#so I kinda need you to be here as much as you can because I miss you and need to talk to you like I need water to live | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

0wlettie · 2 days ago

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✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦

✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦

⏾⋆.˚─── rafayel x fem!reader

⏾⋆.˚─── synopsis: rafayel just sees you as a good friend, and even though you want more than that, you're perfectly content staying by his side in whatever way he wants you. but when you go our drinking with a few friends and he decides to crash the party, you discover that you're original assumption might be a little off…

⏾⋆.˚─── tags: 20.9k, light angst, pining, pining, PINING, pet names (cutie, beautiful, pretty girl), possessiveness, really leaning into the eldritch/monster merman vibe w/rafayel here, light alcohol consumption (reader gets a little tipsy but it's nothing crazy), frottage, coming in pants, fingerfucking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk (but in a needy sorta way), under-negotiated kink, unprotected sex, mating press, biting

⏾⋆.˚─── ao3 if you prefer ^^

⏾⋆.˚─── a/n: hello ~ hello ~ i'm back again with ANOTHER monster length fic. i'd just recently unlocked the bond lvl 55 with him, and inspiration just smacked me in the face and i immediately started working on this baby. beta'd by me so any mistakes are mine entirely; title comes from Bambi by BAEKHYUN because not only is the song good, but idk baekhyun just gives off raf vibes to me and it kinda fit so why not? this is nsfw so Minors Do Not Interact (ageless blogs who follow will be blocked)

✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦

You’re in the middle of shopping on your day off when you get a phone call.

You work as an assistant. It’s mostly a freelance job, as you often take on multiple clients a year rather than just stick to one. It also helps that you have as many connections as you do, so you’re in a fortunate position where you have a choice in who you decide to take up on offers. Months earlier a friend of yours from college, Estella, offered you a position to work with Rafayel Qi—a notoriously reclusive and aloof painter. Her fiancé worked closely with him, and seeing as how they were scheduled to go on a trip together soon, someone needed to be there to fill in for Thomas.

Curious, and always willing to help out a friend, you agreed.

It was a relatively normal time for you, all things considered. Rafayel was surprisingly easy to work with, something you weren’t exactly expecting based on all of the rumors surrounding his personality. You were also well versed in working with eccentric kinds of people, so maybe you were unconsciously gearing up for more of that. Instead, you got a pleasantly easy experience. Sure, it was a bit awkward and a little stilted because woah, you weren’t exactly ready for the inhuman beauty awaiting you in that bright and clear studio room. And yeah, you were having a bit of a hard time focusing on Thomas’s introductions when Rafayel kept staring at you like that—something strangely intense in those pretty sunset-hues of his.

Like he was trying to peel back all of your layers with his eyes alone.

All that intensity vanished, however, as soon as you started working for him. You thought you saw glimpses of that emotion when you caught Rafayel staring at you a little too long, but it always flickered away before you could really be sure. Thankfully, there really wasn’t much you had to do besides answer a few emails on Thomas’s behalf and cater to whatever little whim Rafayel felt like indulging on that day—whether that meant visiting a faraway town for ‘inspiration’ or spending a day inside, helping him sort out the various boxes of junk he bought online in a shopping frenzy. It was nice, you can admit, getting to know your client.

Bratty and with a smart mouth that often makes you bust a gut laughing at the sheer audacity of his retorts. Needy for your time and attention—childishly so, calling you over no matter the hour for help in solving the easiest of problems. But there was a sweetness to him. A gentle sort of kindness that he showed when he noticed things about you. When he bought you cute little trinkets or went out of his way to send you good morning or goodnight texts; things that he knows cheers you up working as hard as you do.

Even as the original three weeks you planned to be employed morphed into five, due to the young couple encountering a freak storm that left their pleasure cruise stranded on an island while the cruise line company sent another to rescue them and the others on the trip. Even as Thomas and Estella made it safely back and you were free to take on other clients. Rafayel stayed in contact, and clearly you two had built up a bond, evident by the various phone calls and texts filling up your previous empty and dry inbox. But meeting up in person was difficult compared to before. Conflicting schedules kept you both missing each other by a hair—either you were too booked by the multiple clients you had, or Rafayel too busy with deadlines and art galleries demanding his presence.

It was draining, to think about. Silly, really. You were an adult with an adult life—of course you would sometimes go long stretches of time without being able to see others, even those you consider good friends. But once you absently checked the date and noticed it’d been over nine months since you’ve seen his pretty smile without the barrier of a phone screen, a deep seated weariness weighed heavily on your chest. Dramatic of you to feel so unsettled by someone you’ve only just met, but you feel as if you’ve known Rafayel for a lifetime. Like some part of you recognized him from a past life of yours, and it’s now missing, held within the palms of his elegantly beautiful hands. It’s not something you’ve ever felt for a friend before, and no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you do only see him as a friend, nothing seems to stick.

It makes you scoff thinking about it. Whether or not you considered yourself friends wasn’t important—all that mattered was Rafayel’s view, and clearly he sees you as friends. You sure as hell chatted like them, and while you slightly resented the platonic undertones to your conversations, you still cherished the fact that you both talk everyday if either of you could help it.

Just a few hours ago you both were on the phone and you listened while he ranted about the piece he was making for an upcoming client of his. All the art speak flew over your head a bit, but from what you could gather, it had something to do with who the commission was for rather than the commission itself. An older gentleman who royally pissed Rafayel off with his attitude and demands. Just remembering the angry rapid-fire insults has you cracking a smile—he was positively ruthless when talking about his client.

The thought momentarily lifts your spirits, but no matter how hard you try to deny how you feel, it doesn’t make the ache go away. Phone calls and texts aren’t enough for you; you feel almost…greedy, with how desperately you want to see him in person. How you crave to hear the teasing lilt to his voice, to see the embers of something he refuses to name flicker in his eyes, in his expression when he thinks you don’t see. How you want to feel the lingering heat in his fingers when they brush against yours by accident, or when he playfully tugs at your bangs, or any part of your clothes to get your attention. But you can’t. The universe seems hellbent on making sure of that.

So here you are, trying to drown out this lingering sadness by filling your freezer with all sorts of sweet treats. Eating always helps you feel better, even if it doesn’t necessarily help your waistline. And it’s here, while you decide between getting either a pint of brownie batter or a pint chocolate chip cookie dough that you get a phone call. You jolt, nearly dropping both pints in your hands as the familiar ringtone of Estella blares out from your pocket.

‘Fuck it.’ Your cheeks redden when you catch a few bewildered stares thrown your way, and you chuck both pints into your basket before hurriedly fumbling for your phone.

“You couldn’t have texted me, Stella.” You whisper-yell, ducking your head and hurrying into another aisle. You still had to snag a few bags of chips before leaving—that and maybe something fizzy to drink. She laughs, and you realize that she’s gotta at least be a little tipsy to sound that chipper on a dreary Wednesday night. Your suspicions are confirmed when you hear her hiccup a giggle, the sound of another voice faintly echoing through the line before she turns her attention back to you.

“[✦]! Are you free say....this Saturday?” You blink, mentally tracking your week. For once in a long time, you’re free from any of your clients, at least until the end of the month. You were intending to surprise Rafayel with a visit, but he told you that he had some kind of exhibit to attend, so you were just going to spend the night by yourself. Pitifully watching another drama you had lined up while you gorged on ice cream and take-out.

“I should be…why’re you asking?” You reach out and grab a few bags of chips, eyeing the stack of cookies next to them before shaking your head and heading off to the front to checkout. You already had plenty of sweets in your basket, and it was already bad enough that you were getting two pints instead of one. ‘At least I got the water in my basket.’ You soothe yourself, ignoring the other unhealthy snacks sitting next to the giant bottle of water nestled at the bottom as you toss the chips on top.

“It’s been forever since I saw you! Me and Thomas were thinkin’ about going out. I was thinking of inviting a few friends from college since it's been forever since we last saw each other. You should totally come!” You wince at her volume, giving a polite smile to the lady checking you out before dumping all of your items onto the conveyor belt.

“Ah, I don’t know…I’m not really the ‘going out’ type, you know…” You nervously chew on your bottom lip, paying for your food and quickly escaping the slightly judgmental look on your cashier’s face as you balance your phone in one hand and the heavy bags in your other. You didn’t care at all for the way she was eyeing your bags, but that feeling soon vanishes when Estella whines in your ear—effectively distracting you from the embarrassment.

“Don’t be like that, I promise it’s just to get a few drinks, that’s all! Nothin’ super clubby or anything like that!” You feel yourself begin to waver. You’ve never been one to really say no to your friends, or really anyone coming to you for help like this. It’s why you’ve kept people out, and it’s also why you think you attract the people you do. Whiny, pushy and all around bossy folks who have no trouble bullying you into doing what they want or think is best for you. Not that you’re complaining necessarily, you’ve been given the gift of having such a caring friend like Estella and now Rafayel too. Bratty as they are, they’re also extremely loyal and will go to bat for you without question.

So really, what’s going out for a few hours of drinks in exchange?

As if sensing your hesitation, she pushes just a little harder.

“C’mon, I swear on my dead granny that you’ll have an amazing time! It’ll just be me ‘n’ Thomas and prolly a few of us from the old study group—Jessica and Randy, maybe even Lyrica if she’s got the time too. Ooh, and Jazzy will totally wanna come, it’s been ages since he’s met us!”

You make a face at the name ‘Randy’, and it almost convinces you to bail out right then and there. However, you can already see the stupidly effective puppy dog eyes Estella is giving you through the phone, and the long suffering groan you let out underneath your breath is more telling than you’d like to admit. Something that Estella hears through the phone because she squeals and smacks her hand into a…table maybe? Whatever it is, it hurts her enough for her to hiss out a few swears so fierce that it makes you snort.

“Fuck, stupid fucking table…attacking me like that…”

“More like you attacked the table, sweetheart.” You hear Thomas’s voice get closer to the phone, and Estella’s voice goes all gooey and soft.

“But babycakes, it was the table’s fault that my hand hurts now. Who cares if I gave it a little love tap, make it apologize to me for being mean!” Thomas laughs and you smile when you hear him, momentarily choosing to ignore the slight discomfort of her inviting…Randy. Your chest warms from their obvious love as they mutter sweet nonsense to each other too low for you to understand, but jealousy follows quicker than you expect, turning the whole interaction into something sour in your mouth. You want what she has desperately; a little too desperately, if you’re feeling like this over barely there PDA. ‘Get a grip, girl. Jeez.’ You huff, exasperated with yourself, and do your best to swallow back all of the ugly, nasty feelings threatening to spill from your mouth.

“Just text me the details and I’ll see if I can work something out, yeah? I’ll leave you two alone for now.” You plaster a smile onto your face, thankful when your voice comes out steady and normal. Estella cheers, but it's faint sounding and Thomas answers before you can ask.

“Sorry about this—you know how she gets when she gets her hands on a bottle of Rosé. I’ll make sure that she gives you the time and place before then.”

“Ah, that makes sense. She could never resist a glass of that when she’s off work.” You chuckle as a thought pops into your mind. You ask before you can chicken out.

“Rafayel’s not coming, is he?”

“Ah, I thought he would’ve told you about that art exhibit? I’m not even blackmailing him to go to this one, surprisingly—he chose to go himself!”

You deflate, cursing yourself in your mind. Of fucking course he wouldn’t go, you knew he wasn’t going to he already told you about it! ‘Stupid.’ Your cheeks flush from the embarrassment and you quickly breeze past your utter failure with as much nonchalance you can muster.

“Y-yeah. It slipped my mind, sorry.” Thomas hums, a little unconvincingly, but his attention is clearly drawn away by the loud call of his name just barely out of range from the phone.

“I’ve gotta go, but we’ll see you Saturday?”

“Yeah, have a goodnight you two!” The call disconnects moments after, and you’re left with an oily sort of feeling squirming in your gut. You hate being so sour over your friend and her beautiful relationship, but you can’t help it. Not when you want so badly to have that kind of love yourself. When it feels like your whole life you’ve craved that kind of love. Distant from the world around you, you never connect to people easily—even now, when all you do is interact with people on a daily basis. Your parents feel a bit alienated too, evident by the sparse calls you share all these years later. Estella was the first person in a long time that you formed a strong relationship with, and you were content with that. At least, you were before you met Rafayel.

Now all you can think about is him.

His voice and the musical cadence of it, gentle and sweet and everything that makes your brain go fuzzy and warm, willing to do whatever he asks if he just keeps talking to you like that. His gorgeous eyes and how they sparkle underneath the sun’s rays like a kaleidoscope of blue and pink, mixing together in an almost hypnotizing way, leaving you breathless and flushed whenever you meet them. The constellation of moles you can spot when he’s close to you on his nose, underneath his eye, on his cheek—even the one you noticed on his chest one afternoon after he decided to let his white button up dangle open scandalously. The thin, long delicate shape of his fingers when he holds a paint brush; the prominent and strong lines of the tendons you can see when he handles his phone, his sketchbook, a glass or anything round or big enough to make them flex. Everything about him drives you crazy, and it takes all of your self control not to throw yourself at him whenever he gives you his full attention. You think you’d feel even worse if you could, but he’s like an addiction to you. As much as it hurts to be on the receiving end of his focus in a purely platonic way, you’ll also take any scrap he gives—happily.

You blow out a sigh.

Pathetic you may be, you still would rather have Rafayel in your life than out of it. Which means that you need to get a handle on that little green monster rolling around in your belly—and quickly since the little get-together is only a handful of days away. You’re a grown ass woman, you can totally handle your emotions and keep them to yourself. Even if you’ll be surrounded by couples, as you know for a fact that Jessica and Lyrica have partners. Randy and Jasper, aka Jazzy, you have no clue about though. Which, if they don’t then you won’t be the only one feeling like an outcast in a sea of couples.

“Yeah, this totally won’t blow up in my face at all.” You mutter to yourself, hurrying up the stairs to your apartment complex. You can only hope that, for once, the universe works in your favor here.

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It’s Saturday, and you find yourself stuck between two options laying flat out on your bed.

On the one hand, you could go with this dress you’ve had for forever—your go to dress when going out somewhere nice. It’s a midi halter dress with a low v-neck that shows off a decent amount of your cleavage. Colored a warm coffee brown and with the edges flared out, it’s cute and it works well on your figure. Even with the extra weight you’ve put on, you know it’ll compliment you still.

However…

Your eyes slide over to the left. The dress sitting there is a new purchase of yours, one you got a while back when you and Estella were out shopping one day. You’ve never worn it before and feeling a little bold, you want to try it out now. It’s a gorgeous shade of deep burgundy and strapless. Midi in length and made out of a comfortable stretchy fabric, it would hug you closely; and with two daring slits up the side, ruffles lining the open edges, it carries a different vibe than your other dress. You have no idea what to choose! With your hair—tied up in twintails and braided—and makeup—a layered glittery plum-red toned eyeshadow look combined with thick eyeliner and a matching plum-red lip—done, all you have to do now is just pick one but you can’t.

“Ugh, this shouldn’t be this difficult, I mean, it’s only gonna be a few friends—”

A loud ‘ping’ interrupts your rant and a lightbulb goes off over your head. Of course! Why not just get Rafayel to choose for you? He’s an artist—he’s got an eye for these kinds of things. You hurry over to snatch your phone from your vanity. You and Rafayel were just playing phone games at the moment, so you know that he can’t be doing something super important. There’s still a few hours before he has to make it to the exhibit, anyway. And, since you were currently losing this round of pool, you weren’t exactly chomping at the bit to get back to it.

fishie princess ♓

hey you mind helping me real quick ?

how suspicious that you need my help now that you’re losing terribly to me

how very suspicious…(¬‿¬ )

raaaaaaaaf

stop it im serious

(╥﹏╥)(╥﹏╥)(╥﹏╥)

fine fine

what’s up?

image sent

what do you think is better on me ?

if i’m say, going out for drinks ?

oooh both are pretty

going out for drinks? hmmm

the first one is fine, but the second one is the prettiest between the two

the burgundy will emphasize the color of your skin, as well as bring out the darkness of your eyes more

depending on how you do your makeup, it’ll do great with attracting all sorts of attention

Your cheeks flush and your tummy goes warm at the thought of his voice saying all of that. Second dress it is, then. Happy and floating high off the indirect praise just given to you, you’re about to type back a quick ‘thank you’ when dots appear on your screen. You pause, and watch as they disappear and reappear again for a few moments before a text comes through.

fishie princess ♓

what’s the occasion though?

i dun remember you mentioning a party or anything

oh thomas didn’t tell you ?

tell me what

uhh

about how he and stella are gonna go out for drinks tonight ?

with some of our old college buddies

she invited me a few days ago

i guess since you were busy tonight they didn’t bother…

and you’re going out in that dress?

yea ?

okay

one sec （＾ｖ＾）

You blink at the screen. That little smile feels…ominous, somehow. But you cannot for the life of you figure out why. Is he upset that he wasn’t invited? Maybe, but, if he was busy, then why would Thomas even bother mentioning it to him? Or maybe he’s mad at you for not telling him until now? Well…honestly, you didn’t forget about it, it just kind of fell to the wayside a bit when the end of the week rush happened and you had to get the last of your clerical work in before going on break.

