#i have three different versions of my calculations

[formulafanfics13]

could you write Ollie Bearman dating physics student!reader please and thank you. 🐻❤️

gravity - OB87

Masterlist

summary: Ollie Bearman is fast, famous, and stupidly hot — and you’re just a university physics student trying to mind your business. He falls first. You fall harder. And suddenly, theoretical forces have nothing on the way he looks at you.

warnings: fluff, university AU, nerd x athlete dynamic, very soft smut (oral f receiving), protective Ollie, awkward academic environments, Ollie being a lovesick fool, clever/introverted reader, mention of anxiety, established relationship vibes

You meet him in the worst possible way. You're in the library, hunched over your thermodynamics notes, wearing joggers, a hoodie three sizes too big, and exactly zero percent of your usual social skills. You’re also muttering to yourself like a lunatic, trying to reverse-engineer a problem about entropy gradients when someone taps your shoulder.

You look up. And it’s him. Ollie Bearman.

Formula 1 driver. Walking meme. Public heartthrob. And apparently, a confused boy holding a Mechanics for Engineers textbook. “Sorry,” he says, voice low and very real. “Are you the physics girl?”

You blink. “The... what?”

“You helped my mate Alex in week two,” he explains. “Said you were some kind of quantum genius.”

“Alex cried during quantum.”

“Still passed.”

You sigh. “What’s the problem?”

He grins. “I need help understanding how the fuck potential energy is real.”

You groan. “It’s stored energy.”

“But it’s not doing anything.”

“It could do something.”

“So it’s imaginary.”

You grab his textbook. “Sit down.”

It doesn’t take long for everyone on campus to know. That you’re dating. That he’s obsessed. That the golden boy of motorsport is 100 percent, violently in love with the quiet girl who once submitted a complaint because a tutor misused the term ‘net force’ in a lecture.

At first, it’s awkward. He’s all media and adrenaline and fast cars and sprint races. You’re all caffeine and brain fog and equations and fuck, is this due today?

But Ollie slots into your life like he was born for it.

He walks you to class. Carries your backpack. Sleeps over and sets alarms for you. Sits in the back of the lecture hall and waits while you ask the prof things like “why didn’t you account for relativistic momentum?”

Your classmates are stunned. Your professors are quietly impressed. And the internet?

The internet loses its mind.

“HOW DID A FORMULA ONE DRIVER FALL FOR A GIRL WHO OWNS THREE CALCULATORS” “ollie bearman and his hot genius girlfriend” “you’re telling me the grid’s future champion is dating an undergrad???”

Ollie just laughs.

He loves it. Loves how different you are. How smart. How fucking sure of everything you say. Even when you doubt yourself, you never stop pushing.

He tells everyone who’ll listen, “She’s smarter than all of us put together.

Your anxiety gets bad around exam season. You stop eating properly. Sleep like shit. Spiral over problems you already know how to solve. You start thinking Ollie might get bored. That he should be with someone who isn’t too stressed to shower. Someone who belongs in his world.

He notices immediately. One night, after your last physics review, you crawl into bed and collapse face-first into the pillow.

Ollie watches you for a long moment. Then he says, “Do you know what I love about gravity?”

You groan. “What.”

“No matter how far I go, it always pulls me back to you.”

You turn your head. “That’s not even how it works.”

“It is in my version.”

You laugh, cracked and tired. And then he crawls over you, lifts the hem of your shirt, and kisses your inner thighs like worship. Like proof.

You pass every exam.

Ollie shows up to your results presentation in full Ferrari gear, holding a bouquet of wildflowers and yelling “THAT’S MY FUCKING GIRL!” across the lawn.

You flush. He kisses you anyway.

[angelichavenhasideas]

Age headcanons for the LU boys

So, for Gift Of Family I need to know all of the boys ages for when they're adopted and when the last of them is adopted. However, this meant that I had to figure out not only their age order but how close I could get the boys to their canonical ages as possible. So, I'm going to share with you my findings of not only how old I think each Link is in Jojo's comic but also how old I think they are in each of their games based on vibes, official nintendo art, Jojo's art, and Jojo's past QnA stuff. Let's begin.

Time

Time is both the easiest and trickiest. To avoid the trickiness, I decided to ignore his mental age and just focused on his physical age.

For Ocarina of Time, I've put Time as 9/16. First of all, we know he's a kid, maybe the youngest of all the Links, though I doubt it. But most of my reasoning for putting Time at 9 when he starts his adventure is simply because, ever since I was a kid, I thought it was a canonical fact that Time was 9 when he left Kokiri Forest. I don't know where I got this information, I can't find any proof of this being true, but nostalgia is very good at her job and I haven't seen anything from Jojo disproving this fact. So Time starts OoT at 9 and travels seven years in the future, making him also 16 at the same time.

Majora's mask was much easier. I hadn't made Time age up from 9 to 10 during OoT and, when MM opens, Time is actively trying to hunt Navi down. So i don't believe Time can be any younger than 10 when he runs into the Skull Kid. In fact, I believe he is ten during the entirety of MM, seeing as it only takes three days and Time doesn't really look any different then he did in OoT except maybe a little bit more maturity in promotional art. So, Time is no younger then 10 but no older then 12.

During LU I'd bargain that Time is exactly 30 years old. Jojo has stated that not only is Time the physically oldest of the Chain but she's also stated that it's been around 20 years since the end of his last adventure. I took the 20 year limit literally and decided that it'd been exactly 20 years since MM ended. And since I figure that Time was 10 at the time, Time is now 30 years old. I can see an argument for both 29 and 31 but there's not much of an argument outside of that.

Warriors

Canonically the comic's second oldest Link, Warriors is also one of the oldest heroes in his own game. Asuming that his only game inspiration is Hyrule Warriors, Definitive Edition not included, we can assume that Jojo's statement of Warriors being "about 6-7 years" out of his initial adventure is the only numbers we need.

We'll be basing Sky and Twi off of Warriors age scoring too but Warriors age actually came down to US military ages. While you can join the military at 16 (as far as I understand it) most people in training are 18 or older. While Hyrule is a fictional nation, we can assume that their age of maturity is either 17 or 18, seeing as BotW is very dependent on the Calamity arriving on Zelda's 17th birthday because she can only go to the Spring of Wisdom at the age of 17.

So with the numbers 17 and 18 to work with, my new moto was established. "When in doubt, go for the higher number." With this moto in mind, I decided that, as a recruit/trainee/whatever Warriors is at the beginning of his game, he's probably 18. And, with the idea that HW took around a year to finish, if not longer, then Warriors would end his adventure at 19.

So with Warriors at 19 by the end of his adventure, we can take Jojo's higher break number (BN for short), Warriors would have had 7 years between HW and LU. So one simple math problem later, I've figured out that the most likely age for Warriors to be is 26. I would have personally liked him to be a year older so he can be even closer to Time's age but he's more likely to be 25 than he is 27, so 26 it is.

Twilight

The third oldest, this is the first big age gap of the Chain (not taking Time into account because there was always going to be a large gap for him). Now, despite how old he seems in TP, I don't actually think he reaches the age of maturity, which, for the context of the Chain in particular, we will not be counting as anything younger than 19 because of Jojo's words early on in LU's existence.

I don't believe it's Nintendo canon but when I was younger I'd heard somewhere that Twi's age was 16 and, later on, learned that he was more likely 17. So I decided that 17 was the number I would be going with. Twi's BN was 4-5 so I took the 5 and made 17 into 22. Therefore, Twilight is the easiest Link to figure out and sits as a young adult which, yes, contradicts some of Jojo's earlier statements but I've taken Jojo's latest QnA as gospel for most all of my headcanons and anything that contradicts that is free game to be thrown out the window. Besides, it's not all a contradiction for Twi because...

Sky

Sky was another big dictator for the Chain's ages as a whole for one big reason. Early on, Jojo had considered Sky and Twi to be of similar age but Twi was probably older because he acted more mature. So, for a long time, I just considered them being the same age but, after doing the math, I have come to realize that Jojo has a little more grounds in saying that Twi is not part of the young adult gang. Not a lot more ground, but still more.

My first clue to this was that Twi's BN was 4-5 while Sky's was 1-2. This seemed like a large problem but then I remembered that Sky is one of the oldest canonical Links, if not the oldest in canon games (not counting Wild in TotK, who is an actual adult).

My next clue for Sky's age was the Knight's Academy. Though I could have gone with military age like I did with Warriors, as Sky is a newly minted knight, I decided to go by the educational system. In the US, high school ends at 12th grade, which makes most every student 18/19 when they graduate. For the Knights Academy I compared it to your average boarding school with high school grades. So that would make Sky, at youngest, 18 at the start of his adventure. And, to stay with my moto, I decided he could age to be 19 during his adventure.

With Sky now at 19, we can now add two years to make 21. Not as old as I would like Sky to be, as I love thinking about Sky and Twi being twins, but it's a lot closer then I could have hoped for in any form of canon.

Wild

The Chain's perpetual middle child, he is both, very technically, the youngest and the oldest of the heroes depending on how you look at it and how you count his age. However, since we're going for physical age, it's actually easy to figure out Wild's age.

Though there's an argument for everything from Wild being 16 during BotW all the way to being around 20, I believe he's actually 18 when he wakes up in the shrine. This is for three reasons.

The first is that Wild can't get a noble pursuit, so at the very least he is not past the age of maturity.

The second reason is that he is allowed to go to the Spring of Wisdom with Zelda. While he doesn't go into the spring himself, I doubt he would have been allowed near it if he wasn't at least 17. We've seen that Zelda had other people to travel with when Link was unavailable, as seen whenever she's in Gerudo Town without enemies pursuing her. It's clear no one was expecting the Calamity to start on Zelda's birthday, so there wouldn't be an immediate need for Link to break tradition just to protect Zelda.

The third reason is that adults flirt with Link after he wakes up. This may seem strange to point out because flirty characters are in many Zelda game but in BotW it's almost like there are no weird connotations, it's just adults interacting with each other. Still suggestive but it's silly and relaxed in most cases instead of a gross joke or something to appeal to teen boys. This implies that Link is at least recognized as an adult. And since, in BotW, the age of maturity is 17 at the youngest, I went a year higher and decided Wild was probably 18, maybe being 19 by the end of his adventure.

With the added fact that LU starts a handful of months after BotW, Wild can be no younger than 19 in LU. However, as the moto goes, older is always better and, because I think BotW takes nearly two years for Wild to finish, I decided that Wild was more likely to be 20 by the beginning of LU.

Legend

The last of the young adult squad, this guy was a challenge to pin down. He's done so much and it's so tricky to just choose time periods for him, it was nearly impossible to decide where to start or end. However, to make things simpler, I decided that each adventure takes a year to complete and the next adventure will only start around a year later. the exception to this is me mixing OoS/OoA/LA together for one long year of crazy adventures.

First thing's first, let's start going backwards. Jojo says it's only been around a year since Legend's last adventure, which is where I took the 1 year BN rule from. So, with that in mind, I wanted to find a number that kept him as young as possible while still making him undeniably an adult in the LoZ canon. So, 19 was my ending number for his age in LU.

After that was ALBW. Subtracting one year, he would be 18 by the end of that. And because of all that goes on in the story and that fact Legend is still very close to Ravio, I decided they knew each other for at least a year during that adventure. That puts Legend at 17 when he first encounter's Yuga and Ravio.

Subtracting a year from that, we get LA and Legend is now at sweet 16. This was honestly a surprise because I thought for sure Legend would be too young at this point to feel genuine feelings of romantic love but when I did the math I got 16 and it finally made sense why Marin would have such a big impact on him. As a person who struggles to have an understanding of romance, 16 was when I started understanding why people got crushes in the first place. So this makes perfect sense to me and matches Jojo's Legend sketches from this time period, as well as Jojo's design of Marin.

Now subtracting a year, which I will explain in a moment, we have Legend at 15 for the Oracle games. This came as a relief to me because seeing Din and Nayru for the first time, I immediately thought they looked too old to be shipped with Link. However, this feels slightly less creepy, but only slightly. Now, I subtracted a year because I had lumped these games together, and combining that with the two ocean travel times, decided that the ocean trifecta games had probably passed his birthday before he ever got back to Hyrule. So Legend is 15 when he lands in one of the countries.

Subtracting a year, we're all the way to the beginning with Legend being 14 when he defeats Ganon for the first time. However, I wasn't satisfied with him starting at the age of 14. Despite Nintendo's official art having Legend look like a teen in ALttP promotional material, art for later games in his story have him looking vaguely, if not noticeably younger. So I decided to play it safe and hack off one more year from the poor guy, making him unlucky 13. I honestly thought he would be twelve but him landing on a notoriously unlucky number just felt right and, honestly, it felt like it was destiny. Legend probably hates the number 13 now.

Before you ask me where Triforce Heroes comes into this mess, please don't. Not only does that game have three Links, not just Legend, Jojo has confirmed that Legend is not one of the heroes from Triforce Heroes. So let that mess stay in it's own little corner of the universe. We can question it another day.

Hyrule

For Hyrule, I actually have a semi-canonical age to work with. I can't find the evidence anymore because I forgot where it was, but in AoL, Hyrule is 16 when he saves the sleeping Zelda. And with Jojo's confirmation that LU takes place around two years after his adventure ended, that makes Hyrule 18. Hyrule is the entire reason I have such a weird maturity line, because Jojo categorized him as a teen but he's more likely to be considered an adult in Hyrule by now. Whatever.

The tricky one is the original LoZ. In promotional art he looks significantly younger but there's no way to cross reference this with Jojo's work because all of her Hyrule art is from AoL and after, as far as I can tell. So I had to get creative.

The age I think of for most Links in the LoZ universe is 12. This is for a specific reason I won't get into (Wind) but essentially all of the Links look like kids and teenagers, especially the toon Links and the pixelated Links. So I debated putting him at twelve but, when comparing the official art to the 12 year olds in my life, I decided he looked slightly older and settled on him being 13.

Four

Our next age gap, Four is a tricky one. He acts super mature and confident for his age but he's also super small for his age. So literally any age could be argued for him. In fact, I've seen arguments for everything from 12 to 30. So I had to start from the canon.

Jojo has stated that it's been two years since Four finished his last adventure. From this point forward, because Four knows who Ganon is, we'll be assuming that FSA is one of his adventures. So, assuming Four took one year between adventures, Four starts adventuring at 14. This is the oldest Four could be when he started his first adventure, not considering the times it took to complete his adventures and considering that out maturity age line is 19, Four being categorized as a teen with Hyrule and Wind.

Moving on with the number 14, I decided to start adding the adventure times. MC canonically takes a day, so that was out of the equation already. I don't know the canonical time progression of the FS games so I decided that they would each take half a year because they're rather short games. This now leaves our highest number at 13.

Now, unlike Legend, a one year break between games doesn't make sense for Four. He's more relaxed then Legend, with his confidence coming from him working on himself rather than from experience like Legend. So Four probably had a little more free time. So I added another year for each of our two free break periods. This now brings our biggest number down to 11.

Still, I wasn't satisfied. Four didn't strike me as being 18 when reading LU and he didn't strike me at 11 when studying MC's promo art. He looked younger. Much younger than any other Link, even considering the toon style and naturally short figure. So this was when I decided he was around Time's age when he started. But, to make things funny, I decided Four was 8 during MC.

Now with a starting age and two year BN rule established, my job became simple. Four would be 10 at the start of FS and, for the fun of it, I said he could celebrate his birthday halfway through, making him 11 by the end. Then, for FSA, Four would be 13 at the beginning of his journey. That leaves him at 15 by the time of LU. Maybe if we push he could be 16 but I'm not going to because I've already fudged his age enough for the hell of it.

Wind

Absolutely easiest of the bunch, we already have all of his canon ages. In WW and PH he's 12 years old, Nintendo certified and everything, seeing as WW happens on his 12th birthday. By the time of LU, Wind is canonically 13, going on 14. He is the last and smallest age gap for the chain but that just makes him even younger in all of their eyes. No wonder the chain tries to baby him. He's nearly a decade younger than Twi and nearly two decades younger than Time. Geez kid, slow your role! You don't need to keep defying the laws of the universe to show the other heroes how cool you are!

And that's the list. Honestly, I have more ages I could share, specifically the two Links we haven't met yet that I think I already know the identities of, including which hidden Link is which of the remaining Links in the timeline. But I'm not gonna do that because those two have little to nothing confirmed about them and trying to give you anyone else's ages without any Jojo support at all would have me pulling my hair out within seconds of researching. Therefore, this is where I end it until more information is available. Though I can tell you that Legend and Ravio are basically twins in all but blood and Malon is likely to be a year or two younger than Time because of her in game models in OoT. That's all I've really got though.

I hope you enjoyed this rant and have a lovely day!

[letjungk09k]

Fang and Flame

Main Masterlist

.ᐟ pairing. ⤑ Prince!Rafayel x Vampire/Bodyguard!Reader (no use of y/n).

.ᐟ synopsis. ⤑ Rafayel, a Prince soon to be King, corrupts his perfect bodyguard.

.ᐟ word count. ⤑ 30k (she's a long one) posted on my ao3. READER'S BACKSTORY IS NOT IN THE TUMBLR VERSION.

.ᐟ WARNINGS, mdni!!. ⤑ explicit sexual content, it's a lil filthy, rafayel is in his god of tides outfit!! LOTTT of sexual tension, male masturbation, blood drinking, praise kink (phew), includes a brothel, finger sucking, forced orgasm, p in v sex, vampire biting, possessive rafayel, drug use sorta, neck kissing, human/vampire relationship, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, hand kink if you look hard enough, fantasy au, rafayel is a bit of a lil shit... its just filth idk what else to say

.ᐟ A/N. i'm so down bad for god of tides rafayel my GAWDD. this is a lil shot at me tryna make my own universe..it might be a bit confusing but hey. i TRIED. this is also my first LADS fic. so enjoy ^.^

On the ao3 version, there is a backstory to the reader and how she became a vampire!

Timeline aid: AF = Age of Fire

525 AF

   The grand courtyard of the palace was lined with mourners and the air thick with the weight of loss.

The king was dead.

It had been days since the news reached every corner of the Whalefall city but today, the reality of it settled into the palace. The funeral was an event unlike any other, with royal beings from different kingdoms and common folk alike arriving to pay their respects. The sheer size of the gathering was overwhelming, an endless sea of faces each one draped in black, all of them here for a man they either feared or respected.

You stood at the edge of the procession, just a few paces behind the prince. His presence alone demanded attention, even without the crown on his head. His black attire blended seamlessly with the mourners but there was something about him that set him apart. Perhaps it was the way he stood, his back straight and eyes forward yet there was a distance to him. An air of control, of calculation that seemed unnatural for someone attending his father’s funeral.

You had been by his side for nearly three years now, watching him as his bodyguard, his protector, his knight, his shield. But despite all that time you still couldn’t fully decipher him. You had never been able to understand the prince’s true desires. At times he acted carefree, as though the throne meant nothing to him. Yet there were moments when a darker hunger flared in his eyes, moments that made you wonder if he truly desired power, if he thought only of the throne.

You had learned long ago that in the midst of death and mourning, a vampire (let alone one like you) did not belong. Your presence here was more a quiet formality than an act of respect. For five centuries death had been something you lived with, yet never truly embraced. But it wasn't just the death that hung in the air, it was the tension. The kingdom was in transition and Rafayel was at the centre of it all. 

You stood beside him alert, watching the gathered nobles and sensing every shift in the air. But you couldn’t ignore the fact that something was different now. He was different.

The moment his father’s body had been laid to rest, the kingdom’s attention turned to him. You could feel the subtle change in the air, the tightening of the strings around his future. His face was unreadable, his eyes cold. Even his posture betrayed nothing of the grief or anger you might have expected from a son at his father’s funeral.

It was as though he were some distant observer, a prince watching from the outside as the kingdom mourned it's fallen ruler. Every word he spoke to the court was measured, careful. It was as though the weight of his father’s death had forced him to mask everything else beneath a cold exterior. Was he grieving? Did he even care?

You didn’t know. It made you uneasy.

As the ceremony continued you couldn’t help but observe the subtle shifts in the crowd.

Glances, whispers and the occasional noble eyeing you with suspicion. The queen’s gaze never strayed far from you. Her eyes flicked between him and you, sharp and resentful. Even after all these years, even with the kingdom on the brink of trouble she still loathed your very existence.

Her eyes filled with hatred found their mark every time, but there was nothing she could do about it. Soon enough, Rafayel would be crowned king and your position as his bodyguard would be solidified.

You'd no longer be the prince's bodyguard, but the king's.

As the funeral came to a close the crowd began to disperse, many retreating to the warmth of the palace halls. Rafayel did not move. He remained, as still as the stone at his feet. You watched him closely, stepping closer to his side, your presence near him not a protection this time but a force of habit. 

"You look uneasy" he said his voice low, just loud enough for you to hear.

His words weren’t exactly a question but more like an observation. He didn’t turn to face you but the weight of his presence beside you was undeniable. 

"I’m fine, my prince" you replied your voice even, though the words felt like a lie as they left your mouth. 

Rafayel hummed, as if unconvinced.

"You always say that"

His lips curled slightly in what might’ve been a smirk though you couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t often so observant, so quick to speak up about things. But today something about him was different. 

"I’m not as blind as you might think" he said, his voice steady but there was a hint of something sharper in his tone now "You’ve been on edge ever since we arrived. You’re always watching. The funeral’s over but I can feel your attention on me like a hawk circling prey"

"Forgive me" you murmured, your gaze lowering "I’m simply ensuring your safety, as always"

There was a slight pause before Rafayel spoke again, his voice lower now as if drawing you into the space between you.

"As always... You’re always watching, aren’t you?" he echoed, his smirk deepening. Then, in a quieter tone "Do you think this will ever end?"

Your brows furrowed slightly.

"End, my prince?"

His lips tightened.

"The watching, the waiting. The eyes on me. Every time I step outside... the kingdom is watching, waiting for me to become my father. They want another king. Another ruler to kneel before but I am not him. I will never be what they expect"

You hesitated.

Rafayel was more complex than any crown he would wear. Although you had only been under his wing for three years, he had been the only one in that hall to vouch for you that day his guards captured you. Vouch for what you could be. It didn't settle well with you, as he had only saw you as a weapon but he had trained you, given you a bed, given you food (that you never ate) and despite the Queen's coldness towards you, he himself was never cruel. 

"You can’t be your father" you said quietly, watching his profile "But you can be king"

Rafayel glanced at you then, his eyes narrowing slightly. His gaze lingered on you for a fraction too long, his expression unreadable. Then, in typical fashion, he let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head.

"That’s a rather dull answer" he mused, his tone light but there was something underneath it "You sound like one of my advisors. Or worse... my mother"

"If you find my answer dull my prince, you are free to disregard it" You were nothing like his mother. You were not cruel.

Rafayel had always been hard to read. A prince who carried himself with effortless ease but never let anyone see him bleed. He had always spoken of the throne with indifference, as though it were an inconvenience. But now standing at the edge of his father’s grave, something about him was different.

His fingers twitched at his side. 

"You said I can be king" he continued, quieter now "but what if I don’t want to be?"

You blinked. The question shouldn’t have surprised you but it did. He had never voiced such doubts before, not to you.

"You know as well as I do, my prince" you continued, your eyes flicking briefly to him "that whether you want it or not, the throne is your burden now. There’s no walking away from it"

There was a brief silence, the sound of wind brushing past the towering stone walls of the courtyard seeming to grow louder in the quiet space between you two. Rafayel shifted slightly, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his cloak, the fabric rippling beneath his touch. He leaned just a fraction closer, not enough to close the distance but enough for you to feel the change in the air.

"My burden..." His voice was low now, almost too quiet. Had you said the wrong thing? Even if you had, his lips still curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more like amusement "I'm glad you see it that way also"

Before you had the chance to ask him if he was ready to head inside, he spoke again.

"And what about you?" he asked, arching a brow "What do you expect of me?"

"I expect you to survive" you said, your tone steady but sharp "The kingdom needs a king, my prince. Whether you want to be one or not it’s your duty"

"You’re as cold as ever" he murmured "You’d think after all these years... I’d have earned something more than the stone wall you put up. Or maybe some sympathy after my fathers death?"

The hint of amusement was there but you weren’t sure whether it was sincere or meant to provoke.

His posture remained deceptively relaxed but there was a tension in his shoulders. He was waiting for your response, his eyes narrowing slightly as he waited for you to reply.

The weight of his words settled into your chest and for the first time in years, you found yourself unsure of how to respond. 

"Forgive me, my prince" you said, your voice steady though your words felt strangely empty. It was the only thing you could think to say, the only apology you could offer.

Rafayel didn’t respond immediately. He let the silence stretch between you, both of you alone in your thoughts surrounded only by the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. It felt like a moment suspended in time.

Finally his lips parted again, his tone lighter this time though there was still an edge to it as if he couldn’t quite let go of the rawness in his voice.

"Stone wall or not" he said softly "you’re the only one I can trust right now"

"I don’t know why you trust me, my prince" you said quietly, your voice steady "I’ve never really given you a reason to"

"Is protecting my life not enough to gain trust?" 

The question was pointed, carrying the same quiet edge as his earlier words. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a gaze that lingered just a little too long, as if trying to reveal something buried beneath the surface. You didn’t break the stare, your expression unchanged but inside, his question hit a little harder than you expected. 

"Protecting you is my duty" you said, the words coming out like a practiced response as they always did "It’s not about trust. It’s about keeping you alive"

Rafayel didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. He knew. 

Then like a switch, he changed.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his shoulders as if the weight of the conversation itself bored him. As if he was bored of the funeral. His posture shifted, the tension melting away as he stretched, a lazy motion that somehow looked effortless. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms with a casual air that only someone like him could pull off in such a moment.

"Really, is that all you have to say? No words of wisdom? No grave warnings about how I should rule?" He hummed, amused "How tragic. My own bodyguard refuses to entertain me"

You resisted the urge to sigh. He danced around the weight of his father’s death like it was a game.

"You claimed me to be a knight, not a jester" Was all you responded. 

"Well" he said, his voice returning to it's usual playful tone "I’m glad I’m not the only one trapped in duty then"

His words hung heavy in the air and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of them too. The statement hung in the air between you and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of frustration. He refused to acknowledge what was really at stake. For once, you wished he would take things seriously even if just for a moment.

"We should head inside" you said, finally breaking the silence. It wasn’t a suggestion. The funeral had been long enough, the night growing darker. The air was heavy with more than just the weight of his father’s death now.

"Lead the way miss bodyguard"

────────

The heavy atmosphere of the past few days weighed on the kingdom but the preparations for Rafayel’s coronation continued without pause. 

You stood in your usual position, just a few steps behind Rafayel, watching as the prince surveyed the map of the kingdom’s territories that was spread out before him. Rafayel’s gaze flicked across the map but his attention seemed distant. The coronation was only a few weeks away but the weight of his father’s death still seemed to hang over him. Even now he didn’t look ready to step into the role that was thrust upon him but then again, you doubted he ever would be.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Rafayel sighed and the sound made you glance up. His fingers tapped restlessly on the map.

"Do you think they’ll listen to me?"

