#string of oceans apart

[parasafterdark]

Sometimes you build a kink into the worldbuilding to indulge yourself and sometimes worldbuilding will produce a kink you just have to kinda sorta deal with now >.>

[parasafterdark]

OA!Captain doing a regular Health Check on OA!Shal

Softly feeling over it's gums to determine how far along teeth regrow is.

Checking it's gills for tearing and inflammation.

Deciding that it's ok to cut it's claws down instead of doing another extraction.

Because OA!Shal has been good lately. Pliant. Quiet. Obedient.

I am going to imagine a scene between two deeply fucked-up characters that is so improbably tender

[blushsturns]

Cling, whiny Matt who just wants his girlfriends attention so bad

title: down bad

warnings: this work contains graphic content, but it is all consensual! sub!matt, titty play, lots of touching, kissing, unprotected p in v, tons of whining, pure filth.

w/c: 3150

matt was feeling extra clingy today. he knew you had to get ready for work in a couple minutes and he didn’t want you to leave at all. you had a short shift today, but any time spent apart from you made him miss you terribly.

he wrapped his arms around your middle to pull you closer to his body, an attempt to keep you close and secure against his chest so you were locked in his embrace.

“please don’t go, baby. i need you.” matt whined against the nape of your neck, breathing in your intoxicating scent and peppering soft kisses against your delicate skin.

you hummed softly at the feeling of his lips against your skin with your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingers moving up to tangle through his tousled locks. “baby, you know i have work in an hour.”

“not if you call in sick, mama.” his whiny voice almost made you feel bad, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. he didn’t want you to go and it seemed like he would do everything in his power to make sure you stay right here in his arms with him and not go anywhere.

to be honest, you loved seeing matt like this; clingy, soft, whiny, damn near submissive. it was like you had this powerful capability to make matt feel this way and you loved every second of it.

“matty, you know i can’t do that. they need me, remember?” you ran your fingers through his hair as you stared down at him, your chest pressed up against his to allow a bit of cleavage from your tank top to be visible to his ocean blue eyes.

his eyes scanned down to your chest, his eyes widening in surprise as your pretty plump cleavage is on display for his eyes only. he gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing in the process as his eyes stay fixated on your chest. he fucking loved your tits. he loved playing with them, sucking on them, biting and marking them with little love bites. he could sleep on them all night instead of his pillow if he could.

you watched him stare at you longingly, your lips curving up into a devious smirk. normally this kind of thing would make your body melt and your heart swoon, but when matt was acting clingy, it was hard not to baby him and allow him to fully let his submissive side show.

he looked back up at you and into your eyes with a shy smile evident on his face. “but i need you more, baby. please stay with me?” his words came out of his mouth like a desperate plea, begging you to stay home with him and not go anywhere at all. he moved his hands to grip onto your hips to hold your body in place against him, the pass of his thumbs rubbing smooth, slow circles against your exposed hip bones underneath the fabric of your tank top.

it pulled on your heart strings to hear him beg like this and all because he didn’t want you to leave. a soft sigh emits from your lips before eventually giving in and nodding your head at his question. “okay, i’ll stay with you since you’re so persistent on needing me.” you flashed him a slight smirk, your hand moving away from his hair and down to his cheek, caressing the slight stubble with the pad of your thumb. “my precious boy.”

matt’s cheeks grow warm, a slight pink tint forming against his cheekbones as a wide smile appears onto his face. he pulls you even closer to him, his lips back on your neck as he murmurs his undying gratitude for you, thanking you for staying with him.

with his body so close up against yours, you begin to notice the slight poke pressing against your thigh in between your bodies. you didn’t even have to ask what it was, or take a peak between the both of you. matt was growing hard in the fabric of his sweatpants and boxers and it immediately made heat pool into your tummy at how rapidly it happened.

you moved your hand in between the both of you, your smirk only widening as you immediately grasp onto the hardening bulge in his pants with the palm of your hand. “is this what you meant by needing me, matty?” you quirk your eyebrow up at him, a teasingly sly smirk staying present on your lips.

he nodded his head, his cheeks only growing a darker shade of red and radiating heat as the seconds pass. he bit down onto his bottom lip nervously before back up at you, flashing you a shy smile. “yes, but i also always need you, baby.”

you shake your head in disbelief and click your tongue, a soft laugh emitting from your lips. “kinda pathetic don’t you think? poor baby can’t even spend a couple hours without me and goes hard for me within seconds.” your hand grasps onto his cock in his sweatpants as you begin to palm him through the fabric which causes a low moan to leave his lips.

matt immediately pushes his hips up into the touch of your hand, his breathing beginning to become heavier as the seconds pass by. “mama, please.” he whines out in a desperate plea, his hands moving up your shirt underneath the fabric of your tank top and instantly cups your breasts through the fabric of your bra. his hand tugs your bra down and immediately uses the pads of his thumbs to run across your hardened nipples. “need it.”

his touch made you gasp softly with a shudder running down your spine at the sensation rolling through you. you felt your underwear through your shorts becoming drenched with your own slick arousal, the familiar heat pooling in your tummy. “need what, hm?” you asked him as you look up at him with darkened eyes and lust filling your gaze.

you pulled away only slightly so you can slip your own shirt off and unclasp your bra to get it out of the way, throwing it onto the ground carelessly. he took the initiative to remove his own shirt as well. your breasts press up against his now bare chest, your hand moving back down to grasp his evident hardening cock through the fabric of his sweatpants.

a whiny moan escaped his lips as your hand made contact with his cock once again. what a desperate, needy thing. the tip of his cock was leaking precum and managed to leave a wet spot right in the front of his sweatpants. his cock twitched beneath your hand as you continued to palm him through the fabric, your eyes focusing in on your own movements of your hand against him. the wet spot on his pants was just a reminder of how needy he truly was for you and only made your pussy throb with the thrill of excitement.

“need you, mama. want you to ride me and take full control. please?” he whined out desperately, rutting his hips effortlessly into your hand and let out a hiss through clenched teeth followed by a breathy moan as you squeezed his hardened cock.

it was like it was his body became weightless, or maybe you just somehow gained the amount of strength you needed as you pushed him flat down onto his back and immediately crawled between his legs as you perched yourself up onto your knees. you flashed him a sly smirk, licking over your lips hungrily as you stared him up and down, scanning over his beautiful body in front of you. “such a needy little thing aren’t you, baby?” you cooed teasingly, bringing your fingers up to place underneath the hem of his sweatpants and his boxers to pull them down his legs and off his body.

his hardened, leaking cock immediately sprung free, making your mouth practically water. the tip of his cock was shiny and pink, leaking with precum. you immediately wrapped your fingers around his cock from the base and moving up to his tip, the pad of your thumb running across his leaking tip to smear the precum against his shaft to lather him up.

you brought your thumb up to your own lips and immediately placed it between your lips to get a taste of his sweet, indulgent taste. you moaned at the taste as you flicked your tongue against your thumb to lick it clean. your own pussy throbs in excitement and making your panties soaked from your glistening wet arousal.

he watched you in awe as you seemed to be enjoying yourself fully, sucking on your own thumb with the taste of him on you. you pulled your thumb away from your lips with a sight pop, flashing him a slight smirk. “taste so good for me, baby, but i think we need to see if you can handle this pussy all around your precious, pretty cock. what do you say, hm?” you pulled your shorts and underwear off your body, a slight gasp emitting from your lips from feeling how fucking soaked you are, your glistening wet arousal now on full display.

his eyes scan your body before falling onto your beautiful pussy in front of him, a soft whine leaving his lips. “such a pretty fucking pussy, baby. look at her.” he cooed eagerly as he stared at your dripping center, licking over his own lips hungrily.

you giggle softly, a light pink tint creeps onto your cheeks at his words before moving your body over to his waist to straddle him and immediately began grinding your slick arousal against his groin. the feel of his hardened cock probing at your thigh was driving you insane but you wanted to keep working him up until he was a crying, whiny mess.

your heart was beating rapidly in your chest from the anticipation as you continued to grind your pussy against him, the friction making you moan and allow you to throw your head back against your shoulder. he was enjoying this, using one of his hands to grip your hip and the other to travel down in between your legs to run his middle finger along your glistening wet folds. he groaned as his finger immediately becomes coated with your slick arousal. your eyes fall shut, a soft moan leaving your lips at the feeling of his finger against your soaking wet folds.

he pulls your body closer to him so that your breasts are flush against his chest. matt moves his hand away from your center and brings his finger to your lips which you gladly accept. you grab onto his wrist as his finger slides into your mouth, your tongue rolling along your own slick arousal that coated his finger moaning softly in satisfaction at the taste. he watched you in complete and utter awe, his cock twitching against your thigh in anticipation. you pull his finger out of your mouth with a soft pop sound, flashing him a soft smirk before licking over your own lips to taste your sweet juices. “damn no wonder we make such a hot couple. we both taste good as fuck.”

you leaned down to press your lips against his deeply so he can get a taste of you on your own lips. he moaned into the kiss, kissing you passionately and deeply, full of want and desire. you began to suck onto his bottom lip, your teeth nibbling against his bottom lip as he parts his lips to allow permission for your tongue to slide through. your tongues battle for dominance, both of your combined muffled moans leaving an echo throughout the four walls.

matt moves his hand to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing your hardened nipple in slow circles before tweaking it with his index finger causing a louder moan to escape your lips and your body to grind forward against him. “fuck.” you whisper breathlessly as you pull away from his lips to catch your labored breathing, your forehead resting onto his. “you gonna beg for me, sweet boy?”

he nods his head at your words, his breathing also heavy as he ruts his hips against you, his cock probing against your thigh repeatedly. he groans at the friction, his cock twitching immensely by the second. “need to feel you around me, mama. please. want to feel your tight, soaking wet pussy around my cock. need it so bad, please.” his words spilled out of his mouth as pleas, whines emitting from his lips right after as you immediately grasp onto his aching hard cock and begin aiming it directly to your soaking wet cunt, rubbing his tip up and down against your drooling pussy.

you could continue to tease him a bit more, but your own pussy was throbbing immensely to the point where it felt like complete and utter torture. you decided to give in to his pleas, since they were only turning you on even more. without hesitation, you sink down onto his cock inch by inch until he’s suddenly buried inside of you. your eyes widened in surprise as you get used to the fullness inside of you, a soft moan leaving your lips.

matt immediately throws his head back against the pillow behind him, gripping onto your waist as your legs spread on top of him to straddle him comfortably. “fuck, ma.” he groaned out, his fingers digging into your hip bones causing you to moan out in pleasure, your eyes slipping closed. you lean your head onto your shoulder as you begin to move your hips up and down against him, feeling him slide even deeper inside of you.

your tight walls immediately clench around his thickness as you start to ride him, bouncing up and down onto his cock as you feel his cock twitching and throbbing inside of you. “oh fuck, you’re so big aren’t you baby? filling me up so nice and full.” your voice was full of need, desire, lust. his cock felt so good around you, like it was made just for you.

you opened up your eyes to watch him as he laid there and grabbed ahold of your hips to hold you place as you bounced onto his cock, the bed squeaking and the headboard ramming into the wall. he moved his hand up to your chest to grasp onto your breast as they jiggled and bounced around with each and every thrust of your hips. he tweaked and tugged onto your hardened nipple as an enticing moan falls from your lips.

“oh fuck, mama. feel so good.” he moaned out, both of his hands now grabbing ahold of your pretty tits and pulling and tweaking your hardened nipples as you bounce up and down onto his hardened cock causing heat to pool in your tummy and electricity to course through your veins.

you roll your hips against him, stuttering your hips for a moment to feel him slide even deeper inside of you until he begins to hit your g-spot at a rapidly rising pace, a louder moan leaving your lips. “bet you love this don’t you? would’ve missed this tight little pussy if i went to work.” your words come out within breathless gasps, your hands moving to his shoulders to hold yourself up, your blunt fingernails digging into his skin causing him to groan out in pleasure.

he moves his hand to your center, his index and middle finger finding your swollen, soaking wet clit and begins to rub it at a furious pace, making your moans become louder, more erratic. “fuck, matty!” you scream out, throwing your head back while your heart beats rapidly in your chest, sweat glistening across your chest and your forehead.

matt whines as he continues to rub your clit in time with your thrusts, his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over again. “c-can i cum, mama? need to cum.”

you could hear how wet you were, your gummy walls clenching around his cock each and every time you bounced down onto his cock. louder moans escaped your lips, fire coursing throughout your veins. your orgasm was rapidly approaching and you weren’t sure how much longer you were going to last. your fingers digging into his skin as you held onto him while continuing to ride him. you roll your hips along him, feeling his cock sliding in and out of your tight heat. you move your head up to press your lips against his once again, murmuring against them, “yes, baby, you can cum. gonna cum in my tight little pussy baby? you know you want to. come on, be a good boy and fill me up with your cum.”

matt groans out in pure ecstasy, his body shaking against you as he thrusts his hips up into yours several times, his vision going white as he throws his head back to allow a string of profanities and groans to leave his lips. “f-fuck!” he whined out desperately as he begins to fill you up with his cum to the brim, his head lolling to the side as he shakes through his intense orgasm.

“good boy, that’s my good boy. so good for me.” you moan out breathlessly, your body shaking as you feel the same familiar sensation forming in the pit of your tummy. he continued to rub your clit in fast, haste circles while you continue to roll your hips against him. “i’m gonna cum baby.” you groan out your words, rolling your hips along. you feel the pressure snap inside of you and suddenly the pleasure intensifies as your gummy walls clench tightly around his cock, milking him completely and utterly dry.

your vision goes white while your eyes close, your orgasm rolls through you, a string of moans leaves your lips while he rubs your swollen clit to rock you through your intense orgasm.

your body shakes against him, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold yourself up, your breathing fairly labored as you cling onto him, your glistening skin sticking against his as you hold him tightly. he presses soft kisses to the nape of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent, letting out a soft whine while holding your body close. “i’m so glad you stayed home with me today. thank you, my love.”

“you’re just down bad for me aren’t you, baby?” you ask him as you pull away from his neck to flash him a teasing smirk, your fingers moving up to run through his tousled locks.

“mm, always.” he replies with a wide grin, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before continuing, “never leave me and this bed.”

you weren’t planning on it. ever.

maybe you were down bad, too.

notes: thank you for the request! send any requests to my inbox! thank you for reading! love you guys.

taglist:

@sturnshood @strangelife122 @jessie-essie @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturnslutz @sturns-mermaid @matthewsturnsgf @christmastreecake @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @oopsiedaisydeer @sophand4n4 @xclusivedesires @mattsplaything @poppingmypussy4chris @mattsbunnyxx @pair-of-pantaloons @chrissweetheart @slutformatt17 @sturnl0ve @pasteldreams @h3arts4harry @marrykisskilled @wh0remikasas @sturnzslut @camzeecorner @alesturniolos @emely9274 @2muchofaslvt @y3sterdaysproblem @sturnslux3 @bowsandsturniolos @moustacherryismyhusband @rafesapprentice @ivysturnss @headzgonewest @strawberryghost3 @il0vey0um0st @violetstxrniolo777 @bigbeefybitch @raesturns @courta13 @sofieeeeex @tylerthecreatorsglazr @kittyyyyykats @sturniolochrismatt

-nessa ღ

[dreamofjoys]

— 𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙀𝙂𝙂𝙎

Synopsis: Neuvillette has finally decided to lay his eggs in your womb

C/W: Oviposition, egg laying(5), afab, established relationship, a little bit of domestic moments, double d's cause why not, double penetration, mention of pain, belly bulging, cockwarming

A/N: Dragon people are into oviposition... i just know...

DO NOT READ / DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH SUCH CONTENT! I WILL BLOCK YOU IF YOU MAKE ANY NEGATIVE COMMENTS (esp when I already stated the warnings) minors go away please.

NEUVILLETTE was gentle when he spread your sticky thighs apart, allowing his shaft to easily re-enter your sex again due to the lubrication of your fluids. He had spent hours stretching your hole out with his fingers and cocks, resulting to you constantly cumming and making a mess all over him.

The hydro dragon doesn't seem to mind. Instead, he pushes your back to the bed, positioning you in a missionary position while he fucks you with both of his dicks. "Sh-shit agh Neuvi, fe-feels so good!" Your eyes rolled to the back when his dicks hits onto your cervix with dead accuracy, his balls slapping onto your folds providing extra stimulation, making you cum once again.

Your husband eyes on your fluttering pussy hole before slowly pulling out, to test if there is any friction. His face turns into a deep shade of red when the erotic sound of sqwueesh happens. Your walls suddenly clamp down on him, seemingly not wanting him to leave your sex. "Love, I think you are ready." Neuvillette comments, looking back at you who seems to be babbling incoherant nonsense, too fucked out and disorientated to register what was going on.

Neuvillette re-positions you again. Your back was pressed onto his front, your legs spread wide with his own as he slots both of himself back in ease, sighing when your walls start fluttering around him again. You moaned in delight when your pussy feels full again, throwing your head back onto your husband's shoulders, hazy eyes looking up at him.

"Will it hurt when you push the eggs in?" So you still remember the agenda of today's sex. " A little, but I will make it fast. Just 5 eggs, tell me if it's too much."

"Hehe, if my husband wants me to take in more than that, I will gladly do so!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Neuvillete leans down to give you a peck on the cheek, his silver hair falls down at his action, tickling your naked body. "There is a limit to your mortal body. I won't hurt you just for my own primal desires." "But you just said that it will hurt a little when the eggs enter me though?"

"I want to start a family with you." He rest his forehead on yours, ocean blue eyes staring down at you. "If you want to back out now, I am also okay with it. I would never want to do something that you are not comfortable with." Your heart skip a beat at his words. This was the very man that you have married to. A kind and gentle soul that was willing to deny his own happiness just for yours.

"Is okay, I told you before that I wanted this. So please, do as you wish, make both of us parents." Upon hearing your words, all the blood in Neuvillette's body seems to have rushed to both of his cocks. His pale lips came crashing down on yours, hungrily devouring you. You gasped when he pinches on your harden nipple, his tongue taking this golden opportunity to slip inside your mouth, exploring every inch of it.

Your eyes widened in surprise when you felt the tip of his cock enlarging, your walls expanding to accommodate the size as something big and round slips into your womb. It seems like one of his cock was responsible for pushing the egg in while the other was just there to keep you nicely stretched. You pulled away from Neuvillette, a string of saliva attached to both of your lips, whimpering when you felt another egg entering your womb.

This whole process was testing the limits of your vagina. You start tearing up at the constant stretching of your walls, instinctively wanting to close your legs but a hand was immediately placed at the back of your thighs, stopping you from doing it.

"It will hurt more if you close your legs." Neuvillette whispers into your ear, his other hand snacking down to toy with your clit, trying to divert attention away from the pain. Your tear stained face breaks Neuvillette's heart, but he could only whisper sweet little nothings to you, telling you that he is so lucky so marry someone as beautiful as you, praising you for being able to take both of his cocks so well. You gripped onto his hand that was toying on your clit, body shaking when you felt the last egg being pushed into your womb, settling itself in it like it was meant to be there.

You look down to see a big bulge on your belly. The eggs were finally nestled inside your womb, safe from the outside. "Mhmmm... is it over?" You rub your eyes sleepily, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"Yes it is, love." Neuvillette's hand had switched to rubbing your folds up and down. He hums an old lullaby, the vibration of his chest lulls your tired state into sleep. Your husband position himself to lean onto the headboard while you sleep in his arms. His dicks were still inside you, not wanting to pull out as he did not want the eggs to slip out - or it could be just an excuse to do cockwarming.

His hand rubs your belly, feeling satisfied at his eggs being laid inside your womb.

Neuvillette thinks hard about what he can do to relieve you of your pain when you have to lay the eggs next time, especially since it's going to grow in size inside your belly.

[g0dlyunsub]

not enough.

spencer couldn’t be there to help you during a case, and he thinks that he’s not deserving of your forgiveness.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of fire, burns and injuries, hospitalization, reader gets injured, angst, descriptions of blades, hurt/comfort, fluff, medical inaccuracies

word count :: 1.8k

author’s note :: i have not written in a while but here's something that's been sitting in my drafts :3

accompanying song :: breathe by lauv

"kid, you need to go."

"no, i'm not leaving you. i'm not-" spencer coughs as the dust mingles with the air in his lungs. "-i'm not leaving her."

"reid, go!" derek shouts over the roaring flames.

you can hear their desperate exchange, but you can’t say anything. 

everytime you swallow, it feels like a razor blade's sliding down your throat; it makes jagged cuts in your parched throat. 

all of your tears have evaporated from the surface of your eyes due to the scorching heat, and it hurts to blink. 

you don’t even realize that your trousers are literally on fire until spencer’s patting at the flames with his bare hand, all the while trying to get the restraints off of you.

“i can’t- i can’t get them off!” spencer heaves, and you can hear the panic in his voice turning into hot anger.

“reid, just take the other guy and go!” 

derek’s shouting, but he’s barely audible next to the unrelenting fire.

"please, let me-"

you feel spencer tug with all his might, pushing and pulling against the ropes, but they’re too tight. the ropes aren’t made of special material, but the heat’s completely melted and fused the knot, making it near-impossible to rip apart.

you can barely keep your eyes open, but you can still see spencer frantically whipping his head back and forth, glancing at you and the last hostage in the room.

derek gives spencer a knowing look, one that you know all too well. 

reluctantly, spencer looks down. 

he can see the flames reflected in your eyes. 

he can see the pain seared into your skin.

a lump starts to form in his throat.

you’re mouthing the word go.

greasy tears well up in his eyes, and spencer splutters a cry. 

“sorry.”

he adds another sorry. and he adds another, until all he’s murmuring is an incoherent stream of apologies. 

you watch as he slings his arm around the hostage’s waist and drags his feet to the exit, and you watch until all you can see is the wavy outline of his figure, distorted by the heatwaves.

your eyes flicker between open and closed.

“y/n, stay with me. no, no, no,” derek shakes you while he continues to saw through your strings with a dull object, “don’t you give up on me now.”

the smoke’s rolled up to cover the ceiling, and an amber glow coats the entire room.

with the cacophony of the roaring flames, expletives spluttering from derek’s mouth, and the back and forth of the rounded blade, the sounds of your restraints loosening barely make it to your ears.

“come on!”

derek hastily tears the fraying restraints and pulls you away from the blazing rod that you’ve been tied to.

you take a desperate gasp for air at the sudden relief, but only choke on dust and the fierce heat. 

it’s too much — too much grime, grease, toxins coating your airways. you stop trying to breathe.

you hear derek groan as he takes your limp body in his arms and lifts you up, and the sudden change in position has you seeing stars.

as derek hauls you out, you see a brief flash of the sky. you could’ve sworn it was a shade of blue clearer than the ocean before you entered, but now it’s a beat down shade of jaundiced yellow.

huh.

it’s burning so darkly.

—

when spencer sees you come out of the burning building, tucked in the arms of derek morgan, he thinks he’s looking at a fallen angel.

dark smoke and dust pepper you head to toe, and your parted lips are making such a desperate effort to stay open.

you’re not breathing.

he breaks into a sprint. the calls from hotch and rossi fly behind him, as do their attempts to grasp him back. he runs to you, and not a single person can stop him.

he drops to his knees next to your unconscious body on the ground with derek, and his heart instantly falls. 

his brain starts to perform an instant diagnosis of your condition – he sees the burn marks scattered over your arms and legs, and he can almost feel your pain, like your nerves are connected to his.

the medics surrounding the scene yell out orders to stay back so that they can start chest compressions, but spencer won’t move.

he’s with you when you jerk back out of unconsciousness, when you’re still too weak to process all of the visual and auditory cues around you.

he’s with you when you’re lifted onto the back of the ambulance.

you can hear him raising his voice at the medics.

“we need to administer aerosolized unfractionated heparin with albuterol and check for hypovolemia, she needs oral and mivf immediately upon admission-”

you phase out once again.

—

when you open your eyes, you realize that you’re not in an ordinary hospital room.

you’re inside the intensive care unit.

generally, only family members are admitted as visitors in the icu, but the man laying his head over the side rails of your bed isn’t your family member.

spencer had to break some protocol to get here.

as you shift your bandaged arms over the blanket, spencer starts to stir slightly, until he realizes that it’s you moving beside him.

his eyes widen as he raises his head.

“how do i look?” you weakly mutter and force your lips into a smile.

his lips quiver, and he’s about to reach for your hand before he realizes that you probably can’t even handle his touch.

“so-” his voice cracks, “so beautiful. so incredibly beautiful.”

your heart does a flip at his words.

“you don’t have to lie.”

he looks away for a brief second, before shaking his head. “i’m not. i swear. you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met — that i’ve ever seen.”

you let out a pained chuckle. “would you look at that, my skin’s blushing.” you turn your arm to the side slightly and loosen your bandages to reveal the pink cuts in your flesh. 

spencer’s brows knit together in a pained expression, and you cringe at your own joke.

you inhale slowly. “spill it, spence.”

“spill what?”

“you did that thing where you look away. it’s your giveaway.”

“no, i-”

you turn your head to look at him with a pleading face, and he succumbs instantly.

he pulls his hand. “i- uh…”

he looks at you once and you raise your brows, an encouraging sign to continue written all over your face.

“i don’t deserve you.”

you blink slowly.

“you deserve someone better,” he continues, looking down ashamedly.

you can't possibly be hearing him correctly. “someone better?”

“someone like morgan.”

“morgan?”

“yeah. derek morgan. he’s the one who stayed with you, who carried you out of that crumbling building. i couldn’t protect you. i failed the one thing i promised myself.” 

“spencer, i wasn’t the only one- you had to save the other guy stuck in there.”

“the worst part is-” spencer chokes, “even if i traded places with morgan, i don’t know if i would’ve gotten us out in time.”

your eyes start to water. “no, spence, don’t say that.”

