#forbidden lands setting
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legionofmyth · 8 months ago
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Forbidden Lands by Free League Publishing
Venture into the dark fantasy world of Forbidden Lands by Free League Publishing! 🌌 Survive, explore, and conquer in this immersive sandbox RPG. Perfect for fans of gritty adventures and deep storytelling! #ForbiddenLands #RPG #TabletopGaming #FantasyRPG #FreeLeague
Forbidden Lands by Free League Publishing What is it? Forbidden Lands Forbidden Lands by Free League Publishing is a dark fantasy tabletop role-playing game set in a cursed and perilous world. Players take on the roles of adventurers and rogues exploring a land filled with ancient ruins, dangerous wilderness, and supernatural horrors. The setting is grim and gritty, emphasizing survival,…
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dr-dendritic-trees · 2 years ago
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Restarted Obsidian Tower because its occupying 100% of my brain anyway...
... and goddamn, 99% of Melissa Caruso's world-building is superb. Like, genuinely excellent. Why does the 1% she consistently fucks up have to be the medical system, the thing that is most likely to annoy the fuck out of me.
Again, really good books, really good world-building, if you just overlook the fact that "immortal super-magicians with powers over all forms of life have to get help from neighbouring countries they're constantly at war with if they want IVF does not make any sense!"
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whytheylosttheirminds · 2 months ago
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haunted - r.c.
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house arrest!Rafe Cameron x mysterious neighbor!reader one-shot (5.4k words)
content: angst, smut, references to dark pasts, mentions of obsession (mild), oral (f), unprotected p-in-v, 18+ minors do not interact
﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒
That first night, the summer air was so thick you could drown in it. You could taste the salty sea on your tongue as you took a deep breath, bracing your hands on the high lip of the brick wall. You’d only get one shot at the jump, too much noise would draw the neighbors’ attention. You checked your phone once again, 9:09 pm, late enough to cover you in darkness, but not late enough to ensure the neighborhood was asleep. Stealth was your only option. Squaring your shoulders, you stuffed your phone back in your bag and launched it over the wall, listening for the soft thud in the grass that meant there was truly no backing down now.
Little spurs of pain pinched your ankles when you landed on the other side, but you’d made it, unscathed aside from the torn skin on your palms from the wall’s unforgiving stone. The hard part was over, now you froze with uncertainty, you hadn’t planned to make it this far.
The house stood mighty under the bright light of the moon. This was the first time you saw it in its grand entirety, the view from your window across the street revealing only the white siding and a few shuttered windows. You’d watched for a few days - no cars came or went, the small windows you could see from your own were never opened, no lights turned on and off beyond their panes. 
The few neighbors you’d talked to since your mysterious sudden arrival got cagey when the topic came up, a seemingly unspoken rule that this was the one house off limits for their ever turning rumor mill. Though the shifty glances and wrung hands at the mention of it hinted at something sinister lying behind this ancient brick wall, something dangerous. The risk was too alluring, and you were too bored, trapped in your cookie cutter McMansion with your father, a man who never understood you, and a twisted past you were running from even when you were standing still.
Now, on the other side of the alluring border, was the first time in months you didn’t feel trapped. Your heart raced as you looked around the massive yard, no lights in the windows confirming your theory that the house was abandoned. A chill shot through you despite the record high July temperatures, something so haunting about this storied land, and so forbidden. I should not be here, you thought as your feet carried you further into the trespassed property. This was the most alive you’d felt since you arrived on this island a few weeks ago, your sordid past nipping at your heels. For the first time since the incident, your mind wasn’t consumed with it, with the horrible memories, the regrets, the what-ifs. Here inside the gates of Tannyhill you were an outlaw, so far from what you have done and even farther from what you should be doing. 
Euphoria swept over you, the most heady high. An almost manic laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. You reveled in the electric feeling as you padded through the grass back to the wall. You’d only made it a few steps toward the house, but you knew you’d be back, finally finding something to make your heart race, something to come back to, something to live for. 
After that night, the empty house became your obsession. All day, every day you thought about the sprawling property, the grand pillars and white walls that housed a thousand mysteries. While the sun was up, you dreamt of what you might find when you finally found a way inside, and as soon as it set, you were creeping back over that wall, making it a few steps further each time. 
Finally, after two weeks of dreaming, trapped inside the house across the street that would never be your home, fighting with the father that would never be your family, you knew it was time. Tonight, you’d go farther than you ever had, touch the walls of that ancient house, the promise of the thrill almost as heady and dizzying as the moment itself.
Climbing over that wall was muscle memory at this point, the calluses on your hands proof you’d formed an addiction you were nowhere near kicking. After the trek through the tall, unkempt grass you’d walked fifteen times now, you made it to the stone walkway you’d yet to touch. Without stopping to think, to second guess, you sprinted over the stones, rounding the corner of the house for the first time, stopping in your tracks at the beauty the backyard held.
The moon reflected off the water, rippling from the slight breeze, calling to you. Perfect. You’d go for a swim in the pool that wasn’t yours, maybe even find a little rock and break a window, sneak into this haunted house, anything to keep feeling the rush that had brought your body back to life the second you stepped foot on this forbidden land.
﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒
Rafe saw you the very first night. For six months now, he’d spent every waking minute pacing these empty halls, wishing for a hit of something, anything, to make the silence less deafening. The only noises keeping him company on these endless nights were the sound of his own erratic voice and the occasional beep of the monitor strapped tight around left ankle. 
They’d gotten him for the drugs, but he knew what they were really trying to uncover, the secrets he kept buried so deep even he forgot about them sometimes. His sentence was two years house arrest, every movement monitored, all substances strictly forbidden. 
It only took a few days for the loneliness to become crippling. Over and over, he imagined turning the corner and seeing someone standing in the hall, someone he knew, someone he didn’t, anyone, to talk to, to make him feel like he wasn’t going completely insane. 
Then a soft thud in the distance, followed closely by another, the second slightly louder. Any noise out of place immediately perked his ears, far too familiar with the creaks and groans of this old mansion to miss even the quietest of disturbances. Maybe the thuds could have been something innocuous, a branch breaking or wind whipping against the walls. What came after, however, was unmistakable. 
The soft, sweet melody of a woman’s laugh floated across the night air and in through an open window. The sound was so welcome and warm as it washed over Rafe, the purity of it washing him clean, illuminating the world around him. Suddenly, in the midst of his darkest hour, a bright light had appeared before him, calling him home.
His days quickly became consumed by thoughts of you. He spent his hours watching the sun journey across the sky, east to west, willing it to set faster and bring you to him. All he knew of you was your moonlit silhouette, coming to him every night like the sweetest dream. Each time the sun set and you appeared, you got closer and closer to him. The hesitancy in your steps was maddening, but he couldn’t go to you, the risk of scaring you off was far too great, your nightly visits the only thing keeping him earthside. 
And then, on the fifteenth night, when he thought for sure you’d never come to him, never cross the rest of the distance that kept you apart, you broke into a run, disappearing around the side of the house and out of view. He ran from window to window, looking down from the second floor trying to find you. His panting breaths and pounding heartbeat were the only things he could hear, until, so miraculously he wondered if he imagined it, a splash and that same angelic laugh, so beautiful and melodic that his whole world shook. Risks be damned, there was no holding himself back, feet moving of their own accord as he ran down the spiral staircase, toward you.
﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒
You stripped your clothes under the cover of darkness, toeing the edge of the water as a test, gasping at the sharp chill. Despite the hot summer day, the water was ice cold, only adding to its alluring mysticism. There would be no easing in, your stomach twisting in anticipation as you stood in only your bra and underwear at the edge, a deep breath, a bend in your knees and - SPLASH.
Your heart nearly stopped as the water engulfed you, your hair whipping around you as you shot back up to the surface. Every cell in your body was buzzing with excitement, and just like that first night you couldn’t hold back the wild laugh that spilled from your lips. You could not believe what you were doing, so reckless and wrong, and yet so right.
Each stroke tearing through the water's surface, you swam with abandon, feet kicking up big splashes and the sound of ragged, desperate breaths filling the night air every time you craned your neck for a gulp of air. The more you swam, the more you forgot. Forgot that you were breaking the law, forgot that you were not supposed to be here, forgot about the events that led you to this island, that tore the life you knew from you in one fell swoop. You didn’t know what you’d do next, how you’d sneak into your house without water dripping everywhere, how you’d ever move on from this incredible feeling, but you didn’t care, you just kept swimming. 
Arm swinging through the air, you took what must’ve been your hundredth stroke, twisting your head to the side to grab a breath, eyes just barely catching the dark, towering silhouette of a figure at the edge of the pool.
You shot up so fast the splash of water threatened to fill your lungs and pull you back under. Your shoulders shivered as you stood in the chilly water, blinking fast to clear your vision as your brain tried to catch up to what your eyes were seeing.
You hadn’t imagined it. He stood tall and stoic at the edge of the pool, hands in his pockets, shoulders broad enough to partially block the glow of the moon. 
Something in you knew that he was dangerous, goosebumps dancing across your dripping skin, warning you “go, flee, run now.” But you didn’t move, frozen in the water as he looked down at you with the slightest tilt of his head. Darkness covered his features, only the light of the stars  reflecting off his sharp jawline and high cheekbones.
He was a total stranger, his presence a threat that should be terrifying you, and yet in the same way that you knew after the first time you’d jumped the wall that you’d keep coming back to this place, you knew that you couldn’t run from him, that you didn’t want to. Drawn to him in a way that stole your breath, you moved forward, the slightest imperceptible step, and yet you knew he could feel it too, the magnetic pull between souls that made escaping him impossible. Maybe it was a dream, or maybe you had drowned and fallen into some dark, twisted underworld, this man your own personal devil. But if he was your damnation, you wanted to fall right to the seventh circle.
For what felt like hours, neither one of you spoke. Only the gentle lap of the water against the tile edge of the pool filled the air between you - the Caught and the Capturer sizing each other up in the darkness. 
Then, with no urgency, no threat or accusation against the trespasser standing half naked in his pool, the man turned on his heel and headed toward the house, pausing at the threshold of the grand sliding glass door to mutter over his shoulder, “come in,” and after a moment’s pause and some internal battle, “please.”
﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒
Rafe turned when he sensed you hesitating outside the sliding door, his anxiety over finally seeing you up close frustrating him as he flicked on the lights in the house. When he turned, seeing you illuminated by light for the first time, everything softened, the sight of you dripping and shivering on the stone patio making his heart ache.
He looked around desperately for something to offer you, no towels or blankets available in the grand dining room he was standing in. He tore the jacket from around his shoulders, handing it to you with shaky hands. It wasn’t enough, but he needed to stop your lips from turning purple, needed, in some terrifying, primal way, to protect you.
“Th-thank you,” you stammered, eyes wide and hand trembling as you took the jacket from him hesitantly.
The realization hit him like a bullet to the chest: you were scared of him. Then a second shot, right to the gut: you were right to be.
The hands that held out this peace offering weren’t clean. Maybe you’d heard the stories about him, maybe you weren’t as enchanted by him as he was by you. He prayed you didn't know who he was, the rumors that came with the mention of his name. But then, why did you keep coming back? He needed to know, the question leaving his lips before he could stop it.
“Why are you here?”
His voice was rough from lack of use, harsher than he wanted it to be, causing you to take a hesitant step back.
“I shouldn’t be.”
You backed away slowly, making panic rise in his chest, a terrible sense that his salvation was slipping through his fingers. He stepped towards you, the movement too fast and frightening, unable to control himself, as always. 
“I’m sorry,” he tried to say, but it was too late, you were already gone, flying across the grass from the pool’s edge.
All that remained to prove you were ever even there was the puddle where you’d stood outside the door. By morning, it’d be dry, and he’d be wondering if he hallucinated the whole thing.
﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒
Waking in a cold sweat, you grabbed at his sweatshirt like you were trying to ensure it was still wrapped around you, for what reason you weren’t sure. It was the third night you’d slept in it, not crossing the wall again since the night you’d met him. Your body shook with chills, a dull ache everywhere as though you were in withdrawal. 
You tried to tell yourself it was done, you’d been caught and your little excursions over the wall had to stop. The house wasn’t empty as you’d assumed, and it would be insane to get near him again. He couldn’t possibly be trustworthy, his voice deep and menacing, a wildfire in his eyes that clearly held a history. His hair was long and unkempt like the grass outside his house, unruly and overgrown in a way that did not match the grandeur and luxury of the home he never seemed to leave. Something about it, about him, wasn’t right, and you knew if you got too close to the flame, you’d get burned.
Still, your thoughts always found their way back to him. And in your sleep, he appeared in every dream, those same ocean blue eyes tearing through you like he could see to your soul.
Rising from your sweat soaked sheets, you padded the worn path from your bed to the window, the creaks in the floor familiar as you spent so many hours perched in that spot watching his house. This time, for the first time since you'd started surveying the house weeks ago, the lights in the windows were on. Your heart caught in your throat when you saw a shadowy figure walk past, then again, the man from the pool pacing back and forth.
You wondered if his thoughts were as consumed with you as yours were of him. Then, as if he could hear your thoughts, he looked up, eyes meeting yours across the distance.
You knew which spots on the stairs squeaked, avoiding them as you snuck out, past your father asleep on the couch, across the street towards the house that haunted you, toward him. 
﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒
The splash was loud on purpose, intended to catch his attention. You waited in the water with baited breath until, gloriously, he appeared through the sliding doors, standing in the same spot he had been a few nights ago, looking down at you with the same curious glare.
Slowly, your eyes ever trained on him, you swam to the edge, climbing out of the water so you could stand in front of him, chest to chest. Finally seeing him up close, your heart fluttered at his striking features, jaw locked tight as he stared down at you.
You shouldn’t reach up and touch his face, but you did. You shouldn’t whisper quietly, “what’s your name?” but you did. You shouldn’t follow him as he turned and walked back into the grand dining room, but you did.
Not answering your question, not saying anything, he turned toward you once you were standing inside, eyes darting around the luxurious space, taking in it’s beauty before landing back on him. You didn’t know his name, you didn’t really need to. There was only one thing you needed to know, the thing that had kept you up at night, the thing that both kept you away and pulled you helplessly toward him.
“Are you dangerous?”
His eyes answered you before his words could, a flash of recognition and regret behind his blue irises preceding his nod and broken-throated, “yes.”
“You could hurt me, then?”
“Yes,” less hesitancy this time, an edge of warning in his tone, as he stepped closer to you, his large, intimidating frame invading your space and making your breath catch in your throat. 
You didn’t back away, skin igniting, a rush of need and pure lust overtaking your body as he crept closer. The certainty in his voice left no doubt, if he wanted to, he could hurt you right here and now and there’s nothing you could do to protect yourself. And yet his touch was light when it ghosted over your lips, pads of his fingers rough against the soft skin as he traced the shape of your mouth.
“Are you going to?” 
Sparks flew between you as his touch became firmer, hand cradling your head. His answer like gasoline to the flickering flame, a fire neither of you would walk away from unburnt flared to life with one word.
“Never.”
Before you could think, you shot up on your toes, fingers digging into his shoulders as your lips crashed into his, an involuntary groan ripped from his chest and transferred into yours through the connection of your open mouths.
He grabbed your waist, his grip bruising, flex of his muscles animalistic as he lifted you off your feet, planting you firmly on the edge of the dining room table. 
Still kissing him, your teeth and tongues devouring each other, your hands dropped to his waist, fingers pulling at the leather of his belt. He was quick to stop you, fingers easily wrapping around your wrists, a reminder that physically, you were completely at his mercy, nothing stopping him from overpowering you. And yet, his touch was gentle as he pulled your hands away from him, dragging your arms up and guiding you onto your back, hands pinned above your head. 
Leaning over you, his eyes roamed your face and body, spread out on the cold oak table like his last supper. Your bra and underwear still wet from the pool soaked through his shirt as you arched your back, unable to resist the urge to press up into him, to feel his warm, strong body fully against yours. 
Rafe’s eyes closed tight, nostrils flailing as he willed himself not to take you the way you were inviting him to. You didn’t understand his hesitation, mistaking it for rejection, cowering underneath him.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, almost to yourself.
His eyes flew open, searching yours with panic, terrified by the thought of finally having you so close only to lose you. The thought was too painful, he was in far too deep to let you go now.
“Please, stay. Let me- I, I can take care of you,” his lips attached to your neck, sucking down like he was trying to make you understand how desperate he was. “Let me make you feel good.”
You gasped when his eyes suddenly shot back up to yours. They seemed darker somehow, pupils blown wide, the crease in his forehead a pleading request. Unable to stop yourself, just as frenzied as he seemed to be, you nodded rapidly, all at once agreeing, demanding, and begging.
His lips were back on you immediately, dragging down the skin of your neck to your chest, which was rising and falling with pants as your heart threatened to pound right through it. He paused every so often to nip, painting over every bite mark with a drag of his tongue. When his searching lips reached the valley between your breasts, you pulled the straps of your thin bra down your shoulders, brushing the material down to reveal yourself to him.
“God,” he moaned out, breathing warmly against you as he steeled himself, dragging his tongue over one of your breasts to your hardened nippled, closing his lips around it and sucking once before pulling back to whisper, “so beautiful, my angel.’
His words were confusingly intimate for a man you were meeting for the second time, and yet his apparent adoration of you was intoxicating, your hands flying to his hair, tugging at the roots to express what words couldn’t.
“From the second I saw you climb over my wall, I knew I needed to have you,” he confessed against your goosebump-ridden skin.
Your eyes shot open, lifting your head off the table as much as his controlling stance would allow you. 
“You saw me? The first time?”
Rafe nodded, shifting to pull your other nipple in his mouth, pulling a whimper from your lips. 
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He paused his work on your skin to lift his gaze to yours, a sheepish look in his eye as he confessed, “I didn’t want to scare you away.”
You traced your fingers along his jaw, eyes tender as you promised him, “you couldn’t.”
The assurance in your voice emboldened him, his eyes flaring once more before he shifted himself down, his tongue running a wet line along your stomach as he lowered himself. You writhed helplessly underneath him, lifting your hips once he got to the waistband of your panties to grant him access, which he took happily, dragging the lacy material down to reveal you to him fully.
Glistening for him under the sparkling chandelier’s light, you opened your legs wider, mesmerized by the hunger in his eyes as he took you in.
Rafe placed an exploratory kiss on your inner thigh, his lips featherlight. He couldn’t suppress the upward twitch of his lips when he observed the way you flinched in anticipation, thighs pulling together slightly, already over sensitive from the build up. 
“Don’t run from me now,” he growled, another kiss closer to your heat as his hands pulled your legs back apart, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your flesh to reassure you.
“Don’t make me wait,” you demanded, an edge to your voice he hadn’t heard yet, making you even more alluring to him, a feat he didn’t think possible.
Obediently, his thumbs slid closer to your wetness, opening you fully to him, after months of forced sobriety, he felt drunk on you. No further delay, he licked a gentle, testing stripe between your folds, pausing just before reaching your clit, his cheek resting on the inside of your thigh as he steadied himself, trying to keep from losing himself completely.
“So fucking perfect,” he hummed against you, diving in again once he’d gotten his bearings. 
When the tip of his tongue finally swept over your throbbing clit, you cried out, body rising from the tabletop helplessly.
“God, yes, I needed this, I needed you so badly,” you babbled mindlessly, hands flying back to his hair, pulling harder than before and causing him to groan against you, thrilled that he’d found the right spot to make you crazy.
“I know, I know, me too,” he cooed against you, words muffled by his frenzied consumption of you.
Unleashed by the sounds of your moans, the tension in his muscles melted away as Rafe ate you out in the way he really wanted to. Messy, teeth and tongue working in tandem, curled fingers stretching you open and exploring you with reverence. The was no self-control left in your body as you wriggled and writhed on the hard table, nerve endings on fire, mind fogged over with the most addictive pleasure.
The light from the dusty chandelier above you was low, but the white behind your closed eyelids was blinding, like some heavenly glow was burning through you from the inside out. For a moment, you forgot where you were, everything that led you here and the consequences that were sure to come. All you knew was him as he unlocked something within you that you didn’t know existed.
Soon you were close, the coil in your stomach wound so tight you were almost frightened of what would happen when it inevitably snapped. You needed him, closer, deeper, with you, in you.
“Wait wait wait,” you pleaded, pushing on his shoulders to guide his mouth off of you as you sat up on the table. 
Brows furrowed, he pulled back but kept his eyes trained to you, his mouth, soaked with you, hung open as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Wh-” he began to question, but your hands shot the hem of his shirt, bunching it up to pull it over his shoulders. 
He helped you undress him, arms flexing as he tore the fabric up and over his head. You eyes danced over his bare torso once he was shirtless before you.
“Holy fuck,” you meant to just think it, but you might’ve accidentally said it outloud. 
Either way, Rafe was too focused to notice, needing to be back on you, but stopped by your outstretched arms as you reached between your bodies again, fingers aiming for his belt again. He stepped back before you could unbuckle him, his left leg swinging back further than his right, like you’d hurt it somehow. 
He avoided your searching gaze, wiping his face with the back of his hand before running his fingers through his hair in frustration, eyeing your legs dangling off the end of the table, your vulnerable position in front of him cracking his defense, your next words the nail in the coffin to his dwindling restraint.
“Please, I…I need you,” you whispered.
“You don’t even know me,” he retorted.
Eyes finally meeting yours, you shared a look more meaningful than any words you could exchange. There was a connection between you so far beyond knowing the details of each other’s lives, and a shared need that couldn’t be ignored any longer.
Rafe’s hands landed on either side of your face, inadvertently squeezing too hard as he crashed his lips back to yours. This time, he let your hands wander down and undo the button of his slacks. Once he was free of the fabric between you, pulling his pants and boxers down just far enough to free himself, he brought his throbbing cock to your entrance. 
Pulling back just an inch from your lips, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, flushed with your need for him, and tucked it behind your ear.
“Are you sure, angel?”
You would never be able to explain it, but you were more sure of this than anything in your life.
“Please.”
Sinking deep with one stroke, you cried broken moans into each other’s open mouths as he finally gave you what you needed. One arm behind you for support, one slung tight around his shoulders, you met each of his thrusts with a cry of pleasure. 
Forehead pressed to yours, he looked so deeply into your eyes as he fucked you, mouth agape in awe as he watched you take him so perfectly.
Emboldened by your vulnerable state, you decided to push the issue, “please, I need to know your name.”
Either he was too distracted to care or you’d gained his trust, because he didn’t pause for a second before answering, “it's Rafe.”
Your lips turned in slow smile at the sound of his name, quietly echoing his confession with your own name, a sound that made him close his eyes and smile before leaning in and moaning your name into your ear. Over and over he whispered your name like a chant you knew you’d play over and over in your mind until it was cemented there permanently.
He knew you loved the sound by the way you clenched around him helplessly when he said it. His hands clutched your hips hard, leaving bruises behind as he picked up his movements. Your head fell back as your legs began to shake, fingernails leaving marks in his shoulders. He took advantage of your exposed neck to find the same spot he’d attached to earlier, sucking between whispers as he brought you closer and closer to the release you were chasing.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me? You’re all I think about, all I can focus on. You’re driving me insane.”
His words brought tears to your eyes. By the sound of it, he’d been as haunted by you as you were by him. You didn’t understand this madness, the almost cosmic connection between you. It was like some dark magic pulling you together, this meeting of your bodies and souls inevitable, despite being total strangers. The power of the connection, the feeling of him filling you so completely, the low growl of his voice, the strength of his shoulders beneath your grasp, it was all too much.
“Rafe, I’m - oh fuck! Rafe!”
You came with a shriek, tears slipping free and falling down your face as you pulsed around him, a euphoric feeling you’d never experienced in your life washing over you, all at once terrifying and perfect. He felt it too, you could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice as he lost himself and spilled inside you, his whole body shuddering against you, forcing you to lay back on the table under the weight of him.
The panic set in immediately. He whispered your name as he peppered exhausted kissed against your chest, and your eyes flew open, the aftershocks of your high wearing off like you’d just woken up from a long slumber.
You didn’t know this man, who was again chanting your name like a prayer, you didn't know why he was stuck in this house alone, you didn’t even know his last name. How could you be so reckless? He told you he was dangerous and you’d begged him to take you. It was the behavior of someone who’d completely lost their mind. 
When he stood, you slipped from the table quickly, gathering your clothes and pulling them on haphazardly without words. Rafe just watched you as he pulled his own clothes back on, worry in his eyes at the way you were avoiding him, keeping your body shielding from his as you quickly covered up.
“Are you o-”
“I have to go,” you didn’t even spare him a glance as you fled back across the threshold and ran out into the darkness.
﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒
This time, he did what he wished he had done the last time, chasing after you as you ran. You were faster than he expected, expertly navigating the overgrown jungle that had become his yard. He reached the wall, stopping himself with a painful clash of his hands against the stone before he ran straight into it. Tall enough to watch you land on the other side and sprint across the road, his eyes went wide when he realized where you were going.
All this time, while he sat inside and dreamt of you, imagining all of the places you could be during the agonizingly long days without you, you were just across the street. 
Your house couldn’t have been more than a few yards from his own property line. And yet, as the monitor on his ankle reminded him with a series of warning beeps, you were unreachable. White knuckles clutched the wall as his greatest fear swept over him: that he may never be able to reach you again.
﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊‧ ﹒
a/n: I'm so deeply rusty but this really helped me get the wheels turning, sorry if it's not my best! I missed dark, brooding rafeypoo! thanks for reading!
reminder, writers live off reblogs, don't forget to feed your faves! <3
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the-most-humble-blog · 3 days ago
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Taint Misbehavin’: The Gender-Neutral Tragedy of the Human Gooch
You’ve been lied to your entire life.
Not about taxes. Not about calories. Not even about the clitoris.
No — I’m talking about the taint.
That glorious, forgotten slab of flesh. That unclaimed demilitarized zone between the promised land and the chocolate factory. That thin, sweaty strip separating birth from exile.
Let’s set the record straight:
Women. Have. Taints.
And the fact that society pretends otherwise is the greatest act of anatomical erasure since we collectively agreed that “muffin top” was a nice term.
🧠 What Is a Taint?
Also known as:
The perineum (if you’re a doctor)
The gooch (if you’ve owned a PS2 and body odor)
The grundle (if you’ve ever dated a drummer)
The Devil’s Slip-N-Slide (if your festival record is sealed)
Technically:
“The perineum is the area between the genitals and the anus.”
But spiritually?
It’s the unspoken pause in God’s sentence. The hallway between the temple and the abyss. The place where gender, shame, and chafing meet.
🔍 Who Gets One?
Let me be clear:
Whether you’re packing heat or holding space, slanging meat or curating petals, carrying a baby cannon or a soft serve dispenser—
You. Have. A. Taint.
And if you’ve gone your entire life without realizing that, congrats: society’s gendered body-shame campaign worked.
😤 But Isn’t “Taint” a Male Word?
Historically? Sure.
“Taint” was born in locker rooms. Raised by Xbox parties. Educated in Reddit threads. And baptized in the sweat of men who didn’t understand the purpose of a washcloth.
It was linguistically colonized by testosterone.
But anatomically?
It was always co-ed.
🚺 The Untold History of the Female Taint
You think the patriarchy invented oppression?
No. The real villain is linguistic erasure.
Because while men gave their taints nicknames, stories, and occasional bar soap—
Women got radio silence.
Your undercarriage has been:
Ignored
Unlabeled
Uncelebrated
Unclaimed
You’ve spent years exfoliating your thighs and waxing your peach…
…but no one told you there’s a full-blown diplomatic zone beneath it.
A biological Bermuda Triangle. A tactile twilight zone.
