#Lifting From The Slums

[goodworkstrust]

Welcome to World Health Day 2024! 7th April is a day of celebration and reflection, a time to recognize the importance of health in our lives and its impact on the well-being of humanity as a whole. This year’s theme, “Empowering Health, Empowering Humanity,” emphasizes the interconnectedness of individual health and collective prosperity. As we mark this occasion, let’s delve into the significance of promoting health equity, particularly among urban slum dwellers, and explore the initiatives undertaken by organizations like ours to address the challenges they face.

To read complete post, visit here: https://goodworks.org.in/world-health-day-2024-lets-empower-health-empower-humanity/

[solxamber]

Royal Scandal- Ruggie Bucchi x reader

You're being forced to marry someone to take the throne you've fought your entire life for. Okay, if that's how it is, you'll make sure to choose the one person here that your dearest parents will disapprove of the most.

I really like how this one turned out!

The ballroom was resplendent, filled with swirling silks, dazzling jewels, and a sea of royals from every corner of the world. It was your nightmare, distilled into one room. You stood at the head of the grand staircase, glaring down at the crowd, feeling utterly betrayed by your parents.

You—the crown heir, a skilled warrior, a tactical genius, and the pride of your kingdom—reduced to nothing more than a prize in a political matchmaking game. It was an insult.

“Really?” you muttered to yourself, grip tightening on the bannister. “They think they can push me into marriage to take the throne? They’ll regret this.”

From across the room, the usual parade of suitors hovered about, each one vying for a moment of your attention. They were all here to win your hand, though it was clear many of them weren’t here for you. The throne, the kingdom, the alliances—it was all just a game of power to them.

And then there was him. The only non-royal standing awkwardly by the hors d'oeuvres table. Ruggie Bucchi.

Ruggie was here because of Leona, and Leona was here because Falena had pawned off the responsibility of attending this ridiculous event onto his younger brother. But as usual, Leona wasn’t particularly interested in mingling with anyone. He had quickly made his way to the most comfortable couch in the room, leaving his attendant Ruggie to do all the heavy lifting—literally. Ruggie was managing Leona’s food, drinks, and handling the other guests with a sharp smile that concealed just how little he wanted to be here.

Leona had been an unexpected ally ever since your diplomatic trip to the Savannah, where your banter had somehow sparked an unlikely friendship. Leona, for all his royal airs, had grown fond of teasing you relentlessly, and the two of you exchanged jabs every chance you got.

You've met Ruggie before, during the visit. You knew of his circumstances and a wonderful plan was brewing inside you at this moment.

Ruggie wasn’t a suitor. He wasn’t even remotely interested in this ball. And yet…

A grin began to spread across your face.

Oh, this could work.

The next morning, the grand hall was packed with suitors, ministers, and your parents, all eagerly awaiting your declaration. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a sword.

“Today,” your father began with his booming voice, “our heir will announce their chosen partner. We know that this decision will aid in the prosperity of our kingdom.”

Your mother nodded, casting you a pointed look, as if to remind you of the importance of this moment. Oh, if only she knew what was coming.

You stepped forward, scanning the room with a serene smile. Your heart raced with excitement as you looked past all the anxious, hopeful suitors. Finally, your gaze landed on Ruggie, who stood in the corner, shoving the last of a sandwich into his mouth. He caught your eye, freezing mid-chew.

You raised a hand, pointing directly at him. “I have chosen Ruggie Bucchi.”

There was a deafening beat of silence before your declaration actually registered.

Your parents’ smiles froze, the air in the room turning cold. The ministers paled, their gazes snapping toward Ruggie, who was standing in the back, his next sandwich halfway to his mouth. He blinked, looking over his shoulder like you couldn’t possibly mean him. Maybe there was a “Ruggie Bucchi” that he didn’t know about?

But the world stopped when it hit that yes, you did mean that Ruggie Bucchi—the hyena from the slums of the Sunset Savanna who had no royal blood, no land to offer, no armies. Just a cunning smile and a love for free food.

Leona, sitting lazily on the side, blinked at you before letting out a sudden burst of laughter, the sound echoing through the hall. His usual smirk widened into something truly wicked as he turned to your parents with a shrug. “Well, what did you expect? You did say they could choose anyone in the room, didn’t you?”

Your parents were speechless, their faces a mix of horror and disbelief. Your mother looked like she might faint, and your father sputtered, glancing between you and Ruggie, who still hadn’t moved from his spot at the back of the room. He slowly lowered the sandwich, looking very much like he was rethinking every life choice he had ever made.

Leona, never one to miss an opportunity for chaos, leaned back in his chair and grinned even wider. “It would be a shame if you went back on your word now. After all, it was very clear—whoever they chose, right? I’m sure the esteemed royals wouldn’t go back on a promise they made to their only heir in front of all these witnesses.”

Your father’s mouth opened and closed, his face rapidly turning a shade of purple as he tried to find words that wouldn’t cause a diplomatic disaster. Your mother’s eyes darted around the room, probably searching for an escape route. Meanwhile, the ministers exchanged horrified glances, clearly trying to figure out how to spin this in a way that wouldn’t end in utter embarrassment.

Leona, of course, wasn’t done yet. “You know,” he added, casually inspecting his nails, “a promise is a promise. And from where I’m sitting, it looks like Ruggie here’s your new royal consort.” His eyes sparkled with mirth, clearly loving every second of the madness you'd just incited. “After all, we wouldn’t want to insult the future ruler’s decision, right?”

You could practically see your parents’ souls leaving their bodies.

Ruggie, to his credit, finally stopped gaping like a fish and straightened up, wiping crumbs from his vest and putting on a cocky grin, like he had totally planned for this from the start. “Welp, looks like I’m movin’ up in the world,” he said, swaggering forward, though the slight wobble in his step gave away his shock. He shot Leona and you a glance that screamed, Why are you doing this to me? But Leona just gave him a lazy shrug in response, clearly enjoying the show. And you just grinned back at him.

Your mother finally found her voice, though it was shaky at best. “This… this can’t be—”

“Oh, but it can.” your voice cut through the hall, smooth as silk and twice as smug. “You said anyone. Don’t tell me you’re regretting those words now?”

Your father visibly swallowed, realizing the bind he was in. The ministers were sweating bullets, clearly hoping someone else would step in and stop this disaster, but no one dared to speak. After all, it would be political suicide to go against a future ruler’s decision in front of a room full of witnesses.

Ruggie had now reached the front, his grin widening as he gave a quick, exaggerated bow to you, looking for all the world like a cat that had just caught a very large mouse. “Guess I’m your guy now, huh?”

You flashed him a triumphant smile, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Looks like it.”

Your father, still in a state of shock, muttered something about tradition, but it was too late. The damage was done. You had chosen Ruggie, and with Leona egging on the entire thing, there was no way they could take it back without creating an uproar.

Leona, still lounging like the king of chaos he was, gave you a little salute. “Congrats to the happy couple. Can’t wait to see the wedding.”

Your parents looked like they might faint. The suitors—well, some of them looked relieved to not be part of this train wreck, but others were trying very hard not to burst into outrage. Ruggie just stood there, now fully committed to the bit, his grin as wide as ever.

And so, with your parents begrudgingly forced to accept your choice, the announcement was made. You had successfully thrown the entire royal court into chaos, and judging by the look on your face, this was far from over.

As for Ruggie, well, he was already calculating how much food he could swindle from the wedding feast.

After the uproar finally died down, and the ministers and royals reluctantly dispersed—each with their own whispers and murmurs of the chaos that had just ensued—you managed to pull Ruggie aside, away from the prying eyes of the court. His expression was still a mix of disbelief and amusement, as though he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what had just happened.

“Well, that was something,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I’ve had some wild gigs before, but to be the royal consort? That’s a new one.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his casual tone, even as the situation around you felt anything but. You led him into one of the side corridors, away from the grand hall, before stopping to face him. Ruggie crossed his arms, clearly curious about where this was going. “Alright, spill it. What’s the deal here?”

You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. “I know that whole declaration just now was insane, but I had to do something drastic.”

“Yeah, drastic is one way to put it,” he snickered, leaning against the wall, waiting for you to continue.

“I’m the only heir to the throne,” you began, the frustration in your voice evident. “I’ve trained my whole life for this. The swordsmanship, the diplomacy, the studies. I’ve done it all. But my parents—” you trailed off, your voice tight with anger, “—they won’t let me take the throne unless I get married. It’s ridiculous. I don’t need to get married to rule, but they refuse to see that.”

Ruggie tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “So, what? You picked me just to get them off your back?”

“Exactly.” You smiled, but it was more cunning than genuine. “They’re too stuck in their ways to listen to reason, so I decided to make them regret forcing me into this. That’s where you come in.”

His ears twitched in curiosity, though the grin on his face was as sharp as ever. “And what exactly do I get out of this?”

You took a step closer, lowering your voice to ensure no one overheard. “I need you to play along with this marriage for a year. Just a year. By that time, I’ll have stabilized the kingdom, taken the throne officially, and you’ll be free to leave. No strings attached.”

Ruggie’s eyes narrowed as he considered your words. “And what do I get in return?”

“The wealth you’ll get out of this will set you up for life. I’m talking more money than you’ll know what to do with. You’ll never have to worry about another odd job or scrape together food again. After this year, you can go back to the Sunset Savanna, and you’ll have enough to take care of yourself, your community, your grandmother—whoever. You’ll never have to work again.”

Ruggie raised a brow, a flicker of interest in his eyes. He was a practical guy, after all, and if there was one thing that motivated him, it was a good deal. “And all I have to do is pretend to be your royal husband for a year?”

“Yep,” you confirmed with a nod, crossing your arms. “Think of it as the best con of your life. We’ll fake the marriage, play the part for a year, and then when it’s over, you’re free to go with a fortune in your pocket.”

For a moment, Ruggie was silent, his sharp gaze studying you, likely weighing the pros and cons of this insane proposal. “So, you’re basically hiring me to be your fake spouse.”

“Exactly.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “You know, this is probably one of the most ridiculous offers I’ve ever gotten—and I’ve been offered some weird stuff before—but,” he shrugged, “money’s money. And if it means I get to live easy after this, then I’m in.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, relief washing over you. “So, we have a deal?”

Ruggie chuckled, extending his hand to you. “We have a deal. But don’t expect me to go easy on the royal kitchens while I’m here. I’m gonna milk this for all it’s worth.”

You smirked, shaking his hand. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Ruggie’s grin turned mischievous as he added, “And don’t worry. I’ll play the part of the perfect doting husband. We’ll give ‘em a show they’ll never forget.”

With the deal struck, you both walked back into the palace, the weight of the future ahead not lost on you. A fake marriage with Ruggie Bucchi—one year, just one year, and then you’d be free. What could possibly go wrong?

Except, somewhere deep inside, you had a feeling that the real challenge wasn’t in the act itself—it was in not falling for the witty, resourceful hyena at your side.

Your wedding was the most extravagant affair your kingdom had ever seen. You spared no expense, throwing the grandest celebration imaginable, just to rub it in a little more. Lavish decorations, exotic foods, and a royal procession that stretched for miles.

Ruggie, for his part, looked both delighted and completely out of place as he stood beside you during the ceremony. He leaned over at one point, whispering, “I’ve never been this well-dressed in my life. You sure we’re not overdoing it?”

You grinned, adjusting his ornate cape. “If we’re going to make them suffer, we might as well go all out.”

The priest, an elderly man with a tremble in his voice, stood before the two of you, his wrinkled hands holding the ceremonial scroll. His voice was deep, reverent, and filled with emotion—entirely too much emotion for the farce that was about to unfold.

You felt a little sorry for him, considering that he was the one who taught you the scriptures and history of your nation when you were younger, one of the only people to see you for you instead of the "heir". But you knew the next part was going to be hilarious.

“We gather here today,” the priest began, “to unite these two souls in the eternal bond of marriage.”

You dared a glance at your parents, sitting stiffly at the front row, their faces a mixture of horror and resignation. The ministers were whispering frantically among themselves, occasionally darting their eyes towards you and Ruggie as if hoping this was all a nightmare they’d soon wake up from. The absolute satisfaction you felt seeing them squirm almost made this whole ridiculous charade worth it.

But the best part? Leona. Sitting at the back, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the effort to keep from bursting out in laughter. Every now and then, you could hear a muffled snort escape him, and you had to fight the urge to look back at him. One glance, and you’d both be done for.

“And now,” the priest continued, oblivious to the brewing chaos, “the couple will exchange their vows.”

You took a deep breath, turning to face Ruggie. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly with suppressed laughter. His eyes met yours, and you could see the absolute glee dancing in them. This was going to be ridiculous.

You cleared your throat and began, doing your best to sound as dramatic and sincere as possible. “Ruggie Bucchi, from the moment I saw you,” you paused, a wave of barely-contained laughter bubbling up in your chest, “I knew you were the one destined for me. Your… resourcefulness, your… cunning, your ability to stretch a loaf of bread for days… it all captivated my heart.”

Ruggie’s eyes widened slightly at that, and you saw his lips twitch as he struggled not to laugh. You forged on.

“I vow to cherish every moment we spend together, whether it’s in the royal kitchen, watching you devour a feast meant for ten people, or in the court, where I know you’ll always have some… crafty solution to every problem.” You bit your lip, trying to keep a straight face as you added, “I promise to never let a day go by without admiring your thriftiness.”

You finished with a flourish, and the nuns and priests in the room were openly weeping, clutching their hearts as though your “love” had moved them to tears. It was a struggle to not just burst out laughing at the scene. The more you spoke, the more ridiculous it all felt, and you swore you could hear Leona snickering from the back, not even trying to hide it anymore.

Ruggie cleared his throat, taking his turn, his voice as smooth and exaggerated as possible. “Your Highness,” he began, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “From the moment you dragged me into this—” he coughed, “I mean, the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew there was something special. You’re not like other royals,” he said, the smirk on his face just barely concealed. “No, you’re so… generous. So thoughtful. Offering me all the wealth I could ever dream of—”

You gave him a small nudge with your elbow, and he winked at you before continuing.

“I vow to stand by your side, no matter how absurd the situation.” His grin widened, his voice growing more theatrical with each word. “I’ll be there when the royal chefs burn your food, when the ministers drive you mad with their endless meetings, and most importantly, I’ll make sure there’s always a way out of any mess you get into—royal or otherwise.”

The priest was dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief, clearly moved beyond words by the display of "eternal love" unfolding before him. The nuns were practically clutching their rosaries, and one of the ministers was furiously scribbling notes, perhaps planning to write a memoir about this "historic" union.

But you could feel Ruggie shaking with barely-contained laughter beside you, and you knew he was struggling just as much as you were.

Leona, meanwhile, was not helping.

“Isn’t this just the most touching thing you’ve ever seen?” Leona called from the back, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he stood up and clapped once, slowly. “I mean, who could have predicted such true love would bloom in the royal court? Makes you wonder why we ever doubted them.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and sure enough, Leona’s face was barely composed, his smirk broad as he leaned against the back wall. He mouthed, “Go on, keep it up,” as if he was daring you both to escalate the absurdity.

Ruggie, never one to miss an opportunity, took the challenge.

“And, in return for your endless affection,” Ruggie continued, placing his hand dramatically over his heart, “I swear to be the most diligent husband this kingdom has ever seen. I will work tirelessly—mostly to keep you out of trouble, but also to ensure that you never have to lift a finger. You’ll never have to worry about running out of your precious riches, or losing your crown jewels, because I’ll be there to safeguard every coin.”

He shot you a playful wink before finishing with, “And of course, I’ll always be ready to take off with you when things get a little too… boring around here.”

The priest, overcome with emotion, was full-on sobbing now, while your parents sat pale-faced, probably wondering what cosmic force they had offended to end up in this situation.

The room erupted into applause, and Leona, now clapping with a wide grin, leaned over to one of the younger nobles. “You’ll tell the archivists that the vows were this good, right? Might as well get all the details in there.”

Your parents couldn’t even muster a response. They sat rigidly, eyes flickering from you to Ruggie, to the now entirely tearful congregation. The sight of the priests and nuns weeping, utterly convinced by your "heartfelt" vows, was the icing on the cake. You could almost hear the grinding of your father’s teeth from where you stood, and your mother’s strained smile looked one twitch away from cracking.

By the time the priest finally declared your union, both you and Ruggie were barely keeping it together. The ceremony had transformed into a spectacle of ridiculous proportions, and you weren’t sure if anyone could really tell if the applause was genuine or just out of sheer disbelief.

When the final words of the ceremony were spoken and you were “officially” bound together, Ruggie turned to you with a grin so wide it could only be described as mischievous.

“Well, Your Majesty,” he whispered, loud enough for you alone to hear, “we really pulled it off. But I think I deserve a bonus after that performance.”

You stifled a laugh, giving him a light shove. “Wait until after the banquet. I’ll have them send extra desserts to your room as compensation.”

And with that, the two of you walked down the aisle, the very picture of an odd, unexpected royal match.

Leona gave you both a mock bow from the back as you passed by, still laughing silently to himself as the ministers and nobles exchanged bewildered glances.

The following weeks were a blur of royal duties, much to Ruggie’s bemusement. He followed you around, trying to figure out how he ended up playing the role of a royal consort.

“So,” Ruggie said one evening as he flopped down onto the couch in your chambers, “I gotta admit, I thought this was gonna be way worse. I mean, I’m not exactly cut out for all this fancy stuff, but the food? The food is incredible.”

You chuckled, sitting beside him. “Well, it’s only for a year. Then you’ll be free, and you’ll never have to deal with this nonsense again.”

Ruggie shot you a grin. “You’re counting down the days already?”

You smirked. “Aren’t you?”

He shrugged, his grin softening. “Honestly? You’re not as bad as I thought. Could’ve ended up with someone way more annoying.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him playfully. “Gee, thanks.”As the months went on, something strange began to happen. The more time you spent with Ruggie, the more comfortable things felt. Sure, it had started as a deal—a way to get what you wanted—but somewhere along the way, the lines began to blur.

Ruggie was surprisingly good company. His sharp wit and laid-back attitude were a refreshing change from the stiff, formal interactions you were used to with the other royals. He was resourceful, quick-thinking, and even though he constantly complained about the pomp and ceremony of royal life, he never once let you down.

Then there was the way he treated you. Not as a royal, not as some prized heir—but as you. He teased you, made you laugh, and shared stories about his home and his grandma with such affection that it warmed your heart.

Speaking of his grandma, the first time you visited her, she welcomed you with open arms. She was sharp-tongued and quick-witted, much like her grandson, and the two of you hit it off immediately.

“Oh, so you’re the one who roped my boy into this fancy business?” she had said with a cackle, patting your hand. “Well, you’ve got my approval, sweetheart. Just make sure you keep him in line.”

Ruggie groaned, slumping in his chair. “Grams, please…”

As the year drew closer to its end, you found yourself dreading the day Ruggie would leave. You didn’t want him to go. You didn’t want this to end.

The anniversary of your marriage was fast approaching, and your stomach twisted into knots every time you thought about it. Tomorrow, Ruggie would be free to go, just like you promised. A year of playing the perfect royal consort, and it would all be over. He’d get his freedom, you’d get the throne.

So why did the thought of him leaving make you want to scream into a pillow?

You paced your chambers like a caged animal, mentally kicking yourself. You were supposed to be a genius tactician. Yet here you were, spiraling into an emotional wreck because of one laid-back, cunning hyena.

The door creaked open, and Ruggie strolled in with his usual smirk. “You’re pacing. Never seen you this jittery before. What’s up?”

You froze mid-step, spinning to face him. Your mind was a mess of conflicting emotions. How were you supposed to say this? Should you ease him into it? Throw him off with a joke? No, definitely not the joke. He’d roast you for it.

Ruggie raised an eyebrow. “Uh, you good? You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

You blurted out, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Ruggie blinked. Twice. Then blinked again like he was trying to reboot. “Come again?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” you repeated, feeling your palms start to sweat. You took a breath, stepping closer to him. “Tomorrow, you’re free to go, just like we agreed. But I… I don’t want you to. Somewhere along the line, this stopped being just a deal for me. I—I love you, Ruggie.”

Ruggie just stared at you, mouth slightly open like you’d just asked him to wear a ballgown and perform ballet in the throne room. Then he blinked again. “Wait… what?”

You closed your eyes. “You heard me.”

“I think I need to hear it again because there’s no way you just said that,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to get his brain working again.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I. Love. You.”

Ruggie stood there, looking like you just grew a second head. “Hold on, you’re serious?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m being serious!”

Ruggie scratched his cheek, looking away as if he was still processing. “Well, damn. Didn’t expect that.” Then he met your eyes again, his usual grin faltering slightly. “You really love me?”

You nodded, feeling your heart pound. “Yes. And I can’t imagine you not being here. Not as some royal consort, but… just as you.”

Ruggie stared at you for a long moment, before he let out a quiet chuckle. “Y’know… I didn’t plan on this either. This was supposed to be a quick gig, get some cash, eat some fancy food, and bounce. But… well, you’re not like the other royals. You’re kinda fun to be around.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Kinda?”

“Okay, fine, a lotta fun. Happy?” He grinned.

You punched him lightly on the arm. “Not the point!”

He laughed, rubbing his arm dramatically. “Ow, inflicting pain already? But nah, seriously… You’re different. And I guess I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you if I actually left.”

Your heart flipped. “So… you’ll stay?”

Ruggie let out a sigh, but there was a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I’ll stay. I mean, how can I leave behind someone who lets me sneak pastries from the royal kitchens without ratting me out?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated but relieved. “That’s what you’re staying for?”

He laughed, pulling you into a loose, playful hug. “Nah, it’s one of the perks though.”

You rested your head against his, feeling your worries melt away. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Oh, you better. I’m expecting a raise and benefits.” He teased, planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

You smirked, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Benefits? What are you, my royal accountant?”

“Hey, I gotta get something outta this deal.” He grinned wider. “And speaking of, I plan on eating you out of house and home from now on. Just a heads up, Your Majesty.”

You groaned, swatting him on the arm again. “That’s already happening, Ruggie!”

“I mean even more now. You’ve created a monster.” He laughed, pulling you closer again, his nose nuzzling into your hair. “But seriously… I didn’t think this would happen either. Us. But I’m glad it did.”

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth. “Me too.”

As you stood there in each other’s arms, you couldn’t help but think about how far you’d come from that deal. What started as a scheme to outsmart your parents had turned into something real, something you hadn’t expected, but something you wouldn’t trade for the world.

And as Ruggie’s laughter echoed in the room, you realized that maybe, just maybe, plans falling apart wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

“Well,” Ruggie said, smirking at you. “Guess I’m stuck with you now, huh?”

You chuckled, leaning into him. “Yeah, but admit it—you love it.”

He kissed your other cheek, his voice soft but teasing. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.”

And with that, you knew inciting that royal scandal was the best thing you could've ever done.

Masterlist

I don't know why but this is the fic that I like the most out of everything I've written lol it was supposed me like 2k words but I couldn't stop and this was born.

[saintobio]

TITANIC.

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

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

𝇈𓈒 pairings. rafayel, fem!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love isn’t something you can demand.” 

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me go!” 

“Pipe it down, will you?!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s alright. You’re alright now.”

“W-What’s your name?”

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

“I…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

“What’s wrong, Eliza?” you asked. 

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

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

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

Has she gone mad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To where?”

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

Slap! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

Until he appeared.

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

Then, he happened to have looked in your direction. 

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

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

“Who’s that woman next to him?” 

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

“Did he just ignore you, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It never was.

~~

“So, when’s the big day?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

Come Josephine… in my flying machine 

Going up she goes, up she goes 

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

Balance yourself like a bird on a beam

In the air she goes, there she goes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

“Just kidding.”  

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

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

Were things too good to be true? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“R-Raf.” 

“Tell me if you want to stop—”

“Don’t stop. Don’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Titanic struck an iceberg. 

“Aaah!” 

“Watch out!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ship was about to sink.

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come with us, miss!” 

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

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

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

“Nooo!” 

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Madam, stay put!” 

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

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

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

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

~~

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

I can’t think straight… 

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

This is how I’ll die…. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can… a little.” 

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

“Raf, I-I’m s-so cold!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good luck to each of you, sirs.

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

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

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

“But—”

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

“No, I—”

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

“Come on, ma’am. Get in the boat!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

But there was none. 

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

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

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

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

“I’m falling—!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Raf—”

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

“Aaah!” 

“Haaaaah!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.” 

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But for the most part, they were too late. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[blood-smiles]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓...𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃

Long ago, it was said that humanity thrived together as a whole in peace and harmony, they all went to the same places and had similar experiences, they shared and traded food and items, the peace was always kept because of laws, the air was pure and the water was clear and tasteless, complete perfection.

But where was that now? It’s the year 2313, it’s been a long time since that chapter was ripped from the ancient book of humanity,

You wrapped a mask around your head, clicking your tongue as your fingers fiddled with the leather buckles of the mask,

After a struggling with the mask for a few seconds you finally succeeded in fastening the item to the back of your cranium,

The thick belt wrapped around your head and behind your ears, the borders of the leather digging into your skin and leaving an aching red imprint on your head,

You steadily got up from your couch, walking over to the deserted shopping cart in the corner, putting your hands around the cart’s bars and lifting it up from the floor, putting it back on its wheels as it used to be,

You rolled the cart around your laboratory, listening for squeaks or strange sounds, when you made sure there wasn’t any problems with the cart you put it aside momentarily,

You ran over to one of your counters as snatched a pair of goggles from the metal surface,

Securing them on your eyes as best you could, your hands grabbed the flimsy fabric of your coat and pulled up the hood, you were all geared up and ready to go.

