#forbidden door tickets

[render-bomb]

Anyone interested in FREE Forbidden Door tickets? We have spares and would prefer someone take them for free instead of them going to waste

[the-kipsabian]

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN LONDON GETS FORBIDDEN DOOR NEXT YEAR????

[djvillain]

AEW Proves Doubters Wrong ... Again, Jericho Assaulted, New LIJ

[saintobio]

TITANIC.

deep in the heart of the Atlantic, an unexpected love defies the lines drawn by social class and destiny.

𝇈𓈒 genre. tragedy, angst, forbidden love, titanic au

𝇈𓈒 pairings. rafayel, fem!reader

𝇈𓈒 tags. first class!rafayel, artist!rafayel, third class!reader, singer!reader, social class differences, classism, might be ooc (esp thomas), not set in l&ds universe, mentions of arranged marriage, cheating, suicide attempt, allusions to sex trafficking and prostitution, violence (not from raf), explicit smut, nudity, cunnilingus, fellatio, unprotected sex, drowning, hypothermia, deaths, sinking of the ship, major character death.

𝇈𓈒 notes. 22.2k wc. dividers by drinkthesky and mikeykuns. events are exactly the same as the film, except for some small alterations. this was so fun to write albeit being really tedious and time-consuming 🤧 please enjoy, and reblogs are highly appreciated !

The RMS Titanic was known as the largest and most luxurious liner in the world. When the White Star Line first announced the ship’s launch, various headlines were even made across the globe, dubbing it ‘The Unsinkable Ship’ or ‘The Ship That Even God Himself Couldn’t Sink’. A bit ambitious, of course, but the hubris that came along with it was mostly from the upper echelon of the society who had the means to experience the ship’s impressive size and unparalleled luxury. It was all they ever talked about for months and months, waiting in full excitement to board the ship on its maiden voyage, scrambling to secure tickets to its first-class accommodations as if their money were merely falling from the skies. 

Indeed, the Titanic was a grand ship, but for you and the other third-class passengers, it was anything but. 

Your passage was paid for, not by a stroke of luck or generational wealth, but by a woman who recruited female entertainers to join the ship’s voyage. Just a month ago, your contract as a singer had ended when the pub you worked at shuttered its doors, leaving you without income and desperate to find a way to support your mother and sister. It was during one of those aimless nights, jobless and searching for a way to survive, that the proprietress noticed you. And it was exactly while she was posting a job vacancy outside her establishment when she claimed how your background and experience in singing and performing made you a perfect candidate for her offer.

You envied the wealthy. Truly. Because they had the privilege to turn down job offers, with countless others waiting in the wings or an inheritance ready to secure their future. Some of them didn’t even have to work at all. But for those on the other side of society—people like you who were struggling to make ends meet—certainly, the proposition was a windfall.

‘It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to board the Titanic,’ they’d say. ‘You wouldn’t have been able to set foot on it, even if you traded everything you owned,’ they’d say. ‘Only a fool would turn down such a chance.’ So, who were you to refuse? Beggars can’t be choosers, after all. Besides, who would deny the American dream? You considered that America held the promise of something greater, with the country being called the Land of Opportunities—a chance that might finally bring the stroke of luck you needed to lift your mother and sister out of the squalor of the slums back home. 

A new beginning, a better life, and a future far from the harsh reality you were leaving behind.

And so, with the White Star Line boarding ticket on your hand, you turned back for one final glance at the place you had always known as home. 

You soon made your way toward the deck of the ship, and your eyes searched the crowd to find your mother and sister standing among the sea of people, waving to you with hopeful, bittersweet smiles. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile of your own, holding back the tears that threatened to spill as you waved back, trying to etch their faces into your memory for the days to come.

“Farewell!” you heard one of your colleagues, Eliza, shout to her family by the dock. Like you, she too fought hard to keep her tears from spilling, feeling that familiar tightness in her chest as she waved goodbye.  

“Won’t you come back?” you asked softly, your eyes drifting back to your own family.  

Eliza turned to you with lachrymose eyes. “There’s no certainty how this journey will end for people like us. We’re often the last to know and the first to lose.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as the ship’s horn blared, signaling the imminent departure. “But maybe… maybe this time will be different.”

You nodded, her deep words eventually sinking into you. The scent of the salty sea air, the cool breeze brushing against your cheeks, the creaking of the ship—all became imprinted in your mind as you both stood there, knowing that this might be the last time you’d see your families again. For a long time. 

And as the ship’s engines roared to life, pushing the mighty vessel away from the dock, you clung to the belief that, somehow, this journey could still hold something brighter for you. The only way to live through life’s uncertainties and vicissitudes was to keep an optimistic mind. 

~~

Rafayel was once a celebrated artist across the continent. And today, he was among the elite who was surrounded by wealth and privilege, the same people who loved to talk about money and politics. He spent his first few days in the ship sketching its grandiose interiors and its ostentatious passengers, capturing the essence of their extravagant lives in his art. But despite his success and the admiration he received in his precedent years, there was a quiet loneliness within him now. A yearning for something more than the gilded cage he inhabited. The life of the wealthy—the first class people—just became too distasteful for him to paint on his canvas. 

He couldn’t quite pinpoint when his disdain for high society began, but it had been long enough for him to realize that the lives of the wealthy and powerful were far from the glamorous façade they presented. In truth, they were dull and repetitive, filled with people who indulged in their riches and flaunted their possessions to your face. It was a never-ending competition of who had more, a relentless display of entitlement over who could command others at the whim of their fortune.

That was why when Rafayel stood on the deck of the Titanic that afternoon, despite his extremely comfortable and luxurious surroundings, he couldn’t help but lament over the idea that he was a prisoner in a ship, journeying to a place he never even once dreamed of going to. But being a painter who no longer flourished in the world of art, he somehow had to find a way to keep up with the lifestyle he had been living. And boarding this colossal ship together with a woman he didn’t love was his ticket to regain the success he had lost. 

“You know,” Thomas, his agent, remarked as he leaned casually against the railings, “If not for Arielle, you’d never make it big anywhere else. Your time’s running out. Your paintings aren’t selling anymore. Soon, you won’t even be able to afford yourself. And knowing you, you can’t even live on tinned fish and cheap garments.”

Rafayel sighed inwardly, too weary to explain that the decline in his work’s quality over the past two years wasn’t due to a loss of skill, but rather a lack of inspiration. Being surrounded by the vain and self-absorbed had drained his creative spirit. Yet, the harsh truth was that with his paintings gathering dust and his exhibitions drawing fewer attendees, his rent payments had inevitably turned into mounting debts. It came to a point where he no longer had many choices for himself, financially speaking. 

“You seem to hold Arielle in such a high regard,” he retorted, “Why don’t you marry her yourself?”

Thomas met his glare, unimpressed by his tone. “You brat. I’m doing this for you, Rafayel. I had to arrange this marriage between you two,” he repeated the same tired justification. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s the heiress to a wealthy family in New York, and she has all the connections you need to make a name for yourself there again. She’s willing to do it if you marry her. How can you speak ill of a beautiful woman who only wants your love?”

“Love isn’t something you can demand.” 

He decided to ignore Thomas’s presence for a minute, tired of hearing his inane excuse of why he had to set up Rafayel with Arielle. Instead, he focused on his easel that was set up beside the rail, capturing the shimmering ocean under the twilight sky as he tried to find inspiration from the aureate horizon ahead of him. The soft brush strokes of his latest painting were interrupted by the occasional laugh or clink of fine china from the nearby dining room, but his mind wandered to a world he rarely saw—the lower decks.

Rafayel often wandered the first-class decks as he sought inspiration for his next masterpiece. Yet, today was the first time he noticed the decks below, and most importantly, you. You were a young woman from third-class, conversing with another female friend in your humble clothings, and seemingly longing for something beyond your reach. There was something about your warm, dreamy eyes that captivated him. And perhaps it was the stark contrast to the steely, formal interactions he was accustomed to in first-class.

You caught his eye once, which turned into a fleeting moment where your worlds collided, but his intense gaze seemed to have made your heart skip a beat. You were quick to look away as expected, and he felt awful knowing he might have made you uncomfortable. 

“Oh, forget it.” Thomas waved a hand to his face, cutting him out of trance. “You’re aiming too low with those third-class women. You should be focused on a higher destination.”

Rafayel sighed in response. “Just leave me alone for a while. I need some space to paint in peace.”

~~

Tonight, like every other night since you boarded, you had been told to sing. That your voice should fill the room with melodies, entrancing the well-dressed crowd of first-class passengers who watched you with a delicate balance of interest and indifference. Thankfully, the grand halls of the ship were already filled with laughter and music long before you were tasked to perform. Now, you were walking through the corridor, your heels clicking against the polished wood floor, while the elegant dress you wore swished around your ankles. 

Frankly, it was mostly the men who were interested in your performances, and their women often indifferent.

You had performed in worse places than this, so you couldn’t complain. Besides, most of the guests, with their sparkling jewels and tailored suits, still applauded politely after every song, and some would even smile as you made eye contact with them. Admittingly, you did feel a little thrill at the attention, at being seen. 

Because that was what you had always dreamed of as a child: to perform for the wealthy, to have your voice fill the room, and draw attention to your every move.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Eliza mused one night as you both settled into your cramped cabins in the steerage. It had been a tiring evening of performances for the first-class passengers. “Others dream of being wealthy, but you seem to dream of serving the wealthy.”

You adjusted the covers, keeping yourself warm. “I just feel like there are consequences to having so much money in your hands. I’m content with having just enough to get by.”

As the days passed and as the Titanic made its last final stop at a port in Ireland, that was when you began to notice things. Little things. The way some of the men in the audience looked at you, their eyes lingering far too long, with a hunger that made your skin prickle. The way your manager, Mrs. Hawthorne, hovered by the bar while speaking in low, hushed tones to the richest men in the room. You noticed how she always had a keen eye on you, watching as you moved from the stage to the back, and back again. It felt as if she was gauging something, calculating a certain transaction in her head.

After another night of singing, you found yourself backstage, wiping a sheen of sweat from your brow. Your voice was raspy, and your throat dry from hours of performance, but you felt a little bit of joy knowing you had done well. You were reaching for a glass of water when Mrs. Hawthorne appeared beside you—her smile a little too wide, but her eyes a little too sharp. A look that undoubtedly reminded you of a predator to its prey. 

“Lovely performance tonight, my dear,” she said smoothly, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “But our clients… they might want a little more than just a pretty song. You understand what I’m saying, right?”

Your stomach twisted at the suggestion in her words. “What do you mean, Mrs. Hawthorne?”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Some of these gentlemen… Well, they’ve paid a lot for your company. They expect a bit more than just a few songs. A bit of private entertainment, if you will.”

You blinked twice in the same second. “P-Private entertainment? You didn’t say anything about that when you hired me.”

Her grip tightened on your shoulder. “It’s all part of the package, dear. You want to keep your place on this ship, don’t you? Want to make those dreams come true?” Her eyes flickered darkly, and her aura became more and more austere as you refused. “Just be accommodating. Smile, laugh, let them buy you a drink or two... and if they ask for more, well... oblige. Surely, you aren’t a virgin to be acting like you’re new to this.”

The stubborn side of you pulled away from her touch. Everything that was coming out of her mouth brought you profound disgust. “I’m not a whore, Mrs. Hawthorne,” you hissed, getting straight to the point. “I’ve never done those things.” 

She only chuckled softly. A cold, cruel chuckle that made your skin crawl. “Not yet, you haven’t. But this is a long voyage, and there are a lot of men here with deep pockets and lonely nights. You’re either useful to them or you’re not useful to me. However, I must remind you that your place in this ship is paid for by me. So, if I were you, sweetie, I’d make my choice correctly.”

“You…” Trapped and horrified at the situation you had thrown yourself into, you stared back at her in resistance. “You can’t do this! This is illegal—”

“Oh, sue me,” Mrs. Hawthorne replied in sarcasm before stepping back, her smile fading into the crowd. “Do what I say or you will be thrown off this ship. I have contacts back home that can surely check on your mother and sister, too.”

Your fingers tightened around the empty glass as she walked away, leaving you snapped into the dark and twisted reality of your current situation. All this damn time, the job you thought would bring you closer to your dreams was nothing but a front. A trap, with no escape in sight.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered just how much you were willing to endure to survive this journey. The faces of your mother and sister appeared before your eyes, their once hopeful gazes turning into a look of despair. Afraid for their lives. Hurt. Perished. 

No, you couldn’t let that happen. You thought as you swallowed your pride. 

~~

Alongside Eliza and your other colleagues, you were forced to endure the advances of the wealthy men who frequented the gambling rooms below deck. The stench of cigars and alcohol, the rough hands, and the leering eyes became your nightmare-turned-reality while being in a prison that was supposedly dubbed as the ship of dreams.

You had never felt so degraded. You were overcome with a sense of filth and self-loathing, feeling as though you were utterly sullied. You felt so low, so disgusted with your own skin that your femininity was not respected.

How could Mrs. Hawthorne do this? That was all you ever thought about as you sat perched on a wealthy man’s lap, his rough hands roaming over your body as he laughed, more at the cards in his hand than at the joke one of the other old men had told him. The other men at the table barely noticed you, their eyes glazed with the haze of a high-stakes game as they bet all their money and fortune on a mere deck of cards. You had seen this look before, the detachment, the sense that you were nothing more than an accessory, a toy to be played with.

Your colleagues, fellow entertainers, were scattered around the room, their eyes hollow as they performed their duties, doing what they could to survive. But tonight, it was too much. 

The disgusting old man’s grip tightened on your thigh, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered something vile. “Why don’t you let me have a taste later when I win this game, beautiful?” 

“I-I need some air,” you muttered, trying to stand, but he pulled you back down with his iron grip.

“Not yet, darling. Wait until I have you naked on my bed,” he slurred, his voice thick with alcohol. You couldn’t imagine letting an old man touch you like that, and the mere thought of it made you sick to your stomach. “You will please me when I tell you so.”

“Let me go!” 

“Pipe it down, will you?!” 

You felt panic clawing at your insides as you bit down the screams that were trying to rise from your throat. It was as though the room was closing in on you, the walls narrowing until you couldn’t breathe. Until you suffocated. Without thinking, you wrenched yourself free and kicked the old man on the shin, stumbling out of the chair and into the corridor with your pulse racing as you broke into a run.

I’m sorry. You repeated your apologies to your mother and sister in your mind, over and over, as you sprinted across the deck. The click-clack of your heels ricocheted into the distance as you sobbed. I’m sorry I can’t make it. I’m sorry… 

This wasn’t the life you had dreamed of, and you couldn’t bear the thought of being treated like an object, sold off to the wealthy and losing your dignity in the process. Night after night. Tears streamed down your face as you thought about letting down your family back home, about this being the last time you would ever see them, and about your own foolishness in embracing such cruelty.

You didn’t stop running and crying until you reached the stern of the ship, the cold night air nipping at your skin as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Breathe, you told yourself. But wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t? You leaned over the railing, the dark, icy waters below calling to you and offering a way out. And for a moment, you considered it. You considered it an escape. Anything was better than the life you were trapped in. 

You knew you wouldn’t last another day in this ship without having your dignity stripped off you, especially not when it was the last thing you had for yourself. You may not have the money, the power, and the influence that these wealthy people had, but one priceless thing you owned for yourself was your dignity. And that wasn’t something they could take away from you. 

Perhaps it was the adrenaline. The rush. The heavy emotions. Whatever it was, the overwhelming thoughts led you to climb over the railings, afraid and ready at the same time, to throw yourself into the gelid waters of the North Atlantic. Your trembling body and unstable breath didn’t stop you from looking down, waiting for the perfect timing… 

“I’m sorry.” A sob escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, uttering a prayer in hitched whispers. 

But before you could make the fatal leap, a strong hand suddenly grabbed your arm, making you gasp in horror at the unexpected intruder. You felt yourself being pulled back, and turned to see a man with amaranthine hair and kaleidoscopic eyes. “Miss, what are you doing?” 

“I—” you choked on your words now that the shameful reality of what you had almost done was crashing over you. “You know what I-I’m doing. Mind your own business!”

“I can’t do that now,” he spoke with urgency, eyes softening as he looked at you with an earnest gaze. “Whatever you do to yourself, I’ll be held responsible. Think about it.”

What is wrong with this guy? You swallowed, confused by his insistence in pulling you back. Judging by the way he dressed, he was obviously another first-class passenger. So, why did he care about saving a mere third-class woman? Weren’t they all the same? You held your breath and glared at him, distrustful of his approach. “L-Let me go! You’re distracting me.”

The guy used his thumb to wipe the faint tears on your wet cheeks. “Let’s talk about this,” he said, “Jumping from here would be the most excruciating way to die, trust me.” 

“How would you know?” you snapped, antagonism misdirected towards a man who was only trying to help. “You don’t get it. I don’t wanna go back there… with those old men…” 

For a moment, his eyes flickered with recognition. “You’re the singer, right? I’ve heard you perform. You have a siren’s voice.”

“I’m no longer performing for people like you,” you bit back, trying to wipe away your tears. But in that instant, in that span of a second, you lost your footing and slipped from the railings. “Aaah!” Your scream pierced the evening air as you felt a cold rush of fear slapping your face. “Aah! Help! Help me! Please!” 

“Hold on! I got you!” He gritted his teeth as he struggled to pull you back up, but determined with all his might to do so. “I… told you… you wouldn’t jump,” he panted, the muscles on his neck straining with the effort to pull you with your weight. You could see it in his eyes—the panic, the fear. Someone a stranger shouldn’t have for a person he didn’t know. And it brought you a thick sense of shame and guilt knowing you had him involved. 

With your help, you extended another hand toward the railings and fought to climb back in. It was a struggle, but he eventually pulled you back onto the deck where both of you collapsed against the floor, gasping for breath like a freshly caught fish. You looked up at him, taking in his relieved yet gentle expression, and feeling nothing but shame for the terrible situation you had put him through.

“T-Thank you,” you stammered, your chest heaving as you tried to steady your breathing. “Thank you, and I-I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You’re alright now.”

“W-What’s your name?”

He exhaled, a faint smile touching his lips as he shook his head. It was the first time through that near-death experience where you began to feel relaxed. “I’m offended you don’t know.”

“I…” 

“I’m kidding. It’s Rafayel,” he said with a polite handshake, helping you to your feet. “Please remember your savior’s name.”

Before you could say more, the sound of footsteps approached, and you heard the old man’s voice, slurred and angry, as him and the Master-at-Arms headed towards you like you were a culprit they had been trying to catch. “There she is! That little whore! She thinks she can run away?!”

Panic seized you again, but the man beside you—Rafayel—stepped forward, placing himself between you and the approaching figures as if he was protecting you. “She’s with me,” he strictly said upon realizing the situation quickly enough. His voice was also firm, leaving no room for argument. “Leave her alone. It won’t end well if you insist on taking this innocent lady.” 

The Master-at-Arms and security personnel hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances between Rafayel and the old man, who was clearly bristling with indignation. Yet, Rafayel’s gaze remained firm and unyielding, and it was evident that his social standing intimidated the crew. Unlike you, they seemed to recognize who he was and decided to back off.

So after a tense silence, the security personnel, clearly wary of challenging someone of Rafayel's stature, nodded reluctantly. They led the inebriated old man away, assuring him that they would find another woman who would be more willing to accommodate him for the night. 

When they were gone, Rafayel turned back to you with his already softened eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice filled with a kindness you hadn’t expected. It was clear that through his gaze, he seemed to have picked up the puzzle pieces for the reason of your near-suicide. And he sympathized with you for it, as if he had once tried to go through that route, too. “Don’t worry about that old man. I’ll see to it that he won’t bother you again. Any of them.” 

You nodded, though your legs felt like they might give out beneath you. The events that night were far too much for you to process. “Thank you,” you whispered. “You saved me twice today.” 

He smiled, a small, sad smile, and offered you his hand. “Come with me. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt something other than fear. You felt safe. And it strangely came from a stranger you knew little about except his name. However, he immediately noticed your hesitation, knowing that it was rooting from your mistrust and fear for the men in first-class who wanted to bed you, so he was quick to clear out his intentions. 

“I’m not like those people,” he said, clearing his throat. His words were accompanied by a reassuring smile, and the earnestness in his eyes provided some comfort to the uncertainty in your heart. “I’m not a businessman, not a politician, definitely not royalty. I don’t gamble, I have no vices. I’m just an artist. You can trust me. I won’t do anything bad to you.”

Yet again, you weren’t given a chance to fully express your gratitude, only because a slightly older man with brown hair approached, shooting a disapproving look at Rafayel. 

“I’m sure she knows her way back into steerage,” the other guy said curtly, his tone carrying a sharp reprimand as though engaging in a silent argument with Rafayel. “Don’t risk your image by accompanying her down there or offering her a place in first-class.”

Rafayel, visibly frustrated, shot back with the temper of a child. “Thomas, treat her like a human being—”

“I’m okay,” you interjected with a shaky voice, trying to ease the tension because you truly didn’t want to cause any more trouble on the man who had just saved you. You simply glanced at ‘Thomas’ before sending Rafayel a smile of gratitude. “He’s right, Rafayel. Your help means more to me than I can ever express, but it’s best that I return to my cabin on my own.”

Rafayel’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it seemed like he might argue further. But then he chose to relent when his shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. He clearly didn’t want to force anything on you. “Alright,” he said quietly, though his gaze remained passionately concerned. “But please, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to find me. I’m not far.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, the gratitude in your eyes more profound than words could express. But Thomas was there to humble you from the fantasy of being the damsel in distress. From his watchful gaze alone, you knew he was telling you that you weren’t and would never be welcome into their part of the ship after tonight. “Thank you, Rafayel. I’ll be alright. I promise.”

All Rafayel could do was nod as he reluctantly stepped back. Thomas could only give a brusque nod as well, signaling the end of the conversation. And as they turned to leave, you watched Rafayel go and felt a strange pang of sadness at parting with a person you just met. It was odd, definitely, but the momentary relief Rafayel’s intervention gave you was briefly replaced by the gruesome reality of your life at the steerage. 

Turning back towards the staircase leading to steerage, you took a deep breath and started down the steps. The ship’s luxurious surroundings became more and more minimalistic as you descended, with the opulence of first-class fading away into the more sterile accommodations of steerage.

~~

When you woke up the next morning, you thought everything that had happened was both a dream and a nightmare. 

Eliza was staring at you from the opposite bunk bed, seemingly envious yet happy for you at the same time. For what reason? You weren’t sure yet. And neither did she say why she carried that look on her face as you got up from bed, wiping your eyes and realizing it was another dreadful day of being imprisoned in the Titanic. 

“What’s wrong, Eliza?” you asked. 

She offered you a small smile. “Nothing, just…” 

It horrified you to see the marks on Eliza’s neck. And the pained expressions on her face, a reflection of someone who had been stripped of her dignity—someone who could have been you if not for Rafayel’s intervention. You couldn’t escape the grim reality that, despite his heroic act, your fate might soon mirror hers. Mrs. Hawthorne still held the chains around your neck after all, compelling you to do things against your will in exchange for your life, your family's safety, and your livelihood.

But to your surprise, Mrs. Hawthorne was a different person when she knocked on your cabin door that morning. You had braced yourself for the punishment of failing to fulfill your ‘duties’ to the old man the previous night, but her demeanor was unusually pleasant. Her smile seemed almost too pleased, leaving you wary and confused about her true intentions.

Has she gone mad?

“Good morning,” she spoke in the same merry voice that you hated, displaying a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Y/N, from now on, your services as an entertainer are no longer required.”

Your heartbeat took a pause. “What do you mean? I-Is it because of last night?”

She placed the papers on the small table beside you and sat down. “Your contract has been terminated. You’re free from your duties as of now.”

So suddenly… You stared at her, trying to process the sudden change in her demeanor. “But why? I don’t understand. Not even long ago, you were asking me to—”

“A gentleman from first-class, someone with rather striking purple hair, has paid a considerable sum to terminate your contract.” The cruel woman sighed, rolling her eyes. “He covered the cost of your ticket and added extra, more than enough to ensure you were released from your obligations.”

Your mind instantly connected the dots. “Rafayel? H-He did that? But why?”

Mrs. Hawthorne’s expression turned cold. “He made it very clear that he wanted you to stop entertaining people against your will. He even went so far as to threaten me with legal consequences if I didn’t comply. Said something about ensuring I’d face charges once the ship docks in New York if I didn’t let you go. What a boastful young man! If not for his money, I’d have cursed him out in the face. I don’t know what you did to woo that guy, but consider yourself lucky.”

What? You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t ever believe Rafayel went out of his way to save you. Again. 

“Go and enjoy the ship like any other passenger,” Mrs. Hawthorne continued, her words dripping with a false sense of privilege. As if living in peace on this ship was a luxury for you. “I’ll inform the crew that you’re no longer required in the entertainment department.”

As Mrs. Hawthorne exited your cabin, you sat in silence and finally understood the reason behind Eliza’s gaze. But you didn’t expect this, either. You could only glance out the porthole in guilt, seeing the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out before you. This new freedom felt both exhilarating and daunting if you were being honest to yourself. For the first time since you boarded, you now had a chance to explore the ship on your own terms, but the uncertainty of what lies ahead lingered in the back of your mind.

Because, then… What about your family? What about your income? What about your dream of performing on Broadway? 

Only an ungrateful person would think selfishly about herself first before the person that generously saved her from this predicament. So, even if you swore to never bother him again, you had to take the risk. You had to seize your newfound freedom, at least, to thank him properly. 

With that in mind, you made your way near the staircases leading to the upper decks. You had ‘borrowed’ a costume from the entertainers’ closet, the only suitable and elegant clothing you could find to pass as a first-class passenger. But as you walked through the luxurious parts of the ship, the sound of a piano drifted through the air, and its melody guided your next steps like a sailor entranced by a siren’s voice. The rhythm. The melody. It was drawing you closer and closer. 

Before you knew it, you followed the enchanting tune, only to find yourself stumbling upon Rafayel in a room adjacent to the music room. There he was, deeply engrossed in his painting, the soft glow of the sun warmly illuminated his focused expression and the canvas before him.

Rafayel looked up, surprised. “Y/N? ” he said, his gentle smile lighting up his face as he noticed you. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

You flushed, feeling out of place. The irony of stumbling into the wrong room seemed to have brought you to the right person. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to intrude. I followed the music, but it led me here.”

His curiosity was piqued. “And what brings you to this part of the ship? The music room is across the hall, miss.”

“I was just exploring,” you replied, smiling and feigning innocence. “Trying to see a bit more of this grand vessel.”

His response was a soft chuckle. “Well, you’ve found quite the place. May I offer you a seat?”

To your surprise, you found yourself seated next to him, eyes wide as you were immediately captivated by his artwork. The painting before you was breathtaking, truly mesmerizing. It was a picturesque depiction of the ocean and sunset, and every intricate color blended beautifully on the canvas. “Rafayel, did you paint this? It’s incredible! It’s so beautiful!”

