#ALL THAT WAS GOING THROUGH MY HEAD WAS THE FUCKING SONG

[baepsays]

BE MY VALENTINE -`♡´- ⸻ JJK MEN x READER

description⊹♡ valentine's day with different jujustu kaisen men.

pairings⊹♡ Geto Suguru x reader, Nanami Kento x reader, Fushiguro Toji x reader, Kamo Choso x reader, Higuruma Hiromi x reader, Ryomen Sukuna x reader, Gojo Satoru x reader cw⊹♡ oral sex (m! receiving & f! receiving), face riding, grinding/dry humping, lot of dirty talk, uses of pet names, finger fucking, squirting, some spit action :3c, overstimulation, breeding kink, secret relationship, established relationships, degradation, mean name calling (i.e., slut), TEASING!, fem oriented reader in some scenarios, uses of fem pronouns in some scenarios,

a/n: playlist by yours truly, songs in order of each character. my valentine's gift to you guys <3 (let's hope there is not many mistakes i have not proof read half of it)

GETO SUGURU જ⁀➴ ♡ I'm tuned into that pussy, so don't touch the door

Having a musician for a boyfriend is hard. Especially when you're not really a public figure yourself. And it's harder during certain holidays to see each other, one of those days is valentine's day.

You almost lost all hope when all of the plans you two made started to fall short one by one. It wasn’t until at the end of the day, when you fully gave up on seeing Suguru, someone rang your doorbell. You were expecting the food ordered, and instead it was a huge figure clad in all black, mask and sunglasses on his face, and a hat covering his head. From afar— or up close really— it would seem like a burglar, but also what burglar rings the doorbell and patiently waits to be let in. But you've been in this situation before, so it was not surprising when the guy just picked you up on his shoulder and walked right in like it was his own apartment. 

“Goodness Sugu, give me a warning first.” you whined, despite the smile stretching on your face. “Wouldn’t be a surprise then sugar.” 

In a flash he dropped the bouquet, and bags filled with gifts, by the door. Then he threw his phone on the couch before walking into the bedroom. It always brought you to awe, having one of the biggest musicians and rockstars, stripping in your humble apartment. “At least eat and freshen up first.” you chuckled, leaning back up on your elbows, “You say that yet you are ogling me like a piece of meat.” he said with a half smile. 

“Gotta give you a banger before valentine’s day is over.” 

That’s how you ended up kneeling on the floor, sucking Suguru’s cock— despite his complaints. Yet here he was, throwing his head back in pleasure and shoving your head down on his cock. Suguru may not be a big moaner, but he is one to whine and a grunt. “Come on sugar, you can take more. I know you can.” Suguru tangled his fingers in your hair, scratching your scalp with one hand and pushing his cock down your throat by your neck. Drawing out little tears from the corner of your eyes. “Aw. my poor baby, can’t take more?” you hum with your lips touching the base of his cock, drool spilling and pooling around him, as you look up at him; praying the big doe eyes work on him to have some mercy on you. 

“You are going to disappoint me sugar? Hmm?” he pauses to let out a grunt then continues. “I snuck out of work for you, got you your favorite flowers and all those gifts, and you are telling me a few weeks away from me and your throat has forgotten my shape? You wound me.” 

So, to disprove his point, you use your occupied mouth to answer him— by putting one of your hands on his solid thighs and the other on his hard abdomen, almost finding comfort on his soft happy trail— and bobbing your head up and down on his dick. Which results in him throwing his head back with a really loud grunt this time, echoing through your walls. “Th-there goes— Hah— my superstar.” 

Suguru’s body starts recoiling, as one of his hands finds itself on the base of your throat, feeling the stretch of his cock going in and out of the tight canal. He slides one of his foot to rub your panty clad cunt, making you moan and whimper, as you take him out of your mouth to lick around and press your tongue on his tip, while you jerk him off with both of your hands. As you continue to grind on his leg, lick and pump his cock— he shoots ropes of cum all over your face and shoves himself back in your mouth to let you get a taste of the rest of it, heavy and twitching on your tongue. 

Just as you swallow his cum and he pulls you up to his lap, his phone starts ringing in your living room. Suguru continues to kiss you and suck around your neck, unbothered, because he knows it is from his manager. The phone keeps on ringing; one missed call, two missed calls, three missed calls—  on the fourth call, you shift to get off of him and get his phone. When he slams you down on your bed and pressed himself against you.

“Do not even dare to open that door.”

NANAMI KENTO જ⁀➴ ♡ he's taking me to cloud nine

Finding a man who genuinely wanted to be with you, these days, was not an easy task. If you're a person who wants to settle down with someone by 30, have kids by 32 and retire by 60—then you are bound to lose some hope after going on dates, ending up in situationships after situationships, and of course, getting ghosted. So, when you met Nanami Kento, it just felt too good to be true.

You met him through a mutual friend, as you were on a cafe date with your friend and he happened to be there as well. When she introduced you two, you still remember the tightening in your stomach and the shiver that ran down your spine, as he shook your hand. While you debated with yourself the entire day about asking your friend for his number—he texted you. And you just knew, if you had to put a number on it, he was a perfect ten (or maybe your standards have become too low after dating garbage men).

After the most perfect first date, he made sure to show you what a standard should be—way above the bare minimum. And everytime you would doubt yourself or the relationship the two of you started to foster, he would make sure to break down such doubts with vehement confidence that you were it for him. He made sure to tell you that he wants to be exclusive with you on the very first date, got you flowers every week, got you personally baked goods, had you over at his place for a home cooked meal, reassured you that if you did not want to do anything more than making out, then he would not ever mind that— he wanted to be with you on your terms, at the condition of having you all to himself. And you could not believe how you manifested him.

It has now been 1.5 months since you two became an item. And this valentine’s day you wanted to take the leap and have this man nail you down. 

It was the most picture perfect day, and at the end of it when he parked his car in front of your building, you made sure to drag him in with you. “Are you sure about this honey?” he sighed in your mouth, the grip of his arms getting tighter around your waist “more than sure Ken.” you said, as you dove back in to kiss him.

Nanami had you sprawled on your bed, one hand holding himself up to not crush you with his weight and the other pressing you further into the soft sheets by your waist. “I am asking this one last time sweetheart, are you sure? Because if we progress, it might be hard for me to hold back.” Nanami asked you with the most gentle tone, looking softly into your own clouded eyes, his forehead resting on yours— “I have never been more sure about anything in my life. Please Ken.” you whined as you pulled back on your lips, “just so you know, i might not be so gentle, but rest assured if you want to stop any moment, i would not hesitate to do so.” and you nodded along to him, i mean how could you have known an angel like Nanami Kento could be such a freak in the sheets— in his defense, he did warn you. 

Kento had both of your legs hanging on his shoulders, as his fingers dug and left a mark around your hips. Who knew Nanami was the guy to leave marks all over his significant other’s body, except places easily seen by others. “You there with me love?” he said with his face buried in the crook of your neck, voice hoarse from all that grunting he did on your cunt when he ate you out like you two did not have an excellent dinner just earlier. Probably also why you just laid there overstimulated out of your mind, to answer him with words. All you could fathom was a low hum, as he continued to thrust into you. Before this you’ve only felt his dick through his pants, and even then you knew he was hung; but having him in his sheer naked glory, nailing the shit out of you—as you wanted— you were perplexed how did he even fit himself inside you. 

“You need to use your words sweetheart.” he said with a mean thrust as he let one of his hands go from your waist to your head, holding your face up by the chin to look into his eyes. “Ca-can’t Ke-n” you mumbled somehow, while your vision started to lose focus. “Yes you can. Be a good girl for your Ken, and tell me what you want.” he demanded with each thrust closing down of your cervix, making you almost go numb. 

“Please Ken. harder. Your cock. more” you uttered somehow, arms tightening around his biceps.

“Filthy little mouth you’ve got on you honey, like your filthy pussy gripping onto me” he paused to get out a grunt “you hear her? She sure has been waiting for me huh?” Nanami said in a patronizing tone. 

You were in no condition to say anything more, as you vehemently twitched and frailed around under him, feeling the tip of his thick cock hitting your cervix at an tremendous speed and impact. “Want—god— me to make you cum love?” you somehow managed to  nod a yes, “Anything. Just anything and everything for you.”

And with those last words from Nanami, and one of his hand rubbing circles on your clit, you came undone around his cock. The waves of spasm and squelching noise between your bodies, drove him near his own climax as he continued to pump in and out of you through your release. He bottomed out for a second and flatly laid in your arms, letting your twitching legs down his legs and gathering your limb body in his arms. He kissed every feature on your face and whispered praises in your ears, as you got down the glowing high of your third orgasm of the night. Your eyes started to close, consciousness slowly drifting away, when Ken whispered in your ears—

“I must apologize, love, but I cannot let you sleep just yet. ” he pressed a soft kiss on the shell of your ear, as hips started moving again. “Your pretty cunt just got simply acquainted with me, I must leave a better impression on her, ”

FUSHIGURO TOJI જ⁀➴ ♡ just take what's yours, don't run from it

Imagine getting broken up with a week before valentine's week. Then doing overtime for the entire week, and having to go on a business trip with the coworker you cannot go a second without getting into a disagreement (sure let’s call it that). You were forced to spend the day before and the day of Valentine's Day doing work, but you were also thankful to be busy on the eve, otherwise you might have spent the day rotting on the couch and wallowing in your misery. 

And yet of all the people you couldn’t have guessed at the end of the business trip, Fushiguro Toji would take you out for dinner and pay for a meal. Apparently he made a reservation and everything, in a city he was not even familiar with. All that effort to comfort a coworker, he apparently did not even like, was a little unbelievable. Hence the question you asked was only valid, “why are you doing all of this?” 

“What do you mean doll? Just being nice to ya’.” he says as an easy smile stretches across his face. “You being nice to me is definitely strange.” you said suspiciously.

“I’m always nice, especially to you, doll. You're just always a bit paranoid.” He spoke while working on his plate. Surely this dinner meant nothing, it also meant nothing when he comforted you the day before on the flight, or when he bought your exact coffee order. I suppose it also meant nothing when you guys ended up making out on the cab ride home. Or how you ended up in his hotel room naked, on his bed, sitting in between his legs with your back facing him as his fingers went in and out of you. 

“T-there.” you somehow let out in between obscene moans. You have never had hands as huge as his quite literally ramming in and out of you. The girth and length of his finger, as well as the callousness made you question what was behind his underwear. 

“Here doll? Want me to go harder? Make ya�� cum?” you nod a weak yes to him. Unable to use the voice stuck in your throat, as his fingers started grinding themselves inside you, putting the right amount of pressure when needed and looking for the spongy walls behind your clit to drive you right where you needed to be. 

“Wah, that’s all ya’ need to cum? Hmm. that shitty ex of yours sure did not know how to handle all that huh?” he smirked against your neck as his other hand slid down, from where it found home on your tits, to rub constant circles on your clit. Right as he did so, your hand flew to his arm, clawing to either make him stop or make him keep going—he would not have it any other way. 

“You gon’ come on my fingers doll? Hmm? Get yourself wet enough to fit my cock in ya’ tight pussy?” he whispered in your ears as both of his hands continued working on you, his middle and ring finger found the spot inside your walls which made you jerk and whine. As you started to go practically jelly in his arms, he pushed past a third finger inside. “N-no, can,can not.” you pleaded to make him stop, mind and tongue going mush to say anything comprehensible. 

“If you can’t even take that much doll, how are ya’ gonna take my cock? ” he let out a little chuckle as you came undone around his fingers and lost the rest of your sanity when he landed his lips on yours to probably comfort you through the orgasm. 

“Let’s make sure ya’ forget that shitty guy.”

KAMO CHOSO જ⁀➴ ♡ don't hesitate, come into me

Dating Kamo Choso was a dream. You met him during college; he was the tatted up nerd who spoke to no one but the few people around him; a cliche really, who looks scary from a far but is a total softy. And no one knew that better than you of course (other than his brothers). 

So it has been really difficult being away from him, all the way in another city, pursuing your further education while he finally opened his tattoo shop he wanted to since forever. As happy as you were for him, to finally have his artistry being appreciated, you couldn't help but feel a bit salty—well it was not easy to own your own business. So you did not push him any further when he told you that he can not go make it to you on valentine’s. Initially the plan was for you to visit him back home, spend the morning with him and his brothers, get dinner with him and just well, it has been a while since you two did anything more than sexting—even phone sex has become hard to organize with how busy the schedules have been. So you were really excited about the lingerie you bought especially for him. 

At the end of the day when you strolled in your apartment building, hating on couples around you the entire day, salty about not having your own boyfriend near you— you were nothing but surprised to see standing there in the middle of your apartment; wearing an apron, and setting up the table with food he probably cooked. That was a sight you could get used to, you thought. And suddenly had tears streaming down your cheeks. It took Choso awhile to sit you on his lap on the couch, and comfort you, who knew you were that frustrated about everything. After you calmed down, you guys had dinner, which was simply amazing. And exchanged the gifts you got each other, seeing him open the wrapped up gifts you got him, made you realize how disappointed you would have been if you simply had to mail it to him. 

And when he opened the last gift, with black frilly and lace lingerie set; he went beat red. You took the set from his hands and stood up from where you were sitting on the bed, “Let me properly show you your gift baby.”

For a guy as sweet and soft, your boyfriend sure was a freak when it came to you. It was especially apparent when he had his face buried in between your thighs and hands gripping onto them, keeping them in place, practically smothering him—and he would not have it any other way—as he licked the juices coming from your pussy, through your panties. The pressure from his tongue and the rough texture from the panties adding onto the pleasure. “You are always so sweet, baby.” he hummed in between his licks.

Suddenly he started to shove his tongue and a finger inside you, through your panties. As he slightly pushed away part of the panties covering your clit to suck on it zealously.  “Cho. baby, please just. Omg” you went on, not making much sense of anything, simply aching to have him completely inside you. Have his shape reformed around your walls. “Won’t let me savour you a little while? Please?” he looked up at you, giving you big doe puppy eyes—his face was still partially covered by your thighs, and his tongue was flat on your clit. The sight alone could have a person faint, and here he was fingering you and simultaneously eating you out, through your pantues. The feeling of lace and sometimes his fingers or tongue scratching your walls, had you delirious. 

He pushed away the panties and finally used two fingers, to stretch you open, to slide his tongue inside you. With a blurry gaze and numb jaw, he ate you out like he was never getting the opportunity to do this again. Probably took a minute or so for him to have you squirt all over his face. When he came up from between your, now jelly, legs— his face was soaked in your juices, his eyeliner  all messed up and hair sticking to his eyes, which were also soaked. His gaze stayed stuck on your cunt as he opened his mouth to stick out his tongue and have some of his spit dribble on your pussy. To then go back in and clean it all up with big stripes of lick. 

“Come into me baby,  fill the empty spaces.” you mutter in a low barely audible voice, before he ripped your panties off you.

HIGURUMA HIROMI જ⁀➴ ♡ wanna try out some freaky positions?

Higuruma Hiromi is the perfect husband, within his capacity. He is a dedicated lawyer, an attentive father, a good friend to many and just very tired. So you don't hold special days over his head—after all he goes through to make your birthday, the kids' birthdays, and anniversaries special, it was the least you could do. Which meant valentine's day plans were left in your care.

And when after dinner you guys were making out on the bed, thankfully kids were sent to spend the day at grandparent’s place; Hiromi thought that the longer morning cuddle sesh, brunch, gifts and dinner was the end of it—but when he went to grab a hold of your ass to move you off from on top of him to under him, he was taken aback to find his hands bound to the headboard with pink fuzzy handcuffs.

“I suppose this is part of your gift, darling?” he let out a chuckle as he slid down to lay flat on the bed, completely giving up the reins to you.

With a faux innocent little smile you said—“Serving you punishment for being so irresistible.” “Sure darling.”

With that Higuruma had you bouncing on his cock. Even when it was only halfway in and already had you struggling, it made you question how you took him on the regular. You whined to Hiromi “So perfect Hiro, ugh. Help me out here.”

“I thought you wanted to do everything darling?” He smiled at you, probing at you. “Please. Please Hiromi.” With one snap of his hips, the entirety of his cock was inside you. And within a moment Hiromi’s hands were freed from the flimsy decorative handcuffs. The very next moment his hands were on your hips, as held you down on his lap. He had you sit there pretty, as he did all the work to snap his cock in and out of you at a speed you could not achieve by yourself.

His cock kissed your cervix again and again as if it would almost penetrate through the canal and go straight into your womb. He had every intention of making a third little Higuruma tonight, as he filled your walls with his seed. As he slipped out of you, you laid completely flat on top of him, out of all the energy you thought you had.

And after a quick rest Higuruma maneuvered you to sit on right on top of his face, holding you down to his nose and mouth by your hips, neglecting all your protests in fear of suffocating him. At the end of the day he was well aware of your love for his nose, and he was never afraid to use it to shower you in affection.

“Goodness Hiro, you are- can y- ah.” You stuttered when his tongue shoved the cum dripping from your cunt further in, making sure no droplet was left behind. So that you take every speck of his seed and bury it in your womb. All the while licking around the entrance to clean up any leftover cum, giving little kitten licks of comfort to your clit.

“What? I thought we have tried freakier positions.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA જ⁀➴ ♡ like this pussy designed for you

Sukuna was not one to be excited for festivities, especially valentine's day. He believes it is definitely a scam. And yet when you get all dejected about not having any plans with him for the day, he reluctantly tells you to clear your schedule and takes the entire leap. He plans the day so thoroughly and to every last detail, you wouldn't be able to tell if he didn't have any experience in this area.

I'm talking breakfast in bed, gifts, whatever you've eyed in the last couple of days. Flowers and chocolates, dinner at a Michelin star restaurant, a hotel room with a heart shaped bed, rose petals scattered all over it, dimmed lights, candles and all—as cliche as it was, you deeply appreciated all of it. 

Especially how the silk sheet felt on your naked body, and how your body felt when you felt Sukuna’s pulsating tip ramming itself up to your cervix. Or how the silk sheets sliped right out of your hands as you held onto it for your dear life. How your entire body was slipping out of his grasp. 

“Stop running from me brat.” He held up your legs tightly to his chest, securing you so you'd not slip up from the sheer impact of the pressure he was putting onto your hips.

“You liked your valentine’s day?” He bent down to move his face closer to your ears, folding your body in the process. “YES. YES.” you shouted, to answer his question or to his cock hitting you in the right places—not apparent.

“Yeah. Let me give it to you good, hmm?” He lifted off your hips from the bed and git on his knees to alter the position slightly, and reach your inside at an angel he didn't before. The thrusts of his hips sent literal shocks and shivers through your body. One of his tatted up arms, curled itself around your ass and lifted off of it to come back down, to place a glass shattering smack. Which was surely going to leave behind a mark. Sukuna was not one to be afraid of leaving marks anyway. The marks of his teeth and purple bruises scattered all over the expanse of your body was witness to that testimony.

He changed the position to then simply wrap your legs around his hips, to move over you and plummet his cock in you at a harder and rougher pace. “Give it to me kuna. All of it.” The pleading was going straight from his head to his dick. “Yeah? Want me to shoot all up in this nasty little cunt? Hmm.” The emphasis of each word was highlighted with the thrust of his hips. “Make my pretty slut’s pussy is made just for me. Right?” 

“Custom made.” He chuckles at that reply, before shoving his face in the crook of your neck and cumming in loads right inside of your cunt, which seems to have molded itself around him so well it's impossible for him to move.

Yet he manages to take his cock out mid orgasm, to then cum all over your stomach. With the last drop of cum squeezed out of him, he rubbed the cum gliding around your stomach, all over your tits. And then took the same hand to shove the leaking cum back inside your walls. 

“Don’t you look the nicest with my cum on you, brat?”

GOJO SATORU જ⁀➴ ♡ let me show how to use your legs

No one could beat Gojo Satoru’s valentine's game. He starts with the 7th and honestly the endless shower of gifts, flowers, hugs, and kisses never really stop. 

So when on the 14th he wakes you up way too early in the morning and makes you spend the entire day out, a little suspicion does arise. Because who is gojo Satoru if not a morning cuddle (& sex) fiend? But you don't think too hard about what he might be getting in your apartment as you two roam around different cafes and shops. 

The answer was mirrors. When you came home at the end of the day, you were glad to not find anything out of place, so you just straight up asked him about it. And to answer your question, he simply led you to your bedroom and when you didn't find anything new anywhere, he came to stand behind you and lifted up your chin with two fingers to look up at the ceiling.

Where the image of your and your boyfriend's reflection, reflected back at you. 

“Mirror sex but better sweets, happy valentine's day.”

You were on top of Satoru, riding him into the dawn, as he stared at your figure going up and down in his cock; into the mirrors above you two. Your head was thrown back, facing upwards, which made things better for him. His tongue was out of his mouth, panting like a pavlovian dog, at the sight of your tits bouncing. 

“Turn around angel. Lemme do the rest.” He turned you to have your back face him, while he sat up to make you bite on your earlobe and thrust his hips up. 

Even with his hips gyrating through your walls at a precise and familiar, but oddly more rougher, pace—his eyes were only focused on your reflection. Sitting right on top of him, one of your hands tangled up in his hair and the other on his hand which was running over your clit. The reflection in the mirror had a similar o-shaped open mouth on, with your head thrown back on his shoulder and body completely melting into his. Your chest heaving up at a more rushed pace, making your tits bounce along them.

“Aren’t you just so glad your perfect boyfriend gave you another perfect valentine's day? Hmm.” His tongue slid around the dents in your ear, “god I am getting a house made of mirrors and fucking you all over it.” 

“That.i-is simply so, so, i- impractical, toru.” The moans and whimpers kind of choked in your throat with the loss of breath, over his hips denting up your cervix. “Hmmm. Then I guess this will do, for now.” 

He laid back down on the bed with your body still on top of him, the entirety of your naked glory,reflecting back in the mirror. The shape of his reddened cock sliding in and out of your glistening pussy, the entrance of your cunt eagerly swallowing him in, and your clit all puffy and swollen, in between in fingers—he is burning the entire thing in his retina. 

“Look at you sweets. Could put the entire porn industry to shame.” He got a hold of your face, making you look up at your own reflection— leaning into his body, and getting railed into beyond by his cock. His blue eyes were practically glowing and staring right back at you with hooded eyes, hungry for more than what he's already been served. And it was enough to make you come undone on Satoru. Gushing around his dick, splatter of your cum going here and there with his constantly moving hips. And Satoru was more than satisfied with his purchase to have introduced him to the new wonderful sights of your body. 

“Let's hope you're well hydrated, you'll be needing it, sweets.”