“i’m not strong enough. i’m not strong like morgan, and i’m not strong enough to protect you. i let you down. i failed you.”

you shake your head. “no, spencer. no. you’ve never failed me, do you hear me? you never failed me and you never will fail me. because-”

you take a deep breath.

“you broke protocol for me, the entire time. i heard what you said to the medics in the ambulance. and you’re here. right now.”

this time, he shakes his head. “it’s the least i can do. it still doesn’t change the fact that i couldn’t take the bullet for you.”

“spencer-”

you lean forward, a strangled grunt leaving your lips, until you’re a mere inch away from spencer’s face.

“maybe,” you start, flickering your gaze left and right into his sunken eyes.

“maybe i want to take the bullet for you too. maybe i want to protect you too. maybe i want-” you smile, “-to fight to stay with you.”

he pulls back, and glassy traces of tears coats his entire face.

again, you smile. “because if you don’t deserve me, then i don’t deserve you either.”

and it’s your goddamn smile that absolves all of his worries in an instant, that makes spencer forget that you’re bundled up in layers of gauze and bandages, that makes him think you’re an angel with a golden halo that’s lighting up the entire room.

it’s only when you let out an disgruntled sigh that he realizes you’re not an angel in a dress but a patient in a hospital gown, and the guilt latches back onto him like an inseparable magnet.

spencer’s eyes soften with concern and gloss over your entire body. gently lifting the edges of the blanket, he brushes his fingers against yours.

“my arm – it’s itchy,” you explain, and close your eyes to restrain yourself from picking at your scabby skin.

“i’m sorry,” spencer returns, an empathetic expression sweeping his face. “the bandages have to stay on, unfortunately.”

“my face-” you start, and spencer’s now looking at you with an expression crossing between serious and disturbed.

“your face? does it itch? where?”

he leans over, and cups your chin in the palm of his hand. slowly, he moves your face to the left and right, until you meet his misty brown eyes in the middle.

“my mouth.”

“your mouth?”

“yeah,” you scrunch your lips in a pained expression, but smile. “i think a kiss would help.”

spencer raises his brows in surprise, and a coughy chuckle leaves the back of his throat.

he can’t fight the excitement bubbling in his heart when you say that, when you’re so adorably bold in front of him.

how could he ever deserve you?

“you asked for it,” he murmurs quietly, before leaning in and bringing his lips to yours. he caresses the side of your face as his soft lips give you a taste of his desperation, though it’s too short to quench your desire.

he pulls back and cocks his head to the side to stare at you with admiring eyes. “is that better?”

you return a contemplative look, pouting your lips slightly. “it’s still itchy.”

he shakes his head amusedly and places a hand on the cushioned mattress, before leaning in to make your heart flutter with another kiss. it’s deeper than before, but he still draws himself back to not deprive you of your air.

once again, he pulls back and graces your eyes with a shy smile. “how about now?”

you tut disapprovingly. “nope.”

a wide smile curves the corners of spencer’s mouth, and he reaches to hold your hand affectionately in his. 

your feverish cheeks light up with a hot glow when your lips intertwine with his in a slow rhythm, when spencer slowly moves his hand behind your head to tousle your strands of hair flowing through his fingers.

he doesn’t ask any more questions.

[chimielie]

match point

hajime opens the door, blinking blearily as the permanent fluorescents of the hallway greet his eyes. he drags a hand down his face, taking a quick opportunity to take you in, your shorts and knees (the left one has a nasty green bruise, leftover from his forcing you to try indoor climbing last week) and fuzzy socks peeking out from your sneakers. your shirt almost swallowing you, making the jacket you’re wearing look oddly cropped. your hair sticking straight up.

“hi, hajime,” you say, yawning uncontrollably. “thank you. sorry.”

“no problem,” he says, “come in, it’s too bright.”

inside, there’s only the pinpoint of his cell flashlight on, a beacon leading you to his room—first left in the hallway, you really would be able to find it blindfolded. you don’t act like it, though, putting a hand on his back and closing your eyes while he forges forward. the light brush of your fingers over the thin t-shirt he’d pulled over his head thirty seconds ago is the confusing kind of thing leaking out of his dreams.

“there’s a protein shake pack there, watch your—yeah. your step.” the warning comes just in time for you to stub your toe as he shuts the door behind the both of you.

he busies himself digging in his closet while you swear as quietly as you can.

“you want the bed? i’ll take the couch,” he offers.

“‘m not kicking you out of your own bed at—” you squint at your own phone screen. “3:47 a.m. i just really appreciate you letting me stay over, haji. thank you so much.”

“not your fault your roommates set off the fire alarm at 3:47 a.m. seriously, take the bed.”

you were lucky, he thought, lucky he had your contact set to break through Do Not Disturb, lucky he lived a floor above you so you didn’t have to scream hysterically at them for waking you up like this again in the middle of exam season. the violent string of texts he’d woken up to (and the distant shrieking of your apartment’s alarm) had made him laugh so hard he’d typed come over almost without thinking about it, i promise i won’t hotbox the bedroom while you’re trying to sleep.

“let’s just share,” you suggest, and he fumbles the spare blankets in his hands. he’s glad he’s facing away from you. “it’s too early to fight.”

“too late,” he corrects you. “you sure we’ll both fit?”

it’s a reference to your freshman year, when you used to climb into his twin XL bed and lie on top of him so neither of you were falling off the edge. physical affection was more common for you then, before he’d realized that his dumbass had gone and fallen in love with you and you were just his very affectionate friend.

“yeah, you have a big boy bed now. i miss the lightning mcqueen sheets, though.” you’re already hanging the jacket on the back of his chair, crawling through the vast ocean of cotton to curl into a ball near his pillows. he checks his phone again, wondering if he ever really woke up. he has dreams, secret, shameful ones, like this often.

there’s a song and dance missing. shouldn’t he be fighting harder to take the couch? building a pillow wall? as he joins you, even as he’s stretching his body out and feeling his left shoulder pop, you gravitate into him. he puts an arm around you, his bicep thick enough beneath your back to make you shift around to get comfortable again. your fuzzy sock-covered foot pushes up the ankle of his sweatpants.

“hey, wait,” he says. you make a soft sleepy noise that breaks his heart to hear like this: so close, and yet not at all. “was that my jacket you were wearing? the one i’ve been looking for?”

“yeah,” you nod into his chest. “you gave it to me last time we went out.”

“oh, i’d forgotten,” he hums. a few more moments pass, his own eyelids getting heavy.

“i like wearing your clothes,” you tell him, “it makes me feel like you’re my boyfriend.”

maybe in the morning he’ll do something about that; for now, he sleeps with your deep, even breathing an inch away, the warm glow of something new and right and shared suffusing his chest.

[edamameimei]

it's us against the world (daniela avanzini x reader)

"i'd thank my lucky stars but it's tearing me apart 'cause you don't see us like i do, you don't see us from my view."

synopsis: the question that everyone always asks daniela is when she's going to tell you how she feels. but no one understands. it's a risk she isn't willing to take, especially if it means losing you and everything you two have built with each other over the past two years. tags: fluff, might get angsty but mainly fluff :) 7th member reader! an: just want to put out there that this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only. CW: swearing, kissing wc: 5186

⏯ now playing: i do - renee rapp

Daniela realizes she has feelings for you when she’s 19 years old. 

“Do you know what time it is?” 

Daniela looks at you, her cheek pressed against her knees. She has her legs pulled up to her chest, hugging them in an attempt to keep them warm from the cold breeze. She sits with you on a blanket on the beach. After a long and tiring day of training, she lit up at your idea of sitting by the ocean for a few hours. She ignored your warnings to wear sweatpants and opted to wear your hoodie and shorts for the outing. But as you give her a knowing smirk, Daniela silently regrets her choices. She shrugs in response to your question, shivering slightly due to the wind picking up. You scoot closer to her, taking off your flannel. She picks her head up, opening her mouth to protest but you’re already draping the material over her legs. You pat her knees playfully, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to provide her more warmth. Daniela leans into your touch, resting her head against your shoulder and closes her eyes. 

“Don’t say anything smart.” She says, hugging your arm tightly. You hum in response, letting out a soft chuckle. You grab her hand, lacing your fingers together. You whisper, teasingly, “I wasn’t gonna say anything.” Daniela pulls away slightly and scoffs. She jabs a finger into your side and it causes you to bite your lip, trying to contain your squeal. She does it again, and again, wanting to annoy you but you won’t let her win. You grab her wrists, pulling her closer to you. She laughs loudly as you wrap your arms around her, picking her up effortlessly. She ends up being the one squealing as you run toward the water.

“Y/n L/n! You BETTER not!” Your laughter rings in her ears and she wonders if this is what poets mean when they write about love. And she wonders if you feel the same way. 

On your days off from training and development, Daniela takes it as an opportunity to simply relax. 

She sits cross-legged on her bed, glasses perched on her nose, reading the newest book you got her from the bookstore. She plays with the string of yet another hoodie she stole from you, her brows furrowed as she becomes entranced by the story in front of her. She is about to turn the page but is pulled out of her thoughts when she hears a loud snore beside her. Daniela turns her head, glaring at your sleeping form. You’re curled up on her bed, phone still in your hand. You must have fallen asleep at one point while you were scrolling through TikTok. She notices your glasses have become askew and your mouth hangs open slightly. Your free arm hugs a plushie you brought from your dorm close to your chest and makes Daniela’s glare soften. 

She reaches out, slowly taking your glasses off your face and places them on the nightstand. She grabs your phone and plugs it into her charger. She takes another look at you, admiring how pretty you looked even when you were peacefully snoring. Daniela threads her fingers through your hair, her book long forgotten as she looks at you. From across the room, Manon clears her throat loudly and Daniela looks up at her with wide eyes. She forgot her roommate was still in the room. Manon looks at Daniela with a teasing glint in her eyes and smirks. “I took a picture of you two, I can send it if you want.” The Latina rolls her eyes in response, retracting her hand from your hair. She looks down at her lap, her cheeks burning. She mumbles, “Yeah, can I have it?” Manon laughs, cackling as she grabs her phone to send Daniela the pictures. She doesn’t look up when she asks her next question. “Are you gonna tell them?” Daniela glances at you again, checking to see if you were still asleep. Your soft snores answer her question and it makes the Latina smile. “One day. We’ll see.” 

You pout as you look at yourself in the mirror, hands on your hips, breathing heavily. You once again made a mistake in the choreography and it’s starting to piss you off. At this point in Dream Academy, you knew there wasn’t any room for less than perfect. There were seven spots to fill and you were determined to be one of them, even if it was the last and only spot. You take a deep breath, preparing to do the routine once more. As you are about to restart the music, you feel a tug on your arm. You look at Daniela, a small frown on your lips. She knows how hard you’ve been working– she thinks you’re the hardest worker out of everyone. There were nights where Daniela would watch you trudge tiredly to your dorm at 3 AM. There are moments in practice when she’d notice a slight limp in your leg. The Latina often worries about you and you have repeatedly told her that everything is fine. 

But Daniela would be damned if she didn’t debut with you. 

She places her hands on your hips, looking at you softly. Worry radiates off of her and you place your hands on her shoulders, squeezing them gently. You tilt your head, putting on a playful smile. But she sees right through your facade. She knows you too damn well but the least you could do is try to put up a front. Daniela keeps her eyes on you and whispers, “We’re in this together, remember?” You nod slowly in response, but the look in your eyes tells her otherwise. She knows you’re struggling and she is determined to help you no matter what. Daniela pulls away from you, taking a step back. She twirls her finger and points toward the mirror. “Come on, I’m gonna show you.” You raise a curious eyebrow at her, letting out a soft chuckle, “Daniela, come on–” She points toward the mirror again, a fierce look in her eyes. “Y/n so help me God! Turn your ass around so we can figure this shit out together!” 

You raise your hands in defense, immediately turning around to face the mirror. She huffs in relief, stepping forward again. She places her hands on your hips and pulls you flush against her. Daniela rests her chin on your shoulder, looking into the mirror. She feels her cheeks begin to burn and she can’t help but feel frozen in place. You weren’t even doing anything, yet it was driving the Latina insane. She planned to guide you, to show you how the choreography goes. But her thoughts run wild, especially when she spots you smirking at her through the mirror. “What?” She whispers, her hands on your hips tightening. 

You shake your head, shrugging your shoulders as you look at Daniela’s reflection. “Sorry. I’ve never had a hot Latina this close to me… I was getting nervous.” Your comment causes her to scoff loudly, pushing you. She walks away, her head down to hide the blush painting her entire face. She feels hot all over and she can’t help but feel annoyed with your presence at the moment. You walk over to her, your eyes wide. 

“Wait, Dani! I still need your help! Dani!” Why she has such a huge crush on you? She isn't sure. But the way you wrap your arms around her waist and hold her close. The way you look at her as if she were the most important person in your life– she knows it just makes sense to fall in love with you.

Daniela sits with you on the floor of her shared dorm with Manon, shoulders touching and shaking with laughter as you finish telling her an embarrassing story from high school. She wipes her eyes, shaking her head at you. You talked about when you tried asking out a girl you were convinced you were in love with back then. However, it ended in disaster with you not getting the girl and instead got a broken arm. The Latina looks at you with a playful smile, her eyes twinkling with happiness. Over the past year, you have become her favorite person. Daniela loves everything about you. It has come to the point where seeing you has become the highlight of her entire day. 

Daniela loves how you light up an entire room with just your smile. She loves how you work so hard, yet take the time to make sure everyone else is doing okay. She loves the softer side of you, the part of you coaches and judges don’t get to see. Everyone knows how confident you are, but Daniela is the only one that knows what lengths it took you to get to that point. She takes pride in being your best friend, the person you completely rely on. And it scares her shitless when she realizes that could be all over tomorrow during the live show. Her face falls when she thinks about it, the twinkle in her eye dimming slightly. Like always, you notice. Of course you do. You cup her cheek and smile softly, your thumb caressing her face gently. “What’s up?” You ask quietly. The Latina bites her lip, suddenly feeling very vulnerable in front of you. 

She doesn’t quite know what to say. She sits there, looking at you with an unreadable expression. You’re about to ask her again but she raises her pinky, her lip quivering slightly. “Promise we’ll stay just like this after tomorrow. No matter what happens.” You open your mouth to respond but she covers it with her hand, a serious look in her eyes. “Do not make a stupid fucking joke right now, Y/n. I am being dead serious.” Your eyes widen, saying a muffled, ‘I wasn’t!’ behind her hand. She slowly retracts it, eyeing you suspiciously before bringing her pinky back up. You roll your eyes before linking your pinky with hers, bringing it to your lips and kissing it softly. You never break eye contact with her, keeping your gaze on her as you whisper, “I promise I’m not going anywhere,” You tilt your head, a sincerity in your eyes as you continue, “We’re gonna stay just like this even after what happens tomorrow.” 

Daniela lets out a sigh of relief. She brings your pinky to her lips, copying your actions from earlier and kisses it gently. She giggles when you pull her into your arms, hugging her tightly. 

Another thing about you that Daniela loves is that you never break a promise. 

She squeals excitedly as you spin her around in your arms, happiness spreading throughout both your bodies. She holds onto you tightly, smiling widely because you’re debuting. Not only that, you’re debuting together. When you finally put her down, you don’t let go of each other. While everyone else celebrates, you only look at each other. It’s as if this world was made solely just for the two of you. You look at Daniela with a teasing smile, “I guess you’re stuck with me.” The Latina pulls you into another hug. She leans close to your ear and whispers, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

It was one thing to live in the dorms with you. But now a whole house? Daniela finds it harder to hide her feelings from you. 

After you and the other six girls competed against each other for the solo room in the house, completing task after task for the sake of Katseye content, you came out victorious in the end while the others had to share their space. You sit next to Yoonchae, watching in amusement as Daniela and Manon try to argue with Megan and Lara about the rules. You glance at Sophia, who gives you a knowing look back. 

“That’s the POINT of the GAME!” Megan shouts at the two girls standing, the game becoming more intense as it continues. Daniela looks at you, her eyes pleading. “Y/n! Give us some back up!” You widen your eyes, immediately shaking your head. You raise your hands in distress. “No, no. Don’t put me in this argument–” Lara cuts you off, raising a finger, “This isn’t an argument, we’re just clarifying the rules.” Megan peeks out from behind her, pointing a finger at you, “No! Are you kidding me? We’re asking Y/n? They’ll just take Daniela’s side– They always do this!” You sit up from the couch, leaning forward to argue her point. Suddenly, you and Megan begin bickering back and forth, forgetting the entire game. 

“Name one time I took Dani’s side!” You sit back on the couch, crossing your arms playfully. You look at the camera with a faux serious expression, “I’ll wait.” Megan begins her list, starting from the very beginning of training and development. You keep your eyes on the camera as she continues, but it has become very obvious that you have lost your argument. Your serious expression begins to crumble as Daniela comes into frame. She sits on your lap, wrapping her arms around your neck. She leans in close to you and pouts, tilting her head to add to her puppy dog expression. “Y/n… Please just say me and Manon get the point…” 

You keep your expression deadpan at the camera. “That did not look like the Olympics to me. I don’t even know what the fu- freak you were doing.” Daniela pushes off of you, stomping away from the camera as everyone erupts in laughter. Yoonchae sits on the couch, her ears covered as Sophia covers her mouth, trying to stifle her giggles. Daniela looks at you with a frown, but she knows you won’t take it seriously. She knows you’re just as happy as she is. You look at her, throwing a wink in her direction and it causes her to roll her eyes, biting her lip to contain her smile. 

“You know I love you, right?” You yell at her and she flips you off, the action not caught on camera. 

But she loves you too. She loves you in more ways than you would ever know. And it tears her apart every time she remembers that you don’t.

Daniela opens the door to your room, not even bothering to knock. She walks inside and flops onto your bed, sticking her tongue at you when you glance at her with an annoyed expression. You were songwriting at your desk before she came in and you were somewhat in the zone. But of course, Daniela had to make herself comfortable in your room. She does this often, going into your room unannounced. She did this at the dorms and has now found her routine doing it at the house. But Daniela knows you don’t mind. She knows you would have already set that boundary by now. She rolls onto her stomach, propping herself up with her elbows and rests her chin against her palms. “Do you wanna get dinner with me?” She hears you snicker at her question.

“Are you asking me on a date?” Daniela freezes for a moment. She looks away from you, suddenly feeling shy. That was not what she was doing and she knew you were just joking, but she couldn’t help but feel a slight aching in her chest. She wants more than anything for it to be a date, for something more with you. But she hasn’t found the courage to cross that line with you. And she isn’t sure if you felt the same way. Sure, you two were always together, always needing to be touching, maybe even making flirtatious comments toward one another. But something Daniela has come to realize about you is that you are always like that. The Latina doesn’t want to admit it, but it irks her whenever you flirt with the other members. She can’t help but stare when you’re sitting in someone else’s lap or when you kiss their cheek after they’ve done something for you. 

She hates it even more when you’re like that with Eyekons and she doesn’t know why. 

It has become one of your bits lately to flirt with the fans. Whether that be through the Weverse DMs or lives, you never fail to make Eyekons go crazy with your outrageous comments. She remembers one time when you told an Eyekon to their face how they were exactly your type. It took everything in Daniela to not lose her shit on the spot. The way the fan giggled at your words, the way they hugged you so tightly afterwards. Daniela wanted to pull you away and show you exactly who your type was. But the Latina wouldn’t know that information. She would like to imagine she was everything you could ever want in a girlfriend. 

But here she was, feeling shy over the fact you suggested that she was asking you on a date. 

In Daniela fashion though, she clicks her tongue, getting off your bed. She walks toward you, pulling you out of your chair by your hoodie. You stumble slightly as Daniela pulls you onto your feet and drags you out of your room. You were smart enough to not fight her, and you were even smarter to grab her keys for her before being manhandled out the door. If you were going anywhere with Daniela, she prefers to be the one driving. 

“Mami, can you take a picture of me?” Daniela looks up from her phone, ignoring the way her breath hitched when she heard what you called her. You and Daniela were currently in one of the practice rooms together, planning for the upcoming MAMA performance. You two had been bouncing ideas off of each other, building the choreography. They were just ideas of course, but you two couldn’t contain your excitement. After everything you both went through together, you now had the opportunity to truly showcase your skills as performers. At MAMA, of all events. Every time Daniela watched you during practice, she would swell up with pride. You have grown into yourself, becoming much more self-assured. She remembers how insecure you were in the beginning of your journey, afraid of what everyone would think of you. 

Now, everyone loved you. And you knew that. 

Daniela stands up, stretching. You and her had been taking a break for a few minutes after practicing for so long. You hand her your phone and she pulls up the camera app, pointing it toward you. She couldn’t help the way her eyes widened when you pulled your shirt off, revealing you only in your sports bra. Her mouth goes dry and she tries to play it cool but she can’t deny how mesmerizing you are. You were currently wearing a pair of baggy black jeans and the band of your Kleins poke out just enough for everyone’s imagination. Daniela watches as you adjust them slightly, your stomach flexing as you do so. The Latina takes a quick picture, knowing you’d appreciate the candid moment. 

(Also, to send to herself, she admits). 

You look up at the camera, unaware of how Daniela blatantly checks you out from behind your phone. For your first pose, you decide to cross your arms over your chest, smirking at the camera. “How’s this?” You ask and Daniela just nods, giving you a thumbs up. “You look hot, baby.” You chuckle, satisfied. She takes a few pictures of you, all from different angles. Daniela directs your poses, telling you which ones to do and what kind of expression to give the camera. Throughout the photography session, Daniela couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. She thought being around you during Dream Academy was difficult. But now being in the same group as you? This was her own personal hell. And the fact you were going to post these photos for Eyekons to see and thirst over? It makes the girl’s eye twitch at the thought. 

After a few more photos, and you picked the ones you’d share, you two begin practicing again. Daniela notices how you don’t put your shirt back on once you both get back on track. 

Daniela Avanzini never makes a mistake. But boy, was she slipping up for the rest of the night. 

It’s a random Tuesday when Manon randomly decides to ask Daniela the question that has been on everyone’s mind for two years. 

“Is one day soon? Or are you guys gonna keep having this weird homoerotic friendship for the rest of our lives?” Daniela looks away from her vanity and glares at Manon. “Why would you say that?” The Ghanaian girl rolls her eyes, throwing a pillow at Daniela from across the room. Daniela manages to swat it away, looking back at the mirror to finish her make-up. “Manon! I was literally in the middle of doing my eyebrows.” She hears Manon sigh loudly in response. “Dani… Babe,” Manon looks at the Latina with an exasperated look as she continues, “You’ve been in love with them since you were 19. You’re turning 21 in like, four months.” Daniela continues to ignore her, leaning in closer to her mirror to do finishing touches on her make-up. Manon gets up from her bed and walks over to Daniela. She crosses her arms, looking at the other girl with a disapproving look. “What’s the hold up?” 

Daniela shrugs, still not looking away from the mirror. “I’m not ruining our friendship.” It’s a simple response, but it holds a lot more weight than she wants to lead on. Daniela knows better than anyone else how long it has been and she knows it's been a secret for far too long. But to risk losing the best thing that has ever happened to her? She’d rather die. Manon sits on Daniela’s bed, frowning. “Dani, that’s literally not gonna happen. I bet all of the money on our next paycheck that Y/n feels the same way,” She leans closer, whispering playfully, “And I heard the next one is a good one.” Daniela scoffs, placing the cap back onto her lipstick. She sets it down and looks at herself in the mirror one last time. She finds herself lost in thought for a moment as she thinks about the possibility of you loving her back. 

She thinks about holding your hand in public, going on dates with you, being able to call you hers officially. 

The sound of the door opening brings her out of her daydream. Daniela snaps her head toward the sound and sees you standing at the doorway. You’re dressed nicely, hands in your pocket, as you look at Daniela with a gentle smile. “Ready to go, Mami?” Manon turns her head back to look at Daniela with a raised eyebrow. She whispers, “This whole time you were getting ready just to hang out with Y/n? You’re joking.” Daniela glares at her roommate, standing up from her vanity and walks over to you, pretending the conversation that was happening previously never happened. She holds onto your arm and you two begin making your way toward the front door. Before you leave, you hear Manon shout, “Have fun on your date!” 

You look at Daniela with a teasing smile. “Is this a date?” Daniela pushes you in response, covering her face in embarrassment as you lead her to your car. 

Daniela lies in bed one night, watching your live that you randomly decided to do. You had asked the Latina if she would like to join, but if she were being honest, she was quite tired of hiding her new hair from Eyekons. The TikToks were fun, but it was becoming such a hassle trying to hide her hair in her beanie. And by the time you asked her, she was already cozy in bed with her glasses on. She giggles softly at something you say during the live, her smile getting wider as she watches you continue awkwardly telling a story to the Eyekons about something that happened today.

The Latina has come to the conclusion that she is undeniably in love with you. And she isn’t sure how long she can keep up with her secret. 

Watching you grow into the person you are now, the person on the screen, has made Daniela realize just how amazing you are. At first, when she first started to realize her feelings for you, she thought it was a fleeting feeling. If she ignored it long enough, it would go away eventually. However, the more she tried ignoring it, the more she fell for you. With every silly smile you threw her, every quip and joke, your charming personality, it only drew the Latina closer to you. Even as two years came and went, the relationship between you and Daniela never changed. You promised and it was a promise you upheld with every fibre of your being. And Daniela is grateful that you are still the same person she met all those years before. 

She continues watching you, adoration clear in her eyes. At some point, the topic of conversation shifted and you began talking about relationships you’ve had in the past. It makes Daniela grimace slightly but she tries to remind herself that it was only the past. Meaning, they no longer exist in your life. She watches as you nervously rub the back of your neck when you talk about the people you were with in high school. Suddenly, you lean in closer to the screen, a comment obviously catching your eye. You laugh loudly, throwing your head back. Daniela furrows her brow, curious as to what you read. 

