#3-layer drawer

[tsaseo]

DESKTOP DRAWER -3S

[chainsawmanicure]

WARNUNG: ARKHAM SHADOW SCARECROW BUT GOT NO CLOTHS ON! (is censored)

This is my personal take on what Dr Freak looks like no clothes on in Arkham Shadow. i shouldve given him some more scars but honestly i need practice with drawing those… my personal headcanon is that he has very light body hair, like probs could not grow much of a beard

this isnt meant to be sexual by the way. My goal was to draw his body and then the clothes on top but instead of clothes i gave him a little hair. there is nothing under the censor i promise….

[bmpmp3]

[unisoninteriors]

How to Safeguard Your Home Interiors During Flood Situations?

Floods can wreak havoc on homes, especially when it comes to interiors. Furniture, cabinets, and fixtures are often the first casualties, leading to significant damage and costly repairs. However, with thoughtful planning and the right materials, you can design interiors that are resilient to water damage. Here are expert recommendations to protect and rescue your home interiors in flood-prone areas.

1. Use 0.8 Density Boards for Inner Cabinet Sections

The inner portions of cabinets are often the most susceptible to water damage due to their porous nature. Opting for boards with a density of 0.8 ensures better resistance against swelling and warping. These boards are less likely to absorb water, maintaining their structural integrity even during prolonged exposure to moisture.

2. Protect Doors and Exposed Sides with 3-Layer WPC Color Boards

Doors and exposed cabinet sides are frequently in contact with water during floods. Using 3-layer WPC (Wood Plastic Composite) color boards offers excellent water resistance. These boards are not only durable but also aesthetically pleasing, ensuring that your interiors remain stylish and functional even in challenging conditions.

3. Opt for Stainless Steel 304-Grade Hardware and Accessories

Floodwater can cause regular metal fittings and accessories to corrode or rust. Investing in stainless steel hardware of 304-grade ensures long-term durability and resistance to rust, even in high-moisture environments. This type of hardware is ideal for hinges, handles, and drawer slides, offering reliability and longevity.

4. Fully Factory-Built Interiors for Precision and Sealing

Factory-built interiors are crafted under controlled conditions, ensuring precision and tight seals that can withstand water exposure. Unlike on-site installations, factory-made products are less prone to gaps and inconsistencies, providing better protection against water ingress.

5. Focus on Resilience Over Cosmetic Flaws

In flood-prone areas, it’s important to prioritize resilience over minor cosmetic imperfections like scratches or external strokes. By choosing materials and finishes designed to endure harsh conditions, you can safeguard up to 80% of your home interiors, minimizing losses during floods.

6. Use Elevated Furniture Designs

Opt for furniture with elevated designs that keep the base off the floor. Raised legs made of waterproof materials like metal or treated wood can protect your furniture from direct contact with water during floods.

7. Seal Wall and Floor Joints

Water often seeps through joints between walls and floors. Properly sealing these joints with waterproof sealants can reduce the risk of water ingress and damage to interiors.

8. Choose Water-Resistant Flooring Materials

Opt for flooring materials such as vitrified tiles, natural stone, or treated hardwood, which are more resistant to water damage. Avoid carpets or untreated wooden floors in flood-prone areas as they can absorb moisture and deteriorate quickly.

9. Install Water-Resistant Wall Cladding

Using water-resistant cladding materials like PVC panels or treated wood can protect your walls from moisture damage. These materials are easy to clean and maintain, even after exposure to floodwaters.

10. Incorporate Modular Furniture

Modular furniture, crafted with water-resistant materials, can be easily moved or lifted during flooding. These designs are not only practical but also add flexibility to your interior layout.

11. Use Waterproof Paints and Finishes

Applying waterproof paints and finishes to walls and furniture can create an additional layer of protection against water damage. These coatings can help prevent swelling, peeling, and discoloration caused by prolonged exposure to moisture.

12. Invest in Floating Shelves and Wall-Mounted Units

Floating shelves and wall-mounted cabinets keep valuables and essentials above potential flood levels. These features ensure that important items remain safe and accessible during flood situations.

13. Reinforce Baseboards and Skirting with Waterproof Materials

Floodwater often damages baseboards and skirting, leading to costly repairs. Reinforcing these areas with waterproof materials like PVC or treated wood can significantly reduce the impact of water exposure.

14. Choose Compact and Minimalist Designs

Compact and minimalist furniture designs are easier to move and protect during floods. This approach also reduces the number of items susceptible to damage, making cleanup and recovery quicker and more efficient.

15. Install Built-In Storage with Raised Bases

Built-in storage solutions, such as wardrobes and cabinets with raised bases, keep contents above flood levels. Elevated designs provide added security for stored items, minimizing damage to valuables.

Final Thoughts

Flood-resistant interiors are not just about damage control; they’re about peace of mind. By incorporating these strategies and materials into your home design, you can significantly reduce the impact of floods on your living space. Preparing for the unexpected is the key to ensuring your home remains a sanctuary, no matter the weather.

For more expert advice and solutions tailored to your needs, reach out to professional interior designers who specialize in resilient home designs

[xyywrites]

The Power of Silence in Dialogue

We often think of dialogue as something that’s just about what characters say, but let’s talk about what they don’t say. Silence can be one of the most powerful tools in your writing toolbox. Here’s why:

1. The Unspoken Tension

When characters leave things unsaid, it adds layers to their interactions. Silence can create a tension that’s so thick you could cut it with a knife. It shows things are happening beneath the surface—the real conversation is happening in what’s left unspoken.

Example:

“So, you’re leaving, huh?” He didn’t look up from the table, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, slow and deliberate. “Yeah.” “Guess I should’ve expected this.” (Silence.) “You’re not mad?” “I’m not mad,” she said, but the way her voice broke was louder than anything she'd said all night.

2. Building Anticipation or Drama

Sometimes silence can heighten the drama, creating a pause where the reader feels like something big is about to happen. You don’t always need words to convey that sense of dread or anticipation.

Example:

They stood there, side by side, staring at the door that had just closed behind him. “You should’ve stopped him.” She didn’t answer. “You should’ve said something.” The room felt colder. “I couldn’t.” (Silence.)

3. Creating Emotional Impact

Sometimes, saying nothing can have the biggest emotional punch. Silence gives the reader a chance to interpret the scene, to sit with the feelings that aren’t being voiced.

Example:

He opened the letter and read it. And then, without saying a word, he folded it back up and placed it in the drawer. His fingers lingered on the wood for a long time before he closed it slowly, too slowly. “Are you okay?” He didn’t answer.

TL;DR

Silence isn’t just a pause between dialogue—it’s a powerful tool for deepening emotional tension, building anticipation, and revealing character. Next time you write a scene, ask yourself: what isn’t being said? And how can that silence say more than the words ever could?

[clawsdevour]

pervy

wc: 0.5k content warning: post-timeskip, established relationship, suna x reader, smut, masturbation, not proofread.. pervy suna is the vision :3

့✿⠀ —

suna's not one to admit, unless caught red handed, that he is one heck of a pervert.

ever since you two started dating, you can't help but notice his eyes staring at you through the mirror whenever you changed in his bathroom. testing this theory, you always left a little visible crack to see if he'd be right behind the wooden border that divided the two rooms.

it was no coincidence either whenever you open your drawer to grab a new pair of undies or a bra to put on and see them out of order.. what a perv. always, you can't help but set up these "traps" to catch suna in the act. though, you haven't caught him fully in the act, just slightly.

a few days ago you slept over, and maybe left all your dirty clothes at his place to which he'd do the laundry for. heading over, you thought it'd be nice to help suna with the laundry since you should probably also take your stranded pieces of clothing home as well instead of just leaving it somewhere at his place.

whenever you came over, you never bothered to message him since you have his location. a tap away, is how you'll know suna's home, and of course he was.

using the spare key he gave you, you quietly turn the knob to do a sneak attack to surprise him. though, walking in, it was pitch silent. not a word, a sound. the lights were all off. you're thinking to yourself, something's weird, maybe he's still asleep since it's still early?

dropping your stuff on the couch, you walk to suna's room. at the door is when your ears start to pick up on something. though, it wasn't very audible. pressing your ear on the cold door, squeezing your eyes shut trying to focus on the sound.

okay well.. suna's definitely awake right?

biting your lip as you focused even harder, suna's groaning... and calling out for you? was he having a nightmare?

well shit, i gotta do something if he's having a nightmare.

putting a hand on his doorknob, you slowly and quietly twisted it to ensure he was napping. however, he wasn't… well, suna was rather engrossed in his own little hobby that made all the noise.

the moment you saw was the moment the door squeaked and caught suna's attention. making eye contacted as you both your eyes widened in shock, you slam the door shut behind you while your cheeks flush a vibrant shade of pink.

there you go, you just caught suna in his perverted acts. you saw him sitting on his bed using your panties from the other night to help get him off. his t-shirt was held up using his teeth while he skillfully thrusted his cock up and down his grip that surrounded your panties that were damp with his essence.

his brows were so furrowed at the thought of you, pretending his hand was your warm and tight cunt that wrapped around his length. a sheen layer of sweat covered the top of his forehead while it creased to the of pleasure spread upon his skin. his slender eyes were shut so tight the moment he was about to reach his climax till he heard the door squeak open.

maybe you should help suna out.

masterlist here

[cursedyuri]

a blurb in which ellie’s a sex shop worker you’re becoming very, very well-acquainted with <3

18+ mdni! shoo!

you’re on the verge of what would be your most earth-shattering orgasm to date when your vibrator betrays you.

your naked body, painted with a thin layer of sweat, sprawls over the wrinkled sheets of your bed, the damp fabric clinging to your skin as you gasp for breath. you’re working the vibrator over your slick folds, through the creamy spend of your previous orgasm, and every sensation below your waist is pure ecstasy. it hasn’t taken long to bring you right back to the edge - your back arches of its own accord, your eyes squeezing shut as a flurry of daydreams passes through your head.

all of them, it turns out, involve the very person who’d sold you the vibrator buzzing between your legs. ellie.

her hands on your hips, your ass, your throat. her mouth on your neck, her tongue on your clit. you can almost feel the warm puffs of breath she’d huff down at you as she fucked you, splitting you open with her strap and leaving you empty-headed and spent.

the mental images alone are enough to send you reeling, and right as you’re about to pass the threshold into the white-hot, blinding pleasure of another orgasm, the persistent hum of your vibrator abruptly cuts off.

you could throw up. you could cry. you could exercise sound logic and just charge the damn thing, but instead of any of the above, you find yourself rummaging through your drawers for whatever clothes you can find. sweats and a band tee, a mismatched pair of socks. nothing else.

ellie’s behind the counter again when you pull the door open. the shrill chirp of the entrance sensors draws her eyes to you, and you’re unsurprised to find her smoking a cigarette, body huddled over the edge of the counter. her brows lift in surprise when she sees you.

“back already?” she asks, putting out her cig leisurely. “must’ve gone really well. or maybe really poorly?“

you don’t miss the way her eyes roam over your figure, lingering on your chest; you’re not wearing a bra, and the peaks of your nipples are visible beneath the thin fabric. your back straightens.

“it died.”

“oh,” ellie says. “did you… charge it?”

“no, i wanted to—i thought maybe i could try something else.” you chew at your lower lip, casting a glance at the wall of toys from which ellie had plucked your vibrating bullet the first time you’d come here. you turn back to ellie just in time to see something dark glimmer in her eyes. she nods.

“yeah, of course. think you’re ready for something more intense? c’mon.” she nods her head towards the toy section, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulder. you follow her and watch as she surveys the wall of toys, the sheer volume of packages just as overwhelming as last time. ellie reaches out for a hot pink box, shiny lettering spelling out Boss Lady across the top. you grimace.

“what kind of name is that for a sex toy?” you quip, reaching for the package. ellie snatches it out of reach.

“ah-ah, sweetheart, don’t doubt the Boss Lady. she packs quite the punch.”

“really, now?” you ask, cocking a brow. “you know from experience?”

ellie just smiles, dimples in her cheeks. “if the name is just too cringy for you, we can find something else. but i recommend her—i think you’ll have lots of fun with her.”

“okay, fine. you pulled my leg.” you reach for the box again, and ellie lets you grab it this time, her gaze on you as you flip the package over and read through some of the metallic pink text adorning the back. the only rabbit vibrator you’ll ever need, it reads. powerful dual stimulation will keep you satisfied!

it occurs to you then, as you follow ellie to the register and dig in your pockets for some cash, that you should probably be embarrassed. here you are, a week after your first ever vibrator purchase, ready to fork over some hard-earned cash for a second one—one with a questionable name, no less. your cheeks warm as ellie regards you from the other side of the register, the heels of her hands pressed to the counter. there’s a knowing look on her face, her lips curled into the faintest hint of a smirk, that dark look from earlier still dancing in her eyes.

god, she probably thinks you’re a sex addict. she totally thinks you’re a sex addict.

“is it weird that i’m back so soon?” you ask, before you can think to filter yourself. ellie’s brows knit together in confusion.

“huh? no, no, not at all—we have plenty of regulars, you know.” she types something into the register, eyes still fixed on you. “i’d say it’s weirder that you’re here at two in the morning.”

you blink. “two?”

“two twenty-one, to be precise.” ellie nods at the clock on the wall, the hour, minute, and second hands made of three different flesh-toned penis cutouts. “but hey, i get it. your vibrator died.”

you clear your throat. “how much do i owe you?”

“hm. well…” ellie drums her fingers on the cash wrap’s countertop. “i’m feeling generous tonight. answer one question for me, and Boss Lady is yours for free.”

“i’m awful at trivia,” you confess.

“trivia? jesus.” ellie barks a surprised laugh. “i’m not—it’s not trivia.”

narrowing your eyes, you shuffle up to the counter and nod. “okay, fine. ask away.”

ellie moves in closer, too, head dipping ever so slightly to allow her to peer down at you. it takes everything in you to keep your eyes from lingering over her frame and drinking in every inch of her: the bold lines of her forearm tattoo, the burn-holes in the collar of her shirt, the faint kiss of freckles on the bridge of her nose. but while you attempt to reign in your wandering gaze, ellie doesn’t hold back. she takes her time looking you over. bites the plush, pink swell of her lower lip.

then: “what were you thinking about?”

“huh?”

“earlier, when you were touching yourself. before the vibrator died. what were you thinking about?”

“that’s your question?” you chew on the inside of your cheek. embarrassment roils in your stomach; she has to know that, while your body writhed in the center of your mattress, cunt twitching and gushing, you’d been thinking of her.

ellie smirks. “you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to.”

“no, it’s… it’s okay,” you murmur. your palms are clammy and you force your gaze to Boss Lady, waiting patiently on the counter for her chance to help you see god. “i was thinking about, um… you, actually.”

you’re still staring at the gaudy pink package on the counter, hands squeezed into fists at your side. you can feel the half-moon indents of your nails digging into your palms, and just as the silence stretches a bit too long for your comfort, ellie laughs.

it’s a wicked thing, a biting sound. all self-satisfaction and enthrallment. you dare to steal a glance at her, and she’s grinning like a maniac, her cheeks tinged the prettiest shade of red.

“can i tell you something?” she asks, stuffing a hand into her pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. her fingers glide over the cash register, clicking at a few buttons, and she slides the money into each respective slot before pushing the drawer closed with a satisfying click. “i’ve been touching myself to the thought of you, too.”

mouth going dry, you gawk at ellie like she’s got four heads; she simply beams at you like she didn’t just admit that she’s thought about you with her hand between her legs. she leans over the counter, one strong hand reaching towards you to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“you seem nervous,” she says.

“i’m—i don’t…” you trail off, cheeks positively flaming.

“tell you what,” ellie begins, retracting her hand. she moves back from the counter and crosses her arms over her chest. your eyes flicker over the whorls of ink that decorate her skin, biceps flexed just so; your cunt throbs. “you can go now, if you want. i won’t stop you.”

“or,” she says, voice dipping low, husky, “you can lock that front door, and i can show you how much fun you can have with your new toy.”

she reaches a hand out and taps the box for emphasis, and you’re struck by how at ease she seems. how comfortable she is with your mutual attraction and the opportunity to act on it. it lights a fire in you, one that engulfs every last trace of doubt.

you lock the front door, of course.

[fairyhaos]

◇ the way you make me feel // choi seungcheol

seungcheol x gn!reader, 2.6k+ words

tags: requested by anon, established relationship, fluff, mild angst, seungcheol is sooo down bad oh lawwd

warnings: pet names, 1 vvv mild curse word ig?? (ass)

notes: any fic where i get to write besotted cheol is a great fic! might be slightly ooc but oh well. who cares. ty anon for this request <3

“I'm going to be very honest, honey… this feels like a sleeping arrangement for a couple that's just had an argument.”

You laugh a little at the mild pout on your boyfriend's face as he stares contemplatively at the bed after you've suggested a rather… interesting sleep method that he's never really heard of before. 

“It's really not,” you assure him. “Other couples do this all the time! And I thought it would be fun to try out too.”

Your boyfriend, Seungcheol, blinks at the bed before looking over at you, mystified. 

“Really? People want to do this?”

“Yes, Cheol.”

“Hm.” Seungcheol frowns. “What did you say this was called again?”

“The Scandinavian Sleep Method,” you say cheerfully, hopping over to the drawers with all the different duvets and duvet covers that you and your boyfriend have collected over the years you've been living together. “Isn't it such a great idea? We sleep in the same bed, but we each have a different duvet so we get better sleep but still get to be next to each other.”

You begin pulling out different duvets, inspecting them and continuing to chatter as you do so. 

“I know how much you love weighted blankets, but you know they're not something I'm a big fan of,” you say. “And you really hate my fluffy covers, for some reason. But if we sleep this way, then both of us can sleep happily without causing disturbance to the other's sleep quality!”

With a flourish, you turn back round to Seungcheol, the offending weighted blanket and fluffy cover in your hands, as if emphasising your point. There's a bright beam on your face, evidently eager to try out this new idea, but Seungcheol? 

He's still looking a bit hesitant. 

Which, understandable. You're introducing a new sleeping arrangement three years after you've been quite happily living together. Anyone would find that weird. 

“If we don't like it, we can switch back,” you assure him. You shrug. “It's just a trend I saw online, Cheol. I thought it would be cool.”

Seungcheol pauses, and then smiles, nodding once. “Fine, fine. Let's try out, then. We'll see if the Scandinavians actually sleep well.”

You cheer, dropping the bedding and skipping across the room to launch yourself into Seungcheol’s arms. He catches you easily, laughing as he does so, amused at how delighted you are by his acceptance. 

“Yes! I love you. Now I get to make the bed all aesthetic with different layered sheets!”

Seungcheol laughs again. “All right, sweetheart. Tell me if you need more sheets to fit in with your vision, okay? I'll buy you whatever you need.”

“Oh my god, suddenly I love you even more.”

───────────── 🗝

Admittedly, Seungcheol does love hearing you say that you, the absolute love of his life, love him (and any self-respecting boyfriend would feel the same), but he's wondering if this entire thing is really, really all that worth it. 

Because, well. 

Seungcheol hates the Scandinavian Sleep Method. 

He harbours no hatred towards the Scandinavians themselves, of course, but their sleep method, for him, well and truly sucks. 

Of course, he can understand why people like it. There are aspects he doesn't mind, too: such as how it's currently way less likely for him to wake up at 4am with a cold ass because you've stolen half the covers from him again. Or how he doesn't have to worry about the fluffy, fuzzy feeling of your sheets pressing creepily soft kisses against his ankles. Or how he can now actually sleep peacefully without finding that he's been suffocated by your weight on his chest because now, you actually sleep on your side of the bed. 

Nevertheless, he hates this. 

Unfortunately, he can't bring himself to say anything about this, because—

“I seriously think my quality of sleep has improved so much,” you say to Seungcheol one Sunday morning, beaming over your cup of coffee as he makes breakfast waffles for you. “The Scandinavians really know what they're talking about, huh?”

And your eyes are bright, sparkling as you say this, so full of life even though it's nine in the morning on a Sunday. 

So Seungcheol smiles back, happy purely because you're happy, even though if you really pressed him, he'd admit that he's not really happy at all. 

“I guess they do,” he says, turning back to the waffles. “Do you want honey with the waffles? Or the new maple syrup I bought you?”