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

highkey i wanna know everyone's faves cause i do not think these were very 'omg yay valentine's day' trope of me.

tag list: @madamechrissy @cuntphoric @cuntyji @aishi-toru @arcanarix @naomigojo @gojosperms @rriwyu @indiewritesxoxo @sys-oa-main @undercvrfan444 @ineedbetterhobbies0809

A/n: header from Yamada-kun to Lv999 no Koi wo Suru and dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/strangergraphics-archive. putting out something nasty before high school gojo which is just fluff and pining (it's killing me). choso one got really nasty ahem (insane about my babyboy). musician geto comeback as promised, he is going to be a reoccurring character on my blog me thinks, but what would ik :p not like i have any control over my writings or blog

sorry but i have been feeling like shit since exams ended and doing the last week of my internship.

!!!TMI TIME!!!

me when i got myself all hot and bothered writing about musician geto and thought it wouldn't happen again for the rest of them (it happened again):

had to take breaks in between all of them to gather myself. i want these men so bad it's honestly not funny. hope you guys had fun reading, no idea if i did a good job writing down what i pictured in my head.

[rafecswhore]

rafe grieving about ur breakup so much to the point where he breaks down in front of u (angst and fluff?) tysm <3

authors note: I LOVE THIS IDEA ALSO hope this does you some justice; sorry for the late response !!

he thought he could handle it.

he told himself over and over that this was for the best, that if you didn’t love him anymore, he had no choice but to move on.

but fuck—why did it still feel like you were everywhere?

your name haunted him. it was in the laughter of passing strangers, in the lyrics of songs he used to hear you hum absentmindedly, in the scent of his hoodie that you wore more times than he did.

everywhere he looked, he found pieces of you. pieces that refused to fade.

and god, it was killing him.

he wasn’t supposed to be like this. he wasn’t supposed to care this much. he wasn’t supposed to be the one breaking.

but he was.

and it all came to a head the night he saw you again.

it wasn’t even supposed to happen. he had been avoiding you, staying away from places he knew you’d be, because every time he saw you, it felt like his ribs were caving in. but there you were—standing outside the party, arms wrapped around yourself against the cool night air, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should speak.

for a moment, he thought about walking away. but then you said his name.

and just like that, he was unraveling.

“rafe,” you whispered again, like you knew. like you could see right through him.

he inhaled sharply, shaking his head, his throat tight. “i don’t—” he cut himself off, rubbing a hand down his face. “i can’t do this.”

“do what?” your voice was gentle, but it only made it worse.

“this.” he gestured vaguely between you. “pretending like i’m okay. pretending like it doesn’t still fucking hurt.”

the words slipped out before he could stop them, before he could shove them back down where they belonged. his breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists, but it was useless—he was already breaking.

“rafe…”

“you left,” he said, voice raw, eyes stormy and lost. “and i don’t know how to live with it. i don’t know how to be without you.”

the confession shattered something in the air between you.

he exhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and when he looked at you again, there was something in his eyes that made your stomach twist.

desperation.

“i don’t sleep,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t eat. i don’t feel like—fuck—i don’t even feel like a real person anymore.”

your breath caught.

“i pick up my phone a hundred times a day, and i don’t even know what to say to you,” he went on, words tumbling out of him in a way that felt out of his control. “i keep thinking… if i had just done something different, if i had just—”

his voice cracked.

and then, before you could even register what was happening, he was breaking right in front of you.

his shoulders slumped, his breath coming out in short, shaky gasps. his hands ran through his hair, like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was trying to physically keep himself together.

“tell me what to do,” he whispered. “tell me how to make this stop.”

your chest ached.

because this wasn’t the rafe cameron the world knew—the sharp, confident, untouchable boy who never let anyone see him bleed. this was the real him. the one you had spent years knowing, loving, understanding.

and right now, he was falling apart.

before you could think better of it, you stepped forward, reaching for him.

the second your hands touched his face, his breath hitched, his skin burning under your fingertips. his eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenching, and for a moment, he just stood there, letting himself feel it.

letting himself feel you.

“you’re going to be okay,” you whispered, even though you weren’t sure if it was true.

his grip on you tightened, his forehead dropping against yours. “i don’t know how to be okay without you.”

“you will be,” you promised, though the words tasted like a lie.

he exhaled shakily, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt desperate, like he was afraid to let go. his fingers clung to your back, his breathing uneven, and for a few long moments, neither of you moved.

and maybe, just for tonight, you let him hold you.

maybe, just for tonight, you held him back.

[starkeysprincess]

Petals & Promises

rafe cameron x Kook fem!reader

SUMMARY: Rafe Cameron doesn’t do romance—until after that wild night at the party, when he starts showing up at your door with flowers. No words, just a smirk and a bouquet. It’s probably just a joke... or is it?

wc: 3,4k (I got carried away 😛)

WARNINGS: some angst, mainly fluff, (idk what else to add lmk)

Y/N was curled up on her couch, overwhelmed with the strenuous college work that she had to turn in till next week. It was quiet on Figure 8, The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. The stress inside of her was slowly building up while cautiously reading through her essay, making sure not to make one single mistake. She was a straight A student after all, and the only thing that mattered to her was having perfect grades. Meanwhile her friends were going out, partying, drinking, living their best lives, she was bed rotting and freaking out about her future, it was stupid really.

suddenly, she heard her phone ring and when she saw that it was her best friend Lila, she couldn't of have been happier. Immediately she picks up the phone:

L: "hey girlll, how are you?"

Y/N: "hey Lil, I'm finishing up my assignment, as always, ugh im literally about to pass out."

L: "okayyy perfect then, I have the perfect solution for you, you're coming to Rafe Camerons party today at 8. You seriously need to loosen up."

Y/N: "wait- what? Lil, you know I can-"

L: cya there!

*the phone Hangs up*

"Fuck...." you mumble to yourself and let out a sigh. But on the other hand, maybe listening to Lila and forgetting about school wouldn't be so bad at all? I mean, as long as you don't get wasted what could go wrong? Time passes and you get up to fancy yourself up. It feels so stupid to you, but on the other side you've never been to a party before and a feeling of excitement rushes through you. Therefore you do a full face of soft glam makeup, touching it up with a rosey pink color of gloss and curl your hair. The last touch was the outfit, for which you had decided to go with a pretty dark blue evening gown and a pair of louboutin heels. If you were being honest, this was the prettiest you've felt in a long time. It felt relieving to feel comfortable and beautiful in your own body again. You leave your house and start walking to Tannyhill. Once you get to your destination, you see a large crowd of people in front of the Cameron household. You step into the house, and boom—music shaking the walls, bodies everywhere, air thick with booze and something fruity. Before you can even process, Lila spots you.

“GIRL, FINALLY!” she stumbles over, nearly spilling her drink. “I was ’boutta send a damn search party. By the way you look JAW DROPPING”

“Thank you but you texted me two minutes ago.”

“And that was two minutes of suffering,” she says dramatically, shoving a cup into your hand. “Now drink.”

You sniff it. “What the hell is this?”

“Who cares? It’s alcohol.”

You take a sip—mistake. “Bro, are you tryna poison me?”

she cackles. “Lightweight. C’mon, we need shots.”

Fast forward—you're both gone.

You’re clinging to each other, half-dancing, half-tripping, screaming the wrong lyrics to some song. Your head spins, but in a fun way.The room spins. The lights blur into streaks of neon, and the bass vibrates through your chest like it's syncing with your heartbeat. You don’t know how long it’s been—minutes? Hours? Your head is heavy, your legs unsteady, and suddenly, Lila is gone. Panic flickers through the haze of alcohol. You push through the crowd, bumping into sweaty bodies, murmuring half-apologies. Your vision tunnels, and the edges of the world start to fade. Shit. You need air. You need to sit. Stumbling toward the wall, you brace yourself, blinking hard to clear your vision. The party keeps moving around you—people laughing, dancing, making out in dark corners—but it all feels distant, like you're underwater. But even through your fucked up vision and fuzzy head, you see and feel someone eyeing you down.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

He’s across the room, leaning against the counter, drink in hand, watching you. Not just looking—watching. His sharp blue eyes flicker under the dim lights, unreadable, intense. Your pulse stutters. Whether it's from the alcohol or the way he tilts his head slightly, like he’s debating something, you’re not sure. All you know is that everything else—the noise, the people, the chaos—fades into the background.

It’s just you and him.

Your legs give out before you can take another step. The world tilts violently, and the last thing you feel is the cold floor meeting your body. Distantly, voices blur together, someone laughs, music pulses through your skull. Then—warm hands. Strong arms wrapping around you before you hit the ground completely. The scent of cologne, sharp and clean, cuts through the alcohol haze clouding your brain. “Shit.” A deep voice, close. Your head lolls against something firm—a chest? A shoulder? You can barely process it, everything slipping in and out of consciousness like a bad dream. “Yo, is she good?” someone asks. “She’s fine,” the voice responds, low and controlled. “I got her.”

Then you’re moving. Lifted effortlessly, arms hooked under your legs and back. The warmth is grounding, but your mind is too fogged to fight it, to even think about what’s happening. Cool air kisses your burning skin as you’re carried outside. The music muffles behind closed doors, replaced by the sound of steady footsteps, the distant hum of crickets.

You try to mumble something, but it comes out as a slurred mess.

“Relax,” the voice says. “You’re safe.”

Safe. The word wraps around you, pulling you further into the darkness.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. Not just from the hoodie wrapped around you, but from the air itself—quieter, softer than the freezing night outside. The second thing is the scent—clean linen, expensive cologne, a faint trace of cigarette smoke.

You’re not at the party anymore.

Your head is still spinning, but the pounding bass, the suffocating crowd, the overwhelming chaos—it’s all gone. Replaced by something calmer. Safer. Blinking hard, you push yourself up slightly, your body weak and heavy, and that’s when you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted slightly like he’s been watching you this entire time. But not in the way people usually say he does. There’s no arrogance, no sharp amusement. Just something unreadable. Something almost… gentle. His blue eyes flicker over your face, scanning, assessing. “You good?” Your throat is dry, but you manage to croak, “Where—?”

“My place,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You were out of it. I wasn’t about to leave you there.” The weight of those words settles in your chest. You were vulnerable—completely out of it—and instead of taking advantage, instead of leaving you behind, he brought you here. Safe. Taken care of.

You were confused, and on the other hand you were partially panicking, why would Rafe Cameron take you to his house?

“I—” You don’t even know what to say. Your hands clutch at the hoodie around you, only now realizing it’s his. The sleeves practically swallow your arms, the fabric drowning you in warmth. “You were shaking,” Rafe says like he’s reading your mind. “Figured you could use it.” Your stomach flips. Why is he like this?

You’ve heard the stories—Rafe Cameron is reckless. Selfish. Dangerous. But the guy sitting in front of you? He’s none of those things. Maybe it's just an illusion, maybe he just wants to get between your legs and leave you. He shifts, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand, then holds it out to you. But when you try to grab it, your fingers tremble too much. You're unsure of wether you should trust him or not.

Rafe notices.

Without a word, he lifts the glass to your lips himself, his free hand cupping the back of your neck, steadying you. His touch is warm, careful, almost hesitant—like he’s afraid of hurting you. The moment stretches, something thick and heavy settling between you. When you finish, he pulls back just slightly, his thumb barely grazing your skin before he lets go. The loss of contact makes something tighten in your chest.

“You feeling okay now?” His voice is quieter now, softer.

You nod weakly. “Yeah… thanks.”

His lips press together, like he’s debating something. Then, finally, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“I don't want you to go there anymore.”

Your breath catches. “I—what?” Rafe lets out a small, breathy chuckle, almost like he can’t believe himself either. “You just… you don't belong at parties.” He glances away for a second, then back at you.

Your heart drops, unsure what he means and you swear you could feel your face heat up in embarrassment.

Your fingers tighten around the hoodie still wrapped around you, and you finally whisper, “Why?”

Rafe holds your gaze for a long moment, the air between you thick, heavy with something neither of you know how to name. Finally, he reaches out, fingers barely grazing your cheek, his touch featherlight. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Because it’s you,” he murmurs. He stares you down with a neutral face expression. The embarrassment lingers, twisting in your chest.

Parties aren’t for you.

Rafe’s words replay in your mind, making you feel small. You tug his hoodie tighter around you, avoiding his gaze. He sighs, grabbing his keys. “C’mon. I’ll take you home.” The drive is quiet until he finally speaks. “You think I meant that in a bad way.” You hesitate. “Didn’t you?” His grip on the wheel tightens. “No. I meant… you don’t need that shit. The fake smiles, drunk assholes, guys looking at you like—” He stops, jaw clenching. “Like you’re something to mess with.”

Your heart stumbles.

“I just—” He sighs. “It’s not you.” The weight in your chest shifts. Not gone, but lighter. When he pulls up to your house, he reaches out, tugging the hood over your head gently. His fingers graze your jaw, slow, careful. “Get inside safe,” he murmurs. You nod. “Thanks… for everything.” As you step out, you don’t look back.

But if you did, you’d see him still watching. Still waiting.

Two days pass, but you can’t shake the way Rafe looked at you that night. The softness in his voice, the weight in his eyes. Like he saw you differently. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You tell yourself it was nothing. That it was just a moment. That Rafe Cameron doesn’t do things like that.

But then— The doorbell rings.

When you open it, he’s there.

Standing on your porch, dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans, looking almost nervous. And in his hands—a bouquet. Not just any bouquet, but the kind that looks like it came straight from some overpriced florist. Deep red roses, white lilies, wrapped in a silk ribbon. Your breath catches.

“Uh…” You blink at him, words failing you. “Are you lost?” Rafe huffs a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “No.” He glances down at the flowers, then back up at you. “These are for you.”

You just stare. Because—what? After a beat, you slowly take them, fingers brushing his as you do. The petals are soft, the scent rich and overwhelming. “Rafe…”

“I know,” he cuts in, running a hand through his hair. “This is… not what you expected.” You nod, still too stunned to process. He exhales sharply, like he’s bracing himself. Then, finally—

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

Your heart stutters. Rafe looks away for a second, like this is harder for him than it should be. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, rougher.

“That night? Seeing you like that? It fucked me up.” His blue eyes meet yours, and there’s nothing cocky in them. Just honesty. Raw and unfiltered. “I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I started caring. And it scared the shit out of me.”

You swallow hard, your grip tightening around the flowers.

He takes a small step closer, voice dropping even lower. “But you looked at me like I was good that night. Like I was worth something.” He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. “And I wanted to be that. For you.”

Your chest tightens, your pulse pounding. Rafe runs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Look, I don’t do this shit. I don’t—” He gestures vaguely, like this is beyond him. “But I can’t not do this with you.”

Another step. Closer.

“So let me take you out. A real date.” His gaze softens, voice barely above a whisper now. “Let me prove I can be good for you.”

The world narrows to just him. His eyes, his voice, the plea hidden beneath it all.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.

Because this? This feels real.

[narnian-neverlander]

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again [Machine Herald Viktor x GN!Reader]

Preview: “You’re the one who decided he’d rather forget every moment, every laugh, every touch we shared like they all meant nothing! You’re the one who tore out his heart without a second thought and threw it away even though it was mine! And all the while you’re leaving me with the burden of it all! I’m the only person alive who still holds our time together dear to their heart now! Do you have any idea how heavy memories can be? How maddening?! And these—“ you bring your hands up between the two of you, all sleek, perfect metal, the spitting image of him. “You gave me these for all the world to see and left me with yet another reminder of you! Like I needed more of those to know that I am still and always will be irrevocably yours! And now you tell me that it wouldn’t matter if there’s any part of you, however small, that still thinks of yourself as mine?! Fuck you, Viktor!”

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 10,7k

Warnings: slight body horror/modifications, suicidal thoughts, canon typical violence (injuries and blood, mentions of torture, mentions of character death, alluded murder)

This is part of a series of stand alone One-Shots that all feature the same reader, you can find the masterlist here :3

A/N: Does a broken rib from too much coughing count as the AO3 curse yet cause wow this took way longer than expected. Anyways, Epic x Arcane has been bouncing around my head since Season 2 came out, but this was inspired by this post from @le-fruit-de-la-passion cause I saw that and I’ve been internally screaming over it ever since 💁

Happy Valentine’s everybody 💞

Nothing had been the same since you woke up.

It’s to be expected, it had been almost two years after all.

Two years since the explosion. Two years since half the council had died. Two years since any attempt at peace between the two cities had been shattered. Two years that you had spent blissfully unaware of all of this; a coma keeping you trapped within the confines of a hospital bed and your own mind.

You’d expected pain after coming back to your senses; it was the last thing you remembered before the world had went dark. But you’d slept through most of your recovery. Through your wounds turning into scars. Through your muscles growing weak from disuse. Your hands were a different story, though. They didn’t so much hurt, only at times, as they were simply numb. Shattered bones and nerve damage had made them mostly useless and that was not something any amount of time would simply fix.

Not everything had completely changed, though, you’d found. You’d been awake for not more than an hour when Jayce had burst through the doors of your hospital room. And sure, he’d looked different: his hair longer, a beard, the white and gold that had always dominated his outfits replaced with black and silver, a brace on one of his legs and a cane at his side. But the relief in his hazel eyes when he’d found his friend conscious was familiar. The way his hug had felt. And how he’d completely avoided your gaze when you’d asked about your lover.

He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but… he’s gone.

He’d expected you to cry, scream, anything. But you hadn’t. You’d merely nodded, as numb as your broken hands, and had thanked him for coming to see you. Had told him to go back to his work, he must certainly be busy after all. And it had torn him apart, to see you, someone he’d always known as energetic and joyful, so tired, so apathetic. The very least for him to do had been to offer his help in any way he could, including finding a doctor that would fix your hands. He’d been more than reluctant to leave you, but you’d asked for some time alone to rest and he could hardly deny you that - it had still taken him a good ten minutes more to actually take his leave, with promises of a soon return and to simply send for him if you needed anything.

You’d settled back into the bed, fully intent on going back to sleep and pretending you’d be able to wake up in a different world, but the sun had caught on something metallic on your bedside table, hidden behind flowers and cards. You’d reached for it with stiff, unsteady fingers, almost sending the small, scratched up, mechanical cat crashing to the ground; luckily it had just ended up bouncing off your leg and then settling in your lap.

You’d stared at the little robotic feline in astonishment for a long time, unblinking amber eyes staring right back, like it would tell you who had brought it here, when it should’ve been sitting on a shelf in your apartment. Like it would give you all the answers and solutions in the world. An answer to your pain. To the hopelessness creeping in. To the feeling of your heart slowly shattering.

I’m coming back for you. I’ll find a way to fix you, to fix us both, and then I’m coming back for you, I promise.

It had almost made you drop your precious possession all over again, breaths heavy and migraine pounding in the back of your skull. And your racing mind had very clearly told you that there’s no recollection of ever having heard him say anything like this, your aching heart replying that it had been an idle wish, nothing more.

This idle wish comes back to you know, lying bruised and bloody and dazed in a ditch somewhere in Zaun. The people you’d been sent to for help had turned out to be anything but the kind, generous researches they’d made themselves look like; only interested in their own profit, gained on the backs of the helpless and the beaten. And after months of more pain and suffering, once you’d no longer been of use, your body even more mutilated and damaged than before, you’d been discarded like the trash they viewed you as. Face in the dirt, body and mind exhausted and screaming for rest, just a small respite, you consider letting go. Consider closing your eyes and just letting eternal rest take you; you don’t have anything left, after all. No home to go back to. No loved ones waiting for you.

Your shattered psyche seems to welcome the idea more than anything; through blurry vision you swear you see your lost beloved right in front of you, like it’s just another lazy morning spent in bed together. A warm hand cupping your cheek, gentle amber eyes, voice still raspy and accent thick from sleep. Telling you to go back to sleep. That it’s okay to rest. You blink and he’s gone.

He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but… he’s gone.

I’m coming back for you. I’ll find a way to fix you, to fix us both, and then I’m coming back for you, I promise.

A cry for help, created from a desperate mind and a broken heart. A fantasy. Wishful thinking. Nothing more. No one would be coming for you. Nobody would know or care if you just laid down to die right here. But there’s still a part of you, tiny as it may be, that wants to live. That under no circumstances wants to die on the same streets you once crawled your way out of, while your tormentors get rich on your suffering and are left with no consequences. Your blood’s starting to boil, powering you like a steam engine, getting you up on your hands and knees, groaning and whimpering in pain as you hopelessly try to get your feet back under you.

Peace is for the dead, revenge is for the living.

It’s what forces you towards the city limits on wobbly, clumsy legs, one stumbling step at a time. If revenge would be your only reason to live, then so be it. You’d take it over simply giving up and being forgotten; your body left to rot in the dirt.

So you live off scraps and garbage. Get your quick bouts of rest on dark, dirty street corners. Collect herbs from the riverbed, as scarce as they may be, to fight off the infections you incurred. It’s not pretty or elegant and you can barely call it living, but you’re alive. And eventually you catch rumors, whispers, only spoken in the same shadows you’ve now spent months living in: rumors of a healer. Well, some call him that. Others revere him as a god. Others fear him as a monster, more machine than man. But they all agree on two things: that he’s the one to go to if you’re in desperate need of help and have nothing left to lose. And where to find him.

The gate to the house on Emberflit Alley is old and bent and rusted. Not locked, but your stiff, useless fingers have enough trouble opening it anyways. The front door is a different story entirely, encrusted with interlocking gears to keep you and anyone else out unless invited in. So you knock and you wait. And then you repeat that process. Until it becomes clear that either no one is home or that a disturbance isn’t currently wanted. You’re not about to give up so easily though, so you step off the porch and start making your way around the house in search of any windows to knock on instead or maybe even break if necessary. It’s dusk by now and the ever present fog that always seems to cling to this area of the Lanes isn’t making your job much easier; your foot inevitably catches on something, a loose brick or a protruding pipe maybe, and sends you stumbling, falling and while you manage to catch yourself against the brick wall, your flailing palm ends up going straight through a window.

Perfect. You hadn’t actually been serious about breaking and entering. Not entirely, anyways. Trying to assess the damage to your hand in the dimly lit alley, you’re distracted enough to not pick up on the sound of a door opening and you only notice the heavy footsteps when they stop right behind you.

“You’re persistent if nothing else, I will give you that.”

The voice is deep, warped, with a mechanical echo to it, but it’s the accent that sends an unwelcome and unexpected twinge to your heart. You turn around very slowly and carefully, prey about to get caught by something terrible, and gulp when you actually need to crane your head back and look up cause fuck, he’s tall. At least a head taller than you, with a broad frame, all heavy armor and pieces of metal, a sharp, three pronged claw pulsing with energy pointed right at you from over his shoulder and a mask with only two hollow, glowing, yellow eyes staring back at you. He’s an imposing, unforgiving presence and you’re starting to understand why people only come to him as a last resort. But you’d come this far and he’s right, you’re persistent, stubborn, if nothing else, for better or for worse.

