hard truth settled in your soul: you knew it was bound to happen.

So, with a heavy heart, you agreed.

A Fated Gathering

The meeting was, as expected, chaotic and tense, a volatile cocktail of unaddressed emotions, of desires barely contained.

The air crackled with unspoken words, with the weight of shared secrets and individual burdens, each man a force of nature barely contained, their gazes like tangible things.

Yet, amidst the tension, a strange, profound sense of déjà vu washed over you. You felt, inexplicably, that this wasn’t the first time these five formidable men had gathered in your presence, their fates converging around you, their eyes all on you.

Caleb was the one who confirmed it, his voice a steady, grounding anchor in the storm of your emotions. His gaze swept over each of them, a silent challenge passing between them, then settled on you, unwavering, accepting. "We've been here before," he stated, his jaw tight, a flicker of pain, of weariness, in his eyes. "All of us. Many times."

You were a whirlwind of shock, fury, and a strange, profound touch that pierced through the confusion, a sudden understanding that shattered your composure. "You knew?" you demanded, your voice laced with incredulity, with betrayal, directed at all of them, a desperate plea for answers, for honesty. "All of you knew? And you kept it from me? All this time?"

Zayne then explained, his usual calm demeanor strained, a rare tremble in his hands as he adjusted his glasses. "We didn't know how to bring it up. Your memories… they had to resurface naturally. We decided to unpack it one at a time, to spare you the immediate shock, the inevitable heartbreak." He ran a weary hand through his hair, his eyes filled with a deep regret, a silent apology. "It was the only way we knew how to protect you. To protect us all."

Xavier, who had been largely silent, his gaze distant, lost in unseen timelines, his very essence shimmering, finally spoke. His voice, when it came, carried the ethereal weight of a dying star, ancient and resigned, yet laced with an undeniable tenderness. "We decided to be patient. To give you time. To let you find your way back to us. To let you remember on your own terms."

You scoffed, a bitter, broken laugh escaping your lips, tears welling up again. "Time? You don't have a lot of time, Xavier! You’re fading! What good is time if you’re gone?" The words ripped from your throat, raw and desperate, a plea to the heavens.

He merely shrugged, a subtle, painful acknowledgment of his grim reality, a quiet acceptance that made your heart clench, a silent goodbye already etched in his eyes, a sacrifice he was ready to make.

Rafayel, ever the dramatic, but with a raw edge of grief, scoffed, a sardonic twist to his lips, his hand rising to run through his silver hair, pulling at the strands. "It's absurd. This whole situation is an affront to sanity. Fate has a twisted, sadistic way of tying us all together in a sick, painful cycle of endless agony. A cosmic joke at our expense."

It was Sylus who finally cut through the tension, his voice resonating with an unexpected depth, his eyes, like twin pools of ancient wisdom, fixed solely on you, burning with an intense, unwavering focus that promised both devotion and danger.

He stepped forward, drawing your full attention, reaching out to gently cup your face again. "How do you want it?" he asked, his voice filled with a desperate assurance, a raw vulnerability that surprised you. "You don't have to choose between them. You can have all of them, however you want it to be. This time, you decide. Break the cycle with us."

You stared at him, shock blossoming into a scandalous, dizzying realization, a revolutionary thought. The very idea, so forbidden, so impossible… yet, so profoundly, terrifyingly right.

It was a path you hadn't even dared to dream, a whispered hope you hadn't let solidify. But then, a new possibility unfurled before you, breathtaking in its audacity, its impossible hope.

Having all of them… fighting fate together… maybe this was the only way.

Maybe, just maybe, you could help each other, heal each other, break the cycle together, as one.

"All that matters is your safety and happiness," Caleb reiterated, his voice a solid, unwavering anchor in the storm, cutting through the swirling confusion, his hand reaching out, a silent offer of unwavering support, his touch a comforting weight on your arm.

"How… how would that even work?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, a strange tremor running through you, a chaotic mix of fear and burgeoning hope. Your mind reeled, trying to grasp the enormity of it, the sheer, audacious scale of their offer.

Sylus’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, a dangerous glint in his eyes that promised untold depths. He answered with a nonchalant shrug, as if discussing the weather, as if this grand, impossible plan was merely a logistical detail.

"We've got it all figured out. Bought a mansion for all of us. Maybe set up a schedule or something. Depends on how you want it. We adapt. We always adapt. Whatever keeps you safe. Whatever keeps you with us."

And in your mind, a fleeting, forbidden image flashed, vivid and potent, almost overwhelmingly real: you, wrapped up between all of them, their bodies a warm, protective cocoon, their intertwined fates a shield against the cruel whims of destiny, their breaths mingling, their heartbeats synchronized with yours.

You instantly pushed the "dirty" images away, a hot flush spreading through your body, a deep blush staining your cheeks, clenching your thighs, a silent acknowledgment of the raw, undeniable desire that flickered within you, undeniable and potent.

