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harmonyrae · 22 days ago

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MORE THAN FRIENDS — CALEB XIA

pairing — daa pilot!caleb x hunter!reader

summary — seeing caleb's bloodied face on the morning news wasn't how you planned to find out your childhood friend nearly died. and it hurt even more that he didn't tell you himself. when gideon invites you to caleb's celebration, you can't say no—but seeing him again means you're both forced to decide if you're going to keep pretending this is just friendship, or admit you've been lying to yourselves all along.

word count — 12.1 k

genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers (or worse), mutual pining, unresolved tension, we don't talk about our feelings core, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, yearning, jealous!caleb, dry humping because we need, flying together

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, alcohol use, reference to dangerous missions and mentions of blood

author's note — hello lovelies ! i think i'm quite obsessed with aviation lately so of courrseeee i had to write yet another caleb story where we go flying with him (and fight because what am i if not obsessed with toxic couples). hope you enjoy ! <3

masterlist + support my writing + ao3

He always called.

Always.

After a childish fight with Gideon. When he spotted a pretty nebula on a night flight. When he couldnt sleep and just wanted to hear your voice. The same way you always called him—for everything and nothing, because that's what you did, that's who you were to each other.

But then why were you finding out about that Caleb nearly died from the morning news?

Your spoon froze halfway to your mouth as his face filled the television screen, that stupidly handsome, achingly familiar face now streaked with dirt and blood. A thin line of crimson ran from his temple down to his jaw.

The footage showed him emerging from his fighter jet, flight suit torn and stained, one arm wrapped around a wounded pilot that could barely walk.

The headline scrolled across the bottom: DAA pilot leads daring rescue mission in Deepspace Tunnel attack.

A rescue mission. Some pilot got lost in the shallow parts of the Deepspace Tunnels when Wanderers attacked. Caleb had been first on scene, first to respond, first to risk everything to bring someone home.

Your breakfast sat forgotten as you watched him drag the injured pilot toward the medical team on television. Even bloodied and exhausted, he wore that faint smile on his lips—the same one that always played on his lips when you were kids, when he patched up your scraped knees and talked you through nightmares. Always calm. Always bright.

But the wrongness of it all settled heavy in your chest.

You'd been sitting here, eating yogurt with fruits and already dreading the stack of paperwork waiting for you at the Hunter's Association later, living your normal, ordinary, boring Tuesday morning—while he was out there, staring down death in the void. And you'd only found out because you happened to turn on the news.

The footage replayed. You watched it again and again, caught in some masochistic loop you couldn't break. Caleb's hands steady on his teammate, that tired but genuine smile you knew so well on his lips, while the blood on his temple caught the harsh lights from the rescue team, and something twisted in your chest—sharp and bitter, like swallowing glass.

He didn't tell you. Hadn't called.

The news moved on to other stories, other tragedies. But you stayed frozen at your kitchen table, staring at the empty screen.

When had everything changed? When had you stopped telling each other everything? You used to be his first person he'd call when something happened. And he was yours. But now you'd learn about important things the same way as everyone else in the city.

Like some stranger.

Your phone buzzed against the table.

Gideon: caleb's probably gonna kill me for this but there's a celebration thing for him soon. for the rescue. you heard about it right? it's all over the news

Gideon: he wants to be all humble about it but i know he'd love if you were there

Gideon: should i pick you up from the train station? make it a surprise?

You stared down at the messages.

Humble. Is that it? Was Caleb being humble, or was he just... not telling you? There was a difference, wasn't there? A big fucking difference between modesty and deliberately keeping you in the dark.

You could picture it—Caleb brushing off congratulations, downplaying what he'd done like he always did. "Just doing my job," he'd say with that slight shrug, the one that made people love him even more. But this wasn't about false modesty. This was about you finding out from the morning news that the person you cared about most had nearly died.

And wasn't that rich? Caleb, who worried about everything when it came to you. Caleb, who called if you were five minutes late from work because "what if something happened?" Caleb, who made you text him when you got home safe, even from a short walk to the corner store. Caleb, who once drove three hours in the middle of the night because you'd mentioned feeling sick in a text and he "wanted to make sure you were okay."

That same Caleb could apparently face down Wanderers in the depths of space, bleed from his fucking temple, risk his life pulling someone else to safety—and not think you deserved to know about it. Not think you'd want to worry about him the same way he always worried about you.

It stung. How many times had he made you promise to tell him everything? Every mission briefing, every late night at the office, every time you so much as stubbed your toe. But when it came to him nearly dying? Radio silence.

Like your worry didn't matter. Like you didn't matter enough to include in the aftermath of something that could have killed him.

Your fingers hovered over your phone. Part of you wanted to type back immediately—yes, pick me up, I'll be there. But another part, the part that was still stinging from being left out, wanted to ask why Caleb hadn't invited you himself. Why it took Gideon texting behind his back for you to even know there was something to celebrate.

Your fingers moved before you could overthink it.

You: when's the celebration?

Gideon: friday night. 7pm at the airbase on skyhaven

Gideon: should i pick you up?

You stared at the messages, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Friday night. Less than seventy-two hours to decide if you were going to show up and pretend everything was fine, or stay home and let the silence stretch between you and Caleb until it became something you couldn't cross.

You: yeah. can you pick me up at 6?

Gideon: sure thing! he's gonna be so happy to see you

You shoved your phone into your bag and grabbed your hunter's jacket from the back of the chair.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The train to Skyhaven felt longer than usual, every kilometer stretching endlessly as you stared out the window at the clouds below. Your stomach twisted with nerves you couldn't quite name—part anticipation, maybe longing, mostly dread.

When the train finally pulled into the station, you spotted Gideon right away. He was leaning against a pillar, scrolling through his phone, dark hair falling messily across his forehead. The moment he saw you, his face lit up.

"Holy shit, did you grow again?" he called out, pushing off the pillar with that bright grin of his.

"I'm the same height I've been for the past five years."

"Nah, definitely taller." He pulled you in one of those crushing hugs that reminded you why you'd always thought of him as more of a big brother than Caleb's best friend. "It's good to see you again. It's been way too long."

You melted into the hug, breathing in the familiar scent of DAA pilots, who always smelled a bit like fuel and whatever surprisingly fancy soap they used at the dorms.

For a moment, it felt like old times—like that weekend you'd visited them during pilot training, when the three of you snuck off to watch the sunset from the riverbank, feet dangling over the edge, passing around lukewarm cider in the fading light and laughing until your sides ached. Back when everything was simple, before everything got complicated, before Caleb started keeping secrets.

"You look good," Gideon said, stepping back to get a proper look at you. "Tired, but good. Work keeping you busy?"

"When isn't it?" You tugged at your simple outfit. "Is this okay for tonight? I wasn't sure what to wear to a celebration at an airbase."

"You look perfect." His expression softened. "He's going to lose his mind when he sees you."

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. "He didn't… he didn't tell me."

Gideon's face changed immediately. He'd always been able to read you too well. "Ah. Yeah, he didn't want to bother you. You know how he gets—worries about you so much he forgets his own mind."

"Still, it's…"

"Hey." He grabbed your shoulders gently, making you look at him. "Listen to me. You're the most important person in his life. That idiot's been sulking for weeks because he misses you. He's overprotective to a fault, but he really cares about you, okay?"

Something in his voice made the tight feeling in your chest ease up a little. Gideon had never been one to sugarcoat things, especially not when it came to Caleb.

"He really is an idiot."

"The biggest." Gideon's grin returned as he slung an arm around your shoulders, steering you toward the exit. "Come on, let's go surprise our hero."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Walking into the DAA airbase felt like stepping back in time. Nothing had changed—same oil stained floors, same pilot portraits lining the walls, same faint smell of fuel and metal that somehow seep into every corner of the airbase.

You'd walked these halls countless times growing up, trailing behind Caleb and Gideon when they were still cadets, sneaking into places you definitely weren't supposed to be. It felt a bit like home in a strange way.

"Is that—oh my God, it is!"

You turned to see Lieutenant Chen from the communications department, weighed down by so many insignia it was a wonder her uniform held together.

"We had no idea you were coming!"

"Surprise," you said awkradly, suddenly aware of all the eyes turning your way.

"Caleb's gonna absolutely lose it." Chen smiled. "He never shuts up about you. We've been wondering when you'd visit again."

More faces you recognized started appearing as you walked down the hall. Captain Morrison from tactical planning, who remembered you from the academy's family days. Sergeant Liu, who'd once caught you and Caleb trying to sneak into the flight simulators and had pretended not to see you.

But also not familiar faces smiled when they saw you. It was almost a little unsettling how everyone here knew who you were, even if you didn't know them.

"The famous childhood friend," someone said with a smile.

"She's prettier than in the photos," another voice added.

Gideon squeezed your shoulder. "Told you he talks about you. Pretty sure half this place knows your name."

It should have made you happy. Should have been sweet, knowing that even when he was here, surrounded by his colleagues and his other life, you were still on his mind. That he spoke about you enough that people recognized you on sight, that your name was familiar in rooms you'd never entered.

But instead, it just made the confusion worse. Because how could you be important enough to mention in casual conversation, important enough for wallet photos and desktop frames, but not important enough pick up the phone when he almost died?

"Where is he?" you asked.

"Probably in the dorms, working off his nervous energy," Gideon replied. "You know how he gets before big events."

You followed him through the dorms, past rows of identical doors until Gideon stopped at one marked with a familiar call sign.

"Here we go," he whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. "Let me just—"

But before he could knock, you heard grunting sounds from inside. Your mind immediately went somewhere it shouldn't, and heat flooded your face. Was he—?

You were about to grab Gideon's arm when he pushed the door open. And to your relief, it wasn't what you'd thought.

Caleb was hanging upside down from the top bunk, feet hooked over the bed frame as he did hanging sit-ups. His shirt had slipped down, revealing his abs as they contracted with each rep. Sweat gleamed on his skin, and his dark hair hung in damp strands toward the floor.

"Caleb," Gideon called out.

Caleb crunched up—or down, given his position—his hands behind his head, and the moment his eyes met yours, his face went completely scarlet.

"What—how—"

His concentration faltered, and suddenly he was falling, tumbling off the bunk in a tangle of limbs and hitting the floor with a loud thud.

"Caleb!" You rushed forward, dropping to your knees beside him. "Are you okay? Did you hit your head?"

He lay there on his back for a moment, staring up at you in complete shock, legs still tangled with the bed frame.

"What? Why are you here?”

He slowly pushed himself up to sitting, his eyes never leaving your face like he couldn't quite believe you were real.

"That's one way to greet me. Should I be worried you don't want me here?"

Without hesitation, he reached for you, hands finding your waist and pulling you closer until you were almost in his lap on the narrow floor between the bunks.

"Silly girl. Of course I want you here." One arm wrapped around your back while the other cradled your head, pulling you close against his neck. "How did you—when did you—"

"Gideon," you said. "He helped with the surprise."

Caleb's eyes flicked to Gideon, who stood in the doorway with a crooked smile, before returning to you. He was still warm from his workout, smelling faintly of soap and sweat and something else you could never name—but always recognized.

Just him. Just home.

"I've missed you so much," he whispered against your ear, arms tightening around you.

"I missed you too." Your fingers found the soft fabric of his shirt, then brushed against the apple pendant he wore—always wore. "I saw what happened on the news. I was so scared, and then so proud, and I just... I needed to see you."

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, those violet ones you knew so well catching the light filtering between the beds. His face was so close, breath warm against your lips. It would only take a breath to close the distance.

"I'm so glad you're here."

And somehow that stung. It always did—this easy intimacy, this magnetic pull that made the rest of the world fade away. He could hold you like you were the most precious thing in his world, speak to you in that voice reserved only for you—and then turn around and shut you out completely when it actually mattered.

Gideon cleared his throat. "Alright, you two. As sweet as this is, maybe Caleb should find a real shirt before someone walks by and gets the wrong idea."

Caleb glanced down at himself, seeming to remember his state of undress, and his cheeks flushed red again as he quickly tugged his sleeveless shirt down.

"We've got a few hours before the party starts," he said, standing and pulling you up with him. His hands lingered on yours, fingers intertwined. "Want to go flying? We could catch the sunset if we leave now."

"Am I even allowed to do that? This is a military base..."

Caleb grinned, that boyish smile you always loved so much. "With me? Absolutely. Perks of being the hero of the week." His expression went soft. "Besides, I've been wanting to show you something."

You hesitated. But there was something hopeful in his eyes, almost vulnerable, that pulled at something inside you. You remembered how he'd looked on the news earlier this week—bloodied, exhausted, but alive. How your heart had stopped thinking you might lose him.

You agreed before you could overthink it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Twenty minutes later, after Caleb's quick shower, you found yourself in the pilots' prep room staring at the flight suit he'd laid out for you. The suit was thick and technical, covered in zippers and patches you didn't know how or where to put on.

"It might be a little big," Caleb said, emerging from the locker area in his own suit, hair still damp, clinging in soft curls at his temples. "But it'll keep you safe up there."

You held up the suit, then hesitated. "Okay, so... how exactly does this work?"

"Here, let me help." He stepped in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets still clinging to his neck and count his eyelashes if you wanted to. "Arms first."

You slipped your arms through, his fingers guiding the fabric over your shoulders, adjusting the fit with light touches.

"Now the belt." His hands moved to your waist, threading the utility belt through the loops. You had to remind yourself how to breathe as he worked, standing so close that you felt his breath on you lips.

You really hadn't thought this through. Flying apparently involved a lot more... proximity than you'd expected. Maybe you should've said no.

"Almost done," he said, like he could read every thought on your face. When the belt was secure, he paused, hands still resting on your hips. His eyes traced over you—down to where the suit hugged your waist, then slowly back up to meet your gaze. Something shifted in his expression, and his grip on your hips tightened slightly.

Your knees went weak. Just from the way he was looking at you—like he was memorizing every detail, like you were something he wanted to unwrap slowly and take his time with. Heat pooled low in your stomach.

You hated how he always had this effect on you. How he could make you forget everything—your hurt, your anger, the fact that he'd kept you in the dark—with nothing but a look.

You tilted your head slightly. "Caleb?"

"Sorry." He blinked, shaking his head like he was coming back to himself. "Just need to..." He reached for the front zipper, his knuckles brushing your chest as he slowly, carefully pulled it up. Each inch seemed to take forever, and you hated how much you wanted it to last even longer.

"There," he whispered, hands smoothing over your shoulders. "Perfect fit. How does it feel?"

You looked down at yourself, aware of how close you were standing, of how his flight suit clung perfectly to his broad shoulders where yours hung loose.

"Good," you managed. "Feels good."

His hand came up to adjust your collar that was already perfectly straight, fingers brushing the heated skin of your neck.

"Is this standard procedure for all your passengers?"

"Only the special ones." His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there, like he was considering something stupid. Something stupid you'd wanted him to consider.

"Caleb," you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for. Maybe for him to close the distance. Maybe for him to step away before you did something stupid.

His thumb traced along your jaw, so light you might have imagined it. "Yeah?"

Voices echoed from the hallway, breaking whatever spell had settled over the room. He stepped back immediately, hands dropping to his sides, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

"Ready to fly?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice. With your lips still warm from the way he'd been staring at them, flying was definitely the last thing on your mind right now.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You really should have said no. Because what the hell were you thinking, getting into a fighter jet? You stared at all the bewildering array of screens and buttons, not understanding a single thing.

Damn Caleb and his stupidly pretty eyes of his. You could never say no to him.

He leaned over your shoulder from behind, reaching around to point at different instruments. His helmet brushed yours as he talked, voice coming through the headset.

"Okay, so this is your primary flight display," he said, finger tracing across a screen. "Shows altitude, airspeed, heading. And this controls your oxygen flow—"

"Caleb," you cut him off with a nervous laugh, "why are you telling me all this? I'm not flying this thing."

"What if I have a heart attack up there? You'd have to take over."

"Please don't joke about that. I can barely parallel park, and you want me to land a fighter jet?"

"It's easier than it looks." He reached across to flip a switch, his arm brushing against yours. "Besides, you've got good instincts. I've seen how you think under pressure."

"Quick thinking and flying are completely different things.”

"Are they?" His laugh rumbled over the comms as he flipped a few more switches. "Both need you to stay calm, think fast..."

Suddenly, the engines roared to life, vibrations running through your entire body. Your stomach dropped as the reality hit—you were actually doing this.

"Don't worry. I have every intention of staying alive," he added, his hand coming up to steady your helmet. "Besides, I can't leave you alone up here. How else would I get to see how cute you look when you're terrified?"

"I'm not terrified."

"Sure you're not." He glanced down at where your knuckles were white from gripping the seatbelt. A smug smile spread across his face. You wanted to punch him. "That's why you're holding on like the plane's about to fall apart."

"I hate you."

He ignored your comment. His hands moved to your harness next, checking each strap. You felt his fingers brush against your shoulders and chest as he tightened the restraints.

"Snug enough?" he asked, giving the straps a tug.

"I think I'm more secure than the aircraft itself," you replied, testing how much you could move. Which was basically not at all.

"Good. Ready to fly?"

"Absolutely not."

"Too late now." He moved to settle into the pilot's seat in front of you. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you up there."

"Just promise me," you called over the growing engine noise, "if you do have some kind of medical emergency, can you at least wait until we're back on the ground?"

His laugh crackled through the comms. "Deal." More switches flipped and the engines roared louder. "Now hold on and visor down."

You found the mechanism on your helmet, and the tinted shield clicked into place, casting everything in a greenish hue.

"Tower, this is Apple-7 requesting clearance for takeoff," his voice came through the comm system, suddenly serious and stern.

"Apple-7, you are cleared for runway 2-7. Wind at 2-1-0 degrees, 8 knots."

"Copy that, tower. Apple-7 rolling."

And then the jet lurched forward.

Oh shit.

This was really happening. You were actually doing this, and you were a complete idiot for agreeing to it. What kind of sane person just casually gets into a fighter jet? Normal people took trains. Normal people stayed on the ground where they belonged.

The engines roared even louder, and suddenly you were moving. Fast. Really, really fast. The runway blurred past in streaks of white and gray, and you gripped your harness so hard you thought you might break your knuckles. Pretty sure you were about to meet your end just because you couldn't resist some pretty violet eyes.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," you said, probably straight into the comms that anyone could hear, but you were past caring.

"You okay back there?"

"No. Definitely not. Why did I say yes to this?"

The nose tilted up, and suddenly you were pressed back into your seat like a giant, invisible hand was shoving you down. The force was insane—your whole body felt heavy, pinned against the seat as the jet climbed. Your stomach dropped straight through the floor while the rest of you felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the ground disappeared beneath you, that weightless feeling making you want to throw up.

Why the hell had you said yes this time?

Caleb had asked before. Multiple times, actually. "Come flying with me," he'd say, eyes bright with the adrenaline that always courses through pilots after a flight. "I want to show you what it's like up there." And you'd always brushed him off with some excuse—too busy, too tired, maybe next time.

Flying seemed like his thing, not yours. You were perfectly happy with your feet on solid ground, thank you very much.

You'd never really thought about why you kept saying no. It just seemed... unnecessary. Dangerous. Something that belonged to the part of his life that didn't include you—the military side, the pilot side, the side that took him away from home for weeks at a time.

But now, strapped into a fighter jet and climbing toward the clouds at a speed that defied all logic, you couldn't figure out what had changed. What had made you finally say yes when he'd asked with that hopeful look in his eyes? Was it the way he'd seemed so excited to share this with you? The fact that he'd almost died and you'd realized how much you'd been holding back? Or were you just losing your mind?

Probably the last one.

"Breathe." Caleb's voice. "I've got you."

"This was such a terrible idea," you managed, eyes still clamped shut. "I'm going to die because I can't say no to you."

"You're not going to die. I'm a pretty good pilot."

"That's exactly what someone says right before they crash."

He laughed. "Open your eyes."

"Not happening."

"Come on. Trust me."

"I trusted you enough to get in this death trap. That's all the trust you're getting today."

"Hey." His voice went gentle. "Remember when we were kids and you'd get scared during thunderstorms? I'd always stay with you until they passed."

"That's not the same."

"I'm still here. Still got you." A pause. "Open your eyes for me."

Damn him. Damn him and that stupid, soft voice of his and the way he could make you feel safe even when you were hurtling through the air in a metal coffin.

You cracked one eye open, then both, and your breath caught in your throat at what you saw.

A dreamlike landscape stretched out below you. Fields and forests and winding roads, all bathed in golden evening light. In the distance, the sun was sinking towards the horizon, painting the sky in watercolours of pink and orange, bleeding together like spilled paint.

And there was Skyhaven, floating in the distance like something from a fairy tale. Its artificial island hung suspended in the twilight, lights already twinkling as evening settled in. From up here, you could see everything, the tall buildings, the landing platforms and the anti-gravity trains that looked like silver threads connecting it to the mainland.

You flew over the DAA airbase, which looked suddenly tiny and orderly from this height. You could make out the runways in perfect geometric patterns, hangars lined up like building blocks, the control tower standing watch over it all.

"Holy shit," you breathed.

"Language, pipsqueak."

"Holy shit, Caleb. This is..."

"Pretty amazing, right?"

You stared out at the endless sky, at clouds that looked like cotton from up here, at how perfect and small everything looked below. Your death grip on the seat loosened a little.

"Yeah," you whispered. "It's beautiful."

"Want to see more? We've still got time before we need to head back."

Caleb steered the jet gently to the left, and a few seconds later, you were flying over mountains that looked like the spines of a sleeping dragon, their snow laced peaks catching the last of the sun.

"Those are the Taishan Mountains," he said. "See that lake down there?"

You followed his direction and spotted it—a perfect mirror of water nestled between the hills, reflecting the sunset like liquid fire.

"It looks incredible," you breathed, pressing your face closer to the canopy. "I had no idea it looked like this from up here."

He guided the jet in circles around the lake, giving you the full view. "This is my favorite part of flying. Seeing the world like this." His voice went softer. "I've wanted to show you this for so long."

Mountains rolled beneath you in waves of green and amber, dotted with tiny villages that clung to the slopes. A river wound through the valley below, silver in the twilight.

"There—see that waterfall?" Caleb pointed toward a white ribbon of water cascading down the mountainside, each level catching the dying light before disappearing into the mist below. "And that one over there—" He tilted the jet slightly to one side so you could see another cascade, this one wider, spreading like a bridal veil across dark stone.

"They're amazing, Caleb," you said, watching the water dance in the fading light.

"I knew you'd love them. I've been wanting to bring you up here since I first flew this route. Every time I pass over, I think about how much you'd love seeing this." A pause. "When things calm down, when we're not so busy with work... I want to take you hiking up there. Show you those falls up close."

You smiled. "I'd like that."

The jet drifted through wisps of cloud that parted softly around the canopy, and for a moment, you felt weightless, suspended between earth and sky, while the world below seemed to stretch endlessly.

A flock of birds flew far below, tiny dots moving across the green landscape. Everything looked so peaceful from up here, so perfectly arranged, like someone had painted the world and hung it beneath the clouds just for pilots to see.

"You really love this." It wasn't a question. "Flying, I mean. I finally get it."

"Took you long enough."

"I always knew you loved it. I just... never understood the why until now."

"And now?"

You gazed out at the endless sky, at how calm everything looked from up here. "Now I think I might love it too."

"Good," he said, and you could hear him grinning. "So... want to test some speed?"

"What kind of speed?"

"Nothing crazy. Just a little taste of what she can really do."

"I don't know, Caleb. This is perfect as it is—"

"Hold on tight."

"Wait, what—"

The world exploded into motion.

The jet shot forward like a bullet fired from a gun, the landscape below blurring into streaks of color. Your body slammed back into the seat with crushing force—you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only grip your harness as everything became pure speed and sound and the absolute certainty that you were about to die.

"Caleb!"

"Just breathe!" His voice came through the comms, way too calm for someone currently trying to kill you both. "Let it happen!"

Within seconds, the fear melted away, replaced by an electric thrill that surged through you. You were flying—really flying—slicing through the sky like something loosed from gravity itself.

"Oh my God!" you shouted, but now you were laughing. "This is insane!"

"Amazing, right?"

"Don't you dare slow down!"

His delighted laugh filled your headset. "I knew you'd love it."

Clouds blurred past in a rush of speed so unreal it stole your breath, and for the first time in months, maybe years, you felt impossibly alive. You never wanted it to stop.

"Hey," Caleb said after a while of flying, way too casual. "You do remember how to pull up, right?"

"What? Why would I need to—"

"Just in case."

A soft click echoed through the comms.

The nose dipped.

Your stomach dropped as realization hit.

"Caleb?"

The aircraft kept descending, the horizon tilting dangerously.

"Caleb!"

Without thinking, your hands flew to the controls, yanking back on the stick. The jet responded immediately, nose lifting as you overcompensated. Your stomach lurched violently with the sudden change in altitude before finally finding level flight again.

"Take over!" you screamed, heart pounding against your ribs. "What the hell are you doing?!"

His laughter crackled through the headset. "Relax. I've got backup controls the whole time. You were never actually in danger." He paused, clearly grinning. "God, I wish I could see your face right now. I bet your face is all scrunched up."

"I'm having a heart attack!"

"You're doing fine. Keep your hands on the controls. I'm handling everything else. Feel how responsive she is?"

Despite yourself, you were starting to enjoy it. Every tiny movement you made with the stick and the whole aircraft would shift—left, right, up, down—and you finally understood what Caleb meant about dancing with the sky. In a way, it felt like dancing, but with gravity and wind and thousands of pounds of metal that somehow felt weightless under your command.

"This is terrifying."

"This is flying. And you're a natural."

And the longer you held the controls, the more confident you became. It was almost intoxicating, having this much power literally at your fingertips.

"This is actually incredible," you breathed, making a gentle turn.

"See? Told you."

Then you spotted the throttle. Your hand moved before you could think, pushing it forward. The jet surged ahead, speed shooting pure electricity through your veins.

"Oh, this feels amazing!" You pushed it further.

The world blurred below as you picked up speed. You felt powerful. Alive. Like you could conquer the entire sky.

"Okay, that's... probably fast enough," Caleb said.

But you were drunk on it now. You pushed the throttle more.

"Seriously, maybe we should slow down—"

"Just a little more!"

"No, no, no. Fun's over." You felt him take back control, gradually bringing the aircraft down to a safer speed. "You're absolutely insane. Remind me to never let you near a motorcycle."

"That was the best thing I've ever done," you laughed, breathless and light headed. "Can we do it again?"