“Ooh, maple syrup, please!”

And then Seungcheol had done all sorts of fancy tricks with the bottle of maple syrup, and you had clapped your hands and laughed, delighted, and Seungcheol felt a little better, the weight of his guilt that he didn't share your opinion beginning to lighten. 

There's no real big reason why he hates this sleeping arrangement. Sure, it stops all your bad sleeping habits, but, truthfully, he… misses all those things. 

He misses waking up to you all huddled up in the blankets, looking all small and adorable whilst swathed in the thick fabric. He misses cuddling you close and entangling his legs with yours in order to escape from the weird fluffy texture of your sheets. He misses feeling the comforting weight of you asleep against his chest, warm and secure like the physical manifestation of his soul, safely tucked against his side. 

Now, you simply smile at him, face shiny and soft from your skincare routine, and give him a peck on the cheek goodnight before snuggling under your duvet, away from him, in your own little bubble of comfort. 

Without him. 

It makes him feel like an abandoned dog left in the rain outside of his owner's home. 

Excuse him for being dramatic, but he's literally slept with you curled up in his arms for a very, very long time now. And these days, now that you're no longer with him and are miles away on the other half of the bed, he can't fall asleep by himself. 

Withdrawal symptoms from cuddling must be a thing, because he's going through them right now. 

“Just talk about how you feel, then,” is what any sane person would say about this matter, which is very good, very sound, advice. 

However, it's also what Joshua says to Seungcheol when he complains to him about the new sleeping arrangement, and everyone knows Joshua is the least sane person in existence, so Seungcheol decides to ignore his advice. 

Joshua rolls his eyes, used to but not pleased by Seungcheol's stubbornness. 

“You're being silly,” he says, when Seungcheol vetoes his suggestion. “This is obviously impacting your sleep quality in a negative way, which is the exact opposite of what Y/N was hoping for.”

“But Y/N seems to be sleeping better,” Seungcheol argues. He rubs his eyes, and the world spins a little as he does so. “So I probably shouldn't say anything, right?”

“No, you should say something,” Joshua says firmly. “What do you think Y/N will do when it becomes obvious that this new arrangement is actively harming you, and yet you didn't say anything? Hell, if I found out my boyfriend wasn't telling me that kind of stuff, I'd get really mad.”

Seungcheol frowns. “What? Why?”

“Because you're my boyfriend?” Joshua says. “Uh—not actually mine, obviously. But that's how Y/N would feel. You need to communicate your feelings. That's what couples do.”

Joshua takes a sip of his tea, spinning around in Seungcheol's desk chair in his study whilst Seungcheol, the owner of the chair, is currently exiled to the small wooden stool beside it. 

“Just think about how you'd feel if you were in Y/N's shoes. How would you feel if your partner wasn't telling you that they're sleeping badly and feeling increasingly more terrible throughout the weeks because of something that could be easily fixed by them talking it out with you?”

And oh, now Seungcheol understands. Now it makes more sense. He'd want you to communicate your feelings immediately. 

Joshua must see the revelation on Seungcheol's face, because he snorts smugly. “I knew you'd get there in the end.”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol grumbles, and Joshua mocks him for how ridiculously macho-man he was being before. “I'll talk to Y/N about this tonight.”

“Well done,” Joshua says amusedly, spinning around in Seungcheol's chair so fast that its joints, even as expensive and well-oiled as they are, begin to groan in surprise. “I'm so proud of you.” 

 “Shut up,” Seungcheol says again, and Joshua laughs. “And get off my chair.”

“Hmph! You're so mean. I bought this chair for you, you know.”

“No, you didn't.”

“No, I didn't. But you believed me for a second, didn't you?”

“Definitely not. Now get out of my house before Y/N gets home.”

───────────── 🗝

It's one of those very, very rare days where you finish work later than Seungcheol, and so when you unlock the front door and finally make it inside, you're more than ready to just fall into your boyfriend's arms. 

Except, the entire ground floor of your house is dark when you get home.

“Where is he?” you say to yourself, mystified. “Cheol? Where are you?”

“In our room!” he calls back from upstairs, and you take off your coat and shoes, dumping your bag by the doorway and bounding up the stairs two at a time to get to your boyfriend. 

“Seungcheol! Why were the hallway lights off? Have you eaten dinner yet? What's— wait, what are you doing?”

In the middle of your bed, right over where the two halves of your bedding meet, Seungcheol is sprawled out in an upside down starfish shape, staring up at you balefully as you walk into the room, and you laugh a little at the state your boyfriend is in. 

“Hello,” you say amusedly. “You look like you're sulking.”

Seungcheol just continues to blink up at you like a displeased cat. 

You laugh again, bending down and kissing him on the forehead. “Definitely sulking, I see. What's wrong, baby? What happened?”

There's a long moment where Seungcheol doesn't say anything, and you continue to smile down at him, petting his hair fondly. And then, he frowns, and speaks. 

“What do you think of our bed?”

You look over at the head of the bed, scanning it briefly. “I think it looks fine.”

It's apparently the wrong thing to say, because Seungcheol frowns harder. 

“Why? Do you not like it?”

“I don't like it,” Seungcheol says, and sits up, turning around to face you. “I don't like this sleeping arrangement.”

You tilt your head. “Oh? I thought you didn't mind the Scandinavian Sleep Method.”

Seungcheol sighs. “I lied,” he admits. “I actually hate it so much. It's the worst thing in the entire world.”

Your face softens in worry, feeling something thick and bitter rising to your throat at the idea that you've been forcing Seungcheol to go through with something he hates. 

“I'm sorry,” you say sincerely, sitting down beside him on the bed. “I didn't realise. You should've said something, Cheol. I would've changed back in an instant.”

Seungcheol, for how big and manly and good at acting as your guard dog he is, still always melts under your touch, and the moment you wrap your arms around his neck, he softens into your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. 

“Would you really?” he asks, muffled into your blazer, and you belatedly realise that you're still in your work clothes. You haven't even washed your hands. 

“Of course I would,” you say in your best don't be silly voice. “I don't want you to be feeling bad.”

His hands wrap around your waist, warm and comforting and he pulls you in closer, hugging you even tighter. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I feel like I'm being stupid. This isn't even anything big. It just… makes me feel really terrible, and I don't know why.”

“Hey, that's totally okay,” you say placatingly, threading your fingers through his hair and patting him consolingly on the back. “I told you we didn't have to carry on with this, baby. I said we could switch back whenever we wanted to.”

He squeezes you tighter, arms wrapping more securely around you. “I still feel bad. You liked this sleeping method.”

You laugh softly, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Yes, but not as much as I like you.”

If possible, he seems to melt even further into you at those words, and you smile, adoring how clearly he adores you. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” you say affectionately, kissing Seungcheol's ear before untangling yourself from his embrace. “Let's start remaking the bed then, hm?”

You pull away from his arms, and Seungcheol is staring at you with big eyes, irises all melty soft. And then he nods, smiling slightly, looking like a pleased puppy as he gets off the bed and begins helping you take the covers off the duvets. 

───────────── 🗝

It's unusual for Seungcheol to be so shy like this—normally, he's the one telling you to be more outspoken, more confident, so it's a nice change. You quite like being able to reassure him, gently tell him what to do, praise him and shower him with love in the way that he always does with you. 

“So why did you hate the Scandinavian Sleep Method?” you ask him a bit later as the two of you sit in front of the washing machine, watching it spin your bedding round and round. Seungcheol had insisted that you wash all of it right away, because otherwise the two of you were bound to put it off for a whole month. 

Your boyfriend shrugs. He watches the bedding get spun in circles again and again and again. 

And then, he finally looks at you, clad in your classic two-piece cotton pyjamas, hair all a mess, your face softened and natural now that you've washed up for the night, all ready to go to bed. 

You look so pretty like this, so open and comforting and god, Seungcheol had missed you. 

Even though he sees you every day. But that's whatever. He's missed being this close with you at night, in this kind of domestic setting, where it's just the two of you pressed close together in your house as the rest of the world sleeps. 

“That sleeping arrangement…” he begins quietly, and you look up. 

“Hm?”

Seungcheol holds your gaze very seriously as he continues. “It didn't let me hug you.”

You blink. “What?”

“It didn't let me hug you,” he repeats, as serious as ever, and you want to laugh in fondness because it really is that serious for him. “I couldn't cuddle you to sleep. I hated that.”

“Oh,” you say, positively melting away at his reason, so unbelievably in love with him that your heart is goo in your chest. “That's so sweet, Cheol, oh my god.”

You lean over and pinch his cheek, cooing over him, and he bats your hand away with a groan, smiling. 

“Go away,” he grumbles, but it's so full of warmth that the words carry no weight whatsoever.

“But then you can't cuddle me in your sleep,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly. “Unless… you don't wanna cuddle me any more?” 

You gasp dramatically, leaning away from him for full effect, and then yelp when he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his side, preventing you from moving away. 

“Don't say silly things like that,” he reprimands teasingly, laughter tinging the ends of his words. He kisses your shoulder. “Of course I want to cuddle you. It's the only thing I'll be doing every night from now on.”

“That's awfully cheesy,” you point out. “Sap.”

“It's all your fault.”

“Huh, I suppose it is,” you say proudly, snuggling into your boyfriend. “Glad to know I have such an effect on you.”

Seungcheol sighs, fond, and kisses your shoulder once again. “Oh, if only you knew.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa  @weird-bookworm  @minhui896  @slytherinshua  @haowrld  @belladaises  @moonlitskiiies  @mirxzii  @zozojella  @kawennote09  @a-wandering-stay  @abibliolife  @wonranghaeee  @icyminghao  @sweet-like-caramel  @your-yxnnie  @odxrilove  @kyeomyun  @crackedpumpkin  @kellesvt  @eightlightstar  @onlyyjeonghan  @aaniag  @starshuas  @raevyng  @isabellah29  @hrts4hanniehae  @mcu-incorrect  @dokyeomkyeom  @suraandsugar  @tulsa24  @melodicrabbit  @dokyeomkyeom  @hopeless-foolery @aaa-sia

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ newfangled technology ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ logan finds your vibrator and discovers a wonder of modern technology┊1k words

contains: smut!! dom logan & sub reader┊implied age gap, established relationship, vibrators, overstimulation & mentioned multiple orgasms, receiving oral

➤ author's note: first logan smut!! i’m a bit burnt out of writing it actually so idk if there will be more, but i couldn’t let this idea go <3

logan likes to believe that he understands modern technology for the most part even though you can often hear him muttering curses under his breath at the stupid machine that isn’t working. if most parents and grandparents are struggling to figure it all out, you can bet that this two-hundred-year-old mutant does. it feels like yesterday when people were using rotary phones in their homes, then hand-held flip-phones, and now smartphones that could show you anything you could dream of at the tap of a button— he feels as though the world is growing much faster than an old man like him can keep up with too many gadgets for too many different purposes getting too many upgrades.

any attempts to get him to understand the internet fail for the most part, so he uses his own phone for nothing other than calling, texting, photography, and occasionally googling some sort of questions. he finds advertisements about the latest devices annoying, but he’s very appreciative of motorcycles, kitchen appliances, and other simple machines that make life so much easier compared to his time.

he’s learning about new tech every week, new and pre-existing, both ones which make him wonder if he should get it for himself or ones which make him furrow his brow at the fact that such a thing actually exists. tonight is one of the times when he has both reactions, but more than anything, an intense curiosity had been ignited in his soul.

you asked him to look for something in your bedroom drawers, something that he can’t recall at the moment after he found something that piqued his attention: an egg-shaped item coated in pink medical-grade silicone neatly hidden under layers of clothing and tightly wrapped in a bag. it was tiny in his massive hand and he didn’t have the foggiest idea what it was or what it was made for until you walked in to see what was taking so long, hearing you gasp and turning his head to find you covering your face with your hands looking absolutely mortified. you struggled to stop yourself from stuttering when you had to explain to him what it was, a sex toy that you bought sometime in the first year of college and buried once you got together since it was no longer needed. it was the only one you’ve ever bought and you’ve honestly forgotten about it until now without any idea of how he would react.

while you were humiliated about it, you could see a sparkle of intrigue in his eyes which quickly led to finding yourself in bed with your clothing removed and his new discovery against your aching cunt. it wasn’t difficult to figure out how to change the intensity of the vibrations with a press of a button, but did he need to put it at the highest setting when you’ve practically lost feeling in your legs at this point? it felt so strange at first now that you’re so accustomed to him pleasuring you personally, yet that foreign sense melted away with the familiar memory of taking care of your needs when lonely— except now you had your handsome lover holding it for you with your hands gripping the sheets instead. 

he’s amused at how such a small little thing was so powerful in reducing you to a moaning mess as it pulls another orgasm from your spent body, feeling his neglected cock twitch with every blissful moan past your lips louder than the humming of the toy. you mutter something along the lines of asking him not to stare out of embarrassment, but it all falls on deaf ears since the view that he has is downright mesmerizing, watching intently as he presses it into your puffy folds with a focus on your sensitive clit. all the while, he’s holding your legs open to stop you from closing them instinctively when it felt like too much, his large hand being a comforting weight on your thigh as you squirm in place.

your body trembled in sync with the pulsating toy, walls barely able to clench around the head of the vibrator while leaking like a faucet and dripping all over logan’s fingers. “it’s too much-!!” you whined, throwing your head back into the pillows with glossy eyes and drool starting to seep out the corner of your mouth from the electricity coursing through your veins. it’s surprising that you were even able to utter a coherent phrase when your brain had essentially been turned to mush.

“you can give me one more, can’t you doll?” there’s a hint of sadism in his voice detectable to even your ecstasy-fogged mind where you knew that he was getting off on your reactions alone, an arrogant smirk plastered across his handsome face that was so slappable and sexy. he can almost feel himself drooling too, craving a taste of the sweet nectar making a mess everywhere. “such a desperate and needy little thing,” he tutted, observing your greedy pussy trying to pull the vibrator deeper within you. “go on, cum for me.”

as if his words commanded your body, the tight coil twisting in your abdomen finally snapped, making you writhe and cry out in relief. your heart was pounding in your chest and you gasped for air, feeling sweaty and exhausted as that must have been your third or fourth climax. you stared at him through half-lidded eyes trying to determine if he had had enough of using the vibrator for torturous pleasure until he suddenly pulled you closer to him to bury his face into your soaked heat. he just needed a taste of you, to lick you clean and make you tug on his hair.

watching you become undone when he doesn’t even need to lift a finger seemed to awaken something in him… it’s definitely a piece of modern technology that he would like to invest in, he plans to buy more of different types, shapes, and sizes to try out on you (the definition of “spectacular, give me fourteen of them right now”).

[aspenmissing]

Arcane characters with an S/O that has chronic migraines. Turn off the sun, please. 🤯❤️‍🩹

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴡᴏʀꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ?

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ || 5026 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴄʜʀᴏɴɪᴄ ᴍɪɢʀᴀɪɴᴇꜱ (ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ɪɴ, ꜱᴏ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ!)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴀʟʟ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ᴄʜʀᴏɴɪᴄ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ᴘᴀɪɴꜰᴜʟ ɪᴛ ��ᴀɴ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ɴᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴄʀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴍɪɢʀᴀɪɴᴇꜱ.

ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴜꜰꜰᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴄʜʀᴏɴɪᴄ ᴍɪɢʀᴀɪɴᴇꜱ, ɪ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The pain had started as a dull throb behind your eyes that morning, a warning sign of what was to come. You had tried to ignore it, pushing through the ache as best as you could, but by midday, it had worsened into a full-blown migraine—sharp, relentless, pressing against your skull like a vice. The light streaming in through the grand windows of your shared home in Piltover felt like needles stabbing into your eyes, each golden beam an agonising glare that sent waves of nausea crashing over you.

Every noise was too much. The distant clang of machinery, the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, even the soft rustling of fabric as you shifted under the covers—it all grated against your already frayed nerves. Your head pulsed in time with your heartbeat, each beat a cruel reminder that there was no escape from the pain.

The world outside blurred into insignificance as you curled into yourself on the bed, burying your face in the pillow, your body trembling from the sheer exhaustion of enduring the migraine for hours.

=

You barely registered the sound of the front door opening, followed by the familiar heavy footfalls of Jayce’s boots against the polished floor. There was a pause—he must have noticed the drawn curtains, the untouched food you had barely managed to prepare for yourself that morning. Then, quickened steps, concern lacing the way he moved as he made his way to your side.

“Sweetheart?” Jayce’s voice was soft, careful, a stark contrast to his usual confident, booming presence. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he sat beside you, his warm hand resting lightly on your back. “Bad one today?”

You gave a weak nod, not trusting yourself to speak without the pain flaring up even worse.

The hand on your back moved in slow, comforting circles, his touch grounding you amidst the storm raging in your skull. His warmth seeped through the layers of fabric between you, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

Jayce sighed, his fingers trailing up to brush against your tangled hair. “Did you drink water?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

You let out a small, miserable hum of confirmation.

=

There was a brief silence before Jayce shifted beside you. You heard him shuffle through the bedside drawer, the faint clinking of glass as he retrieved the small bottle of painkillers you always kept there. You felt the bed rise slightly as he stood, followed by the muffled sound of him moving towards the bathroom.

The tap ran, the water filling a glass, then stopped. A moment later, you felt the bed dip again as he returned.

“Here, sweetheart.” His voice was low, gentle, as he slipped an arm beneath your shoulders, carefully lifting you just enough to press the rim of the glass against your lips. “Just a few sips.”

The cold water was a relief, soothing your dry throat as you swallowed the pills with slow, careful gulps. Jayce held you steady, supporting you as you weakly leaned into him before settling back onto the pillows.

You barely had time to process before he was up again, and though you didn’t open your eyes, you could hear him moving—his purposeful strides leading him back to the bathroom. Then the sound of running water again.

It wasn’t long before you felt something warm and damp press gently against your forehead. A sigh of relief left your lips as the cloth soothed the pounding heat behind your eyes.

“Better?” Jayce asked softly, his thumb stroking lightly over your cheek.

You gave another weak nod, exhaling shakily. “A little…”

Jayce hummed, the bed dipping once more as he shifted closer. You felt his arm slide beneath your waist, his other slipping around your shoulders, pulling you carefully into his chest.

The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, strong arms holding you close, his steady heartbeat a calming rhythm against your ear. He manoeuvred you gently so that your head rested against his shoulder, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“You should have called me,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I would’ve come home sooner.”

“Didn’t… want to bother you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The effort made you wince.

Jayce huffed a little, a mixture of frustration and fondness. “You could never bother me, love. You’re more important than whatever council nonsense they’ve got me doing.”

His touch, the low rumble of his voice, the quiet hum of reassurance—it all melted into something safe, something that dulled the pain just enough for you to breathe easier.

“Got you something,” he added after a beat. You heard the rustling of fabric, then the faint scent of peppermint filled the air. “I picked up a tea blend that’s supposed to help with headaches.”

You smiled faintly, though your eyes remained closed. “You always think of everything.”

Jayce chuckled softly, his fingers continuing to run through your hair. “Of course. Looking after you is the most important thing.”

You reached for his hand blindly, your fingers finding his and squeezing weakly. “Love you,” you murmured.

Jayce leaned down, lips brushing against your temple once more, lingering there as if he could will away your pain through sheer affection.

“I love you more.”

And with him there, his arms secure around you, warmth surrounding you, the pain didn’t seem so unbearable anymore.

VIKTOR

Viktor was leaning against his desk, arms crossed, watching Y/N with that ever-present smirk of his. She sat opposite him, sunglasses perched on her nose despite them being indoors. He tapped his fingers against the wooden surface, the rhythm steady, calculated, just enough to be a mild nuisance.

"You do realise you're inside, yes? Or have we redefined fashion in a way I was not informed about?" he quipped, cocking an eyebrow.

Y/N sighed, adjusting the glasses. "Chronic migraines, Viktor. You know this. The lights are too much."

He hummed, pushing himself off the desk with his cane, leaning into it slightly as he moved closer to her. "Ah, yes. Of course. I was merely wondering if, perhaps, you were attempting to look mysteriously cool. If so, you are succeeding."

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Glad my suffering is amusing to you."

"Not amusing," he corrected, tapping his cane against the floor as he moved towards her with measured steps. "Just interesting. You wear them like a shield, much like I carry my cane. A signature, if you will."