They all noticed, of course, their gazes lingering, hungry, a knowing, predatory glint in their eyes, but said nothing. It was a silent confirmation: you were in. And they could have you, shared – yes – but it was the only way to have you, truly and completely, in this lifetime.

The only way to save them all.

The only way to break the curse.

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

lads boys reacting on your prank "they're coming, grab everything!"

it was a calm afternoon, your husband is spending a peaceful time with his hobby, when you suddenly shrieked in panic "babe! they're coming! they're coming! grab everything! eveeerythiiiing!

xavier

grabs the nearest plant and pillow because he's half asleep

follows you in a disoriented manner, doesnt fully understand what is happening

realizes it was a prank as he stood confused and disoriented in your living room, hair dishevelled, eyes still not fully opened

you felt bad because your poor husband is about to head out of the house only wearing his boxers

zayne

was calm, but after you zipped twice across the door, screaming in panic, he grabbed the emergency duffle bag he prepared for moments like this

he stood by the door, looking at your dishevelled state, squinting his eyes at you as he realized you were pranking him.

he was half annoyed, half amused because you managed to make him grab the emergency duffle bag

rafayel

panics with you

literally would try to grab anything and everything

ended up grabbing a bucket of paint, a mop and a candy bar

sulks after he found out that you were pranking him

sylus

doesnt panic, knows you are up to something

grabs you and hauls you on his shoulder because you're his everything

you forgot that its a prank because of how smooth he is.

caleb

like sylus, he doesnt panic, knows you best

used his evol to calm you down and made you admit that it was a prank or else he is going to tickle you mercilessly

still tickled you mercilessly anyway

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

painted yearning

A tremor ran through his hand, the brush hovering an inch from the canvas. The deep cerulean of the sea in his painting seemed to mock him, its vastness reflecting the emptiness in his own heart. You, his bride, were gone. Snatched away by a sacrifice he still couldn't bear to comprehend, a selfless act that saved him and condemned him to a life devoid of your warmth.

He was Rafayel, the celebrated painter of Linkon, his name whispered with reverence across Deepspace. But the accolades were hollow, the fame a bitter irony. What was the point of capturing beauty when the only beauty he craved was forever out of reach?

His studio, a sanctuary of creation, had become a mausoleum of memories. Canvases piled high, sculptures draped in white sheets, countless photographs scattered like fallen petals – each a desperate attempt to immortalize you. Thomas, his ever-present manager and the only soul privy to his agonizing secret, had never seen these pieces, these raw, bleeding fragments of his soul.

You were everywhere. In the delicate curve of a sculpted collarbone, the way the light caught a painted strand of hair, the mischievous glint he captured in your eyes from a faded memory. He’d painted you in sun-drenched fields, beneath moonlit skies, amidst crashing waves – each stroke a prayer, each shade a tear. He'd molded your likeness in clay, carved it in wood, cast it in bronze, his hands aching with the desperate need to feel you, even if its this way.

He painted not just because he was good, not just because the art world demanded it. He painted because it was his only tether to you, his only way to scream his longing into the silent void. Each brushstroke was a defiance against forgetting, a furious act of remembrance. He wouldn't, couldn't, allow your image to fade, not a single detail. Your face, your body, your hair, your eyes – every curve, every nuance, every color – he had them etched into canvas, solidified in stone. He would never forget his bride, his love. The very thought was a betrayal he could not bear.

Sometimes, late at night, when the city slept and the stars were his only witnesses, he would stand before a painting of you, the one where you were laughing, your head thrown back, pure joy radiating from your eyes. He’d reach out, his fingers hovering over the canvas, an ache so profound it threatened to shatter him. "My bride," he’d whisper, the words a raw wound in the quiet. "Where are you? Do you know... how much I yearn for you?"

He was the Sea God, once mighty, now adrift in a sea of sorrow, his power useless against the one tide that had taken you from him. He closed his eyes, the image of your sacrifice burning behind his lids. If only he could turn back time, if only he could have taken your place. The ocean, his ancient domain, now felt like a vast, cold expanse, mirroring the emptiness within him. Yet, he continued to paint, continued to sculpt, each piece a silent promise, a desperate beacon cast into the depths of Deepspace.

He would find you. He had to.

For what was a god without his beloved?

What was he, Rafayel, without you?

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

excuse me dooooctor, im gonna cpr you in your pants

The way my jaw dropped 😳 🥵

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

sweeping you off your feet for the second time

an : rafayel x nonmc | nonmc is introverted & nonconfrontational | mc is the girl bestie of nonmc | college au | tried to make it fluff but maybe i failed | typed on my phone & non proofread | might be triggering for some - read at your own risk cause its hard to make a label for every single thing | i wrote this cause i wanted to hurt myself

previous

BONUS CHAPTER

MC's phone buzzed, vibrating against the worn denim of her jeans. She glanced down, her lips curving into an immediate, enthusiastic smile.

Caleb.

Her childhood friend, her rock, the charismatic athlete who somehow always managed to stay grounded.