“You flatter me too much, but I’ll take the compliment. It’s a work-in-progress, though.” He chuckled, wiping his paint-splattered hand with a towel. Despite the barriers of social class, a connection naturally seemed to spark between you both. “If you’re interested, I might even give you a discount on it.”

You knew he was joking, but if you had the means, you would have bought his masterpiece without hesitation. “You must be famous all over Europe. It makes sense why…”

“Actually, you’re mistaken,” he corrected, his smile dimming just a bit. “No one buys my paintings anymore. My art exhibits have become quite empty. I’ve been living off my savings and selling off my most prized possessions just to keep up with my lifestyle. Money and fame are fleeting, after all.”

“But why?” you asked, genuinely curious. “With paintings like these, I’m sure people would want to buy them.”

“It’s been a while since I painted something like this,” he replied, eyes locking into yours. “My recent works have been more somber. People tend to shy away from dull, lifeless art.”

You hesitated. “Is it because of a lack of inspiration?”

He stood up, smiling softly as if you were the first person to understand. “You could say that.”

Driven by curiosity, you glanced around the room and noticed several paintings concealed beneath dust covers. You looked at him for permission, and he gave it through a simple nod. However, when you pulled the covers back, you were taken aback to find that the paintings depicted intimate, nude portraits of women—women who appeared to belong to high society. To say you were surprised was understatement. You were rather stunned, astounded.  

Rafayel, leaning casually against the wall, seemed to sense your astonishment. “Didn’t expect it, huh?” he asked with a hint of amusement. “Before you get the wrong idea, these are merely commissioned paintings. I didn’t paint them because I’m particularly intrigued with female anatomy or anything.” 

“But they’re live paintings, you say?” you asked, truly amazed by the thought. “I… Wow.” 

He hummed in agreement. “These kinds of paintings were what made me popular. Royals and high society people have a penchant for risqué art. It’s often erotic to them. They love commissioning nude portraits to gift to their husbands. My most significant client was the First Lady of France. I spent three months there, painting her repeatedly until an entire room in the palace was filled with her nude portraits. I even felt like I’m more familiar with every inch of her body than her husband, you know?” he jested just a little before continuing, “Anyway, so word spread about my paintings of the First Lady, and soon enough, French women flocked to have their own portraits done, too.”

You stared at the paintings, the elegant yet provocative depictions of high-society women capturing your attention in a way that you didn’t expect. And you supposed the perfect definition to your emotion right now would be fascination, because it wasn’t anything you had seen before. 

Rafayel’s voice, on the other hand, broke through your thoughts. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How something so intimate and personal can become a symbol of status and power.”

You turned to him with no judgement in your eyes. “It’s admirable, really. You’re very talented.”

Rafayel pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the covered canvases, his fingers lightly grazing the edges of the dust covers. “Most people see me as just another artist, another name on a list of commissioned painters. But this,” he gestured to the paintings, “was what set me apart. It wasn’t just about the art itself but about the allure and the mystique. It drew people in, gave them something to talk about.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. “And now? Does it still hold the same appeal for you?”

His expression may have softened, but a hint of melancholy blanketed his gaze. “Not as much. The thrill has faded. The commissions came, and the fame followed, but it wasn’t as fulfilling as I’d hoped. It’s easy to get lost in the glamor and forget why you started painting in the first place.”

You took a step closer as the air between you silenced into a quiet understanding. “What did you want to achieve? What was it you hoped to find in your art?”

He looked at you with his deep vulnerable eyes. “I wanted to capture the essence of beauty and emotion. I wanted my art to connect with people on a deeper level, to make them feel something genuine. But over time, it became less about that and more about what would sell.”

There was a brief silence as you considered his words. “Then, to me it sounds like you’re looking for something more meaningful.”

“Perhaps.” Rafayel nodded, his gaze turning back to the portraits. “I want to paint again, but not just for the sake of profit or reputation. I want to create something that speaks to who I am, something that brings back that initial spark of passion.”

“Maybe you’ll find that inspiration again.” You plastered an encouraging smile on your face. “Sometimes, the most unexpected encounters can reignite a lost passion.”

“I suppose so. And maybe, finding the right subject or the right moment will make all the difference.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence that settled between you. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the way Rafayel glanced at your lips, created a sense of attraction that—like a magnet—pulled you closer to him. What was it about this man that drew you in like a moth to a flame?

But you had to think straight, of course. You woke yourself up to the reason why you were even here in the first place. Though, as you finally broke the silence, a small smile played on his lips. “Thank you… Rafayel. I heard about what you did for me. You didn’t need to do that.”

He put a handsome smile on display. “It’s the right thing to do. You don’t deserve to live like that.”

You didn’t want to go into details and ask him about how he found out how Mrs. Hawthorne’s illicit business operated, but you trusted that Rafayel was smart enough to figure it all out. Everything that had led you here; from your attempt to jump off the ship, to him freeing you from the chains of being an ‘entertainer’. It was an unspoken understanding between the savior and the saved.

You stepped closer to him. “I feel terrible, though. You said you sold off some of your belongings to save money, but you ended up spending them for me.”

Rafayel was amused at that, on the other hand. “Hey, I never said I’m completely broke. It’d take at least five more years for that to happen.” 

“Lucky you, then.” You glanced around the room one last time, the paintings now seeming less like mere objects of scandal and more like symbols of Rafayel’s journey as an artist. You respected the nature of his paintings just as he respected you. 

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, playfully wiggling his eyebrows. 

“To where?”

“To your accommodations down in third-class,” he suggested with a strange glint of excitement in his eyes, taking your hand in his, “I’ve always been curious. Can you show me?” 

~~

There were many things you learned about Rafayel. Firstly, he was an easy-going man who preferred rowdy pubs over formal cotillions. He didn’t care about social classes, something he had proven when you first met him, but watching him effortlessly bond with the other people from the steerage made your heart soften into mush. He began to feel almost unreal to you, like a dream, because you never imagined a man from such a high status could be so genuine, so down-to-earth. Yet, there he was, laughing and enjoying a pint of cheap beer with your fellow third-class passengers, without a scintilla of judgment or hesitation.

Secondly, he could certainly dance. You never saw it coming until he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the makeshift dance floor, inviting you to join him in a playful tap dance together with the other passengers. The lively, upbeat music of the steerage seemed to fuel his spirit far more than the refined, classical tunes often heard in the first-class dining halls. 

“How’d you learn to dance?” you shouted over the music, spinning as Rafayel twirled you with an effortless grace.

He grinned, shrugging casually. “I’d call it au naturel.”

And lastly, he was far more charming than you ever anticipated. Despite his tipsiness, Rafayel remained by your side the entire evening, his presence around you gave way to subtle protectiveness that never wavered throughout the night. What amused you, though, was the reversal of roles—you felt like you were the one guarding him, a vulnerable first-class man surrounded by a roomful of third-class passengers, where he could easily become a target for discomfort or even theft. Yet, much to your relief, nothing of the sort occurred. Instead, his natural charm seemed to win everyone over, defusing any tension that might have arisen.

“Rafayel, please be careful on your way back,” you said, concern evident in your voice as you watched his half-lidded eyes and his unsteady sway from the alcohol. He stood outside your cabin, clearly tipsy. “Do you want me to help you get back up there? I don’t think I can enter past the gates, though.”

He swayed for a moment before leaning in, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes, clouded with intoxication, locked onto yours. “No need. That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.”

You decided to tease him, hoping to break the sexual tension. “Well, getting this close to me isn’t exactly gentlemanly, either, Mr. Rafayel.”

“Touché.” His cool breath fanned across your face as he chuckled. “I guess I’m not much of a gentleman after all.” 

For a moment, you forgot about the crowded halls of the third-class cabins, the distant hum of the ship’s engines, and the people bustling around you. It felt like it was just the two of you, suspended in time. Your heart couldn’t stop racing at an unreasonable pace. 

Rafayel’s smile widened, his lips only a couple inches away from yours. “But if I were, would I have had the pleasure of meeting you?” 

Your heart fluttered in your chest. “Maybe not. But I’m glad you’re here now, gentleman or not.” 

He lingered there for a minute longer, his forehead still resting against yours, before he finally pulled away with a reluctant sigh. “Alright, I should head back… before I lose any more of my honor.” His grin eventually faded into a soft smile as he caressed your cheek with his gentle hand. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun, Y/N. Thank you.” 

As romantic and noble as he seemed, you knew your boundaries. You knew your place in society was no way near his. “You’re always welcome here,” you said, gently holding his hand—the one that had touched your cheek. “But you don’t belong down here, so up you go.”

“I’d rather be wherever you are,” he whispered, planting a kiss on your hand and making your heart pound wildly against your chest. 

Though you cherished the moment, you knew it wasn’t the right time. He was under the influence of alcohol, and you worried he might regret his actions and words later. After all, you were a mere woman from the steerage, not someone he could proudly show off and be with. You had nothing to offer, nothing to match his way of living. You only had yourself, but you didn’t know if that was enough. 

With that in mind, you had to keep your composure. Being too ambitious might one day bite you back the hard way.  

“Good night, Rafayel,” you said, taking a step back, watching as he turned and stumbled a little before catching his balance. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always, sweetheart. Always.” He glanced back, flashing you one last grin. Then, with a mischievous wink, he started to make his way back to the upper decks, leaving you with a warmth in your chest that lingered long after he was gone.

If only you two weren’t divided by social classes. 

~~

Slap! 

“What on Earth was that stupid act you pulled down there?!” Arielle’s voice resounded across the room with a harshness Rafayel hadn’t heard from her before. But honestly, the sting of her slap wasn’t what shocked him, it was the way she had shown her true nature from being a sweet, passionate lady into a manipulative, entitled woman who seemed to think she had a claim over him. “I can’t believe you were mingling with those filthy third-class people while I was waiting for you in my suite last night!”

Keeping his head turned in the direction she’d struck, Rafayel clenched his jaw. “You don’t know those people. They’re better than most of the ones up here on this ship.”

“And what?” she snapped, her ocean-blue eyes blazing with fury that almost matched the deep crimson of her hair. “You went down there for some whore? Don’t push me, Rafayel. You are not to see that lowly woman ever again.”

Rafayel’s patience wore thin at the mention of you, and he finally looked up to glare at her. “Stop trying to control me, Arielle.”

“You are my husband-to-be.” Her reminder was more so a warning to him. “It is a privilege for you to be married to me. So start acting the part. You will live by my rules, spend my money, and enjoy the privileges I grant you. Don’t think you’re above your place now, especially with your boring paintings not selling anymore.”

Frankly, Rafayel had never imagined himself marrying this woman. The engagement ring on her finger wasn’t even something he had chosen—it was bought and meticulously picked out by Thomas because Rafayel couldn’t be bothered to find one himself. If he already felt this way about the engagement, how much more about the impending marriage? Her relentless need to control everything was already a nightmare he could clearly see unfolding. And he knew he would never have the freedom to be the man of his own house, always trailing behind her like a shadow, always listening to her commands like a broken man. He would have to obey her every whim like a pathetic servant, living solely for her pleasures and demands. 

The wedding hadn’t even happened yet, but he already wanted to put a pistol to his mouth and end everything. 

“Don’t you dare ruin our reputation by mingling down there again,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain as if she were speaking of animals rather than people. “I mean it, Rafayel. You know exactly what I’m capable of doing to that whore.” 

That threat was enough to force him into a tense, angry silence. “...Don’t you dare touch her.” 

Arielle scoffed. Despite the jewelry and makeup that made her quite the face of a luxurious woman, Rafayel could only see how rotten she was on the inside. “I will do what I want if you do not behave yourself.” 

He didn’t even try to console or win her back after she stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut with a loud bang. Why should he? He held no affection for her, and he certainly didn’t care about winning her over. He was even contemplating telling Arielle directly to her face that he wanted to call off the wedding, to let her know he didn’t need her to survive on his own, but things were easier said than done. And more importantly, there were various factors that held him back.

One of them, being his longtime friend and agent, Thomas, who soon entered his private suite. The guy’s lips were already tightened into a thin line as he eyed the red mark on Rafayel’s cheek. “I told you not to get involved with that third-class woman. You’re already engaged to Arielle. Why can’t you just appreciate what you have?” 

Rafayel remained silent, leaning against the table and rubbing his temples in frustration. He couldn’t believe that the person closest to him would be the first to side with someone else.

“And can we talk about why you paid that shady woman, Hawthorne, to release the third-class girl from being a hostess?” Thomas continued. “Her problems are none of your business. You’re just involving yourself in all these rumors.”

Rafayel’s eyes hardened. “You know Y/N didn’t consent to that situation. She was clearly deceived into it—didn’t you see her nearly jumping off the ship trying to escape those men? Helping her was the right thing to do. She has a mother and sister waiting for her.”

“This is not about what’s right or wrong. It’s about maintaining appearances. And if you start ignoring the rules for everyone you meet, you’ll find yourself in quite a predicament.” His agent stared at him blankly, sighing. “It’s not just about you, Raf. Your aunt Talia—she’s counting on you. She’s the only family you have left. She invested everything she had to support your career, hoping that you would make something of yourself. But things didn’t turn out the way we all had hoped for, did it? Besides, this marriage isn’t just a contract. It’s a way to secure your future and her well-being.”

He could feel his jaw tightening at the clear attempt to draw guilt from him. “I’m aware of what my aunt did for me, but this isn’t what she envisioned for me. She wanted me to be happy, to succeed on my own terms, not to be trapped in a marriage I didn’t ask for.”

“You’re being short-sighted,” pointed out Thomas, “By marrying Arielle, you secure not only your future but also Talia’s. You know she’s been struggling with her health. She needs to know that you’re stable, that you’re not making reckless decisions that could jeopardize her security. If you back out now, it could destroy her.”

Rafayel’s gaze dropped to the floor as his mind grappled into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—frustration, guilt, and helplessness. 

“Is this really about me,” Rafayel said quietly, “or is it about what will happen if I defy you?”

“I know Arielle isn’t the kindest person,” Thomas continued, ignoring his question. “But sometimes, we have to make sacrifices for the greater good. And this marriage might not be perfect, but it’s a step towards securing everything you’ve worked for. It’s what will keep Talia safe and secure, not some fleeting romance on a ship or a misguided impulse.”

Rafayel’s silence became pregnant with contemplation. He was ultimately speechless, not because he agreed with his agent, but because the tables had turned in a way where the guilt and pressure was now placed on his shoulders squarely. 

Sensing his deep thoughts, Thomas stepped closer and placed a hand on Rafayel’s shoulder with a reassuring grip. “Think about it carefully. The right decision isn’t always the easiest one, but it’s often the one that will ensure a future worth living.”

~~

Another day had passed since that fateful night when Rafayel had pulled you from the brink of ending your life. 

You had already settled back into the confines of the steerage, trying to adjust to the routine of your life as best as you could while Mrs. Hawthorne stuck to her word of leaving you alone. But as each supposedly normal day went by, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The brief moments you had shared with Rafayel suddenly felt like a distant dream, and you wondered if it was all just a fleeting impulse on his part. 

Did he actually regret spending time with you that night? Getting to know you? Opening his heart to you? Despite the joy he seemed to express, you wondered if he felt disgusted with his actions the moment he woke up sober. Because as kind and down-to-Earth as Rafayel appeared, he was still part of the wealthy elite, like the rest of them. He was born into a rich household, accustomed to the life of high society, and it wouldn’t be all too surprising for him to view the unsophisticated passengers of the third-class as pitiful. 

But a small part of you believed Rafayel was better than that. No, he was more genuine than that. 

It was early in the morning when you found yourself drawn to the upper decks from your humble area in the third-class decks. You watched the first-class passengers from the starboard side, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had saved your life and made you feel special. He should be there somewhere. Some place where the sun had risen. After all, didn’t he say you could come find him anytime? Your eyes searched aimlessly through the crowd, hoping for a sign, a familiar face. 

Until he appeared.

Rafayel stopped by the railing, engaged in a conversation with the captain of the ship. Next to him was a graceful woman clinging on his arm, a girl with luscious red hair, pearlescent skin, and crystal blue eyes. The dress she wore was bedight with intricate patterns, sewn carefully through hours of labor to highlight the detailed gold threads on the satin dress. She was about the same age as you, it seemed, but her aura was the epitome of elegance and wealth, someone you could never be. Though, despite the distance, you could see the tension in Rafayel’s posture and the way he didn’t appear to be present in the conversation at all.

Then, he happened to have looked in your direction. 

Contrary to the expectations in your head, he didn’t greet you with a familiar smile or a friendly wave. No, he avoided your eyes not even two seconds after he met your gaze. It was as if he was intentionally keeping his distance, and the sight left you feeling inexplicably hollow.

“Hang on,” you could hear one of your cabin roommates say, “Isn’t that the gentleman from first-class who danced with us?” 

“Who’s that woman next to him?” 

“Oh, first-class people. They’re all the same.” 

“Did he just ignore you, Y/N?”

He did. And it hurt in a way you didn’t expect. You couldn’t quite understand your feelings or why they were so intense when you should have anticipated this, should have expected it. Or did you really believe he could be some sort of prince charming who would fall for a poor woman after meeting her for a few days? This was no fairytale. 

God, but it was unbearable—the silence, the misunderstandings, the thought. As foolish as it might sound, you needed to hear it from him directly. Growing fond of Rafayel was already an abyss you had thrown yourself into, and you were willing to walk that path just to speak to him again.

You weren’t sure how you did it so well, but by using the same old trick, you were able to sneak into the first-class deck smoothly. The transition from steerage to first-class was blunt, and you already knew you had to yet again play the role of a wealthy woman, or at least a nouveau riche, just to blend in. But that wasn’t what you were focusing on this journey, you weren’t there to dillydally with the elite. You were there to see a certain amaranthine-haired man who had saved your life countless times in this ship. 

When you spotted Rafayel slipping into a private room—the same room where he painted, you followed him like a spy, hoping not to be seen or caught by other onlookers in the area. You still had the decency to knock softly at first, but when there was no answer, you decided to let yourself in. The room was dimly lit, with rich, velvet drapes decorating the walls. And the smell of paint and canvas was an unmistakable association to him. Of Rafayel, who was there standing by a large window, his back to you.

“Rafayel,” you said softly, taking a tentative step forward but inexplicably drawn to his beautiful, radiant face. “Hi.”

He turned to look at you in an unwelcome surprise, however. “What are you doing here? You can’t be here.”

You closed the door behind you, the soft click signaling your privacy. “I just… I don’t know why I’m here. Frankly, I just wanted to see you. I wanted to understand if I did something wrong.”

There was guilt in his eyes, you saw that. But he was quick to cloud it with a look of resistance. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said in a neutral tone, his eyes avoiding yours. “It’s just... it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” you repeated. “It’s because I’m from steerage, isn’t it…”

“No,” Rafayel interrupted firmly, as if the thought was absurd. “It’s not about where you come from. That doesn’t matter to me.”

You felt the distance he was placing between you two as you stood in front of him, not wanting to wear your heart on your sleeve. But it did sting. The way he was struggling to meet your eyes, the way he was looking at anywhere but you. 

“I have a fiancé,” he dropped the hard cold truth, “I’m engaged, and it’d be disrespectful for me to spend time with another woman behind her back.”

The revelation struck you like lightning, probably worse than the impact it would have on you if you had jumped off the ship that other night. “...I see.” 

“I apologize,” he quickly added, still averting the direction of his gaze. “I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

There must be a logical reason why he had never mentioned his fiancé the moment he had met you. But whatever it was, the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and yet, the complete picture remained frustratingly out of reach. The pain in your chest was undeniable, truly, but you tried to mask it with a smile. You knew when and how to feign a calm composure in the most critical situations. 

“If that’s how it is,” you said quietly, “then I understand. I just needed to know.”

Rafayel’s eyes were an amalgam of shame and despair. “I’m sorry. You should leave before anyone sees you here.”

You didn’t wish to carry any grudge or bitterness towards a man who saved your life. If anything, you were still grateful for everything he did for you up to this point. You were happy that while you were drowning in a sea of despair, he became the buoy that you could hold onto. Even for a short, fleeting moment. So, despite the ache in your heart, you brought it upon yourself to show appreciation for one last time. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone now,” you spoke softly and faintly, “But before I go, I just want to say, Rafayel, that you are the most talented artist I have ever met. I admire your eye for art… I do, and also your passion for what you love. I hope that when this ship docks, you’ll find all the inspiration you need to create wonderful paintings again. I hope you never lose faith in yourself, because I know you’ll make it big out there. Even bigger than you already are, I can see it happening. You are an amazing person and a blessing to everyone around you, Raf. I wish you and your fiancé all the best.”

You didn’t wait for his response, neither did you look at his eyes and hope for him to stop you. He didn’t need to. You knew your place, and it wasn’t anywhere near him or any part of the first-class rooms and amenities. It was at the bottom of this ship, in a small cabin with two bunk beds and your limited garments. Their world was not meant for you. 

It never was.

~~

“So, when’s the big day?”

As usual, the grand dining hall was abuzz with the chatter and clinking of expensive cutlery. The long table was set with exquisite silverware, and the servants moved about with practiced grace, ensuring every need was met with precision that defined the excellent service of the White Star Line crew. Yet, despite the utmost grandeur of the setting, Rafayel felt strangely detached.

He sat at the head of the table, surrounded by the elite passengers of the Titanic, staring blankly at the plate in front of him. Little did everyone know, his thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation he had had with you yesterday. The way you had looked at him with those searching eyes, the way you had quietly accepted the painful truth he had laid bare. The image of your hurt expression haunted him, so much so that he disregarded the polished and pretentious world that now surrounded him.

Arielle was there seated beside him, and was occupied in an animated conversation with a group of socialites. Her laughter was light, her gestures demure and sophisticated, but to Rafayel, it all seemed pretentious. He knew she was only trying to look happy on the surface, trying to keep up with the appearances. She often glanced his way, her eyes carrying annoyance whenever he didn’t respond to her attempts to include him in the conversation. It was clear she was treating him as nothing more than a decorative accessory to her social standing, rather than—as she called it—a future husband. The more he observed her, the more he felt like a mere piece of furniture, simply existing for her to use.

The disparity between this world and the brief moments of freedom he had experienced with you in the steerage was jarring. The laughter, the warmth, the raw honesty of those times were replaced by the superficial chatter and insincere pleasantries of the elite. The perfect lives they spoke of in high society wasn’t where he wanted his art to thrive. They were of no raw and unfiltered essence as the dreams you spoke of and the hardships you had endured. Your ability to find beauty in even the smallest things was where visions of empowerment bloom. 

And in realizing that, he knew, all along, that you were the inspiration he had long been searching for.

“Darling?” Arielle’s hand rested lightly on his arm, a gesture meant to convey affection but to Rafayel felt like a shackle. She leaned in close, her voice a sultry whisper that he barely registered. “Rafayel, are you even listening? Everyone’s talking about our wedding. Aren’t you excited?”

“Of course, Arielle,” he said, forcing a smile before his gaze wandered to the window, where the sun was beginning to set over the horizon. He wondered where you were or how you were doing. Were you singing your heart out somewhere? Dancing with your friends down at the steerage? Drinking happily with fellow passengers who didn’t care about money or status or anything of the sort?

Truth be told, things began to strike him with a painful clarity. He knew long ago that the inspiration he had once sought was never meant to be found among the pomp and pretense of high society. But only now did he open his eyes to the times that had breathed life into his art, that had given him a glimpse of something real and meaningful. And they were moments with you.

But how could he have that inspiration now when the vibrant muse that had sparked his creativity was out of reach? 

Rafayel’s gaze fell to his plate, the food before him growing cold and unappetizing. “Excuse me.”

~~

Come Josephine… in my flying machine 

Going up she goes, up she goes 

The cold wind nipped at your cheeks as you stood at the bow of the ship, singing under your breath, and gazing out at the endless expanse of ocean stretching before you. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, as if the universe itself was offering an evanescent moment of beauty in a world that often felt so cruel. 

Balance yourself like a bird on a beam

In the air she goes, there she goes

You gripped the railing tightly, feeling the ship’s gentle sway beneath your feet, wondering how easily Rafayel would have captured the landscape forever in his canvas. You closed your eyes, letting the wind wash over you, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to push away the feeling of longing that had settled deep in your chest.

But then you heard it—the soft crunch of footsteps approaching from behind. You knew, even before turning, who it was. Your heart instantly tightened in your chest, holding your breath as you felt his presence come nearer. Slowly, you turned around, finding Rafayel standing there, his purple hair catching the light of the setting sun, his eyes apologetic and full of yearning.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled his words, taking a deep breath. “I lied to you.”

You felt a pang in your chest, both relief and hurt swelling inside you. “Why… are you saying this?” you asked softly, your eyes never leaving his. “Didn’t you regret everything?”

“No,” was his swift answer, shaking his head slowly and stepping closer. “No, I didn’t regret getting closer to you. Not for a second.” He then paused, only for his voice to break just a little. “But I was bound by obligations. Bound by things that I thought would help me and the people I care about. It’s all materialistic and I’m ashamed to admit it to you.”

You turned back toward the ocean, gripping the railing as the wind whipped through your hair. In that moment, truthfully, staring at the endless sea felt like you were flying. “Because I’m from third-class? Because I won’t understand your world?”

“No, it was never about that,” Rafayel replied urgently, stepping closer until he was beside you. Until he was holding you by the waist, both hands securing you from behind. “I’ve been living a life that was never mine. About to marry a woman I don’t love, painting for people I despise, pretending to fit into a place that feels like a prison. And then I met you.”

“Raf…” You could feel the changing rhythm of your heart as you turned to face him, searching his face, trying to understand. “She’ll give you a better life. You deserve to have a woman of the same class as you.” 

“I don’t understand why we’re kept apart by such rigid lines. There’s so much more to life than these divisions,” he spoke in a troubled expression, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. “The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. About how you made me feel alive again, how you gave me the inspiration I’d been longing to find.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart melt, allowing your walls to break. “This sounds ridiculous, but I’ve missed you,” you admitted softly, your hand still under his, feeling the warmth of his touch despite the cold wind around you. “I wanted to forget you, but I couldn’t…”

“I don’t want you to forget me,” he whispered, leaning closer as a pained smile tugged at his lips. “I want to be the one you remember. I want… I want to be the reason you smile, the reason you feel alive.”

You felt a tear escape your eye, and he gently brushed it away with his thumb. “Rafayel, I—”

“I’m done pretending,” declared he, “I just want to be with you, for however long we have. I don’t care what it costs me.”

Was this real? Your heart felt like it was about to burst, and you were scared that this might just be a dream, an illusion that you would soon wake up from. But then he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face. “May I?” he asked, his eyes flickering to your lips.

And you nodded, you allowed it. A soft gasp escaped your mouth as his lips captured yours in a deep, searching kiss. The world seemed to fade away as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as you kissed him back with all the pent-up emotions you’d been holding onto for days. His lips were warm and soft, encasing yours in a passionate lock, while his tongue was sweet and tender, exploring your mouth in a loving, burning kiss.