Before you can wonder more, however, your phone jumps with another sharp ‘ping’.

fishie princess ♓

hey so what’s the address for that place you’re goin to?

and what time

umm okay the address is

[link sent]

and we’re supposed to be meeting there at eight

why ???

well when someone asks you the address and time of an event

one would think they’d be going to that event, right?

The text sends your gut swooping in a mix of delight and trepidation. What—but the exhibit? Did he just cancel on something he’s been talking about for the past couple days at the drop of a hat?! Even Thomas was surprised by how enthusiastic Rafayel was, so why…?

fishie princess ♓

but your exhibit ???

don’t tell me you just CANCELLED

rafayel you’ve been so excited for it

so why did you just call it off ??

there will be other exhibits like that one trust

that particular lady does all sorts of pop ups around the country

but i haven’t seen you in months, [✦]

you think i won’t show up for that?

i miss you

you have to know that i do

you miss me too, right?

His surprising candor stops your breath for a moment. You…you know that. You know he misses you just as much as you miss him, but to see it so plain to see in black and white, well. What else could you do in the face of that? Sighing, defeated but still so very excited at the prospect of seeing him again in person—of being able to hug him and hear the bright, sharp bark of his laughter in your ears, you find that you’re incapable of being too upset. If you even were to begin with, when it became clear to you that he was planning on joining your group for drinks.

fishie princess ♓

yea of course i miss you

and even tho its hella RUDE of you to cancel so close to the time

im still glad i get to see you tonight

but that means you have to show me what you’re wearing !!

nuh uh

since you wanted to sneak behind my back with thomas and stella

im afraid you’ll have to wait until eight tonight before you see

it wasn’t on purpose

no wait don’t be mean lemme seeeeeee

(╥﹏╥)(╥﹏╥)(╥﹏╥)

nope.

gasp

not the period

noooo it’s not fair

rafaaayeeel !!!

life is never fair

now suffer

≧◠◡◠≦✌

You groan as you toss your phone back onto your vanity, but the wide smile pulling at the corners of your mouth gives away how thrilled you are. Your heart races as you scoop up the dress from your bed, and you give your makeup and hair one last lookover in the mirror before wiggling your way into the dress. You know that, despite being secretly jealous over the various couples surrounding you, Rafayel will make a perfect distraction. He makes you laugh, and even though you’re stupidly and deeply in love with him and it drives you just a little more insane as each day passes, he makes the world just a bit brighter for you regardless.

Even if he is an utter brat.

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Nervously, you check yourself out again in the wide glass window in front of you. You decided to go with a darker lip color to better match your dress, as well as apply a liberal amount of dress tape to keep the damn thing from falling off. You’ve got a…bigger bust than some girls, so the tape was necessary since you really couldn’t wear a bra and be cute with a strapless dress. You’re just thankful that the area surrounding the top of the dress was thick enough to hide your nipples and the piercings you’ve got.

‘Never lose a bet with Stella when you’re drunk.’ You think a little wryly, taking in a deep breath before glancing at the time on your phone. 8:05. While it was a few minutes past the agreed upon time, you knew that not everyone showed up yet. Estella and Thomas are already inside, as well as Lyrica and her boyfriend. Jessica and her girlfriend were stuck in traffic, and Randy was on his way too. Jazzy couldn't make it because of a family emergency, so the only person you’re missing is…

Rafayel.

Your entire body lights up; your heart thumping harshly and your face getting so hot that you feel as if you’re about to pass out. Your cold hands come up to cup your cheeks, and you duck your wide-eyed face away from the glass window to stare down at your strappy black heels, the purse dangling from the crook of your arm gently swaying in the corner of your vision. The night air is cool against your burning skin, but even that doesn’t feel like enough to calm you down as Rafayel floods to the front of your mind again.

It was easy, on your way to the cozy but warm atmosphere of the little bar Estella picked out, to focus on touching up your make up and double checking with Thomas on the correct address for the cab you called. Easy to train your attention on climbing up the long stone staircase leading into the city plaza, amazed by the various lights and flashing signs of DownTown Linkon City nightlife you’ve never really experienced before. Easy to take your time in strolling down the clean and bright marble lining the sidewalk, shyly ignoring the few catcalls you got and pulling your cropped black bomber jacket closer to shield your body and purse.

But now, all your mind can think about is what the hell Rafayel plans to wear?!

Look, you’ve seen that man’s wardrobe. It was a bit of a necessity working as his assistant to cart him off to galleries and his exhibits. You had to make him look presentable to his fans and potential clientele! And, once you became closer, he would often show off the new pieces he added to his ever-growing collection of clothes; whether they be designer so expensive that the amount of zeroes made you want to vomit, or a thrift so cheap that it was basically given away for free. No matter the price though, whatever he got was absolutely stunning on him.

You’re basically royally fucked because whatever the hell he shows up in, you just know that you’re gonna lose it. Especially being that close after all this time away from him. Just imagining him now sends a little thrill up your spine, even as your gut rolls with a strange mix of anxiety and excitement. You blow out a harsh breath, lightly slapping your cheeks before straightening up. Well, best to confront him before you go inside. Then, at least, you can try and get your bearings before you get around other people. That’s if you manage to catch him before the others.

You grimace.

‘Especially before Randy shows up…’ Mean of you to think when he was a close friend of yours during college, but that’s just the problem. He was a super close friend; one you’d been trying your damndest to avoid like the fucking plague. You weren’t mad at Estella for inviting him, it was your fault that she never knew things got physical between you two the last year and a half of college. In fact, you made it a point to hide it from her because you knew she would just give you that look if she found out. Not because Randy was a bad guy, per se. More like…he was a bad match for you.

It was supposed to be a purely casual, no strings attached kinda deal. But Randy was always a little too emotional for that. A little too clingy, but not in an endearing way at all. Clingy in a way that crossed your boundaries in massively inappropriate ways—and coming from a guy who you made abundantly clear to that you were never going to want him in a serious manner. Suffice to say, the whole silent ordeal left a bad taste in your mouth, and you quickly cut contact after graduating. Hopefully, you’re able to slip inside and set yourself up between Estella and Rafayel to block him from ever interacting with you more than he has too.

But it seems the universe doesn’t care to listen to your feeble wish, as not even a full minute later, a voice calls out to you with way too much enthusiasm.

“[✦]!”

Thankfully, your back is facing Randy, so he doesn’t get to see the utter disgust and defeat on your face as you stare off into the distance. You idly wonder just what the fuck you did to piss the universe off so much as you readjust your sagging purse. Signing deeply and finding that inner sense of calm that’s almost nonexistent with all of the anxiety and anticipation rolling away at your nerves, you spin around with your practiced and utterly fake ‘I’m-bullshitting’ smile.

“Randy! It’s been a while.” Your voice is level as you greet him, trying hard not to allow your displeasure to show when the taller man shoots you a smile and opens his arms wide for a hug. Gritting your teeth you politely return his hug. His arms snap around you and he gives you a hearty squeeze that makes you want to instantly recoil out of his embrace.

“It sure has! And you look beautiful dressed up like that, by the way.” You gently pat his arm, but when he still doesn’t break away, you take a step back and get as far as you politely can.

“Thanks, you look great too.” And while Randy isn’t an unattractive guy—six feet even with a large build and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, bright eyes and an even brighter smile—he’s just not your type. He never has been and he never will be. If only he could understand that fact, because even now after all these years later, his gaze still rakes over you with a kindling heat brewing in his cobalt blue irises. Your smile threatens to fall when he bridges that gap between you two, and it takes all of your willpower not to move back when his hand comes up to lightly rest on the small of your back.

“ I’m assuming Stella and her man are already starting without us. Jessica and Cindy should be here soon enough, too. Why don’t we head inside, then, instead of standing out in the cold?”

‘There’s barely a breeze right now.’ You can’t help but think snarkily. With the summer heat at an all time high, the cooler nights are a refreshing taste to your palette. That, and you want to wait for Rafayel to show before you head inside. Honestly, you kind of want to see the look on Thomas’s face when he realizes Rafayel ditched another gallery date to attend one of his gatherings.

“Actually—”

“Before you do that—,” You breath hitches, and you eagerly turn towards that wonderfully familiar voice, “She’s gotta give me something first. Isn’t that right, cutie?”

“Rafayel!” The visible excitement in your voice surprises Randy, and he recoils away from you when the man—Rafayel—glances at him with so much venom that it feels as if he’s been burned from the barely there contact. You, of course, couldn't care less what Randy’s up to, as a bright smile stretches your lips wide enough to reveal your teeth.

Rafayel stands there, just a few paces away, with that smug grin of his that never fails to send your heart racing. The little nickname he tacks on just makes the organ inside of your chest beat even faster. You take in his outfit as your body moves instinctively towards him in a totally silly looking half-shuffle, half-run in your heels, gripping onto your purse for dear life in order not to drop it.

A faded crimson colors the shiny and smooth silk shirt draped over his chest, intricate designs in the shape of what looks to be branches spreading across in wide patterns. Delicate and faintly glimmering jewelry in the shape of ruby red leaves dangle over the wings of his shoulder, strings of delicate gold, pearl and onyx hanging down the sway gently in the breeze. The shirt is tucked into a pair of brown-tan ombre slacks, a wide sash and a belt buckle held snugly against the sinfully tight shape of his waist. Paired with the long strip of black fabric tied around his neck like a choker, the indecent gape of his top and the artfully tousled spikes of his mullet, he looks like he’d be more suited going out to a nightclub rather than a simple bar.

He’s absolutely gorgeous.

You can admit that you do fully stumble in the face of his beauty, and you see that smug grin grow wider when you just barely catch yourself. Embarrassment churns a hearty rhythm within your belly once you finally get within range of him, and though you kind of want to bury yourself in a hole for the rest of your life, you also don’t hesitate to give him an enthusiastic hug. Your chin lightly rests on his chest as your arms wrap around his lower back, and you both stagger a bit from the force of your unexpectedly weak knees.

You have actually worn heels before—it’s just hard to find your footing when Rafayel looks criminally and unfairly pretty in that little outfit of his.

“Wo-ah, take it easy. You know I’m fragile goods. Gotta be gentle there, cutie.” His words ride out on a murmured laugh, the long, wide palms of his hands curling around your shoulders to steady you. The golden lights of the streetlamps scattered about cast a warm glow over his broad shoulders and the planes of his handsome face. The color of his eyes are slightly darker than normal, the length of his lashes long and soft looking as he ducks his head a little to meet your stare directly with a teasing quirk to his brow. You watch mutely as his eyes flick over your face, lingering on the soft line of your mouth before making eye contact again.

“Sorry–I just…” You bite the inside of your lip, feeling the familiar burn in the corners of your eyes as it finally sets in that he’s here in front of you. The playful tilt to his expression softens, the smile on his face easing into a gentle, fond line.

“You missed me that much, hm?” You nod, blinking rapidly to try and save your makeup. It’s difficult, though, when the tears you push back try even harder to fall. Rafayel chuckles softly seeing your struggle, but with one pleading look, he agrees to help.

“Alright, lemme get it.” From seemingly out of nowhere, Rafayel deftly pulls out a faintly tinted pink handkerchief. You snort at his dramatics, but dutifully allow him to cup your chin and hold you still while he delicately dabs at the corners of your eyes. You’re trying not to stare too hard at him, but it’s useless to deny that you aren’t doing just that. Being this close, everything about him that captivates you is now overwhelming all of your senses.

The scent of his cologne that surrounds you in an invisible shroud, reminding you of warm sand, the salty brine of the sea and cool moonlit nights. The delicate hold of his fingers as they gently grip your chin, their blazing heat sinking beneath your skin and leaving what feels like an invisible mark. The beautiful sight of him as he’s haloed by the twinkling lights behind him, eyes focused on the sensitive area of your eyes as he wipes the last of your emotional tears. The sound of that warm, musical cadence that’s grown a tad bit lower in your close proximity, softly poking fun at your silly tears. You let him get away with teasing you, however. If only because it makes the little twinkle within his eyes shine brighter than the lights of the city combined.

“Aaaand there we go. All better now.” He shoots you a wink and does another complicated trick with his fingers, the handkerchief disappearing faster than you can track. His other hand still lingers on your shoulder, even after he straightens up to his full height and ushers you towards the bar doors.

“Show off.” You giggle and lightly push his face away, sniffling a little before looking down and adjusting your coat. He pouts, conveniently placing himself in your direct line of sight once you turn your face up again.

“Is this the thanks I get for saving your makeup from getting all runny? How cruel.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face gives away the humor you feel. You give in, though, not even a moment later, and you play along.

“My apologies, my wonderful, amazing and generous knight in shining armor. Thank you so much for saving me from a fate worse than death; runny makeup.” The sarcasm within your words is heavy enough for an idiot to catch, but Rafayel ignores the bite and beams at you.

“You’re welcome, my fair lady. But my services aren’t cheap.” He leans closer to you, and your breath halts to a complete stop when you feel the warmth of his breath puff against your cheek.

“So much for being a knight, charging an innocent maiden like this.” You retort weakly, face growing hotter when Rafayel smirks.

“Lunch, tomorrow afternoon. At whatever place I pick. Your treat, of course, cutie.” You barely even hear the words as they echo in your ears, too entranced by the raspy, intimate tone of his voice as he tilts his head slightly. His eyes carry that same intensity you see from time to time, too many fragments of different emotions buried within for you to parse through. You nod, of course. Anything he asks of you, you’ll give without question—no matter what it is.

“Great.” He suddenly perks up, eyes catching on the side of your head. The hand on your shoulder slides up to lightly tug at one of your braids, trailing the edge of his knuckle down the middle with a thoughtful hum. His fingers brush against the side of your neck by accident, and despite trying, you can’t stop the full body shiver that runs up your spine from the feeling of his fingers against your skin. Again, it’s like some sort of invisible mark stains the skin he touched; the spot somehow growing more sensitive as a gentle breeze blows across it.

“S’cute, by the way. You should do more braided styles like this.”

You blush furiously, averting your eyes as you nod your head once again. It’s like your ability to speak suddenly shriveled up and died, and you’re struck dumb in the face of his overt skinship. Rafayel had been a little closer to you then most. Tugging at your clothes or even snatching things out of your hands wasn’t out of the ordinary. But nicknames? Being this close to your face? Touching you purposefully careless? It’s all so fucking confusing to your poor little overloaded brain.

So in you two go; Rafayel humming quietly to himself, arm now slung over your shoulder as he leads you deeper into the bar while you absently lean into his side, a dazed and flushed look on your face as one of your hands grips the fabric of his shirt.

You don’t notice, in your frazzled state, the chilling glare he shoots over his shoulder at the man rooted to the ground outside.

You also don’t realize the kind of picture you two made in front of poor Randy, who’s suddenly regretting his life choices when faced with that dark, almost inhumanly possessive gleam in that terrifying man’s eyes.

✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦

Rafayel grips the glass in his hand tightly, fighting the urge to lean down and inhale that intoxicatingly sweet scent emanating from you. The week before the tides switch directions is always a test of self-restraint; flashes of hunger tainting his thoughts, urging him to indulge in his deepest desires. His body burns with a fever that can only be soothed by the touch of his person…and he’s finally found you, after all these lifetimes, you’re here in front of him. It’s an exquisite kind of torture, being so close yet so far. Everything about you naturally draws him in.

The smell of you beneath the artificial perfumes and soaps you use—rose hips, spring water and sunlight. The soft give of your stomach, hips and thighs that show beneath the skin tight dress you’re wearing. Those wide, dark eyes that twinkle with humor and a tender affection you think he doesn’t see when you stare at him. The slim coolness of your finger; the bright sound of your laughter; the way your gummy smile curves your eyes into crescents—all of you drives him to near madness every time you interact, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Would suffer throughout it all if only he can have you that much closer to him, how you are now.

Leaning against him and pressed shoulder to shoulder, your head rests on his bicep as you scroll through your phone. You two were debating on lunch options for tomorrow, but he’d gotten lost in the soft cadence of your voice, eyes glued to your lips as one of your hands idly played with the long strip of his choker. You weren’t even doing it consciously, but every so often you’d lightly tug at it to get his attention. As if he wasn’t already hanging onto every word that fell past your painted lips. It was slowly chipping away at the little strength he had left, and he was so close to just finally pulling you away to a dark corner when someone from the group—Isaiah, he thinks—pulled him into the wider conversation. Rafayel eagerly threw himself into it, doing anything he could possibly do to avoid the thoughts flying through his mind, each of them more depraved than the last.

But you still play with his choker and occasionally tug it, so despite his best efforts, his thoughts always stray back to you. His fault alone, he knows, but it doesn’t make any of it easy to control when you look like that.

When he saw the kind of dress you were planning to wear, he knew that he couldn’t just leave you to go out like that alone. Nevermind that you were going out with Estella and Thomas. It didn’t matter that the people you were hanging out with were old college buddies. You were still going outside to a bar. You were going to be drinking, dressed up all fancy and pretty. Guys would be approaching you nonstop, no matter if you were surrounded by your friends or not. And like hell he was gonna let some random, unworthy man see you like that when he hasn’t even gotten the chance yet.