"Caleb! Hey!" she answered, her voice bubbling with easy warmth. "What's up? Ready to raid the dining hall for their questionable pizza again?"

But Caleb's response wasn't his usual jovial banter.

His voice, when it came through, was distinctly serious, a low rumble that instantly dampened MC's lighthearted mood.

"Hey, pips. Can we… can we meet up? I need to talk to you. Something important."

MC's brow furrowed. Caleb rarely sounded this somber.

"Whoa, okay. Is everything alright? You sound… intense. I can come over to your place, save some time. Plus, it's better to hang out there anyway, less public eyes, right?" she suggested, knowing his preference for private spaces when serious conversations were on the agenda.

"Yeah," Caleb agreed, a slight hesitation in his voice. "Yeah, that works. I'll see you in thirty."

"On my way," MC confirmed, a knot forming in her stomach. She grabbed her keys, her mind already racing through possibilities, none of them good.

Thirty minutes later, she stood outside Caleb's unit, the familiar scent of his apartment complex already calming her slightly.

He opened the door almost immediately, looking surprisingly composed, but the usual easy light in his eyes was replaced by a somber intensity.

"Hey," he greeted, stepping aside. "Come in. I already cooked our favorite, so we can eat first."

They ate in a comfortable silence, the rich aroma of his homemade pasta doing little to ease the tension humming beneath the surface.

MC watched him, chewing slowly, noticing the subtle clenching of his jaw, the way his gaze kept drifting to the middle distance. This wasn't the laid-back, joking Caleb she knew.

After they had finished, Caleb gathered the plates, cleared the small table, and then settled heavily onto the couch beside her. The casual proximity, usually a source of comfort, now felt charged.

MC couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Okay, spill. You've been looking like someone stole your last game-winning shot all evening. What's going on?"

Caleb sighed, a deep, frustrated sound that seemed to come from the very core of him. He ran a hand through his dark hair, then turned, his gaze locking onto hers, unexpectedly sharp, almost accusatory.

"Why, pips?" he asked, his voice low. "Why did you set me up on that date? And with… with your best friend, of all people?"

MC blinked, taken aback by the sudden directness. Her reasons, she thought, were obvious.

"Well, I was worried about you, Caleb! You haven't been dating anyone lately, and you seemed… down. And my best friend, she’s amazing, she needed some company, you know? I thought you two would hit it off." She offered a small, hopeful smile, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

Caleb’s demeanor, however, only grew more intense. His athletic frame seemed to thrum with a suppressed energy, his eyes boring into hers with an almost painful scrutiny.

"Worried about me?" he scoffed, a hint of something raw and wounded in his voice. "Do you truly know who I like, pips? Do you really have no idea?"

MC faltered, genuinely confused. "No, Caleb, I don't. You never tell me, remember? You always just say it's 'complicated' or 'not the right time.'"

She shrugged, feeling a prickle of exasperation herself. How was she supposed to know if he kept everything bottled up?

Caleb groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated frustration.

The next moment, he moved, quick as a seasoned athlete. He shifted, pinning her against the cushions of the sofa, his arms caging her, hands braced on either side of her head.

The suddenness of his actions startled her, making her heart leap into her throat. His face was inches from hers, his intense gaze searing into her very soul.

“Why are you so clueless, pips?” His voice was a strained whisper, thick with exasperation and something else, something she couldn't quite name.

“How could you not see it? What do I need to do to make my intentions clear to you? Do I need to write it on a billboard? Paint it across the campus?"

MC stared at him, wide-eyed, her breath catching in her throat. The raw emotion in his voice, the way he looked at her… it clicked.

A dizzying, terrifying realization bloomed in her chest, pushing all other thoughts aside. She barely dared to breathe, the question a fragile whisper on her lips. "You… you like me?"

Caleb didn't answer with words. His eyes dropped from hers, lingering for a heart-stopping moment on her lips, then flickered back up to meet her gaze, burning with a silent, desperate plea.

"What do you think, pips?"

Her mind, still reeling from the sudden onslaught of truth, tried to rationalize, to push it away.

"I… I don't think you'd ever like me," she whispered, her voice cracking. "We've been friends for too long. Since we were kids. You don't... you don't fall for your best friend."

Caleb's grip, which she hadn't realized was so tight on her wrists, softened, his fingers loosening their hold. He leaned in further, resting his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling.

"You are infuriatingly clueless, pips. So infuriatingly naive." His voice was a low, resigned murmur. "I thought I was being clear. So clear. But apparently, I'm not."

And then, he kissed her.

It wasn't a soft, hesitant brush of lips. It was a kiss born of years of unspoken longing, of pent-up frustration and a desperate need to convey everything words couldn't.

It was fierce, demanding, a silent declaration that left no room for doubt. MC was surprised, a gasp catching in her throat, but the shock quickly gave way to a surge of pure, overwhelming emotion.

Her hands, freed from his grip, instinctively moved to cup his face, pulling him closer, kissing him back with a ferocity that matched his own.