"They’ll have to" you replied simply, your voice even "Your bloodline demands it"

Rafayel’s eyes flicked to you but he didn’t respond right away. The flicker of doubt that had crossed his features was quickly masked.

"And what of the advisors?" He motioned toward the scrolls and letters on the table before him, all filled with counsel and directions for his reign "Do you think they’ll accept me?"

You stepped closer, positioning yourself in a way that placed you between him and the open window, blocking the breeze from ruffling the papers.

"They will fall in line. They may try to test you at first but your position is strong, my prince"

Rafayel hummed in response, though his face didn’t betray much. He didn’t appear comforted by your words but you knew it was what he needed to hear. There was nothing more to say, his power was already set in motion. The kingdom would follow, whether they liked it or not. Rafayel leaned back slightly, staring at the map again but now with a deeper tension in his posture. 

"I never wanted this..."

There was a long pause, his gaze not leaving the map in front of him. You could almost see the battle within him, the hesitation between embracing his new role or rejecting it entirely. But you weren’t there to play a part in that internal conflict, your job was to ensure that he didn't falter when it mattered most.

Rafayel exhaled as if steering himself before he turned to leave, with you hot on his heels.

The walk to the council chamber felt like it took hours. You’d spent the past few days watching him wrestle with the weight of his father’s death. The funeral was over, the kingdom was still and yet the true battle had only just begun. Rafayel’s first council meeting as the upcoming king was underway and despite his resolve there was an undeniable tension.

Rafayel no longer had his father to hide behind, he was to be the one to lead them now.

The council room was enormous, the marble walls rising high above, decorated with the Lemurian banners. Rafayel stepped in first, his gaze sweeping over the council with a quiet but unmistakable authority. You stayed a few paces behind him, vigilant as always, your eyes scanning the room for potential threats. You were always alert, even when no immediate danger was present.

You noticed the Queen and the way she was sat, poised at the far end of the table, her eyes never leaving her son. She was still dressed in mourning black, a reminder of the King's passing. But there was something colder behind her gaze now... a sharpness that seemed directed at both Rafayel and you.

Whispers rippled through the air, a mix of curiosity and unease. The room was thick with tension and power and it seemed to hold its breath at the sight of you. You were a woman yes but that wasn’t why they stared. It was because you were a mystery, a being who wasn’t quite human, a "monster" in their eyes and yet somehow, Rafayel had chosen you as his shield. 

After three years in the palace, the stares and whispers were a normality to you.

Rafayel sat at the head of the table, looking every bit the king he was meant to be, though there was a flicker of unease in his gaze. 

"Now that we are gathered" Rafayel’s voice broke through the room, clear but with an edge of authority that hadn’t been there before "We’ll begin with the state of the kingdom. First, the reports on the southern border"

The council members shifted in their seats, the sound of parchment shuffling filled the air as one of the advisors rose to speak.

"There has been unrest in the southern territories, my prince. There are rumours of rebellion brewing in some of the smaller cities... we recommend a larger military presence to ensure the peace"

"And what of the rest of the kingdom?" Rafayel asked, his voice colder now "Any threats closer to home?"

The advisor faltered for a moment before responding.

"My-My prince... we’ve received word from the capital city that tensions are rising. The nobles are eager to know your plans regarding your coronation and your intentions for the throne"

At the mention of the coronation, the room fell silent.

All eyes shifted to Rafayel, each pair seemingly waiting for his response, anticipating how the new king would handle his responsibilities. Rafayel didn’t immediately speak, his fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of his chair. The Queen, seated at the far end of the room studied him with an unreadable expression, her gaze flickering toward you before returning to her son.

"The coronation will proceed as planned but we will not let ceremonial titles be our sole focus. The Whalefall city and its wellbeing is far more urgent" Rafayel spoke. You heard his heart jump a beat. 

A murmur rippled through the room, some council members exchanging uneasy glances. It was clear that Rafayel’s priorities were not aligned with their expectations.

"And what of the nobles, my prince?" one advisor interjected, his tone full of concern "They expect more than just... your presence. The throne requires a union. A queen, heirs, surely you’ve considered your options"

"I have no interest in rushing into such decisions" Rafayel’s eyes flickered toward his mother and then back to the council. The Queen cleared her throat, a sharp sound that pierced the tension.

"You must consider this carefully, Rafayel" she said "The kingdom expects stability and that includes your future as king. We must discuss the issue of your marriage"

Rafayel’s jaw tightened slightly. 

"I’ve heard this already, Mother" Rafayel said quietly but firmly "The matter of my marriage is not one I intend to rush into simply because the throne is vacant"

The council members exchanged uneasy glances. Some looked at Rafayel with doubt, clearly uncomfortable with the obvious difference in his approach compared to his father’s. The late king had been decisive, quick in his decisions whereas Rafayel was… different. Though he had the same resolve his solutions were new and unfamiliar to those who had been used to the old ways.

"You may not wish to rush, Rafayel" the Queen pressed, her voice softer but still sharp "You know as well as I do that marriage to the right house will secure the kingdom’s future. A union with the right bloodline could mean the difference between peace and war"

There was a subtle shift in the room, as if the council members were holding their breath waiting for Rafayel to respond. Some of them looked to the Queen for guidance, as if unsure whether to side with the new king or his mother’s expectations.

Rafayel’s eyes flicked to you for a split second, a momentary glance that you knew was more for reassurance than anything else. You had hoped he didn't expect you to speak up. He turned back to the Queen, his voice unwavering. 

"I am aware, but I will not marry for the sake of political strategy alone. I won’t allow this kingdom to be just a chess piece"

The Queen’s lips curled into a thin, almost imperceptible smile.

"You are still a young man, Rafayel" she said, her voice softening in a way that felt almost patronizing "You may think you understand the weight of the throne but it’s not only power that matters. It’s legacy, family. Heirs"

There was a tense silence as everyone around the table waited for Rafayel to respond and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes... a flicker of uncertainty. 

"I’ll marry when I find the right person" Rafayel said, his voice a little colder than before "Not before"

As the room shifted with murmurs of approval and disapproval, your thoughts drifted momentarily.

In a new world like this, where women were expected to marry for the kingdom’s benefit and to secure alliances, to bear heirs... the idea of waiting for the right person was a privilege few women could afford. A woman’s desires would be ignored in favour of duty. She wouldn’t have the luxury of choice and yet, Rafayel could make that decision.

His freedom was palpable. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy, even if you knew that his path was hardly an easy one.

You let the thought slip away, focusing instead on duty. After all, your place was behind him. Your duty was to keep him safe and though your thoughts lingered on the differences between the two of you you knew one thing for certain, there was no room for your personal desires here.

Not for you. Not ever.

The room seemed to relax slightly but the Queen’s gaze remained fixed on her son.

"Very well but do not delay too long, Rafayel. You know the pressure the kingdom faces"

The meeting continued with various reports on trade, military and the status of neighboring kingdoms but you could see the weight of it all on Rafayel. He was standing at the edge of something terrifying. As the meeting drew to a close Rafayel stood and turned to the council.

"We’ll continue this tomorrow" he said, his tone firm but you could hear the weariness behind it.

The council members stood and began to leave. When the room finally cleared, Rafayel sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. You stepped forward but before you could speak he cut you off.

"Let’s go for a walk" he said quietly, his voice low but carrying an unspoken weight.

You knew better than to question him.

"Of course, my prince"

The marble floors beneath your boots echoed softly as you walked beside Rafayel. The air in the palace was still heavy, the silence only broken by the faint hum of distant voices and the occasional flicker of torches. The palace felt emptier now, as if the loss of the king had shook through every inch of the walls.

You both walked in silence for a while, the weight of the council meeting still lingering in the air. You didn’t need to speak to know what was on his mind. It was in the subtle way he clenched his jaw, the way his fingers tightened into a sharp grip and in the occasional glance he threw toward the shadows of the hall.

Finally he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

"I’m not sure I’m cut out for this"

You raised an eyebrow, matching his pace but not yet responding.

"Not cut out for being king?" you asked, the question harsher than you intended and your voice still as detached as ever "You’ve been training for this your whole life"

Rafayel let out a bitter laugh, the sound dry and devoid of humor.

"Training, yes. But I’m not my father am I? They expect me to step into his shoes, to rule with the same iron fist he did. But I can’t.. I won’t do it the way he did. Not just for the sake of tradition" The frustration in his voice was subtle but you heard it "And the Queen… She only wants me to follow in his footsteps. To marry for power and I just want to fucking live"

"You don’t have to be like your father" you said, your voice steady "You can rule in your own way. You’ll find your own path, you don’t have to follow the footsteps of those who came before you"

Rafayel stopped walking and you did the same, your eyes meeting his. His expression was conflicted, as though he wanted to argue, to protest but instead he just stood there. For a long momentyou both stood in silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then he gave a small nod.

"that’s easy for you to say" he muttered but there was a trace of bitterness in his words "I’m supposed to be the king, aren’t I? The one who makes the decisions but they don’t trust me.."

"They don't have to. It isn't their choice"

"We’ll see" he murmured 

You both resumed walking, the sounds of your footsteps echoing through the long hallway. The further you went the more the palace seemed to fall away into silence and the world outside seemed closer, more alive.

When you reached a large balcony overlooking Whalefall city, Rafayel leaned against the railing, gazing out at the moonlit expanse. His profile was sharp against the pale light of the night and for a brief moment, you saw him as something other than a prince or a leader. Just a man, standing at the edge of everything.

"I used to come out here with my father" Rafayel said quietly, his gaze still distant "Before all of this. He’d always stand there and look out over the kingdom, like he could see everything from here. I used to ask him what he saw... he said he saw strength. He saw a kingdom that would never fall"

You didn’t answer, merely standing by his side watching the city below. Your gaze was fixed on the streets far below, the flickering torches of the night.

"And what do you see?" you asked finally, your voice low and steady. Rafayel was quiet for a moment then he shrugged, the smirk returning to his face.

"I see a kingdom that’s going to change. Starting with me"

────────

The next few days Rafayel changed completely.

A smirk that lingered too long and a laugh that held a sharper edge. The way Rafayel carried himself with an air of carelessness that felt just a little too deliberate. At the council meetings he was still decisive. Still sharp and unwilling to bend but outside of them something shifted. He moved with a careless confidence, his words laced with even more amusement and he toyed with conversation like it was a game and brushed off concerns with a wave of his hand.

If he was tense before, it had unravelled into something looser.

You notic-ed it in the way he moved. Graceful but almost lazy and the tension in his shoulders was gone, replaced by a practiced ease that felt unnatural after weeks of weight pressing down on him. 

At dinners he leaned back in his chair, swirling a goblet of wine between his fingers with idle amusement, letting the nobles talk over one another while he watched them like a bored god.

Even in the training yard where his movements were usually precise and calculated there was a new recklessness to him. A tendency to take unnecessary risks in spars, grinning through every near miss like he was chasing the thrill of being caught off guard.

His eyes glinted with a kind of mischief, a gleam that only deepened as the days went on. At times it almost seemed like he was deliberately trying to annoy you, throwing in sarcastic remarks when you least expected them, teasing you with an ease that didn’t quite belong in a prince.

Then, you heard the whispers.

At first they were just that. A murmur behind closed doors, the half glances exchanged between courtiers when he arrived at council meetings later than usual. You had always heard murmurs in the corridors and hidden corners of the palace but now they seemed to follow Rafayel everywhere he went.

Whispers that he had been slipping out at night, sneaking away from the watchful eyes of the royal guards and disappearing into the darkness.

At first you ignored them but as the rumours began to circulate more frequently your unease grew. His usual routine had shifted and though he remained as charming as ever, there was something unsettling about it all.

And then, it wasn’t just his demeanour that had changed.

You had seen him leave more than once after the usual evening meal, his form slipping through the doors and disappearing into the darkness and ordering you not to follow him. He was always gone by the time the moon rose high and when you saw him again at dawn, there were always subtle signs that he’d returned from somewhere.

His Lemurian clothes were hastily thrown on, wrinkled in all the wrong places as if he hadn’t bothered to care about his appearance in the rush to get back and his hands often grazed the edges of his clothes as though he were still trying to adjust to some part of the night that lingered on him. 

You noticed the faint scratch marks on his neck and forearms, even on his back. At first, they were easy to ignore... small, almost not noticeable. But they began to appear more frequently, scattered across his skin like evidence he didn’t try to hide. Due to the amount of exposed skin his clothes showed, you were surprised that no one else had picked up on them. Or maybe they did and they chose to ignore it, or minimised it down to him sparing too much.

They were not from sparing or training. No, these marks were more intimate.

He’s sneaking out at night. Slipping past the guards. Some say he disappears into the the Silk Streets.

That name carried weight. A place where nobility lost their dignity and gold in equal measure. A labyrinth of brothels, gambling dens and places that existed purely for indulgence. A place that thrived in the shadows, where reputations were ruined and secrets were bought with a handful of coins.

A place not fit for the new Lemurian king.

You didn't know why he was walking straight into it, if the rumours were true. 

Maybe it was grief, maybe it was defiance. Maybe he just wanted to feel something different. Something far from the suffocating expectations of the palace. He was the future king and the moment the wrong people took notice, the moment they realized his recklessness, his carelessness would become a weapon in someone else’s hands.

And then there was you.

People already started to doubt your ability to protect so if he was slipping past you unnoticed, what did that say about you? About your duty? If someone else caught him before you did, if word spread beyond the whispers in the palace, what would that mean for you? You had no doubt that The Queen would have something to say.

You would find out where he was going.

That night, long after the palace had settled into a quiet stillness you stood by the door to Rafayel’s chambers. You were supposed to be on duty, keeping watch but a strange sense of unrest kept you from your usual place. Something drew you to his door, something you couldn’t quite place.

It was then that you saw it.

The faintest movement through the slightly ajar window in his chamber. A flicker of shadow, a small look at his shadow slipping away from the palace walls. He was leaving and without thinking, you followed.

You crept down the hallway, keeping to the shadows as your footsteps were swallowed by the marble floor. There was no turning back now. You had to know, you had to see for yourself where he was going, what he was doing in the dead of night when no one was watching.

The cold night air met you as you stepped outside, if your heart could beat, it would be pounding in your chest. You moved swiftly, staying a few paces behind Rafayel as he walked through the gardens, his figure barely visible in the pale moonlight. He moved like he was used to this, like he had done it a hundred times before. He didn’t turn back, not once and as you followed, you began to wonder if he even knew you were there or if he simply didn’t care.

He passed through the side gates of the palace, his movements fluid and confident. You knew where he was headed before he even reached the main road. The Silk Streets.

The rumours were true.

He was dressed in a dark cloak, the fabric heavy and concealing, draping over him like a shadow. The hood of the cloak was drawn low, covering most of his face and the rest of his features were hidden beneath the folds of the fabric. From a distance, he could have been anyone. His usually regal posture was gone, replaced by the subtle movements of someone trying to go unnoticed.

Now, he was trying to hide. Trying to blend in with the crowds of the Silk Streets, with the people who lived in the shadows.

The moonlight barely touched the narrow alleys of the streets. It thrummed with an energy that felt alive, whispers of soft laughter, muffled music and the clink of coins and goblets.

He moved through the night with an ease that made you feel out of place, his body relaxed, his steps confident as if this dark part of the city were a second home to him. He barely glanced around, unfazed by the lewd whispers that followed him, the women in doorways flashing smiles that spoke of things better left unspoken. You kept your distance, keeping your gaze forward, trying to ignore the way the scent of incense and perfume clung to the air, thick and almost intoxicating.

You, on the other hand, felt the weight of every step. Every brush of a stranger’s arm, every faint whisper that danced through the air like smoke, reminded you that you didn’t belong here.

You wanted to remain unseen, unnoticed but the air here was thick with something else... The smell of the street mixed with the distant scent of sweat and alcohol, weaving into a heavy blanket of scent that nearly overwhelmed your senses. It was intoxicating and the longer you walked the harder it became to ignore the heady warmth that filled the air.

But then the sensation turned into something else entirely. The heat, the press of so many bodies brushing against yours, the constant hum of life in every corner... suddenly it felt too much. Too many people. Too much stimulation. You stumbled slightly, your senses overwhelmed by the presence of so many and for a fleeting moment the hunger crept up on you.

You were surrounded by so much warmth, so many living breathing bodies and the hunger within you was no longer something you could easily control. It was always there, lurking beneath the surface but tonight, it seemed louder. Stronger. You felt the sharp tug of desire and the familiar hunger that always came with being so close to so much life.

You lost sight of Rafayel and for a brief moment, it was almost a relief. He was safer without you. The thought flitted through your mind as you turned your gaze away from the large number of people, focusing instead on keeping your breath steady. It was easier this way, you told yourself. He was safer away from you, far from the monster you carried inside.

You fought the urge. You had to.

The hunger clawed at your insides, sharp and insistent, but you pushed it back, burying the need. The sensation of so much warmth, so many heartbeats pressing against your own cold skin, made the hunger feel alive, tangible. You could almost taste it. Feel it on the tip of your tongue. It was supposed to be manageable.. the witch had promised you that. You hadn't felt this burning need to feed in 500 years, so why now?

You took a step back, your breath shallow as you struggled to regain control. You didn’t belong in this place  and yu couldn’t let yourself lose control. Not here, not now.

But with each passing second the pull grew stronger and the longer you stayed in the middle of the crowd the harder it became to resist. Every brush of skin, every whisper in the night seemed to feed the fire inside you. The streets twisted before you, the scent of perfume and incense growing thicker as you walked deeper into the streets. Rafayel. You had to find him and get out of here. 

You could hear the laughter from behind closed doors, the shuffling of feet, the creaking of wooden steps but the most intoxicating sound of all? Rafayel’s voice. Faint but unmistakable.

The realization hit you like a brick to the chest.

You should leave. You should walk away.

But the hunger gnawed at you and you knew that if you didn’t move now, it would consume you. In a heartbeat your mind made the decision for you. You stormed through the crowded streets, ignoring the lewd stares, pushing past those who walked too slow in front of you. Rafayel’s scent, it was distinct, almost intoxicating but it pulled you further down the winding alleys, toward the brothel.

The building loomed ahead, its doors open wide promising warmth and sin. The voices and sounds grew louder as you approached, a mix of anger and the need to confront him.

As you stepped inside, the dim light was almost suffocating. The air was thick with the musk of bodies, the sweet smell of alcohol mingling with the pungent scent of jasmine and rose that seemed to pour out of every corner. You forced yourself to breathe slowly but each inhale was heavy.

And then you heard it. a moan. Soft, laced with pleasure and the sound cut through the noise of the brothel and you didn’t have to look far to know where it came from.

You found him quickly, in one of the private rooms at the far end of the building. He was sprawled across a small bed, his usual casual grace replaced with an ease that could only come from having done this many times before. His hands were tangled in the sheets, his bare chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. A woman, pale and completely naked straddled his waist, her face flushed with pleasure.

You didn’t flinch at the sight, not even a hint of hesitation. The hunger in your chest was stronger than any sense of discomfort you might have had. It was the hunger that you focused on now.

Without a word you walked deeper into the room, your gaze locked on the woman. The sound of her soft moans stopped when she noticed you standing there, the air suddenly turning thick with tension. Her eyes darted between you and Rafayel uncertain but you didn’t give her a chance to question.

"Leave" you said coldly, your voice cutting through the room like a blade.

The woman didn’t protest, her eyes flicking to Rafayel but he simply gave her a lazy wave of his hand, not at all concerned by your presence. She reluctantly climbed off him and gathered her clothes, throwing one last glance at the two of you before slipping out the door. Rafayel didn’t move, still stretched across the bed, his body still bare not even a hint of shame in his posture. He looked almost amused but there was a glint in his eyes, a spark of mischief that made your jaw tighten.

"Didn't think you’d follow me in here" he said casually, his lips curling into that irritating smirk "But then again, you always have a way of showing up at the wrong time"

He knew you were following him.

"This place isn't fit for a prince" Was all you found yourself replying. The hunger was growing and you needed to feed but getting Rafayel away from here was your main priority.

But of course, he was being difficult. He chuckled, a mocking sound that filled the room.

"Maybe not but it’s comfortable. No one expects anything from me here, you know? No royal duties, no heavy decisions weighing me down. Just... freedom" He stretched lazily, as if the whole scene were nothing more than a casual affair.

"You shouldn’t be here" you said bluntly, your voice still flat "You’re due to be the king and yet you're playing around in filth"

Rafayel rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered.

"Always so serious. Can’t you just relax a little? The world’s not always as black and white as you make it out to be. Here, I’m just Rafayel. No title, no expectations. Just... me"

You ignored the underlying challenge in his tone, your gaze cool and unwavering.

"You’re wasting your time" He raised an eyebrow at your response.

"Am I? Or am I just taking a break from being who everyone else wants me to be? Maybe I like being... something else for a while. Not some puppet prince everyone pulls at" You’d seen him be reckless before but this? This felt like he was trying to prove something. Or maybe it was just his way of avoiding the weight of the crown that loomed over him.

"You’re still a prince" you said, your voice like ice "No matter where you go. No matter who you bed"

Rafayel’s smirk widened, a flicker of something deeper in his eyes as he sat up and exposed more of his naked body, moving with a slow grace that made your stomach twist with frustration.

"You know" he said softly, his voice a little more teasing now "I always thought you'd be more... possessive. Aren’t you the least bit jealous?"

You didn’t flinch.

"Jealousy is a waste of time”

His expression flickered then that mischievous grin returned.

"My miss bodyguard, so cold as always. I wonder what would happen if I pushed you a little harder"

You held his gaze, unwavering, your breath steady despite the tension building between you.

"Leave. Now"

With another sigh he stood from where he was lying to pick up his clothes. He even left the palace and came here in his Lemurian outfit... he was truly being reckless. Did he really not care what others thought? His movements fluid as he slung the silk of his palace outfit over his shoulder with deliberate slowness.

"Alright, alright. No need to get all worked up. But next time, maybe join the fun, hmm?" He said to you as he picked up his cloak that once kept him hidden. You turned and walked toward the door but before you left, you glanced over your shoulder at him, your gaze as cold as the walls around you.

"Next time, I won’t be so forgiving"

Rafayel simply shrugged, as if he wasn’t concerned in the slightest.

"I’ll keep that in mind"

The door clicked shut behind you but the hunger still burned inside, stronger now with the close proximity of Rafayel’s scent lingering in the air. You had more to deal with than just him.

The cool air of the palace felt strangely suffocating as you returned with Rafayel, the hunger clawing at your insides, gnawing at you with each step. Your mind was distant, the pull of your thirst overpowering everything else. You barely noticed as you walked through the halls, your senses heightened, fixating on the sharp scent of blood that lingered in the corridors.

Once you had returned Rafayel safely to his chambers, you focused on your own needs.

It was a feeling you knew too well... but this time, it felt worse. It felt like you were losing control.

As you passed a group of servants your gaze flicked to one of them. No one in the palace cared about them.. She smiled hesitantly at you, completely unaware of the danger she was in. Your body moved of its own accord before you could even think and she never had a chance to react.

You slammed her back against the cold marble of the wall, your hand gripping her wrist tightly, your other hand curling around her chin. The world around you faded into a blur. The sound of your own breath, the pulse beneath her skin and the scent of her blood overwhelming every other sense. The hunger that had been gnawing at you all night surged up.

Your fangs appeared, sharp and deadly and before you could think better of it you sank them into her neck.

The moment your fangs pierced her skin, the taste of blood hit you... rich, warm, intoxicating. It consumed you. You couldn’t stop. It had been so long since you fed like this, without hesitation, without restraint. You drank, hard and fast, the pulsing rhythm of her heart slowing as the minutes passed.

But then something hit you. A sharp wave of panic rose within you, unexpected. This was not like the control you had always maintained, not like the careful, calculated feeds you’d taken before. You hadn’t done this in years.

The memories surged back.

The last time you had lost control, when you had slaughtered the last survivor of your village. You hadn’t cared then but now... 

You broke away, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps. The woman sagged against the wall, her body limp in your grasp. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at her and at what you'd done. She was still alive, barely but her pulse was faint. You could feel it.

And yet, all you wanted was to run, to escape the guilt that rose in your throat like bile. You didn’t want to look at her. You didn’t want to face the reality of what you'd just done.

With shaking hands, you gently laid her down on the floor, as if trying to pretend that this had been nothing, just another fleeting moment. But the guilt gnawed at you, sharp and relentless.

You couldn’t stay there, not with her, not with the memory of the last time you’d lost control. So, you left. 

But still even after feeding and even after wiping away the last bit of evidence away from your face, you still weren't fully satisfied. You needed more.

────────

The days since you’d first caught Rafayel sneaking out had passed in a blur. He still slipped away though not as often, as though his reckless streak had been tempered slightly by something. He came back to the palace each morning with a quiet defiance in his eyes, as if daring the world to ask him about his actions.

But it wasn’t until the council meeting that his habits were mentioned, spoken of in hushed tones by the others, then brought up publicly by the Queen who seemed increasingly angered with her son’s antics.

"You must explain yourself, Rafayel" the Queen had demanded, her voice tight with controlled irritation "Rumors are circulating. They say you’re sneaking off at night. If this continues, I will not tolerate it"

The room had grown silent, save for the soft shuffle of papers as the council members nervously awaited his response. You had kept your head down, knowing better than to intrude on council matters, especially when the Queen was involved.

The door to the council chamber closed softly behind you, the quiet thud of the wood sounding louder than it should in the empty hall. You could feel his frustration, even though he hadn’t said a word yet. His body language was full of tension and the subtle shake of his shoulders betrayed a layer of anger he wasn’t yet ready to show.

As you walked down the hallway the silence stretched between you both. The distant sounds of the palace servants bustling in the background seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of your own footsteps. Finally, Rafayel broke the silence.

"I’m not a child, you know" he muttered, his tone heavy with an edge. His gaze was dark, fixed straight ahead but the tension in his posture was hard to ignore "You don’t have to stand there and let her throw stones at me. You could’ve said something"

What were you to say? The Queen already disliked you, despised your presence, why should you get involved in family matters? You weren't an advisor or part of the council, just a monster there to ensure he is safe at all times. 

"it isn’t my place to speak on matters that don’t concern me"

The words left your mouth and you almost almost regretted them the moment they passed your lips. But it was true. You were the bodyguard, not the family member. 

But then there was a bitter chuckle. 

"Right. As always, the perfect little soldier" He shook his head, his movements sharp and jerky as if he were trying to shake off the frustration that was still gnawing at him. There was a note of sarcasm in his voice but it didn’t feel entirely mocking "I'm not a fucking puppet"

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction.

It was the way he said it, as if he were daring you to call him out, daring you to challenge him. You didn’t respond right away. You stood there, watching him. His eyes were still locked on you, searching, waiting for something... maybe an answer, maybe just someone to acknowledge what he was going through.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before you spoke.

"I never said you were a puppet" you replied quietly, your tone still sharp "I just know my place, my prince"

"And what exactly is your place, then?" His voice was low, almost a whisper but there was a challenge in it "To stand by and watch? Watch me make a fool of myself while everyone around me whispers and judges?"

There was something different in his voice now. It wasn’t just about the council meeting anymore. It wasn’t just about his mother’s words. You didn’t have an answer for him, at least not the kind he wanted.

