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mephisto-reporting · 7 months ago

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Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous. His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

4K notes · View notes

rcvcgers · 4 months ago

Text

Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter eight: space or time

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: it's the night of the summit's gala. revelations come to light and it's a night that you and caleb will never forget.

word count: 12k words

warnings: slightly proofread!

author's note: hi everyone! thank you for waiting so patiently! i hope you enjoy this part as much as i enjoyed writing it!

content warning: p in v sex, vulgar language, mating press if you squint, messy kisses, creampie, unprotected sex (PLEASE WRAP IT AND STAY SAFE), ANGST TRAIN HAS ARRIVED AT THE STATION, lmk if i missed anything

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The hotel’s ballroom is lavishly decorated. Silvers and golds decorate the walls; lights hang from the ceiling at different lengths, adding to the splendor and beauty of the ballroom. Long tables are set up along the borders, with plenty of drinks and hors d’oeuvres, with a space in the middle where a few people stand and dance with one another. There is a stage where a band plays, the female singer’s voice fitting the slow jazz-like music. She has white hair and wears a long red dress with a slit up the side, the dress’s jewels glimmering under the spotlight.

Service men and women wear their formal and dress uniforms. They are neatly dressed, not a single hair or button out of place. They are the perfect representations for their respective country. Even a small group with hair that are unique shades of blues and purples blends in with the other military officers. Laughters and music fills the room. It is a lively scene, one that you find yourself hesitant to step into.

After a long day of sitting in a negotiation room with the Farspace Fleet’s General, the last place you really wanted to be was at the summit’s ending gala. You’d rather be on Caleb’s aircraft surrounded by burly and strong masked soldiers while flying back to Skyhaven than be stuck in a room full of people who want to either bring peace or destruction to the place you live.

You couldn’t leave, though. Your date — as you liked to refer to him as inside the delusional fantasies of your head — hasn’t arrived yet.

You stand just outside the open double doors. Inside, the gala moves on. The event’s music spills out and fills the entryway with the sweet sounds of a love song. The melody is nice and the singer’s sultry voice compliments the saxophone’s rich and brassy tone. They move in sync with each other, their notes complimenting the other. It puts you at ease.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

You turn on your heel, circling to look at Caleb who stands behind you. His white hat, which has a red line circling its circumference, tucks away his dark hair that is slicked back with a thin layer of gel, his usual bangs now out of his face. He’s clean shaven, the five o’clock shadow and slight stubble from this morning completely gone. His uniform is rid of its usual black color; his body is covered in the white dress uniform jacket, one that you have never seen him wear, matched with a black dress shirt underneath. With the white jacket, you can see the outline of the golden stitching that surrounds his medals and pins more clearly, the golden chain and rope contrasting against the black shoulder patches.

And god damn does it look fan-fucking-tastic on him.

Fuck.

You are so fucked.

You stare at him with an awestruck expression, mouth slightly dropped open. You gulp. He chuckles and shifts his weight to his back foot, purple eyes examining your body.

You wear a very simple black dress matched with a black pair of heels that are strapped at your ankle. The dress is a halter top that has a long silk tie that cascades down your back. The fabric hugs your body just right and flares out ever so slightly past your hips. The skirt stops halfway down your shins, sitting an inch or two below your knee. You don’t wear a necklace, just simple earrings that compliment the elegant dress’ simplicity.

“You look…so beautiful,” Caleb breathes out. His hat moves from his head to his hands. His gloved fingertips play with the rim, nervousness and anticipation bubbling in his stomach from the sight of your beauty.

“Thank you,” a blush creeps onto your cheek. You clear your throat and look away, scratching the back of your neck. “You look very handsome,” you add. He nods.

Caleb’s steps are measured, deliberate. His black boot connects with the floor, the soles of his shoes clicking against the marble floor. You tilt your chin up as he grows near. Your gaze takes a few liberties while he inches closer to you, inspecting the finer details of his white outfit, like how the holster strapped to his thigh is hidden behind the tail of his jacket, the way the navy and red lines mix in with grays on the cuffs of his sleeves, a slight bronze tone to the metal cufflinks. Your eyes snap to a metal strap around his right arm, a slow, pulsating red light oozing from the brace.

Caleb places his gloved finger underneath your chin. Your mind freezes. He tilts your chin to look up at him, eyes meeting. Your heart flutters, matching the crescendo from the music in the ballroom. The leather of his glove is smooth against your skin, the warmth from his touch making you want to melt into his arms right then and there.

“I was expecting your black uniform,” you fumble over your words, unsure of what to do or say. Caleb has, for lack of better words, absolutely fried your brain, rendering you useless. “If I had known, I would have—”

“Matched me?” Caleb interrupts you. You nod, breathless. He chuckles and his thumb creeps up your chin, tracing the outline of your bottom lip.

Have his eyes always been so vibrant? There are no bumps or blemishes on his skin, not even a scar from any skirmish he’s been in. He’s…perfect.

How can you go in there and do your job when he looks like that? It’s so unfair!

“The General thought it would be a good idea to…” Caleb tilts his head to the side, placing the hat back on his head, his hand never leaving your chin, “show off. He wants us to be better in both our army and fashion.” A hint of amusement can be heard in his voice.

“I wonder where he got that idea from,” your eyes flit to his. He raises his eyebrow, the corner of his lips perking up.

Caleb’s gaze darts away from yours, his hand leaving your chin. He clears his throat and straightens his back, ankles locking together. His arm raises then bends at the elbow, his fingers making themselves at home at the corner of his eyebrow. You step to his side, turning just as the General and other Colonels approach.

“Sir,” Caleb grunts. The General waves his hand at him and Caleb falls into his at ease stance, hands clasped behind his back. The General turns his attention to you. You smile at him and nods your head. A grin forms on the General’s face, his serious expression lighting up.

“Ah! We meet again!” he chuckles, the sound raspy and coarse. The sound catches you off guard, causing you to laugh alongside with him while the Colonels look on with stoic faces. Caleb’s eyes attach to the side of your face, lips tugging down in a confused frown. “You look beautiful tonight, my dear, an absolute vision,” the General begins. He turns to Caleb, his smile slightly faltering. “She is a spitfire!”

“Is she?” Caleb hums, turning his attention back to his superior.

“I heard that she was good at her job and wanted to test her out, see if we can get her out of the cubicle,” the General smiles. He sandwiches your palm between his meaty hands. His smile is bright as he looks at you. If Caleb didn’t know any better, he would think that you put a spell on the burly man; a man who was seen many horrors in the Deepspace Tunnel and in wars that have been waged decades ago.

“She is very good, yes,” Caleb holds back a smile.

He always knew that your talents were being wasted in the office in Skyhaven. You deserved to live a good and thrilling life, one that leaves you feeling fulfilled from excitement. Caleb would like you to stick by his side, though, instead of the General’s. Only he can keep you safe…no one else.

“You are one lucky man to have her at your side tonight,” the General releases your hand. You smile at him and push your hair behind your ear, cheeks heating from the constant compliments. “We’re all stuck with the other translators who would rather spend their time gossiping about wine and who is…what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Cute?” you lean in with a smile. The General’s smile brightens even more, beaming at you.

“See? Even she can translate my thoughts for me!” His laugh booms down the hotel hallway. The older man leans in and lowers his voice, “If he gives you any trouble tonight, send him my way. I’ll whip him back into shape!”

“I will!” you laugh, covering your mouth. The General’s toothy grin covers the entirety of his lower face. Caleb rolls his eyes, unamused.

“Save me a dance?” The General asks. You nod. “Wonderful! We will see you two in there!”

The General and his men leave your side, entering into the vibrant gala. You smile and watch as he walks away, the older man already commanding the room with his presence. He’s fun, really, outside of the uniform. He even made sure that the assistants in the meetings today got your coffee order right. What a sweet man.

“I better be your first dance,” Caleb’s spiteful voice snaps you back to him. His purple eyes are fixated on the inside of the ballroom, following the General’s white uniform. Another laugh flies from your lips, shaking your head at him. Caleb’s brows furrow, hands resting on his hips. “What? What’s so funny?”

“I think it’s sweet that you find an eighty year old man to be competition,” you glance at him and give his shoulder a quick pat, beginning to walk towards the entry doors.

Caleb watches you, his feet unable to move for a second or two. His eyes are captivated by the way your dress sways with every movement you make, the long silk fabric teasing him as they swing back and forth, grazing against your backside. He sharply inhales, quickly pulling himself together and steadying his heart, and follows you inside the ballroom.

The music is louder than before, the singer’s voice more clear. She sings in a language that Caleb cannot understand but judging by the look on your face, the lyrics must go along with the upbeat melody and notes that come from the small orchestra’s instruments.

“So,” you look up at him, watching as he falls in line at your side. You hold your hands behind your back, painted fingernails toying and scratching the inside of your palm, a nervous tick you picked up from your less than desirable childhood. “How many people do you need to meet and make small talk with?”

“Hopefully none,” Caleb admits. He places his hand on your lower back, the tips of his fingers ever so slightly curling around your side. He draws you out of the way, the two of you bowing your heads as a sign of an apology, before moving to a new area in the ballroom. Goosebumps form where his hand sits. Your hip bumps into his, slowly locking yourself at his side, using the crowded room as an excuse to be so close to him.

“What?” you ask with an amused smile and quiet giggle, “are they supposed to come up to you?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Caleb flashes his canines at you, the sharp point of his tooth reminding you how it felt at your friend’s bachelorette party just over a week ago.

The purple hickeys on your neck have disappeared over the course of the week. Caleb noticed, of course, and wondered when the next time will be when he can place fresh marks against your skin for all to see, although, he will miss the turtleneck sweaters you wore this week to cover them up.

“Oh, wow,” you raise your eyebrows, playing into his boosted ego and confidence, “look at you go. Mr. Popular…am I going to need to fill up your dance card just so we can have a conversation?”

“You can have all the spots on my dance card, pretty bird,” the man squeezes your hip. You push back a blush, yelling at your pounding heart to calm down, to leave you alone for the night.

You need a night where your body doesn’t react so viscerally to Caleb’s touches and words. You should be used to it by now, right? Right! He’s just a childhood friend that you just so happened to reconnect with and let him bury his face between your legs in a nightclub’s bathroom.

You step away from him and he watches as you approach a table lined with champagne flutes. The golden alcohol stares at you, your stomach churning remembering the hangover you had a week ago. Caleb comes up from behind. He plucks two glasses from the table, passing one off to you. You sigh and look up at him, raising your glass.

“To a good night?” you ask.

“A good night,” he nods.

Your glasses clink together and you sip from the flutes as the song changes tempo. It’s much slower. A few lone couples make their way to the dance floor, couples that you assume are married couples due to their age and the rings on their fingers. You smile at the sight, watching as even a few younger couples join in the middle of the room.

The man beside you takes the glass from your hand, placing it back onto the table. He steps around you, your eyes trained on his broad shoulders. With his white uniform, you can now see the red, silver, and bronze lines that descend from his shoulders to the bottom of the jacket. Caleb turns around, extending his hand to you.

“Come on,” his eyes burn into yours, “you owe me a dance.”

Your heart skips a beat. You stare at his hand, slowly accepting it, your fingers lacing together with his. He steps backward. The crowd separates around him, watching as he guides you, his beauty and his love onto the dance floor.

Caleb draws you to his body. Your chests rest against reach other, no space separating you. He places his hand on your waist. His thumb massages your hipbone, fingers tingling with submerged delight. His touch is tender, intimate. You draw your arm up and rest it on his shoulder, brushing against the metal chain that hangs from the jacket. Your fingertips rest against his hairline. They delicately play with the tips of his hair. Your hands remain connected, Caleb being quick to lead the dance. Your breathing falls in step with his, the two hearts falling into rhythm.

The piano’s notes flutter, taking its time to build up. The band members and singer watch, waiting for their cue to join in. The singer brings the microphone up to their lips, the other instruments remaining silent.

Caleb lowers his head, your temple coming into gentle contact with his cheek. He relaxes into you, not caring whether his colleagues see how close he holds you, the way your bodies step in sync, anticipating the other’s movement. You watch as Caleb pulls you into the middle of the floor, using the other couples as a way to hide from the rest of the world, their prying eyes being blocked by the other happy couples.

The skirt of your dress sways with the movement, flowing with every step. Caleb’s hand is warm under the leather glove he wears. A part of you wishes he would take it off so you can feel the calloused skin of his palms, the tough skin against your own, a feeling that you have grown to miss.

Caleb turns you, your skirt picking up from the sudden twist. The faces of the crowd blur, but you catch on to Diana’s shocked expression. You suppress a smug smile. Caleb tugs you into his chest again, drawing your eyes back to his.

“What is the song about?” he whispers into your ear. You sigh, feeling your head pull away from his shoulder. You look up at him, his purple eyes soft and full of devotion. Your fingers give his a gentle squeeze.

“It’s a song about regret…the singer is mournful of letting her one true love getting away,” you quietly respond just so he can hear. Caleb nods, eyelashes fluttering, tearing his gaze away as he focuses on the woman’s singing. “I love you in a place where there is no space or time,” the translated words roll off your lips just as the singer sings them.

The two of you freeze. The lights shimmer from above, the golden hues making Caleb’s eyes pop. Your skin looks even more warm under the colors. The lights make your eyes flitter, the individual flickering lights being captured so beautifully in your eyes.

Caleb wishes he could stay here in this moment with you. He wishes that you two were alone with nobody to bother you. He wants you to stay in his embrace, to never leave his side ever again.

Little does he know that you wish for the same thing.

You take a step back from Caleb, your hand leaving the base of his neck. Your hands remain connected, the man keeping you at an arm’s length as the singer sings of sorrowful regrets and misdeeds. He draws you back in. Your hand slips from his embrace, fingertips sliding up the smooth material of his jacket, your arms wrapping around his neck while his hands make themselves at home on your waist.

No space separates you.

You do not push him away. There is no more hidden angst or remorse. You willingly enter his embrace. You’re allowing him to walk through your mind’s castle gates, surpassing every wall that you have built since childhood. There is no more resentment you hold against him, your mind and body being sucked into the warmth of his love and adoration for you.

No longer do you feel rotten. No longer do you feel discarded. You are no longer a second choice, the lone girl standing in the middle of your high school’s gymnasium.

Your once decomposed core, the place where your soul used to live, blossoms.

A single apple tree breaks through dead and dry soil, a miracle of life in the no man’s land that has been barren for years.

“I love you,” Caleb breathes out. The music swells. Your heart skips a beat. “I love you in a place where there is no space or time.”

Caleb leans in, your hands dropping from his neck. One rests on his chest, feeling the unsteady and heavy beats of his heart, while the other stays on the side of his neck, fingertips caressing his jawline. His grip on your waist tightens yet remains gentle. The tip of his nose presses into yours, sliding down the side as his mouth grows closer to yours. The brim of his hat obscures your face from one side of the room, shielding you from the public eye as your lips graze together.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

You and Caleb freeze in your spot. Your breath mingles with his, your lips just about to meet. You stare into his eyes and feel the heat radiate off of his body. He pulls away, gaze remaining on yours, and keeps you in his arms. You break your gaze away, his hands tightening on your waist, to see the General standing beside you.

“Hello, General,” you greet him. Caleb turns his head away, quietly groaning. “Would you like to dance with me? Colonel Caleb was just telling me that he needed to go to the bathroom.” Your excuse is less than ideal but it’s believable enough for the General to easily accept. You slip from Caleb’s grip, the heat from his touch lingering on your skin, and are transferred to the General’s hands.

The music switches from the slow song to something more upbeat and positive. You keep a respectable distance between you and the older man before you. Form the corner of your eye, you watch as Caleb disappears from the floor, leaving your line of sight. You cannot help but sigh, turning back to the General.

“Tell me, my dear,” he begins, “is there something between you and the Colonel?” The smile returns to your face, cheeks heating. The man’s smile grows and he nods, moving you around the dance floor. “I knew it! He was so adamant to have you as his translator. He is never so serious when it comes to events like this!”

“Oh? Really?” Your smiles grows. The man nods.

“He looks at you the same way I looked at my late wife, Amara. That’s how I knew,” he sighs, his hands slightly tensing on your side. You gone his shoulder a gentle and reassuring squeeze, watching as his eyes gloss from tears.

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” you quietly coo. He smiles at you, a saddened chuckle coming from his mouth.

“She was…the light of my life. She would have loved you.” The General tears his gaze from yours, looking at the other dressed officers and world leaders. They laugh and smile, completely unaware of how turbulent the outside world is, that a man in this building has lost his North Star.

“Let’s keep her memory alive, then,” you smile. He turns back to you. Hope shines in his eyes. “I’m sure we can figure out a way to dedicate something to her. Maybe we can petition to rename a part of the building for her…as for now, though, let’s share a dance in the honor of her memory.”

You always knew the right things to say to someone who who grieving. You do not know how long ago the General’s wife died, nor will he tell you, but you know that comfort and solace in the future, knowing that their name will be remembered for the rest of time for all to see. The dance is a temporary solution for now, yes, but it is a good way to distract the elderly man’s shaky hands and the way he fumbles over his words. You are happy to fill in the hole in his heart, even if it is for a few brief moments.

The song comes to an end and you pull away from the General. The two of you smile and clap alongside the other guests. The General looks to the side and claps his hands together, resting his hand in-between your shoulder blades.

“Ah! There is someone I would like you to meet! I’m sorry to make you work on a night like this, but we have one last person to talk to. Would you be so kind as to help me?” The General asks. You nod with a sweet smile.

“Of course. I would love to,” your response is sweet, radiating the helpfulness that you have come to be known as having. He nods and leads you away from the dance floor. You take one last look over your shoulder, scanning the area Caleb disappeared into, before sighing and following the leader.

“Allow me to introduce you to a good friend of mine, Professor Lucius,” the General steps to the side, his arm up. Your eyes follow where his hand gestures to, the smile on your face slightly flattering.

It’s the man from the hotel lobby when you first arrived. He is much taller up close, his white hair blending in with his pale and almost translucent skin. He has a few aged spots across his skin and his bony fingers, with his knuckles vastly prominent, wrap around the knob of his wooden cane. He smiles at you with pale yellow teeth, one of them gray in color. He holds out his hand to you. You hesitantly take it, shaking it.

His touch is ice cold. There is no warmth in his grasp. What makes things worse is that his handshake is limp; it’s almost as if you are meeting a monarch where you are meant to kiss his ring.

You draw your hand back to your side and clear your throat.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Professor Lucius’ voice is a complete opposite of what you expected it to be. Part of you was ready to listen to an old shriveled voice, one that lacked any strength. His voice is actually quite strong for his age. A complete 180 from what his appearance is.

If anything, it makes you feel even more uneasy in his presence.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Professor Lucius,” you push the words through a gritted smile. He nods his head and inches closer to you. You’re frozen in place.

“The General said that you would be willing to help us with one last meeting, yes?” You nod in response. His sickening smile grows wider. “Wonderful. Please,” he holds out his frail arm to you, “follow me.”

You link your arm with his against your better judgment and take one final look of the ballroom. Caleb is nowhere to be seen. You hold your disappointment inside your chest and feel the professor begin to walk you towards the exit of the ballroom. He rests his free hand on top of yours, leaning into you like you are his walking stick. As soon as you step out into the hallway, his voice breaks through the uncomfortable silence.