"Absolutely not. I love you, but—"

He stopped, and your heart skipped a beat.

Did he just…?

He did.

And he said it so natural, so easy, so seamlessly woven into the fabric of who he was that he'd forgotten it was supposed to be a secret.

But you knew what would come next. You'd been there before, knew every version of his backtracking, his deflection, of his careful rewording that would drain all the meaning from what he'd just said until it became something safe and meaningless.

It had been this way since you were teenagers, the pattern so familiar you could predict his next words before he said them. In a way, you'd gotten used to it. But knowing it was coming didn't make it hurt any less. If anything, the predictability made it worse.

Silence stretched.

"I mean—" he started, voice tight. "What I meant was—"

Suddenly, Gideon's voice crackled through the comm system.

"Apple-7, this is base. You two lovebirds need to head back. Party started early—apparently someone couldn't wait to celebrate our hero."

"Copy that, base," Caleb responded after a pause, his voice controlled again. "Apple-7 returning to base."

As he banked towards home, all the playful energy drained away. Something heavier settled between you, the weight of words said and unsaid, of feelings that existed in the space between friendship and whatever this was.

"ETA fifteen minutes," he added quietly. But you weren't listening anymore.

When Caleb brought the jet down onto the runway at the airbase, you felt sick. Whether from the flight or his confession, you couldn't tell.

"You hungry?" His voice came through the headset as you taxied toward the hangar. "Martinez has been going on about the catering all week. I bet they've prepared lots of food."

You stared at the back of his head, feeling your frustration rise like a tide. You hated how he always backed off so quickly whenever things got too real, like he'd burned himself on the truth. Always leaving you to wonder if you'd imagined the weight in his voice, if those three words had meant anything at all or if he'd said them to anyone who'd listen.

"Yeah. I'm starving."

You could feel him wince at your tone.

"Wait until you try the barbecue," he continued anyway, forcing cheerfulness into his voice. "Base cook actually knows what he's doing for once."

The canopy opened with a soft hiss. Back to reality, where Caleb would pretend his heart hadn't been in his throat when he'd said those words, and you'd pretend you weren't exhausted from constantly dancing around whatever this was between you.

He'd said he loved you. Actually said it. And now he was talking about barbecue like it never happened, like you were just friends and always be just friends, like you were supposed to smile and nod and pretend your chest wasn't caving in from the weight of loving someone who could say everything and nothing in the same breath.

Before you could argue with him or he could apologize or you could both just sit in the wreckage of another almost moment, Gideon appeared beside the aircraft.

"There you are!" He grabbed both your arms before you'd even fully climbed out. "Come on, they're waiting for the guest of honor."

"Wait, we should change—" you started, but Gideon was already dragging you toward the main hangar where music and laughter spilled into the evening air.

Caleb unzipped his flight suit as you walked, letting it hang around his waist and tying the sleeves around his hips. Sweat darkened the fabric of his shirt, outlining the muscles in his chest and shoulders in a way that really didn't help your current frustration with him.

You did the same, unzipping your own suit and tying it around your waist. Not exactly the prettiest outfit for a celebration—but thankfully, no one else seemed to care about fancy clothes either. At least now you could breathe in the warm evening air.

You'd never seen the hangar look anything like this. String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, tables lined the walls loaded with food, and what looked like half the airbase was crowded inside with drinks, laughing and talking.

A cheer went up the second people spotted Caleb. Suddenly you were swept into congratulations and backslapping. Someone pressed a beer into your hand while others recounted the heroic rescue you'd only heard about on the news.

"Speech! Speech!" someone shouted, and the entire crowd picked up the chant.

Caleb got pushed towards the center of the crowed, looking genuinely uncomfortable. He held up his hands for quiet.

"I, uh..." He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "I'm really not good at this."

Everyone laughed affectionately.

So humble. Of course everyone loved him.

You watched him fumble through his discomfort. Even now, with everyone celebrating him, he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. The same way he'd rather deflect than deal with what had just happened between you up there.

"Look," he continued, finding his voice, "what happened out there wasn't heroic. I was just doing my job. Any of you would've done the same thing."

More affectionate protests from the crowd. Someone yelled, "That's our Caleb!"

"It was a team effort. We all did what we were trained for." He paused, scanning the crowd until his eyes found yours. "But what really drives us, what makes us willing to risk everything, is knowing we have something worth coming home to."

Beside you, Gideon nudged your ribs, grinning like he'd won a bet. But instead of something warm, all you felt was irritation.

Of course. Of course he'd say something like that—something that could mean everything or nothing, something that let him dance around the truth while giving himself an out if anyone pressed him on it. Something worth coming home to. It could mean you, it could mean his whole found family here, or it could mean his favorite mechanic for all the specificity he was giving.

You took a long pull of your beer, jaw tight, as the crowd cheered his carefully noncommittal words.

When he finished his speech, you turned away before his gaze could find yours and headed for the bar. Maybe it was frustration, maybe adrenaline crash, or maybe you just needed something to numb whatever game you and Caleb kept playing with each other's hearts.

You stopped counting drinks after the third one. You'd come here to celebrate him, to be proud of him, but all you could think about was how stupid you'd been to hope for something real.

Luckily, Gideon was just as drunk as you and completely oblivious to your mood.

"Another round!"

He appeared beside you with two fresh beers and a grin that said he was already several drinks ahead of you. His cheeks were flushed, eyes bright.

You took the beer and clinked it against his, laughing at something funny he'd said that you were already forgetting.

"Maybe you should slow down a little."

A hand suddenly reached for your beer.

Caleb.

You pulled it away from his grasp, giving him a look that could've cut glass. "We're here to celebrate, right? Isn't that what you said? Something to come home to and all that?"

His eyes narrowed at your tone, violet turning darker, but before he could respond, Gideon threw an arm around both your shoulders.

"Exactly! Tonight we celebrate our hero!" he slurred, pulling you both closer. "And his beautiful—"

"Friend," you cut in flatly, taking another drink. You stared straight at Caleb as you said it, watching the word land heavy.

The music shifted to something upbeat, and Gideon dragged you towards the dance floor before either of you could say anything else.

He spun you around, both of you laughing as you nearly collided into other people. The alcohol had loosened you up, and for the first time all night, you actually felt carefree.

"You're awful at this," you laughed as Gideon stepped on your foot again.

"Hey, I'm a pilot, not a dancer," he protested, catching you when you stumbled slightly and keeping a steady hand on your waist.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Caleb still at the bar, those violet eyes locked on Gideon's hand at your waist. His knuckles were white around his beer bottle.

You knew this wasn't fair. It wasn't like you—getting drunk, making a scene, using poor Gideon in whatever messed up thing you and Caleb had going on. But you were so tired of it all. Tired of the mixed signals, the distance, the way he could say he loved you at ten thousand feet then stand in front of everyone and talk about you like you were just another face in the crowd.

You were done being careful. Done protecting his feelings while he stepped all over yours. When Gideon's hand moved to guide you through another spin, you didn't pull away. Instead, you leaned closer, letting your arms wrap around his neck as he swayed with you. You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes closing, knowing exactly who was watching.

If Caleb wanted to keep you at arm's length, he could watch someone else hold you close.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Hours slipped by in a haze of music, laughter, and terrible dance moves. Considerably, the crowd had thinned out, leaving only a few dedicated party people and those too drunk to find way back to their quarters. You fell squarely into the second category.

"Alright," Caleb's voice cut through your alcohol fueled fun as he appeared beside you and Gideon at the bar sometime deep into the night—or possibly early morning. "I think it's time to call it a night."

"What? No!" You swayed as you turned to face him. "Party's just getting started. Right, Gideon?"

But when you looked around, Gideon had somehow vanished. When you turned back to Caleb, you understood why.

He was angry.

"Come on. You've had enough."

"I'm fine," you insisted, though the way the room tilted when you moved suggested otherwise. "We're celebrating! You said it yourself—something to come home to, right? Well, your precious something is celebrating."

A muscle jumped in his jaw and then he was moving. He scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"Caleb! Put me down! What are you doing?"

"You think I'll let you do whatever you want?"

You kept protesting as he carried you across the hanger, but his grip was iron. Other drunk stragglers whistled and made comments as you passed, which only made your face burn hotter.

He finally stopped at his room in the dormitory and fumbled with his keycard while still holding you. Once inside, he set you down and locked the door behind you both.

You stumbled as your feet hit the floor, the room spinning enough to make you grab his desk for support.

"What the hell, Caleb?"

He was standing between you and the door, arms crossed, looking more serious than you'd ever seen him.

"What was your mission tonight? Were you trying to irritate me?"

You leaned back against his desk, crossing your arms to match his stance. The alcohol was still making your head swim, but his tone was sobering you up fast.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's a party. You're the hero, saved lives and all that, remember?"

"Is that why you were all over Gideon?"

A bitter laugh slipped out. "Like you care."

"I don't care?"

"No, you don't!" You pushed off from the desk, anger making you bold. "You don't get to care! Not when you do this—say things like that, tell me you love me, act all possessive, then pull away like it never happened!" Your voice got louder, years of frustration finally breaking free. "It's fucking exhausting, Caleb! I never know what you actually feel because you won't just—"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No! It's not obvious! Nothing about you is obvious!" You gestured wildly, the alcohol making you unsteady. "You're like a puzzle with half the pieces missing, and I'm tired of trying to figure you out."

He stepped closer. "You want to know what I feel?"

"Yes," you breathed, suddenly aware of how small his room was, how close he was getting.

Another step. "You want me to be obvious? Aggressive? Want me to press you against this desk and make it impossible to misunderstand how I feel?"

Your back hit the desk as he kept coming. "Caleb," you whispered, but it sounded more like a plea than a warning.

He braced his hands on either side of you, palms flat against the desk, caging you in. His body was close enough that you could feel his heat, could count the golden flecks in his eyes.

"Tell me what you want from me." His voice barely a whisper, his face inches from yours. "You want me to kiss you? Touch you?" He tilted his head. "...Fuck you?"

"I'm not playing this game again—"

His hand left the desk to find your waist, fingers spreading across the strip of skin where your shirt had ridden up above your tied flight suit. Your words died as his touch sent heat shooting through you.

"What game?" He leaned closer and placed his other hand on your waist too, his hands warm against your skin. "The one where you pretend you don't want me?"

"I'm not—" you started, but your breath hitched when his hand came up to cup your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone.

"Or this one where you act like I'm always the one holding back when you do the exact same thing?" His words ghosted across your lips as his hands slowly moved upward, thumbs brushing under the hem of your shirt. "Because that's what this feels like. Like you want me to make the first move so you can blame me if it all goes wrong, have an easy way out—"

"Don't."

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could feel it through your chest. He was close enough now that the slightest movement would bring your lips together.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll walk away."

But you couldn't. Because despite all the frustration, despite all the hesitation and almost moments, this was exactly what you wanted. And he knew it.

When you stayed silent, he leaned in, lips finding your neck. His kiss was soft, almost careful, but it sent heat through your veins. His lips moved down your neck unhurried and slow, each touch a question you answered with a tilt of your head, giving him more access. Your hands found his shoulders, fingers gripping his shirt as he stepped closer and pressed you back against the wall.

"Who's holding back now?" he murmured against your throat.

Your answer got lost in a shaky breath as he continued his slow exploration, hands tightening on your waist. Everything felt electric, charged with years of want finally given permission to surface.

But even as he held you close, even as his lips traced every inch of your neck, he never quite crossed that final line. Never kissed your mouth the way you desperately wanted. Always hovering on the edge of something more, leaving you breathless and wanting. And you wouldn't close the gap either—too stubborn, too scared.

"Caleb," you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with want. "What now? Should I kiss you? Undress you? Want me to…"

His thigh nuded your legs apart, and then he pressed closer until there was nothing between you but heat and fabric. Your breath hitched, and your fingers clenched around his shoulders, nails digging in.

"Do you have any idea how much I think about this? About touching you you the way I really want to, without holding anything back? How much I need you?"

Your head tilted back, trying to find space to breathe, but he followed, lips grazing your throat. Each touch was torture, every kiss threatening to undo you completely. He moved slowly, mouth tracing down to your collarbone where he sucked gently, drawing a soft sound from you.

"You're so frustrating," you said, the words tumbling out. "You—God, Caleb, you always stop, you—"

"You think I want to stop?" His voice was raw. "You think I don't lie awake every night thinking about throwing away every reason I have for keeping my hands off you?" He sank his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, making you gasp. "I'm trying to do this right."

Your heart ached at his words, but the alcohol and years of longing made you bold. "I don't want right," you said. "I want you."

Something shifted in him then. His hands slid to your hips and pulled you in, pressing against you until you felt him, unmistakably hard, right where you wanted him. You moved without thinking, your body drawn to the pressure, to the spark it ignited.

He cursed, voice breaking as he buried his face in your neck and guided your movements with his hands. Each shift of your hips made the desk creak beneath you, the sound loud in the quiet room.

Your hands slid into his hair, tugging at it as you arched into him, heat building between you with each and every movement. His mouth traced lower, kissing along the edge of your top before his teeth caught your strap, pulling it down your shoulder. He kissed the newly bared skin like it was something sacred.

"Caleb," you gasped, voice catching as he thrust harder, growing more desperate.

Papers and pens slid off the desk, which was rattling loudly now, but neither of you cared. His hand left your hip to brace against the wall behind you, arm trembling with the effort of holding back, of keeping this from spiraling into something neither of you could take back.

You felt him shudder against you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as he kissed every inch of skin. Hips pressed closer still, grinding against you in a way that made your head spin, and you couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips. It seemed to undo him completely—his grip tightening as he moved against you harder, the desk shaking.

"I can't think straight when you're like this," he whispered, his hand slipping under your top, palm warm against your lower back. "Do you have any idea what you do to me? How hard it is to be around you and not just—"

Your legs tightened around him, wanting nothing more than for him to stop thinking altogether, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you.

You could feel exactly how much he wanted this—wanted you—but he still held back, his lips never claiming yours, only leaving marks along your throat and collarbone. It was maddening, this dance of almost, but the way he touched you like you were something precious made it impossible to pull away.

You could feel how close you both were getting—his breath heavy and uneven, body trembling against yours.

His hand slid down from your waist to find your thigh. He hooked his grip under your knee, lifting your leg until it rested over his shoulder. You gasped, fingers clawing at his hair as his hard length slid back and forth between your thighs with such maddening friction you were sure you'd come any moment.

"I'm trying," he breathed. "I'm trying so fucking hard not to lose it right now."

Your leg trembled, and he tightened his grip, holding you in place.

"I'm so close." Your lips hovered inches from his, your soft moans spilling into his open mouth. "Caleb, please." You didn't even know what you were begging for—just more, all of him, anything to ease the ache that had been building for so long.

His hand on the wall slid higher, fingers curling like he needed to hold onto something, and for a moment you thought he might finally give in. But—

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, followed by muffled voices. Caleb froze, lips still close to yours, his whole body going tense. He lifted his head, eyes darting to the door. The voices got closer, then faded, but the thread between you had snapped.

His hand on the wall slid down slowly. He exhaled shakily and stepped back, leaving you cold and aching where his warmth had been. "You should sleep and get sober."

You felt dizzy from how quickly he could switch off, go from consuming you completely to treating you like a mistake that needed correcting.

"And pretend tomorrow that this never happened? You go back to being distant and I pretend I'm fine with it?"

"That's not—"

"It is." You leaned forward on the desk, straightening your top. "This is what you do, Caleb. You get close, make me think maybe this time is different, and then you pull away."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "I'm not pulling away. I'm right here."

"For how long? Until someone walks by in the hallway? Until you remember all the reasons why this is complicated? Until you decide I'm better off as just your friend?"

"You know that's not—"

"Don't. Just… don't. I can't keep doing this with you. I can't keep wondering if you actually want me or if you're just lonely, or caught up in the moment, or—"

"You think this is just loneliness?" His voice went sharp, almost angry. "You think what I feel for you is some momentary lapse in judgment?"

"I don't know what you feel, and that's the problem. You never tell me anything. Not when you nearly die, not what you're thinking, nothing. You just nearly fuck me and look at me like that and expect me to figure it out, but I can't read your mind, Caleb. And I'm tired of trying."

Everything went quiet.

"I'm scared," he said finally. "I'm scared of ruining what we have."

"And what exactly do we have? Because from where I'm standing, it feels like nothing."

He starred at you like you'd slapped him, and maybe you had. You watched his face crumple for just a second before he pulled himself together, but you'd already seen the hurt.

"Nothing," he repeated quietly, almost to himself. He took a step back, then another, putting space between you. "Right."

Nothing but breath.

Yours.

His.

Heavy, tangled, filling the silence.

You wanted to take it back, to explain that you didn't mean it like that, but your frustration and anger kept your mouth shut.

"Sleep it off," he said finally, voice flat as he headed for the door. "Take the bed. I'll find somewhere else."

"Caleb, wait—"

He stopped for just a moment, hand on the handle, and you thought maybe he'd turn around, maybe he'd finally fight for this, fight for you.

"Lock the door behind me."

And then he walked out.

You sat there staring at the empty space where he'd been, the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin and the taste of regret bitter in your mouth.

You could hear his footsteps in the hallway, getting fainter until there was nothing left but silence and the weight of words you couldn't take back.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Morning light streamed through the window, way too bright for your pounding head. You groaned and burried your face deeper into the pillow that smelled like Caleb—a painful reminder of where you were and what had happened.

A soft knock made you wince. "Come in," you mumbled, though speaking felt like sandpaper against your throat.

When you finally looked up, Caleb was standing by the bed with a glass of water and two aspirin. His expression was carefully blank, but the dark circles under his eyes told you he'd slept about as well as you had.

"Figured you'd need these," he said, setting them on the nightstand.

You slowly sat up, immediately regretting it as the room spun. "Thanks."

He sat down on the edge of the bed beside you while you swallowed the aspirin and drank half the water.

"I'm sorry," you started, finally meeting his eyes. "About last night. What I said."

"Which part?"

"All of it. I was really drunk."

"Yeah, you were."

"It wasn't fair of me."

He gave you a small, sad smile. After a moment, he pulled out his phone, scrolled through it, and set it on the nightstand. Soft music started playing, something gentle and slow.

"What are you doing?"

"What I wanted to do last night." He stood up from the bed and held out his hand. "Before you decided dancing with my best friend was more fun."

You looked at his outstretched hand, then back at his face. "Caleb, I'm still pretty drunk. Or hungover. I haven't brushed my teeth, I probably smell like tequila, and I look like I got hit by a truck—"

"You're beautiful."

Your heart did that tender flutter thing it always did when he spoke to you like that—gentle and sure, like you were something precious instead of the mess you felt like.

Here he was, bringing you water and aspirin with dark circles under his eyes, being impossibly kind when you'd spent last night deliberately trying to hurt him. You'd used his best friend, his trust, weaponized his feelings against him when all Caleb had ever done was love you too much for his own good.

Even when you were being a complete mess, even when you said cruel things you didn't mean—he was still here, still calling you beautiful when you looked like death, still wanting to dance with you in his tiny room. You felt like such an idiot.

He offered you his hand like a peace offering, like forgiveness you didn't deserve, and you wanted to cry from how much it hurt to want someone this badly.

After a moment's hesitation, you found yourself taking his hand anyway, because even if you didn't deserve his kindness, you were too selfish to turn it away.

He helped you up slowly, steadying you when you swayed. His other hand settled gently at your waist, and he started moving in tiny circles, barely dancing at all in the small space between his bed and the wall, just holding you while music played softly from his phone.

"You got what you wanted, by the way," he said quietly against your hair.

"What?"

"Making me jealous. If that was your plan." His voice had that old teasing note, but beneath it, something honest. "Watching you with Gideon last night... it worked."

"I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't you? Even a little?"

"You were jealous," you said, more to confirm it to yourself than to ask.

"Insanely jealous." His hand tightened at your waist. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't always jealous of every guy who even looks at you."

"You're an idiot," you whispered, but there was no heat in it.

"Probably."

He spun you gently, turning you so your back was against his chest. His hands settled on your waist, and you could feel his steady breathing against your shoulder. It made your head spin—whether from the hangover or his proximity, hard to tell.

"Easy," he murmured when you swayed, arms tightening to steady you. "I've got you."

You leaned back against him, letting his warmth sink through the thin shirt of his you were wearing.

"This is so stupid."

"Dancing with a hungover girl in my bedroom at eight in the morning? Yeah, probably."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. But I don't care. I've wanted to hold you like this for so long that I'll take whatever version I can get. Even if you're mad at me and smell like Gideon's aftershave."

You stiffened. "I do not—"

"Relax," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "You smell like you. Just... you and a bit of tequila."

"You're awful."

"I'm honest." He buried his face deeper into your shoulder, inhaling your scent. "And I'd rather have you here, mad at me and smelling of some other man than not have you at all."

It hurt how he said it.

Not because his words were cruel, but because of how tired he sounded. Like he'd already accepted that this was all he'd ever get. Like he was okay with loving you quietly, safely, even if it meant never really having you. Even if it meant watching you walk away with someone else someday.

And maybe that's exactly what you'd both been doing all along. Playing it safe. Because relationships were messy when hearts got involved, when people made themselves vulnerable. Love always ended in pain—that much you knew. Better to keep things the way they were, even if it hurt, than risk losing each other completely.

But God, you were so tired of being careful, tired of pretending that your heart didn't race every time he said your name, and of lying awake at night replaying every touch, every look, every almost moment where you'd felt the pull between you and chosen to step back instead of forward.

All those times in his kitchen when he'd stand just a little too close while making coffee. All those movie nights when you'd end up curled against his side, pretending it was just friendship. All those conversations that felt like confessions, where you'd catch him looking at you like you were something he wanted but couldn't have.

Not this time.

You turned in his arms, slowly, until you were facing him again. "Kiss me," you said, the words reckless and desperate and born from nothing but foolish hope.

"You're still drunk."

"I'm not that drunk."

"Didn't you say so yourself?"

"I lied."

"Pipsqueak."

"Don't deflect."

He let out a breath. "You're hurting. And confused. And you'll probably hate yourself for this when your head clears."

"Maybe." You reached up, fingers finding the soft cotton of his shirt. "But I'm asking anyway."

He went quiet, those violet eyes moving between yours and your lips. "I don't want to be something you regret."

"You won't be. Caleb, you could never be something I regret."

His breath caught, and for a moment, that careful control slipped. His hand came up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, leaning closer. Your heart hammered against your ribs as the space between you shrunk to nothing. His forehead touched yours, lips hovering close enough to feel the warmth of each word—

His phone rang. Sharp and loud.

"Fuck," he breathed, but he didn't pull away.

The phone kept ringing.

"Caleb," you whispered.

"I know." His thumb traced your cheek one more time before he reluctantly stepped back and reached for his phone. His face darkened when he saw the screen. "It's Commander Reeves. I have to—"

"Answer it," you said, though your heart was still racing.

He picked up with a clipped "Caleb," his voice immediately shifting into something professional and distant. You watched his expression grow more serious as he listened.

"How many?" A pause. "Yeah, I'm on my way." He hung up and looked at you. "Emergency at the base during training. I have to—"

"Go," you said quickly. "People need you."

He moved toward the door, then stopped. Without a word, he came back to you, his hands cupping your face with that careful tenderness that always undid you and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was chaste, safe, and full of everything he couldn't say and you wouldn't risk asking. It left an empty sort of sting in your chest, how much it meant and how little it changed anything.

Then he was gone, grabbing his jacket and rushing out to save someone else, leaving you alone with his goodbye that wasn't quite a goodbye, and a promise that wasn't quite a promise.

Only another almost to add to your collection.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

By the time Caleb finally made it back to his room, the sun was high and unforgiving.

He opened the door, expecting to find you still there—maybe asleep again, or pacing impatiently, ready to give him an earful for making you wait so long, telling him that you were hungry and bored and he'd smile and take you to eat with the other cadets right after he finally, finally kissed you.

But you weren't there.

The bed was empty and his shirt you'd borrowed was neatly folded at the foot of the bed. The only proof you'd been there was a note on his nightstand, scribbled on the back of his training plan:

thank you for everything. had to catch the 11:30 train back to linkon. talk soon — you

Caleb stared at the note for a long moment, then slowly crumpled it in his fist. Of course you'd run. Of course you'd slip out while he was dealing with the emergency, avoiding the conversation you'd both been dancing around for months and years. But he couldn't even be angry with you, because he understood.

This thing between you had crept up so slowly that neither of you had noticed when it stopped being just friendship. When his need to protect you had shifted from something innocent to something that kept him awake at night. When your easy comfort around him had developed this electric edge that made every touch feel like playing with fire.

He could trace it back if he really tried. Being fifteen and suddenly noticing how pretty you were, then feeling guilty about it because you were his childhood friend and that felt like a betrayal of something pure. He remembered you at seventeen, falling asleep on his shoulder during a late night study session, and the way his heart had started racing for reasons he couldn't name.

How you'd started looking at him differently after he'd enlisted, like you were seeing him as a man instead of the boy who'd grown up next to you.

But somewhere along the way, the easy intimacy of childhood had gotten complicated. Every conversation now carried the weight of things unsaid. Every touch too fleeting to truly satisfy. Every glance asked questions neither of you knew how to answer.

Now there was so much distance between who you'd been as kids and who you were now that neither of you knew how to bridge it. Too much history to pretend this was simple, but too much fear to admit it had never been simple at all.

He sank onto his bed and stared at the spot where he'd almost kissed you. You'd both wanted it—he could see it in the way your breath had hitched, in how you'd leaned into him. But wanting and having were different things when everything felt this fragile.

Because this wasn't just about attraction, this was about the person who knew all his secrets, who'd sat with him through his worst moments, who he trusted more than anyone. This was about risking the most important relationship in his life for something that might burn bright and beautiful—or destroy everything.

His phone buzzed. A text.

You: made it back safely. thanks for last night. and this morning

He stared at the message, knowing that beneath those polite lines was the same confusion he felt, the same want tangled up with the same fear.

He typed and deleted a dozen replies.

Caleb: why did you leave?

Delete.

Caleb: please don't run from this. don't run from me

Delete.

Caleb: i wanted to kiss you

Delete.

Caleb: i think about kissing you all the time

Delete.

Caleb: i love you. i'm in love with you. i have been for years and i'm tired of pretending i'm not

Delete.

Caleb: i don't know when i fell for you, but i can't remember not being in love with you. and when i was on that deepspace tunnel rescue mission, all i could think about was that i can't die before i ever get to tell you how i feel

Delete.