Your hands gripped the bar of your shopping cart, your eyes scanning the inside of the empty shopping cart, the once silver metal was oxidizing, slowly turning into a murky brown tint,

you pushed your cart through your run down town, waving at acquaintances and kicking little pebbles out of your way,

This is how your everyday life went, around 5 p.m you would get geared up and go into the junk yard to look for unwanted “trash” from Ether,

most of the time what you found wasn’t even trash, maybe a little worn down, but these people were throwing away full shampoo bottles and moisturizers! You wish you had that problem..

Ether was the island above the slums or better know as “the pit”, Ether was known as the place only peasants like you could wish they could end up there, which wasn’t ever going to happen,

Only the richest of the rich or elite are allowed up there, and the people down in the pit were uneducated and poor, having nothing more than a button and a few pieces of clothes to their name,

Truly pitiful, and you were no different, the only thing you had was a run down laboratory your father left behind,

He was supposedly a smart man, one of the first developers of the species known as “Androids” yet none of his work was given credit towards him, which ended him up here, in the pit.

You knew how to repair an android, but coding one was beyond your abilities, you worked as a handyman for a few silver coins, that’s how you went on about life,

You developed your skills as you went, and apparently the only note worthy trait you had was your ability to salvage broken things,

You kicked away some trash with your muddy boots, the rubbish flying far away and into the piles of trash,

“Fuckin’ trash..” you complained under your breath, your heavy duty boots clinging to the sticky mud underneath, making unpleasant squelches in the mud,

The sound of clanking was heard when the piece of trash hit a surface, your ears immediately pricked up,

Whipping your head into the direction of where the trash fell, you immediately let go of your cart and jogged over to a pile of crap,

You stepped onto the unsteady heap of trash, your knee beginning to buckle under your own weight, warning you that you were about to loose your footing,

You fell forward, wind brushing by your ears as you began your descension , sticking your arms out, you braced for the impact,

with a loud clank you landed on top of a scrap of metal, your hands laying on a hard, cool material, you pushed yourself off the object to get a better look on it,

it seemed to hold a humanoid shape, but it by no means looked like one, instead of a face it had a screen, which was pitch black and roughed up, split right through the middle, nothing you couldn't fix.

It didn't have the look of a typical android, it seemed like it was missing its silicone skin, a normal android look closely alike to a human, this one looked more like a robot,

Its body was large, made of a sturdy material, despite having no muscles it did have something alike to it but made of steel, the shine being dulled by the dirt,

your eyes trailed to its chest, which was steel, a shocker. It seemed to have a symbol on its left pectoral in an electric blue tint, while its right one seemed to have a name tag, but the letters were scratched off, what looked deep jagged scratches on its chest, whoever did this either didn't like their name or didn't want anyone to see its real name,

that logo.. That was the logo of the best android engineers in Ether, Its obviously an android, but its strange that they would throw out androids,

your eyes wandered down the android's body to its legs, which were missing, cables poked out of the holes where its legs were supposed to be,

you rand your hand down your face, where were its fucking legs? You couldn't take it home without its legs! You put the Android's upper body on your back, then letting it slip off your back and into your shopping cart with a loud bang,

you began to look around, lifting rubbish with the tip of your shoe, peeking under all surfaces until you saw what seemed to be a foot poking out from a pile of soggy cardboard,

you pulled out the limb with your whole body weight, the sheer height and thickness of that single limb was impressive, the leg stood in height about where your waist was,

you tossed the heavy limb in your shopping cart with the Android, you walked around for about 40 minutes, looking everywhere for the other leg,

just when you were about to give up you tripped over something, looking at what made your hit the ground, you realized it was the leg you were looking for,

your heart beat happily in your chest as you pushed the heavy cart back to your house lab,

you had a dopey grin on your face the whole way home, you couldn't help but have a pep in your step, you were already thinking of how you would name your new Android,

"(Y/n)? O-Oh! It is you! How are you, sweet pea?" You could recognize that voice anywhere, if it wasn't the the village doctor!

You turned around, smiling widely at the man, still in his clad white uniform, hair tie slipping down his long ginger hair, and those characteristic cracked glasses, it was Kairo.

"Heya Kairo! 'm good, jus' pushin this home.'" You waved to him weakly, your calloused hands tired from pushing the cart,

Kairo jogged up to you, stopping only inches away, he brought a hand up to his face, his cheeks adorned with alight dusting of pretty pink,

"I recall asking you to rest, didn't I? You better have a good reason to be wearing yourself out like this.." the ginger scolded, crossing his arms across his chest, his magenta eyes staring you down something alike to a mother’s disappointed gaze,

Kairo was an absolute blessing to have down here in the slums, he was the doctor and used to be a scientist, his knowledge in both fields was greatly appreciated, especially since it seemed the world had it out for you and your physical well being,

he got kicked out of Ether many years ago, you were about 13 when he got dropped in the pit,

He really stirred the pot when he got here, no one even tried getting closer to him due to their reluctance about him and his origins, no one here trusts those who were born in Ether,

Kairo got pushed away, glared at, kicked and even sometimes people spat on him, no one really knows what he did to get him off Ether,

Yet it is still a fact that even if the others have warmed up to him, they still treat him exponentially different from the other habitants of the slums,

you were the first and only one to extend your hand out to him in times of need, you gave him a safe haven when he needed it most, and just for that fact he has sworn to always be with you, through thick and thin, he will protect you and put you back together time and time again, just how you loved him, he will love you back tenfold.

your smile turned bashful, wiping your sweaty hands on your shirt you started trying to recount the events of today,

"..So then I decided to take him home to repair him back up! He's in pretty good shape, I jus need ta' wire his legs back on then fix his screen, give him a lil' bath and I will be done with him!"

Kairo looked back at the robot with narrowed eyes, a dark shadow casting over his pale features,

you felt oddly unsettled by his sharp gaze, this side of him was completely unknown to you, and gee was it scary.

"..Where did you find this thing?" He asked—no, demanded, his voice dropping an octave lower, the sharpness of his tone wasn't quite directed at you though, but more at the robot in your cart,

"Uhm, I found him in the Junk yard.." You rasped out, your throat feeling constricted, words barely audible out of the feeling of fear you had, this mood of him was awfully uncharacteristic of him, it really creeped you out,

Kairo seemed to notice your state, the last thing he would want was to make you fear him.. for now, he will let it go.

"I see.." the taller male responded, a tinge of worry in his voice "Well, all I ask of you is to be careful, you don't know where it came from, and personally, I don't want to see you hurt.." He hugged himself, looking off to the side shyly, his gloved hand reaching up to twirl a strand of his cantaloupe colored hair around his finger,

the carefree smile you had earlier started returning as you saw Kairo softening up again, you were glad he wasn't upset at you,

you ran up to him, momentarily leaving your cart and new companion behind to give him some affection,

your arms wrapped around his slender waist as you cuddled his chest, your cheek pressed up right next to his heart,

Kairo's breath hitched, a kaleidoscope of butterflies going off in his guts, the wings of the small insects making contact with his insides, the pleasant feeling didn’t help the flush in his face spreading like a wildfire,

his longer arms wrapped around your neck, hugging you closer to him, he pressed his lips against your forehead gently, intentionally catching a whiff of your hair's scent, ‘my sweet baby.. You really don’t realize what I feel for you, do you?’ His eyes fluttered closed, long eyelashes ghosting over his tired under eyes,

these were the moments with you he could kill for, he would do anything to be this close to you always, skin to skin, heart to heart, and hopefully one day, lips to lips.

The ginger reluctantly let go, crossing his arms once again as he gazed at your retreating form longingly, his mind couldn't help but wander back to that specific Android, dangerous thoughts leaking into his brain continuously like a broken faucet,

"If you do something to her, I will rip your fucking head off.."

But you on the other hand were giddy as fuck, you had already unloaded the android and sat him down on your lab counter,

lifting his left leg up you propped it below the wires hanging off the holes of where his legs were supposed to be in,

you connected the wires carefully, melting them together once again, soon you connected the legs into his hip socket, a loud clicking noise let you know you did the job correctly,

you did the same with his right leg, another loud click reached your ears, you pulled on the legs as best as you could from different angles, and they wouldn't budge, not a single creak or sign of the limbs wanting to detach from the body anymore,

and with that you moved onto the cracked screen of the head of the android,

you somehow managed to seal the cracks and give the mask a polish to leave it looking good as new, you were pretty satisfied with the results,

you scrubbed off the dirt and grime off the metallic protective plates, you scrubbed and scrubbed every single crevice of its body until the robot was spotless and shining under the dim lighting,

he was beautiful.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest, anxiety coursing through your veins, sweat beads ran down your skin, dampening your shirt,

you opened the back of his cranium, cables wrapped in metallic material linking to the back of his head, a blue power button inside all the wires and mother boards inside, green and silver peeking out from inside his head,

you pressed on the button, then stepped back, crossing your fingers that he would come to life, you clasped your hands together in prayer,

buzzing came from the Android, limbs twitching, sparks coming from its joints,

soon, the screen on its "face" lit up, something alike to a smiley face being displayed on the black screen,

it looked down at its hands, closing and opening its fists, kicking its legs, it realized it was alive once more, that it was moving and that it was okay,

you didn’t know how to react, should you be happy? Scared? It was all so conflicting, you wanted to jump out of happiness but at the same time you wanted to run away, cry and vomit.

It turned its head to you, the gentle sound of ticking coming from deep inside his metal plates,

The sound of its metallic feet hitting the murky ground startled you, making you jump violently, you would have jumped out of your skin if it came closer,

It seemed to stop when it saw that you were scared, and so it stopped, it stared at you, not moving an inch from it place,

slowly, it extended its long arm, opening its robotic palm and holding it out to you, (e/c) looked down at its hand, analyzing how his joints popped and twitched,

you were starting to regret taking the massive machine home, Kairo was right, this Android totally had something off about it,

but even as your common sense screamed at you to stay back and run away, it all was drowned out by the overlapping thoughts buzzing in your head,

how much could this thing sell for? It was modified, Obviously, it was crystal clear that these modifications had been done illegally,

you carefully put your smaller hand in his own, you looked up at the screen that was his face warily,

“a-ah..” the android made a noise, was his voice box broken? You tried repairing him as best as you could, but his voice box was something you unfortunately didn’t know how to repair,

he pointed a finger towards you, tilting his head while making more noises,

“ah.. ah?” Was it asking you something? It gently tapped your arm, pointing at you,

oh. It was asking you for your name.

“oh.. You can’t speak, can you?” It shook its head, putting it hand on its throat to emphasize,

“well.. I’m (Y/n), and.. It’s nice to finally meet you..?” You coughed into your fist as you finished, awkwardly shifting from side to side,

an emoticon of sorts appeared on the metallic male’s face visor, it seemed… happy?

“Aaah?” It pointed to itself, looking down at its name tag, only to realize that it had completely scratched off,

it stayed silent before looking up at you, gently guiding your hand to its chest, where it’s name tag once resided,

“..You want a name?” It nodded, pointing to itself once again,

“..I actually was thinkin’ about what to name you.. Welcome to the world, Exo.” You gave it a toothy grin, watching as how the screen visor of his suddenly showed a blue glowing heart,

It took you by surprise when the droid grabbed onto you by under your arm pits, lifting you up to his height,

you watched as how the glowing blue heart on his visor beat like how a heart would, and it only seemed to be getting faster,

it brought you closer to it, holding you like a baby, it rubbed its cheek(?) against yours, the uncomfortable friction of its glass screen making contact with your own,

And that’s when you heard it, a low rumbling sound resounded from its chest, the vibrations melting against your skin,

is he fucking purring..?

“I’m glad— urgh.. you liked your name..” you barely made out, trying to create some space between both of your bodies, however the bot wouldn’t move a centimeter away from you,

after pleading with it, he decided to put you down,

it gently pat your head, before putting its hands on its knees to observe you more closely,

“uh.. Okay, Well.. You can just follow me around, I want to see how good of a job I did at fixing you..” and with that you walked out of your laboratory,

a larger hand grabbed onto your sleeve, you already knew who it was so you didn’t spare him a look,

you let him grab onto your sleeve, the cool feeling of it’s metal fingers making contact with your skin,

Exo didn’t know what to make of things, he was especially surprised when he woke up to a little human greeting him,

he couldn’t see anything, but from the noises and fleeting touches around his body he could tell that someone was trying to fix him up,

and then he could see everything, from the little scars on your skin to the exact shade of your eye color,

his memory board felt empty, he tried to remember, but his mind was a blank slate, it was like trying to squeeze water from a stone, impossible.

but one thing he did know was that he was eternally indebted to this cute human, Exo wanted to assume that this was his creator, but he knew better, his real creator didn’t care about him,

he knew he was thrown off somewhere high, he didn’t know when or from where, but just that action showed him that whoever created him had no care for him,

But.. You took the time to fix him with your caring hands, you didn’t have any obligation whatsoever to even touch him, but you did,

from looking down at his own body he could tell you spent countless hours polishing his body, not even a crevice of his body had a single spot of filth,

his joints were smooth, his movements were swift and elegant, something he never thought he would be able to regain,

you might as well be his owner now, you are so small.. So frail, he looked down at you and he felt this inexplicable feeling of wanting to grab you and cradle you like a human baby,

your smaller form was so comfortable to hold in his arms, he could accommodate his body to your liking,

he understands that his chest isn’t the most comfortable, under the heavy metal plating there is soft layers of silicone that could help with trying to make you more comfy against his body,

he wished nothing more than to communicate with you, to tell you how much he appreciated you and how he wished to serve you in the way you served him,

but the only type of noise that made it out of his mouth (?) was pathetic moans and sighs, that was no way to communicate with you,

He heard the voice of a man earlier, his sensors picked up on his heart rate, it was.. familiar, he knew that rhythm from some where.. but he can’t quite remember from where,

this mysterious man’s heart beat spiked up as soon as you approached him, his breathing turned slower and heavier,

Exo heard you call out to that man, apparently his name was Kairo.. the android repeated his name in his mind, Kairo, Kairo, Kairo.. That was an unusual name..

then he spoke, and his voice hit home, he still had no idea who this man was, but his hate for him tenfolded,

Exo hated how he spoke to you, his voice was so warm and welcoming towards you, pure love and adoration in his tone, he just knew that man wanted to shove his tongue down your throat, repulsive.

but Exo has claimed you long ago, ever since you picked him up and ever so gently put him into your cart he had vowed to be by your side,

‘Kairo’ directed his tone towards him and Exo didn’t like it one bit, his tone was so sharp, the iron-clad Android could feel the intensity of ‘Kairo’ on him, his eyes feeling like they could burn through the thick layers of metal of his body,

Then he felt a warm calloused hand on his shoulder, gently running up and down the ridges of his armor, that touch made him melt into a puddle of goo,

making him forget about the developing grudge against Kairo,

however he knew that wasn’t going to be the last time he would see him.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Several days had passed since you had booted Exo’s system up, and it was safe to say that the last days had been nothing but bliss,

it was like he was lying on cloud nine, he started to believe that he had been blessed by some force and sent you down, it was nothing less than euphoria.

You, however had to head into town, and Exo could never dream of making you go alone, never in a millennia would he allow that,

So he decided to accompany you, his large hand clasped around your own, your hand gently grabbing onto his pointer finger,

Exo kept a close eye on you, trying to sense of something was amiss, your heart beat seemed steady, your glucose was normal and your oxygen levels were okay,

he wished he could just carry you so you wouldn’t need to walk, he wouldn’t want to wear down your fragile bones!

but you refused his offer.. you said that you were ‘too old for that’, Exo really didn’t want you to be embarrassed, he decided to let this slide— for now.

his steps were heavy behind you, loud thumps being heard when his mechanical feet hit the ground,

you were pushing your cart through the dust and dirt, while Exo was carrying your backpack and money, who were comically small compared to his large and broad body,

you snickered to yourself as you looked back at him for a split second, he seemed to notice, suddenly his screen lit up, a blue heart blinking on the screen,

“a-ah..” he moaned out, tilting his head close to his right shoulder, you really wished you could understand the damn thing, but it seemed to be able to communicate through moans and exhales,

“Ya know I have zero idea what yer sayin’, right?” You sighed as you looked away, your cart wheels getting jammed on a rock out of nowhere,

it had you clicking your tongue as you bent down to pick the rock out of the old wheels,

the bot bent down to assist you, kneeling right next to you, there to help you if you needed anything,

“(Y/n)! What a coincidence! It has been a bit since we have last spoken, you aren’t running away from me are you?” The familiar voice of a certain admirer rang out from above you,

“hah? ‘Course not, You are my favorite person in this old dinky town..” you gave Kairo a crooked smile, dusting off your pants to face him fully,

his eyes softened, a gentle smile marking his plump lips, sometimes you really forgot how pretty Kairo was,

“..Y-You really think so..?” Aw shit, did you say that out loud? You nodded your head either way, an embarrassed flush warming your cheeks, Kairo put his hands on his face trying to hide the blush heating up his whole face, his hand gently extended out towards you,

Kairo was about to put his hand on your head, however his hand was stopped by a silver encased one, the mechanic fingers tightening around the Ginger’s arm,

“…” a certain chrome plated male stopped Kairo’s arm from going any further,

“..Huh. And who do you think you are?” Kairo retaliated, veins sprawling across his arm and porcelain face, an unnatural look to his other wise doll like appearance,

his glasses slipped down the slope of his nose, showing a pretty little bump on his upturned nose,

his thick brows furrowed, his pretty face twisted into a menacing scowl, his lively magenta eyes losing the shine they had when they met with your (e/c) eyes,

Exo on the other hand didn’t show a sliver of emotion, the screen visor he possessed didn’t show the emoticons he tends to show, instead a pitch black screen was shown,

Expo refused to utter a single sound, which was somehow more menacing than anything, fear instilled deep inside you, slimy tendrils of uncertainty and the urge to run pooling in your intestines,

“ha..haha— How about we calm down?” You suggested as calmly as you could, which was not very good since you were about to piss your pants,

You didn’t notice your hands shaking violently, your fingers and hands being unable to keep still, you were so distracted trying to tone down the situation you forgot about keeping calm yourself,

Both of the men turned to face you, noticing your shaken up state they seemed like they were about to stop,

the duo simultaneously reached out to you, trying to touch you, they seemed to have gotten distracted from their fight, however they were far from over,

“What the fuck do you think you are doing? Can’t you see she is scared? Tsk.. what a disgrace, to think you would care about a human being.. Touch her and I won’t hesitate to pull those cables out of your fucking head.” Kairo threatened, his hand balling into a fist

“…” the bot just stared at him, unresponsive.

This was your chance to book it out of here, a crowd of people were coming your way, you took advantage of their ‘moment’ to get away,

you blended into the streets, luckily you had a few silver coins on you, so you could hang out until Exo came to find you, which he always did,

you could apologize to Kairo later and spend some well deserved time with the ginger, not today though.

shit.. Did they team up to come after you? Because.. they aren’t where they were going when you looked back..

Is it just you or.. Are two people breathing down your neck?

[softspiderling]

illicit affairs - part five | r.c

summary:

“That’s emotional manipulation.”

“I’m aware, precious,” Rafe said with a grin, toeing his shoes off. “I’m getting in the water and I’m not leaving you out here by yourself. So you’re going to take your clothes off and getting in there with me, or I will carry you into the water.”

“How are those the only two options?”

OR; Topper and Kelce are love sick, Rafe is being a little TOO PDA and you're just trying to keep it together

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: heavy make out sesh in the water

word count: 3,7k

author's note: okay, why was this only 1k this morning wtf. after a week of break, rafe and precious are back! happy reading!!! <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pt. five: "make sure nobody sees you leave"

“Are you coming to the party tonight?” Rafe asked as he tugged his shirt on when you returned from the bathroom.

It was a couple of days after… Your friendship had changed. You said changed, but it didn’t really feel like there was a huge shift in how you saw each other. Rafe still treated you the same, like you were only his best friend. You still loved him. And yet, you continued to have casual sex with him.

The more days that passed where this friends with benefits thing was ongoing, the more you were struggling. You felt selfish for continuing this, knowing exactly how damning your feelings for him were. At the same time, you told yourself that this hadn’t even been your idea in the first place, so how were you being selfish? However, you doubted that Rafe would’ve suggested this arrangement if he had known how you felt about him.

“The pogue party? At the bone yard?”

You sat down at your vanity, glancing at Rafe through the mirror while you picked up a hairbrush, fixing your hair. Getting your hair pulled during sex really got you going, but you always wondered if it was worth it to untangle it after (it was).

“That’s the one.”

“Since when do you like going to the boneyard?” you asked skeptically. Rafe stepped to the vanity next to you, fixing his hair in his reflection.

“I don’t know,” he replied, ruffling his hair with his fingers a little, before giving his head a shake to make his hair fall just like he wanted it to. “I like to see how the other side is slumming it.”

You scoffed, whacking him gently with your hairbrush before laying it down on the table.

“Top and Kelce coming too?”

“They ever turn a party down?” Rafe asked with a grin. You rolled your eyes at him, knowing you were getting roped into this no matter if you wanted to or not.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I gotta take care of some stuff for my parents for the Spring Fling today, so I’ll just join after. I’ll text you.”

“A’ight, see you later precious.”

Running his hand through your hair - a gesture that made you feel like a child - Rafe exited your bedroom, leaving you to glower at the mirror, hand reaching up to straighten out your hair again. Ever since you had told Rafe to not call you precious during sex, it seemed like he was doing it even more than not. Yes, he used your name during sex, but whenever you weren’t at it? Precious this, precious that. It was like Rafe was rubbing your face in it, like he kept wanting to remind you that you were his best friend, still. Despite the circumstances.

“I can get you the darker peonies if you like.”

Serena’s gentle voice cut through your thoughts and you lifted your head, raising a questioning brow. You were on your second to last errand of the day, a little stop by at the flower shop to pick out the flowers for the Spring Fling. To say that you were distracted was an understatement.

“Hm?”

“You seemed to scrutinize the flowers, I can get another color.”

“Oh no,” you quickly said, quickly trying to appease her. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind. This color is perfect.”

Serena beamed at you and wrapped the flowers up in small bundles, presenting it to you. “So I was thinking one bundle per table with clear vases.”

“Yes, that’s perfect,” you replied with a nod.

“You said 24 tables, right?”

Quickly checking your notes, you confirmed the number with her and Serena jotted down her notes.

“Alright, perfect. We’ll deliver them straight to the country club on the morning of the Spring Fling.”

“Great, thanks Serena!”

She wrapped the small bouquet in white wrapping paper, offering it to you with a smile. “Here, take it. Hope it helps with whatever’s on your mind.”

You gave Serena a sheepish smile, accepting the bouquet. “Thanks. I’ll see you around.” With a small wave, you exited the flower shop, heading to your car. Depositing the bouquet on the passenger’s seat, you got into the driver’s seat and leaned your head on the steering wheel for a second, allowing yourself a few moments to decompress.

“Ugh,” you groaned, rubbing the bridge of your nose. You had thought keeping yourself busy would stop you from overthinking, but instead, it just added more stress. One last stop, you thought to yourself as you turned the key in your ignition, driving towards the country club. Luckily, going over the seating arrangement with the event coordinator Avery didn’t take long, because your mother had sent over the floor plan a few days prior. All you had to do was go over the decorations and the menu for the Spring Fling. After taking care of the last details, you decided to grab dinner at the club as well since you were already there. By the time you got home, it was nearly ten and you were absolutely wiped. You put the flowers in some water, before you let yourself fall face down on your bed, sighing softly, feeling the stress melt from your limbs.

“How is this the first time I can relax today?” you muttered to yourself into your blankets.

Your peace was short-lived, however, as your phone started ringing not soon after. With a groan, you reached for it, fishing it out of your purse.

“What?” you said into the phone after picking up, not even bothering to look at the caller ID. You knew who it was.

“When are you going to be here?”

You sighed at the sound of Rafe’s voice. He still sounded sober enough, and you could hear people speaking in the background. Carefully, you rubbed your eyes with the pad of your finger, as to not smudge the mascara.

“I just got home,” you started. “I-”

“No precious, you’re not cancelling on me,” Rafe groaned into the phone. The sound of his footsteps turned from soft sand, to hard, crunching gravel. The noise of chattering people reduced; Rafe must have walked up to the main street. Turning on your back, you stared at the ceiling, waiting until he got to wherever he wanted to go.

“Don’t make me come get you,” he then said.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

You contemplated actually staying in, unsure if he would really come get you. Then you remembered how stubborn Rafe could be, and how he usually didn’t drive after drinking, but just out of spite, he’d do it.

“Fine,” you relented, sitting up with a frown on your face. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t do anything stupid until I get there.”

“Y’know I can’t promise you that, precious,” Rafe drawled and you only rolled your eyes.

“See you in a bit.”

Getting up, you let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Business as usual,” you said to yourself, walking towards your closet to get yourself a change of clothes because there was no way you were showing up at the boneyard party on the Cut wearing your new dress. About twenty minutes later, you were on the beachside on the Cut, slowly rolling to a stop on the curb of the main street that led to the boneyard. As you turned the engine off and grabbed your purse, exiting the car, Rafe was already walking towards you, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“I was about to come get you, what took you so long?” Rafe asked in greeting.