“I was— No one was opening the door and I was just trying to— Are you the Herald?” It’s a redundant question, really. “It’s what they insist on calling me.” Okay, you’re having a conversation. Sorta. That’s progress. “They also say that you… help people?” He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side and while you might not be able to see his eyes, you can feel them taking you in from head to toe. “To the best of my abilities. What would you need help with?” You falter for a second. “It’s uhm… a lot, really, but mostly my hands?” Most people have always reacted with disgust or pity and you don’t expect him to be much different, so the way you bring your hands in front of you for him to see is slow and hesitant. He leans forward for a better look and you fight the urge to back away and flee. It’s quiet, too quiet, the way he’s so intensely studying you and your injuries unnerving and the metal claw that looks like it could tear you in half opening and closing and rotating as if in thought is most definitely not helping your anxiety. Finally, he straightens up and turns around. “Follow me.” He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he check to see if you actually do follow him, merely strides back inside the house, leaving you scrambling to catch up.

The halls that he leads you through have dozens of motionless automatons leaning against the walls, the room you eventually arrive in is lined with shelves of glass jars containing organic and metal organs floating in green fluid and in the far corner a leather gurney with a mechanized drill laid upon it and stains you don’t want to think too hard about. Fortunately, he doesn’t lead you over to that, but instead to a workbench cluttered with machinery and tools and blueprints. He sits in the old, rusty chair and then drags out a little stool from under the table, gesturing for you to copy him while he reaches above his head and fiddles with what is revealed to be a bright, neon lamp when it finally flickers to life, blinding you for a moment and leaving spots in your vision. You do as your told and finally place your hands in his when he holds out his own, one gloved and from what you can tell human, the other solid metal.

There’s a certain gentle diligence with which he conducts his examination, something you most definitely didn’t expect, but it puts your frayed nerves at ease. It also triggers a memory from long ago, an accident in the lab, that had ended with you curled up against your boyfriend’s shoulder while Jayce had carefully picked glass shards from your palms. A slight shake of your head brings you back to the present; a different life, it no longer matters. It’s silent between you two, except for the occasional question from his side that you answer truthfully. Eventually, he sits back and switches off the lamp above you. “Your hands can not be salvaged; the damage is too severe and was left insufficiently treated for too long. If you want full use of them back, they will need to be replaced.” He says it like it’s the most logical, natural thing in the world and to him it must be, but to you? It leaves you stunned, mouth going dry. “So I’d lose them entirely…?”

“You already have,” he states matter of factly. “Now it’s just a matter of wether you’re insisting on clinging on to broken, useless flesh and bone for the sake of sentimentality or if you’d rather exceed your human limitations and be able to return to a normal life.” It takes everything you have not to laugh bitterly; new hands or not, you weren’t going back to your old, normal life anytime soon. But he’s right nonetheless. “And you can do that? Replace them? Make them work like before?” You can’t be certain, with the mask’s filter and all but it almost sounds like he scoffs in offense. He waves his own hand in front of your face and flexes his fingers for show; dark, solid metal, expertly welded and crafted together to create a perfectly functioning hand. “Naturally.”

There’s nothing for you to think about anymore. “Okay. Yeah, I… that sounds good. Except…” Maybe there is one thing to think about. “I can’t… pay you for it. B-but I can work it off! Or I could—“ he decisively cuts you off with, “I do not take payment for my work.” And your jaw actually drops, because there is no way anyone in this world would offer services like this for free. There always has to be an angle, something to be gained. “Right. So you just do this out of the goodness of your fucking heart? Do you even have one? A heart, I mean.” He stands to his full height and it hits you like a ton of bricks that you just followed a complete stranger into the confines of his home. A stranger twice your size that would have no trouble turning you into parts for his future experiments. A stranger that has a reputation on Zaun’s streets as an unhinged monster. And it seems like you might’ve hit a nerve.

But he merely reaches past you, for something behind you on the table and comes back with a pair of tweezers and gauze and then proceeds to remove the parts of his window that are still stuck in one of your palms. Right. Since you can’t really feel them, you’d forgotten all about them. “Of course not. And to answer your question, no, I got rid of my heart a long time ago; it was of no use to me any longer. I only ask that you stay here during your recovery so I can oversee the adjustment process. Document it to further my research. You will be paying me in information, knowledge, progress. That is worth more than any gold or jewels you could throw at me.” Your own heart is going a mile a minute after that scare, but you’re slowly coaxing your body to calm back down. If he truly wanted to harm you, he would’ve done so by now. “And you’re sure that’s enough?” A sigh, as if he’s forced to explain something overly simplistic to a child over and over again. “You can bring any scrap metal you may find on the streets to me, if that will make you feel better.” You snort in amusement. “Okay, sure, you got yourself a deal. Sooooo… now what?”

He pauses wrapping your hand for a moment and turns his unblinking gaze to you again. “Malnourished, sick or overly exhausted people make for greater risks, both during surgery and recovery.” You flinch because you damn well know that you check all of those boxes. And you’re sure he knows it, too. “Yeah, well it’s not like I can snap my fingers and magically be healthy again. If I could, I wouldn’t be here. Besides, do you know where you live? You can’t tell me that every Zaunite who comes in here is of picture perfect health?”

“No, I just thought you should be made aware. We can perform the procedure tomorrow, at least get some sleep before that; surely that’s not too difficult?” It almost sounds patronizing and you realize you’ve gained back, or rather are rediscovering a part of yourself you haven’t used in a long time in the few minutes you’ve been talking to him: the defiant smartass. “Of course I can do that, I’m not an imbecile. There’s a brothel owner who owes me a favor, I’m sure I can get her to cough up a bed for the night.” He’s doesn’t look up from putting the finishing touches on your bandages, but apparently he still feels the need to state, “And leave with more diseases than you came with?” Had he just called you diseased? “I’ll have you know I don’t have anything contagious, thank you very much. I don’t think. And it’s that or sleep out on the streets again, so…”

“Or you could just stay here.”

You barely manage a very intelligent ‘Huh?!’ in return.

“You will return here tomorrow anyways. And stay here for your recovery. One night will not make a difference.”

Your eyes flit over to the leather couch in the corner; it’s clearly old and worn, missing an armrest and has obvious tears in the leather. Truly, you shouldn’t be this comfortable around him so quickly, but it’s still the closest thing to an actual bed you’d had in months so you’d take it.

“If it’s okay with you.” you shrug and quickly walk over to the sofa, dropping the bag that contains whatever little belongings you have left to the floor and then promptly collapse on it in an exhausted heap of limbs. That seems to break some of his composed facade as you catch him physically startling in your peripheral while you’re busy shrugging out of one of your coats and turning it into a makeshift pillow. “There is a room upstairs, with a bed, entirely unused. You can sleep there.” But you’re drowsy already, the worn leather surprisingly soft and pliant against your battered body. “So you don’t sleep, I assume; noted. And don’t worry, I don’t snore, so I won’t interrupt your… your work. You won’t… even know… I’m…” You’re out cold before you’ve finished your sentence and it takes all of half a minute before you’re lightly snoring. Liar. But he knew that already.

A heavy sigh and then he’s up, grabbing the blanket and pillow from the bed upstairs; replacing the bunched up coat under your head and pausing before he covers your body with the thick, warm fabric. Your skin has lost color, you’re underweight, he most definitely caught you limping earlier and those are just the things he could tell from a first glance. Your hands would be an easy enough matter to fix, but the rest would take time and care. He covers you with the blanket and you immediately snuggle up into it until only your hair is barely poking out. So you still hate the cold, then. Just like you’re still defiant and mouthy. It’s ridiculous how much you haven’t changed in direct contrast to him; changed so vastly and completely, of course you wouldn’t recognize him.

Carefully dragging down the blanket and the backs of your several layers of clothing, he indeed finds a series of numbers and letters branded into the skin at the back of your neck, as expected. He recognizes their shoddy handiwork by now; you weren’t the first Zaunite to come through his door after they’d fallen victim to that group. But you’d most definitely be the last. He gathers some things from around the lab and finally grabs his staff from where it’s leaning against the wall, gem at the top crackling with energy; one last look at your curled up form and then he’s out of the door, leaving you resting in his lab.

You’re warm, comfortable. It’s quiet and you actually feel well rested. All of that is so utterly foreign to you, it frightens you back to consciousness, makes you startle awake and fall off whatever you’d been asleep on in the process. Blind panic as you untangle yourself from a blanket you don’t remember having and stagger back to your feet, wild eyes searching for the closest threat.

Dim lighting breaking through murky windows, shelves stocked organs, a bloody gurney in the far corner and a hunched over figure at a workbench, their back currently turned to you as a clawed contraption over their shoulder emits a thin, precise ray of light.

“I do not appreciate getting lied to.”

There’s a part of your mind screaming at you that you know this voice, this person, this place, but the terrified haze you’re in yields little room for rationality as he shuts off the laser and turns around to face you, features covered by a mask with nothing but a set of glowing yellow eyes.

“You do, in fact, snore.”

It’s like a switch gets flipped, the haze lifts as you realize that you’re safe and you collapse back into the couch in a relieved heap, breaths still frenzied and heart still trying to jump out of your chest. “Right. Sorry.” He doesn’t comment any further, simply gets back to whatever it is he was working on before, leaving you to recover by yourself. It takes a few minutes, but once you consider yourself sufficiently calmed, you sit back up on the couch cross legged, blanket draped over your shoulders, wanting to apologize and thank him properly, but looking at him gives you pause.

He seems… smaller somehow than the night before. You find your answer in a heap of metal scattered around his workbench: big, cumbersome pieces of armor. Armor that you remember seeing on him yesterday, that you’d just assumed to be irremovable parts of his body. What you most definitely do not recall are the dents, scratches and the dried blood all over the metal. Nervously flitting your gaze back to him, you see what he’s working on is actually himself; laser directed at a part of his chest that he seems to be welding shut. And you’re taken aback at how much skin there is - human skin. The entirety of his chest and his right arm are sleek steel, interlocking gears and mechanisms, flawlessly shifting into each other as he moves, thin glowing panels pulsing with energy from hidden engines. And there’s definitely more metal at his right hip, disappearing into the waistband of his pants, but other than that…

His left arm is mostly pale skin, scarred flesh at his shoulder connecting to the dark steel; a wired glove slipped over his slender fingers seemingly controling the movements of the claw over this shoulder. His stomach and waist are still incredibly human too, if nothing else because of the dark purple bruise forming against his skin. He’s nowhere near as much machine as you’d expected, not to mention he looks… hurt. Had he been in a fight? Gotten attacked?

You open your mouth to ask, but think better of it before any sound can come out. It really has nothing to do with you; what he does in his own time is none of your business. It still feels off, to infringe on his time and help and not even ask if he’s alright when clearly, something that you’re not privy to has happened. Never one to leave well enough alone, you grab your bag from the floor and start sorting through the collection of herbs you’ve managed to acquire over time. Once you’ve found the ones you’re looking for, you package them into the most clean rag you have in your possession and tie it shut; uncrossing your legs you walk over to him and place the haphazardly made package on the table, careful not to disturb him. The movement still gets his attention and even with the mask’s filter, confusion is clear as day in his voice as he asks, “What is that and what is it doing on my workbench?”

“It’s an herbal remedy, for uhm… bruises and the like?” you explain, vaguely gesturing at his waist. “You soak it in boiling water and then put it on the effected area; it helps with swelling and pain.” It’s silent for a few long seconds, then, “I see. Thank you.” Not even remotely close to anything you were readying yourself for as a response, but it makes something within your chest beam with pride. You don’t even realize you’re still staring until he points it out and is met with, “You’re just… not exactly what I expected.”

“A monster?”

The laugh you let out is so shockingly soft, it almost startles him. “You’ve got a reputation, sure, and you’re… intimidating at first glance, I’ll give you that, but… I’ve met plenty of monsters in my life and none of them were anything like you. In fact, all of them looked and acted remarkably, ordinarily human at first.” There’s no further elaboration from your side and your gaze is distant, mind somewhere far away from here. He almost calls your name, but it occurs to him in the nick of time that you never actually introduced yourself. You’ve been here for less than twenty four hours and already he’s slipping, making mistakes; he can’t have that, so he drives the conversation in a direction he has control over. “I am almost finished with my repairs, I can get the general anesthetic started so we can proceed with your surgery as quickly as possible.”

Wild, hot panic takes over your gaze and he fully expects you to bolt out the front door with how you flinch and take a step away from him. “I need be under for the surgery? Can’t you do like, local anesthesia on my arms?” He hesitates; he’s never known you to be afraid of medical procedures, so what’s the problem? “First off, I will not be replacing both of your hands at the same time. Too risky and you’ll be completely incapacitated; we’re going to start with only one today. And no, in theory, you do not have to be under full anesthesia, however, we are talking about a delicate and unusual kind of surgery; I can not promise that it will be painless while you’re still conscious.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind the pain, I just… I wanna have some agency in what gets done to my body from here on out.”

Ah. So that’s it. One glance at the dried blood still clinging to his armor on the floor and he feels the rage from last night raise it’s ugly head again. He shoves that right back down, cursing internally, before he answers you, voice level and betraying nothing. “All right. It will not be a pretty sight, though.” You shrug, as nonchalant as if he’d just told you about dinner plans. “I mean, I don’t have to watch directly. But I’m gonna admit, I am curious.”

The curiosity lasts for all of the first cut into your flesh, then you turn your head away and simply let him work in silence; wouldn’t want to distract the man currently flaying you open and re-wiring your nerve endings. Luckily, there’s only the occasional pinch and pull, but you stay pain free otherwise. Recovery after the procedure is a different story entirely though; painful and arduous and time consuming. And you’re more than a little surprised at how diligently the Herald takes care of you. Keeping a close eye on his newest test subject, that’s what you write it off as at first. But as the weeks go by there’s a certain familiar domesticity that sneaks into your routine and you find yourself talking with him more and more. Well, it’s mostly you talking, but he listens; you know because the day after you complained about the room you’d been staying in feeling too dark, you’d come back from an errand to find the windows cleaned, the curtains gone and some mismatched lamps placed around the room. It’s a sweet, quiet kind of constant reassurance and you can’t help the way your heart warms at it; so much like what you’d been used to from your lost love.

The day you pick up a glass of water all by yourself, without spilling anything and the glass noticeably cold against your fingers, you almost weep with joy and just barely hold yourself back from tackling him in a hug. Instead you busy yourself with touching as many things in his lab as you can get your one properly functioning hand on - which means you miss the way he so openly stares at you, obvious even with his mask hiding his features. He hasn’t seen you this happy and energized since you showed up on his doorstep. It makes some part in chest whir conspicuously and it almost feels like something is overheating, so he quickly turns away and grabs a random, discarded project from his workbench to fiddle with.

“Do you… ya know, eat?”

It’s a random question, even for you, but he answers nonetheless. He’s used to it by now.

“I no longer require it as a form of energy replenishment, no.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, that doesn’t answer my question, though. You don’t have to, but do you? Sometimes?”

“I fail to comprehend why we are having this conversation in the first place.” He doesn’t put down his tools, nor does he look at you.

Okay, fair point.

“Well, I uh… I used to be a chef, had my own restaurant and everything? And since one of my hands finally works again I figured I’d like to give cooking something a try? And if you have a favorite, I could make it for you? As thanks for… well, for giving me a hand?” It’s not one of your finer jokes, you will admit, so you’re not surprised he doesn’t laugh. Not that you’ve ever heard him laugh at anything, for that matter. He doesn’t react at all, except for, “I told you, I do not take payment for my work. Are we done with this fruitless conversation now?” It stings more than you’d like, to have him dismiss your tries at kindness like that, even though you know it’s not personal.

“Right, yeah, sorry. It’s just… cooking’s the only thing I’ve ever been good for and I like to be some sort of useful so… but you’re right, it’s stupid. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Because if I stopped being useful, then… maybe he wouldn’t want me anymore. Maybe he’d leave me behind for something better.

It was years ago, he shouldn’t remember you saying it as clearly as he does. Nor the way you’d looked then; all teary eyed and vulnerable, in front of him and only him. He shouldn’t remember and much less should he still care. He finds himself putting down his tools anyways.

“Sweetmilk.”

It doesn’t even register that he’s talking to you at first, considering you’re already halfway out the door to give him some peace and quiet. “P-pardon?”

“Sweetmilk.” he repeats. “It’s technically not food, but a weakness of mine and it’s still made on a stove. However, I am out of—“

“I got it! I’ll go get everything; I know how to make it!” The biggest grin on your face, you’re out of his lab in an instant and he hears the front door open and close not long after that.

There’s an actual skip in your step as you make your way down the street, there’s no other way to put it.

You are no fool. It’s in the way he hyperfocuses on his work. In the way his place is always a mess, right down to how his tools and notes clutter his desk. In the way what little sunlight manages to reach this part of the Lanes catches in his chestnut hair when it filters through the windows. In the little vocal mannerisms and gestures that you remember oh so well, that he apparently was unable to remove, no matter how much of a perfect machine he claims himself to be. It’s all right there, it had been from the start, this had just been the final push you’d needed. The final push to actually let yourself hope.

You are no fool. He knows this. He knows this and yet he let you have this. This tiny, obsolete, aggravating piece of information that has now turned him into the fool instead. He’s certain you’ve already figured it out, how could you not have? With the way you were immediately way too comfortable around him? With the way you sometimes talked about yourself, your past, just naturally assuming he’d be able to fill in the blanks, cause to him, they weren’t blanks at all? With the way it had been so easy to slip back into old, dangerously domestic habits with you? This had simply been the final nail in the coffin, yours or his, he isn’t sure; he is sure, however that you do not belong here in his oh so carefully crafted solitude.

Over two years. That’s how long it had taken him to put himself back together again. To rid himself of the parts the Hexcore had already infected, tainted, taken from his control. To replace his dying lungs. To make sure he didn’t fall apart again after every second step. To ensure he was no longer weak. And then he’d come for you, intending to save you, make you whole again, but you’d been gone. Disappeared from your hospital bed, from Piltover all together it had seemed. He’d crossed several lines in his search for you, even the ones he’d set for himself; namely never asking for help from his former best friend and partner again. In the end, the only thing he’d accomplished had been to widen the ever growing rift between them, no step closer to you. So he’d done the only thing he could still think of: rip his heart straight from his chest to maybe, hopefully, get rid of the agony right along with it; erase the joyful memories that held nothing but misery anymore. And it had worked; everything inside him dulled and numbed enough to simply drown himself in his work with no interferences. Until you’d stumbled back into his life. And things should be different, he shouldn’t care about you anymore outside of how you can further his research, but they’re not. The way the two of you still fit together so effortlessly is disgustingly, hauntingly familiar and he has to put a stop to it. He has chosen to live like this, in isolation and loneliness, he would not force it on you in the name of some long forgotten affection.

Perfect opportunity strikes some days later, while he’s in the process of replacing your second hand and you question him about his own augmentations. So he tells you about his weak leg and his collapsing lungs like you don’t already know. Watches the smile vanish from you lips and your face fall as he explains how he removed his connections to people from his past.

“So you… you don’t remember anyone who used to be a part of your life? Family, friends, lovers?”

“I remember them just fine, I simply got rid of any unnecessary emotional attachments associated with them. I remember my mother’s lullabies, I do not miss them any longer. I remember the discussions with my old partner, yet I no longer look at them fondly. I remember the lazy mornings spent with my lover, but I don’t yearn for them anymore.”

You visibly flinch at that last one and he merely warns you to stay still, like he doesn’t know what hearing all of this must do to you. It goes quiet between you two afterwards and any glance he steals at you confirms his theory, proves that his action had the desired reaction: the cogs are turning in your head and the longer they do, the more the despair and grief start to show on your face; realization that he is no longer the man you knew and that you no longer have a place by his side. It’s quick, simple work to finish your surgery and he decides to leave you be, give you time to let the new information he provided you with sink in and with some trivial errands used as a quick excuse, you’re left sitting alone on a rickety old stool in his lab.

And you stay seated for a long while, still and unmoving, blankly staring off into the distance as you hopelessly try to process what he just revealed to you. The love you hold for him hasn’t diminished in the slightest, no matter how much he might claim to have changed, but what’s it worth if you’re nothing but a stranger to him now? If the affections he’d had for you in return were lost to his quest of a perfect evolution?

You’re unsure what compels you to rise from your seat, to stroll across the room and absentmindedly trail your fingers across the books on one of his shelves. Maybe you’re simply trying to distract your mind from spiraling further down into the dark abyss of hoplessness it’s currently headed for. Maybe a part of you already knows that this is not meant to last and you’re trying to commit everything to memory through touch alone, now that he’s returned that sensation to you. The very last thing you expect is for one of the spines to catch your attention and for just a moment, you’re back in your old apartment, your old life. Hurriedly pulling the book from it’s spot you find that you are in fact correct, this used to belong to you. The corners of the dark blue cover are frayed and the golden lettering faded, but you recognize it anyways; you’d lent it to him years ago and he’d just never gotten around to giving it back. Which still doesn’t explain what it’s doing here, surely he doesn’t have any use for it anymore. You gingerly dust it off, careful not to over exert your new fingers, and crack it open only for a little slip of paper to immediately come fluttering out and land on the floor in front of you. Picking it up, you find only two words written in a handwriting you know all too well.

Lavender = devotion

The memories flood your mind wether you want them to or not; memories of your absolute mess of a first date. Of the meticulously crafted bouquet of flowers he’d gotten you, based on the book you’d lent him.

Putting the paper back with the page containing it’s corresponding flower, you quickly rifle through the rest of the book and find plenty more notes still left within the pages, all in his handwriting.

Iris = hope, trust

Alstroemeria = mutual support, fascination

Carnations = sincere love, respect, new beginnings

The last entry you come across doesn’t have a written note with it. Instead you find a picture: the two of you, slumped together on the sofa in the lab, all tangled limbs and sleepy intimacy, blissfully unaware of your friend sneaking this picture. It’s marking the pages for camellias and you don’t need a note or a proper look at the information in the book to know what they symbolize; not when you can clearly remember him telling you.

Eternal love. I’m yours for as long as you want. If you’ll have me.

The book slips from your fingers, landing open on the floor with a dull thump as you go right along with it, knees hitting the wood beneath you hard as you curl in on yourself and sob, photograph cradled close against your chest.

It’s the first time you’ve cried, some still coherent part of your mind realizes. Since waking up. Since being imprisoned and tortured. Since coming here. Since being forced to accept stroke after stroke of fate that had irreversibly changed your life entirely against your will or control. So you cry and you weep and you scream at the top of your lungs. For yourself and everything you’ve had to endure. For all you’ve lost. For the life you could’ve had.