‘Though, one managed to slip through the cracks anyway.’ Rafayel glances at the tall man sitting on the other side of the booth. Randy’s too busy arguing with Lyrica to notice his stare at first, but maybe the idiot has some kinda sixth sense, because he casually flicks his eyes around the table. When they land on Rafayel, he does a slight double take and he flinches a bit, before directing his gaze back to Lyrica. Albeit, a little paler than he was before.

He snickers to himself at the flash of fear on the man’s face. Good, he should know better than to touch someone when they clearly don’t want it. Should know better than to lay hands on who doesn’t belong to him.

It had been a rather infuriating sight, coming across you two the way he did. Randy, towering over you with clear lust in his eyes, hand audaciously pressed to your back as he tried to guide you into the bar. You with that uncomfortable smile on your face, your eyes just barely hiding the exasperation and disgust at him touching you. It was only the familiarity between you two that saved Randy from losing that hand. But only just barely. Clearly, the man got the message, because even now he doesn’t so much as look in your direction anymore.

The smirk that curls his lips forms instinctively, an act that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“What devious plans are you coming up with to look like that, huh?”

Your cheek squishes against his forearm, lips forming a slight pout as you lower your phone and stare at him, half-amused and half-suspicious. It’s a dangerously cute expression on your pretty face, and he has the sudden urge to lean over and kiss that tempting pout away. He’s halfway to doing it before he even realizes, the shadow of his torso falling over you startling him out of his daze.

You only blink up at him with dark, wide glossy eyes, puzzled. Entirely too trusting and too open; so different than how he’s used to seeing you in person. Cold and professional with a perfect smile that conveys nothing but an empty politeness, it had been a challenge to get to you to crack that infallible expression of yours. It took a week of him burdening you with all sorts of pointless tasks, hoping that annoying you would be the way to go, before you did. And not because you were angry—no, it happened because he made some snide comment about the old lady at the supermarket who cut him in line sometime prior to you two meeting. He doesn’t even remember exactly what he said, but whatever he did say was mean and rude and it made you laugh.

A real laugh too; a deep, guttural hiccup that sounded like absolute perfection to his ears. Mouth opened in a wide smile, eyes scrunched into crescents as the sunlight from his windows streamed in. You looked like something holy, in that light. The sheer white curtains billowing around your figure casting you in dappled shadows, the scent of the sea breeze rich in the air. He had known you were special when he saw you—but this? This was something far, far beyond that.

And now here he is; helplessly drawn to your side, eagerly craving whatever scrap of attention you can afford to give him. Begging, demanding more that you so easily give to him. Even when it meant badgering you constantly with messages, surprising you with phone calls, crashing intimate parties with your friends. Whatever he asks you willingly let him have. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. A game with the vast eldritch beast that lurks in the abyss of his soul. Old as the seas and the moon and stars; always searching, always moving, always hungry.

Always.

Rafayel forces out a normal sounding laugh, setting down his drink and turning his body to give you his full attention. He makes sure to keep you exactly where you are though, sliding his arm around until it cushions the delicate curve of your neck, leaving his hand to grip the back of the booth. The dimmed lights do a good job of blurring out the more finite details of your expressions, but his eyes are sharp, and they notice the flush darkening your cheeks. The rapid stutter of your chest and the nervous way you flick your eyes back down to your phone. The pout morphs into a shy little smile as you peek up at him from underneath your eyelashes, the ends of your nails clicking against the case of your phone.

You’re so fucking beautiful.

His fingers twitch with the need for a pencil. He wants to sketch that look on your face, and he thinks pencil is one of the better mediums to fully grasp the finer details of your expressions. The little dimples that form above your lips when you purse them. The faint freckles he can see scattered across the bridge of your nose. He wants to sit in his studio for hours just sketching you; could probably do it from memory alone if given the chance. Honestly, though, he would prefer to have you there in front of him. You’d do it, too. He knows you would. Even if he asked in the brattiest, most roundabout way, you would agree without hesitation. The thought sends a pulse of heat through his body, and he has to swallow back the hiss that threatens to fall past his lips.

Those damn flashes.

“So, you gonna answer me or not?”

Rafayel quirks a brow, pretending to think on the question as he glances away from you. Just—he needs a moment to calm down. To get a handle on the want quickly filling him with indecent thoughts. Thoughts of you spread out in his studio on his couch, in the bath, on his bed. Bare and open. Trusting him to handle you, take care of you the way he knows he can. Satisfy that empty feeling in your chest that throbs within his own. It’d be so easy too. To just, ask you to come over. To pull you into his arms and rest his hands against your cheeks. To tilt your head back and finally sink his teeth into your neck—

“I think I’m gonna pass on that. Did you find where you’re taking me tomorrow?” He swings his eyes back to focus on you, smiling like he isn’t thinking of devouring you, in every sense of the word.

You huff out a tiny breath, but you open your darkened phone screen and show him a few places you think are good. Your voice goes a little quiet when you realize how intensely he’s staring at you, that blush getting brighter when he casually leans down to look at your phone. It would’ve been easy for him to just snatch the phone from your hand, but he’s weak. Any excuse to get closer to you is a valid one.

He stares hard at your phone screen, biting back a groan when he gets another whiff of your scent. Your little hot puffs of breath at his cheek and the slight tremble of your hands as you take in his proximity almost do him in, but he refrains. Barely.

“So?” The wine riding on the scent of your breath is sweet and slightly tangy; a Moscato Sangria, if he’s remembering correctly.

“Hmm, okay tell you what, cutie.” Rafayel grins when he audibly hears the little stutter of your heartbeat. This close, he’s sure that he could see your pulse through the thin skin of your throat, but if he continues down that trail of thought, he’ll really snap. So, once again, he calls on what little self-restraint he has.

“I’ll be gracious enough and let you choose where we go. But, if the food sucks then I’m gonna tease you about it forever, deal?” He tilts his head and glances at you from the corner of his eye. You sigh, an exasperated yet fond look in your eyes as you poke his cheek with your finger.

“Fine, fine. Gosh, you’re such a menace, I swear.” He carefully doesn’t breathe as you continue to jokingly poke at his face. He wants to lean into your touch, and he begins to when his senses snap back to him. Slowly but still as natural as anything, he straightens up, using his other hand to playfully swat yours away. He waits until your attention shifts away from him, and even though his knee-jerk reaction is to force it back, instead he uses this time to try and relax. The warmth of your touch still lingers against his skin like a brand, and it makes the already pounding bass of his heart beat that much faster.

Thankfully, since the room is dark, no one can really see the blush rushing across his nose and ears. And if they do, well, then it’s because of his drink rather than his pretty little assistant pressed close to him.

✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦

“Are you sure this is okay? I know you were worried about it being too much for you…” Estella asks for the third time, looking at you through the bathroom mirror. She completely ignores the girl half-passed out in the sink, as well as the other two girls making out against the bathroom stall behind you. There’s another in a closed stall, vomiting her guts out by the sound of it. Even with the faint thump from the powerful base outside, it still echoes out wetly and you grimace. Estella doesn’t even blink, watching for your response with worried eyes. You shoot her a reassuring smile, fighting back an incredulous snort as Estella absently makes sure the faucet is off for the girl in the sink.

The evening at the bar you were at passed by within the blink of an eye, and before you realized, your three long hour reservation ended. By that time, you were pleasantly tipsy and not quite ready to go back home. Randy, Lyrica and her boyfriend Isaiah had all called it quits, but the rest of you still wanted to be outside and enjoy the summer night. Even Rafayel seemed game, despite the man being as much of a recluse as you, so you all agreed to go to a nearby nightclub to keep the party going a bit. ‘I do wonder why Randy didn’t join though. It’s usually his kind of scene.’ You brush it off once Estella gives you a look and you rush to answer it.

“I think I can handle just a little bit of club action. It’s been years since everyone’s been together, why not, right?”

She raises a skeptical brow.

“And it totally has nothing to do with the six foot tall hottie of a painter currently bothering Thomas outside, hm?”

You ignore her shit-eating grin and fiddle with your bangs, shying away from her fingers when they reach out to lightly poke your side.

“Oooh, you’ve got it bad, dontcha girl?”

“You’ve got no fucking idea.” You mumble underneath your breath, flushing when she lets out an excited squeal that shocks the girl in the sink awake and splits apart the couple behind you. Quickly, before a fight can break out because one half of the couple looks drunk enough to try your friend, you usher Estella out of the bathroom and back into the club.

It’s packed, of course. A Saturday night in DownTown Linkon means that any and all nightclubs are full. It’s a little suffocating, for you, as Estella grips your wrist and yanks you through the throng of girls waiting outside the bathroom doors in various states of drunkenness. You two have to cut through the side of the main dance floor to get back to the others, and while it definitely is less busy than being directly in the middle, it still is a lot for you to handle regardless.

Strobes of green, pink and white flare out from the cluster of rotating lights scattered along the rafters above you, dancing across the crowd in hypnotizing patterns that make you dizzy. Smoke curls in the air, drifting like clouds across the night sky as they cover some of the overhead bundles of lights. Beams refract at even stranger angles as the smoke passes, the lights filling your eyes with after images of color as the bass to the current song drops. The fast-paced ‘thump-thump-thump’ switches over into something slower. A deeper, sensual rhythm that has the bodies surrounding you packing even tighter together.

Stray hands and fingers glide over you as she pulls you forward, and you have to close your eyes to keep your mind from getting lost in the kaleidoscope of colors filling your vision. The smell of cigarettes and vape smoke becomes even stronger once you do, and your eyes pop open against your will when a hand boldly grabs your ass before Estella hauls you even further. Being tipsy yourself—drinking about two cups of wine and having a sip or two of Rafayel’s fruity margarita—you feel a little sick being thrown around like a fucking pizza. Just as you’re about to tell Estella to slow the hell down, you’re momentarily blinded by a stray strobe light to your eyes. Because of that, you don’t see the person in front of you when Estella suddenly lets go of your hand.

“Baby! C’mon, Jessica and her girl are already on the floor and we’ve gotta show ‘em how it's done.”

“Must we.” You barely hear the dry edge to Thomas’s words before you fall face first into someone’s chest. You swear, one day, you’re gonna toss Estella around like that in a sea of gross bodies and see how she fucking likes it. Running into random people at a club is not something you find entertaining in the slightest.

“Oh–shit, I’m sorry.” You blink away the spots from your vision, looking up to apologize to the stranger, except it’s someone a lot more familiar and a lot more welcome.

“You’ve got a bad habit of running into me, cutie.” Rafayel leans down real close in order for you to hear him properly, his lips just barely touching the shell of your ear as his hands fall on your body to steady you; one on your bare shoulder, the other falling to your waist. Jessica was whining about being cold earlier, so you had offered your jacket out of concern. Now…now you don’t know if you regret it or not. Not when the heat seeping into your skin is making your already fuzzy mind all the more hazy. You shiver, blinking as a line of neon green flares over Rafayel, momentarily lighting your way in the dark, crowded room.

Your face is level with his neck, and here, that sea-breeze-hot-sand-moonlight blend of his scent is stronger. You can physically feel the way your body automatically relaxes as you breathe him in deeply, your own hands coming up to rest on the criminally smooth silk of his shirt.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be in my way all the time.” You mumble out, swallowing back a groan when you can feel the muscles beneath his shirt twitch as the sudden heat of your breath hits his ear. Another flash of light slants over him, and you notice that his ears are turning a dark shade of pink. Your stomach swoops at the realization, and you have the sudden urge to look at his face; to see if that blush goes any further. You go to pull back, to try and get a glimpse of his expression, but you’re stopped by his hands pulling you in closer; until your bodies are flush against each other.

“And where do you think you’re going, hm?” The low rasp of his voice strikes you like a lightning bolt, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to swallow back the sound you almost let out because of it. It takes you a few tries of opening and closing your mouth, but eventually you get out the words.

“T-to maybe sit down..? Or…” You pause, your whole head dizzy from the mixture of alcohol and desperate want lighting you up inside like a firecracker.

“Or..?” He drawls out, and maybe it's the alcohol talking, but you swear you feel his teeth graze your ear slightly. You shake within the hold he’s got on you, and you feel the low rumble of his laugh through the vibrations racing through your hands before it barks out close to your ear.

“Oh, c’mon, beautiful. You can tell me what you want, right?” Your hands curl up where they rest on his chest, and you press your forehead into his neck to try and muffle the loud moan that nickname causes you to let out, thighs unconsciously squeezing to try and offer yourself a bit of friction to your suddenly achy clit. God, you feel as if you’re gonna shake out of your skin if he keeps talking to you like that. The hand on your shoulder slides down to join its twin on your waist, and you literally can’t keep the sounds from exiting your mouth even if you tried. A trail of fire follows the path of his hand, and it slowly sinks past the stretchy fabric of your dress to meet the sensitive, twitching center of your cunt. Rafayel trembles underneath your hold slightly, the grip around your waist getting tighter.

“Tell me.” It’s a surprise to hear his words, half-demand, half-plea as he breathes hotly into your ear. You blink away the stray amount of tears forming at the corners of your eyes. It honestly has been years since you’ve last been intimate with anyone, so maybe that’s why you feel this sensitive? Who knows, because you can certainly say that you don’t—not when your entire body feels like its housing magma within your veins.

But Rafayel needs something from you, yeah?

“...Do you? Wanna go dance with me?” You gasp out, your loud sound of surprise being drowned out by the heavy beat as Rafayel bodily picks you up. His hands rest on the soft pudge of your waist, the tip of his nose finding the crook of your neck as he blindly pushes his way through the crowd. You cling onto his back with your nails, and you feel the vibrations of his groan as they cut a little deeper than you intended in your shock.

You open your mouth to apologize maybe? But your entire focus falls onto the way Rafayel changes his grip from your waist to your thighs, sliding in between the slits on either side of your body. Your eyes roll slightly when that searing heat gets even closer to where you really want it, mouth falling open when he presses light, barely there kisses along the side of your neck. You dig your nails into his back again, making these whiny, soft little noises into the side of his throat near his ear. You can’t help it—it’s all just too much for you. Every time he touches you like this, skin on skin, it feels like he’s igniting all of these little embers inside of you. Like he’s trying to fan them into a full blown blaze. Your mind is in a haze of sensation, the lights around you pulling you deeper into that floaty, barely there feeling.

You’re suddenly being let down, and you make an upset noise, keeping your arms wrapped around Rafayel’s neck as he sets your feet back on the ground. Your hold forces his forehead to knock against yours, and through your slightly blurry vision, you can spot the darker tint to his cheeks, the slack part to his mouth, the long length of his lashes as his lids fall to half mast. His hands travel back up to the low dip of your waist, gripping so tightly to the fabric of your dress that it slightly bunches. He exhales in and out, and your breaths mingle as you stare helplessly into his eyes.

Fuck, those eyes of his.

Normally, they’re so bright they almost blind you; reminding you of sunsets on the beach or the polychromatic colors found in bubbles of seafoam. Underneath the darkness of the club, though, they’re a deep and unfathomable black. Flat and without an eyeshine to them, it’s like looking into the ocean in the dead of night. Still waters hiding the dangers underneath an empty void. A shark smelling blood in the water. A hungry predator lying in wait.

Those predator eyes of his combined with the calmness of his expression is a terrifying mix. You know you should be afraid. It’s the normal reaction—the correct reaction in the face of the all consuming hunger you can see reflected in his eyes. But all that look makes you feel excitement so potent and vast that it makes you gush heavily into the cotton of your panties.

God, there’s something fucking wrong with you.

His parted lips suddenly split into a wide, off kilter smile. You think you see a flash of serrated teeth before he ducks his head and presses his lips against your jugular. Your breath stops in your chest as your body easily bends to his whims, your back arching to accommodate the new position he fixes himself in. You’re utterly frozen as he drags his mouth over the sensitive, delicate skin of your throat; breath hot and raising goosebumps across your skin.

“You said you wanted to dance.” The dark murmur makes your thighs twitch, and you start to breathe again when he readjusts your dress. He spins you around without another word, plastering himself against your back. His hands fall to your hips, the curve of your ass settling in the cradle of his pelvis as he leans his head against yours. His mouth levels with your ear again.

“So let’s dance, yeah, cutie?”

An order more than a plea; clearly, he wasn’t asking you.

That deep, sensual rhythm still plays around you. Slow and reverberating through your entire body, you can do nothing but obey. So you move; hesitantly, nervously, until the beat settles within your bones. Side to side, back and forth, rotate your hips and repeat until it becomes second nature to you. Until the hypnotic sound becomes as easy as breathing. Time slows to a crawl as you sway to the steady ‘boom-boom-boom’, breath hitching when you feel Rafayel join in on the motion.

Pressed so close together, you can feel everything. The heaving of his muscled chest, the sweat from his hair dripping down the slope of your neck, the strong grip of his hands holding onto your hips, the bulge in his slacks insistently poking at the round flesh of your ass. You’re trembling, you discover, when he starts to move against you. Shaking with so much pent up need that it feels like you’re going to explode from the pressure of it all.