The kiss deepened, a passionate make-out session that blurred the edges of reality, erasing everything but the undeniable truth of their intertwined breaths, their hungry mouths.

When they finally pulled away, breathless, the air around them thrumming with raw energy, Caleb’s eyes were still dark with an intense fire.

He carefully pulled her onto his lap, cradling her against his chest, her head resting just beneath his chin.

“So,” he murmured, his voice a little hoarse, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her waist. “Was I able to clearly show my true intentions this time, pipsqueak?”

MC, still flustered and blushing madly, buried her face in his neck, a shy smile gracing her lips.

She felt a lightness in her chest she hadn't realized was missing, a puzzle piece finally slotting into place. She just nodded, unable to form words.

Caleb chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound. He rested his head against hers, then buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent.

"Good," he whispered, the single word filled with an unspoken promise.

surprise. i couldnt leave caleb and mc hanging in the air like that. this time, it's truly the end of this story.

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

sweeping you off your feet for the second time

an : rafayel x nonmc | nonmc is introverted & nonconfrontational | mc is the girl bestie of nonmc | college au | tried to make it fluff but maybe i failed | typed on my phone & non proofread | might be triggering for some - read at your own risk cause its hard to make a label for every single thing | i wrote this cause i wanted to hurt myself

previous bonus

CHAPTER TWELVE

The days at the campus finally settled into a peaceful rhythm.

Rafayel’s old friends—Leah included—were no longer a threat.

The amount of evidence Thomas and Rafayel had gathered against them was too overwhelming, too damning. They were expelled from the university, their academic records tainted, effectively blacklisted from other reputable institutions.

They were forced to transfer to a lesser-known institute, their grand plans for college life shattered. They didn’t dare cross Rafayel anymore; they had learned their lesson, finally realizing, with chilling clarity, that they truly didn’t know the depths of his power, nor his true, formidable nature.

Rafayel, true to his word, did not stop making up for his past mistakes, despite being already forgiven from his initial transgression.

He continued to treat you like a princess, his every action meticulously thoughtful.

He was incredibly attentive, always remembering small details about your preferences, surprising you with quiet acts of affection.

He helped you with your studies, patiently explaining complex concepts, ensuring your comfort. He would even listen, albeit with a theatrical sulk at first, whenever you reminded him to get enough sleep, threatening to get mad and not talk to him if he pushed himself too hard.

His brief pouting would quickly turn into grudging compliance, which always satisfied you.

You, in turn, found yourself naturally doing your part in taking care of him, making sure he ate properly, bringing him his favorite snacks when he was immersed in his art.

Time, in its relentless march, brought new chapters.

MC, with her fierce determination, was able to finish the rest of the subjects needed for her degree in a remarkably short time.

She soon landed a job, her vibrant energy finding a new outlet in the professional world. Rafayel and you, meanwhile, remained in university, diligently working towards your respective degrees.

Then, by accident, the truth of Rafayel’s identity unveiled itself to you.

You were in the library, researching an artist for a paper, when a stray article on a niche art blog mentioned the anonymous sensation known as "Lemurian Prince," showcasing a particular brushstroke, a signature color palette.

Your heart leaped.

It was undeniably Rafayel’s style, a style you had come to know intimately through his work and through the art he had created for you. You cross-referenced details, clicked through more links, and the evidence mounted.

The dates of his major sales, the descriptions of his reclusive nature—it all aligned. Rafayel, the charismatic art student, was also the world-renowned, multi-millionaire artist, the "Lemurian Prince."

You confronted him softly later that day, not with anger, but with a quiet awe.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he chuckled, a hint of sheepishness in his voice, and explained that he simply didn't want the attention. “It’s a pain in the ass, cutie,” he’d shrugged, referring to the fame that came with his artistic persona.

He had let Thomas deal with all the public-facing aspects, allowing the media to speculate wildly, probably leading people to assume that Thomas, his manager, was the actual Lemurian Prince.

Rafayel couldn’t care less, as long as he got to paint and earned well enough to support his quiet university life.

One lazy afternoon, as you basked under the dappled shade of the big oak tree on campus, Rafayel nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

“I want to remain this way forever, cutie,” he whispered, his voice a low, possessive rumble. “I want to keep you in my arms forever.”

You laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound. “But I need to work after we graduate, Rafayel,” you teased, patting his arm.

He simply shrugged, his expression utterly serious. “I’m rich enough for us, cutie. I could fund the next generations without you lifting a finger.”

You pulled back slightly, looking at him. “I wouldn’t like that,” you said softly. “I also want to be my own person. To achieve things for myself.”

He sighed, a slight grumble escaping him. “I know,” he conceded, though clearly unhappy about it. “Then I’d probably have to scare off a lot of men who’d try to get your attention.”

“I don’t need another guy,” you retorted playfully, nudging him. “You’re handful enough.”

He sulked at that, his handsome features twisting into a mock frown. “Why are you even considering getting another guy?” he pouted, the playful jealousy endearing.