Caleb: i'm sorry i didn't tell you what happened. i wanted to protect you, but lately i think i don't know how to take care of you anymore and all i do is screw things up

Delete.

In the end, he sent:

Caleb: glad you're safe

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

You: hope the emergency wasn't too bad. get some rest

And that was it. You were gone, back to Linkon, back to your life of hunting Wanderers and keeping the world safe. Back to pretending that whatever had almost happened between you was just leftover adrenaline and alcohol.

But Caleb knew better. The way you'd looked at him, the way you'd asked him to kiss you—that wasn't the tequila talking, that was twenty years of friendship finally admitting it wanted to be something more, that was all the careful space you'd both maintained finally crumbling under the weight of wanting someone you were too afraid to lose.

His fingers found the silver apple pendant resting against his chest, the one you'd given him with "When U Come Home" engraved on its surface. Such simple words that had carried him through countless flights, countless nights when the distance between you felt impossible to cross.

But as he held it now, all he could think about was the way you'd felt pressed against him. The warmth of your skin beneath his hands. The soft sound you'd made when he'd kissed your neck. The way you'd trembled against him like you wanted him just as desperately as he wanted you.

God, he wanted you. Had wanted you for so long that desire had become a constant ache in his chest, something he'd learned to carry like a pilot carries the weight of sky—always there, always pulling, always threatening to drag him down if he let himself think about it too much.

And he was so fucking tired of being afraid. Tired of measuring every touch, every word, every look for signs that he might be crossing some invisible line. Tired of pretending that loving you was something to be ashamed of instead of the most natural thing in the world.

You'd asked him to kiss you.

You'd said he could never be something you'd regret. And instead of believing you, instead of trusting what he'd seen in your eyes, he'd let fear make the choice for him again.

Afternoon light streamed through his window, warm and golden, the same light that was probably falling across your face right now as you sat in your apartment, maybe thinking about him the way he couldn't stop thinking about you. Maybe touching your lips and remembering how close he'd come to kissing them. Maybe wondering if he'd ever be brave enough to choose love over safety.

And as he sat there, all he could think about was the empty space where you should be—in his arms, in his bed, in his life without any barriers between you.

He was done being afraid of losing you. Never truly having you would destroy him far more quietly, far more completely.

Caleb stood, touched the apple pendant once more, and reached for his keys.

masterlist + support my writing + ao3

author's note — so you might be wondering why this story sounds so similar to my other caleb fic and to give you an answer it is because i'm quite uncreative and had exactly two things on my brain: flying with him and dry humping. excuse my complete lack of originality with this one lol.

anyway, thank you for taking the time to dive into this emotional mess with me. i'll maybe write a part two for this. if you enjoyed the story, comments and reblogs always make my day and mean the world to me. thank you again for being here <3

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#i cried #i love him #the angst #the tension #delicious

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harmonyrae · 23 days ago

Text

CHAPTER 3

— Onychinus Leader!Sylus Qin X Mother! Female Reader

She Ran To Protect Their Child. He Built A Kingdom To Bring Them Home.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

*⁠.⁠✧ SYNOPSIS : She was the daughter of his enemy. He was the king of a criminal empire. They fell in love, but when she found out she was pregnant, she vanished-fearing the life their child would inherit. Seven years later, Sylus finds her. And he's not here for revenge. He's here to take back what's his.

*⁠.⁠✧ WARNINGS & TAGS : Dad! Sylus, mom!reader, mafia, rivalry, second chance, secret baby, exes, time skip, past lovers, alternate universe, break in, angst, fluff, romance, love, mature language, stalking, threats, run away! y/n, mentions of pregnancy, blood, gore, dark romance, lovers to strangers, enemies to lovers, their daughter Elea, kiss, break in 9.2k words.

*⁠.⁠✧ LOTUS NOTE : Took me so long to write this chapter. Assignments burnt me out tbh 😭 Tumblr did it again. Posted without my consent. Honestly, I don't have the time to copy paste, organize and edit again so this chapter is shorter than the previous one 😮‍💨

*⁠.⁠✧— NAVIGATION // LOVE & DEEPSPACE MASTERLIST

➥ KISSED IN POISON : THE SERIES

➥ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4

➥ Heart Divider's By @/cafekitsune

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE. MINORS DNI, IF YOU DO THEN IT'S YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

[PRESENT TIME, LINKON CITY]

Sylus is a dog. A mad dog. It all started this morning.

He moved in — or rather, invaded — in that flashy black car of his, the engine purring loud enough to turn every head on your street. He didn’t even pretend to be subtle. No, Sylus Qin made damn sure every nosy neighbour, every early jogger, and every curtain-twitcher knew exactly who he was.

He leaned one arm on the open car door, sunglasses perched low on his nose, lips curled in that smug, territorial grin of his as he caught Mrs. Young from next door peeking through her blinds. He didn’t just unload his bags — he practically marked his territory right there on your front lawn.

You hissed under your breath, arms crossed tight over your chest, “Sylus, can you not announce it to the entire postal code?”

He just tilted his head, mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“Sweetheart, let them know now — so they don’t get any funny ideas later.”

You could only roll your eyes. You have met five drama queens in your whole life — Sylus was four of them. The fifth one was Rafayel, Elea's arts teacher, who’d probably be next on Sylus’s hit list if he so much as smiled Elea's way again.

Ignoring your annoyance, Sylus took out a large trolley bag out of the dickie. Wanna guess the colour? The same soft pink as the Tulips he gave Elea. Of course, your that mad dog of a man — ruthless, possessive, all shadows and knives — was dragging a pastel pink suitcase up your front steps like it was just another day in paradise.

Sylus left the suitcase by the sofa, giving it a dismissive kick into place before his eyes swept over the living room — like he was already hunting for something. He pivoted back to you, brows lifted, mouth quirking in faint annoyance.

“Where’s my baby?” He asked, voice all soft and dangerous like he was about to rip the walls apart if she didn’t appear in the next breath.

“Elea already left for school.” You said, arms crossing as you braced for the dramatics.

Sylus’s eyes narrowed behind those stupidly expensive sunglasses, his head tipping to one side, “What? Elea’s school starts at 8:30. It’s barely seven.”

You blinked. Did he really memorize her entire schedule? A sigh slipped past your lips before you could swallow it down. Why am I even surprised…

“They’re doing a field day today.” You explained, flicking his forehead lightly as you stepped past him, “So she went early with the teachers.”

Sylus’s head snapped back to you so fast you almost heard something crack.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me before?” His voice dropped into that deep, accusing rumble — like you’d hidden classified intel from him instead of, you know, letting his child go play tug-of-war with her friends.

“I didn’t even get to see my baby off.” He added, his hand sweeping through his hair like the drama king he was.

You swear you could see the faintest ghost of a pout trying to form on his mouth — a pout. Sylus Qin, the infamous leader of Onychinus, the entire underworld flinched to stood in front of — looking like he was about to sulk because his daughter left before he got here.

You raised both brows at him, arms folded, “She’ll be back in a few hours, mad dog.”

Sylus’s scowl only deepened, his mouth pulling tight like he was two seconds away from tearing the front door clean off its hinges and sprinting down the street after the kindergarten bus.

“That’s not the point.” He bit out, pacing a slow, restless line behind the couch, “She cried so much last night. You know that, right? I wanted to stay so bad — if not for that rat.”

You blinked at him, folding your arms, eyebrows shooting up, “Rat?”

“Nothing.” He said, voice clipped. Then, just like that, he cut his eyes to you — and the switch flipped, all that snarling protective edge slipping into something smug, dangerous, annoyingly charming.

“Anyway.” He drawled, stepping closer, crowding your space like he always did when he wanted to win an argument by sheer proximity, “What's for breakfast?”

You blinked up at him, “Excuse me?”

Sylus’s eyes glinted — that wolfish tilt of his lips said he was already three steps ahead of whatever protest you were about to make. He leaned in, one arm braced on the back of the couch behind you, boxing you in like he owned the air you were breathing.

“Breakfast.” He repeated, voice low and warm, like he was making you an indecent offer instead of a perfectly normal question, “You know — the meal a devoted wife makes for her hardworking man?”

You snorted, “Devoted wife? In what twisted fantasy are you living, Sylus?”

He just hummed, nose brushing your temple, “The one where you feed me before I starve to death in your kitchen. Or… are you offering something else to keep me full?”

You swatted at his chest — but he caught your wrist midair, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles, eyes glinting mischief and heat all at once.

You jabbed a finger into his chest, voice dripping with exasperated sweetness.

“I’m not your wife, Sylus. The only reason I’m putting up with you is Elea. Remember that.”

His eyes glinted, the corner of his mouth twitching like you’d just handed him his favourite toy, “Mmm. Sure, sweetheart. You are not my wife. Yet.”

Before you could fire back, he dipped in closer — so close you could feel the smug laughter rumble through his chest as he nipped your earlobe.

“Lucky for me, Elea wants me here forever. So… better start practising that ‘husband’ word.”

You shoved him away with a huff, but your pulse was already traitorously fast. Sylus just laughed, backing you up toward the kitchen like a big, smug shadow you’d never shake.

“Now, come on.” He teased, brushing past you to fling your fridge open like he owned it, “Be a good fake wife and feed your starving man, hm?”

You crossed your arms tighter, jabbing your chin toward the kitchen, “The kitchen is right there, Sylus. Go make it yourself. I have work to get to.”

His grin widened — that slow, dangerous curl that always made your stomach flip even when you wanted to smack him. He cocked his head, leaning just close enough for you to smell that infuriating cologne.

“Oh? So heartless. Sending the poor man who moved mountains just to be with his family to starve on his first morning?” He clicked his tongue, mock disappointment dripping from every word.

You just raised your brows, “You moved a trolley bag. Congratulations, Hercules.”

He laughed, low and warm, then reached past you like he might cage you against the counter — but at the last second, he plucked a mug off the shelf instead.

“Fine. But next time, sweetheart, I expect pancakes. Or I’ll eat you instead.”

You smacked his arm with a dishtowel, ignoring the way your heart was hammering, “Get out of my way, Sylus.”

“Try and make me.” His grin was pure devil.

It was hard — getting Sylus off your back. Like trying to shake off a big, smug, six-foot-two barnacle with a criminal empire and an ego the size of Linkon City. But in the end, you managed to slip out the door, leaving him with nothing but his pastel-pink suitcase and a fridge he was perfectly capable of raiding himself.

You had bigger things to handle today anyway. Like convincing the Hunter’s Association to let you work from home for a while — because like hell you were going to leave Elea alone with that mad dog unsupervised. Not yet. Not when you still didn’t know exactly what went on inside that thick skull of his, behind that easy grin and those predator eyes.

Sylus Qin could play house all he wanted — but you weren’t stupid enough to forget who he really was and what went down seven years ago. And no matter how many pink suitcases he dragged through your door, you’d be damned if you let your guard down completely. Not when you had Elea to protect. Nothing was worth risking Elea.

Asshole.

A word you’d proudly dedicate to your boss. That man knew exactly how to dig under your skin, flick every last nerve raw, and then sit back and watch you twitch for his own amusement. He hadn’t even bothered to look up from his paperwork when you stepped into his office that morning.

You’d tried — you really had — to explain it calmly. The need to work from home for a few weeks. You’d laid it out like a rational adult: your daughter’s daycare was closing for renovations, so you needed to be remote for a while.

Your boss, though? He’d barely glanced up from his precious stack of files.

“Work from home? What for? So you can slack off in your pyjamas all day? I know your type.”

Your type.

You’d almost vaulted over his desk right then and there.

Instead, you bit down so hard on your tongue you tasted copper while he shooed you out with some half-baked lecture about “discipline” and “face-to-face accountability.” Before you could say something that would definitely get you fired, you turned on your heel and stormed out of that office like your shoes were on fire.

The door slammed behind you.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath, “May every cup of coffee he ever drinks be lukewarm for the rest of his miserable life. May his ancestors rise from their graves just to smack him upside the—”

“Whoa, whoa — who died?”

You skidded to a halt, nearly crashing into a familiar figure just outside the strategy wing. Jenna. Leader of UNICORNS — the Hunter’s Association’s fiercest elite unit. Perfect posture and that signature half-smile that said she’d heard every last word.

“Jenna…” You breathed out like a prayer, then scowled, “My boss is a—”

“Asshole?” She arched an eyebrow, “That's old news. Tell me something new.”

You deflated, shoulders sagging, “I just… I asked to work from home for a bit. Elea’s daycare is closed for renovations, so I needed to stay home. He shot me down so fast I nearly—”

“He did what?” Jenna’s tone went razor-sharp, “You’ve been carrying this branch for how long? No infractions, overtime banked for weeks, and he won't grant you one short WFH stint?”

Your mouth popped open, “Well… yeah. That’s exactly it.”

She gave you that feral smile that had made rogue wanderers cry for mercy more than once, “Consider it done. You’re remote for two weeks — minimum. If your boss has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

Relief — thick and grateful — bloomed under your ribs, “You’re an—”

“Don’t say angel.” Jenna cut in, rolling her eyes, “I’m no angel. I’m a hunter. Now get out of here before he drags you back into his bullshit.”

You ran back to your desk like the boss's office was on fire — which, in your head, it practically was. You didn’t even bother glancing back at your boss’s door, half-expecting him to come stomping after you with another “face-to-face accountability” sermon.

You fumbled for your phone with half-numb fingers, silently praying Sylus hadn’t turned your living room into his new throne room yet. Just then, the screen lit up with the one number you hadn’t even bothered saving.

Sylus.

You stared at it for half a second, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, before you swiped to answer.

“Hello?”

His voice came through warm, velvet-dark and smug enough to crawl straight under your skin.

“Good to know.” He cut in smoothly, his tone dipping into that playful, dangerous rumble that made you want to strangle him and melt for him all at once, “But I’m not asking about my baby. I’m asking about my sweetheart. When will she be home?”

“Sweetheart. When is my sweetheart coming home?”

“Elea will be back by 5 o'clock. Her school bus will drop her off.”

Your breath hitched. You hated that it hitched, “Sylus…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You shut your eyes, fighting the heat in your cheeks, “Stop.”

He chuckled — low, pleased, like he could hear every bit of your resolve slipping through the line.

“Can’t. I missed you. Now tell me — should I come pick you up? Or will you come running back to me on your own before I turn your living room into a bird's nest?”

You pressed your thumb to your temple, squeezing your eyes shut for a beat. Focus. Do not fall for this. Not again.

“I won’t be back until three.” You said finally, trying to keep your voice flat, unaffected. But of course, he caught the slip — that faint waver when you said back — and you could practically hear his grin stretch wider through the line.

He hummed low, the sound brushing heat across your skin despite the bitter morning air, “Mmm. Three. That’s so far away, sweetheart. How am I going to survive till then?”

You forced a dry laugh, biting back the dangerous flutter in your chest. Don’t give him an inch.

“You’ll survive just fine. Try using that big, terrifying brain for something other than—” You bit your tongue before the rest could slip out like a secret.

“Other than what, sweetheart?” He purred, his voice a warm, lazy curl around your pulse, “Go on. Be honest. You know how I love your honesty.”

Your eyes snapped open, gaze darting around the parking lot like he might somehow be leaning against your car door — sunglasses low, smile sharp enough to cut you open.

“Other than driving me insane,” You snapped, yanking your bag higher on your shoulder, “Try washing the dishes. Or, I don’t know — folding your own damn laundry for once. Did you even unpack yet?”

He gave a soft, mocking gasp, “You wound me. First, you abandon me, and now you insult me?”

“Abandon—?” You sputtered, throat tightening, “I didn’t—”

The silence on the line felt like a bruise spreading under your ribs. You almost forgot how sharp his words could be when he wanted to remind you who you were — who he was.

“That’s not—” You began, but the words died on your tongue.

What would you even say? I did what I had to do? You deserved it? None of it would matter. None of it would change that look in his eyes when he first found you again — part hunger, part accusation, part something you were too afraid to name.

“Anyway.” He said suddenly, tone shifting so fast you nearly stumbled. That bright, taunting sweetness was back in a heartbeat, smoothing over the crackling static between you, “You’ll be back at three. I’ll be waiting.”

“Sylus—”

He laughed — soft and pleased — and you could almost see that wolfish grin behind your eyelids.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll keep the house nice and warm for you.”

The line clicked dead. You stared at your phone like it might bite you — your heartbeat a traitorous drum in your ears.

[8 YEARS & 7 MONTHS AGO, CHANSIA CITY]

You’d long since lost count of how many nights you’d sneaked out of that cage you called home. Before, your destination had always been the library — its warm, hushed corners where no one could find you — or the tiny market two blocks away where you’d linger over fresh bread and cheap flowers, pretending, just for a moment, that you belonged to yourself.

But now? Now you had somewhere else to go. Somewhere that felt like hope stitched into four walls.

A cozy little apartment, right across from the library — the one Sylus bought just for you. A place you could run to in the dead of night, curl up safe in his arms, and pretend the world outside didn’t exist for a few stolen hours.

He called it your escape zone — like it was a secret between just the two of you. Sometimes, you’d slip in to find him already there, stretched out on the gray sofa with his shirt half-undone, papers scattered across the coffee table like fallen leaves. He’d glance up, that lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and just like that, every piece of you that felt frayed would knit itself back together.

But there were rare nights — precious ones — when you got there first. Nights when you could greet him at the door with a shy smile — a hug that lingered a beat too long, a kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth just to see his eyes darken like a storm rolling in.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You’d stopped by the little market two blocks down, basket swinging from your wrist, pockets stuffed with whatever your coins could buy — eggs, fresh bread, a handful of tulips bruised at the edges but beautiful all the same. You wanted to surprise him. Do something small. Something normal. Something that made you feel like this fragile thing between you could really be yours to keep.

By the time you got to the apartment, your fingers were numb from the chill. You juggled the grocery bag on your hip as you slipped the key into the lock — heart fluttering when you found the lights still off. He wasn’t here yet. Perfect.

You padded inside, kicking off your shoes. The room smelled like him — warm leather and aftershave and that faint metallic tang you could never quite place. You pushed that thought away, humming under your breath as you unpacked your little treasures: the greens, the eggs, a tiny jar of honey.

He’d stocked the fridge with everything you could possibly need, of course. Top-shelf wine, expensive cheeses, organic herbs. But you’d gone out anyway — just to feel normal, just to feel like you could still do something for him.

You’d even splurged — spent the last of your coins on a small bouquet of white roses, each bloom so pale they looked carved from moonlight. Tiny sprays of baby’s breath nestled between the petals — fragile and fleeting. White roses always reminded you of Sylus — on the surface, all restrained grace and cold beauty, but you knew better: every soft petal hid thorns sharp enough to draw blood. Just like him — a promise of devotion that could protect you… or ruin you, if you weren’t careful.

You’d changed into one of Sylus’s sweaters — a big, warm, black thing that hung off one shoulder and smelled just like him. The sleeves draped halfway over your hands as you moved around the kitchen, humming along to the quiet music playing off your phone.

The lasagna bubbled away in the oven, filling the air with warmth and garlic and the kind of comfort you could never find in that cold house you called home. You were just mixing the side salad, swaying a little in time with the music, when you heard it — the faint click and rattle of the front doorknob.

You nearly knocked over the salt shaker in your rush to wipe your hands on a dish towel. Your feet carried you to the entryway before you could even think.

And there he was. Sylus, standing in the open doorway like he’d stepped out of one of your midnight dreams — coat hanging loose, hair tousled from the wind, eyes finding you the second he crossed the threshold.

You didn’t wait. You launched yourself at him, arms looping around his neck so fast you heard his low laugh rumble against your ear. His hands caught you easily, one braced under your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist like you’d done this a thousand times — like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He murmured, voice muffled as he pressed his nose into your hair, “Missed me that much, huh?”

You mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like shut up but he just chuckled, walking you back inside without ever putting you down. The door thunked shut behind him, sealing you back into this small world that belonged to nobody but the two of you.

His hand slipped up under the hem of his own sweater — your sweater now — fingers brushing your bare waist like he was reminding himself you were really here, warm and soft in his arms. He carried you the few steps to the wall by the hallway, your back pressing against the cool plaster.

“Say it.” He murmured, voice dark silk as his breath fanned your cheek.

“Say what?” You breathed, pretending not to know, but your fingers were already tugging at the hair at his nape, urging him closer.

“That you missed me.”

You let out a soft huff — half a laugh, half a curse — and rolled your eyes just to be difficult, “Shut up—”

“Not good enough.”

And then he kissed you.

Not soft. Not sweet. He kissed you like he was starving for you — like he’d tear the world apart with his teeth just to taste you again. Your back thudded harder into the wall when he pressed closer, hips slotting against yours like they were carved to fit there.

You gasped against his mouth and he swallowed it whole, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck, biting just enough to make you whimper before he surged back up to claim your mouth again.

It was messy. Desperate. All teeth and tangled tongues and the faint, sweet taste of the honey you’d dipped your finger in just before he arrived. One of your hands fisted in his coat, the other scrabbling at the hem of his shirt like you needed more skin, now.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless — your lips swollen, his mouth pink and glistening like sin. His thumb brushed your cheek, eyes so dark they were nearly black in the low light.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” He rasped, forehead pressing to yours, “Keep looking at me like that, and I'm not letting you leave tonight.”

A soft laugh bubbled up in your throat, breathless and a little shaky as your fingertips traced the line of his jaw.

“Good.” You whispered, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Because I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

He stilled — you felt it, the way his whole body went taut, that carefully leashed wolf under his skin going deadly quiet. His eyes flicked over your face like he was trying to memorize every word, every twitch of your smile.

“What?” His voice was low, cautious, like he was afraid to break whatever spell you’d just woven.

You ducked your head, the heat in your cheeks warming you more than the oven in the kitchen.

“My father’s out of town for the week.” You murmured, fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck, “And my brother couldn’t care less where I am — or if I’m even alive, really.”

You felt him tense again, a dangerous glint flashing behind his eyes at the mention of your family. But you pressed a finger to his lips before he could snarl something you’d both regret.

“If — if — anyone bothers to wonder where I am, Sara will cover for me. She always does.”

A grin — wicked and boyish and entirely Sylus — broke across his lips. He nipped at your fingertip, catching it between his teeth before pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“So…” He drawled, leaning in, nose brushing yours, “what you’re telling me is… you’re all mine tonight.”

Your laugh turned into a soft gasp when he pressed you tighter against the wall, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs.

“And tomorrow.” You breathed, kissing the tip of his nose, “And the day after that.”

A low rumble of approval vibrated in his chest, “Careful, sweetheart. Keep saying things like that and I’ll keep you here forever.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, giggling into the fabric of his coat, your laughter muffled against the scent of him — leather, musk, and that sharp edge that was all Sylus. For one perfect second, the rest of the world felt like it didn’t exist at all.

You pulled back just enough to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, your fingers tracing the collar of his shirt.

“Go freshen up.” You murmured, brushing a bit of imaginary lint from his chest, “Dinner will be ready soon… and I got you something.”

His brows arched, amusement flickering in those crimson eyes as they flitted to the grocery bag still half-unpacked on the counter.

“Something for me?” He echoed, the grin curling slow and dangerous over his mouth. He leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing yours again — a gentle tease that made your stomach flip, “You’ll spoil me, kitten.”

You huffed, giving him a playful shove on the chest that didn’t budge him an inch, “Spoil you? Hardly. Now go — before you charm me into forgetting the lasagna and burning it to ash.”

He chuckled — a low, pleased rumble in his chest that you felt more than heard — before pressing one last, soft kiss to your temple.

“Yes, ma’am.” He murmured, voice dropping into that smooth, obedient lilt that made your heart stutter, “Don’t take too long, hmm? I don’t like waiting for my rewards.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin as you watched him saunter off toward the small bathroom down the hall, peeling off his coat and tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair.

You turned back to the kitchen, a soft hum slipping past your lips as you checked the oven. A little longer — just enough time to set the table, light the cheap candle you’d snagged from the market, and tuck the small bouquet of white roses into a jar on the counter.

Something normal. Something yours. Something that felt like hope.

[PRESENT TIME, LINKON CITY]

It was already half past three by the time you were driving home. God knew what kind of tantrum Sylus would throw when you got back. Sylus — you still couldn’t figure him out. To an outsider, he looked like the perfect husband and father. And while you didn’t disagree with the father part — not when it came to Elea — husband? That was another story altogether.

Sylus was your whole world once. You never doubted he would have set the world ablaze for you — made it rain in the middle of the Sahara if you’d only asked. Back then, every soft touch, every stolen night in that little apartment, every promise whispered against your lips made you believe he was your Prince Charming. The kind you read about in secret under your blanket — the kind who’d love you so fiercely nothing could touch you.

But that was the lie you clung to when you didn’t know better. Because at the end of the day, you were nothing but a pawn to him. Just his enemy’s daughter — a pretty piece on his chessboard, a means to an end, while he was your whole life. It was stupid. So stupid — but you’d loved him with every bruised piece of your heart, even when it cost you everything.

The blood, the fear, the betrayal — you’d paid for every moment you let yourself believe that fairytale. You couldn’t afford to do that again. Not now. Not when you had more to lose than just your own heart.

Because Sylus Qin was still the same man underneath all those soft words and easy smiles. A cold-blooded mob leader, ruthless and unrepentant — willing to break the world and you right along with it if it got him what he wanted.

And you’d be damned if you let yourself fall for that sweet poison twice.

You let out a slow, shaky breath and forced your hands to steady on the wheel. Just keep driving. Get home.

But the hairs at the back of your neck wouldn’t lie flat. A flicker in the mirror made your pulse spike. A dark car — unfamiliar, a little too close, keeping just enough distance to look innocent.

You told yourself you were being paranoid. Sylus’s shadow always had a way of crawling up your spine — seeing threats where there were none. Still… you needed to be sure.

You turned off your usual route, taking a winding back road through an old neighborhood. No reason for anyone to follow you there — not unless they were actually following you. You checked the mirror again. There it was — still behind you. Tight in your lane, slowing when you slowed.

Your heart drummed hard against your ribs. You took another random turn — then another. The car stayed with you like a ghost, its headlights a cold promise in the rearview.

But just as your skin started to crawl for real — just when you reached for your phone, thumb hovering over Jenna’s name — the car suddenly veered off down a side street. Gone. You forced out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Maybe you really were imagining things. Or maybe you’d just gotten lucky.