You have to leave. You have to. Or you’d spend the the rest of your life desperately trying to rekindle a love that no longer exists. A final glance at the picture still held in your hands and you consider taking it; he wouldn’t miss it, he probably doesn’t even know it’s still here. But the people in that photograph are long gone and it would cause you nothing but more grief, so what’s the point? You drop it between the pages you’d found it in and shove the book back into its’ spot on the shelf before scrambling to your feet and beginning to gather your things strewn across his house. And you could’ve left then and there, things packed and mind made up. You probably should have. But it doesn’t feel quite right either, just disappearing without a trace. So you sit on the bed you’ve called your own for the past weeks and you wait. Until you hear him come home in the middle of the night and the urge to sprint downstairs, throw a quick goodbye and thank you over your shoulder and slam the door on this entire sad, miserable chapter of your life is there. But you don’t. You can’t. Because despite everything, you still want a proper goodbye - you didn’t get one last time, after all. Except you have no idea how you’d go about that, so you stay right where you are and rack your brain. Until dawn breaks and you’re no closer to a solution, so you drag your tired body off the bed and make your way downstairs; you’re just looking for more excuses to stay at this point.

Of course you find him at his workbench, where else, most of his heavier armor discarded and Hexclaw dimantled in front of him as he diligently solders wires to metal. Pausing in the doorway, you wait for him to acknowledge your presence, giving yourself some more time to think, but when several minutes pass and he doesn’t even look up you clear your throat, receiving a quick ‘Morning.’ in return and nothing else. No point beating around the bush, is there?

“When do you think I’ll be able to leave?”

Too busy fiddling with a loose thread at the hem of your shirt to distract yourself, you don’t notice the way he almost flinches, everything he’s doing coming to a halt. It’s quiet for only a moment before he says, “You are not a prisoner here. You may leave whenever you wish to.”

Not the answer you want, not the answer you long for, but an answer nonetheless

“I… now would be good for me, I think.”

“Very well.”

And that’s the end of it. The room is blanketed in silence once again, except for the scrapes and shuffles of his tools as he goes back to work. No grand, emotional request for you stay and why would he? You’re a stranger, an experiment and there’ll be others like you; others to further his research and learn from. He doesn’t need you anymore. He hasn’t for a very long time, you realize. Oh how you wish you could feel the same. You go to grab your bag from the hallway in apathetic, almost mechanical movements, nothing but muscle memory driving you at this point and you expect to walk out the front door without another word exchanged between the two of you, but surprisingly enough, he calls out to you again.

“Where will you go?”

Stopping in your tracks, you come to lean against the door frame, gaze falling anywhere but him. You’re not sure what he’s even asking for, it won’t have any impact on his life after all, but you answer honestly anyways. “As far away from this city as I can get, probably. There’s no one— there’s… nothing left for me here anymore.” A pause as the faces of your tormentors flash before your inner eye. “Not before making the bastards who used me pay for it, though.” He unscrews a panel at the base of the Hexclaw while posing another question. “And if that costs you your life?” You shrug even though he can’t see. “Just as well. I’m not sure I’ve got the will to build something new for myself anyways…”

Silence falls again and you interpret it as the natural end of the conversation and your cue to leave. Except there’s one last thing you need to get off your chest - quite literally, in fact. Slipping off the chain around your neck, ring still safely attached to it as always, you approach him and place it on the surface of his workbench. To your utter surprise, he actually interrupts his work and picks it up with careful fingers; his face might be hidden from you by his mask, but he radiates confusion so you explain before he has a chance to ask. “When I first came here, you told me I could pay you in scrap metal if it made me feel any better about encroaching on your space and time. You can melt this down, throw it out, I don’t care; I’ve carried it around with me long enough and it was always meant to be yours.” You truly don’t have the strength to wait for his reaction, or probable lack thereof; this means nothing to him now, you mean nothing, and that thought makes you hurry towards the exit, tears burning in your eyes.

Despite better judgment, you pause in the doorway, fingers tight around the strap of your bag and swallow around the growing lump in your throat. “Thank you…” It’s barely above a whisper and it’s not enough. You were the one who wanted a proper goodbye this time, weren’t you? So you turn to fully face him, met with the same blank, hollow eyed stare you’ve grown oh so used to and you smile, genuine and grief stricken. “Thank you for everything, Viktor.”

Part of you wonders when he last heard his own name. If he even still remembers it.

And then you’re gone, leaving him alone in his quiet lab, with only his research to keep him company, just as it should be.

The front door is as far your shaky legs get you, bag slipping from your shoulder as you slump against it, forehead pressed to the cool, worn wood as you press a hand against your mouth in a desperate attempt to to stifle the sobs. The man you’re leaving behind is the love of your life no matter what, you’ve known that for ages; there was a before him, but there was never supposed to be an after. And yet now you have to figure out exactly what that after is going to look like, because he’s gone and at the same time he’s still here and that, oh that aches something awful. It’s unfair and it’s cruel and it makes you want to claw your own chest open to strangle your heart with your bare hands just to make the pain stop. It makes you envy him for the first time, no heart left in his chest to ail him. And it makes you despise him, because how dare he leave you alone with the burden of this love you were supposed to share?

The heavy footfalls behind you should jumpstart you into action, make you wrench the door open and get out or at the very least compose yourself, but you can’t. You find that you simply don’t care anymore either. Let him see what he’s done to you, what he’s turned you into, even if he wouldn’t shed a single tear over it. A mechanical hand comes to rest next to your head, his presence right at your back, so close and so very much like the first night you came to this place and yet everything’s so incredibly different now.

“What? Did you forget some kind of last diagnostics test on the new hand or something?” The tears are obvious in your tone. “No. But you should know that the people you plan on taking revenge on are already dead. I made sure of it.” Breath catching in your throat, the memory of your first morning in this house comes back to you: the bruises, the blood on his armor, the way everything about him had screamed violence and death that day. “You… Why?” It makes no sense whatsoever and it’s making your head spin and he’s not answering, until, “That’s hardly a concern for you now. I simply thought it consequential for you to be made aware of the fact that if you wish to depart from this city you may do so. There is nothing—“ It’s the first time you’ve heard him falter and fumble in all your time here and when he speaks again there’s an edge to his voice that you can’t quite place, accompanied by the hand against the door clenching into a fist. “There is no one keeping you here anymore.”

The clock in the corner counts down the seconds, loud and echoing in comparison to the quiet that has befallen you both. A quiet you decide to break, tentative and scared.

“Isn’t there? My tormentors might be gone, but what of the man I love? Could he still find it in him to love me if I stayed?”

“I don’t believe that still matters, does it? You’ll leave either way.”

And something inside of you snaps.

You brace your forearms against the door and shove backwards, catching him so off guard he stumbles back a step or two, creating just enough distance for you to rear back your hand and punch him square in the jaw. His mask gets knocked clean off his face, loudly clattering to the floor; your freshly operated hand sparks and creaks ominously, fingers now bent at odd angles while searing pain shoots up your entire arm, but you don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the white, hot fury that’s boiling you alive from the inside out.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you?!”

He doesn’t even deem it necessary to look at you; completely frozen to the spot, head turned away from you and hair covering his eyes from your view. He will have to listen to you either way, wether he wants to or not. Wether he still cares or not.

“You’re the one who decided he’d rather forget every moment, every laugh, every touch we shared like they all meant nothing! You’re the one who tore out his heart without a second thought and threw it away even though it was mine! And all the while you’re leaving me with the burden of it all! I’m the only person alive who still holds our time together dear to their heart now! Do you have any idea how heavy memories can be? How maddening?! And these—“ you bring your hands up between the two of you, all sleek, perfect metal, the spitting image of him. “You gave me these for all the world to see and left me with yet another reminder of you! Like I needed more of those to know that I am still and always will be irrevocably yours! And now you tell me that it wouldn’t matter if there’s any part of you, however small, that still thinks of yourself as mine?! Fuck you, Viktor!”

You slump back against the door for support, chest heaving and unharmed hand coming up to cover your face; a desperate and all but pointless attempt to hide the tears and stifle the sobs.

He’s a scientist, an engineer. Solving problems, fixing things, improving lives; it’s what he does. What he thrives in. Yet he doesn’t know how to fix this. So he zeroes in on the one thing he can fix.

“Let me see your hand.”

But you don’t let him. Curl in on yourself and angle your body and injured hand away from him; it makes you seem so much smaller. So vulnerable. So defeated. Good. Maybe if he can drive you away even further then…

“You are… a distraction. A hindrance to my work that I can not tolerate. You do not belong here and it would be better for the both of us if you left and never returned.”

With the mask gone, the mechanical edge to his voice is missing as well, but every word still stings like the cut of a blade.

“So turn around and let me go. You’ll never have to see me again, I promise.”

He knows all too well how seriously you take that; every promise, no matter how small or menial, a solemn oath, never to be broken. He can not let you make this one; every part of himself rebels against the very thought of letting you walk out that damn door, even if it would be the logical thing to do. Drive you further away, he’s not capable of that any longer, who is he trying to fool? Himself, most likely.

Stepping closer he gauges your reaction and when you don’t recoil from him any further, he rests his hands on either side of you and drops his forehead against the old, worn wood above your shoulder.

“I can’t.”

It’s spat through grit teeth, like it physically pains him to admit it. But it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in his voice during all the time you’ve been here.

“I removed every function that wasn’t vital; every memory that was redundant to my work. Affection, jealousy, admiration, anger, joy, sorrow; any emotion that would’ve proven an aberration sooner rather than later. I clawed and prodded and scraped at my own insides until nothing remained and yet you refused to let go.”

Your sobs have reduced to sniffles, your body still beneath him; except for the hand you’ve dropped from your face that he now feels running up his back, titanium fingers gliding over the metal ridges that make up his spine until they settle at the nape of his neck.

“Your face, your laugh, your favorite color, the way you’d look cooking breakfast in the mornings, the way your body would feel against mine; every detail, no matter how minute stayed. Etched into the fissures of my brain, burned into the steel I used to rebuild myself, regardless of how many times I replaced it. Carved into my being, my very soul; I could not remove you any more than I could remove the engine beating as my heart. And I can not go back to how things were before you came here. Before you found me again.”

“Why not? You seemed perfectly happy in your solitude with your work.” Your voice is small, but genuine. And you almost squeak in shock, wind knocked out of you, when his arms come around your middle to hold you tight, almost too tight, flush against him as he buries his face into crook of your neck.

“Because you are in every fraction of skin, in every blood vein that still remains within me. In every bolt, every wire, every piece of metal I welded to myself. I do not… function properly unless I know of your whereabouts. Unless I know you’re safe and cared for. And it was maddening, to surpress it, to ignore it all these years; a clear error constantly rearing its’ ugly head, telling me that I will never get any further in my research, my work, my vision, unless it’s resolved. Constantly running on loop in the back of my head, reminding me that I am incomplete. I need you, you are an essential part of me, right down to my very atoms and it makes me, all of me, no matter what else I might become, yours.”

There’s fresh tears streaming down your face, because he sounds so tired. So desperate. So upset. So painfully human. You find yourself doing the same thing you’ve always done when you’ve had him in your arms, worried and anxious about something; gently thread your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp and lean your head against his carefully. “Viktor, if you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask. You know that; if you want something all you ever had to do was ask it of me. But I need you to ask me, all right? I need to hear you say it.” He doesn’t answer right away, only draws patterns into the small of your back in thought; a habit of his you remember all too well. This close, you can feel the heat coming off him, generated from the several engines powering him and a barely there hum and whirr of machinery against your chest; a sound that comes in regular intervals, akin to a heartbeat. When he does speak, his voice is weary. Conflicted. Unsure. Scared.

“I am not the man you fell in love with, my heart. Not gentle, nor kind. There is no coming back from the lines I’ve crossed and I don’t— I can not love you the same way I used to. The way you’d deserve. And yet… I want to be selfish.” He pauses for a bitter, ridiculing bark of laughter and shifts in your hold and it’s only then that you realize the skin at the slope of your neck and your collarbone is wet. Shame threatens to choke you when it occurs to you that up until now you didn’t think he still could cry. “I shouldn’t want for anything. Machines do not want or desire or long for things. But… they need all their components to operate as they’re supposed to; to perform at their full potential.” He’s rationalizing it, you know and you’ll be fucking damned if you interrupt him. “And I need you to stay. Here, with me. Then maybe in time you’ll be able to love me as I am now.”

Your chuckle is weak; you’re exhausted physically and emotionally. “What a silly thing to say. That’s assuming I ever stopped loving you in the first place.” It should be impossible, for his embrace to become any tighter, but it does and it’s almost starting to hurt - good, because the pain makes it real.

It’s in the way he buries his face against you further, a noise oh so very similar to a sob escaping him, and how your gaze catches on his mask left discarded on the ground that it finally dawns on you: he’s hiding. From you or from himself, you’re not certain, but you’re not having it any longer. “My love, let me see you.” He doesn’t move; if anything he freezes up. “Please?” You try again and are met with the same result, except for, “You will not like what you find.” Irritation flares up in your chest, manifesting itself in a harsh tug on his hair and, “That’s for me to decide.” It takes him a few very long, agonizing seconds, but eventually, he sighs in defeat and pulls back enough for you to be able to get your first proper look at his face after all these years.

No wonder you managed to break your hand, his jaw and cheeks are all solid, dark, smooth metal, connecting to the column of his throat. Your fingers are moving before you can stop yourself, trailing along his cheek bones where hard steel meets soft, scarred flesh. Still as pale as always, almost deathly so, faint blue veins under his skin now in plain view and the contrast to the two moles you adore all the more prominent. The ever present dark circles under his eyes have evolved into lasting bruises. And oh his eyes. The same beautiful gold you remember, except now they’re rimmed with a thin ring of bright pink, courtesy of the Shimmer you’ve seen in his lab no doubt, bright against the deep, dark, purple-ish black that now makes up his sclera. But dissimilar from your memory as they may be, the look in them is one you recognize: careful, poised for rejection, but the remaining tears betray him. It’s strange, how he can look so utterly different yet so hauntingly the same.

He had imagined this moment plenty of times, but never in his wildest dreams could he have come up with this. Yes, there’s several emotions at once crossing your face when you finally see him, yet none of them negative. It’s genuine, innocent curiosity at first, reflected in the careful fingers that reach out to touch him. And before he has time to fully register your touch against his skin, your expression shifts and it’s nothing but pure, unadulterated admiration and affection. “Still so beautiful. Still all mine.”

Just like that, all the tumult and chaos and noise in the back of his head that hadn’t once stopped in the last few years finally seems to silence and he can actually fucking think in peace again for the first time - and the first thing he thinks to do, the most logical thing to do, really, is to curse under his breath before crashing his lips to yours. It’s needy and filthy and all tongues and teeth, your back making abrupt contact with the door again as he shoves you against it, hands coming up from your waist to cup your face. The gesture is tender and sweet and entirely contrasting to the way he’s kissing you; to what he claims to have become. It’s more than welcome nonetheless, giving you a sense of security you didn’t realize you needed as your intact hand moves away from his hair to cover his. It just so happens to be the one that’s still mostly flesh and blood, warm against your skin, except for a thin, cold sliver of metal you feel that you can’t place at first. You don’t remember seeing any augmentations that would feel like this on his hand before. Curious despite the adoring, addictive haze that’s starting to cloud your mind, fingertips try to make out more detail and you find it in tiny little ridges in the metal sitting specifically on his ringfinger that feel suspiciously like letters. Letters that spell out one word: Unconditional.

Your ring. He’s wearing your ring.

It makes you kiss him harder, wanting him so much closer even though it’s hardly possible. You could stay like this for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t ever need for anything else. How unfortunate it is then that one of you both still needs air to fill their lungs to live. How unfortunate that that someone is you; personally you gladly would’ve suffocated against his lips, but he seems to have other plans as he pulls back to let you take some much needed deep breaths, chest heaving while he settles for leaving chaste pecks against the skin of your face.

“Still all yours,” he confirms and you mirror the smile you can hear in his voice. “Now and always.”

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Happy Valentine’s Day to those who are in a relationship and to those still searching for love. But in both cases, I love you all, my dearest ones. And hey, if love doesn’t find you today… there’s always chocolate❤

Warnings: smut, nsfw, sex themes, mature themes, jealousy, a bit of possessive behaviour, fluff in the end

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☙Valentine's day☙

The roar of the crowd still echoed in my ears as James Hetfield and I stepped into the dimly lit bar. The scent of whiskey, smoke, and sweat clung to the air like a lingering ghost of the night’s concert. It was February 14th, but to me, it was just another evening of heavy drinks and heavier emotions.

James had always been more than a friend to me—an unspoken tension lingered between us like a song left unfinished. A touch that lingered too long, a glance that seared too deep. But neither of us had dared to cross that line. Not yet. But tonight… Tonight, there was something different in the air.

We sat at the bar, glasses filled with burning amber liquid, our laughter echoing through the hazy atmosphere. My heart clenched as I looked at him, his rugged face illuminated by the dim light, the faintest hint of sweat still on his brow from the stage.

Then, just when I thought this night couldn’t get any crueler, she appeared. A blonde groupie, dripping in confidence and arrogance, sauntered over like she owned the damn place and plopped herself right onto James’ lap.

“Jamie,” she purred, her fingers playing with a strand of her golden hair. “It’s Valentine’s Day. When are you gonna declare your love for me?”

I clenched my jaw, swirling the drink in my glass, feigning indifference. But my sarcasm slipped out before I could stop it. “Well, he never does,” I muttered dryly, taking a sip. “He only thinks about something else.”

James turned to look at me, his smirk flickering, his eyes unreadable. There was something there—something deeper, darker—but he said nothing.

Lars, ever the shit-stirrer, leaned toward me with a knowing smirk. “What’s with you? Jealous or something?”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Jealous? Please. Actually, I was thinking about heading out. Someone’s waiting for me.”

James’ fingers tightened around his glass, but he said nothing.

Lars let out a low chuckle. “Oh yeah? Who is he?” He leaned forward, intrigued. “Describe him. What’s he like?”

I smirked, playing into it, knowing exactly what I was doing. “Tall. Dark hair. Strong hands.” I let my fingers trail along the rim of my glass. “Knows exactly how to touch me.”

James exhaled sharply, his jaw ticking.

Lars grinned. “And in bed?”

I leaned back, savoring every second of the tension. “Man, he’s divine. No one fucks like him.”

The air grew heavy. James’ grip on his drink tightened, his knuckles going white. His jaw flexed as he slowly turned to face me, his stare burning into my skin.

I stood abruptly, grabbing my coat and walking out. The cold night air slapped me, a cruel contrast to the heat bubbling inside me. I barely made it a few steps before I heard rapid footsteps behind me.

“Y/N!”

I turned, my breath hitching as James stormed toward me, his face unreadable but his eyes dark and intense.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, feigning surprise, though my pulse was hammering.

He stopped just inches away, his breath warm against the night’s chill. “Is it true?” His voice was low, rough. “You got someone waiting for you?”

I tilted my head, smirking. “Maybe.”

His eyes flashed with something dangerous. “Ah, yeah? I wanna meet him.” His voice dropped lower, sending a shiver down my spine. “He knows how to fuck well?”

I let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. “Oh, absolutely. The guy’s practically a saint in the sheets. You should take notes.”

James’ expression darkened, his body going rigid. Before I could react, he grabbed me—strong arms lifting me off the ground as he threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

“James, what the fuck?!” I shrieked, kicking against his hold as he strode toward his car.

“You’ll see,” he growled.

The drive to his place was silent but thick with tension. The moment we stepped inside, he was on me—his lips crashing against mine, hands gripping my waist with a possessive urgency that sent heat pooling between my legs.

“You wanna test me?” he growled against my lips, his teeth grazing my bottom lip before he sucked it into his mouth. “I’ll fucking show you.”

His hands gripped my hips as he backed me against the nearest wall. The world blurred as we stumbled through the house, knocking over furniture, bodies colliding in a desperate battle for dominance. My clothes were gone before I could blink, my skin burning under his rough touch.

“Tell me again,” he muttered darkly, his lips trailing down my throat, his teeth grazing my skin. “Tell me how fucking ‘divine’ he is.”

I gasped, my nails raking down his back. “Fuck you.”

His hand wrapped around my throat, tilting my head back. “Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, pressing his forehead to mine. “That’s exactly what you’re getting.”

 James’ hands roamed over my skin, fingers dancing along the fabric of my dress, teasing but not revealing, as if he were savoring every tantalizing moment. “Such a pretty dress, but it’s not gonna last long,” he murmured against my ear, his breath hot and heavy, sending shivers down my spine.

With one swift motion, he gripped the hem and yanked it over my head, tossing it aside as if it were nothing, leaving me standing there in nothing but my lace panties. “Damn, you’re beautiful,” he growled, his eyes dark with desire, drinking in the sight of me. But I saw that flicker of jealousy, the way his jaw clenched at the thought of me with someone else.

“That asshole doesn’t know a damn thing about you,” he spat, the intensity in his gaze igniting my own desire.

Before I could respond, his hands were on me again, gripping my hips tightly as he guided me to the couch. “Get comfortable,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. I sank down onto the plush cushions, my heart racing as he knelt before me.

James lowered himself, his mouth inches from my core. “Let’s see how well he knows you,” he teased huskily, trailing his fingers along my thighs, drawing closer to that burning heat between my legs. I gasped, arching my back in anticipation.

“James,” I whimpered, urgency flooding my voice.

“Hush, sweetheart,” he replied with a wicked smirk. “I want to hear you, not speak.” He lowered his mouth, lips brushing against my panties, teasing the fabric as my body responded instinctively. “Tell me, is he better than me?” he taunted, his eyes glinting with possessiveness.

I hesitated, wanting to tease him just a bit longer. “Maybe… if that’s what you want to believe,” I replied, a playful lilt in my voice.

His breath hitched, a low growl escaping him as he pressed his mouth harder against me. “You’re playing with fire, beautiful,” he warned, his fingers gripping my thighs like a vice.

When he finally pulled those lace panties aside, my breath hitched in my throat. His tongue flicked out, teasingly slow at first, before plunging deep, igniting a fire within me. I moaned loudly, arching my hips as I dug my fingers into the couch, gripping the fabric to keep myself grounded.

“James, please… don’t stop,” I begged, my voice thick with need.

He groaned against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body. “You taste fucking addictive,” he murmured, mouth moving hungrily. “But I want to hear you say it. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

I bit my lip, feeling the tension building. “You feel amazing,” I breathed, my voice shaky. “So much better than I ever imagined.”

“Better than him, right?” he pressed, a wicked grin stretching across his face.

“Maybe…” I teased, confidence surging through me.

His eyes darkened further, primal need taking over. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re about to find out what ‘better’ really means,” he growled, his fingers working my clit in perfect rhythm. “I bet he never got you this worked up.”

I was nearing the edge, the pleasure overwhelming. “James… I need—”

“Need what?” he teased, leaning closer to me, his breath warm against my core.

“Just… don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” he praised, his tone sultry as he drove me to the brink. When I finally fell apart, my body quaking with pleasure, I cried out, “James!” waves of ecstasy washing over me.