You appeased him by kissing his cheeks multiple times, a soft peck on each, then looked into his eyes. “Would you even let me go if I tried?” you asked, a challenge in your voice.

He looked at you, his gaze intense, possessive, yet filled with an undeniable love. “You are stuck with me forever, cutie.”

“Exactly,” you replied, smiling. “So there’s no point to run away from you.”

And the truth was, you wouldn’t want to either.

Because even if things hadn’t been smooth between you at first, even if it started from a stupid, childish, and immature dare, Rafayel had fought his way back into your heart.

He had proven, with every action and every genuine word, that he truly meant what he said—that he truly loved you, and he would always, always show it to you in countless, beautiful ways.

★ 𝓯𝓲𝓷 ★

an : all done. sorry, this was made in a rush while travelling. i needed to get this college au out of my head before i forget about it. if you reached this part - i am thankful that you read through that. story masterlist : love and deepspace

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

sweeping you off your feet for the second time

an : rafayel x nonmc | nonmc is introverted & nonconfrontational | mc is the girl bestie of nonmc | college au | tried to make it fluff but maybe i failed | typed on my phone & non proofread | might be triggering for some - read at your own risk cause its hard to make a label for every single thing | i wrote this cause i wanted to hurt myself

previous next

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MC and Rafayel exchanged a silent conversation, a subtle nod and a flicker of understanding passing between them. MC let out a soft sigh, a quiet exhalation of relief that you didn't quite catch. You were blissfully unaware of "the talk," the deal they’d struck to ensure your safety and academic future.

You all settled into a comfortable rhythm at the cafe, ordering a late lunch. You eagerly recounted the resolution of the cheating scandal, your voice light with genuine relief. “I feel like a free person,” you exclaimed, a happy smile gracing your lips. “My grades won’t be affected, can you believe it?!”

Rafayel, ever the subtle schemer, interjected smoothly. “MC, I’ll be taking cutie out tomorrow night. On a date.”

MC, still with a protective glint in her eyes, but now tinged with a playful softness, raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s my bestie going to wear, Mr. Popular Painter? You better get her something good.”

Rafayel chuckled, a confident, knowing sound. “It’s all been taken care of. She should receive a package at noon tomorrow.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Rafayel! That’s really not necessary.”

He just shrugged, a charming smirk playing on his lips. “You don’t even know the theme, cutie. And I didn’t tell you on purpose, because I wanted to do this for you.”

MC clapped her hands together, a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “Excellent! That’s what I like to hear, Rafayel. Treat her like a princess!”

Rafayel met her gaze, then turned his intense, unwavering eyes to you. “It’s a given, MC. She is my princess. And she always will be.”

You averted your gaze, suddenly finding the remaining fries on your plate incredibly fascinating, a deep blush coloring your cheeks. MC just chuckled, a knowing sound, while Rafayel, completely unashamed of his public affections, continued to pop fries into his mouth.

After your meal, you all walked back to your dorms. Rafayel escorted you and MC to your building, and just before you stepped inside, he took your hand in his, raising it to his lips. He gave your knuckles a soft, princely kiss, his eyes holding yours for a brief, tender moment before he bid you both goodbye.

The next day came, and exactly at noon, a large, beautifully wrapped package arrived at your dorm. MC, who had been impatiently pacing, practically tore it open. Inside, nestled among layers of tissue paper, was the most stunning outfit you had ever seen.

It was called “Dreamy Heart in Love and Deep Space.” The dress was a confection of ethereal beauty, a soft, flowing gown of midnight blue that shimmered with iridescent threads, like scattered stardust.

The bodice was fitted, cinching gently at the waist, adorned with delicate silver embroidery that mimicked constellations. The skirt flowed in layers, catching the light with every movement, creating a graceful, almost weightless silhouette. It was understated elegance, yet utterly breathtaking, accentuating your figure in a way that felt both sophisticated and incredibly flattering.

And the shoes! Strappy, silver heels, with small, shimmering embellishments that echoed the starlight on the dress, completing the celestial theme. It was beautiful.

MC gasped, swooning dramatically. “Oh. My. God. He really went all out! You’re going to look absolutely stunning, bestie!”

You spent the afternoon getting ready, the excitement a nervous flutter in your stomach. MC, ever the expert, helped with your hair, styling it in soft, loose waves that cascaded down your shoulders.

She then insisted on a light, shimmering eyeshadow to complement the celestial theme of the dress, and of course, your trusty soft lip tint. “It’s a crime to cover up that natural beauty,” she’d declared again, satisfied.

By the time you were done, it was just enough time for you to travel to the address Rafayel had given you. As you stepped out of the dorm, a sleek, black car pulled silently into the driveway.

A man, impeccably dressed, exited the driver’s side and greeted you. “Miss, I’m Thomas, Rafayel’s assistant. I’ll be taking you to the art gala.” You nodded, a new wave of nerves washing over you.