"My place is where you need me to be, my prince" you replied, keeping your voice steady "That’s the only thing I know for sure"

Rafayel studied you for a moment longer, then finally exhaled a frustrated breath. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away from you for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Then I know where I need you to be tonight" He told you, and for once, the shock was evident in your face "I'm sneaking out again. It would be a shame if my sworn protector were to follow me"

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You should have responded, should have put an end to his recklessness but something in his tone, in the sharp glint of his gaze, told you it would be useless.

He had already made his decision. He stood beside you for a moment longer and then without another word he turned on his heel and walked away. His stride was effortless, it was as if he didn't believe that you'd deny his command. You should have ignored it. You should have reported it but you knew that no matter what you did Rafayel would still leave tonight and if he was going to put himself in danger, then you had no choice but to be there when it happened.

By the time the sun had set and the palace corridors had emptied you were already waiting. It wasn’t long before you caught the familiar flicker of movement. Rafayel, slipping past the guards with practiced ease, his cloak draped loosely around him and the hood pulled up just enough to obscure his features.

Reckless, careless, stupid.

You moved before you could think better of it, slipping into the night after him. The city stretched before you, pulsing with life even under the weight of darkness and he didn’t look back, but you knew he could feel you there. You hated this place, the way it pulsed with the things you had long since forgotten. 

But as Rafayel moved deeper into it's embrace you lost sight of him not long after, only this time there was no panic.

You felt the array of bodies surrounding you again, the hunger, the need. Everything was intimate, it was intense and you closed your eyes for a moment. The moment your eyes shut, the world sharpened in a different way. The warmth of bodies brushing past, the pulse of laughter and whispered secrets, the scent of skin heated from too much drink. It was intoxicating in a way that had nothing to do with blood.

It had been centuries since you had been surrounded like this. Engulfed in something so human, so alive. This wasn’t just hunger for blood. 

There was a brush of air and a warm gust of wind on the back of your neck before a small voice appeared at the side of you. 

"Don't get lost" He visibly smirked at the way you flinched, the first physical reaction he had ever gotten of you from the three years you were with him "Stay with me.. and relax"

He was behind you somehow, the front of his body only an inch away from the back of your own. His lips close to your ear as he spoke but he still kept to himself. You shuddered for a moment before nodding, like you didn't have a mind of your own, like the street and he himself had put a spell on you.

A spell to obey, which a monster like you should always do.

You could feel him, every inch of him so close but not touching it made your breath falter. A sharp contrast to the steady control you prided yourself on. His skin wasn't against yours but the warmth of him seeped into your skin, into your bones and into that part of you that had been frozen for centuries. His breath ghosted along your jaw, his voice low, deliberate.

"You’re always so tense"

A quiet chuckle rumbled from him and you felt it against your back more than you heard it. He leaned in closer, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, as if testing the waters.

"Is it this place?" he mused, voice silk and sin "Or is it me?"

You swallowed but the street had stolen your words, stolen your thoughts leaving you exposed. A pair of bodies stumbled past, tangled in each other, laughing breathlessly. Another pair further down, pressed against a wall and lost in the heat of their own indulgence. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, wine, desire. The world here moved differently as if the very street was alive and it had chosen you as its prey.

And Rafayel... Rafayel was watching.

"You feel it, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice dipping into something dangerously smooth "The way it pulls at you, the way it calls"

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. You couldn’t let this place get to you. 

"So miss bodyguard... will you indulge with me?"

You should have said no. You should have turned away, should have pulled back, should have reminded him of the line that stood between you, the one that had kept you at a distance for three years. instead, your body betrayed you. A slow shaky exhale slipped from your lips before you could stop it. It was lost in the midst of the Silk Street but not to him. Never to him. Rafayel smirked, his head tilted slightly, his gaze flickering over your face drinking in every minute shift in your expression.

"Indulge?" Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be, your throat drier than it should have been "And what exactly do you mean by that, my prince?"

"Whatever you want it to mean" he murmured "But first... let me show you around"

Rafayel stepped past you, the faintest brush of his cloak against your arm as he did. His smirk deepened when your eyes never left his figure. And then without looking back, he walked into the depths of the street.

Will you indulge with me?

Your feet moved before you had the chance to think. The further you walked down, the more suffocating the atmosphere grew. The flickering lanterns cast shadows on the cobblestones and as you followed Rafayel, every step felt heavier. He moved through the night with an ease that made you feel out of place, his body relaxed and his steps confident as if this dark part of the city were a second home to him. It was.

He barely glanced around, unfazed by the whispers that followed him. You kept your distance, keeping your gaze forward trying to ignore the way the your senses were filled with different fragrances. But you couldn't ignore him. A part of you wanted to turn away, to remind yourself of your place. Of your duty to him but you couldn’t shake the sense of awe that crept in. These people weren’t bound by titles. They were free, in ways you hadn’t been in over five centuries. It almost felt like a distant memory.

It wasn’t that you were jealous of these people but there was something about their freedom, their ability to live without restraint that made you feel… small. Small and trapped in a way you hadn’t let yourself admit. You didn't know why it bothered you.

As Rafayel slowed, leading you into an alleyway between two crumbling buildings, you caught sight of the brothel ahead. It was the same brothel where you had found him the other night. A place drenched in everything that should have repulsed you.

But it didn’t.

Rafayel pushed open the heavy wooden door without hesitation, stepping inside as though he belonged here and maybe in some way, he did. The moment he crossed the door, he was no longer the prince, no longer the heir to a kingdom burdened by duty and expectations. He was just a man, another figure in the haze of warmth and pleasure.

You hesitated.

Standing there just outside, you felt the weight of the past pressing against you. Five hundred years of restraint, five hundred years of existing but never truly living and yet you followed him inside. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. People leaned into one another, hands lingering, lips brushing, eyes half lidded with the haze of drink and desire. There were no rules here, no boundaries. Rafayel turned his head slightly, just enough to see you lingering at the door, your hesitation laid bare.

"You don’t have to be afraid" he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear "No one will look at you as they do in the palace. No one will whisper"

It was a taunt, wrapped in something gentler.

You reached the counter where a number of drinks were laid out, free to take. He reached for a bottle, something dark and rich smelling, the scent of honey and spice clinging to the rim. Without breaking eye contact with you he lifted it to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip before extending it toward you.

"Drink"

You stared at him, silent.

"It won't-"

"Affect you I know.." he reminded, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips "Humour me miss bodyguard. Just this once"

His eyes gleamed, watching and waiting. It wasn’t the drink that made your fingers curl around the bottle, it was him. You lifted the bottle to your lips, letting the liquid slide over your tongue. It was warm, rich, deceptively smooth but beneath the honeyed spice, beneath the slow burning heat, there was something else. Something unmistakable and your throat tightened.

Blood.

Not much, not enough for a human to notice but you weren’t human. The taste, the feel of it. It bloomed across your tongue, curling into your senses, awakening something deep inside you. Your grip on the bottle faltered for just a moment, the glass clinking softly as you set it down. A pang of hunger tightened in your chest and your body reacted almost before your mind could catch up.

"You…" The question was barely a breath, barely a whisper but Rafayel heard it.

And he smirked.

"You were about to ask, weren’t you?" His voice was velvet and amusement. He leaned in, elbow propped lazily on the counter, his eyes flickering in the dim light "If it’s blood? Yes"

He finished the thought for you.

Did he... know?

Your body screamed at you to stay still, to keep your expression neutral but the way Rafayel was watching you, studying you made it impossible. He was enjoying this.

"Relax" he mused, his voice almost soothing and mocking "It's not human. If that's what you're worried about"

You felt like breathing a sigh of relief. He didn't know. Your throat constricted, the taste still lingering on your tongue.

"Why?" You asked, though the question didn’t quite escape with the urgency you expected it to. You couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away from the bottle, nor the way his lips curved into a faint smirk.

"Why not?" Rafayel responded, leaning back up "It’s part of the street's… charm. It’s an old indulgence. Mixed with herbs it’s meant to lift you, free you in a way. It stirs something inside, doesn’t it?"

"Does it?" you murmured, your voice lacked it's usual steel and Rafayel knew it.

His smirk deepened like a hunter playing with it's prey. He tilted his head studying you, before his fingers tapped idly against the counter’s surface. He pulled the hood from his cloak down and your gaze flickered over him, taking in the way the dim, flickering light cast shifting shadows over his face.

"It does" His voice was quiet "Even if you won’t admit it"

His gaze flickered downward just for a second, toward the subtle rise and fall of your chest. Rafayel always carried an air of carelessness, of reckless confidence that made it seem as though the world bent to his rules. But here, in the golden glow of the brothel’s lanterns, draped in his regal clothes hidden by a cloak too large for him he was something else entirely. 

The silk of his robes was dark, the colour of deep ocean tides beneath a moonlit sky. The embroidery shimmered as he moved, silver waves curling along the fabric shifting like they were alive, and then there was the jewellery. Silver rings, oceanic stones, the delicate chains that glinted against his wrists. An ornamental ear cuff, shaped like a cresting wave adorned one ear, catching the light whenever he tilted his head.

It was unfair how beautiful he was.

Rafayel was beautiful in a way that demanded attention, in a way that made it impossible to ignore him, no matter how hard you tried and right now, he was watching you. You forced your eyes away from him but not before you caught the slight tilt of his lips, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

You thought he'd tease you, thought he'd mention how he caught you staring, truly looking at him like you've never done before but it never came and you were thankful. You took a moment to glance around the room and you noticed there were multiple pairs of eyes on you. You swallowed for a moment, you were used to the stares in the palace.. but in this place? It felt like you were a prize that people didn't want to stop admiring.

"Do they always stare?" you muttered, feeling your skin prickle. Rafayel's laugh was soft, a low sound that held a trace of amusement.

"They don't care about you" he said, his voice casual "It's me they want"

You turned sharply, meeting his gaze. His smile had faded into something more... knowing, like he enjoyed watching you squirm.

"You shouldn't come here" you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

"Why?" he asked, cocking his head to the side "Are you afraid of what you'll see? Or maybe afraid of the kind of person you might become if you stay?"

Your throat tightened and you could feel the flush creeping up your neck. The idea that you could be like the people in this place, slipping into a world of indulgence and desire... It sickened you. But there was no denying the way you felt slightly attracted to the dangerous allure of it all.

"I’m not like them" you whispered, your own voice betraying you.

"You are not like anyone and that is exactly why I brought you here" He told you and for the briefest second his expression shifted. Your head began to spin "My miss bodyguard is one of a kind"

"I-" 

Rafayel took a slow step toward you, his presence suddenly overwhelming. He tilted his head, studying you with those sharp eyes that seemed to see through everything, through you. His presence surrounded you, a warmth pressing into your skin without even touching you. 

"You're starting to feel it aren't you?" He questioned, his voice quiet. You looked down, eyes settling on the counter, the bottle, the blood.

Yes.

He was right. Whatever herbs were mixed in were beginning to affect you-he was winning. It was affecting you in ways you couldn’t control. Your breath felt heavier in your chest and you subtly gripped the counter again, fingers pressing into the wood as if grounding yourself. You wanted more. More of what, you weren’t sure. It was unlike anything you’d felt in centuries. Not hunger or thirst, it was almost worse. A yearning with no name.

Like you were floating almost and the feeling was exotic. Five centuries you had been nothing but a shell of a monster but now, you felt human. You felt alive, you felt like you could feel the blood that was once drained all those years ago flow into your empty veins.  You forced yourself to stand straighter, to regain some semblance of composure but the heat in your chest remained.

"We should.." Go. You should go. Back to the palace, back to being a monster that people feared. Back to doing your duty because any upstanding bodyguard and knight wouldn't be in a place like this possibly endangering the person they were supposed to protect.

Rafayel inhaled sharply, stumbling back a step, his fingers pressing briefly against his temple before dropping back to his side. He wasn’t entirely unaffected either. His breathing had deepened and his lips parted slightly. Then he tilted his head smirking again, eyes half lidded and unreadable. He beckoned you with just a look.

And you followed.

Further into the brothel, further into pleasure and forbidden whispers. The further you followed him the more you felt it and you wanted to smile. The feeling creeping into your body. The intoxication, the warmth, the dizziness-it was unlike anything you’d felt in centuries. It wasn’t hunger but it was almost worse. It was a kind of desire, a yearning but for what you couldn’t say. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have followed him.

And yet, you did.

He led you to a cloak covered doorway and you followed him through it like he had you on a leash and was pulling you along. The air changed the moment you stepped through the veil of heavy fabric. The room was dimly lit and you had to really focus on the sight around you, your vision blurring slightly before you saw it.

Bodies moved in slow rhythms, tangled together in ways that left nothing to the imagination. The sounds.. soft gasps, breathless laughter, sinful moans and words whispered that you had never had whispered to you before. It all pressed in from every side, drowning out the world beyond these walls. There was no space untouched, no corner left unclaimed by the weight of indulgence. No one here was alone.

Except for you and him.

Rafayel stood just a step ahead, his cloak falling down his body and exposing bare back where his royal outfit lacked clothing for his top half. You were seeing him now, really seeing him. The details on his body, the faded scratch marks and the tattoos that made your fingers twitch slightly. He turned slightly, gaze flicking back to you. The chaos around him didn’t seem to touch him, like he was used to it.

You wanted to move. You needed to. The walls felt closer now, the press of bodies suffocating, the sheer intimacy of it all almost too much to bear. But your feet wouldn’t move.

You were rooted in place.

There were couples, there were beds filled with three people, there were men and women on their own bringing themselves to a climax... and you stood and watched. Lips parted, almost dried and screaming for something. The drink still burned in your throat, your skin hot, your thoughts slow and unfocused. It was intoxicating the way that the room felt alive, the way every breath you took carried the weight of something. 

Rafayel took a slow step toward you, his expression unreadable beneath the dim lantern light.

"Tell me" he murmured, voice low and teasing but edged with something more "Does it tempt you?"

You couldn’t answer immediately.  It was like the world had narrowed to just him and you.

He didn’t move any closer, he didn’t need to. His gaze held you in place, as if every moment you stood there was a game in itself. Your body felt like it belonged to someone else, your senses sharp and dulled at the same time and you couldn’t help but wonder how much of this was truly you. How much of it was the drink, the atmosphere or the quiet pull of his influence.

Rafayel’s eyes flickered down to your clenched hands then back up to your face. He saw it, the conflict in you.

"I..." The words faltered.

"You don’t have to stay" he said, his voice a low murmur, almost a promise as he reached out with his finger to gently tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze "But do you really want to leave?"

You swallowed, trying to bring some clarity to your muddled thoughts. Your mind was a swirl of thoughts and confusion and though you knew you should distance yourself, you couldn’t seem to pull away from him.

"I should never have come" you murmured, almost to yourself but Rafayel heard. 

Rafayel watched you carefully and for once, the smirk didn’t return. His expression softened, just slightly and you saw it. He took another step toward you, closing the distance, his free hand resting lightly on your arm just enough to feel the weight of it.

"I know you feel it. You're not immune to this" He said it with quiet certainty like he already knew everything you were trying to deny. Your pulse quickened and the rest of the room seemed to blur.

The bodies around you didn’t matter. The sounds faded away and Rafayel was all you could see, all you could feel. Despite everything, despite the rules, despite the duty that tied you to him there was a part of you that didn’t want to leave. Not yet, not now.

"My prince..." The title in this scenario felt wrong, utterly and disgustingly wrong. So wrong it made your stomach twist in unease.

This wasn’t the palace. This wasn’t duty or responsibility. This wasn’t the prince who carried the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. This wasn’t the future king poised to take his throne. Why were you here, in a brothel surrounded by pleasure with the prince... 

Your words seemed to have affected him slightly as a subtle shift passed through his face. His breath caught, a slight tremor running through him and you saw something deeper in his eyes that never left your own. His cheeks flushed, the red creeping up his neck and warming his skin in a way you hadn’t seen before. A stark contrast to the smooth controlled prince you were used to. The blush spread like fire, burning his skin red where it met the soft pink of his ears.

He was human after all. A man, with desires and fears and weaknesses, just like everyone else.

"I think you need to relax, just once" he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing "You’re wound too tight. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe... just let go. Let go for me, your prince, your king"

The way he said it so effortlessly made you want to listen, to surrender. And then, before you could think of a way to pull yourself together, he leaned in.

His lips brushed your temple, the gentleness sending a shiver down your spine. Then, they drifted to the edge of your cheek, soft and slow. The warmth of his touch lingered even as he moved, trailing over the curve of your jaw. Each kiss was light, teasing, as if he was savouring the sensation of your skin beneath his lips. He kissed you as though he had all the time in the world but you could feel the deliberate intensity in the way he moved, he was gentle yet demanding. You hadn’t realized how starved you were for touch until this moment.

Rafayel’s lips brushed the soft skin beneath your ear and the sensation sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. He paused there and for a moment you thought he might pull away but instead he pressed his lips ever so gently against the sensitive spot, just long enough to make your chest tighten. His lips moved down toward your throat and you couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder that coursed through you. You were half frozen, half on fire, the intensity of it leaving you breathless. His mouth was everywhere but where you wanted him most.

And then he hovered. His lips a centimetre away from yours, so close you could feel the heat of his breath against your mouth. You had wanted him to kiss you, so badly that the ache inside you had become unbearable. But when he moved closer, you felt a sense of unease you couldn’t explain, as if you were both too close and too far.

He pulled back at the last moment, just as you thought his lips were finally going to meet yours and there it was again... the smug, cocky smile that curled at the corners of his mouth. He looked at you with that knowing gaze, like he had seen right through you. His smile was infuriating but also undeniably captivating. There was something about the way he looked at you, that arrogant confident glint in his eyes as if he had won the battle before it even began. 

"You’re teasing me" you muttered, your voice strained. You hated how it sounded. How weak it made you feel.

Rafayel’s eyes darkened just a shade before his smirk widened. His hand around your arm tightened slightly and his thumb on your chin smoothed your skin. His gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

"Teasing?" His voice dropped to a low murmur "No, my dear bodyguard. I’m simply letting you see what it feels like to want... and I know you want this"

The air between you thickened, the tension nearly suffocating but still he didn’t touch you in the way you craved. He stood just at that edge, where you couldn’t quite reach him, couldn’t quite escape. Your body was alive, aching for him, but the rational part of you screamed for control, screamed for distance.

You swallowed thickly, fighting the rising panic in your chest. You wanted to push him away, to tell him to stop but the words died on your tongue. Instead you stood there frozen, caught between wanting to run and wanting to give in completely.

"You told me to let go" You found yourself unexpectedly saying, hoping and willing that he would pull you closer and give you what you wanted "How... how can I let go?"

He smiled, truly smiled, like you had said something he had always wanted to hear and he had. Three years you had been under his wing, in his palace and by his side but you were always so cold. So distant and blunt but now, for the first time since he claimed you, he was finally seeing what he needed to see from you.

"Let me show you"

He stepped away and you hadn't realised how his proximity drowned out everything around you. It felt like it was just you and him in this room but it wasn't. The air seemed heavier now, the room felt fuller, like everything around you rushed back into focus. The mass of bodies reminded you of where you were and what was happening around you, and the sensation of the noises that echoed around the room has your knees weak.

Or maybe it was just Rafayel.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him as he moved through the haze of bodies, stepping back toward the far corner of the room. You didn’t even know why you moved, but the pull of him was magnetic. Your feet carried you forward, each step slow and heavy as you approached the small and secluded bed in the corner, barely noticeable to the rest of the crowd.

What was he.. doing?

Rafayel sank onto the plush bedding, his form reclining with the ease of someone who had nothing to prove. He glanced over at you, his eyes dark. He leant back, propping himself up on his elbows as his eyes traced over you like he was memorizing every detail, every shiver that ran down your spine, every breath you took.

He moved like he was already in control, like everything was part of his plan.

You moved closer, your knees hitting the bedding. The soft fabric shifted beneath you as you hesitated for just a moment before lying down next to him. The proximity was almost too much to bear, your body feeling the warmth of his, the scent of his skin. He didn’t break his gaze. In fact, he watched you more closely now. He shifted his body as you rested your own on the bed and now you were both lay on your sides, gazing at each other.

His hand shifted just slightly, close enough to you that you could feel his warmth but he didn’t touch you. His fingers brushed the bedding, tracing the fabric lazily as if he had all the time in world. You watched his fingers carefully, the black ink that wrapped itself around his fingers put you in a trance and you watched and watched and watched...

Until his hand drifted lower down the bed and closer to his body, his thumb teasing the waistband of his royal trousers. Your breath hitched, the sight of his abs covered in goosebumps as he teased the skin on his waistband was enough to have your chest rising heavily, as if you still had a heart-as if there was blood pumping through your veins.

His hand slid further down and you met his eyes in a panic. He was watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He watched you bite your lip, he watched your eyes flicker between his own iris' and his lips as if you didn't know where to look. He watched you shuffle forwards ever so slightly, a movement that he would have missed if he wasn't truly staring at you.

Then his hand disappeared into his trousers and he found himself gasping slightly as he gripped his cock in his hand. Your own hand twitched... were you supposed to touch him? Help him? Touch yourself? You didn't know... you didn't know anything right now, your mind was clouded with nothing but desire.

"I don’t... don't know what you want from me" you managed to say, the vulnerability creeping into your voice. Your voice was breathless and it made his cock twitch to see how affected you were.

"Just keep your eyes on me" He told you, his voice close to a moan as you watched him carefully "Just-fuck just don't stop watching"

And you listened.

You watched his trousers strain against his hand as he moved, his strokes going from fast to slow to fast to slow and you were hypnotised. You were enjoying it. Enjoying it to the point of your own thighs clenching together, a feeling you have ever felt before. You were warm, warm everywhere and your teeth refused to let go of your bottom lip.

His thumb rubbed against the head of his cock and he gave you a blissful smile as his eyes closed. He let out a moan and fuck it might have been the hottest thing you have ever heard. He couldn't control himself now, and he only stroked faster and faster until the front of his trousers lowered far enough for you to see what he was doing.

His stomach tightened as he lost himself in the pleasure and you could do nothing but watch. You might have asked him to try yourself, to use your own hand to bring him pleasure but you wouldn't know how. You had never been in a situation like this before... almost five centuries of living and you had never pleasured anyone or been pleasured before.

Rafayel could barely breathe and he found himself opening his eyes again to look at you. Truly look at you.

He moaned again when he saw the way you were staring at his hand, so tranced and fixed on the way he was stroking himself. Fuck should he ask you to touch him? Ask you... for something? He doesn't know, he didn't care, he was too overcome by pleasure and the way you were watching him with your bottom lip between your teeth and your legs shut tightly together.

"I-" You whispered, a single word but it put Rafayel on the edge as you moved closer. Any second now you'd be pressed up against him, body warm against his own and he swore if you touched him he might burst any second now.

"What is it pretty girl? Hm?" He whimpered. He actually whimpered, and you found yourself letting out a small sigh of your own.

"Don't stop"

Gods there was no way he'd ever deny you of that. He chuckled, low and deep and it faded into the room and blended with the moans from the others that surrounded you in the room. He did as you wished, gripping and tugging at his cock as you moved closer to him, or maybe he moved closer to you, neither of you could tell.

You were closer now to the point where his knuckles were brushing against your clothes. Your forehead touched his own and your fists clenched, twitching with the need to hold something, anything. So you gripped at your chest, palming your breast through your shirt and found yourself letting out a moan.

Rafayel lost it. The sound you made brushed his ruby coloured ears and he listened as you made another sound, a whine this time and he couldn't help but thrust his hips forward and further into his hand.

He watched you palm your chest through your clothes and in his mind he was begging you to rip every piece of fabric off your body so he could see, so he could touch. But the pleasure clouded his mind and he could only only let out his own moans as your eyes met his.

"Can you indulge in this with me, miss bodyguard?" He questioned, his voice breathless and your throat turned dry.

You opened your mouth to agree but the words didn’t come. Instead, you found yourself staring at him, at the way his lips parted slightly, at the soft curve of his jaw, the sweat that started to form on his forehead and the muscles on his bicep contracting as he moved his hand faster and faster...

The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy and for the first time, you realized that you were no longer thinking of the palace, of duty, of the cold distance that had always defined you. You were here. With him. And nothing had ever felt more real.

"Show me..." You whispered, your lips less than a few centimetres from his "Show me what pleasure is, my prince"

And with your words, Rafayel found himself finishing into his palm, a low desperate moan following shortly behind. His body twitched and bumped into your own, hips thrusting as if they were begging you to rub your stomach against his cock to milk him dry. The head of his cock slightly rubbed against the fabric that you were wearing and Rafayel groaned deeply.

Your eyes were glossy and there was a throbbing sensation between your legs but you felt nothing but satisfaction. There was no doubt that the remains of his pleasure covered your own clothes but you couldn't bring yourself to care. The sight of your very own prince whining in overstimulation as he continued to stroke his now softening cock was enough to make you forget about all your worries and about your duty.

Because now, more than ever, you felt human.

────────

It was as if nothing had happened.

No words had been exchanged on the way back to the palace. No stolen glances, no lingering touches. Just silence.

You had ensured Rafayel made it safely to his chamber before slipping away into the shadows, retreating to the quietness of your own space. You had washed the scent of the brothel from your skin, scrubbed away the lingering warmth of his touch and convinced yourself that you could forget. That it hadn’t mattered.

And now, you fell back into routine. You were his bodyguard. His soldier.

But Rafayel wasn’t blind.

You knew he had noticed the shift when you escorted him to breakfast that morning. You stood at attention, back straight and hands tight and still at your sides, eyes fixed ahead in unwavering focus. You didn’t acknowledge him unless necessary. You spoke only when spoken to. You were perfect again.

It was insulting how easily you fell into place.

And Rafayel, who had always been too observant for his own good, did not miss a thing. At first, he said nothing. His gaze was heavier than usual, lingering on you for moments longer than necessary, as if waiting for you to do or say something. He let the silence stretch, testing you, waiting to see if you would shift under his gaze. You didn’t. You remained standing at his side, as you always did. The same as before.

Almost.

His fingers drummed lazily against the wooden table, the rings on his hand catching the morning light. He leaned back in his chair, an elbow propped up as he studied you beneath heavy lashes. Still, you did not look at him and then, after what felt like an eternity, Rafayel spoke.

"You're quiet today" Weren't you always? It was a simple observation, nothing more. But the way he said it, the weight behind it, it was definitely not a compliment.

"My duty does not require me to make conversation, my prince" You replied, the way you addressed him held a heavy difference compared to last night.

"No, I suppose it doesn't" Rafayel let out a low hum, dragging the tip of his finger around the rim of his goblet.

There was something almost amused in his voice, but you didn’t bite. You kept your breathing steady, your face blank, refusing to let him drag you into whatever game he was playing. Because you knew him. You knew Rafayel. He wanted a reaction. He wanted to see if the woman from the night before was still inside you. But you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Moments stretched between you and then, just as he lifted his goblet to his lips, he spoke again.

"Shame.." Your fingers twitched.

"Excuse me?"

Rafayel took a slow sip, swallowing the dark liquid before setting the goblet down with an infuriating amount of ease. He turned his head slightly, not quite looking at you but you could feel his gaze, burning at the edges of your composure.