She peered at him over the rim of her glasses. "You think my migraines are a signature?"

"No, but your stubbornness is," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Besides, you are rather dramatic when they strike."

She scoffed. "Excuse me?"

"Mhm. The way you drape yourself over the nearest surface, sighing as though the world itself is too much to bear. Very theatrical."

Y/N reached out, smacking his arm lightly, and he chuckled. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"It has been mentioned once or twice," he admitted, amusement evident in his voice. "But," he continued, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, "I am not completely heartless."

He produced a small vial and handed it to her. She blinked at it, then at him. "What's this?"

"Something that might help with the pain," he said, a little less teasing now. "A mixture I worked on. It should ease the worst of it."

She stared at the vial, then back up at him, lips parting slightly. "Viktor…"

He waved her off, suddenly looking a little shy, as if caught being too soft. "Yes, yes, I am wonderful, I know. But do take it before your dramatic swooning begins."

She laughed, shaking her head, but there was warmth in her expression. "Thank you, Viktor. Really."

He merely smirked, tapping his cane against the floor once more. "I will expect a full review later. Preferably not written in migraine-induced misery."

She twirled the vial between her fingers, observing the faint shimmer of the liquid inside. "What if it doesn’t work?"

Viktor scoffed, tilting his head. "Do you doubt my genius?"

"I doubt your bedside manner."

He clutched his chest dramatically. "Wounded. Truly. This is the thanks I receive for my efforts?"

She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses, but the corners of her lips twitched. "Alright, fine. I’ll try it. But if I sprout extra limbs or start glowing, I'm coming for you."

"Noted," he said with a grin, adjusting his grip on his cane as he stepped back, ever so slightly favouring his injured leg. "But you will owe me if it works."

Y/N arched an eyebrow. "Owe you what?"

"A favour," he said simply, his smirk widening. "Undetermined, of course. I like to keep my options open."

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious but intrigued. "You're impossible."

"And yet, here you are, still putting up with me."

=

The next time Y/N stepped into the lab, she immediately noticed something was different. The massive window that once blared with sunlight had a drawn-down curtain, casting a much softer, cooler glow across the room. The harsh, blinding overhead lights had been dimmed to a more comfortable level, turning the once bright and clinical lab into a space far easier on her senses.

She hesitated for a moment, absorbing the change, before her gaze settled on Viktor, who was tinkering away at his workstation as if nothing had happened.

"Viktor… did you do this?" she asked, voice cautious but touched.

He didn’t even look up, only tilting his head slightly, a smirk forming on his lips. "What, you think I changed my entire workspace just for you? That would be terribly sentimental, would it not?"

She folded her arms, unimpressed. "Viktor."

He sighed dramatically, finally turning to face her, his weight shifting onto his cane. "Alright, fine. Let us say that a certain someone complained enough about the lights to the point where I feared for my own safety. Clearly, I was left with no choice."

She snorted. "Uh-huh. And the curtain?"

"A sudden distaste for the sun," he said smoothly, twirling his cane idly. "I find it rather obnoxious these days."

Y/N stared at him, a smile creeping onto her face. "You're a terrible liar."

"And yet, here you are, still putting up with me," he echoed with a wink.

She shook her head, feeling an unexpected warmth settle in her chest. "Thanks, Viktor."

"Yes, yes," he waved her off, feigning impatience. "Now get to work before I change my mind and install floodlights instead."

JAYVIK

The first sign of the migraine was always the same—a dull ache creeping up the back of Y/N’s skull, pressing insistently behind her eyes. She had felt it coming all day, a slow but inevitable storm gathering in her head. By the time she made it home to the apartment she shared with Viktor and Jayce, the pain was unbearable, a sharp and throbbing weight that made her stomach churn. The light of Piltover’s lamps seared her vision, and every sound, no matter how small, felt like a hammer striking her skull.

The sharp, pulsing pain behind Y/N’s eyes made it impossible to focus. Every sound, every flicker of light, sent another wave of agony crashing through her skull. She sat at her worktable in the lab, head in her hands, fingers gripping at her temples as she tried to breathe through it. She barely noticed the approaching footsteps until a gentle touch on her shoulder grounded her.

“Y/N?” Viktor’s voice was soft, careful, as if he knew even sound itself might be too much for her. His cane tapped lightly against the floor as he adjusted his stance, steadying himself before leaning in slightly.

She blinked up at him, her vision blurred with pain. “Migraine,” she murmured weakly.

Jayce, who had been tinkering with a prototype at his own desk, immediately abandoned his work and crossed the room in three long strides. His brows furrowed as he crouched beside her chair, his large hands resting on her knees. “You should be resting,” he said, concern lacing his tone.

She let out a short, humourless chuckle. “Work doesn’t do itself.”

Viktor exchanged a glance with Jayce before shaking his head. “No, but neither do you if you can’t function.” His hand, warm and reassuring, squeezed hers. “We should find a way to help with this.”

Jayce ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “You get these often,” he said, looking at her. “Is it always light sensitivity? Sounds?”

She nodded weakly. “Mostly the light. Too much stimulation makes it worse.”

Viktor hummed in thought, tapping his cane against the floor rhythmically as he considered. “Then perhaps we can make something to regulate that. If your eyes are the main issue, we should start there.”

Jayce immediately caught on. “What about adaptive lenses? Something that adjusts the amount of light filtering in?”

Y/N blinked at them, her aching mind slow to catch up with their excitement. “You’d… make something like that?”

“For you? Always.” Jayce grinned.

Viktor smirked, reaching for a notepad and quickly sketching out an initial design. “We should get started.”

=

Days later, they presented their creation: a sleek pair of glasses, custom-fitted for her. The lenses were designed to automatically adjust to surrounding light levels, dimming when necessary and reducing strain on her sensitive eyes. The craftsmanship was impressive—delicate, but sturdy, with an elegant frame that suited her perfectly.

Jayce slid them onto her face with gentle hands, his fingers brushing over her temples as he adjusted the fit. “Try looking around.”

Y/N hesitated, then slowly opened her eyes. The usual harshness of the lab’s lighting was gone, replaced by a comfortable dimness that didn’t send a fresh wave of pain through her skull. Relief bloomed across her face, her body visibly relaxing for the first time in days.

Viktor watched her closely, anticipation in his golden eyes. He leaned slightly on his cane, shifting his weight but never taking his gaze off her. “Better?”

A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips as she nodded. “Much better.”

Jayce let out a breath of relief, nudging Viktor’s shoulder playfully. “We make a good team.”

Viktor scoffed, though his smirk remained. “As if there was ever any doubt.”

Y/N reached for both of their hands, squeezing tightly. “Thank you. Truly.”

Jayce kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment, while Viktor brushed his fingers over her knuckles, his touch delicate but steady. “Anything for you.”

Between them, she felt safe—anchored in their presence despite the pain. And slowly, as the world faded into comforting darkness, the pain seemed just a little more bearable.

VANDER

Vander had seen Y/N endure many things since they’d first met, but nothing broke his heart more than the sight of her in pain. She tried to hide it, as always, but the signs were unmistakable: the way her hand rested on her forehead, the dull, unyielding grimace on her face.

He knew the migraines well—stress, tension, long hours, and everything that came with managing The Last Drop. He could never understand how she pushed through it, day after day.

"Y/N," he said softly, though his tone brooked no argument, as he stepped closer to her.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, a faint, apologetic smile forming on her lips. "It’s nothing, Vander. Just a little headache."

"A little headache?" he scoffed, his voice both stern and caring. "That’s not a little headache. You’re practically about to collapse, love. You need rest."

"I’m fine—"

"No, you’re not. I’m not asking," he said firmly. "Go back to our room. Rest. I’ll handle things here." He gave her a pointed look, one that said he would accept no other answer.

Y/N sighed, knowing when Vander was in no mood for discussion. With a quiet, defeated nod, she gathered her things. As she turned to go, she found the kids—Vi, Powder, Claggor, and Mylo—standing nearby, watching the exchange with concern in their eyes. They were always attuned to Y/N’s moods, and they could feel the tension and worry in the air.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" Vi asked, stepping forward.

"I’m fine, sweetheart," Y/N replied, forcing a smile. "Just need a little rest, that’s all."

The kids exchanged glances, their protective instincts kicking in. Powder bounced up to Y/N with a reassuring grin, taking her hand. "We’ll go with you! We can make sure you’re comfortable!"

Without another word, they all followed Y/N as she made her way to their living space.

=

Later that evening, as the bar grew quieter and the night air settled in, Vander returned to find their small space dimly lit. The sounds of his footsteps echoed softly against the worn wood as he entered, only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight before him.

There, nestled in the bed, lay Y/N, surrounded by the children. Vi was curled up on one side of her, her head resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder, while Powder lay on the other side, her small hand tucked into Y/N’s. Mylo, ever the restless one, sprawled at the foot of the bed, his legs hanging over the edge. Claggor, ever vigilant, sat at the edge of the bed, holding Y/N’s hand in his own, his body turned slightly away, but his eyes never leaving her, always watchful.

Y/N’s breathing was steady, her face free of the usual tension, though she was asleep. She looked peaceful for the first time that day, her migraine finally alleviated by the warmth and presence of the people she loved most.

Vander couldn’t help but smile, though his heart was full of both tenderness and worry. He walked over, kneeling beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s face as he gazed at her lovingly.

"You’ve got them wrapped around your finger, haven’t you?" he murmured, his voice filled with affection.

A soft giggle came from Powder, who had managed to stay awake just long enough to hear Vander’s words. "We’re just making sure she’s okay," she whispered. "We’ll protect her, like you do."

Vander’s heart swelled with pride and love for the family they’d built here, amid the chaos and dangers of the Undercity. He glanced at each child, then back to Y/N, his gaze softening.

"Thank you," he whispered to the kids, who all seemed to smile back at him, knowing what he meant.

Vander stood, his hand lingering over Y/N’s, before he quietly left the room, leaving them all to rest. As he shut the door gently behind him, he knew that no matter how hard life got in The Last Drop, they would always have each other to lean on. And that, above all else, was what mattered most.

SILCO

It was just another evening in the Last Drop. Y/N had become accustomed to the bustling chaos of the bar, the rowdy laughter and clinking of bottles. But tonight, something felt different. The noises downstairs, the shouting, the pounding of footsteps — they were louder than usual. And for someone like Y/N, who was prone to chronic migraines, it was unbearable. She'd been up in Silco's office for hours, quietly helping him sort through documents and strategising, but the pounding headache was beginning to cloud her thoughts.

A hand pressed to her temple, Y/N winced, trying to concentrate. "It's just a bit of noise," she murmured to herself, but it was becoming harder to ignore. The thumping music, the raucous voices from below — everything collided in her head, a cruel symphony that only amplified her suffering. She breathed deeply, trying to steady herself.

"Y/N?" Silco’s voice broke through the haze, calm yet tinged with concern as he glanced up from his work. He paused, watching her carefully. "You look pale. What’s wrong?"

“I... I’ve got a headache. It’s nothing, really,” she muttered, trying to keep it together.

Silco frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied her. It was rare for Y/N to show vulnerability, and the fact that she was holding her head like she might snap in two didn’t sit well with him. He pushed his chair back abruptly, a sign that something had shifted within him.

"How long has it been like this?" he asked, his voice growing more insistent.

"Just... just a little while," she said, her voice strained. The noise downstairs wasn’t helping, but she didn’t want to bother him with something so trivial. “I’ll be fine, Silco.”

But he wasn't buying it. His gaze shifted to the door, his lips curling into a tight frown. Without another word, he rose from his desk and stalked towards the stairs.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. "Silco, no—"

But he was already at the top of the stairs, his boots echoing through the quietened hallway. Silco stormed down into the chaos of the bar, a sight that made the usual crowd go silent almost immediately. He didn’t hesitate. One sharp, forceful movement, and he drew his gun. A single shot rang out, deafening and sudden, causing everyone in the room to freeze. He glared at the stunned patrons, his voice dripping with authority.

“Out,” he snarled, eyes burning with an intensity that made even the bravest of men flinch. “Now.”

The noise died down in an instant, the customers rushing for the exit in a flurry of confused shuffling. When the bar was finally emptied, Silco turned, storming back upstairs. Y/N was sitting at the desk, her hand still pressed to her temple, but the pain on her face was more evident now that it had been in the office.

"You should’ve told me," he said quietly, his voice soft but firm, as he knelt down beside her. His hand was gentle as he cupped her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You know I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

"I didn’t want to bother you," Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, weak from the migraine. "You’ve got enough on your plate already."

He let out a low growl of frustration, shaking his head. “Don’t do this, Y/N. You’re not a burden.”

Silco sat beside her, pulling her carefully into his arms, his hand running soothingly through her hair. She rested against him, her eyes closing in exhaustion, but his presence, his touch, brought a warmth and comfort that made the pain a little more bearable.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Silco murmured, his fingers tracing small, calming patterns on her back. His voice was softer now, a side of him few had ever seen. “You have my word. The last thing you need is that racket.”

Y/N nodded, her heart slowing as she settled into the quiet, her head resting against his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered, her breath steadying in the silence that had returned to the Last Drop.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N sat in the dimly lit corner of the Last Drop, her head resting in her hands, fingers digging into her scalp in an attempt to relieve the relentless pressure. The thudding pulse of her migraine was unbearable today, far worse than usual. It felt like a vice tightening around her skull, making it impossible to think, to focus, to even breathe. She’d been living with these attacks for years, but they never got easier, not really.

As she sat there, hunched over in her own quiet agony, she could hear the bustling sounds of the tavern around her—laughter, clinking glasses, the familiar low murmur of Zaun’s nightlife—but it all felt distant, like she was submerged in water, every sound muffled and distant. It was always like this when the migraines hit. It wasn’t just the physical pain; it made everything around her seem unreal, far away, like she was trapped in her own body, cut off from the world.

=

Jinx barged into the room, her usual chaotic energy buzzing around her like a live wire, the door creaking open with the force of her entrance. But as soon as she saw Y/N sitting slumped in the corner, she froze. Her eyes scanned the older woman, instinctively drawn to her, her brows furrowing with concern when she noticed the faint tremor in Y/N’s hands.

"Hey!" Jinx’s voice was loud, too loud, but Y/N didn’t react, her eyes shut tight as she tried to block out the pain that throbbed relentlessly in her skull. She barely registered the familiar voice that called her name, just wishing it would go away so she could sink into the darkness and escape it all.

"Y/N?" Jinx’s voice softened this time, and she hesitated, stepping forward more cautiously, her usual bouncy steps replaced by a hesitant approach. Her wide, curious eyes scanned Y/N’s face, taking in the haggard expression, the faint sweat on her brow, and the clenched jaw. Something wasn’t right. When she finally noticed Y/N’s hunched posture, shoulders tense with pain, she frowned, sitting beside her with surprising gentleness.

"You okay?" Jinx asked, her voice still heavy with concern but laced with that quirky energy that she always carried with her. She leaned in a bit closer, reaching out a hand to touch Y/N’s arm, though she wasn’t sure if it would help.

Y/N winced at the sensation, the touch almost too much to bear, but she forced herself to respond, even if only to reassure Jinx.

"It’s nothing," Y/N muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, sounding almost distant. "Just... just a bad migraine. It'll pass." She couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud, but sometimes the pain felt endless, like it would never really let go.

But Jinx wasn’t convinced. She tilted her head, her eyes scanning Y/N’s face, trying to piece together what was really going on. She could tell when something was off, and she didn’t like it. Without thinking, she reached out slowly, her small hand brushing against Y/N’s with surprising tenderness, offering a connection, a gesture of care.

"You wanna go lie down?" Jinx asked quietly, her voice softer now, an unfamiliar calm settling over her. "Or... I dunno, you want me to get you something? I could find some stuff to make it better. There’s gotta be something."

Y/N shook her head weakly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the agony. "No need, Jinx. I just need a little time. It's always like this," she said, forcing the words out, though they didn’t feel entirely true. She hated how much the pain held her back, how it controlled her. But she wasn’t going to burden anyone with it, not even Jinx.

Jinx frowned deeper, her lips curling into a tight line of frustration, her arms crossing over her chest in that familiar, protective way she had when she didn’t understand something but wanted to fix it. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, looking at Y/N with an intensity that most people would have found unnerving. But Y/N had long grown used to Jinx’s odd ways of showing concern.

"You shouldn’t just sit there and suffer," Jinx said, her tone firm, her voice rising with a touch of indignation. "I’m not just gonna let you be miserable. That’s not how this works. You take care of everyone else, but no one takes care of you."

Y/N’s chest tightened at the words, a lump forming in her throat. She hadn’t realised how much that had bothered her, the idea that she was always the one caring for others, always the one fixing problems. It was easier to hide behind that role, to be the protector and the nurturer, than to admit how hard it could be sometimes. She blinked away the sting in her eyes and turned to look at Jinx properly.

The young woman’s eyes were wide and searching, and for a moment, Y/N felt the warmth of something deeper than the usual playful chaos. It was a tenderness, a care that made her heart ache in the best way.

"I don’t mind, Jinx," Y/N said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "It’s my choice. And besides... I've got you to make sure I’m not forgotten."

At that, Jinx’s expression softened, her playful smirk vanishing as something more sincere took its place. She reached out, giving Y/N’s hand a reassuring squeeze. The kind of gesture that felt more like a promise than a mere comfort.

"Don’t worry," Jinx said quietly, her voice unusually serious, a rare moment of true vulnerability flashing through her. "You’ll never be forgotten. Not by me. I’ve got your back, okay? I’ll always have your back."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest at the sincerity in Jinx’s words, a wave of relief washing over her in that moment. Despite the pain, despite the constant battles her body fought against her, she felt a connection, a bond that made everything feel just a little more bearable. She reached out, gently brushing her fingers through Jinx’s hair, an affectionate gesture that spoke volumes.

"Thanks, Jinx," Y/N whispered, the words carrying more weight than she’d ever expected. "That means a lot."

Jinx grinned, her usual spark returning, though it was tempered with the quiet understanding that had settled between them. "Of course! Now, get some rest. I’ll make sure no one bothers you. I promise."

And with that, Jinx scampered off, her voice already rising in playful shouts as she dashed toward the bar. Y/N closed her eyes again, letting herself sink deeper into the quiet relief that Jinx’s words had given her. The pressure in her temples didn’t entirely fade, but for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel quite so alone in the battle.

Jinx had always been a force of nature, unpredictable and wild, but in that rare, quiet moment of care, Y/N realised how much she had come to mean to her—more than just the little troublemaker with a penchant for chaos. Jinx was like the daughter she never had, and as long as she had her, maybe—just maybe—she could find the strength to face the pain once again.

[pbnbucks]

word count : 1k

warnings : cussing, smut w plot, strap

summary : caitlin went to go get groceries but you saw a post of her the made you crave her touch.

you where home alone when the ache in your stomach started to grow as your silent coos echo through the quiet apartment as your phone dialed Caitlin’s busy one.

“when will you be home” you manage to say muffeling your cry’s as you bite your lip trying to hold yourself from falling apart. your hand crept under the layer of clothes running the tip of your finger over your untouched clit.

your need for her became when you where scrolling through your camera roll finding one of your most intimate moments with her. the photo was of her and her skilled tongue circling over your desperate clit.

you reminisced over the moment of her worshiping your body and pleasing you in your favored ways. you pressed down on the photo as it was a live photo which showed you all you needed to see.

the 3 seconds that played where of Caitlin’s tongue relentlessly flicking over your wet clit regretting your choice of sending her to go get groceries for the empty fridge in yours and Caitlin’s penthouse.

it didn’t take long for caitlin to return your call as you heard her deep worried voice connect as she didn’t expect you to call her so soon after she left. your whines slipped out of your mouth as her deep voice echoed through the screen daydreaming about all the things you wanted her to do to you.

it didn’t take her long to realize what you wanted from her. “ill be home in two minutes, keep your pussy warm for me” she coos in a whisper before she cuts the ongoing call leaving you by yourself with your thoughts.

you heard the grocery bags being dropped on the counter with Caitlin’s quick footsteps following after rushing to get to the bedroom needy to find you.

her instant smirk forming that only grew more when she sees you layed out on the bed in the red lingerie set she bought for you on her birthday that she obviously fucked you in, seeing the slight rips on the lace fabric in the spot that covered your dripping cunt.

her soft hums are replaced with chuckles as she sees how needy you are for her as she positions her body hovering over yours. she places a few kisses along your collarbone and neck before shuffling down to your lower stomach.

she unexpectedly latched her teeth to the lace of your underwear pulling it down painfully slow letting them pool at your ankles. she makes her way back up while peppers kissing between each of your inner thighs pressing a soft kiss on your folds before going back to her teasing.