“Did you expect me to teleport here?” you asked dryly, putting your keys in your purse. “And I had to change.”

“Oh, for me? You shouldn’t have.”

Rafe wrapped an arm around your shoulder, snickering when you swatted his arm away. While the two of you walked down to the boneyard, he updated you on what you had missed so far: Kelce saw his crush with a girl, and promptly decided to get hammered, Scarlet drove her father’s Porsche into the bushes (it was still parked there), and Topper was sitting on the lifeguard’s watch tower because apparently Sarah was here with her Pogue friends. And John B of course.

“I hope he’s still there,” Rafe then added with a grimace.

“You left Top by himself??”

“What? No! Kelce is with him.”

“Ugh, Rafe!” you groaned, unwinding yourself from his arm, bypassing the party around the bonfire to head straight to the watch tower, with Rafe hot on your heels. You stopped when you reached it, staring up the ladder, hesitant, as you heard Kelce’s voice float down from the deck.

“You’re not planning on going up there, are you?” Rafe asked, his arm brushing your shoulder as he leaned into you.

“It can hold four of us,” you replied, grabbing the railing to climbing up the ladder.

The previous watch tower had been replaced after hurricane Agatha hit the outer banks; the new one had a shiny ladder, and a big deck with a roof over it. It was big enough to hold four people now, perfect for you. You heard Rafe mutter something under his breath before he followed you up the ladder.

“- and I’m just saying… I mean, it’s not like I am fully out of the closet either, but it doesn’t mean I’m parading around with a girl,” Kelce said indignantly as you finally reached the deck to see Top leaning on the railing, his feet dangling from the side and Kelce next to him, holding onto an almost empty cup with the way the liquid was sloshing inside of it. Kelce paused his rant to take a sip of his drink, his eyes widening when he saw you. “Precious!”

“Hey guys,” you called out, pulling yourself up to the deck and carefully walked over to the two boys, sitting down next to Topper.

“Hey Presh,” the blonde boy said, acknowledging your presence without taking his eyes off of the distance.

Oh dear.

“Why are we hiding?”

“I’m not hiding.”

Rafe let out a snort as he settled down next to you, only shrugging his shoulders when you glared at him. Turning your attention back to Topper, you nudged his foot with his.

“Hey, this isn’t because of Sarah, is it?”

He didn’t reply.

Glancing at Kelce for help was no use - he had turned to stare the bonfire. If you had to guess, he was trying to spot his crush. You glancing to the side, raising your eyebrows at Rafe, but he only raised his hands defensively.

Ugh, boys.

“I thought you were over Sarah,” you said carefully, knowing this was a sensitive topic. Topper sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“So did I, okay? I didn’t think it would feel like such a punch in the gut to see her with John B,” he huffed, shaking his head a bit. “Do you think I want to feel like this when she has clearly moved on?”

You winced. Topper had always been the romantic one in your group, and Sarah had been his first serious girlfriend. While you wished he would forget Sarah, especially considering there was no way back, you understood why it was so hard for him.

“Listen. I know this sucks right now, and I know you thought that you and Sarah were gonna last, but there’s no use in dwelling on it anymore, Top. Just because your first girlfriend wasn’t the one, doesn’t mean that every one of your relationship is doomed to fail.”

Glancing over to the bonfire, you watched as Sarah was sitting between John B’s legs, talking with Kiara her face illumniated by the fire, not a care in the world.

“And I know it doesn’t feel good to see her with him, but it’s like exposure therapy, right?”

Topper scoffed, but a small smile was playing on his lips. “I don’t know about that, precious.”

“Come on,” you heckled him, nudging him with your shoulder. “How would you get over her if you pretend she doesn’t exist? Kildare’s not that big, you’re bound to bump into her every now and then. Better start healing now, than later.”

Topper made a small noise, but you could tell that his shoulders were less tense and Rafe leaned over to squeeze your knee, his way of telling you a job well done.

“You ready to get back to the party?” he asked Topper, but he snorted, shaking his head.

“Definitely not. I need… To get out of my head.”

“I bet a swim would definitely do you some good,” Kelce chimed in.

Rafe and you snickered, but Topper raised an eyebrow, as if he was actually considering it.

“Top, you can’t be serious,” Rafe then said. “It’s the middle of the night.

“And I bet the water is super refreshing right now,” Topper said, suddenly getting to his knees, standing up. He started climbing down the ladder with a grin on his face, and Kelce was quick to follow him. You exchanged a look with Rafe, who looked about as concerned as you felt right now.

“I think we should go after them,” you said, and Rafe nodded, the both of you getting off of the watch tower. By the time you were on solid ground again, Topper was already standing at the shore, shoes off and toes in the wet sand. Kelce was standing next to him, tugging his shirt off over his head.

“Top, I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” you breathed out when you finally caught up with him, Rafe nodding next to you.

“But I know it’s going to make me feel so much better to jump into the water right now…” Topper said, pausing.

“I mean,” Rafe started, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like we can actually stop you. And if it makes him feel better,” he added, glancing to you. You gave him a hard look.

“Fine,” you sighed, “go ahead,” you told Topper, making a shooing motion with your hand. Might as well get it over with.

“You know what would make me feel so much better, though?” Topper asked, taking his shirt off. “If my best friends joined me.”

“What?”

“Come on,” Topper said, adding his shorts to the pile of clothes, head turning towards the water. “You wouldn’t leave me hanging, would you?”

He walked backwards towards the water, Kelce following him with a grin on his face. Rafe raised his eyebrow at you, but you resolutely shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m not going into the water, are you crazy?”

“You wouldn’t get into the water even though it will cheer Topper up?” Rafe asked, tugging his shirt off. Momentarily, you were distracted by his bare chest, but your eyes quickly flitted up before he noticed.

“That’s emotional manipulation.”

“I’m aware, precious,” Rafe said with a grin, toeing his shoes off. “I’m getting in the water and I’m not leaving you out here by yourself. So you’re going to take your clothes off and getting in there with me, or I will carry you into the water.”

“How are those the only two options?” you asked indignantly, though you could feel your resolve weakening.

“You wouldn’t leave a friend in need, right?”

You groaned, tipping your head back in annoyance. “I hate you,” you muttered, taking your shirt off and dropping your purse into the sand. You could feel Rafe’s eyes on you as you stripped down to your underwear, and you gave him a look, putting your hair up in a bun.

“Stop staring. You’ve seen all of it before.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it,” Rafe said with a grin, removing the last of his clothes. “Come on.”

He grabbed you by the hand and dragged you towards the ocean, where Topper and Kelce were already waist deep, yelling at each other in between laughter. Your fingers were entangled with Rafe’s and it was windy; that was the only reason you were getting goosebumps. At least that was what you told yourself. You stepped towards the shore, where the water met the beach and suddenly, you froze, skidding to a stop. Rafe turned back to look at you when he felt a sudden resistance from your hand.

“What?”

“It’s so cold. I’m gonna freeze to death.”

“Precious,” Rafe said dryly, dropping your hand. “Just remember that you forced me to do this.”

“Wha-?”

The rest of the word got stuck in your throat when Rafe suddenly looped his arms under your knees, throwing you over his shoulder despite your shrieks and waded into the water.

“Rafe Cameron, I will actually murder you,” you threatened him, wincing as the cold water splashes on your skin.

“Please, as if you could ever live in a world without me,” Rafe retorted, shifting his arm so you wouldn’t slide off. You could hear Topper and Kelce cheer when you reached them and you only rolled your eyes. That was on you for being friends with boys. “You ready to hit the water?” Rafe asked, tapping your thigh, a little bit too high for your liking, considering you were trying to hide your friends with benefits thing from your friends.

“Not really, no.”

“Perfect.”

Grabbing you by the waist, Rafe slid you off his shoulders, right into the icy cold water. You shuddered, goosebumps going crazy and the glare you gave Rafe was deadly. Topper and Kelce applauded you, giving high fives to Rafe, and if it wasn’t for the infectious smile on Topper’s face, you’d be pissed.

“Alright, since we’re already here,” you sighed, rolling your shoulders, before dropping into the water up until your chin. The boys hollered as you shuddered, your teeth chattering until your body temperature acclimated to the cold water.

“You’re actually the worst,” you told your friends, swimming a few laps around them to keep yourself warm. The boys joked around, splashing each other with the freezing water, while you tried to keep yourself out of the splash zone, you were already wet enough as is. During all this, you felt Rafe’s eyes on you, but you knew that he wouldn’t actually do something with Kelce and Topper both present.

“Fuck, okay, I’m actually starting to feel my dick disappearing into my body,” Kelce said, rubbing his arms. He seemed to have sobered up, his lips trembling. “I gotta get out.”

“Me too,” Topper said, shuddering, following Kelce out of the water.

“You guys are pussies!” you yelled after them, as Rafe stayed rooted next to you. “At least get my towel out of my car!”

Topper waved his arm, acknowledging your demand as they hightailed it out of the water. Now it was just you and Rafe. Just perfect.

“Still cold?” Rafe asked, swimming over to you. Without noticing, you had gone into deeper water, your feet reaching the ground, but the water lapped at your shoulders as you kept yourself afloat.

“No,” you replied with narrowed eyes. He snickered, arm reaching out around your waist, pulling you close. “What are you doing?”

“Warming you up, what does it look like?”

His hands were on your hips, bodies flush and out of reflex, your legs wrapped around his waist. Your cheeks heated, despite the cold water and your arms found his waist.

“What if they see us?” you huffed, glancing back to the beach to see Topper and Kelce put their clothes on, before rummaging in your purse, presumably to find your keys.

“They’re way too far to make out anything,” he muttered, hitching you higher on his waist to nose along your neck, his lips hot on your skin.

“Rafe!” you hissed, trying to hold back a moan as he gently sucked on your sensitive skin on your neck.

“What? Only doing my part in keeping you warm.”

You huffed, grabbing his chin to tilt it up, so you could press your lips on his. He groaned against your lips as you kissed, and you slipped your tongue into his mouth. Lazily, the two made out in the middle of the ocean in the darkness, like there was only the two of you existing. Shifting in his arms, you accidentally created some friction between the two of you, and you could feel Rafe’s hardening cock against your wet panties.

“Fuck, you’re killing me, precious.”

Your heart sunk at the nickname and you leaned back, opening your mouth to say something, when you caught movement on the beach out of the corner of your eye.

“Shit, Top and Kelce are back,” you hissed, pushing Rafe away from you, your feet slowly floating back to the wet sandy underground.

“We got you the towel!” Topper yelled from the beach, waving a white towel in the darkness.

“Come on, let’s go!”

You exhaled deeply, tucking your hair back, hoping you didn’t look like you were feeling, glancing over at Rafe. His forehead was creased, and you could tell he was annoyed as he pushed his hair back. Probably pissed that you were just cock-blocked.

“Are you all good to get out of the water?” you asked, gesturing to his lower body. Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, before waving you off, voice tight.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me. Let’s go.”

Rafe swam towards the shore, and you weren’t too far behind, until you were wading out of the water. You accepted the towel from Topper, wrapping it around your shoulders, trying to warm yourself up, the cold air being even worse after you came out of the water. Rafe shook his arms out, water droplets everywhere, making Kelce yelp when he was hit. You lifted your towel, inviting Rafe in.

“Come here.”

Rafe glanced at you, pausing for a second, before he sighed, trudging over to you. You handed him one corner of the towel, and the two of you huddled under the towel, trying to get warm and dry at the same time. Topper raised his eyebrows at you, shaking his head in amusement.

“You really are two peas in a pod, huh?”

“Oh you know us,” Rafe snorted. “Best friends.”

Ouch.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: ouch indeed... thoughts?

[azriels-human]

In Your Dreams: I ☁️🌙☁️

Azriel x Reader

A/n: Okay this is my first time writing in years but Az is Bringing me out of retirement. Opinions and ideas are always appreciated. Enjoyy😌

Summary: Az isn’t very fond of the newest member of the Night Court so much so that you even plague his dreams.

Warnings: This is a smut series. MDNI

part II

Song inspo:

“Az, you’re back!” Cassian’s booming voice probably alerts everyone in The House of Wind of his arrival just as Azriel touches down on the balcony.

Az can’t help the small smile directed at his brother. After being away on a mission for days, he appreciated Cassian’s loudness, it means home, comfort, relaxation-

Or so he thought until his eyes land on you, lounging on a sofa, book in hand but your empty eyes set on his own.

His smile instantly vanishes, replaced by a displeased glance before turning away.

Azriel cannot stand you. The newest member, a pick pocket from the Hewn City turned spy pupil for The Night Court. A dark presence that made him physically ill.

It’s no surprise you’re sat in the far corner of the room. Azriel hasn’t seen you speak to anyone beside Rhysand since your arrival. Even then, it was only about the minuscule missions he’d been sending you on the last 3 months.

Azriel simply nods at Cassian and Nesta. Words failing him as that illness returns deep in the pit of his stomach.

He can feel your uncanny gaze still focused on him, despite his obvious distaste for you. He knows that is precisely why you do it too.

Gods, you are the bane of his existence.

With a slight twitch of the brow, Az makes his way toward Rhysand’s study ready to give him yet another ear full about you.

How Rhys had even given you a position is beyond Azriel considering you were a straight up criminal.

Azriel had been on a mission in the slums of the Hewn City, the worst part, in fact. A part so small and forgotten that crimes are a first nature.

He just found the information he’d been looking for and his mood was nothing less than happy knowing he’d be back home soon.

That was until a cloaked figure had bumped him and continued on their way.

Naturally being in a more poor part of the city, Azriel pats his left hip making sure none of his weapons or money had been swiped. But they hadn’t.

It isn’t until he brings his left hand to move his own cloak and double check that he realizes his siphon is gone.

“How the fuck…” Azriel hasn’t been caught off guard like this in a long while. How could they swipe a stone embedded in his leathers without him feeling a thing?

Azriel wasted no time looking over the crowd to find the grey tattered cloak gracefully zipping through the crowd.

He follows just a swiftly. His eyes glued to the figure as he maneuvers past on goers.

The thief, as if sensing him, looks back for half a second before darting through the crowd, ducking and jumping over items and people. Still managing to move past them without bumping into anyone.

Az mutters a breathy, “Asshole” when he takes note of that.

At this point Azriel begins to push past the crowd. He can’t let them leave with it. Something that valuable, not just on market but to himself personally, will not fall into some slick criminals hands.

Just as they are about to round the corner Azriel sends his shadows in a silent command to detain the culprit. The shadows weave through the crowd even more speedy and graceful, wrapping around the hooded figure and yanking them back.

Their back hits the ground with an ‘oomf’ before they quickly try freeing themselves from the shadows constraints.

Azriel grabs their collar in one hand, lifting them up and bringing them to his eye level. The other hand snatching back the hood of the cloak.

He nearly gasps upon laying eyes on you. The bewitching darkness in your eyes bore into his, reaching for his soul as if you’d take it right from him.

Taking advantage of his perplexed state you kicked him in the stomach causing him to let go and his shadows to withdraw.

Azriel groans holding his middle and coughing once, twice.

You don’t hesitate to run down the empty alley but Azriel is quick to snap back.

You don’t make it half way through when he winnows in front of you. You slam into his chest and fall again, mud splattering the two of you. Azriel’s shadows bind your wrists above your head as he straddles your thighs.

You thrash beneath him, growling and clawing. His hands scanning over your arms, sides and hips until he felt the bulge of it settled on your hip…beneath the waistband of your pants.

He looks up at you, amusement dancing behind your wicked eyes as if he were being tested, ‘a will he, won’t he?’

His eyes flicker from yours to your somewhat now exposed navel. He can’t just…reach in there.

But he can’t just let you have it. He wouldn’t be wrong to take back what is his.

He scoffs, reaching under your waistband and pulling up a belt with a pocket attached causing you shriek almost inaudibly.

Azriel pulls the dull blue siphon from the pocket and looks back at you. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t half amused himself.

A strange girl from the slums of the Hewn City stealing his siphon and testing his honor as a male.

Though he is not crazy enough to indulge the amusement. You are a thief. Not just a common thief but a a thief able to pick a very valuable possession off of a very cautious male.

“What is your name?” Azriel asks still hovering over you.

You only glare back.

“I asked what your name is.” Azriel grows impatient above you but you do not respond.

It could have been over. He could have let you go and steal from some other fool who wouldn’t notice but…he didn’t want to. Perhaps your crime against him was too personal and punishment seemed fit.

“Get up.” Azriel roughly pulls you to your feet, shadows still binding your wrists. Your struggles are deemed futile when he whisks you away to his High Lord.

Azriel all but stomps into Rhys study, shutting the door behind him. “Your newest addition has a staring problem.”

Rhysand looks up from his notes to see his irritated brother throw himself into the seat across from him. “What happened to ‘hello’ ‘how are you’?”

Azriel sighs. “Rhys.”

Rhys leans back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. “What harm is a bit of staring? Maybe she likes what she sees.”

“Please.” Azriel rolls his eyes. “She likes nothing and no one.”

Rhys shrugs. “She’s not so bad, Az. You’re just pissed she was able to pick something off of you.”

“I’m pissed that you gave her a job instead of consequences.”

“How couldn’t I? I’d rather have someone that can out sneak my spy master on my side.” Rhysand teases.

“She did not ‘out sneak’ me. Her methods were textbook. Not sneaky at all.” Azriel grumbles his blatant lies. He knows not just any theif, not even an exceptional one, could do what you did.

Rhysand chuckles. “Whatever you say, brother.” He clears his throat. “I assume you found the shop?”

Azriel shakes his head. “I did not but I heard rumors of where it will turn up next.”

Rhys had assigned him a rather odd case, a book of lethal potions stolen from a temple in the Hewn City by a traveling shop now supplying those lethal drugs. Reports saying it makes users hyper aware, a party drug when used correctly but as expected there are those who abuse it, turning them aggressive and eventually killing them when too much is consumed. Azriel has spent the last week trying to track the shop down with nothing to show for it until today.

“Where?”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “Coincidentally, in two days it will be in the same part of town…she…is from.”

Rhys chuckles at his brother’s pettiness once again. “She must really get under your skin with her staring.”

Azriel shakes his head, “Rhys, I’m telling you there is something off about her.”

“She’s been here for 3 months without incident. What do you suppose she will do?” Rhy asks entertaining the idea purely for the amusement of seeing a riled up Azriel.

“Steal. Spy. Hells for all we know she could be plotting everyone’s death.”

“Well, then I guess I should fear for your life when she accompanies you on your assignment?” Rhysand lifts a brow in mock questioning.

“Absolutely not. She will not be accompanying me anywhere…ever.” Azriel laughs at the notion.

“She knows her way around, she is successful in her missions and you need to get over your bruised ego and get along with her. She is supposed to be your pupil.”

Azriel shakes his head but before he can deny his High Lord, Rhysand continues.

“You will be taking her with you to retrieve the book and shut it down. That’s final.” Rhysand crosses his arms.

Azriel hesitantes but ultimately nods, dreading the thought of having to spend any amount of time near you.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel is sat in the lounge, a book in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. His eyes read over the page for the millionth time before he slams it shut and rubs his temple.

Sleep had evaded him, unable to stop thinking of this damned mission he has to take you on. At the fact that he must push away the alarms going off in his entire being when you are around.

Azriel knows something is wrong with you. It’s your expressionless gaze, the eerie aura that follows you and the stillness of your existence, even just standing around you’re still as a statue. You’re like a ghost. His own personal poltergeist.

As if on cue, he shadows curl up his neck whispering of your presence.

His stomach drops. He’d be damned if he had to endure you anymore than he has to.

Just as he retreats into the shadows in the corner of the den, you glide straight past the room entirely. Not even peaking into the only lit room of the house.

He knows it’s ridiculous but it irked him that you didn’t even look. Had you no curiosity either? And if you aren’t coming to the den, where are you going?

Regardless, he definitely isn’t going to find out. He has no intention of being anywhere near you. He wouldn’t subject himself to that.

…

But he wants to know. What if you had some secret hobby or routine? Something that made you…a person.

Why should that matter to him!? He doesn’t give two shits about what you do. His own curiosity only further proves how offbeat you are. He certainly will not follow you and he definitely won’t care what you are doing.

…

But what if you were up to no good? What if you were stealing from the High Lord every night after he goes to sleep?

Now that he can’t allow.

Azriel emerges from the shadows, peaking out from the door frame to find you at the end of the hallway. You enter the library and shut the door closed behind you.

He slips through the hallway and into the library, careful not to make a sound.

The empty library felt cold in your wake though there was no sign of you. You weren’t sitting on the sofas or searching for a book. There is only silence in his company.

Azriel strides through each row of bookcases lined throughout the room to no avail.

And now you’ve even disappeared like a ghost.

A beam of light enters at the back of the room earning his attention. The balcony.

Azriel stealthily crosses the room, concealing himself behind the bookcase closest to the balcony.

There you were. Sitting on the marble bench, staring up at the sky. Not causing any trouble.

Well, he has his answer, he can leave. He can go about his sleepless night.

But once again he did not want to, despite those alarms going off and the growing pit deep down. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

So he didn’t for a very long time.

He only watches your ominously still figure watching the sky. You do not look away or blink or breathe it seems. Not even a twitch of the fingers.

You just cannot be of this world.

“Azriel.” You call softly.

His heart drops into the swirling void in his stomach as chills sweep across his skin and the hairs of his arm stand.

You’d sensed him there. For how long? Though he doesn’t care what you think of him, he did not need you telling anyone he’s some stalker creep.

“You can come out.”

Azriel contemplates. He can leave as he should have done an hour ago but you already know he is here. Then again, maybe if he leaves you’ll think you were mistaken.

All of those options fly out of the door when you look back, directly at him.

He winces at his lack of options and being caught. How did you even know? He’s the fucking spy master and now he can’t even hide from you?

Azriel lets out a deep exhale, not even realizing he’d been holding his breath before coming out into your full view.

You look right into his eyes as he approaches you. Each step feels like a crushing weight as he struggles to maintain his composure.

“What are you doing out here?” Azriel asks firmly, not a shred of friendliness behind the words.

You only look back to the sky.

Were you ignoring him now? After telling him to come out?

Irritation begins to fill the void in him. The audacity. HE is the one ignoring YOU.

“What are you doing out here.” A command rather than question this time.

You subtly shrug.

Azriel rolls his eyes.

For a while the two of you are silent. What is he even supposed to say to you? You are the one that called him out here.

He isn’t surprised that you hardly speak but that doesn’t change the fact that it is annoying.

“You don’t speak much.” Azriel states plainly wanting to escape the awkward, silent tension.

“That’s your perception.” You match his blunt tone provoking his wonder. How could it be his perception when you don’t speak to anyone?

“I haven’t seen within 10 feet of anyone here.”

“That’s because you disappear anytime I’m in the same room as you.”

Azriel didn’t know what to make of your straight forwardness. Though he tends to speak directly himself, he’s not fond of such attitude. But coming from you, it seems fitting. “Perhaps I simply don’t enjoy your company.”

“Curious.” You look at him, standing up and making your way back into the library. “No male has ever complained about my company.”

Azriel follows close behind, watching your every poised step.

“As a matter of fact I’ve been told I’m quite the pleasure to be around.” You glance over your shoulder. That familiar sinister delight returning to your eyes, the same look you gave him when he realized where it is you held his siphon.

Azriel nearly trips on over his own two feet. The void beginning to whirl again. He cursed himself for needed to clear his throat. “Is that so?”

You stop abruptly and pivot on your feet, coming face to chest and tilting your head back to look up at him. His stomach leaps at the sudden proximity and your intense stare. He steps back.

“With my bright and bubbling personality, how could they not?” You raise a brow.

Azriel didn’t know if it was relief from the cut tension or the actual joke or both but he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Not to mention my breasts and ass.”

Azriel’s shock couldn’t have been anymore evident. His lips part unable to form a single word, not that his brain could form a single thought.

Azriel hadn’t thought of you in any way other than suspicion but now, standing before him, he can’t help but notice your deadly beauty. The enthralling darkness dancing behind your eyes and those plump pink lips. The thin strapped shirt clinging to your ample breasts. The outline of your peaked nipples. The perfect angle he has of your soft cleavage.

“That was also a joke.” You clarify and turn on your heel continuing towards the door. “Kind of.”

It most certainly was not a joke.

The loose shorts gripping your waist do nothing to hide the outline of your backside. Each step you take further away from him only giving him a better view of the swish of your hips and the bounce of your ass.

“Goodnight, Spy Master.” You bid farewell without so much as a glance back.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel couldn’t stop thinking of you, yet now it’s in whole different light. He would have never thought you to be so vulgar, in a cruel way maybe but not in a humorous way.

You’re so quiet and reserved and unsettling. He didn’t think you capable of making a joke, let alone a sexual one.

He couldn’t deny that it is a rather riveting piece of information. He should have known when you all but challenged him to reach into your pants a few month ago.

The memory of your tits sitting nice and pretty, your waist and full hips, your ass, all flood his mind.

Lying in his bed, Azriel turns onto his back, shaking the thoughts from his head.

He needs sleep. And he needs it now.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Exhaustion cannot begin to describe what Azriel felt. He needed not just to rest but recharge, and there is nothing better than laying down after a hard days work.

After what felt like forever he finally reaches his bedroom, twisting the nob and shutting the door behind him. He sighs, shutting his eyes and resting his head against the door.

“Azriel.” You call just as softly as you had earlier in the night.