"Nothing" he murmured, tilting his head back as if he had already grown bored of the exchange "Just thinking aloud"

Liar.

You inhaled slowly, silently steadying yourself. He was testing you... pushing, prodding, trying to make you slip. You forced yourself to remain still, to remain calm. Because if you let your mind wander, if you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt against your skin, the way his voice had sounded in the dark, the way his hand had gripped his cock in front of you, then you would lose. And you refused to lose, so you said nothing. 

You remained at his side, cold and unyielding, the way you had always been and the way he always knew you to be. And Rafayel? He only smiled to himself, as if he knew. As if he had already won.

Later that evening, as the sun disappeared below the horizon and bathed the palace in a golden hue, you found yourself trailing behind Rafayel through the winding halls. His council meeting was soon, but he insisted on taking a walk to clear his mind before he was bombarded with the worries and demands of his advisors and the nobles.

You had escorted him through the palace grounds, through the vast corridors lined with tapestries and torches, your footsteps always a steady rhythm behind him. But yet, despite the physical distance you kept, you felt suffocated because you knew Rafayel was enjoying this. Every time your gaze so much as flickered toward him, he was already watching you. Every time you turned away, you could feel the weight of his amusement pressing into your skin.

Finally, he came to a stop near one of the palace balconies, where the air was crisp and cool carrying the scent of the sea. The distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs filled the silence between you. Rafayel exhaled slowly, bracing his hands against the railing, his fingers curling around the edge. 

"Are you going to keep pretending forever?" he asked, his voice was quiet.

"I don't know what you mean, my prince" 

"You know exactly what I mean" he murmured, finally turning his head to look at you fully. The last streaks of sunlight painted his features, defining the sharp line of his jaw and the fullness of his lips.

The lips he denied you of kissing.

"Your safety is my only concern" He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

"And yet, last night safety was the last thing on your mind"

Your throat tightened but you didn’t react. Rafayel shifted, stepping closer.

"Tell me, soldier" he murmured, his voice almost teasing "How long do you think you can keep up this charade?"

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

"As long as I have to, my prince" Silence.

And then, he smiled. Did his perfect little bodyguard just... tease him?

And you did, because two could play that game. But Rafayel... Rafayel never played fair. He took a step forward, his sandals barely making a sound against the marble floor. 

"You must be exhausted" he mused "Keeping up the performance. Playing the role of my loyal bodyguard, my watchful shadow. Does it ever get tiring?"

You didn’t react, didn’t move but you knew he could feel it. The subtle shift in the air, the way your body tensed for just a fraction of a second too long.

"I wouldn’t know" you said flatly. He hummed, the sound low and amused.

"No, I suppose you wouldn’t" Another step closer. You could feel the warmth of him now "You don’t sleep, do you?"

A pause.

"You don’t eat"

Another step.

"And yet, you don’t wither. You don’t break. You don’t bleed the way you should"

His voice was velvet and steel, wrapping around you, tightening with every word. He was circling you now, slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with it's prey. The teasing tone in his voice had faded into something else. 

"You know that they call you a monster in the palace halls" he continued, his voice dipping lower "A ghost. Some say you're a failed experiment, a creature torn from a nightmare"

The words should have stung. They didn’t, yu had heard them all before. But then...

"But I" he exhaled a soft laugh "I think the truth is far simpler than that"

Your throat tightened. You willed yourself to stay still, to not let him see the way your shoulders locked, the way the cold settled deep into your stomach like a stone.

"And what truth is that?" you asked, your voice steady. Challenging. His smirk deepened. 

"I think you were about to ask, weren’t you?" he murmured, echoing your own words from that night at the brothel "If it was blood in the bottle?"

Your stomach twisted. The realization hit you all at once, but Rafayel was still watching, drinking in every flicker of emotion you failed to smother, the way your breathing had slowed.

"You already knew the answer before I said it" he continued, his voice deceptively soft. His gaze flickered down just briefly to your lips. Like he was remembering the way the bottle had lingered there, the way you had tasted before you knew "And that was all I needed"

"So say it..." You told him, your voice barely a whisper. Another smirk, the world seemed to still.

He knew.

"You're a vampire"

The words were simple, yet they hit you like a train, your breath catching in your throat.

You opened your mouth but no words came. Your thoughts scattered, trying to grasp at the edges of something you had always hidden so carefully. The cold dread in your chest made it hard to breathe but Rafayel didn’t move. He stood there, watching you with... curiosity? For a moment, you just stared at him, then instinct took over.

"Do you want me to be afraid?" you asked voice low, but somehow still steady.

Should you be afraid? Would he tell them, tell the Queen? That his bodyguard is a vampire, one of the last to ever exist, and she's here she is real, hiding in plain sight for three years.

"You don't deny it" he murmured, tilting his head. His hair, caught in the melting sunlight, making him look ethereal and yet here he was, staring at you like he had just unravelled a mystery that had haunted him for far too long.

"I don't owe you confirmation" you said voice almost fearful "It changes nothing"

He laughed. Soft, delighted.

"Oh, but I think it changes everything" Another step. You should have backed away again, should have put distance between you but you refused "You’re a creature of the night. Vampires, witches... They always intrigued me. The power, the mystery. Those monsters that existed centuries ago, and one of them is my very own bodyguard”

"How long have you known?"

"Too long" he admitted, his eyes darkening "But I wanted to be sure. You think I didn’t see it? The way you watched me, studied me the same way I studied you? You act like you don’t care but I know better"

"And yet you kept me by your side... why?"

"Because you intrigued me" he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours as he spoke. 

And then before you could react, he reached up. Swift and deliberate, and brushed his fingers against the side of your throat. Right over where a human pulse should have been. Nothing. Excluding last night this was the first time he was touching you since he claimed you three years ago. His eyes flickered, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable...

For a moment, you thought he might say something else. That he might press further, push you and push you. But he didn’t. He simply let his fingers rest there, against the hollow of your throat where there was no reassuring thump of life beneath his touch. His fingers didn’t tremble. There was no hesitation, no fear.

"How long have you been hungry?" his words settled between you and your breath faltered, caught between a scoff and panic.

"You think I’m starving?" you asked, forcing a sharpness into your voice "You think I’m going to sink my teeth into your throat?"

His smirk returned, slow and knowing.

"Would you? I imagine it would be intoxicating"

"You’re playing a dangerous game, my prince"

"You’d never hurt me" The certainty in his voice sent a jolt through your chest and you hated how easily he used it.

"And how are you so sure?" you whispered.

"Because if you wanted to" he murmured leaning in just slightly, the warmth of his breath brushing your jaw "you already would have"

Your stomach twisted. He was right. You had stood guard outside his chamber for three years, had been close enough to touch him, to kill him, to take from him every single day. You had never once indulged. And yet, his pulse was so close now, beneath golden skin steady and warm. His scent was clean, the heat of him was something you tried not to focus on.

"You’re not afraid of me.." you said, because you needed to hear it. His expression softened, just slightly.

"No" he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world "I never was"

The realization unsettled you more than it should have. You swallowed, shifting your weight ever so slightly but it didn’t help. His presence was everywhere. His scent, his warmth, the undeniable way he was looking at you. And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped past your lips, quieter than you intended.

"That makes one of us"

A breath of silence.

Rafayel didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. But his smirk faded, replaced by something softer and unreadable. His lashes lowered just slightly, his fingers on your throat twitching. You hated how exposed you felt. For three years you had perfected the art of silence. The art of indifference and yet here you stood, confessing more in five words than you had in centuries of your existence.

"I'm not going to tell anyone" His voice when it came was low and steady, before he shifted slightly "And in exchange, you can help me satisfy my curiosity"

"Curiosity?"

"I want to see them" was he asking what you think he was? "I'd be a fool not to take the opportunity would I not? Last of your kind and you're here in front of me. I've heard myths and legends about the sharpness but I can imagine it's different to see in person"

He wanted to see your fangs.

You wanted to push him away, to tell him to stop, to retreat into the silence you had so carefully constructed but something inside you trembled, something you hadn’t felt in years. Fear. You swallowed hard, your throat dry.

"It’s not a show, my prince" you said barely above a whisper, the words tasting foreign on your tongue "I don't... I don't trust you and I don’t know if I can trust you not to use it against me"

His lips twitched and for a moment there was something like sadness in his eyes but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced once more by that steady gaze. For a while, there was silence. Every part of you screamed to keep the secret, to hide, to escape the moment. But the strange pull of him, of the trust you didn’t want to give was overwhelming.

You parted your lips, hesitating only for a heartbeat, before allowing him to see the fangs you’d hidden for so long. You could feel the sharpness of them as your canines lengthened. Dangerous, lethal, but in that moment they were exposed. There was no turning back.

Rafayel didn’t immediately speak. His gaze traced the sharp lines of your teeth, lingering as though admiring something rare, something exquisite. His eyes darkened and before you could even think to pull away, his fingers reached out, brushing against the sharp point of one of your fangs. 

His thumb then trailed lower, brushing across your lips with a teasing, deliberate motion. The sensation was too intimate, too personal and yet you found yourself frozen and unable to move. You stiffened, but his touch didn’t waver. It was soft yet it carried an intensity, a command that made your pulse quicken. The faintest flicker of heat spread through you but you couldn’t let him see it.

"You're beautiful" he murmured, his voice like a soft siren song, as if he were in awe of what he saw. His finger traced the sharpness of your fang "So much more than I imagined"

His gaze locked with yours and in that moment, everything seemed to slow. His presence was suffocating, consuming. His fingers didn’t pull away. They remained, pressing just a little harder against your fang... a possessive teasing pressure. You flinched at the added pressure, a shiver running down your spine. The touch was sharp now intentional. You didn’t know whether to step back or lean closer, your body betraying you in the face of such intimacy.

And then a sharp sting. 

His thumb pressed into your fang with just enough force to break the delicate skin at the tip. You didn’t have to look to know what had happened. The copper scent filled the air before you could fully process it, the bead of blood forming slowly on his skin.

The temptation was overwhelming. You felt it... a primal hunger rising in your chest, the need to sink your teeth into his flesh, to taste him, to take. Your eyes flickered downward to the drop of blood and the crimson bead that now stained his skin. The hunger surged. His voice, now soft and almost hypnotic broke through your haze.

"Open your mouth" he commanded, the order simple.

Your body obeyed before your mind could process it and without thought, your lips parted further. His thumb dipped lower, pressing against your bottom lip. A drop of his blood fell, warm and rich, onto your tongue. You tasted it before you could stop yourself. Just a brush of it and your senses exploded.

His blood was intoxicating. It slid down your throat like liquid fire, lighting every nerve in your body. It was like nothing you had ever tasted before, sweet and powerful and yet... you wanted more. Much more.

And he gave you exactly that. Before you knew it, he was placing his thumb in your mouth and on top of your tongue before pressing down, holding you there. His breath was on your face, uneven and heavy.

Without thinking, you sucked on his thumb, closing your mouth around it and pulling him closer, your body responding to the need gnawing at your insides. His blood was all you could focus on, it's heat mingling with the hunger that surged through your veins. You pulled him in, your hands gripping his wrist with a desperation you didn’t even recognize.

Rafayel didn’t pull away. Instead, his free hand cupped your cheek with a possessiveness you didn’t expect. His thumb remained in your mouth, guiding you, pulling you closer as the sensation of him, of his touch spiralled through you.

"Fuck.." he mumbled to himself.

His eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place, watching you with an intensity that set your skin on fire. You didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t stop. Every fibre of your being screamed for more as your lips bobbed around his thumb.

A singular moan, whether it was from him or you, you didn't know.

But it was enough to make you realise what was happening. 

You jerked back, panic flooding your senses. You hadn’t meant to go this far. You let go of his wrist and his thumb slipped from your mouth with a soft, almost regretful sound. You gasped for air, your lips still tingling with the taste of him, your body aching with something you couldn't quite name. Rafayel didn’t retreat though. His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you back toward him with a steady, unyielding grip. His touch was firm, possessive but gentle as if he were holding you together when you were falling apart. His eyes didn’t leave yours and in them, you saw something darker now.

"That..." Rafayel said softly, his voice almost too casual "is why I can never have a wife... that alone brought me more pleasure than any other woman could" 

His words hit you harder than you expected. You stiffened, shocked by the bluntness, by the rawness of what he’d just said. The casualness with which he spoke of such an intimate moment made you flustered, your cheeks warming. How could he say something like that so easily, so carelessly?

His hand tightened at your waist, fingers curling against the fabric of your clothes. A silent stay. His body loomed over yours, close enough that you could feel the rise and fall of his breath, the steady thrum of his heart. So human. You wanted to pull away, to regain control but your own body was betraying you, pulling you into the moment instead. His proximity felt suffocating. You should have pushed him away, you should have said something.

Instead, your silence gave him permission. His fingers slid up, tracing the line of your jaw before threading into your hair, pulling.

You gasped, the sharp tug sending a thrill down your spine and just like that, your neck was bared to him, your throat exposed in a way that made your instincts scream danger.. and yet, your body refused to move. His lips ghosted over your skin, a slow, deliberate tease. Not a kiss not yet, just a whisper of warmth.

Then, pressure.

His mouth brushed against your pulse point, lips parting just slightly. The warmth of his breath sent a shudder through you. Then, a graze of teeth. Blunt. Human. 

He was toying with you.

His mouth pressed deeper, lingering in a way that would have made your heart quicken. Then a bite. Not enough to break skin, not enough to hurt or leave a mark but enough. Enough to make your breath stutter. There was a dangerous draw to him, a magnetic pull that threatened to drown you in it. His lips moved against your skin again slower this time, deliberate and hungry. Not just kissing but nibbling. Small sharp bites, the kind only a vampire would know how to deliver. The kind meant to unravel, to seduce. His breathing was heavier now, his restraint slipping, his hunger mingling with yours in a way that made your stomach twist.

The second time he deprived you.

The first being in the brothel just 24 hours ago. He had kissed every inch of your face and jaw but avoided your lips at all cost and you wondered why, why? Was that too intimate for him? Did he consider that too vulnerable?

But you.. you had shown him your fangs. The way you kill. That was vulnerability for you but he couldn't share his own? Selfish. Too selfish, depriving you of what you wanted and needed. You shuddered as his eyes lifted to meet yours, dark and intense. The air between you was thick with tension, with need and then, as if some invisible line had been crossed, Rafayel's lips parted just enough to whisper.

"Show me more"

You found yourself leaning in. Unconsciously, desperately, your body reacting to the rush of emotions coursing through you, your mind clouded with desire and the taste of his blood. You were intoxicated by him, by what had just happened between you two. You moved closer hesitantly but you didn’t stop. You wanted to kiss him, needed to kiss him. Your lips hovered near his, breath mingling between you and for the first time, you were the one making the move.

But before you could close the gap, Rafayel pulled back slightly, just enough to deny you, just enough to taunt. His regular smirk curling at the corners of his mouth and his eyes gleamed with amusement. You studied him for a moment before you reached for him again, this time with more urgency. But once again, Rafayel evaded you. What the fuck.

He was enjoying this. You wanted to slap him, you wanted to ruin him... you wanted to taste him. You held his wrist again, your nails pressed into his skin but just as quickly as the moment had escalated, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The rhythm of boots against marble echoed through the hallway.

You jerked back, the speed with which you moved nothing short of lightning. The blur of motion left Rafayel blinking, slightly stunned before his gaze followed you, taking in the unnatural speed at which you’d retreated

Before he could speak, a palace guard rounded the corner and his gaze shifted between you both before focusing on Rafayel, eyes respectful but sharp.

"My prince" the guard said with a slight bow "The Queen sent me to find you. You’re late for the council meeting"

Rafayel, still too composed, didn’t spare a glance at you. Instead he straightened, regaining his regal posture in an instant.

"Thank you" he said, his voice calm and composed, betraying none of the intensity from just moments ago "I’ll be there shortly"

The guard nodded and quickly retreated, disappearing down the hallway. You stood still for a moment, the heat of the moment hadn’t disappeared and you could still feel the lingering burn of Rafayel’s touch on your skin. Rafayel however didn’t turn back to look at you as he began walking toward the council chamber. His back was to you now but you could feel the weight of his presence in the air.

The council chamber was far too cold for your liking, the air thick with formality and politics. The long table gleamed under the flickering torchlight, the creak of chairs and the soft rustle of papers filling the room as the advisors spoke in low, business like tones. Rafayel sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, almost as if he had not a care in the world. His voice cut through the air, smooth and confident, effortlessly commanding the attention of every person in the room.

But it wasn’t his words that held your focus. It was the memory of his touch, his blood still fresh on your tongue, the heat of the moment still searing beneath your skin. You could feel his presence, even though he was across the room. The way he moved, the subtle glint of amusement in his eyes whenever they flicked toward you, it was all too much.

Your mind kept replaying the way he’d smiled at you, the way his thumb had pressed against your lips, his breath just inches from yours. And now here he was, speaking with his advisors as though nothing had happened between you two. He was calm collected and in control. He looked every bit the prince, the future king and yet somehow the casual way he dismissed their concerns made your stomach twist. He had walked away from you without a second thought, without acknowledging the charge between you two.

But you couldn’t forget it. You couldn’t shake it.

"Rafayel" the Queen’s voice sliced through the silence, drawing your attention back to the matter at hand "Have you given any thought to finding a suitable wife? The kingdom will need a queen soon, especially with all that’s going on"

At the mention of a wife, something inside you clenched. A primal, unexpected feeling burned deep in your chest. Anger, frustration, possessiveness? something you had no name for but it was there, an edge twisting in your gut. The thought of another woman standing at his side, of him having someone else... it made your blood run cold. You didn’t want to think about it. 

But the thought of him with someone else stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated and you didn’t know how to deal with it. Why did it matter? Why did his future wife matter to you?

Rafayel didn’t seem to notice your internal struggle, his gaze never shifted toward you. He kept his eyes trained on the documents in front of him, his hand lazily drawing patterns on the edge of the table as he listened to his advisors. When he finally spoke, it was with the same casual ease as before as though he had no care in the world.

"I’ve thought about it, Mother" he replied smoothly "But a wife is the least of my concerns at the moment"

"Rafayel" the Queen warned, her voice rising just enough to command his full attention "You’re not a child anymore. The people need stability and you’ll need a queen to secure that. You cannot keep putting this off"

Rafayel didn’t flinch. His gaze flicked toward his advisors, then lazily scanned the room. As his voice rang out again, there was the famous subtle smirk on his lips that never quite reached his eyes.

"Perhaps Princess Tara of Linkon might be a good match" he said casually, mentioning the name of a royal from a neighbouring kingdom "But I’m not sure yet. It’s too soon to decide"

The moment he said her name, a violent knot of possessiveness twisted in your stomach, tightening with each word. Princess Tara. Her name alone made something claw at your chest and the rage you didn’t know you had bubbled up, raw and uncontrollable. She was everything you were not, everything you could never be and the idea of her by his side, holding his hand, being crowned as his queen... it shattered something inside you.

You tried to stay calm, tried to steady your breathing but the anger was there, simmering just beneath the surface and it was only getting harder to contain.

"You must take this seriously, son. The kingdom needs a queen and you need a wife" the Queen pressed, her voice cutting through the tension.

He merely nodded, his posture still relaxed, unaffected by his mother’s words. His gaze flicked briefly to you but it was fleeting, just a casual glance before he returned his attention to the documents before him, unaware of the turmoil churning inside you.

"I’ll make my decision when the time comes"

And with that, the conversation moved on, the Queen’s inquiries dismissed with a flick of his hand.

But as the meeting continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being consumed by the anger that was burning inside of you. 

You thought of the Silk Street. The brothels. Rafayel had moved through the alleyways with ease, as though he belonged there... because of course, he did. You had come to realise that he loved the danger, the chase. It's why he was there so often, it's why he pleaded to see your fangs and why he had not told everyone of your true nature. Why he had fed you his blood not knowing if you would stop or not. Why he toyed with you.

He liked the thrill of it all.

You couldn't deny that he was a regular in the brothels, that he had spent time in those places more than once. The women there, their laughter, their soft touches, their body language so familiar with him. He had kissed them, touched them, shared intimate moments with them, moments that he hadn't shared with you apart from the one time where he brought himself pleasure right in front of your very own eyes.

You couldn’t escape the image of him in their arms, their voices calling his name, claiming him in ways you hadn’t been able to and somewhere deep within, a dangerous, forbidden thought flickered to life. The sharp instinct of a predator.

What if I could kill them all?

The thought was foreign, unsettling. You immediately tried to push it down but it lingered. What if you wiped away every woman who had ever touched him?

It was an irrational thought, an outburst of jealousy you couldn’t control. But it was there and it burned through you with a fierce intensity. The jealousy clawed at your insides, wrapped around your non-existent heart and it tightened in a way that felt too consuming. 

A sickening knot twisted in your stomach. Those women. They had had him. He had kissed them, touched them, taken them in ways you hadn’t been. You could still hear the sounds of the brothels, the murmurs of voices calling his name. You hated them. You hated the way they had claimed him. You hadn’t even realized how far your thoughts had taken you until your fingers curled into fists by your side. Why did it matter so much?

Rafayel's voice pulled you back from your thoughts, but his words were like a needle to your wound. He was speaking again, just as casually as before mentioning Princess Tara. The jealousy returned and you clenched your jaw so tightly it almost hurt. Another woman. Another fucking woman.

He was due to be king, a man of power and it only made sense that he would have his share of women. But somehow, you couldn’t bear the thought of him with anyone else. 

You tried to focus on the Queen’s words, on the conversation, but it was impossible to ignore the storm building inside of you. You were angry. Angry at Rafayel for being so casual about something that meant so much to you, angry at the world for making him someone who belonged to others. But most of all, you were angry at yourself for caring so much.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You did care. You didn’t know when it had happened, when the wall you had built had started to crack, but now there was no turning back. The more you thought about it the more you realised you didn't want to share him. You didn't want him to belong to anyone but you.

As the meeting dragged on so did your thoughts. You tried to convince yourself that it was because you had tasted his blood before the meeting, the heat still lingered in your mouth and the taste of him on your tongue. It was too much. Now you knew, you wanted him. Not just for fleeting moments, you wanted him for yourself. Every piece of him, every inch of his attention you wanted to be the one to stand by his side, to be the one who he chose, the one who could claim him.

You would never be the one he chose. You weren’t fit for that not in his eyes, you had always known that. You had been with him in his life but you were never his and now you were mad with it. Mad with wanting him, mad with the knowledge that no matter how much you longed for him, no matter how deeply you desired him to be yours, it would never happen.

────────

After the council meeting, the air between you and Rafayel had changed, at least from your side.

You tried to convince yourself that it was nothing. Just the aftereffects of tasting his blood, of feeling the heat of the moment lingering but no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the pull between you and him had shifted. The possessiveness had taken root and with it, something you couldn’t control.

You became distant and cold. The walls you had built once again crept back into place just like they did after the night you shared in the brothel. You stopped seeking him out. You no longer waited for him in the hallways after meetings or followed him when he sneaked out at night. Your eyes barely met his anymore.

You convinced yourself it was for the best. This was how it should be. After all, he would never see you the way you wanted him to. Plus, he would soon be king and with it he would need a wife. 

He could never be yours. 

Not when his future was filled with other women, with the politics of the kingdom. You would always be nothing more than his bodyguard, a shadow in the background and that was fine you could live with that. But it was getting harder. Every day the ache grew and Rafayel, perceptive as always began to notice.

It was a slight thing at first, his gaze lingering just a fraction longer than usual whenever your eyes met, his voice just a little softer but he said nothing. He just watched and waited but as the days passed, it became too much. It built up like a storm, the tension between you two thick and suffocating and then it exploded. The silence in the chambers was suffocating, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as you moved. You checked every corner, every shadow, your senses heightened. Alert and vigilant as you always were. It was your duty to protect him after all and yet tonight, your mind refused to focus.

His coronation was tomorrow so his safety was at higher risk now more than ever.

As you moved across the room, you could feel his presence like a shadow, the weight of his gaze on you even though you refused to meet it. He was sitting on his bed, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. You had barely spoken to him since that night.

You tried to ignore him. You had to focus. He was a prince and you were his bodyguard, nothing more. But even the thought of it, nothing more, sickened you.

You had no right to feel this way. He had no reason to notice you. The other women, the brothels they were his to claim not you. You were just a monster, just a tool for his protection. You couldn't give him what those other women could, you couldn't give him what any other woman could. You hated yourself for feeling this way.

Your thoughts were impossible  to ignore.

But when Rafayel’s voice cut through the room, pulling you from your thoughts, you nearly jumped. His tone was sharp, frustrated. 

"You’re not saying anything" he said, his voice laced with irritation "You’re too quiet. Why are you so... distant? You've been acting like this for days now what is it?"

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. You couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see the questioning look in his eyes. Your pulse quickened with each step he took toward you. He was just a few feet away now. 

"I’m doing my job" you said curtly, your voice cold. Perhaps colder than you intended.

"Your job?" He scoffed, clearly not buying it "You’ve been avoiding me. Avoiding me like I'm some stranger and not your prince. Not your fucking king"

You could hear the hunger in his voice now, the desperation. He was starving for something... answers, maybe? Or just you.

But you couldn't give him the answer he was looking for. You didn’t even know what it was, the words caught in your throat as you turned around to face him.

"I don’t know what you want from me" you whispered, your voice trembling "I’m just your bodyguard. I’m just here to protect you" 

At those words, Rafayel’s expression shifted, his face hardening with a mix of anger and disbelief. He took a step forward, his movements slow. His hand shot out, grabbing your waist in a grip that was almost painfully tight, pulling you flush against him. You gasped, your breath caught in your throat as his presence overwhelmed you.

"This act is pathetic" he told you, gripping you just a little tighter.

"You don’t get to act like this, my prince" you whispered, though your voice quivered under the weight of the emotion you were trying to hide "You don’t get to expect this from me. I’m not some... I’m not your lover. I’m just a tool. A thing. You don’t need to care about how I feel, how I-"

"Stop" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His free hand gripped your cheeks, squishing your flesh and making your lips pucker "Stop pretending you don’t feel this. Stop pretending you don’t want me, you’ve been lying to yourself for far too long"

You shivered, trembling beneath the weight of his words. Your chest tightened with the realization that you couldn’t keep lying to yourself anymore. You did want him.

"I told you" you said weakly, but even to your own ears, it didn’t sound convincing "I’m just your bodyguard"

"You think I haven’t been thinking about it?"  he asked, his voice dripping with cocky amusement now "That night. You think I haven’t been thinking about the way you tried to kiss me? Twice? You think I didn’t notice? now you act like you’ve never thought about it, like it was nothing"

The words hit you like a physical blow. 

"Because it is nothing" you whispered, but the words felt empty.

"Stop lying to me" he snapped, his voice now filled with authority. The voice of a prince, of a king "It meant something to you. I can see it in your eyes"

"My prince-"

"I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. And now, you’re acting like it never happened" He leaned in closer, his fingers unclenching slightly but still holding you close "It matters to me. And it matters to you... I can feel it. I can feel the way you want me. I can feel the way you’ve been pulling away, terrified of what you really feel"

"I... I can’t..." You trembled under his touch, but you still tried to pull away.