For a moment, there was only the sensation of his lips on yours, the taste of the sea in the air, the feel of his heart beating against yours. The world, the ship, everything around you seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you on the edge of the world.

~~

“We’re going to get caught—!” There was an obvious hint of nervous laughter in your voice as both of you giggled while racing through the corridors of the first-class halls.

“Shh,” he hushed you with a grin, placing a finger to his lips. “We’re almost there.”

All the while, Rafayel held your hand tightly as he guided you toward his private room. The thrill of sneaking around, hidden from prying eyes, seemed to fill him with a rush of adrenaline. But you couldn’t blame him, for you certainly shared the same thrill. There was a certain excitement in having you there, in his world, in his arms, like you belonged to him.

And he was right about being near. Because just a few more steps down the corridor, he finally stopped in front of one of the larger doors and pulled you into a lavish suite that seemed like an entirely different dimension. And good lord, you could hardly believe your eyes. Even though you had heard countless descriptions of the luxury on this ship, seeing it with your own eyes felt undeniably surreal. Left and right, no matter where you looked, the room was adorned with rich furnishings, a plush king-sized bed piled high with soft pillows, and even a private fireplace to keep the cold at bay during the night. His private suite alone was the size of ten basic cabins in the steerage. You didn’t bother asking the cost of his boarding ticket, knowing full well that it was more than what you could ever afford in your lifetime. 

To be able to throw so much money away for a mere couple nights on a ship, though, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing that. 

“Wow,” you marveled nonetheless, spinning around in awe while Rafayel watched your delight with a warm smile, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Your room is enormous.” 

“Can you stay right here for a second?” he asked, violet eyes meeting yours. “And close your eyes while you’re at it.” 

“Okay…” Curious but trusting, you smiled and shut your eyes, wondering what he was up to or what he was planning. It wasn’t long until you heard the faint sounds of rustling, drawers being opened and closed, the click of a safe, and then his footsteps as he returned behind you. “Are you done?” 

“There’s something I want to give you.” His raspy voice nearly tickled your ear. When you opened your eyes, you realized you were in front of a mirror, and you could see him from behind as he opened a velvet box and fished out a stunning, glistening heart-shaped blue diamond. Best believe your mouth was on the floor right at the next second. You were simply awestricken, and anyone who would look at it with a straight face was absurd. The jewel sparkled with an otherworldly brilliance, reflecting the tiny specks of light from the chandelier, yet maintaining its regal, deep blue color.

“The Heart of the Ocean,” you gasped, recognizing it instantly. It was a gem of legend, one you had only ever heard about in whispered tales when you were a little girl. “How… how did you get this?”

“The First Lady of France gave it to me,” he patiently explained while bearing a wistful smile. “It’s her token of gratitude for the time I spent painting her. Thomas insists it to be my gift—a dowry, actually—for Arielle.” He paused, his kaleidoscopic eyes staring at you through the mirror. “But now I realize it belongs to someone else entirely.”

Disbelief coursed through you. “Wait, I-I don’t understand. You can’t be serious…?”

“I am,” was his confirmation, stepping closer with a sincere gaze. With a delicate touch, he lifted the necklace and draped the cool, weighty chain around your neck. His fingers brushed softly against your skin as he fastened the clasp, then he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. “You’re the one who deserves this and everything I have to give.” 

You stared at the gem resting just above your heart, its blue depths shimmering like the ocean beyond the ship. It felt like a treasure meant for someone else, someone more deserving. For an ordinary girl, you felt undeserving of such a rare, exquisite gem. “It’s… stunning,” you breathed, your fingers grazing its cool surface. “But why give it to me?”

“Because you’re the one who holds my heart,” Rafayel whispered, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I want you to have it… to know that you’re more precious to me than any jewel.”

“Rafayel!” Your heart swelled, and you turned to face him, feeling a rush of emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. You could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, wondering what you did in your past life to be blessed with such a man. “I don’t deserve this—I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything and more, my sweet.” His words held all the sincerity and genuineness you had to hear. “I want to capture the way I see you right now. Will you let me paint you?”

Heat permeated your cheeks at his request, but you were willing. More than willing to be his muse. “I’d be honored,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. An intimate idea suddenly formed in your head. “But if I’m to wear something so special… I want to do it right. I want you to paint me like one of your French girls, Rafayel. Wearing only this.”

~~

Being in the middle of the Atlantic exposed you to the cold, freezing temperatures. 

Yet, how come Rafayel’s room felt quite… hot? 

Perhaps it was the crackling fireplace offering the heated atmosphere. But you weren’t sure if it was really just that. Your heart pounded at an erratic pace, racing with every beat as you watched Rafayel arrange the couch in the middle. Meanwhile, you stood on the side, a thin robe on, as he padded the pillow before settling into his seat. It’s now or never, you thought as you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. I shouldn’t be nervous around him. 

“Monsieur,” you teased, taking in slow, measured steps in front of him. “Your muse is ready.” 

The artist himself was blushing. His cheeks were limned with a deep rosy red, clearing his throat and trying to avoid looking at places he shouldn’t be. He gestured to the cushioned couch, his voice a bit shaky as he fought to keep his focus on the task at hand. “Uh, you can… you can sit there.” 

You wondered whether this was considered you betraying your principles by willingly exposing yourself to him. Had you become a hypocrite, denying advances from wealthy men as an entertainer, but now willingly revealing yourself to someone of the same class? Not long ago, you were just running away from said first-class men, despising every inch of your skin that they desired to touch. So, why were you here? Why didn’t you feel the same way?

Firstly, Rafayel was different. He was respectful, kind, and everything the others were not. You could feel the sincerity in his gaze, the way he looked at you as though you were something precious. He saw you like you were the art, not his paintings, nor the landscapes. You. And so, you began to slowly undress, letting your robe fall to the floor, and immediately feeling the cool air hugging your bare skin. Rafayel’s gaze remained fixed on you, full of reverence and awe, as though he were witnessing something profoundly sacred.

When all that was left was the blue diamond nestled against your naked figure, you moved to the couch he had arranged and lay on your side on the cushions. Rafayel took a deep breath, as if steadying himself, and then moved to his easel with his brushes in hand. “Stay still, sweetheart. Move your left hand a little closer to your face.”

You did as told, shifting awkwardly on the couch to place yourself in the exact position he had envisioned for his art. Dear God, the tension was surely eating at you. You knew he could feel it, too. Especially when his eyes fell to the intimate places of your body—admiring, studying. Your best move was to clear your throat and break the ice. “Not so professional now, are we, Monsieur Rafayel?” 

He was mixing his paint as you teased him, the corner of his lips being pulled into an upward slope. “I am very professional, just so you know.” You were glad to hear him returning the small banter. “Now, don’t be moving your mouth too much, sweetheart. Save it for later.”

“Hey!”

“Just kidding.”  

The hours eventually passed in a delicate silence. You didn’t catch when exactly the awkwardness had begun to fade, but now, the only sound in this quiet room was the soft, rhythmic strokes of his brush against the canvas. You felt his eyes on you, studying every line and curve, every shadow and light, capturing not just your likeness but something deeper—something more human. It was as if he was painting not just your body but your soul, the very essence of who you were.

You remained still for him like a doll, and throughout it, all you could think about was this moment. Him. This encounter. Despite the initial horrors your job as entertainer presented, everything still led you to this—to Rafayel. To the man who saw you as the true art, not the colors he was blending in his canvas. 

Were things too good to be true? 

It took some time, probably a good hour or two when he finally pulled away from his canvas, his breath coming in soft, quiet exhales. You could see the emotion in his eyes as he gazed at the finished piece. “This is how I’ll always remember you,” Rafayel said, dreamy eyes staring right back at you. “As the one who wore my heart.”

Overwhelmed by the tenderness in his gaze, by the raw, unguarded love that radiated from his every word, you stood, crossing the room to him where he met you halfway and pulled you into his arms. You felt his heartbeat against yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“You are amazing,” you whispered against his shoulder, holding him tightly. “Thank you for seeing me.”

And for that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, entwined in each other’s embrace, lost in the profound connection that had brought you both together on the edge of this endless ocean. To forget about everything and everyone seemed to be the lingering thought in your heads, and it manifested in the way his hands trailed down your curves, pulling you closer to him. Your lips were inches away, a proximity so near that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face. 

“Beautiful,” he spoke in a hushed voice, face mesmerized by the sight of you. “I want to kiss you.” 

“Then, kiss me,” you replied, your fingers reaching up to his collar, gently pulling him down. Nothing stopped you when you pressed your lips to his in a passionate, fervent kiss. Nothing prevented you when your fingers began to work on the buttons of his shirt with slow and deliberate movements. The fabric of his shirt soon fell away, revealing the lean, muscular contours of his torso. You trailed kisses along his chest, savoring the feel of his warm skin beneath your lips. “I’m yours, Rafayel,” you breathed back into his mouth as the kiss deepened, catching your breath between each shared moment. “Touch me, feel me, do whatever you want with me. I want you just the same.”

“You drive me crazy,” he grunted under his breath, hands roaming over your body. His touch confirmed to you that the desire was mutual, driven by an urgent need to connect on a level beyond words. His hands moved with a gentle yet insistent hunger, caressing the curve of your waist, exploring the delicate arch of your back. And in your ardent lip-locking exchange, you could feel the slopes of your breasts being pressed against his chest. Rafayel then bit your lower lip, fully submitting to his carnal desires, before reaching down to give your bum a tight squeeze. 

“R-Raf.” 

“Tell me if you want to stop—”

“Don’t stop. Don’t.” 

With your consent, he guided you to sit up on the couch, not knowing how his touch ignited an inextinguishable fire within you. While on his lap, you moved your body against his and traced your fingers along his collarbone, down to the ridges of his abdomen, feeling the heat of his body beneath your fingertips. He returned the favor by cupping your mounds, massaging the plump flesh as if he was desperate to feel how soft they were. 

One thing led to another. And before you knew it, you were already crawling out of his lap, only to kneel on the carpeted floor in between his knees, undoing the buttons of his trousers. Your eyes widened as soon as you released his aching member from the confines of his undergarment, revealing a handsome size that was proportionate to his height. 

“Don’t stare at it like that,” he whined, cheeks flushed red as he leaned back on the couch, wrapping a hand around his shaft. Who knew Rafayel can get quite shy, too?

You found it adorable, if anything. But the equal lust you shared in your gazes remained on each other, even as you joined his hands at doing the job. Up and down did you stroke his length, watching him hold back a moan, only to crumble as soon as you decided to replace your hand with your mouth. It’s warm, you heard him say. It feels good, sweetheart. His cute little groans were in fact a pleasure for you to hear, encouraging you to do better at bobbing your head and sucking his entire length. You didn’t care about the string of saliva that appeared when you released his member with a pop, now using your tongue and dragging it from the base to the tip, where it swirled itself around until his cock began to twitch. 

“How’d you learn these things?” Rafayel’s quiet groan was more so a jealous complaint. But he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to have you. He had to have a taste of you, too. 

So to your surprise, he suddenly carried you in his arms, moving in a rush as you shifted from the couch to the bed. His movements were clearly driven by a primal need to leave his mark on you, to feel each other in the most intimate way. Because you didn’t expect him to lay you gently on his bed, climbing on top of you like a hungry shark who was ready to devour a small fish. 

He started with your neck of course, feathering soft, tender kisses around the skin before moving to your breasts, alternating between squeezing and sucking the flesh, nipping and biting at your nipple. It didn’t surprise you to see him hungrily trapping your breast in a tight suction, revealing a red mark that would later be the same color as his hair. 

“R-Rafayel.” By now, you were arching your back, legs spread open as he began to descend further and further until he met the perfect spot. Him staring at your womanhood almost made you wish to close the distance between your thighs, but he didn’t allow it. In fact, he was quick to dive head-on into your sopping cunt, lapping the entrance with his tongue—teasing and exploring your walls, your insides, until you were screaming his name. “R-Raf—! Mhm…!” 

“You taste so sweet,” he spoke under his breath, encircling his thumb on your sensitive bud before looking back at your slit, slightly spreading them apart to look at the exact hole he was about to enter. And he did. He didn’t hesitate one bit at positioning his fully erect manhood on your entrance, its tip soaked by the wetness of your core before he eventually slid himself right in. A series of curses were released by him, while as for you, the dulcet melody of your moans were just what he needed to hear. “Damn it, Y/N… You feel really good.” 

“Ngh—! Y-You—aaah!” You could feel your body being dragged back and forth, your hips being jostled as he continued to sink himself into you. His pace started slow and sensual at first, relishing the way your bodies intertwined, moving together with a fluid grace. At the same time, his kisses were soft and sweet, exploring every inch of your collarbone, while your own nails clawed at his back in the same passion. You felt it—him, the tip of his member hitting your sensitive spot and sending you into a euphoric trance. Every time his cock kissed your cervix, you were a moaning mess, your legs shaking violently at the electrifying pleasure spreading all over your body. He was inside you, all of him. “Haaah!” 

The act itself was a beautiful, raw expression of the desire that had been building between you. You moved together with a synchrony that transcended mere physicality knowing that it wasn’t just an act of sex, but an exchange of love. 

As you reached the peak of your intimacy, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of you, lost in a moment of pure, unadulterated passion. And when the waves of pleasure finally subsided, you lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms. The residues of Rafayel’s love for you remained in between your thighs, a visual proof of the passion he harbored for you.

Rafayel’s breath was heavy, but his body relaxed against yours. He held you close, his touch gentle now, with the intensity of the earlier moments shifting to tender intimacy. “Once the ship docks in New York,” he said in a soft whisper. “Come with me. I want to leave everything behind and start new with you. Let’s both figure it out, together.”

You nestled closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against yours. At that moment, it was as if everything had fallen into place. “Together.” 

~~

On the night of April 14th, everything on the ship took a daunting turn. 

Literally. But before you could get to that part, you were strolling the first-class decks at the time, hand-in-hand with Rafayel, as he escorted you to the exit.

“Must you really go back down there?” he asked softly, embracing you in his toned, protective arms. “Can’t you stay here with me? Just for a little while longer?”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the thought of leaving him for a while. But you knew you had to honor the constraints of your position because the risk of discovery was too great to ignore. Especially for his part. “I wish I could stay,” you replied, pulling away to squeeze his hand. “But I can’t. I need to go back to steerage for now, and then we’ll find a way to meet again.”

“I’ll come to you, every day.” Rafayel acted like a stubborn kid as a frown played across his features. Yet, he still leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that lingered a little over a minute. 

What interrupted your romantic moment was the sudden sound of shouting and panicked voices that erupted from the bow of the ship. The noise was chaotic, and it immediately turned into a cacophony of warnings and vigilance as the watchmen, officers, and quartermasters ran about, speaking jargons you could barely interpret. You both pulled apart, the intensity of the moment breaking as the shouts grew louder, more frantic. Something was dangerously off. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice laced with worry.

Rafayel, his expression now a mask of alarm, could only hold you closer. “I don’t know, but we need to find out.”

You didn’t need to be told. The shudder of the ship, the deafening screech against the starboard side, and the massive iceberg passing slowly by were all the signs you needed to understand the gravity of the situation.

The Titanic struck an iceberg. 

“Aaah!” 

“Watch out!” 

“Rafayel.” You turned to your lover, the fear in your eyes mirrored by the shock and disbelief in his face. “I’m scared.” 

“It’s okay.” He pulled you gently but urgently, soothing your worries by rubbing your back in comfort. “I don’t think it’s serious. I’m sure this ship’s made to withstand that much impact—”

“You saw it with your own eyes, Raf!” It was the irrational fear consuming you, leading you to overthink everything as you saw how the crew members and officers alike were running in every direction, their faces pale with fear. “The iceberg… We’re not safe. You know we aren’t.” 

As you both stepped into the corridor, the commotion was unmistakable. And he himself knew he could not play the situation as something trivial. Because otherwise, the ship’s own crewmen wouldn’t have been as alarmed. It didn’t help that Rafayel also caught Mr. Andrews, the very man who designed the ship, clutching rolls of blueprints as he hurried to meet the captain.

“Mr. Andrews.” Rafayel stopped him before he could walk any further. “How serious is it? We saw the iceberg.” 

The respectable man looked between you two, his eyes clouded with an apologetic haze. Though, staying calm appeared natural to him, only giving Rafayel a gentle pat on the shoulder and urging him to make his way to safety. “Make sure to wear your life jackets and secure yourselves a spot on the lifeboats available. And also,” he paused, swallowing hard. “Try not to cause panic to other passengers for now. All rationality is lost the moment fear strikes.” 

While you and Rafayel hoped to hear a more reassuring answer, of words saying that the issue at hand wasn’t anything to be alarmed about, Mr. Andrews’ words were clear. 

The ship was about to sink.

~~

It was your decision to inform only the closest people you knew about the unsightly situation. But it was Rafayel who requested if you could both let Thomas know first, seeing as he simply couldn’t abandon his longtime friend. Despite their disagreements, he had been there for him in his artistic journey, and never not once gave up on supporting Rafayel’s dreams. He was family to him, one way or another, and that was why Rafayel insisted he had to know. 

So, you did. Rafayel and you, hearts racing and hands intertwined, made your way back to his first-class suite, both determined to find Thomas and inform him of the dire situation. In your short walk, the stewards were already scrambling about, opening doors, shouting and instructing everyone to put on their life jackets. 

“Everyone, please put your lifebelts on and come up to the deck!”

“Can you tell me what’s going on, please? I felt the ship shudder.” 

“Madam, there is no cause for alarm. This is just a precaution. Now put your lifebelts on, please.”

Meanwhile, as you reached the door to Rafayel’s suite, you were met with an unexpected and unsettling audience. The Master at Arms, his security personnel, and Thomas stood in the hallway, their faces grim and serious. But it was Arielle who stood out, with the reason being…

“You!” Arielle’s voice immediately cut through the hubbub like a blade as she stormed up to you, her vibrant blue eyes electrifying you with her anger. Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you toward her. The stretch on your scalp was sharp, but the shock of her attack was what shook you to the core. “You wretched little thief!” she spat, her voice dripping with venom as she threw you onto the floor, kicking you, smacking you, and pulling your hair. “You lowly whore! Trying to seduce my fiancé and worm your way into his life!”

You winced, trying to free yourself from her grasp. “I-It hurts!” 

“Arielle, stop! Stop hurting her!” Rafayel’s voice was fierce and desperate as he lunged to intervene, trying to wrench Arielle’s hand away from you, but to no avail. She was unstoppable. And his efforts were futile against her relentless aggression. “Enough! Let her go!”

“You slept with this whore?!” Arielle’s face twisted with rage as she sent a crisp slap to his face. The hurt. The betrayal. You could understand why she felt that way and you wanted to apologize, to beg on her knees not to pour her anger out on Rafayel, but she already turned to the officers and Thomas, her voice rising in a commanding tone. “Gentlemen, this woman has been sneaking into the first-class areas illegally! She’s been trying to lure in first-class men, including my fiancé. She should be sent down to steerage and locked up immediately. She’s a threat to the order of this ship!”

The officers, unsure of what to do, looked to Rafayel for guidance. He was just pulling you to him, protecting you in his arms, as he shot his fiancé a glare. “Arielle, enough, will you?! We have more pressing issues right now and we need to focus on that—”

“If you won’t do it, then I will cause a scene on this ship!” Arielle’s eyes narrowed as she watched him hold you close. “I’ll make a huge scandal out of this!” 

The officers, now caught between their duty and Arielle’s demands, began to move toward you with a forceful stance. They were already firm with the decision to take you away, in spite of your resistance, as you looked at Rafayel for any sort of help. 

“Come with us, miss!” 

“N-No… Rafayel,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “Help me. Please.”

“Don’t touch her!” Rafayel’s fiery gaze didn’t intimidate the officers, even as he tried to retrieve you back from their grasps. But Thomas had intervened, pulling his friend back, and ensuring he wouldn’t meddle any further. “Thomas, let me go—they’re taking Y/N away! She did nothing wrong! It was all me!” 

The Master at Arms stepped in between, glancing at an enraged Arielle and a pitiful you. What did you expect? The rich were always favored, and the poor oppressed. You would never win against her in a tug of war. “We’ll send her back to where she belongs, Madam. You can rest easy now.” 

“Nooo!” 

The last thing you saw before being forced out of sight was Rafayel’s anguished face, pain and sorrow clinging into every line of his expression as he heard your screams, saw your tears, and felt your fear at being taken harshly away. 

You knew, right at that moment, that this was only the beginning of an impending maritime disaster.

~~

The cold, metal bars of the brig felt like a cage around your body and soul, confining you to the sterile environment below decks and reminding you exactly of just where you belonged—at the bottom. In your confinement, your breath came in shallow gasps as you heard the muffled commotion of the crew members outside, the frantic shouts, and the loud creaking of the ship. They had locked you in here, unjustly accused and abandoned, and now, trapped.

Your eyes darted toward the small porthole above, the glass fogging up with your breath. You could see the deep blue water sloshing against it, confirming your worst fears that the majestic Titanic was indeed sinking before your eyes.

“Help! Help me!” It would only be a matter of time until you’d drown in this confined space, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. There was no knight in shining armor like Rafayel ready to save you. Even if you screamed for help, your voice raw and desperate, there was still no response except the relentless sound of rushing water.

And speaking of, the icy water began to seep under the door, slowly flooding the room you were kept in like a prisoner. You could feel the coldness against your feet, then your legs, creeping higher with every passing minute. Or two. Or three. 

“Damn it, it’s so cold!” The fear clawed at you, and your heart pounded in your chest as you continued to scream, your voice hoarse and breaking in the process. You cried and let your screaming voice echo through the confined space. But the water continued to rise, and still, no one came. “Help! Please… someone… anyone!” 

In a couple minutes more, your body began to tremble, and a fusion of cold and fear overtook you as the water reached almost past your thighs. The panic only set in deeper, and your breathing became staggered as you struggled with an attack of anxiety. Anyone in your state would have passed out by now, surely. But you tried not to give up as you pounded on the door, hoping that someone would hear you. Or that God himself have mercy on you. 

“...Please!” Yet, nothing changed. No other presence outside your door came to your aid. Your shoulders slumped at the thought, and you leaned back against the cold metal wall, the water now up to your chest. All you could do at that moment was close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek as you slowly accepted the inevitable. You were going to die here, alone in the dark, in a place that no one would ever find. “Please… help me.” 

You took one last, shaky breath, feeling the coldness envelop your entire being. And while you had already given up on life, you thought about your mother and sister back home who were probably unaware of the tragedy that struck the ship you boarded. You wondered when they would hear news about the sinking of the ship. Perhaps in the morning? Perhaps another day more? You were haunted by the despair in their faces, the grief of losing a daughter and a sister, just when they thought that you would make it across the continent safe and sound. 

A thought of Rafayel also crossed your mind—a bittersweet memory of his touch, his kiss, and the way he looked at you. A man who was merely a stranger to you before you boarded this ship, but now became the lover you would keep in your heart as the promise of forever finally came to an end. You hoped that, even if he had already abandoned you, he would be sent somewhere warm and safe, away from the glacial waters of the Atlantic where you would soon sink into as another dead body in the deep seabed. 

~~

Up on the first-class decks, the passengers were scrambling toward the lifeboats, their voices adding into the pandemonium as things were becoming clearer that the Titanic was about to be submerged. The officers barked orders, and women and children were ushered toward the boats, the urgency growing as they prevented the men—no matter the social class—from getting into the lifeboats. 

Rafayel stood among the crowd, his eyes distant and unfocused, as if he were miles away. He didn’t even notice Arielle dragging his arm with a tight grip, her voice shrill with frustration as she argued with an officer. “Why can’t he come on the boat with me? He’s my fiancé!” she insisted, her face flushed with anger. “This is unacceptable! We are first-class passengers!” 

“Women and children only, ma’am!” the officer replied firmly, already turning to help another passenger, ignoring her selfish, hubristic demands. 

But the thing was, Rafayel hardly heard her nagging. His mind was elsewhere—back in the brig, where he knew you were locked up, alone and scared for your life. He could hear Thomas’s voice in his ear, the warning, the plea not to pursue you, to stay with his people, to secure his own safety. Selfish, all of them. It was all Rafayel ever thought about as he spaced out. 

Thomas, sensing his hesitation, leaned closer and whispered urgently, “Rafayel, don’t be foolish. We can arrange a seat for you on the next lifeboat. Think about your future, your life! Your aunt Talia is waiting for you!”

Rafayel’s heartbeat slowed as he glanced at Thomas, then at Arielle, who still gripped his arm tightly. His eyes moved over the frightened faces of the people around him—the elites he had grown to resent, their fear and desperation laid bare, yet their arrogance and selfishness still overpowering even in the middle of a crisis. 

“Are we going to be seated according to class?” 

“I don’t want to sit with those stinky steerage people!” 

He saw his own reflection in their panic-stricken eyes, and in that moment, he knew. He knew he couldn’t leave you to drown alone in the cold darkness. The thought of you trapped below, your face filled with fear, haunted him like a ghost who was seeking for justice. You didn’t deserve to be there. 

You, the one person who had shown him what it meant to truly live, was more important to him than anything else in this cruel world.

Thus, without another word, he pulled free from Arielle’s grasp as soon as the officers were guiding her into the lifeboat. It was the right timing, and Rafayel calculated that perfectly in his head, knowing that Arielle would be stopped if she even dared to get off the boat and endangered the passengers and officers who were already secured in it.  

“Rafayel!” Arielle shouted, her voice rising in disbelief as she tried to snatch his arm. “What are you doing?!”

“Madam, stay put!” 

“Get your hands off me—Rafayel, come back! You bastard!”

He didn’t answer. He simply didn’t give a damn about her anymore. And he only turned, his legs moving with purpose, his heart pounding in his chest as he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests of those around him. He could hear Thomas calling after him, Arielle bursting into frustrated tears at seeing him escape, but their voices soon faded amidst the furor. 

His mind was made up. Right at the beginning. He was going to find you, no matter what it took, no matter what happened to him. Rafayel knew he was running against time here, against the very odds of survival, but he didn’t care. No. His feet pounded against the deck, his breath coming in harsh bursts, as he made his way toward the lower decks. 

He was coming for you. And nothing, not the cold, the water, nor the imminent doom of the Titanic, would stop him now.

~~

The water was up to your waist now, freezing and relentless, biting into your skin with a cruel ferocity that made your entire body tremble. Your teeth chattered uncontrollably as you banged your fists against the locked door, your hands now raw and bruised because of it. Every breath felt like a knife in your lungs, and every exhale was a desperate sob. Pathetic. You felt weak, hopeless, with the cold sapping every bit of strength you had left. You were shaking, shivering, down to a point where you became numb.