Your taint.
📉 Let’s Break Down the Cultural Bias:
Body Part Coverage
Boobs Over - celebrated
Butts - Literally worshiped
Clitoris - Found in 1998
Labia - Misunderstood poetry
Taint - Ghosted
Why? Because it’s funny. And neutral. And sweaty.
You can’t put the taint in a perfume ad. You can’t put it on a billboard. So they buried it.
💀 What Makes the Taint Powerful?
Because it’s:
Genderless
Timeless
Politically neutral
Sensually charged
Biologically disrespected
It’s the only body part that:
Isn’t sexualized
Isn’t sacred
Isn’t politicized
Isn’t aestheticized
Isn’t protected
It just is.
Unbothered. Unbranded. Unapologetically indifferent.
And that makes it sacred.
📚 Linguistic Justice: Let’s Rename It Properly
Unisex taint aliases, rebranded for the equality era:
The Fleshbridge
The Forbidden Fajita™
Undercooch
The Sin Tundra
Devil’s Hallway
The Emotionless Alley
The Oathbreaker’s Strip
The Nether Yawn
Purgatory Patch
The Biblical Buffer Zone™
Choose your fighter. Reclaim your stripe. We’re not asking anymore.
🧼 Taint Hygiene: No Gender Exemptions
Let’s get raw.
Your taint:
Sweats like a liar in court
Collects funk like it’s in a blues band
Suffocates in yoga pants
Smells like the ghost of mistakes past if ignored too long
Male or female — it don’t matter.
Your taint will betray you unless:
You lather.
You exfoliate.
You show it the respect you pretend to give your “self-care routine.”
The taint is the final frontier of bodily respect. Ignore it, and it will out you in summer.
🧪 The Psychological Impact of Owning Your Gooch
Let me be dead serious.
When you finally accept your taint:
Your shame collapses.
Your ego softens.
Your sex becomes better.
Your humor becomes darker.
Your subconscious literally trusts you more.
Women who accept their taint become dangerous. Not because they’re wild — but because they’re free.
💥 The Taint Test: Feminist Edition
Ask your friend with the “Divine Feminine Energy” tattoo:
“Do women have a taint?”
“Can I call mine a gooch and still be empowered?”
“If you ignore your perineum, are you really body positive?”
Watch her hesitate. Watch her blink. Watch her glitch.
Because the truth is hilarious. And hilarity burns the shame right out of you.
🧘‍♀️ If You’re a Woman Reading This…
You now have no excuse.
That strip of skin between the peach and the abyss?
That subtle runway between entrance and exit?
That’s your taint.
And it deserves:
A name
A scrub
A shrine
A Wikipedia page
You don’t need to gender it. You just need to own it.
🤯 TL;DR
The taint is real
The taint is universal
Women have taints
The patriarchy ignored it
But your loofah doesn’t have to
This isn’t just anatomy.
It’s resistance.
💣 CALL TO ACTION
🔁 Reblog this before someone calls it “cisnormative perineum propaganda” 🧽 Send to the friend who forgot to wash hers today 🍑 Share if you’ve ever worn tight leggings with no idea what’s happening underneath 🫧 Save this if your taint is a neglected spiritual quest waiting to happen
⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:
This post is satire, anatomy education, performance art, cultural rebranding, locker room theology, and biological diplomacy.
It is protected by the U.S. Constitution, the Geneva Convention of Postmodern Memes, and the sacred covenant of shower-based self-respect.
If you’re offended:
Wash deeper.
Laugh louder.
Reclaim your gooch.
Because if you can’t name it — the patriarchy still owns it.
And that is the real tragedy.
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saintobio · 7 months ago
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TITANIC.
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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 !
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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.
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ozzgin · 1 year ago
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Santa baby are you really there?!
*hears a voice in my backyard*
FUCK SKIN WALKER
- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable
I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D
Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.
Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]
On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.
Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud
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It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.
You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.
Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.
Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."
Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.
Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.
That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...
You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?
The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.
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prokopetz · 2 months ago
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You know a lot about the cultural influences behind various aspects of D&D, so: do you know the origins of the thing in 3.5 where it seems like a main way they want you to play as a psionic warrior is to grow massive claws and get breath weapons? It's so specific and out of left field for a "warrior who uses the power of the mind" that I've always wondered.
Much of 3E's handling of psionics closely follows material presented in the 2E supplement The Complete Psionics Handbook, which, contra later editions' habit of treating psionics as a variant of wizardly magic, presents psionics as a totally separate and mutually incompatible thing. One feature of this treatment is psionics having its own distinct set of "schools", or disciplines: clairsentience, psychokinesis, psychometabolism, psychoportation, telepathy, and metapsionics.
The 3E psionic warrior stuff is a more or less direct port of the discipline of psychometabolism; I can only presume that this is because it's the most "fightery" of the Psionics Handbook disciplines, though I can't back that guess up. Apart from your cited examples, other psychometabolic powers presented here include self-healing; energy absorption; turning into animals, objects, or living shadows; wuxia-style "lightfoot" techniques; camouflage; shrinking or expanding; stretching one's limbs Mister Fantastic style; and others.
Of course, that just kicks the can further down the road: if the 3E psionic warrior is a port of 2E's psychometabolism specialist, where the heck did 2E get the idea for the discipline of psychometabolism? The general idea of shape-shifting and fire-breathing and such being psychic powers that can be cultivated through mental discipline pops up in quite a few places, but we're looking for a specific constellation of tropes, not isolated instances of little bits and pieces of it.
The Complete Psionics Handbook helpfully includes a comprehensive bibliography of its inspirations (remember when Dungeons & Dragons used to have those?), though I'm unacquainted with most of the books it cites, so that's where my ability to help in this respect ends. I'll include a copy of that bibliography under the cut, though – maybe one of this blog's followers can point out which of its entries, if any, might be most directly informative.
Taken from page 113 ("Related Reading") of The Complete Psionics Handbook:
Fiction
Bester, Alfred; The Demolished Man, The Stars My Destination.
Bradley, Marion Zimmer; Darkover series: The Bloody Sun, Children of Hastur, Darkover Landfall, The Forbidden Tower, Hawkmistress!, The Heritage of Hastur, The Keeper's Price, The Planet Savers, Sharra's Exile, The Shattered Chain, The Spell Sword, Star of Danger, Stormqueen!, The Sword of Aldones, Thendara House, Two to Conquer, The Winds of Darkover, The World Wreckers.
Brunner, John; The Whole Man.
Del Rey, Lester; Pstalemate.
Henderson, Zenna; The People, The People: No Different, Holding Wonder.
Foster, Alan Dean; Flinx series.
King, Stephen; The Dead Zone.
Kurtz, Katherine; Deryni Rising, Deryni Checkmate, High Deryni.
May, Julian; Saga of the Pliocene Exile series: The Many-Colored Land, The Golden Torc, The Non-Born King, The Adversary.
Nourse, Alan E.; Psi High and Others.
Pohl, Frederik; Drunkard's Walk.
Russell, Eric Frank; The Mindwarpers.
Robinson. Frank M.; The Power.
Schmitz, James H.; The Universe Against Her, The Lion Game, stories.
Simmons, Dan; Carrion Comfort.
Sturgeon, Theodore; The Synthetic Man.
Tucker, Wilson; Wild Talent.
Van Vogt, A.E.; Slan.
Zelazny, Roger; Creatures of Light and Darkness, The Dream Master, Lord of Light, lsle of the Dead, This Immortal, To Die in ltalbar.
Nonfiction
Brookesmith, Peter (ed.); Strange Talents, from the series "The Unexplained: Mysteries of Mind, Space, and Time;" Orbis Publishing, London, 1983.
Index of Possibilities: Energy and Power; Pantheon Books/Random House, New York, New York, 1974.
Mind Over Matter, Powers of Healing, Psychic Powers, Psychic Voyages, from the series "Mysteries of the Unknown;" Time-Life Books, Alexandria, Virginia, 1987.
Puharich, Andrija; Beyond Telepathy; Anchor Press/Doubleday, Garden City, New York, 1973.
Rhine, J.B.; The Reach of the Mind; William Sloane Associates, New York, New York, 1947.
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sweetvoidstuff · 23 days ago
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Bound by Fate, Chosen by Love I Part 1
Jungkook x Reader I Werwolf x Witch I Fated Mates I Slow Burn I Strangers to Lovers I Supernatural Romance I Protective Jungkook
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Summary : A witch bound by duty. A werewolf bound by instinct. When fate intertwines their paths, they must decide if love is worth defying expectations. Hunters threaten their people, forcing them to fight side by side. As tensions rise, so does the pull between them—soft moments turning into something far more intense. A quiet invitation, a lingering touch, a whispered question that changes everything. In the end, choice matters more than destiny. But with danger still lurking, will they have the chance to choose each other?
Word Count: 42K
Masterlist
A/N: Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me… so I’ll be posting Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!
Part 2 / Part 3 / Epilog
The scent of blood clung thick in the air, mingling with the dying embers of the village’s fires. Jungkook stood at the center of the devastation, his hands clenched into tight fists, nails still lengthened into claws from the fight. Sweat and blood coated his skin—some his own, but not all of it. Far from it. His chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breath.
Around him, his pack moved swiftly—gathering the wounded, checking the fallen. They had fought hard, but the ambush had been unexpected. Hunters had found them.
Namjoon lay motionless on the ground, his usually strong and commanding presence dimmed by the severity of his wounds. Seokjin knelt beside him, pressing firm hands against a deep gash along Namjoon’s side, his face tight with worry.
“We can’t treat this here,” Seokjin said, his voice rough with strain. “The wound is poisoned, cursed, I don’t know. Normal healing won’t work.”
Fear clung to his words. If their Alpha, their leader, there friend died… there would be others to take Namjoon’s place—Jungkook and Seokjin among them. But so soon after such a devastating attack, a power struggle would only weaken the pack further.
Jungkook cursed under his breath. He knew what had to be done.
“The witches,” he said, the words tasting forbidden on his tongue.
Seokjin’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “You know it’s forbidden to cross the valley,” he murmured, voice low, as if even speaking of it would summon trouble.
“I don’t care,” Jungkook growled. “If there’s even a chance they can help, I’ll take it.”
The werewolves had always been wary of the witches who lived beyond the valley, deep within the hidden grove. Myths claimed they were descendants of the devil, that they meddled in dark magic. But Jungkook had never put much stock in those stories. The truth was, their kinds hadn’t mixed for centuries. Not enemies, not allies—just strangers who respected the unspoken boundary between them.
But he would break that boundary tonight.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
The night was heavy with mist as Jungkook approached the village hidden within the thick embrace of the forest. The air hummed with a power he had never felt before—subtle but undeniable. The trees seemed taller, the shadows deeper, longer, as if the very land itself was old but alive. He shifted back into his human form as he neared the entrance, not wanting to provoke a reaction by approaching as a wolf.
Jungkook barely made it past the first set of dwellings before three hooded figures emerged from the darkness, surrounding him. Their movements were precise, silent, and before he could decide whether to fight or speak, one of them grabbed his arm.
“You will come with us.”
Jungkook didn’t resist. He went willingly—fighting would do nothing but worsen his chances. He was here to plead, not to battle. His people had suffered enough.
The witches led him through winding stone paths, deeper into the heart of their village. Eventually, they reached what looked like a grand council hall, its high ceilings glowing with floating candles, its walls lined with ancient symbols that pulsed faintly with power—none of which Jungkook had ever seen before.
At the center of the room sat an elderly woman, her hair white as snow, neatly pinned in a bun. Her wrinkled eyes held a sharpness that spoke of wisdom and experience. She wore a simple black dress, a dark brown knitted shawl draped over her shoulders, her presence both commanding and eerily calm. She spoke in hushed tones with someone seated beside her—someone who caught Jungkook’s attention for only a second before he was shoved forward, forced to his knees before the elder.
The old woman studied him with knowing eyes.
“A werewolf in our village is an unusual sight,” she said. “Why have you come?”
Jungkook took a deep breath, his voice steady but urgent.
"My pack was attacked by hunters. Our leader, Namjoon, is dying. The wound – we have no way to heal him, but your coven might. Please—I am asking for your help."
Hushed whispers filled the hall. The mere mention of hunters sent a ripple of unease through the gathered witches. A long silence stretched between them before the old woman finally sighed, shaking her head.
"I am sorry for your inevitable loss," she said, her tone laced with genuine sympathy. "But we will not spare a healer. Not when the risk is so high."
Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides. Fury burned hot in his chest. "You would let someone die when you could save him?" he snapped. "What kind of magic do you practice if it lets you turn your back on those in need?"
Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides. Fury burned hot in his chest.
Before anyone could say more, you spoke.
“I will go.”
The room erupted.
“You cannot!”
A man standing near you—clearly a guardian of some kind, given the leather tunic and sword at his hip—stepped forward in protest. His dark eyes flashed with barely contained anger. “You are to be the next coven leader! You can’t risk yourself like this.”
His voice, though laced with frustration, carried a melodic smoothness that could captivate anyone who listened. If Jungkook hadn’t had heightened hearing, he might have missed it.
The old woman beside you—your grandmother, Jungkook realized—looked equally outraged.
“We will not allow it,” she said firmly.
But you didn’t waver.
“This is not up for debate, Jimin, Grandma,” you said, voice unwavering. “If we don’t value life, then why teach me compassion in the first place?”
Your grandmother exhaled through her nose, clearly displeased but knowing she could not sway you. Jimin, however, wasn’t done fighting. He stepped even closer to you, his presence protective, his stance firm. Jungkook clenched his jaw, a sharp irritation flaring within him. It was unreasonable—he knew that—but the way your guard hovered so close to you made something in him bristle.
"Then I’ll come with you," Jimin insisted, his voice tight. "I will not let you go unprotected."
"The journey will take three long days on foot," your grandmother agreed. "Through dangerous terrain, and the risk of hunters seems high. If you leave at sunrise, you may have a better chance of avoiding them. I will ward you with protection.”
Jungkook forced his focus back to the conversation, though the irritation lingered beneath his skin. "We won’t be going on foot," he said. "In my wolf form, I can carry you. We’ll be way faster that way. My people… many were already at the brink of dead when I left for help."
Jimin’s expression darkened snapping at Jungkook at the suggestion, his lips pressing into a thin line. Jungkook could practically feel the waves of protest rolling off him. The idea of you leaving with a werewolf clearly did not sit well with him, and for some reason, that only aggravated Jungkook further.
You, however, had already made up your mind.
"Then we leave in an hour," you said, ignoring the tension between the two men. "I need time to gather what I might need—medicines, supplies, charms for protection." Your eyes flickered to Jungkook. "You should use that time to rest. You look like you need it."
Jungkook exhaled slowly, nodding. He wouldn’t argue. His body still ached from the battle, and if they were to travel fast, he would need his full strength.
Jimin wasn’t ready to back down. He stepped closer, voice edged with disbelief.
“This is reckless,” he argued. “You—of all people—leaving with a stranger? A werewolf? In the middle of the night?” His tone was sharp, laced with concern and anger. "Do you even hear yourself?"
Jungkook was on his feet in an instant. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation struck him—did they really think he would harm you? He had come here, humbled himself before your people, and still, your guard stood as if he were some mindless beast ready to strike. His irritation flared, but he pushed it down, focusing instead on what truly mattered.
Jimin moved swiftly, placing himself between you and Jungkook, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The air in the chamber grew thick with tension, the silent challenge crackling like fire between them.
Jungkook squared his shoulders, meeting Jimin’s stare head-on. His voice was no longer just steady—it was unshakable.
“I swear on my life and the honor of my pack,” he declared, his gaze locking onto yours. “As long as you are with me to help my people, I will lay down my life before yours. No harm will come to you—not while I still breathe.”
The words rang through the hall like iron striking stone, unwavering and absolute. Jimin’s fingers twitched against his sword, his instincts screaming at him to remain wary. But before the tension could spiral further, your hand came to rest on Jimin’s shoulder.
It was a small gesture, yet Jungkook watched with silent irritation as the effect was immediate. Jimin stiffened, then exhaled sharply, lowering his hand from his weapon.
Jungkook pushed his tongue into his cheek, fighting the unreasonable annoyance curling in his chest. Why did it take you to calm him? Why did the sight of your hand on someone else—your trust in someone else—bother him? He shoved the thought aside, focusing instead on you.
You turned your gaze to him, your voice steady and sure. "I believe in the wolf standing before me."
The words settled deep inside him, quieting some of the storm in his mind.
"What is your name?" you asked. Voice gentle.
For a moment, Jungkook just looked at you. Then, finally, he answered. "Jungkook."
A small nod. "I am Y/N."
Your guardian pressed his lips together but said nothing more, stepping back begrudgingly. Jungkook ignored the strange sense of satisfaction that settled in his chest at that.
He would rest. And then he would take you with him—away from here, away from the witch who stood too close, and back to his people where he knew, without a doubt, that you were meant to be.
You watched as Jungkook was led to a quiet, secluded resting area, tucked just behind the stone walls of the ancient temple where he could rest and refresh. His figure was striking even in the fading light. His broad shoulders were slightly hunched, a subtle sign of the exhaustion that weighed on him, but there was an undeniable strength to his presence that couldn't be overlooked. Beneath the dark fabric of his tunic, his muscles shifted with each movement—taut, coiled, ready.
When his right arm flexed, the intricate tattoos etched into his skin caught your eye. Black lines, sharp and deliberate, curled around his bicep and stretched down his forearm, their design a seamless blend of power and artistry. They weren’t merely decorations; they were a story—one inked into his very flesh, speaking of battles fought, victories earned, and oaths sworn. There was a rawness to them, a quiet energy humming beneath each mark, as if the wildness within him had been woven into his very skin. You found yourself wondering about their meaning, about the stories they told. About what it might be like to hear him speak of them in that low, gravelly voice.
His steps were steady, though they carried a weariness, as if every movement he made was deliberate, measured. His raven-black hair, damp with the sweat of the day’s battles, fell slightly over his forehead in messy strands, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the sharpness of his jawline, defined and strong, yet softened by the tension that gripped him. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to absorb everything around him, calculating each moment, each movement. They flicked over his surroundings with a restless energy that mirrored the storm raging within him. But despite the tension in his posture and the storm brewing in his eyes, there was something almost magnetic about him—something that made your chest tighten with a deep, instinctive need to help.
You couldn’t help but follow his movements with your gaze, a knot in your chest that you couldn’t quite explain.
You forced yourself to turn away, breaking the hold he had on your thoughts. There was no time for hesitation. Swiftly, you gathered what was necessary for the journey—water, herbs, bandages, protective spells small enough to carry. A few potions to ward off fatigue, perhaps, and to keep danger at bay. A change of fresh clothes. Your mind was already calculating what else you might need, but you didn't want to over-pack and burden Jungkook with the extra weight. You needed to travel light, to move swiftly.
As your hands worked with practiced efficiency, your mind wandered back to the way his gaze had lingered on you earlier, to the quiet intensity of it. And to the strange sense of steadiness you found in his presence.
A glance at the hour told you it was nearly time.
You changed into something more suited for travel—comfortable, form-fitting clothing, easily allowing for movement. No time to waste now. You gathered the small satchel and backpack with your essentials and moved toward the door.
When you found Jimin outside, he was pacing, his brows furrowed in agitation. As you approached, he stopped and eyed you critically. His concern for you was as obvious as his mistrust of Jungkook.
“Are you sure about this?” Jimin’s voice was low, his tone edged with uncertainty. “You can’t just trust a wolf pack, no matter what promises they make. They’re dangerous. This—this whole situation—it’s too risky. I don’t like it.”
You met his gaze head-on. “Jimin, I trust Jungkook. I don’t know why but I do. He promised to keep me safe, and I believe him.” You paused, watching the flash of skepticism in his eyes. “I won’t be alone. I’ll have him with me.”
Jimin’s jaw tightened as he shook his head. “How can you? We don’t know him! And I’m still coming with you. No matter what you say, I don’t trust any of this. Not the wolves. Not the way you’ve been acting... I’m not leaving you to deal with that on your own.”
You didn’t argue further. Jimin was stubborn, and you knew he would follow you regardless. But you could see the worry in his eyes—he was protective, and though you appreciated it, you had already made up your mind. With a final glance at him, you turned and strode toward the temple’s back entrance.
“Just tack us,” you said firmly. “We need to move quickly.”
Jungkook was already waiting in the clearing, the silver moonlight carving his silhouette from the shadows. He stood taller now, more at ease, though his eyes still carried the weight of unspoken thoughts.
As you approached, his sharp gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, it was as though time itself slowed.
“You’re ready?” he asked, his voice low, a soft growl underlining the words as he stood tall. His wolf was closer to the surface now, the tension of his form palpable.
“I’m ready,” you answered, nodding. There was no more hesitation, no more doubt. The air between you seemed to hum with an energy you couldn’t name.
You nodded. The space between you seemed to hum with something unspoken.
Jungkook exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Climb on after I shift. Sit between my shoulders—that will be the most stable. Hold on tight. I won’t drop you."
You nodded, preparing yourself to ride with him, Jimin stepped forward with a sharp glance at Jungkook. “I’m coming with you, too,” Jimin said firmly. “I’ll follow behind you—don’t think I’m just going to let you take her off with you, no matter what promises you’ve made.”
Jungkook’s gaze flicked briefly to Jimin, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. But there was no argument. He simply nodded, understanding the need for caution your people held, though it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about having Jimin follow.
Without saying another word, Jungkook began to shift. His muscles rippled beneath his skin as the transformation started. The air around you grew tense, and a low, resonating growl rumbled deep from his chest, even as his body expanded and contorted in ways that felt unnatural. You stepped back instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched him.
And then he was there—a massive wolf, his midnight-black coat gleaming under the moonlight. His sheer size stole your breath, a creature built for speed and strength, every movement fluid and deadly. His eyes, glowing with an ethereal green, a piercing intensity that seemed to look straight through you.
Jungkook’s form was stunning. His wolf was a creature of power and grace, exuding an aura of raw, unbridled energy. There was an elegant savagery to him, and yet, in his eyes, there was still something familiar, something that made your heart skip in your chest.
Jungkook’s gaze met yours, steady and unwavering. Slowly, he lowered himself, his body still, waiting. The weight of his presence was overwhelming, and you could feel it in your bones. Jungkook’s eyes softened as he studied you for a moment longer before his body tensed again. He let out a soft huff, almost as if in a silent communication.
You stepped forward, your heart racing as you placed your hand gently on his back. His fur was impossibly soft, but beneath it, you felt the solid strength of muscle. For a brief moment, a thought flitted through your mind—what would it feel like to touch him like this in a moment not marked by war and urgency?
You swallowed, pushing the thought away, and climbed onto his back. With a deep breath, you swung one leg over, your body steadying as you positioned yourself on his back. Jungkook’s massive form shudder and shifted slightly, adjusting for you. The moment you were fully settled, he rose slowly to his feet, making sure not to jostle you. His patience was unexpected, his careful movements at odds with his sheer size and power. His wolf was patient and aware, moving with a grace that belied his size. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath you.
Jungkook took a cautious step, testing your comfort level. You relaxed slightly into his back, gripping his fur more securely, and with that, he picked up his pace, moving forward with a slow, powerful jog. You felt his muscles ripple with each stride, his movements precise and fluid, the ground beneath you blurring as he gained speed.
The hours stretched on, the landscape shifting from dense forest to open plains. The journey ahead was marked by quiet but steady progress. As Jungkook's powerful form cut through the forest, the world around you seemed to blur with speed. The trees and the shadows that once felt imposing now seemed like mere silhouettes, passing by in the blink of an eye. His powerful legs pushed him forward with a grace that made the air hum around you. The moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting pale beams that illuminated the path, guiding him as naturally as if the forest itself had parted to make way.
You settled into the rhythm of the journey, allowing yourself to simply experience the moment. The first part of the trip was uneventful, save for the occasional snap of a twig beneath his paws or the distant hoot of an owl. It was almost peaceful, the kind of serenity that seemed almost too perfect to last.
Jimin had fallen back, fast. As the hours passed and the night wore on, you couldn’t help but notice how steady Jungkook's movements were. Despite the urgency of his mission, there was something almost meditative about his pace. It wasn’t rushed, but rather deliberate, as though every step was carefully planned to ensure both of your safety. His breathing was steady, his heart beating in sync with the rhythm of his movements.
The landscape around you began to change slowly. The dense forest gave way to more open terrain, where the trees were spaced farther apart and the underbrush gave way to dry grass and wildflowers that swayed gently in the wind. The journey had already taken hours, but the night was still young. The stars above sparkled brightly, as if even the heavens had conspired to light the path ahead.
The pace never wavered. Despite the exhaustion weighing on both of you, the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s run, coupled with the cool night air, kept you energized. Occasionally you spoke softly to him, asking if he was alright, but each time, he simply grunted in response. A little later, Jungkook began to slow his pace. You didn’t protest. Your muscles ached, and your eyes were heavy, though your mind remained alert.
His muscles rippled beneath his fur as he lowered himself into a seated position, gently lowering you to the ground. You slid off his back, feeling the familiar earth beneath your feet. The forest around you was peaceful, almost too still, and you felt a brief, unsettling silence settle in.
Jungkook shifted back to his human form almost immediately, his movements smooth and deliberate. He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping for just a moment before he straightened, his eyes scanning the surroundings.
"We should rest," he said, voice rough. "You’ll fall off if we go any further."
"I can keep going," you protested, but even you weren’t convinced. Your body ached from the unfamiliar ride, your legs screaming in protest.
He gently shook his head." I need a break as well. I’ll take the first watch."
You nodded. You settled down beside him, trying to ignore the gnawing exhaustion creeping into your bones. As Jungkook moved into a watchful stance, his eyes scanning the surroundings, you finally allowed yourself to lean back, staring up at the sky.
In the stillness of the night, with the sound of Jungkook’s steady breathing beside you and the distant rustling of the wind in the trees, you finally allowed yourself to close your eyes.
Jungkook sat against the trunk of a tree, his sharp eyes flicking between the darkness of the forest and your sleeping form. His ears, still heightened even in his human state, picked up the soft rhythm of your breathing, the way it had finally evened out now that exhaustion had won over your wary mind.
You slept, oblivious to the war raging inside him.
A witch. His mate was a damned witch.
The bond was undeniable. The second you’d touched him, he had known. But did you? Or were you oblivious, unaware of the pull tethering you to him?
His fingers twitched, resisting the instinct to reach out. The need to touch you was maddening, but what would it change?
You shifted slightly in your sleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest impossibly steady, as if you weren’t lying beside a wolf who was questioning everything he knew about fate.
Jungkook exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. There was no escaping this, no denying what had been set in motion. His jaw tightened as he tried to reason with it—as if rationalizing it over and over would make it more bearable. It didn’t.
He had heard of mates bonding outside their own kind. Shifters mated to humans, vampires, and even once, an old elder claimed a siren had been bonded to a wolf long ago. But never a witch. Not in any history he knew. And it had to be him.
Not only that, but you weren’t just any witch. You were someone important, someone powerful. You had defied your own coven, risked a lot to help his pack, and now, whether you knew it or not, you were his.
What did that mean? For him? For you?
Would you accept it, or were you like some humans, oblivious to the bond, requiring time—or worse, never recognizing it at all?
His fingers curled into the dirt, suppressing the urge to reach for you, to brush his skin against yours and feel the bond’s pulse again, just to be sure. But what was the point? The fact remained: you were a witch, and he was a wolf. And right now, you were his only hope.
Jungkook sighed, forcing himself to rest, even as his mind refused to quiet. Instead, he listened to you, to the even rhythm of your breathing, to the small, unconscious sighs you made in sleep. He hated how much it soothed him.