"You don’t get to walk away from this, from me" His voice was ragged now, thick with need. He was almost pleading, and it broke something inside you "Say it"

His words were a command and you hated how you felt it in your body, your core. You were hot with need, with desire and you wanted nothing else but the man in front of you. You needed him more than you needed blood to survive.  Your could feel the words stuck in your throat, the truth you were too scared to admit, to confront but he wasn’t letting you hide anymore.

"Say it, tell me" Rafayel commanded once again and you swear your knees buckled slightly under his gaze, his words, his touch "Tell your king how much you need him, how much you desire him..."

You froze, your breath hitching in your throat as a mixture of fear, desire and guilt churned inside you. Fuck you were so turned on you could barely function a thought never mind a sentence.

A man should never have this much power over you.

You could feel it now, the deep, uncontrollable need burning inside of you. You did want him, you had wanted him for so long, but you couldn’t admit it. Not like this.

He pulled you closer, his lips grazing against your ear.

"Say it, and I will make you forget every damn thought you ever had about being nothing but mine"

It broke. It broke inside you like a balloon being popped or a fire being ignited. Everything you denied yourself of melted away and all that mattered was the way he held you, body against his own, arm around your waist keeping you in place while his other hand held your face a centimetre away from his.

"I... I hate it" you whispered, barely audible "I hate it. I hate the thought of any other woman touching you. I hate it. I can’t... I can’t stand it. I want it to be me, it should be me. But I... I'm a monster not a lover. You deserve a heart, you deserve love, you deserve better than this"

He cupped your face in both hands then, gentle and his gaze was nothing you've ever seen before. It was genuine, it was hopeful and it was something you needed to see in this moment. It made you yearn for him more.

No one, in five centuries, had been gentle with you the way Rafayel was.

He had never cuffed you. Never mistreated you or struck you. Never spoke ill about you or laughed at you like the others. Never feared you and never doubted you. He had held you like you were piece of glass, gentle and kind, like you mattered. Like you weren't some blood sucking demon who would rip him apart the second she was given a chance.

He made you human. 

You didn't deserve him.

"Say it" He pleaded, and your lips quivered slightly "Give me permission. I need your permission to act. I need your permission to show you how good I want and can make you feel"

"I... I shouldn’t" The words were weak, empty. You knew it, so did he.

His hands slid lower, trailing down the column of your throat, over your shoulders, down your arms until his fingers ghosted over your waist once more.

"Then tell me to stop" His voice was barely above a whisper, his lips so close, they almost brushed against yours "Tell me to stop and I swear, I will never touch you again"

You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling beneath his touch. But you didn't tell him to stop, because you didn't want him to.

"Rafayel" you breathed, barely a whisper.

You had never whispered his name before. Never spoke it out loud, always referring to him as my prince. But in this moment, it felt right. It felt like he was just Rafayel, and you weren't a bodyguard nor a vampire, but you.

No rules, no titles. Just two lovers.

"That’s not what I asked for" his lips moving to your jaw, kissing a path down to your neck. His teeth scraped against your skin with pressure, not enough to hurt but enough to ache. 

Your hands tangled in his hair, gripping desperately, trying to ground yourself.

"I need you" you finally whispered, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them "I need you, I hate how much I fucking need you"

He lifted his head up, exhaling softly, his breath warm against your lips and it was maddening. But then his lips brushed yours, just the faintest touch, light as air and testing the waters. Your breath hitched, your hands fisting tighter into his hair.

And that was all it took.

Everything around you seemed to vanish. The room, the distant sound of the night outside, even the air itself  it all ceased to exist and there was only him.

His lips slammed into yours before you could even process the shift, the urgency in his kiss pulling you closer as though he wanted to drown in you. It was nothing like the soft, hesitant touches from before. No, this was desperate and hungry, as if he couldn’t wait any longer couldn’t hold back another second.

You gasped into the kiss but it only fuelled him more. His demanding tongue slipped past your lips forcing its way deeper into your mouth with an animalistic rhythm. His hands were everywhere gripping your waist so tightly it was almost painful, pulling you against him until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you.

Your fingers clawed at his bare chest struggling to find something to hold onto as your world spun out of control. His kiss was messy as if he was trying to consume you, take you in all at once. His lips were bruising, hot and demanding against yours and the way his teeth grazed your lower lip made your heart race faster.

He growled, the sound vibrating through your body. His hands slid up to your neck, his fingers tightening around the delicate skin there as he tilted your head back, forcing your mouth open wider for him. There was no gentleness now. Only a raw and desperate need, hunger that clawed at both of you.

"You’re mine" he muttered between kisses, his voice thick with desire "Say it again. Say you want me"

You couldn’t think, couldn’t process his words through the haze of pleasure and frustration swirling in your mind. You could only feel. Feel the hot press of his chest against yours, feel the way his body moulded against yours, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. It felt like the human part of you had been awakened.

His hand slid down to your hips, gripping the curve of your waist as he pulled you even closer, if that was even possible. His erection pressed against your stomach, hot and demanding, and the sensation sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. You moaned against his mouth, a sound of frustration and want that you couldn’t stop.

He pulled away again, just enough to look into your eyes, his breath ragged and uneven.

His lips were swollen, slick with your kiss and the last thing that held you together in that moment was the string of saliva that was evidence of your greed.

You felt dizzy, drunk on the sensation of him, but the more he kissed you, the more you wanted it. Wanted him.

"You feel that?" His voice was a low rasp, a whispered command "That’s me, doing this to you. You feel your pulse, don’t you? That thumping in your chest. You feel it in your veins... your blood rushing, just like you’re human again"

You wanted to deny it. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t feel any of it, that you were a vampire, untouchable, above all these emotions. But the truth was, you couldn’t. You were trembling in his arms, your body betraying you with every second he touched you. You could feel your heart beating hard in your chest, could feel the heat surging through you like it was alive and yet, you were the monster, weren’t you?

"I'm-" You tried to pull back, to speak, but your words were swallowed by his lips. His kiss deepened once more, almost like he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t satisfy this hunger inside him that seemed to grow with every second.

The force of it made you stumble back, hitting the wall of his chambers but Rafayel didn't stop. No, he took it as a sign to push further, his hands grabbing you tighter, holding you so you were pressed against him fully.

"You’re mine" he repeated, voice thick with possession, as if this kiss, this moment, was the only thing that mattered in the world. His hands roamed again, sliding beneath your clothes, the roughness of his touch touching the bare skin of your back, your sides, as if he needed to feel every inch of you "You’ve been mine from the moment I laid eyes on you you just didn’t realize it"

"I want you" you managed to get out, your voice breaking with raw emotion, with a desperation you couldn’t hide anymore "I want you, my prince"

A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest and before you could even brace yourself his lips were back on yours for a fleeting moment, more desperate than ever.

His hands gripped your own hair, tugging your head back as his mouth trailed down the column of your neck, leaving bruises in it's wake. His teeth scraped over your skin, marking you, claiming you and you couldn’t stop the gasps that left your mouth, couldn’t stop the way your body arched into his touch, begging for more.

Your gasp filled the room as Rafayel’s lips trailed lower, leaving a burning path of possession in their wake. His mouth was hot against your skin, the scrape of his teeth against your throat sending another violent tremor down your spine. The wall was cold against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against yours.

Your hands were desperate. Clawing at his back, his shoulders and gripping the fabric that rested on his waist, you thanked the gods for his regal robes only covering half of his body. You wanted it gone, you wanted nothing between you but before you could move, his hands were already on you, yanking at your clothes with a ferocity that sent heat flooding through your veins.

His fingers trailed down your spine slow and deliberate, igniting every nerve in your body. His touch was fire, and he cursed under his breath as he uncovered more and more of your flesh, the clothes you were once wearing finding themselves on the floor of his chambers. Your top half matched his own, bare and exposed for his eyes to see while your bottom half, the part of you that demanded more attention remained covered.

You shuddered beneath his touch, your hands tangled in his hair and your lips aching from his kisses.

"You have no idea how many nights I’ve thought about this" Rafayel whispered "How many nights I’ve dreamed about you, how many times I’ve woken up cursing myself for wanting something I shouldn’t have"

"You shouldn’t want me" you breathed, but the words were a lie even as they left your lips. You knew it, he knew it and yet the way his hands slid down your sides, the way he pressed his body flush against yours, made it clear that he didn’t care.

"But I do" he growled, his lips were continuous on your neck and you gasped at the sensation, at the way your body betrayed every ounce of logic you had left "And I’m done pretending otherwise"

He kissed you again, slow this time and more deliberate. He wanted you to feel him, to understand just how deep this went. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing them open and you let him in without hesitation. The taste of him was intoxicating. 

He made a low sound in the back of his throat before his hands slid lower, gripping the back of your thighs. In one swift movement he lifted you, pressing you harder against the wall, caging you in completely.

You gasped, your arms wrapping around his neck as your legs instinctively locked around his waist. You could feel everything now, every inch of him pressed against you, every sharp inhale, every tremor that ran through his muscles as he held you like you weighed nothing at all.

His breath was still ragged, his forehead resting against yours as he held you there.

"I want..." he began, and you watched him carefully "Drink from me"

Your fingers twitched, grip tightening around him as a wave of hunger clawed at your insides and the taste of him lingered in your memory. You had tasted him once before, just a drop, just enough to know that nothing compared to him and gods, you wanted it again.

But you shook your head, unwrapping your arms and pressing your hands flat against his chest.

"No" you said, even though your body screamed at you to say something else entirely "I don't want to"

His hands slid to your waist once again, fingers pressing into your skin, firm but not demanding. He could feel your hesitation, could see it in the way your lips parted slightly and in the way your breath came faster, in the way your pupils dilated as your instincts fought against your will.

"Liar..." he murmured. A small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You clenched your jaw as he pecked your lips with his own, the smirk not leaving his face. Your nipples grew hard from the cold air and he could feel it against his chest as he held you tighter. You needed to get out of this room, away from the scent of him and away from the temptation burning it's way through your veins.

But then he tilted his head, exposing the side of his throat to you. Inviting you.

Your fangs ached.

"My prince..."

"I remember" Rafayel interrupted, his voice low and teasing "I remember how you looked when you tasted me"

Your breath caught in your throat.

"You looked drunk on it" His hands slid up your arms "Like it was the best thing you’d ever had. Like you wanted more"

You did. You did want more. But you couldn’t.

"You don’t understand" you whispered trying to ignore how close he was, how warm his skin felt beneath your touch "It’s not just... it’s not just feeding, Rafayel. It’s—"

"I do understand" he cut you off, his voice dark and hypnotic "And I don’t care"

Before you could even catch your breath he was walking, his body pressing you tight against his chest, each step slow and purposeful. You knew where he was taking you and you didn’t stop him. Your arms wrapped around his neck when he moved you from the wall, fingers curling into his hair your lips so close to his, his breath hot against your mouth.

"Stop..." you whispered, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

"You need me" he whispered in return, voice like velvet as he lowered you onto the bed, your back sinking into the softness beneath you. Your breath shuddered out of you as his fingers tipped your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze "Are you afraid?"

"I’m afraid of hurting you" you admitted. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, his breath warm against your skin.

"But you still want it, don’t you?" His scent wrapped around you and you were now hyperaware of everything. How you could practically hear the way his blood was pumping through his veins.

You shouldn't.

You shouldn’t.

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, your breath shaking as you hovered over his throat, every inch of your body pulled taut with the ache of resisting him. Your fangs throbbed with need, your mouth parted, hovering just close enough for him to feel it.

And still, Rafayel didn’t move away.

You swallowed hard, your lips brushing the column of his throat as you forced yourself to stay still.

"I…"

"I remember how you looked that night" he whispered, kissing you gently on your neck while he bared his for you "You were starving for it..."

"Rafayel-"

"You moaned for me" He interrupted, his voice was seduction and you couldn't help but pull him further down with your legs "If only you knew how good it felt, to watch you take from me..."

You trembled and his grip tightened.

"You don’t understand" you rasped, your voice trembling "If I do this, I might not be able to stop"

You were surprised to feel the way he shuddered against you from your words. 

"Then don’t" he told you, chuckling against your neck before giving a small bite of his own "I want this, and I want you. All of you. Every dark and twisted monstrous part of you I want to feel what it’s like when you stop holding back"

No one had ever spoken those words to you before and for the first time in your whole monstrous life you felt seen. You felt like you mattered, like you being a vampire, a monster didn't matter at all and that this was the only place where you wouldn't be judged or feared.

Before you could deny him again he lifted his head up, staring into your eyes before giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose. Too endearing, too intimate..

Somehow the soft way that he was looking at you felt more intimate than the way your top half was completely bare underneath him.

"I meant it when I said I hadn't stopped thinking about it.. about you" he told you, eyes not leaving yours and deep down you so desperately wanted him to just shut up and kiss you until the night ended "You think I wasn’t dying to feel it again? That I haven’t imagined what you’d look like on top of me, taking what you need—"

His sentence trailed off as you flipped your body around, causing his back to hit the bed where you once lay. You were growing frustrated now, you needed him everywhere and he wasn't giving it to you. His words were affecting you too much and all this talk about feeding from him made your fangs ache.

He was beneath you now and he could see the way you hid the sharp canines away from him, desperate to hide your need so he wouldn't continue to offer himself to you this way. It's not that you didn't want it, because gods you most definitely did, but from the small taste of him you remember having he was exquisite... you've never tasted anything so rich before.

Your thighs clenched around him involuntarily, your hands pressing against his chest as you hovered over him. His heart was pounding in his chest for you. There wasn't any fear, it was just want and devotion.

He tilted his head just enough to bare his throat to you once more and his pulse jumped, you grew more tempted as the seconds flew past... his skin looked so inviting.

"You should be afraid" you whispered, almost desperate to hear the tremor of fear in his voice and to find a reason to stop.

But he just smiled.

"Afraid?" His voice was teasing as he traced his hands up your sides in a slow and worshipful pace "Of you?"

He shifted just right beneath you, pressing himself against your core which was enough to pull a strangled moan from your lips. You could feel him, he was rock hard against you but he wasn’t demanding. Instead he was giving, practically offering himself up like he was made for you to take.

Your breath hitched.

"If I’m afraid of anything…" he continued, his fingers trailing up your spine "It’s that you’ll deny me"

A growl ripped from your throat that was low and dangerous and Rafayel actually moaned... like he had been waiting for that exact sound. You grabbed his hands from your body before pinning them above his head, denying him of touching your bare skin. Your breasts grazed his chest and he bit his lip at the feeling, enjoying the way he was slowly pushing your limits. His fingers flexed in your hold, testing you almost but he thankfully wasn't fighting you.

"Stop talking" you warned, because if he kept speaking like that you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.

But Rafayel only exhaled a breathy, shuddering laugh.

"Then give me what I want" he replied, eyes glancing from yours to your lips, your fangs now fully on display the more frustrated you got. Gods you were beautiful.

He shifted beneath you again, grinding his hips up into yours and your eyes closed for a moment as he rubbed you in the right place. Your grip had loosened thanks to his movements and he made the most of it, trailing his fingers softly up your arm before reaching your jaw and grazing his thumb against your bottom lip like he had done a few nights ago when you first tasted his blood.

When he spoke again, you felt whatever control you had left slip from your fingers, announcing him as the winner.

"Obey your King.."

The words were sharp and possessive, more possessive than he had been all night and it was truly the last string that snapped inside you. His tone wasn't an invitation, it was a command and you had no choice but to surrender. Your body was already his, you just needed to let the final part of yourself go.

The hunger inside you flared like a fire, and you didn't fight it. You released his hands and shifted your mouth above his throat again, feeling the heat of his body and the inviting sound of his pulse screaming at you and that was all it took before you finally sank your fangs into him.

You felt the familiar rush at first, the thick blood latching onto your canines before spreading in your mouth and you groaned at the taste. It was everything you remembered but better, sweeter than anything you have ever tasted and more intoxicating that ever. It was rich, definitely the blood of a prince and you felt utterly euphoric.

Rafayel tensed beneath you and it was the first time that he was quiet since this whole ordeal. His body however fought against his silence, hands flying to your waist and gripping the skin there as you drank. He let out a shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling faster with every pull of your mouth.

He was still, not moving an inch or making a sound and you were worried that maybe you had scared him, maybe that he finally realised what he was getting himself into as you lay on top of him tasting him.

But you couldn't stop.

Your grip tightened on his arms, pushing your face deeper into his neck and your fangs further into his skin. The blood on your tongue was consuming every part of your mind and you never wanted to stop, you wanted to suck him dry.

As quick as the thought entered your mind you pulled away with a gasp, meeting his gaze and he watched as a drop of his blood fell from your lip and onto his chest. You swallowed, wondering if you had took it a step too far when he didn't move but his eyes burned into yours, an animalistic look as his chest continued to heave.

He was enjoying it.

"Such a good girl..." he whispered and fuck you felt the praise run through your body "Take what you need.. I'm yours as much as you're mine"

Before you could pull away he shifted again, his hips pressing up into you firmly and his clothed cock rubbed perfectly against your clit and gripped him even tighter. 

"Fuck-"

"Mm you feel so fucking good" he groaned. His whole body was screaming at him to flip you back over, take control and take what was his but fuck he wanted to feel you this way for a little while.

He pulled his knees up and trapped your body in place, making sure you stayed just above where he was throbbing with need.

He didn't need to say much more. With the way he was looking at you combined with how his body was responding on top of the taste of his blood you couldn't form any thoughts that weren't filled with him. 

And with that, you sank your fangs back into his skin.

His back arched beneath you and when he grounded into you this time, it was reckless. The feeling of it was something you've never experience before and feeling his body tremble below you as he gave into his own pleasure drove you insane. 

A minute passed before you were pulling away from him again, mouth still tingling from the blood and his neck was stained red. The pleasure was too much, too overwhelming but you couldn't find it in you to stop. You felt alive and everything felt just right...

Your fingers curled into the sheets beside his head as your chest rose and fell quickly while he groaned and moaned beneath you. Every little movement you made was intense and you felt like someone was in control of your hips from the way they moved.

But just as the haze began you were suddenly shifted. Rafayel moving quickly before you found yourself below him again and you didn't have time to adjust before his lips were diving onto yours again, tongue swirling in your mouth mixing blood and saliva together.

You felt the weight of him on top of you, his body warm and the heat between your legs only rose and ached with pure need. With his chest pressed tightly against yours and his covered cock rubbing against your clit you realised just how much of him you craved. 

The kiss deepened, each press of his lips against yours sending a shockwave of heat through your body. His hands moved all over you as if he was memorizing and admiring everything about you, like you were painting and he was the artist.

His eyes found yours and for a brief second you could feel nothing but the weight of his gaze. He didn't move for a moment, just hovered over you while his lips parted with a quiet needy sound.

"You're perfect.." he murmured and you felt embarrassed under his eyes "Every part of you. Gods I want to feel you like this forever"

His hands slid down your sides and you could have sworn he did it in a way that was worshipping. His fingertips traced every curve of you, over the goosebumps on your breasts before pinching your nipples gently. You could feel him losing control second by second as he grinded his hips down into yours, his arousal pressing into you.

"How good does it feel, hm?" his voice dropped to a commanding whisper, his lips trailing along your neck and brushing over where your pulse once was "Tell me you feel it too"

His hips shifted again pressing against you just right. It sent a wave through your body and you couldn't help but whimper at the feeling before pulling him closer, needing more.

"Yes.." you gasped, surprised at yourself for answering. Your hips lifted, seeking more friction and more of him "I feel it.. so much.."

Rafayel groaned as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as yours once did his. His hands had moved further down your body to grip your thighs tightly, pulling your legs further around his waist which only forced you deeper into his warmth.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this... so perfect for me" he whispered, his praise sounding more like a prayer "I want to ruin you"

The small and possessive growl that escaped him made you shiver. You couldn't help yourself anymore, you couldn't deal with the teasing and as much as you wanted to savour this moment you wanted him more. The need to have him inside you was too powerful and your body cried out.

"I want this" you sighed, looking up at him "I want you, I need you-Fuck 'm so empty"

Your body was on fire now. Every inch of you ached to be touched, to feel him pressed against you, to finally give in completely.

His mouth found yours again with a hungry kiss before he began peeling the reminder of your clothes off. It was his turn to feel impatient now, hearing you so desperate for his touch for him, complaining that you felt empty fuck he'd make sure you never felt like that again. He'd make sure to stuff you so full..

It was his turn and before you knew it he was bare above you and the feeling of his bare erection against your thigh had you gasping out loud. You remembered the way he had pleasured himself in front of you in that brothel, the way he moved and pleaded for his release you couldn't help but reach forward and grab the throbbing length.

He whimpered at the feeling of your hand gripping him, his own hand guiding your wrist up and down in a steady pace before his tip was rubbing between your folds as your breaths mixed together.

"You feel so good" He groaned, his voice was a strained whisper against your ear when his head dropped to your neck. He pressed against your skin as if he couldn't get enough of you "So soft.. I could drown in you"

"I've never.. Rafayel I don't-"

"It's okay.. just trust me" He knew what you were trying to say, and your lips parted when you felt him push inside where you needed him most "Just the-fuck just the tip baby"

He was trembling above you and you weren't acting much better. The tip of him rested inside you, your hand still gripping his cock tightly while your other arm snaked around his neck, holding him closer to you. He moved his hips gently, the tip of his length sliding in and out as you adjusted to him.

You could only close your eyes in bliss and tilt your head back into the pillow as the tip of his cock felt so delicious inside you. He stretched you out so perfectly and you could feel your canines growing once more due to the pleasure.

Every so often he'd pull out, rub his cock up and down your folds spreading your arousal and focussing extra on your clit and you've never felt a more euphoric feeling. Even blood couldn't bring you this much pleasure.

For a while he pushed in and out of you, just his tip only while telling you how good you were for him. There were a few extra claims in there, him reminding you that you belonged to him and you wanted nothing more than to tell him that he was yours too.

But then you were startled slightly when he slid further in you without warning.

"Ah-" both your arms were now wrapped around his neck and he groaned as he slid all the way inside you, the feeling of your walls clenching around him caused him to twitch and you whined in pain. 

"Fuck-Fuck I'm sorry you just feel so good... I can't help myself" his words were rushed as he rested his forehead against yours, staying still inside you for a moment "Fuck, you’re so tight"

The pain of him suddenly sliding in was very much there but his words soothed you and you knew you would have had to face it inevitably so you kissed him again with urgency, as if he'd float away from you if you let him go.

But he wasn't going anywhere, not with how snug he fit inside you and how well your walls accommodated him. He swore he had never fit so perfectly in anyone before, any woman and not even his palm felt this perfect. 

You were his, and there was no way he'd be letting you go after this.

When he finally moved you found yourself biting his lip at the stretch, resulting in a growl from him. He couldn't do anything other than pull out before pushing himself back inside you, slow and steady but you felt every pull and push shatter your body. 

He moved quicker as the seconds passed by, his hips surging against your own and you began to lose your breath. Every thrust was possessive, every time his hips met yours again it was a claim, it was a warning that you belonged to him and him only. Your lips broke apart and his eyes never left yours, watching carefully at how you responded to the way his thrusts gained speed and how you arched into him.

"No one else will ever hear the sounds you make... no one else will ever see you like this" he told you, and he felt his heart skip when he saw the brief smile on your face at his words "You’re mine. You hear me? Mine"

You could only kiss him again, your lips melding together as his hips were practically pushing you further and further up the bed. The pain had long melted away and all you could focus on was the way he was so perfectly sliding in and out of you, the lewd sounds filling his chambers and blending with his groans and your whimpers.

If anyone was to walk past his door, they'd know what was happening.

Your legs were around his waist, arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed you more eagerly. Your chests were together and it felt so intimate, your breasts squished against his firm chest and your stomachs grazing every now and then as his thrusts continued. You had a fleeting thought of pressing your hand to your stomach to see if you could feel him there..

He was yours. In this moment, in these chambers he was all yours for the taking and the thought made you claw at his skin.

There was an unfamiliar feeling setting in your stomach and you pulled away from his lips with a concerned face, his eyes watching you carefully as his thrusts slowed.

He figured it out immediately, and with a smile he picked up his pace again, his hips truly slamming into you and you could do nothing but take it. Take it, take it, take it...

"You feel it don't you? You're going cum.." clearly all his restraint was gone by now, because he was moving so quickly in and out of you it was difficult to understand how he kept up the pace when you were losing all control over your body "I feel you trembling. Don't-hm don't fight it"

"Oh..Rafayel-"

"So fucking perfect" he told you and you gripped the sheets tightly "I can feel you, squeezing me so tight like you don’t wanna let me go. You don’t, do you? You wanna keep me buried inside this perfect, greedy little cunt forever"

His voice broke into a whimper as he ground against you, forcing himself even deeper. He needed to be deeper, he needed to be so far inside you that not even the gods could pull him away.

His rhythm was ruined now, his thrusts were desperate and erratic and his hands were gripping you so tightly you wished you didn't heal quickly so everyone outside these walls could see the bruises he made... see the way he claimed you, you wished that you could wear proof of this moment and of him.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing it quickly and franticly as his cock twitched inside you.

"Cum for me" his voice was desperate now, he was practically whining "Please, baby-fuck look at me"

The moment your eyes fluttered open and locked onto his you felt your whole body shatter under his gaze and his words. The feeling of him inside you, the way he was looking at you and calling you his and his relentless finger on your clit you swore you felt like you were starting to float.

The pleasure was too overwhelming for you that when you came you made no sound, your last moan stretching out into silence as your mouth fell open, feeling your walls tighten around his cock as he pushed in you and pulled out at a speed that had your breasts bouncing but you kept your eyes on him.

He was like a siren, calling you to him and putting you under a spell that you could never escape.

"Fuck" his grip on you tightened as he felt you cum, your body flush against him and his hips stuttered for a moment as he gazed down at you "That's it.. that's it baby just like that"

He rode out your high, finishing you with the same pace but it was only when he felt his own release he did as he pleased. His hands gripped your thighs and pinned them to the bed, your legs spread wide as you whined at the overstimulation but it only fuelled him more. Your legs pinned on the bed gave him the perfect angle and you could feel every inch of him.

He leant back and stared down at where you were connected and only bit his lip at the sight of you pushing on his stomach, pleading that you were overstimulated but he needed this... he needed this release.

"Rafayel.." you whimpered and he looked at your face, slowing down his pace and panting thinking he hurt you. But he watched as you bit your lip, lazily looking down at his cock inside you before your own fingers circled your clit "Will.. will you fill me up, my prince?"

Rafayel broke. The second the words left your lips, the last of his resolve shattered.

His entire body jerked and a strangled wrecked moan tearing from his throat as his hands tightened around your thighs, keeping them pinned wide open beneath him. He needed to see you like this, needed to see how you stretched around him, how you took him and how you begged for him like he was the only thing you could think about.

"Oh, fuck—" His head tipped back for a moment, eyes squeezed shut as if the very thought of filling you was too much for him to handle. But then he looked down at you again and fuck he was gone "Say it again"

His voice was nothing but a wrecked whisper, his rhythm turning deep and deliberate. His cock dragged against your walls perfectly, making sure you felt every last inch of him. Your back arched.