I can’t think straight… 

The water climbed higher, reaching your lower abdomen, then your stomach, and you felt the sorrow settle in. It was about time you gave up. Resting your forehead against the cold metal, closing your eyes, you let the tears slip down your cheeks being the only warm thing you could feel on your face.

This is how I’ll die…. 

No, not yet. Because suddenly, there was a loud crash—the sound of wood splintering and metal bending. You blinked, too disoriented to understand what was happening beyond the door that was forced open. A rush of water followed, and there he was.

There he goddamn was. Rafayel, soaked and breathless, his face clouded with fret and remorse. 

“R… Rafayel?” you exhaled his name, eyes wide open, wondering if you had already died and this was nothing more than a hallucination. 

But he brought you back to reality as he surged forward, pulling you into a desperate, breathless kiss, with lips that were cold but full of life, of urgency, of love. “I’m so sorry," he whispered against your lips, the apology written on his face was more than any words could describe. “I love you… I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t.”

Tears pooled your eyes the same way the gelid waters filled the room, and you cupped his face, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cold fingers. “Y-You c-came back,” you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion as you spoke through gritted teeth. “I thought you—”

“I did. I’m here now. I’m sorry, Y/N. I love you, I’m so sorry.” He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands trembling as he embraced your body. “We need to go,” he said urgently, pulling you with him. You didn’t exactly have the leisure of time to have an emotional exchange right now. “Come on. Can you swim?”

“I can… a little.” 

With that, you waded through the freezing water together, your legs numb and heavy as you fought against the strong currents. The corridors were eerily quiet, flooded with icy water that was quickly rising like it was filling up a tank. Had you been alone, without a man holding you in his arms, you would have been swept away by the harsh waves. Your body alone was already shaking from both the cold and the adrenaline coursing through your veins, but Rafayel held you tightly, guiding you through the flooded passages as he focused on looking for the way out. Honestly, you admired him. He was doing so much better at handling a situation like this than you, and that came from someone with a social standing like his. It was as though he had always navigated hardships, so used to dealing with different crises.

“Raf, I-I’m s-so cold!” 

“I know. I’ll get us out of here, okay?” 

Finally, you reached a ladder, and you forced yourself to keep moving, pushing your exhausted legs up the staircase despite the weight of your drenched clothes pulling you down. By the third-class gates, you were already panting, sore everywhere, when you saw a clatter between the crowd of people being held back by stewards. 

You spotted Eliza, her face pale and tear-streaked. It was the first time you had seen her again since this morning, and this horrific way of reuniting with her wasn’t anything you saw coming. “They won’t let us up.” She burst into a sob. “They said we can’t pass through, not until the first-class people have filled the boats!”

Her words made Rafayel’s eyes flash with anger towards the stewards guarding the gates. “This is absurd! You can’t keep them like animals. They have the right to live!” He turned to the other men with a commanding presence. “Gentlemen, come on! Help me break down this gate!”

The men nodded, understanding that a first-class man like him genuinely wanted to help, and together they grabbed a wooden bench nearby and slammed it against the metal gate. Once, twice, and finally, with a loud crack, the gate burst open. Despite the protests of the stewards, the crowd surged forward, feeling nothing but relief as they flooded through the open passage where the freezing waters had yet to reach.

“Go!” Rafayel urged, pulling you along as you ran through the hallways together. You pushed through the panicked crowd, dodging falling debris and slippery floors, until you finally reached the deck. He picked up one of the discarded life jackets on the floor and quickly wrapped it around your frail body, the click of the straps securing you underneath. Before you could even process everything that was happening, you could already feel his lips being pressed on your forehead. “You’re okay. I’m here.” 

“Rafayel.” You looked up at him, hands clutching into his shirt with your tearful, shiny eyes. “How are we going to make it?” 

The night air alone was frigid, and the deck was too crowded with people. Somehow, in the middle of all the ensuing chaos, a group of men—the ship’s orchestra—were playing a symphony of melodies in the background. They held their instruments with complete disregard to the horrors of their surroundings, and your heart broke at the sight. Until the very end, they stuck to their duty of maintaining calm and peace for the passengers. Of playing music, performing for the sake of others. 

Good luck to each of you, sirs.

Rafayel turned to you, tugging your hand. “You need to get on one of those boats,” was his firm insistence. “It’s your best chance.”

You scanned through the havoc, looking for a vacant lifeboat, but the crew was shouting ‘women and children only’. That was enough for you to immediately shake your head in response. “No, I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to,” he urged, his voice breaking. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Just go.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you need to listen to me, okay?” He was already pulling you towards one of the lifeboats, pushing through the crowd, to make way for you. “You need to get on that lifeboat. I’ll be okay. I… I have an arrangement with one of the other boats there. Really. I’ll come find you as soon as they rescue us.” 

“No, I—”

“Officer, I have a lady here!” Rafayel announced, his hand carefully guiding you upward. At this hour, the ship was already tilted at an angle of around 5 to 10 degrees while into the evacuation process, so they still had the time and space to get more women into the boat. And as soon as the officer saw you, you were quickly pulled up, but your hands refused to let go of Rafayel’s. “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I’ll meet you later.”

“Come on, ma’am. Get in the boat!” 

As the pressuring eyes pierced through you, you reluctantly nodded and let go of his hand, swallowing back the tears as you climbed onto the lifeboat. But as you sat there, the arctic wind whipping against your face, you looked at the crying women and children around you. Their faces were draped by the anguish of seeing the men they were leaving behind—fathers, husbands, lovers, and sons. You looked back at Rafayel standing on the deck next to those men. And among them, his eyes were filled with love, of relief knowing that you were safe now like it was his only goal. You suddenly remembered the words you had told him not long ago, about figuring this life together.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t leave him.

With a burst of adrenaline, you leaped off the lifeboat and back onto the deck, nearly losing your footing and the railing hitting your stomach as you landed, but you didn’t mind it. You had to reunite with him. 

“No!” You could hear Rafayel shouting while you ran toward him. “Goddamn… Y/N! Are you crazy?!”

You ran and ran, pushing past the people, carrying your heavy feet across the slippery floors until you finally met with Rafayel by the upper decks, panting heavily and feeling your legs wobble from the strenuous effort. “I can’t—I’m staying with you!”

Rafayel’s eyes were lachrymose as he saw you, catching you in his arms, holding you tight as lips passionately crashed into yours. “You’re so stupid, Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, though his voice was filled with such raw emotion. “Why did you do that?! You’re so stupid.” 

“Maybe, I am,” you whispered back, hot tears falling from your eyes like waterfall. “But I’m not leaving you.”

You shared another kiss. A deeper kiss this time around, as you felt each other’s lips embracing the remaining warmth it could offer. It was at that time where you realized that you had never felt any kind of love that was nearly as pure as that.

And across the water, on another lifeboat that was already rowing away from the titled ship, Arielle watched the two of you with tears gushing down her face. Her maid tried to rub her back, seeing that your romantic interaction with her then-fiancé was a sight for sore eyes. Though the frustration igniting in Arielle’s veins was hidden under her curtain of clothes, her hands were trembling as she clung to the edge of the boat. She was cursing the two of you under her breath, and could feel her heart breaking apart as the distance between her and Rafayel grew wider, especially as the realization sank in that he would never be hers. Not now, not ever.

But you didn’t see her. She was completely out of the picture between the two lovers on the upper decks.

Because you only saw Rafayel, and he only saw you. 

~~

Contrary to the quiet of the sea, the screams around you were deafening. 

The ship had tilted sharply by now, the deck at a steep angle, and every step urged you to fight against gravity. It was heavy, it definitely was. But you fought through it knowing that Rafayel’s hand was tightly intertwined with yours, his eyes scanning the rapidly flooding deck for any sign of a lifeboat, any hope of escape.

But there was none. 

The lifeboats were all gone, already drifting far away into the dark waters of the Atlantic, leaving behind only the desperate and the doomed. A distress flare shot up into the sky, bursting into a bright, fleeting light before fading back into the cold, endless night. It illuminated the panic-stricken faces around you for a moment, then disappeared, swallowed by the darkness.

You could hear the officers yelling for the boats to come back, demanding that they weren’t even half-filled. You could hear passengers shrieking as some of them slipped through the tilted floors, their bodies hitting the obstructions with a loud bang. Prayers were sent out by the priest who was holding onto a railing, with the other believers clutching his hand as the ship continued its incline. Others had already given up on staying on the ship, jumping instead to the crisp waters of the ocean thinking that their life jackets would be enough to keep them alive and afloat for another hour. 

Rafayel looked at you with a determined face, unfazed by the growing number of lost souls around him. “We need to get to the stern,” he urgently told you. “It’s our only choice.”

You nodded, your heart thumping loud and fast, and together you began to climb, pushing with your all might against the sharp incline of the deck. Water rushed in from all sides, pouring over the railings, swallowing everything in its path. But you wrestled against the pull, your muscles burning as you climbed upwards, gripping onto anything you could find—the rails, the sides of doors, anything to keep yourself from sliding back into the icy depths below.

“I’m falling—!” 

“I got you.” Rafayel was right beside you, pulling you up when your strength faltered, guiding you through the path. 

The ship groaned beneath you, the metal screaming in protest as it began to break apart, the sound like a giant beast roaring into the night. It was scary. God, it was the most frightening sound you had ever heard. But you kept moving, kept climbing, until finally, you reached the stern, the very back of the ship that rose high into the air above the freezing water.

“Quick. Cimb over!” Rafayel urged, helping you over the railing. “Hold on tight. No matter what happens, do not let go.”

You did as he said, your fingers gripping the cold, wet metal of the railing. It was getting more and more difficult for you to think straight, to think rational, as the temperature of your body dropped low. The stern was now almost vertical, towering above the rest of the ship that was disappearing into the dark, unforgiving sea, but Rafayel’s voice kept you steady and awake. He climbed over beside you, his face close to yours and the fog of his breath visible in the cold air. 

“Th-This is where w-we first met,” you reminded him, your voice trembling from the subzero temperatures. “Right h-here… on the stern.”

He displayed a small forlorn smile. “And it’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” he replied softly, his voice carrying over the wind as he briefly pressed his lips onto yours. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N. I couldn’t exchange this memory for the world.”

You felt tears sting your eyes, your chest tightening because of this heavily poignant scene. The ship shuddered violently, and you gripped the railing even tighter as Rafayel reached out, cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek.

“I never thought I’d find someone like you,” he continued, mellow eyes staring straight into your soul, “You’ve shown me what it means to truly live, to feel, to love. I saw the most beautiful art in you.”

“I love you.” You swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat. You couldn’t even hear your voice anymore as the words trembled on your lips. “I love you so much.”

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead in return. “I love you, too. More than I ever thought possible. And I promise… after this night, you’ll be sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed. In my arms. Under a blanket. It doesn’t matter how, Y/N. As long as you’re safe. I won’t let go.”

“Raf—”

The ship groaned again, louder this time, and you felt it begin to shift beneath you, the stern rising even higher into the air. “Hold on tight!” Rafayel shouted over the roar, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to him. “Just hold on!”

“Aaah!” 

“Haaaaah!” 

The ship tilted further, and you clung to the railing with everything you had, your body pressed against his, locked between him and the metal railings. It was ironic, truly, how the cold Atlantic wind whipped around you, while the stars above flickered like distant, indifferent eyes as if the universe was seeing all of it unfold. The clear skies could only watch the disaster like a silent audience. While deep below, the ocean was a dark, churning mass, ready to swallow everything whole.

“I’ll never let go.” You held your breath and leaned your face close to your lover’s chest. “No matter what.”

“Together,” he promised. “Until the very end.”

And as the ship continued its descent into the icy abyss, you held on, holding each other close, refusing to let go. The ship was slowly dragging you and Rafayel down with it, and you could feel the brisk waters rush up around you, like a torrent of cold that bit into your skin and stole the breath from your lungs.

“Hold your breath in as long as you can!” Rafayel shouted, his voice muffled against the growling ocean. You tightened your grasp onto the railing, your hands numb and slipping, as the ship sank deeper and deeper into oblivion.

And then, with a sudden, violent pull, the ship disappeared beneath the surface, and you were plunged into the bone-chilling depths of the North Atlantic. You expected the cold to be immediate and shocking, like a thousand needles penetrating your skin and making you numb. Yet, in spite of the lack of sensation, you kicked and fought against the water, your lungs burning as you struggled to find the surface.

Need… to stay… alive, you thought. For him. 

As soon as your head broke through the icy water, you gasped and choked on the cold air like a fish on the surface. Around you was a sight of horror—people flailing, gasping, some disappearing beneath the waves. Screams and cries filled the void, with their despair being the last horrifying things you had heard. You spun around, desperately searching for Rafayel, hoping that he was somewhere near. Safe. Alive. 

Then you saw him—his pallid pale bobbing up and down among the waves, his eyes looking for yours among the throng of flailing passengers. Without second thought, you swam desperately toward him and longed to be embraced by his arms again. “R-Rafayel!” 

“Y/N! A-Are you okay?” he asked, kissing your face over a million times that night. 

You two waded through the agonizing pressures of the polar water, and you tugged at his hand, suggesting you couldn’t move any more than you have. The exhaustion, the lack of oxygen, the subzero temperatures were beginning to overcome you. You were freezing to death. “I can’t… a-anymore!”  

“No, Y/N. You can do it. Come on, over there!” Rafayel shouted, pointing to a floating piece of debris—a wooden door bobbing nearby. He reached for your hand, guiding you toward it through the frigid water. “Climb up!”

With a tremendous effort, you managed to haul yourself onto the door even though your body was shaking uncontrollably from the cold. You reached out to Rafayel, pulling him toward the edge, but as he tried to climb up, the door tipped dangerously, threatening to submerge again. That was how he landed on a decision to leave it be. 

“It’s okay,” Rafayel murmured, his voice weak but accepting. “You stay. Stay up there.”

He remained floating beside you, ensuring no one would try and push you off the door, while his lips turned blue and his face became pale. You could hardly even recognize the color of his eyes, nor his hair, nor his once rosy cheeks. 

“Rafayel, p-please,” you begged in a raspy voice, desperately trying to pull your weak body up until he stopped you. “W-We’ll find another way.”

He shook his head, his eyes soft as he looked at you. His gaze was the only warm thing he could offer against the cold. “This… this is enough. Just stay there… please.”

Tears began to blur your vision, but they froze on your cheeks before they could even warm them. Still, you held his hand tightly, your fingers gripping his as if you could tether him to life itself. “All y-you did… since the d-day we met… was s-save my life.” 

“A-And I’ll s-save you again,” he struggled to speak as his body shook from the cold, his jaws clacking with every shiver. “I’ll save you again a m-milion times, okay? Y-You will live, Y/N. This isn’t where y-you’re supposed to b-be.” 

Holding his hand, you pressed a kiss on top of it. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

~~

The watch on your left wrist said it was already past 2:00 am, yet time passed by in an excruciating crawl. 

By this time, screams around you had long faded, replaced by the chilling silence of the dead and dying. You didn’t think there was anything more terrifying than the Titanic sinking, but this deadly silence was all and everything that would traumatize you for years to come. 

Your fingers were already benumbed, the cold penetrating deep into your bones, but you didn’t let go of Rafayel’s hand as you held onto him and prayed for a miracle. While staring into the clear, starry skies, you imagined how your life would become after this night. Perhaps, once the boats come back to rescue you both, you could truly start fresh with him. 

You could imagine Rafayel pursuing his passion for art by starting off as a small artist. You could imagine his paintings being celebrated again, and how you’d be by his side during his exhibits, proud of how far he had come without the help of anyone but himself. 

You could imagine your own bit of success too, having the chance to perform at Broadway, even as a mere extra, and being able to bring your mother and sister with you to live in the beautiful New York City. 

You could imagine all the beautiful kids you’d raise with Rafayel. Those mini carbon copies of his running around the house, playing around as carefree as their father. 

“Rafayel?” you whispered after a long silence, turning to him and shaking his hand lightly. “Where do we go after this?”

But his eyes were closed now, his face unnaturally still, his body half-submerged in the freezing water. His skin had turned a pallid blue, his lips white and cracked. No… You shook him harder, panic rising in your chest as his face was as solid as a block of ice. “Rafayel!” you called out, your voice trembling at the suggestion of his current state. “Wake up! Please… wake up!”

Silence. Nothing but heartbreaking silence. The lack of response made you sob, but you still managed to pull his hand closer to your chest, feeling your heart being torn asunder as you looked at him. “No, no, no… please, no…” You clutched him desperately, feeling the weight of his cold, unmoving body against the wood. “Rafayel, please. Please. Open your eyes. P-Please… You said you’d n-never let go.” 

Along with your quiet tears, the ocean around you had become lull as if a deathly silence fell over the waters. The shrieks and cries were no more, replaced by the soft lapping of the waves and the distant creaking of the lifeboats. 

And the Titanic, once called the unsinkable ship, was nothing more than a myth.

If not for the faint voice carried over the water, you would have passed out. But someone was calling out, a beam of light flashing your way, forcing you to stay awake. You turned your head, blinking away tears, and saw a lifeboat finally coming back. After what seemed like eons, the crew shone their lights around, searching for survivors, hoping to save anyone at all. 

But for the most part, they were too late. 

“Over here!” you screamed, waving your hand frantically as your voice wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear. “Please, help us!”

The beam of light turned toward you, and you heard the oars slicing through the water as the lifeboat approached. Relief may have flooded through you, but then you looked back at Rafayel, his face still and peaceful, like he was sleeping.

“Miss, let him go,” one of the men in the lifeboat carefully said, reaching out to you. “He’s gone… you have to let go.”

“No!” you protested, holding onto Rafayel’s hand tighter, eyes filling up with tears again. “I can’t. I can’t let him go.”

“Please, miss,” the man urged, his voice softening into a pained tone. “You have to let go… or you’ll go down with him.”

Your chest tightened with agony, every fiber of your being screaming to hold on. To never let go. You promised him. You made a vow to him that you would figure everything out together. But as you looked at Rafayel’s face, so serene in death, you knew he was already gone. He had left long before you could say goodbye. 

Tears streamed down your face as you leaned down, pressing a final kiss to his cold, unresponsive lips. “I love you,” you whispered, voice breaking into a sob. “I’ll never forget about you.”

With trembling hands, you released your grip on his hand, watching as his body slowly slipped beneath the icy water, sinking into the heart of the ocean. Your heart shattered as you watched him disappear, Rafayel, the love of your life slipping away forever.

Strong hands soon pulled you up into the lifeboat, and you collapsed, your body numb and cold, but nothing compared to the emptiness in your chest. It was as though someone carved a massive hole in your chest, excavating your heart out, only to leave a hollow space. The men wrapped a blanket around you, their voices were barely registered in your mind as they asked if you were okay. 

But you weren’t. You would never be the same again. You stared out into the endless, dark sea, where Rafayel had disappeared, knowing a piece of you had gone with him, lost forever in the cold, unforgiving waters of the Atlantic.

~~

The room was quiet and still, filled with the soft light of the morning sun glowing through the windows. Meanwhile, you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down your dress and your fingers trembling slightly as you adjusted the hem. The reflection staring back at you seemed almost foreign—older, wiser, yet with the same eyes that saw the tragic event that had happened in the years since that fateful night.

A soft knock on the door broke your reverie. Then, Zayne’s gentle and patient voice came from the other side. “Are you ready, love?” he asked, his tone careful, knowing this wasn’t easy for you. “We don’t have to do the interviews if you’re not feeling up to it. I’ll tell them you’ve changed your mind. No one can blame you.”

You turned around to meet his warm, olive eyes as he entered the room. His presence had always been a comforting, steady anchor in the storm that had been your life since the sinking. Beyond being your husband, he had been your rock, your safe harbor, ever since that day. He never pressured you, never pushed for more than you could give. He had simply been there, and over time, you had found solace in him.

“I’m okay,” you spoke almost inaudibly, though he could recognize the uncertainty in your voice, worried that you might not be able to go through an interview as a survivor of the most tragic maritime disaster in history. “I’m fine. I just… It’s surreal to me that it’s been ten years.”

Zayne nodded, coming closer and taking your hand in his, letting his thumb brush over your knuckles in a soothing motion. “I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you do, I’ll be right by your side.”

You smiled faintly, the warmth of his hand reassuring you. But before you could respond, a younger voice suddenly cut through the room.

“Mom? Dad?” It was your son appearing in the doorway, his purple hair catching the light, and his eyes a striking kaleidoscope of indigo and magenta. “Can we go now?”

Your heart clenched as you looked at him—so young, so full of life, and yet a constant reminder of the man who had given him that life. The same man who had given you so much more than he ever realized.

“We’re coming, sweetheart,” you assured him, reaching out to smooth your son’s hair. He looked at you with a curious tilt of his head, and for a moment, you saw Rafayel’s mischievous grin, his playful personality shining through in the child you had brought into the world.

You exchanged a glance with Zayne, who offered a small, understanding smile. He had never asked about your traumatic past, about the love that you had lost to the cold depths of the Atlantic, because he knew that part of you would always belong to Rafayel. And he accepted that. He accepted you and loved you despite it.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up with a more determined mien. “Yes, we’re ready,” you said, more to yourself than to anyone else. 

The world deserves to know who he was, what he did… and his story.

As the three of you walked out of the room, your son chattered excitedly, blissfully unaware of the history you were about to share to the world. But as you looked at him, you saw Rafayel’s spirit through his eyes. Instead of it being a haunting image, you felt warmth spreading through your chest. 

Because Rafayel had given you so much more than a son—he had given you a story of a lifetime, one that was worth telling.

[augustinbluex]

shoplifter

Pairings: Step Dad Mark x Security Guard Jeno x afab Reader

Summary: when you got caught stealing in a sex shop, you thought you'd earn another lecture from your stepdad. however, the lesson was not what you’d excepted

Genre: smut

Warnings: noncon elements, unprotected sex (be safe!), anal sex, rough sex, threesome, stepcest, double penetration, face slapping, pussy slapping, humiliation, degradation, fingering, dirty talk, spanking, squirting, creampie, overstimulation.

Word count: 3k+

THIS IS NOT YOUR TYPICAL GIRL DINNER. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION

You sat there, your gaze fixated on the ticking clock, the anticipation clawing at your nerves. The wait was killing you—you’d been caught in this stupid fucking store, having maybe tried to leave without paying. The rent-a-cop had seized you, dragging you into the dimly lit backroom, but you managed to pull the name of Mark Lee out of your pocket like a desperate trump card. A way to escape the clutches of this predicament. The guard had glowered at you, reluctantly agreeing to make the call.

Mark would undoubtedly give you hell for this, yet he would also ensure that this embarrassing incident remained hidden from prying eyes. He wouldn't want the world to know that his step-daughter had been caught in the act of petty larceny within the confines of a sex shop.

So, all you had to do was wait.

The guard had given you a hard time when you dropped Mark's name. As if your father—no, your stepfather, you had corrected him—being who you claimed, he was automatically invalidated any suspicion. According to the guard, if your lineage held true, you could afford those tantalizing toys and bottles of lubricant. And perhaps, on some level, the thrill of doing something forbidden excited you. You had made sure to emphasize that point, emphasizing both the ‘naughty’ and the ‘excited’.

Too bad your criminal career apparently went bust on your first heist.

Voices echoed outside the closed door. There was an edge to Mark's voice, a tone that sent a shiver down your spine. The guard, on the other hand, seemed to find immense amusement. Telling the rich and powerful that their children got busted stealing sex toys probably was the highlight of this guy’s week.

"Hi, Mark," you greeted him, mustering a demure smile as the door swung open.

"You have no idea how disappointed I am in you," he responded, his gaze cold and piercing. Gesturing towards the desk, he continued, his voice laced with disdain, "I've already had a chat with Jeno here... but I'd like to hear it from you. Did you steal these items?"

His eyes settled upon the incriminating evidence displayed on the desk—the dildo and the bottle of lube, silent witnesses to your foolishness. You merely shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that seemed to catch him off guard.

He sucked in a sharp breath. "You've been acting out, breaking rules since..."

"Since my mother died," you finished his unspoken words with a bitter edge.

The truth was, you had been defying rules long before that tragic event shattered your world. It was just that Mark had finally taken notice of your rebellious streak, particularly after he started sending you to that exclusive, expensive school and footing the bill for your reckless driving tickets. It had hurt, realizing that he only seemed to experience distant emotions—distant disappointment, distant pride, distant everything. But it wasn't you who had changed when the loss struck.

Still, you couldn't help but resent his attempt to guilt trip you using your mother's death. "Save the 'since your mom died' lecture for the drive home," you said sharply.

Mark scowled, a realization dawning upon you that you had never seen him truly angry. He had always kept his emotions at arm's length—detached disappointment, detached pride—those were the only versions of him you had witnessed lately. "Why did you do this?" he demanded, his voice laced with frustration.

"Because I wanted the damn dildo," you replied matter-of-factly. Your words hung in the air, unapologetic and unyielding. It didn't faze Mark. You even contemplated mentioning how lonely this summer would be since he had forbidden you from seeing those he deemed "bad influences."

"I understand, you know," Mark said, his voice devoid of its usual robotic tone. “And you could’ve paid for it, you have the money. I wouldn’t have judged you. We all need a release.”

You maintained your stance, reiterating and emphasizing your reasons. He just simply nodded. As you prepared to urge him forward, his hand landed firmly on your shoulder, and Jeno, the guard, promptly shut the door. 

“Mark, wha–”

Confusion tinged your voice as you questioned what was happening, but the air in the room suddenly grew colder, the atmosphere thick with tension.

"As I mentioned, I spoke to Jeno," he began, his voice chillingly detached. "He won't pursue legal charges, and I've taken care of the stolen merchandise. However..." He paused, his words hanging ominously in the air, "I believe it's time for you to learn a lesson."

In an instant, the fabric of your shirt was torn away, leaving you gasping in surprise. Before you could react, Mark forcefully maneuvered you across the room, bending you over the edge of the desk. Shock and fear coursed through your veins as you struggled to comprehend his actions.

"What are you doing?" You exclaimed, your voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and fear.

He leaned in close, his grip tightening on a fistful of your hair. "Sweetheart, we all have to control our desires and restrain our darker impulses," he whispered, his words laced with an unsettling intensity.

Your voice quivered as you registered the pressure against you, feeling something hard pressing into you. "What?!" you managed to utter, your mind reeling from the sudden turn of events.

“I’ve watched you prance around, debasing yourself, and I tried to reign myself in, thinking you just needed time. Time’s up.” With a forceful grip, he tore your skirt away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. "You've continued to defy me, and now it's time for you to understand the consequences of letting others have their way."

You tried to twist and strike him, but the guard grabbed your arms, wrestled them behind your back, and cuffed them. “Your daddy paid for some more toys as well.”

You struggled in vain, yelled your head off, and screamed when a hand dipped underneath your underwear and rubbed your pussy. It was only when Jeno cut you off by forcing a cloth into your mouth that you realized that it was Mark’s. You thrashed and moaned when a finger entered you. Your body shuddered, going very still when the next one entered, stroking inside.