You barely managed a shaky exhale, fingers still clenched white-knuckled around the wheel, when your phone lit up again — that same unsaved number that made your pulse skip for an entirely different reason. Sylus. Of course.

Your thumb hovered over the screen. You could almost picture him now — that careless grin carved across his mouth like a threat and a promise all at once. He always called at the worst possible time — like he could smell the crack in your armor through the line.

You answered on the second ring, voice rough at the edges, “What now, Sylus?”

He didn’t bother with a greeting. Just that one word, careful and too knowing, “You sound… wrong. What happened?”

Your fingers tightened around the wheel. Damn him for hearing it in your voice — the panic, the suspicion you were still trying to swallow down.

“Nothing. Just… traffic.” You forced a scoff into your tone, “Why? Don’t pretend to care. What is it, Sylus? I'm driving.”

Silence pulsed on the line. You pictured that glint in his eyes — the one that always made you feel like he was peeling your ribs open, looking for the parts of you that still belonged to him.

Then, like a switch flicked, his voice dipped into that sickeningly warm purr that always made your traitor heart skip.

“Mmm. If you say so.” You heard a crayon roll across the floor, “You know, I was thinking… maybe I should pick up my little angel today. Give you a break, sweetheart.”

A bitter laugh slipped out before you could stop it, “Don’t start. You’re not on her school’s pick-up list. And you won’t be. Not yet.”

He let out a soft, dramatic sigh — you hated how you could hear the smile behind it.

“So cruel. You’d keep me away from my baby girl? I’m here, moving to a whole new city — for you. For her.”

You bit down on the ugly knot in your throat. You hated him — you wanted to hate him. And yet some treacherous warmth still prickled under your ribs, stupid and soft.

“Don’t act like this is for me.” You snapped, cutting him off, “This is for Elea. It’s always for Elea.”

A pause. Then that dangerous, lazy laugh that made your skin crawl and ache at the same time.

“Of course, sweetheart. For Elea.” He drawled, “Drive safe. Wouldn’t want you getting all worked up when I’m not there to calm you down.”

You hung up before he could say more, jamming your thumb against the screen so hard it almost cracked. You wanted to hate him. God, you needed to. But your stupid heart…It never listened.

By the time dusk draped itself over the house like a velvet blanket, you were just bone-tired. Whatever tension lingered from the afternoon was buried under Elea’s chatter, the soft clink of plates, and the strange domestic calm that settled around the dinner table.

Sylus had insisted on helping you finish up dinner — if you could call leaning against the counter, watching you with that infuriating half-smile helping. But you’d let it be. For Elea’s sake.

Now the three of you sat together like the world hadn’t ended seven years ago. Like he hadn’t broken you so thoroughly that you still found splinters in your chest every time he smiled at you like this — warm, doting, and too close.

Elea kicked her tiny feet under the table, swinging them as she stuffed another spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Her pink tulip hair clip bobbed with every bite. You’d just taken a sip of your water, finally letting your shoulders relax for the first time that day.

That was your first mistake.

“Mommy?” Elea piped up, voice all sugar and bedtime sleepiness. She dropped her spoon and pressed her little hands together like she was about to make a wish.

“Hmm? Slow down, baby. You’ll choke.” You leaned over to wipe her mouth, but she caught your wrist in her tiny grip.

“When can I sleep with you and daddy?”

You choked — the water hit the wrong pipe and you coughed so hard you saw stars. Sylus, the bastard, didn’t even hide his grin. You could feel his eyes slide over to you, slow and deliberate, like a hand slipping up your bare spine.

“Lea,” You croaked, pressing your napkin to your lips, “What… what do you mean, sweetheart?”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, watching you struggle like it was his favorite sport. He tilted his head toward Elea, voice so soft you wanted to smack him.

“Yeah, baby. Tell mommy what you mean.” He was smirking. You could hear it. Feel it.

Elea beamed, “Back at school, Becky says she sleeps with her mommy and daddy in their big bed all the time. I want that too! I wanna sleep with my mommy and daddy.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then glared at Sylus like you could set him on fire with your eyeballs alone. He just raised his brows at you, like he’d been handed a gift.

“See?” He murmured, reaching out to tap his fingertip under Elea’s chin, “Our little angel wants what she wants. You gonna say no to her, sweetheart?”

Your throat burned from the coughing, “Elea, baby, our bed isn’t… it’s just…”

Your daughter’s lower lip wobbled, eyes huge and watery, “Please? Pretty please? We can all cuddle! And daddy can tell stories — the scary ones with the dragons.”

You shot Sylus a look. Don’t you dare encourage this. But he only shrugged, eyes glinting like a wolf who’d found a hole in the fence.

“Well, mommy?” He asked, voice velvet-smooth as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, “You heard her. Are you really gonna break her little heart?”

Your whole chest squeezed — with exasperation, fear, and that dangerous warmth that came crawling back every time he did this. You hated how easily he slipped into that empty space beside you. How he made you want things you’d already lost.

You drew a shaky breath, looking at Elea’s bright, pleading eyes.

“Fine.” You sighed, pushing your plate away, “But just tonight. One night.”

Elea squealed, clapping her hands together, “Yay! Best day ever!”

Sylus’s smug grin didn’t fade for the rest of dinner. Every so often, he’d brush his knee against yours under the table — so fleeting you almost thought you imagined it.

It was bedtime now — or at least, that sweet pocket of quiet right before it. The house was calm, the dishes done, the soft patter of the shower running in the background. Sylus had disappeared into the washroom ten minutes ago to clean up, and you were half-tempted to lock the door behind him just to buy yourself some peace.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, Elea giggling in your lap as you helped her wiggle into her favorite bunny pajamas. The tiny ones with the floppy ears on the hood that made her look like an escapee from a fairytale.

Your mind, traitorous as ever, drifted to Sylus — that sly fox. You could feel him seeping into every corner of your life again. His crisp shirts now hung on your side of the closet, his toothbrush sat snug in the washroom container right between yours and Elea’s, his phone rested on the nightstand like it had every right to be there.

You huffed out a half-laugh, brushing Elea’s hair away from her forehead

“Your daddy is so annoying, you know that?” You whispered conspiratorially.

Elea just blinked at you with those big eyes — Sylus’s eyes — and beamed, nodding far too enthusiastically for your liking.

“Daddy not annoying.” She echoed, then broke into a fit of giggles when you poked her belly.

Outside the bathroom door, you heard the shower shut off, pipes rattling as the water drained away. You sighed, pressing a soft kiss to Elea’s temple. Maybe you were doomed. Maybe you’d always be doomed when it came to him.

But for now — for tonight — you could pretend it was just this: bunny pajamas, bedtime giggles, and your little family stitched together under one roof. Just for now.

The bathroom door creaked open just as you finished smoothing Elea’s bunny hood over her wild hair. You didn’t have to look up to know Sylus was standing there — you could feel his smug heat from halfway across the room. You forced yourself to look. Big mistake.

“Liking the view, sweetie?” His voice came lazy, all velvet and amusement, like he could read every thought racing through your head.

He’d come out only wearing a pair of gray trousers, droplets of water still sliding down the slope of his collarbone, disappearing beneath the faint trail of hair at his abdomen. His hair was damp, dark strands sticking to his forehead, and he raked a hand through it like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You scoffed, a little too sharp to hide the sudden burn in your cheeks.

“Your shirt’s right there. Use it.” You gestured to where his shirt was resting comfortably — the shirt he’d smugly unpacked and arranged in your closet, like he belonged there.

He didn’t bother. Of course he didn’t. He padded closer instead, like a big, lazy cat with claws hidden behind that soft grin. Elea squealed when she saw him, throwing her arms out.

“Daddy, story! Bunny story!”

“Oh? You want Daddy to tell you a bedtime story?” Sylus purred, sinking down onto the left side of the bed, ignoring the way you tried to scoot back just an inch. He swooped Elea right onto his chest.

“Yes!” Elea bounced excitedly, tugging at his damp hair, “Mommy too!”

Your eye twitched. God! You wanted to just throw out of the window. Is falling from the second floor enough to kill a man?

Elea was already snuggling into his chest, bunny ears flopping over his forearm. Sylus cleared his throat dramatically, brushing a kiss to her hair — and then shot you a sly look that promised you were in for it.

“Once upon a time…” He began, voice deep and rich, “There was a clever little bunny who liked to sneak into a big bad wolf’s house every night. She’d tiptoe past all the other hunters and curl up right in his den, where it was warmest.”

Your jaw dropped, “Sylus—!”

It was the same damn story he’d told you that night you’d woken up crying from a nightmare, voice trembling when you’d asked him for a bedtime story to calm you down. You didn’t need to be a genius to know exactly where that tale came from — or who the big bad wolf was.

“But the wolf…” Sylus continued smoothly, ignoring your glare, “…oh, he loved his little bunny so much that he let her nibble on his tail whenever she wanted. And when the hunters tried to take her away, the big bad wolf swore he’d tear the whole forest down to bring her home.”

Elea let out a dreamy little sigh, oblivious to the heat creeping up your neck.

“Bunny happy?” She asked sleepily.

Sylus’s eyes flicked to yours, smirk curling devilishly, “Very happy, princess. Because the wolf always takes care of what’s his. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You made a strangled noise, throwing a pillow at him — which he caught one-handed, never missing a beat as he dipped down to brush his lips over Elea’s brow.

“If you don’t stop—” You hissed.

“Or what?” He tipped his head, the wolf grin sharp and beautiful, “You’ll chop my hands off? Then how would I hold you at night?”

He leaned in like he might actually kiss you next, your breath tangling with his. Elea giggled sleepily between you, completely unaware she’d just given him every excuse in the world to lay his claim bare.

You jabbed a finger at his temple, “If you try anything funny, Sylus Qin, I swear to God I will chop your hands off in your sleep for real.”

He looked at you, all faux-wounded innocence, eyes glittering with something that made your spine tingle.

“You wound me, sweetheart. I’m just telling our little bunny a bedtime story. What could possibly be funny about that?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Everything. Especially when it’s you.”

You hadn’t meant to sleep so deeply. Or so… peacefully.

But for the first time in years, there were no shadows clawing at your dreams. No waking up with your pulse thrumming like you’d been chased through every nightmare you swore you’d buried. Just warmth — a steady heartbeat under your ear, the slow rise and fall of someone breathing who wasn’t going to vanish when you opened your eyes.

When the soft, sleepy fog finally lifted, the first thing you heard was Elea’s giggle — the sweet, bubbling sound of a child with no idea she was sitting in the middle of a loaded minefield of secrets and half-healed wounds.

You cracked one eye open. Sunlight spilled through the half-drawn curtains, dust motes drifting in the glow like tiny fireflies. And there she was — your daughter perched by Sylus’s head on the pillow, tiny fingers scrolling your phone, showing him something with an excited squeal every few seconds.

And Sylus? That bastard looked unfairly good in the morning light — hair mussed from sleep, shirt collar rumpled, one arm draped possessively around your waist like it belonged there. Like you belonged there. He was half-listening to Elea’s chatter, his eyes flicking to you with that slow, dangerous smile when he felt you stir.

You realized — really realized — that your cheek was pressed against his chest. That your leg was thrown over his hip like you’d done this a thousand times. That his thumb was stroking lazy circles over your back, grounding you in a way that made your throat tighten.

You jolted back so fast you nearly knocked yourself off the bed.

“Mommy!” Elea giggled, completely oblivious, the phone still clutched in her tiny hands, “Look! Look at the picture I took!”

There, crystal clear on your screen, was a photo: you curled up against Sylus’s bare chest like you’d never left — hair spilled all over his collarbone, your lips parted on a drool-damp patch of his skin. His arm locked tight around your back, his face buried in your hair, that infuriating smug smile half-there even in sleep.

You could practically feel the heat crawling up your neck — so high it stung behind your eyes.

“Elea…” You rasped, reaching for the phone, but Sylus was faster. He plucked it from her hands, his grin the definition of sin at dawn.

“Mmm, look at that.” He drawled, like he’d been waiting his whole life to gloat, “Don’t we look perfect, sweetie?”

You snatched for the phone again, “Delete it. Now.”

His free hand — the one that had been tracing circles on your spine all night — came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing your cheek like he owned you.

“I’m thinking we frame it.” He murmured, low enough that Elea couldn’t hear the dangerous purr in his voice, “Perfect for the nightstand, don’t you think?”

You hissed, smacking his chest, “Sylus Qin, I'm gonna kil—”

But your threat crumbled when Elea giggled again, snuggling into your side and resting her tiny head on your arm.

“You looked so pretty, Mommy. Don’t be mad.”

And just like that — you were ruined all over again.

That one night didn’t stay just one night.

Every night after that, somehow, impossibly, the three of you ended up tangled together in the same bed — Elea snuggled like a little starfish in the middle, Sylus draped around you both like he’d decided this time he wasn’t letting go.

You told yourself it was just for Elea. She wanted it — and what were you supposed to do? Break your daughter’s heart just to protect your own?

So you lay there, night after night, wrapped in the warmth of him — the way he’d bury his nose in your hair when he thought you were asleep, how his hand always found your waist under the blankets like his body just knew where yours was.

You told yourself you could handle it. That you were above it. That you wouldn’t let your heart get dragged back into the place you’d bled so hard to crawl out of.

But every morning, you’d wake up in his arms. And every morning, your resolve would crack a little more.

Tonight, you jolted awake to the sharp crack of glass shattering downstairs. For one dizzy heartbeat, you couldn’t tell if you were dreaming — but then you felt Sylus shift beside you, his arm tightening protectively around your waist as his eyes flicked to the door, all warmth gone, replaced by that ice-cold focus you remembered too well.

He didn’t say a word at first — just raised his free hand, and with that quiet flex of power that always made your breath catch, a sleek black gun seemed to melt into existence from the shadows under the bed. His evol — you’d seen it enough times to know he could pull blades and bullets from thin air like a magician conjuring death.

“Stay with Elea.” He whispered, voice low and deadly calm, eyes hard on yours, “I’ll handle this.”

You bristled immediately, “Like hell you will. I know this house better than you do. I'll get this done within minutes."

“Sweetheart, no—”

“No, Sylus.” You were already slipping out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool floor, “I’m not playing with my daughter's life.”

His jaw twitched — frustration, fear, and that deep, resigned fondness that always carved itself through his mask, “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, well, you married me, didn’t you?” You shot back, crossing to the closet.

You punched in the code on the hidden locker panel and pulled out the cold, familiar weight of your own pistol. His lips curled faintly, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or drag you back to bed and chain you there.

He grunted, flicked the safety on his gun, “Stay close. If I say run, you run.”

“We'll see.” You fired back. He didn’t argue this time. He knew better.

Sylus slipped out into the hallway. You paused only long enough to lock the bedroom door behind you, pressing your palm to the scanner until the reinforced bolts slid into place with a heavy thunk. No one was getting to Elea tonight. Not even a s-level wonderer.

Step by careful step, you and Sylus padded down the staircase, the shadows swallowing you both like ghosts. The faintest noise drifted up from the kitchen — voices — hushed, sharp whispers and the clatter of something falling.

You stopped at the last landing. Sylus shifted forward just enough to peek around the corner — and without even thinking, his arm went out, pushing you gently behind him, a living shield between you and any threat. Some things never changed.

You leaned around his shoulder, gun raised. And what you saw nearly made you bark out a laugh that would’ve gotten you both killed if the situation had been even remotely real.

In the soft glow of the kitchen pendant light stood Luke and Kierran — two very familiar boys — both still fully suited up in their tactical black uniforms, masks perched on their faces like a pair of overgrown crows. Luke was waving a half-eaten carrot like a sword, while Kierran was hurling slices of tomato at him across the counter. Veggies littered the floor like battlefield shrapnel.

And on the kitchen island, between the scattered chaos, sat a single slice of leftover chocolate pastry — the clear source of their vicious quarrel.

“You literally shoved a whole pizza down your throat not even an hour ago, you donkey! I saw it first!” Kierran hissed.

“You ate the last one last week!” Luke shot back, flicking a slice of bell pepper at Kierran’s mask, “You owe me, you traitorous trash crow!”

Sylus let out a low growl that did absolutely nothing to hide the disbelief in his eyes. He lowered his gun with a soft click, then gave you a look that was equal parts are “you seeing this shit?” and “I swear to God I will murder them both”.

Sylus didn’t even bother to lower his gun all the way. He just stalked forward like a predator, boots silent on the kitchen tiles until he was right behind them — then smack, he cuffed Luke upside the head with a flat palm. Kierran got the same treatment a second later, yelping when Sylus’s hand collided with the back of his skull.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Sylus hissed, voice low and dangerous in that way that usually made grown men piss themselves.

Luke spun around, mask askew, mouth dropping open like a scolded puppy, “Boss—”

Kierran popped his head up from behind the fridge door, clutching the pastry plate to his chest like a puppy with a bone, “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Oh, really?” Sylus’s tone went razor sharp, “Because it looks like you broke into my house, trashed my kitchen, and—” His eyes flicked to the pastry, “—stole my daughter's dessert.”

Luke puffed out his cheeks, offended, “We didn’t steal it, we— we liberated it.”

Kierran nodded so earnestly you almost choked on a laugh.

“Yeah! And anyway, we missed her!” He jabbed a thumb in your direction without shame, eyes wide behind the mask, “We haven’t seen her in years! And you said we couldn’t drop by! You said we’d freak her out!”

“You did freak me out.” You muttered, lowering your gun with a sigh.

Luke perked up, bright eyes peeking over his mask, “But you missed us, didn’t you, miss boss?”

“Don’t call me that. What do you think you were doing — breaking into my house in the middle of the night?” Your voice was firm, but you felt your lips twitch. God. You really had missed them — these two reckless idiots who’d wormed their way under your skin back then.

Kierran sniffed, clutching the pastry slice like it was a shield, “But we wanted to meet our precious niece too! Boss won’t let us— he’s so stingy!”

Luke nodded, scowling at Sylus, who looked one heartbeat away from committing an actual murder, “Yeah! All we want is a little peek at our niece and maybe a hug from miss boss. Is that so unreasonable?”

You pressed your palm over your face, torn between relief, exasperation, and that sharp ache in your chest that said these idiots used to feel like family, “You’re lucky I’m not shooting you both.”

Luke’s eyes went wide and shimmering — pure puppy dog eyes, “You wouldn’t! You love us.”

Kierran leaned around him, poking your shoulder with a gloved finger, “Say you missed us, miss boss. Or we’ll keep coming back. Every. Night.”

Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, teeth grinding, but there was a ghost of something softer in his eyes when he glanced at you — because he saw it too. The part of you that was relieved they were still the same. Still your two annoying little shadows.

You let out a long, exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Alright. You two man-children — listen up. You want to see Elea? You come back tomorrow. In broad daylight. Like normal uncles. And you knock. You knock like civilized people — no more of this—” You waved a hand at the flour-dusted floor and the busted vegetable bag, “—ninja break-in bullshit.”

Kierran's whole face lit up behind the mask, eyes going wide like a puppy given permission to come back inside, “So we can meet her?! Really?!”

Luke squealed — actually squealed — hugging the pastry plate tighter, “You’re the best, miss boss! The best!”

Sylus glowered at them both, looking like he might snap their necks just for the principle, “If you wake her up—”

But Luke and Kierran ignored him, already shuffling to the door — which they’d apparently unlocked on their way in. They were still bickering about who got to hold Elea first when Luke shot you one last puppy-eyed grin.

“Love you, Miss Bunny! You’re prettier than ever— oh, and this is ours now—” He gestured to the half-melted chocolate pastry still clutched in Kierran’s hand.

“Hey—!” Sylus snapped, but the front door swung shut behind them before he could finish.

Silence fell, broken only by your sharp exhale. You leveled a dagger glare at Sylus — who, to his credit, looked only mildly murderous but also… faintly amused. That did it. Your hand flew up, finger jabbing his chest.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Sylus blinked, head tilting with mock innocence, “Me? What did I do?”

“Oh, don’t you dare—!” You snapped, poking him again, “You — you and your damn pet wolves — you’re dragging Elea into this world of yours. Slowly. Do you realize how dangerous—”

Before you could finish, Sylus leaned in with that devil-may-care grin, “You’ll have to catch me first, sweetheart.”

You barely had time to let out a strangled growl before he spun on his heel — all six feet of smug mafia prince bolting around the kitchen island like a grown man-child.

“Sylus Qin, I swear to God—!” You tore after him, but you were half laughing now, frustration mixing with exasperation and that stupid flutter in your chest that always, always made you forgive him too easily.

It lasted all of five minutes — both of you circling the couch, your threats turning into breathless curses while Sylus just laughed and danced out of reach. In the end, you dropped onto the couch, chest heaving, too tired to keep the anger burning. Your eyes fluttered shut, every bit of you sinking into the cushions.

“I hate you.” You mumbled into your sleeve, voice already slurring with sleep.

Sylus’s chuckle rolled over you like warm honey. He knelt down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple — his shadow falling over you like a shield.

“I know, sweetheart. I hate you too.”

You felt his arms slide under your knees and shoulders, the effortless way he scooped you up like you weighed nothing at all. Your head lolled against his chest as he carried you up the stairs — back to the bedroom, back to the warmth you told yourself you didn’t need.

Maybe you really did hate him. Or maybe… You just hated that you still loved him this much.

LIKED IT? THEN PLEASE LEAVE A LIKE, REBLOG & COMMENT. IT WOULD MEAN A LOT AND FOLLOW ME FOR MORE LIKE THESE. THANK YOU ♡

#to be read #im drooling over the concept #lads sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus

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harmonyrae · 26 days ago

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HE SAID THIS TO ME THIS MORNING AND I WAS SO FLUSTERED I STARED AT A WALL FOR 5 MINUTES

SYLUS: wake up ✨

ft. my voice

#morning sex with sylus is canon #sylus you cant keep doing this #im unwell #excuse me sir you have no business being this sexy

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harmonyrae · 26 days ago

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i feel like people underestimate how hard it is to write fluff

imo it’s actually kind of hard to make a small mundane moment interesting enough to catch someone’s attention amidst the sea of content, dark or otherwise, on the dash

plus you can’t really use shock value or sex to pad the writing emotionally and make it seem more valuable or deeper

so don’t feel bad if your content is gentle

it’s hard to write believable relationships that stand on their own without drama and it’s good that you are trying or succeeding!

#bless this post

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harmonyrae · 27 days ago

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Felt nostalgic for my first proper fic. The way tattoo artist/bike street racer Rafayel took over my brain and fueled hours long writing session was wild. I miss him. ❤️‍🔥

Inked

Synopsis: Somehow you won a free session from the most famous tattoo artist in Linkon. You never expected to be sucked into his world, but you’re slowly becoming even more obsessed with him. And with who you are when you’re with him. When you finally discover what he’s involved in, will he push you away or show you a whole new world?

AN: This fanfic was inspired & entirely fueled by the artwork above, done by the amazing @obligatedart - thank you for letting me use your work as the cover art! Go check them out and see the other tattooed Rafayel pieces they’ve done. I’ve written over 80 pages in a week so... comment if you want to be tagged for part 2!

Content Warnings: explicit language & sexual content, alcohol consumption, public sex, threesome, oral (m&f receiving), creampie, PiV, birth control mentioned (yay protection), mentions of needles (tattoo needles, not medical), genital piercings, vehicle accidents, injuries, blood, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 16k

“I still can’t believe you won the fucking contest!”

Tara punches you in the arm and you grunt, swatting at her with a pout. She leans away from you to protect the coffee in her hand before giggling and gently rubbing the spot she hit.

“Sorry, sorry, I just… I spent so much money buying like 50 raffle tickets and you bought ONE and beat all the odds. Did you cast a spell? Are you a witch?!”

Tara’s animated voice draws the attention of the other cafe patrons. You sip your latte silently and try to avoid their judgemental gazes. Tara sets her cup down and crosses her arms. She leans back, squinting at you.

“So it’s tomorrow, right?”

You nod and lean on the table in front of you to pick at your blueberry muffin. Tara snatches the muffin away and you look up at her with wide eyes. She’s definitely irritated with your silence. But what can you possibly say? Sorry? Sorry for winning a once in a lifetime raffle to get a free tattoo by the best tattoo artist in Linkon? Who has a 5 year waitlist? Who has tattooed the biggest celebrities? Who was a judge on the #1 reality show for 3 years running trying to find the next big artist? Who is absolutely, positively, undoubtedly the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life? Fuck no, you are not sorry at all.

“I know you wanted to win so I don’t want to talk about it and make you upset.”

Tara rolls her eyes and plops your muffin back on its plate. You sit back and sigh, looking Tara up and down. She didn’t seem like the type to have a lot of tattoos, but she hid them well. When she wasn’t in her uniform she was showcasing the artwork on her body. The designs were gorgeous and you wished you had been more patient when getting yours. You basically ran to the tattoo shop on your 18th birthday to get a super basic bitch tattoo just because you could.

“I want to hear about it! I am going to live vicariously through you. Spill bitch.”

You chuckle and finish off your latte before pulling out your phone to show Tara the email chain you started with the artist. She grabs your phone instantly and scrolls through the messages.

“Oh my god, even his emails sound hot.”

You roll your eyes and watch Tara’s eyes light up when she sees the design.

“Holy shit. You are BRAVE! AN underboob tat?! You’re gonna show him your tits the first time you meet him?! Biiiiiitch!”

She squeals before zooming in on the design and ogling at the details.

“This is so pretty! The seashells and the little pearls and chains? Amazing. It will match your chest piece really well too!”

She was right, the seashells and pearls would tie into your mermaid chest piece perfectly. It was the first tattoo you put a lot of effort into, getting the design nailed down and taking your time finding a good artist. You wanted this next piece to compliment it and expand on the original concept. The shells would be a dusty pink to match the tails with the beading and pearls adding a little sparkle. You smiled, your pre-tattoo butterflies swirling.

“OH! You sent him a picture of your chest piece.”

She slapped your shoulder excitedly.

“In a bikini top! Are you KIDDING ME? Imagine him opening that picture and just getting to stare at your gorgeous tits and that tat? I’m horny just thinking about it.”

You grab her wrist to stop her flailing, your cheeks are burning since her voice is just a little too loud. She glares at you, her sly smile absolutely beaming.

“Jesus Tara, shh! It’s not a big deal, I’ve wanted this piece expanded for a long time and Rafayel’s specialty is literally anything ocean related. He’s going to touch up the girls too.”

She raises her brows and drops her eyes to your chest and you quickly realize your mistake.