"Rafayel—"

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze back on him. 

"No. Say it. Say exactly what you just said to me, or I swear I won’t let you cum again" His words were a threat but his body betrayed him. He was trembling, holding on by a thread.

You felt powerful.

A lazy, teasing smile spread across your lips as you let your fingers circle your clit again, the sensation making you whimper softly sweetly just to watch the way his jaw clenched, the way his hips jerked against yours. You dragged your eyes slowly down his heaving chest, his toned stomach, the muscles flexing with every desperate thrust he gave you.

And then you locked eyes with him again, completely wrecked and ruined beneath him.

"Fill me up, my king"

Rafayel let out a choked, broken groan, his hips snapping forward hard enough to make you jolt up the bed.

"Fuck...fuck, I’m going to—"

He folded over you, his arms caging you in as he buried himself to the hilt, grinding in deep, deeper, deeper as if he could spill every last drop of himself inside you and still, it wouldn’t be enough. His release tore through him and he let out another ruined moan, his forehead falling to yours. 

"That’s it.. that’s my good fucking girl fuck, take all of it" his voice broke as he ground himself deeper, spilling inside you. His hands fisted the sheets as he collapsed onto you, still shaking, still gasping and caging you in like he was terrified you'd slip away.

He hated how he was too caught up in his own pleasure to see you finishing again but at least you were still here. His cum stained your insides, your walls were so tight around him there was no way he'd be pulling out of you anytime soon. His cock was softening now but he stayed still inside you, twitching against your body as his sweat dripped down onto you.

It was then when you smelt the blood again, and once again your eyes opened lazily to see that his neck was still dripping from where your fangs had been and you only started to notice how pale he was.

He was more tired than you, given that he was human, so you rolled him over with a gasp as his softened cock rested inside you. You didn't think twice, gently running your tongue over his wound, cleaning him and ridding the evidence of what you had done.

You had taken so much from him.

He could do nothing but enjoy the feeling of your tongue against him. His breath caught and there was a low, almost inaudible sound of pleasure as you tended to him and you could feel the way his hands weakly gripped your thighs, his touch still desperate in the aftermath of everything. He didn't question what you were doing, in fact he didn't even care if you were draining what remained of him. He really didn't, not when your naked body rested so comfortably on top of his while your cunt warmed his cock. So he laid there, eyes closed and enjoying the feeling.

After a few moments you were done, pulling your mouth away from his skin to see the now closed holes. There was a mark that would clear up in a few days, but for now the bleeding had stopped, and he needed rest.

You sighed after admiring your work, the tension in your chest slowly melting away as you lifted your gaze to his face, only to find him already watching you. 

He spoke about you being beautiful, but gods had he seen himself?

His lids were heavy and his eyes soft, so tender that your breath hitched in your throat. You had never seen him so.. relaxed. Then, he smiled and you couldn't understand how he could look at you like that. How was it possible for someone to look at you like that?

To admire you so openly, to touch you so gently even after seeing the parts of yourself that made you a monster?

With a sigh you shifted, laying your head on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing rocking you into a gentle comfort. His hands found your back, gently running up and down your spine as though he were offering comfort in his own way.

You weren't sure how long passed, but you stayed where you were and his cock had already slipped out from you and you once again felt empty. The feeling of his seed spilling out of you was uncomfortable and you wanted to clean yourself up but you were terrified that if you moved he'd realised what happened and kick you out.

As if he hadn't been the one to seduce you. 

"You're still here..." Rafayel’s voice broke the silence, low and raspy as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep. You tilted your head up to look at him, your face close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. 

"I am" was all that you could mumble.

His fingers slid through your hair, gathering a few strands between his fingertips and he leaned forward just enough to kiss the top of your head, as if to reassure you that you were still wanted, still needed here.

"Don’t go anywhere" he whispered, his voice rough but filled with quiet intent.

His words lingered and you could do nothing but nod your head, admiring him. He kissed you on your lips again, gently and not desperate, as if he knew now that you weren't going anywhere.

His coronation was tomorrow, he would be king, you had no idea what would change between you but for now you enjoyed being held. For now, you enjoyed not feeling like a monster.

It wasn't until hours later in the crack of dawn when the first light of morning began to creep in through the windows that you were ripped from his arms.

[dozybeez]

Practice Makes Imperfect (Pt. One)

A perfectionist ballerina struggles to find her rhythm-not just in her mandatory hip hop class, but in life itself. When she turns to Hoshi, a laid back hip hop major, he helps her see there is more to life than just structure and control.

→ part two coming soon

pairing: college au! kwon soonyoung x ballerina f!reader

word count: 2.1k

content warnings: slowish burn with eventual smut, internalized perfectionism, performance anxiety, academic and artistic burnout, emotional repression, subtle corruption kink, drugs and alcohol. MDNI

authors note: in no way do I think I'm a good writer. I wrote this a while ago just for self indulgence and decided to post it for fun, so please understand.

songs for this chapter:

- My Body Is a Cage by Arcade Fire

- Liquid Smooth by Mitski

You wake up before your alarm.

Not because you want to. You never want to. But because your body doesn’t know how not to obey the rules you’ve beaten into it. The light isn’t even up yet when your hand smacks the alarm off out of pure reflex. You’re already moving, already stretching your calves against the edge of your mattress like you’re warming up for war. In a way, you are.

You move through your morning like a machine. Hair in a bun. Breakfast by 6:00. Coffee black. Gym by 6:30. Run four miles. Stretch. Shower. Be on campus by 8:00 with enough time to revise yesterday’s math notes before your 9:00 a.m. class.

It’s exhausting, but it works. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

You’re double majoring in Ballet and Mathematics. Most people can’t wrap their heads around it when you tell them. As if they’re opposite sides of the spectrum. But they’re not—not really. They both depend on precision. Repetition. Obedience. Structure. The ability to show your work and leave no room for interpretation.

People think ballet is art. Sometimes it is. But mostly, it’s numbers. It’s angles and physics and symmetry. It’s learning how to master your body so completely that it all becomes invisible to the audience. Seamless. Effortless. That’s the lie. That’s the goal.

You’ve been dancing since before you could spell your own last name. You don’t remember a version of yourself that wasn’t chasing perfection. That wasn’t stretching through injury, re-tying pointe shoes with shaking hands, staring into studio mirrors until your own reflection looked back at you like a stranger.

Everyone thinks you’re talented. What they don’t understand is that it’s not talent—it’s terror.

You don’t know how to be bad at something. You’ve never been allowed to be.

Your ballet instructor always said that if you have a backup plan, you’re already planning to fail. So you never told her about your math major. About the hours you spend calculating things no one will ever dance to. About the tiny voice in the back of your mind that keeps whispering: What if you don’t make it? What if all of this wasn’t enough?

You lug your backpack to every rehearsal even though everyone else just brings a water bottle and their shoes. But you can’t not bring it. You’d feel naked without it. Inside are your lecture notes, your meal plan, your backup charger, your vitamin C tablets, and three different highlighters. Control, contained in a zippered compartment.

There are no missed classes. No spontaneous nights out. No caffeine after 7 p.m. No social media during meals. Your calendar is color-coded and your playlists are sorted by tempo. You even schedule time to cry, though if it is a good day, you cancel.

It’s easier this way.

If you follow the rules, you won’t fall behind.

If you don’t fall behind, you won’t fail.

If you don’t fail, you won’t have to ask what happens next.

You’ll get the solo. You’ll join a company. You’ll make something of yourself before your body betrays you the way every ballerina’s body eventually does. That’s the plan. That has to be the plan.

There’s no room for error. No room for breaks. You’ve trained yourself out of both.

Because if you stop for even a second—everything might fall apart.

⸻

You’re not used to mirrors being this cruel.

In ballet, at least the reflection has grace. In hip hop, it just confirms what you already fear: you don’t belong here.

You’re not sure who thought it was a good idea to make Ballet majors take cross-disciplinary dance. Probably some sadistic department head who thinks exposure equals growth. Which is rich, considering all you’ve been exposed to this past hour is the fact that you move like a malfunctioning robot.

The music’s too loud. The mirrors are too honest. And your professor looks exhausted just watching you.

“Again,” she says, voice clipped.

You fall into the steps again—if you can call them that. Your limbs are tight, too calculated. You don’t bounce, don’t melt into the beat like the girl to your left does. You don’t ride the music, you choke it.

The routine ends. Everyone else is panting, laughing, high-fiving. You’re standing frozen in the mirror, jaw locked.

Your professor clears her throat. “You’re technically accurate. But there’s no flow. No rhythm. You’re… too stiff.”

The word lands like a slap.

Too stiff.

As if your body doesn’t understand what it’s being asked to do. As if discipline is a curse here instead of a gift.

You nod once, trying to swallow it down. You keep your face neutral, your spine straight. But something ugly starts crawling up your throat.

After class, you don’t talk to anyone. You shove your water bottle into your bag and speed-walk out of the studio before the tears can get any traction. It’s not even that you were the worst in the room—though maybe you were—it’s that for the first time in a long time, you felt exposed. Like the armor you’ve spent years building doesn’t work here.

⸻

You sneak back into the dance building by 10 that night before slipping into one of the vacant studios.

The lights are off, but you don’t bother turning them on. You need the quiet. The dark. The control. You shed your hoodie like muscle memory and begin putting on your pointe shoes, each movement clipped and clean. Your limbs are trembling, not from fatigue—but from something deeper. Something raw.

You throw yourself into the routine you’ve been rehearsing for months.

It’s a solo. Four minutes long. You’ve nailed it before—technique perfect, transitions seamless. But tonight, every step feels like a punishment. You slam into your fouettés too early. Miss your landing on the arabesque turn. There’s no audience, but your face flushes like there is.

You start over.

And again.

And again.

Each time harder. Tighter. You stretch until your legs scream. Force your body to obey until the pain pushes everything else out.

You dance until you can’t think.

You dance until the mirrors stop talking back.

You dance like perfection will undo the feeling of failure clawing at your chest.

Eventually, you collapse to the floor. Chest heaving. Eyes burning.

You tell yourself it’s just the sweat.

⸻

You weren’t planning to stay this late.

Your bones ached, your legs felt like jelly, and your calves had started screaming somewhere around the third hour. But you had a quiz the next morning and a ballet evaluation in two days, so your mind didn’t care how your body felt. You stayed. You always stayed.

It was a miracle you even remembered to eat.

Now, finally—finally—you were done. Kind of.

The studio clock blinked 12:47 AM in pale green. You were the only one left in the building, as usual. Just you and your exhausted reflection, slick with sweat and anxiety under the too-bright fluorescent lights.

You reached for your backpack—the one you dragged around like a safety blanket even to rehearsals. Inside was your laptop, your textbooks, and a perfectly organized stack of notes and assignments. You had submitted every paper on time, aced every test, and somehow still managed to keep your GPA intact. You didn’t allow yourself to slip, no matter how tired you were.

Because failure wasn’t an option.

Ballet helped. It always did. Or at least you told yourself it did.

For three hours, you’d been able to lose yourself in it. The lines, the form, the familiar ache of precision—each step like a prayer whispered under your breath. Your body remembered even when your mind didn’t. You didn’t have to think, you just had to obey. In the echo chamber of your movements, you could forget how humiliated you’d felt in hip hop class.

“You’re too stiff,” your professor had said earlier that day, not unkind but blunt, in front of everyone. “There’s no flow. You’re not letting the music move through you.”

Like your muscles were marble. Like your whole body had forgotten how to breathe.

The words clung to you all evening, even now, tucked into the corners of your shoulders like bruises. You knew he was right. You hated that he was right.

In ballet, you didn’t have to flow. You had to be exact. You had to hit every count with razor-edged sharpness. You could be a machine. You could be perfect.

So you stayed late.

Practiced harder.

Punished yourself, maybe.

Because you didn’t want to be bad at something. And if you couldn’t make yourself flow like the music wanted, you’d at least do what you knew: outwork the ache.

You didn’t even glance at the mirror before leaving. You already knew what you’d see.

The hallway was still, almost eerily so. The kind of quiet that makes you realize how loud your brain is. Your shoes scuffed softly against the tile, the only sound between the studios and practice rooms. You were already rehearsing a mental to-do list—shower, email Professor Greer, review unit circle identities, remember to check if the spring showcase had updated the cast list—

Then you heard it.

A low thump. Then another. Music.

Not piano. Not violin. Not anything meant for pliés and pirouettes.

It was deep and pulsing, like a heartbeat echoing through the building’s chest. You froze mid-step, your brows knitting as you tilted your head toward the sound.

It was faint, but rhythmic and you followed it.

The sound drew you past Studio A, past the empty dressing rooms and vending machines that hadn’t worked since freshman orientation. You hesitated as you neared the last door: Studio C.

The door was slightly ajar, just enough to let the music bleed out into the hallway. A shadow moved inside. Someone was still dancing.

You should’ve kept walking.

But your hand moved without thinking, fingers curling around the edge of the doorframe as you eased closer, careful not to make a sound. You peeked through the narrow crack.

And there he was.

Back to you. Shirt damp. Hair a mess.

His whole body moved like it was made of smoke and sound. Controlled chaos. You couldn’t look away.

Up close, he was… beautiful. But not in the polished, pristine way you were used to.

His dyed blonde hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty strands, the ends curling a little at the nape of his neck. His skin glowed under the studio lights, warm and flushed with exertion. A silver chain swung around his throat, catching light every time he moved. His black tank top clung to his toned frame—shoulders strong, arms cut and lean like he was built for this exact kind of motion.

And his legs—his whole stance—radiated confidence. Power that wasn’t rehearsed or clean. It was raw. Unapologetic. Loose.

You stared, transfixed, while your lungs forgot how to function. His body carved shapes through the air, and it was messy—but in a way that worked. He danced like he didn’t give a single fuck about what anyone thought.

God. What was that like?

You leaned closer without realizing it.

And then—he turned.

You hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t even breathed, but his head snapped toward the door like he’d felt you watching. His eyes landed directly on yours.

Time stopped.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared.

His chest rose and fell beneath the clinging fabric. Sweat glistened along his jaw. His mouth parted slightly in surprise—just enough to knock the air clean from your lungs.

Your entire body went rigid.

You stumbled backward, your bag thudding against your hip as your heart sprinted into your throat. You didn’t wait to see what he’d say. You didn’t want to know.

You turned.

And bolted.

Your steps echoed as you power-walked down the hallway, mortified and breathless, arms clutched tightly around your middle like you could somehow hold all your shame in. Your face burned. You didn’t stop until you were out of the building, into the night air, and halfway across the quad.

He’d seen you.

Worse—he’d caught you watching him.

You dragged your palms down your face and groaned into the dark. What the hell were you thinking?

But the image wouldn’t leave.

The way he moved. The beat pulsing beneath his skin. The look on his face when he saw you.

You lay in bed later, twisted in sheets and guilt, staring at your ceiling like it held answers.

But all your brain played was him.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop replaying that moment. Over. And over. And over.

You didn’t even know him.

But now you couldn’t get him out of your head.

⸻

let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for this <3

[possesseddesiress]

Switch Up: First Level

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Switch Up: First Level (English Version)

My name is Ethan, I'm going to finish high school in a few months and I feel like I didn't live that experience like I was supposed to. I always hung out with my two usual friends, didn't go to parties, didn't even have my first kiss, I hung out in the shadows, like a ghost.

With nothing in particular to be remembered, a zero to the left.

Very different from other guys at my school: popular, muscular, handsome, a hit at parties. I envied them.

I wanted to be one of them with all my might.

To go beyond being a shadow that blended in with the wall in the hallways, to be like one of those big jocks, popular guys, even those “badass” looking guys who seemed to be all the rage because of that.

— This sucks - I muttered in the library, accompanied by my friends: Logan and Miles.

Logan was a chubby guy, with a few pimples on his face and a comic geek, just at that moment he seemed engrossed in everything as he had his head hidden inside a new hero tome.

— Being in the library? - Miles asked. Thin, pale and with thick glasses that made his eyes look like binoculars, he was a genius, although he had a strange hissing sound every time he spoke.

— Yeah, what about the parties? It's high school, we should be doing other things than being confined to a library like rats.

— We're not popular for that sort of thing - Logan mused, barely peeking his head out of his reading.

— Plus no one notices us - Miles complemented, making what appeared to be doodles in his notebook.

— And doesn't that frustrate you? Don't you wish that we could have more? To have more experiences, more fun, guys at our feet.

Something I forgot to mention, all three of us are gay.

— And does it help to imagine that?… You're not going to change anything by yearning for more - Logan whispered in a pessimistic tone.

I sighed, I knew he was right. I just kept quiet, with a silence between the three of us until Miles stood up suddenly, a smile on his lips.

— Eureka! - he shouted with the notebook in hand, a loud ‘Shhh’ was heard from the librarian, to which he sat back down, but without erasing that smile.

— Do you feel good? - I asked. To which he interrupted me, speaking quickly because of his excitement.

— Better than ever, I've been feeling what you describe for three years now, it's been trial after trial, failed experiments trying to find a way to get it, but I finally got it.

— What the hell are you talking about?

— This! - he held out his notebook, showing me the contents on it. What I saw as scribbles before, now made sense: they were blueprints. There was a detailed outline of some kind of rectangular box, with formulas, calculations and other symbols that I couldn't quite understand.

— A… box?

— It is a remote control. Or so it seems - he detailed, pointing to the schematic - it is a bioelectric control, it is designed to launch a double signal that exchanges neural pulses between two individuals and-

— In English, Miles.

— It is a control that would allow consciousness to be switched between two bodies.

I thought about what he was saying. But it was impossible, wasn't it? What he was describing sounded perfectly like something from science fiction movies.

— But you'd still have to assemble it, design the parts, the wiring…

— No - he said, rummaging in his backpack to pull out a small remote control, it looked like something from a garage. With two buttons: one green and one yellow - I just had to complete some calculations.

On one side, it seemed to have a knob, around it were different numbers. Miles lifted the lid to move a couple of wires or join them together, then closed it and moved the knob, looking for a frequency, I guess.

— Still, I don't think it's something possible, I mean…. I believe in you, dude, no doubt you are a genius but I think this kind of thing is beyond….

— Your mental capabilities, Miles - and out of nowhere, the speaker seemed to be Logan. With the only detail, that it wasn't really Logan, it was me.

I found myself looking at cartoons, heroes saving the world and things my friend was reading earlier. I felt heavier, but there was something weird about it all too… I felt a different weight in my pants.

I spread my legs a little, feeling something thick fall against the chair - damn, Logan sure had something hidden between his chubby legs!

I looked up warily, finding my reflection checking my pecs. He looked at them curiously, running his hands over the flat surface as he smiled.

— Were you saying something, Ethan? - Miles said with a smirk on his lips. I looked at my new hands, completely surprised by the experience. They were very different from mine, a little more pigment on them, bigger and bulkier, with small, stubby fingers. It certainly wasn't the best body but there was something about me that sent a load of blood down there. And yes, “it” was big.

— Did you just use us as guinea pigs? - My old voice rang out, it was strange to “see” me there, clearly it was me, my same face, clothes, complexion, absolutely it was all me. But the stance, the body language, the way he spoke… it was definitely Logan.

— It was a risk he was willing to take for us, besides. I had already calculated the dangers, nothing would have happened.

— And why didn't you try it on yourself?

— And what my conscience would have ended up in the air who knows where? No thanks.

I felt a little annoyance towards Miles. But all that was… spectacular. If it had worked on us, then anything could. I could been any athlete! A class rep, one of those artsy kids or the welcoming committee, a teacher, some sexy parent. Whoever!

— And now?…

— First let me try something - Miles pointed at each of us again, first at Logan, pressing the yellow button, and finally at me, pressing the green button.

I didn't feel anything. It was just from one moment to the next watching me and the other, watching Logan. I touched my body again, feeling a little more relief at finding my correct measurements. There was one detail though, my manhood was undoubtedly stiff, almost rock hard.

I looked at Logan in confusion, to which he just shrugged his shoulders.

— It was exciting to lose almost all my weight in less than a second, sorry.

There was silence between us again. Not because of discomfort, but because of all that this implied.

— And now?

— Now you choose what to do, of course - Miles settled back in his seat, almost looking like some kind of CEO proposing a new business strategy - To continue in our bodies and the miserable life we lead, or find some body we like.

There was a bit of silence. And the first to break it was Logan.

— Let's do it.

— Great, I'm glad you're both joining me in this - a smile loaded with confidence emerged from Miles - I think we have the plan, but now the million dollar question remains. Who?

There were at least three hundred of guys in the entire high school, all grades, all clubs. Tall, muscular, thin, stocky, exchange, local, wealthy, middle class. It was like walking into a buffet.

— Do you have someone in mind for you…?

— Oh, yeah, sure. Blake Jones.

— Fuck, are you kidding?! The major captain of the sports team? - Logan was unduly surprised.

Although I partly understood. Blake was good at almost every sport, he'd been the captain of at least 4 different disciplines, king of the prom, made almost every girl nervous, teachers and moms included. He was like a god walking on earth, his plan felt like taking the body of Hercules.

— Who else? - Miles raised his eyebrow, as if the question was silly - I want him, I want that greatness.

There was something in his gaze that chilled my skin, though I understood the sentiment... Miles had been in the shadows of many things just because of his looks and the way he spoke, it was clear he wanted the perfect “vehicle” to go with his brain.

— So… I want Caleb Hawks - Logan said.

Miles let out a laugh.

— Don't make it up, it's a joke, right? - But Logan was silent - The brainless guy in school with the worst smell of all, is it for real?

Miles was right, Caleb was known for his idiocy, his bad smell and for being relatively “unpleasant”. There was something about him that could be striking, he admitted, though he didn't quite know what that something was.

— Can it or can't it? - Logan said seriously.

— Yes, yes. It's your decision, chill, man - Miles said. To which it seemed to calm down Logan, so he went back to hiding behind his comic book - And you, Ethan, who will be your prize?

My mind was working like crazy, going through all the grades, all the sports and art clubs, student associations, exchange programs, teachers? It was an endless menu of options. But then I thought of him: Ruben Hernandez.

Part of the art committee, good actor, influencer and with attributes to die for, despite not being part of any sports team, he certainly had a perfect body.

— Ruben.

— The Latino?

— Will you also give me a but?

— Not at all, I'm just surprised at your choices, folks. I thought you would pick captains and jocks, but I respect your choices.

Logan looked up, finally closing the comic book.

— So when do we start?

— Easy. Everyone hunts for what they want.

Then Miles extended the control to us, waiting for whoever would take it first.

To be continued.

----

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages.

This is the first part of “Switch Up”, a new series for the blog, I hope you like it, I know this first episode was a little short, but the next ones will certainly be longer to follow the whole adventure of Ethan and his friends.

See you in the next story… Who knows what body you'll occupy this time?

----

[sabertoothwalrus]

I dunno if this is asking too much of your time/being obnoxious but, what sort of study/practice would you recommend for someone who wants to do comics professionally but can't go to college for it/is financially strapped?? Thank you for reading this!

well, considering I’m not going to school to do comics and have never done comics professionally, I definitely think it’s something you can teach yourself! I’ve thought about doing graphic novels, but haven’t done much research. I can share what general information I know.

The skills you’d use to make storyboards stronger are VERY transferrable to the ones that make comics stronger. It’s best to have a good sense of perspective, storytelling/pacing, visual clarity, action, etc.

Comics have a fun little quirk where you can really play with time in a way that storyboards can’t. In a storyboard, if two characters have their mouths open at the same time, the animator will assume they’re speaking at the same time. But in comics, you can have multiple moments in a singular panel, and time will “pass” as the reader’s eye moves across it.

There’s lots of different ways to arrange comics. The webtoons-style scroll comics are very popular right now, and they’re nice in the sense that you spend less time worrying about how an entire page is arranged, BUT it makes it harder if you ever decide to sell a physical version. Spending the extra time at the beginning to set up your formatting will save you trouble in the long run.

Also consider time. Making a comic can be a long term commitment. Figure out how frequently you can produce finished pages without burning out— daily? Three times a week? Once a week?— and calculate how long it’d take you to fill up a volume. Would it be your full time job, or would you be working on top of that? A lot of serialized comics can be a 10+ year commitment!!

There’s also publishing independently, or working for a studio. Indie comics will give you more freedom for what your story/art direction/deadlines will be, but comics are very oversaturated and hard to get readers looking at your work. A studio will help with that kind of thing, but depending where you go, you may be illustrating based on a concept someone else has written (which— that can be preferable for some people!).

But regardless, the best way to study comics is by reading comics! Pay attention to art styles you like (and if it has an entire team of assistants helping it look that way), pay attention to speech bubble arrangements, how value is used, how panels are shaped. And pay attention to when you’re confused too! You can learn from other artists’ mistakes.

and draw a lot. I started doing “comics” ~2016 by drawing all the panels on a page in my sketchbook, and then taking pictures of each part zoomed in with my phone, and then posting the panels as individual images. At some point that translated to me doing digital comics where I draw on one canvas, and make a new layer for each panel. I do this a lot still! And more recently I’ve been putting an effort into doing paneled comics. It’s not as hard as it used to be for me, but now I have almost 10 years of comic experience under my belt!! So keep drawing!!! Just do it a lot and you’ll get better

[aventurineswife]

I physically need to read a fic with a sober reader who witnesses how goofy Kaveh and Veritas can get when they're drunk and is just shocked that they're capable of being THIS playful and unhinged. Bonus if the reader records them and teases them about it later on.

Under the Influence

Summary: When Kaveh and Ratio drink a bit too much, their usually serious and refined personas melt away, revealing a goofy, playful side that shocks their sober partner. As Kaveh balances wine glasses on his head and Ratio narrates absurdly dramatic tales, you capture the hilarity on video and tease them about their drunken antics later. What begins as a drunken display of silliness turns into a heartwarming moment where the two intellectuals let go of their usual restraint and embrace their more carefree sides.

Tags: Kaveh x Reader x Ratio, Fluff, Humor, Drunken Shenanigans, Teasing, Playful Dynamics, Sober Reader, Lighthearted Banter.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Light swearing, Mild inebriation and the silliness that follows.

[Part 2]

You had always known Kaveh as the passionate architect, the one who threw himself into his work without a second thought. His sharp eyes were usually filled with intensity, whether he was sketching out blueprints or discussing the intricacies of his designs with a fervor that could be described as borderline obsessive. On the other hand, Dr. Veritas Ratio, or as he liked to be called, Dr. Ratio, was known for his unmatched intellect, his sharp wit, and his imposing presence as a scholar of the highest order. He was always calm, calculated, and logical in everything he did.

But tonight, everything had changed.

The three of you—Kaveh, Ratio, and yourself—had been winding down after a particularly long day. A few drinks were shared, mostly to calm the nerves after a heated debate between Kaveh and Ratio about the nature of beauty versus logic in architecture. You had opted for a glass of water, wanting to stay sober for the evening.

The first drink had seemed harmless enough, then the second, and soon enough, the two of them were... well, a different version of themselves.

Kaveh, normally an epitome of elegance, was now sprawled across the couch, his arms flailing about as he attempted to convey the complexity of his latest architectural vision with a drunk logic all his own. Ratio, on the other hand, had started laughing—genuinely laughing—a sound that was so foreign coming from him, you almost couldn’t believe it.