Azriel whips around to find you sat on the center on his bed, feet under you and hands politely placed on your knees, as if you’d been waiting for him.

Azriel scans the room. Possibly a prank brought on by Rhysand but it’s only you in here.

“What are you doing in here?” Azriel hisses, sending a vicious sneer in your direction. And he thought ignoring him was the hight of your audacity but to enter his private quarters at such late hours?

“I haven’t been on my best behavior, have I.” You tilt your head to the side, feigning innocence.

Azriel’s brow pinches. “What?”

“I’ve displeased you in some way.” You slowly stand from his bed. “I can’t have that.”

Azriel swallows hard as you inch closer with every word. “After all, I am a pleasure to be around.”

Azriel can only watch. Your shorts doing little to hide your exposed legs and soft thighs. That fucking shirt hiding your tight nipples.

You come to halt with only centimeters between you, looking up at him with that deceptively virtuous gaze.

He could smell you. An intoxicating scent of amber and jasmine. Like a garden in the fall.

Azriel’s heart thunders in his chest. Not fast but hard. He was sure not only you but everyone in the house could feel it. His whole being pulses with each thump as you reach for his chest.

“Let me be a pleasure.” Your delicate fingers just barely touches his chest, drawing a line down his chest. Then lower. And lower. And lower-

Azriels eyes widen as he snatches your hand in his. His chest heaving, trying to gulp down the air that slips away from him. You, however, seem un phased, eager, if anything. “W-what do you think you’re doing?”

The scent of his own arousal permeates the air he desperately tries to breathe.

With half lidded eyes and a slight pout of your lips, you take your wrist from his loose grip and place your palm over the back of his hand, brining it up to your cheek and leaning into it.

Azriel’s blood turns cold at how tender your touch is, gentle as the embrace of death. Your skin warms his palm as you drag his hand down the side of your neck painfully slow, his thumb tracing the column of your throat.

Gods, he wanted to bite it. To latch himself onto that spot. If it was possible to envy one’s own hand, he’d turn green.

“I see how you look at me.” Your voice low and sultry. “You despise me.”

You move his hand down your collar bone, to your chest, settling between your breast. Something deep inside Azriel twists and knots, his cold blood turns hot as it rushes into his pants.

“Let me fix it.” You groan, trailing his hand further down to your stomach. “Let me show you…”

Azriel bites the inside of his cheek to keep his own sounds at bay. His brows pinch together at the sight of you. The rise and fall of your swollen, flushed breasts. Your bottom lip trapped between your teeth and the look of pure carnal desire.

“…just how much of a pleasure I can be.” You whisper breathlessly when you lead his scared hand beneath the waistband of your shorts.

Azriel chokes back a guttural groan when his fingers reach the slick folds of your cunt. Looking into his eyes with a feral hunger, you guide his fingers in sensual circles around your most sensitive spot. Hushed whines hum from your chest, purring at his governed touch.

His middle finger twitches against your clit, testing for himself. You respond with a low moan.

Azriel’s eyes flutter shut trying to reason with himself.

This was wrong. So fucking wrong. Azriel can’t even stand the sight of you yet here he is with his hands down your pants for the second time, and he felt just as he had the first time, he wanted to ruin you.

Another flick of his fingers causes you to throw your head back.

Azriel growls. A fire ignites in his chest, coursing through every nerve of his body as he gives in to you.

His fingers take a course of their own, rubbing your center with fervor. A noise somewhere between a yelp and moan escape your parted lips. You grabbing onto his arms to steady yourself as pleasure over takes you.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” Azriel leans forward to whisper in your ear. His warm breath tickling your skin as he asks, “Who made you this wet?”

You only moan, digging your hands into his bicep.

Still massaging your clit, he brings his free hand to strike the fat of your ass earning a very loud moan.

“Tell me.”

“You!” The stinging sensation mixes with your pleasure, encouraging you further. “You made me this fucking wet.”

Azriel hums, gripping your hair and tilting your head back. “Mhm. Keep being a good girl and I’ll forgive you.”

His attacks your neck, teeth clamping down hard in what he knows will scar but he didn’t care. He wanted you marked. Proof that he could take control, even over someone with such a silent attitude as yours.

You hold back a scream. As much as it hurt, he knows you like it. “Dont hold back. I want to hear the pretty noises you make.”

Azriel’s tongue laps at the column of your throat, finally nipping at the spot he craved minutes ago. Your moans vibrate against his lips.

He pulls away to look at you. Eyes shut and jaw hung in ecstasy. His cock twitches in pants at how good he can make you feel.

The sight was anything but dark. Dare he say heavenly.

Suddenly, your eyes open, fixating on his. Lust and desperation laced in your stare as you plead, “I want your fingers in me. Please, Az.”

Azriel smirks down at you arrogantly. “Yeah?” You nod frantically, your moans and pants driving him absolutely wild.

“Whatever you want.” Azriel pulls away from you, sitting at the edge on his bed, knees spread as he pats his lap. “Come here, pretty girl.”

You stand between his legs but before you could straddle him, he grabs your wrist, roughly turning your back to him.

His textured hands glide down your back, feeling every curve until he reaches your shorts, yanking them down in one swift motion and leaving your rear exposed for his viewing enjoyment.

He gathers as much of your ass in his hands as he can, squeezing, caressing and parting for an even better view. Your slit and inner thighs glistening from your wetness.

He does dare to say heavenly.

“So fucking pretty.” He leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your ass cheek and quickly slapping it right on top.

You jerk forward with an amused hum.

Azriel grabs your hip and brings you down to him. Your full weight falls onto his solid cock, strained in his leathers. He moans at the impact.

Azriel’s hands trail up from your hips, over your stomach and under your shirt and to your breasts. You whimper as his fingers lightly trace over your firm nipples and kneed at your breasts.

He should stop. Should have never even started when he hates so much but Azriel revels in it. The way you feel, the way he makes you feel. His lips latch to your neck sucking as he rolls your buds between his fingers.

“Azriel, please.” You breathe, writhing against him.

He groans, flicking your nipple harshly and immediately finding your center. The tip of his middle finger sliding up and down, toying with your hole.

“Please! Please put it in.” You whine, reaching up to tug at his dark locks. The sensation pushing him over the edge.

Promptly, his middle finger plunges into your cunt, pumping at a hungry pace.

“Oh, fuck! Azriel, yes!” You grip his hair stronger, receiving another painful bite and a slap on your tits in return.

Azriel adds another finger and you clench around them. “So fucking tight, angel. I bet you’ve never been fucked so full with two fingers, have you?”

You shake your head and throw it back over his shoulder when his fingers disappear in you to the knuckle.

“One more for me.” Azriel hums, a warning rather than a request as he teases a third finger against you.

“I…I don’t know.” You hesitate.

Azriel guides you to look at him, your face inches from his. His brows pinch and with a slightly patronizing pout he nods. “You can take it. Don’t you like how full I make you feel?”

You bite your lip and nod. “I can take it.”

“Good girl.” He breathes with a smug expression. Azriel can’t get enough of you like this. Pleading. Submissive to his every whim. The satisfaction of seeing that stoic demeanor dissolve because of him.

Azriel slides a third finger in slowly. Hells, you’re so fucking tight around his fingers, he can only imagine how you’d feel on his cock.

You release a long, aching moan and arch your back against him.

Azriel gasps at the sudden movement against his pants. It wouldn’t take more than a minute to make him explode. “F-fuck, y/n. Keep doing that.”

You grind in his lap, feeling his length throb beneath you. “Like this, Az?”

“Gods.” Azriel’s fingers sink into your cunt, over and over. Your screams of pleasure blend with the sopping sounds of your wet pussy.

Azriel was absolutely sure this was heaven.

“I’m so close! Mm, you gonna make a fucking mess out of me?” You rut against his cock.

“Fuck yes.” Azriel’s free arm wraps around you pressing you further into him and he fucks you with his fingers. “C’mon. Make a mess for me, Angel.”

“Azriel!” That’s all it took for you to crumble in his lap. Your entire body trembles and euphoria seizes control of your body. Your screams informing all of Veleris of who made you cum so fucking good.

As you ride out your orgasm, Azriel lifts his own stuttering hips to grind against yours. The full weight of you quivering and fidgeting against him builds a blissful tension deep within him. And with the string of his name still being sung from your lips, the coiling pressure couldn’t hold anymore.

“I’m gonna-”

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel shoots straight up out of his bed and on to his feet, panting and looking around his room, illuminated with the first light of day.

But there was no one. No you.

Azriel blinks and wipes his eyes. It was a dream?

He looks around once more.

It couldn’t have been a dream. He’s dreamt of many females but never anything so…real.

He could still feel the weight of your body flushed against him. He could still feel the blissful aftermath of an orgasm.

Azriel looks down at his stained tented pants. His half hard cock still dripping on his thigh.

What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would he dream of that? Of you.

Mor? Sure. Elain? Once or twice, but you? Someone he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with?

Azriel huffs and makes his way to his bathroom to clean up, angry with himself and his deplorable dream. A nightmare, he decides, considering it involved you.

[ddejavvu]

hi! i loved loved LOVED ur bestfriend!james who doesn’t know any boundaries 🙏 can u make another one? maybe like sirius and remus catching them “platonically” kiss or something 😆 it can’t be surprising given that james hands was on inside her thighs??

thank uu!! love u lots

saw a headcanon once that james is an excited kisser and i've never seen him any other way since

--

Sirius and James are prolific gamblers. No matter what they're betting on, be it how many first years will stumble on the moving staircases in one week, or which corridor Ms. Norris will catch two fifth-years making out in tonight, they bet like addicts slumming around a glittering casino.

Today's bet was this: If Hagrid and the new Care of Magical Creatures Aid, a fairy brought in to offer insight into creatures' anatomy, don't notice that their respectively oversized and undersized silverware have been switched at the staff's table, Sirius wins. If they do, James wins.

Hagrid, absentminded and happy-to-be-there as he is, doesn't mention the tiny fork that he's been given, if he notices at all. But the fairy struggles to lift the rather large knife sat beside her place, and flutters beside Hagrid's hand, setting her own on his callused skin. She speaks in a low voice, soothing and sweet, and he's more than happy to switch with her when they realize what's happened. You're not sure what her end of the conversation contains, but Hagrid's voice is loud and proud as he theorizes about a particular group of Gryffindors and their penchant for pranks.

"Shit," Sirius grumbles, at the same time that James cheers, "Fuck yeah!"

One of his hands clenches into a fist at his side and he jerks it towards his side in a celebratory motion, but his excitement can't be contained in the simple gesture, and he rounds on you to get the rest of it out.

It's with a gleeful grin that he presses his curved lips straight onto yours, hands shooting out to clutch at your cheeks, preventing you from moving away. It's a habit he's got, neither good nor bad, that compels him to lay a smooch on whichever one of his friends is near when he's feeling extra excited. It's been you more times than you can count, and you let him smoosh his lips to yours at his secured victory.

You're barely able to laugh a broken, "James!" as he pulls away, still muffled by a mouthful of breakfast. Sirius and Remus are very vocal in discussing their repulsion at that particular fact, watching you chew and swallow with exaggerated grimaces.

"Mate, there was still food in there," Sirius hums, sounding wounded, "You can just take more eggs from the dish, there's no need to scavenge for hers."

"Oh, fuck off," James reaches for a strip of bacon on Sirius's plate, gleeful excitement at having won not yet faded, "I won. You owe me your sausages for the rest of the week."

"I've only got one sausage," Sirius laments, looking down past his plate into his lap, "But if it'll settle the score you can have a taste, mate."

"N'thanks," James snickers, barely concealing a look of his own disgust at the thought, "Moony might start resource guarding."

[eff4freddie]

Free

No Outbreak AU!Joel Miller x AFAB Reader

Words: 7.7k of basically porn lols

You confess to Joel one of your filthiest fantasies, something you've never told anyone before. He's a good man, but you underestimate just how much he will do for you.

Warnings: Minors DNI. Explicit. Free use. Public sex. Praise kink. Beer bottles and dirty dive bars. Tiny lil breeding kink if you squint. Like seriously guys, this is filth. I've gone a little shy of myself? Like wow we are learning some things about Freddie tonight.

Like most wildfires, neither of you were sure where the first ember landed. Joel preferred dive bars, liked the blues on the juke box, the fact that he would wear his flannel and jeans flecked with paint and wood shaving and no one would notice. He knew you preferred the fancier places, occasionally would make an effort, but knew you also didn’t mind sometimes slumming it with him, sometimes just leaning back into a booth and letting the neon red light leech over your skin. You’d never admit it to his face, never give him the power over you, but you didn’t really care where you were so long as it was with him.

You liked it when he lifted the beer to his lips, saw his throat work to swallow it down. It reminded him of the times you’d made him gasp, groan, as he worked his cock into your throat. It felt like an intimate thing, the chords of his muscles working just right there under his skin. Sometimes you reached out, ran your fingertips under his collar, made him shiver. He’d grab your fingers, put them on his lips, press a kiss to them, tell you off for lettin’ ‘em get so cold in the night.

On these nights, when Sarah’s with the sitter and you’re winding down from a long week of work, its these nights when Joel takes you out in a pretty dress or a shirt skirt, waits in his truck while you slip your panties off and puts them in his pocket, helps you down to the street with a hand gripping the back of your thigh. It’s these nights, when Joel’s worked up from the job site, when he’s stressed about Sarah’s teenage rebellious phase, when it’s been a while between drinks, that he’s handsy with you, pushing himself into a booth in a dark corner and pulling you down on top of him, perched in his lap with your legs spread over his so that he can face you out to the bar, open your thighs just as someone walks past, lets you feel the breeze on your cunt while you hide your face in his neck and burn, either from embarrassment or from how wet he’s made you, showing you off like this, you tucking his hands under your bottom to stop him slipping them into you while you try to concentrate on the specials board.

‘Shy, baby?’ he’d tease you, pulling your hair off your neck to bite at your jaw line, whisper dirty nonsense into your ear while you fought for some kind of decency, some way to cover yourself up, at least until you’d finished your first drink.

It was one of those nights, when he’d finally relented and let you eat your meal in peace, that he’d got it out of you, the confession that set the whole thing in motion, the idea taking root in Joel’s mind so swiftly that the tendrils of it spilt into his veins, spiralled down to his cock, made him harder than he ever remembered being.

You knew this about Joel. That it wasn’t a jealousy streak, or an insecurity, that it wasn’t even so much of an exhibitionist streak for him. It was just that he liked showing you off, liked knowing that of all the men in the room who were undressin’ ya, wantin’ ya, he was the one with his fingers buried in your cunt while you struggled to act like nothing untoward was going on. He liked the power of it, the power he had over you, and you wondered sometimes how far he would go with it. What would happen if you were ever found bent over with his cock buried inside you, his hands on your hips pulling you back into him, his teeth bared and his sweat dripping onto your back. You knew without having experienced anything like it that he would probably keep going, that he would like the watching. That he’d probably goad the audience into coming closer, commentate for them, let them see what he, and only he, was wringing from your body as it clamped down around him. The thought of it, the image of it in your mind, kept you awake at night, your cunt throbbing. You felt the pride in it, you supposed, that he desired you so dearly he wanted to show off that he had you.

You knew all of that when you confessed to him what you were thinking about, three beers in and his hand on your knee, rubbing little circles with his thumb, sliding his whole hand over your skin and back down again, not even noticing he was doing it. You watched his pupils blow wide, the far away look come over him as he imagined what you were describing, the way he swallowed, hard.

‘You want that right now?’ he asked, and he looked like a kid on Christmas morning, not quite believing he’d actually been given the bike he’d asked Santa for.

‘No, not right now, probably not ever,’ you said, flopping your head onto his shoulder and listening to his quickening heartbeat in his neck. ‘Just like to think about it, is all.’

‘Baby you can’t say that to me and not…you have to know what you’re doing to me,’ he all but whined, and you giggled.

‘You wouldn’t mind it?’ you asked, pulling up to look at him again, study his eyes, knowing that you were way out on a limb now. You saw not an ounce of hesitation on his face.

He barely got you out of the place before he had you bent over the bed of his truck, your hands clawing for purchase on the chrome as he drilled into you right there in the parking lot, your face buried in your arms in the hope that the darkness of the night was protecting you both from being arrested.

--

He didn’t bring it up again for another few weeks, both of your jobs getting too busy, Sarah getting too demanding and fourteen, the world conspiring against you to rob you both of your dirty Fridays. Joel was getting pent up, the idea of it bouncing around his mind too often for him to concentrate, but his bones were sore of a nighttime, and he only had the energy to relieve himself in the shower before climbing into bed and switching off the light. You didn’t mind it, had been together a long enough time now to know there would be ebbs and flows. He held you as you slept, he kissed you in the morning even as you tried to shove him off and scold him for his morning breath, promised to take you out when your schedules were clear and knew that he meant it, that he was a man of his sometimes limited words. Sometimes it just went with the territory of wanting him always, you knew, that there would be aching times of not-having.

So you were surprised when you came home from dropping Sarah off at her friend’s for the night and saw his truck in the drive, expecting him much later if the week had been anything to go by. You heard him in the shower and figured he was washing off another stressful day, intending to leave him to it, except that for a man with basically one good ear he was surprisingly adept at knowing where you were at all times, and he emerged, towel wrapped loose around his hips and dripping onto the carpet, to pull you by the arm in with him. You just managed to strip out of your jeans before he was on you, pulling your wet bra off your skin, slipping your underwear down your legs and throwing them into the sink.

‘Won’t need those tonight,’ he said, simply, as you gawped at him, the water running off his shoulders and into your eyes. You leant forward, resting your forehead on his chest. It had been an intense few minutes.

‘Where we going tonight?’ you asked, and he didn’t answer, instead pulling back from you and bending to lift your leg up, hooking it over his elbow. You leant back onto the cold shower tile, the water beating down on your chest, as he dripped your favourite body wash onto a loofah and ran it tightly over your skin, crouching down and slipping your leg over his shoulder to run it up and down the inside of your thighs, each time his fingers sweeping closer to your cunt, the heat and steam of the shower making you light headed as your clit throbbed for him. He was teasing you, working you up and you knew he was going to leave you like this, that this is how the whole night would go unless you did something about it, pushing yourself off the wall and crashing your pussy into his mouth, the sharp angle of his nose landing hard on your clit as he gasped.

It hadn’t been the plan but he wasn’t above improvising. In his head he was just going to tease you a little, make sure that you were up for what he had planned, but this was just as good, just as effective. He was careful not to let you come, careful to keep you right on the edge, the suds and the water running over his mouth and nose as he lathed at your clit, ran his tongue up and down your seam, not letting it dip inside where he knew you wanted him. He looked up your body, watched your hips shudder and the muscles in your tummy roll and contract as you tried to draw him in deeper. He grinned, a huffled little laugh into your pussy. You were furious when he drew back, wet hands trying to grip his hair and keep him there. He held you to him, wrapped you warm up in a towel even as you cussed him out, madder than a barn cat at having had your pleasure interrupted. You were perfect like this, he thought, watching you huff, wild for him. He reminded you to dress for a night out. He made sure your underwear stayed in the sink.

--

You were still pissed, but your curiosity got the better of you when he missed the turn off for the bar, heading instead over the railway track and further out of town. If you had been speaking to him you would have asked where he was taking you, but you were refusing to let him off the hook for his cruelty in the shower. Twenty minutes later, when he pulled up to a bar you’d never seen before, a couple of dirt bikes parked out the front and a few trucks in the lot out the back, he gave you a little tap on the knee. You turned to him, eyebrows shooting up.

‘Figured we better go where no one knows us, baby,’ he said, and he was grinning at you in a way that made your belly flip, an electric bolt shooting straight between your legs.

‘What are you up to, Miller?’ you asked, as he leant over and undid your seatbelt. He made you jump down out of the truck yourself, striding as he was towards the bar. The bright red OPEN sign buzzed over the door, the sound of it reverberating into the air beneath it where you stood, your nerves jangling in tune. Surely he wouldn’t, you thought. You pulled your short skirt down, worried now that without underwear a strong breeze would expose you to anyone passing by. He held the door open for you, darkness behind him and the sounds of clinking glass, tinny guitar over a shitty sound system, chatter and drunkenness.

‘Trust me, baby,’ he said, and you did, you knew you did. He held his hand out to you. You took it.

Once inside you could see a bit better. The bar itself was quite small, a couple of men sitting around it drinking beers and whiskeys. There was a row of booths under the blacked-out windows, a pool table in one corner. By the bar a hallway led down to the bathrooms. You shivered when you saw it.

He led you by the hand to the corner of the bar right next to the hallway, the single stool.

‘This is where I’ll be,’ he said to you, putting your hand on the bar to feel how solid it was, that it was real and that this was happening, to ground you. He pulled you forward, five or maybe six paces down the hallway, to a piece of wall right by the men’s bathroom. He backed you up against it, letting you glance over his shoulder to the stool where you had just been.

‘This is where you’ll be,’ he said to you, his voice heavy and thick and you recognised the want in it, the need. He spun you around, kicking your feet apart and holding your hands up above your head. You tried to breathe but couldn’t seem to get enough air, tried to expand your lungs but you could only puff and gasp, your stomach doing somersaults as he positioned you. He pushed them into the wall, the two of them held together under his palm.

‘You don’t move them from here,’ he said, stern and calm at the same time. ‘You look over your shoulder you’ll see me, but you don’t move these from here. Nod so I know you heard me, baby,’ he said. You nodded your head, your nose almost grazing the plaster of the filthy wall. He pulled your hips out so that you bowed slightly, your arse sticking back behind you. He ran his hands over the back of your thighs, leant down to cup your bottom as he ran his hands up and over, pulled your skirt over your hips.

Your heart was racing so hard you could feel it in your knees, your whole body thrumming as he exposed you to the room. You heard no shouts or protests, your eyes slammed shut and your face buried in your arm. You could feel cool air on your skin as he moved away from you, and you yelped, a bolt of panic shooting through you. You lifted your head and he was there again, his arms over yours as he covered you, brought his mouth down to your ear.

‘You can do this baby, I’m right here,’ he said, and you felt like you might scream or cry or come, you weren’t sure which or what you preferred, your mind scrambling to keep up with the fact that he was letting you play out one of your dirtiest fantasies, that he trusted you this much, that you knew he would keep you safe, would stop it from going too far if you needed him to, that you wanted this, that you wanted to give it to him.

‘Two rules,’ he said, when he could tell you were coming back into yourself, that you were listening. ‘Hands stay on the wall,’ he said, his voice rough and low as he stopped to chew on your earlobe. You could feel you were wet, could feel you were shivering. You hadn’t had a good look at the men in the bar. You weren’t sure if you were glad of it.

‘Second rule,’ he said, and now he was running his hands over your hips and down your belly to rub little circles into your clit. You shuddered, pushing back against him, felt that he was throbbing. ‘No coming ‘til I say so,’ he said, and then he was gone, your body cold and aching where he had just been.

You lifted your head and turned to watch him over your shoulder, your spine twisting to see without moving your hands, now resting palm-down above your head. You saw him calmly order a beer from the bartender, who didn’t bat an eyelid at you standing, skirt over your arse and bent at the waist, the seam of your pussy exposed to the entire bar, your thighs quivering as you felt the slick start to collect on your skin.

All you could do was try and breathe. Try to keep your knees from shaking, your legs from collapsing underneath you. You turned your face back to the wall, your nose resting on the brick, as you gulped down air and tried to swallow on a bone-dry throat. Maybe nothing would happen if you just stayed completely still, you thought. Wasn’t that how they survived the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park?

You could hear the toilet in the men’s room flushing, the tap running as the dude, mercifully, washed his hands. You knew you were seconds away from being confronted, that he would have to squeeze past you if he wanted to get back to his table, that maybe the others wouldn’t have seen you tucked away as you were down the side of the bar, but not now, not where Joel had positioned you. You closed your eyes, the humiliation of it mixing with heat in your cunt, and you couldn’t decide what you wanted to happen, couldn’t quiet your mind enough other than to count backwards from 10 and try to force your lungs to work.

10. You heard the door swing open, the rush of air ruffling the skirt over your lower back.

9. Footsteps striding out of the bathroom, stopping abruptly.

8. A short, sharp exhale of breath. A ‘what the fuck?’. Surprised, but not angry.

7. A long, heavy second or two of silence.

6. A slower footstep. Another. Towards you.

5. A hand, warm and foreign, on your hip as he moved behind you.

4. The thunderous sound of your voice in your head telling you to just stay still, stay still, stay still.

3. A nervous little laugh as he slid behind you, his hips to yours to get past you on the wall. His hand still on your hip but gripping, fingers squeezing at your flesh.

2. A soft swipe of your cunt as he clears you, his fingers gently fluttering over your seam as you stand, exposed and wet.

1. Your gasp, all of the breath you had been trying to get suddenly sweeping into your lungs, a needy little whine on the exhale, a shiver.

And a few moments later, laughter, a group of men on the other side of the bar, a hint of disbelief in it, a hint of awe. You blinked your eyes open, your body quaking. You couldn’t turn your head, wouldn’t turn your head to Joel, but you knew he was there, knew he was watching you quiver, knew he would stop it if it got too much, that you wouldn’t have to ask him, that he would just know. You felt heat on your cheeks and a twist of something in your gut. For a moment you wanted to skip forward to the aftermath, to Joel holding you in bed and loving on you, recounting the events that hadn’t even unfolded yet as you felt the heat of his skin and the strength of his arms, the muscles ripping under his skin as he kissed the shell of your ear and let you drift to sleep, wrapped up in him.