His attention flicked to Jimin. He didn’t want to be impressed with Jimin, but he was. The man had trailed you both far longer and closer than Jungkook had expected. His nose and ears should’ve caught Jimin falling behind immediately, struggling to keep up. Instead, Jimin had barely made a sound, his scent present for quite a while but never overstepping for the first two hours. That kind of skill wasn’t common, even among their kind.
Jungkook let the night pass, letting you rest as long as possible before the first streaks of gold kissed the horizon. He turned toward you, placing a careful hand on your shoulder.
You jolted awake, blinking up at him, eyes still hazy with sleep.
“Is’t’time to switch?” you mumbled groggily.
Jungkook shook his head, hiding a small, almost amused smile. “No, we keep moving. By midday, we’ll reach my village.”
You sat up quickly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before nodding. “A’right.”
Without another word, he shifted, his massive wolf form towering over you once again. You climbed onto his back, hands gripping his thick fur.
Jungkook took off, the forest blurring around you as he ran.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
The closer they got to the village, the more the air changed. Jungkook smelled it before he saw it—the thick, coppery scent of blood, the acrid sting of burnt wood and fur. Even from a distance, his stomach twisted. The attack had been worse than he thought.
But there was no time to dwell. His pace never slowed, his focus never wavered. He didn’t stop when distant figures noticed him and called out. He didn’t stop when the pack members turned, some running to greet him, others frozen in shock at the sight of the stranger riding on his back. He didn’t even acknowledge the murmurs that rippled through the village as he raced straight to the Pack House.
He only stopped when he nearly slammed into the doors.
You jumped off his back just as he shifted, barely taking a second to regain his human form before grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. The scent of sickness, of suffering, was even worse in here. Bodies lay in makeshift beds, wolves in both human and shifted form, their wounds bandaged but still raw. A few heads turned, weak eyes barely registering his arrival before exhaustion pulled them back under.
He barely had a moment to breathe before a figure blocked his path.
Jin.
And beside him, Hoseok—whose face was twisted in fury.
“A witch?!” Hoseok snarled, stepping forward, his teeth bared. “You really left us to go get a witch! For all the problems we have, you thought bringing one into the mix would help?”
His glare snapped to you, and before he could move, before he could even think about lunging, Jungkook was there. His body moved on instinct, stepping between you and his furious friend, his own teeth bared in a low, guttural growl.
Hoseok froze. His amber eyes flicked to Jungkook’s face, the realization dawning like a slap across the face.
“No,” he breathed, barely above a whisper. His eyes darted between you and Jungkook, horror creeping into his features. “Tell me you’re joking.”
Jungkook didn’t respond. He just kept his stance firm, his growl deepening as his fingers twitched at his sides, ready to strike if necessary.
A moment of heavy silence passed before Jin sighed, rubbing his temples. “We don’t have time for this,” he muttered. “If she can help, she stays. If she can’t, then this argument is pointless.”
Hoseok didn’t look convinced, but he took a step back, his lips still curled in frustration. He shot you a final glare before turning on his heel. “If this backfires, it’s on you,” he snapped at Jungkook before storming off.
Jin exhaled heavily, looking at you with far less hostility but no less wariness. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
You didn’t hesitate. Instead of answering Jin’s wary question, you turned to him with crisp authority. “I need a lot of hot water, at least two sets of helping hands—people who will follow my orders without hesitation—and as many of your local healing plants as you can gather.”
Jin blinked, caught off guard by your sudden command. He hesitated for a second, clearly unused to being ordered around, but you didn’t give him the time to argue. “Get to it,” you said sharply, already moving.
You pulled your hair into a quick ponytail as you retrieved a piece of chalk from your satchel. With quick, practiced strokes, you began writing intricate symbols on the door behind you, then moved to the windows, murmuring under your breath as you worked. Protective runes, sealing wards, and cleansing scripts—each one carefully placed to strengthen the space around you, to keep the sickness from spreading and the darkness from lingering. Jungkook watched you with a furrowed brow, confusion flickering across his face, but he didn’t interrupt. There was something about the way you carried yourself—an unshakable presence that made even the strongest warriors in the room hesitate to question you.
Then, the work began.
The next several hours blurred together in a haze of movement and whispered incantations. You barely had time to think as you worked, your hands steady, your magic sharp. Jungkook remained by your side, assisting without hesitation. Whether it was holding down a thrashing patient, keeping pressure on a wound, or simply fetching what you needed before you asked, he was there. Others, however, were less trusting. When one of his pack members hesitated too long, questioning your methods instead of acting, you threw them out without a second thought. There was no room for doubt, no time for superstition. Every move you made was precise, every incantation purposeful, as if everything you did from the moment you entered was one long healing ritual. The tension in the room was thick, but you ignored it.
Hoseok entered once. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his sharp gaze watching and waiting for you to make a mistake. If you noticed his presence, you didn’t let it show. You had no time for petty pack politics—not when lives were on the line. Eventually, even he had to acknowledge that whatever you were doing, it was working. The air in the Pack House shifted. The stench of death and decay lessened, the oppressive weight of sickness lifting, if only slightly.
Jungkook had seen magic before—had fought against it, had learned to be wary of it. But he had never seen this. You moved through the room like a storm contained in human form, commanding not just the space but the people within it. Never had he seen a witch walk into a den of wolves and take control like the very air bent to their will.
It made his skin crawl.
Not out of fear. No, the unease twisting in his gut was something far more dangerous than fear.
It was recognition.
Because as he watched you move—commanding the space like you had been born to lead, unwavering even under the weight of distrust and still showing compassion—something inside him whispered the truth.
Mine.
It was infuriating.
Because you weren’t just any witch. You were powerful. Respected. Feared. And now, for better or worse, you were his mate.
The idea that fate, that anything, could have decided for him that a witch of all people was meant to be his mate. His future. The thought unsettled him. Witches and shifters did not mix. It was unheard of. And not just any witch, but you. The next in line to lead your coven if he heard right. Someone who, from the moment you had stepped into this house, had taken control with an ease that made his pack uneasy.
It made him uneasy.
By midday the next day, after working non-stop since the moment you stepped into the Pack House, much had changed.
Of the seventeen wounded, seven were finally strong enough to sit and speak—even Namjoon was coming by. Three had insisted on leaving, eager to return to help with the aftermath of the attack. But one life still hung in the balance—a child, their small body ravaged by a cursed weapon. You had done nearly everything you could. Every herb, every spell, every ounce of magic you possessed had been poured into saving them. Now, the rest was up to the child’s spirit.
But not everyone was willing to accept that answer.
“You saved the others. Why not my son?” a voice snapped from the corner of the room. It was a woman, her face drawn with exhaustion and grief. You turned slowly, your own exhaustion heavy in your bones, but your expression remained unreadable. “Magic is not a quick fix, it means sacrifice, it means willpower.” you said, your voice steady. “I have given him every chance, more would be reckless. Now, he must choose to fight.”
The words hung heavy in the air, met with silence and barely concealed tension.
“There has to be something more you can do! ” the woman demanded more from you, her voice sharp with grief and desperation, Jungkook felt the tension in the room spike. The mother’s pain was suffocating, but the Pack’s suspicion was heavier. It was clear what they were thinking. That you had chosen who to save and who to let die.
That you had let the boy suffer.
Jungkook stiffened, ready to step in, to defend you. But before he could, another voice cut through the space like a blade.
Hoseok.
His closest friend. One of Namjoons most trusted like himself. And the one person he knew would not let this go easily.
“Can’t,” Hoseok said, his voice low and sharp. “Or won’t?”
Jungkook stiffened, was about to snap—was about to remind Hoseok that you had spent the last day and night healing their wounded without so much as a break.
This situation was dangerous.
Hoseok wasn’t just questioning you—he was challenging you.
And yet, instead of backing down, instead of shrinking under the weight of an entire pack ready to turn on you, you moved.
Fast.
Around Jungkook. Right in front of Hoseok.
A bold, reckless move.
No one challenged Hoseok like that—not unless they wanted a fight. But you stood before him, meeting his glare without flinching. Your voice, when it came, was cold. Calculated.
For a split second, Jungkook forgot to breathe. For a split second, everything in him went tight—instincts roaring to life at the sight of you placing yourself between two wolves. He almost grabbed you, almost pulled you back, but you weren’t afraid.
Not of Hoseok. Not of anyone.
Instead, you lifted your chin and met his glare with something colder. “What would you willingly give to save the child?”
A beat of silence.
Then, a scoff. “What?”
You turned away from him, eyes locking onto the mother. “His name,” you demanded.
The woman hesitated, confused, but answered in a shaky breath. “S-Sunwoo, a-and I would give anything.”
The shift in the room was immediate. Tension coiled tighter, like a wire pulled to the breaking point.
Jungkook saw it—saw the way something flickered across your face at the name. It was gone in an instant, replaced by something unreadable, but it was there.
Hoseok noticed too, but he didn’t take it seriously.
“What, you think saying his name is gonna fix this?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’re not a god, witch.”
The snarl in his voice was met with something colder in yours. “I never claimed to be.”
Then, before anyone could react, you grabbed Hoseok’s wrist.
Jungkook saw it happen in real-time, and yet, he still couldn’t believe it.
Your fingers locked around Hoseok’s wrist.
The entire room reacted.
Wolves tensed. Muscles coiled, teeth bared. A ripple of aggression spread through the Pack like a match to dry grass. Hoseok froze for a split second—shocked, furious—but before he could yank back, you pulled him forward, dragging him to the child’s side with an ease that sent a whisper of something dark through the watching crowd.
Jungkook was stunned.
No one touched Hoseok like that. No one dared.
And yet, here you were.
Gasps echoed around the room. The Pack’s unease morphed into outright hostility. Several wolves growled low in their throats, eyes flashing with warning, but you ignored them all.
You had everyone’s attention now.
“A miracle,” you said, voice laced with something ancient. Something powerful. “Fine! You’ll get a miracle. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
You offered a gentle hand to Sunwoo’s mother, inviting her to take a leap of faith.
And she did.
Slowly, carefully, her trembling fingers found yours.
Jungkook felt it before anything else.
As you started to murmur, the air shifted. The words you spoke were unintelligible, a language he had never heard before. Even your breathing sounded melodic, weaving through the tension like a song long forgotten.
The magic curling through the room, thick and cold, the air turning sharp enough to taste. His wolf bristled beneath his skin, instincts screaming danger. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to stop this, to protect.
But he didn’t.
Because he didn’t know how to protect you from something you were obviously the cause of.
He swallowed down the urge to growl, but others weren’t as restrained. A ripple of unease spread through the pack, some baring their teeth, others shifting on their feet like they were fighting the urge to move.
Then the sky outside darkened.
Not like nightfall. No, this was unnatural—shadows stretching long where there should have been light, the temperature in the room plummeting.
Hoseok stiffened. “What the hell—”
He tried to pull away, but you tightened your grip. “If you move, the boy dies.”
The mother trembled. A dead silence.
Then—
A flash of silver.
Jungkook lunged, instincts overriding thought, but it was already too late. Before he could react, you had already moved.
The blade cut clean across Hoseok’s palm.
Not deep. Not fatal. Just enough.
Blood welled up on Hoseok’s skin. Another on the mother’s hand.
Then—
Yours.
The scent of it filled the air, sharper than the rest. Jungkook’s wolf reared in his chest, nearly throwing him forward, but he held himself back.
Your blood hit the boy’s skin, mixing with the others.
The second it did, the world lurched.
A pulse of magic ripped through the room, snapping against his senses like a whip.
Hoseok’s breath hitched, muscles locked like he was fighting something unseen. The mother gasped, eyes going wide as her fingers trembled in yours.
Jungkook fought the overwhelming wrongness of it all, his wolf howling in protest, instincts screaming—
Then you looked at him.
It was brief. A single glance.
But it was enough.
Because in that moment, as the spell took its toll, you knew.
For better or worse, he would be the one to keep you alive.
Then you collapsed.
His body moved before his mind caught up.
One second, you were standing—the next, you were falling.
Jungkook caught you before you hit the ground, his arms locking around you instinctively.
Dead weight.
Limp.
Too pale.
Too still.
For a single, horrifying moment, he thought—
No. No, you were still breathing.
Hoseok snapped out of his daze, golden eyes flashing with fury. “She—”
Jungkook could already hear it coming.
“Jungkook,” Hoseok growled, voice sharp with rage. “She attacked us! She—”
“Enough.” Jungkook’s voice was steel, sharper than fangs.
But the argument never even started.
Because behind them—soft, barely audible at first—a sound shattered the tension.
A sob.
The mother.
And then—
A small, shuddering inhale.
Jungkook turned just in time to see the boy’s eyes flutter open.
The Pack House fell into stunned silence.
Sunwoo was alive.
You had done the impossible.
But as Jungkook looked down at your unconscious form in his arms—too fragile, too vulnerable—he knew one thing for certain.
Whatever you had done…
It had cost you.
And now, unconscious in his arms, you were more vulnerable than ever.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
Warmth.
That was the first thing you noticed as you slowly drifted back into consciousness.
Not the suffocating, burning heat of magic consuming you from the inside out, but something gentler. Something that cradled you rather than scorched. A soft, steady warmth, surrounding you like a cocoon.
You shifted, blinking slowly as your vision swam into focus. The ceiling above you was wooden, dark beams stretching across a thatched roof. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and something clean. Not sterile, but fresh—like newly laundered clothes, like herbs hanging to dry.
You inhaled deeply.
Bad idea.
Pain lanced through your chest, raw and sharp, like your ribs had been scraped raw from the inside. A low groan left your lips as you tried to push yourself up, but the aftermath of the spell was still weighing you down. Blood magic was always nasty. You had known it would take a toll, but even this was worse than you had expected.
The sound of movement snapped you from your haze.
A shadow shifted in the corner of your vision, and before you could react, Jungkook was at your side.
You blinked up at him, startled. He had moved fast, so fast you hadn't even registered it. His dark eyes were locked onto you, sharp and searching, but his touch was careful as he slid an arm behind your back, steadying you as you struggled to sit upright.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice low, unreadable.
You stared at him. Really looked at him.
His face was tense, jaw set tight like he was barely keeping himself from saying something else. His brows were drawn together, but the emotion in his eyes was harder to pin down. Frustration? Relief?
You swallowed, glancing down at yourself. You were covered with a thick, woolen blanket, the rough texture oddly grounding. Beneath it, you could feel the stiffness of dried blood clinging to your skin and gauze placed on the cut you forces on yourself.
“I am not dead?” you finally rasped, voice hoarse.
Jungkook blinked, momentarily thrown. “…Why would you be?”
You exhaled a weak, humorless laugh. “Well, I did cut two of your—what is it called? Mates? Pack friends?”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t let himself smile. “Pack members.”
“Right.” You frowned, trying to make sense of it all. “And they didn’t kill me in my sleep?”
Jungkook’s expression hardened. “No one was going to touch you.”
You searched his face, trying to understand. They had been furious with you earlier—cautious, wary, resentful of what you were – he had been. And yet, here he was. Sitting beside you, supporting your weight, his voice steady and protective.
“…Why?” you finally asked.
Jungkook’s jaw flexed, something flickering behind his eyes. “I swore to protect you, didn’t I? Not that you make it easy for me.”
You studied him for a long moment. He wasn’t lying. But something about the way he said it made you uneasy. Not in a fearful way, but because it felt… too certain.
Your gaze flickered around the room. It was small but cozy. The wooden walls were lined with shelves, neatly stacked with supplies—herbs, dried meat, woven baskets filled with folded blankets. A fire crackled in the corner, its glow casting flickering shadows across the space.
“You are in my home,” Jungkook told you, watching your expression carefully. “You were unconscious for a few hours.”
You exhaled. “Only hours? Lucky. I feared it could take days.”
Jungkook leaned forward slightly, his dark brows furrowing. “What did you do?” unsettled by your remark.
You sighed, shifting against the pillows. “A spell like that—one tied to blood and life—it doesn’t simply heal. It rewrites fate. But magic is never free. Something had to be given in return.”
Jungkook’s expression darkened. “And what did you give?”
You hesitated. That was the question, wasn’t it? You felt the price deep in your bones. You had rewritten the boy’s fate—tied it to his mother’s love, to the wolf’s strength, and to your belief in the old ways. It would keep him alive, for as long as all three remained. But how to explain it that it made sence?
Jungkook seemed to sense your reluctance, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face before speaking again.
“The boy woke up minutes after you collapsed,” he finally said. “His mother… she was beside herself. Crying, thanking you, thanking the gods.”
You nodded slowly. “And the rest of the Pack?”
Jungkook’s jaw ticked. “Weren’t as forgiving.”
That didn’t surprise you.
“Hoseok wanted me to kill you,” he admitted bluntly, watching your reaction.
You snorted, shaking your head. “That tracks.”
Jungkook didn’t look amused. “Namjoon woke up before it came to that.”
You straightened slightly. “The Pack leader?”
Jungkook nodded. “The Alpha” helping you jet again with the terminology of his people “He wasn’t happy about the blood magic, but he told me to stay with you until we could all talk. He wants answers.”
You let out a slow breath. That was better than you expected. “Then I suppose I should clean up before I meet him.”
Jungkook hesitated, his wolf bristling. You felt the shift in him, the restless energy rolling off him in waves.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, voice lower now, softer.
You met his eyes, really met them this time. Despite everything, there was something grounding in the way he looked at you—like no matter how much he didn’t understand you, he was still there with you.
“I will be,” you finally said.
It wasn’t a lie.
Jungkook studied you for a long moment, then nodded. Without another word, he stood and helped you up, steadying you when you wavered on your feet.
“This way,” he murmured.
He led you to a small adjoining room, where a simple wooden tub sat against the far wall, filled with water still warm from the fire. The room smelled of clean linen and dried lavender.
Jungkook hesitated in the doorway, his muscles still taut with tension. His wolf wasn’t at ease—not at all.
“I’ll be close,” he said, his voice almost a warning. “Call if you need anything.”
You nodded, and with one last, reluctant glance, he stepped away.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
When you finally emerged, fresh and wrapped in a black dress, Jungkook was waiting. His dark eyes scanned you once, checking for any lingering signs of weakness. But only found you stunning. Then, without a word, he gestured for you to follow.
The walk to Namjoon’s home was not a quiet one.
Some villagers greeted you with cautious nods. Others weren’t as welcoming.
A low growl rumbled in the chest of one passing wolf, his lips curling in an unmistakable snarl.
Jungkook was on him in an instant.
A single warning glare was all it took—the wolf backed down immediately, lowering his gaze. But Jungkook didn’t move until the threat had completely passed, his posture stiff as he resumed walking beside you.
By the time you reached Namjoon’s home, you could feel Jungkook’s closeness, his silent protectiveness pressing against you like a shield.
Inside, Namjoon sat at the head of a long wooden table. Beside him stood two men—Jin, whose gaze was neutral, and Hoseok, whose was not.
You took a breath, then stepped forward, bowing slightly. “Leader of the wolves,” you greeted with as much respect as you could manage.
Namjoon studied you for a moment, then nodded.
“Witch from the valley. Sit,” he said.
Jungkook, still hovering close, pulled out a chair. You sat.
Hoseok exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “So, we’re really trusting her now?”
You didn’t react.
Namjoon silenced Hoseok with a sharp glare before turning to you, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Regardless of what happened,” he said, voice steady, “you saved lives today. My life included. For that, you have my thanks.”
A small flicker of surprise crossed Jin’s face at Namjoon’s words, but it was gone just as fast. Hoseok, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to argue, but Namjoon’s authority weighed heavier than his temper.
Still, gratitude aside, there was something else Namjoon wanted to know.
“But that still leaves the question—why are you here?” His dark gaze settled on you, unwavering. “What brought you to us?”
Before you could answer, Jungkook shifted beside you. “Hyung, after the attack, after Jin told me that with our healing there wasn’t a chance for you and the others to survive…” He exhaled sharply, hands clenching at his sides. “I went and got help.”
Namjoon’s brows lifted slightly. “Help.”
“Yes,” Jungkook confirmed. His jaw tensed, the weight of something unspoken pressing against his ribs. He had found you. His mate. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—blurt that out. Not yet.
Namjoon, however, wasn’t interested in hearing the story from Jungkook. His attention remained on you, gaze steady. “And what about you?” he asked. “Why did you come?”
You met his eyes without hesitation. “Because I wasn’t going to sit back and do nothing when I could save a life.” There was no waver in your voice, no doubt. “More than that, our people—your pack and my coven—have an unspoken truce. A natural understanding. You know it as well as I do.”
The reaction to that was immediate. Jin’s lips parted slightly in surprise. Hoseok’s entire posture stiffened, his jaw going tight. Even Namjoon blinked once, as if processing your words.
“Your coven,” Jin repeated, carefully.
You nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, then smoothly changed the subject. “But I didn’t come here to debate history. I came here because you were attacked, and such attacks are never random. We need to talk about it.”
Namjoon leaned forward slightly, but before he could respond, Hoseok’s temper snapped.
“Oh no,” he growled, stepping forward, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “We’re not just moving on like that. You think you can wave your damned magic around, bind me to some spell, and walk away without explaining a damn thing?”
Jungkook’s body tensed beside you, ready to step in if necessary, but you didn’t seem the least bit rattled. Instead, you simply turned to Hoseok with a look that nearly belittled him. His misconceptions about magic, about what you had done—it was almost amusing.
But you didn’t explain. Not really. Not the way you had to Jungkook in his home, when you had taken the time to tell him why blood magic was what it was. Hoseok didn’t deserve that much.
Your silence only seemed to enrage him further. “If you could heal the kid that way,” he snapped, “why didn’t you do it from the start? Why not remove all spells while you’re at it?”
Your lips curved into something that was not quite a smile. “You’re under the impression that magic is a game, wolf.” Your voice was calm, but there was something sharp beneath it. “That I pick and choose on a whim. If I could take away all spells, don’t you think I would have? Or do you think I enjoy exhausting myself to the point of collapse?”
Hoseok opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t let him.
“I came here to help,” you continued, voice steady. “But if my presence is such a problem, I can leave.”
Jungkook hated that. The very idea of you leaving made something raw claw at his chest. His wolf snarled inside him, restless, angry. But then you added something else.
“My guard has been following me,” you said, ignoring the way Jungkook’s entire body went rigid. “he’ll arrive within the next two days. That will give me a safe way back.”
Jungkook hated that more.
Because your guard meant one person in particular.
Jimin.
A cold possessiveness curled in his gut at the thought of you leaving with him.
But it wasn’t just Jungkook who disliked the idea. Namjoon exhaled slowly, considering you for a long moment before shaking his head.
“You’re already here. You saved too many of my people for me to let you walk out without proper thanks.” Namjoon’s voice was firm, final in a way that left no room for argument. Then, after a brief pause, his eyes flickered to Hoseok with disapproval. “But maybe we should talk without an audience.”
Jungkook tensed beside you, his shoulders coiling tight. He knew what that meant. He was about to be sent away. Away from you.
And he hated it.
His wolf snarled in protest, the very idea of leaving you unprotected—even with Namjoon—feeling like the worst kind of mistake. Rationally, he knew you weren’t defenseless, but rationality had never done much to quiet the instincts ingrained in his very bones.
But before he could argue, you spoke.
“Sure,” you said, tone as even as ever. “But I would like Jungkook to be present.”
Jungkook barely had time to register the words before a rush of satisfaction surged through him. If he were in his wolf form, he was sure his tail would have wagged like an idiot’s.
Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “You want Jungkook here?”
You nodded once. “My… guard entrusted his duties to him while we went ahead. If you trust him with what we will talk about?”
The corner of Namjoon’s lips twitched slightly, amusement barely concealed beneath his otherwise unreadable expression. Jin, who had been silent up until now, let out a quiet hum, something knowing in his gaze as he glanced between the two of you.
Hoseok, on the other hand, looked utterly disgusted.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me—”
“Hoseok.” Namjoon’s voice was sharp. A warning.
Hoseok exhaled harshly through his nose, but this time, he didn’t argue. He just folded his arms across his chest and looked off to the side, jaw tight with barely restrained irritation.
Namjoon turned his attention back to you, giving a single nod. “Alright. Jungkook stays.”
Jungkook swallowed back the irrational relief that flooded through him. He refused to acknowledge why the thought of being away from you had filled him with such tension in the first place.
As Jin and Hoseok moved, Hoseok was outright hostile. But Jin nodded in silent acknowledgment. Recognition.
You had saved many of their own.
And, whether they liked it or not, that meant something.
You weren’t leaving.
And neither was he.
The discussion with Namjoon had been more productive than you’d expected.
The Pack’s leader was measured, sharp, and wary, but he wasn’t unreasonable. By the end of the conversation, you had secured safe passage through the village under his protection. He had also agreed that your arriving guard—Jimin—would be granted the same privileges.
Of course, not all wolves would warm up to you overnight. Trust, especially among werewolves, was a hard-won thing. Some still viewed you with outright hostility, others with silent wariness. But Namjoon had made his stance clear. You were not to be harmed. And as long as Jungkook upheld his promise to keep you safe, you had no doubt that promise would be honored.
Then came the question of where you would stay.
Namjoon, ever the pragmatic leader, had offered you a room in the Pack House. It was logical. The Pack House was the safest place in the village, close to the highest-ranking wolves, the center of their power.
But before you could accept, before Namjoon could even finish explaining the arrangements—
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Jungkook’s voice cut in, firm and decisive.
You blinked at him. Namjoon raised an eyebrow.
And Jungkook—well.
Jungkook realized what he had just said a second too late.
His ears turned red.
“With some wolves still hostile,” he quickly added, looking anywhere but at you, “it would be better if she stayed with me. That way, she wouldn’t have to deal with suspicious packmates glaring at her all night.”
There was a heavy silence.
Then—
Namjoon hummed. Amused. “Oh?”
Jungkook stiffened. “I— I just meant—”
“You meant that her safety is your responsibility,” Namjoon said, voice neutral but his gaze anything but. His eyes held something knowing, something that made Jungkook shift uncomfortably under its weight. “Good.”
Jungkook hated that look.
You, on the other hand, weren’t as flustered as Jungkook clearly was. Instead, you just tilted your head slightly, gaze lingering on him for a moment before nodding. “That’s fine with me.”
Jungkook swallowed hard.
Then came the next topic.
The hunters.
You had no doubt that the last attack had only been the beginning. If they had struck once, they would strike again. And when they did, both your coven and the werewolf village would be in danger.
Namjoon agreed.
Which was why you made your offer.
“I can ward the village,” you said simply. “Every protection spell I know, every barrier I can weave. It won’t stop a full-blown assault, but it will make it harder for them to get close without us knowing.”
Namjoon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And what would you want in return?”
Your answer was immediate.
“A friendship.”
The room went silent.
You met Namjoon’s gaze without flinching. “Your people and mine don’t need to love each other. But we can help each other. Like now. Like this. When it matters.”
Something shifted in Namjoon’s expression.
After a long moment, he nodded.
“That,” he said, “I can agree to.”
With the terms settled, Namjoon and Jungkook had wanted to take you around the village to begin placing protection spells.
Except—
Your stomach had other ideas.
A quiet, traitorous rumble filled the room.
For a second, no one said anything.
Then—
Jungkook turned to look at you, blinking.
Heat immediately flooded your face.
You pressed a hand against your stomach as if that would somehow take back the sound, but the damage was done. Namjoon’s lips twitched in amusement. And Jungkook—
Jungkook grinned.
His wolf preened at the sight of your flushed face.
You cleared your throat. “Perhaps… a break before we start?”