“I wonder if this will be an effective punishment. She seems to be enjoying it.”

You shook your head and let out a furious growl until Mark pulled you up, working you over with his fingers. “You’re already wet, huh?” He asked, though it didn’t feel like a question. It felt like an observation, like he’s commenting on the weather and not your obvious arousal. “Jeno, come look at her. She’s so needy.”

“Fuck, she’s so turned on by this.” Jeno said, licking his lips as he looked down at you. He grabbed your bra and tugged, straps biting into your skin until they gave way. You squealed when he pinched a nipple. Sobbed when, while fondling that breast, he put his mouth on the other.

You shook your head. This was not happening. Your stepfather and some rent-a-cop were not raping you in a backroom at a sex shop. You were not, despite Mark’s assertions, ‘dripping wet’. You did not like being manhandled by two guys who knew what they were doing.

This was not happening.

You looked up, seeing Jeno pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. Your eyes immediately went back to the odd stains in the ground when they landed on Mark. You were certainly not intimidated by seeing your stepdad’s cock.

“This is your place of business, Jeno. So I’ll let you pick, which hole do you want?”

Okay, he had humiliated you, fondled you, but your stepdad wasn’t going to fuck you. He wasn’t going to team with some random asshole to fuck you.

“Ass.”

“Grease her up.”

You stiffened at that. Jeno tossed a bottle—that lubricant you stole, over to Mark, who had managed to wrestle your panties off you as while warding off your attempts to kick him. You tried thrashing and wriggling when they held you down and two slick fingers pressed into your ass. You never let anyone there before, and you were not going to let it happen now. You tensed, clenched, and let out a cry as the man forced his fingers inside you. Someone slapped your ass hard.

“It’ll hurt more if you keep being a stubborn bitch.” Jeno growled.

An angry, forced cough from Mark, and he corrected himself. “It’ll hurt more if you keep being stubborn.”

Apparently his stepdaughter was not a bitch, even if he was going to rape you. That was almost funny. Then your ass was slapped again and again. Mark fingered you roughly, forcing his digits in and twisting. Eventually, you yielded, relaxing your muscles. It did not go unnoticed.

“See, baby? You can be a good girl.”

Jeno stood up and walked over to the chair, sitting down and motioning towards himself. With a grunt, Mark hoisted you over his shoulder—damn, he was in shape—and approached. As much as you tried to break free, you couldn’t. Then Mark positioned you, and Jeno put one his hands on your hip. Something much thicker than those fingers pressed against your ass. You let out a muffled attempt at a “no” as you were pulled down.

He was big.

You yowled, planted your feet on the floor and tried to stand; only for Jeno’s arms to loop around your waist and pull you back down.

”Goddamn… Relax your stiff little body, you bitch… My cock won’t fit if you are so tight.” Jeno grunted into your ear and then moved his hand to your chin, taking out the gag. His thumb slipped inside your mouth, pressing at the back of your throat.

Somewhere in the back of your head as you were lifted up and down, you were thankful for that—hopefully he wouldn’t last long.

You didn’t think you could last if he didn’t finish right quick.

“Tell me how good I’m fucking your greedy little ass.” Jeno growled into your ear, a hand flicking down to rub your clit.

Your legs were struggling to stay wrapped around his, and you whimpered against his neck. Getting no response, his hand that was rubbing your clit now slapped you across the face, and his thrusts slowed yet got harder as he slapped you once more.

“What the fuck did I say? Tell me how good I’m fucking your ass!” He yelled, grabbing you by the chin to look up at him.

Your eyes stung with hot tears from the pleasure, already feeling the all too familiar knot in your stomach forming. “Please! It feels so good! M’want more!” You said through gritted teeth, whining in pleasure as he slapped you across the face once more.

“You dirty fucking whore, giving you my cock and you still want more, hmm?” Jeno knew you were close, he could tell from the way you tightened around him and from your breathing pattern. Your eyes flicked over to Mark, who now was walking over to you.

“Oh? Seems like our little whore’s enjoying this better than I thought.” He said, “I had a feeling you had the makings of a true anal slut here.”

You heard a loud ‘smack’ followed by a sharp stinging sensation exploding all over your pussy as you were  suddenly spanked. Causing it to clench around nothing.

“Shit. You were right man, she’s so fucking tight. She really might be an anal slut by the end of this.” Jeno grunted, laughing. His hips never stopped moving.

“Really now,” Mark chuckled as he cupped your chin, “Anything you want to say to that, baby?” 

“Th-That’s not-” You knew you were full of shit, but your pride didn’t want to admit to something embarrassing like that. With a gasp, you found yourself in a headlock. Your back was pressed against Jeno’s front, his forearm applied pressure on your windpipe.

“Now, now, it’s not good to lie like that.” He licked your face, gnawing at your earlobe. “Bad girls like you should be punished.” 

“I-I’m… N-Not a bad…” You tried to deny it, but the harsh grip around your neck made it hard to get the words out. Yet in some ways, you could only think about how good this was feeling. Causing your pussy to quiver and your ass coiling around.

Mark smirked with an amused brow, “I’m sorry, don’t think we caught that.’

“I-I’m…” 

The man leaned in closer, “Hm?” 

“I’m… bad… girl..” You uttered. 

They glanced at each other and grinned while Jeno grabbed and groped at your breasts, giving your chest a nice fondle. 

“Speak up slut,” he twisted a nipple causing you to moan, “So that we could hear you.” 

You looked up, tears started falling down your face. “I’m… a bad… girl…”

“That’s our girl,” The two cheered, laughing loudly at how cock-drunken you were. “Glad to see you’re finally realizing your true calling.” One of them said. 

“With that said, I think it’s high time I gave you a little reward.” An evil smirk curled Mark’s lips. You wriggled, trying to get off as he traced his fingers against your pussy. “Just as a curiosity, have you ever taken two cocks before?”

“No,” you said, out of breath.

“Yeah, thought so.” He grabbed onto your hips lining his cock up to your cunt, while Jeno leaned you back a little.  

Fuck. Mark smirked and watched as your face twisted into something horrified. 

“Look at that, your old man is coming to join in. You gonna behave for him? Hmm, princess?”

With those words leaving Jeno’s mouth, it sent you over the edge completely, nearly screaming as you came right when Mark shoved his cock in your pussy. He hissed with how tightly you were clenching around him. Your back arched high, and Jeno continued to pound into your ass. You choked and gasped for air, the pleasure became too much for you to handle.

“P-please… S-stop!” you stuttered pathetically, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to push Mark away with your legs. 

You were stuffed past the point you thought you would burst. They started out uncoordinated, being bounced up and down the big guy’s cock while the other slammed in awkwardly. But they soon found a rhythm, each withdrawing at the same time, and slamming you down on their cocks tougher. Over and over.

It was overwhelming.

“Look at your slutty fucking stepdaughter, Mark. Such a little whore,” Jeno laughed, continuing to abuse your ass with his cock.

Mark smirked as he flicked your nipple, “Does your daddy’s cock feel good inside you, princess?” then gave it a painful twist. “Wanna be a little cumslut?”

You just moaned in response, unable to form coherent words.

“I think,” Jeno reached up and pinched at your other nipple, “your daddy asked you a question.”

“Yes! Yes, I wanna be your little cumslut, please.”

Everything happening all at once was making you lose your breath. You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach. Both of the cocks hitting that sweet spot inside you. Before you even had time to react, you saw white. Your whole body lunged forward as you came around both of their cocks again, soaking them. Words couldn’t even leave your open mouth, your brain not working properly.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice said, and you couldn’t register whose. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah,” another one came. “She squirted with two cocks fucking her. Such a dirty slut, aren't you?” Several slaps landed onto your face. You assumed it’s Mark because of his position.

You couldn’t think straight anymore, body shaking pathetically under him.

“T-too… much,” you whimpered through gritted teeth, your knees moving to try and push Jeno away.

Mark roughly forced his cock back in your pussy, his own orgasm so close. With sporadic quick thrusts, Jeno bottomed out inside your ass, and you could feel it all, warm and coating every inch of your walls. You were screaming, and he held his cock inside you for a few moments before slowly pulling out of you, grunting and panting as he regained himself. 

Mark’s hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing hard and grunting as you clawed at his hands. “Gonna fill you up with my cum, and you’re gonna take it all, right princess? Gonna be stuffed full of our cum?” He growled into your ear, before straightening again.

You couldn’t think straight anymore, sobs and moans escaping your lips as he fucked your sensitive cunt. Within seconds, Mark thrusted one last time into you before you felt his thick load spurting inside of you. He let out an animalistic growl as he came, grinding his hips slowly against you.

When he finished, he paused a while, nipping at your neck. Then he pulled out, and you were shoved off Jeno, sent sprawling into your stepfather. He gently laid you on your side. You laid there, face pressed against the filthy floor as clothes rustled.

“Again, thank you for calling me in on this, fuckface.” Mark said. The hell? He knew the fucking rent-a-cop.

“No worries. I didn’t believe her when she dropped your name—the picture you showed didn't quite match up.”

Picture? You forced yourself to look at the two, both half-dressed.

Mark had opened his wallet. “It is a few years old. She started dying her hair shortly after it was taken. Started wearing contacts, too.”

“What?”

“Ah, baby. Yes, me and Jeno go fairly far back.” Mark said, nodding. “I have a lot of business interests, and that means a lot of varied social circles.”

“So… about her…” Jeno said, trailing off.

Mark shrugged, contemplating the situation. "I'll leave her in your hands while I head home to fetch a change of clothes for her. Once that's done, we can make a few calls to ensure the lesson continues."

A whimper escaped your lips, particularly as Mark referred to leaving you in Jeno's "care." As if on cue, he dumped a bag containing chains and clamps onto the desk, casting a wicked grin in your direction. You instinctively tried to edge away, but Mark leaned in closely, lowering himself to one knee.

"Luckily for you, summer vacation has just begun, so you won't miss any school while you're grounded," he stated firmly, his tone holding an unusual warmth. You shook your head, refusing to accept what was unfolding before you.

"Baby," he continued, "it's crucial for you to learn that actions come with consequences. However, you're a smart girl, and with proper guidance, I'm confident we can improve your behavior."

[bratbby333]

literally just any smutty choso fic pls ☹️☝️

careful what you wish for, my sweet anon...i got a bit carried away

┊˚ ｡*ੈ ☁️‧₊˚ ❝ your majesty ❞ ˚ ｡˚ -choso kamo

⋆˖⁺‧₊♰ nsfw mdni ♰₊‧⁺˖⋆

cw: concubine!choso/dom!reader, infidelity, blasphemy, oral (f!receiving) wc: 2.3k edited by the loveliest: @remlionheart ༉‧₊˚. dumped my religious trauma into this one, i apologize

Upon the sacred grounds of your kingdom, there are only two rules to live by; No sex and no masturbation, for these sins grant you a one-way ticket into the fiery infernos of hell. This rule applies to everyone but you, of course. You are the queen, after all. You run your domain with unyielding power. You are a hard and fast ruler, feared by all who inhabit your realm.

You are serviced by your concubine, Choso, his timid, submissive disposition suiting you perfectly. You allow Choso to indulge in sexual pleasure that other inhabitants of your land are denied, while also relieving your own frustrations. You are his only exception.

You attend many assemblies throughout the day, some boring and some enthralling. A few banishments here, a couple executions there. You walk the grounds of your domain, taking in the fresh air, reveling in the way the setting sun kisses your skin. Your back is tense, and the expectations that the throne places upon you rest heavily on your shoulders. You need release. You need Choso. You send a nearby servant to fetch him, requesting he be bathed and brought to your room. He’s most likely doing his evening chores; he’s a diligent worker. Driven. Strong. Attractive. There’s no question as to why you chose him to pleasure you.

Strolling the marble walls of your castle, pondering the pros and cons of trade with a neighboring stronghold, your focus is interrupted by the lewd sounds of low grunts and wet flesh. You pause in front of the servant quarters, noticing the door is closed as you press your ear against it. The hair on the back of your neck stands upright, your suspicions confirmed while you listen in. No, this will not do. It is forbidden to partake in such activities and to do so within your kingdom's walls? Punishment is eminent. Your hand will strike down upon the offenders, mercy cast to the wayside. 

You push open the wooden doors, your enraged stare falling upon your concubine, Choso, ramming himself deep into one of your handmaids. His strong, muscular back positioned towards you, her cries of pleasure overtaking the sound of you opening the heavy spruce door. Fury courses through your body, but you can’t help but marvel at the sight before you. His broad, toned back tensing with every thrust, the sweet symphony of moans dancing through the still air. You grit your teeth, fists clenching on either side of your body, your heavy gown and tight corset making it far more difficult to breathe when coupled with your lungs constricting in a fit of jealousy. A knot forms in your stomach as you watch Choso toss his head back in pure bliss, his hips stilling as he unloads into her. Betrayal drives a stake through your heart as you watch your sweet concubine find pleasure elsewhere. 

Your voice broke through their post-coital bliss with ease. 

“Guards!” you shout, and not a second later, three armored men are at your side. The two of them jump at the sudden intrusion of your voice, Choso breaking away from his secret whore as his shameful stares meet your wounded eyes. The hurt doesn’t stay on your face for long though, blind rage soon replacing it.

“Seize her, leave the man to me,” you direct with the wave of your gloved hand. Within an instant, the guards pull the woman from the bed, dragging her down the hall before turning the corner, heading toward the dungeon. Her desperate pleas and anguished apologies echo through the castle walls. You pay her no mind as your attention falls onto Choso. 

“Your majesty, I-” he begins, but is abruptly interrupted by your palm suspending in front of you, your daring eyes begging for him to disobey your signal for silence. He knows better than to push his luck in this moment, the fact that he isn’t being dragged away with the woman brings a wave of hopefulness in regards to your leniency with his punishment. But his naive ideations of your forgiveness are all in vain as you bring your hand back down to your side before speaking again. 

“To my chambers.”

He stays frozen, his fear-stricken body glued to the floor by your overpowering demeanor, and your waning patience snaps at his continued insubordination.

“Now, Choso. I will not ask again,” you demand, eyes never faltering. He bows his head complicitly before reaching for his undergarments. 

“Don’t bother redressing,” you add, a tinge of seduction filtering its way through your harsh tone. His head snaps to meet yours, rouge painting his pale skin. He knows better than to object, especially now that you've caught him breaking the kingdom's holiest rule. Walking through the castle completely nude is the easiest punishment to digest. Heat prickles through his skin at the thought of what was in store for him and he prays that he makes it out alive. He inhales deeply through his nose before taking small, timid steps toward you. You glower at him as he gets closer, turning on your heels to exit as he dutifully shadows you down the hall. 

He kneels in front of your bed out of instinct, placing his palms against his thighs. You call for your servants to remove your dressings. He doesn’t have the gall to watch as you are derobed. He shifts anxiously as you perch yourself at the edge of the bed in your master suit, looking up at you with prayerful eyes, taking in your body as you sit fully naked before him. He swallows the lump that constricts his throat. You stare down at him, and he's glad he's already seated, because the burning blue embers flickering behind your irises make him feel faint. You are the most ethereal deity in his eyes, his unwavering devotion makes him want to shower you in worship and graciously accept the punishments you dole out. Punishments he unfortunately deserves. You choose him out of everyone in your kingdom and he’s grateful that you allow him to indulge in sexual pleasure, but what does he decide to do with his new found freedom? Guilt gnaws at his flesh; how could he betray you? What possessed him to shatter the pact the two of you shared? Lust overtook his body in his moment of weakness, succumbing to his carnal urges, and now he must repent.

“Disappointed is an understatement, Choso. How dare you desecrate these holy walls with your sins. You petulant man,” you growl. His shoulders drop toward the floor, shrinking into himself at your words, head bowed in submission. Your hand finds the back of his neck, grabbing roughly at his tousled locks, a fistful of his hair between your fingers as you bring his head up to face you. Your other hand squeezes either side of his jaw, forcing his lips to part. You suck in your cheeks and spit. 

“Swallow it,” you command. He obeys. You slap him roughly before grabbing him by his throat. 

“You defy me within my own domain. This is grounds for beheading. I know you understand the terms of living within my kingdom.” You lecture, your sharp words lashing against his fully exposed body. Even in the privacy of your bedroom, you hold the same power as if you were sat upon your throne, commandeering all who are present. His pleading glances dart around your face, but his body can’t help but enjoy this. You run your eyes over him, his abs tensing and his cock pulsating, his angry red tip oozing like he didn’t just relieve himself in that whore only a few minutes prior. 

“Look at you…pathetic. Just came and now you’re ready to cum again.” You laugh at his disheveled state. You meet his eyes once again, bringing your head down to his, extending your tongue to a point and licking along his mouth. He whimpers, lurching forward in hopes to thread his lips with yours. You slap him again, pulling your head back but keeping your faces close. You click your tongue against your teeth at his desperation. You release his head from your clutches with a slight shove, returning to your upright position along the edge of the bed. 

“So, tell me, Choso. With your infidelity in mind, am I not enough for you?” you ask simply, crossing one leg over the other. He’s confused by your question, his mouth hanging open in hopes that your statement is rhetorical. If he says no, it’s his head on the chopping block. If he says yes, you will laugh in his face as you question the sanctity of his loyalty to you. Rightfully so, as you had caught him in the act of betrayal. Your eyes bore into him, head cocked to the side. 

“Speak,” you snap. He shudders at the gravitational pull of your energy. 

“You are everything to me, your Majesty…everything and more. I-I will forever be at your service. I repent. I give my body to you, and only you. P-please…make me holy again.” He hopes he chose the right words to spare his life. And lucky for him, he did. In truth, you didn’t want to lose him as your concubine just as much as he didn’t want to lose his life. You smile down at him, your hands reaching out to cup either side of his face, leaning back down so your faces are level.

“Are you willing to show me how sorry you are?" you ask, softer now, eyes low as you lean yourself back on your elbows. He groans at the sight of your exposed cunt and nods back furiously, leaning forward obediently to rest his cheek on your bare thigh, the smell of your sweetness overtaking him. 

“Look at me when I address you, Choso, and use your words.” Your voice returns to its original harshness, using two fingers to bring his head back up to look at you.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Let me show you how sorry I am. I’ll do anything for you.” he whimpers out, trying his best to maintain eye contact with you. 

"Then make me cum, my sweet little concubine.” His expression brightens ever so slightly, gazing admirably into your eyes. This punishment isn’t so bad, he loves the way you taste.

"Can I touch you? P-please, My Queen...just want to pleasure you," he begs, his overwhelming arousal coupled with his fear of upsetting you again cause him to stutter. His eyes dart back and forth between yours, his eyebrows furrowed. His cheeks are blisteringly warm and he’s practically vibrating against your touch in anticipation. You're pleased with his desperation, nodding with approval, your lips curling into a mischievous grin.

His warm, wet mouth latches onto your pussy almost immediately, his tongue thrashing against your slit and lips sucking greedily on your throbbing bud. He hums in content, the taste of you coating his tongue deliciously, his body yearning for more as he devours you. You arch your back, thrusting your hips toward his mouth.

"S-so eager to please," you breathe out, words laced with the intention of mockery, your fingers interlocking in his dark, mussed hair. You groan at the sight of his lustful eyes staring back up at you through his disheveled bangs. 

"That’s it. Show me how much I mean to you…earn your forgiveness." Your words ring through his ears, spurring him on. Moans cascade from your plump, parted lips. He whines at your noises, the delicious sounds you make only for him. Clinging to the sweet melodies of your gospel, his pace picks up, sucking aggressively, hungrily, as if he needs to drink you up completely to survive. 

His thick fingers tease your hole before plunging inside, the pads of his digits curling perfectly to massage your sweet spot. Your head falls back, back flush against your silk sheets, grinding even deeper into his mouth. 

"My little slut…so thirsty for my cum, aren’t you," you gasp out, the tightness in your tummy intensifying. 

He hums greedily, continuing to pump into you, suckling harshly on your sensitive clit. He removes his mouth from your center before quickly replacing his tongue with the fingers of his free hand, rubbing quick, firm circles into your clit. 

"Please give me your cum...need to taste your sweetness. P-please, Your Majesty," he pleads, dipping his head back to your dripping cunt, lapping and sucking at you with fervor, the pace of his fingers relentlessly pumping into you. His deep voice sends ripples of arousal through your pelvis. His desperate words hang in the air, his frantic fingering and famished mouth against your core sending you over the edge. Your hips rut, thighs shaking as you cry out for him as you spray your release across his face. His rhythm continues while he works you through your blinding orgasm, groaning into you, tasting the hallowed juices he so hopelessly craved. 

His fingers slow, his lips detaching from your throbbing clit with a satisfying pop. He beams with pride, panting as he drinks in the heavenly glow emanating off your body, his lips swollen and his face wet from your release, your body aching as the waves of your orgasm finally simmer down. 

"My good boy...so precious," you praise, sitting up, your hands cupping his cheeks, his eyes lighting up. Your chest heaves as you work to regain your breath. He nuzzles his face against your thigh, his hands massaging your calves, sighing contently as you stroke his head, tucking strands of his hair behind his ear. 

“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine,” he whispers into your skin. 

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚

author notes: wooo weee this was fun to write. had been dying to do a dom!reader, i hope yall liked it ♡ willing to do a part two of this!!

my requests are open! send a message here ♛ drop an emoji with your ask and ill add you to my anon club xx

thank yall so very much for supporting my work...i hit 100 followers today AND it's my birthday so i feel so grateful rn

© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[soxcietyy]

Racer Yuta Au

Yuta x fem reader

Part 2

Your dragged to a car meet up by your uncle and you have a wonderful time. Though you and your babysitter keep getting under each others skin.

˚₊‧꒰𓆩 ♱ 𓆪꒱ ‧₊˚ forbidden love, brat, 5 year age gap. Illegal activity’s,

"Uncle Gojo, are you sure it’s okay for me to tag along? Isnt my dad going to get mad?" You yell as he turns on his loud car. The exhaust roared loudly in the garage making it echo. Gojo was a illegal street racer, number one to be exact. He would drag race anywhere anytime. He used to work under his dad but having so much money made him pick up an expensive hobby like this. Your dad was currently in a buisness trip trying to recover lost data from the company. He might of agreed to let you explore the underground racing world when he was younger but now he retired from that. Ever since then you were to not go anywhere near such thing and he made that clear.

"Geto isnt here, plus it’s not a race it’s a car meet up. You’ll just be my plus one for the night. Cant really afforded to miss it." He says as he opens the door to his dark blue Supra.

You mumble that it’s going to be his fault if your dad found out about this as you got in. He rolls his eyes and closes the door as you got comfortable. When he got in you tightly grip the seat knowing this wasn’t going to be a smooth ride. You’ve seen your uncle drive and it did not look safe nor fun at all. Your dad would always talk about how many tickets Gojo has gotten and the cars he’s wreaked. All you could do was hope for your safety and not complain. As he drove out the garage you held your breath and with a hard step on the gas you guys were on your way.

When you arrived you reached inside your black purse and popped a mint into your mouth hoping it would relieve your anxiety. You weren’t sure if it was due to the terrifying drive or the amount of people starting to surround the car. You look at Gojo to see him smiling wide. This probably fuled his already exploding ego. You know he loved the attention and loved being the best at everything. He loved the girls, the money, but most importantly he loved crushing peoples hearts. That dream of destroying Gojo in a race might never come true for some people.

"Relax, don’t be scared nothing is going to happen to you. Nobody will lay a finger nor look at you dirty once they know your with me. Just make sure to stay clear from a few folks around here." He said before stepping out. You watch as people cheered and were asking him to rev his engine. He said a few words before coming to your door and opening it. When he did the noises from the crowed silenced. They’re probably not used to seeing him come with a plus one. From what you hear at get togethers was that his relationships are not allowed near his hobbies at all. So who knows what could be run in through these peoples minds.

When you appeared you saw that everyone had their eyes on you. Scanning you up and down to see what was good about you. Your clammy hand grabbed your other arm as you stood there shyly. Maybe you should have stayed home. Why did your dad think it was a bright idea to let Gojo babysit you. You were 18 for crying out loud.

Before you could ask Gojo if you can go back inside the car you saw someone emerging from the crowed. You watched how a tall guy with black hair and dark eyes approached your uncle and gave him a hug.

"Gojo, I didn’t think you were coming today. You told me you had business to attend to." He said as he backed up and looked at you. "Oh" was the only thing he said at you.

"Yuuta this is my niece, y/n this is Yuuta. He’s also a street racer and I guess you could say my pupil. Not trying to brag but I don’t think he would be the second best racer without my guidance." Gojo said all smug.

You’ve heard of this guy before, Gojo talked about him here and there. He’s 23 years old, one of the best drag racers, your uncles pupil, calm, friendly, but had a scary aura around him. He was in your dad’s last race, Yuuta ended up coming second meaning he beat your dad. Then your dad simply retired, not because he lost but because he knew it was time to look for something new.

You give him a small wave as you stepped behind Gojo a bit. This guy was pretty scary looking, not only because of his hight but you could feel something off.

"So is she also a far distant relative to me?" Yuta asks bringing his attention back to Gojo.

Ah that’s right they were related in someway now that you remember.

Gojo laughed and shook his head. He leaned towards Yutas ear and whispered something only you could hear. "She’s Geto’s daughter."

Yuuta looked at him shocked before looking at you again to see if he could spot the similarities. You glare at Gojo knowing that your dad wouldn’t want these kinds of people knowing about his daughter.

"Hey now that you’re here, I kind of have to talk to Sukuna for a bit as much as I hate the thought of it but it’s about the next race. Can’t have y/n around or Geto will kill me if people know who she is. Can you watch her for me? She’s a good kid and won’t be a bother." Gojo said as he pushed you towards him.

"Oh yea that’s fine." Yuta said as he looked down at you to make sure you were okay with it too.

Not like you had much of a say since Gojo smiled and gave you a thumbs up as he left. You both stood there for a minute until Yuuta spoke up.

"There about to start doing doughnuts want to go look?" He asks.

You give him a nod and follow him to where a crowed was forming. Pushing your way through to the front you could see a large space in the middle. You could see burnt tire marks from past meets on the road. You were so excited when you saw a mustang come out from the crowed. It was bright orange with black streaks. It had custom rims and such cool details on it. The crowed started cheering as the show started. The car started going in circles leaving skids on the floor. You could hear how it screeched at sharp turns and how the rubber burned. This was way better than seeing it through social media. You look behind you to see Yuuta smiling but he wasn’t looking at the car. He was looking at you.

After that finished he took you around the lot to look at other cars. So many different models, so many different body kits. No car looked the same and some were exotic. You met so many new people and had great conversations about how they managed to get there car to look at that. Yuuta also spoke to people but you didn’t pay much attention nor did he pay much attention to yours or so you thought. A guy came up to you and started to flirt with you. Saying how he would love to take you on a date and talk more. He said he loved your energy and style. He then proceeded to ask for your number but Yuuta stepped in and put a stop to that. You were kind of irritated by it seeing that he just cock blocked you.