“If you could date anyone in the group, who would it be? Um… Dani, for sure,” Your words hit the Latina. Her heart begins to beat out of her chest as she continues listening to you, “But, I’m pretty sure I’m not her type though so… That’s kind of disappointing.” You laugh again, but Daniela notices a shift in your mood. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your face falls slightly but you quickly read another comment as if to hide what you’re truly feeling. It makes Daniela’s head spin and before she can stop herself, she hops out of bed and runs out of the room. 

You’re replying to more comments when you hear a banging on your door. You jump slightly at the unexpected interruption, turning around in your seat. You look back at the camera with a sheepish smile. “Hold on, pardon the interruption, chat.” You get up from the chair, walking to the door. When you open it, you smile happily when you see your best friend. However, your smile falters when you notice the Latina slightly in distress. You whisper, “Are you okay? I can end the live…” Daniela only nods in response, biting her lip. You quickly turn around, running toward the camera with an apologetic look in your eyes. “Sorry guys, duty calls. We’ll talk soon, okay?” You wave goodbye, ending the live. You turn toward the Latina with a worried expression. 

“Dani? Are you–” She cuts you off, grabbing your face. She presses her lips against yours forcefully, but softly at the same time. The way she kisses you is almost desperate, as if she had been waiting to do it for a very long time. But you immediately respond, placing your hands on her hips because this was exactly what you’ve been waiting for. You pull her closer, your hands reaching up to thread into her hair. She lets out a soft sigh and it drives you even crazier. Her lips move against yours in a rhythm that makes you believe you were meant to be right here, with her. She pulls away for a moment, catching her breath. When you open your eyes, you see a slight daze in her eyes and it makes your heart beat rapidly. “What was that for?” You ask, breathless, a smile playing at your lips as you hear her giggle. 

Daniela cups your cheeks with her hands and looks at you lovingly. She bites her lip, “I do…” She lets out a soft chuckle, looking down at the ground for a brief second before looking back up at you with the same loving stare. “I mean– you are. Exactly my type. Literally everything I could want in a partner so…” You tilt your head, your grin growing bigger. “So?” Daniela kisses you again. This time, it was much more gentle. Her hands move from your cheeks to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer. Two years is a long time, but it was so worth the wait. 

You’re playing a game with Yoonchae when Daniela walks into the room, throwing her phone at you. 

Your eyes widen, wincing when it hits your chest. Yoonchae glances at Daniela, noticing the agitated look in her eyes. She takes it as her cue to leave, pausing the game. She leans toward you and whispers, “I think you’re cooked.” You look at Yoonchae, confused. The Korean girl only stands up from the couch, making a beeline out of the room. Daniela continues looking at you, slightly annoyed. You extend your arms out to her, gesturing for her to come and hug you. “What’s up, Mami?” Daniela ignores your arms and points at you, her expression becoming more serious. “Keep flirting with Eyekons over Weverse. See what happens.” Your mouth gapes open in realization, then suddenly, you begin to laugh. 

Daniela was jealous over your messages on Weverse? 

Your laughter subsides when you notice Daniela not laughing with you and instead, her expression is even deadlier, if that was even possible. You grab her phone, unlocking it to see the damage you made on Weverse. You had to admit– these were pretty bad. You stand up from the couch, handing the phone back to your girlfriend. You pout, “No more flirting.” Daniela nods, crossing her arms. She murmurs something under her breath but it was too quiet for you to hear. You frown, pulling her into your arms. She keeps her arms crossed as you whisper into her ear, “What was that, baby?” She sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. She whispers back, “People need to know you’re mine.” You chuckle softly, holding her closer. You kiss the top of her head. “I think I can figure something out. You know, without getting in trouble with the boss.” You feel her laugh in your arms and she uncrosses her arms, hugging you back. 

You: dany/n truthers 

You: are yall in the building? 

You: the superior ship so true 

You: im lowk a simp for her but that stays between us 

Dani: what did y/n say in their dms?

Dani: we’re the superior ship LMAOOO

Dani: they wish <3

an: do you guys get nervous every time i post a new fic bc u think ill break ur heart? i promise im not that mean LOL i hope u guys enjoyed, lmk what u think. fluff bc ive been feelin pretty good lately. <3

requests are open

[parasafterdark]

Oceans Apart

Their homeplanet runs overall pretty hot. So outside of a couple pockets near the poles those still there don't really have a concept of it being icy and snowy. While the ones that set out to space have adapted to the coldness out there, their stations are still well heated and humid.

Unused Words

This is set in a slightly colder moderate climate (aka remember when middle Europa actually had winters? I miss them). UW!Shal is used to being colder due to growing up near the northern coast while the City most of this is set in constantly bounces between proper Snow and "Oh fuck, everything is sludge!" during Winter.

Hunting Grounds

There are still Jungles and places that stay snow free year through, but the majority of the planet is some flavor of cold and gets some pretty harsh winters further north.

Racing Souls

There are a couple Racetracks that are set on planets, but in areas that have stable weather. So yeah there is a winter/Ice track, but it's always like that. The rest is set on space stations which are set to stable concensus temperature. So that every species is annoyed equally that it's too hot/cold!

Day #5

Open the calendar..!

How cold can it get in your paracosm? Do they get a lot of snow?

Create some art, write something, or just answer the questions!

[parasafterdark]

Have some worms:

OA!Captain and Shiny (Betrothed)

OA!Captains Personal Assistent (that needs a name)

The Couples ever suffering Pet (OA!Shal)

---

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2219859

Please show me your worms :)

@aircastledweller @blue-bubonic @shrimpnymph @daydreaming-memories aaand whoever else wanna make worms ^^

[nottswitch]

— love, t ; part I

chapter summary: there’s a new coffee shop that has just opened on the street next to yours, and after a long day of work, you wonder if their cappuccino holds up. turns out, it’s not just their cappucino, but also a cute italian barista.

pairing: barista!theo x reader

cw: modern!au, muggle!au, lots of cliché fluff, cursing, barista!pansy

wc: 2.4k

a/n: the first part of this cutie, for all my fluff lovers!! there’s not gonna be anything difficult happening, no moral conflicts, no grey areas, nothing. just pure, raw, unadulterated cuteness. enjoy <3 no taglist!

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; theo m.list ; series m.list

The wind was biting, tingling your cheeks as you hurried along the street, pulling the collar of your coat up in a rather futile attempt to shield yourself from the wrath of the quiet beast that was British November. A curse after curse towards yourself was swirling in your head over and over again for not bothering to properly check the location of your rented apartment a year ago. If you had half a brain to do that, you would’ve noticed its unacceptably large distance from the nearest bus stops and underground stations. Even worse, the area was devoid of any type of coziness, leaving you to stroll between the dark walls of brick and glass along with similarly sullen people unwilling to meet your eyes with theirs.

A quivering flicker of warmth caught your eye when you dared to look up from the dampened pavement underneath your feet, just to be met with a chilly gust of air making your eyes water. Through the blur you could distinguish the warmth getting closer and closer, until you were standing right underneath several strings of fairy lights forming sparkling bridges between the trees to you left and the building to your right.

Toasted & Roasted.

Your eyebrow twitched up in surprise at the unfamiliar sign, the lightness of it contrasting so harshly against the bleak background of your area of residence. Your gaze travelled lower, noting the glimpses of the cozy exterior visible through the panoramic windows and a similarly tall glass door. A hot cup of coffee sounded delightful right now, plus, it had been a while since something good appeared anywhere in your vicinity. Without thinking twice, your body turned right, your feet already making swift steps towards the most inviting door you’d seen in a while. In a few seconds that lasted an eternity, the door shut out the cold and the slowly but surely commencing drizzle, and you were finally enveloped by delicious scents of coffee and pastries and mellow music streaming through the homely space around you.

The bar counter was straight across from the entrance, with the usual menu on the wall above it. You made a beeline towards it, taking off the beanie warming your head up until now and untangling the mess of knots that was your scarf, hastily wrapped around your neck about an hour ago. Your curious eyes were skimming the menu and the see-through display with different cakes and pastries teasing your senses when you heard a voice coming from behind the counter.

“Welcome to Roasted & Toasted, how can I help you to–”

A head of brown curls emerged from behind the cash register. The seemingly confident voice trailed off at the last word, widened ocean eyes fixed on your face, lips parted and sucking in a silent but sharp breath.

“–day.”

The ending came out in a breath. A noticeable Italian accent registered in your brain, and you filed away this thought to remember later, for reasons you couldn’t quite grasp yet. The guy behind the counter straightened up, running a hand through his messily pristine hair that fell onto his forehead despite the effort, and flashed you a wide charming smile, a stark difference from the shock written on his face just a few seconds ago (to which you were completely oblivious).

“It’s on the house,” he blurted out before you even had the chance to speak, with the confidence of someone who had just had the whole world laid at his feet. “Your order’s on the house,” he repeated, as if he liked the way the words rolled off his tongue and was proud of himself for saying it.

“Um…”

You hummed to compensate for your lack of proper response – it was the first time you were bombarded with a free drink right after walking into a new coffee place, and before you could even place the order.

“You have a special offer?” you prompted, trying to make sense of the sudden generosity. The guy’s smile widened, making the corners and the underside of his eyes burst into crinkles that you found adorable way too fast for having seen him for the first time.

“We do,” he answered a bit too quickly, which, again, completely went over your head. “Special offers for special clients,” he added with a wink, which made you bite the inside of your cheek to stop your mouth from producing uncontrollable giggles, already born deep in your chest and making their way up your throat. You were certain you hadn’t seen any special offer promos on the outside, which could only mean one thing – you had just become a subject of rather shameless flirting.

“Well, that’s… good.” You cleared your throat, still coming to terms with the fact that the cute barista had just flirted with you. At the back of your mind, there was knowledge that you had to make an order, but words seemed to escape you for the moment, so you decided to busy yourself with looking through the menu above the counter again.

The guy followed your gaze and a smirk appeared on his lips, one that could easily be mistaken for a simple smile if you didn’t look close enough. “Fancy anything?” he asked, raising his eyebrow just a bit in a politely curious manner, though there was something behind the watercolour of his eyes that you couldn’t quite name – or couldn’t make sense of yet. “We have the pumpkin spice, the autumn classic,” he started, his smirk widening at the sight of your eyes intently fixed on his. “But I’d personally suggest a lavender latte as your first “Roasted & Toasted” experience.”

You completely missed every single word that the guy said, entranced by the sound of his voice – you didn’t know voices like that even existed. When the last syllable came out of his mouth, you shook your head, feeling heat treacherously creeping up your cheeks at the realization that you had zero idea what he had just said.

“I, um… I’ll just have a cappuccino.” You gave him a smile that you tried to make look as far from sheepish as possible. Your usual order seemed like a pretty safe option in your slightly dazed state. “No sugar, salted caramel syrup, please.”

A low chuckle in the guy’s voice sounded like music, another detail you duly noted and stored in a totally new folder in your brain with “cute Italian barista” as a title. Why it was there was a question you had no answer to and frankly, didn’t want to busy your mind with. It was occupied enough with staring him down as his lips formed words you didn’t understand.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. A cappuccino this late in the day," he tutted, his tone coming out as a soft scold. You didn’t get it at first, but the heat in your cheeks increased in temperature, even though you tried to keep a distant yet polite exterior appropriate for the barista-client interaction. It was getting increasingly hard, though, with the way the guy’s eyes were scanning your face. "You English lot have it that bad, huh?"

"Uh… I guess."

You gave him a small shrug, trying your best to hide your flustered state. Noticing it nonetheless, the barista chuckled once more and his smirk finally softened.

"Sorry, just my Italian blood," he explained, looking down at the counter and shaking his head, the tiny action making the his curls bounce from side to side. Then, he glanced up again, his lashes almost hiding his magnetizing eyes from view, which you found endearing and slightly annoying at the same time. "You’re making me commit a deadly sin, I hope you know that."

You couldn’t help a giggle of your own this time, confusion slowly making way for a strange feeling of giddiness.

"Noted," you answered, tilting you head to the side a bit as you continued studying the wonder that was the guy behind the counter. "Won’t repeat the mistake again. Don’t want you indulging in blasphemy…" You took a quick look at the badge on his uniform apron. "…Theodore."

If you were attentive enough, you would see a slight bob of his Adam’s apple right after you called out his name. He quickly schooled himself back into the charming smile he was sporting, a nod of his head serving as a sign of his acknowledgment.

"No, no, it’s fine,” he reassured you in a playful manner. "Like I said, a special offer for a special client." Another wink made your heart do a leap, the bounds of your chest suddenly seeming too restrictive. "And it’s Theo, alright? Theodore makes me feel like a grandpa."

"Alright, Theo."

The name seemed a pleasant hum on your lips, which Theo himself seemed to agree with, if his content smile was any indication.

"I assume you’re taking your coffee here," he noted, briefly glancing at the window behind you. Outside, the drizzle intensified, turning into a full-on shower rattling against the ground and seeping through the soft sound of music inside the coffee shop.

"You would be correct," you confirmed, also taking a look behind your shoulder and realizing that the weather was as horrible for being out in the street as it was perfect for a quiet hour inside, with a cup of coffee and a book to keep you occupied.

"Great. I just need your name now. For the order," Theo added in a hurry, as if he needed to clarify, which he quickly masked with a nonchalant smile. You didn’t put much significance into it, not in the mood to overthink, as it usually happened with your racing mind.

Theo scribbled down your name on a piece of paper and tucked the pen into the front pocket of his apron, smoothing it out.

"Be right up."

Your hand automatically reached for your card, but then you stilled it in the air, remembering the ‘on the house’ part. Giving Theo a slightly awkward nod, you made your way to a quaint table right next to the window, taking off your coat and settling into the plush chair.

"Nott? The fuck was that, huh?"

"Pansy, shut up for a damn second, will you?"

Theo rolled his eyes, fumbling with the buttons on the coffee machine to start up a cappuccino. His movements were precise, if not a bit tense, since the haze of his interaction dissipated, and he was left alone with his dear but annoying friend-turned-colleague. Pansy had been watching the whole thing from the small kitchen, hidden by the curtain, and as soon as you left for your table, she started on her relentless journey to tease the hell out of Theodore.

"I’m just being real here. You were making heart eyes at her." Pansy raised her eyebrow in mock amusement; while Theo’s flirty nature wasn’t a surprise for her, the way he was acting with you was certainly different from his usual getting-the-girl antics.

"Yeah, well, you’re just pissed you can’t hog all the pretty girls to yourself," Theo quipped, refusing to acknowledge the blush that was firmly set on his cheeks at the mention of his ‘heart eyes’ – he was all too aware that he was, in fact, making them, and he wasn’t doing a good job at hiding it, either.

Pansy let out a short chuckle, pushing herself off the doorframe to wipe the counter clean – just in case their annoying wench of a manager decided she had another problem with that.

"You’re not mad about… Jennifer? Juniper? Are you?" she asked, her voice obviously teasing. At that, Theo grumbled under his breath, something about her not even remembering the name, but there was no bite to his words. He already forgot all about the girl from earlier in the day that Pansy swooped in to charm; no, from now on he had a one track mind, and its destination was sitting so cozily next to the window, it made his heart beat faster at every stolen glance.

Theo tried to stop his hand from trembling while he worked on making your coffee as appealing as possible. Latte art on a cappuccino should’ve been easy enough, he’s had tons of practice both at work and at home, but for some reason, he needed to make yours especially beautiful. Pansy watched him with rapt attention, an amused smirk never leaving her lips.

"You’re really going all out, aren’t you?” she chimed in as Theo cursed when his hand swayed left, making an unwanted streak appear on the foamy surface. "Theodore Nott actually trying for a girl. Who would’ve thought."

"Shut. The hell. Up," he gritted through clenched teeth, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he created another elegant swirl, one he was rather pleased with. He leaned back to admire his creation – you should like it, there was no way you wouldn’t.

Your head snapped to the left when you heard your name being called in that voice you had grown to miss in the last few minutes, while Theo was busy making your coffee. A smile appeared on your face, as if your lips had a mind of their own, and so did your legs, if the skip in your steps on the way to the counter had anything to say about it.

"There you go. Salted caramel, no sugar."

Theo carefully placed a beige cup on top of the bar counter, dusting off his hands while watching you reaction with what he hoped was a casual expression. It wasn’t that in the slightest, and you would notice, if your own mind wasn’t preoccupied with trying to behave like a functioning human being and not a smitten teenage girl.

"You’re… quite talented," you commented on the coffee art, your efforts to keep yourself in check as futile as Theo’s. A wider smile was hurting your cheeks with the force it was threatening to escape with, and you gave up, allowing yourself to grin like an absolute idiot.

"I am quite talented with my hands, yes," Theo replied, immediately cursing himself for the double meaning he didn’t intend to bring into the conversation. His usual smoothness seemed to evade him in your presence, but the prettiest twinkle in your eyes and the way you looked to the side was a reward he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Theodore Nott was many things, and stupid wasn’t one of them. Until he met you, that is. Only when the door closed behind your back did he realize that he forgot to ask for your phone number. He ran a hand over his face, frustrated, mad at himself and left to pray to everything that was holy that you would pop by again.

[janumun]

A Bond Everlasting (LaDS Rafayel - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Pairing: Rafayel/Reader Words: ~17k

Tags: soulmate AU (the red string of fate, with a twist), college setting (and they were roommates), angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, minor violence and action, scent kink, blow job, oral and vaginal sex, facial, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, merman knotting, sexual rut/Lemurian sexual cycle

Summary: Rafayel tries — and miserably fails —  to forget the one his red thread weaved against once upon a time, even a decade after its break. Finding her, once more, years later, and residing within the same place as her doesn’t help his cause. 

A/N: A happy very belated birthday gift to you, @chibamari. With all of my love and all of our favorite heartbreak, I hope you enjoy this, darling friend.

I. EBB 

The red string of fate. Rafayel found he truly loathed the concept.  

What was it, truly, if not just the Fates contemptuous scorn upon them?  

Forcing kinship and eternity in between a pair that did not mould against the other. That would, if time given, drift apart as mere bottled wishes left traversing, lonely, across the seas.  

And yet, the manacles remain celebrated, since time immemorial. As legends of the rare, and lucky few, destined to be bonded in harmony.  

Rafayel used to be — once upon a time — part of the same foolery brigade as the rest of them, the day his red thread spun and found itself interweaved against his first, and last, love. To her, he promised a Lemurian’s vow of faithful eternity. 

Until the day that blood-red thread quivered and ruptured apart, weakened by her absence.  

Leaving to Rafayel only the hollow remains of a heart rejected. The brand of its mockery left behind as indelible remains of the severed — useless — string wound against his finger.  

II. FLOW 

Deft, practiced digits streak a brush across canvas; the truculent quality to his paint lines reflecting the agitated knot of Rafayel’s brow and the hand he scrubs through his hair in chagrin at constant-wheeling thoughts. Bold strokes; an amalgamation of bright colors — gentle turquoise and oceanic azure — setting into paper to shape unconscious form to his muse, for his current class.  

It is only when he hears the ripple of applauding gasps behind — “You’re amazing, Senior Rafayel!” — is he knocked back into his senses, angling a stupefied gaze up at what he’s made of his project: originally an interpretation of the depths of the sea, the topic he’d presented his class for the day.  

He notes, in no small proportion of growing aversion, the strokes of his brush having shaped form of a delicate back — hers — against the backdrop of a vast sea, reminiscent of home. His thoughts — he muses in self-derision — having lent unconscious connection in between his place of most comfort to the person who stood as his entire comfort. 

Rafayel’s head throbs with heat, as if knelling the oncoming of a particularly harsh fever. Perhaps his less than perfect health was to blame for his momentary lapse of concentration.  

“Is the lady underwater inspired by anyone in particular, Senior? Your brushwork for her seems particularly passionate.” 

Rafayel’s mouth twitches into an insouciant, cool smile, he directs at his students. “Hmm I’m not sure. Perhaps, she’s inspired by that one mermaid movie they’re currently playing in theatres.”  

“Oh, ‘Aquatic’? I’ve seen it!” 

“Me too! It's really good.”  

“The part where she turns to sea foam—” 

A seamless lie; he lets it steer the focus of conversation away from him and his lapse in concentration. Turning back towards the board to proceed with his lecture.  

Opting to teach a fine arts course to a bunch of junior year students, for extra annual credit, was clearly shaping to be one of the worst decisions he’d ever made.  

Especially so, when the subject in question, he’d offered to teach for, in the first place, remained starkly absent throughout the duration of the lecture.  

III. EBB 

Shouldering open the door to their shared apartment, Rafayel steps inside, staggering under the weight of his stack of the newest arrival of deliveries. The apartment is silent, devoid of the sound of her characteristic pattering footsteps.  

Depositing his packages down against the side of the sofa in the living room, he collapses back into the cushions, tuning a distasteful frown towards the empty kitchen counter. Recounting to mind, the events of this morning, having shepherded him into an entire day of distraction at the University.  

“Ouch.” She hissed, a sound of surprise, wrenching her arm back from the sizzling frying pain at the spits of oil it spewed.  

Rafayel released an exaggerated sigh at the sight, ambling over towards the kitchen. “Let me help.”  

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of fixing breakfast on my own.” She attempted heroic reassurance, even as she easily treaded backwards to let Rafayel replace her at the stove.  

“Yes, yes, I believe you. I'd still like to ensure you don’t burn our apartment to the ground while I’m away at work. My paintings are priceless treasures, you know.” He deftly takes the eggs off the stove and plates them before shoving her share at her. “There you go, Miss All-Capable.” 

“Stop making fun of me.” She smiles in relieved gratitude, moving to set cutlery across the table. “And thank you.” 

Rafayel swivels a puffed smile her way. “Whatever would you do without me?”  

She shakes her head at him, attempting no effort to refute him. “Indeed.” Her fingers brush against his as she moves to pass him his share.  

“Rafayel.” She sweeps a sudden grab at his hand, digits entwining in between his. “You’re a bit warmer than usual. Are you feeling sick?” She smooths a gentle hand across his forehead.  

He feels his face burn darker at the sudden intimacy of their contact. “No, I don’t.” Instinctively jostling away from her touch. “I’m just tired, is all. I was up the entire night, after all.”  

“You really need to fix that terrible habit of yours. A healthy body leads to a healthy mind!” Rafayel can’t tamp back the grin from his face at her chiding. 

“Take better care of yourself. I can’t be here to keep you in check round the clock, you know.” She sighs in resignation.  

“Yes, yes, my noisy Mistress.”  

“Speaking of which,” She begins, just as Rafayel seats himself at the table. "I'll be out late tonight.” 

Rafayel feels his smile frost over; a dreaded, sour feeling immediately spurning at the base of his belly.  

“I have a study date with Caleb.” She does not meet his gaze, forking at her egg.  

Rafayel hears himself speak before he can tuck back his impulsive thoughts. “You sure you should be trusting the man this much? I don’t—” 

“’Like him.’ I know. I don’t know why you’re so biased against him, he’s a good person.”  

The praise dredges bitterness across his tongue; ashy and tepid. His fork nearly stabs at his own food, a disapproving moue he knows is dark upon his face. “Sure,” he intones at last, grappling against his desire to ask her not to go, to spend her day with him instead. “Have fun.” An unfair burden he knows he throws onto her shoulders; he does not possess the right to dictate who she chooses to associate with.  

And yet— 

Rafayel’s gaze deliberately treks the line of red thread adorning his ring finger — treacherously cut off a few centimetres in and dissipating into nothingness. Following the absent line of it; her own finger sits vacant against the wooden table-top. An immeasurable dejection he isn’t able to shuck off, no matter how many times his eyes have witnessed its emptiness.  

Perhaps she is right and he is sick, an inscrutable tremor setting into his fingers as they continue on with the rest of their meal in silence.  

IV. FLOW 

The oncoming dawn encroaches a gradual shell-pink spill of color across the velvet skies as Rafayel’s feverish gaze drags, listless, to the view past the patio windows, the bone-deep ache from the day past yet to recede.  

The angry scrapes of charcoal rushed across paper, forgotten as the unfinished sketch drifts purposeless down onto the floor to join the rest of its discarded predecessors.   

She has yet to return home — Rafayel had stayed up the entire night and remained planted, firm, within their lounge, to make sure he would be there to greet her on her return. She'd never been away from their apartment overnight.  

Rafayel knows because he had — on more occasions than he could count and didn’t wish to acknowledge — found himself crumpled within cool sheets, self-confined to the privacy of his room, listening in to the comforting sounds of her padded, soft movements around their apartment.  

She'd often slip back through their door, close to midnight — she made it a point, always, to return home, no matter the hour — after slaving away hours at the library for her Hunter exam. She'd try for quietude; he knew, so she wouldn’t disturb his absent sleep.  

A gentle clink of mugs at the kitchen counter as she’d make herself a cup of a coffee in preparation of burning the midnight oil.  

Despite having the physical structure of their apartment — a shelter and comfort in name — his room’s four-walled sanctity, it didn’t truly feel warm as a home until the moment she stepped past the threshold and into their shared space.  

And only when he’d hear the soft crinkle of pages turning steadily as she’d settle herself onto the living room sofa to study, would he find himself beckoned into slumber. As if she too, knew on instinct, how her presence aimed to soothe, choosing to make space for her studies right where he could hear her, in the lounge, instead of the confines of her own room. 

Yet now.  

Midnight had come and gone, dawn scraping indigo for approaching light, and no signs of her return.  

A long day behind him endured in feverish unrest and the toll of another sleepless night, doesn’t help disentangle burgeoning thoughts of her within the embrace of another man at that very moment, one not him. He can’t help but sorely curse himself for his ill-thought decision of staying the night up, waiting for her like some sorry love-struck fool.  

Not that he would’ve been able to sleep, either way; a part of him mocked in muted whispers.  