“The mermaids, you horny bitch, the mermaids.”

She nods slowly.

“Uh huh… sure!”

You don’t argue with her, let her think what she wants. You were already anxious thinking about the appointment. She was right about one thing, you were basically showing him your tits the same day you officially met. It’s like “Hi, nice to meet you, here’s my tits” - nice.

When you get home that night you spend extra time prepping your skin and finding the right outfit. Sure you’d be taking off your top and just wearing pasties, but making sure you felt your best beyond that was important too. You drink your sleepy time tea, since the pre-tattoo butterflies had turned to pre-tattoo anxiety.

You slip on your nightgown and settle back, trying to force yourself to relax. About 30 minutes later, you’re on your phone. You just couldn’t help it, you scroll through your feed liking Tara’s selfie with her boyfriend, Jeremiah. A photo of Caleb at a bar, he must have gotten some R&R today. And what’s this? Zayne posted a meme? Doctor Zayne? Oh, Greyson won a bet - that makes more sense.

As you scroll, you start finding posts reposted by Lemuria Studios, recent clients, sketches done by artists and then a video that makes your chest tighten. Rafayel sits hunched over the arm of some buff dude in a tank top, the tattoo gun in his hand moves steadily against his skin. God, he looks hot. He’s just sitting there, doing his job, why are you freaking out? You want to put the phone down, watching him work is only going to make you more anxious for tomorrow. But you can’t seem to let it go. You’re mesmerised by the outline of the muscles of his forearm, barely visible under his own colorful tattoos, they twitch as he colors in the lines he just made. His dusty purple fringe brushes his cheeks, his earrings sway as he bobs his head to whatever music is playing. He stops and wipes the guy's arm with a towel before leaning back and looking at the camera. He smiles and… fuck… You drop your phone and stifle a moan. You’re not going to survive tomorrow.

The next morning, you wake up early to get ready. You cook a huge breakfast, as difficult as this session was going to be, you didn’t want to make it worse by passing out. You down a huge glass of water while you do your makeup. You sweep your hair over your shoulders in two long braids and slip on a beanie. Your joggers sit comfortably on your hips and you change out your fitted halter for a dark cut off t-shirt. You were committing to the comfortable vibe, especially if you were going to be mostly uncomfortable very soon.

Your phone rings and you race to the kitchen to see Tara’s picture flash on the screen. You answer and put it on speaker as you lace up your boots.

“What’s up?”

“I’m just checking in before your session. Are you nervous?”

You chuckle under your breath. She has no idea.

“Oh yeah, I always get pre-tattoo jitters. They’ll go away when I get there.”

“I doubt it! Girl, his face is going to be inches away from your tits. I’d bring a change of panties if I were you.”

“Tara, what do you think people at work would say if they heard you talk like this?”

“Oh, they’d lose their minds! Sweet, innocent Tara would never warn you about imagining him dropping his tattoo gun and climbing on top of you, ripping your pasties off and –”

“TARA!”

She giggles for a minute straight, barely able to catch her breath. You swing your backpack over your shoulder and jog down to the garage.

“Sorry! Honestly, I think you’ll have a great time. You’re gonna look hot with the new tat and I can’t wait to see it. Send me pics!”

“Of course. I’ll text you during breaks.”

After you hang up, you secure your helmet and hop on your bike. You take back roads instead of the highway since you know you’re too nervous and driving fast would be a bad idea. By the time you get to Regent Square, you can feel your heartbeat pounding against your ribcage. You find a long term parking garage and pay the outrageous fee. When you check your phone, you realize you only have 10 minutes before your appointment. You were supposed to be there at least 15 minutes early to fill out the paperwork. You jog down the street, only slowing long enough to catch your breath before heading inside the studio.

Lemuria Studios is gorgeous, the pictures posted online don’t do it justice. The floor to ceiling windows bathe the room in sunshine, the weathered brick walls covered in bright graffiti, neon signs with what you assume to be words - although you are not sure what language it is and the hardwood floors are covered with vibrant rugs with intricate patterns. A large sectional couch corners off the waiting room where a few patrons wait for their artists. There are various tattoo stations, each decorated to suit a different artist. Towards the back of the studio there is a door with an ‘R’ in what looks like ceramic tiles. Must be Rafayel’s private room.

You approach the front desk and greet the receptionist with a smile. She passes you a clipboard with release forms and leaves to walk to the door at the back. You watch her knock and crack the door open, she says something before turning back to look at you. You quickly refocus and fill in the paperwork. You place the clipboard on the counter and take a seat on the couch, fiddling with the tassels of the pillow next to you.

You’re about to stand and start pacing, your nerves getting the best of you, when you hear a door squeak open. You lift your eyes to see the man himself, emerge from the room and stroll towards the front of the studio. You clench your fists, yep, he’s even hotter in person.

He’s dressed casually, his button up is definitely not buttoned up. His neck tattoo swirls down his neck to the center of his chest, two koi fish swim in a circle around his Adam's apple, the fins extend towards his jaw and down his neck with pink lotus flowers complimenting the red scales of the fish. Cut off sleeves let you see his signature tattoos, full sleeves on both arms. Not an inch of skin untouched, the full color underwater scenes are vibrant, bright orange and purple coral, dark blue waves highlighted with teals and white, schools of yellow and blue fish swim in circles around his forearm and a dolphin soars over the waves. His fitted jeans hide the leg tattoos you’ve seen in photos, the ocean waves that look more like flames than water that spiral from his ankle to his hip. He also supposedly has more tattoos on his torso, but you avoided looking up any photos of him shirtless because, well… that would be dangerous.

His shaggy hair casts a shadow over his eyes, but his smile is on full display. He turns to you and you hold your breath to avoid giggling like an idiot. His blue eyes are so bright, the wash of pink in them shines in the morning light that streams through the windows. As he approaches, you awkwardly stand and put on a shy smile.

“Hi! I’m Rafayel, nice to officially meet you.”

He extends a hand and you nearly fall back onto the couch, finally taking a breath. You take his hand and revel in the softness of his skin. He suddenly yanks you forwards and starts pulling you toward the door at the back of the studio. You stumble along after him.

“I can’t wait to show you the final sketch, it’s everything you described but I added a little something that I think you’ll like.”

You giggle as he pulls you into the room. The bright purple walls are covered in either framed sketches, polaroids of tattoos, or random tattoo designs scribbled on a napkin or envelope. A vintage jukebox, with a modern AUX attachment, sits in the corner. A stack of canvases leans against the wall and a bucket of various spray paints sits on the floor. His drawing table has countless sketches pinned to it, including yours. The design is exactly what you imagined, but there’s an additional element. The centerpiece that directly connects to the chest piece is now slightly larger, having a net pattern woven behind it with a few fish and broken shells.

“That’s amazing, holy shit! But it’s a bit more than we originally planned on, are you sure you have time?”

He immediately starts getting the transfer paper prepared. You see him shrug.

“The whole day is yours, it was booked by the radio station that set up the raffle. It’s actually pretty nice only having one client to work on, I can take my time.”

You feel your cheeks flush. He would take his time on your piece, it was flattering and nerve wrecking. You set your bag down on a chair in the corner and stuff your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, awesome, I didn’t realize…”

“You’re nervous aren’t you?”

You huff out a laugh and put your hands on your hips.

“Not at all, I have plenty of tattoos. I know the drill. I’m totally fine, just excited.”

He turns, the transfer paper in hand, and walks over to his station. Everything was meticulously set up from the tiny cups of ink to the paper towels to his tattoo gun. He sets the transfer paper down before heading to the sink in the corner and washing his hands.

“Do you need tape?”

You watch him scrub his hands, it was almost like he was a doctor preparing for surgery. You tilt your head and hum to yourself, trying to figure out his meaning. He dries his hands and looks at you, his lips set in an amused smirk.

“For your nipples.”

You immediately drop your gaze and try to laugh to distract from the blush rising to your neck and cheeks. You clear your throat and meet his gaze.

“No, I wore pasties. Like I said, I know the drill.”

He smiles and motions towards the table. He puts on gloves and gives his bottle of transfer cream a shake. He eyes you expectantly.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

You turn away from him and face the padded table in front of you. You tug your shirt off over your head and toss it over your bag on a nearby chair. You hesitate to turn around. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous - sure you are literally half-naked in front of a guy you could only dream of, but he’s done this countless times! Your tits are not the first ones he’s tattooed under. You turn to face him and watch his eyes drop to your chest, he glances at the transfer paper and back to you, mentally lining up the art on your body.

“Yea, this will look amazing on you.”

His voice is rougher than before, you clasp your hands behind your back and rock on your heels.

“Thank you… uhm… do you want me to lie down or?”

He walks up and squeezes some transfer cream onto his gloved hand.

“Just stand right here. This might be cold.”

You brace and when his fingers touch the skin just under your breast, you gasp. Not from the cold, but rather from the jolt of electricity that sparked through your system.

“You were right, s’cold.”

He chuckles and continues to rub the cream along your upper rib cage, under your breasts and down the center of your chest. He grabs the transfer paper and lines it up.

“Can you hold 'em up for a second?”

You blink.

“Your… breasts. I want to make sure this will line up properly.”

You silently curse at yourself for how stupid you feel. You really should have chosen maybe a leg piece or maybe a cute little forearm number, but no you had to do this. You cup your breasts and lift them, staring at the ceiling to avoid eye contact. He lines up the transfer and presses it to your skin, slowly peeling it away.

“Fuck yes. That looks perfect. Take a look in the mirror and let me know what you think.”

He turns away and changes his gloves while you check his placement. Just the transfer looks insane, your previous embarrassment melts into excitement. You turn back to him with a huge smile.

“I love it! It’s gonna look so good!”

Rafayel smiles and you skip over to the table. You miss the flush that spreads across his cheeks as he watches your tits bounce on your way over. You hear him clear his throat as he leans to drag his chair over with his foot. You lay back on the table, your head sinking into the pillow and your hands resting on your stomach.

Rafayel sits and slides closer to you on his chair. He picks up his tattoo gun and dips the needles into the ink. He looks up at you, shaking his head to get his fringe out of his eyes.

“Ready?”

You relax your shoulders and sigh, looking up at the ceiling.

“Hell yeah.”

The outside of Rafayel’s palm rests against the side of your breast, holding the skin taut as he begins tattooing along the edge of your rib cage. The pain is about as bad as you expected. The vibration of the tattoo gun against your ribs makes your teeth chatter. You close your eyes and try to distract yourself while adjusting to the sting of the needles.

“So, why mermaids?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks up the monotonous buzz of the tattoo machine. You tilt your chin down and look at his god-like profile. With his attention on your tattoo, you finally let yourself examine his face. The ear you can see is littered with piercings. Double conch, helix, daith, an industrial with a little fish charm attached. His eyes have a hint of black smudged along his lash line, of course he wears eyeliner… of fucking course. And it looks so damn good too.

He has a variety of facial piercings, which look amazing and now you want one… or two. A small silver septum hoop. You notice he occasionally wiggles his nose, rubbing it across his top lip, a nervous habit perhaps? His lip piercings have you in a trance, the shark bites, the vertical labret - how would they feel against your lips? You also caught sight of a tongue ring. The things this man could probably do with his tongue…

“Still with me, cutie?”

You are glad he was refreshing the ink on the needles as you have a very physical reaction to this new little nickname he’s given you. You cough and try to steady yourself, once you are still he continues his work.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just distracted.”

“Oh yeah, by what?”

He’s teasing you now. Great. But you never back down from a fight and if he wants to poke at you with his cute little comments - and not just the needles in his tattoo gun - you’ll give it right back to him.

“By you.”

He laughs, a hint of surprise on his face.

“Oh really? What distracted you exactly?”

“I was just admiring your piercings. I haven’t gotten nearly enough.”

“What piercings do you want?”

His tattoo needle continues to buzz and the pain slowly fades to a numbness.

“Definitely more on my ears. I like the tragus. And then maybe my navel, basic, I know.”

“No way, the navel is a great piercing. There are a lot of creative jewelry options too. I love mine, I’d recommend it to anyone.”

“You have your belly button pierced?”

He chuckles and shifts his hand, his pinkie dangerously close to your pasty making your heart flutter.

“Yup. Was one of my first actually. After that it was all downhill. Now I have too many to count.”

“Really? What other piercings do you recommend then?”

He hesitates and glances up at you. His eyes flick to your breasts and back. And you swear you caught him biting his lip for a moment.

“Body piercings are fun. But if you’re not ready for that but bored with your ears, facial piercings are a good place to start. Septum made me cry like a bitch, but it’s a great one.”

“Made you cry like a bitch, huh?”

Your mocking tone makes him pause and look at you, his lips set in a pout. You giggle at his pathetic, yet adorable, expression.

“It’s because it fucks with your sinuses or some shit, not because it hurt!”

“Okay, okay!”

“I’ve gotten some piercings that make grown men weep and didn’t flinch, trust me, it was not because of the pain.”

You raise your eyebrows at the implication, but you decide to hold your tongue and not entertain the thought of what those “other” piercings might be. You settle your head back and take a deep breath.

“And what about tattoos? Which one was the most painful?”

He hums to himself, his hand once again shifting and pushing your breast slightly upward as he colors in a line.

“My neck was the worst, by far. I’m glad I didn’t pick something that went directly over my Adam’s apple cause I would not have survived.”

“That piece is really nice. Did you design it?”

“I did. Then my apprentice tattooed it. Never been prouder of the kid. Now you’ve asked a few questions, I think it’s only fair you answer one of mine.”

You sigh dramatically and chuckle when he stops working. You know he is staring at you, probably pouting again, so you stare at the ceiling.

“Alright, fair is fair.”

“Why mermaids?”

“Oh uhh…” You stutter as you try to find the right words. “Because they’re tragic yet beautiful.”

Rafayel stops again and looks at you, his brows raised.

“Art and literature depicts them as beautiful creatures, but their counterparts are much darker. Sirens lure sailors to their watery graves. They’re… underestimated? Like their beauty distracts while their voice reels them in. It’s powerful.”

“Was there something that prompted the need for a constant reminder of their power etched into your skin?”

You shift your gaze to his hands, resting on your stomach, the tattoo gun hovering over your skin.

“I spent a long time under someone’s thumb, feeling powerless. He always felt like he had to protect me. I was… lost… for a while. Then I read a book about a siren, using the form of a mermaid, who charmed the men in her life into submission while planning their downfall. I didn’t want Ca– my friend to be hurt though! I decided to put on a ‘damsel in distress’ act for him but I’m still in control, ya know?”

Rafayel nodded sharply, his gaze more intense. He shifted on his stool and the familiar hum of the tattoo gun started again. With his focus back on your body, you felt your mind start to spiral. Was your explanation dumb? You know sirens are not exactly mermaids, but mermaids looked better. Did he think you were dumb and confused them? Should you have said ‘cause they’re pretty’ instead?

“Most people don’t realize sirens and mermaids aren’t the same thing. Seems like you do.”

“I do! Yeah, I just… I guess…”

“Liked how mermaids looked better than a half bird sea creature?”

His voice was light, sarcasm had found its way back to him and you sighed in relief.

“Don’t get me wrong, I saw some good siren designs but nothing clicked. This one did. Plus I think it makes my tits stand out.”

Rafayal lets out a breathy laugh and sits up straighter in his chair. He grabs a paper towel and wipes the excess ink from your skin. He moves his chair forward and settles his arm over the top of your breast, his hand resting at the center of your chest. You can feel his breath fan across your skin and you have to bite your lip, hard, to avoid shivering.

“It does, but I have a feeling they looked perfect before too.”

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel slightly dizzy. Did he just? Did he? He complimented your tits. This man complimented your tits, with his face inches away from them, while stabbing you repeatedly with a needle. How are you supposed to respond to that?

“Thank… you.”

Rafayel laughs at your whispered appreciation. His hands work carefully, shifting and sliding to draw the centerpiece.

“Okay, next question.”

Over the next four hours you and Rafayel go back and forth with questions. It almost felt like you were on a first date. You talked about your favorite music, his favorite movies, your job at the Hunters Association, his secret sushi restaurant that’s opening in six months. On your break at the two hour mark, he offered you a soda and walked in circles around the room, stretching his legs, while talking animatedly about a rave happening later this month. And when you begged him for the details so you could get tickets, his smile grew tenfold.

As he was adding the final touches, he stood bent over you poking and dabbing away ink until you were nearly ready to scream. His hair would brush against your shoulder and you’d stiffen, leading to Rafayel joking about ‘staying loose or it’ll hurt more’ which made you squeeze your thighs so tightly you nearly cried. When he finished and was doing the clean up he surprised you, his cheeks were a tad rosy and his usually playful tone more serious.

“I haven’t had this much fun during a session in a while. So… Thank you. I hope you like it.”

You took his hand and sat up, hopping off the table to turn and face the mirror. You were speechless. The lines were sharp and straight, the colors bright, the shading made everything pop out as if the seashells were just sitting on the surface of your skin. Your mermaids were glowing - their scales nearly sparkled and the ocean waves surrounding them looked so real. Tiny sparks floated around the mermaid's hands, creating a shield of fire. Like they were putting on a show or putting up a forcefield. You couldn’t stop yourself from squealing with excitement before you turned around and lunged towards Rafayel, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh my god…”

As soon as your chest collided with his, your excitement faded and pure terror replaced it. You jumped back, instinctively covering your chest with your hands. His ears were bright red and he stared at you, unable to blink it seems.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think! I was so excited and… Shit… I –”

He reaches out and takes hold of your arms. You snap your mouth closed.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you love it. I do wish that you hadn’t… pulled away so quickly though…”

You blinked rapidly. He was pouting again, pouting because you pulled away from hugging him. From hugging him while… His thumbs brush against your skin and you tilt your head, scanning his face for confirmation that what he said was real.

“I was going to wait to ask you out until after I bandaged you up and you had your shirt on, but why waste a perfectly good moment?”

Your mouth hangs open and you feel your knees jerk. Rafayel’s hold on you tightens and he helps you lean back against the table.

“Shit… let me get you some juice, you’re probably crashing a bit.”

Oh, he has no idea just how badly you are crashing out right now. He jogs out of the room and returns with a small bottle of orange juice. He opens it for you and holds it to your lips. You take a sip and lift your hand to hold his wrist while he helps you drink. His eyes meet yours and you stare at him, he doesn’t look away, his gaze burns straight to your core. He sets the bottle down and grabs a paper towel, dabbing at your leaking tattoo gently.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

If you thought you’d seen him excited before… He smiles, his dazzling teeth take your breath away. You raise a brow when you realize he has gems adhered to his canines - can he get any sexier?

“Well, I’d say this session went swimmingly.”

You giggle and rest your palms on the table behind you. He gets to work cleaning your tattoo and snapping a few pictures for you before covering the fresh ink with Saniderm wrap. You pull your shirt back on and down the rest of the orange juice - you were starting to feel your endorphins fade away and your body was reeling from the experience.

“How does tomorrow night sound?”

He holds his phone out to you and you take it, seeing he already set up a contact for you. You feel your cheeks burn when you see the contact name “Tattoo Cutie.” You don’t correct it, just add your name beside it and punch in your number before handing it back to him.

“Sounds perfect.”

You wake up to a banging on your front door, it’s so loud you’re sure your neighbors will complain to you later. You don’t even bother putting on your robe and jog through your living room. You swing the door open and Tara flies through, nearly knocking you over. You close the door and follow her through the hall to your living room.

“You’re casting a spell or making one of those wish bottle things or whatever it is that you’re doing to make your life so damn perfect.”

She plops down on your sofa and crosses her arms. She stares up at you with a stern expression. You try not to giggle since Tara’s version of “stern” comes across a lot like Rafayel’s pout.

“I didn’t cast a spell. I just –”

“You just what? Became the luckiest girl in the world without even trying? That’s even worse!”

You finally let out a laugh and sit down next to her, pulling your legs to your chest.

“Listen, I have no idea what’s going on, I am just trying to enjoy it while it lasts. It feels like I’m going to wake up any moment and realize it was all a dream.”

She shifts on the sofa and turns to face you.

“I don’t want to sound like I am jealous in a mean way, I am jealous in a ‘give me some of your luck’ way. Maybe then Jeremiah will finally propose…”

You grab her hand and squeeze gently.

“Oh come one, you literally picked out your ring with him! He’ll propose, he’s obsessed with you. He’s also terrified of you, so he knows better than to half-ass a proposal. Give him more time.”

Her cheeks flush and she looks down at her hand, holding up her ring finger. She lets out a sigh and looks up at you with determination.

“I want to know everything about last night. Every dirty detail. Spill.”

She kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs under her, fully facing you. She won’t let go of your hand, so you’re trapped on the sofa with her until you tell her about your date.

“He picked me up on his bike and –”

“He rides a bike! Oh my god that’s hot - what kind?!”

“A Kawasaki. It was really nice, dark blue with bright blue headlights. He told me he collects them so –”

“He collects motorcycles? Oh my god…”

“Are you going to let me tell you about the date or not?”

Tara huffs and lets go of your hand. She lifts her fingers to her mouth and pressed her lips together, “zipping her lips” so you can continue.

“We drove around for a while and then he took me to – oh I don’t know if I can tell you…”

“BITCH IF YOU DON’T –”

You laugh and lean away from her flailing hands. You raise yours in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but you have to promise not to say anything, swear.”

She places a hand over her heart.

“I swear on Winterford the 3rd I will not speak a word.”

“Woah, swearing on your dog's life is intense Tara.”

She crosses her arms and glares at you. You roll your eyes and continue.

“He is opening a sushi restaurant in a few months, so he took me there to show me around. It’s down at the pier near Whitesand Bay.”

Tara opens her mouth to say something but instantly closes it. You nod in approval, her self-control is improving.

“He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but the interior and kitchen are done. We made sushi together and ate on the rooftop terrace looking out over the water.”

Tara lets out a closed-mouth squeal and claps her hands. She motions with her hands for you to continue.

“We walked along the pier and talked for a long time. When it got dark he offered his jacket - I know - and then we went back to his bike. He drove down this alley where graffiti artists practice and gave me a can to try it out.”

“Wait - sorry - you defaced public property?”

“Rafayel owns the building and advertises it as, and I quote ‘an artists playground’ so no I did not.”

“That’s a shame, it would have been hot.”

“Tara! I’m a public servant! I’d lose my job.”

She pokes your shoulder.

“Only if you get caught!”

You rub your temples and suppress the urge to laugh at her antics.

“What happened next?”

“He drove me home.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She punches your shoulder and you fall back onto the couch.

“TARA!”

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN GET A KISS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I DID! Just not… okay… he kissed me on the cheek when he said good night. It was cute.”

“CUTE?”

You sit up and push her, she doesn’t even move.

“I don’t want to rush things!”

“At least tell me he made plans for a second date with you?”

“He did. We are going out on Friday night.”

“Thank god. Please, I beg of you, get laid or at least make out with him!”

“Tara, I swear to god…”

“You have been insanely stressed lately and from what you’ve told me, he is super into you. Just let go babe, enjoy it! Enjoy him.”

You cross your arms and shake your head.

“It’ll happen when it feels right. I won’t lie, I hope it’s sooner rather than later, but I also am willing to wait. I –”

You stop yourself, feeling your cheeks heat up. Tara’s expression softens.

“Oh. Oh.”

You get up from the couch and head into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Tara is right on your heels.

“You liiiiike him. Aww, babes!”

She wraps her arms around you, hugging your back as you pour coffee beans into your espresso machine.

“I just started seeing him, it’s too early to tell.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

She releases you and slides onto a bar stool, her arms leaning on the island. You start chopping up fruit and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. The sound of your coffee machine cuts through the silence and you avoid looking at Tara, knowing she can read you like a book. Maybe it was after the tattoo session or when you were holding hands on the pier, but at some point you realized you really liked Rafayel. He made you laugh and he asked the most bizarre questions that made you think about life in a new light. You wanted more and god, you hope he does too.

By the time Friday rolls around you are definitely ready for some fun. You’ve been constantly sharing memes back and forth with Rafayel all week. It’s certainly eased the stress of work. But you want to see him and you’re eager for his call when you finally clock out and head home.

You’re barely in the front door when you hear your phone buzz. You see Rafayel’s name light up your screen and have to force yourself to count to ten before answering it. You don’t want to seem that eager.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey cutie, how was work?”

“It was okay, not too much activity today so I was stuck cataloging old reports. I almost fell asleep like three times.”

“I bet. I… shit… I have to tell you something.”

You clench your fist and lean against the door to your bedroom, dropping your bag to the floor.

“Okaaaay.”

He sighs and the knot in your stomach tightens.

“I have to reschedule.”

And there it is, your heart sinks.

“Oh… yeah okay.”

“Not because I want to, trust me. I owe someone a favor and have to be at a party.”

You bite your lip, propping your hand on your hip as you start to pace.

“I see.”

You can’t mask the edge to your voice. A party? Someone is calling in a favor for him to come to their party? He is famous, so it would make them look good, but why couldn’t he invite you? Was he embarrassed of you? Did he not want people in his life to know you were dating? Or seeing each other? Or just talking? Are you even dating?

“It’s more like work, she’s offering free tattoos to the guests. The other artist fell through so she’s calling me in so her party doesn’t ‘crash and burn’ - her words not mine.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, you’re pissed.”

You stop dead in your tracks and straighten up.

“I am not!”

“I can hear you pacing.”

You look down at your shoes. Of course you wore your chunky boots with the clicky heels today. The taps on your wooden floors were that loud? Damn.

“I’m not mad, I promise.”

“Then you’re irritated?”

“No…”

“What is it? Come on, tell me.”

“I guess… confused?”

“Confused about what?”

You close your eyes and sit down on your bed. Bracing yourself for the embarrassment you’re sure will wash over you after your next statement.

“Is there a reason you couldn’t bring me? I know you said it was more like work, but I guess… You know what, nevermind.”

You flop back onto your mattress and cover your eyes with your arm.

“Nope! Not ‘nevermind-ing’ - I would love to bring you, I just… I… fuck how do I explain it?”

“You don’t want anyone knowing about me?”

“No! Fuck no! That’s not what I… shit… okay, I didn’t think you’d want to come. It’s not a normal party. Not everyone is… comfortable with this sort of thing.”

You sit up immediately. Your hand tightly grips your phone.

“What kind of party is it?”

He pauses. The silence stretches for what feels like hours. He finally sighs and chuckles under his breath.

“It’s a sex party, babe.”

You audibly gasp and slap a hand over your mouth. You shake your head and ignore your throbbing clit to continue the conversation.