"Let’s head to my car, I need to make sure nobody is messing with it. We have to be more careful and make sure nothing is tampered with now that Sukuna is here." Yuuta says as he leads you through the crowed. It was a bit hard for you to keep up seeing how he took long fast strides. You were wearing heels didn’t help the situation either. People looked shocked seeing Yuuta with a girl. Did these men lack in women or is their a rule to not bring a female to such gathering? Though when you took a good look in the crowed there was a good mix of everyone.

Eventually you made it to a white Nissan GTR. It actually quite suited him but you also took him for a Subaru type of guy.

People surrounded his car too, taking pictures of it and while looking at the details. "Alright I’m going to chat with these guys for a while so just do whatever 16 year olds do. Also don’t accept anything that isn’t from me, understand?" He says,

You looked at him in disbelief that he thought you were younger. "I’m actually 18 sir, we’re not that far apart according to Gojo. Five years to be exact." You say as you walk to the back of his car. He stood there shocked, probably trying to figure out how old your dad was when you were born. Spoiler alert it was when he was 15! Usually people think you’re joking when you say he’s your dad.

Suddenly a girl grabbed his arm taking his attention from you. She was tall and had short hair, almost like a greenish black hue. They seem to be fond of each other if they’re smiling and hugging. Maybe that was his girlfriend.

You sigh as you lean on his car while you scroll through social media. The car meet was going great but you didn’t appreciate being passed around to be babysat when you were a grown adult. The breeze blew making you shiver. Maybe it was a bad idea to wear a tight skirt with a small top. While you cursed under your breath everytime the wind blew someone was getting closer.

"Got bored of watching your boyfriend flirt with another girl?" You hear someone say. You turn to see a guy with blue hair and Heterochromia eyes.

"He’s not my boyfriend but I am bored. Came to entertain me?"

You lift up a brow curious to know why he came up to you. He makes up a small conversation that had you actually happy to engage in. Finally someone who didn’t belittle you nor treat you as a kid. He was somewhat surprised that you knew more about car than he initially thought. All those hours of watching your dad nerd out about cars payed off. He offered to give you a free ride around the block but you declined knowing Yuuta would freak out about it. Though you were interest what ride he had. Could it be a classic? Or a newer car that was modified.

"Hey don’t you think wearing something like that is too scandalous? Such a short skirt for this cold weather too." He says looking at your body.

Your hand touched the tiny goosebumps on your leg.

"Yea I was kinda rushed out the house so I didn’t really plan this outfit out. Are you trying to say you don’t like it?"

He held his hands up in defense, "no no I quite love it. It suites your body so well and- oh it seems we might be in some trouble. Seems your guard dog has finally payed attention to you." He says nodding his head to the person walking behind you. "Glad we could exchange contact information. Here just in case you get parched. Seems like you’re not being well taken care of right." He says as he hands you a water bottle.

You happily accept it as you watch him walk away. He was right about not being taken care of right. You have yet to eat dinner and would have loved if someone handed you a jacket. Bringing the bottle to your lips you take a sip. The cold water made you shiver a bit. You suddenly felt your body be pulled by the arm. Then shoved to the side of the car. You look up surprised to see a not so happy Yuuta over you. You back pressed hard against the car as he looked at you with thoes dark eyes. He ripped the bottle out of your hand and poured it onto the floor.

"Did I not say to not accept anything that isn’t from me?" He says.

You let out a sigh as you cross your arms and look away. "I’m thirsty, at least someone cared for me. Your busy chatting with a girl and left me alone."

"And what the do you know about being treated right? This place isn't safe for innocent gullible girls like you." He sighs as he runs his hand through his hair. "Get in the car, clearly you can’t be trusted to follow directions." He says as he opens the door next to you.

You couldn’t believe Gojo said this man was calm and friendly. That was an absolute lie, he was such an ass and so much more.

You stood in your spot refusing to do what he says. He looked at you with such a demanding look but that wasn’t going to make you break. Your dad taught you to be strong. No man was going to tell you what to do. You both stood there for a minute before he slammed the door closed and grabbed you. In a quick second he lifted you up and sat you on the hood of the car. You gasp as he spread your legs open causing your skirt to slowly lift up. He then proceeded to put his body in between you.

"Didn’t think Gojos niece was such a brat, listen I’m in charge of you and your going to do exactly as I say even if you don’t like it, it’s not because I hate you but this is for your safety." He said as he placed his hands on both of your sides.

He was so close that you could see the turtle neck under his black leather jacket. The veins in his neck that pulsed as he grew more irritated. You could smell the cologne that he was wearing and feel his warmth. You couldn’t help but notice how good looking he looked like this as much as you hated him right now.

Okay maybe he was a little bit too good looking right now. All of a sudden you felt too shy to meet his gaze. "I don’t want to go in, I want to stay out here with you." You say as he sighed sounding unconvinced.

He looked down as his watch before responding to you. "Fine, but you better be on your best behavior. I don’t like girls who don’t listen." He says as he takes of his leather jacket and wraps it around you. You have no idea why but those words did something to you. For the rest of the night you stood next to him listening to him talk. You looked at the way he spoke, the way he laughed, how his Adam’s Apple would move up and down, how the veins in his arms showed when he opened his hood and showed the inside work. You were almost like a dumbfounded little puppy looking at its owner. Sometimes he would smile when he caught you looking at him.

you weren't embarrassed to admit to yourself that you've grew a crush on him just in the few hours that youve spent with him. It was normal for a girl to fall for a guy this fast right?

You end up falling asleep in his car by the time Gojo decided to appear. He lazy strolled towards Yuta who was getting ready to go for the night.

"Sorry I took so long, kind of got into an altercation. Hes not so easy to talk too." He says as he points at his busted lip. "Oh I see she fell asleep, tired the little brat out huh?" Gojo says as he looks at you snooze from the open window.

"So you knew she was a brat but painted her as an Angel huh?" Yuuta smirked.

"She’s my niece, obviously I’m going maker her seem like that. Hey you didn’t do anything funny right? She has a tendency of somehow getting what she wants." He said looking at him serious for a minute. Yuuta knew what he meant by that and simply shook his head.

"I respect you too much to lay hands on her." Yuuta spoke as he walked to the door and opened it.

"Good, I’ll take her from here then, also the next race i-" a crowed of running people caught Gojos eye before he could finish. Both of the men watched in silence waiting to see what was the cause of chaos. The second they saw red and blue lights they looked at each other.

"On second thought you keep her for now. She’s going to slow me down if I take her right now. Meet up at your house." Gojo said as he started running to his car that was across the parking lot.

Yuuta quickly ran to his car as people began to yell that 12 was in the area. Cars began to turn on to escape causing the place to light up. Yuuta reached for your belt and tightened it on you, soon after he pressed on the gas and left the area speeding. This wasn’t his first run in with the police so he was confident in not being caught. That was until he reached sudden traffic causing him to break hard, both of your body’s lurch foward and then back. This waking you up with a panicked expression.

"What’s going on?!" You say looking at him.

"Just going out for a ride.” He says trying not to freak you out.

"Oh that’s really lovely did the police department also decide to tag along? You have four of them a few cars behind us by the looks of it." You say.

The second the light turned green he accelerated, weaving through the slow traffic. You squeezed the door handle as he easily went over the speed limit. You were too young to already have a criminal record. You may not get charged as bad as he does but they will still charge you as an accomplice. How would this affect you college application? The car swerved every sharp turn he made until he made it to a dark neighborhood. In one go he turned the wheel completely to the right and drove up to drive way. He quickly turned the car off and unbuckled his belt.

"We need to get off now." He says as he opens his door. You proceed to do the same but by the time you get out you could see the cops patrolling the area, shinning there flashlights to every car. Yuuta quickly grabbed you and pushed you on the floor behind some bushes. His body laying low on top of yours. Both of you are breathing heavily as you could hear someone approach the car. Shinning the light inside the car to see if he could find anyone. Those few minutes felt like eternity and while you should have been worried about being caught all you could think about was the body over you. You look up at him to see his serious face looking around. Trying to figure out if the coast was clear. His face was dam from all of this. Sweat slowly rolling down his face even if it was a cold night.

You wanted him so bad, you wanted to pull him in and kiss him, you wanted to make him yours. You could just imagine being with someone like him. So mature, so tall, so protecting. His chest rose up and down quickly as he tried to catch his breath. He looks at you once again and leans into you.

"What are you looking at like that?" He whispers into your ear making you burn up.

"Nothing! Im just scared, this is a first for me." You say sitting up as he backs up.

When you guys tried to look for the officer you noticed he was now gone. You flatten your skirt down and brush off the dirt from yourself. He proceeded to stand and helps you up by grabbing your soft hand.

Walking to his car he reaches inside to grab something out of it. You follow behind intrigued by his actions. When he gets back to you he’s holding your purse in his hand that you must’ve left. Seeing a big guy like him holding your tiny hand purse made you feel like he was your boyfriend. You could just imagine how that would be like. You shyly thank him as he hands it to you.

You ponder weather you should drop a hint of you being interested in him or just dropping the bomb. You debate until you decided not to drag things around. "Have you ever wanted something bad but knew you had no chance?" You ask him.

He stood there for a second. Hands in his pockets as he thought about the answer. You guessed he did have something like. It made you wonder if he was able to achieve it. "What has you feeling that way? From what I heard you have a tendency of getting anything you want. So I really wouldn’t be worried about it."

You laugh as you lean onto his car. Looking at him in the eyes as you smile. "If I tell you want I want, will tell me if I’m capable of achieving it?"

He gives you a nod signaling for you to continue. You put your purse on top of the car as you approached him. Wrapping your arms around his neck and getting onto the tips of your toes, you whisper three simple words.

"I want you."

You say as you pull back to look at him. You could see the tips of his ears turning red from the dim light his house provided. His cheeks than began to flush. You were astonished seeing him act this way, you’ve seen him interact with girls today but he didn’t act like this. Did this mean he also had some interest in you?

"You don’t want me y/n, I’m not the type of guy you think I am, you don’t know me." He grabbed your arms from around his neck and put them down. "Well I’m going to get to know you." You intertwined your fingers with his.

"I’m a very jealous, serious, and aggressive guy. I wouldn’t want to ruin your innocence and take advantage of a girl like you. To top it all off your Gojos niece, and your dad wouldn’t want to see you with a guy involved with illegal things."

"I have a feeling that it’s because of our age gap." You cross your arms. You were disappointed in being turned down like this.

"Listen Angel I could give less fuck’s about being five years apart. I just don’t think I’m capable of maintaining something so pure and innocent. It’s like giving a tiger a bunny. He’s just going to eat her alive." He said holding your chin up so you could look at him. "So run while you can and find someone better."

You push his hand away "and what if I don’t run? What if I keep crawling back to you? You have no idea what you’ve done to me Yuuta. I’ve never felt so desperate for someone before." You say as you hug him.

"I need you so bad Yu." You bury your face in his chest.

"Y/n we can’t, I- what about Gojo? If he finds out he’s going to kill me." He says trying to fight off the urge to embrace you back.

You let go of him and look at him with your puppy eyes. You were begging him at this point to give you a chance. You just needed him to see that you were worth his time. He slowly runs his hands through his hair stressed.

"Fine but don’t make me regret this."

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

The apparition

a/n only fitting for to me come back with an angst after a month of disappearing. Do I think that this should have never seen the light of day? Yes. But oh well… Sleep token made me do it. Also, this a one shot. Won’t be writing a part two to this. Pain is pain for a reason. 🥹

warning: forbidden love, addiction, toxic love?, past trauma, brief mentions of sexual intimacy.

The part in italics is the glimpse of the past.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He felt like a kid. Pushed aside once again. A rock. Kicked carelessly by the side of the road. Mindlessly misplaced. Carelessly ignored. Azriel knew his tendencies. That desire to be loved. To be wanted. To be longed for. That same feeling had him crawling after females who never reciprocated his affection. Yet he crawled back. No matter the amount of stabs his heart took. He always found himself reaching.

Was this something his brothers had warned him about? Yes. Cassian repeatedly sat him down like a youngling, pointing out the damage he was creating. The wounds Azriel was tearing open. The self-inflicted pain he was causing himself. Yes, yes, and triple fucking yes. But it was like a drug, and he was an addict. Addict that was so far down the line that the withdrawal was scarier than knowing that every morning his bed was cold, his arms were empty, and his heart had been bled dry. 

The corner street door creaked open. Alerting the lost spymaster. His senses perked up. Azriel doubted that it was true, but even now, even without catching a glimpse of you, he was convinced that he sensed you. But nothing compared to that wave of familiarity that crashed into him when your frame came into view. Chasing the last bits of air out of his lungs. His hands reached out in a frenzy of muscle memory.

“Azriel?”, and it’s the surprise—the hints of horror, almost pain—that sounded in the way you said his name. But his mind was too far gone to register that. So much of an always-alert spymaster. “Oh, no, no," you dragged your hand out of his grip, “You shouldn’t be here”, you shook your head, putting distance between you two. "Please," and here goes that plea. The desperation. “No, Azriel, we had a deal, remember? Last week was the last time," you hissed at him, turning to look over your shoulder. 

“This will be the last time," Azriel muttered. A lie. He knew that. But maybe you didn’t. Maybe he could lie to himself to the point where even the ones around him believed him. “Oh, no, I know how this goes." You shook your head repeatedly, “I warned you, you stupid fool." He could feel the frustration flowing through you. The panic. “You promised me you were decent. That you had a hold of your mental shields." There was nothing sweet in your tone as you hissed out, reaching to open the door leading to your shop.

“They were. They are," Azriel muttered, stepping after you. “Don’t lie to me. You can’t fool me”, you huffed, looking through the drawer, cursing as loose pieces of paper swayed, falling to the floor. And Azriel just stood there, watching. Drinking in every single movement. “When?”, you asked, wild eyes looking up at Azriel. And he knew exactly what you wanted to know too. Should he lie? Alter the date? Hide a symptom or two. “Last month," his mouth betrayed him, however, and he had a first-seat ticket to watching your face fall. “But it’s not bad; I have it under control," Azriel quickly jumped in, hoping to defuse the situation, “It just flared up tonight, I promise." Another lie. But if he wanted to get what he was looking for, he had to push this narrative in a convincing enough manner.

“I’m telling Rhys," you muttered. "No,"  Azriel cut in so quickly that it made you jolt. “No need, plus he is aware that I am seeing you," he added in a much calmer tone. “Seeing me or seeing me now?”, you pushed. It was the mess with Elain that had made him crumple. Had taken him out for months before he found his footing once again. Even if he knew that the relationship had an expiration date, the mating bond always won. No matter the stories others showed down one’s throat about the chance of rejecting it.

“All of it. Knows all of it”, Azriel nodded. Just one more, he thought, just for tonight. “I’m saying this as a friend. You can’t keep coming back," you whispered, “This needs to stop." It was Rhys who had found you. An illusionist manipulating people’s emotions, threading together images that felt real to the depths of one’s bones. An alter of wished they called you. People and even high-fea prayed at your altars for Mother's sake. You were something some feared and others were ready to sacrifice themselves for.

“What illusions do you obtain from?" It was your fifth meeting, and Azriel, much to your dismay, had pushed the idea of getting to know each other. After all, he would have to let you into the depths of his soul. So that had been his one rule—befriend me first. You had stayed silent for a long time. Twirling the red wine in your glass. “Of love," you muttered, and Azriel could have never imagined that those two words would alert all of his life. “Why?”, was a question brought up by pure curiosity back then, with no implied intentions. “It gets messy, and the falsification of love feels wrong. Such feelings shouldn’t be tainted by magic," you said, pushing your hair over your shoulder. You glowed even in the dim light. The curves of your body were breathtaking as you lounged in the day bed on the balcony of Azriel’s apartment. It was a lethal kind of beauty, and with a handful of heartbeats, he knew that he was already slipping. 

“I saw Elain today; she... we spoke, and I just..." It was a hell of a lie he was choosing, but the need won out in his logical sense. “Mend it for me; I can’t keep feeling as if I have nothing," he breathed out. His eyes filling up with tears. “Just this one time," Azriel said, sinking to his knees. He saw your walls cracking slowly as you rounded the table. Fingers reaching out to cup his face. His hands reach to hold onto your hips. Pleading eyes burning into you. “I should have never said yes, and I hope you know how much I regret this," you muttered, clawing at his heart. 

“Admit it, I’m a fun company." Azriel leaned closer, making sure you could hear him through the music. You had no clue how he managed to drag you to Rita’s of all places, but here you were. One of the finest silks on your skin. A private booth. The lights. The drumming of the crowd. You shook your head, suppressing a smile. “You’ve gotten cocky," you observed, “Who knew you had that in you." Azriel leaned back, undoing the first button of his black shirt. "Oh, there’s so much more you don’t know about me, baby," he said, speaking into thin air. Knowing that you could hear him. He had leaned in only to feel you closer to him. Smirking as he lifted his glass. 

His hands reached out, taking hold of your legs as he pulled them up, draping them over his lap. Caught by the sudden movement, you were forced to reach out. Hand on his shoulder as you steadied yourself. That’s when he caught that unrehearsed glimpse of need in your eyes, but it was quickly pushed back. “Now this is crossing the line," you huffed. But before you had a chance to move, Azriel clasped his hand on your thigh. “What are you afraid of?” He threw that question absentmindedly, not realizing how deep that root of pain was. “Wasn’t that what you asked me the first day we met?” Azriel smirked before averting his attention back to the crowd. Leaving you slowly breaking down beneath the feeling of him. Beneath the fear of yourself.

“I should have never given in," you said, lifting his chin, and he obliged without a fuss. “You liked this too. Admit it," Azriel bit back, his hold on you tightening. He would fight hell in hopes of being able to keep his hands on you. In hopes of keeping you. “We had a deal. No falling for one another," you hissed, nails digging into the sides of his face. “I warned you that my kind doesn’t do happy endings and picket fences, Azriel," you huffed. “I don’t need that from you," he argued, “I just need you to chase Elain away. That hasn’t changed. I still love her, not you." Another lie for the night. A bitter chuckle slipped through your lips, “You’re one shit of a liar, dear spymaster of the night court.”. 

You were to blame for this just as much. You should have stood your ground. Should have never been entertained by that wimp. Because Rhys had warned you. Told you about Azriel's tendencies. So the fact that he had asked for a night that would make him feel loved should have been a red flag. But it was the empath in you that buckled at the feeling of his sadness. The loneliness that could drown out the whole army. The crippling emptiness. The way he broke down crying as he held onto you.

But all that could have been forgiven. Could have been managed. But it was yourself that you threaded into that glimpse of hope for him. Something you had never done before. It was always a made-up face you used while creating an illusion. It was the safest way. But you had been just as selfish. Nights spent getting to know each other left you wondering what it would feel like to know the touch of a man who wanted you. Who craved you. Who chose you even though loving you was a forbidden act of insanity.

And then it felt as if sending a ship you knew was destined to sink set sail. The next time Azriel stopped by, he was barely through the door as his hand grabbed the back of your head, pulling you closer to him. It felt so raw. So powerful. Whatever was happening in that small corner shop was way too big for it. Too big for Velaris. The whole world. As his hands danced over your body. Unraveling parts of you no one had seen before. Laying you bone bare beneath him. “Make me feel," he had whispered over and over. That sad lost man, making you break your own rules as you wrapped him in the sense of eternal peace as he made love to you over and over again. Digging a grave for each of you.

“If loving that silly girl with flowers in her hair had an explanation date, this has the date of your death engraved on your gravestone," you whimpered, your eyes burning as you held back tears. You warned him. Kept on warning him. In hopes of being able to wash your hands clean afterward. Because he knew the consequences. Loving you wasn’t something that could ever happen. But it only dragged you deeper. “I know. I  remember everything," Azriel muttered, pressing ghost-like kisses over your stomach. His hands already slipping past the hem of your dress. Fingers skimming over your legs. You pressed your own hands over his, “Just an illusion this time, nothing more." You reached to pull back from his touch, but his grip on your thighs only tightened. “Let me make love to you," Azriel pleaded, and if you could justify the opium your magic gave him before, it was oozing out in ugly sores now. You had doomed him. Pained tears fell down your cheeks as you kneeled in front of him. Cupping his face with both hands. You let yourself take in the sight of him. Both because you knew that you would never meet another man like him and so you could torment yourself with guilt for fracturing him for the rest of your existence. 

“You’re all better now," you muttered, smiling up at him. Azriel’s eyes grew hazy. “Do you remember the night we danced in your apartment after way too much wine?” You pushed the damp curl from his forehead, biting the inside of your cheek so you wouldn’t break down alongside him. He nodded eagerly. “You’re there, my love, in that moment," you said, taking a steady breath. Savoring the warmth of him. The feeling of him being close. “But you’re not there with me. Because I’m not real, Azriel," his shoulders sagged at your words. You could feel him trying to pull back, but you kept your hand on his neck. “I was never here. Never with you. You dreamed me up, baby," you said, pressing your lips to his forehead. You closed your eyes, feeling your own heart shatter, “But it was a nice dream, Az, and you will wake up way lighter tomorrow.”

Those same words were like a broken record as Azriel jumped up. Body aching and drenched in sweat. He turned aimlessly, as if in hopes of seeing you there. But he was in his room. The black sheets covered his body. "No," he grunts, yanking the black silk off him. Without a second thought, he winnowed. To one place that had been calling for him all of these weeks. And he’s nearly falling to his knees as the side of the wall comes into view. No windows. No sign. A solid concrete wall. “I know it’s your doing," he screams angrily into the depths of night. Hands pushing against the solid foundations. But there’s nothing. Not even a breath of you. As if it were never there. As if for the entire time it was just the corner of the street.

“You can’t push me away," he roared, beating his fist till the skin of his knuckles cracked, “You’re a fucking coward; that’s what you are." There was no way he had dreamed it. That you were a fleeting image of the night. Drafted by his brain. “You promised...", Azriel sank to his knees. His hands still pressed against the wall as he leaned against it. “I know it was real; you can’t make me believe otherwise," he crocked out, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. Falling to the ground, he pressed his back against where the door of your shop used to be. His wings sagged on either side of him. And he just sat there. The stars up above keep him company throughout the rest of the night. He wasn’t gonna move. He won’t go. He wouldn’t go. The wind kissed his damp cheeks but he was numb to it. You watched him from the other side of the alley. Hand on your mouth as you drowned the shattering waves of pain within. You watched until the night took you away forever.

[mikkeneko]

I don't plan to write much in the DBD space, but this idea came to me, a variation on the scene in episode 1:

---

"Hear me out," Charles said.

Edwin let out an eloquent sigh. "I already know what argument you are going to make, and the answer is no," he said.

"Crystal would make a great addition to our operations!" Charles forged on undeterred. "I mean, imagine having a psychic on board! Think of how many possibilities it would open up -- it'd be brilliant --"

"Charles, no. No living people," Edwin said firmly.

" -- just, the opportunities it would give us," Charles continued to plead. "So many avenues which have been, just, completely closed to us before, we'd suddenly be able to do --"

"We already have enough to do, Charles, we are not going to adopt this girl," Edwin insisted.

"C'mon, mate, just think of it!" Charles wheedled. He reached over to the side of the small closet they were huddling in and flung open a cabinet door that had been closed for so long it had almost rusted shut.

Inside the cabinet, stacked neatly and then left to languish, were rows upon rows of brightly colored boxes. Settlers of Catan, Ticket to Ride, Gizmos, Lords of Waterdeep, Pandemic, Three Kingdoms, Quirkle, Forbidden Island, Azul, Wingspan, Agricola… the titles went on and on, all of them acquired and then abandoned to languish in the back of the cabinet, each labeled with those damning words --

Edwin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Three to five players, Ed!" Charles pleaded with him. "Just imagine what we could do with three whole players!"

"....Fine," Edwin capitulated. "She can join."

"You know I can hear you guys, right?" Crystal's muffled voice came through the wall.

----

As Charles was to shortly discover, adding a psychic to the party was not the best approach to competitive board gaming.

[mariabtsos]

Unsinkable ||j.jk|| - Chapter 4

<-Previous | Index | Next->

Description: The 1910s are the peak of passenger ships, it was also the peak of classism, Jungkook is a third class immigrant from Korea, and you are a first class “prisoner” not wanting to go back to a life of strict standards. Once you meet Jungkook, life seems worth living, but when tragedy strikes, will you guys make it out to live the life you planned?

Genre: One-shot, Titanic AU, poor/artist!JK x rich!f reader, angst, fluff, very slight smut, forbidden love.

Warnings: Jungkook draws you n*ked.

Word Count: 1.4k

How you managed to get Jungkook to meet you at your cabin was a bit complicated. It was like a game of telephone, your sweet chambermaid had agreed to pass a note over to the ship staff, a steward then took the note to Jungkook, although it didn't help that he had won tickets from someone else, the poor steward had to ask around, until he finally found his cabin.

It was a bit late, so when Jungkook opened the door, he was down to his unmentionables, with only a thin long sleeve covering his torso. The steward looked away, holding out the note for him, “you must be special for a first class chambermaid to send you a note,” Jungkook took it as soon as he heard first-class, “thank you,” he said, shutting the door on the steward’s face.

Chris and Taehyung teased him, knowing exactly who this note was from.

“Our sweet, lovesick Jungkookie, are you going to go see your first-class love?” Taehyung cooed, as his friend got dressed.

“Shut it,” Jungkook rolled his eyes, “I’m not sure what time I’ll be back today, but I’ll see you all later,” he bid his friends goodbye, he slipped on his jacket, one he had stolen back when he tried to get into mass to talk to you, and grabbed his messenger bag, which had his sketchbook and art supplies. His head was overrun with thoughts so by the time he made it to your door he had no clue how he'd gotten there.

He only waited a couple seconds after knocking on your door, when it opened he was met with the sight of you in what looked like a thin satin robe, your hair was down, a difference from your usual updo, it highlighted your face features well, you immediately pulled him in, he stumbled slightly behind you as you took a quick glance around the hallway, ensuring there was no one there, once you thought the coast was clear you locked the door, slowly turning around to see him.

He looked like he had just awoken, his hair looked messy, he was wearing an undershirt and a pair of well-worn brown slacks, accompanied by also well-worn moccasins. His head was slightly tilted as he eyed you curiously, and you couldn't stop yourself from walking up to him and pulling him down by his shirt so you could connect your lips to his.

Jungkook was shocked at first, but then he let himself go, taking hold of your hips as he kissed you back, trying to convey how much he had missed you, how much he wanted you, the desperation between both of you was so apparent. You pulled away first, Jungkook tried to find your lips again but was met with your cheek instead, hearing the wonderful sound of your giggles.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass Kookie,” you apologized, looking down with a bit of your bottom lip between your teeth. You felt his hand on your cheek, leaning into its warmth as he gently moved your head so you would look at him. “It’s okay dear,” his voice was soft, almost like a whisper. His voice felt like honey against your ears, the term of endearment making your stomach flip in the most wonderful of ways, “so, what made you call me to your cabin specifically?” he asked you, pulling his hand away from your face. You only pouted for a second before you took his hand in yours and led him to the sofa in the middle of the room, sitting him down and walking away.