His thread throbs; a nipping bite of rejection and along with it, his body. Languid gaze absently trekking the severed thread, flickering incandescent against his ring finger. The constricting heat of it, as if traversing up his veins along with the fever within his body. Colluding against his heart, as if it wishes to eventually wither him up instead. A slow, bittersweet poison.  

Rafayel feels nauseous.  

He’s beginning to contemplate on retiring for the meagre, precious hours before his upcoming classes for the day — perhaps that bitterly strong liquor she’d stowed into the fridge earlier would help do the trick — just as the door lock clicks open.  

The sound violently startles Rafayel out of winding, unheeded thoughts enough, he springs off the sofa just as she steps foot over the threshold.  

Opening his mouth to put words to turbulent emotions — a million queries — before his questions wither off the tip of his tongue when he fixates a good, long look at her.   

She appears downright exhausted and an instinctual, foreboding spurts forth in him. The look on her careworn face, light-snuffed gaze meeting his — Rafayel thinks, mirrors the state of his own affairs — before it dissipates into stifled surprise. “Rafayel, what’re you doing up—”  

And before he can tamp himself back into composure, Rafayel’s striding the few paces it takes for him to reach her, dragging her into his embrace.  

She stiffens at the contact on instinctual reflex, it chips away at another piece of his heart. Tightens the strangulating hold of his severed thread against his soul.  

He hedges her tighter into his embrace, regardless. Head pitching down onto her shoulder; a hand he smooths down the line of her quivering back before she relaxes into him, at last.  

“Rafayel—” Arms twitching by her side and up as she circles him within her own comfort, returning his warmth in the cling of desperate digits against the back of his shirt.  

“You’re late. You're so late.” he gripes, half-hearted.  

A beat. Two passes. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”  

A peculiar relationship; she calls them friends — close — inappropriately so and he’d agreed to be one, to her, if it were the sole thing that allowed him to be by her side. For her to not abandon him once more. A relationship edging something far gnarled than friendship.  

He doesn’t believe even she has a name for what they share, in moments as these, where Rafayel forgets himself and the boundaries he holds himself to. Turns blind to pretenses and masks he fixates, so delicately crafted, for her benefit and the safety of his own heart. 

He is not, however, a man strong enough to ignore the strain of his beloved’s gaze, tiredness rimming her entire being, she feels so brittle in his arms, and it ruins him to not know the cause of it.  

“...Got something on your mind?” He murmurs into her hair. 

“Perhaps.” Her response is slow, halting.  

“Want to tell me what it is?” He breaks away from her, enough to let his eyes scour her face in stern scrutiny.  

A whispered laugh escapes her at his inspection.  

“...Rafayel, how do you feel about an early morning stroll with me?”  

V. EBB 

The shores of Whitesand Bay stretch empty within the wee hours of dawn, quiet, save for the twittering song of birds cutting across the sky and the gentle wash of waves at their bare feet as they amble along the sandy belt. She hasn’t uttered a word since, absent gaze trekking the gradual rise of the sun above the horizon, light flittering its diamonds across the lap of waves.  

The easy access to the sea — and by extension, the remarkable view — was one of the reasons they’d jointly agreed upon renting an apartment this close to Whitesand Bay, two years prior. On any other usual occasion, Rafayel’s fingers would’ve been upon pen and paper, soaking inspiration up and through rough strokes, sketching across paper.  

Now, however, his focus is all but entirely removed from his environment, vision honed in on her by his side.  

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” She murmurs, gaze still fixated upon the horizon. “I’m not an early riser like you are so I’ve never seen the sunrise here up this close.”  

She's skirting the issue, Rafayel has no mind to force her to spill her heart when she does not wish to. 

For her, he is willing to remain patient.  

Regardless of the consequences to his person.  

He joins in on her flimsy facade.  

“If only I wasn’t a little too aware of the fact.” Tapping a light fist against her temple, he angles a skewed smile down at her. “Despite my very arduous efforts to get you out of bed on multiple occasions, you’ve persisted in your terrible ways, Miss Hunter.” Heaving an exaggerated sigh. “You’re far too stubborn for your own good, I fear.” 

That gets her breaking a smile, the tensed knitted worry within her gaze easing just that tiny bit; Rafayel plucks it up for the small reward it is. “A classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Like you’re any less bull-headed.” She defends. “Don’t make me recount all the times you nearly gave poor Thomas a heart attack because your paintings weren’t ready even mere hours before the exhibitions they were supposed to be featured in.”  

His mouth pulls into a distasteful moue at that. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side. He refuses to understand the world of difference it causes in between using cherry red or wine on a canvas. If it were up to that simpleton, he’d have me besmirch all my works, just for the sake of those trivial exhibitions.”  

She chuckles. “Now, no need to get so worked-up. You know Thomas cares for you and wishes to have your talent recognized like it deserves to be.” She moves to seat herself by the shore, close to where the waves lick up at the sand. Rafayel follows suit.  

“I know how much passion you pour into your paintings.” Crinkling a gentle smile up at him. “That’s exactly why I love your art so much.” 

Rafayel’s heart catches at his throat at the easy slip of her compliment.  

She's never been sparing with her appreciation of his artworks. 

Ever since she’d chanced upon them a few years back when they’d only shortly been re-united at the time.  

She’d always been generous and open with her admiration.  

His heart, however, wasn’t immune to its traitorous stuttering, every single time at her attentions and praise.  

Perhaps she discerns the look on his face, tapping into his emotions, or realizes the curious intimacy of her statement, she wrenches her gaze away from his. Rafayel swiftly feels the keen loss of it.  

Silence sweeps once more between them, her gaze having drifted back into the seas and with it, the steady droop of her shoulders as she curves in tighter against her huddled knees. “It was a place, similar to this one, where we first met. A lost little human meeting a young Lemurian washed ashore.” Her voice barely hikes above an octave. “I didn’t think Lemurians existed for real before that, and to know I shared a red fate with one...”  

His throat closes against a sharp inhale at her whisper, the first time she’s chosen to address their past severed bond, ever since their reunion.  

Why now. He means to ask. A question that dissipates off the tip of his tongue, un-uttered.  

“We were so young back then and I inadvertently hurt you. Ever since I moved away, and time just passed, regardless...” She pauses. “You must’ve really hated me for that, huh.” She angles a cautious smile at him. 

I did not. Rafayel means to refute and yet his tongue refuses to cooperate.  

She continues on, as if she had long perceived his answer and made peace with his supposed resentment of her, unperturbed by his lack of response. Her reaction vexes him.   

“I’ve hurt someone dear to me again. Caleb—” 

The familiar name spurns bitter within his chest. “Did he do something to you?” His fingers jam against coarse sand, snagging his thread tight against his ring finger. 

“No! No. Caleb’s a good man, he’s been nothing but kind to me.”  

Deep within the recesses of his heart, Rafayel knows it, he knows it only too well; he only wishes he could truly bring himself to hate him.  

“He...” Her fingers tense harsher against her arms. “Last night, he asked me to be his girlfriend.” 

His ring finger throbs; the missing line of its thread seeming to constrict against Rafayel’s neck.  

“I turned him down.” 

A quick, involuntary bite of wicked relief thrums at the back of his breastbone. And yet— 

Why do you look as if your heart is shattering into a million pieces? 

Rafayel’s mouth seems to form words on its own as if he wishes for his own demise. “Do you regret it?” 

Her silence is a dagger that digs pointed, deep in between his ribs, the longer she lets it steep.  

She meets his gaze, a turbulent question within hers, beseeching. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I should.” She looks as if she has more to speak, restive teeth biting into her lip to hold back unsaid thoughts.

Rafayel dares not parse the emotions he sees flittering within her eyes, dares not hope for what he cannot have. Not again, for his heart to fracture once more by setting up false narratives. He has loved and will love still for eternity — he doesn’t, however, have the tenacity to bear being abandoned again. 

And so, he shutters himself, gaze wrenching away from hers, a frown knitting tight against his brow. “Whatever it is that you want, if it makes you happy, I want you to grab onto it for yourself.” Fingers brushing against hers from where they rest within the sand, index and middle lingering longer against the base of her ring finger. Before he moves, carding hesitant digits through the fall of her hair.  

For it is the only way he knows how to love — regardless of broken vows — in her happiness, even if it would never be found by his side. 

VI. FLOW

The dream stirs vivid beneath restless lids — Rafayel hasn’t dreamt of that time of theirs together in so long, a welcome awareness of his mind’s conjuring, he embraces in that moment.   

Perhaps by-products of an exhausted, sick mind. 

Or yearning for an unfulfilled wish.  

A sweet sting of desire, just as the first time he remembers it. He lets himself drown deeper into the abyss of its calling. 

He’d cut a boring class during first semester at college — he could no longer remember the subject — in lieu of chasing the path of an ambitious sparrow within a secluded spot. Located far back along the grounds of the college and protected further underneath the dense foliage of the overgrown greenery as he’d sat perched upon a bench, motionless and silent.  

Save for the smooth rush of his pencil across his journal. Detailing the quest of the bird as it leapt across the grass towards a lazing cat, blissfully dodging the feline’s half-hearted attempt at pawing it away.  

Tranquility rippled only at a surprising intrusion; she’d walked into his private space — she always seemed to find him — and he’d startled at her presence.  

“Oh! Sorry. Rafayel, I thought I—” 

Their relationship on strained ice at the time — neither of them choosing to dig up unfulfilled childhood vows or the break of their fated thread. 

 A hastened apology she’d tripped over, for disturbing him before her eyes had flickered to the open journal in his lap and she’d breathed an awed sound. Called it beautiful — a slip of the tongue, he could tell, from her demeanor.  

They'd gotten back into conversation — albeit halting — after that.  

The moment, a pivotal one, in Rafayel allowing himself to accept her back into his life, both emotionally and physically. 

He recalls the citrus notes to her perfume as she’d tentatively seated herself by his side. The way her hair curled delicate against the curve of her cheek, beckoning Rafayel to dare a hand out and slip it back against her ear. 

The unconscious brush of soft digits against his as she’d moved to accept the proffered journal from him, when she’d asked for permission to view more of his artworks.  

The relief that had sunk into his marrow, body strung far too tight for so long — he felt each ache settle and ease, when she returned to his side. As if their bond still remained.  

As if it had never fractured in the first place. 

She moves to tug the curtains close, clipping back the last shafts of light from Rafayel’s room; his damp brow now decidedly relaxed in restless slumber, after being exposed to the heat of the sun for so long.  

He’s made a habit of drawing his windows open at night, perhaps to relieve the fevered pitch of his body off the cool breeze wafting of the sea. Restive sleeplessness; keeping him tossing until near close to dawn, when she often catches him falling, thankfully, into exhaustive sleep at the end of his long, disturbed nights.  

Rafayel had been out of sorts for nearly two weeks now; a distracted gaze and a listless stride his constant companions. Adamant and mulish in his response, at inquiring of his health, every time, that he was perfectly alright and merely plagued by the weariness of sleepless nights spent on his paintings.  

Barely a day or two into that ridiculous spectacle of his before her patience with him had expired and she’d hauled him off to his room and strong-armed him into bed.  

A rueful smile tugs at her mouth at the recollection of their silly argument then.  

“Hey, ow. Easy, you’ll break me! Aaah... too late. I think I’ve already dislocated my wrist. My life as a painter is done for. Ow.”   

“Rafayel. Shut up unless you want me to gag you as well.”  Forcing the covers over his body; she glowered at him for obedience while she hastened to take his temperature.  

Rafayel’s mouth soured deeper in distaste the longer she fretted over him. Opening his mouth, surely to protest, before she cut him off. “You’re running a low-grade fever.” 

Pressing a gentle hand over his forehead, “Please, rest now.” 

A knot twisted in between Rafayel’s brow at her plea. Threading his fingers against hers. “Alright, alright I will,” he murmured, a gentle thumb he smoothed against her furrowed brow. “So, stop making that face now.”  

His agitation at his prolonged ill-health, however, had manifested in numerous half-finished drafts and rough sketches, he’d filled sheets upon sheets of paper with, littered upon his bed.  

The subject matter of most, inexplicably similar in features; a fact that surprised her, for Rafayel had always been one for continual exploration of a wide variety of subjects in his artworks, rather than one stationary objective.  

She reaches for one such sketch now, discarded by his bedside. Predictably, it is the same subject her eyes have grown accustomed to: the graceful arch of a person’s — a woman’s — back, the cascade of her hair shrouding her gaze from view. It is ethereal, haunting. Lonely.  

And. 

She exhales an unsteady breath. Although a mere unpolished sketch, she feels Rafayel’s longing in the hastened strokes of charcoal across her visage.  An inscrutable sprout of emotion twinges at her chest each time she looks upon this faceless woman, a desire to tear her gaze away from the care put into the strokes and never look at them again and yet, it’s as if her hands are not her own, each time they sift through his sketches to reveal a new one made. She despises it, and the feeling of her selfish loathing itself. Not when she bears reason nor right to feel the way she does.  

The ring finger of her right hand throbs, an echo of her turbulent emotions manifesting in the faint red restraint flickering against the base of her digit before it winks once more out of existence. 

No.  

Her gaze instinctually jumps to Rafayel, his prone form still deep in sleep.  

She'd nearly forgotten the other reason for her undue distress these past couple of days; worry for Rafayel occupying each of her thoughts, leaving little space for much else.

She sinks, weak-kneed, onto the bed, right next to Rafayel. Carding her fingers through the soft brush of his hair, gently thumbing a line down his temple.  

She’d thought her mind was conjuring illusive tricks the first few times she’d caught that fleeting flicker of red across her finger. 

Impossible, for it had been nearly twelve years since she’d lost her bond after being forced away from Rafayel. And then, her eyes had insistently tried tracing the line of it, every time it shimmered against her finger, hoping that it would perhaps.... 

Just maybe, if a miracle were to occur— 

That it would re-connect. Back to the only person she’d ever loved. Back to him, her beautiful Lemurian. That perhaps, he’d grant her another chance. That perhaps there was a sliver of hope that Rafayel would love her back once more.  

Once more. 

 Her yearning dashed in the brutality of a truth, far too incomprehensible to her mind. 

On the day her grandmother caught sight of her glimmering thread before she’d informed her with much joy; a red thread of fate, if once severed, made an appearance once more, within the lifetime of rare, chosen… fortunate individuals. If Fate ever ordained for the individuals to find new love once more. Another love so great, it changed Fate’s threads and course itself.  

“You’re blessed, my darling girl. Most people are happy enough if they get to enjoy even one fated love throughout their lives. But you've found two in your lifetime. It is a joyous thing, my love, do not be sad. Do not weep.” 

“...Perhaps, it is time you let him — let your past go.”  

Like ice curdling within her veins. As if Fate itself were playing upon her a cruel jest. She could never. How could she ever? 

And then, her denials had crumbled entirely, shortly after that dreaded truth.  

Her oldest friend, her sole pillar when she’d lost Rafayel. The person who’d held her close and kept her heart safe—  

When she’d lie in bed all day during her earliest days, screaming from the deluging fever of her bond withering. 

—It was the day her childhood friend, her Caleb confessed.  

Even without the evidence of a corporeal bond connecting them, that had been her last straw.  

She presses her lips against Rafayel’s cheek, overwhelming emotions threatening to surge, unable to resist or hold herself in control. “I could never.” she vows under her breath, fingers stroking down the line of his cheek. “Even if you have let go of me, Rafayel, I’m—” 

She feels the roughened pads of his digits against where she touches his face, perturbed at the sudden movement. His eyes flitter, restless, beneath his lids, grasp tightening upon her wrist. “My beloved bride.”

She tries and yanks herself away from his touch, startled at his unconscious murmuring. Rafayel does not let go, nudging his cheek against the crook of her captured palm.  

“Rafayel.” She urges, her heart stuttering over its beats. “Rafayel, please wake up.”  

At long last, he listens; that beautiful, florid gaze misted with the callings of sleep still, as it focuses on her. He makes an indiscrete sound. “Is it morning already? Agh, my head hurts.” He continues to nuzzle his face against her palm.  

“R-Rafayel! Hey!” She winces, hand unbearably hot within his hold. “Let go of me now. If you’re up, have some breakfast instead. You need the energy, dummy.” 

“Don’t want to let you go. Pamper me more.” And yet, he refuses to heed her lukewarm pleas, extremely wilful in his post-sleep, feverish daze.  

She huffs out a breathless laugh, her apprehension ebbing, gentle, into silence the longer she feels his warmth against her.  

Maybe she is allowed to indulge just a bit longer.  

 VII. EBB 

An errant thread and an inexplicable long spell of heat, as if trudging up a steep path, burgeoning fast towards an inevitable destination he could not quite clutch at. Unsolicited suspicions, as to the true nature of his predicament, incessantly rapping at his thoughts.  

Rafayel feels that dour twist to his brow; darkening his features at the wheeling course of his mind. 

 She’s caught him in similar moods since his “illness” commenced, more times than he can count. The endless time afforded his way, involuntarily threading his thoughts to places he doesn’t wish to visit. He doesn’t wish, ever, to alarm or upset her, setting to ease her thoughts the moment worry mars her features, testing index and middle against the sharp knot at her forehead before his attentions — and hers — are compelled entirely her way.  

That is also something that has shifted in between them, into something entirely different. He’s been unusually attuned to her for the duration of his peculiar period of ill-health.  

She has always been his primary muse, the focal point where all of Rafayel’s tangled thoughts find eventual and inevitable convergence. However, somehow, all of those sensibilities have turned sharper, impossibly aware of... her.  

Unconsciously turning to placations the moment he comprehends her distress. Choosing to bury, in turn; soothe the heat of his body within the scent of hers. Her hands on him when she fusses to take his temperature, her clothes, he takes a surreptitious, lungful breath of, when she moves close to towel the fevered sweat off his body. Truly, he does not understand what is wrong with him.  

Two weeks in now and his need for answers has driven him to near madness. He’s loathe to admit he must consult one, perhaps, more knowledgeable on the subject than he.  

He paces into the lounge, heavy in thought, fingers worrying at the phone in hand. 

“Oh, you’re up. Are you feeling any better?”  Just as she calls over to him from the kitchen counter.  

��Of course,” he fibs, tucking the phone back into the pocket of his trousers. He ambles over to her, dressed neat in her trainee uniform as she works a paring knife around an apple. “What’re you doing?”  

“You should have something healthy to eat while I’m away.”  

“Ah.” He plucks a piece of fruit off the plate next to her, eyeing the peculiar shape. “So, you decided to cut me some apple bunnies.”  The corners of his mouth drag into a skewed grin. “I am not a child, cutie.”  

She makes an inflated motion of surprise, pressing a hand against her chest. “Really?”  

And when he rolls his eyes at her, “Of course you aren’t,” she grins. “I’ve never met any children as stubborn as you.”  

“Cheeky.” He flicks a gentle hand against her forehead.  

His eyes skim towards the wall clock and back towards her neatly pressed outfit. “You have an on-field Hunter’s exam this afternoon, don’t you? You’ll be late if you dawdle any longer. Besides, I can feed myself just fine.”  

She startles a bit as her eyes, too, take note of the hour. Hastily shoving the plate of her fresh cut fruit into his hands. “Alright, I’ll leave. You better eat, then rest up. Don’t exert yourself, alright?”  

She steps past the counter. “Come, Kiki.” A white dutiful ball of fur capers up to her as soon as she calls. Rafayel hedges further against the counter just as the white ball tumbles into her waiting arms.  

“There, what a good girl you are!” She croons over the cat, petting at that little fiend pet of her friend’s. She rises to her feet. 

“I’ll drop her off at Tara’s before heading to the centre.”  

“Good riddance,” Rafayel mutters, blenching just as she moves closer with the cat still in her arms.  

“Rude, I’m sad to see her go so soon.” She pulls a glum face at him.  “Do you want to pet her goodbye before she leaves and you start missing her?”  

“I won’t,” He dissents, even as he braves the tips of his fingers against Kiki’s head in a cautious scritch before snapping his hand right back. “Bye, white menace.”  

Rafayel’s moue of specious disapproval turns deeper with her knowing grin. “Let’s go now that you’ve said your farewells to Uncle Rafayel.” She kisses the top of the cat’s head as it purrs in elated satisfaction at her attentions. 

He quirks a flippant brow at her. “All affections for the furry feline, I see.” 

She laughs, the sound an aching balm against long-wrought nerves. “Why, is my fish jealous of a little kitten? Come here, then.”  

“I am not—!” He sputters, just as her hand curves about the back of his neck and pulls downward, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.  

The previously simmering, barely tamped warmth of his body bursts forth with a brilliant vengeance, his skin set ablaze at just the graze of her touch. Rafayel has to actively constrain himself from keeling over entirely on the floor from his sudden deluge of emotions. Has to curb the quiver of his arms from wanting to steal that heat back against his body.  

She draws back, just as swift, on her feet. The pink of her cheeks is infectious, enticing. Rafayel stares at her, mute and slack-jawed, even as she backs out of the kitchen and through the front door. “I’ll see you tonight, my little fish!” And then he’s left to his own spiraling thoughts.  

Ah. Rafayel scrubs agitated palms down the length of his face in the ensuing silence of their home. His scarlet thread burns incandescent in his hind-vision, flittering in its sporadic expansion. If only she knew how entirely ruined he was at her feet, alone.  

VIII. FLOW  

“You rejected Caleb’s confession?”  

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t anticipated Tara’s baffled outburst.  

It was part of the reason why she chose to reveal the ‘news’ to her this unceremoniously, as she gently eased Kiki over into Tara’s arms while they stood at her open front door. She adored Tara but was of no mind to be sat down at length while her best friend grilled the details out of her.  

Not ready for the difficult conversations that would ensue; of her past grievances, the break of her fated thread and how she dreaded, within a dark crevice of her heart, that Caleb might turn out to be the one her Fate was once more, trying to bind her to. How could she even begin to delineate it wasn’t what she wanted?  

No, she wasn’t ready for that conversation with Tara, at all.  

“I’m going to be late for my exam, Tara.” She gives her a contrite smile.  

“Yes, I know, sorry, darling, but… why? I really thought things were well between you too. And I was sure there was something going on—! I— can’t you say?” Her friend’s gaze is weighty, imploring. “Is there... someone else?” Her eyes widen. “Is it—” 

And the longer she’s met with terse silence, the heat of her gaze wanes in gradual realization before, at last, she retreats her onslaught, a troubled groan leaving her lips. “At least tell me you’re alright. I’ve been worried about you.”  

“I know, Tara, I’m sorry. I’m perfectly fine.” She gives her free hand a squeeze before withdrawing back a few steps. “I should really go now.”  

Tara loses another sigh. “You really should. Promise we’ll catch up later?”  

“I promise.” She raises her hand in farewell, jogging down the few steps to her house.  

Tara calls out to her just as she reaches the foot of her stairs. “Good luck, girl! I’m cheering for you.”  

She flashes her friend an appreciative smile.  

With Tara, she really can’t be sure if she meant her encouragement for her qualifying physical exam. Or something else entirely.  

Knowing her friend, it was probably both.  

She reaches the examination centre just under the wire, right as the towering gates to the grounds swing shut behind her and two other late-comers.  

Toggling open her Hunter’s Watch, she hastens to join the formation up ahead of several other students, already lined in neat rows for their on-field Wanderers exam. Sidling in place, into her empty spot, just as the instructor in front drones on the list of rules for the exam, from upon his podium. “You are to form pairs of two, as per your roll numbers and enter your designated Protofields, to commence your exam. Before you begin, make sure...” 

He goes over the structures of the regulations one by one, detailing what actions would mete them points and what would deduct them in case of improper conduct.  

“These Protofields have been simulated under intensively controlled environments and contain a plethora of C and B-grade Wanderers you are to deal with, within the desired time limit. Coordinate with your partner, watch each other’s backs and follow all routine safety regulations. Violators will be disqualified on the spot.” He continues. “Keep within bounds of all marked fields, maintain your senses and you should do well. Lastly, trust your education and the skills you have acquired over the course of these years via means of your perseverance and hard work. May you reign victorious, young Hunters!” With his final words, the crowd disperses, heading towards their designated spots for their exams. 

She taps her fingers against her Hunter’s Watch, pulling up the specifications of the Protofield she is to clear, before setting out. 

 

“Gabriel? Hi.” She calls to her team-mate as she moves to join him, recognizing the man from the same class division as hers.  

He returns her greeting, the two setting to sync their data via their watches within the final minute countdown before their exam commences. The flux nexus, in front, pulses to life upon confirmation of both their identities, filtering its pre-programmed wavelength to project upon the barren field. A kaleidoscopic flitter of energy wheeling across the space once is their only indication of a protofield activated, before the two step forwards, cautious, weapons at the ready.  

“No.” Rafayel’s jaw steels in chagrin, hearing the resigned, gentle finality of the words on the other end of the line.  

“Rafayel...” Talia coaxes.  

“I said no. You’re wrong.” He gnashes out, even as the heat simmers, muggy and suffocating, within his body. Even as he continues to deny the indubitable truth of her words.  

For if he did, he would have to face the looming fate of another horrifying possibility.  

The regret of asking for Talia’s help sits heavy within his throat. Facts she utters in such certitude, it leaves Rafayel irrationally agitated. He knows it is not her fault.  

 He hears her soft sigh on the other end of the line. “You told me you’ve been suffering these bouts of ‘fever’ since the past two weeks, an ‘illness’ that refuses to abate and that your...” She pauses, as if seeking words best to voice her next. “incomplete thread has been showing sporadic signs as of late.” 

“Yes.” His voice is quiet, stiff. 

“Rafayel, you’re experiencing early symptoms of an oncoming rut and you know it. You feel it. You didn’t need to call me, when you’re well-informed on the matter yourself, even if you’ve never experienced it before.” She pauses.  “The only reason you reached out to me is that you wanted me to validate your suspicions, isn’t that right?” 

He does not respond to her astute observation.