“stop being mean” you whine at her touch when she finally connects her tongue with your clit. her tongue forming perfect circles over your bundle of nerves as your toes curled from the ultimate pleasure she was giving you.

your cunt only returning filthy noises as her tongue slipped in and out of your sopping pussy. she hands found there way to your shaking legs holding them up by your head. “want to be a good girl for mommy and hold your legs up” she coos as you hum in response taking over the spot she held on your thighs.

“feels so fucking good” you cry out as two of her fingers enter your needy hole as her moans send vibrations through your dense core. your returned with a whine by the feeling of her pulling away as she leaves the bed only to shuffle through your panties drawer looking for one thing only. her pink strap.

“going to fuck you so good on my cock mama” she mumbles before putting it on as it fit her toned abs perfectly positioning herself before you cunt as she slowly slides into you letting you adjust to her before making any sudden movements.

your hands are pinned above your head while she relentlessly pound into your sopping cunt as grunts leave her pretty mouth. “so fucking pretty” she coos as her eyes never leave your face studying your looks before she plants a few kisses on your neck.

her large hand planted in the middle of your stomach as she feels the swift movements of her strap bouncing of your walls. “you like when mommy’s in your stomach princess?” she says as her fingers run over the cold metal of your belly button piercing that she begged you to get because you would look oh so good with one.

“yes- love it so fucking much” your moans that grew louder with each thrust as your pussy clenched around her thick cock sending your brain through spirals as your lips connected with her sharp collarbone sucking on her sweet spots making little cry’s fall from her mouth.

you pull away seeing the dark formed hickey as your proud of your work looking back up to the brunette hovering over your petite body as her speed never faulted. “need to cum caity” your words slurring together as her pace quickened as her hand wrapped around your throat.

“go on sweetheart, cum on my cock” her silent pleas for your release mixed with your desperate whines when your liquids began to coat the silicone that filled you up perfectly every time. your legs wrapped tightly around her waist trying to get her as close to you as she can be.

her movements coming to a end when she slides out of your used hole making you whine at the empty feeling as she quickly goes and grabs a tissue wetting it in the sink before hurrying back to you. she held your waist down as she softly ran the Kleenex through your puffy folds making you let out a soft cry.

“you feel better baby” she asked even though she already knew your positive answer. you nod your head at the question before pulling her large frame to cover your body cuddling her cold body. your body’s pressed together never moving as you both fell asleep to the noises of you fan and the rain that poured outside.

[milfsloverblog]

first of all, i love u and ur works so much

second, this is the request >:) the cannibalism as a metaphor of love thing. been obsessed with it lately so i just had to request it.

so here, larissa has spent her life chasing after someone’s love—always the second choice, always in the shadows, like back in their nevermore days where she was just "morticia's shadow"

then now, y/n is a newly hired professor at nevermore. they'll have an interaction that will trigger or "spark" something in larissa. maybe like y/n is the one showing interest at first then larissa will fall harder. larissa will have them in her grasp. but something will happen that will make y/n want to leave (i believe you've mentioned before that you believe that larissa will always be somehow still in love with morticia...? 👀). but she will refuse to ever let go. even if that means making sure they can’t leave her. even if that means they must become a part of her, in the most literal sense.

honestly u can do whatever here :) while writing i've realized that the request seemed a bit long... so u can remove stuff as you wish.

-

"Shh. No more fighting. Just let me hold you. Let me have you."

Raw and Tender

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: absolutely ADORED writing this. I love getting sick and twisted requests that I can turn into something beautifully abhorrent. I hope you’ll enjoy this, have fun <3

The fading evening light cast a golden glow across the grand halls of Nevermore Academy, filtering through the towering windows in fleeting, bittersweet hues. It was the kind of light that always brought memories rushing back—memories Larissa Weems had long since buried. She had stood in these same halls, once upon a time, just as the golden light had always found her. The girl who had cast the longest shadow.

Morticia.

That name echoed now, like a ghost of the past. Larissa remembered standing next to her, feeling both taller and smaller all at once. Taller because of her height, always taller, always looking down while everyone else looked up to Morticia. Morticia with her effortless charm, her confidence, her laugh. That laugh. It still haunted Larissa’s quietest moments, ringing in her ears like a distant melody she could never escape. She thought she'd left those feelings behind, buried under layers of silk, authority, and the years she spent hardening herself into the figure she now embodied.

Yet here she was again, back in the shadows.

Larissa's fingers hovered over the old, faded photograph tucked into the drawer of her desk. Two young women—Morticia smiling with effortless radiance, and Larissa beside her, a pale imitation. Always beside her, never at the centre. The photograph had grown dull with age, the edges curling as if to retreat into itself. Much like Larissa had over the years.

Her reverie was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. She straightened instinctively, adjusting her posture, smoothing her skirt as if to pull herself together before being seen.

“Come in,” she called, her voice as steady as ever.

You stepped into the office, the light from the setting sun framing you in a soft glow. There was something about the way you smiled at her that was different from anyone else. Genuine warmth, unburdened by expectations. “I didn’t see you at dinner,” you said gently, stepping forward. In your hands was a cup of tea, the steam curling upward like a wisp of comfort. “I thought I’d bring this for you.”

The simplicity of your gesture, the tenderness of it, left Larissa momentarily speechless. Her fingers brushed against yours as she took the cup, the touch igniting a spark that neither of you could ignore. The warmth of the tea seeped into her hands, but the warmth of your presence was what truly settled the coldness she hadn’t realized had taken root in her chest.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice softer than she had intended, betraying the vulnerability she was desperate to hide.

You didn’t rush to leave. Instead, you set your bag down on a nearby chair and stayed, the quiet hum of your presence filling the room. “You seemed distracted earlier, during the meeting,” you observed, your voice threaded with concern. “I thought maybe you could use a moment to unwind.”

Larissa’s lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. You were always so perceptive, always attuned to the subtle shifts in her demeanour. It was one of the things she admired most about you—though it unnerved her at times, how easily you seemed to see right through her. “I’ve just been… preoccupied,” she admitted, waving a hand dismissively toward the pile of papers on her desk.

But the truth was heavier than that. Ever since you had arrived as the new biology professor at Nevermore, you had become a constant in her life, a quiet light amidst the growing shadows. Your energy, your kindness, the way you looked at her—not with judgment or expectation, but with something far more tender—it unnerved her. You were becoming more than just a colleague, more than just a welcome presence in her quiet moments. You had become a desire she wasn’t sure she could control.

In the days that followed, the space between you and Larissa seemed to shrink. Your interactions became more frequent, more intimate. What had started as casual conversations turned into lingering moments in her office, shared laughter over evening tea, and the occasional stolen glance that neither of you could explain.

There was something about the way you looked at her, how you didn’t just see the headmistress or the statuesque figure she projected to the world. You saw her. The person beneath the carefully constructed image. It terrified her, yet she found herself drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

One evening, after a staff dinner, you walked with her under the soft glow of lanterns that dotted the academy grounds. The air was crisp, the silence between you punctuated only by the soft rustle of the leaves in the wind. You turned to her, your eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her heart race.

“You’re remarkable, Larissa,” you said, your voice steady, but laced with a tenderness that made her breath catch.

Her first instinct was to deflect, to brush off the compliment as unnecessary. But something in your expression held her captive. She glanced down, trying to conceal the blush that crept up her neck. “You’re very kind,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped closer, your presence almost overwhelming in its warmth. “I mean it,” you insisted. “You have a presence that’s magnetic. There’s something about you that just… pulls people in.”

No one had ever spoken to her like that. No one had ever looked at her with such raw sincerity, as if they truly believed in her worth, not for what she could offer or how she fit into the world, but simply for who she was. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

And when you leaned in, your lips brushing tentatively against hers, she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t.

Your relationship grew in secret, a fragile but radiant thing, hidden from the prying eyes of Nevermore’s students and staff. With you, Larissa felt lighter, more alive than she had in years. There were moments when she thought, perhaps, she could be happy—truly, deeply happy.

But the fear was always there, lurking in the background like a storm on the horizon.

When Morticia returned to Nevermore, it was as though that storm finally broke. Wednesday’s enrollment brought her mother back to the academy, her visits infrequent but potent enough to stir up old wounds. Morticia was still every bit as radiant as Larissa remembered, her charm and confidence seemingly untouched by time.

Larissa could feel herself slipping back into the shadows. Every glance, every word from Morticia seemed to pull her further away from you, back into the past where she had always played second to Morticia’s light.

You noticed the shift almost immediately.

“You’ve been distant,” you said one evening, your hand resting on hers as you sat together in her quarters. “Is it because of her?”

Larissa’s heart clenched at the question, her instinctive response one of denial. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, her tone sharper than she intended.

But you didn’t let it go. “I know how much she meant to you,” you said softly. “I can see how her being here affects you. Larissa, I’m here with you. Isn’t that enough?”

She wanted so desperately to believe you. To cling to the warmth in your eyes, the sincerity in your voice. But the insecurities that had plagued her all her life were hard to shake. The fear that one day, you would leave her too, that she would never be enough to hold onto someone as bright as you.

As the weeks passed, her behaviour changed. At first, it was subtle—a possessive hand on your arm, an insistence on knowing where you were. But soon, it became suffocating. Her texts came at odd hours, her presence constant and overwhelming. She would appear outside your classroom unannounced, her grip on your hand tighter than it needed to be.

One evening, after another confrontation where her jealousy had seeped into your conversation, you finally spoke up. “Larissa, I need space.”

Her expression darkened. “Space?”

“Yes,” you replied, taking a step back. “You’re hovering. It’s starting to feel like… too much.”

She stared at you, the fear in her eyes almost palpable. But she said nothing, letting the silence hang between you like a thick fog.

The breaking point came one stormy winter night. You had decided it was time to confront her, to tell her that you needed time apart to clear your head, to figure out what was happening between you. But as you stepped into her office, the look in her eyes stopped you in your tracks.

She was sitting at her desk, her back ramrod straight, her gaze fixed on the photograph of Morticia and herself. When she looked up at you, there was something wild, something desperate in her eyes.

“Larissa,” you began, your voice trembling with uncertainty, “we need to talk.”

She rose slowly from her chair, her movements deliberate and measured. “Don’t say it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Don’t say you’re leaving me.”

“I’m not—” you hesitated, the words catching in your throat as the intensity of her gaze pinned you in place. “I just… need time.”

Her hand reached out, cupping your face with a tenderness that belied the storm raging within her.

“Shh,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost pleading. “No more fighting. Just let me hold you. Let me have you.”

The words were gentle. Loving.

Then—

A shift. A quiet crack.

Not loud. Not violent.

Just a whisper of finality as your body slackened in her grasp.

Hours later, the candles flickered against the pristine white tablecloth.

The wine glass was half-empty, red staining the rim where her lips had been.

Larissa sat in perfect stillness, the slow rhythm of the grandfather clock the only sound in the room. Her hands were steady, her expression serene.

She lifted a napkin to the corner of her mouth, dabbing at a faint smudge of red. It could have been lipstick.

Could have been something else.

Her gaze lowered to the plate before her.

Nestled among delicate silverware and fine china, its edges still glistening, sat a half-consumed human heart.

Yours.

Larissa exhaled slowly, savouring the moment.

There was no fear now. No more uncertainty.

She had spent a lifetime chasing after love. Always yearning. Always left behind.

But now—

Now, you would never leave her.

Now, you were part of her.

Larissa picked up her fork, pressing it delicately into the soft tissue.

She smiled.

The void within her finally felt full.

————————————————————————

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[starcultz]

bleeding devotion

synopsis: suguru tends to your wounds underneath the dim lights of his bathroom.

contents: mentions of blood, reader enjoys violence, it’s essentially a sensitive!suguru x delinquent!reader | w.c: 0.8k

a/n: i wrote this stream of consciousness at midnight in like 10 minutes a few months ago while listening to “gibson girl” by ethel cain, so i’m cleaning it up & posting it again! soft sugu & bloody reader my beloveds… <3 i hope you enjoy! MWAH! ♡

suguru thinks you look pretty like this.

blood dripping from your lips like pomegranate juice, smeared across your mouth like lipstick, coating your teeth in a layer of red rubies — as if you bit into something you shouldn’t have. your sick smirk, lecherous and all-knowing, makes his stomach churn with fear and adrenaline. suguru knows that you can sense his unease and discomfort, he knows that you enjoy it — something about wanting to see him squirm is fun to you.

he won't give you the satisfaction.

(his hands won't stop shaking.)

he doesn’t know why violence comes so easily to you. why it’s such a natural part of your being, a second nature of some sort. it’s something you revel in, take pride in, surround yourself with. it consumes you.

you're a dog who likes to fight.

he also doesn’t know why it’s something you always tell him not to do. you tell him that a face like his isn’t mean to he ruined; he should keep it safe and pretty, like it is.

suguru thinks you're a fucking hypocrite.

(his mother told him to stay away from you, you’re a bad influence. his father thinks he’s a lost cause just like you.)

he doesn’t know why he’s “friends” with you, if he’s being honest with himself. there’s no transactional relationship, you don’t offer up anything to him besides physical scars and bloody wounds that need healing. he thinks he allows it because he likes taking care of you. he has a fondness for abandoned strays — he enjoys the way he has to put you back together again, savors the way your lowlidded gaze follows his form around his bathroom as you sit atop his counter, your wolfish smile and pointed stare devouring his very being. there’s a beauty in the mundanity as he grabs gauze from the cabinet next to your head, bandaids from the drawer underneath your left thigh, and rubbing alcohol underneath the sink.

he likes this little routine you’ve both created a little too much — a dance of some sort. it’s muscle memory now.

most of all, suguru knows that he likes being needed. that he’s of use because someone stronger than him needs to be taken care of, that someone like you can only rely on someone like him — the polite, pretty boy from down the street. he takes pride in being your safety net.

the wince on your face when he finally dabs your skin is just a fun little bonus.

you don’t mind the sting, you never have, you’re a bit masochistic like that. it’s enjoyable for you because suguru is the one doing it — nursing you, putting you in momentary agony, inflicting pain just to take it away seconds later. it's not too bad when you think about it.

it’s not so bad when his fingers brush your hair away from your face, it’s not so bad when he tilts your jaw upwards, it’s not so bad when his bangs tickle your cheek. it’s not so bad when he leans his face closer to yours — his minty breath fanning into your face, sweet and warm. it’s not so bad when he softly demands you to, “be careful.”

it’s not so bad when you set your sights upon his lips, plush and rosy. it’s not so bad when you look at his pearly white teeth, watching his lips form around your name, urging and heeding, imploring you to take his advice.

he's a sensitive boy at heart, is what you've figured out.

you never say anything back because you know you never will be. careful, that is.

you like this routine you've both created a little too much.

suguru sighs, soft and light. he gazes at you tiredly, yet oddly fond, pools of topaz burning through a ring of obsidian. he raises his hand, resting his warm fingers against your lips, pressing, softly at first. then a bit harder. he gets closer. he wonders if the blood in your mouth will taste sweeter in his. he thinks he wants to breathe life into you, that if anyone could do it, he can. you think you just might let him, just to see if he could.

it’s midnight and the lights are dim, only a pool of moonlight from the bay window and a soft sepia tone from the bulbs above illuminate the features of the pretty boy who lives down the street — the one standing in front of you now. his pulsating chest pressed up against yours. a heart for a heart, both of you love-drunk and dazed.

your blood drips from suguru’s lips like amber honey, sweet and warm.

you think suguru looks pretty like this.

[changisworld]

Overstimulation with Jeongin

word count:2,642

18+, MDNI!! smut below

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

The final part of my 8 part masterlist of the extension of this & this headcanon of the members!!;3

Kinks & pleasures masterlist here main masterlist here

->SMUT WARNINGS: dommish!Innie, sub!reader, overstimulation, dacryphilia, use of sex toys, oral (f rec) use of flavoured lube. manipulation(???) mention of safe word but not used(light system), tittie sucking, PIV, pull out method, dirty talk, praise, squirting, aftercare is brief but happens more off screen

->I think this is actually my favourite from the whole series along with Seungmins heheh so i hope you all like it as much as I do :3

When you had first started to get to know Jeongin, you've always noticed how soft & playful he is & when you first started to get to know him sexually, you assumed he would be the exact same sweet boy, but how quickly he proved you wrong, it could have genuinely gave you whiplash.

You're straddling Jeongin as you're both on your bed, making out messily as your hands cup his sharpened jawline & his are resting comfortably on your ass, the fabric of your leggings stretching over his skin, simply resting there, caressing your curves at the same pace as both of your lips move.

"So pretty, take your shirt off f'me, wanna see your tits" he cheekily asks, his lips shiny with his spit as he breaks the kiss. You obviously rush to do as he asks, giggling as he lets out a small, happy hum as your bare chest is now on show for him & he is quick to pull you forward just enough so your chest is level with his face, before latching onto your left nipple.

You fiddle with his soft hair, grinding slowly against his clothed cock, but despite the layers of clothes covering it, you can feel it hardening. "You've got a good mouth" you say, mindlessly & you chuckle as Jeongin switches nipple, slightly nibbling down on it just the way you like.

"Yeah? I've got some more tricks I can do with it" he giggles as he flips you both over so you're on your back. "Lemme show you" he adds on as he takes the hem of your leggings & starts pulling them off your body & you huff, but you help him take them off anyway.

"Your sex drive is far too high, we fucked literally three hours ago!" you tease him as your legs spread just enough so he can slot his waist between so he can kiss you again, but he doesn't take you up on the silent offer, instead his dimpled, cheeky smile as he settles his knees on the floor at the bottom of the bed, his face now level with your covered cunt, your lace black thong presenting a small wet patch.

"I can't help it when I am with you, just one orgasm, we don't even need to fuck, just wanna taste & you do too don't you? you're so wet y/n" he purrs as he nudges his nose against your cunt, groaning at the smell.

You sigh as he starts kissing your thighs, suckling down on your sweet spots which make your legs threaten to shut around him, but are blocked by his head & shoulders.

Jeongin can tell you're getting antsy with the way you're trying to hump onto his face & he forces himself to pull back & reach into the bedside drawer & pull out your bullet vibrator & also something of his own choice, his strawberry flavoured lube.

The minute you notice the lube in his hand, you knew this would be a long scene. "Innie, just one, I want to actually function later" you chuckle & he rolls his eyes playfully up at you as he pulls your underwear down your legs, now leaving you completely bare.

He blows a cold string of air on your glistening folds & his eyes are glued to the way you clench around nothing but air & he bites his bottom lip before he opens the cap of the lube & squirts a small dollop of it just above your clit & you wince.

Jeongin puts the vibrator to the side for now but keeps it in arms reach obviously, but he doesn't waste any more time before diving into your pussy, it looking too endearing to keep himself back anymore.

You've realised long ago that he has a kind of 'specific order' in how he eats pussy, one hundred percent of the time always starting off by kitten licking your entire cunt, paying extra attention to the small spot just in between your clit & your hole, always making you want more.

He spreads the lube around your pussy, making you so wet that you're surprised his mouth doesn't quite literally slip off your pussy, which makes you laugh in your head at the thought of it.

"Innie, don't tease" you whimper in a soft voice, not wanting to jerk your hip because you know he will give you way more than you can handle simply because 'you wanted more so he gave you more'. "I'm not, just wanting to taste before I eat, don't rush me!" he replies, his fox eyes peeking up at you, the bottom half of his face hidden by your own body & you shut your legs around his head, playfully.

Jeongin is quick to pull your thighs back open & he looks at you with frowned eyes, his smile still plastered on his face & you can't help but get butterflies but also a bit nervous, not knowing what his look exactly means but you're quick to find out.

"You're so needy, & you told me my sex drive was too high." he chuckles, before he dives in. He has picked up his pace on his usual walkthrough on how he usually tastes you, before switching from tasting to eating, & one thing about Jeongin is he genuinely eats as if it's his last meal, & you lurch forward but Jeongin is quick to push you back onto the bed, his mouth not even daring to leave your mound.