Jungkook was already pushing up from his chair. “I’ll get food.”
Namjoon nodded. “Eat first. We can go after.”
And just like that, you found yourself following Jungkook to a smaller, more private space—a cozy, open room in the Pack House where food was often shared among the higher-ranking wolves. It wasn’t the main dining hall, where the majority of the pack ate together, but it wasn’t entirely secluded either.
Jungkook grabbed a plate and started piling food onto it—grilled meat, roasted vegetables, thick slices of bread. He moved with ease, almost unconsciously, as if he had done this a hundred times.
Which, you supposed, he had.
“You don’t have to serve me, you know,” you pointed out, watching him.
Jungkook didn’t even look up. “You just fainted a few hours ago. You’re eating.”
You huffed but said nothing as he handed you a full plate.
Then—before you could react—he grabbed a piece of bread and ripped it in half.
You stared.
“…Are you always this aggressive with your food?”
Jungkook paused mid-chew, eyes flicking to you.
Then he grinned, mouth still full. “Hmph.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched.
You sat down at one of the wooden tables, and Jungkook took the seat beside you—right beside you, not across, not with space between. His thigh was close enough to brush against yours, his presence a warm, solid weight beside you.
You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite. The food was simple but good. Well-seasoned, filling. It grounded you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.
Jungkook watched you, a small flicker of satisfaction in his expression.
“You like it?” he asked.
You nodded, swallowing. “It’s good.”
Jungkook watched you eat with a quiet, deep satisfaction.
It wasn’t just relief that you were eating after what you had been through. It was something older, something ingrained into his instincts, something wolfen.
You were eating his food.
Food he had picked for you. Food he had given you.
And you liked it.
A low, pleased hum rumbled in his chest, too deep to be entirely human. His wolf settled, tail-wagging levels of happy, as you took another bite, clearly enjoying the meal.
He knew, logically, that you didn’t understand the significance. That you weren’t one of them.
But in his world, in his nature, providing for a mate was instinctual. Offering food wasn’t just kindness—it was a sign of care, protection. It was a wolf’s responsibility. Making sure you had everything you needed, that you were safe and fed, felt more fulfilling than it should.
Jungkook glanced at your plate—mostly empty now—and felt a surge of satisfaction so strong it almost startled him.
You had eaten everything.
Jin, who had silently slid into the seat across from you at some point, noticed.
Noticed the way Jungkook was sitting a little too close. The way his eyes flickered with something warm and possessive. The way his body was angled protectively toward you, even though there was no immediate threat.
And Jin, being Jin, did what he did best.
He grinned.
Jungkook shot him a glare, but it lacked heat.
Jin just picked up a piece of meat and bit into it lazily. “So,” he mused, glancing between you and Jungkook, “you’re really staying with him, huh?”
You swallowed the last bit of food, nodding. “Apparently.”
Jin’s grin widened. “Interesting.”
Jungkook groaned.
After you finished eating, Jin pushed himself up from his seat, stretching. “Namjoon’s caught up with other things,” he said, “so I’ll be the one following you while you work on the protection spells.”
Jungkook immediately frowned.
You gave Jin a small smile, genuinely pleased to have him accompany you. “You’re welcome to come, but I should warn you—it’s probably going to be boring.”
Jin gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Boring? Do you not know who I am? I am the life of every gathering. I bring light to the darkest of days. I—”
“You talk too much,” Jungkook muttered, rolling his eyes.
Jin ignored him, grinning as he leaned slightly closer to you. “Besides, if I wasn’t there, who knows what kind of trouble you and Jungkook would get into all alone?”
Jungkook kicked him under the table.
Jin howled, clutching his shin. “See?! This is the treatment I get for trying to protect your reputation?”
Jungkook scowled, but his ears were turning red.
You just shook your head, standing up chuckling. “Let’s just go.”
Jin, still grinning despite the pain, followed with a smug expression. Then, after one last glance at your empty plate—Jungkook’s wolf practically purring at the sight—you set off to begin your work.
The afternoon passed in a blur of whispered incantations and flickering air.
Some spells were nearly invisible, their effects subtle and woven seamlessly into the land. Others were more obvious—the air shimmered in places where barriers strengthened, the light bending as if the very world was shifting to accommodate your magic.
Jungkook watched you with open awe.
He had never seen magic like this before.
Of course, he had always known witches could do things wolves could not. But witnessing it firsthand—watching you shape the world with your hands, bend energy with nothing but your will—was entirely different.
You were unlike anything he had ever encountered.
And the pack was beginning to see it too.
At first, they had simply observed from a distance, hesitant and wary. But as the day went on, some wolves grew bolder. A few approached, curiosity outweighing suspicion.
Jungkook was tense at first. He didn’t like the way some of the wolves hovered nearby, their eyes locked onto you as you worked. Even if they weren’t outright hostile, they were still watching—still wary, still uncertain.
It made his wolf restless. Protective.
But as the day stretched on, something began to shift.
At first, the wolves had simply observed from a distance, hesitant and cautious. But curiosity was a powerful thing, and eventually, it overpowered their distrust. A few wolves stepped closer, drawn in by the strange yet mesmerizing sight of your work.
Jungkook kept his stance firm, his expression unreadable, but Jin nudged him lightly.
“Relax,” Jin murmured under his breath. “Look at them. They’re not snarling. They’re not snapping their teeth. Give them a chance.”
Jungkook exhaled slowly, glancing at you.
You were so focused, so calm, tracing unseen lines in the air with your fingertips, murmuring soft incantations that made the very atmosphere flicker. Your magic left shimmering traces behind—sometimes invisible, sometimes shifting like heat waves. It was beautiful.
And, surprisingly, some of the wolves thought so too.
One finally stepped forward, hesitant but determined. “What… exactly are you doing?”
Jungkook stiffened slightly, but you only turned to them with quiet patience.
“I’m warding the village,” you explained simply, pausing in your work to meet their gaze. “Strengthening the defenses so if hunters come again, we’ll have early warnings and protections.”
The wolf frowned, shifting on their feet as if processing your words. Jungkook held his breath, waiting for them to sneer, to challenge, to reject.
But instead—
“…That’s good,” they admitted.
Jungkook blinked.
The wolf didn’t say anything else, but they stepped back, watching you work with less wariness than before.
Jin shot Jungkook a knowing look. See?
And as much as Jungkook hated to admit it, Jin was right.
For the first time since you had arrived, it felt like a small part of the Pack was beginning to accept you. And though Jungkook wouldn’t let his guard down completely—though he still watched every wolf that got too close—he allowed himself to breathe.
It wasn’t acceptance. Not yet.
But it was a start.
Jungkook felt something warm settle in his chest as he observed the shift.
You were changing things here.
For the first time, his pack was beginning to see you not as an outsider, not as a witch—but as someone helping them.
And then—
“You should stop.”
Your hands stilled mid-gesture as Jungkook’s voice cut through the evening air.
You turned to look at him, confused. “What?”
The sun was dipping lower now, staining the sky in deep oranges and purples. The air was cooling.
Jungkook’s jaw was tight.
“You should stop for today.”
You frowned. “I can keep going.”
“No.”
The word was firm.
Your frown deepened. “Jungkook, I’m fine—”
“You fainted earlier.”
The reminder sent a ripple of stubbornness through you. “That was from a blood spell, not this.”
“I don’t care.”
His voice was steady, but his eyes—
His eyes were intense.
Frustrated. Worried.
His wolf was pacing beneath his skin, restless. The memory of you collapsing, unconscious and pale, was still too fresh.
You hesitated.
He took a step closer, his expression dark and serious. “You’re not pushing yourself past your limit again.”
The protective edge in his tone caught you off guard.
Jin, standing a few feet away, watched with open amusement but said nothing.
You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Jungkook—”
“No.”
You huffed under your breath, muttering, “You’re worse than Jimin.”
It wasn’t meant to be a big deal, just an exasperated complaint, but the second the words left your mouth, Jungkook’s expression darkened.
Worse than Jimin?
Jungkook, was not amused.
“Worse than Jimin?” he repeated, voice flat.
You blinked at him, only now realizing what you had done.
Jungkook didn’t like being compared to Jimin. But even more than that, he didn’t like the implication behind your words—the one that suggested you needed someone to stop you, that you wouldn’t stop on your own. That you had the same reckless streak that Jimin always scolded you for.
His jaw clenched. “That supposed to mean something?”
You hesitated. “It means you’re being dramatic.”
“Dramatic?”
Jin snorted. “You are being a little dramatic, Jungkook.”
Jungkook shot him a glare, but it lacked real heat. Then he turned back to you, his sharp eyes searching your face.
“Stop pushing yourself,” he said firmly.
You exhaled, dragging a hand through your hair. You hadn’t even done that much. But something about the way he was watching you—like you were one wrong move away from collapsing again—made it impossible to argue.
You exhaled slowly. Then, finally, you gave in. “…Fine.”
Jungkook’s shoulders relaxed just slightly.
You hadn’t noticed how tense he had been.
Jin snickered. “Didn’t know you were this bossy, Jungkook.”
Jungkook ignored him.
Instead, his gaze softened as he looked at you. “Come on. You’ve done enough for today.”
And just like that—before you could argue further—he reached out, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, tugging you gently in the direction of his home.
You let him lead you.
And behind you, Jin’s grin only widened.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
Jungkook didn’t let go of your wrist the entire walk back.
It wasn’t until you stepped inside his home—until the door shut behind you, sealing you both in the quiet warmth of his space—that he realized it.
His body tensed. His grip slackened.
And then, as if burned, he let go.
Too fast. Too abrupt. He had been so preoccupied with keeping you close, with making sure you didn’t push yourself too hard, that he hadn’t thought about what he was doing. About what it meant.
His whole body tensed as he stepped away, putting deliberate distance between you. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking near his temple, and you could practically see the war waging inside him. Something unsettled flickered in his eyes, like a question he wasn’t willing to ask.
His heart pounded in his chest, restless and uneasy, his wolf scratching just beneath the surface, urging him to pull you close again. To feel that warmth, that connection.
But he didn’t.
Because that would be reckless. And selfish.
You hadn’t chosen him. Hell, you might not even know.
Jungkook swallowed, his throat bobbing, before his gaze snapped away. "You should take the bed."
You turned to him, one brow arching. "What?"
"You heard me." He gestured toward the small but comfortable-looking bed in the adjacent room. "You're still recovering. Take the bed."
You blinked at him, then let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, absolutely not. You should take the bed. This is your home."
"It's my home, which is why I'm saying you should take it."
You crossed your arms, leveling him with an unimpressed look. "I'm a guest. Guests take the couch. That’s just common courtesy."
"And hosts take care of their guests," he shot back, expression firm. "That’s just common sense."
You narrowed your eyes at him. "You’ve already taken care of me enough."
"You passed out from that spell earlier," he reminded you. " And then spent the entire day working." He took a slow step closer, voice dipping into something softer. "You need proper rest."
"So do you."
Jungkook exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.
You raised an eyebrow, feeling smug for a moment—until you saw the way his ears had turned pink.
Jungkook didn’t care about himself. He cared about you.
And that realization made something unfamiliar twist low in your stomach.
Still, you weren’t about to let him win so easily.
"You’re taking the bed," he insisted.
"I’m taking the couch."
"You’re so damn stubborn."
You smirked. "Thank you."
"It wasn’t a compliment."
"Sure sounded like one."
Jungkook let out a low, frustrated groan, rolling his eyes skyward like he was asking the moon for patience.
This shouldn’t be such a big deal. It was just a bed. But the thought of you sleeping out here on the couch while his bed sat empty didn’t sit right with him. Not at all. You deserved comfort. Safety. The best he could offer you.
And…
And if he was being completely honest, part of him liked the idea of you sleeping in his bed.
Because then, when he went to sleep later—when he laid his head on the pillows and inhaled deeply—your scent would still be there, woven into the fabric, lingering in the space around him.
His wolf purred at the thought, tail practically wagging.
He swallowed thickly, pushing down the surge of want that threatened to rise to the surface.
"You’re taking the bed," he said, tone final.
You huffed. "No, I'm—"
Jungkook growled.
It wasn’t loud, wasn’t threatening—but it was warning.
You froze for half a second, eyes narrowing at him, then sighed. He was serious about this. And honestly… you were exhausted. The last two days had taken more out of you than you wanted to admit. The thought of sinking into a real bed instead of stiff cushions… well. That was tempting. And if Jungkook was going to be this insistent, you might as well accept the offer.
"Fine," you muttered.
Jungkook barely contained his victorious smirk.
Then, before you could change your mind, he turned toward the small storage space in the corner, pulling out a spare blanket for himself. "Good. Now go to sleep."
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you turned and headed toward the bedroom, the scent of pinewood and something distinctly him wrapping around you as you stepped inside. It was simple but comfortable—neat blankets, a small table near the window, and pillows stacked against the headboard.
It was undeniably his space.
And you were about to sleep in it. You already had, but now you would do so on your own.
And as you walked past him, heading toward his bedroom, Jungkook couldn’t help but glance at you—at the way your presence fit so easily into his home, like you belonged here.
Like you belonged with him.
His chest ached.
He turned away before he could think about it too much.
Tomorrow. He’d think about it tomorrow.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
Jungkook woke up to the soft sounds of clinking utensils and a faint hum of a melody he couldn't quite place. The smell of something warm and comforting filled the air, making his stomach grumble, even though he wasn't quite awake yet.
He blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light streaming through the small window. For a moment, he was disoriented, not fully sure where he was. But then the memory of the night before came rushing back—everything from the blood spell to your stubborn insistence on taking the couch. And now, here you were, in his kitchen, cooking.
He rubbed his face and pushed himself up, wincing slightly at the soreness in his muscles from the events of the last few days. His eyes fell on you, bent over a skillet, the faint sound of sizzling filling the silence between the two of you. You were humming lightly, focused on your task, completely at ease in his space.
The sight of you so comfortable, so... at home, made something warm stir inside him. He couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. This—this felt like peace. Like everything had settled into place. His mate, in his kitchen, cooking breakfast.
A low chuckle escaped him, and you turned slightly, catching the sound as you noticed him. His gaze met yours, a mix of amusement and something softer, unspoken, in his eyes.
"Good morning," you said, your voice calm and steady, though there was a hint of playfulness in your tone.
Jungkook stretched, his muscles protesting, but he ignored it. "I didn’t realize I was the guest here," he teased softly, trying to keep the mood light. "Shouldn't I be the one making breakfast for you?"
You didn't look up from the stove as you replied, your voice warm but firm, "I'm fine. The breakfast will be ready soon."
Jungkook raised an eyebrow, watching you with a mix of amusement and admiration. There was no winning with you. "What kind of tea are you drinking?" he asked, a change of subject to keep the conversation going.
You paused for just a beat, considering whether you should tease him or not. Your eyes flickered over to him, and with a knowing smile, you said, "Lavender. I hope it’s okay I used yours. And something from the herbs I brought along. It’s meant to help with fatigue."
Jungkook’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but the soft laugh that followed was immediate. "Of course it’s okay. You don’t have to ask, you know." He stretched, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and a smile tugged at his lips.
You gave a small, appreciative smile, then turned your attention back to the tea. As you listed the herbs you had brought, Jungkook raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of curiosity and something like suspicion.
"What exactly did you bring?" he asked, his voice teasing. "Are you making potions instead of tea?"
You met his gaze and couldn’t help but laugh lightly. "Nothing that extreme," you teased back, though there was a glint of something serious in your eyes. "Just a blend to help with your energy levels. It’ll give you a little more balance."
"You should try it," you said, your voice gentle as you poured him a cup of tea and passed it to him.
As his fingers brushed yours, a strange, electric feeling ran through him. It was subtle at first—just the briefest of touches—but it sent a jolt of warmth straight to his chest. His heartbeat quickened, his breath catching as the sensation seemed to settle deep inside him. It felt like home, like peace had washed over him.
You froze for a fraction of a second, the weight of the moment hanging between you, but neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.
Jungkook’s breath faltered as he glanced down at your fingers, now both holding the cup in your hand, feeling the lingering warmth of your touch still dancing along his skin. His wolf stirred restlessly, but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to break the silence.
He wanted to. He wanted to ask you if you felt it too. But he couldn’t.
You finally broke the moment with a soft, steady exhale, your fingers retreating slowly as you handed him the cup. The air around you felt heavier, charged, but neither of you acknowledged it.
"Do you like it?" you asked, your voice quieter now, almost uncertain.
Jungkook chuckled, though a small part of him still wondered what other strange remedies you had hidden among those herbs. He took a sip of the tea, letting the warm liquid settle over him. He couldn’t deny it was soothing.
"It’s good," he murmured, looking at you with a playful glint. "Maybe you should just make all my tea from now on."
For a moment, you both stood there, silently sharing the quiet of the morning, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface. Jungkook glanced at you again, wondering if you knew what had just passed between you. Wondering if you could feel it too.
But he didn’t ask. And you didn’t say anything more.
The air hummed with unsaid words. With possibilities neither of you was ready to confront.
Yet.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
Jungkook was still watching you when the sharp knock at the door made you both jump slightly, shattering the fragile moment between you.
Jin’s voice carried through the wood. “Jungkook, open up! You too, witch, I know you’re in there.”
Jungkook groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hyung, it’s too damn early for your nonsense.”
“Too early?” Jin scoffed. “Half the pack has been awake since dawn. Now open the door before I break it down.”
You exchanged a glance with Jungkook, who rolled his eyes before getting up and swinging the door open.
Jin stood there, arms crossed, looking entirely unimpressed. His sharp gaze flickered over you before settling back on Jungkook. “The pack house needs you both. Some of the wounded need another check, and others specifically asked to thank the witch who healed them.” He gave you a pointed look. “Try not to look so surprised. You did save their lives.”
You shifted, pushing your tea cup aside. “I don’t mind helping,” you said after a pause.
Jin nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”
The walk to the pack house was quiet, though Jungkook stuck close to you, his presence steady beside you. The moment had been disrupted, but you were almost grateful for it—because the longer you spent with him, the harder it was to ignore the lingering dread creeping in. The moment you finished here, you’d have to leave. Jimin was expecting you back home. And the thought of walking away from this place, from Jungkook, left a weight in your chest that you weren’t ready to unpack.
At the pack house, things quickly became busy. You checked over wounds, reinforced healing spells, and even brewed a potion for revitalization—something to help the injured regain their strength faster. Some of the wolves you’d treated were hesitant at first, still wary of a witch in their midst, but others, grateful for your help, actually sought you out to thank you.
Jungkook remained by your side the entire time. Whether it was intentional or not, you weren’t sure, but you could feel him—his presence, his gaze, his silent reassurance. It made it easier to breathe, even as your mind churned with thoughts you didn’t want to face.
Jin stayed behind at the pack house as you and Jungkook left to continue warding the village. You had just reached the edge of the territory when another familiar voice cut through the air.
“You really have no shame, do you?”
Hoseok.
You turned just in time to see him approaching, his expression unreadable but his tone laced with irritation.
Jungkook immediately tensed beside you.
“I’m busy, Hoseok,” you said evenly, refusing to let him get under your skin.
“Oh, I can see that,” he said, eyeing the way Jungkook stood close to you. “Busy playing house with our second-in-command?”
Your jaw clenched, but before you could say anything, Jungkook moved.
He stepped between you and Hoseok, his posture rigid, shoulders squared. “Watch it,” Jungkook warned, voice low and dangerous.
Hoseok raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “What? I’m just wondering when exactly we started trusting witches so easily. Or is she just an exception?”
Jungkook’s muscles coiled, his hands clenching into fists. “I don’t need to explain anything to you.”
Hoseok scoffed, crossing his arms. “Right. Of course not. Just like you don’t need to explain why you’re acting like she’s more important than the pack.”
The accusation sent a sharp wave of tension through the air. You could feel the way Jungkook’s anger crackled beneath the surface, restrained only by a thin thread of control.
“I swore to protect her,” Jungkook said, his voice quiet but firm.
Hoseok’s expression darkened. “Why?”
Jungkook’s grip tightened at his sides. “Because she could saved us.”
Hoseok took a slow step forward, looking past Jungkook to meet your gaze. “Did she? Or did she just do what was convenient for her?”
That was the final straw.
Jungkook lunged first.
The impact was sudden, raw. The two of them crashed to the ground, rolling through the dirt as fists flew. Hoseok wasn’t weak, but neither was Jungkook—especially not when he was this furious.
You barely had time to react before they were locked in a vicious struggle, growls ripping through the air. Jungkook fought like he had something to prove, like he was defending something that went far beyond just you being a witch in their territory.
Because this wasn’t just about the pack anymore.
It was about you.
And though Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it—to himself or to anyone else—he wouldn’t let anyone talk to his mate like that.
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Jungkook barely had time to process his own fury before he was moving. His body acted before his mind could catch up, instincts taking over in a single, explosive movement.
One second, he was standing between you and Hoseok, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. The next, he lunged.
The impact was immediate—bone and muscle colliding with raw force. They hit the ground hard, rolling through the dirt as the force of Jungkook’s tackle sent them skidding across the clearing. A snarl tore from Jungkook’s throat, his wolf dangerously close to the surface.
Hoseok wasn’t weak. He recovered quickly, twisting his body mid-roll to break free from Jungkook’s grip, and in the next heartbeat, he retaliated.
A fist shot out, catching Jungkook just under the ribs, but it wasn’t enough to make him back down. If anything, it only made him more determined.
Jungkook shoved back, hard, knocking Hoseok onto his back before pinning him down with a knee to his chest. His breath came heavy, his heart pounding in his ears, but he barely noticed.
"You don’t get to talk about her like that," he growled, voice rough with warning.
Hoseok scoffed beneath him, gritting his teeth as he struggled against Jungkook’s hold. "So that’s what this is about?" he spat. "Not the pack, not the safety of our people—just her?"
Jungkook’s grip tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of Hoseok’s shirt. "She saved us," he bit out, his tone lethal. "She saved Namjoon. She saved me. And you still act like she’s the enemy."
Hoseok’s eyes flashed, his own anger simmering beneath the surface. "She’s a witch," he snapped. "You don’t just forget centuries of bloodshed because of one act of kindness."
Jungkook’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. "And you don’t blame someone for things they didn’t do."
A tense silence stretched between them, their harsh breaths the only sound in the air. The pack house wasn’t far—others would have heard the commotion by now. But neither of them moved, neither willing to be the first to back down.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook saw you take a small step forward. You weren’t afraid, not of him, not of Hoseok. But there was something in your expression—something wary, something uncertain.
And it made Jungkook’s fury deepen.
Because you shouldn’t have to look at his pack like that. You shouldn’t have to defend yourself every time you turned around.
His fingers twitched against Hoseok’s collar, but he forced himself to release his grip, shoving himself back just enough to let the other man breathe. Hoseok coughed, rubbing his chest as he sat up, but his glare didn’t waver.
"She doesn’t belong here," he said, his voice lower now, but just as sharp.
Jungkook’s hands curled into fists at his sides. "She belongs wherever she wants to be," he said firmly. "And if she chooses to be here, then that’s her choice. Not yours."
For a long moment, Hoseok didn’t reply. He only stared at Jungkook, then at you, as if weighing something unspoken. Then, with a heavy exhale, he pushed himself to his feet.
"This isn’t over," he muttered, brushing dirt from his clothes.
Jungkook didn’t look away. "It is for now," he said, voice cold.
Hoseok cast one last glance between the two of you before turning on his heel and walking off, his posture stiff with lingering tension.
The second he was gone, the air between you and Jungkook shifted.
His shoulders were still taut, his body wound too tight, but when he turned to look at you, something softened in his expression.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges.
You blinked, caught off guard. "I—yes," you said slowly. "You didn’t have to do that, you know."
Jungkook exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, I did."
You studied him for a long moment, something unreadable passing through your eyes. He was still tense, shoulders squared, fists flexing at his sides like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the fight.
Your gaze flickered down to where Hoseok had landed a solid punch just under his ribs. A faint shadow of pain crossed his face before he schooled his features again.
"Are you alright?" you asked, tilting your head slightly. "That hit looked like it hurt."
Jungkook scoffed, shifting his weight. "It’s nothing."
You frowned. "That’s not an answer."
His lips twitched, but when you stepped forward, reaching a careful hand toward his side, he stiffened. Not because he didn’t want you close—but because the moment your fingers brushed his shirt, something in him nearly unraveled.
"Should I take a look at it?" you asked, voice softer now. "Just to make sure it won’t bruise too badly?"
Jungkook swallowed, throat bobbing. He should say no. He knew he should. But you were standing so close, the scent of lavender and something warm filling the space between you, and for some reason, he didn’t want to move away.
He wanted to say yes.
And that terrified him.
But before he could answer, the sound of footsteps broke the moment, distant but approaching. His jaw clenched as he turned his head, knowing it was probably another member of the pack coming to check on the fight.
You took a small step back, hands dropping to your sides.
"Later, then," you murmured.
Jungkook wasn’t sure if you meant the check-up or something else entirely.
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Jungkook barely had a moment to catch his breath before another set of hurried footsteps approached. A younger wolf, barely past his first shift, skidded to a stop in front of them, panting.
"Jungkook," the boy gasped, eyes darting between you and the beta. "Alpha Namjoon needs you. Now."
Jungkook’s entire body tensed. "What happened?"
The boy hesitated, glancing at you, before lowering his voice. "There’s been movement near the eastern border. Strangers. We don’t know if they’re hunters or rogues, but Namjoon wants you there."
A growl rumbled deep in Jungkook’s chest. His instincts screamed at him to stay—to keep you within reach, where he knew you were safe—but the pack came first. And if there was a threat near their borders, he couldn’t ignore it.
His gaze snapped to you, his brow furrowed in hesitation. "You go stay with Jin," he ordered, voice rough. "Don’t go anywhere until I get back."
You sighed, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I’ll be fine, Jungkook. It’s just for a moment."
He didn’t look convinced.
You stepped closer to Jungkook, voice lowering. "Really, go. Your pack needs you. I’ll be right here with Jin when you get back."
Jungkook’s jaw clenched. His wolf didn’t like this—not one bit. But he forced himself to nod, eyes lingering on you for a second longer before turning away.
The moment he disappeared into the trees, you went to find Jin. It didn’t take long for you to find him and tell him why you were without Jungkook.
"You know," Jin mused, leaning lazily against a tree. "I think that might be the first time for Jungkook to hesitate to follow an order."
You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes. "He’s just protective."
Jin hummed, looking at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Oh, sweetheart. That’s not just protection. That’s something else entirely."
You opened your mouth to argue—but then closed it again. Because deep down, you knew Jin wasn’t wrong.
And that realization was almost as terrifying as the thought of Jungkook being forced away from you.
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The minutes stretched longer than you expected. Jungkook still wasn’t back, and though you weren’t worried for your safety, you couldn’t shake the unease creeping in. Jin, ever the social one, kept you occupied with stories about the pack and his long-standing friendship with both Jungkook and Namjoon.
“You know, Jungkook wasn’t always the brooding, silent type,” Jin mused, leaning against a tree. “When we were younger, he was the first to pick fights, but not out of aggression. It was just his way of proving himself. Namjoon always had to drag him out of trouble.”
You smiled faintly, picturing a younger Jungkook, all wild energy and untamed defiance. “And you? Were you the responsible one?”
Jin scoffed. “Me? Absolutely not. I just had the best excuses to get us out of trouble.” He smirked, then his expression softened. “Jungkook’s loyalty is fierce, though. If you have him on your side, he’ll never let anything happen to you.”
You hesitated. “I know.”