“Where are you going?” you heard him chuckle.

“Did you bring your sketchbook?”

Jungkook took off his bag and opened it, pulling out the leather bound book and his pencils. “Yes, I did, I’m not sure why you asked me to-” he stopped, looking at the beautiful heart-shaped stone in your hand.

“Namjoon gave it to me,” the mention of your fiancé had him burrowing his eyebrows, and although he knew he had no right being jealous — especially since the older was the one to put a ring on your finger — he couldn't help that feeling.

“It's beautiful Ynie,” he stated. You were too busy caressing the gem to notice he wasn't even looking at it when he said those words.

“I was thinking of wearing it when we get down from the ship, we could sell it and use the money to start anew,” you looked at him so hopeful, so excited, as you carefully placed the necklace around your neck.

Hearing those words coming from your mouth felt like heaven to Jungkook, you had decided to stay with him, he could hardly believe it! However, he would not have any of your current fiancé's money attached to him, the last thing he needed was for him to look for you after you got off the ship.

“We'll be okay without it,” he explained, “if we're going to start anew I don't think that'd be a good idea,” he wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You sighed, knowing how right he was about that, and a little because your robe was thin, and his hands felt so good as they squeezed your hips.

“Although, I think you look so beautiful with it,” he started, making you turn in his hold and wrapping your arms around his neck, “I'd love to capture your beauty on paper,” his eyes were soft, and seemed like they held every spark in the sky.

“Sure, did you want me to put on a nicer dress? That was my original plan when I sent that note…” you started rambling as you pulled away from your handsome young suitor, who giggled in the most shy, butterfly inducing way.

“I feel like it would take away from your and the gem's beauty if you did,” he rubbed the nape of his neck “I was thinking… What if you did it with just the gem on?” His voice was almost a whisper, and if you hadn't been still so close you would've probably missed his request.

It was so bold, something you would usually gasp at offended and immediately demand he'd leave. But this was not the usual, this was Jungkook. The sweet man who had saved you on the first night, who had shown you the meaning of life once more, the same guy that made your insides stir and undergarments soak. The thought of him seeing you so bare… you were so aroused by it.

All you could do was nod, and all Jungkook could do was stare as you slowly untied the knot that was holding your robe in place. He could feel his dick start to stir in his pants as you slowly slipped it off until it pooled at your feet, and even his most vivid dreams couldn't have imagined a more beautiful body than yours, from your breasts to your legs, everything about you was perfect, and he wanted nothing more than to take you right there and make it known who you'd arriving to New York with.

But he had to remain calm, he wanted this drawing to be perfect, his ultimate masterpiece.

If he only knew.

You were laying on your cabin's loveseat, posed on your side with one hand delicately resting just above your belly button whilst the other gently graced your temple. 

Jungkook had struggled at first, with your constant teasing about his pink cheeks and how you would slightly readjust every few seconds, but after a few minutes you both really focused on your task, the sound of pencil on paper filling the otherwise quiet room. Jungkook really meant it when he told you he wanted it to be perfect, and once he was all done you were in awe of how beautiful he'd made you look.

“I know exactly where it's going!” You excitedly announced as Jungkook handed you his sketchbook.

You wrote a quick note and placed the precious jewel along with the book in Namjoon's safe. Just in time too, because the door unlocked and Yoongi caught you both in the middle of a kiss.

“Yn!” He exclaimed, making pull away. You barely had time to explain as Jungkook grabbed your hand and started running out of the room with Yoongi closely behind. To say you ran through the ship was understatement, from a deck, to the boilers, and finally to g deck, where they finally lost the cat-eyed man, laughter filling the large cargo hold.

A/N:

Hello! I'm so sorry for not posting this on Friday, we're getting close to the end!

[render-bomb]

Anyone in Canada looking to get Forbidden Door tickets? We have 2 seats sec 309, row 2. $200, below price paid. I'm not Canadian/American so Ticketmaster won't let me sell. But we can meet in person for cash and I'll transfer the tickets too you there and then. I am in Toronto from Tues.

[scekrex]

CRACK FIC, I CHOOSE YOU

So, Adam and reader being at a talking stage where they just meet up to hang out for a bit, somehow got shit face drunk, maybe someone snuck in alcohol for them since they had "debt" to pay off for Adam (Like he did them a favour or smth and he just kept it for the right moment). Lute just finds them giggling and shit, before reader goes quiet as he thought about all the times Adam did something so questionable that he wondered if God was actually in any way active in Heaven. He looked quite distressed at Lute and pointed at Adam before saying: Please... Look at him and tell me if there's a God, right here in Heaven or is he on vacay?

Lute just looking at him like: The fuck? 🫥 And Adam in the back just giggling even more, swaying to the side and leaning on reader's shoulder to proudly, with the biggest grin ever, say: He made me in his own image 😁

Mwah, don't speed with this, take your time writing your masterpieces AND HYDRATE YOURSELF DAMN IT. Love you ❤️

Me stressing out over finishing requests? I'd never (that's a fucking lie) but HERE YA GO CUTIEPIE I hope ya like it, missed ya crack fic requests babes <3 I love you too dear

If God's watching then we're both sinners

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, sexual tension, sexual implied content (near the end), non-responsible use of alcohol

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“Sup bitch,” you yelled as you kicked open the door to Adam’s apartment while you also did your best to not drop any alcohol bottles. Adam had some fucking nerves, that was for sure. That dude had called you in the middle of the night and asked you to come over with alcohol. Alcohol, which was considered a drug and strictly forbidden in heaven. But you owed him, so you haven’t had much of a choice.

“Living room,” the first man yelled back at you and you sighed as you kicked the door shut behind you, of fucking course Adam wouldn’t help you carrying the shit. Fucking bastard. So it was up to you. “Some help would be fucking nice,” Adam looked up from his phone, a smirk appeared on his lips the second he laid eyes on you, completely ignoring your demand he commented, “Someone got dolled up for me, huh babes?” You huffed as you put down the bottles one by one, careful not to break the glass. “In your fucking dreams,” you shot back, a mix betweeen annoyance and joy puddled up inside of you as you watched Adam getting up from the couch. Of course that fucking bastard was just wearing a shitty band shirt and fucking boxershorts. Teasing fuckhead. “Oh nah shawty, in my dreams I’m fucking ya,” you were torn between punching him in the face and telling him to pin you down and fuck the living shit out of you. You put the drinks down onto the table as Adam rounded the table to walk up to you. His wing tilted your chin upward, forcing you to look at him, his hair was messy, not the kind of messy they were when he took off his mask but rather a bedhead kind of messy, it suited him. His eyes held kindness in them, kindness for you. Ever since you guys had mentioned upcoming feelings for each other Adam had turned into a fucking tease and you didn’t know if it was because he simply liked how you reacted or if he wanted you to finally ask him out. You had been on a date with him twice, it had always been fun. On the first date he had taken you out to see your favorite band - that cocky bastard had managed to get his sneaky fingers on some pretty rare VIP tickets. On the second date it had been a bit more simple, you had taken him out to get ice cream and then have dinner together. This was apparently your third date - well was it a date? Maybe so.

The softness of his feathers felt smooth against your skin, you liked the feeling of those golden feathers of his, they felt cool yet they kept you warm and cozy. And they came hand in hand with Adam providing physical touch, so it was a win-win thing.

“You brought the good stuff, I see where this is going,” the cocky smile on his lips was met by an amused one of yours, a quiet snort escaped you at his comment, “What? Ya wanna fill me up ‘n’ fuck me?” Adam tapped his chin as if he was actually considering it for a moment - the offer sounded tempting, that the first man had to admit. But he shook his head, “Nah, I’d rather fuck you while you’re sober. That way you’ll remember the handsome face behind that fire feeling dick.” You playfully punched his chest before you turned around to head into the kitchen in order to get shot glasses. Your wings hit him lightly as you did so and you heard him grumble something inaudible, it made you chuckle. Because while you enjoyed flirting with Adam, you also enjoyed having the upper hand from time to time, to let him struggle a little. Playing hard to get was kinda funny, that you had to admit.

-

You had stopped refilling the tiny little glasses a while ago, you watched as Adam took a swig from the bottle he held firmly in his hand, watched in fascination as his adams apple worked when he swallowed the burning liquor. “Fuck you look hot, “ you mumbled as you watched the brunette, he cracked one of his eyes open to look back at you and grinned against the bottle that was pressed against his lips. He gulped the liquor down, lifted the bottle from his mouth and grinned, “Hot enough to fuck your cute ass?” And for the love of God, you couldn’t take this man seriously when you were sober, given that you were wasted, trashed even, you simply started giggling like a maniac, your sitting position shifted into one that would be described as curled up into a ball. You held your tummy as you giggled and giggled, not able to stop. “What’s so funny?” the first man asked, slowly the giggling started to influence him as well even though he had no idea why you were reacting the way you reacted. “Just imagine-” you had to interrupt yourself, the laughter that bubbled from your throat was too strong to hold back.

The door unlocked which caught your attention, the fact that Lute was entering Adam’s apartment only made the situation funnier for you - why you once again didn’t understand. But you weren’t the only one, Adam was also curled up on the floor, giggling like crazy. “Are you two-” she didn't even finish to ask if you guys were okay once she spotted the empty alcohol bottles that were scattered all across Adam’s living room. “We’re fucking fineeee, Lute,” Adam whined between giggles and laughters. Were they, though? She doubted that.

The exorcist noticed how quiet you were all of a sudden and she raised an eyebrow at you when you got up from the floor - it took you three tries to stand up but you made it - and walked over to her. Your hands came to rest on her shoulders and she tilted her head backwards to bring as much space between you and her as physically possible, you strongly smelled like alcohol - the strong kind. “Lute,” you whispered, or well, that’s what you thought, in reality you were speaking quite loud, loud enough for Adam to hear, “Look at him,” you slightly turned away from the lieutenant to point at Adam, in your head you were really subtle about it. Reality was something different, a whole different world. You acted so obviously that even drunk Adam noticed what was going on. He watched you with curious eyes, now that he was the main topic of the conversation between you and Lute. “Look at this bastard and tell me there’s a God, right here,” you pointed to the floor, “In heaven. With us,” you looked back at Adam, who was desperately trying to get up but kept falling onto his ass until he finally managed to stand up, he was swaying from side to side as he walked over to you and Lute, “Or is the big G on vacay?”

Lute just looked at you in confusion, your question was so stupid yet so justified, even she wasn’t able to answer it, because while she would never say it with Adam in the room, the first man sure knew how to make questionable decisions.

Adam wrapped his arms around your shoulder, pulling you flush against his side as he looked down at you with a proud smirk on his face and spoke, “He made me in his own image.” Your eyes locked onto his and a cocky little smirk found its way on your lips as you responded, “Well, God’s image is fucking hot, then.” Lute simply decided it was best to ignore you two - you had been flirting with each other for so long, way before you had reached the ‘talking stage’ - as you called it. And she was getting tired of it. She picked up the empty bottles and carried them into the kitchen to throw them away, she didn’t need one - or even both of you - getting hurt because of some broken glass.

When she exited the kitchen to continue to clean up after your drunk asses and send you to bed afterwards, she was quite surprised to find you two kissing - well if you could call it that, to her it looked more like Adam was trying to shove his tongue down your throat as deeply as physically possible, yet you seemed to enjoy it. She pulled out her phone, took a quick picture and then separated the both of you just to guide you both into Adam’s bedroom, “And do me a favor, if you fuck, do it quietly.” Then she left the room and locked the door behind her.

It only took you a couple seconds before you pushed Adam down onto his bed and climbed into his lap to continue the interrupted makeout session.

[archiveikemen]

Liam Evans Main Story: Chapter 25 (Crazy Love)

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

❥･• Warnings and FAQ

If life was a fairytale, it’d be easy to be happy.

As long as you refrain from “doing the wrong things”. For example…

Entering a forest that’s off limits, opening a door you shouldn’t, knowing a forbidden secret, and—

…

Kate: Thank you so much for the help you’ve given me all this time.

Colleague: I’m going to be so lonely without you here. But I’ll always be hoping for your success. Take care, Kate.

My colleagues bid me farewell after I told them that I would continue my service to the imperial court.

I reassured them that there were amazing people at the court, and working there would be like a promotion.

They were delighted to hear that. But had I told them what my new job truly entailed and who I was living with, their response would definitely be much different.

At least, that was me a month ago.

I said goodbye to the post office that smelled like ink and walked away, wiping away the small feeling of loneliness.

…

London, the capital of England, was the world’s most prosperous city under the reign of Her Majesty Queen Victoria.

Everyone lived their lives by their own desires, and today was no different.

In a corner of the street, I spotted a poster of my lover.

(Ah… it’s a poster of Liam.)

The poster announced the performance of a new play at The Scala called “The Hunchback of Notre-Dame”, with Liam starring as the main character.

And the premiere was tonight.

— Today, I’m lying to Liam about one thing.

Liam was unaware that I was going to watch the play.

(Liam got me tickets for the closing show, but I bought myself tickets to the premiere without telling him.)

(As a big fan of theatre, of course I have to secure tickets for myself!)

(Also…)

Liam was always gifting me bouquets of flowers, so I wanted to surprise him tonight by buying him flowers too.

(Fufufu, I hope I can give him a surprise.)

…

I went to a flower shop in the ever so lively Leadenhall Market to choose flowers for Liam.

(What kind of flowers should I get him? There's Gerbera, Cosmos… Ah.)

Amongst the various flowers on display, I found some modern roses that resembled the colour of Liam’s hair.

Modern roses were the flowers Liam often gifted me.

(... Yep, I’ve decided. I’ll go with these.)

Kate: Excuse me. Could you kindly put these modern roses into a bouquet for me, please?

Florist: Sure! These flowers are pretty rare and we don't always have them in stock. You’re very lucky.

Florist: By the way, did you know that modern roses have a very wonderful meaning in flower language?

Kate: No… what do they mean?

Florist: Modern roses signify “gratitude”. For example, you’re grateful to have met someone.

(“I’m grateful that I met you”.)

(I don’t think I’ve ever said that to Liam.)

– Flashback Start –

Kate: Thank you so much, Liam. I’ll be sure to cherish them well, so that they’ll keep blooming for a long time.

Kate: If I display them by my room’s window, they’ll definitely bring a smile to my face tomorrow morning…

Liam: If flowers can make you smile every morning, then I’ll give you however many flowers you want!

– Flashback End –

Ever since we met, Liam has gifted me countless bouquets of flowers that signify “gratitude”.

(What was Liam feeling each time he gifted me those flowers?)

(Has Liam… ever received such beautiful flowers from anyone?)

Throughout his life, there was probably not a single person who celebrated his existence.

Liam was physically and mentally wounded, to the point where he felt hopeless and wanted to give up on himself.

But I believed that Liam possessed a pure heart that cherished the people around him dearly.

It must've been so painful for him to live in such a cruel world with that kind heart.

I wished that he would throw his kindness away instead of bear the burden of his pain and suffering, but that was definitely not the kind of person Liam was.

(I can’t turn back time, but I can still express it to him from now on.)

(From now on, I’ll tell him often how grateful I am for him.)

(I’ll continue celebrating his existence.)

…

Seated close to the seats on the first floor of the theatre, I watched the curtains rise for “The Hunchback of Notre-Dame”.

– Flashback Start –

Tom: Liam, overcome your struggles. After “Hamlet”, play the role of Quasimodo in “The Hunchback of Notre-Dame”.

– Flashback End –

Just like he promised to that day, Liam portrayed himself as Quasimodo and overcame all odds as him.

Quasimodo (Liam): “This world I live in can be so cruel that there are times I want to look away from it, abandon it… and even stop living.”

Quasimodo (Liam): “But, even so… I have to keep on living!”

Quasimodo (Liam): “Until the day this heart stops beating…!”

The final lines were followed by an atmosphere so silent you could hear a water droplet fall.

— One second, two seconds, three seconds.

Then came a roar of non-stop thunderous applause.

I stood up from my seat and clapped for Liam as he stood under the spotlight during the curtain call.

(Ah… he shines so bright. So, very, bright.)

His graceful bow towards the audience made him look like a beautiful star people longed for, but I knew that my hands could touch that star.

Curly Haired Lady: … *sniffle*

Freckled Lady: Goodness, why are you crying? … *sniffle* I’m crying too. Something feels different about Liam, don't you think?

Curly Haired Lady: … Yeah. I can’t really say it well… but he seems much happier than before.

Hearing the voices of Liam’s passionate fans made my lips relax into a smile.

(Ah…)

My eyes met Liam’s from afar.

Liam: :D

(H-He noticed me.)

Liam flashed me a broad smile when he saw me, and winked at me.

Liam: ;)

Curly Haired Lady: Kya! H-He just…! Liam just winked at me!

Freckled Lady: Y-You fool! Liam winked at me! ME!

Curly Haired Lady: Nooo, me! Liam~! I love you!

Freckled Lady: Not fair! I love you too…!

Liam: :0

Liam: Haha.

…

One of the theatre members told me to wait for Liam on stage, and so I stood there on the empty stage after all the audience had left the theatre.

The spotlight above was so bright, I involuntarily squinted my eyes.

(... With a light this bright, there’s no escaping from or hiding anything.)

Whether it's in the light or in the pitch darkness, there was no such thing as remaining completely unharmed.

Sometimes, life can be so cruel that we feel like throwing it away.

Liam: Kate.

Kate: … Liam.

Despite that, I never want to let go of this miracle — every moment when our eyes meet, when we're breathing together, and when my heart races with excitement at the sight of him.

However embarrassing it may be, I held tightly onto even the tiniest bits of hope, wanting to live.

Until the day darkness comes for us.

Standing face to face with each other, I held out the bouquet I had hidden behind my back to my lover.

Kate: Congratulations on the premiere, Liam! Also…

Kate: Thank you for being alive.

Liam: T-These flowers…

Liam: … Haha. … It’s my first time hearing someone thank me for being alive.

Liam awkwardly accepted the bouquet.

— He smiled with genuine joy.

Kate: I didn't expect you to see me from the stage. I wanted to surprise you.

Liam: These eyes were made to look for you.

Liam: By the way, what were you looking at just now?

Kate: I was looking at the spotlight. It’s so bright.

Liam: When you lie down here and look up — it’s even brighter.

Liam laid down on the floor and patted his side, motioning me to lie down next to him.

Following him, I joined him on the floor under the bright spotlight.

(Woah…)

Kate: The lights kind of look like the stars in the sky, don't they?

Liam: … Yeah, I know.

Liam: Hey, Kate… do you know of this saying?

Liam: The moment you get to a place where the stars are within an arm’s reach, you’ll find it difficult to breathe. Within seconds, you’ll be on your way to heaven.

Liam: I don’t really understand, but for some reason it’s just always in my head.

I found myself staring at Liam’s profile as he spoke.

Kate: … If you could go to that place where you could touch the stars, would you want to?

Liam: If I could touch the stars… huh.

Liam reached a hand towards the spotlights hanging from the ceiling.

Liam: Even now, I still long to touch something as beautiful as the stars.

I recalled the day when he told me that everything apart from himself was beautiful.

Liam: But…

He pulled me close with an outstretched arm, firmly holding my shoulder.

Liam: Right now, however dirty or ashamed I feel… I much prefer being able to touch you like this.

Liam: I always will.

Liam: Perhaps, this way, I’ll always be happy.

As Liam spoke with a soft smile—

I leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the neck.

Liam: … It tickles.

Liam just living on with a beating heart was enough for me to see him as the most beautiful person in the world, like the brightest star in the sky; and yet, he would most likely spend the rest of his life refusing to acknowledge his beauty and wishing to become a star while carrying the burden of his permanent scars.

(Even if you never realise how beautiful you are, I’ll always stay by your side and watch over you.)

Liam: I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

Liam: I don't know what will happen, but I think it’d be nice to have you with me…

Liam: I hope that you’ll have me in your eyes tomorrow too…

Kate: What are you talking about…? I’ll always be waiting for you to spend our tomorrows together, until you get sick of it.

Liam: Then… let’s be together until the very last second of our lives.

Liam: Ahh, I’m looking forward to tomorrow…

Enveloped by the light that resembled the stars in the sky, we waited for our tomorrow to come.

Our hearts beating together.

[allthesmutl0vers]

Entirely Forbidden and Completely Fucked. Wincest fanfic- Chapter Two

MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Pairing: Sam x Dean, Sam x Reader x Dean, Reader x John

Trigger Warnings: Graphic Wincest sex scene, implied feelings for John by the reader (no sex...yet)

Thank you so much for every like🫶 Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter Two

Y/n

“Come on guys, up at ‘em,” John says, ripping open the curtains. I cover my eyes with my arm to block out the sudden intrusion of light. 

Was this guy raised in a fucking barn? Who wakes people up like that?

Sam groans in the next bed but gets up, and Dean gets up without a word. I sigh, rub the sleep from my eyes, and stretch my arms out in front of me. “I’m going to get coffee, and I expect everyone to be ready to go when I get back,” John says, grabbing his keys. “Don’t be a dick,” he says to Dean, pointing a finger at him before walking out the door. 

I stand up, pull my hair back into a messy ponytail, and put on my black, square-lens glasses. My eye contacts dried out, and I don’t have another pair, which reminds me that I need to get my prescription transferred to wherever John and them live. 

I grab the backpack that I grabbed from the car last night and pull out another pair of shorts, a T-shirt, socks and underwear. 

“Going somewhere?” Dean asks, finally acknowledging my existence. 

“Considering I’m holding clothes, I’m going to say ‘to shower,’” I quip. I’m not a morning person, and Dean doesn’t get to be a fucking asshole and expect me to be nice before I’ve had caffeine. 

Dean rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Sorry, princess. You’re going to have to wait. I always go first.” He says, walking past me to the bathroom. 

I clench my jaw and take a deep breath. I’m too tired for this shit right now.  “Whatever, go,” I wave my hand and set my clothes on the bed. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Dean says with a mocking laugh and closes the door. 

I exhale deeply and rub my eyes under my glasses. I try to imagine what it must be like for him, going from not having or maybe even not knowing you have a half-sister to having her thrown at you. But at the same time, my Mom just fucking died. I don’t want to be here anymore than they don’t want me here. The only reason I am here is because I don’t turn eighteen for two months. But after that, I’m out of here.

“He’ll warm up. He just needs some time.” Sam says, putting a hand on my shoulder. 

I shrug. “It’s whatever. I’m going to smoke,” I respond, pulling my vape and dab pens from my bag and slipping on my Vans.

“Smoke like cigarettes?” Sam asks curiously. 

I stand up and face him, holding up my vape and dab pen. “No, smoke like a vape and some weed,” I flick them around in my finger and walk by him, opening the door. I turn around and look at him. “Wanna join?” I ask. 

Sam shakes his head, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. “I’m good, maybe next time,” 

“Suit yourself,” I shrug and walk out of the hotel room and into the morning sun, closing the door behind me. I sit down on the steps and let out a sigh. 

Maybe I should just leave. I could say I’m going to the corner store for a vape and just take my shit with me. I have enough cash for a bus ticket wherever I want, and my inheritance will be mine once I turn eighteen. 

I think it over as I hit my vape and take a couple of hits off my dab pen. I have around two grand saved up from the job I had since mom never wanted me to spend my own money but to save it instead. I could definitely make it for two months if I stay in a cheap hotel and don’t go book or clothes shopping. I scoff to myself. 

Maybe just buy a couple of books to kill the time.

I sigh and decide that just leaving is my best option. Maybe I can’t go home, but I can stay in Washington, and that’s all I really want right now. I go to hit my vape again, and it’s dead. “Shit,” I mutter to myself and stand up. I groan in frustration.

I really don’t want to go back in there.

I weigh my options: either go to buy a new one or go back in to grab my backup. I don’t have my bags yet, so backup it is. I walk back to the hotel room and open the door, only to be staring right at an ass-naked Dean and a shirtless Sam. 

“Fuck!” Dean exclaims, covering himself up. “Would it kill you to fucking knock?” He asks me angrily. 

I look over at Sam, who is beet fucking red and throwing on a shirt. “Uh, I didn’t know I needed to,” I respond. 

“Well, get the fuck out,” Dean says as he marches over to me. He towers over me, not as much as Sam, but pretty damn close. 

“Last time I checked, I’m staying here too, asshole,” I push past him and grab my clothes and walk to the bathroom. I close the door and lean against it, the steam in the air warming up my skin. 

I thought Dean was showering. So why is Sam’s hair wet, too? What the actual fuck did I just walk into? Or, almost walk into? Were they…no. No, no fucking way. I’m just tired, that’s all. 

I’m not thinking straight. 

No fucking kidding. 

I hurry up and take my shower, being as quick as I can. Just as I turn the water off and step out I hear John’s voice. “Where’s y/n?” He asks. 

“Shower,” that’s Sam’s voice. 

I quickly get dressed so I don’t keep them waiting. I need enough time to give them my excuse and grab my bags before they realize I’m gone. I curse myself for spending precious seconds wondering why Dean and Sam’s hair was wet at the same time, which was fucking stupid. Men shower faster than women, and I was outside for at least fifteen minutes. They probably showered one after the other. They must have. 

A knock sounds on the door. “Chop, chop, kid. Time to get a move on,” John says from the other side. 

“Coming,” I respond, opening the door and putting my glasses back on. “I need to run to the corner store. What time were you planning on heading out?” I ask John as I grab my bag.

“Right now. We can stop on the way out of town,” he says, handing me a coffee and pulling his keys back out of his pocket. 

Goddamnit. There goes my shot to do it now.

“Oh, so you’ll stop for her but not us?” Dean remarks, slinging his bag over his shoulder. 

“Shut up and load the damn car, Dean,” John says, tossing Dean his keys. “We have a long drive back to Kansas, and there will be other opportunities to stop. So quit your bitching.”

Hold up, did he just say Kansas?

“Need me to carry your bag?” Sam asks me, pulling me from my thoughts on improvising another way away from them. 

“Huh? Oh, no, I’m good. Thank though,” I smile softly and walk past him and John and out the door. 

I throw my backpack in the back seat, pull out my dab pen, take another big hit, and bend over, coughing hard. I don’t know when we’ll be stopping next and I don’t think John would want me smoking in the car, so I want to make it count. 

“You good?” Dean asks, standing next to me by the passenger front door. 

“I,” I cough again. “I’m fine. What do you care?” I ask, blinking away the tears from coughing so hard. 

“I don’t,” Dean shrugs. “Just don’t feel like burying a body today.” He says cooly.

What the fuck?

“Very funny, Dean,” I roll my eyes and take another hit, my head already feeling lighter. 