You stood nearby, observing the scene with a combination of disbelief and amusement. Kaveh was currently trying to balance a glass of wine on his head, apparently convinced that this would somehow make him look more refined.

“Look, look!” Kaveh slurred, gesturing grandly with his arms. “An architect is a true artist, right? And art is about balance! And this, my dear Ratio, is balance!” He gave a triumphant grin, the glass teetering dangerously on his head as he struck a dramatic pose.

Ratio, who had been sitting in a more reserved manner just moments ago, now seemed to have completely let go of his usual composure. He was clutching his sides, laughing harder than you had ever seen him laugh in all the time you had known him.

“I never thought I'd see the day when Kaveh, the ‘Master of Aesthetics,’ would be reduced to a—what did you call it?—a ‘drunken genius’ in his own right!” Ratio managed to say between bursts of laughter, his voice unusually high-pitched in his state.

Kaveh, however, wasn’t finished yet. With an exaggerated gesture, he began to dramatically “sing” an operatic rendition of what was undoubtedly the most nonsensical and off-key song you had ever heard. You couldn’t help but snicker as he added hand movements for extra flair.

“You should definitely get a recording of this,” Ratio said, wiping away tears from the corner of his eyes. “This is legendary, and no one would believe it if you told them.”

Your eyebrows shot up in realization. A mischievous smile crept onto your face as you reached for your phone. You had to document this moment—it was too precious to be forgotten.

As you pressed record, the two men’s antics continued, utterly unhinged. Kaveh was now rolling on the floor, pretending to be a cat in an exaggerated display of theatrical nonsense, while Ratio began narrating an imaginary tale of "the drunken architect and the scholarly fool" in a deep, overly dramatic voice that sounded like he was auditioning for an epic movie role.

“Once upon a time, there was a brilliant architect,” Ratio began, sounding almost serious, “who sought to balance the world with a glass of wine on his head. But lo and behold! His genius was thwarted by a foolish scholar who...”

“Hey!” Kaveh interrupted, still lying on the floor but with a playful pout on his face, “I’m not a fool! I’m an artist, Ratio! A true visionary!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all. Your phone’s camera captured every moment—the dramatic poses, the ridiculous banter, and Kaveh’s insistence that he was both an architect and a revolutionary philosopher in the same breath. Ratio’s narrative voice only made it all the more surreal.

“And as the great architect’s impossible balance failed,” Ratio continued, “he lost his grace and fell into the arms of a drunken fool who had, ironically, become a greater scholar in his drunken stupor than he ever was sober.” He paused and gave you a wink as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Should I start charging for this performance?”

“Oh, stop it, you,” Kaveh protested, his voice slurred but still full of mock indignation. “You’re just jealous because my artistic flair is more... refined than your boring lectures.”

That was it. You burst out laughing, clutching your phone in one hand as you tried to contain yourself. The two men had completely abandoned any sense of dignity, and you were witnessing a side of them you’d never expected—Kaveh, who prided himself on being a refined, somewhat dramatic figure, and Ratio, usually so stoic and controlled, both completely unhinged in a drunken stupor.

You stopped recording for a moment, both of them still lost in their own silly world.

“You both are ridiculous,” you teased, still chuckling. “I can’t believe I’m seeing this side of you.”

Kaveh shot you a grin, his earlier dignity long gone. “Oh, you better believe it. You’ve unlocked the true genius of Kaveh and Ratio!”

“Geniuses,” Ratio echoed with a wry smile, his head still spinning slightly from the wine. “I have never met two people more qualified to—”

“—make fools of ourselves?” Kaveh interrupted, finishing Ratio’s sentence with a dramatic flair.

“Exactly!” Ratio said, as if this was the revelation of the century. He staggered slightly and straightened himself up, clearly attempting to reclaim some of his usual poise. “You have to admit, we are rather amusing when not bound by the chains of intellectual superiority.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter. You pointed your phone back at them, capturing the absurdity of the moment. “This is gold. I’m going to make sure everyone hears about ‘Drunken Genius Kaveh’ and ‘Scholar Ratio’ forever.”

At that, Kaveh made a playful, exaggerated bow from the floor. “As long as I’m remembered for my art, I have no complaints!”

Ratio, still swaying slightly, joined in, offering an over-the-top, formal bow that had you in stitches. “Indeed. May our genius be immortalized, even if it’s through the lens of... let’s say, questionable decisions.”

You laughed again, feeling a warmth in your chest at the sight of these two intellectuals, usually so serious, embracing the chaos of the moment. It was clear that beneath all the genius and the hard exterior, they had their own quirks, their own human sides—unfiltered, unrefined, and entirely lovable.

Before you could stop yourself, you playfully raised your phone and said, “So, are we getting this on record? Or should I keep the next few minutes a secret?”

“Oh, no,” Kaveh interjected, suddenly sitting up, “absolutely not. This is an exclusive performance!”

Ratio smirked. “Right. And we’re expecting royalties for that footage.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “We’ll see about that.”

[104cadetlauren]

Levi’s Eye Panel in Chapter 132 Shows the Stages of Grief—Except Acceptance

If you're a Levihan shipper like me, you already know the infamous scene between Hange and Levi in Chapter 132, or what we collectively call “Levi’s goodbye and Hange’s sacrifice.”

The most memorable moment in that chapter is Levi giving Hange the modified Scout salute. But what I want to focus on is Levi’s eyes. His eyes were drawn in three distinct panels, which, to me, means Isayama wanted us to feel Levi’s inner turmoil. Each panel expresses a different emotion—and what amazed me is that the anime added/changed the final panel.

If you notice, the anime version conveys the same emotional weight—except for one detail: the scrunched nose (attached on the coming paragraphs). That small change, for me, added a different layer. In the manga, it was despair. In the anime, it felt like… anger. And that shift gave us a new perspective.

So I placed the panels side by side, and what resonated with me was how they mirrored the stages of grief—except acceptance.

A quick psychology note: the five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. These stages can vary in order and intensity depending on the person.

Let’s go back to Levi’s eye panels.

The eye panel happens after Hange says, “So just let me walk away.”

Her words sounded like an order—firm and final. There was no convincing her otherwise. That’s how it came across to Levi. They refused to look at each other, but if you pay attention to Hange’s eyes, she’s scared. She doesn’t want to die, and she doesn’t want to leave Levi behind.

We all know what Hange looks like when she's obsessed with Titans—excited, animated. This wasn’t that. This was fear disguised as courage. But she could never fool Levi.

Now look at the manga panels (Right to Left): to me, they look like Bargaining. Depression. Denial.

And the panel added in the anime? That’s ANGER. The fury of a man who has lost too much to cry.

Remember the nose scrunch I am talking about that is not in the three panels above?

Now let’s try to digest each stage of grief through Levi’s eyes based on how I interpreted them. (This is deep headcanon territory—so you’ve been warned.)

Bargaining (laced with regrets)

Is there any other way?

Should I stop her?

What if I stayed behind instead? Could I buy us more time? Think—there must be another way. I can’t lose the last person I truly care about. Why does everything I touch die?

We can almost hear the chaos in his mind. Bargaining is desperation dressed as strategy. Levi’s a soldier. He’s trained to assess, recalculate, find alternatives. But in this moment, his calculations are just grief trying to negotiate with fate.

And Levi, in that instant, is willing to offer himself.
But deep down, he knows—Hange won’t let him. She’s already chosen.

If I wasn’t injured, maybe I could do it.
If I were faster. Stronger. If I hadn’t made so many damn mistakes.

Bargaining isn't always with God—it’s often with yourself. It's guilt trying to rewrite the past. It’s the need to trade something, anything, to undo the inevitable.

And he respects her too much to strip that choice away.

Depression

Paralyzed. Defeated.

Levi can’t move. He’s stuck. All he hears is the rumble of the approaching Colossal Titans. The ticking clock.

Why am I still alive?

What’s the purpose of being here, existing and surviving if I just kept on losing the people I care about. Kuchel, Petra, Olou, Erwin, My Squad, and now Hange. For the freedom of humanity, yes, what does that mean really? Is surviving and choosing humanity worth all the pain I suffered? I hope so…

If only I wasn’t injured, we wouldn’t be in this situation where I have to lose someone again.

If I wasn’t injured, I could’ve fought—either instead of her, or at least alongside her. Why?

Denial

Levi knows Hange doesn’t want to die.

Imagine spending years protecting this one person. (Even if you're not a shipper, let's agree that after Hange lost her left eye, Levi is always seen standing on her right—call it platonic or romantic, it's protection.) He even pauses during missions just to check on her. Now, that same person is ordering him to let her walk to her death and he was supposed to just accept it.

Levi’s inner turmoil:

We had hope. We could’ve flown the plane.

We could’ve stopped Eren in time.

Why is this happening now? Why do I have to choose again—Why does it always come down to this? This is too much, I refuse to accept this.

Then the added anime panel:

ANGER

Have I not sacrificed enough?

Will her death finally mean something?

What the hell was it all for?

If I let her walk away… will we be free then?

This isn’t hot, screaming rage we used to see in Levi. It’s quiet and suffocating. The kind that eats you alive. It’s not directed at Hange. It’s directed at the world. At himself. At the cruel cycle of sacrifice and survival.

Why am I even called “Humanity’s Strongest” if I can’t save a single one of them?

Then, the panels move away from his eyes. We don’t see them when he gives the modified salute and says, “Dedicate… your heart.” Notice the ellipsis. The pause. We can assume it was hesitation.

The eye panel missing here, I believe, is acceptance. Because Levi doesn’t really accept it—not in that moment at least. But he has to let Hange believe he does. He pretends to accept it without looking at her. He doesn’t want her to see the pain. He doesn’t want her to regret her decision. He respects her, her resolve, her sacrifice.

Or maybe—he refuses to look at her because he can’t. He knows he’ll break if he does. He doesn’t have the willpower to watch her walk away. And maybe the salute was acceptance, in its own way. Like, this is it. It’s too late. But I want you to know how I really feel.

I know it won’t change anything. But I heard you, back in the forest. I’m letting you go. My heart is yours. Do what you want with it. Trample it. Reject it.

But if you can… please come back alive.

So that’s my how I interpreted Levi’s detailed eye panel in the manga and the anime. Tell me what you think, let’s exchange ideas!

-Lauren

[flawseer]

#18 - "Fire"

Smaugust 2024

The last few submissions have been mostly visual, but today I want to do something more text-based. I'm always looking for opportunities to ramble ad nauseam about my headcanons and thoughts, but am usually hesitant if I don't think I can make a subject interesting or particularly insightful.

A few months back I was playing with the thought of publishing a speculative analysis on Pyrrhian dragon breath weapons, and how they might differ between tribes. I got up to the conceptualization stage, but then @sidyashchiy-na-plakhe came out with a better and more put-together version of what I was thinking about and touched on some similar points, so I filed those plans away to not step on any toes. If you're enjoying this type of deliberation, I recommend that you check out his take, as it is very thoughtfully put together with some cool visuals.

But, seeing as I have no other ideas for this prompt, and since it's been a while since then, I'm going to air out my scrapped draft here. I guess this is a mixture between canon information and headcanons, with a bias toward the latter.

General Information

Each of the seven Pyrrhian tribes is capable of using a kind of orally-discharged means of attack. For the purpose of this deliberation, I am going to refer to all of these as "breath weapons", even though not all of them are activated via exhalation. It will make things easier to talk about.

There are three general factors to each type of breath weapon, those being potency, range, and start-up time. In the case of fire breath--the most ubiquitous type of breath weapon on the continent--these would roughly correlate to the temperature of the flames, how far they can travel from the source while maintaining their shape and intensity, and for how long the fire must be stoked inside of the user before it can be expelled.

How developed these factors are differs for every dragon, but the two biggest determining modifiers are constitution and age. Being physically fit will make your breath weapon more efficient--and thus stronger--because you have better control over your breathing after exertion. As a dragon advances in age, the three factors all increase proportionally. A Mudwing hatchling can produce a puff of flame very quickly, but it will barely heat up the surrounding air. An elder meanwhile might take several minutes to get their fire going, but when they do, the result will be fearsome and devastating.

Fire is the most common element on the continent, with four of the seven tribes being able to command it. I will go through those first and then follow up with the other variants .

Nightwing fire is a dark purple in color, due to a slight variation in the gas component that fuels the flames.

The flames have no particularly outstanding properties strength-wise, but they emit comparatively little light, meaning they don't stand out as much against the night sky. This makes them ideal for low-profile ambushing, but very unsuitable as signal flares.

If a Nightwing ignites an object, the flames will gradually lose this characteristic as they will begin to consume the air around them and turn into ordinary, orange fire.

Nightwing flames are sometimes colloquially referred to as "Moonfire".

Sandwing fire is, on average, the least powerful among all the fire-breathing dragons. In terms of potency and range, flames emitted by a Sandwing of 20 years will be roughly equivalent to those of a twelve-year-old from the other fire-breathing tribes.

Their unique advantage is that Sandwings can produce these flames extremely quickly, usually within seconds. If readying fire takes a dragon 30 seconds, an equivalent Sandwing can do it in 5.

While for most other dragons the use of their breath weapon is a deliberate and calculated affair, the severely reduced start-up time allows Sandwings to "shoot from the hip" without having to commit to the action, making them less predictable in combat.

A popular Sandwing combat technique is to open a fight by blowing a quick plume of weak fire into an opponent's face and then using the resulting distraction to strike with their venomous tails.

Skywings command the strongest and purest variation of fire among all tribes. Their flames come out very straight and can maintain their shape over vast distances.

They can "cook" their fire by holding it inside themselves for longer than necessary. While this becomes unpleasant or even painful if done for long, it will increase the temperature and purity of the resulting flames far beyond what any of the other tribes are capable of.

Flames emitted after doing this for long enough will come out with an intense blue color that can cut through stone.

For dragons afflicted with firescales, all of the fire they breathe will be like this, as their bodies are already channeling flames at all times to fuel the burning scales.

Because Skywing fire is so intense, it is at times difficult to control. Skywings who become emotional will often start smoking from their nostrils involuntarily.

Mudwing fire, sometimes referred to as "moody fire", is very temperamental. Its strength will vary widely based on a number of different factors, not all of them fully understood, making it appear random at times.

The most commonly understood factor that influences a Mudwing's fire is the ambient temperature. Mudwings will struggle to produce flames in environments that are too cold (close to freezing weather, very cold water, etc.). This can be partially mitigated by ingesting hot stews, soups, or beverages before fire usage.

A factor that isn't as well documented is that the Mudwing's fire breath and their uncanny healing factor are fueled by the same source. This means a Mudwing's fire will be strongest when they are healthy, and begin to diminish if they become injured, as their body will divert resources away from the breath weapon to prioritize keeping itself alive, functioning, and mobile.

Mudwings hatched from blood eggs have a tendency to develop poor breath weapons, as their super-charged healing factor--while potent enough to outpace most damage sustained from fire--is even more resource-hungry than that of a regular Mudwing.

Icewings don't breathe fire. Instead, they are able to exhale a stream of frost magic. There is nothing I can think of to scientifically explain all the properties of frostbreath as they are presented in canon, especially with regards to Queen Battlewinner. Ice that makes you lava-proof? Nah, this is straight-up magic. All Icewings are born with a small piece of magic and this is how it expresses itself.

Contrary to popular belief, frostbreath is not stronger than firebreath. In terms of general characteristics, Icewings and Nightwings are actually roughly equivalent.

What makes frostbreath more overtly lethal than fire breath is the magical component. When frostbreath comes in contact with living tissue, it will form ice crystals on and inside the surface. All flesh in contact with these crystals will gradually turn necrotic. This process is very painful.

The crystals are very persistent and it requires sustained exposure to intense heat to melt them. The best way to accomplish this is via prolonged bath in warm water (close to boiling). This method, if applied quickly after the injury, will usually result in recovery after a few hours of bathing.

Getting hit while in a situation with no access to warm water is very dangerous and potentially lethal. If treatment does not begin soon after, the crystals will begin to spread, killing more tissue and making recovery increasingly less likely, especially once the injury spreads to internal organs.

It is not uncommon for soldiers who get hit by frost breath and are caught out in the open with no treatment options to cut off the afflicted body part to minimize tissue loss.

Icewings are more resistant to frostbreath than other dragons, but not fully immune. They can succumb to the same injuries.

If an Icewing suffers an intense burn, particularly in and around the face, they become completely unable to exhale frost until the burn begins to heal.

Rainwings do not have a breath weapon. Instead, they produce an acidic venom within their bodies, which can be administered through biting, or launched at targets through a pair of collapsible, hollow fangs.

The gland that produces this venom needs sunlight to develop properly. Once the Rainwing has been exposed to sufficient sunlight, venom production will begin, and may even continue without further exposure, but it is recommended to sunbathe for at least 5 hours a week to keep the gland healthy and the venom potent.

The venom is strongly corrosive and able to dissolve most organic materials like wood, plant matter, and flesh. It is potent enough that, if it enters another creature's blood stream directly (via bite, an open wound, or the eyes), that creature will die within seconds.

The venom's lethality will rapidly decrease once it separates from the user. If it hits surface tissue and has to burn through layers flesh, it will usually lose too much of its toxicity before it reaches the blood stream (though it will still function as acid and be excruciatingly painful).

Rainwings are immune to their own venom, but not the venom of other Rainwings. Mixing a sample of venom with the venom of a close blood relative will cancel out the destructive properties of both.

Seawings are amphibious dragons who prefer to live in water, but can also go on land and exist there in relative comfort for a decent while. Their body contains an organ that stores water, from which it periodically draws to keep the Seawing's skin from drying out.

When under duress, a Seawing can forcefully expel the contents of this organ through their mouth as a pressurized jet of water. While this is not very destructive, it can momentarily stun aggressors and allow the Seawing to retreat to the safety of a nearby lake or river.

If the blast is held inside and charged up similar to the fire breath of other tribes, the Seawing is able to draw from their body heat to increase the water's temperature to scalding degrees.

[crescencestudio]

๋࣭⭑ Devlog #49 | 6.24.25 ๋࣭⭑

bb i did fckn WORK THIS MONTH U LITERALLY DONT EVEN KNOWWWWWW (but now u will)

MONTHLY DEVLOG TIME!!!

And I have been EAGER FOR THIS ONE. When I say I locked THE FUCK in this month..... OUGGHHHHH.... LET ME SHOW YOU!!!

This month, we had the usual progress on Kuna'a's dev edits (slow but steady) and Etza's line edits. But ON TOP of those edits going on in the background w the editing team, I also had time to go through every single route in the EA build and do the final edits on them. Just to give context, this means I edited 200k words this month, AND BOY WAS IT WORTH IT.

This editing journey included A LOT of things, not just little tweaks to wording here and there. It included polishing the prose, really strengthening character voices, adding more personality branches/choices, and A LOT of reworking for different scenes that I was okay with, but not completely happy with, in the beta versions of the individual routes. On top of reworking scenes, a lot of the routes also got some extra tiny scenes to showcase more cast dynamics, AND because I implemented a shiny new communicator system (which I'll talk about later), there's a lot more messaging conversations going on that I think add a lot more fun and character to your interactions with different LIs.

sneak peek of a new chat convo as an example

I'm really, really, really happy with the writing of the routes now. The characters feel stronger, scenes feel more organic and natural, and the pacing feels much more intentional. And overall the routes just feel a lot more fun!! While I don't think the writing was bad, by any means, before, I do think it's a lot stronger and cohesive now!

I was also able to calculate word counts across routes within the game script, using a Lint feature by another dev. It was a lifesaver because Google Docs gave me just an estimate, but by calculating the word counts within Ren'Py, I have a more accurate word count across the routes. Using this, I adjusted different routes so that the word count is much more even and there's no one route that feels significantly longer than another!

If you think I was making cracked progress on writing, ehehehhee.......................... WAIT UNTIL I TELL YOU ABOUT THIS!!!!

First art accomplishment: I finished THREE sprites for the game!!! (so I only have TWO left now!!!!). I'll showcase one here since I've featured them before, actually. A long, long time ago for those who were here during the Kickstarter ages.

everyone, meet KILUM

Kilum was a stretch goal to have their own route. Unfortunately (for you, but fortunately for me LMAOOOO), we didn't meet that stretch goal. You might remember they look a bit different from the original concept art, and that's because I reworked their color palette after finishing the rest of the Dusk Court's characters so that side of the cast looked a little more cohesive. I'm in love with their design (thanks to bestie @/saffein-e as always), and I hope you're excited to meet them in game! They are certainly A Character!

The other two sprites I finished were actually our two queens HEEH. You will not be meeting them, sorry! Guess you'll have to wait for EA to drop \o/ Anyways, I was really nervous about finishing the sprites in time for the EA build since I had 5 sprites to make, and before this month I had only finished 2 sprites in the span of like 4 years aofsdjaiosjdfaiojsdfioajsdf. So I'm really proud of myself for the sprite progress this month (I always hate making sprites)!

sneak peek feat. eyes. my beautiful children....

We also made CG progress. A LOT of CG progress HEHEHE. Before this month, I had only finished about 26 CGs and that was over the course of like 2 years. That being said, that was while balancing coding beta routes, writing routes, editing, and whatever else I had going on. Now, because I'm locked in on art progress, we have.... *drumroll please*....... 38 CGS FINISHED!!! And that is actually ALL of the ones we need to have done for the EA build!!! So this month, on top of sprite and editing progress, I also finished 12 CGs YEEEAAAAAAAAAA.

Finally, I made some headway on other things this month: one of the biggest being a revamp of the communicator.

my children..... stop fighting....

Big thank you to (@/robobarbie and @/windchimesgames) for the messaging system asset HEHE. now in the game, you will be able to have separate chats for each character and group chats!! I'm still ironing out some kinks with the system and figuring out how to best implement it in the game, but for now, here's a sneak peek of what it's looking like!!!

We also have finally reached a point where we can move forward with voice acting in the game!!! I'll be preparing the lines to send out to the VAs over the next couple of days, but it's so exciting to reach this point since VA is usually what i associate with the Final Stages of production.

I've played a couple of games recently but honestly, so much of my time has been dedicated to Alaris that I haven't had time to do anything like fanart. It's been an ALARIS MONTH BABY!!!

CGs and sprites were the biggest things that I was worried about finishing on time, and given the amount of progress I made on them this month, I think we're in really good shape for EA release!!!

All that's really left for me to do with both editing and like 85% of the art assets out of the way are to finish up the last two character sprites, flesh out the sprite expressions and code those in, and VA! After that, it'll be cleaning for bugs and polishing, so I'm extremely ecstatic over EA progress this past month and hope you all are excited to have it in your hands Very Soon! ^^

Until next time, hopefully I'll bring more exciting news then. Stay cool, especially for those getting hit by the heat waves and general summer heat! <3

[kaciidubs]

#LALALALA_Challenge

❣ Summary: Minho really wanted to see stays do the LALALALA challenge, so you decided to take a shot at it too. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 748 ❣ Warnings: Fluff, humor, reader can't dance, supportive bf! Minho, appearance of SoonieDoongieDori ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Lee Know is referred to as Minho, Min, and Lee Minho, reader is referred to as kitten and darling, barely edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

"Cross, down, cross, down... right- no, left? Left, right, left- up?!"

Groaning softly, you snatched your phone from it's propped position on the TV stand and swiped your thumb across the progress bar, watching the video rewind to the beginning of the tutorial yet again.

Was this your personal hell? Yes.

Were you determined to get this choreography down to impress your dancer boyfriend? Also yes.

You knew the exact moment your fate was sealed for the evening; stumbling across a clip of your boyfriend encouraging thousands of stays to learn the dance and participate in their comeback challenge - and who were you to shy away?

You were a stay, too, which meant you had all the right to attempt the challenge!

Now, if only you didn't have two left feet and the memory of a hamster, then maybe this challenge wouldn't have been so... challenging.

Listening to the extremely familiar song play through your phone again, you watched as the Instagram reel of Minho go on, eyes locked onto every calculated, practiced movement his body made to the rhythm of the song and the mental count of each step.

"Right, left, up-right, left, swing arms down..." A soft meow sounded behind you, the brief interruptions keeping you sane for the past 10 minutes of practicing. "Soonie, you'd think that dating him would give me some magical dance ability, right?"

Another meow, one that sounded oddly sassy, practically telling you that 'We both know that's not how it works'.

"You could've just humored me like Doongie, you know." You mumbled, watching as the clip continued onto the slowed down version of the tutorial, "Okay, let's do this!"

Propping your phone up again, you followed along with his mirrored arm movements, simulating the steps with your upper body as best as you could - you already foolishly attempted the full body test three times, and after nearly twisting your ankle, you decided half your body would suffice.

"Left arm block, chest explode- la, la, la, head nod- la, la, la, la-"

The chorus played out and you sighed heavily, arms sore and your once comfortable t-shirt feeling all too heavy - it had to have been attempt number four, maybe five, and you were finally getting familiar with the normal speed.

"Kitten."

"AH!"

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you spun around to see none other than the same person you were painstakingly following on your phone, watching you with amused eyes and a familiar brown cat nuzzled in his arms.

"Minho?! How long were you watching me?!"

"Long enough to see you miscount the same move three times and counting." He smirked, humor sparkling in his eyes, "You're close though, I'm proud."

Huffing, your crossed your arms over your chest, wincing at the slight strain in your right bicep, "You didn't think to, oh, I don't know, tell me you're home? Maybe even correct me?!"

He gave a few scratches to Dori's head before setting him down on the couch cushion, "I texted you that I was on my way home, you were the one who didn't respond! Plus, you were doing so well, I didn't want to ruin your focus!"

"In other words, you liked watching me mess up."

"It's like watching a child learn that they can move parts of their body in different directions at the same time."

You rolled your eyes, pouting as he pushed himself up from the couch and stride over to you; his hands winding your hips and holding you close.

"I meant it when I said I was proud of you, darling," he cooed, pressing a feather light kiss to your pout, watching your lips turn up slightly. "It doesn't matter if you were the worlds best dancer, or the ace of one step out of the whole song - I saw the effort you were putting into learning it and that's more than enough. I said I wanted to see stays learn and try it, I never said that it had to be perfect."

His soft words melted your heart, your body relaxing in his hold with a soft breath as you blinked up at him with soft eyes. "Can you help me fix where I keep messing up?"

Laughing gently, he nodded, "Of course - next, I'll help you put it together with the steps."

"You have way too much faith in me, Min."

"Or, maybe I want to see you look like a baby deer."

"I love you too, Lee Minho."

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @instabull

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[autumnbaguette]

Toska

Part 3

Tos-Kah

Russian (noun)

An immense ache for nothing and everything all at once. An anguish from the bottom of the heart.

——

Brussel, Belgium.

The Past.

Snow fell like whispered secrets from the sky, blanketing the world in quiet wonder. You stood at the window, hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug, watching flakes swirl and dance with a kind of reckless grace of hot chocolate. What a boring day you thought.

You’ve been undercover for 1.5 years now, in fact you managed to get inside Konni Group. One hell of an operation as they say. The higher up thought that this operation was soup sandwich. It takes too much time and too much resources. But Laswell refused to back down and support the operation so here you are.