“I work for Ever,” he starts, “and we have been working with the Farspace Fleet for many years now. A long partnership that I have had the honor of seeing for the entirety of its fruition.” You smile at him, feeling his hardened nails slightly dig into your skin. “At Ever, we aim to help aid people in their lives. We want to take away stresses and allow people to enjoy life!”

“That sounds like a good mission to have!” you muster up as much cheer as you can. Professor Lucius smiles at you, nodding at your apparent excitement, stroking his already boosted ego. It doesn’t hurt that a beautiful woman is on his arm too.

“We’ve helped the Farspace Fleet with their…obedience problem as well.”

Caleb enters the ballroom, his hands clasped behind his back. He looks to the dance floor to try and find your familiar head of hair but you aren’t there. He looks towards the drinks. Again, you aren’t there. He sighs and takes a lap around the room, weaving through the endless military personnel and drunken lower ranking officers.

He spots Liam from across the room. He rushes towards the officer, urgency in every step he takes. Once he is close enough to his right hand man, he barks a question: “Where is she?!”

“Colonel,” Liam turns to him and nods his head, a quick and formal greeting.

“Don’t make me repeat my question,” Caleb growls through gritted teeth. His fists ball at his side. Anxiety bubbles within his chest, his heart moving in deep, slow pumps.

“The General and Professor Lucius have asked her to help translate for a meeting. They left a few minutes ago.”

Caleb immediately turns on his heel. He feels an itch form in the middle of his brain, a dull ache beginning to form. He slowly inhales and exhales, getting control of his heightened emotions as he rushes to the doors of the ballroom. He leaps out and into the hotel hallway, rushing down the impeccably decorated passageway. He bursts into the hotel lobby, out of breath, and notices a flash of your dress disappear behind a turn.

He runs through the empty lobby, ignoring the employees’ yells for him to walk and to not cause trouble. He doesn’t care. Nothing matters.

As long as you are in the Professor’s hands, your safety is the only thing that matters to him.

For the past two months, Caleb was able to keep you away from Ever. He was able to hide your job with the Farspace Fleet. Caleb hid you behind the closed doors of his mind, keeping you away form the black hole that is the Toring Chip. The Professor was none the wiser, believing that his heart still belonged to the girl he grew up with, the girl that Josephine stole away from Ever.

Professor Lucius could not have been more wrong.

The Colonel slides across the floor, the bottom of his boots scuffing the white marble. You stand at the end of the hallway, sandwiched between Professor Lucius and the General. They stare at you with widened smiles. It makes Caleb sick to his stomach.

Chills and goosebumps overtake his body. The hallway feels never-ending with you being pulled farther and farther away with each passing second. He claws at the air, watching as you duck behind a wooden door.

Your body is rigid. The General guides you inside a large meeting room where three other people sit. You recognize one of them, having been in a room just like this, only a few hours ago. You smile at them and sit down in a chair that the General has pulled out for you. The chair is comfortable but it feels like you are sitting on a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

“Hello,” you greet in their language with a small wave. “This is Professor Lucius and the Farspace Fleet General. Thank you for taking the time to have a meeting with us today.”

You watch as the translator does their job. The man, who sits beside them, wears a green and red uniform, his hair neatly pushed out of his face, scars covering the side of his neck and face. He smiles and reveals a golden front tooth.

Tension settles into your bones, chilling your body. You bite your bottom lip, rolling it back and forth between your teeth. If you were to add any more pressure, you lip would surely bleed.

The meeting starts slow. It’s a conversation between you and the other translator, working through formalities and thank you, before anyone important in the room speaks up. You smile and bow your head, watching as the man’s translator exits the room. Once it is done and over with, you tilt your body to the side, looking at Professor Lucius, who rests his hands on his cane hatstands between his legs.

“The Farspace Fleet and I have been working on a chip that we think can help you with your problems with your soldiers,” Professor Lucius matches the other man’s smile. They both nod, the man turning to look at you as you translate what the Professor said to the man.

He slowly nods, digesting the information. After a minute, he opens his mouth to speak.

“The Thing Chip, right? We heard about it through friends of yours. How effective is it?”

You translate his sentence to Professor Lucius. The smile remains on his face, the cane rocking back and forth at a steady and fluid pace. Before he can respond, the doors to the office burst open. You flinch in your seat, unable to bring yourself to see who has entered.

Is this it? Is it your time to go? Has someone discovered a meeting that is, well, unconventional? That is being held in secret?

“Ah! Colonel Caleb. How pleasant of you to join us. My dear, will you please tell the Captain and Ambassador that Colonel Caleb here is a shining example of the Toring Chip’s effects on soldiers?” Professor Lucius’ words makes your body go cold.

The General stands from his chair, offering it to Caleb. He’s regained his composure now. He takes his hat off of his head and nods at the Captain and Ambassador. He glances at the General and sits in the chair beside you, his hat resting next to your folded hands.

Tears sting your eyes. You fight them off but know that you may break when you see Caleb. Truthfully, you have heard whispers of the Toring Chip and its effect on Farspace Fleet soldiers. Men who were once known to be reckless, disobedient, and too emotional have suddenly become cooperative and compliant. However, they have become void of all emotion. They act like emotionless beings who live to serve for their leader.

Caleb turns to face you. He notices the tears that brim your eyes, the way your mouth slightly opens. His heart breaks at the sight of you, his heartbeat slightly palpitating, before it goes steady once again. You slowly turn to look at him. His face is unexpressive, cold. You blink away your tears, finding the strength to go on. Caleb raises his eyebrows at you, a silent plea to continue.

“Sir, this is Colonel Caleb,” you turn back to the Captain with the gold tooth and the Ambassador who wears too much cologne. “He currently has the chip implanted in his mind. Professor Lucius would like you to know that he is a shining example of the Toring Chip and its effects on soldiers.” You gulp.

“Good job, child, now tell them this…” the Professor leans in, his hand resting on your thigh. Your body goes cold from his touch. Caleb notices the man’s touch. He slowly inhales, keeping his breathing steady, watching as the Professor feeds you words to say.

“The Toring Chip can be surgically implanted into a soldier’s mind or, due to recent advancements in technology, it can be implanted through the arm and controlled that way through the solider’s nervous system.”

Your throat goes dry as you speak. You push through the words, flashes of pain striking your heart. It aches for Caleb, for all of the pain he has been forced into. The Caleb you knew wouldn’t have done this willingly…but the Caleb you have come to love has always been under the Chip’s influence.

“Once the Toring Chip is implanted, it will regulate and monitor the soldier’s emotions. If their heart rate gets too high, it will calm them down. Their emotions will be suppressed and—”

You choke out a cough, unable to bring yourself to say the next part with neutrality. Caleb’s body doesn’t move despite him wanting to reach out and hold you, to console you while the truth he’s been so desperately trying to hide from you comes to light.

“—and it will come at the cost of the solider’s memories. A price that they must be forced to pay if they wish to rebel and push against your commands. The less they remember about their life, the less they have to lose, making them more willing combatants when it comes to war. If they sustain injuries, we can always repair them for you and enhance them to be their better selves. Modifications to the body can also serve as a reminder to them to stay in line, that you can take away what you have given back to them.”

You tear your gaze away from the diplomat and military leader, looking at Caleb when you say the last part of the sentence.

“They become the perfect weapon.”

The Ambassador and Captain turn to look at each other. They deliberate in silence.

Caleb looks into your glossy eyes. He can watch your heart shatter into a million different pieces through your dejected gaze, the way your shoulders slouch ever so slightly. Your hands tremble in your lap. He scantily shakes his head, making sure that neither Professor Lucius or the General catch on to his silent messages for you.

You release a shaky sigh and turn away from him. You look at the General, who wears the same warm smile on his face. You match it despite feeling dead on the inside.

“Sir? May I be excused? I think I had too much wine from earlier and need to go lay down. I can have the Colonel escort me to my bedroom.”

To your surprise, the General nods. He stands from his chair, Caleb rising as soon as he does, and helps you from your chair. His puffed up hand feels heavy in yours. You are unable to shake away the feeling of dread that seeps into your skin. Nausea sweeps over your body. You stand and smile at the men in the room, suddenly becoming aware of your involvement of the erasure of men and women’s memories and livelihoods. Quickly, you exit the room and step into the hallway.

Caleb salutes the General and moves to leave, but Professor Lucius grabs his wrist, nails digging into his skin. Professor Lucius looks up at the young man, eyes narrowed in a razor sharp glare.

“Remember what is at stake, boy. Do not make me erase what is left of the identity I have so kindly let you keep.”

You stand in front of the elevator, rapidly pressing the button that calls the metal box. Tears fall down your face but your hair shields anyone from seeing, your head hung low. Loud footsteps come from behind you. The clicking of military boots causes more tears to fall. The elevator’s ding is a relief to you and you step inside. Caleb follows you and presses the button to close the door before anyone else can get in.

“Is it true?” you ask just as the doors close. You lift your chin, strained eyes meeting his. “Is it true that you have a god damn chip in your body?!”

Caleb breathe out your name but says nothing else. You slowly nod and swipe your tongue over your teeth. You tear your gaze away from his. He takes a step closer to you but you hold your hand out to stop him.

“Don’t.”

He obeys your command like the good soldier he is. Isn’t that what he’s been made to be?

You bury your face in your hands and let out a muffled yell. It is filled with pent up frustration, sadness, confusion, and the sharp ache that slices into your heart. The apple tree that once bloomed to big and high in your heart begins to wither and fade away, the lies and deception of his loyalty to the Farspace Fleet coming to light.

He was never yours to begin with, so what made you think that you could claim him now?

Tension fills the elevator. The air feels heavy, tough to breathe in, weighing both of your chests down. You remove your hands from your face and stare at the man before you.

He has the face of the man you love. He wears his skin like it is his own. Have his words been true this whole time? Or has the imposter inside Caleb’s body been spoon-feeding you with lies and false promises that the man he is pretending to be actually cares for you, that he actually loves you more than her?

Ding.

You stare at the opening doors then back at Caleb. You push past him, your skirt whipping his clothed leg from the speed you pass him with. You storm down the hallway, unsure of where you’re even going, vision blurred and body trembling. Your legs turn to jelly and you slow down. Your hands attach to the wall beside you, your heart slowly giving out on you. Caleb is quick to pull you into his arms, sweeping your legs from the ground, rushing in the opposite direction to his suite. You gaze up at him, taking in the worried expression on his face.

Maybe this is your Caleb. Maybe your Caleb is trapped inside his own body, trying to fight and claw his way out back to you. Or, alternatively, that is just your delusions speaking to your hidden desires.

“Caleb…” his name slips from your mouth. He looks down at you, using his Evol to unlock the door to his room. “I want to know…everything.”

“You know I can’t do that.” A bitter taste fills his mouth. You purse your lips and look away, the door locking behind the two of you. He walks inside the suite and heads for the small living area. He sets you down on the couch, kneeling in front of you.

Moonlight spills in from the windows. The full moon is as bright as ever and on any other night, you would be outside staring at it with awe and wonder in your eyes. Tonight holds different plans for you, though, and the moonlight serves as a reminder of everything that has been forced into the shadows of yours and Caleb’s minds.

He places his leather gloved hands on top of your thighs, holding you in place while also providing as much comfort as he can. He runs his hands up and down, the fabric of your dress shielding you from his touch. You stare at him, silent tears flowing from your eyes.

“What…what did he mean by…modifications,” your voice trembles. Caleb’s hands stop. His eyes slowly move from your legs, trailing up your body, before meeting your eyes. His silence tightens the rope around your neck, squeezing it until no air can enter or leave your esophagus. “C-Caleb.”

“I…pretty bird, please,” he puffs out the words as if he’s ashamed to be asking for leniency from you. “It’s too much—”

“Don’t you think I deserve to know the truth?” Your eyes follow his, grabbing his chin whenever he looks away, forcing him to stare at the mess you find yourselves in. “What you said earlier…was it a lie? Do you not love me? Was it something that the chop made you—”

“Of course I love you!” Caleb raises his voice, interrupting you. His hands squeeze around your knees and for the first time, one hand feels cooler than the other. “I love you so much,” his voice wavers, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. But this? This is a world that you need to stay out of!”

“Why?” you lean forward. Your faces near each other. Caleb can see the way your muscles move under your skin, the pain in your voice making him want to reach into his chest and rip his heart out, to offer it to you so you can see that his heart is yours and yours alone.

“I have to keep you safe. That’s why.” He spits the words out harder than he expected to. His emotions slip away from him but your touch to his hand brings him back down to earth.

“How can I be safe if I don’t know what we’re up against? Caleb, talk to me, please,” you plead, “don’t ice me out!”

“What if the Professor decides that he wants to ‘work’ with you next, my love? What then? You can’t become like me! Like…like a dog ready to obey every command they have!” Caleb shakes away the pain in his head.

Your vision blurs and the rapid blinking isn’t enough to make the tears go away. You close your eyes, tilting your face away so he can’t see the despair that contorts and twists your face. Not even your vivid and wild imagination can come up with an idea of what Ever and the Fleet have done to Caleb.

Was his death real? Did they fake it so they can experiment on his mind and body? Has he been a willing volunteer the whole time or has he been a victim to their torturous plans and devices?

“What did they do to you?” you whisper.

Caleb shakes his head. He wishes that tears could fill his eyes like they do in yours but nothing comes. He cannot bring himself to fully express the sadness that he feels, the pain and turmoil that he is sure to be causing you right now. All he has to show for himself is a racing heart and sweaty palms.

“Baby…” his breath is shaky. You stand from the couch, looking down at him.

Piece by piece, you begin to tear away the armor he’s built into his Farspace Fleet uniform.

First, you throw his hat to the side. Then, you force him to stand up, ripping the jacket off of his body. It falls to the ground, the metal pins making quiet clanking sounds. You grab his tie, loosening it, but his right hand grabs your wrist, pulling it away from his body.

“Caleb! Please!” You unconsciously raise your voice at him. “What have they done to the man I love?!”

Your pained cry reaches his ears. His grip on your wrist loosens and you fight through the tears. The black tie slips off form his neck, plummeting to the ground. You attack his shirt buttons next, plucking them each one by one. The black shirt pools around his feet.

His bare chest stares at you, mocking you for being unable to to find the modifications that Ever has given to him. You wipe away your unsteady tears with the heel of your hand. Caleb looks down at you, shame written all over his face.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Caleb’s quiet question tickles your ears. You nod.

You plaster your hands onto his chest, moving them around as if there is som magical button that will show you all of the experiments they have done to him. Caleb stands still, too scared to move, and watches you with a close eye.

Your touch isn’t one of intimacy or desire, not a touch of lust or passion, but is one out of anger, pure spite and hatred towards Ever. Your nails drag across his skin, leaving red lines in his wake. You circle him and move Caleb around like a puppet. He closes his eyes, unsure if he should reveal it to you just yet. The skin on skin contact leaves you both breathless. You end up behind Caleb, defeated by your vain attempts to unveil the horrors he has gone through. You place your forehead in the valley between his shoulder blades, your tears trickling down his back. With one movement to the side, your hot forehead feels cool against his right shoulder. Caleb sucks in a breath, feeling you pull away from him.

The palm of your hand flattens across his skin. Times from before when you’ve touched him here, he’s had the protection of clothes to shield you from the truth. Your hand travels down his bicep, the heat from your hand being the energy that warms his body, not the other way around. Shivers run down your spine.

“Show me.”

“Pretty bird,” Caleb coos in one last attempt to keep you in ignorance.

“Caleb, please,” you choke, “I need to see what they have done to you.” You close your eyes, an elongated sigh escaping your mouth. A faint whir fills your ears. Caleb’s muscles tighten under your light touch, your hand settling itself over his heart. You can feel the frantic beats through his bones. It shakes you to your core just how scared he is to show you.

“I’m not a monster.”

Caleb’s words suck all of the oxygen out from your lungs. You open your eyes, looking at his tanned skin, before slowly pulling your face away.

You stare at the distinct line between flesh and metal. The dark surface heavily contrasts between the robotic arm and his skin. Your fingertips graze the fine line where man meets machine, unable to tear your gaze away.

Caleb shudders under your touch. He can’t bring himself to look at you, to see the way you stare at him. He can’t help but allow his mind to drift to anything negative that can come from this. Perhaps you’d believe that he is a broken man, a broken toy that is not shiny and brand new. He has scars and scuff marks from being beaten from over the years. He can’t bring himself to even blame you for wanting to walk away from him and his constant reminder that he will never be whole again.

Your touch is light, gentle. He can barely feel the way your fingers move up and down the metal. The blue lines catch your eye, the light breaking through the dim light. The metal has some scrapes in it. There is even a large screw that you cannot even imagine how painful it must have felt to be drilled into your skin.

Your silence is deafening. It makes Caleb’s ears ring. His fists ball up as a single tear rolls down his cheek, falling onto the floor.

“I’m a monster.”

“No…” your whisper tickles his ear. “You are not a monster.”

Your hand slips down the metallic surface, your fingers catching onto the rough and smooth spots, traveling over semi-loose wires. The arm jerks, a quiet whir emitting from the artificial joint.

You step closer to him. The material of your dress grazes against his bare skin. Caleb sighs and shakes his head, his warm hand covering the one that is over his heart. His fingers lace into yours, squeezing your hand because his sanity depends on it. He opens his mouth to speak when he feels a portion of your lips on the skin of his shoulder.

You kiss the border between the mechanical part and his body. With every kiss, Caleb quivers, the upper half of his body leaning forward, shoulders slumping, head hung low.

“Your arm does not make you a monster,” you whisper. You circle around him, taking your place in front of him. You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his, pushing his head back up. Your lips brush against each other but don’t fully meet. You slip your hand into his robotic one. The metal is cool to the touch.

Caleb pulls his head away from yours, his purple eyes plastered on the way you hold his hand. Your two hands bring it to your mouth. You kiss each finger tip, your eyes looking into his when he comes back to you.

“All I see…” you breathe out.

Your stomach flutters when his metallic fingers dance with yours.

“All I feel…” you continue.

You watch as his hand slips away from yours, the chilled metal now clinging to cup your face.

“Is you, Caleb.”

You lean into his touch, hoping that someway, somehow, he is able to feel the love and adoration that you feel for him. You hope that whatever god is out there is merciful enough to allow Caleb to feel your skin under his metallic touch, to bask in the light that is your contact.

The two of you stand in silence. Neither one dares to break it, uncertainty of what to say filling the room.

His hands slowly move to the side of your face while your fingers rest on his muscular chest. Your breaths mix into one, bodies drawing closer to each other. Caleb leans in, closing the distance between you and him. His lips press into yours.

The kiss is slow and tender. Your body comes back to life, arms wrapping around his neck, drawing his head down closer to yours. His hands drop to your waist. With one quick tilt of your head, the kiss deepens, the faint taste of your salty tears mixing in with your saliva

Caleb’s fingers sink into your body. There is an underlying feeling of desperation to his touch. You play with the bottom of his hair, your hand dropping to his shoulder. A light touch caresses the line where his flesh is formed with the metal. Chills run down his spine. He slightly pulls away, leaning his head into yours, both of your breaths heavy and labored.

“I love you, Caleb. I love all of you.”

Your kiss with Caleb turns fierce, filled with hunger and longing.