“I wasn’t joking. I’m not in the mood for it today. What are you even smoking anyway?” He asks, pointing to my dab pen in my hand.

I blow the smoke in his face. “You tell me,” I quip with a smirk before coughing again, this time not as bad. 

“Smells like weed, but not?” Dean guesses. 

“Wow, really perspective,” I say sarcastically. “It’s a dab pen.”

“Dab pen?” Dean asks curiously, sipping his coffee. “What is that? Some kind of new weed or something?”

“It’s weed; it's just processed into an oil, which is what’s in here,” I explain, pointing to the oil in the tank. “It makes it more discrete, the smell isn’t as strong, and I don’t have to whip out a bong and spend twenty minutes finding a lighter. Plus, it’s more potent.” I explain. 

Dean pokes out his bottom lip and nods in interest. “Hm, alright then.”I nod, pull out my backup vape, and take a hit off of that as well. “And what’s that?” he asks.

“It’s a nicotine vape. I hate the smell and taste of cigarettes.” 

Dean actually laughs. “Same here,” he says, looking over his shoulder back at the hotel room. “Look,” he says, facing me again. “I’m sorry about yesterday, I shouldn’t have been such a dick.”

“I get it,” I shrug. “John said you’re a little standoffish.”

“You say John a lot,” he says curiously. “He’s your dad too, isn’t he?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘dad,’” I tell him as I lean against the Impala. “Biologically, yeah, he is. But other than that, he’s just a guy who randomly came around once or twice a year when he had ‘business in town,’” I air quote with my fingers. 

Dean nods, and his jaw ticks again. “Do you know what that business was?” he asks. 

I shake my head. “Didn’t bother to ask, and he didn’t bother to explain.” 

Dean nods again. “Well, look,” he sighs and scratches his head. “I’ve never had a sister before. It’s only ever been me and Sammy, so…” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t be around that long,” I look over the car into the distance. 

“Oh, um, okay,” Dean says with a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Alright, let's roll,” John says as he and Sam approach the car.

We all climb in, me and Sam in the back and Dean up front with John. 

I wonder if I can get a map of bus routes along the way.

Sam

This morning was too close a call. Me and Dean know how long Dad takes to get coffee, but I got so caught up in the heat of the moment, that I completely forgot she was there when I went to shower with Dean. It was worth every second of it, though, and I can’t bring myself to regret it. 

Having her here has brought up feelings that I wasn’t prepared for. When she walked through the door with Dad… Fuck, I haven’t looked at anyone like that besides Dean in so long. My dick was entirely confused. And I can’t help then whenever Dad mentions that she’s our sister, half or full, it doesn’t matter. My dick swells in my jeans. 

I shouldn’t want her this way. 

To be fair, I shouldn’t want Dean this way, either, but I do. I can still remember the day the dam finally broke between us. We were at Bobby’s two years ago, and Dad had dropped us up for a week. 

“Hey,” I greet Dean, opening the door to the garage. He’s pissed that Dad left us here. He said he had business to take of in Washington and that we had to stay here.

Dean looks up from the car he’s taking apart. “Hey, Sammy,” he says, leaning back over the open hood. His shirt is tucked into his back pocket, and sweat drips down his chiseled chest. I’ve never been so nervous in my life, but this is Dean. If I can tell anyone anything, it’s Dean.

It’s always been Dean.

I clear my throat and step closer, tucking my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. “So, um, I want to talk to you about something,” I start to say, but when he looks up at me with that smoldering gaze, the words escape my mind. 

Dean looks me up and down, wiping his hands on the shirt in his back pocket, and stands up straight. “What?” he asks.

It shouldn’t be this hard, but my hands shake, and the cut on my abdomen stings. I bite the corner of my lower lip. Should I just come out and say it? 

Dean walks closer, noticing my nervousness. “How’s your cut?” he asks, reaching for the end of my shirt. 

“It’s,” I clear my throat. “It’s okay,” I lie. It hurts like a bitch, but I won’t admit it.

Dean lifts my shirt, revealing the cut that he mended last night. “I thought we agreed to never lie to each other Sammy,” he says without looking at me. His fingers graze the gauze taped over the wound.

My skin heats at his touch, taking my mind off of the sting. “We did,” I agree, watching as his gaze moves from my wound and up to my eyes and his eyebrows furrow. I take a deep breath, and Dean watches as my jaw ticks. “But we’ve both been lying for a long time,” I tell him, hoping he’ll know what I mean. 

Dean sucks in a breath, and I know he gets what I mean. Of course he does, he always knows what I’m thinking, as do I for him. Dean backs up and shakes his head slightly. “We can’t go there, Sammy. Once we do, there’s no going back.” He says with a disappointed sigh. 

“Who said anything about going back?” I ask. My heart races in my chest, and my hands shake when I pull them out of my pockets. 

“Sammy,” Dean says like a warning. I watch his chest rise and fall heavily. I know he wants this too, if only he’d just admit it. 

“I’m tired of denying it, Dean. I want you. Only you, all the time,” I admit. “In bed, in the shower, any and everywhere. Stop being so stubborn it’s-”

Dean cuts me off, grabbing my face with his hands and pressing his lips to mine. My lips melt into his, and everything we’ve never said aloud is poured into the kiss. My hands grip the waistband of Dean’s pants and pull him closer. 

Dean’s tongue dips out, licking between my lips and begging for access. I open my mouth and allow him inside, and his tongue licks the roof of my mouth and my tongue making my cock strain against the inside of my jeans. I suck on his tongue and bite it softly, dragging it between my teeth and making Dean groan. 

 Dean pulls back, and we each suck in a desperately needed breath. Our foreheads are pressed together as we share breaths back and forth. “We should stop,” Dean says softly. 

“We definitely should,” I respond, but neither of us steps back. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean mutters, his hands slide from my face to my neck, slide up the back and into my hair, gripping it in his fingers. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Show me,” I lean down and kiss his neck right behind the shell of his ear. 

Dean groans and tilts his head to give me more access. I bite the sensitive skin behind his ear before sucking. Dean’s fingers grip my hair, making me hiss in pleasure. “Fuck it,” he groans and pulls back out of my grasp. 

Dean rips down his pants and boxers, and my mouth waters at the sight, just like it always has. We’ve showered and slept in the bed together. I’ve seen his cock before, but knowing I get it this time makes pre-cum drip from my tip as I pull my pants down. 

Dean kicks his pants to the side and stalks toward me. He grabs my cock in his hand and kisses me in one fluid motion. I moan into the kiss and pump his cock in time as he pumps mine, rubbing his thumb over my tip, coating my cock with my pre-cum. 

Dean pulls back and spins me around, pushing my chest against the side of the car he was working on. “Pass me that jar, Sammy,” he demands gruffly. 

I pass him the jar of coconut oil and rub my cock as I feel Dean’s lubed fingers rub my ass, pushing in and scissoring his fingers to open me up. “Fuck, Dean,” I groan, my balls tightening and threatening to burst. 

“You like that?” He asks, biting my shoulder harshly and making me hiss as his teeth pierce the skin.

“Fuck, yes,” I moan, my eyes hooding. His fingers leave my ass, and I feel the head of his cock  press up against my tight ass. My fingers grasp for hold on the top of the car, and my head falls back as Dean pushes himself inside deeper. “God,” I moan.

Dean grips my hips and thrusts in fully. “Don’t pray to him, little brother. He’s nowhere near here,” Dean groans, pulling back and thrusting in hard with a moan. “Pray to me, I’m the one fucking you.”

I moan as Dean pulls back and thrusts in again faster. Dean grips my hair and pulls, making my eyes roll into the back of my head. “Fuck, yes, Dean,” I moan between heavy breaths. 

Dean continues to fuck me like a man possessed, his cock hitting a g-spot I didn’t know I had inside of my ass. “Damn, Sammy, Fuck… I’m gonna cum.” Dean moans as I feel his cock swell inside of my ass. 

“Fuck, me too, Dean,” I moan, my balls tightening impossibly tight. I wrap my hand around my cock and pump it with my hand, matching Dean’s harsh thrusts. After a few more thrusts, I feel Dean’s cum fill me as mine paints my hand and the side of the car, our breathing heavy and staggered as he pulls out and spins me around, kissing me again. This kiss isn’t heated. It’s soft and gentle. 

“No going back,” Dean says like a promise, holding my gaze with hooded eyes. 

“No going back,” I agree with a smile. 

I adjust myself and clear my throat. The memory makes my cock swell in my jeans. Y/n looks over at me, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. I smile at her with pursed lips, and she rolls her eyes and looks back out of the window. 

I take a moment to take her in. Her bare legs under her short ripped denim shorts, the black band T-shirt with ‘A Day To Remember’ written across the front. Fuck, she looks so good with glasses too. The black-rimmed ‘nerd glasses’ really do something to me, along with her long, almost black hair that reaches her waist. The perfect length to grab and hold tight as you plow into her. 

God, now I’m hard again. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out and see a text from Dean.

Dean: What are you looking at?

Me: Nothing.

Dean: Bullshit. Why are you staring at her?

Jealous much?

I chuckle silently and text back.

Me: Who do you think?

Dean: Not me, and that pisses me off. Stop it.

Me: Jealous?

Dean: Hardly. 

Me: Don’t act like she’s not hot. She’s exactly your type.

Dean: She’s our sister.

Me: Half-sister. And you’re my brother. That didn’t stop you this morning. 

Dean lets out an annoyed sigh in the seat in front of me. 

Dean: Point made. So, what? Do you wanna bring her into this? That’ll go over well. 

Me: I’m just saying it’s an option. 

Dean: She’s leaving soon anyway. Don’t bother.

I stare at my phone, confused. What does he mean? She’s ours now, that’s why Dad went to get her.

Me: What are you talking about? She just got here.

Dean: And she doesn’t want to stay. She told me this morning, so leave her out of it. 

Me: She can’t. She’s not even eighteen yet.

Dean: She will be in 2 months, that’s when she’s leaving. 

Me: That’ll go over well with Dad. 

Dean: What does? Stop texting me. Dad keeps looking at us. We’ll talk about it later.

I look up and see Dad looking at me in the rearview mirror with narrowed eyes. He doesn’t know about me and Dean, obviously, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t suspect anything. Especially when Dean fought going with him to pick up y/n because he ‘needed to stay and protect me.’ I look away from the rearview mirror and look out the window. I don’t want y/n to leave, but I don’t know if I can trust her yet, either. 

What a fucking mess.

Y/n

We finally pull into another hotel somewhere on the boarder of Wyoming and Colorado. I get out and stretch while John goes to get a room. I grab my backpack from the backseat and close the door. 

“So,” Sam clears his throat, talking to me. “Long car ride,” he says awkwardly. 

I purse my lips into a smile and nod. “Yeah, he doesn’t like to stop, does he?” I ask jokingly. 

Sam laughs as Dean gets out of the car, too. “No, not really.”

“He would’ve just kept going if you weren’t here,” Dean says, stretching his arms over his head. 

“Oh,” I respond, trying to ignore the dig at my presence. “Sorry.”

Dean shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just trying to make sure you’re comfortable. I don’t mind stopping,” Dean smirks. 

I nod and pull out my vape, taking a drag off of it and blowing the vapor into the air above me. “Think he’ll be able to get one with three beds this time?” I ask Sam and Dean. 

They both laugh and shake their heads. “Not likely. But he’ll probably take the couch again,” Sam responds. 

John comes back with the key, and we all carry our bags to the room. I put my bags by the bed furthest from the door and sit down on the edge. Sam and Dean put their bags on either side of the other bed in the room. 

“I’m going to get burgers,” John announces as he sets his bag on the other side of my bed. “Do you want to come with me?” he asks me as he hands Sam and Dean a second copy of the hotel key. 

I’m not sure if I want to leave or not, and I don’t know how to tell him. 

“She can stay here,” Dean says flatly. “We should probably have the talk with her anyway,” Dean says to John with a serious and mysterious tone of voice. 

John narrows his eyes at Dean and nods before turning back to me. “Stay in the room unless one of them goes with you. I’ll be back,” is all he says before walking out of the hotel room and closing the door behind him. 

“What talk?” I ask, looking over at Sam and Dean. 

They look at each other and then back to me. “You said you don’t know what business Dad is in, right?” Sam asks. 

“Yeah, no clue. Is he in like the mob or something?” I ask jokingly. 

“No, he’s a hunter,” Dean responds, clearing his throat. “All of those things you read about in fairy tales growing up are real,” Dean explains. 

I blink a few times, wondering if he’s fucking with me. He has to be. “Right,” I drawl out. “Next, you’re going to tell me you just live in a dragon-guarded castle,” I joke back with a small laugh.

“Not a castle, a bunker,” Sam corrects.

“And it’s not guarded by a dragon, but it is warded,” Dean adds. 

I can’t help but laugh at their serious faces. The first I’ve laughed since I lost Mom. Sam and Dean look at me like I’m crazy, and Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s just,” I chuckle, my laugh dying down. “You can’t be serious.”

Dean stands up and grabs something from John’s bag and sits down next to me. “See for yourself,” he says, handing me a leather-back journal. I look at him with a raised eyebrow, and he nods to the journal in my hands. “Open it, it’s dad’s, you can look at it,” he says seriously. 

I open the journal, and I can’t believe my eyes as I turn the pages. There are what look like entries with names, dates, places, and all different kinds of creatures. “All of this is real?” I ask as I skim the pages.

Sam sits down on my other side. “Yeah. This is what we do. We travel around the country and hunt these things,” Sam explains. 

I look up at Sam, the journal resting open on my lap. “How do you know where they are or what they are?” I ask curiously.

Dean takes the journal from my hands and flips through it before finding the page he wants and shows me. “This is the newspaper article,” he says, pointing to a clipping that’s paperclipped to the side of the page. “It talks about people going on a killing spree, in this case, killing their entire family. Only to disappear and never be seen again,” Dean explains the article to me. 

“But that happens sometimes, doesn’t it? I mean, there’s serial killers and family annihilators in prison for the same thing,” I mention as he flips the article to show the entry underneath.

Dean nods. “Yes, there are. But in this town, it happened to three separate families. That’s what makes it our kind of case,” Dean explains. 

“So, what kind of monster is that then? A vampire?” I ask.

“Shape-shifter,” Sam corrects on my other side. “Vampires can’t come out in the daytime; they’ll burn.”

I nod and look back at the journal. “And that’s a shape-shifter?” I ask, pointing to a still photo of a man, his eyes glowing. 

“Yes,” Dean answers. “See how his eyes glow in the picture? That’s how you can tell.”

“So, what does it look like? Like, not in a human?” I ask.

“Nobody knows. Nobody has seen one in its own skin and lived to talk about it,” Dean responds.

“This is freaky,” I murmur, shaking my head. “So you guys kill these things?” I ask them both.

“Sometimes, but they’re pretty rare, actually. Our biggest problems are usually vampires, werewolves, and demons. And a few ghosts,” Sam explains calmly. 

“Did you say…demons?” I ask, confused. “Like wings and shit like that?” 

Sam and Dean chuckle and shake their heads. “No, they look like regular people because they possess their bodies,” Sam explains. 

“I’m sorry, did you just say they possess people?” I ask, shocked. “Like, they just walk around and act like regular people?” 

“Not exactly. There are different kinds. Some are relatively harmless, just happy to be out of Hell. Some make deals with people, and those are called crossroads demons. Stay away from them,” Dean explains. 

I shake my head as I try to wrap my mind around what they’re telling me. “So you mean to tell me that vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, demons, all of those are real?” I ask, looking down at the floor. 

“There’s more-”

I cut Dean off. “There’s MORE?!” I practically scream. 

“Calm down, you’re safe with us. Yes, there are more things out there, and you’ll learn about all of them and how to keep yourself safe. We’ll teach you, and Dad will too,” Sam assures me, placing a hand gently on my back and rubbing small circles. 

“This is crazy,” I shake my head. The room suddenly feels too small, and I need to get out. I stand up and grab my vape.

“Where are you going?” Dean asks, standing up too. 

“I need some air,” I shake my head. As I walk toward the door, it opens, and I jump nearly out of my skin. 

“Looks like someone took it well,” John says, walking in and placing the food down on the table. “Knew that  I should’ve done it myself,” he shakes his head and walks over to me. “You alright?” he asks, placing his hands on my shoulders. 

I nod once. “I’m fine. I just need some air,” I mutter. 

“I’ll come with you. It’s dark out,” John says, looking over my shoulder at Sam and Dean. “Food’s on the table; we’ll be back,” he says to them. He puts an arm over my shoulders and walks outside with me. We take a seat on the steps, looking out over the empty parking lot. “It’s a lot to take in when you first learn about it,” John says softly as I hit my vape. 

“How did you find out about it?” I ask, not looking at him. I can tell I struck a cord asking when he sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a huff. 

“After my wife died,” he says softly. I turn to look up at him, feeling sorry for him. I can’t imagine what that’s like. “She died when Sammy was just a baby, and Dean was about four. A demon killed her,” John explains sadly. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wishing I hadn’t asked. 

John takes a breath and sighs. “Thank you, y/n. I loved your mom, too. Sheila was…” he looks out over the parking lot. “Special.”

“Yeah, she was,” I agree, fighting back the tears at the fact I’ll never get to talk to her again. I sniffle, and John wraps an arm around me and hugs me to his side. 

“Cry if you need to, honey, it’s okay,” he assures me, and that itself breaks the dam. The tears fall down my cheeks, and I lean into him for support. John hugs me and shushes me gently. He doesn’t tell me it’s going to be okay, and he doesn’t tell me it’s going to get better or easier; he’s just there. And for the first time in my life, I’m thankful he is. 

After I’m finished crying, John stands up and gives me a big bear hug. We go inside and eat dinner, and for the first time everyone is civil and even joking around. When it comes time to go to bed, I change into my pajamas and climb into the hotel bed. John offers to sleep on the couch, but I tell him that he can share the bed with me. He’s my dad, after all and I feel bad that he slept on a too-small couch last night. John gets under the covers with me, and as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out. Who knew crying could make a person so tired?

Chapter Three

[jamneuromain]

Highway to Hell - Shared

Series Masterlist

Series summary: A failed mission brought you once again back on earth, a punishment that’s more pleasurable than you'd normally expect punishments to be. Your punishment? Corrupting people’s thoughts. It’s easy, in a very simple way: sexual pleasure. Turns out no man can resist such a beauty like you.

And who were you? Oh, just the devil's child.

A/N: This is a drabble of what would the four men do when they find out you have been dancing among them. Spoiler alert: they decide to share. Applause to the amazing @rogerswifesblog / @rogerswifesblog-updates who help me write this series and provide many excellent ideas to put in the fic <333

Pairings: Cop Lloyd Hansen x Reader, Priest Steve Rogers x Reader, Bartender Ari Levinson x Reader, Uncle Curtis Everett x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Gangbang, Dub con, Double Penetration, P in V, Anal, Oral (Male Receiving), Handjob, Unprotected Sex, Age Gap (implied), Power Imbalance, Spanking, Threesome (implied), Overstimulation, Creampie (implied), Cum Play, Dummification (just a little), slightly dark(?

On second thought, you shouldn’t have trusted Steve, who told you he needed to speak to you in somewhere private.

And you trusted him. Following him to where he said it would be “peace and quiet”.

Or else, you wouldn’t be cornered by four fuming men in a hotel room, all knowing that you have slept with them separately, while thinking they must have been your only one.

Who would doubt an innocent girl that did nothing than to accept their “generous” offer?

Lloyd, obviously.

“Smart move, sunshine.” The man with a moustache twitches his lips, far from amused, “Telling us that you are shy and rather we won’t tell anybody? Intimate moves forbidden in public? Too bad your little plan didn’t work out.”

“I didn’t plan anything.” You lie to their faces. While in fact you did, carefully choosing your “target”. Lloyd was the unexpected one of them though, since he asked you to pull over as you should have gotten a speed ticket.

“Public?” Steve grinds his teeth before growling, his temper on the thin line of exploding, “I fucked her right in the church. There were only two of us. But still…” Drawing a cross in front of his chest, Steve murmurs a few prayers silently, regardless of the other three men watching him in curiosity.

Lloyd snaps his head back to you, flashing a wolfish glint in his eyes, “The point is, you made us feel very bad about ourselves, sunshine.”

“Yeah, well, you should be proud of yourselves. I wasn’t planning on expanding the list of the men I’ve slept with.” You snap back.

“And we’re supposed to … what? Gloat?” Curtis casually says, taking off his coat, blocking the window, and probably your only hope of escaping, as Lloyd leans on the door.

“If you don’t like it. Feel free to cancel my monthly subscription.” You retort his sarcasm, crossing your arm in front of your chest.

“Gentlemen,” Ari hums in a low voice so that everyone could pay him some attention. He’s been silent ever since Steve led you into this room, “obviously we need more than a ‘monthly’ drop-by.”

The men nod in unison.

“Although we haven’t clarified the specific terms, I believe we should use her whenever we please. And, of course, as we all agree to, share.” Ari smiles at you, but says the darkest thing you could ever imagine.

This was definitely not part of your plan.

“I’ll ask Jake whether he wants to be part of this.” Curtis throws an icy glare at you, “I doubt he would be a problem though. He has shared with me before.”

Lloyd mutters a “fuck”. While Steve is still mulling over his sin-clarification.

“Shall we start?” Ari is shrugging off his leather jacket as he speaks, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt.

“You can’t-” You cry in panic as the four men close in, surrounding you in the middle, “this is against the law … or something at least.”

“Oh sunshine, I am the law in this town.” Lloyd grabs your chin, his psychopathic grin gives you shivers down to your spine, “and you should be glad we decide to forgive you and share you. Or I could tie you up in my basement and invite my new friends over, occasionally.”

You draw a deep breath.

Tears burning. Your jaw hurting. Your dripping holes spreading wide open for two cocks.

“You like that, don’t you?” Lloyd groans as he squeezes your hand tighter, guiding you to stroke his hard cock.

“Yeah she does.” Steve agrees quietly before you could answer. He knees on the couch to push his cock further in your swollen pussy, “Christ. She’s so tight.”

“Wait till you’ve tried her ass, Priest.” Ari brings his hand firmly down your ass cheek, painting it red – as if it weren’t pink and hand-printed already, “that ass is fucking heaven.” He chuckles darkly, kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear, gripping your waist, making sure you are fully seated on his thick member, “or should I say hell?”

Stuffed to the fullest with two cocks in both of your holes, you couldn’t do more than let out a mere whimper.

“Can’t believe I’ve bought her stupid acts.” Curtis spits out through gritted teeth as he feels your throat takes his cock again as far as it could, your whimper vibrates his cock. In return, he tugs your hair without mercy, “all those innocent girly acts. Fuck.”

“We all bought it.” Lloyd eyes Curtis, raising his eyebrows, mocking Curtis, “and speaking from a man that has shared her with his son before, seriously? Innocent?”

Curtis huffs but does not bother to answer.

“My turn.” As Lloyd pulls your hair, and choke you on his cock, leaving Curtis slightly irritated.

You were used by these four men for hours. Each has painted your body, both inside and outside in milky-white substance, bringing you orgasms after orgasms. Your holes red, leaking, and abused.

“No more.” You grip Lloyd’s thigh to keep balance, sniffling when he lets your head go and breathe, battling your eyelashes, but they are heavy with tears that you can’t see his expression, “hurt too much.”

“Heard that?” Lloyd barks out laughter, wiping his cock on your face, leaving traces of your saliva and cum on your rosy cheek, “she said she can’t take it, boys.”

Ari grunts out of disagreement, his fingers dancing around your rim, attempting to squeeze one in alongside his cock, “she was screaming and moaning just fine for hours. Lies.”

“Ari, please,” The helplessness inside you bubbles and fuels to your tears, “I just can’t.”

Steve peppers a trail of kisses down your throat, nibbing your shoulder, while toying with your sensitive clit, “I guess you have to be a strong girl for us then. Don’t you want to be good for all of us, hmm? We’re prepping you. More might join, you know.” He speaks softly, comforting you as always. The panting on the joint between your neck and shoulder increases when your pussy grips him. Still, he mouths your breasts, sucking little red marks on them.

“Steve-” You feel torn apart. The four men bringing you pleasure, but in their own way. As if your body belongs to them separately. And the coil in your stomach threatens to snap with greater pain and pleasure than you could withstand.

A rough hand grips your chin, forcing you to turn the other way.

The hand that has hold you for countless times, on your back with a friendly pat.

Curtis.

“She’s not dumb yet. She can still talk.” Curtis talks about you as if you are an object in front of him, having you clench down your thigh involuntarily. It’s degrading, but it arouses you so much than you should admit. “I’d say she could take more.” The dark brooding man inspects your teary eyes and your cum-stained face, “yeah she’s alright.”

“Heard that, sunshine?” Lloyd taps your forehead with his knuckles, “not brain-dead yet.” He grins, “but it does sound empty, folks.”

Steve wipes the cum from your pussy lips, a mixture of the previous men who has thoroughly used it before he did, onto your soft stomach, which compliments your pretty skin and your cute bellybutton. He smiles warmly, though you are not even certain at this point, “she’s always the smartest. I’d say we work harder to satisfy this little devil, hmm?”

With the element of surprise, Ari starts bouncing you on his dick, shamelessly putting his flexing biceps to use, which earns him a few strangled sounds between cries and moans from you.

He simply shrugs, on receiving three other men’s looks, “I am working.”

And you gulp in fright. When Lloyd, with his sadist grin, taps your lips to open for his heavy cock as you still struggle for air.

This would be the start of some many long nights with men more than you could handle.

Taglist: @rosedpetal @dankoiseori @katcutie @peachlle @mrs-marc-spector

[t4tozier]

see, you wrote the delightful and iconic and very hot car sex scene in got it bad (so bad), and that has unlocked visions in me ever since of like... okay, yknow the car sex scene from Titanic? that. that scene. I guess what I'm saying here is starbreaker Titanic au, yknow yknow. forbidden romance....fancy outfits....stuck on a boat with nowhere to go....

oh i'm so glad that that car scene stuck with you it was rolling around in my head forever before i finally got it down on paper. they've definitely fucked inside porter's truck before too, hand slapping against the steamy window and all. (jace's car is too small for porter to fit)

but ohh. rich boy jace and his husband (to be? idr) peregrine laniidae aboard the ship of dreams. he runs into porter who got a ticket out of sheer luck and he's dirty and brash and has a mean edge to him, but it's somehow different than the way that peregrine treats him and unlike the fighter, he's actually attracted to this barbarian. he knows that his mother would never approve, not in a million years, so he sneaks off to meet porter in private. porter absolutely ruins jace for any man in the future.

porter painting jace like one of his french girls...the scene where jack is standing at the top of the stairs in a nice suit...also porter wearing a dirty white buttondown with suspenders is calling to me.

and of course the angst of porter not being able to fit on the door without it sinking. but we don't do angst here at t4tozier. so we're not talking about that.