“An unmated Lemurian cannot experience sexual cycles the same way as a bonded Lemurian. And as you are well-aware, my thread was long severed.” He refutes, contemptuous. “You know what, forget I asked. You clearly don’t understand what’s wrong with me any better than I do. Sorry for crashing your honeymoon. Goodbye, Talia.”  

“Is your thread truly severed, Rafayel?” Her voice rings, solemn, from the other end of the line, just as Rafayel moves to disconnect the call. He pauses, gaze involuntarily skewing towards his lengthening line of red thread. The frown in between his brow turns severe, as if being coerced to witness a sight against his will.  

“You’re experiencing a re-connection and you’re not allowing yourself the happiness that comes with new love. It’s a rare and beautiful thing, for your red fate to find itself weaved against a new person you would cherish.”  

Rafayel does not have the resolve to discredit her words despite his vehement disagreement; having known her experience the loss of her first love, the agony of her days after. And only years later, had she allowed herself to love once more, a happiness Rafayel was content to stand in observance to, glad at her well-deserved peace.   

He, however, was different from Talia. He’d rather his Fate dissipate entirely than for it to wind itself against a stranger. He was different, for Rafayel knew he would never love again, never cherish another, no matter the decades in between.  

For him, there would never be anyone else. 

A transitory pressure curdles heavy about her shoulders as they pace past the barrier and into the protofield. The familiarity of their training grounds dwindles away, large looming falls of thick trees rising, ominous, to blot the skies. Blanketing twilight, instantaneous, overhead. A slow, sweeping curl of gray, mists about their feet, soaking into the dank ground beneath. 

Beside her, she hears Gabriel’s apprehensive breaths. “I can never get used to this.”  

Weapons at the ready, they trudge a slow, cautious path through the simulated wilderness. Gnarled branches seize and snick at their clothes, the craggy mire beneath, a strenuous trudge to keep upright through; as if the forest itself were alive with wicked intent.  

Gabriel’s firearm is the first to go off in a thunderous shot, breaking a flock of obsidian birds to startle into the skies. She follows suit, breaking into a dash along with him; the dark, hunched figure of a fleet-footed Wanderer she aims her gun at and fires, the shot catching it right against its head. The creature lurches forwards onto its body in a seething screech of sound, following its crackling demise into a spoor of pungent smoke.  

The two maintain their steady pace of weeding the area of Wanderers, most they’re able to dispatch with ease. Reflexes and hard ingrained years of training coming into play, the more battles they win through, setting into an easy rhythm of partnership.  

The Wanderer Gabriel skews his sword through in a final thrust, disintegrates into smoke with a rattling gurgle.  She pauses to survey their surroundings, the deep, metallic skies yet to dissipate entirely: indication of a cleared exam. Up ahead, she spies a peculiar forking at the path, the protofield seeming to disperse into dense, murky mist past the intersection. Gabriel flicks the blood off his sword, moving to join her. “Strange.” 

“Yeah. I don’t think low grade Wanderers can distort protofields to this extent.” She agrees. 

“Likely an A grade, at least. Shouldn’t be harder than what we’ve handled so far.” He pauses. “Besides the fact that this one seems like it can replicate itself into weaker copies, judging from the splice it’s created in the field.” 

She frowns at his conclusion, likely accurate. There shouldn’t be an A grade on the loose within a junior hunter’s exam, to begin with; a Wanderer class reserved only for the final year senior field exam. Signals are, as expected sparse, this deep within the protofield, and with an A grade, at hand, tampering the protofield, the possibility of communications being established sits non-existent, at present. She drops a distress signal onto the Hunter’s site, regardless, moving to join him at the fork.  

“We’ll have to clear out the Wanderer, either way, if we want to leave this protofield.” She swipes her empty magazine for a new one, securing it fast back into her gun.  

“Right.” Gabriel’s own fist tightens against the hilt of his sword. “You take the right, I’ll take the left? The distortion should be obliterated on its own once we eliminate all of its copies. I’ll see you soon, partner.”  

“Right back at you. Good luck.”  

Gabriel flashes a flimsy grin at her before treading onto the left path. A swift heavy oppression belts massive across the field, the compression settling a deafening din to her ears. “Hah, Gabriel, wait—” 

But it’s too late. Her partner’s form, long digested by the roiling clouds of black before she can call him back.  

Something’s not right. An A-grade Wanderer shouldn’t be able to exert that kind of pressure. 

An electromagnetic resonance tremors across the space, as if something rattles at the confines of the protofield from beyond. Wanting in.  

Sweat gathers clammy and unpleasant across the back of her neck, her eyes skittering back towards where Gabriel vanished into the murk.  

She firms a hand around her gun, steeling her spine for courage. Whatever anomaly has occurred within the premises of their exam can be dealt with later. Her first priority; to help Gabriel out in eliminating all of the A-grade's clones and dissipating the distortion in front before they planned their next move. And help would arrive soon, once transmission allowed her distress signal to go through, they just had to hold on until then; she reassures herself.  

Moving forward to stride past the muted obsidian barrier at her right.  

The dark cloak of the Wanderer’s protofield washes across her skin like skidding, frigid fingers of emptiness, it spills an involuntary shiver down her spine.  

The cold, metallic spires of the protofield taper off into the void overhead as she steps onto the main field. A skittering figure, one, two, three; lunge, whip-swift, towards her as soon as they spot her, gaping maws and needle teeth poised to tear into her before her fight or flight reflexes jam in. She empties a volley of bullets into their bodies, sieving clean through the approaching Wanderers. Lobs of inhumane flesh, dissipating as soon as they hit the ground.  

Several far smaller figures melt out of the darkness to aim their attacks at her; one after the other she takes down in swift shots. Breaths trembling harsh and hot, her heart hammering over its frantic beats the longer the fight persists.  

A fatigued mistake; being mere seconds slow to switch her empty gun for another, costs her a hard, long gash sliced through the sleeve of her shoulder by the remaining Wanderer. Fire licks up across her arm in a sudden shock of pain, muted instantaneously underneath the roiling pump of adrenaline. She wrenches a dagger off her leg strap. Twisting her torso about to bring her uninjured arm up in a sharp arc, furiously tearing a split through the last Wanderer with a fierce yell and the remnants of her fraying stamina.  

The Wanderer’s remains snivel into a fire just as it hits the ground, the cool, metallic gloom giving way to the unraveling edges of the original forest once more. 

And just as her eyes adjust to the shadows of the protofield once more, she catches sight of a figure slumped upon the grass, unmoving. “Gabriel!” She yells, forcing her limbs underneath her through the pained grit of bared teeth. Clutching hard at her arm to stopper the slow rivulets of blood flow seeping from the gash before she stumbles across the grass towards the man.  

Her Hunter’s Watch blinks, in indication of a transmission successful — her distress signal. Collapsing to her knees at Gabriel’s side just as her watch flares to life in blaring red, an ominous warning running across the screen.  

S-Grade: Deluge Wyrmlord.   Protofield type: Memory Distortion Solo Hunters, do not engage.  

Her mouth runs dry at the far calls of her name—  

“Special Grade—!” Gabriel’s voice resounds just from across the field. “—Run!” 

The collapsed figure at her feet assimilating into thin air, a trick blanketed over her weary mind, by the workings of a high-class Wanderer.  

She feels that intense bone-crushing pressure creep across her back once more, her breath coming through in fits of raspy air. Fixing the barrel of her gun back across her shoulder, she fires, just as a great, dark talon comes across her face, drowning her in darkness.

The call has barely disconnected when Rafayel tosses the phone aside, staggering onto his feet under the heated weight of his body. His eyes drift — an involuntary reflex — towards that squeamish glow of red, his thread flickering in and out of sight, the extended length of it, an alarming sight. Vexation ticks harsh at his jaw.  

Before he’s able to reign control, the spits of a brilliant vermillion fire spurt forth from tapered digits, rushing across the incorporeal red string, in an effort to blaze the blasted thing off of him entirely.  

The fire dissipates, harmless, as expected, with the absence of a pure solid medium to burn. His thread glimmers to life once more, as if deriding Rafayel with its presence.  

Beyond agitated, fervent digits pluck upwards, summoning his Evol to life for a stronger burst of energy —   

A sudden inundating contraction pierces in vengeance across his heart, sending a bolt of excruciating pain lancing through his chest. Rafayel flounders; violently pitching to his knees from the intensity of its sensations. His breaths are hard to smother past lungs that burn for oxygen and yet refuse to inhale. 

Red throbs, vivid and urgent, across his ring finger, as if the call of a terrible siren, knelling of ill-fate and destruction.  

His own fire, begs to consume, hurtling across his skin, a throat that chokes from the fervid heat of his bond, threatening to annihilate him entirely. He feels his humane features molding against the translucent glimmer of cerulean scales, his human form scattering in response to the irrefragable call of his bond, his mate.  

She’s in danger. 

Alarming apprehension dawns upon his mind, the sole thought of her throttling his mind, his oath promised, urging to call upon the one person her thread connects to, a Fate irrefutable, a bond everlasting.  

No. 

A savage inferno tears across Rafayel’s body — scarlet and florid licks of fire — until it engulfs him entirely, leaving nothing in its wake.  

Silence is all that remains behind. 

IX. EBB  [TW for this chapter: passing mentions of domestic abuse]

White peels back from her field of vision; slowly revealing to her the dreary, stifling atmosphere of an incredibly familiar room. A young girl stands amidst a crowd of mourning adults, some in loud tears. Others who secrete their faces into handkerchiefs and shake their heads in dismay at the “poor orphan”. Nausea wrestles pungent within her belly at the sight.  

Her gaze, involuntarily shepherded, past the throng of mourners and towards the picture of the deceased — she knows that face before she sees it — her absent father who had often left her to her own devices, save for the times he was not actively trying to assault her with stray bottles of alcohol, laying in plain sight or the utensils and plates she used to serve his meals, on days he wore down all of their expenses for another swig of tepid, cheap alcohol.  

She knows the child in front of her now feels neither sadness nor remorse as people who call themselves her relatives step over, one after the other, offering words of specious pity and solace she has no use of.  

It was also the day she’d met her Grandma for the first time.  

The scene in front falls out from beneath her feet, traded for the sounds of defeated shrieks and futile violence in the tiny fists that try and shove off the social workers, from bodily dragging her away from the familiarity of her old house. The young girl screams and screams for Rafayel, begs them not to take her away, that she doesn’t want to live with her Grandma several cities across the seas; a gap so wide, how would she ever find the only person who had meant the entire world to her, once more? She hadn’t even told him she was leaving. They wouldn’t let her leave the house, for fear she might run away.  

Her head throbs in vicious pain, ominous tendrils of rooted fire curling through the recesses of her brain as she watches the girl’s — her — futile resistance. 

A gibbering shadow skates past the edges of her vision. She feels like she’s forgetting something direly important, skirting just past the edge of memory. 

The young girl never told the adults around her of the young Lemurian boy — bonded though they were. She knew of the dark whispers that coiled through the cesspool she lived within, how the Lemurians were a species, well-coveted for how steeply priced their bodies sold for, within the black market. 

Her fierce possession and numbing worry for her vulnerable Lemurian had kept her from ever revealing her thread in another’s presence. For how had any of the adults stepped up to be her protectors, ever, in the young girl’s life? She trusted no one, save for herself and her sole mer-friend. She'd promised him they’d stay together forever; she’d vowed upon the sole pair of glimmering seashells, they’d found sanded within their beach, that she’d marry him when they grew up. She had— 

Obsidian smoke curls about her limbs, seeps into her lungs; a slow, poisonous ingestion. The deep, dark dreary roar of a beast sounds from afar, within the recesses of her memories.  

“You abandoned me.” She whips on her heel, coming face to face with her young Lemurian, eyes listless, lightless.  

“No.” She totters away from the horror of her nightmares manifested.  

An ice-cold hand wraps about her torn sleeve, digits digging deep into her wound. She cries out in instinctive pain, wrenching at her arm in an effort to free it. Her wild gaze meets Rafayel’s. Older, far frigid; the present Rafayel looks at her with an insouciant emptiness, it tears at the heart bruising within her chest. “You abandoned me,” he repeats.  

His hand jams about her throat, lifting her clean off her feet. She throttles violently within his grasp, breaths coming in rapid, tapering hisses. “And then, like the rest of those shameless humans, you thought it wise to appear before my eyes once more.” The pressure upon her wind-pipe increases, bit by bit, forcing tears into wide, panicked eyes. “You wanted to capture me too, didn’t you? You're just like the rest of them.” Rafayel’s just ire, cleaves like knives shoved right beneath her breastbone, bleeding out her heart. 

It’s an illusion, Rafayel would never. A stray whisper catches at her ears.  

“Would I really never? Well, aren't your thoughts so convenient. Admit it, you’ve always known.” Rafayel’s gaze is dark in barely tamped wrath and disgust. “I despise you, you and all your kind.” 

“R-Rafayel...” The dull, grey curl of smoke — previously shifting in wait at the edges of her vision — approaches nearer, her defences swiftly waning underneath his assault. Fingers, she scraps bloody against his grip upon her throat, and yet he refuses to relent.  

“It would be better for you to perish here, no? You'll leave me free to live my own life then. I would no longer be shackled to you like some pet.”  

“Y-You were never—” 

A furious scarlet fire splinters a path through Rafayel — his body distorts out of existence for a moment before he gathers form once more. A surprised brow he raises in question at the interference.  

“Snap out of it!”  

Rafayel?  

Her swimming gaze hones in on her beloved, from across the indifferent Rafayel’s shoulder, surely another wraith of her mind; wide blown panic, turbulent within his gaze.  

“What do you think you’re doing believing that sham?” Another burst of Evol sparks across his fingers, aimed at the other Rafayel.  

“You must trust me, believe in me alone.” Another volley of enraged fire skewers through the Rafayel holding her captive — cleaving past him harmless — the latter views him as if he were an offending impediment. “That thing is not me. It’s trying to devour you!” 

“Shut up,” the colder Rafayel speaks, hand jamming tighter against her throat, causing precious breaths to come through stuttered wheezes.  

The other Rafayel steps forward, a desperate hand he holds outstretched for her; an electromagnetic interference rippling about his body, stalling his further motions. “You have to believe the truth in front of your eyes — believe me — to be free of its prison. I have never, not for a moment, held our past against you.”  

“An imposter,” the cruel one says.  

Rafayel drives another step forwards, through the whipping waves of the scape’s resistance, snicking wounds across his jaw, tearing at his clothes. “I don’t regret meeting you.” The gentle azure of his gaze sparks vivid in a deluge of emotions; misery, panic and hopeful sincerity commingling. You were — you have always been my greatest joy, my only muse.” 

The Rafayel that holds her captive bites out an inhumane bark, eyes fading swiftly into obsidian. “I hate you, I’ve always hated you.”  

“Do you remember,” Rafayel urges, heaving another step closer. “the seashells you used to weave into necklaces and put on me when we first met? You told me they made me seem as brilliant as a Sea God, your Sea God, when you did.”A splintered laugh escapes his mouth at the recollection. “Even when I told you the ocean’s gods didn’t wear necklaces made of shells.” 

His voice breaks, emotions raw and desperate within the throaty catch of it, dragging her down the spiral of fond memories. “And the songs you used to hum for us in that odd, off-note voice when you were happy, you’ve retained that silly habit long even into your adult years now.”  

Emotions spurt and tumble free-fall from the inky desolation of her heart, tearing open at the seams of doubts and guilt.  

“And when you are mad, the reckless storm that gathers at your face is endearing. When you forgive me just as easily, the smile that lights your face...” 

A distant rumble sounds through the scape of your illusions, world crumbling apart at the seams.  

“I remember it all, like irreplaceable ornaments, treasures. Without you, I—” He bites back, harsh, at his words. The curious blue sheen across his face, glimmers. 

Eyes that glisten in moisture that threatens to seep past damp lashes; Rafayel’s eyes fall shut in a scraped plea.  

Emotions fueled by the catch of a distraught mind though he were, his words snag, painful, at her throat, springing tears to flow free-fall, at the comfort of his tender confessions. She, too, remembered all there was to know about him, her Rafayel, because of how she adored him. His words and steadfast affection seeping gentle into her mind now, in swift recollection. 

The great, dark beast in front has long shed its false skins, rattling useless in the face of her realization; it wrenches away from her body as if burned. “Pestilent humans.” As it flees entirely from the scape of illusions, great, dark fractures spilling up the space with its departure. 

She drops towards the disintegrating floor, once released, heaving in great lungfuls of air. Rafayel — the wraith of her mind — lunges forward, snatching her body mid-air against his as they fall, with the demolition of the Wanderer’s illusions shattered from her mind.  

A deluging rush of remembrance; the exam, the Wanderer, of being dragged into darkness by the Deluge Wyrmlord tumbles back into a now clear mind. 

And this Rafayel, having stood witness to all her memories.  

He lands on nimble feet, upon the now revealed protofield of the Wanderer; the weight of his Evol, she feels, scatter into the air.  

“You’re injured.” He mourns softly, fingers glancing gentle against the abrasion of her throat from where the Wanderer choked her, down her bruised arm, the blood long staunched in dark red across the cut. 

“I’ll be fine.” She cradles his face within a careful palm, face softening in overwhelming gratitude. If only she, too, could tell him how much she truly loved him. 

Rafayel makes a skeptical sound of disapproval. A hand, he sifts up into her hair and curls about the back of her head. “Hold still.” And before she can finally think to question why a figment of her mind still persists outside the cast illusion, Rafayel is pressing his lips against hers, mouth moving to part hers until she feels warmth flow into her, the shock of his actions making her throat swallow around him on instinct. 

The dull throb at her arm, the cuts and bruises across her aching legs — breaths that seep in easier, with the patched abrasions of her throat — give way to strength as she witnesses her wounds stitch up, in disbelieving surprise. 

“A Lemurian’s essence holds healing properties,” He breathes, heated against her lips. “our tears, saliva—” He pauses. “You’ll feel better soon.” The fever of his skin beneath her grasping fingertips, his shallow breaths come in quick; the flush across his cheekbones feels much too corporeal to be mere figment of her imagination. 

Her eyes widen in disbelief, mind refusing to comprehend his presence. Restless hands tracing the shape of his firm body underneath hers; his neck, the strength of his shoulders, down the unyielding expanse of a solid chest. 

It just couldn’t be. 

“Are you... real?” She slips a palm about the curve of his cheek, index and finger pinching at the flesh. “You can’t be real, you can’t be here.” 

Rafayel chokes on an incredulous laugh. “What an inane question, can’t you tell, silly girl?” He sounds offended. 

A plethora of questions tumble within her mind as Rafayel bumps his forehead up against hers, moisture glistening like pearls upon his cheeks. “I can sense you. And I felt it, when I nearly lost you.” He grits out the words, chagrined; breath hitching in pain as if reliving a nightmare. 

Her heart shrivels at his admission, aching gaze tracing the outline of his Lemurian features. “But, I... I don’t understand. You look so different, Rafayel, what—” 

A great ominous roar sounds from the center of the protofield, the Wanderer now having recovered from its short rebuttal of having been torn away from its prey.  

Rafayel lets her down onto her feet cautiously. Taking her hand in his, his skin sits unbearably warm against hers, “Questions later. We have to get rid of that Wanderer right now. Come on.” 

She nods at him, the two turning to face the Wanderer before they fixate their stance. Hurtling forth in tandem towards the approaching monster; weapons materializing within firm fists. 

They rush, as one, at the large winged creature, aiming right against the base of its great talons. A shield thrown upon the Wanderer, comes half-way down with their first assault.  

Back against his, she feels him tackle down the monster’s onslaught of weaker Wanderers, unearthly fire blazing away at its minions. A shimmering, amethyst line of fetters gathers form with his Evol, to grasp about the Wanderer’s body as it rages. She feels his breaths coming in harsher, feels the way he tightens his body through each motion of offense against their enemy — in no condition to be fighting off a high-class Wanderer with the weight of his sickness slowing him down.  

She captures Rafayel’s wrist in hers, jolting him backwards. Lunging in front of him to take the Wanderer’s next full-bodied assault. “Rely on me, I’ll fight for us both!” She calls to him over her shoulder. 

She catches his mute moment of surprise, out the corner of her eye before he bursts into quiet laughter. “What a reliable bodyguard.” Curving a palm about her shoulder, his Evol, she feels resonating against hers in harmony. “But if you insist.” Weaving their Evols together to strengthen; the dark fetters that plunge forwards this time, chain about the Wanderer’s girth, firmer, breaking clean through another of its shields.  

The Wyrmlord screeches in crazed agony, ramming a heavy appendage straight for them. The two lunge in opposing directions to avoid the assault; Rafayel, a split second too slow to dodge as its claws catch at the side of his abdomen, tearing at his shirt.  

He hurtles heavily onto the ground, body rolling across the Protofield before he swiftly catches himself, teetering back on to unsteady legs. His pants come in harsher, the scales across his face glimmering in fevered sweat; his body’s condition holding him back.

“Rafayel!” She calls for him on an urgent shout, rushing the Wanderer from its side, to cleave clean through its shield of defense. “Don’t push yourself anymore and stay back! You aren’t well!” 

He shakes his head at her, holding his body high once more. His shallow wound, she sees, stitch up soon after, the incandescent cerulean glow of his scales striking against his features. “It’s not what you think it is.” Rafayel streaks forward just as the Wanderer attempts to take flight for a sweeping offensive. 

He springs for the monster, using the momentum of his run, punting hard off its body; vicious chains of static purple zipping through it, to bring it crashing down onto the ground. The Wanderer’s remaining shield shattered in one critical hit, bringing it down in a violent collision of great, dark wings and a massive scaled body, vulnerable to damage.  

“Now! Rafayel instructs. Coalescing the bulk of his powers into the clench of a fist, he lunges for the Wanderer; her own movements, complimenting against his. Raising their weapons up high, their Evols converge against the other’s in a final, galvanic purple blast of energy. 

The Wanderer screeches one final sound of agony before it skitters lifeless at the ground, its disintegration setting into tattered fragments of energy.

The protofield around them begins to wane, jagged shards of breakage appearing across the domed surface of it, as soon as the Wanderer falls. 

“It’s over.” She exhales, relief plucking sharp across the back of her breastbone.

“Let me take… a moment to catch my breath.” And with the sheer adrenaline of the fight holding him up now, gone, so too does Rafayel’s strength ebb from him entirely, as he pitches onto his feet. “Rafayel!”  Just as she dives forward to catch him within her arms before his body hits the ground. “Hey!”  

Rafayel’s breathing harder, the sweat that dampens his brow far more pronounced with the appearance of his Lemurian features, glimmering scales gradually fanning wider across his skin. “Stay with me, it’s over.”

And then she sees it, the flittering of vivid red, burning against his ring finger. Pulsing harsher with each labored sound of breath he endures through and her breath frosts within her lungs.

She feels the distant pattering of approaching footsteps just as Rafayel’s hot palm curves about her wrist in a possessive hold. “We have to get out of here. I need to get home.”  

The frantic calls of her name echo across the field; she lifts her head to catch sight of a pale-faced Gabriel, waving his hands at her from just across the area. She shouts at him to stay where he is, cradling Rafayel closer to her torso for fear of his scales being seen. 

In this moment, she cannot bring herself to care for anything except providing what Rafayel needs; the frenetic urgency to his words enough to have her obeying without questions asked.  

Calling for her teammate, once more, to let the others know they were both alright and that she’d be back at a later time before Rafayel urges her thoughts back to himself.

“That’s... enough. Come now.” He moans within her embrace, just as Gabriel utters an unintelligible question of confusion. Her Lemurian’s fingers spasming against hers, “Hold tight.” he grinds out, before they’re both engulfed in a florid sea of fire.  

X. FLOOD 

The two of them come crashing onto a hard, polished surface; Rafayel’s arms tightening about her body in protection, just as his shoulder connects with the floor, with their fall. Deposited into the empty safety of his room — she notes in shock — by his Evol already shriveling out of existence.  

He shudders in visible pain beneath her, just as she scrabbles to get off his body. “I’m sorry—” The ferocity of his strength, however, hauls her back, bodies crushed against each in a firm, searing line. 

Rafayel’s pants rattle hot against the skin of her neck; the harsh rise and fall of his chest, she feels burn against her own, even through their clothes. He keeps them enclosed within that sweltering space of silence for several, long moments. 

Reaching her fingers out to comb through his unruly hair, in comfort, the adrenaline of their fight having fast shifted into worry for his health.  

Why had he decided to come after her in the fevered state he was in? How had he even known to come for her? The questions, unanswered, careened about in an endless cycle within her mind. 

Her Rafayel shifts, face sinking deeper against her breasts. Nosing, delicate, at the space exposed by her open collar as he inhales, long. His previous labored breaths seemingly soothed in her proximity, as he continues to breathe her in.

Her next gasp soughs past her lips on a catch of barely tamped sound, Rafayel’s gaze rolls up to meet hers — hot and piercing.  

“Rafayel,” She cups a hand about his warm cheek. “Let’s get you off the floor now, you’ll worsen your fever.”  

He knocks his cheek further into the space of her palm, lashes quivering shut, in comfort. “I told you... it’s not a fever ruining my body.” He repeats the words he’d uttered to her back in the Protofield.  

“It’s you.” Her mind jostles to a screeching halt.  

“What?” 

Rafayel’s body tightens beneath hers, the lean strength of his arms coming about to lift, with an ease entirely unexpected of a sick man. He moves them both onto the expanse of his bed, seating himself down, with her firm on his lap. “I’ve been going through these feverish bouts because you’ve been calling for me.” He heaves. “I’d never experienced them before because we’d never—” his words break. Rafayel’s fingers slip a slow, cautious path along the base of her spine, it makes her shiver above him. “I could’ve lost you,” he murmurs, “back there.” Hauling her close once more to sink his face into the crook of a tense shoulder as he breathes her in deep.

“I’m here now, I’m fine.” She soothes a gentle palm down the line of his back, the mild quivers that take it, muted into rest with her strokes. “Thank you for coming for me earlier.”