Jin watched you for a moment before changing the subject. “Hoseok, by the way? I have a theory about why he’s been so difficult with you.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”
Jin chuckled. “He doesn’t trust outsiders, sure. But it’s more than that. He thinks you’re going to take Jungkook from the pack.”
You blinked. “What?”
“He sees how Jungkook looks at you,” Jin continued, voice casual but sharp with meaning. “Even if Jungkook doesn’t realize it yet, Hoseok does. And he’s scared of what that means.”
Your lips parted, a denial forming, but before you could say anything—
A sharp whistle tore through the air.
Then, chaos erupted.
Shouts and growls filled the village as figures clad in dark clothing emerged from the tree line. Hunters. Again.
Your stomach lurched. Jin’s posture changed instantly, his easygoing demeanor vanishing as he grabbed your wrist. “Stay close.”
Chaos erupted almost instantly. The pack members still recovering from the last attack scrambled to evacuate the children and elderly while others shifted mid-run, lunging toward their attackers.
You nodded, but already, your thoughts raced. Not because you feared for yourself—you could handle this. But because Jungkook wasn’t here. If he were, you’d at least know he was safe.
The battle broke out in full force. Wolves, still recovering from the last attack, fought through their injuries to defend their home. Children were ushered away, their cries blending with the clashing of steel and snarls of wolves mid-shift.
You moved quickly, helping where you could. Spells left your lips, defensive barriers flashing to life, potions thrown to heal the wounded. Jin fought beside you, sharp and ruthless.
Then, in the chaos, you lost him.
You turned sharply, searching, but before you could find him, movement caught your eye. A hunter—a man clad in dark leathers, blade gleaming—rushed toward a small girl with pigtails, frozen in fear.
You didn’t think. You moved.
One hand grabbed the child, the other reaching into your pouch. As the hunter’s blade swung down, you twisted, pulling the girl with you, and hurled a vial of shimmering powder at the attacker’s face.
He screamed, clawing at his eyes, stumbling back in agony barely missing you.
But before you could react further, the unmistakable sound of crystals shattering on stone sent a cold dread through you.
Two glimmering stones landed behind you, their shards glowing faintly.
Binding Crystals.
A barrier flared to life, sealing you inside a confined space—cut off from the rest of the pack.
Two hunters were with you.
"Looks like we caught ourselves a little witch," one sneered.
You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself. "Stay exactly where you are," you murmured to the girl. "And close your eyes."
The hunters chuckled. "You don’t seem to understand your situation."
A small smile curved your lips as you reached into your pouch once more. "No," you said calmly, pulling out another vial, this one filled with a thick, black inky liquid.
"You don’t understand yours."
With a flick of your wrist, you uncorked the vial.
Black smoke poured out instantly, thick and unnatural, swallowing the space whole. The hunters cursed, stumbling back as the darkness consumed everything in its path.
And then—
Jungkook arrived.
He and his patrol burst onto the scene just in time to see the last of you disappear into the smoke.
Not one, but two hunters with you.
Rage, cold and absolute, filled him.
"No."
Without thinking, he lunged toward the barrier—only to be thrown back violently, skidding across the ground as the magic repelled him.
"No!" His roar shook the trees, his wolf raging against his skin, furious and desperate.
You were gone.
And he couldn’t reach you.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ Part 2
@somehowukook
510 notes · View notes
myladysapphire · 9 months ago
Text
Forbidden
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With a feud older than history, the Blackwoods and Brackens have long been enemies, but now, you, a daughter of lord Bracken, finds yourself in the arms of Benjicot Blackwood, and he will do everyhting it takes to make you his.
based of this request
word count: 3,893
cw: MDI, 18+, smut, dry humping, loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, making out, masturbation, violence, slight breeding kink, pregancy, not proofread!
Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader
dividers by @zaldritzosrose
Authors notes: a lot of ocs, alot of canon diveregence and based before the dance.
sorry this took so long to come out and so long for me to update in general! i wrote half of this and then decided to re do the whole thing entirely differently and then I got stuck and started writing two other things but here it is, enjoy!
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“You will not marry him” your fathers voice bellowed.
You had begged and pleaded and yet there was no resolve, your father was adamant in a match with the lord Jorah Mallister a man near twice your age. And not a match with the man you held dear to your heart.
Benjicot Blackwood.
You had met him near six summers ago. For six years you had been courting him in private, away from all eyes but each other’s.
It had been easy to fall in love with him, with someone as kind and well mannered as he. But that wasn’t what had drawn you to him.
At the time neither of you knew which house the other belonged too, nor cared. There seemed to be something unexplainable that drew you to one another.
You were like twin flames, so similar and yet you were your own unique force but together you burned brighter.
But this wasn’t something your lord father could understand.
The feud between Blackwood and Bracken had spanned through time and was a never-ending factor. They would always despise one another, the true reason why lost to time and only fuel was added to the fire with each generation.
If the Blackwood’s stood on one side, you can guarantee the Brackens stood on the other.
The sides of their conflict varied, no one knowing the truth, neither history book nor legend.
With both houses being old and ancient, with blood of the first men running though their veins. Both claimed to be kings, the Blackwood’s claiming to have been kings of the wolfs wood before being driven south. And the Brackens had been kings of the Riverlands.
There it is said the Blackwood’s usurped the Bracken lands, where the Blackwood’s claimed the Brackens were petty lords and sells words hired to usurp them.
And though there had been a hundred peace’s between the families over the millennia, with every blackwood comes Bracken blood, and ever bracken comes blackwood blood. But no peace lasted long enough, and each peace ended with a larger wound than before.
When it comes between the two it is often a case of, he said or she said, no one wishes to get involved and no one knows the truth, and no matter the efforts of their overlord of kings, no truce lasted.
And all because of this, a feud neither of you wished to take part in, you were torn apart.
A marriage set between you and an old lord, and the turning of a key locking you in your rooms, separating you from him.
Your father thought it was some infatuation, when in fact it was everything.
You had met as children, playing on the border between your lands. He had tripped and fell over the border stones and you, with your friends having long run off at the sight of a blackwood came to aid him.
Tending to the small cut on his head, you teased him mercilessly, claiming he must be the best knight the Blackwood’s had if he would so easily cross the border as he did.
Andin truth that was how it all started, childish teasing, and the small gesture of caring for his small cut.
With days spent meeting at the border, playing as children did, you forged a bond. A bond that only strengthen as you were sent to ward with your mother’s family over.
With two summers spent together, the third apart it was clear much had changed when you went to meet at the border once more.
You had become a woman and he a man, and suddenly the childish games got lost and suddenly bashful smiles were exchanged in the place of teasing.
“How are you?” he has asked, having spent he summer with no word, unable to send each other letters, with fear of being caught and your friendship ending.
It was clear much had changed, your faces had lost the baby fat, he was now a head taller than you, whereas before you had towered over him. Your clothes had become that of a lady, no longer where your dressed hemmed to your ankles, your tunics and trousers thrown out in favour of gowns and jewels.
Your hair had grown long, and now adorned with jewels and accessories alike.
You looked everything of the lady you were expected to be and more. You had grown into your features, and he was struck by you.
It was almost like you were strangers again, with you blushing as you towards him and he unsure of how to act towards you know.
Stuttering your words, as you recounted your year, blushing as you told him of your kiss with one of the stable hands. How you had helped your aunt give birth, and how you had felt lonely without him, even though you only got to see him for a few hours every few days.
He had recounted his summer, how he had become a squire and his father had started giving him duties, fit for the future lord of Raventree.
The awkwardness left you both as the day passed and the sun set, you both left with a new view of the other. A year apart changing you from childhood friends to newfound crushes.
Neither of you cared that you were from rivalling families, the skirmishes between your cousins and his cousins and even him, never affecting you bar a small argument here and there.
As time passed and you both grew older you found most of your days spent with the other, and soon the friendly hand holding was exchanged for soft kisses and wandering hands.
If you were from any other house a marriage would have been easy, but neither of your fathers accepted the other, and as tensions grew and grew you lost any hope for a future with Ben.
You had kept your friendship, your companionship a secret, a well-kept secret no one not even your closest friends knew off.
Until two days ago.
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The news of a betrothal had spurred you; you had run to the border to find Ben and beg him to run away.
But instead of Ben you found your oldest brother Amos, and a man you briefly recognised to be Bryden blackwood, a cousin to Ben. They seemed to be in some argument, over the boundary stones. Luckily no swords had been drawn yet.
You approached your brother cautiously.
“Amos” you started, nodding to the bracken men that stood with him.
“Sister…what are you doing her?” he asked, moving away from Bryden’s glare.
“I could ask you the same, aren’t you meant to patrol the border not step over it?” “I knew you changed the boarder stones!”
“I did not, my sister does not know what she speaks, she rarely comes here!”
“Rarely swear I’ve seen you before” he stepped closer to you, your brother slowly stood to stand in front of you. “Yes…I know you, you’re that girl my cousins spends his days with! hah a Bracken bitch”.
“What does he speak of!” your brother demanded.
“Nothing, I don’t know- “
Ben walked over, a laugh set on his face and hand on his sword, ready to fight if needed. “What is going on here?” he said, facing falling as he saw you.
Bryden turned to face him, “We were simply observing the border stones before your bitch came along”.
“What did you call her?” both Ben and Amos questioned, tone stern and glares set on Bryden.
“a Bracken Bitch” he punctuated each word, stepping closer to Amos, only to be dragged away by Ben and a punch landing swiftly on his face.
Ben’s fists pounded Bryden’s face, blood spattering as groans left Bryden’s lips, ben only stopped as his uncle, Wilheim came running up and pulled him away.
“What is going on here!”
“Your nephew insulted my sister” Amos spoke, his hand reaching for his sword.
“And why is Benjicot bloody blackwood taking it out on him?” he near screamed.
You looked tot eh floor, to scared to speak.
“He called her my Bracken…my Bracken bitch” Ben spoke, his eyes glued to your form as you nervously kicked at the border stones.
Wilheim gave Ben and exasperate look, “is its true boy?”
You looked up, feeling all eyes on yours.
“yes” he said, his face downcast in shame. Not shame for being with you, for the moments you shared or the love he felt but for the way it was revealed, for how you had been spoken off and the laughs that irrupted at the news.
Wilheim pulled him closer, “is she still?” everyone knew what he was asking, no matter how discrete he tried to be.
You knew the answer, and you knew no matter what came out of Bens mouth your brother would be forced to tell your father and your father would demand the maester check your maidenhead, something he wouldn’t find.
As you waited for Ben to answer your mind went back to six moons ago.
Your mind went back to six moons ago.
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It was your nameday, you had escaped the celebrations and made your way to the border, where ben awaited gift in hand.
“Happy name day” he greeted, pulling you in for a hug, his face buried in your neck.
“Thank you” you breathed, your touches lingering as you pulled apart, his face close too yours.
Your eyes were locked to his, as you hesitated to step away.
“My gift?” you asked, as you stepped back ever so slightly, noticing the lingering gaze on your lips.
He smiled shyly, before presenting you the gift.
The gift, a book you had long desired. You had been unable to find it anywhere and yet, Ben had found it just for you.
“Ben” you breathed, at a loss for words as you started up at him, a shy smile on his face. “Thank you”, you said taking a step towards him once more, your body’s now impossible close.
“It was no problem” he breathed, your faces breaths apart.
A blush filled your cheeks as you leant forward your lips catching his in a soft slow kiss.
Your mouths moved in tandem, slow and soft as his hands came up to grip your waist, pulling you into him as your kiss became sloppier, his tongue teasing its way into your mouth as your hands came up to grip his hair, your lips never breaking.
Had you not been where anyone could find you, you where sure the kiss would never end, but the fear of being caught, your reputation ruined spurned you to push yourself away from him.
“we should go somewhere more private” you breathed, “out of prying eyes” “won’t they notice if your gone much longer?” “I doubt it, I said the wine had gone to my head and my maid, Farrah was more than happy to vouch the same, and that I wish to be left alone after I gave her 10 silver dragons.”
He laughed, “there is an inn nearby, perhaps we could go there?”
“An inn?” you asked a small smile on your face.
He nodded, “I know you may not wish to spend your nameday in an inn- “ “I wish to spend it with you” you interrupted, “I do not care where”.
And so, you had gone to the inn, it was barren when you got in, not many traveling to kings’ road so near winter, a room was easy to find and for the first time you were truly away from prying eyes.
The room was quaint, at least compared to what you were used too, with a double bed in the centre of the room, a small tub and chamber pot on one side and a dresser and table on the other.
“Will anyone question if you are gone long?” you asked, taking off your cloak.
You knew he most likely wouldn’t, having more freedom than you as a man and heir.
“Perhaps, but as long as I ma back by dawn I doubt I will get in any trouble.”
You nodded, “you leave often in the night then?” you teased, a smirk playing on your lips.
He coughed awkwardly, “my uncle and my cousins, Bryden, Davos and Bennifer took me to a brothel for my nameday”.
“a Brothel?” you asked in surprise, though there was a hint in jealousy in your voice, “and did you?
“No!” he said quickly, “no I wouldn’t do that” to you, he wanted to say, but up until today you hadn’t done anything, bar hold hands and lingering touches here and there.
You smiled, standing up and walking up to him, he seemed frozen, unsure of what to do or what his intentions were of even bringing you here.
You moved cautiously, your hand reaching for his as you moved yourself into his embrace.
Your fingers interlocking with his, “ben” you whispered.
And he whispered your name back, smiling as he did.
“I love you” you spoke, no hesitation in your voice.
“I love you” he breathed back, his face full of uninhibited joy.
Your lips captured his once more, this time it was full of passion, your lips moving together in tandem, his hands moving to your waist and pulling you effortlessly closer to him.
With one hand still interlocked with his, the other reached up and gripped his hair pulling him even closer to you.
Your mouths never broke apart, even as a soft moan left your lips as his tongue moved with yours.
 You started to step back slowly, dragging him with you until your back hit the bed, Bens body covering yours, his hips slowly began to grind against yours, feeling his clothed cock through his breeches as he grinded against your heat.
You moaned softly into his mouth as your body’s moved together.
“Ben” you groaned, as his lips separated from yours and moved to your neck, pressing quick sloppy kisses before leaning over you his eyes staring into yours.
He whispered your name, “do you want to keep going?”
You nodded, leaning up to reach for the laces of your gown, you never broke eye contact as you untied your dress, allowing it to fall slightly and reveal our thin chemise.
He blushed at the sight, leaning back and allowing you to fully remove your dress, before you reached for him and started to undo the ties of his tunic and breaches.
You moved slowly, taking him in as you undid his clothes, your touches lingering as you finally revealed his naked chest.
Now only in your small clothes, he reached over you once more, his body covering yours and his lips once again capturing yours.
Your bodies continued to move against each other the friction casing moans and groans to fall from his lips and yours.
Your chemise bunching up at your waist, revealing your wet cunt to Ben.
“gods” he said, feeling your bare cunt rub against his length, “his hands moved from where he had placed them at your waist to move along your thighs.
He swallowed slightly as your legs began to part, baring yourself to him.
“Do you ever touch yourself?” he asked, his fingers moved closer to your heat.
“yes” you breathed as he lightly teased your folds.
“Show me”
You breathe grew heavy, as you nervously moved your fingers down the length of your body.
Ben moved back from you as your finger dipped into your folds, gathering up your silk.
Circling your clit is slow motions, you never broke eye contact, soft moans leaving your mouth.
With one fingering circling your clit you began to dip another into your folds, circling and teasing yourself before finally plunging a finger into your hole.
You let out a moan as you did, slowly pumping your finger in and out of you.
“Gods, your beautiful,” Ben said, his hand coming to meet yours as he swiftly replaced your fingers, plunging two fingers into your hole.
You let out a high-pitched moan. The feel of his fingers was nothing compared to yours, the pleasure entirely different, even more so when his thumb came to circle your clit.
“Like this?” he asked, his movements unsure as he watched you and took in every moan or whimper you made.
“Yes! Gods yes” you said, feeling your peak wash over you as his fingers moved faster in and out of you.
You breathed heavily, sinking into the mattress as you rode out your peak.
“Good?” he asked, reaching forward to press a soft kiss to your mouth.
“yes” you said, before sitting up and reaching for the bottom of your chemise.
“Are you sure?” he asked, as you began to take of the last layer of clothing.
You smiled, nodding your head, and revealing yourself to him.
He moaned at the sight of you, getting impossible hard as he took you in.
He stood of the bed slowly, moving to take of his final layer and bare himself to you.
You groaned at the sight, “come here” you breathed.
He slowly crawled back onto the bed, his body covering yours once more as he took your lips in a passionate and heated kiss, his legs slowly parted yours as he positioned himself at your entrance.
“Are you sure?” he asked softly, moving to caress your face.
Nodding, you reached up to kiss him, “yes”.
And with that he slowly entered you.
Groaning at the stretch, you felt a slight sting as he slowly entered you, your face contorted in quick discomfort that quickly faded as he settled himself fully inside you, allowing you time to adjust.
He seemed lost tin pleasure at the feeling of your heat wrapped around his length, his face buried in the nape of your neck as he held back from moving.
“You can move” you breathed after a minute, hands wrapping around his neck as you moved your hips to urge him.
He moved slowly, pumping in and out of you, learning every move that made you moan or whimper.
He kissed slowly at your neck as his hips pumped in and out of you, his groans muffled by your neck as he began to pump faster and harder.
Your moans grew more frequent, your hand reaching down to rub at your clit as you felt the familiar feel of your peak hitting you once more, it was fast but no less pleasurable as you and he reached your peak simultaneously.
He swiftly removed himself and finished on your stomach, as your fingers continued to circle your clit, as you rode out your peak.
“gods” you laughed, after a few minutes, ben having gone to get a cloth to clean you up. “I hadn’t expected this for my nameday” you said reaching for him and pulling him into for a kiss once more.
You spent the night wrapped in his embrace, dawn coming faster than you had hoped and you were soon sneaking back into your rooms.
As the moons passed your meetings became ones of lovers, with romantic rendezvous with disguises as you went to Fairmarket parading as smallfolk away from prying eyes.
Your nights spent in each other’s embrace, whether it was in the inn or under the stary sky.
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Now six moons later, you did not regret that night or the nights that followed, but the look of disappointment your brother gave you made you wish a part of you desired to take it back.  
“no” Benji spoke, answering his uncle’s question of your maidenhead.
“You will marry” he spoke, your father will approve it and I’m sure we could do with peace with our too sides, with the talk of war and all”.
But your father had instantly refused, saying he would rather a whore for a daughter than a blackwood.
You had been locked in your room for three moons, wedding arrangements made for you a lord Mallister.
You had been unable to escape to leave and see Ben, your every move watched and monitored. Though you had heard he had demanded to see you, begging for your hand and even challenging lord Mallister to a duel.
All had been refused and you were starting to lose all hope of ever seeing him again.
Then there was a tap at your window.
“Ben!” you whisper shouted, seeing him hanging onto the wall for dear life as you opened the window to let him in.
“How did you- “you began to ask only to be cut of with a demanding kiss as Bens lips attacked yours.
“I have missed you” he breathed as you pushed you down onto the bed and began to untie his breeches. “My father agrees we should wed.” he started, kissing you again, as he began to bunch up your skirts, revealing your heat to him. “He says the only way your father would accept us to marry his if you were pregnant” he breathed, his breaches now around his ancles as his finger began to tease your hole.
“Pregnant?” you questioned, “he said he’d rather me a whore than a blackwood” you said, moaning as he began to pump in fingers in and out of your entrance.
“Your father is also a devout man of the faith, is he not” he said, fingers pumping in and out of you.
“yes” you moaned, “and you and your family are followers of the old gods…he would never- “you cut yourself off with a moan as his cock replaced his fingers, plunging in and out of you at fast pace.
“And yet he said to my father that if a babe came, he would allow it…and yet he kept you from me, from any chance of us” he groaned, leaning down to kiss you as he felt your walls clench around his cock as you came.
“I am going to fuck a baby into you, going to fill you up with my seed” he groaned, “I will come, climb the walls of your castle every night until you a bred and then we shall get married and you will me mine, not that cunt Mallister!” his tone was harsh, but as his eyes bore into yours you saw the longing, the love and sense of purpose as he fucked you like he had never fucked you before.
It was primal, pure animalistic as he fucked his seed into you.
He lay on top of you, his cock still in you as you both caught your breath.
That night he took you in more ways than you could count, and in the breath moments his cock wasn’t filling you he recounted his days apart from you.
But as dawn broke, he was forced to leave, just like every other night you shred in each other’s arms.
But he fulfilled his promise visiting you every night until your moons blood stopped, and a pregnancy was confirmed.
Your father was furious, hated how you had defied him, found away to see Ben once more, and now he was forced to marry you.
With a slight swollen belly, it was no secret of why the Brackens and Blackwood’s once again decided to try at peace, even more so when Ben could hardly wait for the bedding ceremony to take you as his wife.
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imaroyalmess · 2 months ago
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An Apprentice’s (Unofficial) Guide to House Garments
based on @energ00n 's apprentice AU! (i'm obsessed with the concept of apprentices making up garment rules)
Wc: 2.1k
The datapad—an older model with discolored spots, showing where servos touched its framing—is the first thing Orion Pax’s optics land on as he walks into his new room. Orion snatches the datapad and tilts his helm as he reads the title over again. A peek at the contents shows that it begins with Hey newbie followed by three exclamation glyphs (an overabundance of any glyph, if you asked Orion).
Orion glances up and catches his own gaze in a mirror hanging in front of him. It’s strange, seeing two sheer fabric pieces delicately flowing over the hard metal of his arms—he’s hesitant to move his arm joints in fear of tearing it. That, as well as the jewelry occupying the space where his cog would be creates a vision that’ll take some getting used to.
He pries his optics away and down to the datapad again, dermas pinching as his processor whirrs. Prima explained to him how to care for his garment personally and what if, since the datapad looks old, the data was outdated? No, safer to follow Prima’s instructions and not confuse himself.
Orion places the datapad to the side and sets off to explore his new home.
~
Hello newbie!!!
Congratulations to you and your new position! There’s so much you need to know before you get started. If you wanna make friends, then you’ll wanna keep reading, little mech!
It’s most important that you know about your House garment. No, no, not how to wash oil stains out of it (though that’s good to know!), I’m talking about the meaning behind what you do with it.
Lucky for you, I’ve compiled a list for your easy reference! Learn them well, little mech!!
DO: Wear your House garment at all times! I’ve been told it’s respectful to the Primes. Also helpful so we can tell each other apart. Usually only an apprentice’s special somebot sees them without it! Even then, maybe not.
~
D-16 has always been a stickler for the rules. It’s structure—it’s security. He can’t afford to slip up and never lets that resolve waver. So how exactly did he let pretty blue optics lure him into a cargo hold that supposedly has a passage leading into the (highly forbidden) archives? D-16 isn’t sure.
“Orion Pax,” D-16 hisses, “you idiot, there’s no way—”
Orion hushes him with a digit to his dermas and a wink. D-16 lowers his voice. “Why did you drag me into this?”
Orion pries the cover away from the passage and lowers it to the ground, a soft clank echoing. “I need you to keep watch for me, ‘kay? It’s a tight squeeze for me so you definitely wouldn’t fit.”
D-16 frowns, a retort fully prepped in his processor, but then Orion unclips his garment and D-16’s vocalizer short circuits. For a horrifying and long nanoklik, only static emits from his voice box. “Wh–Pax, what are you doing?!”
“I told you.” Orion rolls his optics. “Barely enough room in there and I can’t risk ripping my clothes up. Prima would offline me.”
He slips the sheer fabric over his helm and presents it to D-16 with splayed servos. Primus, help him. It takes D-16 exactly 1.46 kliks to reboot and shake his helm vehemently. “No? I…you want me to—”
“It’s just my garment,” Orion states, playful but also firm in a way that says I don’t have time to argue. “I’m not asking you to do anything else. Keep it safe?”
Just my garment. If Orion’s antics don’t get him expelled, his cluelessness would. However, he’s correct about one thing, and it’s that their time is running out.
D-16 half-snatches half-cradles the garment, careful not to let the ends touch the ground. With a deep intake D-16 says, “Go. Before they spot us.”
Orion grins, scrambling his way through the crawl space, leaving D-16 to listen for passing mechs. The fabric feels smooth between his digits.
~
DON’T: touch another apprentice’s attire, especially(!) without their permission. A passing touch may be an accident but deliberately grabbing is almost like a kiss!!! Don’t kiss or put your dermas on their clothing either. That has…intimate implications I won’t discuss here.
~
Orion loves watching Megatronus Prime spar with D-16. The size difference between the two could be laughable, if it weren’t for the ferocity that overtakes D-16’s faceplate and the corrections Megatronus throws out to him. Multiple times, Orion’s systems remind him to function as he watches—his friend is a vision under his Prime’s tutelage, all gritted denta, radiating optics, and arcing gauntlets.
Once satisfied, the looming Prime kneels before his apprentice and speaks lowly to him. Orion’s audials are unable to pick up what’s said but the open and hungry way D-16 receives his feedback sates him. Megatronus returns to his full height, nods to release D-16 from his training for the day and Orion perks up at the gesture.
“D!” Orion calls. His friend pads over to what’s becoming Orion’s usual spot, a barely-there smile on his dermas.
“You been waiting long?” D-16 asks, setting his practice spear against the wall.
Orion shakes his helm. A white lie—he’s been there longer than he should’ve but it’s not his fault that watching D-16 fight is so fascinating. “What were you learning today?”
D-16 dutifully launches into the intricacies of battle strategy and close-ranged combat. Orion props his helm up with his loose fist as he listens—mostly listens, at least. That task becomes difficult as the jargon grows thick and D-16’s broad servos capture Orion’s attention as they move in small motions.
An idea pops into his processor. “Why don’t you show me?”
A pause, then D-16 scoops up his practice spear, muttering, “It’ll look stupid without an opponent.”
Orion hops over the half-wall that’s been separating them and bounces over to stand in front of his friend. “I’m right here though.”
“No,” D-16 said immediately. “It’s not safe.”
“C’mon, D,” Orion teases. “I trust you.”
D-16 cycles his optics and Orion’s lopsided grin grows. “It’s not about that. You don’t know what you’re doing and even if it’s not real, I could hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Orion states, full of confidence.
“I could,” D-16 argues. “Then Prima would offline me for harming his one and only apprentice—”
Orion begins to circle D-16, close enough to reach but far enough that he could evade it. “I know what you’re doing, Pax. It’s not going to work.”
“Is it not?” Orion teases as he keeps in D-16’s blindspot, his friend calmly trying to catch sight of him again. He takes a chance while behind him, dashing out and giving the purple fabric of D-16’s House garment a good tug.
“Pax,” D-16 chastises. Yes, it’s a sparkling-like move, Orion knows and does not quite care. He does it again, giggles erupting from his vocalizer as D-16’s calmness dissipates.
Orion manages to tug at D-16’s garment twice more before D-16’s arm snaps out, captures the joint above Orion’s servos, and crowds him against the nearby wall. The yellow of D-16’s optics blaze. Orion notices how close they are, how his friend’s weight is the only thing that keeps him upright, and he grins.
D-16 growls, “Orion.” And honestly? Orion isn’t sure what’s going through his processor when his reaction to hearing D-16 say his name is to bite down on the gathered cloth by one of the gauntlets he’d been admiring earlier.
D-16 drops him. His aft hits the ground with a rough clank and Orion cries out, “hey!”
But D-16 isn’t listening. His optics are focused on the spot where Orion’s intake fluid darkened cloth’s already deep purple. D-16’s expression is horrified.
“Oh scrap, D.” Orion scrambles to his pedes. “It should go away, right? I’ve never—D! Where are you going? Wait!”