 Joel gripped the neck of his beer bottle harder than he intended, barely registering the cold on his hands. It had been his idea to set this up, he knew that, had rented the whole place out to make a safe space for you to play, had vetted the guys from the job site, had been careful to select the ones he knew would treat you right. Still, though. Still, he could see you were shaking, trying so hard to be good for him with your hands pushed into the wall, and he doubted for just a second, wondered whether he should call it. He could see you were slick between your thighs, could hear that you were breathing heavy. But he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t feel a surge of something a little like jealousy at the way the eyes of the guys travelled over your delicious curves, curves he had – up until this moment – reserved the sole right to traverse. He wondered if the guys would be able to stick to the limits once they had you under them. He was ready to pull you out of there the moment something got out of hand, but he worried, now and for the first time, that by then it could be too late.

You swallowed over your dry throat. You were trying to stay in your body, to close your eyes and give yourself over to it, but you were still struggling to quiet your mind. This is what you had wanted, and you knew Joel would never push you further than what you had told him you would go. You knew that. But did the other guys? You considered for a moment, the thought occurring to you like a lightning bolt, that Joel had worked you up in the shower precisely so that you would be horny enough not to run for the door the second he tried this. You almost wanted to laugh, except that you were too scared to lest you lose all control.

There were more footsteps, coming towards you from beside the bar, and you swore you heard a group of men cheering the man on. He wasn’t hesitating, whoever this stranger in the bar was, probably having spotted you from across the room. You kept your eyes on the floor, your head hanging low between your shoulders. From this angle you could see your ankles, the heels Joel insisted you wear even though you could barely stand in them, realising now why he wanted you off balance, why he wanted you unable to run for the door. Two pairs of trainers appeared between your ankles, a rough hand coming down to rest on your left butt cheek. It wasn’t a slap, wasn’t even a particularly hard grope, but you whimpered anyway, slammed your eyes shut and immediately wondered if it was better to look or not.

And throughout it all your pussy throbbed. Even if you were in turmoil it knew exactly what it wanted, was hungry for the attention and the desires of all these men, was having a fucking field day knowing Joel was watching you, wanting you, from across the room.

The man behind you slid two fingers over your seam, his breath on the back of your neck as he leaned over you. You shuddered, his skin rougher than Joels, as he prodded at you, eased your lips open and ran his fingers up along the flesh there. You realised he was collecting your slick, felt him pull away and his lips smack around his hand as he, presumably, sucked you off his skin.

‘Jesus, boys,’ he called to his friends over the other side of the room, and you startled. ‘She’s fuckin’ sweeter than honey and dripping onto the floor.’

Under the cheers you swore you heard Joel chuckle, and you shivered. You wanted this man to touch you again, almost whined when he instead moved back to his table. You were sweating, could feel that the small of your back was damp, felt like you had a fever, some kind of delirium, the pulsing of your cunt so intense it almost hurt.

You heard more shuffling footsteps, now, three or four sets, as you realised the table of friends were making their way over to you. You shivered, turned a wild eye over to Joel, who was sipping at his beer and watching you, nodding gently at you to keep you there. You kept your hands on the wall. You wanted to be his good girl.

‘And we can touch her wherever?’ a guy was saying, and you moved your face back to the wall, arching your back slightly, practically waving your cunt in the air.

‘She ain’t protesting,’ a voice said, and you recognised it as the man who had just touched you. To demonstrate his point, he extended his hand to your face and stuck two of his fingers in your mouth, and you sucked them willingly, tasting a hint of yourself on him. You felt your eyes close all by themselves, smiling as the man gasped.

‘Holy shit,’ someone else commented, and you were slapped hard on your arse then, the sting of it making you whine. A finger quickly followed, probing you open again, your copious amounts of slick easing the entry.

‘Like this?’ the voice said, and you realised he was asking you a question, and you nodded your head. ‘Yeah, you like this,’ the voice affirmed, a finger finally sinking into your cunt. You felt yourself spasm, throwing your head back and groaning, your hips rolling all on their own.

‘Tight little thing,’ someone said, and you grunted as another finger was added. You were being pushed into the wall, your face lying on the brick, your hands still planted above your head.

‘Ease it on her a little,’ a third voice said, and you felt another hand snake around you, this one cold on the fingertips, as it slid over your clit.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, the pleasure of it shooting through you. You could feel that you were clamping down on the fingers inside you.

‘She liked that a lot,’ the man beside you said, and he pulled his fingers from your mouth and dropped them to your tit, rubbing the nipple through the barely-there shirt Joel had picked out for you tonight.

You were whimpering, gradually losing control of the sounds you were making, of your little cries into the noise of the bar, and you could hear them snickering, laughing at your pleasurable distress, at the ache and thrum of your cunt, at the way you were so wet you were leaking down your thighs.

You were losing your grip on your thoughts, felt them slipping through you, unable to catch them as they dripped past. From somewhere a memory stirred itself up, sitting on Joel’s lap in the bar you always go to, his hand pushing on your clit from outside your panties as he shielded you from the rest of the patrons, whispering into his ear that you fantasised about being used by strange men, about being set up by him to be groped and fondled, to be watched as men took their pleasure from you, to have to wait for them to be done with you, to be bored of you, before you were released. ‘But they never get bored of me, not really. Sometimes they let me rest for a bit. But they want me that bad, they can’t stop.’

‘How long’s this all take, when you think about it?’ he asked, feeling even through the fabric of your underwear that you were dripping.

‘Sometimes hours,’ you whimpered, breathless just at the thought of it. ‘I’m free for their use, for hours. For hours,’ you said.

--

Now, with your hands against the wall in just the position you had described to Joel weeks before, you bite your lip. God, how long does he plan on keeping you here? You want to come already, want to push down on the hands behind you and flood them with your spend.

These men, though, these three, are just teasing you, and right when you start to rock your hips they pull away again.

‘Unreal,’ one of them says, as if you’re a work of art hanging on a wall in a museum, and you want to howl at them, want to grab their hands and put them back on your skin. You resist the urge, biting down hard on your bottom lip. Joel said no coming, so maybe you should be grateful. Even if you’re now quivering. Even if you’re not sure your legs will keep you standing.

You take a couple of shaky breaths, coming down enough to notice that your shoulders are starting to ache. You roll them, careful to keep your palms connected to the surface, trying to push the hair out of your eyes by running your face along your forearms.

You’re not sure how long you stand there. You try counting the songs on the jukebox but they all sound the same to you, and it’s hard to decipher when one stops and the next one begins. Every now and again there’s the sound of glasses being dumped into the trough behind the bar, clinking ice and peels of male laughter. Once or twice, someone walks past on the way to the bathroom and pat you on the arse, put a hand on your lower back and bend you further, pushing you until your sweet little cunt is more fully exposed. But no one is bold enough to touch, no one is as forward as the three men from before, and you’re feeling a twinge of disappointment settling in between the arousal and the shock. These scant touches aren’t nearly enough, and you realise that you’re pining for someone to come and tease you, play with your cunt or your tits until you’re gasping.

You chance a look over your shoulder at Joel and see that he’s turned away from you a little, his beer in his hand while he chats to a man beside him, and his casual disregard for your predicament infuriates you as much as it sends bolts of heat to your cunt.

You’re being ignored, you realise, and it makes your tummy do weird flips you don’t fully understand. You start to arch your back again, weave your hips in slow circles in the air. You don’t have a lot of mental capacity in this moment, so it’s only later you will consider that Joel had made sure you would beg for any attention, knew that you would be outraged at not being the centre of attention in this moment, that you would reach a new level of depraved heat just to get the eyes back on you. It had maybe been half an hour and you’d gone from praying no one would see you if you didn’t move, to trying to scent the air around you with your cunt, luring them to you like a siren on a rocky cove.

Now, though, now all you want is for someone to touch you, someone to ease their hands onto your skin and feel the heat of it, coo at how mean your man is, how silly for letting a pretty little thing like you out of his clutches. You realise you allowed to close your legs and you do, wrapping one foot behind your ankle so you can rub your thighs together. The skin slides easily and you sigh, gently.

You’re wrapped up in it, your ears tuning out the noise around you to properly concentrate on the thrum of your cunt, so you don’t realise there’s someone behind you until they’re basically on you, kicking your legs apart and arching you back again.

‘Naughty girl,’ the voice says, and it’s not Joel and you’re marginally disappointed but also it means this isn’t over yet, and you grin back at him.

‘Not sorry,’ you say, and you’re pulled back then, almost bent over in a right angle as your hands slide down the wall but stay on it, your arms now covering your ears.

You just barely hear a grunt, then something cold and hard is pushing at your lips for entry, and you realise that you are being fucked in a strange bar with a beer bottle in front of however many strange men, and you groan at the insanity of it, at the filth. He’s twisting it, his other hand finding your clit, and you’re throwing your head back now, your hair falling down your back as you arch, the glass so smooth and cold inside you that you wonder for a second if you’ve fogged it up. Its thrust into you three, four, five times before the man slips it from you, and you hear him take a swig of it, the taste of your cunt on the glass as he lifts it to his lips. He groans, rests a hand on the small of your back as he sips.

‘Sweet?’ someone calls out, and you hear him laugh.

‘Heaven,’ he says. ‘Come get yours before I ruin her.’

You hear chairs being pushed back, and looking down at the floor you count seven pairs of shoes assembling in a line behind you. You can hear some guys are still playing pool, the crack of the 8 ball as someone breaks. You look for Joel’s along the line of shoes behind you. You don’t see them.

There are fingers in your cunt again, two or maybe three, you’re not sure, and you have moved up a little, your tits pressed to the wall as they grope you from behind. It’s delicious, exactly the right pressure in exactly the right spot, as if someone has given them all a manual to your body. Someone lifts your leg under the knee and twists your hip so that you can rest your foot on his thigh, and then you’re even more open, even more exposed. You close your eyes, your spine twisting to keep both arms on the wall, but in this position one man can get underneath you on his knees and lick up into you and you gasp at the feeling of it, the warmth of his tongue compared to the cold of the bottle, and you’re really sweating now, want to rip your top off and pull the skirt from around your waist just to get it out of the way, but someone is using it to hold you still, the fabric bunched under your tits so that you won’t fall. With one mouth on your cunt someone else is behind you with his fingers inside you, and someone else is holding your tits in his hands, his thumbs squeezing and rubbing at your nipples.

Over your shoulder you can hear someone commentating for his friend. ‘Fuck, you thought she was wet before,’ they’re saying, and the way they’re talking about you like you’re not there, like you’re an object for them to play with, a doll, a toy, has you bucking against the tongue on your clit, against the fingers inside you. They’re setting you on fire, the embers catching on gasoline. It’s heaven and its torture and its so, so much.

Fuck, you’re going to come and you can’t stop it. But you have to, you promised Joel. You’re almost wailing now, trying to get the feeling out in some way so that you won’t tip over the edge, and the guys are laughing.

‘Listen to her hollerin’,’ someone says, and you can’t keep your eyes closed anymore, open them to see a bunch of men standing around you, all of them palming their cocks through their pants, as one man crouches under your form, his shoulder pushed hard into the wall to get under you. You can’t see the man behind you but one is off to the side, his eyes on our cunt as he bounces your tits in his hands.

‘Oh, hey beautiful,’ one of the men watching says when he catches your eye. He’s handsome, they all are, you realise, and they’re all in their early 30s and they’re all incredibly fit, and if you had any presence of mind in this moment you would consider that this was an odd coincidence, but as it is right now you just want their cocks in your mouth, want their come dripping over your tits and your face. The one behind you, with his fingers buried in your cunt, is grinding against you and for a deranged moment you consider freeing him from his pants and slipping him inside you.

‘She’s so fucked out,’ someone laughs, and you’re gasping, crying out as if that will stop you from coming, but it’s not enough, the cliff is right there. You’re rolling your hips, your mouth agape and gasping when you’re not howling for relief.

‘Like a bitch in heat,’ someone says. ‘Hey, tag out.’

All of them stop, hold you steady for a second. You’re panting, your legs weak as you lean your weight on the wall. You can feel yourself receding from the cliff again, can feel the throb in your cunt easing off just enough that you can think. Your leg is dropped back to the floor, and you are jostled back into position as the men rearrange themselves, and you realise they’re taking turns using you. Even without their hands on you, the thought alone could make you come. You want to turn your head to look for Joel but they’re crowding around you, and for a second there’s a drop of panic in your belly before it’s replaced again with wildfire. You know he’s there. Know he’ll stop it if he needs to.

‘Holy shit, she’s still so tight,’ someone says, slipping back into place in your cunt, and another man laughs. ‘Get the bottle again, stretch her out.’ Their hands are probing again, a man finger-fucking you from the front now, another holding you up from behind as they twist you off to the side. They’re all staring at your cunt, at where you’re spreading open to take them, marvelling at the intrusion.

‘How many fingers you reckon she can take?’ someone asks, and you buck your hips away from it, away from how obscene it is, from how irrevocably turned on in makes you.

‘Joel said not to mark her,’ someone says, and much later you will recall this, recognise this as the moment you might have realised he had set all of it up, including who these men were. As it was you were too busy trying to quell the rushing bliss thundering through you, trying to hold back the cracking dam with your pinkie finger and good will.

‘Scoot over, then,’ someone says, and you are moved again, your legs opened up a little further so that two hands can be inside you at once, their fingers moving just out of sequence enough that they rub at different speeds, forming a relentless piston, a wave of pleasure that’s going to drag you under, fill your lungs.

You can’t take it. Your eyes are blurring from unshed tears, the respite from moments ago disappearing under the weight of the bodies covering you. Are your hands still on the wall? You open your eyes a crack to check. You want them to throw you over their shoulders and slip their cocks inside you, one in front and one behind. You want to roll on the floor with them, have them line up and sink yourself down on them one by one like some kind of deranged Goldilocks. You want every last one of them to come on you, in you, to breed you, to make you theirs.

You can feel your back arching, can feel that you’re rearing up again, the pleasure twisting up your spine and elongating it, your head pulling hard up and away from your shoulders. You’re holding your breath, trying to keep the orgasm away, but it’s bolting up on you.

‘I can’t, I can’t,’ you’re saying, and you’re not even sure what you can’t do exactly. Can’t hold it back, can’t take anymore, can’t stop. Can’t come like this, not allowed to. Joel’s good girl.

‘Hey!’ a voice booms from the bar and you recognise it immediately, Joel standing up and moving towards you. He’s seen you struggling, has seen your hips rolling and heard your wails as you tried to hold back for him. ‘I said no comin’!’ he bellows, and you groan. Your knight in shining armour has arrived just to keep fucking torturing you.

‘Joel!’ you cry, whine, nearly in tears for the need of him. Suddenly you don’t want any of these guys, you just want him, want his smell and the sweet softness of his flannel, want his eyes on you and his whispers in your ear. Want his cock inside you, his come claiming you from within. He’s shouldering his way to you, pushing the guys out of the way, and then he’s with you, your heart racing as his hands are on your shoulders, turning you back to the wall.

‘So good f’me, baby, I know, I know,’ he’s soothing you and you realise you’re sobbing, your breaths coming in deep huffs.

‘Please, please,’ you’re calling for him, and you feel his arm around your waist, feel him scrabbling around to undo his belt and pull down his fly, at the same time as he’s lifting you up and pulling you down on his cock, the fit of him so perfect inside you, his skin inside yours. The guys are watching and you don’t care, because finally he’s with you again, finally he’s the right one, and you’re groaning and gasping, calling his name as he whispers filth in your ear.

‘None of these men get your come,’ he’s saying, ‘none of these guys. Just me that makes ya come, ya hear me?’ and you’re nodding.

‘I want you to make me come, Joel. Only you, only you.’

‘Can feel you grippin’ me, baby,’ he’s babbling, and he’s not sure he’s ever been so hard. He was so patient, watching the guys take you apart bit by bit, until your eyes were unfocussed and your mouth was hanging open, gasping and trying so hard to catch your breath. He could see it in the strain of your muscles, in the way you were panting and hollerin’, that you were holding off for him, that you were keeping yourself sweet and well behaved out of love for him, out of desire, and despite all the other men in the room that wanted you he knew in that moment you were his, that you were his good girl, his, his, his.

It hadn’t been his plan to fuck you like this, but he couldn’t help himself when he heard you callin’ for him. He’d thought he’d just let you come on their hands or their faces, or that you would eventually break and he’d get to slap your arse a little as punishment, but not that you would nearly snap every bone in your body, let your sinew scream and strain, just to stay his good girl.

He surges forward, gripping you to him with one arm, and raises his other hand to cover yours, still pushing into the wall of the bar. He can feel that the skin is ragged underneath, that the exposed brick has grazed you from your effort of keeping your hands there, and he resolves to bathe you in warm water and lick every inch of broken skin the moment he gets you home.

But not yet. Right now, he’s pushing himself further inside you, lifting you up a little so that you’re just on your tippy toes on the floor, balancing on his cock so he can get even deeper inside. You’re keening, your whole body shaking, and you’re not sure you’re going to survive this but you really, really don’t mind going out this way.

You don’t even have words. You can barely get air. You just entwine your fingers with Joels’ where he holds your hands to the wall, tuck your chin to your chest and howl, the orgasm crashing over you and rolling almost immediately into another one, Joel behind you and fucking up into you while you know you still have an audience, while they’re coming onto the floor at your feet, jerking it to the idea of them being the ones to be inside you, of their cocks splitting you open and feeling your cunt milk them dry. You don’t care about any of them, don’t care that they want you so much they’ll settle for their own fists, because all you want is this man, this one inside you and coming deep into your cunt, this one who loves you, who carries you now in his arms with warmth and strength, who is holding you up as he ruts his spend into you, as he gasps and cries out for you, in this very fucking public dive bar just off the highway, where you know you can never step foot again.

--

He doesn’t let you sink to the floor, no matter how badly your legs want to give out on you, but is instead wrapping his hands under your knees, under your arms and lifting you to him.

‘Dirty down there, baby,’ he says, and you open one eye to see the streams of come decorating where you were just standing. The men have all disappeared, knowing that the fun is over, and Joel has wrapped his coat around you at some point, and your muscles are loose and stretched and shaking, suddenly cold from the chill of your sweat in the open air. You tuck your head under his chin, listen to the way he grunts, quietly, when he pushes open the door with his shoulder and carries you to the car. You feel him drop you into the passenger seat of the truck, feel him put the seatbelt on you and turn the heater up as soon as the engine starts.

You can’t move, your whole body spent. You realise by how dark the night is outside the car window that it has been hours. That he has given you everything you asked for, and then just a little bit more. You crack one eye open to watch him as he drives, the streetlights strobing over his face, the scruff on his cheeks, the pointed angle of his nose, the greys appearing by the day in his hair.

You feel your eyes drift shut again, the heat of the car and the warmth of his jacket soothing you down to sleep. He has given you something you only ever dreamed about, something you never even hoped to one day have. You don’t mean the guys in the bar.

Tag list:

@kyloispunk

@604to647

[shu-porang-porang]

Slow Moments

He's yours and it's raining, life couldn't get better!

Pairs: Lee Minho (Lee Know) / fem!reader

Theme: fluff, explicit

Warnings: cock warming, not proofread, 18+ NO MINORS

Word count: 0.7 k

You had plans to dine out tonight, but the soft drizzle of rain turned to a somewhat thunderstorm. You open the window and take a deep breath, but you have to close it soon since the cold air makes you shiver. You stand there, looking at the blurred city lights through the glass, listening to the pitter patter of the rain. The dim lights of the evening invite you to stay in the coziness of your apartment

You feel his arms wrap around you from behind, he kisses the side of your chin.

“All I wanna do right now is cuddle up with you.” He says as if he read your mind.

“Me too.”

“Really? So can we have our dinner date tomorrow night?”

“Sure baby. Just let me make some coffee, then we can cuddle all you want.” You turn on your hill to give him a quick peck and then disappear to the kitchen.

Minutes later when you’re back with two mugs of hot coffee with milk and cinnamon, you find him sitting on the bench beneath the window, peering out the view. You place the mugs on the table next to the bench and sit in his lap. His hands are quick to circle your torso as he rests his chin on your shoulder, the soft tuft of his hair tickling your neck.

At moments like this, it feels as if the time has stopped, as if the whole world stayed still, and you two are the only people in it, the only people who matter. You don’t know how long you sit there, utterly silent, only the rain and the occasional sipping of coffee can be heard.

He’s done with staring at the rain, he can only control himself so much when your bodies are flushed against each other like this. He starts with lazy kisses on the side of your neck, he takes his time with each kiss, closing his lips on a patch of skin, giving it a lick, sucking a little, and finally letting go of it with a wet smooch. You roll your head back to give him more access, your hand reaches behind his head to play with his locks. He does the same to your shoulder and when your sweater stops him from further marking your skin, he lifts his head up to kiss your chin, working his way along your jawline, your cheek and finally his lips are brushing against yours. You adjust yourself in his lap so you can properly kiss him. His warm wet tongue swirls around yours, probing every corner with so much excitement as if discovering unmarked lands. You pick up the faint taste of cinnamon on his tongue. His hand slides under your sweater, rubbing your side.

He needs more, you can sense it, but he knows how much you love the rain, so he’s holding back until it’s over, then he’ll take you to bed and make love to you properly. For now, he can settle for a make out session by the window. You, being the sweet caring girlfriend you are, decide to give him some relief. So, you break the kiss to say: “I wanna try something.”

His big boba eyes meet yours with curiosity, waiting for more explanation. Your hand fumbles with his waistband and drags his sweatpants and boxers down to free his member. It’s not entirely soft but you need it fully erect for your little plan. You stroke it up and down while kissing his neck, his head rolls back and little whimpers start to fall off his lips. When he’s hard enough, you pull your sweats and panties down and align it with your soaking wet entrance. His eyes screw shut as you slowly sink down on it.

“Let’s stay like this while it’s still raining. I’ll keep you nice and warm for me.” You say as you rest your body against his, your head on his chest where he’s heart is beating with excitement. He holds you tight in his arms, peppering kisses atop your head, whispering sweet nothings in between.

Feeling full and wrapped in his warmth, somewhere between listening to the melody of raindrops tapping against the window and his heartbeat pounding against his ribcage, you fall into a slumber. He lets you have this little rest as he’s gonna make sure you won’t get much of it later that night.

[tonixe]

goverment hooker..

a/n: I'm back again, there is no surprise. I'm feeling devious so I might post again, wowzers. Also, the sped-up version of the government hooker sound so fire, like it feels like I'm in one of those edits, anyways lemme stop rambling. I hope y'all enjoy, reblogs, and comments will be also appreciated.

warning: smut, penetrating, p in the v, unprotected sex, creampies. proofread (?)

pairing: Young!Coriolanus Snow x reader

word counter: 1.4k

What appeals to you to most men, maybe it was your cute antics, your siren eyes that attracted anyone toward you, or your body, sculpted with your delicate curves, and a perky bosom to match the appeal of your young face that can lull a man to sleep.

Or was it how you talked, deliberately making a slur of your words, with your ribboning voice, that can make anyone feel safe and warm with you. You fooled some powerful men, their hearts were already tainted and covered in greed, easy to control someone with their needs. You were in command of it, you made them your pawn, you played the cards, and made a charade of it.

Every time you talked or did anything, you automatically moved your chess piece forward never back. But..what were you doing in a low district as a 'prestigious' woman like yourself, doing in the slum like this. Well, these 'slums' they would call, these 'desperate streets' were your home, even though you won't admit with your own mouth, your words, it still was your home...

Trying to lift yourself from the slums called your homes, to a place where it is much safer than here, maybe to Capitol, but you would need a ticket in. They wouldn't allow just anyone, would they?

But here you were standing in a speakeasy, in a tight little red dress, with a lacey red lining. It was odd to see polished women like you in a bar in District 12, you looked like you were for the Capitol, but all things you see and hear aren't what it seemed. Drinking up on the cheap liquor they offered, looking at the scene in front of you with the happy and dancing couples on the floor, as live music played. The 'Covey' they called them, and the main star, Lucy Gray. Staring at the stage, as she sang into the mic, playing her guitar.

She was familiar to you, the only reference you saw was when she was fighting in the Hunger Games, it was a surprise seeing her still living, breathing, and standing up there, but needless to say, she was still good at what she did. You waving your body to the relaxing music, fixing yourself on the stool, swaying to the music. "What is a lady like you sitting in here" You turned your head to the gentleman talking to you, staring at him.

"I'm just sitting here, enjoying the show," You said, taking a sip of the alcoholic liquid, "How about you" you tilt your head to the side.

"Just enjoying my show" He gestured to your form, and you giggled at his compliment as he sat on the stool beside you. You really got to see the man that was next to you. He had a handsome face and a chiseled face, he wore a blue open-collar shirt and a blondish-white buzz cut, He seemed like one of those Peacekeepers lurking around the district. "Do you do this every girl you see?" You were amused by the blonde man who sat beside you. You wouldn't lie that he was indeed attractive in your eyes. Scanning his frame, his body, his face. "Not to every woman, but to the ones that look beautiful like you my dear" You couldn't help to smile at him, "━And your not bad-looking as well" You admitted, crossing your legs together. As you deliberately lean towards him, revealing a white lacey bra.