Your hands lay against his, and though his moves don’t falter, his breath does catch. You can’t see him from the angle you’re facing—all you can see is an ocean of shadows, all flickering eerily in and out of focus with the strobe lights and smoke. Breathing heavily, you slowly inch his hands down to the wide slits of your dress. That hitching becomes a loud groan, desperate and frenzied all at once. It makes your legs quake, but you don’t slow your hands until you can feel every inch of his palms on your bare flesh. His fingers immediately sink into the plush fat, his hips roughly rolling forward. Your cunt clenches at the feeling, a pathetic mewl that’s eaten up by the pounding bass falling from your panting mouth.

Somehow, he hears it anyway.

He hisses something in a deep and foreign language you’ve never heard before in your ear. It sends a jolt through you listening to that guttural, inhuman sound. Despite that, however, the pace from before continues. Deliberate and unhurried. It makes you want to scream; you want more. Want to feel him against you without the layers. Want to feel that steady grind so deep inside of you that you’ll feel it for days after.

You whine again at the thought, hands coming up to cover your mouth. For lack of anything better to do with them, really. Any of the noises you make are swallowed up by the surging crowd and music. You choke out another moan when his fingers slightly knead the supple flesh of your thighs, his harsh pants breathed out against you. Over and over and over again. Dragging his thick, clothed cock against your ass. Gripping your bare skin with his strong, nimble fingers. Breathing heavily into the shell of your ear, little murmurs of compliments and that strange language echoing deep within your mind.

Fog and lights draw you deeper into that haze clouding up your brain, your eyes glazing over as you get lost in the darkness of the club. You hardly even notice when you reach your peak, the only indicator being the way you fall limp in his grasp; eyes rolling to the back of your head, lips parting in a silent scream.

You quickly sink into unconsciousness after that. The last thing you feel is Rafayel shuddering against you, the echo of his low groan following you into your dreams.

✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦

fishie princess ♓

hey so about those lunch plans…

it looks like i can’t go

sorry

You immediately call him moments later, not even hesitating when you see that string of texts after you wake up. Fear and shame clog your throat, and you’re about two seconds away from breaking down if what happened last night just ruined your friendship with Rafayel.

It felt almost like a dream, remembering the end to your night out. And you would have thought it was, if you hadn’t woken up back in your apartment still dressed from the night before. A blanket had been tucked around you, and your makeup was wiped off. Barefoot but clothed in your exact same outfit—hair included. You were still reeling from that revelation of truth, because you were tipsy at most and not drunk, so you basically remembered everything before you came so hard that you passed the fuck out. Which makes the dread swirling around your belly all the more potent as you anxiously wait for Rafayel to pick up.

The call rings three times before it connects.

You open your mouth, but your mind completely blanks on what you can possibly say. You blink, and a few tears drip down your cheeks, and you have to bite down on your lip hard to stop the sob from coming out.

“...[✦]?”

You pause when you hear his voice. Low and raspy. Did he just wake up? Is that why he took so long to answer? It hadn’t been very long at all since he sent the texts, so maybe. You grip your phone tightly, fingers aching from the strain. You know you’ve got to say something, but it’s just so hard when it feels like your entire world is crashing down around your ears. Does he regret it? Is that why he doesn’t want to see you?

Just the thought jabs into your heart like a blade, and it's the threat of not knowing that drives you to finally speak.

“Are…are we okay? Are—did you cancel on me because of last night…?” Barely louder than a whisper, your voice rings out in the silence of your apartment like a gunshot. Saying it out loud makes it real to you, and more tears fall from your eyes as you squeeze them shut. There’s a shaky note to your voice that you’re sure gives you away, and you wish you had a semblance of a poker face when it comes to Rafayel. It’s embarrassing how easily you break at the thought of him distancing himself from you after last night. But there was something there, between you two yesterday. A palpable tension lurking behind every look given. Every word spoken. Every touch you two shared.

You thought so, at least. But if he really thinks that moment at the club was a mistake…you think it would shatter you. No, you know for a fact it would. The longer he doesn’t speak, the more the pain in your chest spreads until you're folded over, forehead touching your knees as you try and keep your tears quiet. Fuck, did you just destroy this? Did you really just throw away the chance at having him in your life because you were too weak to deny that greedy little thing buried deep inside of you?

“Rafayel…?” You croak out, needing him to say something already.

“Are you…crying?”

“No.” Your lie isn’t even convincing enough to fool a baby. It’s so fucking obvious that you’re crying, you feel ashamed for even lying about it. What hurts you more is the pained sound Rafayel lets out after.

“Why–?” But you can’t let him finish. You refuse to think about anything else until he answers you.

“Do you regret it? What happened between us last night.”

“...” You can hear the sound of him breathing heavily on the other end, and despite the pain you feel, you also can’t help but get a bit worried. He doesn't sound okay, panting that hard.

“..of course I don’t. I could never. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to–urk!” His ragged voice cuts out with a grunt, and you jump when something crashes to the ground in the background.

“Rafayel?! Are you alright?”

“Yeah…just fell out of my bed.” He wheezes and you sigh with relief. Then, the weight of his words hits you, and your face burns hot. Does that mean he wanted last night too? That…that it wasn’t a mistake? Silence falls again and neither of you seem willing to break the awkward stalemate. You chew on your lip, tugging on one of your messy braids as you wait for Rafayel to speak up first. He was the last one talking after all…

“I’m not cancelling on you because of last night. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You flop onto your back with a low sigh, using one of your hands to wipe away your tears. Relief replaces the pain, and you nod your head even though he can’t see it.

“No, no you wouldn’t. I’m sorry, just—you gotta know how scary it is to wake up with that sorta text after…” You trail off with a strangled whine, and the last of your anxiety is wiped away by the tired, yet bright laugh that rumbles in your ear.

“You’re right. I’m sorry about that, beautiful. Didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“D-don’t worry about it, it’s fine! But, why are you quitting on me? Did something come up?” You hear the sounds of shuffling come from the other end of the phone, and you frown when you hear a distant groan. Did he hurt himself falling?

“...I’m a little…under the weather. I woke up and didn’t feel so good, and I didn’t want to go eat when I felt like this, sooo…”

Well. Now you feel like a moron. He’s fucking sick, why the hell would he want to go outside when he’s feeling like shit? And it wasn’t like he said he didn’t want to see you—just that he couldn’t go. ‘Wow, that’s gotta be a new low.’ You press your palm to your face hard. You want to scream with how embarrassed you feel. But your emotional freakout can wait for a later time. Rafayel is sick, maybe he caught something from last night, or maybe it was from days prior. Whatever he’s got, it’s keeping him locked inside of his home.

Only one thing to do, then.

“Hmm, yeah that makes sense. Have you taken anything for it? Or have you just been rolling around in your bed whining at the pain?”

“How mean!”

“So that’s a yes then. Alright, well give me a few hours and let me put together a bag. If you’re sick, I can take care of you until you’re better. I’m off work for the next two weeks, so I should be able to—”

“No you don’t! I’m not risking you getting the ick too. I’ll have some stuff delivered, so you don’t need to come all the way over.”

You pause. Rafayel…doesn’t want you to take care of him like this? When every other time he’s damn near demanded you baby him until he heals up?

“You…don’t want to see me…?” Doubt begins to creep back in, but before its roots can fully take hold, Rafayel stops them.

“I always wanna see you, cutie. Never doubt me on that.” Your tense shoulders relax when you hear the sincerity and conviction in his voice. Then why…?

“Is it that bad?”

He sighs.

“It definitely feels a lot different than just a common cold. I don’t wanna accidentally give it to you, so I’ll heal up on my own this time.” The exhaustion in his tone makes your heart ache.

“Are you sure? You know I wouldn’t mind helping out if you need me to, Rafayel.” He groans through the phone, and the worry in your chest ratchets up in its intensity. You’re already standing and about to put on your shoes before his voice stops your movements.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll just have to go out when I get better, that’s all. I’ll be good as new in a few days, trust me, alright?” The strained, heavy breathing dictates otherwise, but you allow him his privacy. He’s asking you to give him some time to heal, so that’s exactly what you’ll do.

“...Fine. But I’m going to at least call you to check up on you! If you don’t answer, I’m marching right over and helping you out. And I mean it, Rafayel. You’ve got me worried, sounding that pitiful.” You try to inject a bit of humor to lighten up the mood, but you think the concern in your voice just cancels it out. Rafayel gives you a weak little chuckle.

“I’m sick right now and you attack me like this? Striking a man while he’s down is a low blow, you know.”

“Well then get better so it’ll be a more even match.”

He laughs again, this time with a little more energy.

“Yes ma’am. Now shoo and lemme rest up some more.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just, let me know if you need anything, okay, Rafayel?

“You got it, cutie.”

“You promise?” Maybe you’re being too pushy, but you can’t get rid of the nagging feeling that he’s hiding something else from you. He’s still sick, and you believe him when he says that he wasn’t regretting last night. But still…something about his tone doesn’t feel like the whole truth of the matter. It bugs you that he isn’t telling you. Itches at your skin that you aren’t able to make him feel better—that he’s not allowing you to make him feel better. So you need to hear him say that he’ll come to you when he’s ready. If you don’t, you might just hop on a train to Mo Art Studio and give your help to him whether he wants it or not.

“Yeah, I promise. I’ll let you know when I need you.” You shiver at the strange tone you hear at the end of his words, but before you can even begin to ask about it, his voice chimes in with a much lighter tone.

“Bye, bye, cutie. We’ll talk later, m’kay?”

“...Bye Rafayel.”

One click and the call disconnects.

✦.─────── ☽ ₊‧.°.⋆☽◯☾⋆.°.‧₊ ☾ ───────.✦

Days pass slowly for you.

True to your word, you call Rafayel everyday for a checkup. Even if you two still text when he’s not resting, even if you’re texting before the appointed time for the call. You never fail to hit that little phone button. And he never fails to pick up; that low rasp of his meeting your ears and soothing the worry somewhat.

You breathe a lot easier whenever you get to hear him speak. It feels as if you’re actively doing something instead of just sitting around and waiting for him to get better. However, you do feel a little bad at making him talk with a sore throat. At least, you think he has a sore throat. That’s really the only explanation for the lower register he now uses. It would even explain the strange sounds that interrupt him when he speaks sometimes. Noises akin to a bastardized mix of a dog’s growl and a dolphin’s clicking. It’s usually cleared away when he coughs, and even though it worries the absolute fuck out of you, he always waves them away with a laugh that’s beginning to sound a lot more forced as time flies by.

Because those strange noises never go away. If anything, they get more frequent, and as much as he tries to downplay it, you know for a fact that sounding like some kind of fucking scary sea monster isn’t normal.

It doesn’t help that you also just plain miss him.

Yes, you two talk on the phone and text and even share a few video calls if he feels up to it. But it isn’t enough for you anymore. You want to physically be around him now. That one night out has spoiled you rotten and you can’t stand that you aren’t within his personal bubble anymore. He was so close to you that entire night, whether it was a hand on your arm, tossed over your shoulder or gripping your waist. It’s driving you crazy reliving those sensations in your mind, but that’s all you can do now. Replay that night over and over again inside your head; reliving the things you remembered feeling.

How it felt to be pressed against him, his muscled chest to your back, his body heat seeping into your skin as his hips rocked against you. You now know what his hands feel like against your face, tugging at your hair, gripping onto your thighs and waist—lifting you like you weighed nothing to him. You know what hunger looks like painted on the pretty angles of his face; pink lips parted, eyelids lowered over those dark, dark voids that threatened to suck you in like a whirlpool, eagerly waiting to drown you in their unknowable depths. You know what he sounds like when he’s desperate and panting in your ear, when he’s giving you an order in that dark tone of his, when he’s hissing out praises too garbled and low for you to truly hear.

And, every time you go to sleep, deep inside of your dreams, you think you hear the noise he made just before you passed out. That hitching groan that tapered off into a pretty little whimper as his hips jerked against you in uneven patterns, so different from the slow and methodical rhythm seen before. You don’t know if it really happened or if you made up that last part, but it still haunts you regardless. Makes your heart race in your chest, makes your cunt clench and your mouth water at the thought of causing him to sound like that again.

You want it more than anything. You want him more than anything you’ve ever wanted in your life. And you’re only human. A weak, weak human whose patience finally runs out after a week of not seeing him. You manage to last until the late afternoon after your usual call with Rafayel before you finally snap, and you should at least be commended for that, you think.

You don’t tell him you’re coming over—you already know what he’ll say—and he told you he’d be taking a nap after your call, so it really is the perfect time to sneak over there. If you get there late enough, you’ll also have a decent excuse of staying over, even if it’d be only for the night. Just one night to watch over him would be enough for you.

He’s sick, so you cover yourself up in comfortable clothes you don’t mind messing up, tying your hair up in a quick ponytail. A baggy pair of black sweatpants and a normal white tee that’s thin enough to keep you from overheating underneath the hoodie you zip over it. You take your keys and phone, only the essentials because your hands need to be free when you stop at the pharmacy to pick up the appropriate supplies. After double checking that you’ve locked your door, you head to the train station and make the trip.

One hour later and arms filled with bags from the pharmacy as well as some extra easy to digest snacks and drinks from the convenience store, you’re looking at the outside gate of Mo Art Studio. Swallowing, nerves bubble and pop in your belly, your heavy breaths warming up the space covered by the light blue surgical mask pulled to the bridge of your nose. The sun is going down now, and while a part of you is a bit worried about that, an even bigger part is stuck on the thought of you being in his home at night after everything.

Shaking your head, you push your way through the open gates, slowly walking up the path into the building.

Rafayel gave you a key back when you were working for him, so when you get to his studio door, you fumble your way through your pockets. Your hand is shaking, and it takes you a few tries before you get the door to open. You exhale sharply when it swings past you, and you peek your head in to view the room inside.

“Rafayel, are you awake? I brought you some things I think will help…” Your voice is tentatively low as you inch your way into the dark studio. The curtains are open, so while there’s no lights turned on, the rays of the setting sun light your path enough for you to see. It’s then that you notice the body sprawled out on the ground in front of the sofa, back facing the cushions and arms stretched out in front of him. The only thing stopping you from rushing over is the rise and fall of his chest, as labored as his breathing is. Sweat glints underneath the sun's rays as it beads on his cheeks and neck, so you stop dawdling and quickly enter his home.

You close the door quietly behind you, setting down the bags and rummaging through them for a towel and the large bottle of water you bought. A cold compress should help with the very clear fever he’s got, and the extra water can be used to hydrate him. Rafayel tends to dry easily, so you know he couldn’t complain too much if you woke him up for something to drink.

It takes you no time at all to find the things you need, and soon enough, you’re sitting on your knees beside the awkwardly laying Rafayel, positioned directly in front of him. The ends of his hair are damp and stick to his forehead and the base of his neck, an alarming shade of pink covering his cheeks and the top of his chest you can see beneath his partly open button up. What you mistook as sweat from afar actually turns out to be little blue scales. They dot along the tops of his cheekbones, leading a sparse trail down to the side of his throat. His already pale skin looks even paler mingling with the shining blue, and the pained grimace furrowing his brow makes your chest ache. You have no idea what those scales can possibly mean, even though something tickles at the back of your mind with a vague sense of knowing. You ignore it, focusing on what you came here to do and not the odd new additions to Rafayel’s handsome face.

After folding and wetting the towel, you gently press it to his forehead, smiling when he sleepily groans and turns his face towards your hands. His eyes squint, and he grumbles nonsense before settling again. You almost don’t want to wake him, but with how much he’s sweating, you want to get some fluids in him as quickly as you can. With another intake of breath, you do your best to wake him.

“Hey…hey, wake up, Rafayel.” You shake his shoulder, trying again and again until he finally squirms and starts to wake. The last of the sun’s rays lay a thick stripe over his eyes, and when he opens them, they look like blazing flames. Your breath hitches when those unfocused flames land on your face and you get a strange image layered over his prone form. It’s gone between one blink and the next, but it leaves you shaken regardless—that niggling of knowing getting the slightest bit louder in your head. He blinks and the last of the sun’s light dies out, leaving you both in the cool tones of the evening sky.

“You up now?” You ask, watching as confusion fills Rafayel’s face. His eyes track up to his forehead where the compress is and then back to your face. He stays silent for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words; maybe for the first time in his life. You give him a smile and carefully help him sit up against the bottom of the couch.

“...Cutie?” You wince at the scratchy sound of his voice and hurriedly bring the bottle of water to his lips. Sluggishly, he drinks the water, eyes never leaving you as the confusion clears and something else takes its place. You ignore the burning of your cheeks and keep helping him drink, avoiding the growing heat in Rafayel’s lidded eyes as they stare deeply at you.

“Better?” You ask after he finishes the whole bottle. He hums out something non-committal, the hazy darkness of his eyes highlighted by the sudden moonlight bleeding in from the windows. You reach up to adjust the compress on his forehead when he doesn’t say anything. Your fingers accidentally graze the side of his nose, and you go to apologize, but it dies on your lips when Rafayel’s eyes flutter shut and he eagerly leans towards your palm.

You can only watch, mute, as one of his hands grabs onto your wrist, sliding underneath the loose sleeve of your hoodie. His skin is hot to the touch, maybe even a little too hot as the drag of his fingers leaves a scorching path across your skin. It hurts, the burning left behind by his dexterous fingers, but if anything you lean into that pain; eyes glued to the expression on his face as he nuzzles into your captured palm.