Before Orion can say another word, D-16 runs—no, sprints—out of the practice arena, leaving Orion there alone wondering what he’d done wrong.
~
DO: keep your garment clean! It’s polite and respectful, blah blah blah, you should know this. But! What you don’t know is that leaving a mark on another apprentice’s garment, accidental or not, is a serious offense! You tear it, that’s a show of disrespect to the apprentice and their House and you might have to fight them. On the other servo, if you, say, put a small decal on the cloth, you’re effectively marking that mech as your own. Same goes for intake fluid, though that just tells everyone that you and that bot are...together in a different sense. Catch my drift? 
~
“I’m sorry, D.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know but I made you upset, didn’t I?”
“...no. You didn’t.”
~
DON’T: wear another House’s garment!!! Unless you’re ready to be conjunxes. And I’m serious! It’s saying your devotion to that mech is equivalent to your devotion to your Prime. Ask yourself, little mech. Would you swear undying fealty to them? Would you choose that mech over your Prime? No? Then don’t do this.
(Okay, I might be a little overdramatic, but seriously, don’t.)
~
What fascinates Orion is how different the textiles feel from one another. He’s read about the arts and asked on multiple occasions to speak with the bot who made his House clothes because he must know more. Orion shifts the material of D-16’s garment between his digits, reveling in the weight and watching the fabric fold as he moves.
He drapes a length of it over his arm and turns to D-16, who’s dozing in and out of a light rest cycle. “Do you think purple would suit me?”
“Hm?”
Orion nudges his friend with the bend of his arm still wrapped in material. This time, D-16 rouses, even if only a little. “Your House garment, silly. How does it look?”
“Fine,” D-16 says.
“Just fine?” Orion complains. “You’re the meanest friend ever. You won’t even let me try?”
D-16 resettles his helm. “Not mean. ‘M honest.”
Orion shoves his shoulder plate, only serving to further tangle himself. “Your honesty is mean.”
“Would you prefer a more elaborate answer?”
“Not anymore,” Orion mutters. This time, he lets D-16 rest as he lays the garment over his lap and smoothes out the wrinkles he’s made. 
~
Congrats!!! Now you’re fully equipped to take on the social terrain in the House of Primes!!
In case you didn’t read all that, basically, keep to your own business and every other bot will keep to theirs. You’re lucky you have me to help you out with this because I didn't have anyone explain it to me and I broke about every rule before an apprentice told me. I was so embarrassed!!! No need to thank me though, little mech, whoever you may be. Just have fun! Be responsible! Follow these rules!!! I promise, you’ll have a better time if you do. Byeeee ;)
~
D-16 might cease to function—if he hasn’t already. On this particular solar cycle, Orion had dragged D-16 into another one of his schemes and deemed his quarters the meeting point. The door slid open, Orion welcomed him inside, and D-16’s optics landed on a datapad that made his spark drop.
That thing isn’t supposed to exist—not physically, anyway. How did it get here? How in Primus’ glory does Orion have it?!
“D?” Orion cuts through his panic.
“Have you…” D-16 can barely force his vocaliser to say the words. “Have you read it?”
Orion raises an optical ridge. Confused but fond. “Read what?”
A digit points at the datapad, though D-16 didn’t consciously give the command for it to do so. “That.”
“Oh that?” Orion ambles over to the offending object. “It was here when I moved in. Weird right? Maybe Prima put it here in case I forgot what he told me?”
D-16’s joints creak with the effort it takes to stride over and pick up the datapad. “You don’t need it though, do you?”
Please say no, D-16’s processor screams.
Orion laughs, though his confusion melds into concern as well. “No, I guess not…did you need it? You can take it, if you do.”
And D-16 then and there wishes Orion Pax had chosen a better friend, one who he deserves. Except, D-16 is also selfish and cold in ways where Orion is warm—he doesn’t wish that, in actuality. (It feels kinder to say that he does. Orion deserves kind.)
“Thanks,” D-16 says for lack of any explanation that wouldn’t be a flat-out lie.
Then Orion smiles at him, as he always does, and pats him on the chest plate, right next to his empty cog slot, right on his garment. D-16 musters a quirk of his dermas and tucks the datapad away from Orion’s prying optics. It’s hard to feel guilty about it, when Orion seems so content and his servos make his garment so warm.
~~~
A/N: tysm for reading! i'm sorry if i got any details wrong, i read all the comics over again to make sure i got it all correct but just in case i missed something! please check out the main comic if you haven't already. the worldbuilding, writing, and art style are all stunning!
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miniscapes333 · 2 months ago
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How will your FS react to seeing you undressed? (18+)
PICK A PILE READING LOVES ;)
👇 [PILE - 1] 👇[PILE - 2] 👇 [PILE - 3]
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Disclaimer: The images featured are not mine. All credit and rights belong to their original creators. PILE 1
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The moment their eyes land on you, something shifts in the air like the world itself forgets to keep spinning for just a breath. It’s that stunned silence, the kind that feels thick with anticipation, where their lips part just slightly, and a slow exhale escapes as if they’re trying to steady themselves against the sight of you. But there’s no steadying this reaction it’s pure, unfiltered hunger tangled with awe. Their gaze drags over you, lingering like a worshipper before a sacred vision, drinking in every curve, every dip of your skin, every whisper of heat radiating off you. A flicker of mischief plays in their eyes, dark and dangerously tempting, as if they’ve just unlocked a fantasy they never even knew they had. Hands flex at their sides like they’re fighting the urge to reach for you immediately, to trace every inch and commit it to memory.
But they don’t just want to touch they want to savor. They step forward, slow, deliberate, like a hunter to its prey, but there’s no rush in their movements. They want to see every single reaction you give them. Their fingers hover over you at first, teasing, barely grazing along your skin, watching as your breath stutters in response. A lazy smirk tugs at their lips because they can already see how easy it would be to unravel you. They let their fingers trail down your arm, then lower, ghosting over the heat of your thighs, before pulling back just when you think they’ll finally take what they want. They want you to beg for it, to feel the anticipation coil deep and tight until you can’t take it anymore. And when they finally let go of that restraint? It’s a storm. Hands gripping, lips pressing against heated skin, possessive and desperate like they’ve been starved for this moment.
But what truly undoes them isn’t just the sight of you it’s the way you meet their gaze, unshaken, bold, daring them to do something about it. That confidence? That fire in your eyes? It sets them ablaze. It’s not just about wanting you it’s the fact that you know exactly what kind of power you hold over them, and you’re not afraid to use it. That’s what shatters them completely. The way you push back, tease them just as much, make them work for it, make them need it. And by the time they do, there’s no turning back. They’re addicted. Hopelessly, helplessly obsessed. And something tells me, once they’ve had a taste of you like this? There’s no way they’ll ever be able to look at you the same again.
PILE 2
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The second they see you fully, completely you watch something shift in them, a tension that grips their body like a force they weren’t ready for. Their breath hitches, their shoulders stiffen, and for a moment, they just look. Not just in passing, not just in hunger, but with something deeper. It’s reverence. Like they’re standing before something forbidden, something they’ve longed for but never dared to touch until now. Their hands flex at their sides, their jaw tightens, like they’re trying to rein themselves in, hold onto that last thread of control. But their eyes? Their eyes betray them completely. They darken, flicker with something primal, something dangerously close to worship. They swallow hard, as if grounding themselves, as if they need a moment to decide whether to be patient or let all that tension snap.
But patience is a fragile thing in moments like this. And you can see it unravel in real-time. They take a slow step forward, gaze tracing over you like they’re memorizing every dip, every line, every soft shadow of your body. Their fingers hover at your waist, not quite touching, just feeling the heat of you. And then, with a sharp inhale, they give in. Their hands find your skin, pressing, gripping not just to hold you, but to ground themselves in you. Their lips part, a shaky exhale slipping out, and their forehead brushes against yours for a fleeting second, as if to steady the storm that’s building inside them. But it’s no use. The restraint is slipping, and they know it. You can feel it in the way their fingers tighten, in the way their breath grows heavier, in the way their gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips like they’re caught in an impossible choice devour you slowly or completely lose themselves in the moment.
And when that control finally snaps? It’s all-consuming. There’s nothing delicate about it now. It’s hands roaming, lips pressing, teeth grazing like they need you, like they’ve waited too long to have you like this. They don’t just want to touch; they want to feel. Every reaction, every gasp, every shiver that ripples through you. And you? You can tell this isn’t just lust. It’s something deeper, something that makes them pause even as they take you apart piece by piece. Because this isn’t just about desire it’s about surrender. And in this moment, you can see it so clearly: they may have started this trying to hold back, but now? Now they’re yours, completely, entirely, with no escape.
PILE 3
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The moment their eyes land on you, standing there in nothing but the heat between you, you can feel the air shift. Their breath stills, their body tightens like they’re fighting something inside themselves, something deep and primal that begs to take over. Their lips part, a sharp inhale as their fingers twitch at their sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you immediately. But the restraint? Oh, it’s delicious. You can see the way they wrestle with it, the way their gaze flickers across your skin, drinking you in with something close to reverence, something greedy but restrained. They hold themselves back not because they don’t want, but because they want too much. Because this moment, you, are something to be savored.
You watch their throat bob as they swallow hard, hands clenching, unclenching, like they’re debating whether to take their time or give in to the need clawing at them. And then, with a slow, deep exhale, they step forward, their palm ghosting along your arm, trailing up to your collarbone barely touching, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. Their fingers follow the curve of your shoulder, down the dip of your back, learning you, memorizing you. Their other hand, still balled into a fist, finally relaxes as they bring it up to cup your face, tilting your chin ever so slightly. Their eyes search yours, full of heat, admiration, something softer beneath it all. You’re beautiful. The words don’t even have to be spoken; they’re written in the way they look at you, in the way their breath stutters when their fingers trace lower, in the way they close their eyes for just a second, as if grounding themselves in the moment in you.
And when they finally lose that last thread of control? It’s slow, deliberate, like they’re making a promise with every touch. Their lips hover over yours, teasing, testing, before pressing in not rushed, not desperate, but deep, lingering, full of something that makes your stomach flip. Their hands roam, fingers splaying across your hips, your waist, pulling you flush against them, as if needing to feel every inch of you. Every gasp, every subtle movement you make only fuels them further, makes them grip tighter, makes them need more. But there’s something tender in it too, something that tells you this isn’t just hunger it’s appreciation, admiration. Like they’ve just been handed something precious, and they’ll be damned if they don’t show you exactly how much it means to them.
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lady-protector · 10 months ago
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and that's a wrap on my tarot series! the upright majors, at least. there may be others sometime in the future if I am seized by a combination of insanity and hyperfixation once again.
you might notice a few cards are a bit (or in the case of the fool and alternate chariot, a lot) different! I did a few retakes for consistency/style.
below the read more I've included a bunch of notes about symbolism and reasoning behind my choices if that interests you!
(tag for individual card posts)
0. The Fool: Ardbert was really the only choice for this one. He's our stand-in, our shard, our mirror. Feo Ul is included partially because of lore (they are my co-WoL's shard on the First) and also because they also fit the themes of adventure and new beginnings and exploration. Most of the cards I played pretty loose on the posing vs traditional depictions, but this one I wanted to hew a little closer, which is why he's on a cliff with a foot hanging over the edge a bit, with his axe standing in for the bindle. This is my second attempt at the card -- the first was in Il Mheg, but I moved it to Kholusia (Ardbert's home) and dawn to more closely symbolize that it's the beginning of something. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 8/10, posing Feo Ul was annoying.
1. The Magician: This card could have had several subjects, chief among them Alphinaud or a more modern G'raha, but I settled on Alisaie a) because the other two cards I had in mind for her (Chariot and Justice) were already taken, and b) the card's focus on physical magic and depicting the "tools of the trade" reminded me a lot of Angelo's creation! So that's why she's here, and why I set the card in Matoya's Relict, among the tools of magicians who came before (Matoya, Y'shtola). I retook the shot because I was unsatisfied with the blurriness/the way the light covered her face in the first one. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 5/10, simple pose but working with Impact's spell effect complicated things.
2. The High Priestess: Another that I never questioned who would appear on it. Y'shtola's arc is entirely about uncovering forbidden, secret knowledge and wisdom, so she fits beautifully. The blue-white orb and the purple staff depict duality between dark and light, and how Y'shtola walks in two worlds, seeing things that are beyond sight, standing before an altar/holy place to the Night's Blessed. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. Premade pose, knew where I wanted to place her -- the only thing was finding a prop for her off hand.
3. The Empress: Hoo boy did Minfi give me some trouble. I knew that I wanted our Antecedent, who provides both authority and care for the Scions, to represent the Empress, but I struggled to find a depiction that wasn't, well, boring. Minfilia is deeply linked with the Solar, and I didn't want to lean too hard into Word of the Mother/Hydaelyn territory, so I settled on a triple goddess-like idea. Attempts: 3. Difficulty: 6/10. Not mechanically difficult, just conceptually.
4. The Emperor: Another one that I knew who I wanted but struggled with the concept. Haurchefant is very much emblematic of the stability, structure, and masculinity provided by the Emperor, but it wasn't until I decided to add his equally-Emperor-coded father that things settled into place. Together, Edmont and Haurchefant evoke the image of father and son as well as king and knight, filling both major male authority roles that the Emperor exemplifies. Attempts: 4. Difficulty: 6/10. Same as the Empress.
5. The Hierophant: this one was one of the hardest to choose a subject for -- the WoL's allies are largely a bunch of revolutionary firebrands, and I disagree HEAVILY with the popular choice of placing Aymeric here. So I landed on Alphinaud -- out of the Scions, he is the one most concerned with tradition and the "right" way to do things, with formal education and structure. He wants to bring Sharlayan into the modern day, not upend the institutions that raised him and that he very much still respects, much like how he still respects his very traditionally Hierophant-coded father. So I placed him in his family home with a sort of smug look since he can be a pretentious little shit sometimes (affectionate). The spell effect is from Kardia, and I paid special attention to having the shapes align perfectly with the lines in the background, to give a sense of stability and order to the shot, especially contrasted with Alisaie's more dynamic and chaotic depiction. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 4/10, entirely in alignment.
6. The Lovers: Hrasevelgr and Saint Shiva are a great choice for depicting the Lovers as two people, but no one does the Lovers in one subject better than Ysayle. Invoking the spirit of a woman who died for love in order to bring harmony to her people, but it truly being her own power and her own choice the whole time... it's great. Her pose is her transformation/summoning pose, turned into a gesture of affection, which I was particularly proud of. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 3/10, posing monsters is always a little funky.
7. The Chariot: This one has two options -- my co-WoL, Marz, and Tataru/Cid/Nero for the NPC variant. All 4 characters share a singular drive and refusal to let anything stop them once they've set their mind to something, and the 3 NPCs have the added benefit of being associated with a literal "chariot" in the form of airship design. Marz's place on Shadowkeeper has some lore associations (Cylva is her shard on the 13th) as well as being a void mirror to Kaede's sin eater shot. For both I wanted to have dynamic poses to evoke the activity of the card. Attempts: 1 (Marz), 2 (NPCs). Difficulty: 3/10 for both, no major hurdles once the lovely @/karoiseka pointed me at an airship in NG+.
8. Justice: The heart of the Justice card is its emphasis on truth, and no character in FFXIV is more committed to truth even in the face of great suffering than Aymeric de Borel. Because of this, the shot is taken at the top of the Vault, where he confronted his father over his concealment of the truth of the Dragonsong War. The card is usually depicted with a woman holding a sword and balanced scales -- Aymeric is holding his sword in a pose used in statues in the Pillars, and the symmetry of the shot/light and shadow split down the middle is meant to give the feeling of balance. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 1/10. I knew my concept, location, and shader before I even went in, and it came out exactly like I wanted.
9. The Hermit: Originally I had Urianger for this card, who still fits well, but when I moved him to Wheel of Fortune, there was a clear second choice: The Exarch. He even resembles the Hermit, with his cloak and staff, holding himself in isolation and possessing secret knowledge with which he guides the party. G'raha has grown out of this role as of Endwalker, but the Exarch fits it to a tee. I wanted to show his longing to return through his body language and reaching out for the portal that shows him the world he is set apart from. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 4/10. Nothing major but did have to do two entirely separate cards lmao.
10. The Wheel of Fortune: The one I struggled with the most, conceptually. At first I had a more abstract choice, with the 3 starting city state leaders and Tataru, in a sort of "fate leads to the Scions" idea. But then I remembered that Urianger is a fortune teller who uses a wheel-like weapon with a literal wheel of cards, and, well. Yeah. The man is intimately associated with fate and choice, and the choice to place him on the moon is intentional, to separate him from his more secretive depictions in HW/ShB. He is the one who prepares our second option (flight) while giving us the choice to make our first (fight). Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 7/10. He's up on a high ledge that's not normally accessible and that's always a pain in the ass.
11. Strength: The one that started it all. The original shot of Kaede contained some layer elements I wasn't happy with so I ended up retaking it to better cohere with the others. Strength is about confidence and inner strength "leashing" power, symbolized by the woman and the tamed lion, and there's exactly one good lion model in XIV -- Forgiven Cruelty. It also has the fun side meaning of Kaede conquering and wielding the light that almost killed her. For Moenbryda's, I went with something simple -- her axe to symbolize her strength, but with her archon mark and the Sharlayan Thaliak statue prominently featured, emphasizing her intelligence. Attempts: 2 (Kaede), 1 (Moenbryda). Difficulty: 6/10. Kaede's was straightforward enough (though I had to wait an annoyingly long time for the sky to shift colors correctly), but Moenbryda's involved me floating her up on a building so i could get Thaliak in the shot correctly.
12. The Hanged Man: Holy moly this one was a PAIN IN THE ASS. I knew from the minute I started this what I wanted to do with it -- Lahabrea holding Thancred's ankle as he reaches for Minfilia. The Hanged Man is one that I felt it was especially important to mimic the iconic pose on the card, and this was how I decided to do it, but it took me over an hour and a half to accomplish. Anyway, the Zodiark idol stands in for the Tree of Life, which I really liked. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 10/10. Absolutely infuriating to have to pose 3 actors in three dimensional space like that.
13. Death: I only ever considered Estinien for this card. It stands for transformation and change, for shedding the old to make way for the new, and I chose to depict that by having his old corrupted drachen mail posed behind him like a shadow or an abandoned husk. He has left the hate and the rage behind, but the helmet is meant to symbolize that he always remembers it, and carries it with him so that he can do better. His lance is also vaguely reminiscent of the traditional Death scythe. That spot in Coerthas is where he challenges you in the early DRG quests while controlled by Nidhogg, as well as being just visually striking. Attempts: 1, but it took a while. Difficulty: 9/10. The ground is very much not flat, the helmet is on a minion, and I had to change angles and locations a few times.
14. Temperance: I briefly considered Hythlodaeus here, but Krile fits very well. Calm, competent, but unsure of her own worth. I chose Eureka Hydatos both for its importance to Krile as well as its easily accessible water -- instead of pouring from a cup, Krile is looking at her reflection. This one came together so quickly and easily. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 1/10. In and out of Eureka in less than 20 minutes.
15. The Tower: Originally, before I reshuffled, G'raha was going to be the Tower simply because I didn't know where to put him, and I couldn't think of an ally who is ultimately a destructive force, but it always bothered me because he truly didn't fit. Meteion, though -- despite her innocence and unwillingness, is THE destructive force within Endwalker's story. This card had the highest hurdles -- I had to get 7 friends to help me queue for Endsinger and then leave, and I almost couldn't get my tools to load Meteion in properly. After that it was smooth sailing, however. I used the whole lockout timer, but this was only the 4th shot I took, and it's one of my personal favorites. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 4/10, purely for queuing.
16. The Devil: Addiction, obsession, and control -- Zenos was the only answer for this card. I included Zero as well, despite intending this to be a primarily 6.0 and earlier set, to represent the humans bound in chains to the Devil, using the way she's pinned between Zenos and the scythe to symbolize that she's trapped. Afterward I realized this exact shot and character choice would have also worked quite well for the Tower, as well, but I ultimately prefer the Devil for him. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 3/10. Came together surprisingly easily, despite the fact that I had to make Zero's hat touch pose myself.
17. The Star: Symbolizing hope and new life, I can think of no one better suited than Ryne and the Empty. Ryne herself was given her own new life when Minfilia passed on her power, and the ability to make her own destiny -- and she used that power to revitalize a barren wasteland. My first version of this shot had a photoshopped in central star, but I decided to revisit the concept with an in game effect for the star instead. Helios provided what I needed, with the fun extra benefit of some additional rainbows (happy pride!). Attempts: 3. Difficulty: 3/10. Nothing crazy beyond trying to find a good angle to get the star in the shot, as well as Eden and the rainbow crystal. Second attempt I messed up the framing and had to redo it again.
18. The Moon: The card of dreams, fear, anxiety, and secrets, Gaia is perfect here (and a lovely companion to Ryne as the Star), though I did briefly consider Urianger as well. I wanted to have Gaia on the sand, with the moon hanging between the crystal walls of the Empty above her, but the angles would NOT cooperate to allow me to get the moon in the shot. So, levitation was the only answer. Fortunately it suits Gaia well, especially the distance that it evokes. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 6/10. I hate midair posing.
19. The Sun: Another card that sprang fully formed into my mind. Joy and fulfillment is symbolized by Lyse enjoying the morning light in a free Ala Mhigo, thinking of Papalymo. It also allowed me to get both of these very different characters into a single card, as they are very much a package deal, though I did consider Papalymo for the Hierophant as well. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. Came together very quickly.
20. Judgement: The last two cards of the Major Arcana are very high concept, with very lofty ideals, so they felt hard to pin down. I thought of doing both my WoLs here, or maybe Elidibus with his three forms for light, dark, and balance. But ultimately I ended up on Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus, as the sort of "final judgement" before the battle with the endsinger, the last step before everything ends. Their literal rebirth, the resolution of Emet-Selch's conflict with the WoL, the not-redemption but understanding reached, our efforts judged worthy -- it all just seemed to fit. The card design is simple but I hope the colors and emotion of the scene carry the weight of the arcana. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. No major roadblocks.
21. The World: At last we arrive at the end, not only the last posted but the last taken as well. I always knew I wanted Venat/Hydaelyn for this card, as she is the literal heart of our world, as well as an Azem who has reached the end of her journey, as Ardbert was one who was at the beginning of his all the way back at the Fool. But when I didn't use Elidibus anywhere else, I decided to add him here as well, since he also served as the heart of the star for a time. Light and dark united together, watching over Etheirys. The one who destroyed our world in order to save it, and the one who saved our world only to try to destroy it. Perfect symmetry, a completion of the circle. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 9/10. I had to stitch together 3 separate screenshots in photoshop, with the fore and backgrounds cut apart so I could control the opacities separately. Probably the card that took me the longest, but it was worth it.
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winnie1emon · 3 months ago
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✧.* what happens when theodore nott encounters a sweet girl in the forbidden forest?
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chaser!theodore nott x fawn!reader (fem pov)
word count: approx. 2.7k
c/w: MDNI!!, smut, sexual language, piv, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, fingering, creampie, one line of google translated italian (IM SORRY), chaser!theo is mostly for the intro, doesn't have significant impact on the plot
a/n: hi this was supposed to be a two-part story, but heh... thank you + sorry to everyone who was patient with me!! this is not proof read i fear꒰(˶◞ ‸ ◟˶)꒱ also also!! ive stopped procrastinating and set up my obx blog @rafesdearest <3
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A large breeze entered the pitch, and the crowd cheered as Slytherin's seeker finally caught the golden snitch. Descending off his broomstick, Theodore wasted no time rummaging through the oncoming crowd to find the pitch's exit.
No, he didn't need heaps of Slytherin girls running their hands up and down his arm; no, he didn't need the glory from scoring 70 points for Slytherin; and no, he didn't need to hear the complaints of the opposing team. All he needed was a good fucking cigarette.
"For fucks sake," Theodore huffed, pushing through the rowdy waves of people, scowling as he caught a glimpse of a girl with one of his teammate's names written sloppily on her forehead.
With a final shoulder bump through the crowd, he found himself in the broom shed, tossing his broomstick carelessly inside and opting out of heading to the locker room for a quick change and shower.
He let out a large exhale, beginning to take large strides towards Hagrid's hut, ultimately nearing the Forbidden Forest. Contrary to popular belief, the Forbidden Forest wasn't all that scary; the woodsy smell filled Theodore's nostrils, making him scrunch his nose as the rainwater scent from earlier that day lingered.
Allowing the soft crunch of the leaves to take his attention away momentarily, he hadn't noticed the figure standing at his usual smoke spot, deep in the forest.
Fumbling with his pocket, his carton of cigarettes flew out, landing on the dirt with a soft thud. A frustrated groan escaped his lips as he took a few steps forward, reaching for the fallen pack as he saw another hand pick it up.
Startled, Theodore looked up, only to be met by what seemed to him the most random girl ever. He had never seen her before, despite her appearance suggesting that she was in his year, much to his surprise; he knew most of the people in Hogwarts-- a testament to his popularity.
"Thank you," he said, his voice laced with skepticism.
“You’re welcome,” you replied. “You just win?”
He was somewhat surprised that you knew, or even asked. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
“You always come here after you have a game. When you lose you usually talk to yourself…” you trailed off, remembering the times you’d hear him cursing himself or his teammates under his breath whenever he lost. You idly gazed around the forest, eyes landing on a small flower by your feet. You crouched down to admire its pretty purple color.
As you did so, Theodore was still confused. “What? How do you know that?” he asked, his tone teetering over being curious and accusatory.
"Sorry, what?" you asked, missing his question as you were momentarily distracted.
Theodore rubbed his temple. Seriously? "I said, 'how do you know that?'"
"Oh! What- I'm always over there," you pointed out, your finger directing his eyes to a small pond about half a dozen yards away. "I come every day at the same time. Usually I start leaving once you arrive though." You stood back on your feet, taking his wrist as you airily led him there. "Here. The deer like to come usually, not anymore though."
You then realized you were just grabbing some guy's wrist without permission-- Theodore Nott's wrist. Letting go, you turned your head in the other direction as your face heated up.
Theodore raised a wry eyebrow as you dropped his wrists, averting your gaze from him before seeing the pretty area. "Why don't they come anymore?"
You had felt the color comfortably return to your face before saying, "There's just been a lot more litter lately. I don't think they like that."
He grimaced, unbeknownst to you, recalling all the cigarette butts he had casually dropped on the ground in the past few months. "Right..."
Unable to find anything else to talk about, you thought it was best to leave. "I'm going to head back."
You turned to leave, awkwardly stepping around a few of the stones on the ground before Theodore spoke. "So soon?" He looked at you teasingly, faint traces of arrogance on his face. "Thought we could get to know each other."
"Well I-- I told Hagrid I'd help him judge his new crop of pumpkins," you told him lamely.
"Mm. Sure."
His eyes followed you as you attempted to leave once more, weaving through the trees, eventually small enough to fade out of sight.
Cute.
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The following day, Theodore returned to the forest even though he didn't play a game that afternoon. He remembered you telling him that you would go there every day at the same time.
As he walked deeper into the woods, he spotted your form from afar, walking up to you as nonchalantly as possible.
"Hey."
You were currently tending to a few of the insects on the dirt, startled by his sudden greeting. Whipping your head around you saw him again-- Theodore and his gorgeous blue fucking eyes.
"Ah- Hi!" you exclaimed, giving him a large smile before quickly dropping it, subconsciously beating yourself up for being overenthusiastic. "There isn't a game today, what are you doing here?"
"Just you know, thought I'd come and get some fresh air. Didn't know you'd be here," he shrugged.