The ride was a short fifteen minutes, bringing you to a luxurious, towering building in the heart of the city. Thomas led you to the highest point, where the gala is, then he handed you a mask that suits your dress nicely.

Then standing at the entrance was Rafayel—his clothes matching yours. He offered you his hand, and you took it, your heart thundering in your chest as you took in Rafayel’s appearance.

"You look so mesmerizing," he said as he pressed his lips on the back of your hand, making you blush even more.

You both entered the place, and you noticed that there were no people around. But you figured maybe you were just early, so you didn’t think much of it.

Rafayel showed you his art—his paintings. They were all beautiful, heart-stopping. Each collection was a masterpiece in its own right.

Then he gently led you into another room. He pushed the door open, and your breath caught in your throat.

The room was filled with different pieces—some sculptures, some paintings—but the subject in every single one was the same girl.

Then it hit you: it was you.

You were the inspiration behind everything in this room.

You stood there, stunned, in awe and disbelief.

They were beautiful—more than you could ever imagine.

You never knew this was how Rafayel saw you. Then you felt his fingers gently remove your mask and turn you around to face him—his own mask already gone.

He began to speak. "I didn’t know how else to prove the depth of my feelings, and maybe—just maybe—if I poured everything into art, heart, soul… maybe you’d believe me," he paused and looked deeply into your eyes, "Maybe if you saw yourself the way I did, you’d understand how deeply you had pulled me into your world, how my mind was filled with nothing but you."

You slowly walked around the room, taking in every piece, every expression, every detail of how he captured you—so beautifully, in ways you never imagined.

Some pieces felt intimate—not in a lewd way—but in a way that could only come from someone who truly saw you, someone who cherished even the smallest things. Things only he noticed.

You turned to Rafayel and asked if this was really how he saw you.

And he answered—softly— "You have no idea... even this wasn’t enough. That no amount of art could ever do you justice. All I could do was keep trying."

You knew then that Rafayel’s art never lied. This was where he poured out everything—his emotion, his vulnerability, his soul.

And now, he was showing it to you. This was what he meant when he said he would show you his genuine feelings. And it was up to you whether to accept his heart.

You walked over to him and asked, "But Rafayel... There are so many pieces... Have you even slept?"

Rafayel chuckled, his ears flushing red. "I couldn't sleep even if I tried, cutie. Once I get inspired, I needed to get it out of my head, before I get distracted."

You hadn’t known. You didn’t realize he had been thinking of you like this all along. You were speechless. Honestly, deeply touched.

Then Rafayel took your hand—his slightly trembling—and looked into your eyes with a vulnerability that stole your breath.

“What do you think?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you believe me now? That I’m genuine... that everything I feel for you—it’s real? Every piece here... it’s you. It’s how I see you. How you make me feel.”

You felt your chest tighten. The memories of past hurt flickered in your mind, sharp and raw. But then your gaze drifted around the room—at the art, the effort, the soul he poured into every stroke, every detail—and you saw something else. Redemption. Love. Hope.

You swallowed, your voice trembling as you responded, “I… I didn’t know. I didn’t know you thought of me this way… That you saw me like this. It’s overwhelming, Rafayel. But… it’s beautiful.”

A light flickered in his eyes, but you continued gently, “You hurt me before. And it took a lot to even stand here with you again. But this—what you did, what you created—it touched me in a way I don’t know how to explain.”

You looked back into his eyes, softening. “Maybe I’m ready to forgive. Maybe I’m ready to move forward. But it has to be slow… okay?”

His smile bloomed like sunrise—gentle and full of emotion. “Slow is perfect,” he said, cupping your cheek with a kind of reverence. “I’ll wait for you as long as you need. Just… thank you for not walking away.”

Then he leaned in and kissed you—softly, like a promise. Like a prayer. And you kissed him back, your fingers curling into his shirt, holding on like he might disappear.

He broke the kiss only slightly, his lips brushing yours as he murmured, “God… I’m so relieved. I’ve been scared every single day that I lost you forever. I won’t screw this up, I swear. You mean too much.”

You gave him a faint, teasing smile, eyes still shining with emotion. “You better not screw up again. And stop being a jerk. I’m serious.”

He chuckled softly, resting his forehead against yours. “I promise. But then you better stop making me jealous.”

You laughed, warm and genuine. “Caleb is just a friend. And for the record, he has his heart set on someone else.”

Rafayel squinted at you playfully. “Mhm. I’ll believe it—for now.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said quietly. “Find a place to eat in peace. Just you and me.”

You leaned back, confused for a moment. “Wait... wasn’t this supposed to be a gala? Something you planned?”

He shrugged, sheepish. “It was... for you. Just you. Everything here. The ‘gala’ was a cover.”

You blushed and playfully slapped his arm, telling him he was being too much. He just smiled and said he knew you didn’t like drawing attention.

That’s why he made sure this night was private.

Just between the two of you. And somehow, you understood.

Maybe he didn’t like the attention either. Maybe he just wanted this moment—for both of you—to stay yours.