Pouting your lips together, "An attractive man indeed" giving him a sultry look, with your eyelids drooping down slightly. "So, what is your name, handsome" You took a sip from your drink, "Coriolanus.." He took your hand and kissed it, "Y/N" you smirked taking your hand gently away from him,

"Should we..take our business elsewhere for a private scene?" You whispered into his ear with a suggested look on your face.

Your hands were with his as you walked in the night street, your body already feeling hot. "Where are we going?" He was amused with your antics, as you batted your eyes at him, "A place, special" you gave him a smirk, your heels clicking down on the wet cement road. A neon sign coming into view, a little motel still opened near the bar. As you opened the door, walking down the lobby of the motel, the clerk managing the reception, "A room for one" The clerk nodded his head, and gave you the keys, "room 9" He said, as you walked away with his hand with yours. Your hips sway sensually, your heels stepping into the room and opening it.

Turning yourself on your heels, stepping closer to the man, "So..what are we going to do?" You pouted, your eyes dilating feeling the feeling of being aroused.

Feeling his hands on your lower bottom, as you hoof your legs around his hips, wrapping your arms around his neck, as you both leaned into a kiss, feeling his hands groping your body. Feeling him moving, as he withdrew from you, your chest heaving. "You do know how to make a man crazy, don't you" He groaned, Feeling him putting your body onto the bed gently,

His body touching you recklessly, his hands going under your dress, slowly taking off your red lacey panties, discarding it on the floor. Biting your lip down in excitement, crossing your legs together covering yourself. Staring at him, taking off his pants and his boxers, feeling yourself getting aroused, as your cunt pulsed.

As his dick sunk into you, the pain writhing through your body, feeling the pain in your lower abdomen. Feeling your cheeks getting flushed, as you groaned in pain. His hips push into you, slowly before increasing his pace.

The bed rocked with your back on the bed, your skirt flipped and your legs being held up with his arms. Your sinful moans came out of your lips, his cock splitting your open, as you bit your lip down. His hands massaging your waist down, "F-fuck" stuttering out of your lips, your lipstick already messed up, smeared on your cheeks.

Your skin felt sticky, your lacey dress sticking onto your skin. "C-corio—" You were cut off from his hips smacking into your pelvis, your hands gripping on the sheet, holding down for support, leaning back in pleasure and relief, feeling a rush of pleasure.

Your slick lubricating his dick, makes him slip inside you easier. Your face burning up, fixing your legs on his around his waist. Your cunt clenching down around him making him groan in your ear. Feeling lips and your crashing into each other, into a hungry kiss. His tongue abused your mouth, making you moan against him, before you withdrew for air, your chest heaving, up and down.

Feeling his cock reaching to your cervix, "Hmm" You whined, your eyelids getting droopy in the process, feeling his slender fingers rubbing the nub of your clit, your legs wrapping around his waist tighter, "Corio, I'm sensitive" You whined, his hips grinding onto yours, with his unrelenting pace, arching your back. His hands on your hips tilting up, plummeting into you.

"Don't be greedy, darling" He asserted, harshly rubbing on your clit, making you scream in bliss. His body leaning toward you, his dick still throbbing inside of you, making you go crazy. His mouth sucked onto your flesh, as the blooming mark left your neck.

Your body getting overstimulated, as your body trembled, skin prickling and your cunt dripping out.

Feeling a wave crashing down on you, clenching down around his cock. The pace of his hips getting slower, feeling his hands on your waist, gripping down making you wince. "I'm close" He groaned into your ear. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your legs, "Inside" you mewled, feeling his hips stuttering against yours. His dick pulsed inside of you, as he thrust into you one more last time, painting your walls white, as your cunt fluttered around him. Your body feeling tired.

Falling down on the bed. Feeling his warm essence leaking out of you, feeling himself still inside you. "Don't leave...please" You whimpered, feeling his soft lips on your lips, before he withdrew, looking at him, pursing your lips gently. His hands lift your chin up, "I have to.." He looked at your lips, scanning your face. Taking your appearance from your smeared lipstick to your ruined makeup, before he drew you into another kiss, a longer, more passionate one. For the first time feeling your heart swell with a man you slept with once at a bar, "Please.." you said, breathlessly.

"I'll be back" he gently traced the shape of your lips with his finger, his voice was tender to your ears, lulling you to an endless abyss. As drowsiness took over your body, your eyes shut and closed.

[chaedomi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 ✦ mmgacm

fem!child!reader x lyrica nara takar + brinne sol (platonic!yan), inspiration (one / two), potential series, breanna is simply an oc who caters to reader's needs; after visiting her mother, lyrica finds herself learning about the mysterious crown princess who resides inside the sun palace. ꨄ — masterlist

LYRICA WAS having the best day of her life. Her mother had just bestowed upon her something truly precious—a silver coin, unparalleled to all the riches that could be offered. Honestly, when she lost the first silver coin she had earned back in the slums, she felt a sense of disappointment. That coin had been her pride, marked and stained with all the times she held it, dreaming of a better future. She never aspired to acquire another, as it couldn't compare to the first one she had cherished for so long. But, who cared? Even if it wasn't the same coin, it was still a silver coin—her precious silver coin.

"Ah... Huh...?" Lyrica's footsteps halted as something interesting captured her attention. The Black Dragon Chamber next door was The Crown Prince's room, and right next to it was another door—the entrance to The Crown Princess's chambers. It occurred to Lyrica that she had never laid eyes on The Crown Princess before. The Crown Princess hadn't even been present at her mother's and His Majesty's wedding!

Lyrica lifted her gaze to examine the sign above the chamber door. Said signs depicted the theme of the chambers and, by extension, identified the type of dragon associated with The Crown Princess.

However, instead of the expected dragon imagery, there was what Lyrica recognized as a constellation.

"Oh my," Brinne spoke beside Lyrica, causing the little girl to startle, as the voice was unexpected. "It seems that Your Highness has stumbled across something very interesting. Would you like me to explain, Your Highness?"

"Huh...?" Lyrica blinked at her servant before finally catching on. "O... Oh, yes, please!"

Brinne laughed in response to Lyrica's enthusiasm. "Recall when I mentioned that His Majesty and House Takar trace their lineage to dragons? I also explained that House Wolfe descends from wolves, and House Sandar's ancestry is tied to a colossal snake as thick as a tree."

Brinne’s eyelids fluttered open, and Lyrica could see for herself the fondness swirling in her amethyst-hued eyes.  Lyrica's curiosity deepened even more as a result of this reaction. Minor details about The Crown Princess's existence are known, yet she already fascinates Lyrica. In the 'White Dragon Chamber,' Lyrica remembers the information Brinne shared with her. The Founder of the prosperous Takar Nation was a dragon, leading to the Imperial Family (comprising Takars) being named after these mythical creatures.

So, why is it that you, The Crown Princess, aren't named after a dragon? Your hand was given to The Crown Prince, which rightfully places you within the Imperial Family. However, you carry the identity of something different—a star, or more precisely, a constellation of stars known as Pollux.

Lyrica resisted the urge to ask, concerned about overwhelming Brinne with questions she might not have answers to. However, the more she thought, the more she wanted answers. Despite the unsettling tales she had heard about The Emperor, her stepfather had proven to be benevolent. It wasn't as if The Emperor despised you otherwise, he wouldn't have permitted you to reside in The Sun Palace and ''''marry'''' The Crown Prince. So, why...?

Lyrica bit her lip and groaned, ultimately yielding to her curiosity. "The Family Crest of High-Ranking Nobles symbolizes their ancestry. However, considering House (L.N) bears the crest of a star, does that suggest that The Crown Princess is descended from a star?" Brinne tilted her head and beamed, satisfied with Lyrica's analysis. "Exactly!"

Although Brinne appeared content, Lyrica felt the opposite, her eyebrows furrowing in dissatisfaction. "But... I thought all Takars were named after dragons. What about The Crown Princess?" It's only at that moment that Brinne understands the confusion of The Young Princess. Brinne's smile widened further, momentarily causing Lyrica to worry about the strain on her jaw muscles.

"It's as you mentioned, Your Highness. All Takars, even those married into The Imperial Family, bear dragon names. But, The Crown Princess is only engaged to His Highness.” Brinne replied, a sly smirk gracing her stunning features. Lyrica's expression faltered as she processed her servant's words. “Your Highness, let me make it known that His Majesty deeply admires House (L.N), especially The Crown Princess."

As the realization dawned on her, Lyrica almost jumped in surprise. Tolerance and respect were one thing, but admiration? Another question was… why did Brinne tell her all of this when she had first moved into her chambers? Did she forget…?

Brinne giggled at Lyrica’s reaction. "With admiration comes a deep bond. As we know, His Majesty cannot rule forever, nor will it be advised for his nephew to rule alone. And so, because His Majesty trusts no one as he trusts House (L.N), he decided that one of them shall ascend to the throne alongside his nephew. Despite the many good suitors House (L.N) had to offer, The Crown Princess was chosen as she not only captured him with her abilities but her personality as well."

“Of course, to be a Crown Princess, you need to marry The Crown Prince first. However, His Majesty’s instructions to address Her Highness as such regardless is a way of showcasing her permanent ascension.”

Lyrica's eyebrows rose at the revelation. Well, now it makes sense why you weren’t identified as a dragon. Forget what she said about the marriage thing too. "But wait! Even if The Crown Princess didn’t receive that privilege, would she still be considered important, perhaps more so than High-Ranking Nobles?"

Brinne hummed in thought. “She would still be considered as a High-Ranking Noble even if she and those in House (L.N) hold more privileges than the others in the same noble class. …It’s all because of His Majesty’s orders. Everything is. You are aware of how absolute His Majesty’s orders are, right? If His Majesty commands people to act like animals, they will do just that. If His Majesty says to idolize an object, they will do just that! Even more so if His Majesty orders his people to respect House (L.N) just as they respect House Takar, they will do just that. It doesn’t matter if people are pleased with the arrangements or not. ...His Majesty’s reason for doing so all aligns with the shared history of House Takar and House (L.N).”

Lyrica became intrigued by that bit of information. "Shared history?" She leaned in, eager to learn more. "Can you tell me more, Brinne?" Unfortunately, Brinne responded with an apologetic smile, disappointing Lyrica.

"Regrettably, that's the extent of my knowledge regarding the relationship between House (L.N) and House Takar. It's a limit for anyone," Brinne's lips tightened. "The narrative unfolds after the nation's expansion and the allegiance of House Sandar and House Wolfe, undoubtedly including the deeds of House (L.N) that earned His Majesty's favor."

"However, crucial details of this significant historical period somehow vanished. Consequently, over time, people began crafting theories about how House (L.N) and House Takar evolved into their current relationship. Some theories were logical, while others were entirely nonsensical. And, of course, some seized the opportunity for profit, as seen in the widely popular children's fairytale, 'The Dragon Who Fell In Love With A Star.' You must have heard of it, haven't you?"

Lyrica recalled hearing a similar story in the slums, never imagining its connection to something so crucial. "That's incredible!" she exclaimed.

"Despite these theories, none have been confirmed. House (L.N) and House Takar are the only ones capable of such confirmation. However, His Majesty has maintained silence on the matter, and House (L.N) feels compelled to align with his decision."

"Yet, certain aspects remain clear. Regardless of factual evidence, His Majesty holds House (L.N) in high regard. Thus, we are to treat them with respect, just as we will respect House Takar. Whether others agree or disagree is unimportant."

“Either way, the latter is not a concern,” Brinne continued. “Everyone in this nation is fond of House (L.N), or in this case, The Crown Princess.”

Lyrica cocked her head to the side. “Even you?”

"Yes, Your Highness! Why wouldn't I?" Brinne laughed. "Allow me to explain how House (L.N) operates. As we are aware, High-Ranking Nobles align themselves with the symbols on their crests. Given that House (L.N) traces its lineage to a star... it's worth noting that House (L.N) is the largest Noble Family in the nation. This serves as a symbolic representation of the countless stars that adorn the sky."

"B-Billions!?" Lyrica stammered, staring at Brinne with widened eyes.

"Oh, dear." Brinne covered her mouth. "Your Highness, House (L.N) doesn't quite literally have billions. However, like certain traits are inherent to specific Noble Families, having large kin is one characteristic of House (L.N). So, fear not, Your Highness; having a small family circle is normal. House (L.N) just happens to multiply at a very alarming rate... to the extent that they are scattered throughout all corners of the nation."

"Due to their extensive family, House (L.N) has implemented a system within their household to maintain order. Drawing inspiration from astrology, where eighty-eight constellations are recognized, House (L.N) has structured itself into eighty-eight classes, each with varying levels of power and status. However, within these eighty-eight classes, there exist twelve classes that house the highest positions. I find myself intrigued by the method they use to organize it all..."

"But, moving on!" Brinne placed her hands on her knees. "Your Highness, are you familiar with the twelve constellations of the universe?"

"Yes! Glendelyn taught me about them! It's uh... Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces... right!?" Lyrica grinned, pleased with herself for recalling both the names and pronunciation.

"And those would be the twelve classes of House (L.N) with the highest status and power! The Crown Princess oversees Class Gemini of House (L.N), in part. As we know, Gemini is a twin star encompassing both Pollux and Castor. Therefore, Gemini is responsible for two individuals, with The Crown Princess having authority over Pollux."

Brinne's eyes crinkled with amusement. "It makes me wonder... if House (L.N)'s class sorting is also influenced by personality traits..."

"What makes you think that...?" Lyrica inquired, tilting her head to the side.

"Pollux means 'very sweet' or 'fit for royalty.' And when compared to both Castor and Pollux, Pollux is the brighter star of the two." Brinne giggled. "'Fit for royalty'... truly describes The Crown Princess! The Crown Princess can also be characterized as... bright and pure. Undoubtedly, she possesses the most beautiful soul in the entire nation."

In Lyrica's thoughts, she argues that her mother is the most beautiful soul of all!

"Generous, selfless, and loving. The Crown Princess consistently treats everyone impartially and respectfully, ignoring class or personality. When she had more freedom before getting engaged, The Crown Princess frequently visited the lower class, playing with the little children there. She gave them gifts, food, and clothes, disregarding the opinions of those in the Noble Status," Brinne explained.

"Now, with increased power, The Crown Princess has expressed her intent to enhance the quality of life for the lower class. His Majesty has already given his approval, leaving the timing of the project's initiation to The Crown Princess." Brinne hummed. "In summary, The Crown Princess is admired not just for her history and status. It's her demeanor and how she treats others, whether good or evil, that truly highlights her charm."

By now, Lyrica's eyes were gleaming. "She does sound amazing..." As someone who had previously lived in the slums, hearing about how The Crown Princess cared so tenderly for her fellow people deeply touched Lyrica. Typically, individuals of higher status tended to be snobbish and avoided those from lower classes, using harsh and insulting labels. Lyrica was all too familiar with that. However, there were exceptions—The Crown Princess, who cared for them despite their backgrounds, striving to improve their lives! Lyrica's thoughts began to wander, imagining what her life might have been like if she had encountered The Crown Princess in the past.

The only issue in her thoughts was, "Brinne, how exactly does The Crown Princess look?"

"Hmm... Let me think about how I can describe this. Your Highness, when you gaze at the stars at night, what's the first thing that comes to your mind?" Brinne inquired.

"Well, I always think about how beautiful the stars look tonight," Lyrica responded promptly.

“It’s the same for House (L.N). They possess a certain essence that makes them shine, glitter, and sparkle. The Crown Princess is no exception. She has gorgeous (h.c) hair that sparkles under the sunlight, and (s.c) skin that glows with the moonlight. However, what truly sets The Crown Princess apart within her House is her eyes. Those eyes of hers... are the physical embodiment of her lineage. With (e.c) eyes that sparkle like fine jewels, she carries the entire universe in them."

Lyrica's jaw dropped in amazement. "Is that another form of symbolism...?"

Brinne shook her head. "This time, it's quite literal." Seeing Lyrica's face scrunch up in suspicion, Brinne resisted the urge to giggle. "Oh my, Your Highness. I assure you, I'm not making fun of you for thinking House (L.N) consisted of billions of members. I don't blame you for being skeptical. Eyes resembling the universe? It does sound far-fetched, especially when no one else is known for having such a trait. But, it is the truth."

Lyrica pouted, fiddling with her clothes. "All of this talk just makes me want to meet The Crown Princess!"

"Huhu~ I'm certain The Crown Princess would have loved to meet you too, Your Highness. Unfortunately, current circumstances just won't allow her to do so. With The Crown Prince currently absent, The Crown Princess has temporarily taken over his responsibilities, attending to any work that needs to be accomplished in his stead."

"I can recall a day when The Crown Princess looked like a disaster, seconds away from collapsing onto the ground," Brinne shivered. "As much work as it may be, it's what needs to be done. Again, The Crown Prince and The Crown Princess are destined to ascend to the throne one day, signifying the future management of the nation. Thus, they must demonstrate their capabilities to the people, and most importantly, His Majesty."

“Oh!” Lyrica blinked.

“Hmm… Now, I’m not sure, but, come to think of it, you should be able to see The Crown Princess soon, Your Highness.” Brinne added.

“Oh!?” Lyrica exclaimed in a louder tone.

“His Highness should be returning from his feudal territory very soon. And once he does, Her Highness should be able to take a breather from her piles of work.”

Lyrica fell silent, staring at Brinne with a soft expression. Lyrica then smiled fondly, clasping her hands together. “I know The Crown Princess isn’t fully inside the family as yet… Even so, she would be my cousin. But, still… The Crown Princess… would be some form of big sister, right…?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“YOUR HIGHNESS! I come to you with great news! His Highness should be returning soon!” Gracefully entering the 'Constellation Pollux Chamber,' a maid carrying a golden tray of food and treats hastened toward you, seated upright in your bed, gazing at the scenery beyond your window.

Turning your attention forward, you stared at your maid with widened eyes. "Is that so?" Your surprise quickly morphed into happiness, a smile spreading across your lips as you interlaced your fingers. A flowery aura surrounded you, and your excitement was visible. "That is good news! How long has it been since Atil was gone...? Six months?"

"Precisely," your maid, Breanna, hummed, gently placing the tray on your bed tray table, which you wasted no time digging into. "I can tell that you have many ideas running through your head, Your Highness. I, too, would want to greet someone I cherish with a warm welcome after not seeing them for so long."

"For Atil...? Erm... No, that's not why I'm so excited... I'm excited because I won't have to work as hard as I did anymore!" You beamed without shame. "Ugh, it was torturous... Left, right, and center, it was just piles of paper. Any more, and I would have begun to see the pearly white gates of heaven..."

"Oh, my, is that all? His Highness would be upset if he heard that's the only reason you missed his presence," Breanna giggled.

"...Seriously...?"

"And then there are your new family members, Your Highness."

You paused, fingers clasped around the handle of your spoon. Slowly, you lifted your head to meet your maid's gaze, (e.c) eyes locking with amethyst eyes. "Yes, I have heard about the news. How His Majesty has taken a commoner as his bride, and her child as his daughter."

Your smile widened, lips encased around the tip of the spoon. As if nature were in sync with you, the sunlight cast an ethereal glow on your frame, making you appear more enchanting. Even your maid, who wore a sly smirk seconds prior, jaw slackened, staring at you in awe.

"It's a shame I am unable to do anything at the moment. I can't express just how eager I am to meet them. But one thing's for sure... I already see them as family."

In your eyes was the universe. Stars served as pupils, they glowed with endless glee and anticipation.

©chaedomi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

[arsenalsrusso23]

twins?!

warnings: little bit of angst and tooth rotting fluff :)

a.russo

when alessia arrived home from training she was excited to have a quiet night in with you, her five and a half month pregnant fiancé, ordering take out and slumming it on the couch.

as she entered the apartment the two of you shared, she found it strange how you didn’t come and greet her like you usually would.

“babe?” alessia called out into the eerily quiet apartment “baby?” as she entered your shared room she heard a faint response.

“in here less” as she walked into the conjoined bathroom she found you sitting on the floor clutching your stomach.

“baby are you okay?” she squatted down beside you and ran her hand through your hair.

“I think something is happening with the baby” I said through a wince as a sharp pain ran through my body.

alessia placed a kiss to my sweaty forehead and gently picked me up and brought me to our bedroom murmuring that we should call a doctor.

as she placed me on the bed she ordered me to lift my arms as she whispered how much she missed me into my ear and changed me into one of her hoodies.

“let me take your pants off my love” she bent down as I lifted my hips, she slid them down my legs and went to find me something comfortable. but suddenly a searing pain took over my abdomen, causing me to panic.

“ah” I winced and held my stomach “what? what’s wrong babe?” alessia was quick to my side and held her hand over mine, the one on my stomach.

“less it really hurts, somethings wrong” alessia was quick to try and help me into a pair of tracksuits when she paused, all of the colour draining from her face.

“fuck” she stared wide eyed and was in shock to how much blood there was between my legs, taking one look at my face she knew she had to act quickly. she sprung to her feet and scooped me up in her arms bridal style and made her way down the stairs as fast as she could, trying her hardest not to fall, especially with you in her arms.

“im gonna drive us to the hospital alright lovie?” I didn’t respond due to how dizzy and light headed I was, already disoriented from the blood loss, not knowing what was going on.

she yanked the front door open as best she could with you in her arms and snatched her keys that she had only put on the hook not even five minutes ago and booked it to her car.

once she rounded the car to the passenger side door she placed you on your feet, she yanked her hoodie off and opened the door, placing it on the seat. she wrapped one arm around you to keep you steady. after gently helping you down and into the seat, she ran around to the driver’s side opening the door and jumping in.

she quickly got her phone out to text her mum but as she looked over to you and saw how pale and disoriented you looked she opted to calling her instead, she quickly started the car and connected her phone.

alessia slammed on the accelerator and was breathing heavily and her fingers were shaking, reaching for the screen and clicking on her mothers contact. she was terrified. terrified from the stress of you not being okay or, possibly not making it. she rapidly shook her head to get rid those horrifying thoughts.

“c’mon mum, please pick up” she repeatedly choked out. when her mum finally answered she breathed a sigh of relief “mum? mum i don’t know what to do”she stumbled out. she continued, babbling something was wrong with you and the baby and to meet the two of you at the hospital.

“alright, lessi, slow down everything will be okay, i will make my way there now. I’ll be as quick as i can okay sweetheart?” her mum tried to soothe. alessia hurriedly mumbled out an agreement and promptly hung up.

alessia stole a glance at you, reaching out her hand to hold yours, to try and stabilise herself and you. a tear fell from her eye as she started to try and talk to you but you were on the verge of unconsciousness and weren’t responding, and that made her even more worried and upset. she bit her lip and focused on the road, only a few minutes from the hospital.

once she found a park in the emergency section, she quickly shut the car off and fumbled with her door handle muttering a “fuck sakes”.

once she opened the door, she rushed around to the passenger side and almost ripped the door off its hinges. “babe? baby we’re here, it’s gonna be alright, okay?” she whispered into your hair as she walked to the door with you in her arms. “lessi?…” you mumbled out weakly trying to lift your arms to reach for her face, but everything was blurry and you couldn’t focus on anything.

“you’re okay, you’re okay babygirl” she said as she made eye contact with a nurse who rushed to pick up the phone, alessia guessed to call a doctor, she hoped. she guessed correctly as a women in purple scrubs rushed out from the double doors and asked alessia to follow her through to a room, while asking her what was wrong.

“yes, hi please help her. she’s my fiancée and she’s five and a half months pregnant and she’s bleeding a lot. as soon as i saw the blood I rushed her here.” alessia placed you onto the bed while the doctor said some things she didn’t know the meaning of to the nurses.

the doctor ordered for an ultrasound, which alessia knew what that was as she never missed an appointment with you for the baby. she held your hand as you winced as the doctor squeezed the cold gel onto your stomach, alessia’s eyes flicked between watching the screen and the doctors face, and she could tell by the doctors facial expression, something was really wrong.

“go go go everyone! OR 5 is open, call doctor richard’s for an emergency cyst removal!” the nurses started scrambling to get you out of the room, one of them having to hold alessia back as she tried to follow you and the nurse having to explain what was going on.

just as you were leaving the room, alessia’s parents and brother luca and his wife arrived, they watched you get wheeled away in shock.

alessia was yelling at this point, with tears streaming down her face at the prospect of not knowing what was going on and the fact you might not make it. her family quickly made their way over, alessia only now realising their presence and fell into her mothers arms.

her mother and luca’s wife sat her down in the chair that was already in the room and were comforting her, while her father and brother spoke to the nurse.

“there was so much blood mum” alessia broke down, with her mother hugging her and shedding tears of her own.

“she is a strong girl lessi, she’s going to pull through, I know it.”

the nurse suggested waiting in the emergency surgery waiting room, as updates on you and the baby would be given faster there.

——————————————————————

after filling out the necessary paperwork, alessia was now pacing, back and forth from one wall to the other, stressed out of her mind.

her family had tried to convince her to sit down and try and relax, but she was in her own head, so many thoughts scrambling through it.

she finally sat down as her father basically dragged her into the seat, but that only caused her to start bouncing her leg and chewing on her finger nails, a bad habit she had when she was really nervous.

you had tried to get her to stop, but it was no use. she fiddled with her engagement ring that you both went to pick out after she had proposed, she didn’t get one at the same time that she got yours, in case you were to say no.

she was embarrassed when you asked about it that night while you were both in bed, recovering from celebrating together. she had told you her reason, and you responded “you were stupid to think I would say no.”

she smiles, remembering that night fondly and she honestly couldn’t imagine you not in her life.

her gaze suddenly snapped up from her ring as the sound of a door opening was heard, and a doctor dressed in scrubs and a cap walked through them.

she almost flew out of her seat and immediately asked if you were okay “ms russo, the surgery was a success. we removed a large cyst from ms y/l/n’s uterine wall. i am happy to say she and both your baby boys pulled through.”

as alessia listened to the doctors words she felt the tension in her shoulders dissipate, but the end of his sentence had her in shock.