His satisfaction was palpable as he climbed over me, body pressing against mine. “That’s just the start,” he whispered, his fingers tangling in my hair, tilting my head back to claim my mouth.

The kiss was hungry, desperate—filled with all the pent-up emotions we had danced around for so long. As he stripped off the remains of his clothes, I swallowed hard, taking in the sight of him.

“Now, let’s see what else you’ve been missing,” he said, pinning me against the couch again, breathless laughter accompanying his possessiveness.

“Are you ready for me?” he growled, eyes darkening with need.

“James, I—”

“Just say yes, and I’ll take care of the rest,” he interrupted, his voice low and commanding.

“Yes,” I breathed, feeling the heat pool between my legs again.

With a swift movement, he entered me, filling me completely. I gasped, clenching around him as he began to thrust, each movement pushing me closer to the edge once again. “You feel so damn good,” he groaned, eyes locked on mine as he continued to move, each thrust deliberate and deep.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he hissed, punctuating each word with a forceful thrust, possessive and hungry. “Better than what you had before.”

“I—oh god, yes, James!” I cried out, my moans mixing with the sounds of his thrusts. I couldn’t manage anything more than gasps—the pleasure overwhelming, my world reduced to the sensations of him moving inside me.

As James thrust deeper inside me, his breath came in ragged gasps. “Does my cock feel better than his?” he growled, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

I didn’t answer, lost in the overwhelming pleasure as he drove deeper, his hips slamming against me, pushing my body to the edge.

“Can you take it all?” he demanded, thrusting harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

Still, I only gasped, my body writhing in response to the sheer ecstasy of his movements.

“Do I fuck you better than he ever did?” he pressed, increasing the speed and intensity of his thrusts, each one sending shockwaves through me.

I met his intense gaze, heart racing, but I couldn’t find my voice, even as the pleasure surged within me.

“Tell me! Are you forgetting him?” he growled, thrusting even harder, causing my body to respond instinctively to the force of his movements.

Finally, I felt the pressure building to an unbearable peak, and I gasped out, “James!”

He paused, a flicker of triumph in his eyes, and then he pushed into me with an unforgiving thrust. “That’s right, scream my name. You’re mine tonight” he demanded, a wicked grin on his lips as he leaned close.

“James!” I cried out, feeling the tension coiling tighter within me.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice low and sultry. “That’s it. Let go for me. Let me hear just how good I fuck you.”

With a few more powerful thrusts, that coil unraveled, sending me spiraling into ecstasy once again. I could feel him right there with me, his own pleasure peaking as I clenched around him, pulling him deeper.

“Y/N!” he roared, his hips slamming against me one last time before he stilled, a growl escaping his lips.

The aftermath of our reckless, feverish passion wrapped around me like a heavy blanket. My heartbeat gradually slowed to match the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. His head rested on me, his hair damp against my skin, and his arm lay draped possessively across my waist. His fingers, rough and calloused, traced lazy circles against my ribs, grounding me in the reality of what just happened.

I ran my fingers through his hair, savoring the quiet intimacy. It felt surreal—James, my unresolved tension for so long,  and now he’s lying here with me like we’d broken through some invisible barrier we’d pretended didn’t exist. I didn’t want to think about what came next. I just wanted to stay like this forever.

But, of course, James had to break the silence.

“So…” he muttered, voice rough and low. “You never answered me.”

I tilted my head to look down at him. His chin rested on my chest now, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Answered what?” I asked, feigning innocence.

He raised an eyebrow. “The guy.”

My lips twitched. Oh, I was going to have fun with this. I gave a nonchalant shrug, letting my fingers slip through his hair. “Ah, yeah. Him.” I bit my lip and let my eyes go unfocused like I was lost in thought. “Mmm… yeah, he’s pretty unforgettable.”

James froze. His fingers stopped their lazy tracing, his entire body going rigid against mine. His jaw flexed, his eyes darkening as he pushed himself up onto one elbow. The weight of his stare pinned me beneath him.

“Is that true?” he asked softly. His thumb brushed along my cheek, the touch gentle even though the intensity of his gaze made my stomach flip. “You really got someone waiting for you?”

The jealousy in his eyes was almost palpable, but I wasn’t ready to give in yet. I raised an eyebrow, lips curving into a wicked grin. “Maybe.”

His nostrils flared slightly. His thumb drifted down, tracing the curve of my jaw. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He looked away for a moment, jaw tight, before his eyes met mine again. The vulnerability in that look hit me like a punch to the gut.

“That shit killed me, you know,” he admitted. His voice was rougher now, the teasing bravado completely gone. “Hearing you talk like that. Thinking there might be some other guy… someone who gets to touch you like this. Someone who…” He hesitated, his thumb ghosting over my lips. “Who gets to have you.”

My heart squeezed. I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat.

James let out a humorless laugh, his eyes dropping to my lips. “I’ve had women throwing themselves at me for years. Groupies who don’t know a damn thing about me beyond the stage.” His lips twisted into a grim smile. “And yeah, I could’ve had any of ‘em. But I didn’t.”

I swallowed hard. “Why not?”

He inhaled slowly, his eyes meeting mine again. “Because the one I ever wanted is you”

The air left my lungs in a rush. My pulse raced, my skin prickling as his words settled in. Holy shit.

Before I could respond, James pushed himself off the bed. I sat up, holding the sheet to my chest as I watched him stride naked across the room. He disappeared into the hallway, leaving me there, heart racing and mind spinning.

What the hell was he doing?

I was still catching my breath when he returned a minute later, his large hand clutching something. As he stepped into the warm glow of the bedside lamp, I saw it clearly: a single red rose with a black string tied around its stem. Attached to the string was a small folded note.

My lips parted in surprise as he held it out to me. His fingers flexed slightly when I took it.

“I was gonna give this to you earlier,” he said, voice low and rough. “Before the whole ‘I got a guy waiting for me’ thing.” His mouth quivered in a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess I chickened out.”

I unfolded the note with trembling fingers, my heart threatening to crack my ribcage.

Will you be my Valentine?

I stared at the words, my vision blurring with the tears that sprang up uninvited. My lips parted, but I couldn’t speak. The simplicity of it, the rawness… it shattered me in the best way.

James shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly. “I just… I needed you to know. I’ve felt this way for a long time.”

I let the rose fall to the bed and surged forward, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down to me. My lips crashed into his, pouring everything I couldn’t say into that kiss. His arms came around me instantly, crushing me against his chest as he kissed me back with the same desperate hunger.

When we finally broke apart, I cupped his face, smiling through the tears. “Yes,” I whispered. “I’ll be your Valentine.”

James exhaled shakily, his forehead resting against mine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “Always.”

He groaned softly, pulling me into his lap. His lips brushed against mine, softer this time. Slower. Like he was savoring the taste of the answer he’d wanted all along.

But I couldn’t resist one last poke. I ran my fingers through his hair and tilted my head. “Although, I gotta say… the other guy might be jealous.”

James froze mid-kiss and leaned back, eyes narrowing. “The fuck?”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

His jaw clenched, and that dark possessiveness returned, his hands gripping my waist. “Y/N…”

I couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore. I let my head fall back as it spilled out, echoing through the room. When I looked at him again, his mouth was a tight line, but his eyes were soft.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous, Hetfield,” I teased, running my fingers along his stubbled jaw.

“Yeah? Keep laughing, sweetheart,” he growled, a smirk finally breaking through. “But you’re mine now. And if that imaginary asshole ever shows up…”

“Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do?”

His lips brushed my ear, voice a low, delicious growl. “I’ll remind him exactly who you belong to”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[harmonyrae]

Inked - Part 2

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

Part One

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

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

Word Count: 15k 

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

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

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

“Enjoying the show?”

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

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

“Are you braiding my hair?”

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

“When did you learn to braid hair?”

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

“Talia’s married?”

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

“Her husband is very open-minded.”

You lean back against him and he kisses your temple. 

“Race starts at 9.”

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

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

“I thought…”

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

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

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

You can’t stop yourself from giggling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good as new.”

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

“My team works fast.”

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

“You’re nervous.”

He meets your gaze. 

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

“I’ll be okay. I trust you.”

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

“Am I interrupting?”

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

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

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

“I mean we’ve met, but –”

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

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

Sylus crosses his arms, mirroring Rafayel. 

“I assume she knows already?”

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

“She does.”

“And she knows my alias?”

Rafayel nods. Sylus turns to face you. 

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

Rafayel steps forward, putting you slightly behind him. 

“She does.”

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

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

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

“Fair enough.” 

Rafayel rubs the back of his neck before continuing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think Onryō is undercover?”

Sylus shrugs.

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

“Stella?”

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

“He names his bikes.”

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

Rafayel paces around him.

“Fuck…”

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

Rafayel stops pacing, he turns to face Sylus.

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

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

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

Sylus glares at Rafayel, which amuses Rafayel greatly.

“You’re one to talk.”

Rafayel raises his hands in mock surrender. 

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

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

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

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

“And Mephisto?”

“A bird.”

“That’s a gross mischaracterization.”

Rafayel laughs and drapes his arm around your shoulder. 

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

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

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

Sylus nods. You cock your head.

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

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

“Fine. Two days.”

Sylus looks at you once again. 

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

“She’s not involved Sylus.”

“Of course she’s involved.”

“She certainly is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatcha doin cutie?”

“Getting comfortable for storytime.”

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

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

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

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

Rafayel sighs and leans his head on your shoulder.

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

“The guy who sucked your dick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you beat him.”

“Yea…”

“And you enjoyed it?”

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

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

He groans and turns around to start pacing again. 

“We should go.”

“To what?” 

“Dinner. At his place.”

He spins around, his eyes wide.

“Why?”

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

Rafayel sighs and nods reluctantly. 

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

“Rude.” 

You poke your elbow into his stomach. 

“It’s almost 9.”

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

“You ready?”

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

“Whole new world time?”

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

“Come on Princess, let’s ride.”

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

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

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

“What’s up Kiko? Yuki onna, 3146.”

Rafayel nods and types something on his phone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Raijū…”

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

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

Rafayel shakes his head.

“Working on it.”

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

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

“What’s your number today?”

“Raijū, 1520.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your number?”

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

“Ryūō, 7213.”

Sylus taps his phone.

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

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

“What are the numbers?”

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

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

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

Rafayel snorts, he secures his phone to its mount.

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

“Special?”

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

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

“Got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re fine, don’t worry.”

You wince, his voice is loud.

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

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

“You can talk back if it helps?”

“Oh… okay.”

Your voice is shakier than you intended. 

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

“When… will they chase?”

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

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

“Do they always wait?”

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

“How fast are you going now?”

Rafayel laughs. “185.”

“Fucking hell…”

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

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

“Are we heading back into Linkon?” 

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

“Payouts?”

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

“Are you winning?”

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

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

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

“Well now you have to tell me.”

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

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

“I knew you’d yell at me!”

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

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

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

“Babe? You with me?”

“Yeah… yes, sorry.”

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

“O-okay.”

“Hold onto me, you’ll be okay.”

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

“Now, check now.”

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

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

“Two pursuit vehicles. How close?”

“On our ass!”

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

“Do you want me to check again?”

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

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

“One of them crashed…”

“Okay, easy, we’ll be out in a sec.”

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

“Babe, babe! Talk to me!”

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

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

“They crashed…”

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

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

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

“Babe, hey, the cop is okay.”

“How do you know?”

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

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

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

Rafayel hugs you, his hands glide over your back.

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

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

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

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

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

“He got a call, he’s out back.”

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

“How much did they make?”

Rafayel looks at his phone, scrolling slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Trouble in Paradise?” 

Sylus chuckles as he rubs his forehead. 

“Just some drunk idiots harassing my staff.”

“Paradise is his club, by the way.” 

Rafayel squeezes your hip and you hum in response.

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

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

“Wait, you own a club.”

A teasing smirk spreads across his lips.

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

You feel Rafayel bristle and hold you tighter.

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

He takes a step toward you. 

“That… is a great idea, sweetie.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you…?”

“Am I what?”

“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

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

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

You finally release him and he turns to face you.

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

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

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

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

“I’m in charge of music!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh no no no… You first, I insist.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck me on your motorcycle…”

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

“Bad girl…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I beg to differ.”

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

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

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

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

You frown and try to look up at him. 

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

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

Rafayel releases you and you sit up.

“You sure?”

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

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

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

“Damn. You clean up nice.”

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

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

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

“Where’s the shirt?”

“You’re looking at it.”

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

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

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

“Do you trust me?”

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

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

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

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

“So fucking beautiful.”

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

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

You nod and give his hand a squeeze. 

“You good?”

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

“We’re here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Welcome to Paradise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like a ghost?” You joke.

“Like an angel.” He says with a wink.

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

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

“Madam, would you like your jacket checked?”

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

“Yes, thank you!”

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

“Was this place a church?”

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

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

“You designed the windows?”

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

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

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

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

You lean against the railing and nod.

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

“I don’t understand…”

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to see something?”

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

“Perks of knowing the owner.” 

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

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

“Welcome to The Abyss.”

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

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

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

“So, The Abyss?”

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

You laugh and lean towards him.

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

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

“This album is one of my favorites.”

“Lady in Satin, nice choice.”

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

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

You smile and poke his chest.

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

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

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

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

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

“How dare you, I wanted that!”

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

“Sylus! I didn’t need –”

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

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

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

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

“How did she know?”

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

“Tell him what?”

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

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

You stare at Sylus. 

“I doubt I can afford the buy in.”

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

“Rafayel!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rafayel’s brows shoot up and Sylus laughs loudly.

“A tattoo? Really?”

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

“What do I get if I win?”

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

“What do you want?”

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

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

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

“Okay. Deal.”

He extends his hand and you shake it firmly. Sylus nods at the dealer and they begin passing out cards. You hold your breath and pray for a decent hand. You’ll bluff your way to victory if all else fails. 

The cards slide across the table into a neat stack in front of you. You place your hand over your cards and carefully lift the corners to check. Jack of Hearts and King of Hearts, decent. It’s time to overreact, Rafayel doesn’t know you spent almost every lunch period in school playing poker with your best friend. Caleb never let you win, he forced you to improve your skills and when you finally beat him the satisfaction made up for every loss. 

“The game is Texas Hold ‘Em, no limits. Place your bets.”

The first two men fold and Sylus tosses two chips to the center of the table. You tap your fingers on your cards, trying to appear thoughtful. You pick up two chips and toss them in.

“Call.”

Rafayel follows suit and the dealer flips the first card. A Jack of Clubs. A two or three pair is possible, if you are willing to risk it. The dealer looks at Sylus, who hasn’t stopped staring at you. You can feel his heated gaze and your ear burns. He tosses another two chips in, has he even looked at his cards? You call as does Rafayel.

Another card is revealed, a King of Spades. A two pair, it was something to stand on. The final card would determine if you needed to put on an act or just sit back and enjoy your win. Sylus tosses five chips in and you purposefully roll your shoulders, trying to appear tense, as if the bet was getting a little too high.

You call and turn to face Rafayel, scanning his face for any signs of a tell. He’s all smiles as he taps the center of his forehead with his index finger, considering the bet. He pushes his remaining chips to the center of the table. 

“All in.”

You raise a brow, allowing him to see your surprise, but not revel in it. You look over at Sylus who is finally taking a look at his cards. You doubt he will have any tells but you examine him anyway. The way his brows furrow, his chin tilts up and he drags his finger along the edge of the cards. You get the feeling he doesn’t care about the money, he just wants to see how your bet with Rafayel plays out. You’re still considering his motives when he pushes his chips towards the pile.

“Call.”

Both men stare at you now. Was this hand worth it? Is this what Sylus meant by losing oneself to greed? Wanting to win so badly you’ll risk it all? You close your eyes, letting the muscles in your face relax.

“Call.”

Rafayel chuckles quietly as you push your chips to the center. The dealer turns over the final card and you hold your breath. A fucking Jack of Diamonds. You have a Full House. There was no sequential order to the cards so they couldn’t have Four of a Kind since you had a King card yourself. Best they could do is a three pair… You won. You finally lift your eyes and peek at your cards again, looking “concerned.” 

“Showdown.”

The dealer leans onto the table to watch the reveal. Sylus flips his first, an Ace of Clubs and an Ace of Diamonds. A Two Pair wasn’t bad, especially if you and Rafayel were bluffing. Sylus leans back and crosses his legs, bringing his glass to his lips and sipping slowly. 

You look at Rafayel, he’s tapping his forehead with his finger again, his smile flashing the gem adhered to his tooth. 

“Last chance cutie. Say the word and maybe I’ll let you off the hook.”

He is still tapping his forehead. This must be his tell. Adorable. You’ll certainly use this to your advantage in the future.

“Not a chance.”

“Okay… Show at the same time then?”

You nod and Rafayel picks up his cards. He counts down and you hesitate, letting him lay his cards down first - give him a single moment of pride. A Jack of Spades and a 4 of Clubs. Three of a Kind, enough to beat Sylus, but not enough to beat you. When you lay your cards down Sylus claps.

“Very impressive performance, sweetie.”

You smile at Sylus before finally turning to face Rafayel, who is already pouting. 

“A Full House. You had a goddamn Full House?!”

You lean over and kiss his cheek. He runs a hand through his hair.

“You played me.”

You take his hand and give it a squeeze. He yanks his hand free before looping his arm around your neck and pulling you into a tight hug. His face is buried in your neck.

“Guess I still have a lot to learn about you cutie. Hope you’re ready for an interrogation.”

The sound of shoes approaching makes you pull back. You look over your shoulder and see a man in a suit leaning down to speak into Sylus’ ear. Sylus nods and as soon as the man turns to leave he stands and motions for you and Rafayel to follow him. 

He takes you into a backroom with several shelving units packed with liquor. A cozy sofa and mini-fridge sit in the corner next to a row of lockers. Sylus begins to pace and Rafayel straddles the arm of the couch.

“What happened?”

“We found our man, but he slipped away. Turns out he is undercover, but we don’t know who he works for exactly. My team lost track of him when he hopped on a bike out back. They got his plate number and they’re going through camera footage for a clear shot of his face.”

You cross your arms and step closer to Sylus.

“Can I have the plate number?”

Sylus looks at you with a rare expression, shock. 

“As a hunter I have access to certain things and maybe I can get more information for you.”

“Sweetie, we have ways of getting that intel ourselves you shouldn’t –”

You hold up a hand, silencing him.

“A way that won’t set off any alarms? As a hunter, I’m technically a member of law enforcement, so doing a routine search for a plate won’t raise suspicion. I want to help, so let me.”

Sylus tucks his hands in his pockets and steps even closer, his essence flooding your senses. The scent of whiskey and vanilla, the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off of his silk button up, he commands attention and you can’t help but stare. 

“Alright.” 

He grabs a napkin from the top of the mini fridge and takes a pen out of his breast pocket. He looks at you and twirls his finger. You squint at him and he repeats the motion, you realize he’s telling you to turn around. You slowly turn and he places the napkin on your back and begins writing.

“Are you using me to–”

He shushes you and when you feel the pen stop you turn to face him. He hands the napkin to you.

“We’ll meet mid-week. Just be sure not to dig your claws in too deep, kitten.”

You can feel Rafayel’s eyes on you, but you dare to step closer.

“Okay, what’s with this ‘kitten’ bullshit?”

Sylus chuckles.

“You just remind me of a mischievous kitten, that’s all.”

You put your hands on your hips and try your best to glare at this mountain of a man.

“Okay, how about we try… Bakeneko? Still a kitten, but twice as fierce.”

Great, he was referring to you as a monster cat, known for being little menaces to those around them. You should be angry, but instead you feel your heart swell with pride. To have your own yokai alias made you feel like you’re a part of their world. You decide to concede for now, the nickname could be worse. 

“Fine.”

Sylus laughs and pulls his phone out, tapping it twice before a knock at the door makes you jump. The man who spoke to Sylus at the table enters and hands Sylus a manila folder. He immediately hands it to you. You open it and see a short list of information regarding the individual including the license plate number. You close it and stare at the napkin in your other hand. You look up at Sylus.

“Wait… then what…?”

You open the napkin and see a phone number. Sylus extends his hand and you’re too dumbfounded by his forwardness to register your own actions. You extend your hand and another gentle kiss graces your knuckles. 

“I’ll speak to you soon, Bakeneko.”

Sylus leaves the room and you turn to face Rafayel. A subtle pout plays on his lips and you quickly lift his chin to kiss it away. He sighs and rests his hands on your hips. 

“Can we get out of here?”

You nod and give him a devious grin. He shrinks back and narrows his eyes at you.

“You have a tattoo appointment after all.”

The bell above the door at Lemuria Studios chimes loudly as you and Rafayel stumble inside. Rafayel has you on his back, holding your legs while your arms wrap around his neck. He kicks the door closed behind him and turns around to press his thumb to the keypad locking it again.

As he walks through the studio your heels slip off your feet and clatter to the floor. He sets you down when he reaches the door to his private studio and unlocks it. You shuffle inside and start examining the various machines and tools. 

“So what are ya lookin’ to get today sir?”

Rafayel laughs and moves you to the side to start preparing a station for you. He quickly washes his hands and puts on fresh gloves. You watch him line a metal tray with plastic wrap and secure it with tape. He pulls out two squeeze bottles from a lower cabinet, wrapping them with plastic wrap as well before setting on the tray. He grabs a new disposable razor from a drawer and secures the guard before setting it down. Taking a popsicle stick, he dips into a Vaseline jar and dabs it on the tray, placing small dots close by. He sets two ink caps on the tiny Vaseline dots, the caps sinking into the gel like glue. 

You hop up to sit on the counter next to him while he works and you lean down to kiss his temple.

“What colors do you want cutie?”

You look at the bin he pulls out of the cabinet and sift through the bottles. 

“Let’s just go with black, I’ll work up the courage to try color another time.”

“Oh, another time? Is this your new hobby?”

He pours black ink into the caps before closing the bottle and returning the bin to the cabinet. He places the new needle, still in its packaging, on the counter while he does a quick inspection of his tattoo machine. He unwraps the container and carefully removes the needle, sliding it in place. He pulls a small bag out of a drawer and drapes it over the gun, securing it with hot pink grip tape. After connecting the power cord, he kicks over the foot pedal and sets the machine on the tray. He sets the tray on the mobile cart next to him and rolls it over to the stool. 

He points at the sink and you hop off the counter. As you wash your hands, a sudden wave of anxiety hits you. He’s actually going to let you tattoo him? What if you hurt him? What if it’s ugly? Will he be mad? What are you doing?

“I think your hands are clean…”

You look down to see your hands are red from how hard you were scrubbing them. You dry them with a paper towel and he holds out the box of gloves for you. As you tug on a pair of gloves you watch him clean the chair he’ll sit on. When he finally looks up at you his smile instantly falls.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure this is okay?”

He places his hands on your shoulders and kisses your forehead. 