“Of course I did.” His grip upon her body tightens. “You called for me.” 

She rakes her fingers through his hair. “I... did not call for you, Rafayel. Even if I did, it’s impossible for you to have heard—”  

“Silly girl.” He captures her hand within his hair, entwining his fingers in between hers. “Do you not see?” Bringing their palms up close together for her to witness—

Red flitters about her ring finger, vivid — her heart jostles over its beats — the line of it longer and far corporeal, glimmering within the dark of his room, spiraling an undulating path up, up.  

Finding its other half, caught against the base of Rafayel’s finger. Her breath seizes within her throat at the sight, wary gaze tracing the line of the previously absent thread against their fingers. Not daring to believe the implications of the sight and what Rafayel too was saying. “How could this— I thought we were—”

“A Lemurian’s very being is set to perceive their beloved, in their entire capacity. Without exception.” He brings their entwined fists up to his mouth, feathering a kiss onto her knuckles apiece. “And I have not changed since the first moment I met you.”  

The heat of his words is within her head, the frenzied hammering of her heart within her throat. She dares not breathe too loud, dares not speak for fear of this precious moment shattering. The inference of his words could not be clearer and yet. A fleeting recollection of the Wanderer’s cast illusion comes to mind, the cold Rafayel’s unforgiving gaze flashing against hers.  

“Has your heart then... changed?” He asks, the wavering azure of his gaze fixated firm upon hers.

She caresses the back of her fingers against his cheek, down the line of his jaw. “It has not, not for a single moment in all these years but—” She whispers. But could you ever forgive me for leaving you on your own? 

“I’m not asking you for anything beyond that. I don’t care for it.” He shifts a thumb against the line of her lips dampened with a nervous swipe of her tongue. “I’m asking to know if the woman I love is willing to accept me again.”  

Her breath hitches within her throat. Turbulent emotions burst forth within her chest at his words, a sweet ache quivering at the back of her breastbone, the magnitude of his words she isn’t able to comprehend. Unable to believe the words she’s been wanting to hear him say, all this time, leaving that beautiful mouth. 

She surges forward onto his lap, desperate to answer the man who’s entrusted his heart so keenly into her hands. “I never stopped in the first place.” She speaks, adamant. Her fingers brush at his face, down the length of his neck to hold. The pads of them grazing the beauty of his scales, glimmering within the moonlight that shafts into the quiet dark of his room through the gauzy curtains. “I’ve loved only you all these years and by god, Rafayel, I don’t think I could ever love anyone but you.” She’s out of breath and dizzy in love, it’s a feeling she never wants to clamber out of, if it means he’d continue to look at her, just the way he is now.

She hears the audible throttle of his breath; a low, anguished sound, as if she’d told him something he’d considered entirely impossible. Rafayel had seemed so sure of her feelings, and yet, he looks at her now, with a relieved sort of devotion and desire. “Which god?” His whisper is sultry, his gaze along with the heat of his skin beneath have her feeling faint within his embrace, the flex of his arm tightening its hold about her waist.  

She tips her head closer, her lips shaping her answer a mere breadth from his. “My Rafayel, my own Sea God.” She braves a kiss against his mouth. “I love you.” She confesses, “I love you so—” 

Rafayel heaves forwards, filching the rest of her words right against the desperate tongue he sweeps into her mouth. Lips moving against each other in a mesh of reckless teeth and tongue, refusing to release from each other. Her fingers catch at the fabric of his collar, in a bid to drag him closer. Rafayel’s palms, a stable hold about the flare of her hips as she bucks against him in instinctual desire at the feeling of his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Her core grazes against the distinct line of his stiff arousal, straining beneath the placket of his trousers.  

Rafayel moans a low, throaty sound against her damp lips. “This is your fault,” he whispers, feverish. “You’re the one who has left me so vulnerable.” 

The turbulent seas within his gaze burn luminous, the gentle florid pinks of his irises swallowed within the blue that takes them. The scarcity of his scales now fleshing a path from his face. Down the graceful arc of his neck and across the expanse of his clavicle. Disappearing just under the line of collar of his shirt. She treks a reverential path about his beautiful Lemurian features; a shuddered exhale leaving Rafayel, in his inexplicable state of heightened sensitivity. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?” He seizes her exploring wrist within his gentle hold, halting her movements. His chest heaves once more in vehement, anguished pants, his skin impossibly hot beneath hers.

“No, tell me what’s happening to you. Why are you—” 

“—so sexually aroused?” He supplies, mouth skewing into a smile with the hot flush of her cheeks.  

“...I was going to ask about your humane features unraveling but that too. You're... burning up.”  

He sighs against her glancing touch, at the scales of his neck. “Each year, when the moon shifts phases and the tides ebb from the shores, bonded Lemurians go through an inevitable period of increased sexual activity. We are,” he pulses a delicate kiss to the inside of her captured wrist. “extremely vulnerable during this time, our base appetites, near insatiable, unless we bear it through with our bonded mates.” 

A streak of desire spurts within her chest, seeping down into her abdomen to pool in between her legs. “So then, all this time, you were...” 

“‘Sick’”, he continues, “because I wasn’t funneling my desires with my mate.” He tugs her close by her imprisoned hand, murmuring, hot, within her ear. “within my mate.” 

A low moan of desire breaks from her lips at his licentious provocation.  

“I’ve never experienced one before.” He confesses heavily. “I wasn’t sure what it was, when it started; the time of the year seemed to coincide with my symptoms but we weren’t bonded... not to my knowledge.” Rafayel’s gaze treks against the shimmering line of their thread, re-connected. “It’s a rarer miracle for it to find itself weaved against the ones it broke in between, more so than it is for the thread to re-emerge in between new lovers.” He laughs; a low self-deprecating sound. “Fate really played me for its fool.”

She murmurs his name, gathering his hand closer to press a reverent kiss against his ring of red at his finger. “I love you, Rafayel.” she reiterates, dragging his wide, wavering gaze back towards herself, letting the irrefutable truth of her words sink in. That it’s not Fate that tugs at the cogs of their bond now, but her feelings, unchanged as they’ve remained.  

“Promise me,” he implores. “Promise you’ll continue to see me the same, no matter how many years pass us by. Promise you’ll stay by my side this time?”  

Her answer rushed, eager, yearning to soothe. “Yes. Yes, I will. I want to stay by your side.” Stealing her arms about the broad strength of his shoulders, to pull closer.  

“Don’t let me go.” Rafayel breathes. Their mouths crush against each other in a consuming kiss; an urgent prayer he makes of her name. 

Each time she squirms atop his lap with the force of his kisses, her increasingly damp core shifts in glancing strokes above his clothed length. Her fingers jolt about Rafayel’s shoulders, sinking harsh into the skin through cloth, with a particularly ruinous lap of his tongue into her mouth.  

Her fingers fly for the clasps of his shirt, rushing down the length of buttons, generously revealing the unyielding expanse of his chest, the line of his toned abdomen. Briefly trekking the warmth of his skin with the pads of inquisitive digits before her mouth follows suit, drifting from Rafayel’s to kiss a path across the firm expanse of his chest. Slicking a gentle tongue right above his heart in devoted gratitude for the one who loves her so wholly. 

She glides a slow palm down his abdomen, appreciating the tremulous clench of muscles, underneath her touch. Her coveting digits pause at the metal clasp of his belt, gaze canting up to meet Rafayel’s in silent request.  

“Yes,” he grinds out, through arduous pants of her name. “It’s yours, I’m yours, do as you please.” She pushes off his lap, dropping onto her knees in between his legs at his affirmation. Rafayel’s breaths hitch higher within his throat, at the snag of her fingers reaching to swiftly undo the fastenings of his belt, pulling it clean from its confines to discard it onto the floor of his room. Her palm slips down the line of his zipper, stimulating him impossibly harder as she works to release him from the confines of his trousers.  

Until Rafayel sits there; her devastatingly alluring Lemurian, near-naked, save for the shirt that sags against broad shoulders, and the remaining modesty of his underwear. She takes a moment to control her shaky breaths before her thumbs slip under the waistband of his final barrier, keeping him from her gaze. Sliding the garment in one careful stroke, down the strength of his legs until she tosses it off to the side. His cock springs to full length, freed from its confines, hard; it curves, slight, towards his abdomen, the gentle slick of minute bluish scales running along the underside of his shaft. A thing of beauty, just as its owner.

The twitch of his length within her grasp is palpable as she moves to work an admiring fist about it. A lone bead of pre-cum sits upon the flared head of his cock; her tongue darts out in instinctual rapacious desire to sweep it into her mouth. The sweet-salt tang of him she hums against, in a soft moan, “I love how you taste.” 

Long, tapered digits thread through the fall of her locks, curving a loose fist at the back of her head. Her eyes traveling up his torso to meet his, bright in aroused impatience. It makes her want to flip that expression over into something entirely different. She tips forwards, lips falling apart to take the head of him into her eager mouth, just as Rafayel rewards her with his first approving groan. Tongue slicking about the head of him to lick, down, at a vein just underneath the flare of his head. His hips judder up into her face with the action, slipping more of him into her welcoming throat. “What’re you doing to me?” He moans, in gravelly rapture. “Your mouth feels divine.”  

She feels the clench of her own abdomen at his praise, wetness seeping further into the cloth of already damp panties. Her mouth slips further down the thick length of him, working him deeper into her throat as she tries and relaxes against the instinctive gagging intrusion of him. A shuddering string of words, he makes of her name, in overwhelming arousal, help her along on his cock. Until she is sliding about the length of him, back and forth, tongue drooling its spit down the expanse of his cock she cannot fit into herself.  

His fingers have tightened into a near-spasm within her hair, not nearly enough it hurts, holding her fixated in place; the pads of his digits tracing soothing, encouraging circles about her scalp as she sucks at his cock. “You’re doing so — agh — so well.” The fingers of his free hand, Rafayel brings to curve, delicate, about her jaw, tipping up; her eyes finding his, on silent instruction.  

He looks entirely gone, the rugged flush of his cheeks enticing as it dashes across his ears. Springs down the crescent of his neck and across the firm expanse of his chest. Rafayel’s cock hits the back of her throat on her next intake; she swallows against the heady swell of him, deliberate, measured, refusing to relent her gaze as she does. It immediately has the effect she desired; Rafayel’s next breath rattling out of his chest on a wrenched groan of pleasure, the blue of those inhuman eyes glistening brilliant as he propels his hips into her, in a reflexive bid for more.

His fingers skid along the underside of her jaw, where mouth meets throat, grazing for the place he knows she has him settled inside. A long, tapered index, he flicks down the line of her neck — she swallows on instinct, dragging another choked moan out of him as reward — before it comes to rest at the buttoned collar of her shirt. “Off.” He murmurs, hazily. Deftly unfastening open the first few buttons before he curves his index beneath her collar to tug. “Take it off. I want to see all of you when I come.” Pooling a blush into her cheeks at his sweetly sensual appeal. 

She pulls her shirt over her head, lured along by the nimble hands that drag her close, reaching around her, to undo the clasp of her bra before he coaxes that too, off her body. Mouth falling slack, cerulean flashing vivid, in flared arousal and want; to witness the heaving tremble of her breasts as she descends on him once more. 

Rafayel eases stray locks of her hair back against her ear to better afford himself the view of pink, moist lips parting to swallow around him once more in renewed enthusiasm. 

Her hands flitter about the length of him, slick slide aided by spit and pre-cum as she moves to work her tongue around the tip; the broad of it she teases at the slit, making Rafayel shudder above her. Slipping, slow and sure, down the generous length of him, insatiable desires flooding in the clench of empty walls, for the brimming taste of him within her throat.

Rafayel’s pants have turned far harsher, sporadic in impending release. She continues to ease her tongue about his length, her palms soothing down the tense muscle of his thighs before she moves to cup her fingers about his balls. “I’m—” Rafayel snaps.  

The skin beneath her fingers tightening, as she sucks about his shaft, to help him along the final stretch of his incoming release, swallowing up to the base of him in one forceful go. Her throat constricting in protest at the rough intrusion. Rafayel groans out loud — frenzied palms pressing at either sides of her head to force her off of his cock, just as he comes in thick, spurting strokes, across her cheeks, her nose; down the curve of her chest.  

“I can’t take it any longer,” he rasps. Hauling her onto her feet by her arm, he tumbles her back onto the cool, crumpled sheets of his bed. 

She barely has but a single moment to catch her breath — more from the surprise of his vehemence — before the shorts of her uniform, are being wrested off her body in the fervent catch of desperate fingers. Rafayel gets the material half-way down her thighs before his long-frayed patience snicks off entirely; a cool rubescent fire licks up clean across the material, blazing the offending cloth away entirely.  

She’s left dumbstruck, pleasure-addled mind wrung in between faint amazement at his precise Evol manipulation and mild offense at his ruination of her uniform. “We’ll get you a new one.” He heaves — as if he’s read her mind — in between kisses laid onto the instep of her bare leg, working up across her calf. “As long as you let me have you right now, I’ll do whatever you want.” 

Her breath seizes within her throat at his sultry request. Rafayel’s palms trace about the shell of her hips, curving about the sides of her abdomen before he caresses them up her stomach, pressing, light, into the yielding flesh. Her body shudders beneath his testing caresses. One of his hands steals down the cusp of her clothed mound, index and middle stroking at her labia above panties, before he skates them in between her folds. The two moan in unison; to feel how drenched she is for him.  

Her body squirms against his, begging for more of that sweet friction. Hips bucking up into his hand to force more of him against her aching slit. Rafayel towers above her, the delectable flush across that slack, sensual expression has her fluttering in on emptiness, her hole aching to be filled completely — as if she too has taken on the fever of his desires, writhing in phantom heat. Her drifting mind wonders for a fleeting moment, if a human bonded to a Lemurian could experience the mind-numbing lust of their cycles, along with their partners. That stray thought, she believes, with each passing second he riles her up in delirious rapture.  

Holding himself above her upon the crook of a folded arm, Rafayel descends for her mouth, covetous tongue savoring a moan against hers. She feels the hot, wet strength of his cock — already firmed to stone once more — rolling against the inside of her thigh. Just as he slips a long, tapered digit past her underwear, to curve it directly against her soaked opening. Her hips jump violently at the contact, her squeal of arousal Rafayel pilfers against a throaty chuckle. “You’re so wet.” Pressing up into her to make his point, the audible squelch of her slick, loud within the quiet night. “Are you enjoying this, my love?” 

“Isn’t,” she gasps, heat gathering, strong, into her face. “isn’t the answer obvious?” 

Rafayel hums, the skew of his smile tugging higher; a slow, relishing tongue he runs across his upper lip, end to end. And before she can think to parse the intention behind that wicked gaze, Rafayel’s palms are cupping about the soft of her ass —  digits pulsing into pliant flesh — to shear her underwear off, lifting her hips up to shove his tongue in between her legs. 

Her next sound leaves her on a shriek of pleasure, blaring stars wheeling across her field of vision. Fervid digits she convulses into the yank of his hair, in a manner that has to hurt and yet Rafayel makes no move to budge back, mouth sinking deeper against the wet flood of her heat. He curves his tongue up against her fluttering walls, sweeping at the slick. Nosing a stifled hum against her clit and that is all it takes for her over-sensitised body to break, spasming into a prompt, violent orgasm that siphons the breath from her lungs and the voice from her throat.  

Dazed in her floating awareness of the scrupulous mouth that continues to suck at her folds, laving away all of her released desire for himself. And when she sinks a quivering hand into tousled locks in whimpered protests of being too sensitive, all Rafayel offers her is an impish chuckle pressed into the soft of her thigh, right beside her mound. “You had your fun, didn’t you? It’s my turn now.” 

With that sensuous warning uttered, his mouth returns its attentions to her weeping slit once more, lips closing about the nub at her apex, sucking gentle at the bead. The jump of her hips Rafayel conquers, in the indolent arm he shackles about her waist, fingers reaching to hold hers across the quivering pliance of her stomach.  

The broad of his tongue laps a path above her entrance, catching at any stray slick that leaks from her before he eases the tip of it back into her slit, relishing the clench of her walls in a throaty groan. He continues to prolong that titillating torture of his, edging his tongue at just the entrance of her pussy, till her body burns once more within the kindled flames of a cresting orgasm.  

“Rafayel, there — hah — right there. Rafayel.”  Sliding that tormenting tongue into her walls once more, to her relief, to the mewls of his name flooding like rain from a parched tongue, the spasm of her fingers she smothers against their entwined digits at her abdomen.  

“Sing higher,” his stuttered groans smothered enthusiastic, into the drench of her slit. Tongue curling up against her frontal walls, in a drag that has her fracturing under his mouth once more. Tears sprung to lust-hazed eyes from the overwhelming arousal wrought upon her body under Rafayel’s dexterous tongue.  

He exhales a pleased sigh against her mound, each heated breath causing shivers to jump across tender skin. A kiss, Rafayel lays right against her swollen clit. 

“Once more.” Her walls clench in wrecked protest, a whimper leaving her throat at his whispered words. “Give me just one more.” He entreats. “I need your taste in my mouth again.” A flitter of kisses he strokes against the line of her pelvis, her mound; dark gaze rolling up to meets hers from in between her legs. She flushes at the intensity of their contact held, without mercy. Her wordless squeeze about her hand given, is all the permission her hungering Lemurian requires to sink back towards her wet heat.  

Tapered digits reach to shape a path about the sensitive bead of her pleasure, pinching in between steady, pleasurable strokes. Before they descend lower, coveting towards her fluttering entrance. Rafayel presses up, gentle, into her walls to coax wetness onto his digits with each drenched thrust of his fingers into her.  

His hand releases from hers, palm drifting up across the plane of her body to cup about a pliant breast. Fingers caressing a circular path about her areola in soft, stimulating strokes and she quivers at the sensation, breaths coming in short, stifled bursts of air.  

Rafayel’s mouth closes about her clit, just as the arch of his fingers hit at a particularly hot, sensitive spot within her pussy; walls spasming about his fingers, swallowing him in. His name soughs past her lips on whimpered gasps with each steady thrust of him up into her walls.  

The pads of his digits tweak about the puckered bead of her breast, thumb denting gentle at the bud, sending a jolt of arousal straight in between her legs.  

Rafayel continues to lap her up, dutiful; his lashes descending in pleased satisfaction just as her third, mind-numbing release crests through her body, leaving her skin a drenched, ruined mess Rafayel sucks at, in throaty moans of delight.  

“Rafayel,” she urges, unable to stand the searing desire he’s put inside her, body hungering for the heat of his cock in desolate emptiness. The overwhelming desire to feel his heat flooding into her, with how long he’s strung her dry for himself. She catches his face in between tremulous digits, pulling him from in between her legs to meet his gaze, dark in fervent desire. “I need you inside me now.”  

Heated obscurity scatters momentarily from his eyes at her fevered request, hips rolling against hers so she feels the hot strength of his arousal brush against her inner thigh; her gasps breaking into the air, at that brief second of contact. Burying her next moan in the vicious bite of teeth at his clavicle, when his cock ghosts across her mound, so close to where she wants him. “If you’re sure you want this...” He groans in ardent murmurs against her mouth.  

Her clambering response is swift and eager. “I want this, I want you.”  

“I’ll let you have me,” he relents in between their wet kisses. “this time, all of me. So drown with me, my beloved bride. Love me.” 

Just as he snaps his hips forwards, the head of his cock pressing her open for himself. The delectable stretch of him, so easy within the drenched warmth of her body as it ravenously sucks at him, all the way in. Rafayel’s searing groan of pleasure, he breaks against her jaw; mouthing, mindless, at the taut skin.  

The union of their bodies, have left them both winded, without breath to draw into aching lungs; several moments they take in between heated gazes and consuming kisses, unmoving. Growing accustomed to this new, exquisite feeling of being so deeply intertwined into each other, she feels she could live like this against him for the rest of her life.  

Until Rafayel begins to move and her world explodes into turbulent sparks of blinding pleasure, unlike anything she’s quite experienced before. His hands are upon her body, covetous digits flittering in between them to touch at dewy skin. Testing his touch against the trembling give of her breasts. Mouth capturing a pert nipple into his mouth, to suck until she keens underneath him.  

Her ankles hook about the base of his spine, dragging Rafayel’s propulsions deeper into her. A stuttered moan, she throttles out of him, at the stimulation before his hand steals about her ass to lift her lower body entirely off the bed. Angling his hips, Rafayel’s thrusts turn impossibly deeper, with the assistance offered in their new position; his pelvis grinding flush against hers on each fevered plunge. “You’re perfect around me, so very — hah — warm,” he grinds out in heedless praise, hips snapping against her harder, in rising intensity, in chase of a hovering orgasm.  

She moans in appreciation around the tongue he slips into her slack mouth in yearning want. “Rafayel,” she chokes out. “I’m so close.”  

“Me too,” he groans, shifting his weight forwards to lean against the crook of his arm at her side. His fingers trek up a path against her slack arm, digits entwining through hers, the line of their red thread flickering in between them both as they approach the crest of their combined pleasures.  

“I love you,” she sobs in between quivering gasps; his gaze crinkling in warmed affection and desire so acute, it drags another whimper out of her.  

“I love you.” Rafayel declares, into the catch of his kisses against her mouth, her cheeks, down the crescent of her jaw. Laving a kiss into the curve of her neck in a worrying bite of teeth, marking her for his own. He switches his pace once more, cock spearing up against her frontal walls in frenzied thrusts. “Come for me,” he beseeches. 

Jaw falling slack in a daze of undulating desire when she obliges at the heated scrap of his words, tumbling over the edge in an orgasm so vehement, her spine arcs clean off the bed. “You’re so good for me.” He worships.

Cresting waves of pleasure, she rides in the hard clench of her walls against Rafayel’s throbbing cock, pulsating hot within her until he too follows soon after. An incomprehensible swell of his cock inside, rising with its pulsations, has her gasping out a low, keening sound at the aching stretch of her pussy, it prolongs her high onto wondrous, searing moments of dizzy elation. Her toes curling into the sheets as the steady bulge of him catches at her walls and snags inside, hot spurts of cum surging into her, so much of it, she feels light-headed from how stuffed he has her. Just as Rafayel’s head falls low, on a loud, long groan of release.

Their damp breaths break against each other’s mouth for several moments that follow after, as they try and muster their senses back to themselves. Her fingers tracing absent, soothing circles along the curve of Rafayel’s spine until his trembling body stills to a gentle lull above her, quieted in the wake of their vehement orgasms.

A strange, fascinating imprint, throbs scarlet right above his heart — in the fleeting likeness of a fish — just as Rafayel’s rattling breaths abate. Captivated fingers she ventures, to trace against the edges of the mark. “...What is this, Rafayel?”  

“A sign of Lemurian loyalty.” A quiet smile tips across his face at the question.

The swell of breathless surprise, she knows is upon her face. “My devotion, here on, it’s yours to do with, as you please.” A kiss he buries into her palm in overwhelming affection. “I’m allowing myself to be trapped by you.” 

A low sob of adoration breaks from her throat at the words, just as the proof of his vow fades fast into his skin. A hand, she brings about his neck, to haul him down against her, to treasure a kiss right above where his heart thrums its beats, elated desire burning warm within her chest.  

Rafayel moves above her, maneuvering their positions until she rests at her side, within the circle of her arms, bodies still conjoined. His cock — she realizes with dazed shock — is still hard within her body. “Are you afraid?” He asks, gentle fingers carding through the mussed tresses of her hair. “I’ll need you much more times before I’m sated, you know.”  

She shakes her head at him, palm moving to cradle against his cheek. “I want all of what you have to give me, Rafayel. I’ll take it all.” 

He drags her closer by the hips at her affirmations; his touch along the back of her ass tending a slow fire back up within her weary body, as he moves to hoist her leg up against the cut of his hip.  

And she lets him show her just how profound a Lemurian’s devotion to his beloved truly runs, throughout the entirety of the night and into the greeting of dawn — a depth as unbounded as that of the Oceans.

End Notes: Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here.

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to scream with me about hot characters.

[323cutie]

9:21 pm. | jeong yunho

fluff. 500 words.

a/n the unofficial title of this drabble is "how could you be no one (when you're everything to me)" but thats too long and also this is a timestamp . But just know in ur heart thats the name of the fic

Yunho’s in your kitchen when you get home, standing behind a single cupcake with one candle stuck in the middle of the frosting on the counter. You catch him in the middle of lighting it, and once the candle officially lights he looks at you.

“Surprise,” is what he says after a small pause, voice tinged with his growing smile. Aside from a single lamp on in your living room, the candle is the only source of light, and it paints Yunho warm, orange. You don’t know why he’s here, not that you don’t want him; but didn’t he have –

“Practice?” You ask, confused. He’d said he would (regrettably) be stuck at tour rehearsals for your birthday, and it had been fine – just because you weren’t celebrating on your actual birthday didn’t make it any less special. But now he’s here and smiling and sweet.

“Ended way earlier than we thought,” Yunho answers, then with a teasing lilt, “disappointed?”

Normally you’d play along, respond with a witty remark, but despite all you’ve been gifted throughout the day Yunho and his one cupcake is hitting you the hardest. “Never,” you say, coming around the counter to stand next to him. One of your arms holds around his waist while his fingers immediately clear your hair out of your face. “Always wanna see you.”

He hums, and you see the flash of pink on the tips of his ears. “Your cupcake is gonna be covered in wax. Make a wish.”

It comes easy, and fast. Natural. You blow out your candle and pay the treat no mind, turning to face Yunho fully. It’s a little darker, but the light from your living room still casts him in an intimate glow. “That was fast,” he murmurs, letting both of his hands rest on your waist while yours rub up and down his arms. “What’d you wish for?”

You smile, lean closer. “Can’t tell you. It won’t come true.”

He reads your mind, pulls you in. “I think it might come true anyways.”