Caleb and you senses sharpen; the taste of your tongues massaging into each other, the mixture of his woody and musky cologne with the fragrant scents of apple cider and vanilla of your perfume, the way your skin tingles under his touch. It’s overwhelming, making the two of you drunk off of your touch and body warmth.

Caleb’s hand hooks around to your back, caressing the curves of your body before his fingers snatch the metal of your dress zipper. In one slow, agonizing motion, Caleb draws the zipper down. A quiet sigh of content leaves your mouth and into his, the chilled air striking across your skin. You pull away for a brief moment and stare at him, the moonlight gentle across his face.

Your dress falls to the ground. The soft material pools around your feet. A pool of warmth forms between your legs, your lower stomach aching for him. You’re left in your bra and panties, nipples pebbling under the thin material. Caleb cups the back of your jaw, metal fingertips slipping into your hair, drawing your lips back to his.

The kiss isn’t rushed. The two of you take your time to melt into each other, the slow and sloppy kisses bringing your bodies together. Your fingers slip up into his hair. You give it a gentle tug, earning a frustrated groan from Caleb’s lips.

He steps forward, gently pushing you towards the bedroom. You stumble over your feet and Caleb is quick enough to pull you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his torso, your throbbing core hovering over his tented pants. The Colonel kicks the bedroom door open, the bed neatly made with a towel swan on the bed. He lays you down and immediately latches on top of you.

He moves his swollen lips away from yours, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses down the skin of your neck. His teeth rake over your neck, leaving a bite here and there, covering it up with a sweet kiss as a silent apology. Your knee drags up his side. His metal hand slides up the side of your leg, hooking around your thigh, squeezing the plushness of your inner thigh. Caleb continues to trail kisses down your body, his lips taking his time when he reaches your collarbone.

Quiet puffs of air leave your mouth, just on the cusp of being a moan, filling in the silence of the room. Just his touch alone sends shocks of electricity throughout your body. Every touch, every kiss, every bite leaves you wanting more.

Caleb bites down on the sensitive spot where your collarbone meets your throat. You gasp, back arching up and chest pushing into his lips. His hand snakes under your back, quickly unhooking your bra. Caleb leans down and grabs the fabric between his teeth, biting into the flesh of your breast, pulling the bra up with him.

The man, breathless and hard, rests his weight on his knees, his hands resting on the tops of your thighs, pushing them open. Your bra hangs from his mouth, the material having slipped off your body with ease. He takes the bra from his mouth and tosses it to the side.

His purple eyes take their time looking at your gorgeous body. Your chest slowly rises and falls, deep and heavy breaths overtaking your body as you try to clam down. Your nipples are hard under the moonlight, a few fresh hickeys adorning your neck and collarbones. Your lips part ever so slightly, legs threatening to close on him. His Evol holds your thighs down, keeping your soaking wet panties open for him to see.

Caleb’s hands reach for his belt. His eyes remain on you, never leaving, never faltering. You hear the soft clicks of metal, the leather slipping free from the fabric loops. Your mouth opens more, a shudder overtaking your body as he flicks the belt to the side, his pants unbuckling before being pulled down alongside his tight boxers.

His cock springs from its confinement. He is much bigger than you anticipated, his tip already swollen and twitching. He strokes himself, slipping off the bed to kick off the leftover clothes. He comes back close to you, pressing passionate and loving kisses from your knee up to the inside of your thigh. His metal hand caresses your skin as if it is a work of art, leaving chills in his wake. You roll your head back and sigh with every kiss.

Caleb’s hand rests on top of your clothed pussy, the pad of his thumb running up and down your covered entrance in long, agonizing strokes. You whine, looking down at him. A smirk forms on his face. You watch as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs in one fluid motion. The friction from the fabric against your legs causes you to shiver, sparks of electricity causing your hips to push up. He’s quick to push you back down, his hand flattening against your stomach.

Caleb positions himself on top of you, one hand resting to the side of your head. You’re quick to reach down and curl your fingers around his hardened cock. His eyes close and his head drops, a gratified moan escaping his lips as you slowly begin to pump him. He slowly raises his eyes to look at you, his purple irises shining through the spaces of his dark hair.

Your thumb swirls around his tip, spreading across the pre-cum that spills from his head. Caleb dips his head down. Your lips connect in a fiery kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, melting into yours. He rubs slow circles into your clit while you pump him. You swallow each others moans.

Caleb hooks his arm under one of your legs, pulling it up, your thigh resting against his side. You squeeze his length and he groans, hips jerking into your touch. You guide your other leg to wrap around the side of his torso. You hand is pushed away from his twitching cock, your arms hooking under his, hands attaching themselves to the back of his shoulders.

Your nails dig into skin and metal while Caleb rubs his tip along your entrance. He presses some of his weight into you. Your kiss slows. Caleb slightly pulls away, a string of your mixed saliva connecting you two.

“Say you’re mine,” Caleb breathes out. He leans his head into yours, body heavy from lust and desire. His tip slightly pushes into your entrance before slipping out. A quiet moan leaves your mouth. Your hips roll up into his, pushing his tip into your soaking pussy. He pulls it out, teasing you, leaving you dangling on the edge of a dangerous line that you want to cross. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe out. Your hands move to his cheeks, yanking him down into a breathless and fiery kiss.

In the midst of your passionate kiss, Caleb lines his stiff cock with your entrance. He slowly pushes in, a gasp fleeing from your lips as he buries himself deep inside you. He shudders as your nails drag down his back, leaving red lines in their trail.

“Fuck, pretty bird,” Caleb stammers against your lips. He kisses you, neither of you able to catch your breath. “You feel like perfection.”

His cock twitches inside of you. He fights every urge to not thrust up inside you with all of the force in the world. A quiet, shaky moan leaves your lips. You adjust yourself to his size, your pussy already clenching around him.

Caleb draws his hips back, leaving you feeling so empty, clenching around nothing, before he drives his body back into yours. Your head rolls back, a wave of bliss coursing through your body. Caleb’s cock slides in and out of you with ease, his tip kissing your sweet spot.

The Colonel sets a slow and steady pace. He fully draws himself out of you, just his aching tip remaining inside, before he thrusts back into you, your bodies colliding, haggard moans fleeing your lips as Caleb groans.

Your legs tighten around his torso, hips eager to meet his, taking in every inch he has to offer. Your nails drag up and down his back, tearing into his skin as your moans increase in volume. Caleb’s slow yet brutal pace leaves you a rambling mess. The sound of skin slapping against each other mixes in with your pretty and breathless moans.

Caleb’s head dips down to your neck. His lips attack your skin, biting down and sucking, leaving deep purple and red marks in his path. You whimper and cry out his name, his pace slowly picking up every time his name leaves your lips.

It fries his brain. Your raspy moans and cries, the way you give into him so easily, the desire you feel for each other burning with such intensity, pushing the two of you towards orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunts, his hips crashing into yours in another devastating thrust. A loud cry flies from your lips. His muscles flex with every thrust while you come undone beneath him. Your breasts are trapped against his chest, your back arching, pushing up into him as you feel the knot in your stomach continue to tighten.

You feel his muscles tighten and flex against yours. His thrusts become slightly jerky, desperate. His lips come back to yours and he melts into you, sloppily kissing you, sucking the air from your lungs. One of your hands move from his back and up to his hair, grabbing a fistful at the roots, balling your fist. Caleb whines, slowly losing control of himself under your touch.

Your moans go silent as your eyes roll into the back of your head, just about to tip over the edge when Caleb’s hips stop. A gasp fills the room and you stare at him. His chest puffs up and down, eyes closed.

Caleb pulls away from you, back straightening. He buries himself deep inside you, the tip of his dick pressing against your cervix. You look up at him with bright pink cheeks your hair a mess. Your heart flutters, pussy tightening around his cock from pure pleasure, watching as he hooks his arms underneath your knees.

Your legs push up as he buries his fists into the mattress beside you. You’re pressed into the mattress with inches separating your beating hearts. Caleb’s eyes darken, licking his lips.

His Evol keeps your legs in place. You watch as he grabs your hands, placing them above your head. Weight falls on top of them, a tingling feeling as the pressure builds a lock that you cannot escape from.

“Caleb…” you breathe out, slowly coming down from the ecstasy you were about to reach. Caleb places his hands back on the mattress. Your wet cunt flutters around him and an exasperated breath leaves his lips.

Without warning, he slams his hips into yours. Your head rolls back but he’s quick to grab your jaw, yanking your face back to his.

“Eyes on me, pretty bird,” he growls, his thrusts growing with power, “I want you to see what you to me…I want to see you come undone on my cock.”

Holy fuck.

His actions are ravenous, filled with nothing but lustful desire. Your hips eagerly meet his, adjusting when his cock leaves you feeling empty, the man entering at a new and deeper angle if it were even possible. You cry out his name and fight against his Evol, wanting to desperately touch him.

To touch his fiery skin. To caress his cheeks as he pounds into you. To drag your nails down his back to make him bleed some more.

His amethyst eyes glance down, watching as your breasts bounce up and down with every thrust. Your hardened nipples ache under his gaze and the man has to fight everything in him to not dip down and take one of them into his mouth, to prolong your night together.

But the two of you know that won’t be possible. You’re both chasing a high that will permanently brand you as each others for the rest of your lives.

“C-Caleb! I-I’m—” you stammer, blabbering nonsense as your eyes remain on his, struggling to stay open, desire weighing your eyelids down. Caleb presses deeper into you, bruising your cervix at this point, and presses a thumb to your clit, mercilessly rubbing circles into the swollen bud.

Tears fill your eyes. Overstimulation pushes you further and further. Your legs tremble against his side, tightening around his waist. Caleb’s thrusts become jerky, erratic and choppy. You bring yourself to look at him, the strained expression on his face showing you that he’s just as close as you are.

“F-Fuck, pretty bird,” you whine at his nickname, “be a good girl and cum for me!”

Obeying his command, the knot in your stomach snaps. The blissful heat of your orgasm crashes throughout your body, your cunt tightening and taking in every last inch of his hardened cock. Caleb buries himself inside of you, his own orgasm ripping through his body as he empties his cum inside of your pussy. His body drops onto yours, his full weight being pressed into you. He rolls his hips in slow and short pumps, easing you two down from your high.

His Evol releases its grip on your wrists. Your hands fly to the back of his head, pulling his lips back down onto yours. Your kiss is slow yet intense, the two of you greedily exploring each others mouths, tongues moving back and forth against in a steady dance.

Caleb slowly pushes himself up, the metal parts in his robotic arm clicking and whirring in the silence of your heavy breaths. He looks down at you and gently pushes some of the hair out of your face. A small, tired smile spreads across your face. Your hand attaches to his cheek and he leans into your touch, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin of your hand.

“I love you,” Caleb admits into the palm of your hand. Your heart skips a beat.

“I love you too, Caleb,” you return his affection.

The words feel right coming out of your mouth. After so much pain and anguish, it feels right for you to speak the words into existence.

Caleb’s softened dick slips from your pussy. You whine from the sudden feeling of emptiness. Your eyelashes flutter at him as he admires your body, leaning down to pressing relaxed and unhurried kisses along your chest and collarbones. He admires your breasts, dragging his nose against your skin as he inhales your perfume and sweat, a low growl forming in the back of his throat.

His purple eyes look down at your glistening pussy, his white fluid freely flowing from your entrance. The sight of it is borderline pornographic, his desire for you burning even more intensely than before.

He slips off of the bed and is quick to slide his arms under your back and knees, hoisting you out of bed. You relax into his chest, barely able to hold your head up as he pushes the bathroom door open, flicking the light switch. Keeping his arm under your knees, he reaches inside the shower and turns on the water. He places you on the counter.

You smile at him, tired and muscles already sore. Your hands rest on his shoulders, the once cold metal now warm under your touch. You lean backwards, making Caleb hold your back to keep you from falling. The two of you smile stupid and loving smiles, quiet giggles and laughs threatening to escape from your throats. Caleb presses his temple against yours and you lean into him, hands gliding up and down his chest.

“You are…everything and more,” he whispers into your ear, pressing a languid kiss onto your cheek. You blush and wrap your arms around his. The palms of your hands graze over the fresh scratch marks you’ve etched into his skin.

“I’m sorry about your back…”

“Don’t be,” Caleb peels his head away from yours, cupping your cheek. “If I could get them tattooed, I would.”

“You’re…utterly insane,” you laugh. Caleb picks you up in his arms again and carries you to the shower.

The hot water tingles against your skin, soothing your aching and numb muscles. Your hair dampens after a few moments. Caleb’s hands remain on your waist, keeping you steady, and watching you as you navigate your way through the large shower. You grab the hotel’s shampoo bottle and turn around, smiling up at him.

“You’re gonna have to come down here,” you tease. Caleb chuckles and complies, leaning down, tucking his chin on your shoulder. Your fingers slide into his hair, massaging the shampoo into his hair.

The shower goes on his this for a good hour. The two of you helps the other wash up, pressing sweet and loving kisses to different body parts. You hum while you massage his scalp. Caleb continually compliments you while using the body wash to clean up your body and the juices that turned sticky on your skin.

Every so often, your lips were captured in a sweet kiss underneath the shower head. You had to be the one to push away because if you didn’t, you would have stayed in there for an eternity.

Caleb helped you step out, wrapping you in a towel. You dried yourself off, mentally cursing to yourself that none of your hair care products are with you, needing to shower in your own room tomorrow to combat the knots and frizz that is bound to form throughout the night. You didn’t even notice Caleb slipping away while you lamented over your misstep. He comes back in, shirtless with just a pair of sweatpants hanging from his hips.

He holds out a pair of his boxers and one of his t-shirts. You take them with a smile, the towel dropping from your body. Caleb watches you from the doorway, obsessing over the image of you wearing his clothes.

“You look so beautiful,” he coos from his place.

“Oh, shut up,” you roll your eyes, a blush heating your cheeks. Once you slip the shirt on over your body, the fabric swallowing you whole, Caleb wraps his arms around your waist. He places his chin on your shoulder and looks at you through the mirror.

“I mean it,” he smiles, leaning into you. Your hands rest on top of his, matching his smile. “You are breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” the words come out just above a whisper yet loud enough for him to hear. He nods and kisses your cheek, turning your bodies to the door.

You walk out like normal but Caleb waddles behind you, his long legs adjusting to your much smaller steps. He guides you to the extra bedroom, opting for clean and neat sheets compared to the mess you two made earlier. He steps around you and flings the sheets open, jumping in like he’s just won the lottery. You throw your head back and laugh, rolling your eyes as you crawl to his side.

The sheets close around you and Caleb is quick to pull you to his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, tucking you under his chin. You drape an arm around his waist, pulling yourself even closer to him. His heart skips a beat, a large smile on his face. You yawn and nuzzle into him, closing your eyes.

“Do you want me to turn on the TV and click through a million different channels again?” Caleb jokes. A hearty laugh booms from your mouth and you pinch his waist. He fakes a surprised squeal and slightly rolls over, pressing half of his weight onto you, keeping you trapped below him.

Your heartbeat slows, falling into rhythm with his. His breathing is calm, the man counting every second that you have been in his arms for.

This…this is nice. This feels right. Caleb’s arms feel like home, as if you were meant to be inside them the entire time. Time slows around you. Your body grows heavy as slumber quietly sweeps you away, the sound of Caleb’s steady heartbeat filling your ears like a lullaby you’ve been craving to hear since childhood.

The apple tree in your heart blossoms again. Will it bear fruit or decay?

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

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erasabledinosaur · 10 months ago

Text

What’s in my Game:

GRAPHIC TWEAKS

The Sims 3 GPU Add-on Support

Tweaked my GraphicRules.sgr Shadows Quality to 8k

Step 5 - Limiting FPS (Essential)

MODS:

NRAAS: Master Controller with MC Integration, Overwatch, Errortrap + Saver

simler90’s Gameplay Core Mod WITH Nraas Overwatch Compatability File (found in step 4)

The Sims 3 Smooth Patch 1.2.1

[TS3] Catalog Search Mod

No Intro

No “Mod Scripts Found”

No Drift/Lower Level Free Cam Camera Mod

Subtle Build Grid Active Level Only

Annoyances Disabler

No More Gloves with Outerwear Mod

Twoftmama Route Fix Flavor 3 v9

No (or fewer) automatic memories

xiasimla Higher Quality Default Replacements for TS3 Headline Effects

Sims 3 Decorating Tools mod (or S3DT)

Get to Know Fix+

Interaction on sloped terrain enabler

No Mutated Hair/Eye Colour

Replaced CAS animations - three flavours

Pick Up Toddler Fixes

New UI Poses (3 Flavours)

User-Directed Scolding + Other Punishment Tweaks

University Life Visual Fixes (Send Insulting Text, Texting Idle, Heat of the Moment Kiss)

No Autonomous Pet Toy Cleanup

Let Me Take a Selfie (Update 9/3/23) - Pets Fix

University Student Union / Library Shell Overrides to help with Crowding Issues

ENVIRONMENTAL/LIGHTING:

Improved Environmental Shadows

[TS3] Shadow Extender

Reworked & Improved EA Lights

TWEAKS:

Welcome Matt Deshined Rug

University Life Alpha Omega Door Fix

No more ugly snowprints

Hanging Lantern Fix

Tileable Items Shader FIX

Base Game Halfwalls FIXED!!!

Pet Tombstone Shadow Fix

Wonderfully Woven Hanging Chair Fix

Bonehilda Coffin Default.

Chillgood Fridge Re-Masked

CAS:

CAS Monotone: additional colors + Replacement CAS for single color

CAS Sim Bin Genetics as Presets

40 New Face Presets (CC Slider Free)

NRAAS: MasterController ExpandedTattoo + cmar_XCAS_TattooLocations_V2.zip

DECOR + MORE

Sims 3 Hidden Stencils Unlocked

ISLA PARADISO

Reduce/Remove Lag caused by Houseboats

Isla Paradiso Fixed World by ellacharmed

EA DEFAULTS

SATELLITES - A SKINBLEND BY SIMAREX

cute feet for children and toddlers

Default Feet Replacement by Bloomsbase

missy harries Face Overlay Lips Lip Overlay Only

Default Replacement Wildflowers

[Chisami] BLUSH BABY (default) Baby Skin

oneeuromutt’s maternity defaults

NOT QUITE EA DEFAULTS

Memories Mirror from Generations Default Replacement 4-in-1

Season’s wall hook de-starified

2 Supernatural’s rugs - DR preset addition

STORE ITEMS & COLLECTION FILES

Phantom__99 EA Store Content

Collection Icons and Files

Store Collection Filests

cc in my game: pleyita+marthasimbookcc, TSR+David Mont+everlasting garden, dewofthesea+bioniczombie, teekapoa+HYDRA, tots+tiny, omsp+omsp resizers, skin defaults+hairs

#ts3 #sims 3 #ts3 simblr #sims 3 gameplay #ts3 gameplay #sims 3 simblr #ts3 screenshots #simblr #the sims 3 #fresh save #what's in my game

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berrryparfait · 2 months ago

Note

hello~ can I request sumth about dom succubus/ vampire mc with sylus or zayne (or both)

give in to me... . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: sylus, zayne x succubus! dom! fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] smut, reader hypnotizes and restrains him with her evol but fails to k*ll him in the end, reader crashes zayne's clinic, piv, creampie, intense orgasms, multiple positions, overstimulation, non/dubcon, catching feelings(?)