Jeongin's eyes are staring up at you, with a mix of lust but also just love, & you are able to pick up on the look, his main way of non verbally showing he loves you despite how harsh he can be to you during sex & how far he pushes you to your limits.

Jeongin makes quick work of suckling on your folds, his tongue parting them as he flattens his tongue against it, lapping at your cunt, making you whimper & hum as your fingers weave into his soft hair but you don't dare tug on it, you just rub & play with his hair softly, trying to maybe get him to not be as harsh as you think he's gonna be.

Jeongin latches onto your clit & his soft lips suction to the button, tongue swirling around it in the specific pattern he knows gets you over the edge the quickest, savouring your raw taste on his taste buds, he starts palming himself over his sweatpants to try ease some of the pressure on his pulsating cock.

"Innie, g-gonna cum" you groan, your fingers clenching in his hair, making him groan in return as he can quite literally feel your clit pulsate in his mouth & he keeps the pace the exact same & your thighs slightly shake around his head before your stomach tightens & your first orgasm.. first of very many just this time alone washes over you & your toes curl, Jeongin chuckling up at you as he watches you writhe, his tongue not giving over.

You are panting as your high eventually bubbles away, but the feeling of his tongue doesn't bubble away, as he keeps the exact same speed. "Innie n-no more, sleepy" you murmur, your hips twitching at the slightly painful feeling sinking in.

"Cmon, you can handle one more, you've only came once today, it's fine" he purrs & you look down at him as soon as you process his words. "Jeongin you've made me cum four times today, my clit is gonna fall off" you cry & jeongin gets back to what he was doing, sucking & tasting before swallowing the remainder of the lube that he hasn't already swallowed & replies to you by saying "nuh uh, only gave you one today, can't you remember?" before he decides to be 'nice' & give you a small break & sits back on his knees slightly as he decides that your hole needs some attention too, so he slides two of his long, slender fingers into you, a small squelching noise being heard.

"You're so wet, you enjoy this almost as much as i do don't you" he teases as he starts scissoring them in & out of you & you can't help but chase the feeling despite it stinging from overstimulation, & any comeback you had dies in your throat as you bask in the feeling, whimpering & whining at the feeling.

As your eyes are shut & your arms are thrown over your face as you try fuck yourself on his fingers & as you're distracted, Jeongin reaches to grab the small vibrator placed on the bed & before you realise, he has turned it on & has placed it on your already swollen clit & you hiss & tense up, your cunt clenching around his fingers.

"Ah, fuck Innie, s-so much" you blabber, your hips subconsciously trying to get more feeling from the vibrator while also trying to escape from it at the same time, but he is so quick to stop you from trying to shuffle away. "Don't run from it, I wouldn't give you anything you couldn't handle, so be good, mkay? gimme one more then I'll stop, pinky swear" he talks, his voice sounding breathless as if he was the one receiving it all.

You can't do anything other than nod at his words as he then adds a third finger, meeting almost no resistance from how soaked you really are, but you feel even impossibly fuller & you let out a whine.

You can feel what feels like your millionth orgasm of the day bubbling up in the pit of your stomach again as Jeongin starts poking & probing against your soft spot at the same time he switches the vibrator to the highest setting & you can tell your orgasm feels different & you know what it is.

"Innie, cumm-" you're cut off by yourself as your orgasm hits you harder this time & this time it squirts out of you & sprays onto the vibrator before spraying onto his bare chest, before dripping down his skin along with dripping down onto the knuckles that are poking out from your hole before he is forced to pull them out from how hard you're clenching around them & he takes it upon himself to fiddle with your clit at a quick pace to pull the rest of your orgasm out of you, humming at the sight.

Your hair is sticking to your face because of the thin layer of sweat & your legs can't help but shut around his hand & he pulls it away from your abused cunt, letting you catch your breath slightly as he takes this opportunity to take off the rest of the clothes he still has on, his cock leaking at the tip so much you'd assume he had already came in his pants.

"So good aren't you, I think you can handle just one more" he states, not really bothering to ask. "Too much Inniee" you pant, your legs still closed but Jeongin opens them before positioning himself between them. "What's your colour?" he asks, his voice turning softer as he pumps himself slowly with one hand & caresses your thigh with the other.

"Gr-green" you whimper to him, your voice completely hushed out & raspy sounding & dry from using it so much. Jeongin smiles down at you, his dimples making your heart flutter & you make grabby hands & he knows to fold himself forwards to be face level with you as he lines himself up with you before pushing in, making you both moan in unison.

"How is it you're always so tight hmm? I literally fucked you open earlier & even made you squirt but you're still dying for more" he buzzes, his own voice raspy too as he begins to fuck you at a slow pace, deciding to give you the small amount of time to adjust.

"So- so big, fuck" you whimper, clenching uncontrollably around his long, slender cock & Jeongin can't help but blush at your words.

He starts to pick up his pace, his tip bullying into your cervix, kissing it roughly with each thrust as he tries to shut his own growing whimpers & groans by kissing you, mostly to shut himself up because he would rather be mute than let himself miss your noises & the way your cunt is squelching around him each time he thrusts makes him thankful he did so.

You struggle to kiss him back as you are allowing yourself to fully swallow yourself in the pleasure the man above is giving you.. the only man who could do this for you, your eyes watering & even a few tears start to escape your eyes from the painful pleasure, your cervix being poked & no doubt bruised but the feeling of your G-spot being also poked & also probably bruised, covers the painful part almost entirely.

"S-wanna cum a-again Inn, ca-can't handle it" you shriek as you turn your head sideways enough just to break your lips apart to tell him & he can't even chuckle at your state, his own orgasm starting to form as he stands back, his pace not faltering as he has to mentally beg himself to not let his eyes shut so he doesn't miss anything.

He thinks to himself your clit looks 'abandoned' or 'lonely' so of course he fixes that issue, by yet again partnering it with his thumb & you lurch forward, your hands making quick work of trying to paw his hand from your clit but he uses his other hand to push yours away.

"Keep em away, I know you're g-gonna cum again, gonna cum too, t-so tight" he groans, his eyebrows furrowed as he is biting down on his bottom lip & you clench your fingers so hard into the bedsheets that they're turning white as you can't stop moaning, the room full of the sounds.

"Cryin f'me? is it that much for you y/nnie? just let go, so pretty when you cry" he utters as he watches your face contort & your toes start curling again as your legs shake around him again & before you can warn him, you're squirting for the second time & Jeongin has to pull himself out from how tightly you constrict & not even a couple of seconds after he is fisting his cock while watching your own orgasm spray out of you, he is cumming all over your lower tummy, a few drops shooting up towards your tits.

He tries to get his breath back as quickly as possible as he is also helping you by picking you up & making quick work of helping move to the bathroom & setting you on the countertop as he starts running a bath before turning around to kiss you all over your cheeks & drying the tears from your cheeks & then kissing you all over again, moving your dampened hair rom your face.

"Wait here f'me & Ima get us water then we can bath together, I'll bring your chocolate too" he says in his completely normal cheery voice, before running out of the room still naked into the kitchen.

->Taglist & anon list is open!

@jisungml

[harmonyrae]

Inked - Part 2

Synopsis: You convinced him to take you on a race, can you handle the consequences? And a trip to Paradise reveals a new layer to the underworld Rafayel is a part of & reveals more about his interesting relationship with Sylus.

Part One

AN: This fanfic was inspired & entirely fueled by the artwork above, done by the amazing @obligatedart - thank you for letting me use your work as the cover art! Go check them out and see the other tattooed Rafayel pieces they’ve done. Comment if you want to be tagged for part 3 or any of my other fics.

Content Warnings: explicit language & sexual content, alcohol consumption, illegal street racing & evading, not-so-safe sex on a motorcycle, gambling, sassy Sylus, mentions of needles (tattoo needles, not medical), genital piercings, semi-public sex (if you squint), dom!Rafayel moments (bless), rough ROUGH, creampie, PiV, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 15k 

Now Playing (for club scene): Fuck Around Find Out - Mobiius Alone - Mobiius Smolder - Mobiius

“This should work. Don’t take off the jacket, gloves or helmet unless I say so, okay?”

Rafayel pulls a dark red leather jacket out of your closet. He digs through your dresser drawers and finds a black long sleeve shirt and your thickest pair of jeans, he tosses them on your bed. A pair of padded gloves and a white helmet with cute little light up cat ears sits on your dresser. You shrug your hoodie off and start to unbutton your skirt, Rafayel lays back on your bed and hums.

“Enjoying the show?”

“Well, there’s no music and you’re too far away, so no.”

You shake your head and continue getting changed. Once you have your pants and long sleeve on, you sit to lace up your moto boots. Rafayel shifts to sit behind you, he wraps his legs around you and removes the clip holding your hair up. You turn to reprimand him, but you feel him gather your hair and section it into three sections.

“Are you braiding my hair?”

He doesn’t answer, instead his fingers weave your hair together with ease. 

“When did you learn to braid hair?”

“Talia taught me. We would go swimming after I’d get out of school and she’d always get her hair caught in a reef. So she taught me to braid her hair. I got pretty good at it too. She had me do her hair for her wedding.”

“Talia’s married?”

Your high-pitched squeak makes Rafayel laugh. He secures your braid with a hair tie from around his wrist. 

“Her husband is very open-minded.”

You lean back against him and he kisses your temple. 

“Race starts at 9.”

You get up and zip up your leather jacket. Rafayel helps tighten your gloves and adjusts your helmet. He snaps the visor down and leads you through your living room - which is much too dark with the visor down. 

You’re surprised when you see his car parked in the garage. You put your hands on your hips.

“I thought…”

“That I’d bring my racing bike here? No, cutie. That would be silly.”

His mocking sing-song voice makes you growl, you pout - even though he can’t see it - and cross your arms.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Come on, let me show you my lair.”

You can’t stop yourself from giggling.

“You have a lair? Like Batman? You’re – wait, if we weren’t getting on your bike, why am I wearing my helmet already?”

He opens the passenger door and looks back at you, his hand on his hip.

“Cause you’re just so cute with your little kitty ears.”

You open your visor so he can see you dramatically roll your eyes. He places a hand on top of your helmet to make sure you don’t bump your head when you sink into his car.

After driving through downtown for almost half an hour, Rafayel finally takes a back alley and approaches a man dressed in all black with a full face mask. Rafayel slows and nods at the man. As he drives past, Rafayel reaches over and opens the glove box to pull a mask out. He quickly puts it on before turning down another alley that leads to the highway. 

After a short drive, you can tell you’ve entered the no hunt zone. The cars that pass by are mostly armored and have tinted windows. The buildings are weathered with bars on the windows. Rafayel pulls up to a tall parking garage and heads to the basement level. You’re surprised to find a large garage door blocking off the lower level. Rafayel presses a button on his dash and the door opens. 

Inside, there’s row after row of expensive cars and a smaller selection of motorcycles of every make and model. Rafayel parks his car and hops out. You follow him to a white Kawasaki with dark red side panels and seat covers, the headlights also appear to be tinted red. Rafayel squats down next to the bike and runs his hand over the side panel down to the chain guard. He stands and pulls off his mask, tucking it into his jacket pocket.

“Good as new.”

He walks over to a wall with a huge shelving unit stocked with helmets. He picks up the helmet you saw that night at your apartment, now fully repaired. Rafayel sets the helmet on the seat of his bike and turns to you. With your visor still up, he tracks your eyes to his helmet.

“My team works fast.”

He reaches up and tugs at your helmet, checking the straps. He drops his hands to check your gloves… again.

“You’re nervous.”

He meets your gaze. 

“About having you on the back of my bike while I race through the city at breakneck speeds? Nervous doesn’t quite cut it.”

“I’ll be okay. I trust you.”

He sighs and stares at the floor. You reach up and hold his face in your hands. You don’t speak and he rests his forehead against your helmet. 

“Am I interrupting?”

Rafayel looks over your shoulder and he squeezes your hands, almost like an involuntary reflex. You start to turn but Rafayel tugs on your hands and you squint. You pull your hand free and turn to face a tall man in leather. You train your eyes over his apparel, black leather pants are tucked into combat boots, a black leather jacket with red and white lightning strikes adorning the sleeves and a fitted turtleneck. When you meet his eyes you gasp. Is this…?

“I don’t believe we’ve properly met. I’m Sylus.”

He extends his gloved hand and you hesitantly take it. Instead of shaking it, he lifts it to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles. You stare at his face, those dark red eyes sparkling behind silver lashes that match his hair. Those lips. You definitely remember them. And his voice… 

“I mean we’ve met, but –”

Rafayel steps up beside you, his arms crossed. Sylus lets go of your hand. His devious smirk tells you he is enjoying this introduction. Your cheeks flush and you wish you could close your visor without adding to Sylus’s ego.

“We should probably talk before the rest of the crew gets here.”

Sylus crosses his arms, mirroring Rafayel. 

“I assume she knows already?”

Rafayel nods, you notice his cheeks are flushed. Sylus was definitely the man from the party. Sylus… Ryūō… Rafayel knew who he was, that he was his friend, and let him… Oh, you were so forcing him to tell you the full story now.

“She does.”

“And she knows my alias?”

Rafayel nods. Sylus turns to face you. 

“And she knows what will happen if that information is… leaked?”

Rafayel steps forward, putting you slightly behind him. 

“She does.”

You huff and step up to stand beside both the men, facing both of them. 

“She can answer for herself. I’m not going to leak anything. You have enough to worry about with whoever this Onryō person is.”

Sylus tilts his head and gives you a once over. His smile returns. 

“Fair enough.” 

Rafayel rubs the back of his neck before continuing. 

“Onryō probably won’t show up at today’s race, it’s too risky. But they’ll probably be watching. My people are still trying to track them down, whoever they are they’re good at covering their tracks. I’ll update you with any changes.”

Sylus continues to stare at you. You can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes as he forms his opinion of you.

“Your people have two more days before my people get involved.”

Rafayel uncrosses his arms and opens his mouth to say something.

“Rafayel, I already have a bounty on my head and whoever this Onryō prick is, they’re giving the authorities the idea that they can actually catch me. And those cops weren’t traffic cops, they were professionals.”

Rafayel starts pacing, walking slow circles around you and Sylus. He pinches the bridge of his nose, wincing when he realizes he pinched his piercing. He adjusts it before continuing to rub his forehead. 

“Do you think Onryō is undercover?”

Sylus shrugs.

“Not sure. Could be. All I know is I’ll probably have to retire Stella.”

“Stella?”

You finally speak up, your brain trying to keep track of all the information.

“He names his bikes.”

“Stella was the bike I drove last week. Now the cops know her make and model, it’s too risky to take her to the shop for a wipe down.”

Rafayel paces around him.

“Fuck…”

“Mephisto’s monitoring the shop. He runs a background check for every client, nothing sus yet.” 

Rafayel stops pacing, he turns to face Sylus.

“Did you just say ‘sus’? Like, with all seriousness?”

“Luke and Kieran said ‘sus’ means suspicious.”

“Sylus, you’re too old to say shit like that.”

Sylus glares at Rafayel, which amuses Rafayel greatly.

“You’re one to talk.”

Rafayel raises his hands in mock surrender. 

“Mephisto is watching the shop, what about Xavier?”

“Xavier’s in the bunker. He’s been there since the race. He’s being taken care of.”

Rafayel nods. You put your hands on your hips and try to hold your tongue, you’re so lost. Rafayel notices and circles behind you, rubbing your shoulders.

“Xavier is our designer, he creates the tracks and controls the app that we use for races. He also... monitors police frequencies to keep us up to date on any investigations.”

“And Mephisto?”

“A bird.”

“That’s a gross mischaracterization.”

Rafayel laughs and drapes his arm around your shoulder. 

“I’m… ha! I’m sorry, but he is a bird. A mechanical bird but still a bird.”

Sylus crosses his arms again and huffs. Rafayel holds his breath, trying to stop laughing.

“Okay, sorry sorry. He’s a huge help, eyes in the sky - literally - which we desperately need right now. You built him, right Sy?”

Sylus nods. You cock your head.

“Two days Rafayel. I’m not waiting any longer than that.”

Rafayel’s smile falls and he stuffs his hand in his pocket.

“Fine. Two days.”

Sylus looks at you once again. 

“We should get to know each other better if you’re going to be involved in our… business.”

“She’s not involved Sylus.”

“Of course she’s involved.”

“She certainly is.”

Rafayel and Sylus look at you, both somewhat surprised by your response. You turn to Rafayel, forcing his arm off of your shoulder. 

“If it was as simple as trying to stop illegal street racing they wouldn’t have kicked your bike. If this person is trying to hurt you I want to know their motive. So yes, I am involved.”

“So dinner, Sunday. My base. 7 o’clock sound good for everyone? Good. I’ll see you both there.”

With that, Sylus turns and walks away. Rafayel clears his throat and walks back to his bike. You follow, wishing you could remove your helmet and kiss him until that frown vanishes.

“We don’t have to go, he’s just being a pain in the ass as always.” 

You walk over and mount his bike, taking the driver seat. He leans down and places a hand on the handlebar and another on the seat behind you.

“Whatcha doin cutie?”

“Getting comfortable for storytime.”

He wrinkles his nose and cocks his head to the side. 

“I could always ask Sylus for the story behind that debt he repaid at dinner on Sunday.”

Rafayel’s ears turn bright red and his cheeks soon follow. He shakes his head and drops his eyes to the floor. He’s been avoiding this conversation all week and you’ve let him, with his injury still healing. 

“You did say you’d explain later. It’s definitely later.”

Rafayel sighs and leans his head on your shoulder.

“Fine. Yes, Sylus was the guy at the party.”

“The guy who sucked your dick.”

Rafayel lifts his head to glare at you. You chuckle and cover where your mouth would be with your hand, giving him an apologetic look. 

“He did do that, yes. The debt was… fuck… okay…”

He straightens and hooks his thumbs in his pockets, trying to look casual while you knew he was boiling alive. 

“For the past few years, every time we line up to start a race, Sylus and I will give each other shit. He’ll say something about dusting me or beating my record and I’ll tell him to… ‘suck my dick’ - it became a tradition I guess.”

He stutters and you rest your chin on your fist, leaning against the gas tank in front of you.

“We set up a tournament and we got a little… too competitive. We decided to make a bet and… he said he’d follow through on my…” He raises his fingers to make air quotes. “‘Catch Phrase’ as he referred to it, if I beat him.”

“And you beat him.”

“Yea…”

“And you enjoyed it?”

Rafayel's pupils dilate and you smile - if only he could see it through your damn helmet.

“I’m glad you did. It certainly gave you the motivation to eat me out like a man starved.”

He groans and turns around to start pacing again. 

“We should go.”

“To what?” 

“Dinner. At his place.”

He spins around, his eyes wide.

“Why?”

“He’s important to you, even if he’s just a rival giving you shit. Sunday is two days away, so you’ll either have an answer about Onryō by then or he’ll send his people out to hunt. I’m sure you’ll want another attempt at trying to convince him otherwise. Am I right?”

Rafayel sighs and nods reluctantly. 

“Then we’ll go. Plus it’s funny watching him get under your skin.”

“Rude.” 

You poke your elbow into his stomach. 

“It’s almost 9.”

You hop off the bike and he takes your place. You hand him his helmet so you can climb on behind him. He secures his helmet and revs the engine before reaching back to pat your leg.

“You ready?”

You close your visor, lean forward and wrap your arms around him.

“Whole new world time?”

Rafayel laughs and closes his visor. He lifts up the kickstand with his heel. 

“Come on Princess, let’s ride.”

He carefully weaves his way through the garage and out onto the street. You spot a long line of bikes parked on the sidewalk. Rafayel drives to the front of the line and pulls out his phone.

“It’s my turn to register everyone, so they’ll all drive up in a second.”

The roar of multiple bikes starting up is deafening. They slowly pull off the sidewalk to drive into a line near where Rafayel is parked. A silver bike with light blue headlights approaches first. Two long white braids hang over their shoulders. Their helmet is adorned with delicate snowflakes and lines that look like cracks in ice. A female voice greets Rafayel.

“What’s up Kiko? Yuki onna, 3146.”

Rafayel nods and types something on his phone.