“what do you mean both babies?” she asked, super confused and mostly in shock.

it was now the doctors turn to look confused “your babies? ms y/l/n is pregnant with twins. did you not know?” he replied.

“I was with her in every appointment, the doctor there showed us the screen and there was only one baby?”

“baby b had been hiding behind baby a, as he is smaller.”

alessia didn’t have much time to process the fact that you both went from having one baby to two and was dumbfounded that the doctor and both of you had not seen a second one on the previous ultrasounds.

she rapidly nodded when the doctor asked if she wanted to see you, turning back to her family who told her to come and get them when you both were ready.

as she was following the doctor he explained your condition to alessia “she is awake and talking, she just kept asking for you to tell the big news about both of your babies.”

that put a smile on alessia’s face. that she was the first one you asked for. hearing ‘babies’ instead of ‘baby’ was going to take some time getting used to, but she definitely could. in reality she was over the moon. she had expressed to you a couple times how she wanted three or four kids, and now you were pregnant with twins.

the doctor stopped outside a door and gestured to her that this was your room. alessia didn’t waste any time and practically shoved the door open.

as soon as she looked over towards you, you both made eye contact. alessia took in the sight of you and almost burst into tears, there you were, sitting in a hospital bed with a smile on your face, looking as beautiful as ever. you gave a warm wave that prompted alessia to finally move in your direction.

as she got closer to the bed the tears started forming in both of your eyes. you held your arms out to her for a hug and she immediately fell into your arms, being mindful of your stitches and how much of her weight she was putting on you.

“oh my love..” she choked out into the crown of your head, she pulled back from the embrace but only far enough for her to hold your face in her palms and rub her thumbs over your cheekbones.

you had tears in your eyes as well, you reached up to hold her hands that were still on your face. you both leaned in and shared a tender kiss, it was full of love and relief to be reunited again.

“we’re having twins, and they’re both boys!” you pulled back only far enough to say those words.

alessia had a lovesick smile on her face as she nodded and pecked your lips multiple times.

“I don’t think I can express how happy I am, not only that we are going to have two babies, but that you’re still here with me as well. god, I was so scared when they started wheeling you away.” she managed to choke out and confess.

“I’m so sorry lessi, I didn’t mean to scare you. I love you so much, and I’m so excited to start this new chapter with you” you said with a soft smile.

“god we are gonna have to buy two of everything now, fuck, I don’t even want to think about the price.” she nervously chuckled, scared for her bank account.

“and now we have to come up with two names, instead of just one” you giggled, and oh, alessia couldn’t describe how happy that made her, hearing your laugh again.

“my family are here, are you okay if they come in to see you?” alessia explained and asked.

“of course, let me get a few more of these first though” you both giggled as you practically yanked her back down for a slow, and love filled kiss that you both were smiling into.

——————————————————

the next few months went by in a flash, you were massive now, not that alessia would say anything as she would probably have her head bitten off by you.

every minuscule thing would set you off at this point in the pregnancy, getting mad that alessia was too hot at night and making you overheat. or the fact that you thought she didn’t give you enough attention, even though she is with you almost twenty three hours of the day.

you were now only due in a week, but that week couldn’t come quick enough for you. you were sick of being pregnant now, the sickness, the lack of movement, needing to piss every 10 minutes - everything.

it was a cosy tuesday night, alessia had already told arsenal that she would be on maternity leave for as long as needed. you were both cuddled up in bed, alessia spooning you from behind. you groaned as you felt the need to pee again, so did alessia when you moved to get up. she was almost asleep.

you quickly went to the toilet and as you were washing your hands you felt a bursting sensation and then a wet one. as you looked down you let out a shriek at the sight of your joggers soaked.

alessia had sprung out of bed at the noise, still on edge after the hospital scare. as she approached you she took in your soaked joggers and looked up to your face and in that moment she knew she was about to become a mother.

“oh my god” she whispered. and just like that she was in full panic mode, telling you to get ready while she quickly threw on a matching set and rushed around the house like a mad women.

you had both decided to move out of your apartment when the lease was up, deciding that a house would be a better option for your growing family.

alessia had just finished triple checking the hospital bag when you came down the stairs, ready to have two little ones.

“are you ready baby? do you have everything you need? can I get you an-“ you cut her off with a sweet kiss.

“clam down less” you chuckled “we have some time, my contractions are twelve minutes apart.” in all of her rush she completely forgot to time your contractions.

alessia sighed “I’m sorry, i’m just nervous - but also really excited!” you were both quick to smile at her words.

“god I can’t wait for this to be over, my back is killing me” you groaned. alessia spun you around so your back was pressing into her front and put her hands under your bump.

“I can help with that” she placed a loving peck on your cheek and almost effortlessly lifted both of your children, still in your belly.

you sighed out in relief and sagged against her, the feeling of pain in your back being temporarily gone.

“I love you so, so much my girl” alessia was whispering in your ear all the things that you needed to hear in that moment.

“I love you, thank you for everything” you replied back, just as you did a strong contraction hit and you were almost doubling over in pain.

“fuck, less I think it’s time to go.” alessia gently lowered your bump back down and rubbed your back through your intense contraction.

“I’ll quickly put everything in the car and we’ll go” alessia rushed to throw everything you would both need at the hospital into the car.

she helped you walk out the front door after locking up and help you get comfortable in the car, turning your heated seat on in advance as it was a chilly night in north london.

once alessia made sure everything was in the car she quickly connected her phone to she clicked on her mums contact.

you had met alessia in college, deciding that moving to America was the best choice in becoming more independent. you got in with a scholarship for the football program and you both hit it off.

alessia, being nervous as ever stumbled her way over to you in the empty dressing room, after you had just played a match and was a stuttering mess.

“hey! um hi, I was just wondering - cause you know um or not that lotte— shit. um do you want to come to my dorm for dinner? as a date? or not! it doesn’t have to be a date, but do you? do you want to go on a date with me?”

you quickly agreed, maybe a bit too quickly. you both were just as nervous as each other. alessia had told you that lotte was somewhere else studying. she cooked you dinner and you both watched a movie.

you both lost track of time and it ended up being too late to go home, so you stayed the night.

after a few more dates and another nervous speech from alessia, you began dating. eight years is pretty impressive, she proposed to you after she won the euros and you celebrated all night with each other and her england teammates and family.

your family lived back in Australia and when you had decided to move to the UK after college and signed with Arsenal, you got really close with her family, even though she was in manchester, you made it work.

alessia’s family loved you, they were the best people ever and you couldn’t ask for better future in laws.

you had expressed to alessia and her mum that you wanted her there in the delivery room, as you were hoping for a natural birth, with an epidural.

your plans changed when you found out you were having two babies, you opted for a c-section instead of pushing two whole humans out of you.

which means alessia’s mum unfortunately couldn’t be in the room with you during the procedure.

“mum? y/n’s water’s just broken, we are on our way to the hospital now.”

all that was heard in response was yelling, and shrieking, probably alessia’s mother to her father.

once she had calmed down and processed the fact that she was going to become a grandmother tonight she quickly said to message her when you were both ready for visitors, telling you to take as much time as you needed.

——————————————————

alessia was sat on a stool at your head and was smiling down at you with that stupid lopsided grin that she always had on her face when she was excited.

“I’m so excited. I’m so ready to meet our baby boys” she was already on the verge of tears and the surgery hadn’t even started yet.

you grinned up at her and puckered your lips, asking for a final kiss where it would only be you two for a very long time. she giggled and gave in, leaning down and granting your wish.

the words “love you so much lessi” were mumbled against her lips and you both pulled apart with a smile as the doctors asked if you were ready.

“yes, definitely” you replied, looking away from alessia and to the surgeon.

as the surgery went on, you became increasingly more excited. you were clutching one of alessia’s hands and her other one was stroking your hair.

you were both whispering to each other about your future with your almost born twins.

you both abruptly stopped talking as the sounds of cries were heard, and not even a second later one of your babies was being placed on your chest.

“baby a is perfectly healthy” the nurse was wiping him down and all you could do was stare at him.

“he’s so beautiful” you looked up to alessia and she was biting her lip and nodding at your statement, tears forming in her eyes.

she reached out for his head and gently stroked it, amazed that this was actually happening. with you. her absolute favourite person.

as both you and alessia were fawning over your first born child another set of cries were heard and your other baby was being wrapped up in a blanket.

“mum, do you want to hold him?” the nurse gently asked alessia.

alessia looked at you and you nodded in response to her questioning gaze.

“yeah, yes I do” alessia breathed out. the nurse placed him in her arms and you could tell by the look on her face that this was the best decision you had ever made in your life.

“hi finny, it’s mummy. gosh you are so beautiful, you’ve got your mummies eyes haven’t you?” alessia cooed.

both you and alessia have had many discussions about names, and after many nights tangled together debating on some that you liked, both of you ultimately decided on oliver and finn.

as you were being stitched back up the nurses took both oliver and finn to get cleaned up and checked on.

“they are so beautiful, this is the best day of my life. I love you so much, I’m so grateful for you, giving me the opportunity to be a mum.” alessia choked out, she had a few tears falling down her face as she brought her hand up to stroke your hair out of your face.

“they are, aren’t they? i love you so much less, I’m so glad you are the one I’m doing motherhood with, it’s the best day of my life too” you smiled up at her.

“go and be with them, I’ll be fine” you told her. you had noticed alessia’s eyes flicking up to your babies almost every second. alessia tried protesting, saying that you were literally still open on an operating table, but she couldn’t get over the cuteness of your newborn babies, she had too go and see them again.

as alessia made her way over to the tables that your babies were on, she couldn’t help but admire. the fact that they both had just come out of you, that they were a part of both her and you, had her absolutely baffled.

as the nurses were putting oliver’s nappy on, she reached out for his tiny hand and she’s pretty sure her face almost split in half with how big her smile was when his tiny hand wrapped around her much bigger finger.

“hi baby, I love you so much already, my beautiful boy” alessia whispered softly, her other hand coming up to stroke his head, where he had a full head of jet black hair. alessia knew it was very common for newborns to be born with dark hair, she found it adorable.

“alright everyone, let’s get mum into a room. she’s all done here.”

———————————————

for the first time, finally, both you and alessia now had some alone time with your babies. the nurses had showed you how to get both of them latched to your boobs so they can be fed at the same time.

alessia couldn’t help but think how attractive you looked in this moment, both of your babies in your arms and looking at them like they were your whole world.

she had already taken a few pictures of the twins and you, unable to resist capturing this beautiful moment, with her beautiful family.

once they had both finished feeding the nurses recommended some skin on skin bonding with both you and alessia, as it brings a lot of comfort to the parents and the babies.

alessia had removed her shirt and bra, whilst you moved over on the bed as best you could with two babies, to give her enough space to sit next to you.

“which one do you want me to take?” she asked gently as she took her spot next to you, you both were pretty exhausted, it was the very early hours of wednesday morning and you both hadn’t slept in a while. but the excitement and adrenaline had kept you both going (plus some coffee, which you were very grateful for.)

“ollie’s closer and you haven’t held him yet, why don’t you take him?” you smiled up at her.

she eagerly nodded and gently pulled him from your arms. once he was out of your arms you rearranged finn to have his head in the crook of your neck.

alessia scooted down the bed a little bit and laid oliver on her chest. she was surprised that neither one of them had cried yet, as her mother had told her when she was just born she cried and screamed bloody mary for hours on end.

alessia laid her head on your shoulder and kissed the top of oliver’s head softly, she brought her hand up to run it up and down his back.

you rested your head on top of alessia’s and let out a content sigh.

“do you want to call your family and tell them to come and meet the twins?” you murmured, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that you were in.

“yeah, just let me have a few more minutes of peace before my mum comes” she chuckled softly, already knowing how her mother would react to the twins.

——————————————

as soon as alessia called her mother, she said she would gather everyone up and would be there in half an hour.

you put the twins in their cots and went to go and freshen up, doing your hair and a little bit of makeup.

you looked up into the mirror and caught eyes with alessia through the mirror. she sent you a beaming smile and walked closer.

she pressed up behind you and wrapped her arms around you. she rested her chin on your shoulder and sent you her signature beaming lopsided grin.

she started placing light pecks down your throat all the way down to your now covered shoulder

“you alright?” she stood up straight and ran her hands up and down your arms

“yeah, I’m really, really good” you smiled and turned your head to place a firm kiss to her lips.

she replied just as eager, pouring all of her love and gratitude into the kiss.

the kiss naturally died out, alessia placing long, soft pecks to your own plush lips.

after both of you finished freshening up you both went to check on your now sleeping babies.

you placed one hand on oliver’s stomach and the other on finn’s and gently rubbed your hands over the soft material of the custom made arsenal onesies, courtesy of the one and only leah williamson.

alessia stood back and admired all three of you, all three of you were now her whole world and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

thank you all so much for reading! if you have any requests for any players send them through!

[btsugarush]

GANGSTA | myg - 002

summary: rough sex, blood money, drugs, and gang related activity; four things you never predicted to experience in your simple life. not until you opened your mouth and caught his attention

pairings: gang leader!yoongi x f!reader

warnings: smut, gunplay, drugs, drug addiction, dark!yoongi, drug lord!yoongi, strong language, gang violence, blood and gore, murder, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behavior, abuse, cheating, angst, fluff, dubcon, implied noncon (not from yoongi but within his gang with his knowledge), 18+, minors dni

word count: 3K

author’s note: sorry if you asked to be on the taglist and didn’t make it. i’ve reached over 50 and couldn’t add anymore people. i’ll add more of you in the comments.

“I’m glad you’re okay after all of that,” Jungkook says on the other end of your phone; you had just spilled about the chaotic situation at Makoto as it was still weighing heavily on your mind. You couldn’t shake what Jimin had said about that Yoongi guy killing someone, though it could have just been a rumor. If he had actually taken someone’s life there would be no way they would allow him to walk the streets. He’d be too much of a flight risk.

“You should really be careful in the future. I know you like to stand up for people that can’t stand up for themselves, but Yoongi is bad news. There’s no telling what he would’ve done to you on the wrong day.”

“So you know him too?” You quiz. It seemed as though everyone knew who this guy was besides you. Maybe you don’t get out enough. Or maybe you were just good at staying away from trouble– until this afternoon at least. “I know of him, but not personally. He came to the shop once like five months ago with the same tall guy you were talking about. He told my coworker Si-Woo to step outside, and the next thing you know he's pistol-whipping him nearly to death. Rumor around the shop was that Si-Woo sold drugs for Yoongi, and owed him a lot of money.”

“Really?” Your mouth drops in shock. “What did Si-Woo say about it?”

“He never talked about it, ended up quitting the next day, and told us ‘not to get the police involved because it wouldn’t be of any help and it was all just a misunderstanding’.” He quoted. “Well, three days later Si-Woo’s body was found hacked to pieces and stuffed in a suitcase behind an alley on Gongdan lane.”

You heard about that case on the news some time ago, but had no clue that Jungkook knew the victim on an intimate level. It honestly made you shiver a bit. Imagine being the one to discover the body, and how gruesome the sight must have been. Stuff like that was common in slum areas though. Crime was especially high in Gongdan lane of all places, which is why you made sure to never venture in that area. “You think Yoongi had something to do with his murder?”

Jungkook scoffed. “The guy was viciously pistol-whipping him three days before his body was identified. I know he had something to do with it, but none of us were willing to risk going to the cops, so we just moved on like it didn’t happen.” Jungkook pauses for a moment before he speaks again. “You know… sometimes I think that maybe we could’ve saved his life if we did report the incident. Sometimes I still look at his station and feel like he’s there, tattooing.” He sighs heavily, like it was a great weight lifted from his shoulders to even tell you.

“You did what you felt was necessary. As fucked up as it may seem, you had to think about what was best for you.” You try your best to comfort him as he seemed to hold on to a lot of guilt regarding Si-Woo’s death, and reminiscing didn’t help. To have the man who could have potentially murdered your friend roaming free to terrorize all of Daegu couldn’t be a great feeling. You felt for him.

“I know. It’s just fucked to know he went through such a fucked up death. I don’t even want to imagine how scared he must’ve been,” you could hear clanking on the other end, as though he was biting down on his lip piercing. “I don’t even like the thought of knowing you tangled with them. He seems the type to hold grudges, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I’d lose my shit and go after him myself.”

You smile softly. “And I just know you’d kick his ass, my tough Kookie.” You both laugh at the nickname, which is one of many you had with the word ‘cookie’ in it. You could be so cheesy sometimes, but Jungkook loved everything about it. “You don’t have to worry though, apparently he likes me so maybe I’m in the clear?” You say unsuringly, still not understanding what he meant by it. It was very abrupt and cryptic. “Well whatever he meant, he’s out of luck because you’re spoken for.”

“As if he’d ever had a chance to begin with, I don’t think I’d mesh well with a criminal,” You chuckled. “I’m more into sweet, sensitive guys with tattoos and piercings.”

“Yeah? I think I know someone like that.” You could tell that he’s cheesing on the other end, which made you cheese. Everything always felt so natural with Jungkook. Him being your best friend in high school really played hand in hand with that. He was no different from a lover than he was a best friend. You two were absolutely the same and you loved it.

“You should probably get some sleep now, Angel. You don’t want to go to work exhausted, and I don’t wanna be blamed for you oversleeping again.” You simply roll your eyes in a playful manner, but agree nonetheless. You couldn’t chance being up so late, Mr. Kim was very strict about being on time.

“I guess you’re right,” you pout. “Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow when I get off work.”

“Okay, Angel. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kookie cake.” You pull your phone from your ear, ending the call before you get up from your bed to switch off your bedroom lights. You crawl back onto the mattress, pulling your blanket over your body. Picking your phone back up again, you swipe through your apps until you locate the clock app. You set your alarm to wake you up at 12:00 PM on the dot. Just as you were about to place your phone down on your nightstand, something overcame you and you got the urge to search Yoongi’s name on Google.

When you type in his name, you are shocked to see so many results come up effortlessly. Several different mugshots from several different instances, all dating from when he was a teenager to one that seemed recent. You click on the one that looks most recent, letting it redirect you to the Daegu booking website.

Name: Min Yoongi

Age: 30

BOOKING DETAIL

Status: Released

Building: Public Safety Building

Area: Maledorm

Booking number: 575857

Booking date: 3/26/2023 11:56:00 pm

ARRESTS

Arrest number: 680071205

Arrest date: 3/26/2023 10:06:00 pm

Arresting agency: Daegu Police Department

Agency case number: 25-18056

ASSAULT WITH A DEADLY WEAPON

ATTEMPTED FIRST-DEGREE MURDER

POSSESSION WITH INTENT TO SELL

You read over the arrests in shock, completely dumbfounded by how a man of his caliber could be released from jail and not behind bars rotting for the rest of his life. He practically lived in jail anyway, why not just keep him there? You eye his mugshot, his intense stare giving you the chills. You didn’t need to wonder how the officer taking the photo must’ve felt considering you too have felt those daggers looking into the depths of your soul.

You pull your sight away from the photo, swiping away the page. You didn’t want to spend any more time on Yoongi. What happened at Makoto is behind you now. You just wanted to forget about the situation, and never run into Yoongi– or Joon for that matter, again. You plug your phone to your charger, sitting the device on your nightstand before you drift off to sleep.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.” Mr. Kim looks surprised as you step into the kitchen, taking an apron from the hook on the wall. “Why wouldn’t I show up?” You quirk a brow, tying the black fabric around your waist. “Because I thought you would’ve been too scared to show your face after going toe to toe with the devil’s minions the other day.”

You click your tongue, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You couldn’t believe people were still on that. Just as you walked in you overheard a customer whispering ‘she’s still alive?’ to her friend. It’s absurd at this point. “I think everyone is blowing what happened yesterday way out of proportion.” You shake your head, grabbing a notepad and pen from the pencil holder.

“I’d like to say we are, kid, but you got lucky. That Yoongi is no joke to be played with. The guy is a menace. Some people say the only reason he’s not in jail is because he has affiliations within the police unit, and I wouldn’t doubt if it’s true. Our system is corrupt.” The older man sighs. ‘Oh great, here he goes with politics and corruption again…’ you thought. You had better get out on the floor before you’re caught in a whirlwind of it.

You leave him to discuss the topic with himself as you step out onto the floor, and start taking customer orders. “Hey, you’re that crazy girl from yesterday.” A man says as you approach his table. You frown, already knowing what he was referring to, so you avoid it at all cost. “What can I get you?” You redirect the conversation.

“Oh! Uhhh,” he picks up the menu from his table, skimming through it. “I’ll have the Jajangmyeon.” He answers quickly. You scribble down his order. “Anything to drink?” You ask. “Ginseng tea, thank you.” He places the menu back on the table. You nod, taking down his drink. “Okay, I’ll be right back with that tea.” You smile kindly before heading back to the kitchen. You rip the orders from the notepad, clipping them to the ticket holder.

“Hey, kid. We’ve got a delivery order for dumplings.” Mr. Kim informs you as you’re preparing tea for the customer. The older gentleman approaches you, the order already made and secured in a brown bag. You take the bag from him, looking at the order ticket attached to it.

As you read over the address on the ticket, your eyes practically bulge out of your skull. ‘2357 Gongdan Lane’. “Um… Mr. Kim, this location is in the slums of Daegu.” You look at him with concern. “I know.” The man simply nods, taking the tickets you set from the holder. “Yeah, well, I can’t go to Gongdan lane. It’s dangerous, especially for me as a woman.”

“Look kid, I’m sorry. If Jimin was here I’d have him go but he doesn’t work on Saturdays and you’re my only worker.”

“Exactly. I’m the only worker, you need me to be at the shop taking orders.” You knew that wasn’t going to go over as it was a slow day, and there were hardly any customers in the shop to begin with. “I can handle the customers and cook the ramen until you get back.”

You couldn’t believe this. Just as you had prided yourself in never stepping foot in Gongdan, here was this old dirty bastard making you go. On top of that, the restaurant didn’t even own a company car for deliveries so you had to ride a bike. You read over the ticket again, noticing that there wasn’t even a name on the order. “There’s no name on the order, this could be a trick that ends with me getting robbed for free food.”

“All this time wasted on talking about it could be used on getting the delivery done. Stop complaining and do what you’re paid to do. The faster you get it done, the faster you can come back.”

You wanted to stomp your foot like a child and continue to protest, but you couldn’t risk your job by not listening so you did the only sensible thing you could do. Your job. You grab a plastic bag, shoving the brown one inside of it before leaving through the back exit in the kitchen. You spot the red delivery bike lying on the ground, and pick it up, looping the plastic bag around the bike handle.

As you mount the bicycle, you pull out your phone to use your GPS. The ride was about 12 minutes away. If you ride fast you could undoubtedly make it at least an 8 minute ride. You kick back the breaks and set off on your journey. During the ride as you make it into the slum area, you could truly see the separation from Sangsu-dong to Gongdan lane. The sidewalks were cracked and unpaved, the buildings looked more rundown, and homeless people laid out in sleeping bags.

You got an uneasy feeling as you noticed a group of men smoking weed on a corner and intensely watching you go by. You probably stood out like a sore thumb, riding through Daegu’s slummiest on a red bike. You swallowed the lump in your throat, keeping your eyes forward as you paid them no mind. As you continue going, you notice the streets become more isolated. Your GPS directs you to turn, which you follow only to come upon a big warehouse that looked abandoned. ‘You’ve arrived’, your GPS says. You furrow your brows, confusion written over your face.

“Stupid thing must’ve sent me to the wrong location.” You grab the bag of dumplings from the bike handle, circling around the warehouse just in case you were mistaken. You find a door on the other end, cameras surrounding it like it was a government building. You inspect the door, seeing that there was a red button of some sort on it.

You scope the perimeter, making sure no one was trying to sneak attack you. The whole thing seemed completely sketchy. You take a deep breath before pressing down on the button, a loud buzz coming from it. You take a step back, waiting for someone to come open the door. You stood there for about two minutes, not wanting to wait around any longer. You knew this was a scam. You should’ve just gone home and pretended like you delivered the food. It would’ve saved you the trouble. As you turn to walk back to the bike, the door suddenly opens with a loud creaking sound.

You direct your attention back to the door, locking eyes with an individual that you dreaded to ever see again. “Oh my god… i-it’s you…” you stutter in shock, seeing Yoongi stand in the doorway with a smirk plastered on his face. “Wonder Woman, we meet again.”

You’re silent, not really saying a word as you feel too stunned to speak. “You got something for me, sweetheart?” His eyes darted to the bag in your hand. You snap from your fearful trance, remembering why you were there in the first place. “Uh… yeah. Here’s your order.” You stretch out your arm to hand him the bag, not wanting to come any closer. The raven reaches forward, his hand brushing yours as he takes the bag from you. You quickly turn away, rushing back over to your bike.