— ༉‧₊ᐟ word count: sylus – 1.7k | zayne – 1.2k

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: southbound – artemas

✧ a/n: thank you sm for the req! this idea was too sexy to resist lol i was SWEATING while typing it all out...

The blood moon is out, and your insides are growling… You know very well that not a soul in Linkon can resist your…unique charms. Who will your lucky victim be this time?

Just how long will he last?

A mansion? Haven’t seen one of these out here in ages… Your heart lurches at the sight (not that you have one, of course—it’s all purely figurative), and you can almost taste the blood of luxury on your tongue.

You understand the person who owns this mammoth of a building won’t be easy. He might even desire to overpower you. But you won’t let him. You want to feel the life slipping out of him while you drink up his sex, watch as he begs for mercy and finally realizes that, no, you’re in control.

Your pussy throbs at the thought, and you have to remind yourself not to get too carried away. Getting lost in these fantasies will do nothing for you right now. Your first plan of action is to find a way in.

He’s left a window open. How careless. You crawl in with ease (thanks to your natural agility) and slide in and out of hallways, keeping a lookout for people or traps or security cameras or weapons. Not that you’ll be needing a defence against weapons, anyway. You don’t need a gun when you have supernatural sexual allure.

The house is strangely quiet, and you start to wonder if it’s even occupied at all. There’s an air of modernity to the place, so you doubt it’s been abandoned. On vacation, perhaps? No, you can sense the recent presence of a human being here. It’s past midnight, so whoever owns this house has to be in it. You just need to find them… A light flicks on somewhere on the ground floor. There you are, kitty cat. You hurry past the elaborately decorated walls and paintings, and find yourself hiding right behind a doorway to what seems to be a large, grand kitchen.

And in it stands a man so gorgeous that you think you may have finally met your match (in the looks department, of course). He’s tall, imposing, handsome, and looks like he bleeds money. His dark red eyes captivate you. You can’t wait to rob them of their pretty color.

Taming the excitement in your veins, you slowly step out from beneath the shadows, the red silk dress you have on revealing the curve of your bare breasts and emphasizing the pinch of your waist. Your walk is measured, calculatedly seductive.

He’s mid-drink when he spots you, the glass of dark wine tilted halfway to his mouth. His startling eyes lock on yours as he pauses, prolonging his sip.

“Why hello there. I didn’t mean to startle you,” you begin, voice dripping with innocence and honey. “It’s late, and I couldn’t find my way around…”

You take a few tentative steps closer to him as you speak, fully prepared for any sudden movements. Sure, there’s always the Evol option. But where would the fun be in that? You’re like a spider in this little game, waiting for the prey to fall right in your trap, of its own volition.

He puts the glass down on the counter, his movements as calculated as your own. His bathrobe hangs snugly over his delicious frame. “And…you happened to waltz right into my home.” His voice is as velvety as his robe, each syllabus sending tingles straight down to your core. This is going to be good…

Your face remains impassive. Slightly scared, even. “I apologise for the intrusion. I’m just so confused—and anxious—and—I don’t have anywhere to go…” Your expression is downcast as you go on about how sorry and pathetic you are, and when he drags his crimson eyes down the length of your body you think you’ve finally got him—

“I know what you are.” There’s an edge to his tone, one of warning. “You’re a succubus. Blood moon come early this year?” He says it with disgust, as if even the mere mention of the word spills toxins on his tongue.

Clever. Guess my suspicions were right, as usual. You don’t mind the challenge. After all, labor bears fruits. You maintain your ignorant disposition. “I-I’m just a girl. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the act, demon.” His gravelly voice really turns you on. He’s probably big as hell, too. “I don’t have time for your theatrics. I would’ve killed you myself if you’d visited last week, but fortunately for you my assistants are on vacation, and I really don’t want to clean up a mess right now. Get out of my house.”

Damn it, he’s good. I want to taste his cum before he dies. “Oh, there’ll be a mess, alright… Just not the kind you’re hoping for… Not yet.” You inch closer and closer to him until his chest is at eye level. He’s glaring down at you like you’re a pile of shit. “So hostile… So…difficult…” You run a delicate finger down the valley between his abs, and you feel his breath hitch ever so slightly at your touch.

“Get. Out,” he grits out, the hard, defiant edges of his jaw sharp enough to slice through skin.

You tiptoe and whisper into his ear, “Surrender to me, sweetheart. Just give in…” He exhales a little, and your arousal heightens. You roll your hips against his groin and his muscles grow taut. Someone’s getting hard. You can feel it through the fabric of your thin, skintight dress: the outline of a beast between his legs.

You get on your knees then, looking up at him with pure and unassuming doe eyes. You can smell his arousal. Can he smell yours? You reach between the plush material of his robe and pull it apart, his erect cock springing out to kiss your face. Furious, he backs away, but you activate your Evol then, restraining his hands to his back.

“You’re making this really hard for me, you know.” You use your powers to shove him down to his knees, and before he knows it, he’s leaning back against the oven with his hands bound behind him and his knees bent on the marble floor, with nothing to conceal his glaring erection.

He struggles beneath your supernatural hold, hissing in rage as he realizes his strength is no match for yours. “You’re a heinous witch—” he spits, though he’s cut off by the Evol you tape to his mouth.

There we go. Time for this fairy to work her magic. You get down on all fours and lean towards his cock, your mouth hovering inches from him. He squirms, clearly unused to being the one following orders for once. “You’re going to want me, kitty cat…”

Your lips wrap around his engorged head, and his eyes squeeze shut. The taste of his dick is instantly addictive, and you find yourself wanting to choke on it. Slick coats your pussy, which aches for its turn. You move your mouth along his length, going up and down as slowly and languidly as possible. A muffled moan escapes his throat, and his thighs clench. “Good boy…”

You begin to suck him off faster, pumping the base of his shaft with your right hand and fondling his balls with your left. Low growls sound from deep within him, and his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. “Mmmh… Mmh—” With a crude “pop”, you release his cockhead from your mouth.

I need him in me. Now. In one swift movement, you pull your black lace panties down and they fall to the floor, forgotten. You hastily pull the skirt of your dress over your head and toss it to the side, now fully naked and ready to take him.

Still panting, his eyes travel the length of your perfect body, lingering at your perky breasts and sopping cunt. You grab onto his shoulders for balance and angle your pussy directly above his leaking cock, positioning your tits right in front of his face. Lowering yourself onto him, you moan as his girth slides against your walls. The pleasure is blinding, and you feel as if life itself is returning to your body.

He groans pathetically as he enters your wet pussy, your tits brushing against his nose. He looks disgusted. Angry. Incredibly and unabashedly desperate. You begin to bounce on his lap, both hands braced on his shoulders as his dick plunges into your cunt and wet squelches fill the room.

You remove the Evol tape on his mouth, and he’s no longer mouthing off. His dirty, needy moans mingle with yours as he begins to thrust upwards, no longer fighting the carnal desire within him. “Ugh… Fuck— Fuck—!” he laments, his expression pained.

You release him from the restraints. Of course it would be easier for you to drain him while he’s bound. But you preferred to let them take control towards the end. To let them fuck themselves to death.

He up in an instant, twisting you around and pounding into you from behind. Like a puppet on a string, he fucks himself senseless as he grabs your hips and utterly destroys your pussy, balls slapping against your clit. “Fuck, I can’t— I shouldn’t be doing this—” he swears, revelling in the feeling of his cock gliding against your folds.

You scream out in ecstasy, the feeling of his tip rubbing against your cervix sending you into a mindless haze. He isn’t getting any weaker. In fact, he’s getting stronger, his thrusts more and more powerful. Why is this happening? This shouldn’t be happening—

He slams into you so strongly your vision blurs. His cock twitches so violently you know what’s coming, yet it still surprises you when he cums; thick, hot liquid filling you up as you orgasm so viciously your entire body shakes. Your pussy spasms in tandem with his release as he continues to pump spurts of cum into you, his cries echoing yours as you hear your mixed juices fall to the floor in puddles.

He slides out of you with another “pop” and you fall to the floor, still vibrating with desire. It takes you a while to realize he isn’t dead. How…?

“It should’ve killed you…” You watch in bewilderment as he pants on the ground, cum staining his discarded robe. Very much alive.

“It’s going to take more than that, Kitten.” His eyes gaze into yours, and for a shocking moment, you think he really sees you. It’s sickening.

Something flutters to life and begins to pound in your chest.

Hunting isn’t something to be taken lightly. You only get to do it once a year, after all—if you’re going to drink someone up tonight, it has to be someone positively delicious.

You roam the streets at midnight, keeping a lookout for your little snack. No, not him… Hmm, not her either…

There. He catches your eye immediately, a handsome doctor with light green eyes entering the clinic. Working the night shift, perhaps? Something about him intrigues you, though you can’t quite identify what it is… Maybe it’s the way he commands attention—not in an overtly loud or obnoxious way, no, but in a quiet, reserved fashion that makes you want to take your panties off.

Are you hiding anything, Doctor? Are you as quiet as you seem? You imagine proving that theory false, and your pussy slickens at the thought.

You enter the clinic in your black cocktail dress, a good amount of cleavage on display for the masked patients to gawk at. Ignoring them, you use your Evol to manipulate the queue system such that you’re up next.

The number on the screen changes, and you knock twice before waltzing into the doctor’s office, your shiny stilettos clacking on the polished floor. “H-Hello, Doctor…” you stammer, appearing as shy and docile as possible. It mildly grosses you out that this has been your most successful baiting tactic so far.

Your right hand instinctively grabs onto your left elbow, emphasizing the squeeze of your breasts and making you seem smaller.

The doctor, Zayne, takes off his reading glasses and assesses you—not sexually, but analytically. Damn it, he’s not a creep. This will be harder than I thought. “Hello. Take a seat,” he replies, gesturing to the chair across from him. His words are curt and direct, though not impolite or unfriendly. A no-nonsense, to-the-point kind of guy. Interesting.

You sit down, pretending to fumble a little as you lower yourself onto the chair. Your tits bounce. He doesn’t seem to notice. Taking out a plastic clipboard, he swivels to face you and asks, “Well, what seems to be the problem?”

You blush and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You see, I-I’ve had these…urges…” Your eyes evade his, darting around the room in mock nervousness.

He tilts his head slightly, pensive and observant. “What kind of urges?”

You bite your lower lip. “It’s like a funny feeling…in my…” you wave at the spot between your legs, and he squints at the movement.

The faintest hint of a blush appears on his cheeks. “Ah. And…you have these urges frequently?”

You nod. “I have them all the time. In fact, I’m feeling it right now.” He frowns at you, seemingly at a loss. “It only goes away after I touch myself, like this.” You reach under your skirt, and he rushes to stop you.

“Ma’am, please refrain from masturbating in the clinic. This is a sterilised environment that needs to remain free of bacteria—”

“Please, Doctor… I just need to…do it…” A wicked grin twists your lips as you use your Evol to tie him to the chair, sealing his mouth with invisible tape. You lift the skirt of your dress up and pull your lace panties to the side, your cunt already dripping wet.

His eyes avoid your fingers as they begin to stroke your folds, the instant wave of pleasure eliciting a small moan from your lips. His muffled protests are barely audible (though you did lock the door with your powers beforehand), ensuring zero interruptions.

You whine as the pads of your fingers circle your engorged clit, and use your Evol to force his chin down so he has a clear view of your movements. The redness on his face intensifies, and you see the vague outline of his cock hardening beneath his pants. There we go…

Your fingers jerk faster, and your back arches involuntarily as he watches you abuse your sopping pussy. The chair beneath you is drenched by now, your arousal leaking out in waves as you begin to finger yourself brainless.

All the while, he’s being forced to watch your every thrust, every spasm. He’s fully erect now, and you both know it. You remove the silencer and make your way towards him. “Please— Don’t do this…”

His pants unzip themselves and his boxers are yanked down. “Be a good boy for me and be quiet, okay?” You lower your leaking pussy down onto his dick, and the tip pops in between your folds almost effortlessly. You both groan at the sensation, the feeling of raw, primal sex too good to resist.

“Fuck— Stop—” he whimpers as you begin to bounce on his lap, your ass slapping against his thighs and tits bouncing in his face. You force your swollen tit into his mouth and use your Evol to latch his lips around it, but you don’t have to use it for long. He’s sucking on your boob with so much force that you cry out loud.

He writhes underneath your weight, still trying to set himself free. Adorable little thing… So weak. You grind against him faster, each roll of your hips in such quick succession that his eyes squeeze shut and fly to the back of his head. “Ugh— Ugh— Ugh—” he grunts between each upwards thrust. Bounce. Ugh— Jerk. Ugh— Squeeze. Ughhhhh…

Someone knocks on the door. “Is everything okay in there?” You lose focus for just a second, and your powers slip free. He’s no longer restrained to the chair.

Strong hands lift you up and plop you onto the desk, your ass landing on a stack of papers and a few paperclips. What—? There’s no time to think before he’s slamming into you, each thick vein of his cock rubbing against your inner walls and driving you insane. Your elbows are propped up against the table, which shakes so loudly with every jerk of his lean hips. “What are you doing to me—? Fuck…” The table has grown slick with your mixed juices, along with everything on it.

The knocking continues. “Hello?! Is everything alright?!”

He slams into you so hard the table nearly falls over. White ropes of cum burst into you as you tighten around his girth, shaking so hard you see stars. Your cries mirror his as he cums all over your thighs, your stomach, the papers on his desk.

Most notably, he isn’t dead. What the hell..?

He’s breathing hard as he composes himself, sinking back down onto the chair in exhaustion. “I…apologise for that… I lost control of myself… You came in here looking for medical help, and I abused that…”

“Y-You don’t feel faint? Or ill?”

He shakes his head regretfully. “It’s my job to be asking you that.”

“You’re not surprised by my powers?” You’re at a loss for words.

“You’re not the only Evolver around here. Now if you’ll let me, I’d like to do my job as your doctor and help you with your sexual urges. Medically, of course.”

A faint pounding seizes your ribcage.

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

#would yall like a non-smutty sequel where they fall in love hehe #‧˚˖✩ bp works #‧˚˖✩ bp reqs #love and deepspace #sylus #zayne #sylus x reader #zayne x reader #lads #lnds #sylus smut #zayne smut #lads sylus #lads zayne #lnds sylus #lnds zayne

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ollyissleepy · 2 months ago

Note

heyyyy don’t mind if I slip in here … is that hxh I see…….. would you perchance write an platonic yandere Illumi with a child mc? Please and thank you 😊🙏

𝐭𝐡𝐞 (𝐮𝐧)𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

pairings: platonic yandere!illumi zoldyck x child!reader summary: Illumi takes his precious child home, away from all the people that might hurt them. He also makes sure to take revenge on the ones that already did. cw: yandere behaviours, stalking, murder, child abuse, mentions of torture a/n: sorry it took a while, had to take care of some stuff

part two

Illumi scans the room he was just brought to by one of the servants. A man sitting on one of the couches, staring directly at him. A woman sitting on an armchair, mindlessly stirring the drink in her hand. And a child, no older than five, staring at their feet.

He steps towards the couch across from where the child's father is sitting. Illumi watches the child closely, looking for any sort of movement. The curious eyes didn't go unnoticed by the father.

"No need to worry. I'll make sure they won't say a thing," the man reassures Illumi.

He shifts the conversation for Illumi really was here for the man his clients wanted out of their way. He listens to the man in front of him going on and on about the wrongdoings of his enemy. Illumi nods along, not really caring about the reasons the man might have had to hire an assassin on someone. Bored, his eyes roam the room, trying to find something more interesting. Illumi looks over at the wife, who's not sipping slowly out of her cup. Illumi's eyes then dart towards the child. He takes note of how they haven't moved from their spot. It catches his attention, trying to understand why they won't dare to move a muscle.

Then, he spots it. A bruise decorating the child's left arm. It's faint, barely visible to a normal eye. But Illumi still sees it. It's right there. He wonders what such an obedient child could've done to earn a beating.

Illumi's staring doesn't go unnoticed by the parents of said child. Next thing he knows, the child is being dragged away by their mother, disappearing behind a door. Illumi now had an idea of what type of parents he was dealing with.

The child's father cleared his throat, bringing Illumi's attention back to himself. Illumi sits through the rest of the meeting, barely listening to the man in front of him. He lies about needing to feel the situation to find the right time to get rid of the target. In reality, he wants to be sure about the people he's about to kill for.

Illumi starts observing the family from afar. Quickly noticing that the child seemed to not leave the house. Not with their parents, at least.

He sees the way the parents seem to ignore the existence of their child until they find it doing something that doesn't please them. He sees the way the child tries to make themself as small as possible, trying not to take up too much space.

He saw the child's bedroom, which was more suitable as a guest bedroom. The empty walls and lifeless decorations were not ones a child would enjoy having in their room. He also takes notice of the lack of toys anywhere in the house.

The first time Illumi sees one of the parents getting physical with the child, he's taken aback. He saw how the child tripped while walking up to the couch, causing the coffee table to shake. Illumi's brows furrow more with each hit landing on the child.

With each beating he sees (name), as he learnt was the child's name, he grew more and more angry. Angry for the child who has to live in such conditions.

Back in his hideout, Illumi catches himself thinking about what it would be like to take in the small child. Subconsciously he started changing things around the place, trying to make it more suitable for (name). He buys toys, interactive puzzles, and books. Anything they could want. He smiles at the finished room. It had everything he believed (name) would need: a mountain of toys and books, soft bedding, and small pictures with cartoon characters on them. Illumi also made sure to plant a few cameras. Anything to ensure his baby's safety.

With everything ready for (name)'s moving into the hideout, Illumi finally decides to kill the man the child's father asked him to.

The dead man's head wrapped in cloth is placed in front of (name)'s father. They're back in the same room they met in the first time. The child's father, looking a little sick from the head in front of him, gives a bag of money to Illumi.

He opens the bag, checking if it's the amount they agreed on. He sighs, placing the bag next to the corpse.

"It's not enough." Illumi stretches, pointing at the bag.

"What? That's what you agreed on?" (Name)'s father asked, confused.

"Yeah, well, the target put up a fight," Illumi lies. The target didn't even know he was dead before it was too late.

"We can't give you more…" the mother starts, not wanting to upset an assassin.

"I don't want more money," Illumi states, staring directly into the father's eyes. "I want them." He points towards the child in the corner.

The parents look at each other, trying to decide what their next move should be. The mother calls (name) over. She pushes the child towards Illumi, telling him to take them.

Illumi kneels in front of the child, checking them over. He doesn't comment on the black eye nor on the bruise on their cheek.

That day, his baby finally came home.

The first few days are rough. (Name) didn't seem to know how to act the way a normal child would. They didn't touch any of the toys, not even with Illumi's encouragement. The child also didn't sleep much. Illumi saw the way they just lay in their bed, their eyes wide open. He also hasn't heard a sound coming out of (name)'s mouth.

A small shift happened on the third day. Illumi was sitting at a desk, filling out a few papers with a monitor showing the insides of his baby's room. He glanced over at it. He couldn't believe his eyes at first. His lips curled into a small smile, seeing (name) pick up one of the many toys, holding it at arm's length and staring at it. In Illumi's mind it meant progress; his baby was finally feeling at home.

The next change appeared a few days later. Illumi noticed that the child seemed to be following him around the hideout, always a few steps behind him. He started inviting the child to come closer to him, softly calling out their name. He started reading to them every night, as he noticed that it helped them sleep.