“Oh you know, just hunting down the fuckhead who ruined our last race. Accept?” 

She taps her phone that’s mounted to the handlebars of her bike. You hear Rafayel’s phone chime. 

“Let me know if you need help with that.”

She pulls off and heads towards the back of the line. You recognize the alias, Yuki onna, snow woman. Her helmet design was much more Elsa than terrifying supernatural spirit, but still very fitting.

The next bike rolls up, the bright purple and pink streaks along the side panels glow in the dark, their pure white headlights are almost too bright. Their helmet painted a dark purple with white lightning strikes spreading out from the visor. The voice that greets you is loud and gritty. 

“Kiko, my guy! Since when do you have a backpack? What’s up babe?”

“Raijū…”

Rafayel’s tone is a warning, the biker shifts in his seat and waves his hand.

“I was just playing around. You find the prick who fucked you up?”

Rafayel shakes his head.

“Working on it.”

“They better hope you don’t find them, I’m sure you have something creative planned.”

Your grip around Rafayel’s waist tightens. You feel his hand rub yours. 

“What’s your number today?”

“Raijū, 1520.”

Rafayel types on his phone, the biker taps his smartwatch and Rafayel’s phone chimes again. They rev their engine before slowly moving forward.

“Have fun, backpack! Kiko’s a wild one.”

He drives off and takes an alley, which you assume loops around to the back of the line. If you remember correctly, Raijū is a thunder beast. Their legend was fairly vague, but mostly they were considered messengers from the gods. Their messages were mostly in the form of punishing lightning strikes. 

You don’t recognize every yokai alias that you hear, but the color choices and helmet designs give you plenty of clues. You try to take mental notes so you can look them up when you get home to see if your guesses were correct. 

The final bike in the line approaches and you recognize the leather jacket, the white and red lightning strikes glowing in the darkness. Sylus’s bike is all black with no side panels, the exposed interior a bright chrome. His black helmet had patches of golden scales lined with fire. You assume this is his backup bike since “Stella” had to be retired. Stella probably matched his alias much better.

“And you’re sure you want to ride with him?”

Sylus winks at you, which makes Rafayel huff in response. You laugh and move your arms to rest over Rafayel’s shoulders. Sylus reaches up to close his visor and clicks his phone into its holder below his handlebars. 

“What’s your number?”

Rafayel leans back against you and as you rub his chest.

“Ryūō, 7213.”

Sylus taps his phone.

"I would provide my usual taunt, but your response doesn't hold as much power as it once did."

You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing. Sylus is loving how flustered he now makes Rafayel and it shows. Rafayel flips him off and Sylus gives you a casual salute before speeding off to rejoin the line. Rafayel sighs as he continues typing something on his phone. 

“What are the numbers?”

Rafayel pauses, turning his head so you can hear him better.

“Confirmation IDs. They sign up on the app and get a number. They’d only have the number if they’re logged into a recognized account.”

“And… what did that guy mean by ‘backpack’?” 

Rafayel snorts, he secures his phone to its mount.

“It’s what bikers call their passengers. Well… mostly for special passengers.”

“Special?”

He lifts his visor, looks over his shoulder and winks at you. He turns back around and turns his bike back on, shutting his visor again as he lines his bike up on the street. The other bikers pull up beside him and rev their engines. 

“Remember, hands on the tank, don’t lean into or away from the turn, just stay loose and no sudden movements.” 

“Got it.”

You give his torso a squeeze and plant your hands on the tank in front of him. He leans forward and settles in. You look over his shoulder and see a countdown on his phone. Taking a deep breath, you watch the other bikers shift back and forth preparing to take off. You spot Sylus slightly behind the line, he leans on his elbows patiently. He gives you a cheeky wave and you spin back around to face forward. 

You watch the countdown and take a deep breath. Five… How fast does Rafayel’s bike actually go? Four… Is the whole race in the no hunt zone or does it loop back into the city? Three… Will cops show up? Two… How many times has Rafayel run from the police? One… What if you get caught or crash or…? The sound of a dozen engines drowns your worries - it’s too late to back out now.

How did you end up in one of those “so you’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.” Rafayel’s bike must have cost a fortune - you can’t imagine how many upgrades and illegal modifications it’s had. In a flash you’re speeding down a dimly lit street at 130. You’re suddenly very thankful Rafayel made you wear your thickest leather jacket, the wind alone would freeze you. 

You force yourself to take slow, steady breaths and follow Rafayel’s lead. His phone flashes every time he needs to turn. He drives like he’s swimming, his turns smooth, weaving between cars and the other racers seamlessly. You can’t hear anything but Rafayel’s bike engine - it’s somewhat calming. 

You hear the faint chirp of sirens and hold your breath. You hear Rafayel’s voice.

“We’re fine, don’t worry.”

You wince, his voice is loud.

“Your helmet has Bluetooth, I connected it before we left.”

You take a deep breath and stretch your hands trying to calm down.

“You can talk back if it helps?”

“Oh… okay.”

Your voice is shakier than you intended. 

“Just breathe, we’ll be okay. They’re following, but not chasing just yet.”

“When… will they chase?”

“Most patrol cops can tell when a race is done, they’ll chase the finishers. Big turn.”

You follow his lead and the turn is smooth. You hear the sirens getting closer. 

“Do they always wait?”

“Not always. Don’t worry, I’ll pull off if they get too close.”

“How fast are you going now?”

Rafayel laughs. “185.”

“Fucking hell…”

“I can hit 240 but only ever hit that on highway races with long straights. I won’t go over 200 in urban areas.”

You take a look around and see you’re on a backroad. You recognize the area, you’re close to the city now.

“Are we heading back into Linkon?” 

“Yep, the race ends at the pier. From there we circle back to a garage downtown for payouts.”

“Payouts?”

“Ahh, right. We gamble with our races. The top three split the pot.”

“Are you winning?”

“I’m in third at the moment. I don’t plan on winning.”

“Why not?!” Rafayel chuckles at your tone. “I want you to win!”

“You’re going to yell at me when I tell you why.”

“Well now you have to tell me.”

“My bike can’t go as fast with two people on it.”

“Oh my god! You’re calling me fat?!” You play up the sarcasm in your voice since he can’t see your face. 

“I knew you’d yell at me!”

“I’m not yelling!” You were, in fact, yelling. 

“It’s just physics or whatever! I swear I’m not calling you fat!” 

You’re not really upset, but hearing him backtrack is just too entertaining. As the race enters the city, Linkon city cops start following the race. The closer you get to the pier the more anxious you get. Rafayel continues to try to keep you calm, but as the sirens get louder you start to wonder what Jenna will say when you get arrested.

“Babe? You with me?”

“Yeah… yes, sorry.”

“It’s okay. Race ends around the corner, when I tell you to, I need you to turn around and tell me if any cops follow us, okay?”

“O-okay.”

“Hold onto me, you’ll be okay.”

The pier comes into view and Rafayel slows as he approaches the finish line. You lift a hand to press against his stomach. You pass under the entrance to the pier and he brakes, his rear tire smokes as it burns out to spin completely around. Cops slam on their brakes and try to back up to turn around and follow, but they’re too slow. 

“Now, check now.”

As he speeds down the alleyway, you turn your head and look back, two white sports cars with lights on the dashboard flash speed up behind you. 

“Fuck! Two… two ugh… two nice, good, fast…”

“Two pursuit vehicles. How close?”

“On our ass!”

Rafayel snorts and you want to slap him, but you are clinging to him too tightly to even move at the moment. He winds down the city streets carefully, but picks up speed once he hits a long stretch. He takes a turn that leads back to downtown.

“Do you want me to check again?”

“Wait until I make this turn and then check.”

He takes a wide turn cutting into the opposing lanes, you look over your shoulder to see one of the pursuit vehicles lose control and clip the sidewalk. The car tips and the driver overcorrects making him spin out into the bushes, a tree stops the car completely and the sirens wail cuts out. Guilt hits you like a truck and you pinch your eyes closed.

“One of them crashed…”

“Okay, easy, we’ll be out in a sec.”

You keep your eyes closed and wrap your arms around Rafayel, gripping your wrists around his waist until your hands nearly go numb. All you can see is that cop crashing into the tree. The bike wiggles beneath you and Rafayel’s hand squeezes your leg.

“Babe, babe! Talk to me!”

You let out a shaky breath and gasp for air, you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until that moment. When you open your eyes your vision is spotty. White spots cloud your vision and you let out a quiet sob.

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. We’re almost out. Talk to me baby, please.”

“They crashed…”

Rafayel takes a sharp turn and you nearly slip off the seat. The alleyway is too narrow for the other pursuit vehicle to follow. When Rafayel reaches the other side, he revs his engine and zooms down backstreets until he hits the highway. You glance over your shoulder and there’s no cops in sight. 

A few minutes later, Rafayel pulls up to a garage and honks twice. When the door opens and you see several of the bikes you saw earlier parked inside. All the racers still have their helmets on and are huddled in small groups. Rafayel drives inside and parks, he hops off and pulls up his visor.

“Hey, look at me.” He grabs your helmet and pushes your visor up. The lights of the garage burn your eyes and you squint. Your eyes water as they adjust.

“Babe, hey, the cop is okay.”

“How do you know?”

“I took that corner super slow. I banked on the cop slamming the brakes and skidding into the grass. If anything, they’ll have some bruises, but they’ll be fine.”

You close your eyes and feel tears trickle down your cheeks, you quickly wipe them away and square your shoulders. 

“I’m not crying, the lights, m’eyes are just sensitive.”

Rafayel hugs you, his hands glide over your back.

“I should have warned you about the possibility of how a chase could go… I’m sorry…”

“No. I knew the risks. It was just a reality check, you know?”

You look up to see two bikers approach. Rafayel snaps his visor shut before turning around. He grabs his phone off its mount and stares at the screen.

“Okay, Raijū you were third, Shinigami you were first and where’s Ryūō?”

A tall individual in a dark red jacket leans forward, their helmet is a dark grey with splattered red paint and two red devil horns fixed to the top. You’re surprised by the voice of the individual, its pitch unnatural and distorted.

“He got a call, he’s out back.”

Rafayel nods and taps on his phone two times. Two chimes ring out and the bikers check their phones before turning to leave. Raijū flips his visor up to wink at you and then skips back to his bike before Rafayel can shove him.

“How much did they make?”

Rafayel looks at his phone, scrolling slowly.

“13 racers, $25k to join, so the total was $325k. First gets 60 percent, second and third each get 20. So… Shinigami got $195k, Ryūō and Raijū each got $65k.”

You audibly gasp. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen $65k let alone over $100k. Rafayel chuckles and mounts his bike once more.

“Everyone here is an adrenaline junkie. Gambling ups the stakes.”

“Wait, so you lost $25k? Because of me?”

Rafayel turns on his bike and turns to watch his fellow racers leave the garage before driving through to the back door where Sylus’s bike is parked. 

“I told you, I didn’t plan on winning tonight. It was just about the experience.”

You lean back and cross your arms as Rafayel gets off his bike and unhooks the straps of his helmet. He sets his helmet on his seat and offers his hand to help you hop off. You let out a dramatic sigh and take the hand offered to you. 

Rafayel wraps an arm around your waist and pulls out the fabric mask from his pocket and puts it on before opening the back door and slipping outside. Sylus leans against the brick wall, his phone pressed to his ear. His helmet tucked under his arm. As you approach you hear the tail end of his conversation.

“Fuck no, kick them out if they’re harassing my girls. Take down their names and have Mike drag them out. Give the girls the rest of the night off. Paid, of course... I’ll call after closing.”

He hangs up and smiles, a stark contrast to the anger burning behind his eyes.

“Trouble in Paradise?” 

Sylus chuckles as he rubs his forehead. 

“Just some drunk idiots harassing my staff.”

“Paradise is his club, by the way.” 

Rafayel squeezes your hip and you hum in response.

“I saw my winnings come through, I assume everyone left?”

Rafayel nods. You lean against him and try to imagine Sylus in a club, he just doesn’t seem like the club type. You start to imagine what kind of club he might own and then an idea hits you.

“Wait, you own a club.”

A teasing smirk spreads across his lips.

“Yes, I do. Would you like to join me sometime?”

You feel Rafayel bristle and hold you tighter.

“No no, you own a club, why not use it? For you know, tracking down Onryō? I assume you both have the connections to get the word out there to… certain people… and if Onryō knows you’ll both be there they might show up.”

He takes a step toward you. 

“That… is a great idea, sweetie.”

Rafayel spins you around and walks you back to the door to the garage. 

“Yea, brilliant idea, let us know when it’s planned and we’ll be there, yea?”

You hear Sylus chuckle behind you before Rafayel rushes you back into the garage. Without his helmet, you can see his ears turning red. You’re starting to suspect that is not only a sign of him being turned on but also of him being jealous. Possibly both given his and Sylus’ interesting relationship dynamic.

You watch him shove his helmet back on and adjust the straps. You wrap your arms around his chest, trapping his arms to his sides. 

“Are you…?”

“Am I what?”

“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

He wiggles against your grasp and you giggle in response. He starts to lean back and you struggle to keep standing. 

“You’re cute when you think I’m cute.”

You finally release him and he turns to face you.

“It is a good idea by the way. An event like that will draw a crowd of all the wrong people, especially if they know Sylus and I will be there.”

You hold onto his hips as he reaches up to hold the chin of your helmet. 

“Then let’s focus on the event. Sunday’s dinner will be the perfect opportunity to help Sylus plan!”

Rafayel groans and bangs his helmet against yours. He turns to mount his bike and you follow suit. 

“I’m in charge of music!” 

Rafayel nods and you pull out your phone to sync up the Bluetooth in your helmets. He zips out of the garage and down an alleyway. 

After switching back to his street bike, Rafayel takes his time driving back to his apartment. The streets were unusually quiet after the night you’ve had. You rest your head against his back, reliving the thrill. 

The next song on your playlist is raunchy, and before you could think up an excuse you feel Rafayel’s chest shake with a laugh. You let out a deep sigh, he’s extra cocky tonight and it’s driving you insane. An idea pops into your head and you smile, thankful your helmet hides your intentions.

Your hands glide over his stomach. You let them drift further and further down, until your fingertips brush against the zipper on his jeans. 

“Patience, cutie. We’ll be home soon.”

You giggle, letting him feel the subtle shake of your chest against his back. The adrenaline you’d felt during the race had finally worn off, its replacement was much more… carnal. Patience was the last thing on your mind. 

You tuck your hands under his crotch and rub against his already hard cock. You feel Rafayel take a sharp breath. His hands gripping the handles tightly. He slows down slightly, but you don’t. You squeeze your hand as you cup him, you can feel his piercing and you rub your thumb over it with more force than necessary. He leans forward, trying to pinch your fingers and get you to let go, but you just squeeze him a little harder.

“Cutie…” You swear his voice dropped an octave. “I’ll have to punish you for this little stunt…”

You tug his shirt up and run a hand up his abdomen. His muscles tense at your touch. His breathing turns ragged and he grasps your hand through his shirt.

“Come on Raf… hot and bothered looks so good on you…” 

You feel his cock twitch against your hand and you roll your body against his back. He returns his hand to the handle and revs the engine, speeding up and blasting his way down back alleys to avoid stop lights. 

You rub him faster and run your nails across his abs. He turns down the road leading to his studio and the sudden burst of speed up the hill pushes the bike up onto the back tire. You tighten your grip around his waist and slow your massage, your heartbeat pounds in your ears - what song is even playing right now?  

You’re barely inside the private garage behind the studio before he is dismounting and tossing his helmet to the ground. He swiftly turns and starts tugging at the straps of your helmet. As soon as your helmet is off, he lifts you off of his bike and your bodies collide. The concept of patience is long forgotten as he slots his mouth over yours.

“Now how will I punish my precious angel for not being able to control her hands?”

You start undoing his belt when he grabs your hands and you tilt your head, looking up at him. 

“Oh no no no… You first, I insist.” 

His lips curve into a smug smile and before your stubborn nature makes you leave him high and dry, you reach up and pull him to you. You press yourself against him as your lips fight for dominance. You’re needy and don’t give a fuck, you want everything he has to give you tonight.

He bends his knees and lifts you by the backs of your thighs and you wrap your legs around him. You expect to be taken up the stairs to his apartment, but instead your ass meets the seat directly behind you. You gasp in surprise and your eyes fly open, breaking the kiss to look down. He’s put you back on his bike? You smile and lean into the kisses he’s started placing along your collarbone. 

Rafayel pulls your jacket off and drops it to the floor before lifting your shirt over your head. He takes a deep breath as his eyes rake over your chest, your lace bra hiding nothing from him. He dips his head down to press his lips over your covered nipples, making your back arch. You push at his jacket and he leans back to tug it off and drop it next to yours. He pulls his t-shirt over his head before returning to worship your body. 

His mouth meets yours again and he lifts a hand to tug your bottom lip down with his thumb, his tongue sliding into your mouth in an instant. You moan as he begins rocking his hips against you. He undoes your belt and tucks his hands under your ass to help you stand to peel your pants down your legs. His fingers trace the delicate patterns of your lace panties, his breath hot against your neck.

Before he can literally tear your panties off of your body, you stop him. With your fingers locked behind his neck, all he can do is stare at you. His cheeks are flushed and sweat drips down his chest. One thing you loved the most about Rafayel, his eyes would sparkle when he was lost in the heat of the moment. The pink hue would finally overpower the deep blue and it was like you were walking on a pink sand beach, warm and at peace.

You reach up and gently stroke his cheeks, he leans into your touch. You place a soft kiss to his lips and you feel him shudder. His eyes open looking more blurred and unfocused than before. 

You let him go to pull the straps of your bra down your arms and pull it over your head. Rafayel’s eyes instantly clear as he stares at your body. You reach down and take one of his hands, lifting it to glide over your stomach and over the swell of your breast. You release his hand once he starts kneading your sensitive flesh on his own. You whisper his name and his eyes snap to yours.

“Fuck me on your motorcycle…”

His chest caves and he stands up straight, hooking his fingers on the hem of your panties to yank them down. He plants his hands on your waist, lifting you and sitting your bare ass on the seat of his motorcycle. He whips off his belt, watching you spread your legs further. You extend your hand, pulling him forward by the belt loops. You reach around him and quickly squeeze his ass. He winces and glares at you. You’re about to laugh when he takes hold of your braid and tips your head back. He leans down and hovers his lips over yours.

“Bad girl…”

If his kiss is your punishment for squeezing his ass, you’ll be doing it a lot more often. He doesn’t stop you from pushing his pants down over his hips. He removes the hair band from the end of your braid and gently combs through your hair with his fingers. You reach down to take hold of his leaking cock, rubbing your thumb over his swollen tip. He steps closer so you can align him and you drag his cock over your slick cunt. He presses himself into your slowly, too slowly. You plant your hands on his hip and pull him forward, taking him all at once. He groans, throwing his head back. You let out a breath and rest your head against his chest as you adjust and let the pain melt into an intense pleasure. 

“Fuck… I need… I need to move, baby… hold onto me.”

You glide your hands up his chest to circle around his neck. You watch his eyes roll back before he pulls back to thrust. You start rolling your hips, driving yourself crazy with the friction of his piercing against your clit. You close your eyes and lean your head back, letting Rafayel find his rhythm. You run your hand through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. He holds his breath as he watches you, sweat glistening across your chest, your eyes closed, your lips swollen, your ragged voice moaning his name - losing yourself to the pleasure he’s bringing you.

He grips the center of the handle bar and holds you against him as his thrusts become more intense. The motorcycle sways, your arousal dripping down onto the seat is making it hard for you to remain still. You wrap your legs around him again to avoid slipping off.

You finally open your eyes and bring your hands to cradle his face, placing kisses along his jaw. He lets out a breathy moan and whispers your name over and over. You silence him with a kiss and his fingertips dig into your back.

You roll your hips one last time, meeting his most brutal thrust yet. You almost black out at the intense pain and pleasure of it all. He was so deep, his hips hitting yours so harshly you’re sure you’ll have bruises forming before he even pulls out. The muscles in your stomach tighten and when you can’t take a deep breath you know you’re done for. You scream his name as your climaxes hit at the same time. Rafayel whimpering against your neck as you claw at his chest. 