It’s a gentle, loving press of your lips to his, a moment belonging to nothing else except the feeling of each other. Work has been hard on both of you recently, and it gets harder and harder to see each other when Yunho’s preparing for another tour and you’re getting more assignments at work. Unfair, you think now. Unfair to keep us apart like this. Unfair when you fit perfectly together.

Yunho feels like coming home. Like something you know, like something you’ve always known. A tender tug at your heart whenever he’s around. A string wrapped around your finger, connected to him, inevitable.

When he breaks away from the kiss he presses his lips to the side of your head, holding you close. You cupcake is covered in wax, but you don’t mind. “Gonna tell me that wish?”

You hum, giggle, shake your head against his chest. “Nah,” you answer. “But you probably already know what it is.”

You look up at him, and he’s already looking at you. There’s a sparkle, a glow, a flash of something you’ve never experienced but know already. Hydrangeas and ocean waves and a soft weight on your ring finger.

“Yeah,” Yunho says, nodding fondly. “I think I do.”

[bueckersleftbraid]

”— The Weight of Staying

Part 2

WC: 5.2k

singer/songwriter!azzi x nylibertyplayer!paige

warnings: none, jst fluff again!

Some people are bad at letting go. Others are even worse at walking away for good. Paige and Azzi have always been a little bit of both.

authors note —> hi loves, tysm for all of the love on the first part!! I would love if you guys would send some asks about how you want this series to go. Maybe some angst because I’m not very creative when it come to that lol 🫣 anyways, hope you love this!!

The next morning, Azzi woke to the smell of coffee and the soft sound of Paige humming SZA’s Go Ginaoff-key from the kitchen.

For a few blissful seconds, she forgot the world outside the apartment existed—the deadlines, the pressure, the questions she didn’t know how to answer. It was just her and Paige and the hazy morning light stretching across the hardwood floors.

She stretched lazily, the sweatshirt she had borrowed from Paige riding up slightly as she sat up and shuffled into the kitchen. Paige glanced over her shoulder and smiled, bright and sleepy and so achingly beautiful it made Azzi’s chest tighten.

"Morning, rockstar," Paige teased, holding out a mug. Not just any mug— Azzi’s mug. Her designated, favorite, mug— which just happened to be a gift from Paige. Because, of course it was. Paige had always been fond of giving little gifts to the brunette. Whether it was for a small accomplishment of for no reason at all, she loved to spoil her. Clothes, jewelry, shoes— like Azzi’s favorite Uggs—, concert tickets, literally everything and anything the girl could want.

Azzi padded over, taking the mug gratefully. Their fingers brushed, and something wordless passed between them—a kind of easy warmth that didn’t feel fragile anymore.

They sipped their coffees in companionable silence, leaning against opposite sides of the kitchen counter. Paige’s gaze flicked to Azzi’s face more than once, like she was working up to something.

Finally, she set her mug down with a soft clink.

"So... I have to go to LA tomorrow," she said, voice careful. "Just for a few days. For the shoot."

Azzi nodded, pretending she didn’t feel a tiny pang at the thought of Paige leaving again. She took another sip of her coffee, hiding her face behind the rim.

Paige hesitated, then pushed forward.

"I want you to come with me."

Azzi blinked, the words of surprise getting caught in her throat.

Paige rushed to fill the space. "I mean—only if you want to. I just thought... you could use a break, you know? Get out of the city for a little. Clear your head. And selfishly, I—I’d just like you there."

Azzi set her mug down slowly, studying Paige.

It wasn’t like Paige to ask for things like this. To want her close so openly, without hiding it behind a joke or a shrug. This was… new. Usually Paige going a way for a few days was never a big deal, until she didn’t text when she got home. And it came to Azzi reaching out a week later for them to hang out. So the ask sparked a feeling of butterflies in Azzi’s stomach— a little ray of hope for what was growing between the two.

"You sure?" Azzi asked quietly.

Paige laughed, short and soft. "I’m pretty sure I’ve never been more sure about anything."

Azzi’s heart gave a little stutter again, but she kept her voice steady.

"Okay," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I’ll come."

Paige’s whole face lit up— like Azzi had just agreed to more than a trip, to something deeper and unnamed.

"Good," Paige said, stepping closer, her fingers brushing Azzi’s hip. "You deserve a little sun anyway."

Azzi tilted her head. She did miss California, despite being there less than 2 weeks ago. The west coast had always felt like home to her after she attended UCLA. The palm tress and sound of ocean waves never comparing to the bustling sounds of New York. Paige always told her it was there “invisible string theory” because Azzi had attended the final four game in which UConn beat UCLA during Paige’s senior season. Azzi would just smile and nod, always saying something like, “Your on tiktok way too much P.” 

"You just want someone to carry your coffee orders all over set." Azzi teased, though she would be fully willing to do that because, well, it’s Paige.

Paige grinned. "Busted. But also... I just want you there. With me."

The sincerity in her voice knocked the air out of Azzi’s lungs. She reached for Paige without thinking, curling her hands into the soft cotton of her sweatshirt, letting herself be pulled into a slow, sleepy kiss that tasted like coffee and promises. 

____ 

Azzi stood in the middle of Paige’s bedroom, a half-zipped suitcase open on the bed, her fingers tangled in the hem of a t-shirt she wasn’t sure she should bring.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, half to herself.

Across the room, Paige was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small pile of clothes growing beside her. She looked up, amused.

"You’ve packed for way bigger trips," Paige pointed out, tossing a hoodie over her shoulder into her own suitcase without a second thought.

Azzi shot her a look. "Yeah, but usually I know what I’m packing for. What does ‘a few days in LA’ even mean?"

Paige grinned. "It means sunshine, a photo shoot that’s gonna take like, three hours tops, and then a lot of us doing absolutely nothing."

Azzi huffed, turning back to the suitcase. "So I need... what? Cute casual? Lazy casual? Fancy casual?"

Paige pushed up off the floor and crossed the room to stand beside her. She plucked the t-shirt from Azzi’s hands and tossed it onto the growing pile.

"Bring stuff you can be comfortable in. And stuff you wouldn't mind me stealing."

Azzi raised an eyebrow. "Stealing?"

Paige gave her a very unrepentant look. "Sharing. Borrowing. Whatever."

Azzi laughed under her breath, feeling some of the tension leak out of her shoulders. "You’re the worst."

"You love it," Paige said easily, reaching into Azzi’s suitcase and pulling out a soft gray Eric Emanuel sweatshirt. She held it up against herself with a mock-serious expression. "This one’s definitely coming."

Azzi watched her, something warm and weightless blooming in her chest. The sight of Paige wearing her clothes—like it was the most natural thing in the world—made something deep inside her settle.

"You can’t just pick all my favorites," Azzi protested half-heartedly.

Paige tossed the sweatshirt into her own pile. "Watch me."

Azzi shook her head, smiling despite herself. She moved to her own closet, pulling down a couple of pairs of jeans, a few tank tops, a sundress she hadn’t worn in forever.

Behind her, she heard Paige rummaging through the dresser, the sound of zippers and folded fabric filling the room in a lazy, domestic rhythm. "Bring that striped shirt," Paige called over her shoulder. "The blue one. I like you in that."

Azzi froze for half a second, her fingers brushing over the shirt in question. It was such a Paige thing to say—casual, unguarded, and somehow more intimate than anything else. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and added it to her pile without a word.

By the time they finished, there was a chaotic kind of order to it all: two half-stuffed suitcases, a shared backpack for the plane, and a tangle of clothes they’d probably end up swapping back and forth the entire trip.

Paige flopped onto the bed dramatically, arms spread wide. "I’m exhausted," she groaned. "We deserve snacks."

Azzi laughed, tugging the zipper closed on her suitcase and collapsing beside her. Their shoulders bumped. "You realize we haven’t even left yet," she teased.

Paige turned her head, her smile lazy and warm. "Yeah. But traveling with you already feels like an adventure."

Azzi snorted, but her cheeks flushed anyway. "God, you're corny," she said, nudging Paige’s foot with her own.

Paige caught her ankle, tugging playfully. "You like it."

Azzi didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even try.

Instead, she reached over and twined their pinkies together, the simple touch grounding and sweet.

"Yeah," Azzi said softly, her heart thudding steady and sure in her chest. "I really do."

____

The car hummed beneath them, a low, steady vibration that made everything feel suspended somehow— like they were floating between the life they were leaving behind and the one waiting for them on the other coast.

Paige was driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the console between them, her fingers drumming out a soft, absentminded rhythm. She wore a navy sweatshirt Azzi recognized as her own—the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, the collar stretched just enough to hang loose at the neck.

Azzi sat sideways in the passenger seat, legs folded up beneath her, the city blurring past the window.

For a while, they didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. The silence between them was the good kind— full and easy, stitched together by the soft buzz of the radio and the occasional tap of Paige’s fingers against the steering wheel. It wasn’t until they hit the highway, the skyline growing smaller in the rearview mirror, that Paige spoke.

"So," she said, her voice casual, but edged with a kind of quiet excitement. "Besides the shoot, what do you wanna do while we’re out there?"

Azzi glanced over at her, smiling. "You mean besides sleep in a real bed, eat too much food, and pretend the world doesn’t exist?"

Paige laughed, that low, warm sound that always made Azzi’s chest ache a little. "Exactly that. But also... other stuff."

Azzi tipped her head back against the seat, thinking.

"I wanna see the beach," she said after a minute. "Like, a real one. Not the sad, gray ones we have here."

Paige grinned. "Venice? Malibu?"

Azzi shrugged. "You pick, it’s your trip."

Paige made a thoughtful noise. "We’ll do both."

Azzi smiled, a small, private thing. "Okay."

Paige shifted, glancing at her quickly before turning her eyes back to the road. "What else?"

Azzi bit her lip, considering.

"Maybe... just walk around?" she said. "Get coffee. Go somewhere nobody cares who we are."

Paige’s fingers twitched slightly on the console, like she wanted to reach for her.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "We can do that."

They drove a little further in silence, the city giving way to long stretches of highway, the sky growing darker by degrees. Azzi watched the way the passing streetlights caught on Paige’s profile— the strong line of her jaw, the soft set of her mouth, the little furrow between her brows when she was thinking.

"I wanna be stupid," Azzi said suddenly.

Paige blinked, glancing at her. "Stupid?"

Azzi nodded, smiling faintly. "Like... take dumb tourist photos. Eat ice cream for dinner. Spend too much money on something ridiculous."

Paige’s mouth curved into a slow, delighted smile. "You got it."

Azzi laughed under her breath, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

"And you?" she asked, turning the question around. "What do you wanna do?"

Paige shrugged one shoulder, casual. But her voice was steady when she said, "Anything, as long as it’s with you."

Azzi felt her heart stutter painfully, a full, dizzy ache blooming in her chest. She reached over without thinking, resting her hand lightly over Paige’s on the console. Paige turned her palm up instantly, threading their fingers together. They didn’t say anything else for a while. They didn’t need to. Outside the windows, the world kept turning. Inside the car, it felt like they were building something all their own — small, private, indestructible. Azzi squeezed Paige’s hand once, gentle. Paige squeezed back. And the city disappeared behind them.

____

The airport was its own strange kind of world — too bright, too loud, the air too cold even though it was spring outside. Azzi adjusted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder, blinking against the fluorescent lights as she and Paige made their way through security. Paige was right beside her, their arms brushing occasionally, small touches that felt deliberate in the chaos. 

They moved through it all like a little orbit of two — checking bags, flashing passports, slipping off shoes and jackets — and somehow, it felt easy. Familiar.

When they got through security, Paige glanced over, her mouth tugging into a half-smile.

"You good?" she asked.

Azzi nodded, but she must not have been very convincing because Paige shifted her bag to her other shoulder and leaned in a little closer, her voice lower now.

"We've got like an hour before boarding," Paige said. "Wanna find somewhere to sit?"

Azzi exhaled, a breath she didn’t realize she'd been holding. "Yeah. That sounds good."

They wandered until they found a quieter stretch of terminal, tucked away by a set of big floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the tarmac. Paige dropped into one of the chairs, sprawling out with the kind of ease that made Azzi smile despite herself. Azzi slid into the seat next to her, close enough that their knees brushed. Outside, planes taxied slowly across the runways, their lights blinking against the early evening sky. Everything felt washed in that strange, in-between airport time — not quite day, not quite night.

Paige leaned her head back against the seat and turned toward her.

"You know," she said, voice soft, "this is your first real vacation in how long?"

Azzi let out a dry laugh. "Define 'real.'"

Paige nudged her knee lightly with her own. "One where you're not pretending you’re okay the whole time while you’re forced to, you know, preform.”

Azzi went quiet, staring out at the planes for a long moment.

Then she smiled, small and a little broken around the edges. "Yeah," she said. "First in a while."

Paige didn’t push, didn’t prod. She just nudged her again, gentler this time. "You deserve it."

Azzi turned to look at her. Paige was already looking back — steady, certain, like she was saying something much bigger than just you deserve a break.

Azzi felt herself soften, all the way through.

"Thanks," she said, voice thick.

They sat there like that for a while, the steady pulse of the airport all around them, Paige’s presence a steady anchor at her side.

Eventually, Paige shifted, pulling her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket.

"I made a list," she said, suddenly a little sheepish.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. "A list?"

Paige nodded, tapping her screen. "Of things we could do. In LA. Just... ideas."

She held the phone out, and Azzi took it, scrolling slowly. Some of the ideas they had spoken on earlier, but some were new.

Beach day (obviously)

Late-night diner run

Take dumb pictures at tourist traps (like Az wants)

Rent bikes and ride along the beach

Find the best breakfast burrito in the city

Watch a movie outside (rooftop cinema?)

Sunset somewhere high up (Mulholland?)

Vintage shopping (Azzi’s gonna hate this)

Buy matching ugly sunglasses

Dance party in the hotel room if we get bored

Azzi laughed, her heart feeling impossibly full. "This is adorable," she said, handing the phone back.

Paige shrugged, cheeks pink. "Figured we needed a plan. In case you got overwhelmed. Or… I did."

Azzi reached over, tugging lightly at the sleeve of Paige’s sweatshirt. "I like your kind of planning," she said.

Paige’s mouth curved into a lopsided smile — a smile that felt private, just for her.

They were still smiling at each other when the announcement crackled over the speakers, calling for their boarding group.

Paige stood and offered her hand without hesitation.

Azzi didn’t even think twice before slipping her fingers into Paige’s.

Together, they walked toward the gate, their matching sneakers squeaking a little against the glossy floor. Neither of them let go.

____

The plane had just leveled off, that soft, almost unnoticeable shift where the pressure in Azzi’s chest eased and the city below disappeared into a blanket of clouds.

Azzi tugged her sweatshirt tighter around herself and leaned against the window, blinking slowly at the endless stretch of blue and white outside. The hum of the engines filled the cabin, low and steady, like white noise. Paige was next to her — aisle seat, long legs folded awkwardly in the cramped space — flipping idly through the in-flight magazine with a look of deep boredom.

"You know they haven’t updated those magazines since like 2018, right?" Azzi teased, her voice still soft from the altitude.

Paige smirked without looking up. "I'm searching for hidden treasure. Leave me be."

Azzi smiled to herself, turning her gaze back to the clouds. For a while, they just sat there, the quiet between them easy and warm.

Then Paige shifted in her seat, nudging Azzi lightly with her elbow.

"Hey," she said, dropping the magazine onto the tray table with a thud. "You went to UCLA, right?"

Azzi blinked, a little surprised. "Yeah. For undergrad."

Paige smiled, like she already knew but wanted to hear her say it anyway. "Anything you wanna do while we're out there? Stuff you miss?"

Azzi let her head fall back against the seat, thinking.

"I don’t know," she said after a moment. "It's weird. Feels like a lifetime ago."

Paige turned toward her a little, legs bumping gently against Azzi’s under the tray table. “I don't mind," she said. "If you wanna be nostalgic."

Azzi let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

"Okay," she said, shutting her eyes for a second. "There’s this taco truck. Near campus. Best carne asada I've ever had. And there’s a bookstore I used to live in when I was too broke to buy anything — the guy who owned it would let me sit in the aisles for hours."

Paige’s mouth pulled into a small smile. "That sounds perfect."

"And…" Azzi hesitated, then opened her eyes again. "I'd kinda wanna see the ocean again. Real ocean. Not like... the weird muddy beaches up here— like we talked about earlier.”

Paige chuckled, low and fond. "Hey, don't insult my muddy beaches."

Azzi smiled, a little shy now.

"There’s this spot," she said, voice dropping like it was a secret. "North of Santa Monica. Little hidden cliff with all these wildflowers. You can sit right on the edge and just—watch the waves crash. I know you said Malibu or whatever but if we want something more quiet.”

Paige leaned her cheek against the seatback, studying her. “Sounds perfect.”

After a beat she spoke again, "You’re really a softie, huh," she said, but it came out so gentle Azzi didn't even think to bristle.

"Don’t tell anyone," Azzi muttered, grinning despite herself.

Paige mimed zipping her lips shut, her expression mock-solemn."Sworn to secrecy."

Azzi watched her, heart tugging strangely in her chest.

There was something about Paige like this — a little rumpled from travel, eyes crinkled at the corners from smiling, denim jacket slung loosely over her hoodie — that made her feel like she could tell her anything.

"I used to sit out there and dream about everything I thought I was gonna do," Azzi said quietly, surprising even herself with the admission.

Paige didn’t interrupt. She just shifted a little closer, like she was making room for whatever Azzi needed to say.

"I thought I'd… I don’t know. Change the world. Be fearless. Be important."

Azzi huffed a breath, half a laugh. "Then real life happens and you realize how much just surviving takes out of you."

The hum of the plane filled the space between them. Outside, the clouds rolled endlessly on. Paige reached over, not dramatically, not even looking, just finding Azzi’s hand on the armrest and folding her fingers around it.

"You are important," she said, so matter-of-fact it made Azzi's throat ache.

Azzi looked down at their hands, then up at Paige.

And there it was again — that quiet certainty Paige wore like armor, the belief she never hesitated to offer Azzi, even when Azzi didn’t know how to believe it herself.

"Thanks," Azzi whispered, squeezing her hand back.

They stayed like that for a long time, fingers intertwined, the steady beat of the engines all around them. When Azzi finally drifted off to sleep, her head tipping lightly against Paige’s shoulder somewhere over the desert, Paige didn’t move. She just let her stay there, her thumb brushing slow, thoughtless circles against Azzi’s knuckles. Outside the window, the sun was beginning its slow, golden descent toward the horizon. And for the first time in a long time, everything felt like it was exactly where it was supposed to be.

____

Azzi woke up to the subtle jolt of the landing gear deploying and the soft crackle of the captain’s voice over the intercom. She blinked blearily, momentarily disoriented. The plane dipped, angling itself toward the glittering sprawl of Los Angeles, laid out like a giant, endless grid beneath the haze of late afternoon light. Paige was still next to her, her body turned slightly toward Azzi like she'd been guarding her space while she slept. She was reading something on her phone, one earbud tucked in, the other left dangling in case Azzi needed her.

Azzi stretched a little, her joints stiff from sleeping in such a cramped space.

Paige noticed immediately, pulling her earbud out and smiling at her — that slow, familiar smile that made Azzi feel like she was waking up somewhere safe.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Paige teased softly. "We’re about to land."

Azzi rubbed at her eyes, yawning. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to knock out on you."

Paige shrugged, casual. "You needed it."

Outside the window, the plane dropped lower and lower, buildings sharpening into focus, palm trees swaying in neat little rows, pools glinting like tiny shards of glass in backyards below. The wheels hit the runway with a soft thud, and the brakes engaged, pressing them gently forward in their seats.

Azzi watched as the city rushed up to meet them — all of it sun-drenched and humming with a kind of restless energy she hadn't realized she'd missed. The seatbelt sign dinged off, and the cabin filled instantly with the rustle of people standing, stretching, reaching for bags.

Azzi stayed still for a moment longer, taking it all in — the familiar buzz of LAX, the smell of jet fuel and hot pavement, the excitement coiling low in her stomach.

Paige bumped her knee lightly under the tray table. "You ready, Cali girl?"

Azzi huffed a small laugh, standing up to grab her backpack from under the seat.

"God, I forgot how ugly this airport is," she said, wrinkling her nose affectionately.

Paige chuckled. "Yeah, definitely not the most glamorous welcome."

They shuffled into the slow-moving line down the aisle, Paige’s hand brushing against Azzi’s back in that absent, grounding way that made Azzi’s chest ache a little.

The air inside the jet bridge was thick and warm, heavy with that distinct L.A. heat — not humid, exactly, but dry and heavy, like the sunlight had weight. Azzi adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder, already peeling off her sweatshirt as they stepped into it.

Outside, beyond the wide airport windows, the sky was a blazing, endless blue, not a single cloud in sight. The palm trees swayed gently, impossibly tall and a little ridiculous against the concrete sprawl of terminals and highways. Azzi caught herself smiling.

Maybe it was stupid, but there was something about being here — back — that made her feel a little lighter, like she could breathe a little easier. LA always sort of had that effect on her, but the idea that these few days were just for her to enjoy it, made the feeling one hundred times better.

"Feels good, huh?" Paige said, watching her.

Azzi shrugged, but she couldn’t quite hide the small, quiet smile tugging at her mouth. "Yeah," she admitted.

They made their way toward baggage claim, the hum of the airport around them — rolling suitcases, announcements crackling overhead, kids chattering excitedly about Disneyland.

Paige bumped her shoulder lightly against Azzi’s. "We’ll get the bags, grab the rental, and then—" she wiggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly. "—hit In-N-Out?"

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. "You’re such a tourist."

Paige grinned unabashedly. "Hey, I have priorities."

They found their bags quickly — Paige’s worn black duffel and Azzi’s old, sticker-covered suitcase she’d had since college — and wheeled them toward the rental car shuttles, the hot pavement radiating up through their sneakers.

Azzi tipped her head back, feeling the sun warm her face. It was a small thing, but God, it felt good — this simple, stupid thing of being somewhere familiar with someone who felt like home.

Paige slung her arm casually around Azzi’s shoulders as they waited for the shuttle, squeezing her lightly.

"Welcome back," she murmured.

And even though the city was chaotic, overwhelming, too much in all the ways it had always been, Azzi found herself grinning.

The rental car smelled vaguely of plastic and industrial cleaner, but neither of them cared. It was a beat-up white Jeep — nothing fancy, but it had working air-conditioning and a sunroof, and Paige immediately declared it perfect.

Azzi just shook her head, amused, as they tossed their bags in the back.

Paige adjusted the seat, pulling a pair of sunglasses from the collar of her t-shirt. She looked maddeningly cool without even trying, the late afternoon sun glinting off her hair.

Azzi slid into the passenger seat, stretching her legs out with a satisfied sigh.

It had been a long flight. And a long year.

"This is still the worst airport layout in America," Azzi said, watching the tangle of lanes and honking cars as Paige carefully pulled into traffic.

"Hey, now," Paige teased. "Show some respect. This city gave you your degree."

Azzi snorted, resting her elbow against the window and letting the dry, golden breeze wash over her face. It felt like breathing in sunlight.

"Speaking of," Paige said as they merged onto the highway, "you gotta show me your old stomping grounds sometime while we’re here. UCLA tour, led by a very reluctant former student?"

Azzi laughed. "God. I’m not sure I even remember half of it. But sure. Only if we can hit up some real food spots too."

"Deal," Paige said, holding out her pinky finger dramatically as she drove.

Azzi grinned, hooking her pinky with Paige’s for a second before pulling back. The little gesture left her chest feeling strangely warm.

"First," Paige said, steering them off an exit, "we honor tradition."

Azzi blinked. "What?"

Paige pointed at a bright red-and-yellow sign coming into view.

"In-N-Out, baby."

Azzi groaned, half-laughing. "You are such a tourist."

"Embrace it," Paige said, unbothered. "Besides, you’re getting something too. You need to soak up some of that Cali nostalgia."

They rolled into the drive-thru line, which was predictably about a mile long. The scent of grilled onions and french fries hung heavy in the air, making Azzi’s stomach rumble.

"I forgot how good it smells," she admitted grudgingly, reading the tiny, simple menu pinned up on the side of the building.

Paige glanced at her, smirking. "Told you."

They ordered — two Double-Doubles, fries, two chocolate shakes because Paige insisted they "do it right" — and pulled into a shaded spot to eat.

Paige tore into her burger immediately, groaning around the first bite. Azzi tried to look unimpressed but she wasn’t fooling anyone. The first taste of the greasy, perfect burger made her hum quietly in pleasure.

Paige noticed and grinned like she’d won something.

"Tastes like college, right?" she said, still chewing.

Azzi nodded, mouth full. She swallowed and leaned her head back against the seat.

"God, I missed this."

They ate mostly in silence, windows down, the heavy smell of french fries and the warm, dry breeze filling the car.

It felt strangely sacred — like they were suspended in a little pocket of time where nothing bad could reach them.

After they finished, Paige wiped her hands on a napkin, grinning.

"Okay," she said, starting the car again. "Next stop: a sunset drive? You can pick the playlist."

Azzi felt herself smile without thinking. "Dangerous offer."

"I’m brave," Paige said seriously, pulling back onto the road.

The sun was starting to dip lower now, casting everything in a golden haze. Azzi let the warm air whip her hair around as they sped down the freeway, the city unrolling around them — endless and messy and alive. She glanced over at Paige, who was tapping the steering wheel in time with the music now pouring through the speakers — an old song Azzi loved but hadn’t heard in years. Something in her chest loosened, breathing easier.

They hit the freeway just as the sun was starting to sink lower in the sky, spilling molten gold across the landscape.

Paige had rolled all the windows down again, the wind rushing around them, loud and warm. She kept one hand loosely on the wheel, her other hand drumming lazily against her thigh.

Azzi scrolled through her phone, thoughtful. 