You told him maybe you should just order something and eat here.

After all, it would be a shame not to enjoy the ambiance and everything he had prepared.

He smiled, and said that sounded like a perfect idea.

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

sweeping you off your feet for the second time

an : rafayel x nonmc | nonmc is introverted & nonconfrontational | mc is the girl bestie of nonmc | college au | tried to make it fluff but maybe i failed | typed on my phone & non proofread | might be triggering for some - read at your own risk cause its hard to make a label for every single thing | i wrote this cause i wanted to hurt myself

previous next

CHAPTER TEN

Leah and her remaining friends, driven by a perverse mix of spite and lingering frustration, found new ways to try and torture you.

They knew better than to directly confront you when Rafayel was around, or to overtly mess with anything that might clearly burden him.

But in the classes you shared, the ones without Rafayel's vigilant presence, they found subtle, insidious ways to humiliate you.

Whispered comments, snickering when you answered a question, deliberately bumping into you in the hallway just to make you drop your books.

You sometimes managed to deflect them, offering a bland smile or a sharp, quiet retort that left them sputtering. You were getting better at it, thanks to MC’s coaching.

But one incident went too far.

During an exam, a crumpled piece of paper with notes, a blatant cheat sheet, was strategically slipped under your desk just as the professor walked by.

You were framed.

Your professor gave you a hard time, his face a mask of disappointment. He was going to give you a sanction, a mark on your record that would severely affect your overall academic standing.

The stress was immense.

It was a suffocating weight, an unfair accusation that threatened to undo all your hard work.

You barely slept, picked at your food, and the easy laughter you’d found with MC started to falter.

MC, perceptive as ever, caught on. She did some digging, asking around, and quickly pieced together what had happened from your classmates, who had witnessed the setup.

MC pulled Rafayel aside, her face thunderous.

She didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You promised to keep her safe, Rafayel!” she hissed, her stern, angry tone cutting through his usual composure. “This is your friends’ doing. Do something about it.”

Rafayel’s face went grim, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

He knew.

He could feel the familiar thrum of possessive rage already building. He simply nodded, his mind already spinning, planning.

MC nodded back, a flicker of satisfaction in her gaze. “Good. I’ll keep her company. You do your thing. And depending on the results, maybe I’ll help you get on her good side – for real this time.”

Rafayel’s lips curved into a chilling smile.

“Don’t back out of that deal once I’m done, MC.” They shook hands, a silent pact forged between them.

MC knew Rafayel was serious about you; his friends were just troublesome pests who needed to learn their lesson.

Days passed, an agonizing stretch of time as you waited for the professor’s decision, the weight of the accusation pressing down on you.

Meanwhile, Rafayel moved behind everyone’s backs, orchestrating his retribution with Thomas’s help.

Thomas, true to his word, had uncovered a lot of dirt on Rafayel’s old friends. Apparently, they had an elaborate scheme where they would steal master copies of exams, complete with answers, and sell them to other students.

With just enough digging, a few well-placed bribes, and some carefully applied pressure, some of the implicated students folded, giving Thomas hard, solid evidence.

A couple of days later, your professor called you into his office. He looked genuinely remorseful.

“I want to apologize, Miss,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “We’ve caught the real culprits. It appears you were framed.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I was disappointed, and I didn’t want to believe it was something you could do, but the evidence at the time… it was convincing.”

You sagged in your chair, a profound sigh of relief escaping your lips. Tears, silent and overwhelming, streamed down your face.

You cried, openly, in front of your professor, the sheer relief washing over you like a tidal wave. He genuinely consoled you, patting your shoulder awkwardly.

“At least the matter is now resolved,” you managed, your voice thick with emotion.

Your professor assured you that it would not affect your standing, not in the slightest. “You should be able to relax now,” he said, his smile kind.

And so, the days went on.

There were murmurs on campus, a growing buzz of whispers and hushed conversations about the cheating scandal. Then, one afternoon, you heard a commotion on the campus grounds.

A crowd had gathered, drawn by raised voices. You saw one of the students, her face contorted in furious betrayal, berating Leah.

“You promised nobody would find out about it!” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face. “Now I’m being called by the school board because of that exam master copy you sold me!”

Leah’s eyes darted around frantically, searching for an escape, for a scapegoat. She couldn’t make any excuse, not with the student’s furious accusations ringing in the air.

And then, her eyes landed on you, standing at the edge of the crowd, an innocent bystander. Her eyes widened, a desperate, malicious plan forming in her mind.

“She’s the mastermind!” Leah screamed, pointing a trembling finger at you. “She planned it all! She made me sell the copies, she framed me!”

But before she could continue, Rafayel was there.

He materialized through the crowd, a blur of controlled anger, and pulled you behind him, shielding you completely.

His voice, dangerously low, cut through the commotion. “Don’t you dare, Leah. Don’t you dare drag her into your mess.”

Leah looked at him, her face pleading, tear-streaked. “Rafayel, help me! Please!”