He rests his hands on the seat, his thumbs brushing against your thighs as his cock softens inside you. You make no move to drop your legs from his waist, not yet. You kiss the tip of his nose and he rests his forehead against yours. He looks down at his motorcycle and chuckles.

“Now how do I explain this to my detailing team?”

You laugh with him, finally letting him slip out and lift you off of his bike. He bends to pick you up bridal style and carries you up the stairs to his apartment. You nuzzle your head into his neck and sigh.

“Just tell them you had the ride of your life.”

“This is how I die, isn’t it? This is it. It was a great run.”

You can barely hear Rafayel under the pile of clothes you stacked on top of him. He’s the one who decided to lay down on your bed while you tried on outfits for the event at Sylus’s club. He knew the risks. You had nearly gone through every article of clothing in your closet and you were getting desperate. Nothing felt right. And of course work got busy as soon as the date was set and you couldn’t go shopping like you planned. 

“Stop being dramatic! Fuck, I have nothing to wear.”

“I beg to differ.”

Rafayel sticks his hand through the pile on top of him and wags his finger at you. You start shoving your clothes off of the bed, freeing Rafayel from his prison. He sits up and dramatically gasps for air. You flop down on the bed and cover your face.

“I just don’t feel comfortable in any of my clothes right now. I’ve gained weight, Tara is borrowing my favorite dress for her vacation with Jeremiah and I’m starting to think my body type is not good for dresses.” 

Rafayel pulls you on top of him and you squeal, he holds you close and nuzzles his face into your hair. You stop struggling and relax in his warm embrace.

“You’ll look amazing in whatever you choose. Your body is perfect and it’s definitely the type for dresses.”

You frown and try to look up at him. 

“The event starts in 3 hours… we should be getting ready.” Rafayel hums and slowly rubs your arms. You wiggle against his grasp, but he only holds you tighter. You whine and he laughs, giving the top of your head a soft kiss.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry. How about I pick out your outfit for you? It’ll be a surprise.”

Rafayel releases you and you sit up.

“You sure?”

He nods and you shrug before standing to head into the bathroom. 

You drag your fingers along your lash line to smear your eyeliner and mascara, adding black shadow to create a smoked out wing. After redrawing your eyeliner with precision and adding a small set of wispy false lashes, you feel more club-appropriate. The hot rollers in your hair were cool to the touch by the time you finished touching up your makeup, the curls were tight and bouncy - you knew they’d fall into loose waves by the end of the night. With a final flick of your lip gloss wand, you head back into your bedroom.

Rafayel stands beside your bed, he changed into the suit he brought with him and you nearly tripped over your own feet. His fitted black suit pants tucked into his worn boots. The sleeves of the matching suit jacket were rolled up over his elbows with a simple black button up left untucked and mostly unbuttoned underneath. The undone red bow tie around his neck was a surprising touch, the color complimented his tattoos nicely. He looked incredible and you suddenly became very aware you were still in your pajamas. 

“Damn. You clean up nice.”

“Thanks, cutie. You look ready to go, let’s head out, yea?”

You glare at him, his cheeky smirk making your heart flutter. You put your hands on your hips and he finally steps aside to reveal the outfit he selected laid out on your bed for you.

Surprisingly, it was a relatively simple ensemble. Wide leg, high waisted dark gray trousers, sleek black stilettos and a fitted leather jacket. You walk over and pick up the jacket, looking for a shirt and hold up a scarf you forgot you have.

“Where’s the shirt?”

“You’re looking at it.”

You stare at the scarf in your hand. The rich emerald green was definitely a good color option and the golden thread woven throughout sparkled in the light. But how on earth is this your top?

“You said you didn’t like anything you have, so let’s make something new.”

You drop the scarf on your bed and cross your arms. Rafayel picks up the scarf and swings it over his head to settle around his neck.

“Do you trust me?”

You nod sheepishly. He tugs on your baggie t-shirt urging you to change. You carefully pull your shirt over your head, making sure your hair isn’t touched. As you pull the trousers up, Rafayel steps forward to adjust the belt, twisting it to accentuate your waist before securing the buckle. You hand the necklaces he laid out for you to him and turn around. His fingers graze your skin gently as he hooks them together around your neck.

You shudder when his fingers slide along the back of your bra, pausing over the clasp. His lips press against the skin of your neck as he swiftly unhooks the clasp and pulls away from your body. You lean back against him and hold your breath as his hand sweeps your hair over your shoulder. He removes the scarf from around his neck and centers it across your back. He wraps the fabric under your arms and crosses it over your chest. He ties it behind your neck and slowly turns you around. 

He adjusts the scarf over your breasts and shivers spread across your skin when his fingers brush over your nipples. You watch him smirk and try to move away, he grabs your waist suddenly and pulls you into a kiss. His lashes tickle your cheeks and you giggle against his lips. He steps back and smiles at you. Your giggles turn to a full belly laugh and you wipe your finger over Rafayel’s lipstick stained lips. He kisses your fingers before reaching out to free your necklaces from under your makeshift top. 

Looking in the mirror you are shocked at how effortlessly Rafayel made a simple scarf into a beautiful top. The necklaces sit neatly in the folds around your neck and make the golden threading more prominent. 

“So fucking beautiful.”

Your cheeks flush and you try to distract yourself by fixing your lipstick. He grabs your jacket and guides your arms through the sleeves. He surprises you when he kneels beside your bed and lifts a hand. You approach slowly, unsure what he’s up to. He picks up one of the heels off your bed and points to your foot. You lift your foot and his hand circles your ankle. He slides the heel on and sets your foot down, reaching for the other shoe and waiting for you to lift your other foot. He repeats the action, but kisses the top of your foot before setting it down. 

“Ready?”

You’re actually speechless. All he did was help you get dressed and here you are barely keeping it together. He stands and offers his arm and you take it, your body buzzing with anticipation for what the night will hold. 

He brought a different car tonight, you’re not a car girl but you recognize the bright red Ferrari Enzo. Rafayel had done a spread in a tattoo magazine and posed with it on the cover. He opens the door for you and helps you in. He climbs in and the engine roars to life, its gritty rumble makes your chest shake. You instinctively reach out and grab Rafayel’s hand that’s resting on the gear shift. He links his fingers with yours and rests your joined hands on his thigh as he takes off.

The drive to the club was quiet, the street lights only ribbons passing by. Rafayel gives you the rundown regarding Sylus’s club, Paradise. 

“He has a shit ton of security, all well trained. Even his dancers and waitresses are trained in self-defense, he requires it. We both have people working the floor so we’ll stay in the VIP section with him, okay?”

You nod and give his hand a squeeze. 

“You good?”

You nod again, distracted by the flashing red lights a few streets in front of you. 

“We’re here.”

Rafayel pulls into the lot where the lights originate and you gasp. The building is huge, at least four stories, the black brick splattered with dripping red paint. Massive stained glass windows, which probably stand two stories tall, glow with the pulsing lights from inside the club. If you didn’t know better you’d think this was a cathedral, even spotting gargoyles lining the side of the building.

The long red carpet is packed with club goers and two burley bouncers stand at the entrance. The valet greets Rafayel and you barely register that your door is being opened. You hold onto Rafayel as he saunters to the front of the line. 

You feel the glares of those waiting and you try your best to ignore their twinge of anxiety forming at the back of your throat. Sudden flashes take you by surprise and one of the bouncers shoves a photographer back to usher you and Rafayel into the building. Once inside, you can’t hear anything but the rhythm of dark and bassy club anthems. 

Inside, you are conflicted yet again, this place had to be a church beforehand. With the stained glass windows, ribbed vaulting line the ceiling, every doorway has a pointed arch, two prominent aisles lined with pillars block off sitting areas and where the altar would be a huge DJ station sits. A large curved bar seems to have taken residence in the ambulatory circling around the raised DJ station. Red and purple lights drown the space and glints of gold catch your eye - sconces, lanterns, any metal detailing is glimmering like an ancient treasure. 

Rafayel leads you through a side door, leaving the chaotic sanctuary behind. The music softens slightly in the narrow stone stairwell. You follow behind him and find yourself in the gallery, over the railing you see the dancers sway to the music and gather around waiters to take shots or glasses of champagne. Then you are walking directly next to the massive stained glass windows. The artwork doesn’t depict the typical Biblical imagery, instead images of mythical beings are painted in vibrant hues. A gorgeous Pegasus with skeletal wings flies next to a dark red dragon. Another window holds the image of a minotaur fighting a sphinx, claws and horns clash in a brutal scene. The final window you pass you see a spectacular ocean and sky standing side by side. A phoenix soaring through the sky while a mermaid glides through the water, mirroring each other's movement in their own element. 

You hear Rafayel speaking with another guard and you’re pulled through an ornate door. On the other side, there’s small corner booths and standing tables scattered around. A private bar sits at the back of the room, the bartender wearing a mask with black feathers serves a couple leaning against the bar. A large balcony overlooks the club, many VIPs sip their drinks while watching the dancers below. 

You spot a familiar silhouette. Sylus stands at the center of the balcony, his white hair tinted red under the light. Rafayel approaches, he holds your hand tightly and you squeeze, trying to reassure him you’re okay. Sylus turns, the head of his dragon tattoo peeks out from behind his unbuttoned dress shirt. With his dark suit jacket hanging off his shoulders he looks ready to take flight. He locks eyes with you, something dark stirs behind those ruby eyes. But as quickly as you register the look it vanishes, replaced with his usual swagger. 

“Welcome to Paradise.”

You chuckle and graciously take a glass of champagne from the waiter that approaches you and Rafayel, who also takes a glass. You raise the glass to Sylus.

“It’s certainly not what I expected, but it is beautiful.”

Sylus smiles as he lifts his glass to his lips, he downs the dark amber liquid in one go and sets it on the waiter's tray. The waiter instantly turns to leave and Sylus steps closer.

“My people are tracking two right now. They won’t act, it’d be a death sentence. Regardless, keep your eyes open. And most importantly…”

He offers his hand to you and you hesitate for a moment before accepting. He lifts your hand to his mouth, his soft lips press against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Rafayel releases your hand and tucks his arm around your waist. You can feel Sylus’s breath against your skin as he laughs. He lets you go and takes a step back. 

“Enjoy the night. I’ll be around. Just say my name and I’ll be there.”

“Like a ghost?” You joke.

“Like an angel.” He says with a wink.

“More like a devil.” Rafayel mutters through gritted teeth.

Sylus lets out another breathy laugh. He pats Rafayel on the shoulder before sauntering away, leaving the VIP section.

“Madam, would you like your jacket checked?”

The waiter reappears and offers his hand to take your jacket. You shrug it off your shoulder and hand it to him.

“Yes, thank you!”

He nods and disappears to hang up your jacket. Rafayel kisses your shoulder. You lean against him and sip your champagne.

“Was this place a church?”

Rafayel leads you closer to the balcony and you look down at the crowd. You can see the whole bar, the DJ stand, the general sitting area - every corner is packed with people. 

“No, actually. Sylus had it built specifically to look like this. Hired an architect with a specialty in historical design and commissioned me to do the stained glass.”

“You designed the windows?”

He nods, craning his neck to look at the three windows above the DJ stand. The most prominent windows serve as the artistic centerpiece for the club, each window intricately designed featuring three creatures. The first appears to be a knight in golden armor surrounded by planets and stars. The knight fights against chains wrapped around its neck, raising a glowing sword poised to strike. The second a dark dragon, similar to the one you saw during your walk through the gallery. However, this one has what appears to be a massive hole in its chest where its heart should be. And the third is a merman, or maybe a siren. Its powerful tail wrapped around a broken ship mast, the sails torn and floating in bloody waves behind him. 

“They’re kind of tragic… Amazing, but… tragic.”

Rafayel stares at the windows, his hand falling from your waist to rest on the railing of the balcony. You place your hand over his and watch him for a moment. A pained expression crosses his face. He looks at the ground and shuffles his feet. 

“Do you wanna know why Sylus named this place Paradise?”

You lean against the railing and nod.

“He told me ‘even monsters deserve a paradise.’”

“I don’t understand…”

He turns to face you, the moonlight filtered through the stained glass glows around his figure. 

“Ever heard the saying ‘you’re the villain in someone’s story’?” You nod. “It’s kind of like that. Sometimes you’re the monster and you don’t want to be. But sometimes you do… want to be. Here, it doesn’t matter.”

He takes your hand and pulls you to him. His hips start to sway to the music and you bite your lip. He spins you around and holds your waist to dip you back. Once he brings you upright, you turn around and press your back against his chest. You mirror his movements, swaying your hips to the beat. He brings his hips forward and you grind your ass against his groin. He rests his hands on the front of your hips and dips his head down to kiss your shoulder. 

The beat quickens and your hips follow suit. You hear him groan softly in your ear and you reach your arm back to play with the soft curls that trail down the nape of his neck. You lean your head back on his shoulder and close your eyes. The music swells and the images from the windows flash through your mind. The golden knight, the dragon, the siren. Monsters to some, beautiful and regal to others. For a moment, you imagine them in this place, safe and free. 

“Do you want to see something?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks through the vision and you nod breathlessly. He takes your hand and you follow him through the ornate door, through the gallery and down the stairwell. At the base of the stairwell there is another door. A thumbpad above the handle suggests it’s most likely for staff. Rafayel places his thumb down and the pad glows green, the door clicks open. He looks over his shoulder at you.

“Perks of knowing the owner.” 

You follow him through the door and down a dark staircase, the door locking behind you. Fluorescent lights flicker as you descend deeper beneath the club. You are pulled through another door and gawk at just how massive this underground level is. Large round tables sit in each corner of the room, a circular bar at the center. 

Waitresses saunter around the room serving drinks and hors d'oeuvres to the patrons seated at the tables. From the entrance you can see playing cards laid out and it clicks. You’re in an underground poker den. You spot Sylus at one of the tables leaning back in his chair while he swirls the drink in his glass. Rafayel holds your hand as you approach Sylus’s table. Sylus smiles when he sees you approaching. 

“Welcome to The Abyss.”

Sylus stands and taps the shoulder of the man sitting next to him, he stands, places his cards down and walks to another table. Sylus pulls the chair back, motioning for you to take it. You hear Rafayel sigh and give his hand a squeeze. You sit down and you turn to see Rafayel place his hands on the shoulders of the stranger beside you. He tenses before tossing his cards down and quickly leaving the table. Rafayel is about to sit down when his phone rings. When he checks the screen, he gives you an apologetic look.

“I have to take this, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

You nod and he walks to the bar before answering his phone. You’re curious why he had to walk away, but you’ll ask him later. You turn to face Sylus to find him staring at you. You lean back and meet his gaze, completely unaware of how the game at the table has stalled. 

“So, The Abyss?”

“Seemed fitting since so many people get swept away with greed or ill intentions when they’re down here.”

You laugh and lean towards him.

“I imagine it’s pretty easy to lose yourself when booze and Billie Holiday are involved.”

His face lights up when you recognize the artist, a genuine smile replacing his sarcastic smirk. 

“This album is one of my favorites.”

“Lady in Satin, nice choice.”

Sylus’s smile widens further and he rests his hand on the back of your chair. He’s failing to hide how giddy he is, and you’re excited to see this side of him.

“Not many people recognize the classics, I’m impressed.”

You smile and poke his chest.

“You’re not the only one with good taste. Rafayel told me you had this place built to look… like this… You hired a specialist in historical architecture?”

“I did and it was worth every penny. Do you think it’s offensive?”

You shake your head, leaning your elbow on the table and resting your chin on your hand. 

“If anything, I think it’s interesting. I’ve never been to a nightclub in a cathedral before. Now I can say I have.”

A waitress places a martini in front of you, taking you by surprise. You nod at her as she walks away before picking up the glass. Sylus reaches out and takes the cocktail pick out of your drink. He eats your olive and winks at you. You push your lip out in a dramatic pout.

“How dare you, I wanted that!”

Sylus waves the cocktail pick at the waitress and you look over to watch her prepare something behind the counter. Rafayel leans against the bar nearby and shoots you a smile before mouthing a quick “sorry” and continuing his call. The waitress exits the bar and you spot a small bowl of olives on her tray.

“Sylus! I didn’t need –”

“While you’re here, you’ll get whatever you want, kitten.”

The nickname takes you by surprise and you cross your arms. The waitress sets the bowl down beside you and pats your shoulder.

“Don’t worry darlin’, he does this all the time. I had this ready before I brought your drink over.”

Sylus chuckles and the waitress pats your shoulder again before heading back to the bar. You teasingly punch Sylus’s arm.

“How did she know?”

“Aubrey is very perceptive. Is there anything else you’d like? Just tell me.”

“Tell him what?”

Rafayel’s voice surprises you, his hand rests on your shoulder as he sits. You shift in your seat and take a sip of your martini. You pucker your lips and reach for an olive, the saltiness hits the spot and you sigh. You drop another olive in the glass.

“Start a new game, deal these two in.” 

You stare at Sylus. 

“I doubt I can afford the buy in.”

Sylus tilts his head and looks past you at Rafayel. You turn to see he’s already pressed his card to the panel in front of you, buying you in for $10k in chips. You slap his hand.

“Rafayel!”

He presses his card to the panel in front of him and buys into the game himself. 

“Relax cutie, just beat me and you can pay me back.”

Oh. The alcohol coursing through your veins gives you the courage you need to keep a straight face. This will be fun. You pick at your fingernails in your lap and shrug your shoulders.

“Fine… fine. I’m already bought in, might as well try. But I don’t care about money. If I somehow win, I want something.”

Sylus leans forward, intrigued. Rafayel nods and hangs his arm over the back of the chair waiting for you to make your bet.

“If I win I get to… give you a tattoo.”

Rafayel’s brows shoot up and Sylus laughs loudly.

“A tattoo? Really?”

You nod and finish off your drink. Sylus lifts a finger towards the bar and the waitress begins to prepare another drink for you.

“What do I get if I win?”

Rafayel leans closer, his fingers gliding along your arm making goosebumps rise. 

“What do you want?”

Rafayel’s expression darkens and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“I’ve always wanted to try photography… but I need a model.”

You feel your cheeks flush, the implications clear when he drops his hand to your thigh. You narrow your eyes and flash a smile. You’re almost tempted to throw the game now. 

“Okay. Deal.”

He extends his hand and you shake it firmly. Sylus nods at the dealer and they begin passing out cards. You hold your breath and pray for a decent hand. You’ll bluff your way to victory if all else fails. 

The cards slide across the table into a neat stack in front of you. You place your hand over your cards and carefully lift the corners to check. Jack of Hearts and King of Hearts, decent. It’s time to overreact, Rafayel doesn’t know you spent almost every lunch period in school playing poker with your best friend. Caleb never let you win, he forced you to improve your skills and when you finally beat him the satisfaction made up for every loss. 

“The game is Texas Hold ‘Em, no limits. Place your bets.”

The first two men fold and Sylus tosses two chips to the center of the table. You tap your fingers on your cards, trying to appear thoughtful. You pick up two chips and toss them in.

“Call.”

Rafayel follows suit and the dealer flips the first card. A Jack of Clubs. A two or three pair is possible, if you are willing to risk it. The dealer looks at Sylus, who hasn’t stopped staring at you. You can feel his heated gaze and your ear burns. He tosses another two chips in, has he even looked at his cards? You call as does Rafayel.

Another card is revealed, a King of Spades. A two pair, it was something to stand on. The final card would determine if you needed to put on an act or just sit back and enjoy your win. Sylus tosses five chips in and you purposefully roll your shoulders, trying to appear tense, as if the bet was getting a little too high.

You call and turn to face Rafayel, scanning his face for any signs of a tell. He’s all smiles as he taps the center of his forehead with his index finger, considering the bet. He pushes his remaining chips to the center of the table. 

“All in.”

You raise a brow, allowing him to see your surprise, but not revel in it. You look over at Sylus who is finally taking a look at his cards. You doubt he will have any tells but you examine him anyway. The way his brows furrow, his chin tilts up and he drags his finger along the edge of the cards. You get the feeling he doesn’t care about the money, he just wants to see how your bet with Rafayel plays out. You’re still considering his motives when he pushes his chips towards the pile.

“Call.”

Both men stare at you now. Was this hand worth it? Is this what Sylus meant by losing oneself to greed? Wanting to win so badly you’ll risk it all? You close your eyes, letting the muscles in your face relax.

“Call.”