One of those nights, Illumi sneaked away from the hideout. He felt horrible leaving his baby alone, but he had a business to attend to.

Illumi walked through (name)'s old home like a ghost. He only had one goal that night: to avenge his baby.

He finds the child's parents sleeping soundly in their room. For a moment he wonders if he should wake them up, making them suffer the same way they made his baby suffer. He would start with the father, slowly cutting all of his limbs off, letting him bleed till death. Then, he would move to the mother, doing the same.

He snaps out of it, remembering that his baby is at home alone. He would hate for them to wake up in an empty house. He kills the parents in their sleep, not interested in wasting any more time on such scum.

The first thing he does after returning to the hideout is to check on his baby. Illumi opens the door, making (name) stir awake. He coos at them, stepping closer. The child moves over, patting the space on their bed.

Illumi smiles, lying down beside his child. He carefully wraps his arms around them, whispering:

"It's alright, little one. You're home now."

#platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #illumi zoldyck #hxh illumi #platonic illumi x reader #platonic x reader #yandere illumi #illumi x reader #illumi x you #illumi x child!reader #platonic yandere illumi #child reader

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dollyswishingwell · 11 days ago

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Okay, hear me out on this one. I've been getting a bunch of Sabrina the Teenage Witch on my fyp and now I can't stop thinking about a specific scenario where MC is a witch and has a talking cat or familiar of sorts. Idk if anyone else has done this, bit I know you'll do my vision ✨️justice✨️

Thank you pookie dookie bear ❤️❤️❤️❤️

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Witch

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ as someone who dabbles in witchcraft i had to write this immediately, it’s so fluffy and cute

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ The boys with a witch reader

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- Constantly accuses your familiar of stealing your attention. “Why do you kiss it goodnight first?!”

- Helps you label spell jars with glitter stickers and makes potion videos for fun, “just for us, not the internet.”

- He makes you make a love potion so you can drink it for each other.

- Uses your cauldron to boil candy. You get mad. He pouts and gives you a handful of enchanted gummies.

- Sneaks into your moon bath rituals and dumps petals in dramatically. “For love! For beauty! For me!!”

- “Witch? Please. You’re my goddess. The stars work for you.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- He insists on calling your spells “experimental treatments” just to cope. But you caught him reading your grimoire once.

- Your black cat familiar hates him. It always glares from the windowsill while Zayne brushes your hair in the morning.

- He’ll let you enchant his scrubs with protective charms (as long as it’s subtle). He thinks it’s silly…until they actually work.

- Brings you rare herbs from hospital imports and makes sure you have fresh rose quartz on hand.

- If you’re tired after a ritual, he puts your familiar on his shoulder like it’s part of the household. “Come on. Your witch is passed out again.”

- “You’ll kill me one day with those potions, sweetheart.” (drinks it anyway, just because you made it.)

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

- He understands your familiar perfectly. They often whisper to each other behind your back, plotting treats and surprise naps.

- You once caught Xavier floating while dusting the library, a candle balanced on his head. “That’s not a spell,” you said. “Isn’t it?” he replied.

- He loves your nightly tea rituals. You stir sugar clockwise to sweeten your fate together. He watches you, eyes soft.

- Always falling asleep with your spellbooks in his lap and your familiar curled against his neck.

- The two of you once enchanted your entire penthouse to shift its decor seasonally. Xavier added a snowflake charm in the corner just for you.

- “Your magic tastes like honey. I like it.” (He nuzzles your neck while you stir a love charm.)

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- “Why settle for potion jars when I can build you an underground crystal lab?” (He does. With biometric locks.)

- Your familiar is oddly loyal to Sylus. It sits on his throne and only moves when you tell it to.

- He lets you read his enemies’ fortunes with your cards, then kisses your knuckles as you whisper who’ll betray him.

- Brags that his wife could curse anyone in high society, and they’d still beg her for tea.

- Secretly wears a cursed ring you gave him “for protection.” He pretends it’s just a fashion statement.

- “You’re my little witch. My spoiled, dangerous, sweetly wicked housewife.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- Walks into the kitchen to find you chanting over a jam jar and nearly faints. “Pipsqueak, are you summoning something?”

- He built a protective rune wall around the penthouse but pretends he did it “just for fun.”

- When your familiar gets sassy, he picks it up by the scruff and lectures it like a tiny general.

- Gets you to make love charms so he can carry it around with him cause it makes his head woozy with overwhelming love for you (more than normal…don’t know how it’s possible)

- Brings you moon-charged water from the Skyhaven labs for your potions. Won’t admit it’s sweet.

- “You’re not allowed to go into the astral plane alone again. I nearly lost my mind.” (Hugs you so hard your spell candles flicker.)

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aurmisery · 5 months ago

Text

- a little death -

ronin b. x gn! reader !!

inspired by a friend of mine in the rose's rot discord, vanity! @vanitywoo

hi erm this is my first time putting down a killer chat! work of mine on here uhhhhhhh

cw // mentions of sh scars on mc -

please tell me if anything else in here can be considered triggering !!

okay enjoy!!!!!1!!1!!!!2! sorry if this is ass and or ooc for ronin bro i TRIED MY BEST I TRIEDMYBEST

1878 word count!!!!!!!

FUCKIFORGOT THIS US FLUFF BTW

you know when you walk into someone's room, you can immediately tell what kind of person they are? what posters they roll on their walls, what decor they line the edges of their room with- if they have LEDs, what merch they willingly buy and if they have a whole shelf for said merch, etc?

if you were to walk into ronin's room with no idea of who he is other than his oh so charming looks, you might just say "typical, makes sense given his aesthetic." even if the jars of human remains seemed a bit too hardcore and realistic.

it all fit though, the color palette ranging from all hues of red, black, and white, the masks, the lava lamp, the VHS tapes, the illuminated 'KORN' sign hung in the corner of his room matching the 'still alive?' frame with a cartoonishly drawn heart- it was all him- it screamed ronin.

the plainest thing in his room was probably his bed- and he knew that. it was just a black headboard and footboard, with a red duvet and pillows with a white blanket overtop it. it did match the color scheme, which was enough for now, but it was missing something.

but as his pupils grazed over your steady form, warm and breathing, he realized something.

the slight flush of your cheeks, the way your eyelids fell heavy over your unblinking stare, the hazy glare of his TV burning a light glow over your side-

the ruffle of your hair, your legs snaking awkwardly with his, fingers mindlessly tracing invisible doodles over his forearm, and the slight quirk of your brow as your eyes retrace back to his.

"what's up?" your lips curl upwards slowly as his eyes noticeably fade from the trance he planted himself into, brows slanted upwards as he slow blinked.

"...youuuu good?" a small giggle slewed unevenly from your grin, and he scoffs, a playful jab at the side of your waist following the roll of his eyes.

"'m fine, jus' thinkin'. what about you, darlin'? feelin' comfortable in the devil's den?"

you flop over on your right side, facing him rather than the TV, propping yourself up on one elbow with your other arm tracing the angle of his jaw.

"for a devil, you're rather accommodating, i'll give you that," you tease, and he revels in it; in your warmth, in the fiery trace of your finger along his jawline, and for once, his hell is starting to feel a bit hot.

"in a literal sense, if i'm laying in your bed, wearing your shirt, cuddled up with you, watching old slashers, i think i'm as comfortable as i can ever get."

it's his turn to grin, moving his hand from its resting position on your hip to the small of your back, letting a small exhale he didn't even know he was holding fall from his lips.

his downcast eyes flicker from the graphic tee bagging low under the curve of your shoulders to the width of your thighs, and he couldn't help but feel a little warmer.

you did look good in his clothes.

and as your hand caressed his cheek, his head melting into your warmth, he spots something along the flex of your arms.

his blackened irises almost narrow at them, but they reverted back to whatever you would call normal as his hand drags from your back to the base of your arms, fingers gently rubbing over the faded marks of your pliant skin.

at this, the knitted furrow of your brows came together, a slight wrinkle in your expression as you awkwardly chuckle, a defensive grin uneasily firming itself on your cheeks.

"what's this for?" you question, a wry smile on your face as you realize the implications of his stare, and the look on his face...was just blank.

"no reason, just glad you don't...do that anymore, i guess."

with a shiver up your spine, you firm up your lips into a sheepish smile, nodding with a creak to your voice. "aww, c'mon. can't even say that without the 'i guess' at the end?"

and then he laughed, the tiniest hue of cherry blending into his ivory skin, his onxy irises filled with amusement.

"is it like me to carve open my chest and bare it fresh? i'm not that much of a romantic, darlin'."

it was your turn to scoff, turning over onto your stomach and reaching out to cup his chin with the flex of your fingers, thumb lolling over his bottom lip.

"'i'm not that much of a romantic, darlin'," you mock, voice whiny and pitchy before you deadpanned, eyes narrowed at him.

"oh please, cut the bullshit, ro. not that much of a romantic my ass."

ronin weaved a palm through the plum tresses sitting upon his head, a dismissive hum resting in his throat as he looked you over. "i'm not really, i mean- i kill people?"

"yeah- abusers. usually, anyway."

you then fanned out your hands, your digits extending with each gesture you were about to point out, pupils darting upwards into your lashes as if recounting your times together.

"our motorcycle dates? the shirts you give me each time i come over? the way you snuggle against me while we watch movies, when you complain about being cold to get me closer to you, when you crack cheesey jokes about how lonely your lips are, how-"

"okay, okay, i get it."

and as you took a glance at your boyfriend, a bead of sweat brimmed at his forehead and neck, face flushing a hue of carmine as his words spewed out in an exasperated rush.

you grin.

"oh, and that time you rushed me through your front door after i got drenched by the rain despite the fact that you were also soaked. when you prepared me soup in worry that i would get sick, and while i didn't get ill, you did the next day."

you were trying to be subtle, but with how his pupils were blown out and watching your every move, he was probably more aware of your slow crawl over to him than you were, the mattress making a small dip where your knee paused.

"then, i stayed over the whole time and nursed you back to health while we watched your favorite movies? or when i stopped by your job and you purposely wiped your face with the front of your shirt to flash your-"

"okay, fine! fuck, you win!"

his face was hot and covered by a thin sheen of sweat, a hand flayed out over his jaw to hide his most-likely embarrassed expression, brows arched downwards into a glare. he couldn't even look at you.

ronin beaufort, flustered? ronin fucking beaufort, embarrassed?!

you just made the devil bow his head.

a boisterous laugh bounced out of the pits of your stomach- jesus christ, you've rarely never seen him like this before, all shy and flustered.

your arms snake over your own abdomen, trying to pat down the rumbling giggles orchestrating from your gut with a roll onto your side, and you feel his elbow butt between your ribs playfully.

"give ya an inch and you take a mile, huh?"

he grumbles, giving you a nudge as you only cackle further, slapping a palm over your eyes to smear the tears pearling at your lash line.

"god, your face is fucking priceless when you're embarrassed! geez, i shoulda taken a picture, would've been amazing to have that spammed in mai-"

without skipping a beat, he reeled you into his arms, before turning and slamming you down right in the middle of the bed, hands jabbing and feverishly dancing over your sides.

all the sudden, your laughing increased tenfold- tears springing out of your eyes like sprinkles as you jerked, bucked, and kicked in protest of his tickling, but you couldn't do anything against his iron grip.

you felt like you were dying, stomach exhausted as you guffawed and blabbered, hiccups along the lines of "i can't-" "wait, my stomach hurts-" "have mercy-" following between the tears pitifully steaming down your reddening face.

he lets out a soft-hearted snicker, his body over yours and his knees pinned on either sides of your hips. his plum locks tickles your forehead, reminding you of the teasing grin on his face as he mercilessly dug at your sides- before his fingers traced upwards to your collarbone, and-

his fingertips padded over your neck, before your head jerked instinctively and you could only cackle further. is he trying to kill you?

and finally- you fought back, hands reaching up into his shirt.

he stiffened, eyes widening as your hands snaked up into the black fabric and wandered over his lower waist, making him jump and bubble his cheeks- as if that would quiet his laughter.

but you powered through the pain in your gut from laughing your vocal cords out and frenzied your hands up his abdomen, he gave out, falling pathetically besides you as you took your sweet, sweet retribution.

his arms flexed over his head in defense, lashes clenched shut as his face buried itself into the pillow besides him, almost as if taking cover from your violent antics.

you curl over against him, hands jabbing and frantically scurrying up his shirt as his laughs and pleas muffle besides you, and then-

your hands seemingly touched a sore spot, his laughs dying out and his breath hitching, as if he was in pain. finally taking a second to feel the skin below your palm, you handle it with deft, and...

it's smooth, slightly arched in size, extending from the middle of his chest to the side of his pecs. you lift up your head to look up his already hiked-up shirt, and...

it's his scars. a cringe forms in the side of your gut, fuck- did you piss him off?

"sorry," you usher lowly, withdrawing your hands, only for his to grab your wrists, placing them back right back on his chest.

his thumbs roll over your wrists, reassuring your tense frame back into ease, and you eye his facial expressions carefully.

his eyes are beady, sucked into the way your thumbs navigate the faded discoloration of his torso, brows furrowed and watching with a slight quirk in his lips.

and then his eyes harden.

"do you, uh," he begins, tone devoid of that usual bite he has to it, gaze wandering away from your hands on him, from your face and to the corner of his room.

"do you see me as, y'know, uhm-"

"the devil? hell yeah."

he smiles.

it was so... genuine, so adoring, blooming through the erasure of his doubts, of your validation- even as his soft hair messily spiraled into his vision, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

and as you slink besides him, letting your head sink into the pillow conjoined with his- he realized something, and this time he took full joy in memorizing it.

your touch, your voice, your sweet, sweet lips- even the messy, unbothered display you shroud around.

the way you smile at him in the dim light of his room, the warmth radiating from your body as your lips brush against his.

you're all the decoration he needs.

okay hi i hope you liked itsorry for the words being kinda clunky here n there???? ok bye

#killer chat #kc!#killer chat!#ronin beaufort #otome game #visual novel #killer chat ronin #x reader #okay bye thank you

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bunnygirllover45 · 9 months ago

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— VIVISECTION IS ANOTHER WAY OF SPELLING LOVE. ﹑◌﹒WARNINGS﹕Graphical descriptions of the body, Seth wants to study you like you're a computer or something, MC has few to no dialogue, gender neutral MC. Very bizarre at certain points. Medical bullshit and philosophical stuff. Bad English.

♱ ✧ ⤷ Word count: 1,6k words. (This one is a long mf)

The nights always brought the same dream with them; four walls and a room that belonged to an old movie, the walls were decorated with shelves filled with pots, pots with colorful flowers on them, some of them were carelessly placed on top of each other, pressing on top of the poor flower that was under the crushing weight of the other.

This room only had two big windows that illuminated the whole room, illuminating it in a red hue, no matter how much you tried to stare out the window nothing but red was visible. It seemed like if you stared too much into that void for a second, it would swallow you whole, making you part of the bloody landscape.

The furniture was scarce. A table, something that resembled a bookshelf that contained a few books, but the letters were illegible to you since you couldn’t move from your assigned seat; a chair by the aforementioned table. In the center of the table, was a small vase filled with fresh poppies.

The ambiance was a little theatrical, to be honest, you couldn’t even imagine someone living in a place like this, it didn’t look like a place where you could have plants either, most of them were placed against a wall all the way in the back of the room, shrouded by darkness. Not even the crimson light from the window could reach them.

“The light of this place isn’t good for them, I have checked it countless times. Instead of giving them life, it kills them.” You heard the voice of your companion seated in front of you, and when you turned your face to look at him you found the crimson again, but it wasn’t from the window this time, it was from his eyes.

Red. Red. It looked like it wanted to swallow you whole. Those spirals were like the circles of hell, one by one looking at your movements with caution. You tried to answer his words, maybe with a question, maybe with an affirmation, but it was always complicated talking when you entered this ‘dream’ and Seth knew it.

“You know.” he started.

Standing up from his seat and dragging his fingers across the wood of the table he began to circle it, never breaking eye contact for a second. “I have been reading some very interesting books lately.” he continued, his voice dragging across the whole place with an ominous echo to it, which was impossible due to the small size of the place. “They're medicine books, vivisections, that’s what they call it.” a small smile formed on his lips.

“Vivisections?” you managed to ask, your voice merely a whisper. Seth sharpened his gaze, pleased with the sweet sound of your voice, and then he nodded.

“Yes, vivisection. It’s like… taking an organism that’s still alive and opening it, to learn how they function on the inside.”

Seth continued, his leather gloves dragging across the table from side to side while he continued to circle the table, like a vulture, though it looked like a mere distraction, a small gesture he did while talking. It didn’t stop it from being spine-chilling though, the elegance in his movements wasn’t natural. “It seemed interesting to me, sounds nasty, it probably is.” he laughed.

One blink was enough to make him disappear from your sight, but when you felt two hands resting on top of your shoulders you knew he was still there. “Seth?” you called out his name, and he responded with a gentle squeeze against your frame, then you felt his hot breathing against your ear, it made you shiver.

“I’m here,” he reassured, you couldn’t see his expression but you were pretty sure he was still smiling, it was rare to see him without that grin on his face. “Can you close your eyes for a second?”

His petition made you nervous, the fact you couldn’t even turn to look at him worsened the uneasy feeling, your survival instinct screaming for you to not close your eyes, to not give in. But Seth was always good with you every time you came here, so why not? “Please.” Seth whispered against your ear when he noticed you still didn’t close your eyes, the sound of his voice so close it made you tremble.

Going against all common sense you closed your eyes. Feeling Seth’s hands pulling away from your shoulders you almost opened them again unconsciously, but for some reason, it was like they were closed shut by an invisible force, heavy like lead.

“How obedient. How precious. This is one of the many reasons why I like you.”

First, you felt his gloved hands on your face, the sensation now multiplied thanks to one of your senses being removed, the leather felt softer, the sounds louder, and Seth’s breathing hotter. “The brain is like the body’s computer, an insistent and adaptive little thing, it’s truly fascinating.”

“I think your mind is the thing I like the most about you. From the small unconscious movements you make while you’re asleep to the most trivial conversations are born in this beautiful place. It never stops to amaze me.”

Now his voice came from the right, his fingers slipping from your face to your back, your breathing quickening as soon as you felt his hands slipping under your clothes, Seth traced invisible circles on the now exposed skin. “From here I can feel your breathing, you moved a little, do my gloves feel cold?”

Seth removed his hands and the next second you could feel the touch of his fingertips on top of your skin, it seemed like he had taken off his gloves. “Better~?”

His voice sounded a little playful. “Skin-to-skin contact is even more pleasurable, no? I imagine having your eyes closed makes the experience even more intense.”

“I can hear your breathing more clearly. Your lungs are closer to my hands.” And you could feel his breathing, even hearing how we swallowed heavily, like trying to hold back any unwanted sounds from escaping. “What a celestial sound.”

“If I put my mouth on top of you right now I could kiss you until you ran out of air. Then you wouldn’t have any other option than breathing the air I give you, that way each particle of oxygen that enters your system would have my name written on it.”

You tried to move, expecting your legs to crash against the table in front of you, but again. you couldn’t move, but you could feel like… everything around you disappeared for a second.

“You like that? You want that?” And when you heard Seth’s voice coming from in front of you it was unmistakable, everything felt like a small space where only you and Seth existed. “Ask me. Ask me and I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything.”