Blissful is the only word to come to your mind as he presses his mouth to your hand, layering gentle nips to the fleshy part of your palm before rubbing his cheek over your knuckles. You clench your other hand in the fabric of your sweatpants, biting down on your lip to keep in the noises threatening to escape. The heat from his hands and mouth is dizzying, leaving your head a complete mess while you watch him press close to your open hand. He seems to…worship your hand, dragging his nose along the slender curve of your digits, cupping his cheek with your palm, inhaling the thin skin of your wrist like he’s some kind of hunting dog.

It all makes your belly tingle with excitement, but when his hazy eyes open to meet yours, it’s like a cold bucket of water is thrown on you. Unfocused and completely incoherent—Rafayel doesn’t really know what he’s doing right now. The arousal quickly dies out after that, replaced with concern and disgust aimed at yourself.

He’s sick and feverish, you can’t take anything that he’s doing now seriously whatsoever. The last thing you want to do is take advantage of the man you love in such a despicable way. Gently, you begin to pull away your hand, the ache in your heart growing when he makes a low, forlorn sound. He sounds like a little puppy when he whines like that, and he does try to keep your hand in his grip, but it just isn’t right of you to allow this to continue.

“Rafayel, you’ve gotta let me go, okay? You’re still sick, so I want you to try and lay down on the couch.” You have to use your other hand to properly disentangle the first, but you do free yourself. Rafayel looks sad for about six seconds before a startling sense of clarity enters his eyes. He jerks back, an irritated frown forming on his face as he glares at you.

‘There he goes.’ You smile as best you can, hoping that it’s conveyed despite the mask.

“Hey, Rafayel.” It’s lame and awkward as hell, but that doesn’t stop you from trying regardless.

“What are you doing here—I told you to stay away from me until I get better.” It hurts you to be on the receiving end of that pissed off look, but at least you can finally see him in person, hear him without the tinny filer of a phone and the limited specs of a camera. The hurt in your chest spreads when his anger doesn’t abate, and the emotions you’ve been grappling at for the past week suddenly come to the forefront of your mind. The worry, the fear, the longing—all of it.

“And when exactly was that going to happen, huh? It’s been a week and you haven’t gotten any better. You didn’t sound like you did during our phone calls either, if anything your fever got worse! A week may not seem like a long time to you, but it is to me and I fucking missed you, you ass—,” You hate that your voice cracks on the word. You hate even more when Rafayel’s eyes widen and then grow concerned at the sight of your teary eyes. This isn’t supposed to be about you at all, it’s supposed to be about him. But you also can’t deny that you had a selfish ulterior motive. You angrily sigh, more upset at yourself than him.

You reach up to wipe the tears in your eyes, but feverishly warm fingers beat you to it. Between one blink and the next, Rafayel is all up in your face, gazing down at you with a visibly conflicted expression as he gently clears the tears away from your waterline. You sniffle a little and blink at him, eyes going from the dark pool swirling within the sunset-hues if his irises to the gleaming blue scales sitting pretty on his cheeks.

“...You’re crying again.” He states quietly, and you honestly don’t know how to respond to that, so you keep silent, your gaze moving down to look at the scales on his neck.

Rafayel clearly has more secrets than you ever realized. Carries more than he ever wanted to share with you. Is he really sick? Or…or was he trying to keep the scales a secret from you. Maybe he doesn’t trust you enough to tell you? Or maybe he’s been betrayed before and he can’t trust you no matter how much he wants to? Is this a new thing or has he always been this way? Is this why he’s so reclusive? The various questions cross your mind so fast you almost grow dizzy.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come.

“Do you want me to leave?” You whisper, eyes resolutely locked onto the side of his throat. You can feel the weight of his stare as it bores into you, but you just can’t look at his face. If he rejects you outright and you see it, you’ll definitely cry and you really don’t want to do that. You were being selfish, if he’s upset and wants to send you away then that’s completely his right. Rafayel sighs heavily, and you wilt underneath the weight of that pressure. You’re just about to move away when one of his hands anchors to your waist, freezing you in your tracks.

“Silly girl, don’t you remember what I told you before?” His fingers softly land underneath your chin, tipping your head up so that you’re meeting his eyes. His brows are furrowed slightly, but it's more frustration than real anger anymore. And it seems to be aimed more at himself than you. He gently taps your chin with the pads of his forefinger, giving you an expectant look when you keep quiet.

You flush.

“Th…that you’ll always wanna see me. N-never doubt that.”

“Exactly. So you already know the answer to that question you asked, hm?” You nod, a bit shy in the face of his candid words. But they do help you feel better, and the tense line to your shoulders relaxes. His lips faintly quirk into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks down at you, softly rubbing the edge of his fingers against the slight pudge of your chin. When they catch on the end of the mask, he scoffs a bit then removes it. You want to offer a protest because you really don’t want to get sick too, but they don’t pass your lips when you see that unfathomable look in his eyes.

“As much as I want you here, though, you shouldn’t be here. S’dangerous for you, cutie.” The low tone sends chills down your spine. Dangerous? Your gaze flicks to the scales, and you think back to his behavior at the nightclub. The empty blackness of his eyes, the predatory edge to his face, the flash of serrated teeth you thought you imagined. A picture is beginning to paint itself in your mind, but you won’t make any assumptions until he confirms it for you himself.

“You can’t hurt me.” You state plainly, and you can see the argument start on his face, but you interrupt before he can say a thing.

“I’m serious, Rafayel. You cannot hurt me. I won’t let you think that you will.” Swallowing down your nerves, you lean closer to him. His eyes widen and he instinctively leans back, knocking the cold compress off his forehead in his rush. You ignore the wet ‘splat’ as it falls to the ground next to you, following him until he’s back in his original spot against the couch. But this time, you’re poised over his lap, resting high up on your knees above him. The furious blush to his cheeks grows even darker as he looks up at you, and you slowly bring your hands up to cradle his face. He sharply inhales, eyelids fluttering closed even as his hands wrap around your wrists as if to pull you off. But they merely rest there, as if looking for something to hold. As if looking for an anchor.

“You don’t understand, [✦]—!”

“Then help me, Rafayel. Because from where I’m at, there’s nothing you can do that could ever hurt me.” You gently brush your thumbs along the edges of his scales; lips quirking when Rafayel’s eyes slip nearly closed. They’re wickedly sharp and cold to the touch, like stainless steel. But prettier, in your opinion. Granted, everything about Rafayel is pretty in a deadly way, so it's easy for you to accept the scales as yet another part of him. A part that you want to know about desperately. The hands around your wrist tighten and you see Rafayel’s teeth grit so hard that a vein nearly pops in his jaw.

His eyes snap open, the normal color of his eyes now resembling that flat black from the nightclub. He bares his teeth in a snarl, an angry hiss falling vibrating up his throat. It’s unlike any expression you’ve seen on his face before, yet it does very little to frighten you. Even when you feel the prick of too-sharp nails bite into the sensitive flesh of your wrist. Even when the ends of his teeth grow the slightest bit sharper, the color of his scales glowing even brighter underneath the moonlight.

He’s stunning. And as all the puzzle pieces click in your mind, you finally understand what he is.

“I’m a Lemurian, [✦]. I’m a vicious, angry monster that snaps up humans and whatever else I can sink my claws into. I’m fucking dangerous and you need to leave if you want to stay safe.” He says, as if he isn’t gripping your wrists tight enough to bruise. As if every cell in his body doesn’t want you even closer. You don’t say anything to that, just stare down at him with the sweetest and softest smile you have and keep the hold on his face easy and gentle.

You can see him fighting against your touch, but it's clearly a losing battle when he so eagerly leans into your hands, mouth parted as heavy breaths wet the skin of your wrist. You bite your lip at the expression on his face, watching as his eyelashes fan over the tops of his cheeks when he nuzzles into your hands, all that faux aggression from before melting off him. Rafayel is hungry for your touch—starved for it, really. It makes your chest burn when you finally realize that he aches for you the way you do him. It’s in the way his entire body can’t help but open up to you, the way he held your hand earlier, the nicknames and the intensity—all of it begins to make sense now.

You duck your head to touch his forehead with yours, smiling slightly when he lets out a breathy little sigh that blows across your face. Eyes open and already watching, you witness the change in his irises when his eyelids lift. The final shift from his human guise to a glimpse of his real one. A blue so clear and bright that it rivals the sky itself glows from within the ring of his irises, the black vertical slits for his pupils growing fat and wide when they lock onto you. It’s surprisingly cute, and it reminds you of how a cat’s pupils expand when it locks onto something they really like.

“Oh Rafayel…you’re so beautiful.” You coo, brushing your nose against his. He visibly looks startled and the comical expression makes you burst into a fit of giggles. You don’t surprise him often, so when you do, it always fills you with a childish kind of delight.

“You think I’m gonna be afraid of you because…what, you’ll hurt me with your claws? Bite me with those teeth of yours? Cut me on the edges of your scales? Rafayel–,” You lean back a bit, biting back a grin when he follows you. Gently, you push him back with the grip you have on his cheeks, lowering your head down to his ears, which have gained a slightly pointed edge. He goes ramrod still when he feels your breath on his ear.

“What you don’t seem to realize,” You murmur against the cartilage, lightly squeezing his face in your hands, “is that I’m not scared of you. How could I be when I can see that you aren’t dangerous to me? There have been plenty of times before where it would’ve been so easy for you to do something. But you haven’t, and that’s why I trust you. That’s why I’ll do anything for you, anything you need me to do.”

“You don’t—you can’t mean that.” He spits, like you can’t feel the restraint in his tense body. Like you don’t see just how much he’s holding himself back. You pull away to stare into his eyes, dragging your thumbs down the flushed skin of his cheeks. God, the look he’s giving you—a fine haze swirling through that brilliant shade of blue; an angry little furrow between his brow as his lips slightly purse into a pout. Sexy and cute all at once, the sight alone makes you want to give him anything and everything he wants ever.

“I mean every single word. Whatever it is that you’re going through, you clearly need my help. Just let me, please? I just wanna make you feel better. Hate seeing you like this.” Slowly, you lower yourself to sit in his lap. He watches you back, and you can see the fight start to leave him, the grip on your wrists loosening their tight hold.

“You don’t even know what’s wrong with me. How can you be so sure that you’ll even help?” He sneers, but he doesn’t stop you when you settle on his lap. You ignore the bulge you can feel pressing against you, sliding one of your hands down to rest on his chest. The grip on your wrist breaks easily, the other falling from your hand soon after.

“Then tell me.” You push yourself even closer, dragging across his lap to settle against him, chest to chest. His hips jerk when you do, his hands falling to your waist as if to stop you. But they just rest there instead, kneading the soft skin held in his slim fingers.

“Help me understand you, Rafayel. I promise you, all I want to do is help.” There’s a desperate edge in your voice that you can’t hide, the grip you have on his cheek growing tighter as you slightly shake his face. As if you can physically get him to understand that you’re serious—that you’d love nothing more than to serve him. To make that pained grimace disappear.

He stares at you, and you can feel the rapid pounding of his heartbeat through his warm and sweaty chest. Which means that he can feel how fast your heart is racing despite how calm you’re trying to be. And you can see when he finally gives up; the tenseness to his expression going lax in defeat. While you don’t grin in victory, you also don’t bother hiding your happiness.

“You don’t get to run away from me after this. I won’t let you go, even if you beg me to.” He warns, low and serious.

“Don’t you remember what I said earlier?” You retort back, and a quicksilver flash of amusement flickers through his eyes before he ducks his head down. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, and you end up tossing both of your arms over his shoulders in order to sit more comfortably. You run your fingers through the strands of his hair, shivering when you feel his lips gently brush against your pulse point. The coolness of his scales press into your skin, but surprisingly, they don’t cut you.

“...Once a year, the ocean’s tide lowers and pulls in the opposite direction.” His hands slip underneath your hoodie and your t-shirt to touch your bare skin. Your eyelids flutter shut when he rests one of his hands on your stomach, sliding the other around to rub along the small of your back.

“Lemurians grow weak during that time. Vulnerability equals death when you live the way we do. As our body physically weakens…our instincts get stronger in response. Grow so intense that they help us stay alive. Stay safe against those that would use us—those who we don’t consider ours.” You gasp when you feel his teeth nibble on your skin, kicking your hips forward when the hand on your stomach dips lower.

“Around those we feel safest by, those who we can trust, our instincts latch onto that. They fuel our desires and cause them to become almost uncontrollable.” Your heart thumps painfully in your chest. ‘He trusts you. He trusts you so much that he..’ But you have to be sure. You can’t—you need to hear him say it out loud.

“Wh-what do you desire, then? What do you need?” You squirm when his hand stops at the waistband of your sweatpants, his other slowly trailing up your spine; dragging the tips of his nails up each individual knob.

“...You. I need you so bad that it’s driving me wild. Fuck, but you already feel what you do to me, right?” The laugh he lets out is derisive, but it does nothing to hide the utter desperation coloring his words. The pound of his heart ticks up where his chest is pressed against yours, and the breathing against your throat gets even heavier. You cunt clenches when he admits it. You almost wouldn’t believe it, if not for the fervent kisses he’s placing against your neck. As if a damn breaks, the hands on your skin feel you up with an urgency that causes your veins to flow with an uncontrollable heat.

“Need you so bad right now, cutie, you’ve got no idea. Wanna rip these stupid clothes off and see all of you. I’ve thought about it, you know? What I'd do to you if I had the chance. How pretty you’d scream; how tight and perfect you’d feel wrapped around me.” You shake in his hold, biting your lip when you feel him jerk his hips against you, nails leaving the barest of scratches against your skin as he licks a strip up the side of your throat.

“I’d fill you up so nicely, too. Whatever you wanted—my fingers, my mouth, my cock. Do anything to make you feel good. Have you come so many times that you’d be thinking of nothing but me the same way I think of nothing but you. Need you, need you, please, need you so bad—”

“You have me, Rafayel. Whatever you need from me it’s yours. I’m yours.” Your voice breaks when he groans into your neck, the sound sending a bolt of heat down your spine as he bucks up even faster against you. You grip his hair in one hand, anchoring the other on his shoulder to get more leverage as you try and match the rhythm of his hips; rutting against his clothed cock. Even through your clothes, you can feel it, and it’s hard to stay focused with the noises his voice is whining at you in your ear.

“Again. Say that—say it again. Please.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“I-I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“Rafayel, I’m yours.”

You two gravitate towards each other, foreheads knocked together, breaths mingling as you gaze at one another. The frenzied light in his eyes makes your whole body run hot, and it takes all of your strength to keep that eye contact as you go around and around in circles. Mumbling into each other’s mouths, but never quite kissing, you rock against each other.

The friction shouldn’t be enough for you; but you’ve wanted him for so long that it feels like you get to that precipice in no time at all. Your eyelids flutter, your mouth drops open and your brows furrow. You’re so close to it, you just need that extra push and you’ll be there, but you can’t seem to find it. The hand in his hair tightens into a fist in your frustration, and you accidentally yank on those fluffy strands when you jerk forward too hard. Rafayel’s eyes squeeze tight as his hips stutter up, a low, broken moan falling from his lips as he leans forward.

“Fuck, fuck, shit—” His whole body shudders, and you can only watch as he comes undone beneath you; satisfaction drowning out your previous frustration. You just made him come. You did that, and you haven’t even gotten your hands on him really. He pants against your mouth, sweat dripping down the side of his face and hands gently rubbing over your skin. You hum at the feeling, nuzzling your nose against his as you pet through his hair, rubbing his shoulder with your other hand.

You watch as his eyes slit open, not at all surprised to see the heat in his eyes burning just as strongly as before. They drop to your mouth, and you don’t even have to think before you move. It hardly takes a lot, but it still feels like something momentous as your lips finally meet.

His lips are soft when you kiss; scorching you to the bone when he molds them to yours. You both moan in each other's mouths, his hands reaching up to cup your face while you pull him in closer by his hair. There’s nothing slow about the way you two kiss. A frenzied passion settles in the air between you, the noises from your lips loud as it echoes out into the quiet air.

Rafayel licks over your bottom lip, and you don’t hesitate to slide it open wider. You meet his tongue with yours, and maybe you should find it gross that it quickly dissolves into a messy and wet affair; spit from both of your mouths sliding down your chin. But you actually like how slutty it makes you feel, the spit drying on your skin only fanning the embers burning low in your gut.

Soon, though, his lips trail down; teeth scraping against your skin as his fingers fumble with the zipper of your hoodie. You quickly help him unzip it, shrugging it off while he licks and sucks marks into your neck. You instinctively bare more of your throat to him, shivering when his hands waste no time in cupping the heavy sag of your breasts. He’s open-mouth panting into the side of your neck, gently squeezing the soft flesh in his hands before he rubs his thumbs over your nipples. They run over the barbells pierced through them, and you moan when they harden underneath his touch.

He freezes.

He rolls your nipples between his thumbs again, and you can feel his skin get even hotter somehow.