Rafayel chuckles quietly as you push your chips to the center. The dealer turns over the final card and you hold your breath. A fucking Jack of Diamonds. You have a Full House. There was no sequential order to the cards so they couldn’t have Four of a Kind since you had a King card yourself. Best they could do is a three pair… You won. You finally lift your eyes and peek at your cards again, looking “concerned.” 

“Showdown.”

The dealer leans onto the table to watch the reveal. Sylus flips his first, an Ace of Clubs and an Ace of Diamonds. A Two Pair wasn’t bad, especially if you and Rafayel were bluffing. Sylus leans back and crosses his legs, bringing his glass to his lips and sipping slowly. 

You look at Rafayel, he’s tapping his forehead with his finger again, his smile flashing the gem adhered to his tooth. 

“Last chance cutie. Say the word and maybe I’ll let you off the hook.”

He is still tapping his forehead. This must be his tell. Adorable. You’ll certainly use this to your advantage in the future.

“Not a chance.”

“Okay… Show at the same time then?”

You nod and Rafayel picks up his cards. He counts down and you hesitate, letting him lay his cards down first - give him a single moment of pride. A Jack of Spades and a 4 of Clubs. Three of a Kind, enough to beat Sylus, but not enough to beat you. When you lay your cards down Sylus claps.

“Very impressive performance, sweetie.”

You smile at Sylus before finally turning to face Rafayel, who is already pouting. 

“A Full House. You had a goddamn Full House?!”

You lean over and kiss his cheek. He runs a hand through his hair.

“You played me.”

You take his hand and give it a squeeze. He yanks his hand free before looping his arm around your neck and pulling you into a tight hug. His face is buried in your neck.

“Guess I still have a lot to learn about you cutie. Hope you’re ready for an interrogation.”

The sound of shoes approaching makes you pull back. You look over your shoulder and see a man in a suit leaning down to speak into Sylus’ ear. Sylus nods and as soon as the man turns to leave he stands and motions for you and Rafayel to follow him. 

He takes you into a backroom with several shelving units packed with liquor. A cozy sofa and mini-fridge sit in the corner next to a row of lockers. Sylus begins to pace and Rafayel straddles the arm of the couch.

“What happened?”

“We found our man, but he slipped away. Turns out he is undercover, but we don’t know who he works for exactly. My team lost track of him when he hopped on a bike out back. They got his plate number and they’re going through camera footage for a clear shot of his face.”

You cross your arms and step closer to Sylus.

“Can I have the plate number?”

Sylus looks at you with a rare expression, shock. 

“As a hunter I have access to certain things and maybe I can get more information for you.”

“Sweetie, we have ways of getting that intel ourselves you shouldn’t –”

You hold up a hand, silencing him.

“A way that won’t set off any alarms? As a hunter, I’m technically a member of law enforcement, so doing a routine search for a plate won’t raise suspicion. I want to help, so let me.”

Sylus tucks his hands in his pockets and steps even closer, his essence flooding your senses. The scent of whiskey and vanilla, the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off of his silk button up, he commands attention and you can’t help but stare. 

“Alright.” 

He grabs a napkin from the top of the mini fridge and takes a pen out of his breast pocket. He looks at you and twirls his finger. You squint at him and he repeats the motion, you realize he’s telling you to turn around. You slowly turn and he places the napkin on your back and begins writing.

“Are you using me to–”

He shushes you and when you feel the pen stop you turn to face him. He hands the napkin to you.

“We’ll meet mid-week. Just be sure not to dig your claws in too deep, kitten.”

You can feel Rafayel’s eyes on you, but you dare to step closer.

“Okay, what’s with this ‘kitten’ bullshit?”

Sylus chuckles.

“You just remind me of a mischievous kitten, that’s all.”

You put your hands on your hips and try your best to glare at this mountain of a man.

“Okay, how about we try… Bakeneko? Still a kitten, but twice as fierce.”

Great, he was referring to you as a monster cat, known for being little menaces to those around them. You should be angry, but instead you feel your heart swell with pride. To have your own yokai alias made you feel like you’re a part of their world. You decide to concede for now, the nickname could be worse. 

“Fine.”

Sylus laughs and pulls his phone out, tapping it twice before a knock at the door makes you jump. The man who spoke to Sylus at the table enters and hands Sylus a manila folder. He immediately hands it to you. You open it and see a short list of information regarding the individual including the license plate number. You close it and stare at the napkin in your other hand. You look up at Sylus.

“Wait… then what…?”

You open the napkin and see a phone number. Sylus extends his hand and you’re too dumbfounded by his forwardness to register your own actions. You extend your hand and another gentle kiss graces your knuckles. 

“I’ll speak to you soon, Bakeneko.”

Sylus leaves the room and you turn to face Rafayel. A subtle pout plays on his lips and you quickly lift his chin to kiss it away. He sighs and rests his hands on your hips. 

“Can we get out of here?”

You nod and give him a devious grin. He shrinks back and narrows his eyes at you.

“You have a tattoo appointment after all.”

The bell above the door at Lemuria Studios chimes loudly as you and Rafayel stumble inside. Rafayel has you on his back, holding your legs while your arms wrap around his neck. He kicks the door closed behind him and turns around to press his thumb to the keypad locking it again.

As he walks through the studio your heels slip off your feet and clatter to the floor. He sets you down when he reaches the door to his private studio and unlocks it. You shuffle inside and start examining the various machines and tools. 

“So what are ya lookin’ to get today sir?”

Rafayel laughs and moves you to the side to start preparing a station for you. He quickly washes his hands and puts on fresh gloves. You watch him line a metal tray with plastic wrap and secure it with tape. He pulls out two squeeze bottles from a lower cabinet, wrapping them with plastic wrap as well before setting on the tray. He grabs a new disposable razor from a drawer and secures the guard before setting it down. Taking a popsicle stick, he dips into a Vaseline jar and dabs it on the tray, placing small dots close by. He sets two ink caps on the tiny Vaseline dots, the caps sinking into the gel like glue. 

You hop up to sit on the counter next to him while he works and you lean down to kiss his temple.

“What colors do you want cutie?”

You look at the bin he pulls out of the cabinet and sift through the bottles. 

“Let’s just go with black, I’ll work up the courage to try color another time.”

“Oh, another time? Is this your new hobby?”

He pours black ink into the caps before closing the bottle and returning the bin to the cabinet. He places the new needle, still in its packaging, on the counter while he does a quick inspection of his tattoo machine. He unwraps the container and carefully removes the needle, sliding it in place. He pulls a small bag out of a drawer and drapes it over the gun, securing it with hot pink grip tape. After connecting the power cord, he kicks over the foot pedal and sets the machine on the tray. He sets the tray on the mobile cart next to him and rolls it over to the stool. 

He points at the sink and you hop off the counter. As you wash your hands, a sudden wave of anxiety hits you. He’s actually going to let you tattoo him? What if you hurt him? What if it’s ugly? Will he be mad? What are you doing?

“I think your hands are clean…”

You look down to see your hands are red from how hard you were scrubbing them. You dry them with a paper towel and he holds out the box of gloves for you. As you tug on a pair of gloves you watch him clean the chair he’ll sit on. When he finally looks up at you his smile instantly falls.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure this is okay?”

He places his hands on your shoulders and kisses your forehead. 

“I am.”

“But what if it’s ugly or I mess up or –”

“You wanna know how I see tattoos? It’s like a photograph, it takes you back to a previous version of yourself and you get to remember who you were and how far you’ve come. 50 years from now, I will look at the tattoo you gave me and remember this time in my life. And I’ll remember how cute you were worrying about giving me an ugly tattoo.”

You look at your feet, overwhelmed with your racing thoughts. The question you’ve been dying to ask gets trapped in your throat. This isn’t the time or place. Rafayel gently holds your chin and makes you look at him. 

“What are you thinking?”

“What if you regret it?”

His eyes soften as begins to understand your fear. He lets go of your chin and turns to the counter, opening a drawer. You hear him moving things around for a moment before turning around and holding a pen. He cleans the pen with a wipe and hands it to you. You realize it’s a tattoo pen, he used a similar one to draw the finer details of your tattoo before going in with the needle. He shrugs off his suit jacket, tossing it on the counter before sitting down on the padded bed and folding his hands in his lap.

“A tattoo is a moment, and in this moment, there’s nothing I want more than your artwork on my body. Okay, well… there is another thing, but we probably shouldn’t do that in my studio.”

He winks at you and you almost chuck the pen at his head.

“Also… I will never regret knowing you.”

Your eyes water and you roll your neck in an attempt to hide the wave of emotions that just crashed over you. How did he know? You walk over to him and uncap the pen. 

“Where do you want it, pretty boy?”

He starts to slowly unbutton his dress shirt, letting it fall open to reveal his torso. He lays back on the table and places a hand behind his head. With his other hand he points to his hip, right above the waistband of his pants. Your eyes widen and you feel how very dry your mouth has become.

“O-okay.”

You use your foot to tug the stool over and you sit, placing your elbows on the edge of the table and staring at his hip. 

“You have to clean and shave the area before drawing anything. Use the green bottle first, then shave, then the clear one.”

You follow his instructions, cleaning his skin and gliding the razor over a small patch of skin. As you do the final cleaning step you bite your lip, you knew what you wanted to draw but doubted your skills. You take a deep breath and begin lightly drawing the outline of your design. You make several adjustments using a makeshift eraser of paper towel dipped in the clear cleanser. Rafayel doesn’t move, he lets you doodle and brainstorm for over an hour. Finally, you sit back and smile.

“Do you want to look at it before I start?”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. 

“Let’s keep it a surprise.”

You pick up the tattoo gun and stare at it like you’ve never seen one before. You clear your throat and gently step on the pedal hearing the machine buzz to life.

“It’s not as scary as it looks.”

You look up to see Rafayel still has his eyes closed. 

“Go slow, focus on drawing straight small lines at first. You don’t have to push, just let the machine do the work. Use the paper towel to clear the excess ink. You’ve got this. Oh, and dip your pinkie in the Vaseline, it’ll keep your stencil from smudging.”

You hold the machine with a firm hand and dip the tip in the ink cap. You follow Rafayel’s advice and dip the side of your pinkie in the Vaseline before resting the side of your palm on his stomach. You cautiously draw your first line and wipe at the spot with a paper towel. You’re pleased to see the line is dark and relatively straight. You giggle and dip the needle in the ink cap continuing your work.

Rafayel remains completely still. His steady breathing keeps you calm. With each line, you become more and more confident. 

“Let me know if you need more ink.”

“I’m good. I wish I could do some shading, but I don’t think I’m good enough for that.”

Rafayel chuckles. You set down the tattoo gun and wipe it down one last time. 

“Okay… I think I’m done.”

Rafayel opens his eyes and sits up. You stand from the stool and watch him stride to the mirror. He stands close and looks between the mirror and his skin. The tattoo itself is more “cutsie” compared to the more intricate artwork he has covering his skin. A small fan-tailed fish floats above a kitten on their back. The small kitten has its paws extended towards the fish, its tail curled and a tiny smile under its button nose. 

“I wanted to add bubbles, but they’d just look like circles without shading so…”

Rafayel turns and grabs your face with both hands, he kisses you hard. His hands drop from your face to your hips. You sigh into his mouth and he forces himself to pull back. 

“It’s amazing. I would never have guessed this was your first tattoo. How about this, I’ll add some shading to it for you, yea?”

You nod and reach for the bandage Rafayel laid out on the counter. You press the bandage to his hip and use medical tape to secure it. He moves the tray to the counter and kicks the stool into the corner. As soon as you peel your gloves off, Rafayel’s hands are all over you. He pulls you back to him and drags his fingers down your arms, lifting your hands to his shoulders. He dives back in, capturing your lips with his own. He takes a step back and you follow his lead, he backs you against the padded table across the room.

His fingers fiddle with the knot holding the scarf around your chest. You feel the fabric loosen and slowly fall away. The cool air against your bare chest makes your nipples harden and you lean into Rafayel’s warmth. With his chest against yours, you feel his heart pounding. His nipple rings rub against your sensitive peaks and your breathy moans fill the room. He runs his fingers through your hair and you lean back, damn near lying on the table. 

You swiftly undo his belt and he kicks his pants down his legs and into a corner. Your hands are just dipping down the front of his boxers when he grabs your wrist.

“Turn around.”

His commanding voice takes you by surprise. Rafayel loved to switch up positions in the bedroom, but he usually prefers when you take the lead. It seems tonight he was worked up for some reason. You make a mental note to ask him about it later, for now you can only focus on how he unbuckles your belt and tugs your pants down with fervor. 

“I thought you said… we shouldn't do this in your studio…”

He silences you once his hand wraps around you and he fingers your clit, he traces circles slowly. You whine and push your hips back. He leans against you, his chest pressed to your back. He places open mouth kisses to your shoulder and up your neck, his voice is barely above a whisper. 

“I want you to know… I will spend every hour… of every day proving to you… that I will never regret knowing you.”

His cock presses against your entrance he begins rolling his hips forward, dragging his cock through your slick cunt. You let your head fall forward back, your forehead resting on the table. He runs his tip over your clit with his piercing. 

“Rafayel… fuck… please!”

He continues teasing you for another moment before you feel that perfect stretch that only his cock can provide. Your chest heaves and a guttural groan erupts from Rafayel’s throat. He lets go of your hips to hold onto the table. He’s halfway in when you feel your knees give out, Rafayel wraps an arm around you and thrusts his hips forward filling you completely.

“Right there oh god oh god yes Rafayel yes!”

He presses his face against your back and lets out a low growl. You know he’s close so you hold your breath and press your hips back. He suddenly pulls out and turns you around. He hikes your leg up over his hip before burying himself into your tight heat once again. You cling to him, your fingernails digging into his upper back. He gasps and he throws his head back. He finally lays you back on the table, one of his arms tucked under you. He grips your thigh and looks down at you with hooded eyes. Sweat drips down his cheek dripping onto your chest. 

“Shit shit shiiiiit baby I need to –”

He’s cut off with the sound of a bell ringing. The bell above the front door. You hadn’t even realized what time it was, early morning sunlight was just starting to filter through the windows. Rafayel bites his lip and slows his movements for a moment. You hear footsteps moving across the hardwood floors and the jingle of keys. You look over his shoulder and stare at the door, trying to steady your breathing. You’re about to uncross your ankles and move away when Rafayel rams his hips forward. 

“Raf!” You whisper yell.

You glare at him but his expression remains the same. His mouth covers yours in an attempt to silence you and your eyes roll back. A knock brings both of you to a halt. 

“Rafayel? Are you in there?”

Thomas, the studio manager, stands just outside the door and knocks again. Rafayel lifts his head and slowly rolls his hips, you close your eyes and try to keep your building orgasm at bay until Thomas is gone. But as Rafayel continues his movements, you know you won’t be able to stop yourself from crying out. So you lunge forward and sink your teeth into his shoulder.

“Fuck!”

Rafayel shouts, not in pain, but rather surprise. There’s another knock on the door. 

“Rafayel?”

Rafayel slams his hand against the table, making the legs squeak against the floor. His cock twitches and you squeeze your thighs against his waist.

“Yeah… yes, sorry I stubbed my toe. Fuck!”

Your teeth sink deeper until you taste something metallic. He drags his hips back until only his tip remains tucked in your tight heat. He rams his hips forward and as soon as his piercing hits your g-spot you come. The sudden burst of warmth gushes over his cock and down his thighs. Your orgasm makes you bite down harder causing his release to spill into you.

A loud scoff from Thomas is heard through the door. 

“You know you can just say you’re fucking your girlfriend, right? Her heels are in the lobby.”

You unlock your jaw and release his shoulder, your head hits the table with a quiet thud. 

“Sorry Thomas…”

Your breathy apology makes Rafayel chuckle. He rests his forehead against yours as his cock softens inside you. He kisses the tip of your nose and looks down at you with such reverence your eyes start to water again. He kisses your cheeks and when a tear falls, he kisses it away humming softly. 

“Just clean the room before opening, please. I’m going to get another coffee.”

You hear his footsteps fade and the bell above the front door chime. Rafayel slips out of you and picks you up, setting you on the table. He runs his tongue over his labret piercing, sucking into his mouth. This cute little habit of his usually means he’s overthinking. You lift your hand and tug on his bottom lip with your thumb. He releases his piercing and sighs.

“We’ve never talked about that…”

“About what?”

“Using titles… like that.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and he steps forward between your legs.

“Do you want to use titles?”

“I’d… love to call you my girlfriend, but do you want to call me your boyfriend?”

You cup his cheeks in your hands and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“My boyfriend.”

You kiss the tip of his nose.

“My boyfriend, Rafayel.”

You kiss his left cheek and then his right.

He leans into your touch, savoring each kiss.

“Yes, I’d love to call you mine.”

Before he can pull you into another kiss, your eyes catch the swollen red spot on his shoulder. You see your bite mark, a small drop of blood trickling down to his chest. 

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I didn’t… I shouldn’t have…”

He looks down at his shoulder and wipes the blood away with his thumb. 

“I’m fine! You were just marking your territory.”

You slap his chest and he pulls you into a hug, his hands rub your back and you melt into his embrace. To think a few weeks ago you were on this table getting a tattoo and now you’re naked, holding onto your boyfriend. A sexy tattoo artist who has an illegal hobby of street racing his high end motorcycle and is much more complex than you could ever imagine. You’re not sure how, but the unexpected direction your life has taken has only brought you joy. And you’re excited to see where life with Rafayel takes you.

(AN Part 2: I don't know how to play poker, so I hope this is accurate! Also, mini spoiler for Part 3 - more crowfish smut. Smile.)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @spacegroteske @namjoonseuphoria @celestialforce @rafshottestgf @oxamarok @withering-dream @zaynessbeloved @animecrazy76 @yournextdoorhousewitch @hauntedbysmut @addiglessthanthree @4ttack-ur-heart

[fcthots]

This is a sick fic for my beloved @edi-storm and them ONLY <3 <3 <3

You add another blanket to your now three layers of blankets. Somehow, you were still cold. Cold and alone because your cruel boyfriend just HAD to patrol (you insisted he go despite him offering to stay with you). The world is evil and cruel and mean. The cold seeping into your bones on the couch after hours of being alone.

That is until Red Hood comes knocking on your window. On one hand, you felt relief that he came back. On the other hand, that knocking sound gave you a killer headache. He can get in just fine, he was merely alerting you of his presence. What was usually a nice gesture is now annoying the shit out of you. So you tuck your head under the blankets and stick out your arm to flip him off. You hear the window unlatch and his modulated laugh as he climbs through.

“You still feel like shit?” He starts removing the outer layer of his gear.

“Cleary.” Your voice is muffled from the stack of blankets over your face. You hear the light switch flickering under his fingers, darkening the room. You move the blankets slightly to look at him.

“Better?” He asks. He finally makes it to his kevlar layers, peeling them away with practiced grace.

“Yeah.” You stare at his freshly freed tits. Lovely specimen. It unfortunately doesn’t last long. He slides into an old comfy looking t-shirt. Soon enough he’s in full pajamas.

“When’s the last time you had something to eat?” His footsteps towards the kitchen are loud.

You shrug before remembering that he can’t see you. It’s the headache’s fault. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll have to fix that. Do you want pasta?” His voice carries from the other room.

The promise of pasta rises you from your cushion-y grave. “Thank youuuu.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Don’t mention it.”

You can hear him opening cabinets and drawers before he steps back into the living room. You look up upon his entry and he gives your forehead a quick kiss before putting some linden tea down on the coffee table along with some medication for your headache. “You’re burning up. Take these. Your noodles are boiling.”

Immediately going for the tea, you look up at him with reverence and awe. “I would die for you.”

He smiles. “Please don’t. Dying isn’t as fun as it’s hyped up to be.” He takes one of your hands in his to quickly squeeze before heading back to the kitchen to stir the pasta.

When he leaves the room, the blankets begin to feel warmer and then hot. They become annoying and sweaty so you peel them off of you.

Jason quickly walks back into the living room. You decide the funniest and best course of action would be to throw the final blanket over his head.

You were right, it is funny. He doesn’t take it off immediately, just turns his head to look at you as if to say Seriously? This is your humor?

He pulls the blanket off his head and his hair stands in all directions. He folds the blanket and puts it over the back of an armchair before turning to you. He does a quick double take. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

“Shut up.”