“Oh, I… right… I get it. Sorry. Uhm…”

“You’re more than welcome to come as my plus one, but only if you’re comfortable.”

You take a moment and consider your options. A sex party. As Rafayel’s plus one. You’ve never been very adventurous with your sexual endeavors. You didn’t even realize sex parties happened in real life. You’re practically salivating just thinking about it. You stand and face the mirror hanging next to your closet. What have you got to lose?

“What should I wear?”

Rafayel laughs, he clears his throat before continuing.

“Something sexy, but that’ll be easy for you. I’ll bring you a mask.”

You pause after opening your closet.

“A mask?”

“Yeah, everyone wears masks to add to the ‘experience’ - everyone at these parties knows each other most of the time, but the masks offer a sense of freedom. Everybody can do what they want for the night, no consequences.”

You tug at the fabric of a sleek black dress as you mull over the idea. Just for the night. No consequences. Maybe Tara is right, maybe you should just let go.

“What time?”

“It starts at 9. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“See you then.”

After you hang up you get to work figuring out your outfit. Rafayel might have confidence in your ability to pick out a sexy outfit but you certainly didn’t. Should it be sexy and cute? Just sexy? Sexy and slutty? Sexy and fancy? You pull dress after dress from your closet and nothing feels right. You finally decide to forgo dresses completely. The first skirt you pull out is the one. You can visualize the outfit and while it’s much more revealing than you’re used to, you are pretty sure you’d be wearing more than most of the party goers regardless.

You zip up the pleather mini skirt, adjusting it so it sits high on your hips. Your legs were on full display, the skirt mostly serving to just cover your ass. You grab your favorite black bra and shrug on the mesh top. Layering gold necklaces so your torso doesn’t appear so bare. You look in the mirror and jump up and down with excitement. Your tattoos are fully visible through the mesh. You had lathered lotion onto your new tattoos so the peeling wasn’t noticeable and carefully applied perfume, avoiding the healing skin. Your red pumps sit next to the door with your red crossbody clutch. You were ready, well sort of.

Rafayel called you only a few minutes later and you carefully made your way to the first floor. You were comfortable wearing heels, opting to wear them all the time when hitting the club with Tara or going on dates. But tonight, your nerves were making your ankles a little wobbly. The elevator door opens to the front lobby of your apartment building and you spot Rafayel leaning against a car just outside. Fuck.

He had a button up, that was actually buttoned up this time, tucked into shredded jeans. His boots were laced with gold laces. He had multiple chain necklaces around his neck. As you got closer you realized his shirt was also see through, just little golden floral appliques scattered over the sheer fabric. You could see everything and god, it was a sight. The definition of his abs, the dark lines of a tattoo on his side and swirls of ink trailing from his neck piece down his chest. You spot his navel piercing, sparkling as the setting sun casts what almost felt like a spotlight on him. Something else sparkles, nipple rings. You swear under your breath. He’s going to kill you, not literally, but - well he might with how fast your heart is beating.

He finally looks up from his phone and spots you. His eyes widen and he stares, jaw slack, for at least a full minute. Your cheeks burn and you have to focus on his face so you don’t sneak a peek at his torso again.

“Fuck, you look amazing.”

His words make you stammer. You swallow hard, working up the courage to respond.

“I can say the same for you.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek. You feel his body against yours and sigh, wishing you could delay him letting you go.

“Ready to go, cutie?”

You nod and he opens the passenger door for you. You slide in and finally take a good look at the car you’re in. You’ve never ridden in a Bentley before - the seats were soft under your thighs. The leather is silky rather than sticky against your skin. The car was painted a similar dark blue to his bike and had the same bright blue headlights. You already knew he liked the color blue, but this just made it more obvious.

He settles into the driver seat and the engine revs to life.

“You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?”

You lean on the center console as you face him, leaning forwards.

“I’m sure.”

“We can leave at any point, Talia will just have to deal with it. Just don’t hesitate to –”

You press your index finger to his lips, silencing him. The surprised look on his face makes your smile hurt your cheeks.

“Rafayel, I’m sure.”

He smiles and you drop your hand, but he grabs it immediately and laces his fingers with yours. He rests your hand on his thigh, rubbing your hand with his thumb as he sets off down the highway.

As the gates to the mansion open, you squeeze Rafayel’s hand trying to quell a wave of nerves. This mansion is huge, you spot two guest houses and a pool with a waterfall - a full ass waterfall - nestled in the backyard surrounded by hundreds of trees and flowers. The cobblestone driveway leads to a massive mahogany front door, where two men stand, dressed in black. Rafayel continues rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“It’s intimidating, I know. It’ll be better once we’re inside.”

You watch party goers enter, getting pat down briefly before heading inside. From what you can see, they’re dressed fairly normally. Dresses and heels, suits or blazers. Rafayel parks in the garage of one of the guest houses and rushes around the car to open your door. You give him a playful glare.

“You know I can open my own door, good sir.”

He takes your hand and helps you out, bringing your hand to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles.

“I’m aware.”

You don’t argue when he wraps an arm around your waist as he leads you to the main house. He enters through a backdoor and a security guard greets him with a smile.

“Raf, good to see you. Talia is in the main room already. She told me to show you to the booth. And who is this with you?”

His voice hardens when he spots you. Rafayel leans over and kisses your temple.

“She’s with me.”

The guard nods and unlocks a door, ushering you both inside.

All the lightbulbs have been replaced with warm red bulbs, fake candles cover every surface, cushions and blankets are tucked in corners. Rooms that typically never have beds have become makeshift bedrooms. Wait staff stroll in and out of the kitchen with platters covered in hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne. A DJ is perched on a balcony overlooking the main floor, the music a mix of soft jazz with sultry singers.

You’ve yet to spot any party goers, so you relax a bit as you take in the lavish interior. You’re pulled behind a curtain, a small room sits behind it with a padded table, a small cabinet, a portable sink, a large medical light and a few stools. Rafayel walks up to the cabinet and crouches, examining its contents. You spot a large collection of tattoo equipment. As Rafayel sets up his station, you peek through the curtain and see people walking around. Everyone is wearing masks and at least some form of clothing. You hear Rafayel call your name and you jump back through the curtain.

“Curious, are we?”

You scoff and cross your arms. He turns to you and holds something out. You take it and realize it’s a simple black eye mask, made of simple fabric with a thick elastic band. When you look back up at Rafayel, he is already putting his on. You slip the mask on and fiddle with the elastic, unsure if you should tuck it under your hair. Rafayel touches your hand and you pause. He turns you around and collects your hair, holding it up so you can slip the elastic band underneath. He lets your hair go and smoothes it back in place.

“You’re welcome to look around, you don’t have to stay here with me.”

“I’ll stay, at least for now. I can be your assistant.”

He smiles and brushes his thumb across your cheek. He stares at you for a moment, his eyes bouncing from your eyes to your lips. You hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and he leans closer. Is he going to –

“Raffie! Oh my god thank you thank you thank you!”

A woman with long purple waves bounces through the curtain. You almost let out a gasp when you see she’s naked from the waist up. Rafayel slaps a hand over his eyes and sighs.

“Talia… You might be the one person at this party I absolutely do not want to see naked.”

“Raffie, you’re so dramatic. I have pasties on!.”

If she did have pasties, they were… camouflaged. Her teasing voice only seems to irritate Rafayel more. Or maybe it’s because of her cute little nickname for him.

“Talia, please…”

Talia sighs dramatically and dives through the curtain for a moment. When she returns she has a silky purple robe on. She reaches up and yanks Rafayel’s wrist and pulls his hand from his face. His eyes remain closed.

“I put on a robe, Raffie. Chill out.”

Rafayel opens his eyes and shoves her shoulder playfully.

“Stop it with the Raffie.”

“I don’t know, I like Raffie. It’s cute.”

Rafayel stares at you and you can’t help but laugh. Talia giggles and grabs your hand, shaking it wildly.

“When Rafayel said he was bringing a plus one I was shocked. He never brings anyone around me honestly. You must be special.”

“Oh, no I’m –”

“She is.”

Rafayel cuts you off and you nearly choke on your own saliva. His hand grazes your hip, holding you close. Talia smiles and pokes his shoulder.

“I see. Well… here you go.”

She hands you and Rafayel a keyring with three cards attached. You flip the cards back and forth, not seeing anything printed on them.

“In case you decide to… participate. Feel free to tattoo as long as you like, I only promised the service until midnight.”

Rafayel nods and accepts the side hug Talia offers. She gives you a quick hug as well - taking you by surprise - before skipping out of the room.

“So that’s Talia. She’s my aunt. And she’s so great at introductions.”

He puts his keyring in the cabinet and sits down on one of the stools next to the table. He starts spreading out a wide array of flash tattoos he’s designed, making it easier for selection. You fiddle with the keyring.

“So what’s this about?”

He looks up and, even in the dim lighting you can see his ears turn red.

“It’s a… aha… a way to approach someone you want to interact with and express interest.”

You stare at him, letting your mind wander as you try to figure out how it works. You avoid Rafayel’s gaze, embarrassed that you don’t understand his implications. You hear him stand and approach you. His hand covers your own and he takes the keyring. You watch as he flips to the blue card.

“An individual will approach another individual, or a group of individuals, and hold up a card. They’ll wait until they’re chosen or refused. The card tells you what they want.”

You lift your wide eyes to meet his.

“The blue card is for the male. The red card is for the female. And the yellow card is for both.”

You blink rapidly and clear your throat.

“So if I approached you and held up this.”

He holds up the red card.

“It means I want you… In whatever way I can have you.”

You take a deep breath and feel your chest tighten. You press your thighs together and basically beg your pussy to calm down. He places the keyring back in your hand and closes your fingers around it. He lifts his hand to hold the side of your neck. He leans closer, his nose brushing against yours, his breath fanning across your face. His lips barely graze your cheek, just above your lips. Every breath you take pushes your chest against his. It takes everything you have not to grab him and devour him on the spot.

You hear the curtain behind you flip open and Rafayel lets go of your neck, looking up to see his first client. You sit on a stool and watch Rafayel tattoo client after client. Most are completely naked, which takes you a bit of time to adjust to. You help him by cleaning the table - very well - between clients.

Every time a woman enters, their breasts bouncing and pussy proudly on display, you feel a twinge of pain. And when Rafayel puts his hands on them to begin working, it feels like you’re going to throw up.

Before you know it, midnight is less than a half hour away and your nerves start to swirl. What will Rafayel want to do once his “duties” are done? Just as you’re getting ready to ask him, a perky brunette with olive skin strolls in. Golden chains draped over her perfect body. She leans against the table and points to a simple jellyfish design.

“It’s a popular one. Where’dya want it?”

He clears the table and she lays down on her back. You glance down at your phone and check the time and when you look back up, she is laying with her legs spread wide. You hold your breath and look to Rafayel, who is still focused on getting his supplies refreshed. When he turns around a look of genuine surprise graces his face. He sets his tattoo gun down and crosses the room to wash his hands.

“Are you sure about that? It’s worse than a piercing and harder to heal. You won't be able to participate anymore tonight.”

“A night of passion or a tattoo on my pussy by the famous Rafayel? I am absolutely sure.”

Rafayel doesn’t look at you as he puts on his gloves. You tense and drop your gaze. He sits on his stool and slides over, when you finally look up you see him basically staring at her pussy. You gasp silently, you didn’t think it was loud enough for anyone to hear, but when Rafayel glances over his shoulder at you you quickly get up and dash through the curtain.

You don’t look back and you don’t hear him call for you - not that you could hear anything over the music and moans. You walk through the various rooms, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter on your way. You finally find an empty room and sit down to catch your breath. You down your champagne in one go and fiddle with the stem of the glass.

You know you shouldn’t be upset, you weren’t in a relationship and this was technically your second date. From the sounds of it, he’s tattooed that area before. Of course he has, it’s his job. It isn’t a big deal. You feel foolish for running out like that, he probably thinks you’re dramatic and can’t handle his job or his fame. You set the glass on a table nearby and cover your face with your hands.

You finish off two more glasses of champagne before feeling brave enough to head back into the main hall. You take your time as you walk back to Rafayel’s tattoo booth, letting yourself watch the chaos around you. Clusters of people on beds, tables and even the floor. Riding, licking, sucking, moaning. You feel like you’re in another world, where shame and embarrassment don’t exist. If you weren’t so frustrated you might actually be enjoying yourself.

You stop at the staircase, your eyes locked on a couple wrapped around each other. It’s not like the others, they take their time, kissing and touching before he lifts her to ride his cock. Her moans are soft and the smile on her face - she’s experiencing pure bliss. You feel your cheeks heat and your throat tighten. You want that, not just a night of passion with a hot guy. And maybe you aren’t able to handle Rafayel’s job or fame. Is that such a bad thing? That you know what you want? Or what you don’t want?

“Cutie?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks you out of your spiral. You feel his hand on your back and you turn to face him. You know your cheeks are flushed, your eyes hazy yet vacant as your mind tries to make sense of your newfound clarity.

“I’m sorry I ran out.”

He places his hands on your shoulders and rubs your arms.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I know it’s your job and you’ve probably tattooed plenty of pussies - it’s not a big deal.”

“Really? I think it is a big deal if it upsets you.”

“I wasn’t upset. It doesn’t matter anyway, if I can’t handle it then maybe you should find someone who can.”

He stiffens, his brows knit together and his eyes darken. His voice drops and his tone becomes rigid.

“Is that what you want? For me to find someone else?”

“Maybe I am uncomfortable with the idea of you touching another girl's pussy, even if it is for your job. So yes, find someone who doesn’t care.”

He pushes you back against the wall. His hands move from your arms to tightly grip your hips.

“What if I like that about you?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he leans in, pressing his chest against yours.

“Do you want my hands on you? Only you? Only touching your pussy?”

Your chest heaves, pressing against him with every breath. His hands move up your waist, forcing your back to arch off the wall towards him.

“Cause that’s what I want. I don’t want to touch anyone else like that, not when yours is the one I can’t stop thinking about tasting.”

His nose rubs against yours.

“I told her to change the location or get out.”

His lips brush against yours, you can almost taste him.

“So don’t tell me to find someone else because you’re the one I want. So please, don’t run away.”

You let out a shaky breath and reach up to grab his neck, you capture his lips. He moans against your mouth and you bite his lip. He gasps and tries to pull back but you don’t let him. You hold him to you and slide your tongue into his mouth, which he quickly sucks in. His tongue dances with yours leaving you breathless.

He leans down to pick you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands dive under your skirt. He grabs your ass and you roll your hips against his stomach. He walks over to an unoccupied sofa and sits down with you straddling his lap. You run your hands down his body, feeling the chill of his nipple rings against your palms. He pushes your hips down and you lower onto him, his bulge growing harder under you. He suddenly pulls back.

“Wait - do you want to go somewhere private?”

You grind your hips against him and he groans loudly. You can feel eyes on you and it makes you grind harder. You lean forward and press your mouth to his ear.

“I can’t wait… and I want them to watch you take what’s yours.”

Something inside of Rafayel snaps. He rips the mesh top from your body and pulls up your skirt over your hips. His hands roam across your back as he places kisses to your chest. Your relentless grinding makes him nip and lick at your skin in response. He unhooks your bra and tosses it over the sofa, his mouth moving to capture your nipple. You throw your head back and sigh, your breathing becoming more erratic by the second.

He lifts your hips and you whine, the friction of his bulge against your clothed pussy wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He picks you up and stands, dropping you onto the couch. He kneels and unzips your skirt, pulling it completely off of you. You tug the buttons on his shirt loose and run your hands over his chest. He pulls off the shirt and you reach to unbutton his pants, but his hand stops you. You look at him, confused.

“I have to show you something first, okay baby?”

You nod and lean back. He unbuttons his pants and bends to pull them down completely - along with his underwear. Your jaw drops, literally drops, at the sight of his cock. Not just because he is well-endowed - not to the point of discomfort, but you’re sure you’ll be sore tomorrow. But because the moment you saw that glint of silver your pussy throbbed so hard you nearly came.

Right at the base of his slit sat the silver ball, you reach out and wrap your hand around him. He shudders but remains still for you. You run your fingers over his slit, already leaking pre-cum, and roll the silver ball between your fingers. You feel the other end of the piercing underneath, you shift the piercing back and forth. He moans and his hips twitch. You stroke him slowly, working your way down to the silver studs at the base, sitting atop his pubic mound. You moan as your fingers rub across it, imagining how good it will feel against your clit.

“Having fun, cutie?”

His words are broken, his breathing labored as you work him. You smile up at him and push yourself to the end of the sofa. He reaches his hand out and strokes your cheek. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out and lick his slit. His hands grip your hair and he pulls you away from him. He towers over you, making you lean back onto the couch. He climbs over you and leans down, pressing his lips to your neck.

“How wet are you right now?”

You roll your hips up against his cock and he growls into your neck. He sits back to tug your panties down your legs. He lowers himself again, pressing his entire body against yours. You moan with how hot his skin feels against yours. You wrap your arms around him and cling to him, your legs spreading wider as he settles against you. His hands roam your body, pinching at your nipples, fingering your weeping pussy, palming your ass - every touch sending shockwaves through your system.

He dips his fingers further into your pussy and you pull your hips back. He looks at you, sweat already dripping down his forehead. You run your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes - those beautiful fucking eyes.

“I don’t want your fingers Raf, please…”

He chuckles and slides his hand down to line himself up. You feel the chill of metal against your entrance and flinch.

“Look at me.”

You tear your eyes away from his cock and meet his gaze. He leans forward and kisses you. It’s a slow and steady kiss. Your mind swims as you feel his tongue slide in. And then you feel that delicious stretch, his cock sinking into you, the metal balls of his piercing stroking your inner walls. The kiss turns messy as your moans and his gasps harmonize and fill the air around you. Finally your hips jerk forward and you feel his pubic piercing press to your clit. You pull away from the kiss to scream his name, the pressure and chill of the metal overloading your senses.

Rafayel whines as he holds still to let you adjust to him. You claw at his back and he drops a foot to the floor beside the couch to angle his hips better. You know he’s about to pound into you and make you scream even louder. The thought of the people around you watching makes you delirious.

“Raf.. I need you– I need you to move, please…”

He doesn’t hesitate and he pulls back until just his tip is tucked inside and then he rams his hips forward, sending you backwards on the couch. You squeal and moan as he finds his rhythm. He rests his forehead against yours and gasps for air, his chest turning red from the exertion. Every snap of his hips pushes his pubic piercing against your clit making it throb and the drag of those inside of you drives you crazy. Finally you feel it, that silver ball hitting that spongy spot that makes your legs shake. You whimper and ignore the tears sliding down your cheek, the pleasure completely encompassing your being.

“Fuck… I need to come, ahh.. Shit…”

He starts to pull out, but you wrap your legs around him and lock your ankles. He looks at you, his forehead tight as he fights off his orgasm. You release his back for a moment to grab his face, pressing a kiss to his swollen lips.

“Come inside me, baby. Pill… I’m on the pill, just come for me…”

Your command is immediately obeyed, you feel his release and shudder as the warmth fills you. His pace never falters and the added slickness from his release makes his cock slide through you even faster. Your g-spot is hit every single time he thrusts and you finally feel your back arch and your body tremble, your orgasm hits and you scream.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes Rafayel fuck yeeeeessss…”

As you both come down, you feel his body relax against you. You lean your head to the side and he nuzzles into your neck. His soft kisses help your breathing to steady. You open your eyes and gasp quietly. Rafayel lifts his head and follows your gaze. A small group of people are standing in a circle around the sofa where you and Rafayel are lying. Some of them are holding cards and leaning on each other, some are just smiling and whispering to each other.

“They want to join.”

Rafayel whispers in your ear. You hold onto him, suddenly very aware of how naked you are - how naked everyone is. Rafayel lifts you, his cock slipping out before he settles you on his lap. He wraps his arms around you protectively.

“We can tell them to leave, if you want?”

You hear your heart pounding in your ears. Before tonight, you never would have thought you’d be interested in experiencing certain things, but now…

“Are you uncomfortable with anything?”

He looks at you, his brows raised in surprise.

“Another man’s dick in you, for one. Or his tongue…”

“I meant, for you.”

He tilts his head.

“I thought…”

“I don’t want you anywhere near another girl’s pussy. But his… tongue…”

You look up and stare at a particularly attractive man standing on the outskirts of the small group, partially hidden in shadow. He’s tall, broad shoulders, the hard lines of his abdomen glisten with sweat. An intricate tattoo of a dragon starts at his chest, its wings spread across his shoulder and down his arm, the body trails down his side, curving over his abs before its tail spirals down his hip and coils around his thigh. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes shift and damn… you can appreciate a pretty cock when you see one. His black and red mask covers his whole face, but even from a distance, his eyes are piercing. Rafayel follows your eyes and sees him, a blue card in his hand.

“What do you want him to do to me?”

You lean into his ear and nip at his earlobe, his cock springing to life against your thigh.

“I want him to suck you off while I ride your face.”

Rafayel groans, his head pressed into your shoulder. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Only if you want to. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel good.”

He lifts his head and looks at the man, who you’re positive is smiling wickedly. Rafayel gives him a nod and he approaches. The rest of those watching move back slightly, giving your trio more room. The man pulls a large round ottoman over and kneels beside it. His voice is deep and smooth, sending shivers down your back. Watching a man like this make Rafayel writhe with pleasure sends a new slickness to your tender pussy.

“Your ass goes here pretty boy, you lay back with your head on the couch so your girl can sit comfortably.”

He pats the ottoman, now lined up against the couch. Rafayel stares at him, his mouth hangs open. You examine the man before you, you wonder if he’s wearing contacts. Crimson eyes stare directly at Rafayel. Just as Rafayel is about to speak, the man lifts a finger to where his mouth would be. He reaches around his ear and you hear a quiet click. The lower half of his mask detaches and he slides it off, his face now only partially disguised. His smirk is breathtaking, he licks his lips slowly.

“I’m a man of my word.”

You look at Rafayel and narrow your eyes. He shakes his head.

“I’ll explain later.”

You lean in and kiss him, he whines when you pull back. He stands up with you in his arms and sets you on your feet beside him. He approaches the man, who is at least 2-3 inches taller than him. The man places a finger under Rafayel’s chin and lifts his gaze.

“Your legs don’t move and your hands stay still. If you thrust, I hold you down. I’m doing the work here. Just like she –”

He points at you over Rafayel’s shoulder.

“She is riding. You lay there and take it, got it?”

You watch Rafayel tense, but with how his breathing accelerates you can tell he is turned on. He lays down, positioning himself as instructed. The man kneels and places his hands on Rafayel’s knees. Rafayel looks down and watches the man slowly glide his hands up his thighs. You crawl onto the couch, watching the man caress Rafayel. Finally the man wraps his large hands around Rafayel’s cock and strokes him until Rafayel is panting. The man nods at you and you pull on Rafayel’s shoulders until he rests his head back on the couch. You lift your leg over his head and hover over his face, but he doesn’t let you tease him. He grabs your thighs and pulls you down without warning. His lips close around your clit. You gasp and grab onto his elbows.

You feel the chill of his lip piercings, his septum ring brushes against the skin just above your clit. And you finally have your answer, how his tongue ring would feel… you’ll never be the same. The ball rolls over your clit, the sudden chill and pressure makes your vision blur. You start rolling your hips. His moans start to get louder and you look up to see the man has started licking Rafayel’s shaft, placing sloppy kisses to his tip. He sucks his tip into his mouth and suckles, the lewd slurping sound he makes pushes you to grind your hips faster. When he finally takes Rafayel fully into his mouth Rafayel’s hips jerk. The man stops and lifts his mouth off of him and you feel Rafayel shake.

“I told you, no moving.”

He presses his forearms onto Rafayel’s thighs and grip his hips. You feel Rafayel’s fingers dig into your thighs as he laps at your clit, making your core heat unbelievably fast. You watch the man take Rafayel back into his mouth, lowering himself until Rafayel’s cock is fully in his mouth. Rafayel shakes under you and whimpers loudly. Hearing him whimper like that could make you come untouched, you’re sure of it. You watch the man’s throat move as he swallows around his length. You grind faster, knowing Rafayel won’t last long if this mystery man is deepthroating him so easily. He finally thrusts his tongue inside you and you lean forward, resting your hands on his stomach.

“Tell him to finger you.”

The man’s rushed words take you by surprise. As soon as he says them he is taking Rafayel in his mouth again. You lift yourself up just enough to hear Rafayel take a deep breath and groan wildly. You shift and bring your knees closer to his head.

“Raf, fingers… in me.”

A cocky smile tugs at his lips.

“I thought you said… you didn’t want my fingers?”

He barely gets the words out before he gasps, the man has shifted and sucked one of Rafayel’s balls into his mouth, his hand stroking his shaft. You look back at Rafayel and smile.

“Do as you’re told, pretty boy.”

You sit back down before he can reply. He quickly lifts his hands and circles your pussy as he continues to work your clit with his tongue. His teeth graze the sensitive bundle and his fingers curl and scissor rapidly against your puffy walls, not giving you a moment to adjust. You lean down and run your tongue over his nipple ring, he rams his fingers into you harder in response, finding your sweet spot. You take the piercing between your teeth and give it a gentle tug and start rolling your fingers over the other side.

You watch as the man starts bobbing up and down, from tip to base he takes Rafayel’s cock over and over.. You swear you can see the outline of Rafayel’s cock in his throat. He starts groaning, the vibration sends Rafayel into a frenzy and you feel your orgasm crest.

“I’m coming fuck fuck fuck… ahhhh yes Raf yes..”

You hear the man moan and look up to see Rafayel’s release leaking out of the sides of his mouth. That sight makes your climax so intense you worry you might blackout. You feel Rafayel start tapping your thigh and you quickly lift yourself away, he gasps for air but laughs as he relaxes. You crawl off of him and are mortified to see the couch around his head completely soaked, his face and hair drenched. But you can’t find a reason to care when he looks so pussy drunk.

The man stands and wipes at his lip with his thumb, you glance down at Rafayel’s cock and see not a drop of his release is left behind. This man really sucked him dry and cleaned up… impressive. Rafayel sits up and looks up at the man.

“Debt is paid. See you next week, Rafayel.”

With that, he turns and leaves. You look at Rafayel and crawl onto his lap.

“I’m looking forward to hearing what that was about…”

You try to wipe his forehead with your wrist.

“Leave it, I like smelling like you.”