“Is that hot chocolate really that good? You’ve been staring at it for a while now.” his voice thick with russian accent broke the silence.

You look at him, his hair is kinda messy, he wear his favorite light blue shirt, he looked somehow tired, which is strange. Makarov is a smart, well calculated and cold man. He is the brain, practically borderline sociopath. At least that was your first impression of him. But now? He’s like different version when he is with you, attentive, well, he is kinda good at reading people anyway. He’s warm, he loves to listen to your ramblings. Not much of a talker. Basically a good lover. Sometimes you can’t believe how can a person have a very different side of personality. Not like a different side of a coin, more like a person who enjoy wearing different mask now and then. Like he can switch off his personality in a flick of a fingers.

“It is good, you want to try it?” Smiling, You offering your hot chocolate to him, knowing well he wont have it.

“I’m good my love.” He answer walking towards you. He stops right in front of you, his hand taking your mug and put it aside on the table.

“Did something happened?” You ask him worry because he just silently hugging you tight, like he’s afraid that you are going to disappear at any moment.

“You are going to stand by me forever yes? I don’t give a fuck about anyone else, but with you, it’s different my love.” His voice steady, you knew, this is not a request or his plead to you. This is an order. Your breath stop for a moment, a pang of sadness hitting your chest. You inhale his scent, your hands wrapped around his neck hugging him tight. I could kill him, right here, right now and finish the mission you thought.

“Of course, I’m not going anywhere. You have me now and forever.”

What a lie.

Breaking the hug, your eyes tracing his face line, drinking the sight of him. Your fingers curls into the fabric of his shirt holding on, not to keep him from going but to remember how it felt to have him close like this. You kiss his lips in a slow and in tenderness, there was no urgency. His hands holding your back, he deepened the kiss, you let him consume you.

——

Task force 141 Base

Interrogation Room

1920

“Fucking hell Laswell, you could’ve give me heads up about this!”

Have you ever got into trouble during school days and they made your parents go to the principal office and now you just sit there awkwardly while your mum and your day fighting about you and you got this guilty feelings but also denial at the same time? Yup, it feels like that now.

“Calm down, Boys. Listen all of you,” Laswell made her way to the table, putting several files related to the mission, “Sergeant Adler was involved in a highly classified undercover ops for CIA called Operation Black Water. The objective was to get hold of financial records called The Book related to Konni Group, follow the money and shut down their operation . Three agents assigned for this mission, Agent James White code name Bear, Agent Daniel Storm code name Badger, and Agent Adler code name Juliet.” Everyone looking at you now, you’re not sure whether its because the code name or because they finally hearing the truth. You just shrug your shoulders, let them judge you thought.

Laswell proceed to explain the details of the mission. You just nod your head here and there, not bothered to give additional details or comment related to it. You just want it all to end, you literally have no energy left now. But you noticed, Ghost is staring at you. He made no comment, only once he nod his head. You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm, you’re overstimulated now.

“Umm, Boss, can i go to the bathroom now? I really need to go.” You ask both Laswell and Price. When they give their permission, you just bolt yourself out from the interrogation room. Made your way to the bathroom nearby and basically throw up but nothing comes out.

Panic attack, right now? Wow great timing.

Your body is thinking way ahead of your brain now, maybe its because you’ve been trying so hard to keep it together, maybe its the flashbacks, maybe its the room. Who knows? Who cares?

You walk to the sink, trying to wash up your face. Then you feel a presence behind you and the moment you open your eyes, there he is. Ghost. Silently standing leaning to the wall watching you.

“Go away please, i will talk to you later, I promise.”

You pay no attention to him, because right now you’re trying so hard to maintain your breathing. Your ears ringing, your eyes cant even focus now, it’s all blurry. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in, your skin prickling with heat and cold at once. A surge of dread rose in your throat, thick and choking, even though you couldn’t name what you were afraid of.

Then you feel it, Ghost’s hand wrapped around waist turning your body facing him. You melted into his arms, and he pulled you close with the kind of tenderness that made the rest of the world disappear.

“Breath, slowly.” His words are quiet. "Breath."

Ghost hands settled gently on your back, anchoring you, pulling you back to the reality. No words passed between you and Ghost—just the hush of shared breath, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. In his embrace, you found warmth, safety, and something deeper: the quiet promise that he was yours , and you are home. Finally.

“Comeback to me Adler.”

to be continued

A/n: thank you for waiting for the update guys, life been getting quite busy. Also what kind of ending we shall have? Happy or angst ? Also let me know if anyone wants to get tagged

Tag list :

@bimboreader @quiet-loser @niazurzolo @rafaelacallinybbay @meepcow @letaliabane

[shadowofthesun123]

My theories on Tyler and his Hyde (split personality, just the name of the monster form or repressed darkness)

Over the nearly three years since the show’s release, we’ve discussed hundreds of times what exactly the writers intended for Tyler and his Hyde. Since season two hasn’t aired yet and we don’t have a definitive answer, I decided to gather all my theories about it in one place.

Version 1 - The Hyde is just the name for the monster form

According to this version, Tyler controlled all his actions in the show, except maybe for the first murders he didn’t remember, and everything he did under Laurel’s orders.

This is quite realistic, because many of Tyler’s actions in the series are pragmatic, manipulative, and calculated. This is the version that haters and fans of “dark Tyler” tend to support.

Most likely, if the writers decide to take him down the villain path, this is the route they’ll follow.

However, it’s still entirely possible to justify him here. The police station scene is easy to explain away (see my Police station scene analysis), the crypt and forest scenes are harder but not impossible, if you stretch things a bit. In the crypt, Tyler was clearly waiting for Wednesday to wake up, he wanted her to see him first. Laurel immediately drives him off as soon as Wednesday regains consciousness.

Why? Maybe he was already starting to lose control behind the scenes, and Laurel didn’t want him present for the kill, fearing it would completely shatter him. His joke was about the date, not about her torture. Wednesday strikes right back at his weakest point, stripping him of subjectivity.

I think at that point, Tyler had already resigned himself to seeing her alive for the last time, and that anger and hatred were a defense mechanism. “If I’m going to lose her anyway, better to hate her.” And she had given him plenty of reasons by then.

Then there’s the forest scene. First question - what was he even doing there? Laurel told him to wait by the boat. He was supposed to leave with her and Crackstone, so why was he in the woods?

I see two possibilities: Laurel sent him to confirm Wednesday was dead and finish her off if not, or maybe hide the body. The second option is that he went back of his own accord, under some pretext, just to see her one last time.

Then the question becomes: how well could he control the Hyde? Was there an order from Laurel to kill Wednesday if she was alive, or to kill anyone in the forest? If there was, it explains everything: he couldn’t resist the order.

Tyler pulls Wednesday close, almost like he wants to kiss her or stall for time, but then starts to transform. Did he want to? Or did he lose control? Or couldn’t resist the order? Maybe he even heard Enid approaching and deliberately stalled to give her time to stop him?

Obviously, these are pretty stretched explanations, but they’re still valid.

In my Eadges of Illusions fic I used this version of how the Hyde works (maybe a little mix with ver 3). It’s simple and convenient, doesn’t require diving deep into psychology - unlike my favorite Version 3.

But I think if the show follows this model, we’ll get a dark Tyler with potential for redemption, but not anytime soon.

Version 2 - Classic split personality

Tyler and the Hyde are two separate personalities sharing one body. They identify as different people and sometimes even have separate names (I’ve seen this in fanfics). Laurel’s serum awakened the dormant second personality.

In this case, Tyler might or might not remember what the Hyde does, but he definitely can’t control it. The Hyde obviously remembers everything Tyler experiences, otherwise, certain plot points in the show wouldn’t make sense.

We’ve seen similar concepts in films like Split or metaphorically in Substance - two personalities born from the same person, clashing and refusing to accept they are one.

Here Tyler is clearly the victim. The one enjoying the murders, tormenting Wednesday in the crypt, nearly killing her in the forest is Hyde.

Tyler isn’t necessarily pure good, and the Hyde isn’t pure evil - they’re just two different people with their own needs and desires. Tyler could be a normal guy who loves Wednesday, while Hyde is a psychopath who relishes killing.

I’m not a big fan of this version, but it’s the easiest way to justify Tyler’s actions.

I suspect the show will go with either this or version one, but Version 3 is my personal favorite. It also feels the most realistic and psychologically grounded, though I doubt the writers will dive that deep. But maybe (I hope!) I’m underestimating them.

Version 3 - The Hyde isn’t a separate personality but a mental state or subpersonality

This theory is based on Carl Jung's concept of the Shadow, Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and the psychological idea of subpersonalities.

Let’s start with a bit of theory.

Jung’s concept of the Shadow refers to the hidden, repressed parts of our psyche. The Shadow contains all the traits, desires, and impulses that we refuse to accept in ourselves and try to suppress or ignore. These can include aggression, envy, fears, passion, weakness - anything that doesn’t fit our “ideal” self-image. The Shadow isn't purely negative. It can also contain repressed talents, desires, and strengths that we’re afraid to express.

Jung believed that for a person to become whole, they must acknowledge, confront, and integrate their Shadow rather than suppress it.

In my view, this concept is exactly what’s reflected in the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Dr. Jekyll wanted to permanently separate good from evil within himself, to become an impeccable person while still releasing his darker desires without consequence. For this, he created a serum meant to “purify” him from evil.

But the serum didn’t work as he expected. It didn’t split good and evil equally - it unleashed his entire repressed dark side, his pure Shadow, embodied in Mr. Hyde. Hyde wasn’t just a part of him. He was the full personification of all Jekyll’s suppressed desires - malicious, cruel, free from conscience. Jekyll, on the other hand, remained a mix: good and evil, but constantly suppressing the latter.

Good couldn’t be separated because a person cannot be purely good without their darker side. But evil broke free entirely. The more Jekyll turned into Hyde, the stronger Hyde became. Eventually, the Shadow took over.

I think something similar happened with Tyler in the show, except he didn’t choose to separate his darker side - Laurel did that to him. And from that moment, both aspects of his psyche became subject to her control.

We can also view Tyler’s situation through the lens of subpersonalities.

Subpersonalities are different parts of a single personality, each with its own roles, desires, and beliefs. For example, a person might have an “inner critic,” an “anxious child,” or a “responsible adult.”

They aren’t fully separate, as in dissociative identity disorder, but they can still conflict.

So, Tyler, like any person, originally had different subpersonalities: a regular guy who wanted love and acceptance, and a repressed, dark, wild side - Hyde.

When Laurel used the serum to separate them, one subpersonality (Hyde) gained full power and freedom, while the other (Jekyll, the regular Tyler) remained weak, suppressed, and exhausted from the internal struggle.

At the start of the series, we mostly see the ordinary Tyler, but as the story progresses, Hyde becomes more dominant.

I believe the breaking point which weakened and displaced Tyler's normal subpersonality was Wednesday’s torture. After that, only Hyde remained (though, again, not as a separate identity, but as Tyler’s dark side without the control of his lighter self).

In general, characters like Marvel’s Hulk or Spider-Man’s Green Goblin are also based on the Jekyll and Hyde concept. In those cases, the serum doesn’t create separate people - it releases the dark side and strips away self-control.

All of this is a metaphor for what happens when we refuse to accept our darker side. In Stevenson’s novel, this refusal led to a tragic ending. But the show could become a kind of fix-it for that story.

In this concept, Tyler’s healing arc would involve accepting his dark side and regaining control.

Specifically:

1. Acknowledge Hyde as a part of himself instead of trying to get rid of him.

2. An open dialogue with Hyde: “Why are you here? What are you protecting? What do you want?”

3. Take responsibility for all actions, including those committed by Hyde.

4. Give Hyde a controlled outlet: creativity, sports, passion, hunting - something where intense emotions can be safely expressed.

Jekyll (and, I believe, Tyler too) struggled because he didn’t want to take responsibility for his dark side. He wanted to either be entirely good or completely surrender to darkness. But true control means saying “I acknowledge both the light and the dark within me, and I take responsibility for how they manifest.”

This perspective also explains why Tyler was drawn to Wednesday. She is a vivid example of someone who accepts her darkness and controls it. Exactly what Tyler lacks. She is perfectly suited to be the person who can help him.

I used this theory in my fanfic Ambivalence.

And I would love for the creators of the show to avoid the easy path and give Tyler a compelling redemption and healing arc.

[youremyheaven]

Jupiter & Rahu : Ditziness & Weird Girl Humor

This post is inspired by an ask I received a while ago

Jupiter & Rahu girls in comedy cinema/television often play airheaded characters who are a bit ditzy and zany. Another feature is that all these characters are mostly harmless, good natured people. They can be mean/blunt but its because of their ditzy, airheaded nature and not out of malice.

All 3 Jupiter naks belong mostly to air signs (Punarvasu- Gemini, Vishaka-Libra, Purvabhadrapada- Aquarius) and same goes for all 3 Rahu naks (Ardra-Gemini, Swati-Libra, Shatabhisha-Aquarius) in fact all Rahu naks come right before a Jupiter nak. I have always personally believed that Rahu & Jupiter are similar in many ways but obviously different as well. Rahu is limitless expansion. Jupiter is boundless expansion within principles.

But all that aside, Jupiter & Rahu are literally air influenced and I do think its the presence of an excess of Air that makes someone come across as "airheaded".

The etymology of the word "airhead" is that one's head is filled with air and is thus empty. I have talked about Jupiter & even Rahu's limitless nature feeling "empty" for the natives themselves. Out of all the elements, air is the only one that can really said to be boundless, its not measurable or calculable, its just there, unlike water or earth or fire. but air has no physical form and while that is liberating, it also makes one feel empty and untethered and these are all emotional issues that a lot of Jupiter/Rahu people deal with.

But anyyywayys,

Cat Valentine on Victorious played by Ariana Grande is a really good example of an airheaded, zany comic character.

Ari has Ardra Sun & Mercury in Punarvasu (Rahu + Jupiter influence)

I will include Mercury placements because Mercury is literally how we communicate with others??

Phoebe Buffay from Friends is another good example of this type of comedy. She is played by Lisa Kudrow's who has Rahu conjunct Ascendant in Punarvasu

Kelly Kapoor from The Office is the ditzy zany delusional gal played by Mindy Kaling who is Ardra Sun & Moon, with Mercury in Punarvasu

Jackie Burkhart on The 70s Show played by Mila Kunis, Swati Moon is a meaner version of this archetype

Meryl Streep- Ardra Sun often speaks and talks this way. Just watch any of her interviews and you can sense that Rahu/Jupiter airy nature/demeanour/comic sense

Janhvi Kapoor, Purvabhadrapada Sun, Mercury in Shatabhisha is known for her "dumb girl persona" that most people think is fake but tbh I just think she's a little slow due to all that Air influence lol

Gracie Allen, Mercury in Punarvasu conjunct Jupiter is an early example of this type of humour and comedy

Cheryl Tunt on Archer voiced by Judy Greer, Mercury in Punarvasu (Saturn in Punarvasu atmakaraka)

Chrissy Snow from Three's Company played by Suzane Somers, Punarvasu Moon & Mercury in Vishaka is a classic example of a ditz

There are notable male ditzy characters as well

Andy from Parks & Rec played by Chris Pratt, Mercury in Punarvasu & Swati Rising

(there's a 10 video limit per post so I cant attach more vids)

Joey Tribbiani, played by Matt LeBlanc, Purvabhadrapada Moon, Mercury in Ardra & Punarvasu Rising is a great example of a male ditz

Harpo Marx- Punarvasu Moon, Mercury in Vishaka he was a silent comedian known for his highly exaggerated physical comedy that was very pantomime/clown-like. This is another aspect of the airhead/ditz, they don't just say dumb things, they do dumb things. Physical comedy is a big part of it.

London Tipton played by Brenda Song, Mercury conjunct Rahu in Purvabhadrapada

Christina Applegate, Shatabhisha Moon played a very ditzy character on Married With Children

These are all the examples off the top of my head. I feel like many Disney princesses will also fit this bill lol

lmk if you have other examples

hope this was interesting xx

[knight-a3]

So Transformers is a thing I like. Mostly "Transformers Animated". Because TFA Blitzwing is my favorite. I've got a backlog of stuff I've been meaning to share but just never got around to.

Like others, I have speculated what he must've been like before he became a triple changer. My current headcanon is that he was similar to G1 in appearance. His face is white, and is shaped like if Icy wore Hothead's visor. And his personality is a mix between all three of his faces. He's rambunctious and loud, but surprisingly strategic in and capable in battle, but also has a relatively short temper.

More about my Blizwing headcanons under the cut.

Becoming a triple changer basically ripped those aspects of his personality apart, and each one became an extreme version of those traits. To have any semblance of his original personality would require rapid shifting between the faces, but that's disorienting for everyone while also not really succeeding.

Blitzwing does not have DID(Disassociative Identity Disorder), nor a fictional variant of it. The faces are not different characters, and none of them are the "original" face. And they are all equally intelligent and aware(meaning Hothead isn't dumb and Random is not a innocent baby). The main difference is how each face makes decisions and expresses himself. They are all the same Blitzwing, each face just represents an isolated aspect of his original personality, and the jarring mood shift between them.

Icy, Random, and Hothead are not their names. They're just labels to clarify what behavior set is being referred to. He'll get upset if he's referred to them as if they're his name. As he said in the first episode, "The name's Blitzwing!" Using them as a descriptive prefix is acceptable (ie "Icy Blitzwing" is calm and calculated), but just barely; it's a reminder of how fractured his mind has become.

Despite the everyday struggles, each face has its benefits.

Icy is strategic, observant, and calculating. Hothead is powerful, resilient, and persistent. Random is versatile, quick-witted, unpredictable, and adaptable.

On the downside, Hothead and Random are prone to brash decisions. Hothead is easily provoked, and Random is easily distracted and is distracting. Icy lacks passion or ambition and is overall subdued.

Overall, Icy is the most stable of the three. And is the most tolerable for the other Decepticons to deal with(more tolerable than his original personality, even). Blitzwing used to switch between the faces more wildly and leaving him more disoriented. So he had to train himself to switch smoothly and default to Icy(partly so he doesn't piss off Megatron too much).

And as a final note! He was best buddies with Astrotrain. But things ended tragically. I don't have details set in stone, but I have a few ideas I'll throw out later.

[ozai-the-bonsai]

Cry for the Moon

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

Pairing: Zuko x firebender!reader

Important Notes: I don’t think there is any use of she/her in this chapter but for future chapters, please don’t be surprised if other characters refer to the reader as she/her. And just like any other Fire Nation citizen, the reader has amber eyes. Other than that, I have given my best to avoid any further details about the reader but constructive criticism is always welcome!

Warnings: none

A/N: I am looking forward to your feedback on this very first chapter, personally the first ones are the hardest :) if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!

Taglist: @annonymatic @yoongiesstar @lost-inthe-v0id @lokigodofmyheart

Credits to @lost-inthe-v0id for the main idea behind the story

“This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life,” you spoke with a low voice as your hands reached the necklace Zuko was holding. It was past midnight, and you two had to be sleeping but – as always – you decided to sneak out to lay under the moonlight, enjoying the peace the night brought to the palace. “Did you do it yourself?”

Zuko nodded in a proud manner. “I have always loved the way the moonlight reflected from your amber eyes,” his words made you turn your gaze away, feeling heat rushing to your face. “So I wanted to capture that beautiful light in this amber stone as well.”

Apparently, he had somehow managed to melt the amber, place some tiny silver pieces which looked like stars, and then form the amber in a crescent moon.

“Do you want me to help you put it on?”

You nodded, gathering your hair on your left shoulder. “I love it,” you spoke as you laid your left hand on the necklace, your eyes finding Zuko’s. “Thank you.”

Slowly, Zuko’s left hand found your right one, which was resting on the grass, and held it tight. “Once I become the Fire Lord and make you my Fire Lady, I will gift you the finest of jewels.”

A small smile formed on your lips, he was always so eager to show his love – you adored it. “That sounds lovely,” your left hand was still on the necklace as you spoke. “But I cannot imagine a better gift than this.” Zuko’s face lit up almost immediately. “Every time I look at it, I will remember how lucky we are to have each other.”

Zuko left an innocent kiss on your forehead, his lips were warm against your skin. “You are my favourite person in this world.”

Waves crashing against the ship woke you up from the dream – a memory from the life of a different person. Unconsciously, you moved your left hand to your neck, only to find emptiness there. There was no necklace. There hasn’t been a necklace for over three years.

Your mind was playing tricks on you now that you knew it was only a matter of time before you saw the Banished Prince.

Realising that sleep was not going to be easy to find, you wrapped yourself in your red gown and went outside, only to find the Princess there on the front deck. The cold wind of the ocean was causing you to use your breath of fire as you walked towards her.

Azula didn’t even look to see the owner of the footsteps, she could recognise you anytime. “Having trouble sleeping?” She asked, but it was rather a rhetorical question.

You nodded as you stood next to her, your hands rested on the railings. “Sometimes I feel like my dreams hate me,” you muttered. “What’s your excuse? Please don’t tell me you have been up all night, again.”

The Princess simply shrugged; her amber eyes were fixed on the waves. You heaved a sigh.

“Azula, darling, even you need to sleep once in a while.” You spoke with a tender voice, which caused Azula to look at you. “Do you really want your failure of a brother to see a slipping version of yourself just because you were too stubborn to admit that you were sleepy?”

“But I am not done calculating all the possible scenarios for tomorrow,” she spoke with a low voice that wanted to sound stubborn but in the end, she was just tired. “I must be ready for anything.”

Gently, you wrapped your left arm around Azula’s waist. Growing up together – and especially after Zuko was banished – you two had developed a special bond, perhaps such that Azula hadn’t shared with anyone before. Not even with her mother.

“Sleep deprived Azula won’t have the same capacity as a well-rested Azula – we have talked about this before.” You were slowly making both of you walk inside. “Your body needs to rest, your mind as well. With a crystal-clear mind, you will finish your calculations in no time tomorrow, I am sure of it.”

She would never admit it, but Azula loved the way you had this soft spot for her – it was too easy to read it from her eyes if one had known her long enough.

“Plus, sleep deprivation is bad for your skin – you will get dark rings under your eyes. Nobody wants that.”

Azula let out a chuckle as you stopped in front of her chambers. “You do know how to get to me.”

You let her waist go as you adjusted your red gown. “As long as you allow me to, Princess.” Your voice carried the hints of affection, sympathy, and loyalty. “I intend to be there to get to you, to assist you, and to kill for you, when you need me to.”

The edge of Azula’s lips curled upwards upon hearing you. “Allow yourself to rest,” she spoke as she walked into her chamber. “I can see that having to see Zuzu after all these years is starting to trouble you – I need you to bury the ghosts from the past.”

“We both know that the ghosts have all been buried long ago,” you said before heading back to your room. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing here with you today.”

At least, that was what you had believed for the past three years – that all the flames from the past were snuffed out – until Azula visited you in your chambers a week ago.

[Flashback]

You giggled as you ran your fingers through Shuzi’s smooth, dark hair; his head was rested on your lap as he laid on your bed. It had been a peaceful morning with Shuzi surprising you with breakfast in bed – apparently, he had been in the kitchens, preparing your breakfast on his own, declining any kind of help offered by the servants.

“Do you have any plans for today?” Shuzi asked, his amber eyes wandering on your face.

“You know that I need to keep up with learning the languages,” you responded as your hand moved down to cup his face. “And I have this family dinner later today.”

Shuzi pouted in a playful way. “Won’t I get to see my girlfriend for the rest of the day?” he spoke imitating a baby’s voice, which caused you to giggle once again. “That’s too long!”

Before you could lean in and leave a small kiss on his nose, the doors to your chambers were opened to reveal Azula standing outside. She was already in her royal uniforms but without the armour – compared to the sleeping robes you still wore. Which made you realise that you hadn’t even combed your hair.

“Aw, adorable,” Azula spoke with a rather soft tone which sounded a bit too sarcastic and caused Shuzi you sit up straight. “Shuzi, give us a moment.”

Of course, just like everyone else in the Fire Nation, Shuzi wouldn’t dare make the Princess repeat herself. Hence, he quickly stood up, gathered his stuff, placed a quick kiss on your lips and left your chambers. As the servants closed the doors, you raised a questioning eyebrow at Azula.

“He is not a puppy, you know.”

Azula made herself comfortable on your couch while watching you walk towards the table to pour yourself some tea – it was still warm enough. “Well, he certainly allows himself to be used as one.” She responded, causing you to heave an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, please – only a fool could miss the way you get him to do everything for you.” Azula crossed her right leg over the left one. “A little bit girlish coquetry, a little bit kissing and congratulations! You get the finest top knot pin with rubies and black diamonds.”

Holding the tea with your both hands, you turned back to face Azula, the eyebrow still arched. “Azula, there is no need to be jealous over something so small – you are the princess, you can literally get anything you want at any time.”

“Me? Jealous?” Azula let out her well-known, condescending laughter. “You have said it yourself – I am the Princess. There isn’t possibly a person in this world that I could ever be jealous of.”

Once again, you heaved a sigh – Azula knew very well that you could see through her almost all the time for you knew her way too well. However, at moments like this, she would show the Ozai in herself by pretending that the deep connection you shared didn’t even exist.

Sometimes, you tended to get mad at her for such behaviour, but you tried to remind yourself why Azula acted the way she did and how you could heal her – and it wasn’t by approaching her the same horrible way Ozai had been doing for all these years.

“Azula..?”

The Princess brushed you off and you decided not to push further, you would probably have more private time with her after the day was over. “Anyways, I have some exceptionally important news for you.”

You took a long sip from your tea as you leant the table behind you. “I am all ears.”

“Father has assigned me a crucial task after the recent outrageous failure in the North,” Azula began explaining and you simply nodded – not that you believed the failure to be outrageous but to signal her to continue.

The moment you had heard about the plans to siege the Northern Watertribe from your father, you had known it was not going to work out the way Ozai had fashioned it to. There was a reason why the North hadn’t even received a single blow in the last hundred years.

Azula slowly stood up. “I am to stop Zuzu and Uncle from further disgracing my family. Father wants me to capture them and bring back as prisoners of the Fire Nation.”

“Will you be sailing to Earth Kingdom, then?” You asked with a curious look in your amber eyes.

“We will be sailing to Earth Kingdom.” Azula corrected you with a smirk on her lips. “I want you to come with me on this mission.”

The teacup between your hands fell down onto the ground, breaking into million pieces.

[Flashback ends]

Sleep hadn’t been eager to pull you into its soothing embrace that night. Before going on to this mission with Azula, your only concern had been whether you would miss Shuzi or not – well, you two hadn’t really spent several days apart ever since you got together. You being a noble resident in the Royal Palace due to your father’s military work and Shuzi’s family being the Fire Lord’s foremost advisors, you two could easily spend any night together at your chambers.

However, instead of missing Shuzi’s arms wrapped around your body at night, you had found yourself missing the peaceful sleep which wasn’t haunted by the ghosts from your past. It disturbed you greatly that even the anticipation of getting to see Zuko after three long years was starting to disrupt everything you had built since he was gone.

It hadn’t been easy to rebuild – no, it had been the most painful thing you had ever done in your sixteen years of life and you certainly did not intend to let the Banished Prince burn your whole world to ashes.

Not this time.