“Off. Your clothes—fuck, I need to see you.” He rasps, letting go of your chest to grab your waist. You nod, and he watches you with lust-blown eyes as you reach down and pull off your shirt. He taps your waist, and without thinking, you leverage yourself up onto your knees.

“Perfect.” The low inhuman trill he lets out after sighing those words startles you and you jump a bit, but the sound soon leaves your mind when you feel his mouth wrap around one of your nipples. His fingers pinch and roll the other one, his second hand slipping beneath your sweatpants. His long, dexterous fingers glide over your mound before delving into the tight, wet heat of your cunt.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, nails digging crescents into his shoulder as you rock down on his fingers. The noise you let out is high-pitched and loud, but you don’t have the mind to be shy about how you sound when all you can think about are the things he’s doing to you. The warmth of his mouth as it toys with your nipple; the heat of his hand as it squeezes your breast; the stretch of his fingers as they glide in and out of you, easy and slick from how embarrassingly wet you are.

“So good, so fucking good, Rafayel–ah!” You tremble when his fingers tug at the little golden barbel piercing glinting in the moonlight, the vibrations from his low moan causing you to squeeze down tightly on his fingers. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you continue to bounce on his hand, crying out and squeezing your eyes shut when he presses down on the one spot that makes you see stars. The coil forming in your belly is tightening tighter and tighter the faster her fucks his fingers into you, purposefully aiming at the spongey nerve inside of you. That peak you were aiming for earlier is fast approaching, and you’re helpless to stop it from careening into you like a truck.

“You close, pretty girl?”

“Yeah. M’so close, Rafayel. Please, please—” Your body sways forward and your eyes fall to his mouth. Glossy with spit and red, you have the sudden urge to kiss him. Using the grip you have on his hair, you gently tug him away from your chest. You tilt his head up and lean down, wrapping your arms around his neck as you close your eyes and press your lips together. He kisses back without hesitation, his free hand sliding around to support your back as he drills his fingers in and out of you. You can feel how close you’re getting, how your muscles twitch and spasm, how the heat from your bodies burns you from the inside out.

“Come on my fingers. C’mon, wanna feel you squeeze around me. Lemme feel it, cutie, I know you’re already there, just need a little more—” You have no idea how he manages it with the awkward angle of his fingers, but you feel a sudden stimulation to your clit and suddenly, you’re gone. Your eyes roll behind your closed lids as tears drip down your cheeks, your body jerking violently in his hold as you cream all over his fingers. Rafayel growls low and deep in his chest, keeping the momentum of his fingers even after it's clear that you’re getting overstimulated.

“Rafa–s’too much, wait…” You shake when his fingers don’t stop, his mouth kissing away the moisture on your face.

“I need to feel you. Please, need to be inside you; need to be in so deep that you never get rid of me.” He begs, and even though your body is still shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm; even though every touch to your throbbing cunt aches; even though you feel like you’re about to float away with all the endorphins rushing through your mind, you easily fold.

He pulls his fingers out of you with a ‘squelch’, quickly maneuvering you until you’re spread out on the floor in front of him, sweatpants tossed off and leaving you completely bare beneath the moonlight streaming in through the open windows. You watch as he quickly undresses himself, eyes trailing down the lean but strong lines of his muscular frame. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the space in between his legs when he drops back to his knees and shuffles towards you. Long and flushed a deep pink, he’s easily the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. Decently thick with a slight left lean, you know that he’s going to fill you so well—your cunt aches at the thought.

“So pretty…” He mumbles, long fingers sliding underneath your thighs. He lifts them until they rest on his shoulders, spreading your pussy out with one hand while he grips the base of his cock with the other. He leans forward, dragging the length of his cock through the messy wet folds of your cunt. You shake uncontrollably while he coats his dick in your fluids, biting your lip when you feel the soft drag of his balls touch where your ass meets your thigh.

“I’m gonna paint you like this, one day. Capture how perfect you look; spread out and waiting for me to fuck you. To fill you with me. You’re mine for life and forever beyond that. Gonna make it so that you’re never whole without me; so that you’re never full if I’m not next to you. M’never gonna let you go now, cutie. But, I think you already know that, yea?” The way he’s staring at you has you reaching out for him; something he easily gives you when he bends down and lets you hook your hands around his neck, your legs falling to either side of his hips.

“You gonna keep me? Split me open and fill me with you?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your eyes half-lidded and your body aching. But you love the feeling it leaves you with; love the hungry, desperate look in Rafayel’s eyes as he ruts his cock against your cunt. Your breaths mix as he brushes his nose against yours, placing a gentle peck to the corner of your eye.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna give you whatever you want. Everything that you want.” He promises, before raising himself slightly. Chest heaving, you train your eyes back down and watch as he uses your slick to coat himself with the hand on his cock, groaning low in his chest when he squeezes the sensitive skin of his head on the upstroke. He angles the tip down, and you feel the insane amount of heat emanating from his dick right before it pierces you. Your entire body trembles in shock as you take him in. Despite being loose from your orgasm, you still find it to be a bit of stretch to fit his girth inside of you. Your mouth drops open in a silent wheeze as that empty feeling inside of you is slowly filled by every inch you take.

Rafayel isn't faring much better above you, sweat dripping down the sculpted planes of his chest as he pants for air, the red flush traveling down his shoulders to his pecs. His eyes are wide opened and locked onto the space where you two are connected, one hand still guiding his shaft, the other digging into the meat of your thigh.

Before long, you feel him bottom out. A hurt little sound punches out of your chest when you feel the tip bump into your cervix. Your hands are scratching at Rafayel’s back, whimpering cries leaving your mouth as he leans back over you. His mouth is slack, eyes hazy and cloudy as his hands fold you over until your feet dangle by your ears. You can barely breath in that position, but the deeper his cock goes more than makes up for it.

The time for words is long gone, evident by the way Rafayel just begins thrusting into you without waiting any longer. Folded in half as you are, all you can do is lie there and take the brutal and sharp jerks of his hips; the sound of your wet skin slapping against his as it echoes out into the otherwise silent room. The only thing you hear is his voice—continuously mumbling out desperate little pleas and praises that you can just barely hear above the blood rushing to your ears. Your own voice comes out as no more than a breathy wheeze from the angle you're positioned at.

You can barely think past the rhythmic clap of his thighs against your ass, eyes blank and glossy. Nothing else matters at that moment; nothing but the stretch of his cock bullying your cunt open; the sharp hit against your cervix that make your cunt clench even tighter; the whimpering, guttural moans of his echoing in your ears; the bruising grip he has on your thighs, nails drawing bloody crescents into your skin; the overwhelming pleasure as becoming one with Rafayel, getting as physically close as two people can possibly get. You barely even notice when Rafayel suddenly sinks his teeth into your neck; you do notice the searing pain that begins to form where he bit, however, and you cry out. The pain and pleasure of it all mixes into an intoxicating blend. It becomes your favorite taste when Rafayel’s scales litter your shoulders and chest with cuts, the nails on his fingers doing much the same to the backs of your thighs.

Rafayel moans into the skin of your neck where his teeth are still buried, the pace of his thrusts speeding up so quickly that you realize what’s about to happen. The thought of him coming inside of you brings you back to your senses, and your hands weakly begin to pull him in even closer. You need to feel him release inside of you; need it so badly you could cry.

You don’t have the breath to plead any longer, but Rafayel seems to just know anyway, because he easily scoops you up, settling in between your legs and pressing you flat to the floor. Your shaking thighs wrap around his waist, and he comes exactly like that; smothering you with the bulk of his body as he marks you on the outside and the inside. Your own orgasm follows, and you come with a hoarse whimper.

Your cunt pulses around his spent cock, and though you can hear the tiny little whines he lets out around the teeth buried in your neck, he refuses to pull out. If anything, he gently rocks his hips against you, as if encouraging your pussy in her plight to milk him dry. Sweat cools sticky against your skin, and you feel the edges of unconsciousness tickle your mind. Before you can fight against it, you find that it already has you under and you lose yourself to the warm, dark embrace of sleep as Rafayel cradles you close; a low, rhythmic humming vibrating his chest.

#owlettie's works #owlettie writes #lads rafayel #love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel smut #rafayel

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coquitokisses · 15 hours ago

Text

Oh, baby! | Dean Winchester

Pairings: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Summary: reader had a one night stand with Dean and they find out she’s pregnant

Word count: 1.4k

A/n: I gotta be honest, this is from a fanfic lmao, which is supposed to be a crossover of Teen Wolf and Supernatural, but I haven’t published it yet and I’ve been wanting to write something about Dean for a whileee so I decided to just edit this lil thing I had and post it here cuz why not?

“Hey, Cas, you’re back.” You smile sweetly at him once you saw him as you made your way to the library to help Sam with research

“Hi, y/n.” He replied with a small smile that soon turned into a confused frown

You noticed. “Everything okay?”

“How do you feel?” He asks

“I’m fine.” You replied, not understanding his sudden worry

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Cas, why? What’s wrong?” You questioned feeling a little alarmed by the way he was asking

“It’s just that I feel another presence.” He said

“Another presence?” Sam took his eyes off the laptop to look at Castiel

“What do you mean another presence?” Dean’s voice was soon heard throughout the library

“Is it bad?” You ask

“No,” Castiel shook his head. “It’s inside you.”

“Inside me?!” You were so confused right now “But what is it? Is it bad?”

“Is she okay?” Sam asked somewhat worried after hearing Castiel’s words

“She’s fine,” he replied and then looked at you “Can I?” he raised his hand

You nodded giving him permission to do whatever he had to do. Castiel put a hand on your forehead and then began to lower it down your body, but without actually touching it, until it reached your belly.

“Can I?” he looked at you, you just nodded

He placed his hand on your belly and that’s when he realized what was the presence he was feeling.

“It’s a baby,” he said, removing his hand

You almost choked. “I’m sorry, WHAT?!”

“A.. baby?” Sam was dumbfounded

“Wait, wait, are you sure?” Dean looked at Castiel

“Very sure,” the angel nodded

“It can’t be...” you put one of you hands on you chest. “Oh my God..”

“Are you really sure?” Dean asked again

“Yes, Dean, I am one hundred percent sure that I feel a baby’s presence.” Castiel snapped back

“This isn’t happening.” Dean ran his hands over his face “This is.. this is simply not happening.”

“Please don’t tell me you guys…” Sam looked at you both

“Sam, just shut up for a minute, okay?” Dean replied

“I- I need to get some air.” You muttered as you walked backwards like three steps and then turned around heading to the stairs

“Y/n wait!” Sam called out but you ignored him

You got out of the bunker and you took a deep breath trying to calm yourself down and not have a panic attack.

“This can’t be real..” you murmured to yourself

You raised your hands to your belly and you’re just standing there in shock.

Of course you wanted a family, but you knew that it was probably not going to happen due to the fact that you’re a hunter and you’ve been hunting basically your whole life. You knew how your life was gonna end. And you made your peace with that. Kinda.

Worst thing about all of this is the fact that Dean is the one who got you pregnant. You two used to hate each other, but throughout the years, you’ve learned to tolerate each other and well, you’ve basically been working with them since they had to deal with the angels pretty much.

He’s always had a crush on you and you knew it, but it wasn’t really that serious. He usually just flirted with you and most of the time you just ignored him.

Until a few weeks ago, while you guys were finishing up a case that Sam decided to let you two handle so you could work on your communication and your anger issues, because the week before that, you have to admit that you were both butting heads every five minutes, and it was driving Sam insane. So he sent you both to deal with a shapeshifter case in Wyoming and with a little assignment to work on your issues and stop behaving like kids. His words.

And you did worked your issues out. You just didn’t think it was gonna be by having sex, but hey, you weren’t complaining at all. He was perfect. And it was the best night you’ve ever had in a while.

And here are the results of that hook up.

It’s clear to say that neither of you are prepared, mentally nor physically prepared to have a kid.

And besides, how were you gonna raise a kid together if you can’t even get along for more than two days?

You got on your car and decided to go for a ride, just to clear your head. And while you were at it, you bought like two boxes of pregnancy tests just to be one thousand percent sure and because you would believe it more once you see it yourself.

You got something to eat after that and decided to use the bathroom at a gas station so you could take the pregnancy tests.

While you waited on the results, you were walking around in the small bathroom, thinking what the hell you were gonna do.

After a few minutes of talking to yourself internally, you decided to take a look at the four pregnancy tests.

“Oh god..” you muttered under your breath seeing the plus sign on the tests

(…)

After a while of just driving around, you finally decided to get back to the bunker. Once you open the door, Dean’s head turned to look at you immediately.

“Where were you?” He asked, leaving the book he was reading on the table

“I was getting rid of the little creature,” you replied

“Y/n.” Dean gave your a stern look

“I’m kidding.” You rolled your eyes. “I went for a ride and to get something to eat, anything else you want to know?”

You walked to where he was and put your hand inside the pocket of your jacket.

“In case you thought Castiel was lying...” you took the pregnancy tests out of your jacket pocket and placed them on the table. “It’s quite real.”

Dean looked at the tests in front of him realizing that this was really happening. He did believe Cas, but seeing the positive pregnancy tests, definitely made his mind finally fall into the acceptance that this was real. Very real.

Dean sighed. “Look, I know you’re not completely happy with this situation, believe me, I’m not either, but..-

“But we already did it and now we have to take responsibility, I know,” you said taking off your jacket “What I’m still trying to figure out is how you and I are going to raise a baby”

“I don’t know either.” He sighed

“This wasn’t supposed to happen” you pulled out a chair so you could sit and then you brought your hands to you face

“I know...” Dean said in a soft voice and leaned a little so he could look at you. “Hey,” he gently took you by the wrists, removing your hands from your face. “You’re not going to be alone, I’m not going for a pack of cigarettes and never come back.”

That made you laugh a little. “I know you won’t.”

“I’m just.. scared.” He admitted “Scared to raise a kid, scared that I might turn out like my dad and I don’t want that..”

“You’re not going to be like your father, Dean.” You said softly “And I’m scared too, like, I’m gonna be carrying a baby inside of me for the next nine months, I’m terrified that I won’t be a good mom.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re going to be an amazing mom.”

You smiled a little. “That’s kinda comforting.”

“I think we can make it work if we make the effort.”

“We hate each other.” You roll your eyes

He scoffs. “Speak for yourself, I don’t hate you, sweetheart, like, at all.”

You chuckle. “Don’t lie to yourself, you only wanted to get in my pants.” You joked

“Well yeah, but I don’t hate you.” He shrugged

“I don’t hate you either, you’re just.. very annoying.” You said

“You are too.”

You roll your eyes. “Right.”

“In all seriousness,” he started saying “I think we should give it a try.” He looked into your eyes “And you know, we would also be getting out of this life and finally getting a normal one.”

“That does sound nice.” You nodded

“It’s up to you, babe.” He said

You could see in his eyes that he was dead serious about this. He wanted this. He wanted to give it a try with you.

And after a few seconds of thinking, you finally responded.

“Let’s do it then.” You said and he smiled “But we’re not getting married.”

“I’m fine with that.” He said with a shrug which made you smile

main masterlist

A/n: I think I can make this into a small series, should I? 👀

Likes, comments and reblogs will be appreciated! <3

divider creds @hyuneskkami

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #jensen ackles #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #fluff #sam winchester #castiel

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goat-slop-art · 23 hours ago

Note

If you're still taking requests how about lion Ford protecting dog Fidds? I'd imagine a situation like this was propably the first time when Fidds heard Ford roar.

(Also nerd fact: while a lion's roar isn't as majestic and loud as a tiger's roar it's much deeper and can carry over 8 kilometers.)

so. this one got a bit out of hand, it was supposed to be 4 pages max but uhhhh *gestures vaguely* yeah.

(also, here's an audio of a lion roaring for your enjoyment)

source

So! some notes abt this one:

The reason why Fiddleford was affected by the music and not Ford is because it only works on people who don't know the faes tricks, it is also why Ford is so guilty about this, in his mind this whole ordeal could have been completely avoided if he just had warned Fidds in the first place.

Some more worldbuilding! Doing "animalistic" things is considered something embarrassing/childish, since usually only kids "fail to control" their instincts (kinda like how crying is usually treated) . So because of this, these types of actions are usually only seen between family/close friends and rarely in public. (yes i did take this idea from beastars. it is a good one what can i say)

On the same train of thought as above+personal hc sprinkled in, i image that just like how Ford isn't a physically affectionate person (at least in his younger years) due to his upbringing, he also would be the type of person to be averse to doing instinctual things like the roar above, which is why he's embarrassed abt it after the fact.

After this little stunt, fae aren't seen in the area for years after, locals who knew abt their existence are confused but also relieved abt this turn of events.

And also, transcript of the text down below:

IMG 2:

Ford: I'll go grab my coat, be right back

Fidds: sure

IMG 6:

??:ROOOOORRRRRRR

IMG 7:

Fidds: wha... where

??:rooooooorrrrrrr

Fidds: WHO'RE YOU?? SHOW YERSELF!

Fidds: i'LL LET YOU KNOW, I GREW UP WRESTLING PIGS BACK IN THE FARM. DON'T TEST ME!

IMG 8:

Fidds: Stanf-

Ford: Are you okay?