“Hey, I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself yesterday.” He says, following behind you. “I already know who you are.” You mumble as you mount the red two wheeler. “Really? You didn’t seem to know who I was yesterday. If you did, you wouldn’t have shot your pretty mouth off like that,”

He grabs the handles of your bike, preventing you from leaving. “You look scared. Guess my reputation precedes me.” He says almost too proudly. “Not in a way that a decent human being should want it to, but I guess decency isn’t what you’re aiming for.” you say slickly, which causes the raven to smile. “There goes that smart mouth again,” he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, giving you the same predatory stare from yesterday. “Normally I wouldn’t tolerate anyone getting slick at the mouth with me, but from you it’s kind of a turn on.”

You scowl, ignoring his sexual advance. “Can you let go of my bike? I need to get back to work.”

“How about you let me drive you?” he offers, but you quickly decline. You’d be an idiot to get in the car with a proclaimed murderer. “I’ll take my chances on the bike, thank you.” The raven lets go of the handles, taking a step back to allow you to be on your way. “Be my guest, sweetheart.”

You kick back the break, not wanting to waste any more of your time in Gongdan speaking to this thug. You back away from him, turning the bike to ride down the path you came. “I hope to see you again, Y/N.” He calls out. You come to an abrupt stop, looking back at the raven. How did he know your name? “I don’t remember telling you my name.”

“You didn’t need to. I have my sources and connections, Princess. Whatever I need or want, I get.”

You cringe at the nickname ‘princess’. Jungkook doesn’t even call you that, with all the cheesy nicknames he does use. Him knowing your name suddenly made you question how coincidental this whole encounter was. You were starting to wonder how much about you he knew. As if he read your mind, he starts to read you like an autobiography. “You were born in Busan and raised right here in Daegu, you’re an ex nursing student, an only child, both your parents passed away in a tragic car accident, your best friend is Sang Mina, and your boyfriend is… Jeon Jungkook? Am I right?”

Your heart pounds against your chest as he spoke information that only people close to you would know. You felt sick, creeped out even, but you tried not to display that on your face. “So, I guess you know my work schedule then. You set this little encounter up knowing that I was the only worker today, didn’t you?” the raven simply shrugged like he couldn’t answer whether that was true or not, but you knew that it was. “I don’t know what your deal is, but just stay away from me, okay?”

Yoongi sneered, as he turned on his heels, heading back to the door from once he came. The raven makes sure he gets the last word though.

“I can’t make you any promises, sweetheart. Like I said, whatever I want, I get.”

Taglist

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[multifandom--mess]

Hannigram Fic Recs! pt.2

Here it is, the big fat fic recs post I've been putting off for like two months but at least that means I had time to read a shit ton of fics. I made sure to do a mix of short and long fics this time around since the first part were all long ones. Enjoy!

part 1

》 The Lamb and His Monster by petrodactyl352 (Explicit)(104k)

Will has always been drawn to the macabre. The proverbial flame upon which he has burnt his fragile moth’s wings time and time again, it’s why he had fallen in love with Florence and why he alone seems to see the beauty in the grisly but exquisite work of Il Mostro. But when he meets a young man in the Uffizi Gallery whose sketchbook is filled with nothing but page upon page of intricate renditions of the Primavera drawn in reverent strokes of pencil, he realizes he may not be alone in his fascination with the Monster. As they lift veils and scale forts and slowly begin to understand each other, Will gets a taste of exactly how bright the cinders of intrigue can burn—and how quickly they can kindle into an inferno of obsession.

(Young hannigram in Florence ahhh this is seriously one of the best fics i've ever read it had to be at the top of the list)

》 Spectral Hearts by mattHughdancy (Explicit) (16k)

Will has a meltdown at a crime scene. Guess who’s called in to help.

(Another top fave of mine they are so fucking cute in this fic 🤧 features autistic Will, and Hannibal just loves him so much oh my goddd my heart exploded reading this)

》 lay like a flood spills away by bleakmidwinter (Explicit)(35k)

Will Graham meets Hannibal, a frequent cruiser, at an open-minded nudist lake. Despite his reservations, Will is drawn to him, but is eventually forced to question his mysterious nature when the lakeside regulars start to go missing.

(I loved this one bc what better setting than a nudist lake. This is just gay as hell honestly lmao bc the lake is all dudes and Will is "straight" at the beginning until he meets Hannibal and it's all downhill from there. Definitely give this one a read it had some hilarious moments too)

》 Doing Things That Friends Don't Do by HigherMagic (Explicit) (39k)

A year after the fall, Will and Hannibal have settled into a fairly blissful, domestic harmony. But Will's imagination has never let him simply enjoy what he has - why should it start now?

(Basically Will trying everything in his power NOT to have sex with Hannibal but of course we all know he can't keep it together. They are so horny for each other in this i died laughing so many times. Also this author is such an amazing writer expect multiple recs from them in this post)

》 Railroad Romance by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles (12k)(Explicit)

Hannibal is still Hannibal, and Will is still Will. Except Will is not part of the FBI and they meet on a two day train trip from New Orleans to Baltimore.

(A strangers to lovers meet-cute on a train. Lots of fluffy moments and of course train sex ensues)

》 Three Stars by beforethedawn (94k)(Explicit)

Three months after the fall, Jack finally tracks them down in Canada and Will and Hannibal have to make a run for it, slumming it through America in three star hotels and eating sub par food.

(Hannigram roadtrip!! This fic was so fun I loved it. They take on the identities of some familiar Mads and Hugh characters ;)

》 Unexpected Delight by HigherMagic (Explicit) (61k)

Will has a kink that he’s deeply ashamed of. Unbeknownst to him, Hannibal has the same or a similar/compatible kink. They get together, and Will is going out of his way as he usually does to seem like his sexual tastes are as “normal” as possible. As a result, Hannibal gets the idea that Will is super vanilla and maybe a little prudish, and not wanting to scare him off, is also keeping his kinky side on the DL. This goes on for while, with them each trying super hard to hide how kinky they are and act as “vanilla” as possible, to hilarious results, all while privately thinking the other one would be super freaked out if they knew since they’re obviously so sweet and normal.

(This whole thing is literally ALL smut 😭😭 but Han and Will love each other to death and the sex is so good y'all omg I had to stop reading multiple times to catch my breath)

》 The Substitute by Devereauxs_Disease (Explicit) (10k)

When Hannibal tells Will he's sick, Will is skeptical. Before he knows it, he's laying in a hospital bed and being told he's going nowhere for two weeks. Will is distraught until Hannibal swoops in and offers to take over Will's courses at the FBI Academy. Will doesn't mind Hannibal showing up every night with a home-cooked meal, but he might just resent Hannibal becoming the most popular teacher at the Academy in just two weeks...

(A seaon 1 au if Hannibal wasn't an asshole had told Will about the encephalitis. This is hilarious tho because the students don't like Will no more when he comes back and they keep asking about Hannibal 😭😭 poor Will lmaoo)

》 When This Old Tired Body Wants to Sing by KareliaSweet (Explicit) (7k)

“Fuck me quicker, darling,” he purrs with liquid insincerity, “God forbid you see my face.” Will never touches him unless it is in the dark. In the daylight he is a ghost.

(Will being an asshole and only fucking Hannibal in the dark ugh 🙄 but things work out eventually so don't worry!)

》 Maybe Tomorrow by Shotgun_sinner (Explicit) (26k)

After recovering from their tumble off a cliff, Will agrees to get Hannibal to Portugal, where the good doctor can start a new life for himself. In exchange, Will can take the boat and return to his life, or start over himself. A storm hits on the open water, leaving them stranded somewhere in the Azores. With no one else on the small island, they're forced to work together for survival, and work through their violent past in order to get along.

(A survival au! I LOVED this and author is another fave of mine. I go crazy for a good stranded on a deserted island trope and this did not disappoint. Also there is an insanely funny part where I absolutely DIED. You'll know when you read it 💀💀)

》 I've Always Been A Daughter by air_of_the_Waterfall (44k)(Explicit)

It's been a month since Will and Abigail ran away with Hannibal. Living in a safe Canadian town, Will and Hannibal are free to explore their newfound intimacy and Abigail has a chance at the future she craves. However, upon meeting Hannibal’s sister Mischa and her daughter, loyalties are tested and insecurities run rampant. The Lecters have an undeniably dark past, and as Abigail and Will fall deeper into its truths, Hannibal’s manipulation and misguided love come to light more clearly than ever before.

(This fic is truly a hidden gem I am so glad I found it. Murder family post-mizumono and also MISCHA LIVES. The plot is so well written and I love Mischa's characterization. Definitely give this one a read, yall it is SO GOOD it deserves so much love)

》 Home is Not a Place by Shotgun_Sinner (11k)(Explicit)

Post-Fall, Hannibal recovers from his injuries. Will takes care of him, and their relationship evolves much more easily than Hannibal thought it would. The only issue is that Will is a constant presence, and he hasn't had alone time in three years. It ends up not being an issue at all.

(This one is so sweet. Basically Hannibal wants to jerk off but he can't because Will is just always there and he hardly gets a moment alone and he'll feel bad for telling him to go away 😭😭 but they finally get together in the end

》 Held in the Highest Regard by HigherMagic (12k)(Explicit)

What happens when a group of serial killers pick the absolute worst targets? Will is already having a pretty rough night, since Hannibal proposed to him and Will said 'No' for reasons he still hasn't quite figured out yet. It's not their fault - they couldn't have known - but sometimes people have to learn lessons the hard way, and Will could definitely use some stress relief.

(If you are familiar with the movie 'The Strangers' then you'll really like this one. I reread it like three times it was so good. Shit had me tweaking omg this is like the perfect au for them)

》 Green-Eyed Monster by CestPasDuBaudelaire (53k)(Explicit)

Will and Hannibal have settled in Cuba and, for the past year, they have been living their happily ever after in a small hidden community for retired wanted criminals. However, at the hazard of a gathering, Will is faced with an unbelievable fact, other members of the community may also fancy his monster of a husband. Then comes Will's spiraling, as he learns to come to terms with a disastrous, chaotic and slowly overwhelming possessiveness. And of course, feelings are never easy to deal with, when Hannibal is involved. A smut character study in three acts exploring Will's possessiveness.

(Top!Will my beloved. Don't let the title fool you, this was so fun to read and I love the community for wanted criminals idea. And possessive Will is always a treat ;)

》 Haunted by Anonymous (165k)(Explicit)

Still recovering from their fight with Dolarhyde, Will and Hannibal escape to New Orleans with Chiyoh's help. But Will is still struggling to accept Hannibal and his own darkness, something that Hannibal has every intention of helping him overcome...

(And finally I leave you guys with this monster of a fic. So sad that the author chose to go anon but if they somehow see this I hope they know how much I love this story. Will is struggling and Hannibal is an asshole at certain points but when is he not? Lots of references to Will's past too and some stuff about his mom that's very interesting)

I hope you guys enjoy these stories as much as I did. If you read any and want to discuss my messages and ask box are always open! ♡♡♡

[ctimenefic]

just had to write this out of my brain, I'm sorry pierresteban lorekeepers if I have fucked up the dynamic, I'll go back to my corner at once

2k of post-Brazil stuff tentatively titled something like slow lane, fast lane, parallel lines

Pierre didn’t pack a podium-worthy outfit for the triple header. Certainly not for Brazil. A party outfit, sure, in case Charles did well – that’s still fucked, a crumpled bundle rank with sweat at the bottom of one of his cases, shipped back home without him two weeks ago after Austin. He hadn’t seen this coming.

No one had seen this coming. 

He has to settle for a creased button up, undone so far the team will be able to see his heart still thudding against his ribs, hours after the last bubbles swirled away into the standing water on the track. It’ll do; he tries to smoulder into the mirror, but he can’t stop smiling. It’s just going to get soaked with sweat anyway, in whatever bar backroom they’ve secured. It was Harriet, he heard, shaking with hope from the moment the red flag came, ringing round Sao Paulo venues with broken Portuguese and her heart in her mouth.

It is strange, being alone for this clutch of minutes, to shower and shave and press cologne against his skin like anointing oil. The team had been all around him the moment he was out of the car, all the way to the hotel. Esteban next to him for hours, hip to hip. Pierre had been warm, despite the rain, the perpetual grey of track and sky.

The shirt is not so white that he’ll look filthy, later, if he’s touched. He undoes another button, just in case. Kiki said, once - if he won, and she wasn’t there. Then it was fine. She’d been joking, maybe, but he hadn’t pressed her. There are many beautiful men and women in Brazil. 

He goes down to the lobby early, already sick of the quiet. He wants the roar back, the force of it against his skin. He wants hands on his back, fingers on his neck, in his hair. Three girls from the team are huddled waiting for a taxi, by the doors, but they hover six inches away now, like without their uniforms he’s unsafe to clasp. Apart, again. 

Pierre drifts away, to the spot where the lobby leaks into a bar and - George Russell is there. As out of place as usual, squinting at his phone, folded up in an armchair that’s too low for him. It turns his knees into a ski slope. He only looks up when Pierre gets right up beside him; then he unbends upright, gets halfway to a handshake before he’s gripping Pierre’s shoulder instead. “Good racing, today,” he announces, like he hadn’t said it hours ago, dripping wet and still horribly sincere, all his natural animosities tucked away.

“Thank you,” Pierre replies, automatic. “I did not think Mercedes were slumming here though?” It is a fine hotel, but not so very nice. The lifts are slow. And Mercedes take up space. They have a sponsor deal, he thinks; some foolish video Charles had sent him last year with a string of emoji. 

Russell snorts. “No. Meeting Alex for our sad bastards dinner.”

Of course. Because for Mercedes, fourth is a disappointment. Which trophy did Russell imagine he’d be snatching today? Pierre’s? Max’s? He hopes Alex charges his meal to Russell’s card. 

“I am going out with the team,” Pierre offers. Immediately feels foolish. He meant- the point was to not invite Russell. It is fun, usually, being rude to him, watching his jaw tic. He is very English about it. 

Now, though, he seems unfazed. His eyebrows jump just a little. “I gathered.” 

His gaze drops briefly down the deep V of Pierre’s shirt. It is perhaps not an achievement with the most notorious homosexual on the grid, but still. There’s some satisfaction to it.

“Where are you- oh!”

The cooldown lap had felt a hundred years long, after an impossibly drawn-out race. Pierre had felt like he could count every drop of spray between his and Este’s cars. 

It is a little like that now, watching Russell’s eyes slide over his shoulder, the way his face changes slowly and utterly. Cheekbones lifted, so his eyes get a little smaller, the start of crows feet at the edges. The top of his face starts smiling before the rest catches up. His shoulders roll too, back and down and open. It happens in a blink, and yet it changes the whole shape of him. Like sunlight through clouds. 

Pierre doesn’t need to look round to guess what he’ll say next. “There he is,” Russell adds, regardless. “Have a good evening, Pierre.” He strides off before Pierre can find the right sniff for such an abrupt dismissal. 

He turns to wave at Alex, but he’s already turned back towards the lift, shoulders up around his ears until Russell slings an arm over them. He hears Russell teasing: “Don’t be a lazybones, Albono, you’re on the fourth floor, we can walk it.”

And then they are gone, and the girls from the team come to collect him for the car, and they are squashed up close enough that he does not have to think about it for too long. Just long enough. 

How many people look at him like sunshine? He had friends like that, once. More than one of them, once.

Tonight, he will say something gracious. Tell Esteban he raced better. That Pierre could not have caught him if he tried. (Perhaps not if he tried. Perhaps that is ungracious. Perhaps he should not remind Esteban that he is the better teammate. That he is keeping the team.) He has a whole taxi ride to find the right words, the olive branch that Esteban will not reject, or discard, or ignore.   

They will hug, and it will not be the last time. The Haas is not so bad; that will help. And ten, or twenty years from now, Pierre can walk into a room somewhere in France, some gathering of old men who raced fast cars, and someone will smile to see him. 

It is twenty minutes to Harriet’s bar. By then he can see it; where in windswept Normandy it will be. Snow on the ground and overcast. He will keep most of his hair, he decides, somewhat against the odds; he gives Esteban a little gut but fewer lines, no jowls. Silver in his stubble, but not his hair. Comfortable shoes. Bracelets on their wrists. 

The bar is good, for a last minute get. The staff on the door know his face, gesture him through. There are beautiful people in clusters, grapes on the vine, ready for picking. And on the dancefloor, Alpine, Alpine, Alpine. In the centre of it, Esteban, tall even there. 

There’s a whoop from near the edge of the throng as someone spots him - one of the pit crew, Marc. It spreads, fast, a sea of heads turning his way, a cheer Pierre thought he might not hear again. They tug him in, hands on his shoulders, back, feet already bouncing, the strange wistful sadness in his stomach already lifting as he raises his hands, shouts with joy and-

Esteban looks across to Pierre and smiles like clouds parting.

---

The carpet in the hotel stairwell has a dizzying pattern, geometric but impossible for the eye to follow. Or perhaps only impossible for someone who has been awake for 24 hours now, staring at it in the half-dark of emergency exit signs. But Pierre has to try, has to trace the thick black lines up and left and down over and over, or the choking gluk sounds Esteban is making round his cock will drive him mad. Tip him over ten seconds into the best-worst blowjob of his life. 

They had taken the stairs because it would be quicker than the ancient lifts. Not quick enough, for Esteban. Despite the risk, Pierre does not want to make up the distance. He wants this to last.  

Esteban pulls off for a moment; his smile is a slice of white in the darkness. Pierre doesn’t mean for his hand to drop to his face, thumb along his bottom lip, down his chin, but it does so anyway. He catches Esteban’s spit on his thumbpad; sucks it into his own mouth. There’s salt to it. 

“You are very wet for me,” Esteban murmurs, matter-of-fact, and Pierre gives up on the carpet, shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back into the corner with a thunk. He has been wet all day, drenched in rain and champagne and sweat. What is one more? He can feel it, the way precome rolls down the underside of his dick to Esteban’s fingers, until Este’s tongue drags back over him, a long side up the inches he cannot fit in his hand. 

(“It’s bigger,” he’d said, and Pierre had failed to hide his smirk. He hadn’t made it up, tripod. And Esteban’s hands are bigger now, too.)

His shirt is undone, bunched at his elbows where hands - some familiar, some strange - had dragged it down to trace the shape of his shoulders, the rise and fall of his arm muscles. He’d tugged it back up in the car back, but not enough to stick, not with Este’s long fingers at his neck. It makes him feel on display now, naked from his thighs up, Esteban’s dark head the only modesty he’s been afforded. 

He’s cold where Esteban had slicked down his happy trail with his tongue. It makes him shiver when Este gets back to bobbing back and forth, and his hair whispers over Pierre’s stomach. He has been touching him all night, never a hand off him, and yet Pierre is still so sensitive to each new collision. He can feel Este grin, smug, around him, like he’s noticed. It doesn’t rankle like it should. 

Esteban divebombs down Pierre’s dick again, and he comes before he can get out a warning, choking on thick air, hot and tight in his lungs. Este surfaces seconds later, cracks Pierre’s mouth open with a finger and thumb on his jaw, and feeds him his come in long, loving licks around his teeth. He’s still got his other hand wrapped around Pierre’s softening dick. As Pierre blinks up at him, stupefied, those clever fingers slide to cup his balls instead. A single digit taps at his taint. 

“Dry here,” Esteban muses. Pierre’s mouth falls open, panting. He thinks his come must still be gleaming on his tongue. He can still taste it. “We can fix that.”

And then there is light, crashing through the dark, as the door to the stairwell on the floor above opens, and the perpetual glow of the corridor shines through. Pierre clutches Este to him like cover. The bastard still has all his clothes on, at least, even if Pierre’s bare thighs are obvious either side of his too-skinny frame. 

The shaft of light falls a little to their left, not quite a spotlight. Perhaps they will not be noticed. Perhaps there is still enough luck for one more miracle. 

Soft steps, on the stairs. And then-

“Fuck,” someone hisses from above them. 

Not someone. Familiar. Far too English. 

Someone who should not be in the stairwell of the Williams team hotel at 4am. But. Pierre is in no position to throw stones. His stones are still in Esteban’s large, warm hand. 

Esteban is being no help. He snickers into Pierre’s neck for a moment, so lightly his lips barely leave his skin. Then: “Take the lift, George,” he calls, apparently deciding plausible deniability is for other motherfuckers. 

His voice is a little rough. Well-used. 

Russell, at least, understands how to play the game. It is silent, except for the hurried steps up and away. The whine of the door. 

“Shit,” Pierre groans. Esteban’s finger presses again at the space between his arse and his balls. “Shit,” Pierre says again. It echoes differently. Higher. 

Esteban is snickering again. “Always so dramatic,” he chides. But his hands are gentle as he pulls Pierre’s slacks back up his legs; does up precisely one button on his shirt and slides his palms down the sides like that will make him presentable for the CCTV in the corridor. “Come on, two floors more to mine. I shall have to fuck you in the morning, you are too spooked now.” 

Pierre doesn’t like the needy sound he makes; Esteban’s eyes gleam. He won’t beg for it, but: “When is your flight?” Pierre’s is late, commercial. They book different flights, more often than not. Esteban’s gaze wavers for a second. But only down to Pierre’s mouth, his navel, and back up. 

“The same. It is the same. I asked- said to change it. After. At the track.” Este must bite his lip – his bottom teeth disappear for a moment. Pierre wants the light back, wants to see his face. “We were-” he says the rest with his hands, palm to palm, parallel – two cars moving in sync around a curve. “And in the cooldown. You smiled at me.”

“I smiled?”

Este huffs. It is just enough like his cruel silences to make Pierre feel alert again, hands twitching to grasp a wheel he cannot see.  “I cannot change it back. It will be sorted by now.” 

There is an inch between them that has not been there all night. Esteban’s weight shifts, like he means to step back further. Pierre has to lunge for him, cram their mouths together. They had not done this at the bar. Touching, yes, everywhere they could get away with, but this was different. Private. 

Este whines a little into the kiss. His fingers get grabby again.

“Fuck me now, and later,” Pierre demands against his mouth. Esteban nods; in the dark his lips leave a smear against Pierre’s temple. 

His echo sounds like a promise. “Now and later.” 

[my-debauchery]

Loud.

idol!yuta × afab!reader

g`smut

cw`kissing, fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, cum eating(m), semi-public sex(maybe)but door is locked, explicit content

A/N: once again, constructive criticism is more than welcome. if you see an error in cw tagging, please, let me know.

seating on top of cable storage box is quite uncomfortable, it's hard and cold. the room is quite cramped and not very well lit, but it's more than enough to see around.

you can hear people going by the door. it makes you jump and look at the door in fear, anticipating with dread someone lowering the handle, opening the door and catching you in an explicit position. then yuta grabs your chin and turns your head towards him, while you still keep your eyes on the door.

'look at me, dear' his voice is low and comforting. as you turn to look at him, his left hand cradles your head and he smiles, big and happy. 'let me see' he helps you lift your legs up on the storage box, bended at knee. yuta caresses you pussy over the underwear and you can feel that you're soaked. you jump a little from his prodding, but immediately relax from little jolts of pleasure from his fingers.

he smiles again and raises to his feet 'let me have a tates, before the stage' you nod and pull him in for a kiss. as the kiss becomes more heated, you can hear your heart beat at the temples. you put your hands on yuta's chest for balance and feel that his heartbeat is spiking just like yours.

yuta pulls away, as he is pulling your underwear to the side. he gently spread your lips and you feel a drop of arousel leak onto the box 'fuck, aren't you the prettiest sight to see?' you blush and look down to his crotch and stretch your hands to unzip yuta's pants.

you put your hand inside his pants, wrap your hand around his dick and squeeze. yuta hisses and slips his fingers inside your walls. you roll your head back and moan, he immediately moves forward and lowers your turtleneck to kiss your neck. you speed up your hand going up and down, and squeezing when you reach the tip. each time you do that yuta bites your neck and curls his fingers to jab at your g-spot. you start to shake a little from all the sensations and impending orgasm. yuta pulls away from your neck and as light comes from the back of him, he looks like an angel with his new blond hair.

'baby, slow down' he pulls your hand off him 'let me have your flavor in my mouth for the stage' he brings his hand, that now is fully covered in your cum, and licks it clean without breaking eye contact.

you are so mesmerized by your boyfriend, you don't even notice him lining himself up with your entrance. yuta looks up at you 'okay?' you nod and hold onto his arms as he pushes his hips at full force. yuta wraps his arms around you and picks up his speed. you feel your whole body tingling, going hot and cold, and pleasure washing over you in waves. you know your moans are getting loud, to loud and someone will hear you soon enough, so you bite into yuta's shoulder.

yuta bring his hand down to your clit and starts to massage it, making you shake again and hurdle you towards your orgasm at the speed of light. 'i'm so close, yuta' you feel like you about to cry 'i know, baby. want to let go? want me to feel you up?' you shake your head frantically and grip onto yuta stronger.

'let go, baby' so you do. your legs give up, drop down and you slum backwards against the wall. you can't really control your body anymore, nor your volume and you can feel yuta wiping your tears, while shushing you. yuta wraps your legs around his waist and grinds into you. you look up at him, he still looks like an angel, his make up stayed on perfectly and light still glows around him, his moans make your stomach flip. then you feel him release and hot seed filling you up, you feel content.

yuta quickly pulls out, moves your underwear in place, zips up and helps you off the storage box. your legs are wobbly, so yuta holds your hands to stabilize you and kisses you on the forehead 'lets go, cutie. the show is about to begin' he winks at you as he unlocks the door and you look up at him in surprise. you were sure it was unlocked, that anyone could have come in on you. yuta chuckles 'i wouldn't let anyone see you like that. you are for my eyes only' he squeezes your hand and pulls you out into the loud corridor.