“I am.”

“But what if it’s ugly or I mess up or –”

“You wanna know how I see tattoos? It’s like a photograph, it takes you back to a previous version of yourself and you get to remember who you were and how far you’ve come. 50 years from now, I will look at the tattoo you gave me and remember this time in my life. And I’ll remember how cute you were worrying about giving me an ugly tattoo.”

You look at your feet, overwhelmed with your racing thoughts. The question you’ve been dying to ask gets trapped in your throat. This isn’t the time or place. Rafayel gently holds your chin and makes you look at him. 

“What are you thinking?”

“What if you regret it?”

His eyes soften as begins to understand your fear. He lets go of your chin and turns to the counter, opening a drawer. You hear him moving things around for a moment before turning around and holding a pen. He cleans the pen with a wipe and hands it to you. You realize it’s a tattoo pen, he used a similar one to draw the finer details of your tattoo before going in with the needle. He shrugs off his suit jacket, tossing it on the counter before sitting down on the padded bed and folding his hands in his lap.

“A tattoo is a moment, and in this moment, there’s nothing I want more than your artwork on my body. Okay, well… there is another thing, but we probably shouldn’t do that in my studio.”

He winks at you and you almost chuck the pen at his head.

“Also… I will never regret knowing you.”

Your eyes water and you roll your neck in an attempt to hide the wave of emotions that just crashed over you. How did he know? You walk over to him and uncap the pen. 

“Where do you want it, pretty boy?”

He starts to slowly unbutton his dress shirt, letting it fall open to reveal his torso. He lays back on the table and places a hand behind his head. With his other hand he points to his hip, right above the waistband of his pants. Your eyes widen and you feel how very dry your mouth has become.

“O-okay.”

You use your foot to tug the stool over and you sit, placing your elbows on the edge of the table and staring at his hip. 

“You have to clean and shave the area before drawing anything. Use the green bottle first, then shave, then the clear one.”

You follow his instructions, cleaning his skin and gliding the razor over a small patch of skin. As you do the final cleaning step you bite your lip, you knew what you wanted to draw but doubted your skills. You take a deep breath and begin lightly drawing the outline of your design. You make several adjustments using a makeshift eraser of paper towel dipped in the clear cleanser. Rafayel doesn’t move, he lets you doodle and brainstorm for over an hour. Finally, you sit back and smile.

“Do you want to look at it before I start?”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. 

“Let’s keep it a surprise.”

You pick up the tattoo gun and stare at it like you’ve never seen one before. You clear your throat and gently step on the pedal hearing the machine buzz to life.

“It’s not as scary as it looks.”

You look up to see Rafayel still has his eyes closed. 

“Go slow, focus on drawing straight small lines at first. You don’t have to push, just let the machine do the work. Use the paper towel to clear the excess ink. You’ve got this. Oh, and dip your pinkie in the Vaseline, it’ll keep your stencil from smudging.”

You hold the machine with a firm hand and dip the tip in the ink cap. You follow Rafayel’s advice and dip the side of your pinkie in the Vaseline before resting the side of your palm on his stomach. You cautiously draw your first line and wipe at the spot with a paper towel. You’re pleased to see the line is dark and relatively straight. You giggle and dip the needle in the ink cap continuing your work.

Rafayel remains completely still. His steady breathing keeps you calm. With each line, you become more and more confident. 

“Let me know if you need more ink.”

“I’m good. I wish I could do some shading, but I don’t think I’m good enough for that.”

Rafayel chuckles. You set down the tattoo gun and wipe it down one last time. 

“Okay… I think I’m done.”

Rafayel opens his eyes and sits up. You stand from the stool and watch him stride to the mirror. He stands close and looks between the mirror and his skin. The tattoo itself is more “cutsie” compared to the more intricate artwork he has covering his skin. A small fan-tailed fish floats above a kitten on their back. The small kitten has its paws extended towards the fish, its tail curled and a tiny smile under its button nose. 

“I wanted to add bubbles, but they’d just look like circles without shading so…”

Rafayel turns and grabs your face with both hands, he kisses you hard. His hands drop from your face to your hips. You sigh into his mouth and he forces himself to pull back. 

“It’s amazing. I would never have guessed this was your first tattoo. How about this, I’ll add some shading to it for you, yea?”

You nod and reach for the bandage Rafayel laid out on the counter. You press the bandage to his hip and use medical tape to secure it. He moves the tray to the counter and kicks the stool into the corner. As soon as you peel your gloves off, Rafayel’s hands are all over you. He pulls you back to him and drags his fingers down your arms, lifting your hands to his shoulders. He dives back in, capturing your lips with his own. He takes a step back and you follow his lead, he backs you against the padded table across the room.

His fingers fiddle with the knot holding the scarf around your chest. You feel the fabric loosen and slowly fall away. The cool air against your bare chest makes your nipples harden and you lean into Rafayel’s warmth. With his chest against yours, you feel his heart pounding. His nipple rings rub against your sensitive peaks and your breathy moans fill the room. He runs his fingers through your hair and you lean back, damn near lying on the table. 

You swiftly undo his belt and he kicks his pants down his legs and into a corner. Your hands are just dipping down the front of his boxers when he grabs your wrist.

“Turn around.”

His commanding voice takes you by surprise. Rafayel loved to switch up positions in the bedroom, but he usually prefers when you take the lead. It seems tonight he was worked up for some reason. You make a mental note to ask him about it later, for now you can only focus on how he unbuckles your belt and tugs your pants down with fervor. 

“I thought you said… we shouldn't do this in your studio…”

He silences you once his hand wraps around you and he fingers your clit, he traces circles slowly. You whine and push your hips back. He leans against you, his chest pressed to your back. He places open mouth kisses to your shoulder and up your neck, his voice is barely above a whisper. 

“I want you to know… I will spend every hour… of every day proving to you… that I will never regret knowing you.”

His cock presses against your entrance he begins rolling his hips forward, dragging his cock through your slick cunt. You let your head fall forward back, your forehead resting on the table. He runs his tip over your clit with his piercing. 

“Rafayel… fuck… please!”

He continues teasing you for another moment before you feel that perfect stretch that only his cock can provide. Your chest heaves and a guttural groan erupts from Rafayel’s throat. He lets go of your hips to hold onto the table. He’s halfway in when you feel your knees give out, Rafayel wraps an arm around you and thrusts his hips forward filling you completely.

“Right there oh god oh god yes Rafayel yes!”

He presses his face against your back and lets out a low growl. You know he’s close so you hold your breath and press your hips back. He suddenly pulls out and turns you around. He hikes your leg up over his hip before burying himself into your tight heat once again. You cling to him, your fingernails digging into his upper back. He gasps and he throws his head back. He finally lays you back on the table, one of his arms tucked under you. He grips your thigh and looks down at you with hooded eyes. Sweat drips down his cheek dripping onto your chest. 

“Shit shit shiiiiit baby I need to –”

He’s cut off with the sound of a bell ringing. The bell above the front door. You hadn’t even realized what time it was, early morning sunlight was just starting to filter through the windows. Rafayel bites his lip and slows his movements for a moment. You hear footsteps moving across the hardwood floors and the jingle of keys. You look over his shoulder and stare at the door, trying to steady your breathing. You’re about to uncross your ankles and move away when Rafayel rams his hips forward. 

“Raf!” You whisper yell.

You glare at him but his expression remains the same. His mouth covers yours in an attempt to silence you and your eyes roll back. A knock brings both of you to a halt. 

“Rafayel? Are you in there?”

Thomas, the studio manager, stands just outside the door and knocks again. Rafayel lifts his head and slowly rolls his hips, you close your eyes and try to keep your building orgasm at bay until Thomas is gone. But as Rafayel continues his movements, you know you won’t be able to stop yourself from crying out. So you lunge forward and sink your teeth into his shoulder.

“Fuck!”

Rafayel shouts, not in pain, but rather surprise. There’s another knock on the door. 

“Rafayel?”

Rafayel slams his hand against the table, making the legs squeak against the floor. His cock twitches and you squeeze your thighs against his waist.

“Yeah… yes, sorry I stubbed my toe. Fuck!”

Your teeth sink deeper until you taste something metallic. He drags his hips back until only his tip remains tucked in your tight heat. He rams his hips forward and as soon as his piercing hits your g-spot you come. The sudden burst of warmth gushes over his cock and down his thighs. Your orgasm makes you bite down harder causing his release to spill into you.

A loud scoff from Thomas is heard through the door. 

“You know you can just say you’re fucking your girlfriend, right? Her heels are in the lobby.”

You unlock your jaw and release his shoulder, your head hits the table with a quiet thud. 

“Sorry Thomas…”

Your breathy apology makes Rafayel chuckle. He rests his forehead against yours as his cock softens inside you. He kisses the tip of your nose and looks down at you with such reverence your eyes start to water again. He kisses your cheeks and when a tear falls, he kisses it away humming softly. 

“Just clean the room before opening, please. I’m going to get another coffee.”

You hear his footsteps fade and the bell above the front door chime. Rafayel slips out of you and picks you up, setting you on the table. He runs his tongue over his labret piercing, sucking into his mouth. This cute little habit of his usually means he’s overthinking. You lift your hand and tug on his bottom lip with your thumb. He releases his piercing and sighs.

“We’ve never talked about that…”

“About what?”

“Using titles… like that.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and he steps forward between your legs.

“Do you want to use titles?”

“I’d… love to call you my girlfriend, but do you want to call me your boyfriend?”

You cup his cheeks in your hands and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“My boyfriend.”

You kiss the tip of his nose.

“My boyfriend, Rafayel.”

You kiss his left cheek and then his right.

He leans into your touch, savoring each kiss.

“Yes, I’d love to call you mine.”

Before he can pull you into another kiss, your eyes catch the swollen red spot on his shoulder. You see your bite mark, a small drop of blood trickling down to his chest. 

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I didn’t… I shouldn’t have…”

He looks down at his shoulder and wipes the blood away with his thumb. 

“I’m fine! You were just marking your territory.”

You slap his chest and he pulls you into a hug, his hands rub your back and you melt into his embrace. To think a few weeks ago you were on this table getting a tattoo and now you’re naked, holding onto your boyfriend. A sexy tattoo artist who has an illegal hobby of street racing his high end motorcycle and is much more complex than you could ever imagine. You’re not sure how, but the unexpected direction your life has taken has only brought you joy. And you’re excited to see where life with Rafayel takes you.

(AN Part 2: I don't know how to play poker, so I hope this is accurate! Also, mini spoiler for Part 3 - more crowfish smut. Smile.)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @spacegroteske @namjoonseuphoria @celestialforce @rafshottestgf @oxamarok @withering-dream @zaynessbeloved @animecrazy76 @yournextdoorhousewitch @hauntedbysmut @addiglessthanthree @4ttack-ur-heart

[entitled-fangirl]

White noise.

Jason Todd x deaf!reader

Summary: the reader loves music. Jason finds himself slowing liking it too.

Masterlist

..........................................................

Jason had never been a music guy.

He liked it enough. It was okay. But she loved it.

The irony of it made him shake his head at the thought.

She had loved music since she was young. She was always singing some tune, humming along and she went about her daily chores.

That's when he decided he liked music.

And his favorite part was when she didn't know she was doing it.

She was currently folding the laundry, setting it across the couch in assorted piles. She had her hearing aids in, her phone connected to them. So, while he couldn't hear the actual song, he could guess it from her humming alone.

Entirely amused, he leaned against the doorway from the hall with a cheeky grin.

Finishing the basket, she turned, pausing at the sight of him. She fished for her phone, pausing her music and waiting for the outside noise to come back. "I was being loud, wasn't I?"

He shrugged, pushing off the wall. "I don't mind."

"That means yes," she groaned.

He chuckled and stepped over to her, plucking the basket away and tugging her against his chest. "You can play it out loud, if you want. You're really not gonna bother me, baby."

She sighed, resting a cheek on his chest, ignoring the crumpling sound against her ear. "Hard for you to plan badass missions while listening to Harry Styles."

He grinned. He had guessed it was Styles by her humming. "Don't care. Listen to whatever you want. You're not a hindrance, you know."

"Compromise?"

His smile grew. She always did this when worrying about only getting her way. "Fire away."

"What about like… relaxing noises instead. Like white noise, or… rain or something?"

"White noise? What the fuck is that?"

"It's like… just sound. I don't know. I've never given it a try."

His hand ran through her hair, twirling the strands. "Alright. Why not."

She grabbed the remote to the TV, pulling up the first white noise YouTube video that came up. They patiently waited for the ads to play through. 

The sound of static filled the room, the video playing away.

They both stared for a while, trying to decide if they liked it or not.

Finally, Jason nodded. "Yeah. Compromise. That's fine." He dipped his head down and gave her a brief kiss before disappearing back in his little lair (the office in their tiny apartment).

His desk was lined with maps and papers that had his  scribbles across them. He had his next mission scouted out, large circles in various places across the city. She'd bought him a pack of markers last Christmas and by god, he was gonna use them. So each Wayne had a color assigned to them.

He spent the next hour hunched over that desk until he could feel the tension in his shoulders. He stretched, groaning at the pop that came with it. The video had stopped playing in the next room, and she had yet to turn it back on. He assumed her hands were full, or she was simply busy, so he took it upon himself to go look.

But she hadn't reacted at all. She was still folding the next load of clothes like nothing had happened. 

"Baby?"

No answer.

Her goddamn hearing aids were setting on the sofa.

He sighed and walked to her carefully, placing a steady hand to her back to let her know he was there. He reached over her with the other to pick up the aids. 

He twirled one between his fingers and gave her a look.

She sheepishly smiled and grabbed them, putting them back in.

He gave her a minute, waiting for her eyes to light back up at the feeling of sound coming back to her. "Thought you wanted to listen to this?"

"Sorry, Jace. I tried. I really did."

"What's going on with you?"

"It's just…" She sighed, grabbing the remote. "The frequencies were… messing with my hearing is all."

He held his hands up. "Then why didn't you turn it off? You just decided not to hear at all over playing your music like I told you to in the first place?"

Her eyes turned guilty. "I just thought maybe you were enjoying it."

He gave a dramatic sigh, like he truly didn't understand. 

"I really am sorry, Jason," she clammed up. "I didn't think-"

"-Woah, woah. Easy, baby. I'm not mad at you." He tipped her chin up. "You think I'm mad at you?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know."

He couldn't stop the grin working up his face. "Well. Keep those in. I'll figure this out." He took the remote from her, flipping through things until he got to their music app. 

And played her favorite album.

"There. Perfect."

"It'll bother you-"

"-It won't."

She grabbed at the remote, and he held it further out. "Love you."

She huffed, "Jason-"

"Say it back."

"Give me the remote-"

"-Say it back," he teased again, stretching his arm higher. 

"Ugh, fine. I love you. Or whatever." She gave up, crossing her arms and pouting.

"I know, baby." He leaned in, giving her a kiss like he had an hour ago, then disappeared, taking the remote with him.

She wanted to keep being mad. But she wasn't. She wasn't at all.

Especially with her favorite music playing.

...

The next patrol, Jason found himself humming.

"Dude," Dick laughed, "Are you humming Harry St-"

"Shut up."

...........................................................

[pearlescentparade]

Looking at all those phighting requests....y'all freaky😭

Medkit and kid reader but like, their relationship is very similar to Ballister and Nimona's (no idea if you ever watched it). Basically reader loves to get in trouble and cause chaos, annoying the shit out of every other phighter. They sometimes look out for Medkit like "oh phew you're not dead" cuz he's wanted in Blackrock.

OMG OMG WAIT I ACTUALLY WATCHED NIMONA WITH MY FRIENDS SO IK EXACTLY WHAT YOURE TALKING ABOUT

⬧ medkit o kid! reader💝

"think this little one belongs to you, med." sword holds you by dangling you from the collar, presenting you to the doctor. you wave, innocuous.

medkit takes a long sip of his black coffee. the porcelain of the cup clinks as he firmly sets it down on the table he's sitting at. if he did it any harder, he probably would've broken the thing. your hopeful eyes meet his exasperated ones as he glares holes through you. "it's not 'mine'. it just follows me everywhere." all he wanted was a peaceful afternoon with no disturbances, and he can't even be granted that?

upon his response, your face drops. seriously, 'it'?! he's talking about you like some kind of creature! wildly, you throw your hands in the air. "oh, c'mon, med! you're basically my dad!" somehow, his eyebrows scrunch even more. him? a father? it's an utterly preposterous idea. he can barely take care of himself, let alone an entire child.

"do i even want to know what you've done now?" exhausted, medkit rolls his eyes. it's become something of a song and dance between you two. you go off and cause trouble, someone catches you, they bring you to him, and he has to fix everything like always. all he can do once he sees anyone with you coming his way is pray that you didn't cause extreme property damage or something. the click of his dress shoe impatiently tapping against the concrete ground resembles his ticking tolerance.

a sigh can be heard from sword. he tensely recounts, "they came over while i was out with rocket and they just started messing with him. he got so pissed.. then they grabbed his prosthetic arm and started running around with it, and we had to chase them around for a bit. oh- rocket also told me to tell you to—" the adventurer clears his throat before putting on his best rocket impression and mimicking his best friend's disgruntled face, "—'control your little brat'! that's what he said."

medkit blinks, before deeply heaving out a great exhale and pinching his nose bridge. "tell rocket i send my condolences for the trouble. but once again, i should clarify that i'm not the one to take accountability for this.. lost child. it's not my circus, and certainly not my monkeys."

seriously, everyone just assumes you're his kid because you're always bothering him. it's insulting, really. if you were truly his spawn, you'd be more proper and thoughtful of your manners. but then again, you aren't his child, so it doesn't matter—

"oh hey, where'd they go?"

medkit's eye flies open. lo and behold, you are indeed missing from a confuzzled sword's grasp.

"sword. what do you mean 'where'd they go', you were holding them just now." the doctor almost jumps off the seat, the chair sliding back as he gets up. sword flinches at his sudden reaction, only able to anxiously shrug as he scans the area to find where you could've gone.

a terrified shriek and maniacal laughter resound in the distance, and medkit whips his head in the direction it came from. lowly, he growls. "a timely answer to our questions, how thoughtful. let's go."

when sword and medkit arrive to the scene, the latter pales and immediately fumbles for his revolver, clenching his fist around his weapon tightly. his teeth could break from how hard he begins to grit them.

"this can't be fucking real."

there you are, giggling as you prance around subspace with his gas mask in your hand while he ran after you. occasionally, you'd double back and stomp on his feet before going in a different direction, receiving a hilarious shrill yelp every time.

"gahh, you rotten rascal!! subspace t. mine will NOT be bested by a child!!!"

medkit goes to intervene, to do anything just to get you away from subspace, but sword blocks him with his hand. "wait, what if we go out there and subspace uses them like a hostage?"

just as quickly as the doctor opens his mouth to make a snide remark, he stops. while the idea seemed outlandish to medkit at first, like part of sword's wacky imagination and another of his impossible scenarios, he gradually realizes the adventurer is actually right. if he knew subspace, and unfortunately he did, he lived for wreaking havoc. and endangering hi- a child's life is perfect for that. so he concedes, retreating back to the shadows of the alley the duo is watching from. his shoulders do not relent from being tense.

meanwhile, you're still teasing the scientist, waving his mask around in the air to taunt.

"nanny nanny boo boo, you can't catch me~" you blow a raspberry, which angers subspace even more. enough to be able to catch up to you and yank his gas mask back. beyond annoyed, he tsks and pulls it back over his head.

"now, as i was saying before you so rudely interrupted me! have you seen a demon with teal horns and a crystal?! he's got a medkit too!! i'm his best friend and i heard that he's around here! so tell me where he is!!" as the weird stranger yells at you, his volume makes you wince. this is medkit's best friend? yeah, right! you may be a kid, but even you would know that strict old man wouldn't give this freak the time of day.

your eyes dart up and you bring a hand to your chin, pretending that you're thinking hard. suddenly, you put your index up, like you've remembered. "ohh, i think i've seen 'em! near nunya!"

"great!! ..now where's nunya?!"

you deviously grin, "nunya freakin' business, you sorry old fart! hah!" triumphant, you laugh in his face before stepping on his feet again and making a break for it. subspace hisses, but does not go after you, much to medkit's relief. the scientist figures it's not worth wasting his energy on some random kid when he's already exerted himself enough earlier from playing ring-around-the-rosy with you. after kicking a pebble to vent out his frustrations, he goes on his merry way in the other direction.

after looking back to make sure he wasn't trailing you, you sneakily slip into the side street that medkit and sword are residing in. immediately, the former kneels to your eye level and firmly grasps your shoulders.

his eyebrows knit together and his fangs bare as he barks at you, "do you even know how dangerous that was? that demon could've seriously hurt you, if you k-"

"-keep causing trouble all the time, i'm gonna seriously get injured, yada yada, i've heard it all before. you keep saying you're not my dad or anything, but you still lecture me like one!" you cross your arms in defiance. with how many times you've had this conversation, you could probably recite it in your sleep.

"and besides, it was a good show, wasn't it? look, i even nabbed this from the sucker!" proudly, you flaunt subspace's wallet, gesturing for someone to do the honors of checking its contents. ever curious, sword takes it, and pulls the zipper open.

"woah- it's got a bunch of cash and credit cards! it's even got some of his old ids!" he taps on medkit's shoulder to show him, and the doctor pauses before sliding a hand over his face. a frown creeps onto your face. for a moment, you wonder if he's mad.

as you begin to brace for him to yell at you, medkit dryly chuckles, shoulders shaking from laughter. he'd been so worried for you, but admittedly, it was quite entertaining to watch subspace get owned by some small kid.

upon seeing how he truly feels, you beam widely. you didn't know he was capable of happiness!

"are you proud of me, dad?"

he removes his hand, revealing his slight smile. "i suppose. but you'd better not make this a habit." playfully, he ruffles your head.

(parade postscript: i initially wrote a more angsty and intense scene for this but decided i was taking a little too much creative liberty and swapped it out for a more lighthearted thing lol ALSO i wasnt sure how to incorporate reader looking out for medkit in the way you asked, so i went with reader covering for him and hiding his whereabouts as a way to look out for him i hope you dont mind!)

[enemiestolovershoe]

Hiiii i love your writting so much and i would love if you could write a noah X reader inspired by the song 7 minutes in hell by chrissy costanza

Seven Minutes In Hell

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings: Toxic relationship, Intense emotional manipulation, Arguments and fighting, Emotional whiplash, Dark themes of obsession and unhealthy attachment, sexual content (no smut)

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Thank you so much anon! 💕

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

"Oh my god, do angels ever fall this hard?"

Your hands were shaking. Not from fear—no, not that. From frustration, from rage, from the overwhelming need to scream until your lungs burned.

But you didn’t.

Because you were too busy staring at him, at the mess of a man standing in front of you, his brown eyes burning with the same anger you felt twisting inside you.