He only looked at her with utter disgust, his gaze cold and devoid of any warmth. “Face the consequences of your actions, Leah.”

Then, without another word, he gently but firmly dragged you away from the stunned crowd, leading you away from the chaos and towards one of the art studios he frequented most often.

The quiet hum of the studio, filled with the comforting scent of paint, was a welcome relief. You sank onto one of the stools, your mind still reeling, trying to piece everything together.

Rafayel picked up a paintbrush, his movements fluid, almost meditative, as if he were trying to calm his own simmering anger.

“You can ask me questions, cutie,” he said, his voice soft, inviting.

“You… you knew what was going on?” you asked, your voice still shaky.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the canvas, though he wasn’t painting.

“Yes. I happened to find out what they had been doing. And I reported it to the right people.”

“Why?” you asked, a tentative hope flickering in your chest.

He finally turned to you, his eyes serious, intense.

“They tried to frame you, cutie. They stressed you out unnecessarily and made you almost lose the hard work you’ve been putting into your studies.”

He walked closer, stopping directly in front of you, his large frame caging you gently against the stool.

His voice dropped to a soft, tender whisper, reminding you, “I promised that I wouldn’t let you get hurt by anyone again, remember?”

You looked up at him, a faint, almost involuntary smile touching your lips, a ripple of your old teasing nature resurfacing despite everything.

“You’re the first one who hurt me,” you said, jokingly, but with an underlying truth. “So how should I protect myself from you?”

Rafayel’s face transformed.

The intensity in his eyes remained, but it was now laced with a profound guilt, a pained expression that tore at your heart.

He reached out, his hand gently cupping your jaw. “I am so sorry for that, cutie,” he murmured, his thumb stroking your skin.

“I will regret putting you in that position for the rest of my life.” He paused, his gaze softening, then intensified again. “But I’m not sorry for that chance to really see you. To realize what you meant to me.”

“You’re a jerk,” you stated, but your voice was soft, devoid of real anger.

He nodded, a wry, self-deprecating smile on his lips. “I am. A complete jerk.” His eyes, however, held a fierce, unyielding resolve. “But I’m also not one who would let someone go. And I would do everything in my power to keep you.”

His words struck a chord. You remembered Caleb saying almost the exact same thing about himself.

“Why can’t you let me go?” you asked, your voice tinged with genuine confusion and a hint of self-deprecation. “I’m just a nobody. A plain girl who only likes to read books and study. I’m not like you. I don’t know if I could ever fit in your world.”

Rafayel stepped closer, his body effortlessly caging you between him and the desk behind you. He leaned in, his voice a low, passionate murmur.

“You, cutie,” he breathed, his gaze raking over your face, then dipping to your lips, “are like an inspiration to my art. Except… you are the kind of inspiration that I will never get tired of painting or capturing. Maybe even calling you art would be an insult to you, but I’d still try and capture you in every possible way.”

You were taken by surprise, your breath hitched in your throat.

His eyes were so sincere, so utterly consumed with what he was saying, that you almost believed him completely.

And truth be told, Rafayel had been keeping his promises ever since that night. He had completely stopped hanging out with his old friends, severing ties without hesitation.

He was incredibly attentive to you, always there, always observing, always anticipating your needs. He had even developed some sort of gruff, yet genuine, friendship with MC.

And now, he had taken care of your problems, avenging your humiliation and saving your academic standing, even when you hadn’t asked him to.

A conflicting surge of fear and hope warred within you.

You knew that being with Rafayel again would possibly hurt you, just like before. He was intense, possessive, and had a dark, dangerous side.

But then, you looked at his earnest, almost pleading eyes, and you knew you didn’t want to regret anything.

Rafayel spoke again, his voice pulling you from your thoughts.

“I want to show you, cutie, just how much you mean to me.” He paused, his eyes gleaming with a newfound excitement.

“My first art gala is tomorrow. At 7 PM. I want you there. I want you to be my date.”

You nodded, a small, shy smile forming. “Okay. I’ll go.”

He grinned, a truly dazzling smile that made your heart skip.

“I’ll send you the details tomorrow. And I hope, cutie,” his voice softened, filled with a raw sincerity, “I hope you’d accept my genuine feelings after I show it to you.”

“I’ll try,” you said, meeting his gaze, but adding a condition. “Only if you promise to take things slow.”

His relief was palpable. His smile widened, and he leaned in closer.

“I promise,” he whispered, already happy, already satisfied that you had even said you’d try. He stared at your lips for a long, longing moment, his eyes dark with unspoken desire. But then, he tore his gaze away, a visible act of restraint.

Instead, he kissed your forehead lovingly, pulling you into a warm, tight embrace. He mumbled a genuine, heartfelt thank you into your hair, inhaling your scent as if he were trying to engrain it into his very memory.

He pulled away, finally, his eyes still soft. “Do you want to eat something?”

You nodded and gave him a cheeky smile, told him that it's time to find MC because she'd surely sulk if you ate without her.