Fidds: im fine, wha-

Ford: Did you give them your name? Eat anything?

Fidds: no no- Ford what WAS that?

Ford: Fae folk. They are know for luring victims into the forest and disappearing. By the looks of it i reached you just in time, any second later and well... I should have warned you about them, im sorry.

Fidds: Hey hey! It's fine, you found me pretty fast there, no need to be a worrywart.

Ford: Fidds. It took me half an hour just to reach you.

Fidds: Ah...

IMG 9:

Ford: ...

Ford: Let's head back, it's late

Fidds: So... that was a pretty mighty roar back there, huh?

Ford: Ah. I just momentarily lost my composure, please just forgey about it.

Fidds: Ha! as if i could!

#fanart #gravity falls #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #lion pines #fiddauthor #<- implied kinda #went a bit above and beyond with this one but i couldn't resist #goat asks

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viridescentelf · 1 day ago

Text

Investment - Sylus x Reader

sup bitches, i am feral for this man

DISCLAIMER: i know extremely little about Love and Deep Space, I can‘t start playing it bc I know I will lose years of my life lol I don‘t want to fully commit to the brainrot that Sylus would do to me in game nsdksks (all i know is he‘s hot, he‘s rich, he‘s like into selling weapons ?? he‘s a dragon??????? idk??? lol)

So I just kinda took his beautiful face, plopped him into my own realm with what I know and wrote something so I can stop thinking about him.

The lore isn‘t accurate at all lol sorry but i just can‘t play it.

SUMMARY: You‘re an undercover cop on a mission to seduce a prominent mob boss‘ lackey. Sylus takes notice of you and decides to intervene.

If you want to listen to the music that inspired this fic, here you go. Bonus: if you can guess the song I had in mind for the performance, I'll write a short fic of your choice.

WARNINGS: possessive and obsessive behavior, prostitution, talk of violence

Part 2 will be NSFW

Word Count: 5kish

—————

„Do you copy?“

The radio chirped quietly, while you discreetly pushed the miniscule device deeper into your ear.

„Yes Sir“, you answered barely audibly, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. You barely recognized yourself: a done up face, more skin than you‘ve shown in a long while, hair quaffed and tied up to avoid it getting caught somewhere during the performance. The invasive voice of your chief in your ear mumbled the usual blabber such as „stay alert“ and „focus“ etc. while you finished the last touches of your look.

You were in a room full of people. Lockers and costumes adorned the walls, the lights reflecting in the colorful sequence.

The dancers lent you some jewelry; they treated you extremely kindly. No one here knew you were undercover, so they treated you like they always treated newcomers: expecting a scared person unsure of what they had signed up for, they held your hand and comforted you with calming words, the usual phrases you would think of. You smiled as a return of affection when they spoke to you, but your mind was racing with the plan you needed to complete. As kind as they were, you couldn’t let that distract you.

Your mission today was fairly straightforward: seduce one of the underlings of Alastair, a notorious mob figure in this area, then corner and interrogate them in order to find out where their boss was hiding.

There was no other way to penetrate the cluster of security that the mob kept going, seeing as cameras and mics were hidden everywhere in the city, run by them. All of the criminal underbelly hid in plain sight when venturing through the streets and were pretty much impossible to track down. Alastair was one of many heads of the mafia here, albeit one of the less influential ones. Your unit zeroed in on him, because he seemed the most promising to break.

An informant within his circle found out that Samira, your target, gained a massive privilege from Alastair: visiting the mob run auction house this very evening. With finances covered by her boss, Samira could have a special evening of watching burlesque performances and enjoying paid sex.

The auction house had a simple system. If you wanted a performer, you had to throw roses and outbid the others.

The roses were all tagged and had different colors:

Red was the simplest, equaling 1k.

Purple was 5k.

Blue was 100 k.

Bronze was 500 k.

Silver was a milli and extremely rare. You knew Samira had one.

And finally, Gold, which was an exorbitant amount. The owner didn’t even bother telling you the figure, being that it was never used.

Your boss knew you could dance. And knew you were Samira‘s type.

The informant arranged everything: the owner of the auction house had been paid off so that you could join and perform on your first day. He had no clue who you were, he just thought he gained new meat.

So, here you were, stretching at your seat.

You weren’t too nervous, you knew you could flirt and get your way in other aspects of your life. Why not on a grander scale?

The owner placed you sort of in the middle of the rotation, where most average performances took place. The cheaper options. He didn‘t want to risk you being an absolute flop and disappointing the customers.

It didn‘t matter. You only needed to get Samira‘s attention. Then you could go on with the mission.

A petit dancer tapped you on the shoulder and asked if you needed any equipment during your performance. You paused, looking at them through the mirror, going through the routine in your head.

„Just a chair“, you decided eventually.

The dancer blinked and giggled to themselves: „Wow, that‘s it? We have aerial hoops and stuff like that if you want…“

You smiled back. You couldn’t help but notice how young they looked.

„Thanks, but I‘ll just take the chair.“

The person turned, about to walk away, when you thought of something:

„I‘ll take a ladder too, please.“

You watched the roses fly onto the stage where a young man had just finished his dance with feathers and beautiful cloth artistry. He bowed several times, throwing kisses into the crowd. You could see a particular pile of purple roses with the same tag becoming more prominent at his feet. Seemed to be the best bid.

The owner bellowed into a microphone: „Sold for 15 000 to the gentleman in the silver tux!“

You saw the young man clap happily when the winning bidder walked on stage. It was an ugly looking guy, tux far too tight and in a gaudy hue, dark hairs peeking through the holes between his shirt buttons. He wrapped his stubby arm around the dancer, who gracefully leaned into the touch and escorted him off stage.

You knew there were lounges above the stage. You were supposed to take Samira up to one and question her there.

Your boss made himself known again: „Y/N, stay calm. Zero in on your target. She‘s bound to give every rose she has.“

You cleared your throat, which you had agreed would be yes while others were too close to you.

It was your turn. The stage hand checked with you once more if you had everything you needed while she plucked and pinned your outfit for the final time. You nodded in response, simultaneously confirming the music you picked to accompany your act. She seemed a bit flustered at your answer, you knew the sound was unusual for the establishment. It normally played slower, more sensual tempos. Acts also rarely required strobing effects, like yours.

But you had to make an impact. This was your one shot at getting to Samira. You needed to stand out. And if that meant standing out with a wilder song, dance and lighting, then so be it.

The owner blabbered on into the booming microphone about you being new and how „fresh“ you were (whatever that meant), while you ascended the ladder by the side of the stage, shielded from view. One poor sod was tasked with holding the ladder in place, you could hear him swearing. It was quite high, but you had enough practice. You knew how to catch yourself without injury.

The echo of the microphone died down and you could hear a few cheers already, the crowd expecting a timid little person, terrified of their new environment. They seemed to relish in young, helpless creatures feeling lost and scared in front of them.

But that wasn‘t you.

The music crept into the hall, the quiet beginning misleading the listeners of what was to come now. Your ears were waiting for the beat cues so that your arrival would have the maximum effect.

There it was. You bent your knees on the top of the ladder and pushed yourself hard into the air towards the middle of the stage, stretching as far as your muscles allowed.

At the perfect time, you landed into a beautiful split with a mighty crash. Catching yourself with your hands to avoid any pain, you immediately struck a blind smile into the crowd while your eyes quickly scanned for Samira. At your impact, the sounding cheer deafened the music briefly. Facing the crowd obstructed by heavy lights, you started your routine. It was so hard to see. Eyes still sweeping over the shadowy members within the seats, you struck pose after pose showing off your figure, while letting the rhythm guide you into more sensual movements.

You realized you wouldn’t be able to find her from where you were, so you decided to continue your dance and find a way to reach the edge of the stage without being too obvious.

The music slowed for a moment, allowing you to grab the chair by the side entrance and drag it behind you while your heels slid sultry across the wooden floor. You dragged it semi close to the front and started your section of dance with it there. With a teasing smile, you slid onto the chair, each movement deliberate and full of flair. You rested one hand on the back of the chair, your hips swaying as you played with the rhythm, inviting the audience into fantasizing you being on their lap. Your legs extended with a controlled stretch, a perfect balance of strength and seduction. As the music pulsed on, you rose with a fluid motion, effortlessly transitioning between powerful and sensual poses, your eyes locking with the crowd, blindly trying to locate your target. Every flick of your wrist, every arch of your back, was a testament to your rhythm and control, turning the chair into an extension of your body, your partner in this captivating dance.

Climbing all over it, you used this part of the song to show off how far you could arch your back and made your ass pop a few times to massive cheers. You had to show what you could offer, anyway.

You were halfway through. You had to do something drastic to find her.

This wasn’t part of the routine, but you decided it was necessary. Climbing onto the chair, with one foot on the back support, you teased the onlookers by tilting it back and forth, waiting for a moment in the song where the fall would make the most sense.

Forcing the tilt further, the chair fell over with you diving into a quick and practiced tumble and coming up right at the edge of the stage. You turned quickly and let your hair fall over the edge of the stage, opening your eyes with a lusty grin etched across your face. You scanned the rows as fast as you could.

Samira was luckily easy to spot, she sat in the second row, completely enthralled with your act. Her short black hair half-up and yellow eyes pointed directly at you while her toned arm hung over her chair.

You looked straight at her and winked, blowing a kiss at everyone watching but stopping for her once again, trying to seal the deal.

Samira wouldn‘t break eye contact with you, a look of sheer determination to have you.

Easy as fuck, you thought to yourself, getting up to continue and finish the act.

The beat intensified and you hit every move with sharp muscles and graceful ease, finalizing your act with the most alluring pose you could think of: your body turned away with your head facing the crowd.

A final wink. The hall erupted with applause. The roses already started flying in and you noticed Samira‘s tag being part of the massive pile before your feet. The owner was already prattling on about how this was such a rarity with someone as talented as you. You bowed appreciatively as the roses kept coming, Samira‘s pile growing more and more: You spotted a bronze. And then the silver one.

Bingo.

Samira grinned triumphantly. Elbowing the poor sod next to her, who had no more roses to give. The crowd all accepted that she had outbid everyone, a silver rose was just such a rarity.

The owner laughed into the microphone: „What a show! Wow Miss Samira. Looks like a massive bid for the young thing. 1.5 million going once, going twice-„

A flash of red made your spine thunder. It came out of a high balcony. You saw something flying towards you, like a dagger. Your reflexes betraying you, you caught the thing flitting towards your face and held it between two fingers. The sparkling, priceless hue glittered, as you gaped at the beautiful golden rose.

„My- my word! 50 million?!? I- uh 50 million going once, going twice…“

Your stomach dropped. No.

„S-SOLD! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!!! WHAT A MILESTONE FOR US, SOLD TO THE GENEROUS MR. QIN!!!“

You heard the chief in your ear shouting profanities. Something about the informant not telling him he would be here as well?!

„Y/N, you have to get out of there. Now!“

You couldn’t move. The shock cascaded through you, as you watched a tall, domineering figure descend the balcony stairs. Your eyes briefly flickered to Samira, who was yelling some insult at no one.

Stepping into the light, the red eyes were the first thing you noticed. They stared into you, plucking every nerve you had.

You recognized him immediately. You had heard about Sylus Qin. But you never thought you would lay eyes on him. And definitely not like this.

He wore a tailored maroon suit, the jacket draped casually over his broad shoulders. His salty hair danced in the limelight, perfectly kept and styled to stay out of his piercing gaze. Walking towards you, the almost invisible grin on his face made your heart convulse anxiously.

It seemed his presence not only stole your own ability to move a muscle. The entire venue quieted, a few hushed voices whispering in the background. It was like an evil spirit had entered this space and stolen the sound.

He approached you determinately, never letting his red eyes leave your own.

Your chief was shouting in your ear that you needed to leave. His screaming broke the charm briefly and you were able to tear your own eyes away from his to look for a quick exit strategy. You spotted a door across the seats with a staircase sign. Perhaps you could find a window somewhere there and squeeze through. It was worth a shot.

Just as your muscles got ready to turn towards the crowd, Sylus‘ arm swooped around your shoulder, squeezing you into him softly.

You dared not move. You had no way of knowing what he was capable of. His aura was mighty and something about his cologne made you forget you had a tongue. Looking up, he eyed you from head to toe. Your outfit didn‘t leave much for imagination.

„What a sight you are. I couldn’t resist spending a pretty penny on you. Let‘s not waste a moment.“

The depth of his voice made your stomach flutter, involuntarily.

He guided your movement without force, your body just simply obeyed him. You were both walking towards the place the last dancer had led their benefactor. You knew there were rooms up there.

He stopped in front of the owner. Giving a brief nod, the infamous man with his arm around you spoke again: „With the amount I paid, I‘m taking this one with me.“

The owner blinked rapidly, eventually nodding stupidly in agreement. Even if he didn‘t want that to happen (you were obviously popular), he couldn’t risk one of the biggest buyers to become disgruntled. The sheer panic rose further and nestled itself in your throat.

Your figures disappeared from the crowd behind the velvety curtains. Sylus kept walking and your head followed the very obvious Lounges sign that passed by you.

Where was he taking you? What was going to happen? And how could you escape?

He aimed for a small decline, leading to an emergency exit. A few of the stage hands scurried out of his path while the next performer entered the limelight. Your breath was caught in your throat as you both descended the four steps, reaching a long, bleak and concrete hallway with a door at the end of it. Your radio crackled unnervingly; you could make out snippets of words your chief was trying to verbalize. Then he vanished completely. There was no service here. No safety.

Your footsteps echoed in this hall, your heels clacking in sync with Sylus‘ shiny dress shoes. The way was narrow, so he squeezed you further into his body. You tried to keep your shoulders steady, the smallest bit of resistance you could muster was worth it, in your mind. You weren‘t going to just submit.

You were close to the exit and you pictured how you could elbow his side and make a run for it once the door opened.

In that moment, Sylus moved quick and shifted you with one hand so your back was against the cold and textured wall. The swift movement took you off guard once again and you held up your fists, ready to defend yourself.

He quickly grabbed your wrists, with surprisingly little pressure, but you weren’t able to follow through on the punch you wanted to give him.

„Steady there, officer. That’s no way to treat someone who just saved your life.“

Your eyebrows twitched in confusion. The question obvious on your face. He knew you were a cop? How? And what did he mean by saving? He just bought you!

Sylus’ eyes scanned you thoroughly. Then he laughed to himself, the exacerbated air hitting your face softly.

„Can I let go of your wrists or are you gonna try and punch me again?“

„Don‘t make me.“

He tilted his head: „Oh? Cocky, aren’t we?“

You weren‘t sure what was happening. Your eyes flitted to his hands then back to his intense stare.

Sylus let go of one of your wrists, but held the other one pinned against the wall. A seeming compromise, or a trick?

You could punch him, if you wanted to.

But you wanted to know how he knew. How did one of the biggest mob bosses know your identity?

Sylus free hand reached up to your check, a finger brushing your earlobe. You flinched.

„The radios all of you use are extremely cheap. Real easy to track and crack into, if you have the right software. I’d suggest moving to newer models, if the city allows the price uptick…“

His finger invaded your ear and pulled the iridescent, tiny thing out before you could stop him. You tried to grab it from him, but he held it up like a boy teasing his younger sibling.

You tried to jump to get it. When that didn’t work, you tried to wrestle your way to the door, but he turned you easily and pinned you back against the wall with one hand.

He smiled and you heard a small click. Then the broken shards of the radio fell to the ground. You stared at them in disbelief. What had you gotten yourself into?

You looked up at him angrily. His grip on you seemed so limp and careless, but you could feel that he was capable of hurting you, if he felt like it. You were cornered and unsure what you could do. How could he have known about this heist? Had he bugged the police station?

Perhaps you needed to play along, learn what you could and watch for an opening. That seemed to be the best course of action. Trying to fight him right now wouldn’t go well for you.

Sylus watched you stare at him and seemed to sense that you were calculating and questioning, then he grinned: „You really thought you were going to trick Alastair? With that weak of a security system? Sending undercover plans through text messages… I weep for this city…“

He shook his head theatrically. You raised an eyebrow. What?

„Because of your careless chief, Alastair knew of your cute little plan. If I hadn‘t intervened, he was going to kill you tonight. Samira would drug you and deliver you to his doorstep. Then he’d probably enjoy you a bit in his sick way-“, He gestured vaguely at your figure, „-before dumping you in the river.“

It was clear on your face that you were distraught at this information. You knew the mob had a ton of resources, but if what he was saying was true, they were never going to get anywhere. They were always a few steps ahead. But could you really trust what he was saying?

„What the hell do you want?“, you hissed.

Sylus grinned again.

„How about dinner first? You look hungry. But first, we need to get you an outfit. As beautiful as you look in this, I can‘t be seen with you looking like a floozy.“

He let go of your wrist and flung his coat off of his shoulders, draping it over you.

„I promise to enlighten you after we‘ve had a meal. And seeing as though I paid a decent amount for this date, I assume you won‘t be rude enough to reject the idea.“

You gaped at him. You were about to retort, when his arm flung around you again while he simultaneously opened the door.