Then everything fell silent, eerily silent. Then his hands felt like they were back again in all the places he previously touched at the same time, your face, your back, your shoulders, his touch was hot, enveloping you like he wanted to swallow you, like the red color outside the window, like the red in his eyes.

“Here.” His fingers moved like snakes against the skin in your chest, you took a deep breath unconsciously, and Seth laughed. “Here’s your heart.”

“Sometimes I want to push my fingers under your skin, I don’t want to hurt you, of course I don’t, but I would love to see how beautiful you’re from the inside.”

“Like a computer with all its parts exposed, I would like to grab them and build you again like a puzzle, no — like a beautiful statue.”

Now his fingers moved up and down across your skin, just like the way he had touched the table before, it seemed like he had anticipated this moment from much before, what a macabre little thing his brain was. “Mhm…” you felt Seth’s soft hair against your chest, he was drinking the sound of your heart beating like he was in the middle of the desert and you were the most beautiful oasis. “This sound is even more beautiful.”

“It’s beating fast, the little thing, how adorable. Is it fear? Is it love? What kind of feeling is accelerating your beautiful core? Is it me? It must be me, there’s no one else here.”

“Hey, do you love me?” You couldn’t answer, Seth knew that. “I love you too, I love you too much.”

“I want to grab you in between my arms and squeeze you so hard you’d break, I’ll kiss each piece while I put you back together. I would call you my most beautiful creation, there’s nothing more charming than being God’s favorite creation, no?”

Now his voice didn’t come from the left nor the right, it felt like you were being enveloped by him, all your senses, your body, Seth wanted to kill you with soft caresses and sweet whispers of eternal devotion. He wanted to swallow you. He wanted to vivisection you.

“When you wake up from this, please remember my touch, remember these sensations, remember our vivisection. You’ll give me that, right?”

“When you come back I’ll be waiting, I promise I’ll hug you so sweetly you’ll never want to wake up again. I’ll give you a paradise so sweet you’ll want to poison yourself in it.”

Finally, you opened your eyes, but you weren’t in that eerie room, nor was Seth there anymore. You stared at the sheets of your bed, everything looked too white, it made your eyes hurt. Taking a deep breath you held your hand against your chest.

You could still feel him there. His touch was still present, tingling against your skin.

And when your eyes fell to the skin of your chest you could see it better, the red marks, like the light coming from the light from that room, like the color of the blood flowing through your veins.

The marks of Seth’s fingers were still there, in your skin.

#dies irae vn #dies irae seth #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere vn #yandere #original character

517 notes · View notes

losermuse · 3 months ago

Text

CW: non-mc!reader, high school au, angst, unrequited love, hurt/no comfort, insecurity, jealousy, self-hatred, written in first pov, ventfic, unreliable narrator, cliche plot WC: 4.0k

Average. Ordinary. Second best. The plain Jane.

That’s what I am, what I’ve always been. The person who blends into the background, who smiles when I should, laughs when it’s expected.

But never stands out.

So it’s the question of the century: how did I even end up being friends with her? She’s everything I’m not—charismatic, funny, effortlessly pretty, the kind of girl who walks into a room and immediately captures everyone’s attention. The apple of his eye.

I can still remember the first time I met her. It was in the third row, right next to the window. I was awkward, unsure of myself, quietly existing in the corners of the classroom, trying not to draw attention to the fact that I was just another face in the crowd. And then she sat next to me. She was my seatmate, so I guess it was inevitable.

At the time, I couldn’t help but wonder if she had been assigned to me out of pity. After all, who would choose someone like me to be their friend? But she didn’t need a reason. She just…liked me and that was enough.

Initially, I thought it was some kind of fluke. She smiled at me, made small talk, and suddenly, I wasn’t alone in that space. Slowly, I found myself pulling away from the walls I had built around me, allowing her to see parts of me I kept hidden.

It wasn’t pity in the end. She genuinely wanted to be friends. She didn’t have to choose me, but she did anyway.

Then he entered the picture. Caleb, he was just a name at first, the guy everyone in school seemed to talk about. Star player of the high school basketball team, a natural athlete with a reputation for being both skilled and effortlessly charming. I remember hearing about him long before I saw him. People always flocked to him like he was some kind of magnet.

But when I finally saw him for the first time, it felt like everything seemed to slow down. He wasn’t just a name anymore; he was real. You couldn’t miss him from the way his tall frame moved through the hallways with confidence and the easy smile that never seemed forced. He was the perfect definition of the boy next door. It was clear he wasn’t just someone special to the school, but to her too.

She practically glowed when he was around. I didn’t need to see the way they exchanged jokes or how he called her “pipsqueak” to know she’d known him longer than I had. She was comfortable with him more than I could ever be. And I…well, I was just the audience, watching them from the sidelines.

It wasn’t like Caleb ever really saw me, at least not in the way I wanted. But then again, he wasn’t the type to make anyone feel invisible. We were both part of her world, after all. So, every once in a while, he’d acknowledge me in passing—small, casual things like a wave in the hall or a brief nod when he saw me sitting next to her at lunch.

Nothing that stood out. Nothing that made my heart race. But it was enough to make me feel like, maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t entirely forgotten. Maybe he noticed me because he noticed her, and I was simply there, part of the package.

Yet in the end, that’s all it was. A fleeting acknowledgement that never lasted long. Two sides of a perfect coin. Best friend since childhood.

This is their story, not mine.

—

The school was decorated for Valentine’s Day, with the usual red hearts, streamers and cheesy banners hanging from every corner. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just enough to make the day feel special. It wasn’t a day I particularly looked forward to, but there was something about the way the entire school buzzed that made everything feel a little bit different.

Students milled around, exchanging cards, gifts, and the usual classroom chocolates. I couldn’t help but watch, half-detached as the holiday played out around me.

I wasn’t expecting anything. Not really. After all, it was just another Valentine’s Day. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then Caleb appeared.

When he finally approached, I saw that familiar smile already on his face. Even in the crowded hallway, he had a way of drawing attention. He reached her first, his grin widening as he handed her a box of chocolates.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, his tone warm, like this was second nature to him.

She laughed, taking the box without hesitation. “Thanks, Gege. You always know the best ones.”

And just like that, it was the same as always. A tradition between them, something unspoken yet expected, like a habit they had no reason to break.

As she tucked the box under her arm, I noticed her phone swinging gently in her hand. Dangling from the corner was a small green apple keychain, bright and shiny like something picked straight out of a cartoon—playful and fresh, just like her.

I might’ve looked away if Caleb hadn’t shifted slightly then, drawing my eyes to the large red apple charm clipped to his bag. Not the same, but unmistakably a pair. Her green and his red—like they were meant to match, opposite but complementary.

The kind of detail that didn’t just happen. The kind of charm you didn’t buy alone.

I looked at them, then back at the apples. Something sour began to rise in the back of my throat, and I swallowed hard, pretending it was nothing. Just keychains. Just a coincidence.

Before I could fade into the background, she turned to me with a playful grin.

“You forgot this.”

I blinked as she handed me a small box of chocolates. The same kind she had been giving out all day.

“I figured you’d want one too,” she continued, her eyes bright. “Even if you’re not into all this Valentine’s stuff.”

I took the box, a little unsure of how to feel. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate it—she was always thoughtful—but something about it felt hollow, like it could’ve meant for anyone. Just another gesture, wrapped up in politeness. Still, I smiled back and took them.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a bit warmer than usual. “I didn’t forget about you either.”

I froze, surprised. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small, familiar red box—the kind of chocolates I’d seen at the store and always picked up for myself but never expected anyone to remember.

“I remember you saying you liked these,” he continued, offering the box with a casual shrug. “So, here. Happy Valentine’s.”

I stared at the box for a second, unable to believe what was happening. Caleb, the one who never paid me much attention—had remembered this one small detail. The world around me seemed to shrink, and I couldn’t find the words to respond immediately.

“Thanks,” I finally managed to say, my voice quieter than usual. I quickly looked away, suddenly aware of the heat creeping up my neck, my pulse racing.

As I held the chocolates, still reeling from the fact that Caleb had seen me, I could feel the weight of her presence next to him. She had already caught his attention again, her laugh filling the space between us as she leaned into him, brushing her hand against his arm.

And just like that, I was back to being a background character in their routine, holding chocolates, a small token that didn’t change anything.

—

It has been a week, and the tension I had tried to push down only grew stronger.

There she was, her usual energy heightened, practically bouncing into the cafeteria the next morning. “Come on!” she said, dragging me by the arm before I could even get a bite of my lunch. “You have to come watch Caleb’s game with me! It’s his biggest match of the season, and he’s asked us to be there.”

I hesitated. I wasn’t exactly a sports fan, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was just a third wheel. They were practically inseparable, and the thought of watching Caleb, the one person who made my heart do flips without even trying, while she was there at his side… well, it made my stomach twist.

“You know I don’t really like watching sports,” I said weakly, trying to pull my arm back, but she wasn’t having it.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that!” she insisted. “It’ll be fun! You’ll see. He really wants us to come!”

Before I knew it, we were heading to the gym together, my resistance fading with every step. I couldn’t escape it now.

As we found our seats in the crowded bleachers, the energy buzzed all around us. The game was intense, and the gym filled with the roar of excited fans. But despite all the noise, it felt oddly quiet for me.

There he was, in his element on the court, pulling off play after play, and the crowd was eating it up. I couldn’t help but watch him. He was so…perfect on that court. His confidence, his skills, the way he seemed to shine no matter where he was—it was undeniable.

And then I glanced over at her.

She was watching him too, her eyes glued to him as if no one else existed in the world. Her laughter echoed in the stands every time he scored. She cheered him on, high-fiving the people around her, her whole world revolving around him.

A sharp, unfamiliar sting twisted in my chest, something cold and suffocating, as if green tendrils had coiled around my heart, tightening with every passing second. It was jealousy. I knew it. I couldn’t deny it, no matter how hard I tried. But I didn’t have the right to feel it. They were friends—childhood friends.

When the game finally ended, Caleb walked off the court, a wide grin on his face. His team had won, and the crowd roared with excitement. She was already on her feet, clapping, her face lighting up as she made her way toward him.

I felt a wave of discomfort wash over me. I stayed seated, hesitating, unsure if I should follow her. I wasn’t sure I wanted to witness whatever came next. I knew it would be the same as always: her congratulating him, them laughing together, the same dynamic that had been in place for years.

And sure enough, as soon as Caleb reached her, they shared a moment that felt like it was pulled straight out of a rom-com movie. He grinned and with a playful nudge, lifted her into a quick hug, laughing.

“Great game!” she said, her voice bubbly as always.

“Thanks,” Caleb replied, his voice warm as he released her, his eyes meeting hers in that familiar way.

I stood there, watching them, the jealousy gnawing at me harder than I wanted to admit. It crept in slowly, the green tendrils seeping through the cracks of my heart, winding their way around it, squeezing until it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I tried to push it down, tried to ignore the way it twisted inside me, but it was impossible. The jealousy was there, growing more than ever.

And I couldn’t escape it.

At that moment, Caleb’s gaze shifted, landing on me where I stood off to the side. His expression softened as he began making his way over, leaving her behind in the crowd of well-wishers. I braced myself for what was coming—another small, casual acknowledgement, just like all the others.

“Hey,” Caleb greeted, his voice as easy as always. “You enjoying the game?”

“Yeah, it was great,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I forced a smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tightness in my chest. “You played really well.”

“Thanks,” he said, casually leaning against the bleachers. “I’m glad you could make it.” He gave me a small, almost nonchalant grin, and I could feel the air between us growing thinner. “You should come to the next one too. The more the merrier.”

I nodded, but inside I felt like I was shattering. His smile didn’t mean what I wanted it to. He was just being nice, casual. Like we were… just friends. That’s all it was.

Just friends.

—

I hate this.

Jealousy and I have become acquaintances.

It wasn’t always like this. At first, it was just a passing stranger, brushing against my shoulder whenever I saw them together. A quiet, fleeting thing. But over time, it settled in, got comfortable. Now, it lingers beside me like a shadow, whispering in my ear every time he laughs at one of her jokes or drapes an arm around her.

I should be used to it by now. I tell myself I don’t mind being the extra in their story, the one who watches, who listens, who smiles at all the right moments. But jealousy knows better. It sees the way my heart twists when he looks at her like she’s the only one in the world. It feels like the ache that never quite goes away.

And the worst part? Caleb is kind. So when he turns to me with that easy warmth, when he asks if I’m okay or flashes a smile just because—I almost believe it. I almost let myself think I matter, not just because I’m standing next to someone who does.

But jealousy just laughs. Because we both know the truth.

He notices everyone.

And that’s exactly why he’ll never really see me.

I almost wish he were mean. That he’d ignore me completely, never sparing me a glance. Maybe then, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Maybe then, I could convince myself I never cared in the first place. But he isn’t. He’s warm, thoughtful, and good. And that’s what makes this so much worse.

Because how do you let go of something that was never yours to begin with?

—

The rain started without warning, a sudden downpour that sent students scattering in every direction. Laughter and shrieks echoed through the courtyard as people huddled under jackets, sprinted for buses, or shared umbrellas.

I stood beneath the awning outside the school doors, watching the water hit the pavement in relentless sheets. She had left earlier for practice, and I had no umbrella, no ride—just an excuse to linger a little longer.

“You always get caught in the rain, huh, Sunshine?”

My breath hitched at the familiar voice, low and amused.

I turned, already knowing who I’d see.

Caleb stood a few feet away, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding an umbrella at his side. Stray strands of damp hair clung to his forehead, his school blazer slightly wrinkled like he had just pulled it on without care.

I scoffed. “That’s a dumb nickname.”

He smirked. “Says the one who never remembers an umbrella.” Then, without waiting for permission, he took a step closer, tilting his umbrella just enough to cover me. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”

I hesitated. But the cold air bit at my skin, and it wasn’t like I had another choice.

So I stepped in.

It should’ve been fine. Normal. We had walked together plenty of times before, always because of her. The thought sat heavy in my chest, an unspoken truth I tried to ignore.

The space under the umbrella was small. Too small. The scent of his cologne mixed with the rain, something warm and clean that made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t want to acknowledge.

We walked in silence, the rhythmic patter of raindrops filling the gaps where words should have been. It wasn’t an awkward silence—he never seemed to struggle with those. To me, though, it was suffocating, heavy with everything I’d spent so long trying to ignore.

Caleb hummed thoughtfully. “You always overthink everything, Sunshine.”

I glanced at him. “And you don’t think enough.”

He grinned. “That’s why we balance each other out.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, willing my heart to settle. We didn’t balance anything. I was just—there. A background character in his life, a passing moment he’d forget by tomorrow.

Then, just as casually as everything else he did, he reached out.

“Hold still,” he murmured.

Before I could react, his fingers brushed against my forehead, tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ear.

The touch was light, but it sent a bolt of something sharp and electric through me. The world shrank down to just that moment, just that sensation.

I could say it. Right now.

The words were right there, lodged in my throat. Three small words waiting to slip out.

But I swallowed them down before they could ruin everything.

I wanted him to be indifferent so bad. To treat me like I was just another face in the crowd, someone easily forgotten. But he didn’t. He was Caleb. Kind, thoughtful, always saying just the right thing, doing just enough to keep me hoping.

By the time we reached my house, my clothes were still dry, but my heart was drowning.

He smiled, completely unaware of what he’d just done to me. “See you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone, walking back into the rain, while I stood there, watching, waiting, wishing—soaking in everything I could never have.

–

That moment under the umbrella should have meant nothing. Just a momentary act of kindness. A small thing.

To him, it probably was. A simple gesture, something he’d done countless times without thinking.

But for me, it was the moment I realized something ugly had settled inside me. Something that stretched beyond just longing or jealousy.

It was envy.

Because she had everything.

Everything I ever wanted.

Not just Caleb, though that stung more than I wanted to admit. It was the way she moved through life—effortlessly. She was always the centre of attention, always the first choice and always the one people gravitated toward. She didn’t have to fight for anyone’s affection. She didn’t have to wonder whether she was enough. She simply was.

She was loved without question. She was accepted, admired, and celebrated.

And me?

I was the girl who blended into the background. The one whose laugh was too quiet to be heard, whose smile was lost among the crowd. The one who always had to fight to be noticed, but when she was, it felt like an afterthought.

And it had always been like that. I had always been the second best—but now? Now, it was so much worse. Every time she smiled at him, every time they shared a joke or a look that I couldn’t understand, the resentment inside me only grew. I wanted to scream, to shake her, to force her to see that I existed too, that I mattered too. But I couldn’t. She was my best friend. And so, I kept my mouth shut.

It wasn’t just about Caleb anymore. It was about everything.

It was about the way she lived in a world where everything was handed to her, where she didn’t have to second-guess her place in anyone’s life. The way people respected her for being who she was, while I was left wondering what I was doing wrong. What made me less than her?

And I hated her for it.

I hated the way she made it look so easy. I hated how every compliment she got felt like a punch to the gut. I hated how she never questioned her worth.

I couldn’t even give myself the comfort of believing I was worthy of anything.

So, I pulled away.

Not because I was hurt or heartbroken. Not because I couldn’t stand seeing them together. But because I was angry. Angry at her, angry at him, and most of all, angry at myself for constantly standing by and letting them have everything I wanted.

I avoided her calls, stopped texting back right away, and made excuses when she asked if I wanted to hang out. I found myself making plans to be somewhere, anywhere, but with her. And when she did manage to drag me somewhere, I was quiet. I’d say as little as possible, smile only when necessary, and just... disappear into the background.

It was easier that way. Less painful.

I started isolating myself. Avoiding her meant avoiding Caleb. And avoiding Caleb meant less of the painful, gnawing feeling that clawed at my chest every time I saw them together.

The worst part was that she didn’t notice. She never did.

She was so used to being the centre of attention, so used to everyone loving her, that the subtle shift in our dynamic went completely unnoticed. She never realised that the space between us had grown wider, that my silence wasn’t just me being distant—it was me retreating from a world I no longer wanted to be part of.

It was suffocating.

I couldn’t let her see. I couldn’t let anyone see how much it hurt. Because if I did, they’d know the ugly truth. That I wasn’t just a background character in their story. I wasn’t just plain.

I was jealous. And envy had become my constant companion, my closest friend.

And I wasn’t sure how to let go of it.

–

Caleb’s graduation was the moment I had been dreading and expecting all at once. The school gymnasium was decorated with streamers and balloons, the air was filled with pride and excitement. The graduating class stood at the front, Caleb among them, ready to speak as the valedictorian. He had earned the title, of course—everyone expected it.

As he stood at the podium, his easy smile and effortless charm seemed to fill the room, the crowd hanging on every word he spoke. I watched from my seat in the crowd, alongside her, face beaming with pride. So much for distancing myself. She was proud of him, and so was I, in a way. After all, he was her best friend, the boy who had been part of her life for as long as I could remember.

Caleb’s speech was inspiring, warm, and heartfelt. He spoke about friendships, dreams, and the future, words that made everyone in the room feel like they were part of something bigger than themselves. When he finished, the crowd erupted in applause, and she was already up from her seat, rushing toward him.

My eyes followed her, knowing exactly what would happen next. She was always there for him, and he, in turn, was always there for her. The bond between them was undeniable, visible to everyone. They had been friends for years, but sometimes, it felt like more than just friendship. I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider, a silent witness to the connection they shared.