"I told you I come here at the same time every day," you told him, brows furrowed and lips quirking in a small smile.
"Forgot."
You were a bit suspicious at first, but he said it with such indifference that it simmered away.
This happened for the next few days; you'd constantly come to the forest, only to see Theodore already there, or him arriving shortly after. You both made conversation with each other and oddly enough, he was good company. Of course, you couldn't help but glance at his face for a moment too long from time to time, somewhat admiring his chiseled features or his captivating eyes. Sometimes you'd swear that his gaze would linger on you, tracing you from head to toe, but you swatted those thoughts away immediately.
The two of you grew much more comfortable with one another, even beginning to confide in one another about the teachers you didn’t particularly love or the embarrassing moments you guys had before locked away to never tell a soul.
About a week since your initial introductions, you went back to the pond as always, expecting Theodore to come soon after. Of course, what you weren't expecting, was to see a small herd of deer nearby. Your face melted into that of wonder, eyes glassy, having missed the deer during their disappearance.
Shortly after breaking out of your marveling trance, you noticed how most of the litter near the pond was gone. There were no cigarette butts, no chocolate frog boxes, and only one stray and empty bottle of butterbeer.
You heard someone approaching and by this point you knew it was Theodore. You scuttled over to him, interlocking your fingers before hastily dragging him over to the delightful sight.
“Look, look, look!”
He let you, allowing his body to be pulled by you, a quizzical smirk on his face. "Yes?"
“Theodore- look! The deer! They came back, the-“ you gabbed.
“I know,” he said gently.
“No, seriously! Theodore they’re back! There’s no more mess, so they came-,” you spoke incontinently before pausing. “You what?”
“I know.”
“Oh.” You were crestfallen for a moment, disappointed that you couldn’t have him share your excitement at the same time. “Did you already come here this morning?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I came here last night,” he said. You eyed him curiously, releasing your fingers from his before he spoke again. “I cleaned it myself.”
He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, like it was something he got done in a second.
“Huh?” you questioned, almost unbelieving.
“Come on, do I have to repeat everything for you sweetheart?” he simpered.
You were a bit daunted by his use of a nickname. Sure you two have gotten close over the past few days, but you didn't know you guys were that close...
"No sorry-," you apologized quickly. "It just sounded like you said you cleaned the whole thing yourself. But you wouldn't. I know you," you tried to tease, but his face , just moments ago coy and smug, was now unamused. Of course, you started to prattle as a last resort to not make things weird.
"Not that you're like lazy or anything! I meant that you just don't seem the type, -- er, you probably have better things to do with your time than clean and stuff."
The expression on his face was unreadable, and you could feel your soul wilting away with each passing moment.
"But if it was you then great! That's really, really great and uhm, kind of you!" You forced yourself to bring a finger up to your mouth to shut yourself up, a bead of sweat forming on your head.
Theodore leaned a bit closer, and he looked off. You couldn't tell if he was bothered or annoyed with you, or if he was just pulling your leg.
"You really don't get it, do you?"
Were you supposed to laugh...?
You opened your mouth, prepared to let out another incoherent string of apologies and nonsense, before you were interrupted by the feel of his breath on your face, followed by the soft landing of his lips onto yours.
It felt gentle, patient, almost like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn't. He noticed, beginning to bring his hands to cup your face, and your hands found his hair, his tongue beginning seek entryway into your mouth and you granted it to him.
He became a little sloppy, his breathing ragged and his hands bringing your face impossibly close to his own. He got rougher, like he was was a man trapped and you were his first ray of sunlight in years. Somewhat overwhelmed, you brought your hands up to his shoulders, and he took it as a sign to pull away.
His hair had become mussed, his chest heaving up and down as he gasped for air.
"Sorry, sorry," he apologized sheepishly as he gave you a gap of space. "I got too... too," he huffed, catching his breath.
"No, you didn't do anything," you reassured him. "Just needed to- to soak it all in."
He gazed at you, face flushed and his embarrassment slowly fading. You granted yourself the ability to let your eyes travel down, stopping at the very obvious tent in his pants.
The sound of your heart beating filled your head, excitement and arousal about to pour out of you. You closed the gap between you both once more, pulling him into another kiss. You savored the small sound of surprise he made, your hand roving down to cup his erection that was straining against the denim of his jeans.
You heard him groan, pushing you a few steps back to place your back against a large tree, hands snaking down to flip your skirt up. He fondled your ass, lips detaching from yours to scoff a smile.
"Not chilly in this?" he asked you, fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear.
"Wanted to look cute," you defended.
"For me?"
You looked like you had been hit with a confundus charm, but that moment was short lived as you felt him lower your underwear, the air hitting your exposed cunt.
You ran a finger against the straining denim, making him twitch slightly. He lightly rubbed over your pussy, your arousal coating his fingers. He slipped a finger in, another one quickly following.
Your knees buckled for a moment as he pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt, finding a quick pace. You dropped your hand from his erection, now using it to hold onto the tree from behind for support as you let out a string of moans and whimpers in his ear.
He curled his fingers, finding the spot that made your eyes roll back, watching you with the most impish look ever. You were so close to orgasming quickly, and right as you were, he pulled his fingers out, releasing multiple incoherent mewls from you.
"Così dannatamente carina." (So damn cute).
Before you could complain about your lost orgasm, he had discarded of his zip up sweater, pulled down his pants, freeing his erection from his boxers, and lined up his cock with your cunt. Theodore lifted one of your legs up, supporting it with his hand to spread your legs. He pushed inside slowly, your pussy time to adjust to his thick cock.
"Shit, you feel so good," he whispered by your ear.
Each thrust of his hips would pressure your back harder into the tree, but the pain was unacknowledged as you could only focus on the pleasure currently pumping in and out of you.
"T-Theo," you mewled, looking at him with wide eyes, maintaining eye contact.
"Hm?" he asked, using his hand that wasn't supporting your leg brush a stray eyelash off your cheek.
You wanted to speak, but instead let out a strangled whine, the erotic noises of his cock entering in and out of your sopping cunt growing louder. You bit down hard on your lip, immensely stimulated because your cunt was getting the stuffing it needed, but because of how gorgeous he was.
He was otherworldly, the beautiful scenery visible past his face, no doubt only complimenting his features. You stared so hard, to the point that your brain had gone fuzzy and your moans and whimpers slipped out more frequently.
Theodore was clearly sharing the same feeling, beginning to bury himself deeper into you, his hips slapping against your clit each time.
He peppered kisses all over your neck, sucking on your skin until it left marks. Soon, his movements grew frantic-- much more than it already was, and his groans were shaky.
"Fuck, I'm- I'm going to come inside you," he panted.
Your cunt clenched against his cock, much like how you clung onto his shoulders, desperately wanting him to get impossibly closer to you.
"P-please," you begged. "I'm so close. M' gonna come."
He moved his head away from your neck, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the fresh hickey left on there. Gently putting down your leg, he used both hands to now cup your face, staring into the eyes, both of your irises dilated, pure lust on display.
You couldn't hold back any longer, your legs shook, your vision went blurry, and your walls tightened around his cock as you came. He followed shortly after, and with a final thrust, he shot warm, thick ropes of cum into your pussy.
He pulled out shortly after, breathing heavily. The remnants of his leaked out of you as you pulled your underwear back up, patting down your skirt.
Theodore returned his boxers to fit around his waist, zipping up his jeans quickly.
You both stood for a while, unsure if the silence was comfortable or not.
"That was," he spoke first, face flushed and hair disheveled.
"That was good," you said, hopeful that he would agree.
"Yeah. Yeah, it was."
The sun seemed to die down, grey clouds coming in, and you took it as a sign to go. "Should we go back into the castle?"
Theodore nodded in agreement and you pushed yourself off the tree trunk, taking wobbly steps back before he grabbed your wrist from behind.
"Wait." He retrieved his neglected zip up from off the leaf-filled ground, holding it near you, signaling you to outstretch your hands. You did, and he slowly helped you wear the sweater, zipping it up before flipping the hood back to it's intended state. "It's cold."
It was an unusual gesture-- not that it was out of character for him. Just because it was so kind and light, almost as if he didn't fuck the thoughts out of your head just moments before.
You gave him a small smile, allowing his arm to drape over your shoulder as you both started your trek back to the castle.
―――――――――ʚ♡ɞ―――――――――
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callsign-rogueone · 4 months ago
Text
hour thirty-eight
Bodhi Durran x reader (darling!) words: 1.7k 🏷️: set during fourth wing, aftermath of reader's RSC (not described in any detail, just that you're injured from it), dain and love cameo (you'll eventually be getting love's pov of all this!), xaden gets sucker punched (he kinda deserved it tho), feral bodhi and then sweet soft bodhi in the same post, I'm not the happiest with this one but here it is anyway.
Thirty-seven hours. Thirty-seven fucking hours since Bodhi has seen any trace of you. 
You clearly aren’t out with your squad doing land-nav or anything, because they’re still here, enjoying their weekend off. And they have no idea where you are, either. They haven’t seen you since before he did.
He’s retraced your steps a dozen times by now. You’d had dinner, washed up and spent the night in his room, woken up early for a leadership meeting, then vanished off the face of the planet, and everyone is acting like it’s business as usual.
Everyone except Xaden. 
He might be mister unaffected and cool to everyone else, but his cousin can smell that something is off with him — cornering him and Garrick in the hall after dinner. 
“I’ve checked the infirmary, I’ve checked the death rolls, and the rest of her squad has no idea either, but I know you know something. You’ve got that look on your face. So please, tell me,” he begs, his voice wavering.
He watches the two older boys exchange a look, knowing neither of them want to be the one to say it. 
Xaden sighs, evidently having lost the silent battle of eye contact. “I just need you to trust me. She’s going to be fine — she should be back in the morning.”
“Back from where? Where are the fuck is my wife, Xaden?”
He winces. “Part of the second-year course is interrogation training,” he begins carefully.
“You mean she’s being tortured?”
Xaden exhales. “Yes.” He doesn’t bother to dodge the first punch Bodhi throws — letting it hit him right in the jaw. 
It’s Garrick who lunges forward, grabbing the younger man around the waist and pinning his arms to his sides to hold him back from throttling his cousin. Bodhi thrashes in his grip, uselessly trying to get free. “You didn’t think to mention this to any of us? To your own fucking sister? Because she’s missing too, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Bo,” Garrick says softly, “you need to take a breath. She’s going to be fine. Both of them will.”
Garrick’s words don’t mean anything to him. “Don’t fucking start with me, Gare. You had plenty of opportunities to tell us, too. You could have mentioned it a year ago, when you found out yourself.“
“We didn’t tell you for the same reason that Cuir didn’t tell you, nor did the Lieutenant Colonel,” Xaden says levelly, his arms crossed over his chest. “Everything they do in RSC is supposed to be a surprise that you can’t prepare for. It’s all classified, and those who have completed it are forbidden from telling anyone what happened.”
“Bullshit. When has that ever stopped you before? Since when do you give a singular shit about the rules?”
“Bodhi,” Garrick warns, glancing around the hall, but thankfully nobody is around to have heard them.
“Fuck — off,” he pants, finally cutting loose from the section leader’s grip. “If you tell me to breathe again, I swear—”
“Bodhi,” Garrick repeats, louder, nodding toward the end of the hallway. “Look.”
The younger boy turns, his anger immediately replaced with relief as he sees you. 
Xaden’s shadows rush up to cushion your bruises as Bodhi gathers you into his arms. “Gods,” he breathes into your hair, “I was worried sick — I had no idea where you were. Was Callwell with you?”
“Yeah. She’s in the infirmary, with Dain.”
Bodhi pulls back to look at you, taking stock of your injuries. “Why didn’t you go with them?” he asks gently. There’s no scolding in his tone, just the same soft concern you can see in his eyes.
“I wanted to find you, and make sure you were okay. I didn’t know if they’d taken you too,” you say softly, your voice dry and scratchy. 
Xaden and Garrick both look guilt-stricken. Good, Bodhi decides. They should be.
“We stayed after class to talk to Kaori, and I got that feeling, but I didn’t know what was going to happen, or to who. As soon as we stepped out into the hallway…” you don’t finish the sentence. “They messed up — they weren’t supposed to take me, just her and Dain. But I was walking with them, and I guess they thought we were in the same squad.”
There’s a second of silence. “M’sorry I scared you,” you say softly. 
“Don’t apologize, cridhe. I’m just glad you’re safe now. Let‘s get you to the healers, okay?”
You hum in acknowledgment, fighting to keep your eyes open. It’s going to be a challenge for him to limp you back down the stairs and across the campus in this state, with your energy completely drained and your legs injured as well.
“I can…” Garrick offers, stepping forward.
“I’ve got her,” Bodhi snaps over his shoulder, steadying you with an arm around your waist. “She’s my responsibility, not yours.”
“Don’t be too hard on them,” you murmur, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. “Knowing it was coming would just have made it worse.”
Oh, gods. Now he knows — now he and Imogen and the rest of your friends are going to be waiting to be whisked away to the dungeons for a weekend of suffering, constantly anticipating an ambush, bags being thrown over their heads and getting dragged down to the dungeon to be beaten. That must be how you feel all the time with your signet, always focused on some looming tragedy or catastrophe. 
You haven’t let it break you thus far, so he won’t either.
Your walk to the infirmary is mostly silent, save for the occasional soft praise from Bodhi, gentle murmurs about how well you’re doing and that you’re almost there.
——
Dain’s forehead and nose are bloody, a dried up cut splitting his cheek, but it’s nothing compared to the state of your friend who sits beside him, tears slowly dripping down her face.
“She shielded us,” you explain to Bodhi in a soft voice. “So they took it out on her the worst, and made us watch.”
His heart twists as he realizes exactly how cruel and how realistic this training is, to punish someone for protecting their friends. They’d probably done that with the goal of getting you or Dain to crack, to exchange information for relief from the sight of her being broken bit by bit and the sound of her screaming.
But from the looks of her, the two of you had held fast — not telling them anything.
Dain continues whispering to her, his thumb stroking over her knee as a healer presses a hand against her ribs, inspecting for cracks. They must find one, because she curls in on herself with a soft whimper of pain, squeezing her eyes shut.
Another healer appears, beckoning you forward. She doesn’t protest as Bodhi comes with you, keeping a hand on your back as you walk. “Second year?” she asks, a soft sadness in her voice.
“Yes ma’am,” you say quietly, realizing that at her age, she’s probably bandaged up a thousand cadets after they’d gone through the same thing. 
That means someone else on this campus has beaten a thousand of you half to death.
“You think anything’s broken?”
“No, ma’am. Just some cuts and bruises.”
Bodhi helps you out of your ruined flight jacket, baring your arms, but the healer doesn’t flinch at the sight of your relic, nor the purpling bruises across your chest and shoulders. She’s gentle, silently working on disinfecting and stitching and bandaging with a learned hand. 
You let your head loll against Bodhi’s shoulder, your eyes closing. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck. 
“You picked a good one,” she remarks, a knowing smile on her face. “He’ll take care of you, like a warrior should.”
You turn your head to look at her. The sentence doesn’t quite make sense in the common language, but in Tyrrish, the words “husband” and “warrior” sound nearly identical.
“Smart girl,” she praises, knowing you’ve figured it out from the look on your face.
“I am in your debt,” Bodhi says softly, not wanting the other healer to hear. “She is my world. Thank you for holding her so gently.” 
She offers you both a soft smile. “May she one day be free.”
Your eyes widen, but you quickly force the rest of your face into a neutral expression. This might be a trap — a way for the school to see if you’ve inherited your parents’ ideology. And any evidence of any of you having thoughts about a second attempt at secession will mean the end of Xaden’s life.
She doesn’t pry or say anything further, just rising from her seat and cleaning up the tools she’d used before crossing the room to help the other healer.
You cast another glance back at your friend. Dain is still with her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder as Nolon works to fix her broken bones. Her eyes are closed, her breathing steady now that the pain has dulled.
“I’ve got her,” he promises quietly, seeing your hesitation. “Get some sleep, if you can.”
You nod in acknowledgement, letting Bodhi guide you back to the rider’s dorms and mindlessly following his lead as he gets some things from his room, then takes you to the showers, helping you out of your bloodied uniform and washing the blood from your skin in near-silence. 
The rest is just muscle memory — brushing your teeth and tugging one of his shirts over your head, padding across the hall to his room and climbing into your side of his bed, tucking yourself under his arm and pulling the blankets over you both. 
He plants another kiss to your forehead, his heart softening at the way you nuzzle your cheek into his shoulder in response — you’re too tired to lift your head up enough to return the kiss, but he knows that the way you’re curled into his side is an ‘I love you’ in itself, an indication that you feel safe with him, to let your guard down in this death trap of a school, to finally relax and sleep after two days of pain and fear.
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emacrow · 3 days ago
Text
The cursed book of ensnared Love.
Raven was re-scouting in the hidden gem of a curse shop for a new book as she had been here before to find rare and exotic spell books along with purple candles that smell like Jasmine.
A cashier girl by the name of Sam with a purple and green line in her hair was bored looking.
There was a new display on set where a blue book with a blue ice looking marble encased in the chest art design of a sleeping ice prince in some type of ice cover.
a small green sign saying in purple cursive writing cursed book, please do not touch without gloves on the side, ask Cashier for more.
Raven took a good look at the cursed book, seeing the book holder stand it was on was completely frozen solid in hardening ice.
Raven went over to ask Sam the Cashier about the book, who flicked her purple eyes at her.
Sam draggingly walk around her counter and stand next to the display in a bored dead tone that most cashier working at 3am would sound like.
"Here we have the cursed book of Ensnared Love once belonging to a tragdy royalty known as the Icy Prince of Far frozen. Legend said that Antarctica and Artic were formed by this book once belonging to a Kindly Prince who had the ability to control ice, some say say he even control space itself."
"His kingdom was made of blue ice, yet not a single person froze in this snowy kingdom for as Long as The Ice Prince had his crown and his ring at hand, the cold will never bothered them anyways." Sam said with a twitch of a smile.
"A beloved prince that the people know will be a great king as his older sister denied the crown, but tragedy was foretold as the prince's advisors, elderly older then ancients wanted power believing the prince will bring ruin to the land but only the prince was too strong, foolish kind and witty to beat every impossible challenge put ahead."
"The advisors decision enough was enough as soon as the Ice Prince's 18th birthday was almost here, they had concocted one last plan to entrapped the Prince to take the crown using a forbidden book that can ensnare even the most powerful beings across the realms. They plan successed but not in the way they had thought as they had hoped."
"For the ice prince opened the book, wearing the crown and the ring, chains immediately grappled him, dragging him into the book by force, that not even his greatest most dangerous ice spell could break them. The book closed shut the moment the ice prince was fully trapped inside, only to be frozen shut in the very last spell the ice prince casted alongside its curse that the book could only open by love." Sam spoke a bit more down as she was reenacting the scene as if she had seen it herself.
"The Advisors didn't know what to do, but with the Ice Prince trapped, the cold became unbearable to the people, their very kingdom, became a death sentence as Nobody could withstand the fatal freezing cold anymore. The book couldn't be grabbed unless by solid white fur gloves or if you wished to turn into a solid status of blue ice."
"This accursed book has been passed down from collector to collector as being in it presence sent chills down your spine like a Ghost, it is not for sale unless it is a equal trade for a curse book to a cursed book by the current owner named Tuck'a'man." Sam finished speaking as she mumbled the last bit, walking back to the cashier.
Raven took one good long stare at the book and a memory flash of Malchior in her thought. Her eyes narrowed a bit as she thought about it.
....
...
..
.
Raven left the cursed shop, a floating bag in a shadow sphere followed behind her. A white book with a circle on the old display.
Sam counted to 100 before she smile brightly, bringing her cup of soda upward as she pressed the com in her hair pin.
"Operation hook up a prince phase 3 is a go, Jazz. Do you think this would work?" Sam said, sipping her soda a bit.
"If this doesn't work, then he stuck in that book until we go to the next dimension?"
"Yep, that the plan."
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mythicalmaven · 5 months ago
Note
Helloooo love, could I have nr 1, 13, 23(reader) and 28 with Daniel ricciardo?🤍 so needy for him
Forbidden - Daniel Ricciardo (requested)
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As requested: a Daniel Ricciardo fanfic with a few prompts from the list! It's my first Ricciardo fanfic, so I hope I wrote it like you hoped lol :) It turned out a little longer than I expected, but I honestly like how it turned out! (I didn't proofread it, so excuse any mistakes lol)
masterlist | promptlist ↳pairing: daniel ricciardo x female!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 7,7K ↳prompts used: 1 - 'Use my thigh", 13 - "You're fucking soaked". 23 - "I..Uh.." - "I have never done this before" & 28 "We shouldn't do this" ↳warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, age gap (8 years), kissing, alcohol, drunk, explicit sexual content, 18+ (MDNI!), jealousy, sexual tension ↳summary: In which it's 2017 and Max Verstappen's twin sister gets a little too involved with her brothers teammate
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You honestly had no idea how you'd come up with the not-so-clever idea of getting wasted in a Monaco nightclub, but right now, you couldn’t care less. The music thumped through the room, blending with the haze of alcohol and dim, colorful lights, and a certain curly-haired Australian who had slipped off to the bar for another drink lingered in your mind.
As the beat softened into something deeper, sultrier, you found yourself moving with Carlos once more. His hands rested casually on your hips, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress as you swayed together. Ever since your twin, Max, joined the Formula 1 grid, Carlos had become one of your closest friends.
Carlos leaned in, his lips close to your ear, his voice a low murmur against the music. "So… when are you finally gonna hook up with Danny?"
You scoffed, playfully swatting the back of his head. “Oh, shut up, will you?”
Carlos only grinned, knowing exactly how you felt about Daniel. He'd been trying to push you toward him for ages, but as always, you deflected. “I don’t think Max would be thrilled if I hooked up with his teammate,” you replied, though a part of you knew that wasn’t the real reason you’d been holding back.
Carlos shrugged with a smirk. “Did you forget how convinced Max was that we were hooking up back at Toro Rosso? He didn’t seem too bothered by that idea, did he?”
You rolled your eyes, chuckling as you swayed in rhythm with him, your fingers linking behind his neck. “Yeah, vividly. But that was different…” You let out a laugh, trying to keep your tone casual. “For one, our age gap was a lot smaller than Daniel and mine.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow. “You’re 20, who cares? Daniel’s 28—it’s not like he’s ancient.”
Sighing, you dropped your forehead against Carlos’s shoulder. “Besides, even if he would consider hooking up with me, he’d probably be disappointed. I’ve never… well, you know. I’ve only gone as far as giving a guy a blowie in a club bathroom, and even that was a drunken disaster. Somehow, I doubt a 28-year-old is looking for a hookup with a 20-year-old virgin.”
Carlos chuckled under his breath, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. “You're really that blind, aren't you? The guy is absolutely head over heels for you.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but Carlos shifted his grip, spinning you around so your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist to guide your movements. To anyone watching, it looked like a slow grind, intimate and close, even though he left enough space to keep things comfortable.
He steered you both around the dance floor, inching you closer to the bar. “Look at him,” Carlos murmured in your ear, lifting a hand to tilt your chin ever so slightly. “See for yourself.”
Your gaze landed on Daniel, and your breath caught in your throat. There he was, leaning against the bar, drink in hand, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity you hadn’t seen before. His jaw was tight, his lips set in a straight line as he took in every shift of your body against Carlos’s, his gaze dark, brooding, and unmistakably heated. The way his eyes drifted, tracing the curve of your legs, lingering on your hips as they moved, made your heart race. He wasn’t just watching; he was studying, every look brimming with tension and frustration.
Carlos’s laughter hummed against your back, pulling you out of your trance. “The guy’s been staring daggers at me since the second we started dancing.”
“No way,” you murmured, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even though your pulse hammered in your ears. “He’s just… looking. Nothing more.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he leaned down to murmur against your ear, “Who are you trying to convince? Me… or yourself?”
“Fuck,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush under Daniel’s gaze, heat spreading through you in a way that felt as dangerous as it was thrilling. “I need more alcohol.”
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Hours and too many drinks later, you’d long since shed your usual shyness, finding a brazen confidence in the music, the crowd, and the glimmer of alcohol-fueled ease in every movement. The world felt hazy but thrilling, every pulse of the bass reverberating through you as you let yourself sink into the beat.
Carlos watched your transformation, amused at how you threw back shots and laughed a little louder than before. At one point, you looked back at him over your shoulder, eyes bright and mischievous, completely oblivious to the intensity with which a certain Australian had been watching you both.
With a chuckle and a playful push, Carlos nudged you forward, aiming you right in Daniel’s direction. “Go on, dance with him already,” he teased, his smirk saying he knew exactly what he was doing.
You stumbled into Daniel, feeling his hand steady you, his fingers lingering just a second too long as you regained your balance. “Well, fancy seeing you here, Ricciardo,” you quipped, your voice carrying an edge of flirtation that you didn’t usually dare with him.
Daniel’s lips curled into that easy, charming smile, his fingers still on your waist. “Fancy that. You’re looking a little… spirited tonight,” he replied, his eyes raking over you with a mixture of amusement and something darker, something almost hungry that you couldn’t miss, even in your haze. He was trying to play it off, keep things casual, but his gaze lingered just a bit too long, drawn to the curve of your hips, the dip of your collarbone, and the dress that had ridden up just enough to reveal more of your thigh.
“Oh yeah?” you leaned in close, fingers grazing up his arm, catching the way his eyes followed every movement. “What do you mean, ‘spirited?’” You were close enough to catch the hint of his cologne, something warm and subtly spicy, like he was, and it made you feel just a little bolder.
Daniel chuckled, but his fingers tightened slightly at your waist as if grounding himself. “Just saying,” he replied, “I don’t usually see you dancing like that.” His eyes sparkled with a mix of fondness and something a little more conflicted. He was trying so hard to keep things cool, but you could tell he was affected. “Especially with Carlos. Didn’t know he was your type.”
You laughed, moving your body a little closer to his, playfully ignoring the tension that brewed between you. “Carlos? Nah. He’s more like… a dance partner for the night. Besides,” you added, looking up at him through your lashes, “I think my type is just a little taller… curly hair.. and definitely Australian.”
A flicker of something like surprise crossed his face, his eyes briefly widening before he collected himself. He swallowed, looking away, almost as if to compose himself. “Is that so?” he murmured, his fingers curling at your waist, his voice low.
Just then, the music changed to something slower, a sensual rhythm that had you pressing a little closer against him. Daniel’s hands slipped to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his heartbeat thrumming fast under your hands as you settled into a rhythm together. You let your body sway, your hips pressing against him as his hands guided you, holding you steady and closer than he should.
“Gotta stop moving like that,” he mumbled, his voice tight, a strained note of amusement as he tried to mask how breathless he sounded.
You looked up at him with a smirk. “Why?” you asked, feigning innocence, though the mischievous gleam in your eyes told him you knew exactly what you were doing.
He swallowed, his gaze darkening as his grip on your hips tightened, pulling you flush against him. The movement brought you closer than before, and in that instant, you felt him—hard, pressing against you through his jeans, undeniable and unrestrained. A thrill shot through you as your eyes met his, your gaze drifting downward for a fleeting second, then back up to find his expression transformed, conflicted and charged. His voice was rough, edged with that undeniable tension. “You know very well why,” he murmured, his tone thick with barely restrained desire and frustration, his fingers gripping your waist as if to hold himself back.
Your lips parted in surprise, but you didn't move away. Instead, you let a slow smile spread across your face, your body swaying against him just enough to deepen his predicament. Daniel’s jaw clenched, his gaze darting down to where your bodies pressed together, his expression shifting between longing and resistance, the internal battle clear as he tried to keep himself grounded, even as you blurred every boundary between you.