You slap his chest and he chuckles. He looks up to see there are still people waiting.

“Still in the mood to experiment?”

You don’t even glance around, you just lock your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

“No, I want you to myself. I need to see if my mouth can make you whimper like that again.”

He glares at you and pinches your side. You try to wiggle away from him, but he grabs you and hauls you over to lay on top of him.

“I can promise you, when it’s your mouth, I’ll be so delirious I might speak another language entirely.”

You kiss his nose.

“That’s hot.”

He laughs and kisses your nose.

“Let’s get out of here, yea?”

You’ve basically lived at Rafayel’s apartment over Lemuria Studios for the past week. It’s closer to the Association and much nicer. Plus, waking up next to him is a great way to start your day. And being fucked senseless every night is definitely helping you sleep better.

“You should go by your place after you get off work, pick up some clothes and shit.”

You put down your coffee and stare at him.

“I want you to be comfortable when you stay here.”

You stand up from the bar stool and walk around the kitchen island. He stops chopping vegetables to lean on the counter and look at you. His shirt hangs off your shoulders, the hem barely covering your ass. You run your hands down his chest, placing a kiss over his heart. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you press yourself against him. He rubs his hands over your back and rests his chin on your head.

“I like changing into your clothes when I get off work. I like using your shower gel so I can smell like you. I like sleeping naked in your bed. I am more comfortable than I’ve ever been.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I want you wearing my clothes and sleeping naked…”

You feel his hands glide down your back and pull his shirt up over your ass. The cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver. He leans down to kiss your neck, his hands feeling the curve of your ass and diving lower between your legs.

“I just think you should have some of your own things, you know?”

“I’ll pick up a few things after work.”

His fingers press against the crotch of your panties and you shiver.

“When do you have to leave for work?”

You glance over his shoulder at the clock and smile. You giggle and grab onto his neck, keeping him close.

“About an hour…”

He plants his hands under your ass and lifts you up. He continues placing messy kisses to your neck as he walks you to his bedroom.

“That should tide us over until tonight, yea?”

Work wasn’t boring, but you were itching to leave and head to your place. The more you thought about it the more excited you were to have your things at Rafayel’s place. You loved smelling like him, but your hair types are very different and his products are definitely not working for you. You planned your entire evening while working. Completing reports, canvassing Wanderer hotspots, scanning physical reports into the digital system - with every mind numbing task, you got closer and closer to the self-care date with yourself.

When you open the door to your apartment you’re greeted with the scent of extremely ripe bananas. You forgot you’d gotten them the day before the party and now… You close your front door and drop your keys on the entry table. You enter the kitchen and stare at the bananas. As you poke at them, you have an idea. It’s been ages since you’ve baked banana bread, but your grandmother's recipe is a classic. You find the recipe book on your bookshelf and gather the supplies you need. But before you bake, you need “an everything shower.” Badly.

Your shower gel is more floral than Rafayel’s, which is refreshing. And your scalp is finally able to breathe with your products gently scrubbing away the buildup. Shaving takes forever, but it’s worth it, Rafayel’s silk sheets would feel like heaven against your skin tonight. You put on a face mask while moisturizing and dance around your kitchen in your underwear while you stack the ingredients for the banana bread on the counter

Once the bread is in the oven, you grab a small suitcase and start packing up a few essentials. The travel size versions of your hair care products, underwear, an extra work uniform, a set of pajamas - just in case - two casual outfits and your go-to little black dress. You throw the uniform you wore today in the washer into the dryer and go through your fridge in case anything went bad while you were gone.

You’re setting the trash bag by the front door when you hear a muffled grunt. You press your ear to the door and hear more quiet groans and shuffling feet. You stand on your tiptoes and look through your peephole as quietly as possible. You see what looks like a white helmet and a purple jacket. They’re so close to your door you start to panic. You hear a knock at your door and you freeze.

“Cutie? Are you still here?”

Rafayel’s voice is muffled behind the door. You let out a sigh of relief and swing the door open, forgetting you’re only in your underwear. Rafayel is hunched over against the doorframe, the sleeves of his leather jacket are torn and the left leg of his cargo pants are shredded and bloody.

“Shit! Rafayel what happened?!”

He tugs at his helmet but can’t get it off. You push his hands away and unhook the straps to pull the helmet off his head. His face is pale and he’s drenched in sweat, but he still smirks when he sees you.

“Damn… what a welcome.”

“Shut the fuck up…”

You lift one of his arms and wrap it around your shoulder. You carefully help him walk into your apartment, kicking the door closed behind you.

You help him sit down on the couch and drag your coffee table closer to elevate his leg. The fabric is almost completely torn away from his skin and you can see the dirt and gravel stuck in his wounds. You help him remove his gloves and jacket, carefully inspecting his arm to see if there’s any wounds you haven’t seen. You tug his damp t-shirt off and look for any cuts. Bruises are already starting to darken over his ribcage.

You rush through your room to the bathroom to get a first aid kit and a few towels. You toss your face mask in the trash and put on your robe, haphazardly tying the belt at your waist. When you return Rafayel has his head back on the cushion with his eyes closed.

“Raf? You with me?”

He opens his eyes and smiles weakly. He tries to sit up, but clutches his side with a grimace.

“Rafayel, you need a doctor.”

He shakes his head, but keeps a hand pressed over his ribcage.

“It’s not that serious, trust me. I just need it cleaned up. I’m sorry I just showed up like this…”

“Rafayel…”

“I’ll get checked out when my doctor gets back in town. I promise.”

You rub your forehead and reach to turn on another light. You place the first aid kit on the coffee table and rush to the kitchen to grab a glass and a bowl of water. You hand Rafayel the glass, set the bowl down and sit down in front of him.

“Drink that.”

He doesn’t argue, he drinks the water slowly while he watches you work. You dip a towel in the water and gently try to clean the dirt and gravel out of his wound. He winces, but doesn’t struggle. You start putting a bit more pressure to see where the deeper cuts are and he groans. You look up at him and he has his eyes closed tightly.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

You continue cleaning the wound until it looks clear of debris. You shake a can of antiseptic spray, squinting your eyes at him as he shrugs.

“I crashed, no biggie.”

You grit your teeth and spray a more than generous amount on his leg. His leg shakes and he curses under his breath. He reaches for your hand and takes the can, chucking it across the room.

“Enough! I.. I think it’s clean…”

You flash him a smirk and grab a roll of gauze to start wrapping his leg.

“I haven’t crashed in a long time, but these things happen. I’m okay.”

You continue wrapping his leg in silence. The feeling he is hiding something ripping into you like a knife. This is a serious injury, he could have lost his leg or worse. He’s a careful driver, you know that. So what caused him to crash? You finally look at the helmet on the floor next to the couch. The white paint on the side is scraped and you can see a thin crack along the visor. But what catches your eye is the intricate red design on the front.

“Nice helmet.”

“Thank you. I don’t get to wear it often. Guess it’ll be retiring until I get it fixed up, huh?”

You nod. He leans forward and grabs your hands.

“I know it looks bad, but I’ve had worse. Come on, look at me, please?”

Just as you meet his gaze his phone rings. He grabs his jacket on the couch and digs his phone out. His gentle smile drops when he sees the caller.

“I need to take this, I’m sorry.”

He lifts his leg and tries to stand up, but you push him back.

“I’ll go, you need to keep your leg elevated.”

You walk to your room, closing the door behind you. Holding the handle, you don’t let the lock click. You wait until you hear a hushed “hello” before pulling the door open a crack. You press your ear as close to the opening as possible. Rafayel’s voice is hushed.

“I need to know their name.”

“No, I know. I know. I’d never seen them before.”

“I don’t give a fuck, they almost got Ryūō caught. Cops knew which bike to follow.”

Your eyes widen at the mention of cops. Who is Ryūō? Is that really a name?

“Yea, they caused my crash. No, Zayne’s out of town. Of course I’m not at the hospital, I’m not a fucking idiot. I’m okay, seriously, I need to focus on Ryūō.”

Zayne?! As in your childhood friend, the head of cardiology? That Zayne? Is he Rafayel’s primary physician too? Why can’t Rafayel go to the hospital?

“I want a name by the end of the night, put any expenses on my card.”

“No, don’t say anything. I’ll set up the next meeting and fill everyone in.”

“Yeah, fuck… Okay, have Ryūō call me.”

You’re tempted to swing the door open and confront him immediately, but your brain is swimming with theories.

“Cutie? You can come out now!”

You open the door slowly. Your eyes narrow and you glare at him from across the room. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and your stomach tightens. As you approach him, he shifts uncomfortably, your gaze finally unsettling him. Just as you sit down to finish treating his leg, his phone rings again.

“Is that Ryūō?”

He looks up from his phone, his expression darkens. You don’t leave, instead you continue wrapping his leg and sit in silence while his phone continues to ring. Finally, he answers it.

“Hey.”

“No, doc’s out of town. I’m okay. It could have been worse.”

“Where’d you stash your bike?”

“No no no, I’ll send someone to get it. Keep your head down for a few days.”

“I’m looking into it.”

“He put down Onryō so I’m guessing it’s personal. Could be you, could be me, or both. I’ll have more info by the end of the night.”

Onryō? As in the Japanese yokai? You remember reading about popular yokai’s before your vacation to Japan after you graduated college. You recall they are ghosts who hyperfocus on vengeance. Their passion could be born out of jealousy or hatred. Does he think this person is trying to hurt him and this Ryūō person? Now Ryūō makes more sense. Another yokai.

“Sy, I am asking you not to look into it. It’ll get too messy if you get involved.”

Who is Sy?

“I know what you can do and I am asking you not to do anything. Please. I will call you as soon as I know anything.”

He hangs up and tosses it on the couch. He covers his face with his hands and groans, running his hands through his hair before looking up to stare at you.

“Go on, ask.”

You secure the gauze with tape. Picking up a new towel, you dip it in the water and squeeze out the excess before moving to sit next to him. You wipe his face and he relaxes, you continue down his chest.

“I’m pretty good at puzzles. So… I think I pieced most of it together.”

“Do tell.”

You feel his fingers trace your jaw. You pause and look at him.

“Bikes, cops, code names, someone is messing with you or whoever Ryūō is. My educated guess… Racing?”

He looks down at his leg, his brows furrow.

“Am I wrong?”

He sighs and looks at you again.

“Spot on.”

“So can you tell me what really happened now?”

He pulls the towel out of your hand and pulls you to him. You lean against the couch, careful not to put any pressure on his ribs. Once you settle, he takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been a part of the racing scene for a few years. Ryūō and I started around the same time. Now, we’ve become leaders… kind of? We’re used to having targets on our backs. So we’re careful about bringing new people onto the scene. Today, we held an open race to test the waters and it bit us in the ass.”

“Onryō? You mean?”

“Yeah... They signed in and before the race even started, cops rolled up. They targeted Ryūō and he pulled off the race to pull the cops away from us. That’s when the prick kicked me off my bike on a turn and I fucked up my leg.”

“So you have people looking for this Onryō person, what will happen when they find them?”

“My people will call me. And I’ll deal with it.”

You cross your arms and glare at him.

“And how will you, “deal with it” exactly?”

Rafayel tosses his head back on the couch and closes his eyes.

“I can’t tell you that, cutie, you know that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am not going to put your job on the line. You have a duty to report this kind of thing, right? The less I say the better.”

“So Ryūō and Sy, they’re the same person, right?”

Your question makes Rafayel sit up straight, he turns to you and grabs your shoulders tightly.

“Drop it. Please.”

“No. You came to my door, bleeding and bruised and you’re expecting me to just ignore whatever shit you’re into that caused all this? Really Rafayel?”

His grip tightens.

“You’re not getting hurt because of me.”

You reach up to hold his face in your hands. Your thumbs brushing under his eyes.

“I’m a hunter, I am good at taking care of myself. I’m not afraid of whatever it is you’re involved in, but what I am afraid of is you getting hurt.”

He leans into your touch, his cheeks warming and his pale skin starts to flush.

“I know you’re able to protect yourself, but these people… They’re different. They play by a different set of rules and I don’t want you to risk your job or your safety for me.”

“That’s my choice.”

He huffs out a laugh and leans his forehead against yours.

“I know, I just… fuck…”

You kiss his nose affectionately and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You curl up beside him, pressing your face into his neck.

“Let me choose you.”

He rubs your back and your body relaxes next to him.

“So…”

He kisses the top of your head and hums encouraging you to continue.

“What’s your name? Like your racing name?”

He chuckles and leans back, tucking you into his side. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“Kiko.”

You close your eyes, it seems all the racers pick a yokai as their code name. You try to remember the lore behind Kiko.

“That’s a type of Kitsune, right? A holy fox? No, spirit fox!”

“Yep.”

You shift so you can look up at him.

“I thought you’d pick something ocean related like… Kōjin or Tatsu?”

“A biker with an oceanic racer alias, purple hair and brightly colored Kawasaki?”

“Oh…”

“Yea, I don’t need cops breathing down my neck at the studio. So I chose something, I guess, that fit my personality?”

“You relate to a fox, huh?”

“Curious, playful, intelligent. Yea, I think so.”

“They’re also very loud if they don’t get love and affection.”

Rafayel nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, you giggle, swatting at him to sit up.

“I guess it’s an accurate description then.”

You look down at his helmet and squint. The white base and red lines around the eyes and at the center.

“Ohhh… that explains your helmet!”

“Yeah, usually I wear a white leather jacket but I was in a rush today.”

“You don’t race the blue bike you’ve been driving me around on, do you?”

“No, I have a different bike for races. Different colors and fake plates.”

You sit up, cross your legs and face him.

“Take me with you.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

“Like, on a ride?”

You smile, a wicked gleam in your eye.

“On a race.”

He stares at you, his mouth open and eyes unblinking. You stare back, your smile unwavering.

“You realize it’s illegal, right?”

You nod.

“And dangerous?”

You nod.

“And you might –”

You slap a hand over his mouth. He chuckles, the vibrations tickling your hand.

“I know the risks. I want to see more of your world. Especially when mine is so… blah…”

“Hmm mmh mmh hmm huh mhm!” He mumbles, trying to speak to you through your hand.

You move your hand away and pinch his cheek. He grabs your hand and holds it tight.

“You fight Wanderers for a living! That’s not ‘blah’!”

“Fine. I want to see more of your world because I…”

You look down at your lap, trying to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. He grabs your chin and lifts your face to meet his gaze.

“Because what, cutie?”

“Because I hope I can be a part of it…”

He plants his hands on your waist and lifts you, plopping you down on his lap. His hands hold onto your ass and he pulls you closer. It’s at this moment you realize you’re still not wearing any pants and the rough fabric of his cargo pants rubbing against your nearly bare pussy makes you twitch. You grab onto his shoulders and try to lift yourself off his lap.

“Your leg!”

“It’s fine, stop squirming.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and shift your knees wider to properly straddle him. He squeezes your ass and rubs his hands down your thighs. You run your hands down his chest and start to play with his nipple rings, which earns you a deep groan. He takes the hint and stops teasing you.

“I want you to be a part of my life, but it’s a complicated one. Are you sure?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through his hair. You lean forward and place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Show me a whole new world, Aladdin.”

He chuckles and bites his lip as he looks up at you.

“My dick is not a magic carpet, but I will take you for a ride.”

You slap his chest and try not to laugh.

“You’re so stupid…”

He seizes the opportunity, with your hands on his chest, to grab your face and pull you to him. He kisses you until you can barely breath, your worries fade. You’re not sure what you’re getting yourself into, but you’re sure of one thing - Rafayel has made you feel more alive in the past week than you’ve felt in years. And you’re going to chase this feeling, for as long as possible.

Rafayel finally lets you breathe and you smell something burning. He scrunches his nose and you sniff the air, trying to determine what it could be. Your eyes widen and you scramble to crawl off of Rafayel’s lap.

“My banana bread!”

Part 2

(AN Part 2: Surprise! It's also a crowfish fic. Smile.)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #lads smut #rafayel x y/n #rafayel smut #inked #rafayel tattoos #rafayel inked #rafayel fanfic #rafayel tatted

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harmonyrae · 28 days ago

Text

Summer Special is almost done. Been taking a break from writing to play Sims and occasionally write drabbles from my phone in bed. Until the next chapter is ready...

Ivy League

Spring Semester: Sophomore Year🌸🌷☔️📚

Premise: Based on this post by PomeRinn aka @waterrinmelonn In this AU, all the boys are modern rich international kids going to a prestigious university. They’re attending Yale, an Ivy League University in the American Northeast. They're all the same age. There’s one FMC, she will end up with only one of them in the end.

Content Warnings: Mildly Suggestive & Explicit Language. Some fluff. Some angst. Slow burn in its purest form. Depression, self-loathing, mental health, please be aware of your own triggers while reading. Mentions of the boys dating someone other than the FMC, this is an AU not a divergence from the game - there is no "MC" basically. 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 7.5k

Part One Part Two Part Three

“Pips? Are you there?”

Since getting home for the holiday break, Caleb’s visited everyday. While you’ve felt guilty making him sit in the hallway outside your bedroom, you couldn’t handle visitors. From dawn until dusk you would sit in your chair by the window and watch the day go by. Snow would fall, the kids across the street would have a snowball fight, Caleb would deliver his moms famous gingerbread cookies, nothing could get you out of your room.

Your parents didn’t force you to go to any family gatherings or holiday parties. They cautiously asked if you would come out for Christmas dinner, but didn’t expect anything. Your brothers, however, didn’t treat you like broken glass. They barged into your room to bring you an actual meal. They didn’t badger you with questions, but they did each give you a hug. Acts of affection were rare when it came to your brothers, so as soon as they left you were sobbing.

Tara stayed in touch, checking on you everyday. She facetimed and took you on a mini tour of Seattle, where she spent the holidays with her dad and sister. The boys kept in contact as well. Rafayel sent copious amounts of memes, Xavier shared his adventures (or rather misadventures) in baking with his aunt, Zayne sent a new picture of Galen nearly everyday with updates on his interests. Galen apparently has started climbing the curtains. Caleb would text off and on, preferring to come in person and sit outside your door in case you wanted company. But the one person you were most anxious to hear from was silent.

After Halloween, everything went up in flames. Or at least it felt like it did. Sylus got out on bail, his arresting officers told him they wanted to drop the charges but the DA was insistent on cracking down on fraternities and their partying. At least Yale was willing to work with him once Zayne and Tara shared the full story with Student Affairs. Sigma Chi didn’t even need to vote on letting Sylus become a member.

“Anyone who defends their friends from a shithead like that is the kind of man we want.” Caleb quoted Finley. “Also, no, Chad is not a member of Sigma Chi. Never was. But he and Dylan are facing expulsion on top of their charges. You won’t have to worry about seeing him ever again.”

Somehow you held it together through finals. Your parents paid for you and Caleb to fly home rather than drive. As soon as you walked through the door to your family home, it was like the weight of everything that had happened finally hit you. You cried for the first time since the party. Everything that happened had been terrifying, but your friends had protected you. It wasn’t fear that crippled you, guilt had wormed its way into your head. Twisting facts and sending you into a spiral of depression.

The day before you were set to return to Yale, you forced yourself to pack. Quietly trudging through the house to do load after load of laundry, cleaning your room, showering and shaving so you’d feel like a human again. When you opened your suitcase you realized you hadn’t even taken your makeup bag out. This might be the longest period of time you’ve gone without wearing a spec of makeup. You curled up on your bathroom counter and washed your makeup brushes. Might as well start fresh, right?

With your bathroom door left open, you could hear the knock on your bedroom door. It was probably Caleb making sure you were actually going back to campus tomorrow. You walked over and stood in front of your door, staring at the handle.

“I’m packing Caleb.” Your voice was raspy, probably from lack of use. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

There’s silence on the other side. You waited for another moment to hear his footsteps retreat.

“Kitten?” A familiar voice seeps through the door.

You grasp the handle and yank the door open without hesitation. Sylus stands there, hands in his pockets, his hair damp from the falling snow. You feel it, tears forming fast, but you hold your breath to keep them at bay. You back up, creating a gap for Sylus to pass through. He slides past you into your room and you close the door. If your parents are nearby you’re sure they’re arguing over whether they should open it. Their “no boys allowed” rule for your room applied in high school, but now, well… the door is still closed.

Sylus sits in your chair by the window so you sit on the end of your bed to face him. It’s silent for a while, just the sound of the fireplace crackling and distant holiday music playing. Probably your mom in the kitchen, there’s a guest so she’s most likely cooking something. You stare at your hands, examining your cuticles. You’re glad you changed out of your stained sweatpants and high school hoodie.

“Caleb called.” Sylus says quietly.

“I figured.” You respond.

“He said you haven’t left your room.” He takes a moment to look around. “I was going to lecture you, but it’s pretty nice in here.”

You blush, crossing your arms so you stop picking at your overgrown cuticles.

“Why are you here?” It came out harsher than you intended, but you were too anxious to regulate your tone at this point.

“Because I was worried about you.”

“You could have called. Or texted.”

“My father took my phone as soon as I got off the plane.”

You grimace, remembering how ridiculous his father is.

“The only reason Caleb got through is because his mom works for the airline that my mom flies with. I think his mom even flew her jet once. I know, small world. He apparently broke several laws to get her phone number.”

“Great, so Caleb almost got arrested because of me too.” You blurt out.

“Stop.”

You bristle, his tone was rough, but his expression weary. Your face feels hot, your throat closing up. Tears threaten to fall and you don’t have the strength to stop them. Sylus moves to sit next to you on your bed.

“I didn’t get arrested because of you. I got arrested because I broke that prick’s jaw. And I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Looking over, you see a scar across his knuckles. He had to get stitches, thankfully the doctor was careful. It could have been an ugly reminder, but it suits him in a strange sort of way.

“I don’t blame you, so stop blaming yourself.”

“You had to go home because of everything that happened. You had to see your dad and you have court and…”

“And I’ll deal with it. I told you once that you can’t fix everything. This is one of those things. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” You sob, giving up your attempt at keeping it together. “I should have –”

Sylus grabs your shoulders and turns you to face him.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t play that game. There’s no should-haves or would-haves with this. You did nothing wrong and it’s not your fault for the shit I’m in.”

He lifts his hand to wipe away a tear with his thumb, letting his hand linger to trace your jaw.

“Just be here with me. That’s all I need.”

Sniffling, you offer a small smile.

“There she is.”

You chuckle and push his shoulder lightly. He lets you go and leans back, propping himself up with his hands behind him on your bed.

“I didn’t think your dad would let you come back. How’d you convince him?”

“I threatened to sell all my shit, go off the grid and he’d never find me again.” Your mouth falls open. “He knows I could do it too, so he gave in. Told me if I get into any more trouble he’ll take the risk.”

“So if you stay out of trouble, you can finish at Yale?” He nods. “And you aren’t facing any penalties for what happened? With the school at least?”

“They’re not exactly happy, but they’re letting me off with a warning. The courts however…”

“Do you have to actually go to court?”

“I have a lawyer who’s trying to keep that from happening. He said it’s likely I’ll get a deal and just plead out.”

“Wait, you’d take a deal? But Ch- ahh… That dick is the one who is at fault!”

“I still assaulted him. I still have to deal with the consequences of that.”

“But…”

“Hey, it’ll be fine, okay? I’ll hear from my lawyer in a few weeks. Now, let’s focus on you.” He stands. “Come on. Get some shoes.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“We’re going on a walk. Caleb said you’ve barely left the house, so we are getting you some fresh air while the sun is still up.”

The walk is slow, frigid, but refreshing. Snow crunching under your boots, Sylus commenting on your neighborhood's poor taste in holiday decorations, the sky turns orange and red as the sun sets, the clouds rippling like fiery waves. By the time you make it back to your house, Caleb has arrived. He instantly hugs you and thanks Sylus profusely for coming. Caleb stays for dinner, which, sure enough, your mother went all out for. It’s like the moment Sylus arrived, she went into turbo mode and made a second holiday feast just for him. You’d told your parents about what Sylus did, so that’s probably exactly what she did.

Eating dinner at the dining room table was odd after eating so many meals in your room. But you could tell your parents were relieved you were finally coming out of your shell. Caleb checked Sylus’s flight for the next day, confirming his mother pulled some strings to get him on the same flight as you both. Your mother made up the guest room for Sylus. She just shook her head when he claimed to have a room at a hotel.

“No, you stay with us. Please, it’s the least we can do.”

Your mother can be very convincing when she wants to. Sylus conceded and settled in for the night, checking in on you once more before getting some sleep. His hug lasted a little longer this time, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. When his lips brushed your cheek you gasped, making him smile while his ears turned red. He wished you sweet dreams before strolling to the guest room. You leaned against your bedroom door, giggling like a smitten school girl.

🌸🌷☔️📚

As soon as you got back to campus you went to the Registrar's Office to officially declare your major. Are you sure this is what you want? Will you end up going back to college in 20 years? Maybe. But for nearly a year, you’ve been thinking about only one major. You declare yourself an English major and grab a course outline so you can plan your final two years. When you tell the guys, Rafayel is thrilled he’s not the only Bachelor of Arts student in the group anymore.

Sylus and Rafayel move into the Sigma Chi house as soon as they get back to campus. They rally the gang to help them move in and you immediately get a glimpse at what life will be like for them as roommates. As soon as they finish arguing about who gets a desk in front of the window, they are arguing over how messy the other is.

“You’ve been in the room for less than 30 minutes and there’s already paint on the fucking floor!”

“At least I’m not dropping nuts and bolts with every step I take! Where are they even coming from?! No no no! Do not put that monstrosity right in front of my closet!”

Poor Mephisto. Sylus had just about finished him over the break, finally naming him as well. Seems he avoided his father by locking himself in his room to finish ironing out the CAWing issue. He was sitting like a real bird on a bird stand that served as a charger. He blinks at Rafayel. If you didn’t know better you’d think he was judging him. Hell, maybe he is.

“Do not call him a monstrosity! And this is not your closet, that is your closet.”

“That closet is too small. I need that one.”

“Well tough shit.”

“Why are you such an asshole? Zayne, how did you survive living with this?”

Zayne taps Mephisto’s head, almost petting him. He looks over his shoulder at Rafayel.

“He has his moments.”

Rafayel huffs and storms out of the room to grab another box from Caleb’s car. Sylus turns to Xavier, who is almost asleep on Rafayel’s bed.

“Xavier? Same question.”

Xavier opens one eye to look at him.

“Stock his minifridge with the honey-dew yogurt smoothies from the dining hall and he’ll stay out of your hair. And if he’s really mad, compliment his art. Calms him down pretty quickly.”