Noah fucking Sebastian.

Your greatest mistake.

Your greatest obsession.

Your greatest sin.

And yet, even now, after everything, you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t walk away. Couldn’t breathe without him even if being with him felt like suffocating.

You slammed your phone onto the counter, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “Why the fuck do I always have to find out from someone else?”

Noah scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Here we go again.”

“No, seriously,” you snapped, stepping forward. “Why do I always have to hear about your bullshit secondhand?”

“I don’t owe you a fucking explanation,” he shot back, voice dripping with irritation. “You wanna know something? Maybe stop listening to everyone else and ask me first.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Because you’re such an honest guy, huh?”

He clenched his jaw, muscles tensing. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you sneered. “Call you out on your bullshit?”

His hand slammed against the wall, inches from your head, his body caging yours in. “You wanna act like I’m the only one who’s fucked up?” His breath was hot against your skin, his tone low, dangerous. “Like you’re not just as bad?”

The worst part was that he was right.

"The devil dancing in the dark, I kinda like it in his arms."

And maybe that was the problem.

Because even now, even after all the screaming, the accusations, the nights spent wondering why the fuck you stayed. Hispresence still set your skin on fire. His anger still made your pulse race.

You should’ve shoved him away. Should’ve left him standing there in his stupid black hoodie, with his stupid, messy hair and his stupid, intoxicating gaze.

But you didn’t.

Because you never did.

"Come my way."

His lips were on yours before you could stop him, his hands gripping your waist with bruising force. You gasped against his mouth, but it wasn’t in protest.

It never was.

His teeth dragged against your lower lip, and you whimpered—pathetic and needy. His grip tightened, and you let him have you. Because that was what you did. You gave and he took and you never once thought to stop him.

Because you didn’t want him to.

"When you kiss me, I can feel fire within me. Heaven’s got me burning. Yeah, you got me playing seven minutes in hell."

His mouth left a scorching trail down your neck, his breath heavy, ragged. “You drive me fucking insane.”

You dug your nails into his shoulders, letting him press you harder against the wall. “Good.”

"Touch me, bringing me down to my knees."

And you did. Over and over again. Because this was the only way you two knew how to communicate—through touches that burned, through gasps that replaced apologies, through passion that should’ve never been mistaken for love. 

But it always was.

"Love the taste of sinning."

You hated yourself for this. For craving him even when you swore you never would again. For wanting him even when his voice still rang in your head, sharp and cruel from the last fight.

But you weren’t the only one.

Because Noah was just as fucked.

Noah’s POV

"Close your eyes. I’m gonna be your favorite vice. Forbidden from your paradise. You wanna take a little bite."

She looked like a fucking angel—eyes dark with anger, lips swollen from his kisses, skin burning under his touch.

And he wanted to ruin her.

No, he already had.

“You think you’re so fucking innocent?” he muttered against her lips, hands gripping her thighs. “Like you’re not just as twisted as me?”

She exhaled sharply, her nails dragging against his scalp, a mix of anger and need in her eyes. “Shut up, Noah.”

A smirk pulled at his lips. “Make me.”

And she did.

"Close the door. Oh, drop your halo to the floor. No, you don’t need it anymore. I’ll never leave you needing it anymore."

Her hands were trembling, but not with fear. No, it was something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something that matched the fire in his own veins.

And he wanted to ruin her with it.

“You always come back,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She exhaled sharply. “And you never let me go.”

Noah smirked, tilting her chin up. “You don’t want me to.”

And maybe she didn’t. Maybe that was the problem. She was his. Even if she hated it, even if she hated him. Shebelonged to him. Just like he fucking belonged to her.

It was a curse.

A disease.

And neither of them wanted the cure.

"When you kiss me, I can feel fire within me. Heaven’s got me burning. Yeah, you got me playing seven minutes in hell."

She gasped into his mouth and he groaned, his hands fisting in her hair. The way she tasted—like whiskey and bad decisions, like something he couldn’t quit. He was drowning in her, lost in the way she gasped against his lips, in the way her body curved against his like she was made to fit him.

He was supposed to be the devil in this story, but God, she felt like heaven.

And that terrified him.

Didn’t want to quit.

Would never quit.

"Touch me, bringing me down to my knees."

His mouth ghosted over her jaw, down her neck, lower, lower. Her fingers twisting in his hair as he dropped to his knees in between her legs.

Because that was how it always ended. With them tangled in sheets, out of breath, drenched in sin and sweat, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.

Until it did.

Until the cycle started all over again.

Until the fire consumed them both.

Readers POV

The sheets were tangled around your legs, your body still humming from the aftermath. But the peace didn’t last. It never did.

Because the second you opened your mouth, the spell shattered.

“Noah,” you whispered.

He didn’t move.

You hesitated, then reached for him, fingers grazing his back. “What the fuck are we doing?”

Noah let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Burning.”

You swallowed hard. “And when there’s nothing left?”

Silence.

Then, finally, he turned to you, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them.

"Why do I feel heaven on your skin? When I wanna be your eighth deadly sin?"

He leaned in, lips hovering over yours, voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

“There’s always something left.”

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because no matter how much it burned, no matter how much it hurt—You’d both keep coming back for more.

Taglist: @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @courta13 @Lacy1986 @chey-h

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© enemiestolovershoe. All rights reserved.

[strniohoeee]

Cupid’s Arrow

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Being ghosted sucks, but being ghosted on Valentine’s Day by your boyfriend sucks even more. Is love a losing game, or is there space for redemption?💌

Warnings: None, kinda boring. Kinda ass. Sorry love yall😼💞

Song for imagine: Love Is A Losing Game- Amy Winehouse

Another Hallmark holiday, here we go….

I can’t believe this, he fucking forgot our date

My eyes squinted as the sun setting left rays peeking in between buildings causing a ghastly beam of light into my orbs.

Rolling my eyes and looking away from the window my fingers played with the hem of my babydoll shirt. It was white with red hearts on it, perfect for today.

We had planned a nice early dinner and a walk in the town for today. I wasn’t a fan of flowers or balloons or any corny traditional Valentines Day tactics. I just wanted to spend the day with the person I loved the most. Or thought I loved the most….

See we had only been together for a year, but known each other for four. Our friendship was amazing and the first 6 months of our relationship, but suddenly it all changed and I wasn’t sure why.

We fought a lot over small things, and he would be so sneaky and shady. We barely would hangout anymore and we’d barely talk or text unless he needed something….

It all started to feel transactional and that’s no way to go through a relationship. But I decided that we should take today the day of love to lay our cards out and figure this all out.

He’s really an amazing guy, and I wanted to make this work; but I began to think he didn’t want the same thing. Looking down at my phone to zero messages and zero missed calls. I sighed a large sigh.

He was now a full hour late, and honestly I knew he wasn’t going to show up. I didn’t even bother to call or text. He showed me his true colors right then and there.

Looking back out the window the sun began to set some more. The Diner was across the street from a drugstore and the amount of men running out with flowers, chocolates and balloons made me scoff. That’s exactly what I mean. It’s a Hallmark holiday so money hungry companies can make boatloads of cash off of lousy men. Why is one day out of 365 days the only day where women should be receiving gifts to show that their partners love them. Bogus….

“Sweety, would you like to order something?” I heard lightly from behind me, snapping my head around when I was met with a cute older woman. Bright red lipstick and powerful blush on. Smiling shyly as I observed her.

“Uhh, sure, could I have a menu?” I asked her

“Oh of course I’ll head up front to grab you one I’ll be back shortly” she replied

She quickly stepped away, and a busser had brought me water over. As I reached for the straw my cutlery set had fallen off the table.

“Shit” I mumbled as I tossed the straw back down

As I leaned to grab it, someone had already bent down and grabbed it. My eyes follow their movement.

“Thank you, sorry about that” I stated as I looked up at the boy and grabbed the set from his hand.

“No worries” he said quietly, I smiled gently at him

He paused for a second and his brows furrowed for a moment.

“Do I know you?” He asked me

“Uhh maybe” I said looking back at him, but I had soon realized who he was and my eyes shot open

“Matt?”

“Y/N?”

We said at the same time. Holy shit I knew he sounded so familiar. I hadn’t seen him since sophomore year of Highschool.

“No way, how have you been?” He asked me

“I’ve been good, are you here with anyone?” I asked him as I looked over his shoulder for not only the waitress but potentially someone else coming with him.

“Oh no, no I’m here alone” he said

“Well if you want you can join me” I said gesturing to the seat in front of me

“Oh I don’t know I don’t want to intrude” he said shrugging his shoulders

“No it’s okay please sit” I said

Taking a seat in front of me, it felt like Freshman year all over again.

Matt, his brothers and I had been friends since middle school. Matt and I had gotten the closest as he was super anxious and shy and I helped him out of that bubble.

Freshman year we’d walk to this diner almost everyday and do homework as we waited for my dad to come pick us up. We had gotten really close and I even developed a small little crush on him.

Sophomore year rolled around and we didn’t have much classes together, and when his anxiety got really bad he didn’t really come to school often. But we all hung out every weekend.

That was until mid school year when my dad got stationed in Oklahoma for the military. Leaving them behind hurt horribly, but we all texted as much as we could. Obviously as we got older and made new friends we stopped texting and calling, but I still kept up with them on social media until I didn’t.

The summer before going to college my father had been killed in combat. Which prompted my mom, my sibling and I to move back to our hometown in Boston.

I was shocked I hadn’t run into them not once in the four years I’ve been back until now. Crazy how life works.

“When did you get back?” He asked me, the lovely waitress had taken our orders at this point

“Four years ago” I said bluntly

“Wow” he said shocked a bit

“My dad was killed in combat and my mom wanted to lay him to rest in our hometown. So much time had passed I didn’t even think you’d remember who I was” I said giggling

“I’m sorry for your loss, are you kidding? My mom always asks about you. I should’ve kept in contact” he replied shaking his head

“Hey it’s okay, the phone goes both ways” I said offering him a reassuring smile

Our meals had come and as we began to eat, I really remembered why I was originally here.

“No Valentine?” I suddenly asked him and I wasn't sure why

Chuckling softly he swallowed before opening his mouth “no actually we broke up a few months ago and I’ve been focusing on myself. Nick is out with his boyfriend and Chris is with Nate. I wanted to be on my own. Since this is my first Valentine’s Day alone in four years” he said shrugging his shoulders as he ate another fry

“Oh wow, four years” I said shocked as I took a sip of my cherry coke

“I thought I was going to marry her, but I get to her house one day and there she is cuddled up with Dan Camineti” he says laughing

“Dan Camineti? Oh my gosh even out of Highschool he’s still a dog” I said in pure shock

“Guys like that never change” he says laughing

“You poor soul I am so sorry” I said shaking my head

“What’s your story” he states after a moment of silence

“My story?” I ask clearing my throat

“Yeah, why you’re here alone surrounded by a bunch of couples” he says giggling

I stopped for a moment as I looked at him, did I really want to tell him I wasn’t really sure. But my mouth started moving before my brain could stop it.

“Well my best friend of four years slash boyfriend of a year ghosted me this evening. We were already having trouble in paradise and we agreed that today would be the day we spoke about it and figured out where our relationship stands; and judging by his actions I know exactly where it stands.” I said firmly

“Oof what a dick, I’m so sorry” he said shaking his head

“Looks like we hit the jackpot with our love life” I said laughing

We endured more conversations as we finished our dinner. It was now 6:30 after Matt paid our bill. Stepping out into the brisk evening I wrapped my red scarf around my neck.

“Thank you for paying” I said to him as we stepped out onto the sidewalk

“Oh of course it’s the least I could do right now” he said winking playfully.

“Hey, want to walk downtown with me and look at the lights and shops?” I suddenly asked him

“Sounds cool let’s do it” he said smiling at me

We had walked around a bit and stopped into a cafe ordering some hot chocolates. We made our way over to a small bench as we sat down giggling

“No fucking way” Matt said sucking his teeth

“Way! I totally had a fat ass crush on you in high school” I said as I took a sip of my drink

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He said rolling his eyes

“Umm because every girl wanted you and I could not handle that type of rejection” I said laughing

“There would’ve been no rejection, I had a huge crush on you too” he said laughing with me

“You’re lying” I said laughing and going wide eyed

As we were chatting I kept hearing jazz music every now and then.

“What’s that?” I asked him

“Oh that’s Juno’s on the bay” he said pointing to the restaurant behind him

Everytime the door would open for people leaving and entering a soothing jazz song would ooze out and into my ears.

Smiling at the sound my eyes drifted towards the sidewalk when suddenly something caught my eye.

“Oh my god” I say as I shot up

“What?” Matt asks me just as shocked

“That’s his car” I say as I look at my “boyfriends” black mustang parked right in front of the restaurant.

“Are you sure?” He asked me

“Oh I’m sure” I say as I began to walk over to the restaurant

Before I made it to the door I looked over into the glass window when suddenly I felt my whole world crash and burn around me. There he was sitting in front of some girl. Laughing…how could he sit there and be laughing after what he just did to me.

Tears stung my waterline when suddenly his eyes met mine and grew in size. Scooting back from his chair he shot up.

My feet moved before I could register what was happening. Stomping past the restaurant the tears began to fall.

“Y/N wait! Wait!” He called out as the Jazz music faded

“WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT “ I asked him angrily

“Listen to me, I’m sorry I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I just couldn’t figure out how to” he said

“I should’ve known…you were distant and sneaky and you’d disappear for days on end. I can’t believe you” I said scoffing

“Listen I’m sorry, I love you but I’m not in love with you” he said.

“I hope you have the best life. We’re done. Don’t ever call or text me. Don’t come by my house and don't dare keep in contact with my mother. I never want to see you again.” I said as I wiped the tears from my face

“Don’t don’t cry” he said walking closer

“Leave me alone” I said backing up

“Listen I’m sorry” he said inching closer

“She said leave her alone” Matt suddenly states as he walks by my side

“Matt… you’re worried about me and you’re out with him?” He says scoffing

“He’s my friend..and has been since middle school. Don’t turn this on me” I said getting angry

“Yeah friend sure let’s see how long that lasts” he says laughing

“Come on man, don’t be such a dick just go back to your new girl and leave her alone ” Matt said stepping in front of me

Rolling his eyes and scoffing at Matt he stepped away and went back to the restaurant.

Turning to me Matt begins to laugh

“Tanner Crowley? Come on Y/N he’s dumber than a door knob” he said laughing which then caused me to laugh

“He really is, but he’s so damn cute” I said giggling as we began to walk away

“You’ll find better fish in the see” Matt said winking at me again

“Now let’s get you home” He said as we crossed the street

We lived near the downtown area so it was a nice little 25 minute walk. We spent most of the walk sharing funny memories and giggling like we were in school again.

“Oh my gosh remember when our parents caught Nate and my sister kissing freshman year” I said laughing

“Holy shit I do! My brothers and I were there at his house when his parents were scolding him it was the funniest shit ever” he said snorting

“And my sister made some dumb story up about practicing mouth to mouth for CPR training” I said laughing

“That was hilarious, man the good old days” he said clearing his throat

“They were” I replied

Sooner than later we approached my moms house. Matt had walked me to the front door.

“I had so much fun today, thank you for that” I said smiling at him

“Thank you for allowing me to sit with you as we chatted about our sad love lives” he said nodding his head

“Always!” I responded giggling

“We should hang out again soon” he said scratching the back of his neck

“I’d so love that, my mom would die to you and your family” I said smiling at him

“Cool… we will….uh… I will set that up” he said a bit nervous

“Goodnight Matt” I said lowly

It was a good 10 seconds of staring into each other's eyes when suddenly we both leaned in. Our lips crashed together in a cute passionate kiss. A kiss that would make me squeal when I spoke about it. A kiss that was like butterflies and fireworks in my stomach.

Pulling away we looked at each other's eyes again.

“I’ll see you around” I said smiling shyly at him as I opened the front door

“I guess I’ll see you around too, have a good night” he responded back

“Good night” I said giggling before slipping into my house and shutting the door behind me.

Who would’ve thought I’d be shot by cupid's arrow so suddenly….

The End

Idk what the freak prompted me to write this, but I could not get this idea out of my head since yesterday. Even though I’ve been gone for so long I still appreciate the support and love I’m still getting 🫶🏽🖤. Not sure when I’ll post again, so until next time I love ya 🖤

-J💅🏽

[olive-treeeee]

To Make Peace - Blind Mag + Amber Sweet. Repo! the Genetic Opera.

Summary: Just before Blind Mag goes on stage for her last show, she decides to pay Amber a visit. Will the two finally be able to work out their differences?

Warnings: Daddy issues, talk of plucking eyes out, pretty graphic depictions of Amber's face falling off

Hey All! Happy *Belated* galantines day. I wanted to celebrate by giving my favourite girls some love. for context, this scene happens sort of during the events of 'at the opera tonight'.

As always, if you like what you see, I take requests!

Blind Mag had made her peace.

She looked across her dressing table, her fingers trailing over the clutter. letters she never sent, pictures of a life that wasn’t hers, piles of makeup that masked what she’d become. The room smelled of roses, perfume, and the faint metallic sting of the claws she had hidden beneath the papers. She had given her costume designer a special request: only she was to know about her plan.

She lifted her gaze to the mirror. The last time she might ever see herself. The last time she might see anything. Her breath hitched, chest rising and falling in a steady, deliberate rhythm, forcing herself to stay composed. Because this was it. This was the moment she stopped being his. No Theirs.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of Rotti’s reaction. He would not let this slide. He would not accept her defiance. No one walked away from him alive and she knew the price of freedom. It was more than just her sight at stake. She had seen what he did to those who disappointed him. Those who betrayed him.

But damn him.

Damn him for ever thinking he owned her, for making her a spectacle, for forcing her into making her a bird in a cage and calling it a stage. For every time he had smiled as he reminded her that her eyes belonged to him, that she belonged to him.

Not anymore.

She exhaled sharply, hands curling into fists. The fear clawed at her, but beneath it, something stronger burned. Hatred. Hatred for the years she had wasted, for the strings he had pulled, for the choices he had stolen. But even as the rage boiled, there was a strange stillness within her.

She had made her peace.

Let Rotti come. Let him try to take what was his.

She would not make it easy.

-

Amber had not made peace.

She wobbled down the corridor, gripping the wall for support, her heels clicking unevenly against the polished floor. The opera house was alive with movement! stagehands rushing, lights being tested, distant voices calling cues, but all of it felt like static in her ears. Her pulse pounded louder than the chatter, her breath came in short, panicked bursts.

She shoved open the door to her dressing room, slamming it shut behind her. Safe. For now. But not for long. Graverobber would be here any minute, and then- Then she could be Amber  Sweet, Amber Fucking Sweet, the woman she was supposed to be. She hated this part. The moment before stepping on stage, before the lights blinded her, Before She was swept away by her song. Her anticipation clawed at her throat, made her feel like she was drowning in a sea of judgmental stares.

Daddy’s stares were the worst.

She could still hear his voice in her head, sharp as a scalpel, slicing through her confidence. He had never outright said she was a disappointment but he didn’t have to. His eyes had always done the talking. The way they lingered on Mag, full of admiration, full of pride. And the way they skimmed over Amber like she was nothing.

Her stomach twisted. That ‘Blind Hag’ was finally doing her last show. Finally leaving, going wherever washed-up opera singers went. Maybe her father would kill her! Amber wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t sure she cared. Either way, Mag would be gone, and she would take her place.

She would finally be able to sing. She would finally be the star.

But what if they laughed at her? What if they saw through the confidence, the carefully sculpted face, the designer body? What if they saw the shaking, pathetic little girl underneath?

No. It would be fine. It had to be fine.

Soon, Graverobber would be here with the Zydrate, and then it wouldn’t matter. Then she wouldn’t feel the fear, wouldn’t feel anything at all. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but it made her who she was. It made her Amber Sweet, the woman who was supposed to be on that stage.

Then she saw it.

Amber choked back a shriek, her breath catching in her throat like barbed wire. ‘No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.’

She stumbled forward, nearly tripping over her own heels as she lunged toward the vanity mirror. The harsh, unflattering bulbs cast her reflection in a sickly glow, illuminating every inch of the horror unfolding on her face.

Her fingers trembled as she touched her Forehead. The skin there was… loose. It shifted under her fingertips like wet silk, unnatural, wrong. A sticky warmth oozed from the seam along her hairline, thick and dark, sliding down the top part of her in sluggish, glistening like wet leather.

That fucking surgeon.

He had been rushing. She knew he had been rushing. He always did, always cut corners when he thought she wouldn’t notice, when he thought she was too drugged-up to care, because “She’s always too drugged up to care.” But now? Now her face: her perfect, expensive, Daddy-paid-a-fortune-for-it face, was coming apart at the seams.

Amber let out a strangled whimper as she pressed her palm flat against her forehead, trying to hold it together. But the moment she did, she felt something shift beneath her skin. A horrible, wet squelch. Then—

It slid down entirely.

She was melting.

Amber’s chest heaved in frantic, shuddering sobs as she gripped the edge of the vanity, her nails digging into the wood so hard they splintered. The scent of iron, of raw meat, of something rotting filled her nostrils. Her vision blurred, tears streaking down her face.

Amber had not made peace.

- 

A knock on the door.

Amber straightened up so fast she nearly lost her balance, Her head snapped toward the door, heart hammering in her chest.

“Who is it?” she snapped, voice sharp, strained, barely holding together.

Silence.

Her breath hitched. A second too long. A hesitation. She could almost hear her own blood dripping onto the vanity.

“It’s Mag.”

Amber’s stomach twisted.

The voice was soft, muffled through the heavy door, but there was no mistaking it. Mag. Of all people.

More silence.

Mag tried again. “Can I come in, please? I just want to talk.”

Talk? Since when did they talk?

Amber clenched her fists, her nails digging into the sticky flesh of her palms. The last time Mag had spoken to her—really spoken to her—had been years ago. No, they didn’t talk.

Mag just pitied her. Gave her hollow Care. Acted like she was something fragile, something that needed saving. She was not!

Amber swallowed the rising bile in her throat. Maybe she wanted to offer fucking necklace or something.

But she couldn’t let her see her. Not like this. Not when she looked like an over ripened fruit.

“Uh, no?” she yelled back, forcing her voice into something that sounded dismissive, casual. But there was a waver in it, an unmistakable shake. She clenched her jaw.

“Amber, please. Can we not fight today? Of all days?”

Amber closed her eyes.

Today.

Mag’s last show.

Tonight, she would be gone, one way or another. Maybe she’d leave quietly. Maybe Rotti would make her leave. But either way, this was it.

Amber sucked in a shaky breath. If anyone could understand this… Predicament, it was probably Mag.

“Hold on,” she muttered. “I’m coming.”

Her legs wobbled as she made her way to the door, blood squelching wetly between her fingers as she pressed a hand against her forehead, trying to keep the rest of it up. She hesitated for just a second before unlocking it.