And then, it happened. She reached Caleb, her smile wide, and before anyone could say anything, she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. The crowd cheered, and Caleb smiled in return, a look of fondness in his eyes. It wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t anything special—at least, not for them.

But for me, it was like a dagger in my chest.

I wasn’t jealous. I am not jealous.

I told myself it should’ve been fine. I had walked with them before, watched them interact, and laughed at their jokes, but this moment? This one was different. This one hit harder than I was prepared for. The way they looked at each other, the ease in their gestures—it was a reminder of something I’d never be a part of.

When Caleb pulled away from her, his eyes scanned the room. I could feel his gaze, and for a brief moment, our eyes met. But unlike the usual moments when he would smile, wave, or make some casual comment, this time, he simply looked away, his attention already drifting toward someone else.

No acknowledgement. No wave. Nothing.

I swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden wave of emotion. It should’ve been normal. He was just being Caleb. Kind, friendly, the same as always. But in that moment, the silence felt like a slap.

She was glowing from the attention she got from him and turned back toward me with a smile. I couldn’t bring myself to return it. I just looked at her, at the way she was so comfortable with him, and the heaviness in my chest made it harder to breathe.

I wasn’t part of their world. And deep down, I knew that was never going to change.

I stood up from my seat, moving slowly, hoping to blend into the crowd. My heart pounded in my chest, not from excitement, but from the sharp sting of realising that no matter how many times I told myself it didn’t matter, it did.

I had no place in their story. They didn’t need me. I was always going to be a side note in the narrative that was unfolding before me. The quiet, unnoticed figure in the back of the room while they moved on to bigger things.

And I would remain there, in the background, just like I always had.

Forever. Always. Unnoticed.

#꒰ა 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 .ᐟ #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #lads caleb #lnds caleb #love and deepspace fic #lads x reader #lnds x reader #caleb angst #lads angst

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brooklynbutterflyarts · 8 months ago

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rcvcgers · 3 months ago

Text

Loathe To Paint You, part one

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3

18+ MINORS DNI

next part

pairing ; rafayel x non!mc reader

synopsis ; you and rafayel are rival artists, always fighting for the spotlight. when it's revealed that rhys nixon, esteemed director of the famed art gallery the dreamscape, is looking for an artist couple who are the epitome of soulmates to be his next headliner, you and rafayel set your rivalry to the side and couple up in the hopes that you'll be chosen to be the headliner.

word count ; 7.4k words

author's note ; i would like to dedicate this part & series to a few people!!!! @zeskyzed , @kazbrkker , @jexireads . . . this is for you!!

content warning ; vulgar language, mention of an ass slap, nothing too crazy! slightly proofread! let me know if i miss anything!

my painters ✐ᝰ. ; @drowsyapple , @llamabois , @romils , @debrahhhhhhh , @kebarney , @mentaltrouble2201 , @itsmeaudrieee , @flamedancer13 , @lolightrealm , @ghoulishnero , @leeniverse , @justpassingdontworry , @yumesagashite , @m0ss-gremlin , @yunozumi , @azlyneamie099 , @m00nchildwrites , @mxkvlio , @nautismgremlin , @rafshottestgf , @blcknebula , @eve-ishu , @futurecorpse92 , @kaiii07 , @imhere2dosomething , @vyntheria , @queenkymmie

want to be a part of the taglist? click here!

The Dreamscape Art Gallery is every artist’s dream. They wish for their paintings to be chosen, to be hung on the gallery’s walls alongside other great artists. Every famous artist, known in every single country across the world and throughout the last fifty years, has been featured in The Dreamscape’s visions and exhibits.

Every exhibition they hold is otherworldly. Every detail, painting, sculpture, and layout is meticulously planned by the museum’s director, Rhys Nixon. He’s an older man now, being in his early seventies. He founded The Dreamscape when he was only twenty years old. Fifty years of excellence has made him a millionaire and has brought him worldwide fame and accolades.

Rhys is known for his kindness and sense of equality. He treats every person he meets with a gentle touch and heartwarming smile. His sense of life has been nothing but taking creative risks, treating those how you would like to be treated, and actions filled with love and splendor. He hates routine and people who play by the rules, always opting for unconventional art and sculptures that make people think. To Rhys, art should reflect the emotions of the soul while also challenging its audience to turn inward and reflect upon themselves.

The sad truth, though, is that Rhys Nixon is getting old. The Dreamscape has survived through his constant care and attention, always rotating a new theme every six months. He’s given up on so many shared memories with his children and wife, always tending to the museum and artists who fall at his feet. His children are all grown up now and are falling in love just as he did at their age. He is ready to pass down the museum to one of his children so he can live the rest of his life out in peace with his wife. Rhys wants to fall in love with his wife and family all over again before he leaves the world.

Love. What a splendid concept, no?

The Dreamscape is located on the opposite of Whitesand Bay. Rafayel is lucky to live so close by, usually taking a trip to the extravagant museum when he is need of inspiration or needs a break from Thomas and life.

The building itself is located alongside the shore, built from an abandoned warehouse. It was supposed to be a place to build ships but Rhys Nixon saw the potential for it become something better. The building is white on the outside but the inside colors change depending on the theme. It takes about a month or two to set up for the next exhibit, the floor to ceiling windows covered with navy blue satin curtains so the public cannot see what it to come. It has three floors, each one perfectly decorated and dressed for the theme.

The moon hangs low in the sky, beaming a warm yellow color. The stars in the sky are faint, quietly sparkling against the dark black sky. The brightest constellations tonight are Cygnus and Lyra, their stars brightest amongst the other faint dots. The further one gets from Linkon City, the more and more bright and exposed the constellations become.

Rafayel’s purple hair flows in the wind. He leans against the convertible’s door, the summer breeze warm against the Lemurian’s skin. The air is salty, the dark waves crashing against the tan rocks. The car drives away from Rafayel’s house in Whitesand Bay, driving through the narrow sandstone passageway. Rafayel smiles at the moon. He slowly inhales the salty breeze and closes his eyes, feeling the car turn down the road and away from his home and studio. He feels at peace.

“Promise me you aren’t going to fuck up?” Thomas asks, looking at Rafayel from the corner of his eye. The roads are clear, just a few other people passing by on their way home from the beach and back to Linkon City. Rafayel pulls down his sunglasses that sit on top of his head, covering his eyes from the bright headlights and to, well, avoid Thomas’ question. “Rafayel!”

“What?” the Lemurian whines. He sits up in his seat and pulls his sweater back over his shoulder, the knitted fabric soft against his touch.

“We can’t fuck things up tonight,” Thomas turns on the blinker and changes lanes, falling into the lefthand turn lane that enters The Dreamscape’s parking lot. Thomas looks away from the road, the car fully stopped, and narrows his eyes. “Tonight is important, okay? The future of your career is on the line—”

“My career? Now I know you’re messing with me,” Rafayel rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks in the opposite direction, the car now pulling into the large parking lot.

There aren’t many cars in the parking lot. The last night of the current exhibit at The Dreamscape is always dedicated to artists in the community and their agents. It’s a way for Rhys to find and assess new talent. To him, it’s not just the art he picks but the artist as well. No matter how talented somebody may be, Rhys will always choose the ones that are humble and kind.

“Look…I wasn’t going to tell you until we got inside, but,” Thomas parks the car. The engine shuts off and he turns to Rafayel, his face completely serious, no ounce of humor or playfulness hidden below his skin. “There’s a rumor among the other agents that Rhys’ upcoming exhibit is going to be his last. He is looking for two specific artists to fill all three floors and wants to closely work with them. It’s going to be a bloodbath when we get inside, Rafayel. If we don’t secure this for you, your—”

“What?!” Rafayel yells. Nearby artists and their agents look at the duo in their car as they walk to the art gallery. Thomas’ eyes widen. He frantically presses the button to close the convertible’s top but it malfunctions, moving back and forth, glitching. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?! I wouldn’t have worn this if I knew Rhys was on the line!”

“I didn’t want to make you nervous!” Thomas quickly retorts.

“Well, now I am! This is all your fault! This sweater is wrong and it doesn’t go with my pants! The cream color does not blend well with my pants!” Rafayel whines, frantically shrugging off his sweater, throwing it into the backseat.

All that remains is his white dress shirt underneath but the sleeves are covered in dried specks and brushes of colorful paint. Thomas reaches behind him and grabs the sweater, putting it on Rafayel’s lap. He leans over and points a finger in his face, glaring.

“You are going to put the damn sweater on and you’re going to like it! Understood?” Thomas’ breath is hot n Rafayel’s face. The painter rolls his eyes and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him. “And don’t slam my god damn doors!”

Rafayel flips Thomas off and slips the sweater back on over his shoulders. His body becomes jittery, nervousness flooding his body. He checks his fingers, quickly scratching away any leftover dried paint from that day’s work. The blues and yellows come off with ease while the reds linger behind, staining into his pale skin. Thomas catches up with him, smiling and waving to other people as he passes them by. They step in sync with each other, passing through the open doors as employees greet and hand them pamphlets of the exhibit.

Rhys’ current theme is “Messy & Sloppy.” The walls are painted pitch black. Black canvases are spread out in even increments, about teen feet away from each other, and are covered in vibrant paints. The colors mix and match, showcasing abstract expressionism at its best. With some canvases, the paint moves past the canvas and onto the walls, breaking free from its confines whereas others remain inside the small white space, barely taking up the entire piece. The lighting is bright enough for the vibrancy of the pigments to come out yet dark enough where it looks like the paintings are in 3D, popping out at its audience.

“Rhys Nixon gathered twenty artists for the exhibit,” Thomas quietly reads from the pamphlet, “and they created the art in house. It took about three weeks to complete. He would like to thank all of those who accepted his invitation to paint alongside him and his wife.”

Rafayel hates to admit it, but he is jealous of the artists that were chosen to partake in the exhibit. He would have loved to come in and join the abstract artists in creating messy masterpieces by just flicking his wrist and splattering paint onto the canvas. He wishes that he would be carefree with his art and not toss a canvas out whenever he makes a mistake. Maybe it was best that he wasn’t on the list.

“Is there anyone we know on the list?” Rafayel asks, moving to the next painting. It is mainly filled with pinks and purples, a tinge of green hitting the edges. It is reminiscent of those machines where the small pieces of paper spin around and the paint creates rims of colors around it.

“Let me check,” Thomas hums. His finger runs down the list, moving over names of artists from other countries and ones that are outside of their social circle. He stops on one name, though, and turns to Rafayel. “Bob is on here.”

“Bob?! Like…” disgust is prominent in Rafayel’s tone, his voice growing loud before he drops it below a whisper, “the guy we caught chugging a bottle of tartar sauce? That Bob?!” Thomas solemnly nods. “How the hell did Rhys pick that guppy over me? What kind of cruel joke is this?”

“I don’t know, but I am going to make for sure that he chooses you for this final exhibit, Rafayel,” Thomas nods, moving along to the next painting, “nobody will get in my way!”

“Nobody?” the painter glances at Thomas. The agent rolls his eyes and nods. “Well, at least there isn’t much competition!”

Thomas stops walking. Rafayel smiles to himself, crossing his arms, walking ahead of Thomas. When he finally notices that Thomas isn’t at his side, he turns around, rushing back over. With one eyebrow perked up and his hands on his hips, Rafayel narrows his gaze at Thomas.

“What? What could possibly have you glitching now.”

“She’s here.”

“Who is she, exactly?” Rafayel scoffs and rolls his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest. Thomas nods his head to a space behind Rafayel. The Lemurian sighs and turns on his heel, following Thomas’ gaze. When his eyes finally land on what the agent was referring to, his jaw drops.

You stand beside your agent, Abigail, and laugh along with a group of painters and agents. You hold a glass of champagne in your hand, your light red lipstick staining the rim of the glass, and reach out to touch a man’s bicep, leaning in as you laugh. Your hair is perfectly straightened and is held back by bobby pins that are adorned with, Rafayel’s hater ass is assuming, fake diamonds.

His cheeks heat up, balls fisting at his sides. His blue and pink eyes fall to your outfit, which is just plain better than his. It is effortlessly cool compared to his mess of a sweater and designer sneakers. You wear a baggy navy blue dress that is fastened at your waist with a belt, complimenting your figure. A pair of sunglasses sits on top of your head. Rafayel suddenly becomes aware of his own sunglasses and takes them off his head, hooking them into the collar of his shirt.

Rafayel clears his throat and looks back at Thomas, who slips his phone into his jacket pocket. His cheeks are pink and he avoids Thomas’ gaze, scratching the back of his neck.

He may hate you, but fuck do you look amazing.

“I can’t believe she’s here!” Rafayel turns his back to you and the group, not wanting to be seen just yet. He fixes his hair, going off of vibes and aura alone in the hopes that it looks good.

“Are we really surprised, though?” Thomas turns with Rafayel, “She is a front runner for Rhys to pick. She hasn’t been used yet, either!”

“And we’ll make for sure she isn’t!” Rafayel snaps back. He turns back around, gasping and taking a step backward.

You and Abigail stand in front of them with smiles on your faces. Abigail wears a suit similar to Thomas’, matching the cool tones of his suit jacket but is more on the vibrant side than gray. Your arms are crossed over your chest and you swirl the champagne around in its flute.

“Rafayel,” you smile, voice teasing and provocative. Rafayel places his hands on his hips, holding back a sneer.

“Long time no see,” he cocks his head to the side, “you’re like a barnacle I can’t get rid of.”

You fake a laugh, turning to Abigail who joins you. Rafayel and Thomas blink at the two of you before sneaking a side eye glance. They shift uncomfortably in their place. You stop laughing and pass off the champagne flute to Abigail. You step forward, eyes focused on Rafayel’s, only a couple of inches separating you. You reach forward and grab one of the fronts of his cardigan, giving it a gentle tug before letting go. Goosebumps spread across his skin, uncertainty tingling the back of his mind.

“I love your outfit,” your tone is dripping with sarcasm and patronization, “it makes you look like a fathead sculpin.”

Rafayel gasps. His hand smacks his chest, protecting his fast racing heart. The tips of his ears go hot. You smirk and sink back in place, taking the glass back from Abigail.

“That’s right, Rafayel, your aquatic insults will no longer swim over my head!” you announce with a proud smirk. His eyes remain wide, watching as Abigail pulls out a document from her tote bag, holding it up. A tan document sits inside a black frame.

Linkon University. Degree. Marine Biology. Your name in big, bold letters.

Rafayel turns his attention back to you. Your smirk makes his skin crawl, a frown tugging his lips down. His eyes sharpen and yet you remain unfazed, checking out your perfectly painted nails under the hanging light of the gallery. You look back to him and chuckle.

“That’s right. I’m accredited, bitch.”

“You—!” Rafayel takes a step forward but Thomas pulls him back.

“Raf. We’re in public. Calm down,” Thomas whispers the warning in his ear.

Rafayel nods and pulls away. He adjusts his cardigan and covers his torso, turning his glare back at you instead of the crowd. Your smirk turns into a smile, giving him a little finger wave. He sticks his tongue out at you.

“So! Abigail,” Thomas claps his hands together. Your agent, and best friend, turns her attention to the man, raising an eyebrow. Despite your rivalry with Rafayel, Abigail has decided to remain neutral with Thomas since they’re both agents that deal with personalities that are…larger than life. “Have you heard the rumor?”

The two of them attach themselves to each other’s sides, Thomas even going as far as offering his arm to her because he is a gentleman (and yes he is married. His wife is okay with him doing this at events okay leave Thomas alone). Abigail links her arm with his and they walk ahead of you and Rafayel.

The two of you exchange dirty looks. You turn, flipping your hair in his face before following after the two agents. Rafayel’s face scrunches up and he shoves his hands in his pants pockets, groaning as he follows in your wake. He steps in pace with you, keeping a decent amount of distance between your bodies. Thomas and Abigail’s voices float behind them, landing in your and Rafayel’s ears.

“I did! Isn’t it exciting? Scary as fuck, though, I can’t imagine how much pressure artist’s feel trying to get one of the two spots,” Abigail smiles at Thomas. They stop by a few paintings as they walk, making small comments about the colors and how creative the artist was for using the canvas.

“I’m pretty scared too! Rafayel is destroying his career because he’s a social recluse who refuses to let people buy his art — or display it for that matter — and refuses to do interviews!”

Rafayel’s head pops up. He glares at the back of Thomas’ head. You snicker from his side, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. Rafayel turns to you, glaring.

“That’s not funny!” he says in a loud whisper. You continue to laugh at him, breaking the barrier between you two and nudging into his side. He pushes back into you, though, and you stumble over your feet. You quickly regain your balance. He laughs now and turns his face away pretending to look at a nearby painting where it is nothing but white and gray paints on the canvas.

“Don’t get me started!” Abigail begins. You gasp and Rafayel’s head turns back to you, a devious smirk forming on his face. “She has no variation whatsoever! All she does is paint the same damn thing! People are getting tired of it!”

Rafayel snorts and doesn’t even cover it up. What a bitch! You smack his arm and he winces, turning to you, ready to fight back when Abigail and Thomas snap their fingers at you. The two of you stop, slowly inching away from each other.

“You two need to behave!” Abigail whisper yells.

“Rhys can be watching!” Thomas adds. “I…I can’t even look at you,” he rubs his eyes, trying to soothe away the budding headache that forms in the center of his head.

You move to laugh but Abigail shoots a glare in your direction, shutting you up as soon as you open your mouth. You swipe your tongue over your front teeth and turn to Rafayel, who glances at you with an equally annoyed and ashamed expression. Thomas and Abigail situate themselves in front of the two of you. Their eyes burn into yours, leaning in as you lean away.

“Play nice. Drink some champagne or wine or whatever fruity cocktail I know you’re going to order, Rafayel,” Thomas groans.

“Hey—!”

“Go look at the art and mingle with other artists, go scope out the competition for Rhys’ final exhibit,” Abigail continues for Thomas.

“With him?!” you point at Rafael. He audibly scoffs at you and roll his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

Thomas and Abigail circle around the two of you. They place their hands on your shoulders and push you together. Rafayel’s hip bumps into yours and the two of you share embarrassed looks. Thomas shoots the Lemurian a glare. Rafayel rolls his eyes and holds his arm out, looking away and in the opposite direction. You turn away as well, turning your chin up and into the air while you admire the ceiling. Abigail reaches out and links your arm with Rafayel’s, Thomas giving your backs a gentle push.

You and Rafayel stumble over your feet for the first couple of steps before you fall into a rhythm at his side. He guides you towards the steps, Thomas and Abigail following in your wake, and quickens his pace. You try to keep up with him, your heels dragging against the ground as feverish clacks sound off across the floor. He’s quick up the stairs, practically dragging you with him. Thomas and Abigail share quiet laughs.

When you reach the last step, the tip of your heel catches against the step. A gasp flies from your lips, your grip on Rafayel’s arm tightening. He looks down at you, one eyebrow raising in the air, before the momentum from your fall brings him down to the floor with you.

You land face first on the ground. Rafayel tumbles on top of you, your arms becoming an amalgamated mess.