Sylus looks around the room at the various canvases leaning against the wall. Rafayel is talented, there’s no doubt about it. They may not be Sylus’s cup of tea, but they are incredible nonetheless. When Rafayel returns, Sylus tries it out and is pleasantly surprised with the results. They come to an agreement to share the window space and Sylus lets Rafayel have his closet as long as Mephisto’s bird stand is left untouched in the corner.

Look at your boys compromising, they grow up so fast.

After the boys move in, the whole gang assembles for dinner in the Commons. Gideon has officially joined since he doesn’t seem to want to be apart from Tara for even a second. She’s eating it up, the flirting and giggles making you a little jealous and curious about where you stand with Sylus. Neither of you have denied flirting with each other, but there’s nothing official and you’re too shy to ask.

“Wait, does anyone else have English Literature with Professor Morris?” Xavier asks.

You check your phone, recognizing the name.

“Yep, I do. Tuesdays and Thursdays at 10am.”

“Same.” Sylus adds as he turns to you, stealing a dumpling off your plate. “And since you’re an English major, you can tutor us for a change.”

“Not crazy about literature, are we?” You tease.

“I built a robotic bird who can fly for over 1000 hours on a single charge and record upwards of 72 hours of footage at the highest quality. But if you ask me why Shakespeare wrote Hamlet, I’ll be as useless as that carrot on Zayne’s plate.”

You give Zayne a critical look.

“Aren’t you supposed to be encouraging us to eat our vegetables, Doctor?”

“You’re one to talk.” He points to your neglected broccoli florets.

“Who puts broccoli in stir fry?” Caleb, Xavier and Rafayel discover they all have Art History together. Now Rafayel is in a similar position to you, thrust into a tutoring role he didn’t ask for. Of course Caleb would leave his humanities class for the last semester before his courses turned grueling. He’s a glutton for punishment it seems.

🌸🌷☔️📚

As the weather warms, the walks to your classes become more enjoyable. The sun peeking over the treetops as you climb the hill to the Linsly-Chittenden Hall. You looked forward to your literature class, not just because you got to sit sandwiched between Xavier and Sylus, but because room 102 is simply stunning. Stained glass windows, worn wooden floors and the acoustics were tasty. It felt fitting to study “Beowulf” in a vintage building like this.

While you simply enjoyed listening to Professor Morris’s lectures and doing your best to understand some of the old English, Sylus was completely lost. Not only did he give up reading the original text to look up simplified translations online, he also was the first to start a debate about its content. Eventually, you stopped trying to shush him and let him run wild.

“Okay, so this guy kills this quote unquote ‘monster’ and then, surprise! Its mom shows up to seek revenge - which seems like a perfectly rational thing a mother would do. So he just decides to kill her. It sounds like he just killed two members of an endangered species and got rewarded for it.”

“Sylus…” Professor Morris grips her podium.

“And then some fuckhead stole from a dragon. What did he think was going to happen?!”

The class laughs at his enthusiasm, but he doesn’t stop his tirade.

“And instead of finding the fuckhead and returning what he STOLE, he decides to go kill the dragon? When he’s an old man? Who has probably been sitting on his ass on that throne he earned through MURDER for a couple decades? I don’t know Morris.”

“Professor Morris!” You poke his arm, urging him to be respectful.

“You’re saying Beowulf’s character is supposed to represent Heroism and the good in Good vs Evil, but he just sounds like a dick.”

“Alright! I will see you all on Thursday for your exam covering ‘Beowulf’! Have a lovely afternoon everyone.”

Professor Morris swiftly ends class and climbs down from her podium. Xavier leans forward to look at Sylus.

“I think you broke her.”

You break down laughing and pretty soon Xavier and Sylus are joining you. Sylus seemed to enjoy poking holes in any story covered in class. He just about lost his mind when he finished “The Scarlet Letter.” When he spoke up about sexism and religious hypocrisy you applauded his critiques. There were more females sitting around Sylus after that lecture. Not that he noticed.

🌸🌷☔️📚

“You’re on your way to your study group, right?”

Pausing, you take a moment to smell the flowers budding in the garden outside the library while you finish your call with Caleb. The tulips are growing taller by the day.

“I am, why?”

“My schedule is so hectic I haven’t been able to grab Sylus for a talk. He still hasn’t told me his pick for a community activity. It’s due by Friday, can you please tell him to text me his choice?”

“Community activity?”

“Everyone in Sigma Chi has to be involved in a community activity. Volunteering, tutoring, doesn’t matter. I gave him a list of options a few weeks ago.”

“I’ll remind him, but if he doesn’t text it’s not my fault!”

“Thanks Pips, I owe you. You’re still coming to my basketball game tomorrow, yea?”

“Xavier and I will come right after practice. You’ll be at our tournament Saturday, right?”

He hesitates.

“Xia Yizhou.”

“Oh god… Not my legal name, Pips please…”

“Then say you’ll be there!” You try not to sound like you’re begging, but you’re definitely begging. “It’s the semi-finals and I actually have a shot this year.”

“Okay okay, yes, I will be there. I might be a little late.” You groan. “I have to take Arya to the airport, she’s going home for her aunt’s funeral.”

Well now you feel like an asshole. Caleb is taking his “not girlfriend” to the airport because she has a funeral to attend and you’re complaining.

“Oh, sorry. How’s she doing?”

“She didn’t know her that well, but her mom is taking it pretty hard. She says hi by the way.”

“Oh you’re with her?” You can feel the awkward tension rising.

“Yep, just finished dinner. She’s dropping me back at the house for practice.”

“Ahh, right. Well, tell your girlfriend I said hello. I’ll text you later.”

“Pips…”

You can tell he wants to say something, but he can’t outright deny their relationship right in front of her. They might not be official, but that would certainly ruin the potential. You give a rushed goodbye and hang up. You’re happy for him, truly. Arya is so fucking nice and crazy about him. But with them and Gideon and Tara, you’re starting to feel just a tad bit lonely.

The library is warm, the smell of books that almost never get checked out is oddly comforting. You can’t believe it took you so long to realize you’re meant to be an English major. You literally find the smell of books comforting and prefer libraries to parties. You’re a nerd and proud. When you spot Xavier and Sylus, you rush over and grab the final coffee cup in the carrier at the center of the table.

“Thank god, I’m freezing.” Holding the coffee for a full minute before taking a sip, you slowly thaw from your walk. “Have you guys started on the flashcards?”

“I was about to.” Xavier looks up from his laptop to pick up the brightly colored flashcards.

“Oh, Sylus, Caleb wanted me to remind you about the community activity thing. You need to text him your choice before Friday.”

“Fuck...” He taps his pen on the table. “I was actually… hmm…”

Glancing up from your notebook, you catch him looking away. You lean forward on the table, resting your chin on your palm.

“You what?” You’ve fallen into his trap.

“I was going to work on improving urban meadows. Plant more flowers, fix up the benches, build some bird feeders. I know you haven’t had much time outside of classes and practice, but if you wanted to join me, I could use an assistant?”

There’s not a thought in your pretty little head at this very moment. Not one. You can’t really visualize planting flowers with Sylus, but the idea is certainly captivating. Xavier pokes you.

“You’ve been staring for like 2 minutes.”

You love Xavier, but sometimes his laidback attitude borders on aloof. If you hadn’t caught the mirth in his eyes, you would have thought his comment was just an observation. Damn, does everyone in your friend group know you can’t talk to Sylus without short circuiting?

“Sure. I’ll help. When were you going to start?”

“How about Sunday? I know you have a tournament on Saturday.” You raise a brow, surprised he knew. “It’s a big one for you, right?” You nod. “Then I’ll have to make a sign.”

You don’t absorb a single literary fact that night.

🌸🌷☔️📚

The day of the basketball game a snowstorm blew in and classes were cancelled. To pass the time before fencing practice you decided to visit the boys at the Sigma Chi house. Visiting during the day has helped reduce your anxiety over what happened at the party, so you were making an effort to come around more often.

When you arrived you were greeted by Finley, who was trying to find a location for the basketball game since the outdoor court was covered in snow and ice. You knew the mats for the fencing match were being set up tomorrow, so the student rec gym should be empty. He gave you the biggest hug and sprinted out of the house.

As you passed the stairs leading to the workshop, Luke and Kieran emerged. They immediately called out for you to wait. You were surprised they remembered you.

“What do you mean? Sylus talks about you all the time?” Kieran hits his brother over the back of the head. “Ow! What?”

“He said not to mention that…” Kieran whispers out of the corner of his mouth, still loud enough for you to hear given your close proximity.

“Oh! Right. Nevermind, he never talks about you. Hates you even.” Again, Kieran slaps his brother. “Dude!”

“Sorry about him, he’s been breathing in fumes. In the workshop. Fumes in the workshop.” Kieran stutters and smiles weakly.

“Ahh. Gotcha. Have you guys seen him today?” Trying to hide your amusement was proving to be very difficult with these two.

“He left a little while ago, I think to get more parts for Mephisto.” Luke offers.

You thank them and continue up the stairs, listening to them bicker as you walk away. The door to Rafayel and Sylus’s room is open, so you walk right in. It’s not as messy as you expected. Rather clean given the sheer amount of canvases, paint bottles, coffee tins of mechanical bits and various tool sets. You’re about to call out, but hear something clatter to the floor in the bathroom. You knock on the door lightly.

“Rafayel, you in there?”

He opens the door and you slap a hand over your mouth. His hair is sticking straight up, some parts clipped back, others falling down in slimy strands. His neck is a bright shade of purple and you can’t help but stare. He smiles and points a gloved hand at you.

“You are the first person to ever catch me doing this.”

He lets the door drift open as he turns back to cleaning a purple splotch on the tile floor. You tip toe past him and look at the variety of products on the counter.

“You’re dying your hair?”

“Yup! It’s been fading like crazy. This house has a sauna, so I’ve been leaking purple for days.”

You couldn’t really tell, but you nod in agreement to appease him. He turns back to the mirror to dip his fingers in a bowl of dark violet mush, spreading it over his hair until every strand is saturated. You put down the toilet seat and step up to sit on the tank, feet on the lid. Avoiding the open cap, you pick up the bottle and examine it.

“Mauve Smoke? That’s a pretty good description.” He chuckles. “Have you dyed your hair any other colors before?”

“I’ve always stuck with cool tones, I don’t know if red or orange would suit me.”

Any color would suit him and he knows it.

“I had navy hair for a while, but it was too dark. Lightened it to a cobalt blue. Then I wanted to add teal to the ends, but it came out green. I finally leveled it out to a mint, but I hated it. So, using color theory, I cancelled out the green with a reddish purple. I’ve been purple ever since.”

On the counter, there’s a bottle of bright pink dye. You point it out.

“So why do you have pink?”

“I was going to try something new, add some pink to the ends, but I don’t think it would really show up the way I want it to. And I am not bleaching my ends, they’ll melt off.”

You chuckle at the thought of Rafayel having to cut his luscious locks like one of those bleaching fail videos. The longer you stare at the bottle the more concrete your little idea becomes.

“What if… you use it on me?” Rafayel nearly drops a glob on the counter. “I’ve never had colored hair before. Just highlights. Maybe…”

“Maybe it would be fun to live a little?” You nod. “Hmm… you have a lot of hair and I only have one bottle. We could do some strands of pink? You’d see it better when you curl it or wear it up.”

“Yes! Yes. Would you…?”

He gives you a devious smile.

“I’m so happy I’ve corrupted you. Yes, I’ll help you. Let me get this shit on my hair first ”

You chat with him while he finishes applying the dye then he disappears into his room, when he returns he tosses you a t-shirt telling you to change to avoid ruining your sweater. Once you’ve changed, he cleans off the counter and you sit mere inches from the mirror. He sections your hair and mixes the dye in a clean plastic bowl.

“It actually smells like bubblegum!”

“It’s a vegan formula that’s semi-permanent so it doesn’t have as many chemicals. That also means it won’t last as long. It’ll fade after a few washes. If you want it completely removed we can do a bleach wash in a few weeks.”

You give him a terrified look in the mirror.

“That just means I’ll dilute the bleach and apply it with your hair wet. No reason to damage your hair to hell and back just to get a little pink out.”

The process is relaxing, Rafayel works quickly and efficiently. After a little while, the door to the bedroom closes and Rafayel kicks the bathroom door open with his foot.

“Sylus! We have a guest, don’t get naked!” He leans forward. “Unless you want him to be?”

You thrust your elbow back into his stomach and he groans. Sylus pokes his head into the bathroom and you watch his eyes widen.

“Oh, you’re… is that my shirt?” Your smile falls, glancing down at the pink stains.

“Rafayel! I thought this was yours!” Rafayel wheezes, dropping a strand of your hair to back away from an approaching Sylus. “Oh my god, I’m sorry Sy!”

“Yeah Sy! She’s sorry!” Rafayel teases.

You keep forgetting you’re the only one who calls him Sy. Your cheeks turn a bright pink, almost matching the dye in your hair. Sylus just glares at Rafayel, but he retreats, leaning against the doorframe to examine you.

“It’s a good look for you kitten.” You lock eyes with him in the mirror. “The hair too.”

He strolls out of the bathroom, leaving you stunned and speechless. Rafayel pokes your forehead so you’ll face forward. He lets you sit in silence, reveling in your embarrassment.

“You guys are so cute. It’s disgusting.”

He finishes your hair an hour before practice starts, even drying and curling it so you can properly see how the pink weaves throughout. Xavier is rendered speechless. He still makes you pull it back so you won’t get distracted, but that just makes it worse and now he’s distracted. You win every bout tonight.

The basketball game is chaotic. Sigma Chi’s sister sorority are cheerleaders, you spot Arya among them and wave. She’s cute, petite, olive skin with big brown eyes, her wild curls framing her angelic face. You watch her hug Caleb after he scores another point. You expected to feel a twinge of jealousy or even sadness, but you feel… okay. Maybe this is acceptance?

Sylus nudges you, offering some of his nachos. You happily take one before you start to overthink again.

“Zayne’s at the shelter tonight, right?” Sylus asks and you nod. He leans closer to whisper in your ear. “He hasn’t brought home any more strays, has he?”

“No, but he could probably get away with it. Since he doesn’t have a roommate this semester.”

“I’m sure he’s looking forward to break, Galen misses him.”

“And you know this, how?” He stretches and drapes his arm over the back of your seat.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty good with kittens.”

His smirk is so cocky. How does he keep getting away with this?

You don’t stay for the after-party, you’re still not ready for that. Tara told you she plans to stay the night with Gideon and Xavier left the game early. You should really talk to him about taking more iron or vitamin D with how tired he’s been lately. So Sylus offers to walk you back. He drops you off at your dorm and this time, when he kisses your cheek, you don’t make a sound.

🌸🌷☔️📚

Xavier picks you up early for the tournament on Saturday morning. Even with the sabre bouts scheduled towards the end to keep the crowd, you wanted to be there for your team. You try your best to remain calm, stretching often to keep your limbs from tensing. But by mid-afternoon you can’t stop fidgeting.

Your team is doing well, even for a club sport Yale fencing is known for being ruthless. The captain makes his rounds every five minutes to provide moral support. Xavier won almost every match by a landslide, only his final bout proved to be a challenge. His competitor was taller, longer arms and, just like Xavier, professionally trained before ever attending university.

Watching Xavier leap and parry for so long fried your nerves. You weren’t even nervous for your bouts anymore. Audiences were usually not too rowdy at fencing matches, but as soon as Xavier started to tire you heard a familiar voice cheering him on.

“XAVIER IF YOU DON’T WOOP HIS ASS I SWEAR TO GOD!” Rafayel has never been so passionate about sports in his entire life.

If you could see Xavier’s face behind his mask, you’re sure he’d be red as a beet. But Rafayel’s cheer, or rather his threat, worked. The judges had to deliberate if his move would count as cheating, but they were so impressed they allowed it, securing Xavier’s title as champion for the Épée rounds. Now it was your turn.

“Sabre competitors, 5 minutes!” The announcer called out.

Xavier sank into the chair next to you, yanking off his helmet and grabbing his water bottle.

“I see you finally took my advice.” You giggle.

Xavier squints, but quickly lifts his hand to his head. You grab his arm.

“No! Leave it! They’re cute!”

He glares at you, but stops struggling for the moment, leaving the bejeweled star clips holding his hair back alone. You’d gifted them to him for the holidays claiming they’d be his lucky charm. But mostly because he kept complaining about his hair falling over his eyes making bouts more frustrating. He refused to get a haircut and you were ready to scream at him the next time he took off his helmet and flicked his bangs, sending sweat droplets into your face.

“You ready?” He reached down and grabbed your sabre for you.

“I’m nervous.” You fumble with the straps of your gloves and he stops you, taking your hands in his to fix them himself. “Thanks…”

“I know you want to win. I want you to win. But more than that, I want you to have fun.”

“But if I don’t win I’ll be a miserable bitch to everyone I know.”

“Then get up there and kick ass.” He hands you your helmet and you stand, marching towards the mat with determination.

You flew through the first few rounds, gaining more confidence as you’re declared the victor. Some of your opponents are definitely more skilled, leaner, faster, but thanks to Xavier’s patient training you remain undefeated. You make it to the finals, your opponent just so happens to be the captain of the team from Harvard. Of course, a good ole fashion Yale vs Harvard match, bring it on.

Names are read out, lights narrow and the referee nods to each of you. With your mask lowered, you close your eyes to get into the zone, imagining you’re just at practice on the lawn outside Lawrance Hall. Breathing deeply, you open your eyes. The referee stands back.

“En garde!”

You each take your positions.

"Pret? Allez!"

Your opponent lunges forward, instantly catching the edge of your blade as you parry. Leaping high, you feel her blade tap your leg and you grin, your jump height has become so much better. Repositioning, you take initiative, striking with ease and pushing her back. She recovers quickly, but your feint succeeds in throwing her off. Your sabre strikes true, poking her abdomen.

“Point! Yale.”

The dance continues. She remains on offense for a considerable amount of time before you finally parry, taking the right of way to make your attack. Your breathing turns shallow as your chest tightens, each match having taken its toll. Flunge! Your favorite term still makes you giggle as you hear it in Xavier’s voice every time. For a brief moment, you wonder if he’d be disappointed if you lost. After all the effort he put in to train with you. Would he be angry? He wouldn’t stop training with you, would he?

“Point! Harvard.”

You hadn’t even felt the hit. Looking down you see the tip of her blade pressed against your chest. Dead center. Fuck. You take a quick glance at Xavier, he just nods, his face neutral.

Positions, allez. Another missed opportunity to engage first. She’s too fast. She swings low, forcing you to jump. You bring your blade down, anticipating a strike, but it never comes. Instead, she leaps herself, soaring into the air, ready to roll on impact. You move to take a step, but don’t know which way she’ll go. Before you get a chance to decide, she strikes.

“Point! Harvard.”

You swear under your breath. You’re tired, bruised, it’s been a long day and you’ve been training harder than ever to prepare. All your friends are here to support you, Caleb arrived earlier than expected, Tara and Gideon brought you lunch even though you were too nervous to eat it, Rafayel drew you accepting a trophy weeks ago, and Sylus wasn’t lying when he said he’d make a sign. Even Zayne showed up and he hates sporting events.

Attempting to bottle your nerves, you grit your teeth and roll your shoulders. Get one more point, even it out, accuracy over speed. Your logical brain repeats these facts over and over, but that little voice that you’ve spent over a decade trying to ignore keeps butting in. Unknowingly, you’ve been feeding that voice, helping it get stronger as the years pass. You never realized how damaging your self-deprecation has been to your psyche. It was just sarcasm, but your developing brain hadn’t processed it as such.

If you choke for even a second, you’ll let everyone down. You’re about to fail, like always. Where will you hide when you inevitably lose this bout?

As you shake your head to clear your mind you hear the referee shout.

“Allez!"

If someone was timing the match, they could reach out to the world record book - get your picture for ‘the shortest fencing bout in history.’

“Final point! Harvard takes the win.”

Goosebumps rise along your arms and your throat begins to close making it hard to swallow. You politely shake your opponents hand, thankful fencing requires a helmet and you can hide the way you’re falling apart. The Harvard girl removes hers, her face marked by tears of joy. She’d worked just as hard to get here. Turning, you hop down from the mat and walk straight to the locker room. Xavier calls after you, but you break into a sprint, reaching your destination before he can catch up.

🌸🌷☔️📚

You’re not sure how long you sit in the shower stall. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. Your teammates came to find you, but quickly realized it’s probably best to let you cool off. The tournament was held at Yale, so it’s not like you’re missing a bus. When the locker room is completely silent, you emerge from your hiding spot to change.

After peeling off your uniform and storing it in your duffel bag, you stand, half naked, holding the clothes you brought for after the meet. They were meant for a celebration. Your favorite pink corduroy skirt, a fitted white turtleneck, lace tights and matching white heeled boots. The gang was going to go to Modern Apizza with the rest of the fencing team. You’d already planned what to order. The Bruschetta first and then the Margarita pizza to share with Tara. You’d been so confident you didn’t bring your usual extra set of clothes.

Pulling on your skirt, you forgo the sweater and just zip up your coat. You just need to get back to your dorm, so you put your court shoes back on. The sweat in your hair has dried, leaving your hair sticking to your face, a few pink stains on your neck from where the dye bled out. You don’t bother to retie your ponytail, just let it be, you’ll shower soon.

Opening the door to the locker room as slowly as possible, you look back and forth. You wouldn’t be surprised if your friends had waited for you. Before fully stepping outside, you dig your phone out of your duffel and scroll through the messages.

Tara🐝 Babe, where are you? Xav⭐ You did well, the final bout is always the hardest I’m worried about you Pls call me Falafel🎨 i know ur upset & everything… but ur high jumps were really fucking impressive… Dr. Z🩺 (meme of two kittens hugging) Caleb✈️ Where are you hiding? Come on, talk to me. Pips… Sy🐦‍⬛ You fought well, kitten. Don’t beat yourself up.

Keeping your head down, you go out the side entrance and slowly make your way back to your dorm. When you get there, you brace yourself, Tara might be back by now. The lock clicks and you open the door carefully. All the lights are off, only your salt lamp glows faintly in the corner next to your bed. You’d been hoping the whole walk back that no one would be here. But now… A fresh stream of tears spill over and trickle down your cheeks while you gather your shower caddy and a towel.

You take your time, have a good cry, exfoliate. Curling up in bed to sleep away the frustration sounded like the best idea. Wrapping the towel around yourself, you stare in the mirror for a moment. You’d trained for this, been so ready and you barely understand what happened. Squeezing the excess water from your hair, you clip it back and grab your shower caddy. You stare down at your feet as you open the bathroom door and enter your room, trying to massage a sore spot on your shoulder.

“Oh shit…”

Your eyes snap up and lock with Sylus’s, who is sitting on your bed with a pizza box beside him. You freeze momentarily, half convinced this is not real life. When you realize it is very much real, you drop your caddy and wrap your arms around yourself. He lowers his gaze.

“Sorry, kitten, I didn’t–”

“Why are you here?! How did you get in here?! Oh my god, I’m naked…”

You race to your dresser to get underwear and use your closet doors to hide as you dress.

“Tara gave me her key. And I’m here because even though you’re upset you still need to eat.”

Pulling on sleep shorts and a tank top, you close the closet doors and cross your arms as you approach him. He cautiously looks up and points to the pizza box.

“Half a Margarita pizza. And I stole a few pieces of Bruschetta from Rafayel.”

Every fiber of your being is telling you to kick him out. He’s not invited to your pity party. But the way he’s looking at you, his brows drawn together, lips pressed in a thin line. He’s worried.

“Thanks.” You mutter under your breath.

He opens the box and you nearly start salivating the moment you smell the sweet tomato and garlic cheesy goodness. He kicks off his boots and starts to get comfortable on your bed, even grabbing your starfish plushie to hold in his lap.

“You don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”

“So we’re lying to each other now?” He squints, head cocked. “Sit, eat. I’m not going anywhere.”

Again, you’re torn between telling him to leave or replacing that plushie with yourself. Instead, you grab a slice and unceremoniously stuff half of it in your mouth. As soon as you swallow the first bite, your snarky attitude fades to a simmer. You sit and avoid his gaze as you continue eating. He leans back, watching you.

“What were you thinking about?”

“When?” You say with your mouth half full.

“During the match.” You shake your head like you don’t know what he’s talking about. “Kitten.”

“I doubted myself for one second and it bit me in the ass.”

“It was more than that.”

“Okay, how did you come to that conclusion?” Your glare could freeze hell over. “I had a mask on, you were up in the stands, so please, enlighten me.”

“You tremble when angry. When you’re frustrated. And when you’re sad. Even when you’re tired, you don’t let it affect you like your emotions do. So, what were you thinking about?”

You might struggle to read him, but he has no trouble reading you. Drawing your legs close to your chest, you close your eyes to ward off the tears. You’ve cried so much lately.

“I’m really mean to myself, you know? Without really trying. I just… I’m really mean.”

You don’t have it in you to elaborate and he doesn’t ask you to. He closes the pizza box and scootches over to sit next to you. You feel his arm wrap around your shoulders and without thinking, you lean into his warmth.

“If someone was saying those things to Tara, the things you tell yourself, what would you do?”

Probably end up in jail.

“I get your point.” He rests his chin on your head.

“We’ll work on it together.”

He doesn’t share a plan or why he wants to help you, he just stays by your side. You don’t talk about it anymore that night. When you’re full, he tucks you in and watches silly videos with you until you fall asleep. The next morning when you wake up curled up beside him, your cheek on his chest, you feel more at peace than ever. 🌸🌷☔️📚

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: (If you'd like to be added to the Ivy League taglist comment a🎓) @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @klmpun @ariallaisawesome @spidy-spider01 @ankitavminkook @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmutm0 @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @bubbleteakittyy @stellar-seas @babylilxc @havenhope-art @lly5duck @freddy-2002-blog @sylus-hunter @plzdonutpercieveme @saybeyonce @red-f1sh-blue-f1sh @am-drawings @thechaoticarchivist @booklover99988755421 @szafficat

AN: I know, I know. Rafayel dyes his hair?? This is a real life AU so natural purple hair can't really be a thing. Plus it's a nice addition for FMC to give it a try. Also, I know the idea of Caleb dating might not be something everyone likes, but like I said, FMC will end up with only one of them. And I want all the guys to be happy. Summer special up next, cuteness overload incoming.

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