The door swung open.

And there she was.

Blind Mag, in all her fucking glory, draped in black feathers, looking like some kind of gothic angel, or maybe a prize pheasant, Amber wasn’t sure.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Mag’s gaze, those eerie, engineered eyes, fell on her ruined face.

Amber barely had time to flinch before Mag’s expression cracked.

“Amber!”

Her voice was full of something that Amber wasn’t used to. Not disgust, not amusement, not smug superiority she had come to expect from the rest of her family.

Just… concern.

Amber barely had time to react before Mag was suddenly in front of her, her hands reaching, careful but firm, fingers ghosting over the gash in her forehead. She didn’t flinch at the blood, at the torn, sagging skin, at the horror show of Amber’s reflection.

“What happened?” Mag demanded, voice urgent, warm, gentle.

Amber swallowed past the lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry again. But it was too much. The humiliation, the exhaustion, the raw, festering hatred that she had carried for years, all bubbling under the surface.

“Daddy’s surgeon fucked up my face,” she choked out, voice thick. “I’m going on in less than thirty minutes, and I look like a walking horror film.”

And then…she broke.

The sobs came out in gasping, hiccuping bursts, her body shaking under the weight of it all.

She expected Mag to pull away. To leave her there, to let her collapse into the mess she had become. But instead—

“Oh, Amber.”

Mag’s voice was barely more than a whisper as she wrapped an arm around her, guiding her toward the vanity. Amber didn’t have the strength to resist.

She sank into the chair, letting Mag’s hands on her. Warm, steady, nothing like the cold precision of GeneCo’s surgeons, tilt her face toward the light.

“Nothing is as bad as you think,” Mag murmured, reaching into the folds of her feathered costume. “Here. I have a way to help.”

-

Mag reached into her pocket and pulled out a small tub of what looked like… Dermabond?

“I stole this from one of the surgeons the last time I had my teeth done,” she said casually, scooping a small dollop onto her fingertip.

Amber blinked. “You’ve had your teeth done?”

“Yes, twice.” Mag’s voice was even, as if it were nothing remarkable.

She stepped closer, placing a gentle but firm hand on Amber’s shoulder. Her touch was warm, steady, almost comforting. Carefully, she ran the adhesive down Amber’s hairline.

Amber flinched, hissing in pain.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mag murmured, her voice. “It’ll only sting for a moment.”

Amber swallowed, blinking rapidly. A question tumbled from her lips before she could stop it. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She searched Mag’s face. “I’ve been awful to you.”

Mag sighed, her expression softening. “I never wanted to take what you loved from you.” Her voice was quiet, almost distant. “It was just… complicated.”

Amber furrowed her brows. “I don’t understand.”

Mag hesitated. She considered telling Amber everything: the contract, Marni, the years of sacrifice, but what good would it do? Instead, she simply smiled, resting a hand against Amber’s cheek.

“You’re beautiful, Amber. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not your brothers, not your father, and especially not that disgusting-smelling goth punk you spend your time with.”

Amber’s lips parted in surprise. “He doesn’t,” she said, as if trying to convince herself.

She found herself studying Mag more closely. There was no cruelty in her words, no deception, just honesty Pure Honesty. Perhaps Mag wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps, after her final show, they could be friends. Mag could even give her singing pointers. Maybe they could sing together one day.

That would be nice.

Mag pressed a gentle hand to Amber’s forehead, inspecting her work. “There. That should hold for now.” She wagged a finger playfully. “And don’t touch your face.”

Amber lowered her gaze, something tight forming in her chest. “Thank you.”

Mag’s smile was soft, maternal. “You’re welcome.” With a fluid, graceful motion, she rose to her feet. “I’ll leave you to get ready for your big moment.”

Amber hesitated. “Wait… What were you going to say? Before you fixed my face?”

Mag looked at her for a long moment. There were so many things she could say. So many things she wanted to say.

Instead, she just smiled.

“Just… good luck out there.” Her voice was warm, tinged with something Amber couldn’t quite place. “You’re going to give them one hell of a show.”

A mischievous chuckle escaped her lips, but there was something else beneath it…something heavier. Amber didn’t notice. Not yet.

As Mag turned to leave, she felt something small and fragile wrap around her. Amber.

For a second, Mag froze. Then, slowly, she turned, enveloping the girl in a proper embrace.

Perhaps she would miss her the most 

She lingered for just a moment longer, then pulled away, offering Amber one last smile before stepping toward the door.

Amber smiled back.

And as Mag strode toward her fate, deep down she knew.

Blind Mag had made her peace.

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Delicate (Jake's Version)

Ch 27 - Let It Fall, Call It, Code Red

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: EXPLICIT (MDNI!)

Warnings: Arguing, crying, sad!Jake, sad!Sam, pregnancy talk, discussion of reproductive issues, discussion of Jake's mental state associated with his capture and torture, discussion of Sam's mental state and a TEASE OF SMUT at the end.

A/N: I know y'all been waitin'. This picks up immediately after Ch 10 of Back Country View. This is a resolution. Its fucking heavy. And there's a spicy surprise at the end. This chapter has exhausted me but I'm damn proud of it. I hope you enjoy it too. As always all the comments, likes, reblogs, everything is appreciated. Gifs by @kaizsche pics form Pinterest, and a surprise at the bottom. Song inspo at the top.

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03 @coloraturadiva @kmc1989 @khouse712

The rest of the ride had been silent as the grave. Jake had parked, gone to get the card key for the room and then as he walked back to the truck, Sam watched him, seeing the tension wracking his body. She just wanted him to be okay.

“Do you remember the time Beau caught us at the airstrip?” Sam asked, as she handed him their bags from the backseat, and she took the three dogs’ leashes.

“Yeah I do, why?” Jake chuckled slightly.

“Was just thinking about it is all.” Sam said as they made their way to the room. Jake had gotten a single bed with a couch so that the dogs didn’t have to sleep on the floor. They’d become spoiled at Tyler’s house because of their giant living room and the comfortable sofas that all six of the dogs had hogged during the day.

“We got sloppy.” Jake murmured, a little smirk creeping across his lips as he swiped the card key through the lock. It clicked and he pressed down on the handle to open the door. 

“We? Uh, you were jealous because I sat on Nat’s lap.” Sam let the dog’s leashes go and they bounded through the door and onto the bed immediately, checking to see how comfortable it was. Sam and Jake both discarded their shoes by the door, his boots, her flats.

“It was the way you were sitting there. Her fucking arm around your waist like she owned you.” Jake said, as he placed their bags down. He walked over to Ballast who was waiting at the edge of the bed, tail wagging forcefully, begging for Jake to rub his back. He did so, and the dog curled into him, rubbing up against him like a cat. 

“Jake, we’re friends. We’ve always acted like that.” Sam said as she sat on the bed, bouncing a few times to check the firmness of the mattress. Not very, she thought, and smiled.

“Some people might get the wrong idea.” Jake said as he continued to scratch the dog all over. Rocco and Muster had jumped down from the bed in favor of the couch, which was what Jake had hoped for.

“Wrong idea? Jake...I could never eat pussy. Trust me, I like your dick a little too much.” Sam’s brows rose as Jake patted the dog’s butt, sending him flying off the bed like a missile. He jumped on the couch and settled next to the other two dogs.

“Do you? Coulda fooled me back then.” He said, kneeing her legs apart to stand between them. She gazed up at him as he cupped her chin with one hand. Sam’s pussy clenched at his action, her cheeks flushing bright red.

“Well, you never let me touch it back then.” She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest, and her gaze set on the floor.

“Uh...you’ve touched my cock.” Jake pursed his lips.

“Well, maybe I want to do...other things...” Sam glanced over at the dogs, checking that they were asleep,  and then placed her hands back on the bed. 

“Like?” He guided her to look at him again, just two fingers this time. He tilted his head and his expression softened.

“Seriously?” She asked, setting herself back slightly on the bed, pulling her legs up underneath her so that the skirt of her dress covered her completely again. She could feel just how wet she was then.

“Use your words.” Jake smirked.

“Fuck you and your pretty cock.” She poked him in the chest and he caught her wrist.

“Ooh. Sure, you can. You think it’s pretty?” He gleaned as he gently pulled her toward him. He took her other wrist then and put both together in one hand, as if she was handcuffed. Jake watched as the blush spread from her cheeks, down to her chest.

“Oh come on, Jake. Have you seen it?” She asked, kneeling on the bed in front of him. 

“Yeah, it’s attached to me.” He mused, a laugh leaving his stupid, pretty, lips. 

“I’m just saying.” She glanced away from him, trying to find something, anything else to focus on, except his stupid face right now. He was preening and she wanted to slap the shit out of him. She wanted to...

“You’re just saying what? Sam, what do you want? Do you...do you wanna suck my cock?” He asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

“You’re a stupid fuck.” Her jaw tightened and she tried to pull away from him but he wouldn’t let her.

“Hey, let’s stop with the name calling, huh? Is that what you want? Because you could’ve just asked. All this time, that’s what’s making you so mad, huh?” Jake had humor in his voice, thinking maybe she was joking too, but then he saw her eyes grow misty and he regretted what he said as her words came out with a harsh edge to them.

“Oh, fuck you. I don’t want to anymore, you asshole.”

“Hey...stop...can you please tell me what you want? You just seem like you wanna fight...again. I don’t want to...”

“A baby, Jake! I want us to have a baby! And I don’t understand why I’m not pregnant yet. I’m so...fucking...I...I just...fuck...” He pulled her tight against his chest, as her sobs shook her body, her tears wetting his shirt through. Ballast lifted his head, feeling the emotions of his humans rising. Jake waved a hand at him to stay, but the dog put his head on the arm of the chair, keeping a close eye on the couple.

“Samantha...easy, honey bun...it’s okay...it’s not your fault. You’re perfect.” Jake said, meaning it. He did mean it. It wasn’t her fault and he wouldn’t let her think she was anything less. 

“Clearly I’m not.” She sniffled and rubbed her face against his shirt, hiding her watery eyes from him.

“Stop. You’re not gonna talk about yourself like that, do you understand? I will not let you. For me, you are absolutely, undeniably, fucking perfect. You are everything I need . Obviously there’s something going on, there’s a reason why, and you never even thought maybe I was shooting blanks this whole time? Because it could be me? And I think maybe you think that going home will solve everything, but hell, we could’ve seen a doctor down there. You never brought that up while we were down there. And neither did I because I figured you might be sour about it.” Jake's words came out shaky and unsure, feeling like every one, any one , could send her running for the metaphorical hills.

“Well then how would we have been able to do that?” Her words were rough and Jake admitted his defeat then.

“I don’t know Sam...I’m trying to make this better. You tell me you want me to share everything. I’m trying to work through this and you just don’t seem to want to. We've been out of whack since we left.” His fingers trembled as he ran them up her back and across her shoulders. He cupped her face and forced the eye contact that she so desperately wanted to avoid.

“I do...I just don’t know how to express any of what the fuck is going on in my head.” She said, solemnity flowing over her voice.

“Just say whatever you want or need to say. We have all the time in the world.” His fingers brushed her cheeks reassuringly. 

“I’m afraid if I say certain things you won’t want me anymore.” She admitted and he made a tsking sound, knowing there was nothing she could do to chase him away. He was terrified that she would leave. 

“I feel like that also. So I think it cancels out.” He said and her brows furrowed, almost in anger.

“It doesn’t cancel out. Don’t just dismiss it.” She was stern, adamant that the weight of her words needed to be felt.

“I’m not trying to. What I mean is...fuck...we both have shit floating around in our brains that we’re afraid to tell each other but why? Look at what we’ve already been through. What are we afraid of? I’ll tell you what we’re both afraid of. We’re afraid that if we open up to each other that much, something will go wrong and we’ll be pulled apart.” Jake explained, leaning down to touch the tip of his nose to hers, bringing a softness back into her eyes.

“Exactly.” She said, studying his gaze for some sort of reprieve. He wasn't budging.

“But what if our relationship becomes even stronger because of that? It’s a calculated risk. I wanna take it. So I’ll start, okay? Ask me anything, anything at all.” 

“I don’t know...I feel like you're not telling me everything that happened when you got captured.” She said and he sighed heavily. 

“Of course I'm not. You think I want to keep rehashing it? The therapist wants to talk about it, Ryker wants to talk about it. Mav wants to talk about it. Everyone looks at me like I'm some sad, sorry, weak-ass, son-of-a-bitch who’s fucking crazy because I was strung up ny my fucking wrists, hanging above a pool of blood and piss, screaming in pain, and terrified that I wasn't coming back for damn near two weeks! I'm tired of the fucking pity party. I'm tired of feeling like shit. I'm tired of my body hurting. I'm so fucking tired of this rift that it put between us and I just want everything to go back to how it was before!” Jake hadn't realized, but Sam had, that he had dissolved into tears, and as she was pulling him toward her chest, he sobbed. He wailed. He collapsed into her, the last bits of his composure failing. Every nerve had fizzled out and Jake felt like he was left raw and exposed in her arms. He retreated, wiping his tears and turning to lean on the TV stand for a moment. He turned and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. Ballast had sprung up and was now sitting on the floor, looking expectantly at Jake. Once again, he motioned for the dog to stay put and Ballast laid down, his head on his paws, eyes studying his human.

Jake continued. “Y'know I talked to Tyler about everything. I told Tyler that I was afraid it was me. That I'm the problem. That my brain is so fucked that my body isn't workin’ right. I sat there and asked my own fucking brother, if /we find out I'm the problem...if he'd be a fucking sperm donor...because then at least my kids would look like me a little bit. They might be like me just a little bit. I asked him to do something so fucking insane...as if he's some fucking stallion I can just rent out as needed...as if you're some fucking broodmare...as if that's all you are to me, when it's not. But the thought of it, the thought of even having to ask that of my own goddamn brother has me so fucked up in my head. For you. I would rip out my own heart for you. I would sacrifice everything for you.” Jake had run out of tears at this point. His tone was still shaky, still dismayed. His emotions felt so raw in that instance but he felt a sense of relief wash over him to have put them out there. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, as he stepped toward the bed, and Sam. She spoke softly to him as she coaxed him into an embrace that he could've become a puddle from right then and there, as if he wasn't on the verge of it anyway.

“Jake if I can't have your kids...then I don't want any. You are the man I want them from. I don't care if your brother is an exact genetic copy. It's not the same. He's not you. I grew to love him and Georgia, and everything about that place but they're not you. Just like I wanted you to find solace in me, I've done the same with you. You are my home .” She admitted, as she drew him closer, resting her head against his taut stomach. Her fingers traveled up his sides, stopping where his surgery scars were. Two perfectly imperfect pieces of him that were hers alone to see.

“Then why are we still arguing about a physical home? Because deep down we both know that's what this whole argument is about.’ His voice was softer than she expected, and one of his hands met her shoulder and the other ended up tangled in her hair.

“Because I need you to trust me and let me rifle through my grief for just a little while longer. I need California for just a little while longer. I understand that you need the physical place. I know you need the life that's in Oklahoma, but Tyler and Georgia don't need you right now. I need to make amends with my mother, right now. She needs me. Mark and Alex need me, right now.” Sam began massaging her fingers over the points of Jake's hips, through his shirt.. He gazed down at her, his eyes red and puffy.

“But for how much longer?” He sniffled. 

“I don't know. Why does it matter? What else is making you not want to go back?” Sam's voice began harshly but knowing that this conversation didn't need anymore anger or resentment put into it, she softened it almost immediately. It needed to be resolved.

“You know what else.” He murmured, kneading his fingertips at the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and relaxed into his touch.

“He's not even there. Do you think avoiding him for the rest of our lives is going to help? At some point it all needs to come to a head, just like what happened with us tonight. You and I need to just sit down with him and talk.” 

“He'll be there when we get back. Maybe someone needs to sit in with us as a mediator?” Jake suggested and Sam nodded. 

“Nat could do that. I know he wouldn't get rude with her around. And I need to apologize to my mother. I haven't been there for her. I may need to stay at home more...” 

“What if I move in with you?” Jake asked. Sam's head shot up. 

“You'd be okay with leaving Javy?” 

“Well, I had asked him if he was keeping the rental and he said he might not. He got a separate assignment at Lemoore and Maisy wants to move in with him. It's been okay for a short time, but long term that little house isn't enough for us all and the dogs. And Javy wants to get dogs of his own.” Jake chuckled slightly, glancing over at the pups. Ballast raised his head and in feeling the energy in the room return to a more acceptable level between his people, he elected to hop back up onto the couch and lay facing away from them, giving them some privacy.

“So...are we okay, Jake?” Sam asked softly, her hands winding around his waist. He unthreaded his fingers from her hair then, and lifted her chin, their eyes locking. 

“We’re okay. We’re gonna be okay.” Jake murmured, and he leaned down to kiss her, fervently. When they parted, Sam looked him up and down. 

“That was a lot...” She said, her fingers meeting his belt buckle. He hummed in agreement, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her, their noses touching. 

“It was. So now what?” Jake asked. Sam bit her lip. She pushed him away and slid off the bed, dropping to her knees. 

“Can we go back to the other conversation we were having?” She asked, looking up at him through lowered lids. He brushed his fingers along her jawline as she unbuckled his belt.

“Remind me what it was about?” He smirked. She unzipped his jeans and slid them down his hips. She palmed the hard outline of his cock through the fabric of his boxer-briefs. “Mmm, I remember now.” He groaned, tilting his head to keep her gaze. “Stand up for a second, babygirl.”

She did as he asked, helping her up. He trailed his fingers down from her chin, down her neck, to the shoulder of her dress. Jake’s touch was almost too soft, and it sent a shiver down Sam’s spine as he flicked the material down, gently guiding it off her arms, then down her body, to pool at her dainty feet. She stepped out of it and into his space. He brought his hands back up, cupping her cheeks and pressing his lips hard to hers, kiss full of desire. As they parted, his stare was reverent and tender, but there was an edge to his words that sent a wave of heat coursing through her.

“You want all of me? Then you take it. You take everything. Like the good girl that you are.” His fingers dropped just slightly, one going around her back to unclasp her bra. She let it fall to the floor as her hands met the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. He shivered in anticipation as she sensuously knelt down, her hands drifting down his front as she went, her pretty mahogany eyes never leaving his. They halted at the waistband and before she hooked her thumbs in it, she pressed her hand over him one more time. He sucked in a sharp breath and held it as she freed his cock from its confines. 

He let out a long and low moan as she wrapped her gorgeous fingers around his length. The green in Jake’s eyes simmered as he watched her pump her hand a few times, before pressing a kiss to the tip and lingering there. She left her lips just touching him, eyes locked, as if she was waiting for permission. He pulled her hair out of her face, into a ponytail with one hand and rested that at the back of her neck. With his other, his fingers ghosted across the front of her throat and settled at her chin.

“ I’m giving you all of me now, Sam. So please, take it. ”

[themeridian]

i was listening to the asher reverse comfort audio and BRO WEARS A MASK WITH A SMILE FOR HOURS AT A TIME

[bitternace]

WHY ARE YOU SO EVIL!!! /POS. ATTACKING YOU.

Xemnas and Xigbar for 37 if that number hasn't been done? If it has, how about 74?

no puedo pedirle lo eterno a un simple mortal // ay, todo lo que he hecho por ti.

[ID: a mostly black and white drawing with a purple overlay of xigbar and xemnas shown from the hip up on the left side of the image. the background is black and has some diagonal lines with a bit of transparency on the right side. the shadows are harsh, with only a bit of light falling on their faces.

they stand before each other turned to the audience. xigbar, holds the handle and the middle of No Name before him, head tilted down as he looks to the audience. xemnas stands a full head taller behind xigbar, his left hand held some distance below the bladed tip of No Name, his left eye is covered by his fringe.

xemnas visible eye is painted ochre with a white pupil, while xigbar's eye is white and gold. The eyes on no name's handle and the gazing eye on the blade are a vibrant cyan. the caption reads the spanish lyrics "i can't ask a simple mortal for a forever" and "oh, everything i've done for you." /End ID.]

close-up under keep reading.

[triglycercule]

all i have been able to think about today is that silly little knife game where you stab the spots between your fingers and try not to hurt yourself and how that silly little game is SO horrorkiller. i cant explain it it bothers me so much that i cant explain it but it just does its so them

they play it when theyre bored. because when in doubt bodily mutilation and the risk of hurt and pain is always an appealing one. and when i mean they i just mean killer because horror wouldn't wanna just hurt himself on the fly like that for funsies. he likes to see others hurt because hahaha FINALLY some damn entertainment!!! but hurting himself???? nononnno hes already got enough body pain as it is oh and killer has already grabbed his hand and started playing (and now horror can't back out because killer's got him sucked in the game)

they sing the silly little song. horror has all his fingers the knife goes chop chop chop if killer misses the spaces in between horror's fingers will come off! and they are both enraptured and both captured in this childishly morbid game. it's so anticipatory because they both know its all up to killer to decide if horror gets hurt. hes more than precise enough to keep the game going for hours long without ever hitting horror but would he want to keep it going for that long? horror doesn't know how long killer would want to wait before getting to see him react to getting hurt

and killer does eventually do it even after theyre sung the song over and over countless times and tried different harmonies and finally killer decides to end this little song and dance and stab into horror's hand. maybe he decides to do a finger. maybe the palm if he really wants to piss horror up. its sudden its surprising and GODDAMN is it painful!!!! horror's trying not to show it but with all the sweat and the way his fingers are twitching killer can see that it hurts him. it's a bit amusing :3

and then horror grabs the knife from killer and they do it all over again but this time horror's the one doing the stabbing. he's not as precise as killer. he hits him a lot more than killer hit him but goddamn it he is in PAIN and wants to let it out because hes annoying and irritated and goddamnit would killer just stop looking at him with that blank smile while he's bleeding out from his hand???? yeah horror's pissy

horror's annoyed and trying to get some form of petty revenge on killer (he likes it when he finally manages to get that stupid smile to falter just a little bit) and killer's watching horror desperately try not to just stab the knife through his oh so very exposed soul that he could very easily hurt if he really wanted to hurt killer. anyways the game finally ends when either one or both of them get bored! but thats fine!!! killer will get bored again and horror will end up escalating it to a messier point than it was before and the only thing that'll get hurt is the surface that they use to stab between fingers. oh and eachother of course :p

[zivazivc]

https://open.spotify.com/track/14UiJ7VaTWsG41YYAs6uha?si=O_wQSPfvRgexvWahmsbcng floyd song

I struggled a bit to figure out what song you sent because I don't have spotify and sometimes these links don't want to open ksjbdvb. but YOOOOO Floyd in the bottle song, hell yeah, thank you anon! you are strong, floyd, we love you

Please take my own (bipolar, ex bandmates au) Floyd in the bottle song, where he's going a bit mental from being trapped and having to think about his life 🤲