The room falls silent. Hell, even the person in charge of the playlist at the event stops the music! All eyes are on you and Rafayel. He whines in your ear, matching the ringing you hear. His purple hair tickles your forehead, hands resting on either side of your head as he pushes up from the ground. You move onto your back, looking up at him with a large red circle on your forehead from where you hit the ground. Your eyes are half-lidded, somewhat dizzy from the fall. Rafayel’s mouth falls open when he looks at the red spot on your head, a laugh escaping his lips.

“I would ask you how many fingers I’m holding up but I think the only thing you’re seeing are floating pufferfish,” Rafayel quietly snorts.

You scrunch your face at him and throw a weak punch to his chest. You cover your face with your hands, remaining on the ground as he gets up, standing on the step below the top. He brushes himself off, the dust falling onto your crumbled body, and steps over you, smiling and waving at nearby artists who watch with amused faces.

You sit up from the ground, a glare burning into the back of Rafayel’s head. Abigail leaps up the stairs and drops to your side. She helps you up. You brush the dust off of your body and fix your dress.

“Did I flash anyone?” you ask in a hushed whisper.

“No, your spanx covered everything,” Abigail teases. You roll your eyes as she grabs a nearby glass from a silver plate, pushing the cool glass up against your forehead. A mortified Thomas walks up to you, placing his hand on your elbow.

“I am so…so terribly sorry for Rafayel’s behavior,” his cheeks are flushed pink from embarrassment, “I swear, I need to keep him on a leash like a toddler.”

“Or train him like a dog or cat—”

“I think he prefers aquatic animals to land creatures,” Thomas and you share a breathless, half-hearted laugh.

“Yeah?” you smile before it immediately falls, “then he really is a fathead sculpin.”

You take your leave from Thomas’ side, making a beeline for Rafayel’s side. He looks at a blue and white painting, one that took inspiration from the wave sin the sea. Well, that’s what the pamphlet told you, at least.

Rafayel’s gaze sharpens when he feels your arm link back with his, tugging him to your side. He lets out a puff of air and turns his chin away from you, crossing his arms, which in turn makes your arms be at chest level instead of at your side. You force a smile through the adjustment, though, and look up at the purple haired man.

“Aw, they’re cute together!” an oh so ignorant person asks from behind Thomas and Abigail. They laugh in sync, shaking their heads before turning around. The woman blinks at them. A few other people catch on to Thomas’ and Abigail’s laughter and float over. All of their eyes move to you and Rafayel.

“No,” Thomas sighs, grabbing a champagne glass for himself and Abigail as the server passes by. He hands it over and brings it to his lips, drinking the golden liquid. “They are definitely not cute.”

“Whatever the opposite of what ‘cute’ is, that’s what they are,” Abigail chimes in.

“Ugly, plain, unattractive, hideous, a fucking train wreck,” Thomas finishes his glass.

The group’s eyes follow you and Rafayel as you move to the next piece of art on the wall. He leans down and whispers something into your ear. A squeak comes from the forming group. Everyone leans in, dragging in a collective breath. When Rafayel’s face is pushed away by your hand, the group exhales and relaxes into their spots.

“How did they meet?” another person in the group asks. Abigail sighs and drinks the rest of her champagne, looking at someone else in the growing group. She hands them her empty flute and they replace it with a glass filled with red wine. She nods with an impressed smile and tips the glass to them.

“It’s a long story,” she breathes out.

“Is it, though?” Thomas shoots back. Abigail rolls her eyes and take a deep sip from the glass. “Well…their complicated friendship started two years ago on Rafayel’s twenty-second birthday…”

Rafayel stands in front of a large painted canvas. A proud smile lays on his face, one arm crossed over his chest while the other holds up his chin. His purple and blue eyes scan the dark pigmented paints, the blues and reds calling out to him from his spot against the light wooden floors. He tilts his head from side to side, taking in the painting from a new angle.

You stand from behind but you don’t observe the piece, no, you observe him instead. You tilt your head with him, a small smile forming on your face. Boldly, you take a few step forwards and take the place at his side, hands behind your back. Rafayel doesn’t look at you. His eyes remain on the pain strokes on the canvas.

“So,” you begin in a calm, cool, and collected tone, “what do you think about the piece?” Your gaze flickers down to the small piece of paper that displays your name beside the painting. Pride fills chest, knowing that you have worked so hard to get one of your paintings to be displayed in a prominent art gallery, even if it is in a desert city like Aridum.

“It’s grotesque,” Rafayel’s voice is intrigued, filled with wonder and awe. “It defies all rules of art. There’s standards and this…” he makes a ‘tsk’ sound, “does not follow those standards.”

You, on the other hand, take his ‘compliment’ as an insult. Your face immediately sours and you turn to face him.

Smack!

Rafayel gasps, finally looking down at you. He places his hand over his arm on top of the spot that you hit him. You smirk and flip your hair over your shoulder, looking back at the painting. Rafayel laughs from shock and complete and utter disbelief. He diverts his gaze to look around the art gallery.

Nobody saw your surprise attack, nobody even flinched!

His jaw drops. The Lemurian swivels back to you. Without thinking, he reaches out and pinches your arm. You gasp and face him. He has the same smug smirk you wore just seconds earlier. You slap his arm again. He slaps your arm back. You hit him again, a hit in which he returns. The two of you begin to fight now, exchanging blows and slaps.

There’s a slap to the face! A punch to the stomach! A half-opened hand to the groin! Did Rafayel just slap your ass?

The two of you fall to the ground and roll around, bumping into nearby patrons as you pull on his hair and he scratches into your skin. Your yells and screams fill in the quietness of the art gallery.

“What the fuck are you even talking about? That’s not how it went!”

The group turns to look at Abigail. They lean in towards her and away from Thomas, who crosses his arms over his chest with an eye roll. Abigail chuckles and waves the group in closer. They follow her silent instructions like an obedient puppy dog.

“This is how it really went…”

You stand in front of your painting with your arms crossed over your chest. You wear a prideful smile on your face, eyes trailing over the painted lines on your red and blue coated canvas. The colors merge together and form a dark purple, although in the darker lighting of your studio it looked brown, and forms into the shape of a woman sobbing on the floor.

You gasp. Your shoulder lurches forward as Rafayel pushes past you. He reaches up to the wall, his hands grabbing the sides of the golden painted frame that hold your painting. The Lemurian rips it off the wall. A screech flies from your lips. He turns around and begins to walk away before you snatch the other side of the frame from him.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you yell at the man. He leans in, his torso now hovering over the large canvas.

“This belongs at the bottom of the sea! It’s hideous! We need to drown it!” he tugs on the painting.

The two of you take a few steps in his direction. Your fingers curl over the frame and pull back on it, moving back in your direction.

“It is not hideous!” your voice raises, “It is art! And art is subjective, motherfucker!”

“Mother…motherfucker?!I am not a motherfucker!” Rafayel screams back.

“Yeah?! Well you look like a bitch and a half then!” your retort is quick and sharp. It pierces Rafayel’s heart. His posture straightens, grip tightening on the frame so hard that the wood splinters. The man pulls on the painting and you pull back. His grip inches up the frame, moving closer to yours side. The two of you move in a circle, slowly picking up speed as you hurl insults at each other.

“Bitch!”

“Pufferfish!”

“Blobfish!”

“Asshole!”

“I bet your penis is microscopic!”

“Yeah? Well it’s bigger than yours!”

The room gasps. You let go of the painting, hands slapping over your mouth. The canvas tilts up with such force that it smashes over Rafayel’s head. The canvas stops right below his shoulders. His blue and pink eyes are wide, looking down at you. He clears his throat and adjusts his stance, relaxing with his hands on his hips while the canvas acts as a new fashion trend around his shoulders.

“Well…at least it’s destroyed now!”

“And now here we are!” Abigail proclaims with a smile. She finishes the wine in her glass and sets it down on a nearby table. “They have been rivals ever since that day!”

“You are so fucking ridiculous,” Thomas points his finger at Abigail who holds her hands up in the air as a defense against his words. “I mean, they are rivals, yes, but that’s not what went down between them. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Oh and yours isn’t?” she quips back, crossing her arms over her chest.

The group is suddenly bigger now with you and Rafayel out of sight, now on the third floor. Their eyes move back and forth between Thomas and Abigail as if they are at a tennis match where the current rally is tension filled and never-ending. If they didn’t know any better, they would think that they are the real enemies here instead of being really, really, really passionate allies.

“So, are they dating?” an older man’s voice rings out. Thomas snorts and looks inside his champagne flute, the glass now void of its golden beverage.

“Oh, no, they—” Abigail goes silent. Thomas looks at her, amused. Her eyes are big and wide, lips formed in a small frown, gulping away her sorrows. He shifts back and forth on his heels, slowly turning around to finish her answer.

“No, they are—” Thomas’s eyes shoot open. He stumbles over his words, incoherent blabbering now leaving his mouth. The large group that blossomed for your and Rafayel’s rival origin story now vanishes. The once gargantuan group disperses, a lot of the artists and agents flocking to nearby paintings and pretending to be invested in the abstract artwork. “They are…uh…” Thomas looks at Abigail. She’s of no use, completely frozen.

“They…they are not dating?” Rhys Nixon smiles at Thomas, hands resting on top of a simple black cane, leaning on it for support. “That’s a shame. I would have loved to talk to them about my next exhibit—”

“Yes!” Thomas breathes out, clapping his hands together. Rhys raises an eyebrow. He takes a step closer to the agents. Their hearts race in their chests the closer the famed art director gets. Thomas gulps and Abigail grabs his wrist, nails digging into the fabric of his silver-blue suit sleeve. “Yes! They are dating! I’m sorry for the confusion, Mr. Nixon.”

“Please,” Rhys extends his hand, Thomas immediately taking it, “call me Rhys!”

‘O-Okay, Rhys!” Thomas beams. “My name is Thomas and I am Rafayel’s agent!” Abigail pushes Thomas to the side and is the next one to shake Rhys’ hand.

“And I’m Abigail! I’m her agent! She adores your curations, truly!” the woman gushes over the elderly man. Rhys’s chuckle is gravelly yet is filled with warmth and delight. It puts both Thomas and Abigail at ease.

“Do you mind introducing me to them? I would love to discuss my final exhibit as The Dreamscape’s art director.”

“Yes! Of course! Follow us, please!” Thomas steps to the side, holding his arm out for Rhys to pass by. Abigail and Thomas attach themselves to Rhys’ side, helping him walk up the stairs to the third floor where you and Rafayel stand.

The third floor is empty. There’s a few sculptures scattered across the barren wasteland. The walls are lined with more canvases but the art pieces themselves are more conservative within the abstract style. Rafayel observes the pieces, humming to himself, while you stand by the large glass window that overlooks the sea. You sigh heavily. The lights from the building illuminate the nearby waves, the white bubbles from the collision capturing your attention.

Rafael’s attention soon turns to you. A faint smile spreads across his face. Je never knew you that you liked the ocean so much. Every time you ran into each other in Whitesand Bay, he always caught you looking out at the waves, a sense of longing in your eyes.

The Lemurian steps forward, silently closing the distance between you. His eyes catch how your smile grows when there’s a particularly large wave of water that crashes against the sandstone rocks. He stands right behind you. He can feel the warmth from your body on his chest, chills running down his spine. He tilts his head to the side, admiring your side profile.

He wonders how your features would look on a canvas but in his style instead of yours.

“You know, I can always throw you into the ocean if you want me to,” Rafayel’s voice is close to your ear. You shriek and jump, your hand backhanding him across his face.

“Fuck! You scared me!” your voice is loud and trembles. Rafayel stumbles backwards, holding his face in his hands. “Please tell me I didn’t break your nose! I didn’t mean to hit you that hard! You were just…there!” You reach out for him but he takes a step back, shaking his head no. You obey his silent command and stay where you are, watching as he slowly uncovers the bottom half of his face.

His nose isn’t broken, at least it doesn’t look like it, but his cheek is definitely a bright red color with a hint of purple shining through. You flinch and close your eyes, shaking your head, the stinging sensation somehow attaching itself to your cheek now.

“What?!” Rafayel’s voice is loud and trembly, “Is it bad?! How badly did you fuck me up?!”

“It could be worse! It could be a lot worse!” you immediately respond. You turn to face the stairs, giving him some privacy for whatever reason.

Well, the actual reason being that you’re so fucking embarrassed that you just did that to him. You hate the guy and his stupid fucking fish-themed guts, but you would never want to purposefully and physically hurt him! Just his career…and pairings…and the occasional sculpture he comes up with every now and then to try and one up you.

Thomas and Abigail’s head pop out from over the stairs. You sigh and wave to them, but they wear an expression on their face that tells you that something is simply amiss. Your face falls. Rafayel’s footsteps grow loud behind you, his presence becoming all too familiar at your side. Your cheeks heat up and you avoid his gaze, feeling his disappointment and annoyance burning into the side of your head.

“And here are the lovebirds!” Abigail declares with a bright smile.

Rafayel and yours faces contort from confusion. With a shared glance, you watch as Thomas and Abigail appear over the stairs with the one and only Rhys Nixon. Abigail walks ahead, her hands frantically waving at the two of you and hidden from Rhys’ sight. She mouths three words to you and Rafayel.

You. Are. Dating!

“What?” you whisper. She shakes her head as Rafayel takes a step away from you. She rushes to his side and bumps her hip into his, your bodies colliding, and she wraps his arm around your waist like a pro before Rhys can notice.

“Ah! Hello you two!” Rhys smiles. You return it, feeling Rafayel’s grip on your waist tighten. You clear your throat and nudge your elbow into his side before moving your arm around his torso. “How is the lovely couple doing?”

“The lovely couple!” you repeat his words with a shocked laugh. You look up at Rafayel, who looks completely bewildered despite the grin that spreads across his lips. You turn look at Thomas, who stands behind Rhys, furiously typing on his phone. “The lovely couple is……doing well!”

“Yes! They are!” Abigail chimes in, stepping in front of you two just as Thomas passes off his phone to Rafayel.

He wants a couple to headline his next exhibit. You two fuckers are dating! Act like it!

You blink at the message, struggling to understand before Rafael slips the phone into his pocket. He pulls you closer to his side, fingers curling into your dress and body. You gulp. Abigail steps back out of the way, no longer eclipsing the happy couple.

“What happened there?” Rhys chuckles, using his cane to gesture to Rafayel’s freshly bruised face.

“Oh! That!” Rafayel’s laugh is effortless and cool. It didn’t come off as unnatural or forced, but rather genuine and wholehearted. “My silly cutie here got a little too excited when she saw the beautiful view from up here!”

A belly laugh booms from Rhys’ mouth. Everyone else joins in with his laugh, exchanging awkward glances and winks from the agents behalf. His laughter dies down and he places his cane back down onto the floor, resting some weight onto it.

“How long have you two been together for?” Rhys’ question makes you and Rafayel look at each other with puckered lips and narrowed eyes.

“Um…great question, first of all,” you gush, buying the two of you time. “We met two years ago at a gallery!”

“Yes! And I asked her to be my girlfriend a year later!”

“So…you have been together for a year?” Rhys leans in. The two of you nod and exchange timid smiles and nods.

“Yup! She’s my little guppy!” Rafayel laughs.

“Yes! And he is my…” you pause, swallowing as you try to come up with something, “he is my…fathead sculpin?”

“Now that is just wonderful!” Rhys turns to your agents, who feverishly nod. When he turns back to you, they signal for you to keep going with thumbs up. “Your wonderful agents were telling everyone your meet cute! It caught my attention and, well, I thought I would introduce myself and extend an invitation to be courted.”

“Courted?” you repeat. He nods.

“Yes…as you may know, my next exhibit shall be my last. I want it to be a testament to the time and energy I have put into The Dreamscape as well as a celebration of my love for the art community and my family,” Rhys sighs.

He walks to a nearby painting, one that has bright pinks and reds and purples on it. Rafayel guides you over to him, settling in the space beside him. You pinch his waist. He lets out a quiet ‘oof’ before pinching you back, your hips pushing into his as you try to escape his touch. When Rhys turns around, the two of you immediately return to normal and smile at him.

“Love. That is the final theme,” he nods a knowing nod, “I know it may be cheesy, but I have never done it before. I wish for a couple to fill up all three floors The Dreamscape. I want to see their passion and desire for each other on these walls. I also want it to tell a story…your stories. How you fell in love.”

“That sounds like a wonderful theme, Mr. Nixon,” you breathe out.

Your words are genuine. If you weren’t stuck in a fake relationship with Rafayel and in a real one with someone else. Another creative who matches your artistic genius — one that is not Rafayel — and is there to push you past your limits instead of holding you back

“Thank you, young lady,” Rhys nods his head and takes a step closer to you and Rafayel. “I need to make for sure that the couple I choose are pure and not in it just to be featured in the gallery. I wish it to be as genuine as possible. There are many others who have already tried to be my…perfect couple, but I can sense that there is something real between you two...I need the epitome of soulmates for my final work. Nothing more, nothing less!”

Rafayel pinches your waist. You chuckle and look up at him, face scrunched and disguised as a loving face when in actually you’re silently planning for his demise.

“See! That is what I’m talking about! The love you share!” Rhys beams. “I’ll be in contact with your agents about meeting again soon, yes?” The two of you nod. “Wonderful! I will see you soon, then!”

Rhys bows his head and walks off. You wave, watching as the elderly man is helped down the stairs by Thomas. Once he is out of sight and Abigail gives a thumbs up, you shove the Lemurian away from you and shudder.

“Too close!” you quietly squeal. “Now I have your douche perfume all over me!”

“Okay, first of all: rude! Second of all: bitch! My perfume is delightful! It carries the scent of the sea with hints of—”

“Rafayel, shut the fuck up,” Thomas rushes over. The four of you stand in a circle. You stand across from Rafayel and stare at his face, memorizing the way a crease forms between his furrowed brows and the way he pouts when his agent chastises him. He turns his head and your eyes meet for a split second before you turn away, a blush creeping up on your cheeks.

“So, you heard the man,” Abigail takes a deep breath. “You two are a couple until this whole thing is over…or until he doesn’t pick you then we can stage a very convenient break-up to convince him that the stress was just too much. Maybe we can guilt him into giving us some connections, you know, gain something from this!”

“That’s horrible, but I agree!” Thomas points at Abigail. “We need to keep this charade going. Think you two can handle it?” Before either of you can disagree, Thomas claps his hands and smiles. “Great! Now, I’ll be in touch with Abigail about making you two appear more…loving with each other.”

Thomas takes Rafayel’s arm and yanks it back around your waist. He gasps and his cheeks turn pink. The agents furiously fix your appearance; they fix your hair and cover up the bruise on Rafayel’s face with a smudged kiss from your red lipstick (thank you, Thomas), and even switch around a few accessories to make it seem like you two share everything. Once they are down, they push you in the direction of the stairs, ready to feed you to the wolves.

Both of you hesitate when you reach the top step. Rafayel’s hand is at home on your love handle, dangerously close to your ass while your arm is wrapped around his torso and your other hand rests on his chest. You gulp. His body trembles, just ever so slightly, and you take a deep breath in sync. With one final look, the two of you nod, stepping down the first step.

Rhys’ courtship will only be a few weeks, right? He’ll probably only have a few meetings here with you two here and there. A simple few interrogations to try and weed out the phonies from the real couples. You and Rafayel descend into a minefield, a no man’s land where your only ally is each other.

Buckle up, fuckers, because oh my, my! What a ride this is going to be!

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 i love seeing what y'all have to say! <3

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