Paige almost never gave up aux — it was kind of an unspoken thing between them. Paige was the one who always set the tone, picked the soundtrack. But now, Paige had just handed her the cord without thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi tucked that small, important detail somewhere deep inside her heart.

She picked something older— but a classic— Lauren Hills’ Ex-Factor. When the first chords started, Paige shot her a sideways smile, instantly approving.

Azzi sank lower into her seat, the breeze tugging at the ends of her hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the music and the light soak into her skin. The city blurred past — palm trees silhouetted against the orange sky, billboards and taco stands and rows of pastel houses flashing by. Everything felt slow and wide open at once.

"This feels fake," Azzi said after a few minutes, her voice soft.

Paige glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly. "Fake?"

Azzi smiled to herself. "Like... too perfect. Like a movie."

Paige’s mouth tilted up at one corner. "Guess that’s LA for you."

They drove in easy silence for a while, trading off songs. Azzi surprised herself by choosing songs she hadn’t listened to in years— songs that reminded her of old dorm rooms and beach days and walking home late at night with nothing but the stars overhead. Every once in a while, Paige would hum along under her breath, her fingers tapping on the wheel in time.

It felt... comfortable.

It felt like breathing with someone else's lungs and realizing you weren’t alone in it. Paige eventually took them up into the hills a little, winding roads that looked out over the whole sprawl of the city. They pulled off at a lookout point— nothing official, just a dusty patch of dirt at the side of the road where other cars were already scattered.

Paige turned the engine off but left the music playing, softer now.

They sat there for a long moment, staring out at the city stretched out below them — endless lights starting to flicker on, stitched into the earth like constellations.

Azzi tucked her knees up against the dashboard, wrapping her arms loosely around them.

"It's beautiful," she said quietly.

Paige didn’t say anything. Just reached over and gently hooked her pinky around Azzi’s again — that same small, almost reverent gesture she’d made earlier. Azzi smiled without looking away from the view, her heart thudding a little harder in her chest.

Yeah.

It really was.

[blushsturns]

title: play with me

warnings: f!receiving, cum play, dirty talk, degradation, pure filth

word count: 941

description: matt finishes on you and gets you off using his cum.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Matt groans out his words, slowing down his thrusts as he stays on his knees, your legs spread wide on the bed sheets beneath you. 

You let out incoherent moans, feeling his thickened cock twitching before suddenly he’s pulling out and immediately grasping onto his own cock to angle it against your quivering, slippery wet pussy. Your eyes avert down to watch him—he’s letting out the hottest moans as he fights the urge to throw his back but wanting to witness every single second of this. 

Hot, sticky ropes of his cum spurt out of his leaking tip and splay all over your glistening wet pussy as he continues to thrust his cock into his hand to get every last drop and spill it all over your folds.

Your pussy was a wet, sticky mess and it felt so fucking nice, watching him paint your pussy with his own cum. He groaned in satisfaction at the sight, licking over his lips hungrily before looking back up at you with a wicked grin on his face. “So fuckin’ pretty, doll.” He cooed before leaning forward to press a messy kiss against your lips. 

Before you could even kiss him back, he pulled away from your lips and used two of his fingers to begin running them down your messy cunt, spreading his own cum along your folds, causing a shudder to run down your spine.

You were so desperate for a release and feeling his cum dripping down your pussy to your thighs and painted all over your pussy was only making it harder to fight the urge to cum right then and there. “Please.” You whined out in desperation, your eyes pleading and thrusting your hips up impatiently.

He lets out a darkened chuckle, running his fingers along your messy folds before slipping some of his own cum inside of your tight hole. "You’re so cute when you beg, you know that? Look at you. Your pussy is filled with my cum. Bet you like being a mess f’me don’t you, baby girl? You like when I play with you like this, hm?”

You loved when he talked to you like this–it turned you on even more. All you could do was nod your head, thrusting your hips up once again, growing even more impatient. His ocean blue eyes were now dark—filled with need and desire. 

He shook his head as he looked down at you laying there, more of his cum spilling from your hole to your inner thighs. “I wanna hear you say it, baby. Tell me how much of a little whore you are for me. Need to hear you say it.”

“Please.” You whined out, a string of moans leaving your lips as he slowly began to press onto your swollen bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb. “I love being a mess for you, your dirty whore.” You could hear the desperation in your own tone, not caring one bit in that moment. “Need you to make me cum. Please, Matt.”

He seemed pretty satisfied with this, flashing you another grin before using both of his fingers once again to begin rubbing your wet, messy pussy in vigorous circles and using his own cum to mix with your slick arousal. 

A string of moans and profanities left your lips, throwing your head back against the bedsheets beneath you and bringing both of your hands over to your own breasts, squeezing them firmly in your hands and using your fingers to pinch your nipples. Heat pooled in the pit of your tummy; your heart was rapidly beating in your chest. You were so close to your orgasm–you could feel in every part of your body. 

Your body began to convulse, thrusting your hips up slightly as he continued to quickly rub your messy cunt. His eyes stayed locked onto the mess he made of you–his cum mixed with yours as he rubbed you quickly, his thumb soon pressing down onto your bundle of nerves. “Come on, pretty. Cum f’me. Want to see you make even more of a mess like the dirty little slut you are.”

His words and his fingers playing with your pretty cunt was all it took for you to fall apart. Your orgasm rushed through you-your toes curled, uncontrollable moans falling from your lips, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you allowed your orgasm to take full control of your body. You opened up your eyes, trying to catch your labored breathing, soft whines falling from your lips. “F-fuck.” You gasp out, your heart racing extremely as you try to come down from your intense high. 

Matt chuckled and leaned forward, pressing a soft and gentle kiss to your lips, his forehead resting onto yours. You press your lips back against his, lazily kissing him before lingering your lips onto his, your breathing still heavy. “My good girl.” He speaks softly against your lips as you wrap your arms around his waist, his body practically on top of you, but you didn’t mind one bit. “Did so good for me.” He added, pressing his lips against yours once more before pulling his body away and averting his eyes down to the mess you both made against your center and spilling down your thighs.

He seemed satisfied and proud of himself, grinning wickedly. “And just when I thought you couldn’t get any more perfect. My girl.”

You were so fucking lucky to be his girl.

notes: this randomly came in my head last night and i wrote it today. not my best work but wanted to put some smut out there for you all. miss and love you guys. -n

taglist: @strangelife122 @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturns-mermaid @matthewsturnsgf @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @sophand4n4 @xclusivedesires @mattsplaything @mattsbunnyxx @pair-of-pantaloons @chrissweetheart @slutformatt17 @sturnl0ve @pasteldreams @h3arts4harry @marrykisskilled @wh0remikasas @camzeecorner @alesturniolos @emely9274 @2muchofaslvt @sturnslux3 @bowsandsturniolos @moustacherryismyhusband @rcameronlova1 @ivysturnss @headzgonewest @il0vey0um0st @violetstxrniolo777 @bigbeefybitch @raesturns @courta13 @sofieeeeex @tylerthecreatorsglazr @kittyyyyykats @sturniszn @estellesdoll @freshsturnzx @ivyyyyyysposts @sturnberries @harls-sturn @whore4chris @slvtf0rchr1s

[morguemage]

Pigs In The Mud - Arthur Morgan x Reader

content tags: mud wrestling, unprotected, fem!reader, hh!arthur morgan, riding. he talks you through it :p

wc: 3.1k, not proofread

Your fingers were wrinkled beyond belief, palms resembling that of the leather skin of a dried fruit. Folded from having done nothing but laundry all day long. The late spring in New Hanover was warm, sure, but the stream ran cold year round. Not only were your hands creased, but they were chilled to the point of feeling raw. Even Arthur could see, with how red your skin was.

“Damn, darlin’, don’t you ever pause for a moment?” You heard him say. His voice hid the slightest trace of a smile in every syllable. “Go on and take a break.”

“I will,” you said to him with a small nod. With raised brows and sigh through your nose, you stared down at your working hands.

Grasping the article of clothing, dunking it in a bucket of soap and water. Scrubbing the grime away in the stream, fingers clutching the clothing tight as you scrubbed it against the tin washboard. How simply this came to you. Something you could do in your sleep. Wring them with all the strength you had, throw them in a different pail. Take that pail when they were all done and string ‘em up.

“When’ll that be, you think?”

You didn’t answer at first. Arthur didn’t like that very much. His chest stirred as he looked down at you, how you knelt down in the wet soil of the bank. He knew how you’d been struggling watching the gang slowly fall apart, and could only assume that you were stuck on it.

With a low grunt, the outlaw knelt beside you and pulled his hat from his head, to hold it over his chest. You were pulled back into the moment from your repetitive washing by the simple and gentle touch of his rough hand on your back. Just as you turned your head to the left, you met his gaze. All you could note was the look of concern on his sun-worn skin. Freckled and wrinkled, flushed and warm. How handsome he was. And attentive, clearly.

“You gon’ answer me?” He asked you with that low, abrasive whisper. Brows that were so often furrowed in irritation were lifted in encouragement. “When’s that break comin’, huh?”

“When I’m done..” He caught the distance in your soft tone. And, well. That just wouldn’t do.

Another sigh left his nose and he placed his hat in the bucket of dry, dirty laundry that had sat within your reach. You had a system, he knew this, but.. Well, you deserved a moment to stop and relax. You two were away from the gang’s camp, doing laundry and catching game. Really, Arthur yearned to spend these moments with you. And, more than that, he wanted to help lift every bit of weight from your shoulders. He always had.

“Well,” he started gruffly, reaching out with his free hand to take a gentle hold on your wrist. His other hand still ran across your back, the warm plane of his palm caressing down the expansion of your cotton blouse. “I think you’ve done enough for now. What’cha say, darlin’? Spend some time with me?”

Your eyes moved from his gaze to look at your hands, finally taking in how cold they really looked. Withdrawing your hands from the water, you placed them in your lap and allowed Arthur to set the soaked linens on the side of the soap bucket. Still, your fingers fidgeted with the damp fabric of your skirt. Thin and stained with dirt and mud from past and present laundry days.

You sat back and shifted yourself to sit on the grassy edge of the bank, extending your legs and leaning back on your palms. Arthur followed suit, grunting as he fully sat on the ground.

“You been awful quiet.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled quietly, rolling your head to the side. Your vision seemed to blur as your eyes moved away from your lover to the stream, the world bleeding together. Arthur caught your pupils dilating, your body slouching as you sat.

“You ain’t got a thing to apologize to me for..” Arthur’s voice was an anchor in the ocean of noises around you. From the rushing water over the rocks in the stream, birds singing in symphonic harmony, to the soft breeze brushing through the trees. You looked back to the man, your eyes drinking in his concerned expression. Crow’s feet crinkled as he peered over at you, bearded jaw clenched in a frown.

A moment of silence drifted between the two of you as Arthur attempted to shuffle through his ideas like a deck of cards. How to cheer you up. Maybe he’d get lucky and draw an ace, find a way to make you laugh. Seeing you so down only caused an ache in his chest, one that would worsen with every one of your solemn stares into space. “I know how things’ve been for you lately. I ain’t mad at’cha.”

With the lightest of hands, he reached out and pinched at your side. His face had softened, jaw loosened and wasn’t as taut. Smiling, in the smallest of fashions, he was. The second you jerked yourself out of the grip of his fingers, he knew he’d won you over. Yet, you still pushed on with that sad pout.

“Don’t,” you whined without much conviction, weakly pushing at his hand.

“Aw, c’mon,” he teased, his lips curling up a bit further. He was such a charmer. The outlaw reached out once more, squeezing at your hip with a feather-light touch. “I know you wanna smile for me, don’t you?”

Still, you persisted. Kept on with that jutted lip and inching away. But there was no denying the heat in your face, and how your eyes started to shine at him. He could always see it.

With a quick movement, he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and shifted just close enough to press his hip into yours. His forearm wrapped around your waist and his rough hand pinched at your other side. The widest of grins, one of a proud man, spread on his face in an instant as you erupted into a yelp and your frown melted away.

He knew you so, so well.

“Oh, damn you!” You squealed, attempting to push him aside. That was like pushing a brick wall, though. He had you trapped between his chest and his arm, so the only way out was forward, towards the stream. And so, you went. Pushed your weight from your wrist and shifted to your knees, crawling through the slick grass and muddy water’s edge.

“Damn me?” He chuckled, letting you break away. For now. “What for? Makin’ you laugh?”

“I ain’t laughed!” How hard it was for you to force that smile back down. You stood on your knees in the mud, your feet just barely in the water.

“Yeah, maybe, but… you’re gonna.”

The man came lumbering up from his sitting position, taking two long strides on his hands and knees to cover a distance that had taken you at least four. He was right. The second he came barreling forward, your face lit up and you bursted into a fit of giggles. You attempted to move out of the way, slipping in your skirt as your knees planted in the mud.

“Arthur, no!” You cried out through your grin as you felt his calloused fingers wrap around your ankle and calf. He pinched just behind your knee. You swore you heard him laugh just as you jerked your leg and slipped further into the waterfront. Your pleas were broken by the melodic sound of your laughter, a reward sweeter than anything Arthur could’ve gotten from a job.

“Don’t you run from me-“ Another laugh came from the burly man and he pulled you close by your leg, wedging his knee between yours and placing his left hand just above your head. He lowered his head, his whiskered lips tickling at your shoulder.

You squirmed in the dirt below him as endless streams of sweet laughter poured from your lips like a song. He loved this part. How you laughed so hard you could hardly breathe, but it was the prettiest thing he’d ever heard.

“There’s my girl,” he breathed into your ear, his thick arm wrapping around your stomach to hold you. You were on your hands and knees in the mud, Arthur nearly mounting you. The compromising position, combined with that lustful and thick tone.. well, it did nothing for the pull within your chest that sank into the depths of your stomach. “Smilin’.. laughin’. Thought ‘chu was gone forever, darlin’.”

You craned your neck away from Arthur, tearing your hips to the side. The heels of your palms buried into the bank, still desperately attempting to escape the relentless prodding. How your sides ached from laughter and your cheeks burned from grinning. Breathless and now warmer than ever, your hands no longer stung after washing for so long in the cold stream. But, oh, how your chest did. That burn, the one you were too familiar with when it came to your Arthur. How quickly it traveled from your throat to your stomach, and further beyond.

With all the strength you had, you flipped your body in his arms. Arthur was still above you, knee between yours. He slid it further up, your skirt bunched around the denim of his jeans as he notched himself just between your thighs.

“You’re gonna get real dirty if you keep up with all this rollin’ ‘round,” he chortled with a grin, his fingers poking and playing at each and every one of your most ticklish areas. Your hips, your sides, just behind your knees. That spot on your neck.

“Why d’you do this to me!” You squealed once more, throwing your head back into the mud as you fought away at his hands. You couldn’t force a frown now, not when he had you so full of joy and when you giggled like that.

Arthur finally relented, his broad shoulders rising with every deep breath. Seemed he’d gotten just as worked up, having to work so hard to keep you in one spot. Still, he smiled, his tongue darting out to wet his lip for a moment.

“‘Cause.” He said with a lazy shrug and another deep breath. “I like to make you squeal.”

“Like a pig?” You said with another laugh, attempting to take your own deep breaths.

“Mmmhm..” Arthur’s thick fingers found your hand, clad thick with mud, and slowly brought it up beside your head. He was a beast looking over you like this. Huge and unmoving. “You ever seen a pig in mud? How happy them suckers are?”

Good god, his voice. How his breath splayed against your cheek while he lowered his head and spoke to you. You could hear his smile, see it as you looked down with quickly lidded eyes. That burn, deep within, spread through you and blanketed across every nerve that had been so harshly grated before.

“Pretty happy, I’d assume,” you breathed out and turned your head just enough for Arthur’s nose to brush against yours.

There it was. Your moment to get him back, while he was distracted and above you. Your lips turned upward into an ornery smirk and your free hand lifted to Arthur’s collar. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough for you to slip your hand in and spread the cool, thick mud across his chest.

The outlaw, as hardened as he may have acted, pulled back with a gasp at the sudden feeling and looked down at you in mock disbelief.

“You’re gonna have to wash this, you know,” he said, reaching down to grab a handful of mud himself. You’d already reloaded, having drawn your hand back to grasp more of the earth immediately. You simply nodded, staring up at him as you lay on your back in the dirt.

Like a ten step draw, each of you reached for the other in an instant. You rose to sit up on your knees, and Arthur moved toward you. Fingers caked with clay-like dirt, reaching out and tearing at each other playfully. Spreading filth across their once clean garments, opening and raising each cloth and painting one another with the earth.

Your skirt was pulled past your thighs, his shirt unbuttoned and thrown into the grass. The top you wore clung tight to your figure, now wet from the stream and the mud as you wrestled with Arthur.

It wasn’t a surprise when he ripped away your bloomers and freed himself from his jeans. Once more caught beneath his foreboding figure, comforted by his presence and weight, thrilled by his skill to make you so happy. You were in ecstasy already.

The gap between you and the outlaw closed, quickly, as you lifted your head and pressed your lips into his. Cigarettes and brandywine, a hint of that venison he’d freshly prepared for the two of you. His mouth tasted of passion, of indulgence, of sin, of salvation.

Instinctively, your legs spread and you felt Arthur’s fingers grasp at the back of your thigh, holding you open for him. The man shuddered against your kiss, as he so often did, his whole body lighting up when he felt you against him. The way you kissed held the outlaw for ransom, your tongue so often making him weak. He loved how something that you used as a weapon against others, was used as a force of distinct pleasure for him. How you trailed along his lip, how it felt as you moved it expertly around his shaft.

Arthur’s cock twitched against your slick while he pressed his hips into yours, keeping you spread wide so he could teasingly glide between your folds. The moan that escaped his lips and flowed into yours was quiet and came from his throat. He was desperate to get inside, to dive in and blanket himself with the warm velvet of your core. Your hips rolled forward, attempting to tell him to just go for it. You didn’t need words, not right now. You needed him deep within you, the same way he needed to.

He listened. His free hand shifted to push his jeans further down, then held at the back of your other leg. Breathlessly, Arthur pulled back and looked down between the two of you. How beautifully you spread for him, how pretty you looked with all that mess on you. He nodded his head, silently cueing his next move.

Thick, hard. Aching to go further, his tip slid into your hot and dripping entrance. He couldn’t even rest for a moment before he pushed deeper, both you and him groaning low within your chest and throwing your heads to the side.

Arthur found his rhythm with ease, planting his knees in the mud. He refused to let this hold on you slip, keeping you open to take him so easily. The way you writhed and moaned, ran your caked fingers down your body. Each jut of his hips rewards him with a clench from your heat, pulling on him with every push within.

Your hands moved from your own body to brace against his, grasping at his shoulders and moving down the expansion of his chest and rib cage.

“Fuck,” was all you could manage, your voice coming out tight and broken. “Mm.. I..”

“I know,” He said, as if he could read your mind. A hiss of a breath snaked through his teeth and he let out a low whistle. “Oh, darlin’, I know..”

Arthur knew that you weren’t one to just stop working. So when you reached up and pushed at his chest, he knew. You wanted him to flip this whole thing around. Luckily for you, he was the type that aimed to please. It wasn’t a secret that he never missed, either.

Swiftly, the man grabbed you up by your hips and rolled over to place his back in the dirt. You went right with him, your connection never breaking, even as you sat above him. Your body shivered and you lurched forward, your palms splayed across his mud-covered chest. The way you moaned was music to the outlaw’s ears, and he would’ve done anything to get you to moan like that every time.

The vision that was Arthur Morgan laid in the dirt beneath you, face twisted in pleasure despite his demeanor, was as picturesque as the very art he created. He palmed at your plush hips and rear, guiding your hips up and down his throbbing erection, his own thrusts moving up to meet your movements.

You could feel every inch of him deep inside, how close he already was. He twitched with every beat of his heart, your cunt swollen with need gripping in time with your pulse. It was too much to bear, your moans giving you away. At this rate, you two could finish together. Typically, Arthur could last longer than this. But something about how desperate the two of you were in the moment… it was all he needed.

Just as you felt his tip rub against that particular spot inside, you began to lose all sense. Wildly, you bucked up and down, hanging your head as you cried out your lover’s name.

“That’s it,” he said, his tone coming out loud and encouraging. Arthur’s hands moved and he sat up, holding himself in a sitting position as you continued to move. His other arm wrapped around your waist and you felt his beard scratch against your chest. “That’s it, darlin’, don’t you quit now..”

You cried out loud enough that the birds in the trees had to have flown away. Your nails dug into the wide plain that was Arthur’s back, clawing at him with no regard as you approached your climax. Spilling into his lap, coating him with your desire. This pulled him to the very edge, his hips rutting and arm pulling you down against him further. He rode himself out into you, his seed plunged thick inside. The way you continued to roll, pulling more and more from him with every movement.

You collapsed against him as he fell back into the grass of the water’s edge, body twitching and shoulders heaving with every breath. Sweaty, covered in filth. Smiles spread across yours and your outlaw’s face.

Happier than two pigs in the mud, as it were. Just listening to the sound of each other breathe and the water’s current.

(AUTHOR’S NOTES) OMG. hi! If you made it this far, thank you! It has been a MINUTE. but I started writing this yesterday. Hope y’all love it. <3

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ WINTER AND HER BAND GIRLFRIEND kim minjeong x reader

↳ warnings yn is apart of wave to earth, fluff, idol!au, yn is haerin’s older sister

𓇼꩜ jimin was the one who introduced her to wave to earth, minjeong personally thought the whole band was talented but there was something about the girls voice that always had her captivated, it was like she could put her sleep with how soft it sounded.

𓇼꩜ the day minjeong met yn from wave to earth was a pretty weird day, both her and yizhuo had finished filming a dance challenge with haerin and hanni from new jeans and were waiting with the two girls to get picked up from sm, making small talks with them but then something hanni said caught her attention.

𓇼꩜ “haerin actually has an older sister that’s an artist, the band is pretty popular.” what shocked minjeong even more was the fact that yizhuo actually did know, “yeah she’s apart of wave to earth right?” “what?!” “yeah she’s so cool, she’s actually picking us up.”

𓇼꩜ minjeong remembers how shocked she was at the fact that someone she was so close with was close to the person she had a small celebrity crush on.

𓇼꩜ when she came face to face with yn it felt like it was out of a movie, it wasn’t only her singing voice that was soft her speaking one was also, she was really captivating, she barely knew what to say when yizhuo outed her “winter unnie is actually a big fan of wave to earth, you’re her favourite.”

𓇼꩜ it was humiliating but it seemed like that whole day was just minjeong feeling shocked because yn surprisingly smiled and said that she was a big fan as well, she wished the conversation could’ve gone longer if it wasn’t for the fact that haerin’s social battery was low and she tugged on yn’s arm indicating that she was ready to go.

𓇼꩜ “give me your phone.” is what yizhuo said before snatching minjeong’s phone and going straight into instagram and dming yn, “what are you doing?!” “I’m doing you a favour.”

𓇼꩜ now everyday minjeong thanks yizhuo for snatching her phone from her.

the intoxicating smell of ripe peaches filled the entire apartment, mingling with the faint scent of rain drifting in through the slightly cracked window. minjeong perched on the kitchen island, her eyes following every graceful movement of her girlfriend. yn, with practiced ease, slid the freshly prepared peach pie into the preheated oven, a contented smile gracing her lips as she dusted the flour from her hands.

it was raining outside the rain becoming background noise along with the soft voice of frank ocean coming from yn’s record player, minjeong couldn't help but smile, captivated by the sight of yn swaying gently to the music, as yn hummed along, minjeong felt an overwhelming sense of peace and happiness wash over her.

she was definitely the most successful fangirl in the word.

"staring at me?" yn’s voice broke through minjeong's daze.

startled, minjeong blinked and refocused her gaze. yn stood before her, a playful, toothy grin lighting up her face, her sharp canines on full display. "you’re so obsessed with me," yn teased, a mischievous twinkle in her cat like eyes.

"shut up," minjeong grumbled, her cheeks flushing slightly as she tried to downplay her evident admiration. yn chuckled softly and moved closer, slipping between minjeong's legs as she sat on the island. she picked up a slice of peach from the counter, along with some other remnants of their pie-making adventure.

taking a bite of the peach, yn’s eyes never left minjeong's. the sweetness of the fruit mirrored the tenderness in her gaze. then, with a playful glint in her eye, she offered the remaining half to minjeong, gently pressing it against her lips until she took it into her mouth.

"I’m obsessed with you too," yn murmured, her voice soft and teasing, the words carrying a warmth that matched the cozy atmosphere around them.

"you know I’m not as obsessed as you make me out to be," minjeong mumbled, her gaze dropping low. she reached for the strings of the pajama shorts that hung low on yn’s hips, her fingers deftly tying them into a neat bow.

“oh really?”

“yeah, it wasn’t even me that texted you that one time it was ning,”

“then maybe I should go and give ning a fat kiss on her cheek as a thank you,” yn teases.

minjeong's eyes widened in surprise, her hands pausing mid-motion. the mere thought of yn kissing someone else, even as a joke, sent a jolt through her. her expression shifted from shock to playful indignation, a slight pout forming on her lips.

"you wouldn’t dare," she replied, her voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and challenge. minjeong's hands resumed their gentle movements, her fingers brushing against yn’s hips as if to stake her claim.

yn laughed, "how about you set a timer for the pie, and I'll go pick out a movie for us to watch," she suggested, her eyes twinkling with anticipation.

minjeong nodded, she slid off the island and made her way to the oven, the aroma of the baking pie growing stronger, as she carefully set the timer, she felt yn’s presence linger for a moment longer before she turned and padded towards the living room, only a few steps away.

"hey, when are you gonna go back to your dorms?" minjeong heard yn’s voice call out as she made her way over to where yn was sitting, comfortably nestled on the couch looking through netflix

minjeong settled next to her, a playful glint in her eyes as she responded, "never. I'm too obsessed with you."