You felt the heat radiating off him, the subtle hitch in his breathing, the way his fingers trembled slightly against your waist.
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Hours later, you stumbled out of the bathroom, trying to make your way back to the dance floor but feeling far less coordinated than before. The world tilted slightly as you bumped into a table, a stray chair, and even a few club-goers who offered you amused or annoyed glances.
“Alright, I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night, darling,” came a familiar voice from behind, warm and steady. Before you could turn, a hand wrapped around your upper arm, steadying you, and the familiar scent of Daniel surrounded you, grounding you.
You turned to him with an exaggerated pout, his arm still holding you up. “I… I’m definitely… not,” you managed, words slightly slurred as you tried to shake off his grip, failing miserably. He chuckled softly, clearly amused.
Daniel’s gaze softened, his eyes roaming over you with a mix of tenderness and barely concealed desire. Your dress had shifted, one strap sliding off your shoulder, the hem hitching up to reveal more skin than you intended. He took in the sight, pausing for just a moment too long before swallowing hard and composing himself.
“Let’s get you sorted out here,” he murmured, reaching to fix your dress. His fingers brushed over your shoulder, grazing your skin, and he swallowed hard, the gentle touches sending a thrill through you. His hands moved lower, trying to straighten the hem, and his fingers brushed over the curve of your thigh, a touch that made you let out a soft, involuntary whimper. His eyes darkened, and he hesitated, looking like he wanted to pull away but unable to tear himself away from the way you looked at him.
“Mm… feels nice,” you murmured, leaning into his touch, your gaze half-lidded as you looked up at him, lips parted slightly. You noticed how he tensed, his jaw clenched, clearly struggling to resist.
“Come on,” he said, clearing his throat, his voice a little rough. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”
He led you through the club, supporting you with one arm wrapped securely around you. As you stumbled along, your hand brushed over his chest, lingering a little longer than necessary, your fingers tracing small patterns as you walked. He glanced down, swallowing, his throat bobbing as he tried to keep his focus. Along the way, you nearly collided with Max, who took one look at you and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm bringing your sister back to the hotel," Daniel explained, nodding toward you with a hint of amusement. "She’s absolutely hammered."
Max smirked, his eyes flicking between you and Daniel. "You sure? I can take her back if you’d rather stay. I know she can’t hold her liquor."
“Hey!” you interjected, stumbling slightly as you tried to regain your balance, waving off your brother with a slurred, “I-Ik ben niet eens d-dronken…” (I’m not even drunk). You gave him a half-hearted glare, rolling your eyes in exaggerated annoyance.
Daniel glanced at Max with a small, amused shake of his head. “I have no clue what she just said, but don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he reassured him. “I was planning to head home anyway, and besides,” he added with a smile, “our apartments are in the same building anyway, so it's no hassle”
Max nodded, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder before turning back to Daniel. "Alright, mate. Get her home safe."
With that, Max watched as Daniel guided you gently but firmly toward the exit, his grip steadying you as you leaned against him, too tipsy to resist.
When you reached the curb, he helped you into a cab, sliding in beside you. You leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder, your hand slipping to rest on his thigh, your fingers drifting ever so slightly higher, sending a rush of heat through him.
“You’re drunk,” he murmured, his voice low and strained, trying to keep his breathing even.
You looked up at him with a playful, tipsy grin, fingers tracing the fabric of his jeans. “So?”
He bit his lip, fighting a losing battle against his own desires, his hand covering yours to stop its teasing ascent. He’d never seen you this forward, this flirtatious, and though it thrilled him, it terrified him all the same. The line between you had always been thin, but tonight, with every touch, every brush of your skin against his, you were slowly erasing it.
When you arrived at the apartment building, you had began starting to sober up a tiny little bit. Still wasted obviously, but it seems as if you had a little bit more control over your own actions.
As you fumbled through your purse, your expression shifted from confidence to frustration as you realized your keys weren’t there.
“I… I had them,” you muttered, searching again, only for the reality to settle in. “I must’ve left them with Carlos or Max.”
You looked up at Daniel with a mischievous glint in your eyes, swaying slightly on your feet. “Guess that means I’m staying with you?”
Daniel hesitated, his resolve weakening as he searched your face, taking in the way your lips quirked in that daring, flirtatious smile. He was already in too deep, the familiar ache in his chest too hard to ignore. After a moment, he let out a resigned sigh, offering a small, reluctant smile as he nodded.
“Yeah, alright,” he said softly, his hand brushing over your back as he guided you inside. “But you’ve gotta promise me you’ll go straight to bed.”
You leaned in, closer than necessary, your breath warm against his cheek. “We’ll see about that,” you murmured playfully, sending one last spark of heat through him as he led you toward his apartment, both of you caught in a delicate balance of desire, restraint, and the thrill of the unspoken between you.
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Daniel led you to his kitchen, pulling out a stool by the bar, gesturing for you to sit. But you had other ideas. Following him over to the sink, you leaned back against the counter, lifting yourself up onto it. Your dress slid up as you settled, exposing nearly everything to anyone watching.
Daniel turned off the tap, glass in hand, and was about to pass it to you when he caught sight of you. His gaze trailed over your bare thighs, and his breath hitched, eyes widening as he muttered, “Fuck.” His eyes lingered, and he dared to glance lower, noticing the smallest glimpse of black lace between your slightly parted legs.
Swallowing hard, he gripped the counter edge, his knuckles whitening as he fought the overwhelming urge to close the distance between you, his lips already tingling with the desire to claim yours. Forcing himself to look away, he pressed the glass into your hand, his voice husky and tight. “Drink this. It'll help,” he murmured, barely able to keep his composure. “I’ll… I’ll go grab a shirt for you. So you don’t have to sleep in that dress.”
You downed the water in one swift gulp, letting your gaze drift back to him. The proximity hit you both, close enough for you to see the tension in his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. But what captured your attention most was the unmistakable bulge in his jeans, straining against the fabric, betraying the restraint he tried so hard to maintain.
A slow smirk crept across your lips as you reached out, letting your fingers graze his arm, traveling in a slow, tantalizing path up to his shoulder, then down his chest, inching ever closer to his belt. But before you could reach it, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly. “We… we shouldn’t do this,” he muttered, voice low and rough as he gently pushed your hand away, though his touch lingered just a second too long, his resolve wavering.
Undeterred, you hopped down from the counter, stepping forward until there was barely any space left between you. Confidence you hadn’t realized you possessed surged through you, and you reached out, cupping him through his jeans. He let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, his resolve crumbling under the pressure of your touch.
Bringing your lips close to his ear, you whispered, your voice a hushed, sultry tease, “That’s what you say… but your body’s telling me something else entirely.”
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Daniel forced himself to gather every shred of self-control he could muster, putting a few steps of distance between you before he turned on his heel, heading to his bedroom to grab a shirt from the closet. His mind raced as he moved. He wanted you—God, he wanted you more than anything—but he knew you were drunk, teetering on that edge where even a soft touch or glance was hazy with the thrill of it all. And as much as he ached to feel your lips on his, to let every longing he’d harbored for so long finally spill over, he didn’t want to take advantage of your current state.
Yet, you were making it damn near impossible to keep his composure. Every touch, every glance, every whisper made his restraint crumble bit by bit, leaving him clinging to the last threads of resolve.
When he made his way to the bathroom with the shirt in hand, he stopped in the doorway, noticing you struggling with the zipper of your dress, your back turned to him. The zipper was halfway down, leaving a tantalizing glimpse of your bare skin, and his heart pounded harder, fighting between propriety and desire.
“Danny, can you help me with the zipper, please?” Your voice was soft, but the note of longing was unmistakable, each word sparking something primal within him.
He hesitated, but before he could stop himself, he stepped forward, leaving the shirt on the sink, and positioned himself behind you. His fingers brushed your skin as he reached for the zipper, feeling the warmth radiating off you. You shivered at his touch, a soft, involuntary whimper escaping your lips that sent a jolt through him. He dragged the zipper down slowly, his fingers grazing your skin, unable to resist lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.
Once the zipper was down, you slipped the straps off your shoulders, the dress falling effortlessly down your frame, pooling at your feet. Daniel’s breath caught in his throat as he took you in, standing before him in nothing but your black lace lingerie. He clenched his jaw, feeling a wave of heat course through him, the last of his rationality slipping as his eyes traced over every curve, every inch of you laid bare.
You turned to face him, the look in your eyes a mixture of vulnerability and desire, a silent plea that tugged at the very core of him. Reaching up, you let your fingers graze the stubble on his jaw, caressing his cheek as you held his gaze. “Kiss me, Daniel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, desperate invitation.
It was all he needed. His restraint finally shattered, and he closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. His hand cupped your cheek, fingers threading through your hair as he captured your lips in a kiss that was fierce, urgent, filled with all the pent-up emotion and longing he’d been holding back. You melted into him, pressing closer, every brush of his lips igniting sparks that spread through your body.
His hands slid down to the small of your back, then lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you onto the countertop of the bathroom sink. He stepped between your legs, his body pressing firmly against yours, grounding you in the heat and solidity of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The slight tug on his hair drew a low, guttural moan from him, his chest heaving as he leaned into you, lost in the feel of you against him.
His hands roamed over your body, sliding along your curves, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You gasped against his mouth, a sound that turned into a soft moan, each note pushing him closer to the edge of his composure. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips, exploring, tasting, savoring every second. You could taste the hint of whiskey on his lips, warm and heady, mingling with his natural, intoxicating flavor. Every brush of his tongue against yours sent a surge of heat pooling between your legs, each movement building the need that pulsed through you.
Daniel pulled you closer, his grip tightening as you felt his hardness pressing against you, undeniable, unmistakable. The sensation made you dizzy, your entire body responding to him, the ache between your thighs intensifying as you instinctively rocked your hips against him. His breath hitched, and he let out a soft, unrestrained groan, his head dipping to press heated, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot behind your ear. His lips left a trail of warmth, each kiss setting your skin alight, making you ache for more.
“Daniel,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper, breathless as you held him closer, “I need… I…”
He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and filled with a barely contained fire. “Use my thigh, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, encouraging you, his words laced with both restraint and indulgence. The suggestion was almost too much, the heat in his eyes spurring you on, each word sending another pulse of arousal through you.
You didn’t hesitate, shifting your hips to grind against his thigh, a soft moan slipping from your lips as you felt the friction, your panties already damp against his jeans. Daniel’s hands gripped your waist, guiding you, his own breath coming faster as he watched, the sight of you losing yourself in the pleasure unraveling him bit by bit.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough as he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hands urging you to move, encouraging every motion. “Been wanting this… wanting you… for so damn long.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin as he spoke, his voice shaky, every word spilling out in a way that only fueled the fire between you.
“Seeing you with Carlos tonight,” he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear, “it drove me crazy. Couldn’t stand it. I wanted to kill him for touching you” He paused, lifting his head to look into your eyes, his gaze raw, vulnerable, every wall he’d built around himself now shattered. “I’ve wanted you like this… needed you like this… for so long.”
Every word, every touch, every heated gaze pushed you further, his encouragement spurring you on as you moved against him, feeling the delicious friction, the warmth spreading through you as you both succumbed to the intoxicating pull of each other.
Daniel’s breathing grew ragged as he watched you move against his thigh, each roll of your hips sending a wave of heat through him. The way you looked at him, with that mixture of need and adoration, was undoing him in the best possible way.
Your breathing came in shallow, needy gasps as you looked up at him, eyes heavy with desire. “God, Daniel… you have no idea how good you look right now,” you murmured, your voice thick with arousal.
Your soft moans and whispered praises only fueled him more, each one pushing him to explore, to give you everything you were craving. His gaze darkening even more as he captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of pent-up desire and affection into it.
Without breaking the kiss, he slid you back a little on the counter, his hands gripping your hips firmly. You gasped as his fingers traced the edge of your panties, his touch light but electrifying, and he paused, his gaze meeting yours as if asking for permission.
You gave a small nod, your breath catching as his hand slipped beneath the lace, his fingers brushing over you, his touch igniting every nerve ending. His breath hitched when he felt just how wet you were, a low groan escaping his lips as he murmured, “God, you’re soaked.”
The words sent a thrill through you, making you arch into his touch, craving more. His fingers moved with deliberate slowness, exploring and teasing, drawing out your reactions, each moan and gasp fueling his own desire “The way you make me feel… God, it’s like you know exactly what I need.”
Your words lit a fire in him, a spark that deepened the hunger in his gaze as he pulled you closer. His lips curved into a smirk, fingers dipping lower as he murmured, “Yeah? I think I could get used to hearing that.”
He watched you intently, captivated by every expression, every sound that escaped your lips as he continued, building the tension higher with each movement.
You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as his fingers moved with perfect rhythm, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He whispered soft words of encouragement, his voice low and full of affection. “That’s it, love… you’re doing so well. Let go for me,” he murmured, his tone both comforting and enticing.
And then, as his touch pushed you over the edge, a wave of pure ecstasy washed over you, and you cried out his name, your body shuddering as he held you through it, his gaze never leaving yours.
Once you came down from your high, your hand started making their way to Daniel's jeans, intending to return the favor, yet your movements where halted once again by his fingers around your wrist "I won't be able to hold back if you continue" he mumbled, his lips pressing soft kisses against the skin of your neck.
"Maybe that's the point" you whispered seductively.
He shook his head "As much as I would love to, I'm not sleeping with you while you're drunk" he whispered as he pressed one last kiss against your cheek, before he pulled away, grabbing the shirt that was still on the sink with his free hand, assisting you to pull it over your head "We'll talk about it tomorrow, and then we'll see"
As if the post orgasm haze started to kick in, you felt yourself getting tired, giving yourself over to the Australian driver as he carefully lifted you off of the sink and carried you over to his bedroom, placing you down onto it.
He was intending to get up and sleep on the couch, just in case you wouldn't remember things tomorrow, or worse, remember it, but regretting things. But the soft plea that left your lips stopped him in his tracks "Please, stay with me?"
It was as if his legs moved on their own accord, slipping into the bed next to you, feeling you crawl into his arms, your head resting on his chest. Once he noticed you were sound asleep, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and send Max a quick text:
Daniel: Your sister is sound asleep btw, she's crashing here, since she apparently forgot her keys or something.
Max: Figured as much indeed, Carlos came over and handed me her keys, said she forgot to take them before she left. Max: Thanks for letting me know, I'll torture her tomorrow about her headache ;)
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As the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, you stirred, feeling the gentle warmth touch your skin as you blinked awake. It took a moment to piece things together, the room unfamiliar, the quiet hum of an unfamiliar space settling around you. When realization dawned, it hit all at once. This wasn’t your apartment—this was Daniel’s.
Your eyes widened, and you scanned the room, momentarily panicked. But the bed beside you was empty, the sheets cool to the touch, which brought a small wave of relief. Sitting up slowly, you took a breath, glancing down to see yourself dressed in one of Daniel’s shirts. The soft fabric brushed your skin, and you realized, with a sudden blush, that you were only in his shirt and your lingerie.
Heart pounding, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, trying to clear the fog of last night’s hazy memories. The details were elusive, flashes of warmth, laughter, and maybe… something more. You felt oddly refreshed, but the lack of clarity gnawed at you. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to find him, needing some answers.
Moving carefully down the hallway, you made your way to the bathroom, hoping to splash some water on your face, collect yourself before facing him. You twisted the doorknob, assuming the room would be empty. Instead, steam filled the space, and you froze, the faint outline of a figure behind the frosted shower door capturing your attention.
Your gaze locked on the silhouette, recognizing Daniel immediately—the shape of his shoulders, the familiar line of his back. A rush of heat flooded through you, your mind replaying a rush of emotions from last night, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively, trying to banish the sudden surge of desire. You knew you should turn around, slip out quietly, but you were rooted to the spot, utterly transfixed.
Before you could retreat, Daniel turned off the shower, reaching for a towel and wrapping it low around his waist before stepping out. His gaze landed on you, his mouth curving into a smirk, droplets still trailing down his chest and abs. His dark hair was wet, small drops sliding from his curls, and the steam radiated off his skin, casting him in a hazy glow.
“Well, good morning to you too,” he said, his voice a rich, low rumble, his signature smirk making your pulse race. “If you wanted to see me naked this bad, all you had to do was ask. No need to sneak up on me.” His tone was teasing, though his gaze held a hint of something deeper, something almost daring you to respond.
Your cheeks flushed, and you raised your hands to cover your face. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” you stammered, feeling a mix of embarrassment and that same lingering heat from last night.
You heard him chuckle softly, and when you dared to peek through your fingers, he’d already dried off and slipped into a shirt and a pair of boxers. He stepped closer, gently pulling your hands away from your face, his expression softened, a trace of warmth in his morning-rough voice. “No need to be so shy, darling,” he murmured, the words filled with a quiet affection that sent a shiver down your spine.
You glanced at him, unable to ignore how close he was, feeling both relieved and oddly disappointed that he was now dressed. You couldn’t deny how good he looked, fresh out of the shower, the lingering scent of soap and warmth filling the space between you.
But the question weighed on your mind, and finally, you managed to ask, “Please tell me we didn’t…?”
Daniel’s gaze softened further, his eyes flickering with an understanding smile as he placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, letting it linger for just a moment before he replied. “If we slept together? No, we didn’t.”
A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out in relief. Before you could fully process it, though, Daniel added, “But I’m also not gonna pretend that you didn’t try to… and I’m definitely not going to act like nothing else happened.”
His words hung in the air, and you felt your breath catch, a wave of both nerves and arousal coursing through you. “Oh God,” you mumbled, lifting yourself onto the countertop by the sink, feeling a little dizzy, staring at the floor as you tried to piece together what he meant. “What did I make you do?”
Daniel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze steady and entirely too knowing as he took in the expression on your face. “You didn’t make me do anything, darling,” he said softly, his tone gentle yet firm. “It takes two to tango.”
The words lingered in the quiet, settling over you with a weight you couldn’t ignore. He shifted, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “Let’s just say… this isn’t the first time you’ve sat on that countertop in the last 24 hours. Although, last night it was for… different reasons.”
As soon as he said it, memories rushed back in vivid, unfiltered flashes—the feel of his hands, the press of his lips, the way he held you as if he’d waited forever to do so. Your cheeks flushed deeper, the weight of those memories flooding you, the reality of what had happened leaving you breathless.
“Oh God,” you murmured, looking down, struggling to meet his eyes. The blush deepened, and you tried to banish the embarrassment, but it was impossible to hide the way your body reacted to just being near him, recalling every detail of last night.
Daniel watched you, his gaze contemplative, and he let out a small sigh, pressing his lips together before speaking. “Look… you were drunk. I’d had a bit to drink too. I understand if you regret it” His voice was steady, but there was a subtle tension underneath, as if he was holding something back.
You took a deep breath, fiddling with your hands as you struggled to find the right words. "Yeah, about that.." you said, taking a deep breath before continuing "There might be a slight problem to that"
Daniel studied the way you were acting, unsure of what to expect “We can pretend it didn’t happen, if that’s what you want. That's no problem” he offered, though his tone held a hint of something unresolved, something unsaid.
Finally, you looked up at him, your gaze meeting his, the sincerity in your expression clear. “Well… I guess the problem is that..” you whispered, voice barely audible at first, but then you gathered your courage and continued, “I don’t regret it, Daniel… not at all.”
The words hung in the air between you, thickening the silence, every hidden feeling and unspoken desire now out in the open. His eyes widened slightly, the guarded expression slipping as something raw and vulnerable crossed his face.
Daniel's eyes softened at your words, the vulnerable confession drawing him closer, dissolving any remaining space between you. He stepped forward, situating himself between your legs once more, just like he had done last night, but this time you were both sober.
His presence warm and steady, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment. His hands reached up slowly, one gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing a soft line along your skin, the other tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze was deep, intense, and full of affection as he looked into your eyes, his face only inches from yours.
"Good," he whispered, his voice low and tender, “because I don’t regret it either.”
Without another word, he closed the distance, his lips finding yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss. There was no urgency, only a steady, deliberate affection that conveyed every unspoken emotion he’d held back. His kiss was soft and careful, full of warmth, each touch of his lips conveying the depth of his feelings as he held you close.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and you both shared a quiet, contented breath, wrapped up in the warmth of the moment. But the tenderness only fueled the lingering desire that had simmered between you both, and with a sudden burst of confidence, you grasped the collar of his shirt, pulling him back to you.
This time, the kiss deepened, your lips moving in sync as the restraint melted away, giving way to something more fervent, tinged with longing. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, his fingers splaying against your skin. The gentle intimacy turned heated, your mouths exploring, tongues teasing as the passion escalated with each passing second. You could feel his breath hitch as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned softly against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.
Without breaking the kiss, your lips began to wander, trailing a path from his mouth to his jaw, where you lingered, pressing soft, teasing kisses that made him shudder under your touch. You could feel the subtle stubble against your lips, the warmth radiating from his skin as you moved lower, planting slow, lingering kisses along his neck, tasting the faint hint of his cologne mixed with his natural scent. Each kiss seemed to draw a deeper, ragged breath from him, his chest rising and falling as he leaned into every touch, unable to hold back the quiet sounds of pleasure escaping his lips.
You let your hands roam freely, exploring the strong lines of his shoulders, fingers tracing down the curves of his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. His pulse thrummed beneath your touch, quickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, his breathing growing heavier as you continued, savoring every inch of him.
“God, Daniel,” you whispered against his neck, letting your lips brush the words over his skin. “You have no idea how good you look like this… or how good you feel.” Your voice was soft but laced with genuine admiration and a suggestive edge that had his grip on your waist tightening.
“Fuck…” he muttered, his voice thick with need as your words and touch clearly had an effect on him. He tilted his head back, giving you more access, his eyes closing for a moment as he absorbed the sensations.
Your lips brushed his ear, and you could feel him shiver as you whispered, “I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted to feel you… just like this.” Your words spilled out as you continued trailing kisses, his low groan fueling your confidence as you let your hands drift lower.
You let your fingers slide down his torso, tracing every line and curve of his body with deliberate, teasing slowness. Your hand finally ventured to the waistband of his boxers, and you pressed your palm against him, feeling the unmistakable hardness through the fabric. His breath hitched, a deep, guttural sound escaping his throat as he instinctively pushed into your touch, his fingers digging into your waist.
“God, you feel incredible,” you murmured, palming him gently, feeling his arousal grow beneath your hand, hardening with each brush of your fingers. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Daniel… wanted to know how you’d feel like this,” you admitted, voice a mix of admiration and desire.
“Shit… you’re… you’re killing me here,” he managed, his voice a strained whisper as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and filled with unrestrained want. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, his breathing growing heavier as he lost himself in every touch, every word you murmured against him.
You continued your slow, deliberate movements, letting your fingers trace along his length through the fabric, a satisfied smile crossing your face as he groaned in response, his hips pressing into your hand. “God, you look so good like this,” you breathed, meeting his gaze for a moment, taking in the way his face was flushed, his expression filled with raw, unfiltered desire.
“Keep talking like that, and… fuck, you’re gonna drive me insane,” he rasped, his voice low, rough with need, his hands gripping your hips with more intensity, clearly unable to resist the effect you were having on him.
Emboldened by his reaction, you slipped a hand inside the waistband of his boxers, your fingers wrapping around him, and his entire body tensed, a shuddered moan escaping his lips as he exhaled sharply. As you started running your thumb along his length, savoring the way he twitched in your hand, his face contorted with pleasure as he bit his lip.
“God… that feels so good,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked down at you, his expression a mixture of awe and arousal. His hands roamed up and down your back, and you could feel the effect of every touch, every word, as his breathing grew heavier.
Between breaths, you whispered softly in his ear, “I want you, Daniel. All of you.” The words tumbled out, filled with a raw honesty that made him draw back just enough to meet your gaze.
In one swift, effortless motion, he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to his bed. He laid you gently onto the soft sheets, hovering over you as his lips met yours once more, igniting the same passion that had brought you here. Each kiss was heated and lingering, hands tracing and memorizing every line, every curve, savoring every moment that had led to this.
As his lips left a trail of kisses along your collarbone, your breaths came faster, and the anticipation tightened around you. But then when Daniel started removing your panties, you felt a familiar wave of nerves rise, and your voice trembled slightly as you spoke.
“I… uh…” you began, hesitating, feeling vulnerable but needing him to know. “I’ve never done this before.” The words left you in a shy, almost apologetic murmur, your cheeks heating as you admitted it. You lowered your gaze, fidgeting slightly under his gaze, before adding, “I mean, I’ve done… other things. Just… never got to, well, this part.”
He paused, taking in your words, his expression softening instantly. Cupping your face gently, his thumb brushed along your cheek, his gaze reassuring and kind. “Hey, there’s no pressure here. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he whispered, his voice steady, genuine. “We can take it slow. Or… we can keep things just like this.”
You bit your lip, the vulnerability still lingering as you met his gaze. “You’re not… disgusted, or something?” you asked, feeling a wave of self-consciousness bubble up. “I mean, I probably won’t be… any good. You’re… you know…” You trailed off, your face warming as the words left you.
He let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward to kiss you gently, his lips reassuring as he lingered for a moment before pulling back to look you in the eyes. “Disgusted? Not even close,” he murmured, a faint smile on his lips. “And I promise you, that thought never even crossed my mind.” His thumb brushed along your cheek again, his gaze warm and encouraging. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me. Not at all.”
You took a steadying breath, feeling his words soothe the nerves that had crept in. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and newfound confidence. “I don’t want to take it slow,” you admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper, but the words full of determination. “I want it to be with you, Daniel. I’ve… I’ve thought about this more times than I dare to admit,” you confessed, the warmth of your cheeks betraying the shyness that lingered, but you held his gaze.
His eyes softened at your words, a slow smile spreading across his face as he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Then I'm all yours,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.
Without another word, Daniel leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deeper, hungrier, every ounce of restraint between you both slipping away. His hands roamed up your back, pressing you firmly against him as your bodies melded together, the heat between you palpable. His lips moved over yours with an urgency that matched the rhythm of his heartbeat, each kiss filled with the passion that had built up over all this time, all the unspoken moments leading up to this.
Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you felt his quiet groan against your mouth, his own hands exploring your curves, fingers tracing your waist and pulling you flush against him. His body hovered over yours as his gaze met yours, filled with both desire and a lingering tenderness that made your heart race.
His lips found yours again, and you welcomed him with a fervor that matched his own, your mouths moving in perfect sync as the kiss grew deeper, more intense. You could feel his body pressing into yours, the weight of him grounding you, making the moment feel all the more real. His hand traveled down your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as he settled between your legs, his hips pressing against yours in a way that made your entire body ache with anticipation, before slowly but surely entering you inch by inch.
Between kisses, his hands caressed every inch of your body, learning and savoring every curve, every response he drew from you. His mouth left a trail of kisses along your jaw, down your neck, lingering on the sensitive spots that made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued his slow, intoxicating descent. Each kiss, each touch seemed to stir something deeper within you, the desire building to a crescendo with every shared breath.
“Fuck…” you whispered, your voice soft and laced with longing, and he looked up at you, a question in his gaze, waiting for any hint of hesitation.
But you only pulled him closer, guiding him to you as your hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. He leaned down again, his lips finding yours as the kiss deepened, turning into something that went beyond words—a culmination of everything you’d both been holding back.
In that moment, every barrier fell away, and you lost yourselves in each other, the moment filled with soft murmurs, quiet laughter, and the tender, passionate intimacy you’d both waited far too long to share.
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