Streetlights flooded your senses and a black car stood by the pavement, ready for the two of you. Your head whipped around trying to locate anyone you knew, looking for your chief, any comrade. Anyone!

No one. They were all on the other side of the building, and you had a feeling Sylus knew this.

He opened the door for you, one hand still around your arm. Reluctantly, you lowered into the strange car.

The driver greeted Sylus and called you Milady/Sir, simultaneously starting the engine and taking off. He drove through the city with a speed that was definitely illegal, but no one seemed interested in stopping him. There were more pressing matters in the city than speeding.

Sitting in the car, your eyes frantically searched the streets for an opening to roll out.

„I wouldn‘t try that, if I were you. Doors are locked.“

You turned to him and watched him type something on his phone. Then he brought it up to his ear and spoke in a language you didn‘t recognize.

While talking, he turned to you and eyed you up and down: „What size are you?“

He was serious about the outfit thing? You must be dreaming, this couldn’t be real.

You didn’t answer.

Sylus waited for a short while, scoffed, then turned back towards the call: „Your size.“

He guessed. And correctly? What?

Sylus finished the call and continued to type something. The rapid noise of his fingers tapping his screen was all you could hear. The silence was bugging the hell out of you.

None of this made any sense. It would’ve been so much easier to just let you get killed by Alastair. It’s not like your death would’ve meant anything to the police station, it happened daily.

What was the purpose of this entire spiel? What did he want with a cop in his backseat?

Was it simply just sex? Some weird fantasy he was fulfilling?

What was his plan?

These questions raced through your head and you couldn’t help but want to know the answer to all of them. Your tongue was shaking with a strong urge to ask what the loudest question circling in your brain.

“Why did you help me?” you finally said.

Sylus kept scrolling on his phone, not looking up: “We have similar interests.”

That wasn’t really an answer. You kept staring at him.

Sylus’ red eye finally turned towards you, noticing you weren’t satisfied with his response.

“I promise to tell you everything after dinner. Now, go enjoy the scenery.” He waved his hand at you, gesturing for you to leave him be.

Perhaps you could take this undercover thing a lot further: learn as much as you can about one of the biggest threats in the city, then run away and get the entire force to come after him.

You decided to wait. You couldn’t do anything else, anyway. There was a looming panic festering within you and you weren’t sure how long he would keep you alive. You needed to stay alert, but hopefully learn as much as you could to take back to the station.

Once you knew of his plan, you would run and report.

You sat at one of the largest dinner tables you had ever seen. Sylus sat at one end, you at the other.

You were in a giant penthouse on the outskirts of town. The place was decorated with many boxing trophies and high-end art. Everything looked expensive.

The food was fantastic. You had been reluctant to eat it in fear of being poisoned, so Sylus had stood up, taken a piece of your meal and put it in his own mouth – proving that it was safe.

Before the meal, a butler had delivered a beautiful outfit for you – classy, elegant and it fit you like a glove. You changed in an enormous guest bathroom. Your favorite necklace really harmonized with the outfit, as if Sylus had taken notice of it and planned it accordingly.

Despite everything looking and tasting divine, you were still sitting across one of the most dangerous men in this city. This was someone who hurt people. He was this city’s most wanted and you were sharing a meal with him.

You needed to remind yourself that he bought you at an auction. He was there, because he enjoyed that lifestyle.

You couldn’t trust him.

You both ate in silence. It was awkward. Sylus was on his phone the entire time, either taking calls or texting.

As you finished the last bite of your exquisite meal, Sylus set his phone down with a soft click. The abrupt absence of tapping drew your attention. His piercing red eyes met yours across the expanse of polished mahogany.

"I suppose you're ready for answers," he said, his deep voice resonating in the cavernous dining room.

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral despite the curiosity and apprehension roiling inside you.

Sylus leaned back in his ornate chair: "As I said before, we have similar interests. You want to get rid of Alastair. I wouldn’t mind him gone, either. But your methods will never work. I can offer my assistance.”

Your brows narrowed. A deal?

“I assume that assistance isn’t out of the gracious nature of your heart.” The words just left you. You couldn’t stop them.

Sylus chuckled, a low rumble that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. "Perceptive. I like that." He stood up, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the table. With deliberate steps, he made his way towards you, each footfall echoing in the vast room.

"You're right, of course. I have my own motivations." He stopped beside you, pulled the chair closest to you out and slunk into it, his proximity making your heart race. "Alastair is a thorn in my side. He's unpredictable, volatile. Bad for business."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity overcoming your caution. "And you're not?"

His lips quirked into a half-smile. "I'm calculated. Alastair? He's a loose, dumb cannon that keeps causing fires I have to put out. He needs to go."

You blinked. The chair made you feel tiny, it was so wide and expansive that you could’ve easily sat cross-legged. It caused him to feel even larger than he already was, being so close to you.

“So, what? You pulled this entire charade just to get rid of some competition? Surely you don’t need my help to do that. Spit it out, what do you want?”

Sylus watched you, his eyes mapping your face. The lingering stare made you forget to breathe.

He was extremely handsome. It was distracting.

Sylus leaned in closer, his cologne enveloping you in a heady cloud. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, "What I want, pet, is someone I can trust inside the police force."

The term of endearment sent an involuntary shiver through you. You tried to mask it, but the slight quirk of his eyebrow told you he'd noticed.

"Don’t call me that. And why would you think I'd ever agree to that?" you challenged, forcing steel into your voice.

His laugh was low and rich, ringing in your ribcage. "Because, pet, you owe me. I saved your life tonight. Without my intervention, you'd be nothing more than a cold corpse floating down the river by now."

The stupid nickname bothered you, endlessly. But you dropped it nonetheless.

“That’s what you say. I have no way of knowing if that’s true.”

Sylus rolled his eyes and flicked his phone out of his pocket. Typing something quickly, he pulled a video feed onto his screen and held it towards you.

You were watching Samira in the auction house hallway, pacing frantically up and down on the phone.

“That fucking twink outbid me. What the hell am I gonna tell Alastair?! …. 50 million… yeah I know… it’s a huge fuck you…. no dipshit I can’t just pick another one. I literally bet all of it on that cop. Plus he knows the difference, these whores are built different…-”

Sylus pulled the phone away from your eyes, nodding in your direction for you to reply.

You swallowed hard, your mind reeling from the implications of what you'd just seen and heard. The reality of how close you'd come to death tonight was sinking in, leaving you feeling shaken and vulnerable.

So it was true.

Sylus leaned back, giving you a moment to process. His red eyes never left your face, studying your reactions intently.

"I still don't understand. Why go to all this trouble? You could bribe anyone to work for you with the money you have. Why..." you trailed off, a horrifying thought suddenly occurring to you. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since you'd arrived at his penthouse.

He was undeniably powerful, clearly wealthy beyond measure. And he'd just spent an obscene amount of money to... what? Have a little cop sex slave on the side? Why was he at the auction house to begin with? If not for that?

Sylus leaned his elbow on the arm rest and placed his cheek in his hand. His eyes wandered down to your chest, where your necklace swung quietly.

“Is this some sick kink of yours, buying people and making them fulfill some weird fantasy? Like your personal plaything?”

His eyes widened and a hearty laugh escaped him with such force that it made you jolt inwards.

“You think I bought you for sex?” He laughed even harder. “Pet, I don’t need to pay for that. Trust me.”

You started to get annoyed. Standing up from your chair, you tried to make yourself feel bigger by creating this distance.

“Then what? Why the fuck were you at the auction house then?”

Sylus looked up at you, tilting his chair back and forth playfully: “Again, pet. Your chief has shit security measures. I saw an opportunity…besides...”

He stood up as well. His towering form cast a shadow over you once again.

“I couldn’t just let a pretty thing like you die, now could I?”

Sylus’ cologne swirled into your nostrils and you shook your head to concentrate. Looking up at him, you couldn’t help but focus on the beautifully carved jaw line that pointed down at you. Blinking hard, you mustered up the last shred of courage and sanity you had:

“I’m not some trophy you can buy.”

Sylus' eyes sparkled with amusement at your defiant statement. He took a step closer, closing the already small gap between you. The heat radiating from his body made you acutely aware of your own.

"A trophy?" he mused, his voice a low groan that seemed to vibrate through you. "No, you're far more interesting than that."

His hand reached out, fingers gently brushing against your necklace. The touch was feather-light, but it sent electricity coursing through your veins. You held your breath, unsure whether to step back or lean in.

Then he brushed your hair away from your shoulders, tucking a strand behind your ear.

“I’ll give you some time to consider. I can really use a friend in the force. And you can use me, and my resources, to destroy Alastair. A fair exchange in my opinion.”

He turned away and walked towards a large door. With one hand on the handle, he shifted his face to the side to look at you once more.

“My driver will drop you off wherever you’d like. He awaits you downstairs.”

Your brows narrowed again.

“You’re letting me leave? Just like that?”

“Of course you’re free to leave. I never said you were a prisoner. I just, technically, own you.”

A sly grin stretched across his lips. With that final statement, Sylus opened the door and closed it behind him.

The complete silence in the room enveloped you.

What the fuck just happened?

You walked towards the elevator and pressed the button.

You were alone. Free to leave.

Free to tell the force your location and have him arrested.

The elevator descended smoothly, each floor passing in a blur of lights. You found yourself touching the strand of hair Sylus had tucked away, his phantom touch still lingering on your skin. The weight of the decision before you pressed heavily on your shoulders.

You could run to a payphone and call for backup right now. You could end Sylus Qin's reign over the city's underworld with a single dial.

But you didn’t want to.

Shaking yourself once more, you closed the elegant coat Sylus had provided for you and walked towards the exit.

It had been a long, strange night. You needed sleep. And you needed to think.

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szhmidty · 1 day ago

Text

I can never really get over how much of the resentment towards modern art is based purely on some group of art nerds liking art you hate and disliking/dismissing art you like, and being strident about it.

With architecture, I kinda get it. You are forced, in some sense, to engage with architecture. It's funny to me that there seems to be widespread ignorance about the fact that large bricks of steel, glass, and concrete keeping getting made for economic reasons rather than artistic ones, but the distaste and frustration for it makes sense.

You just don't have to go to an art gallery full of modern art, though. Duchamp's fountain is not hiding in your closet ready to jump you.

"But szhmidty, all these hoity-toity art critics say that bullshit, degenerate modern art is supremely important, some of them even insult your intelligence or proclaim you ignorant for not liking a painting with 3 stripes or a "sculpture" that's just a lamp with a barbie doll shoved in the bulb socket."

So? Why do you care? Why do you worry about their opinion? They don't matter! They don't determine the direction of commercial art, and their relevance outside their narrow field is negligible. They don't matter, or they wouldn't if you'd just get over your seething hatred.

Why do you care if this person called you a baby for your art taste? In what way does it affect you? Why does it make you so angry? I truly do not get it.

At a certain point, I need you to realize that you're trolling yourself.

==========

You know what art I "love"? Christian art. Well, the stuff that's well crafted and coherent enough to be somewhat entertaining on it's own merits.

I didn't bother watching God's Not Dead 2 though 46 or whatever, but I thoroughly enjoyed watching the first one. That movie evinces a level of contempt for me, me as a person, me as someone who thinks like I do, in a really pure, unadulterated way.

The studio, actors, and champions of God's Note Dead deeply hate me and everyone like me.

But for the life of me I cannot muster resentment towards that film that comes within an order of magnitude of the resentment towards modern art and it's defenders.

There is, I guess, the unpleasant fact that I share a world with millions of people like that, that such people ultimately decide national policies. I would prefer that not be the case.

But on a personal level I just don't value or care about their opinions enough to be insulted by them. It's like being insulted by a toddler. I would genuinely be more upset if a friend's kid called me a butt-face in anger. At least I want the kid to like me.

==========

I have a similar dynamic with "subs only" anime fans. You have specific cases where the dub is more of an adaptation of the original, where there are strong differences between the sub and the dub, and for those I'll grant that the sub is probably better.*

I'd originally written up a paragraph on subs vs dubs here, but actually it just doesn't matter. I basically never watch a sub unless the dub is genuinely horrible, or the story is wildly different because the dub got censored for american audiences or whatever, or if a dub literally doesn't exist.

There's a large contingent of anime fans who feel contempt for me as someone who defaults to watching dubs. They will openly mock and belittle dubs preferers.

And like. I just can't care. Outside of a personal enjoyment in having arguments and yelling about things I do and don't like, I simply feel nothing when I see contemptuous comments from subs preferers.

*The exception is Ghost Stories. Anyone who recommends the sub over the dub isn't merely a disciple of the holy art of subtitles, they're just delusional. Or they hate the very specific brand of humour that the Ghost Story dub is going for, but if I'm being honest I would not believe the average crunchy roll subscriber if they claimed to dislike it. I've seen what makes them cheer.

==========

There's something of an irony to writing 10 paragraphs dedicated to people who insult me only for me to end each section with "I don't care." Like why would I write so much if I didn't care?

Mostly I'm just trying to look for cases where I might be on the other side of this issue, the side of the insulted, belittled, and demeaned, to put myself in the hot seat, as it were.

You can believe me when I say "I don't care" or not, I don't care.

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the-violet-diaries · 2 days ago

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Broken Backstories: A Theory on the Past of the Wanderers in Love and Deepspace

Is it just me or has anyone ever thought about the bounty hunt Wanderer Heartbreaker's origin? Like, what would this tear drop-shaped creature have gone through to become what it is today? And what about the other Wanderers?

Maybe this is actually already true and i havent picked up on it yet because im just dumb, but here's my theory so far on the Wanderers in the game: They were once ordinary humans with ordinary lives that were unfortunate enough to come in contact with some type of disease or physical or mental obstacle in their lives that transformed them into these "monsters."

One of the best examples I can think of to compare this scenario with is the kdrama Sweet Home. The drama is set in a completely ordinary human world like ours. Some strange, seemingly transmittable disease causes people to start becoming monsters, turning Seoul into a complete dystopia.

It is later revealed, however, that all these demons were once human beings that reincarnate into the embodiments of their deepest and darkest desires or fears.

For example, the monster that can't see properly but has the sharpest hearing:

SPOILER:

An earlier scene shows Cha Hyun Su (Song Kang) trying to "distinguish the monster inside" before he himself gives in to the transformation.

This pattern or theme of a seemingly dystopian world where the battle is between humans and another species framed as "dangerous" by the humans is reoccurring in many books, shows, and movies. So, my thought process is that the same might apply for some Wanderers in LaDs, if not all.

I was fighting Hearbreaker, the tear drop-shaped Wanderer in Bounty Hunt the other day, and this entire idea just came to me and I literally cannot unthink it now. Like, it makes so much sense!

The battle seems ordinary at first, with a gorgeous amusment park-themed setting and nice bg music. But then the Wanderer up for bounty appears. A droplet of water, shedding tears and following you around with pain in its eyes as it begs for you to accept its love. Sound familiar? Yes, sadly, most of us can relate. The longing to be accepted.

And what is our mission? To get rid of it.

Now, im not trying to hate on the LaDs team or anything. I love bounty hunt and its something i play often. But i just find it sad that a bounty is placed above a harmless creature which clearly seems to be suffering from loneliness and, as the name suggests, heartbreak.

The other Bounty Wanderers each have their own distinct qualities. And the saddest part is that even if they may not have all once been human like MC, they are hunted and killed for their weaknesses, and will likely never recover.

Well, anyway, that was kinda weird i think i took that a bit too deeply that was just a quick idea dump lol. 😅😅 I may be misunderstanding some details but I've played LaDs for quite a long time so I'm not so sure because so far nothing much has been revealed regarding the origins of the Wanderers besides Ever and its affiliations but i may be wrong. there are so many other theories out there we'll just have to wait and see! but anyway I hope you guys enjoyed! lots of luv 4 u i know u need it ❤️❤️❤️

#lads #love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #rafayel #zayne #caleb #xavier #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace theories #love and deepspace lore #lads theory #lads lore #lads theories #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace zayne #loveanddeepspace

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averagespacekid · 1 day ago

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jon sims headcanons +appearance timeline!

SPOILERS FOR ALL SEASONS OF TMA after the cut‼️

to start here is the timeline image (if you’ve seen it before no you haven’t)

now for the meat n potatoes!

(1-3 are all hair-timeline related)

1. i headcanon jon as having decently short hair at first just to be professional or whatever even though he prefers it longer (alternative mf), then season two hits and he just kinda forgets about it cause he’s too busy being paranoid and stalking his coworkers. he remembers again after the [brutal pipe murder], but just kinda decides short hair is not worth the upkeep and buys a pack of hair ties that he then keeps on his person throughout the rest of the show, and ends up with this beautiful mess that floats when he uses his powers. maybe he has martin help him with it in various ways just to have an excuse for a domestic moment during the eyepocalypse, who knows (i do because i say so and i like drawing men with long hair)

2. he has an almost-curly wave pattern that tends to frizz easily but is not that hard to handle when he actually takes care of it. totally not projecting definitely not why would i do that? georgie was the one to show him the magic of curl products and from then on you could never catch him without at least four different ones in his bathroom, even after he cuts his hair for work. he wishes he liked masculine woodsy type scents for his hair products, but he does not. he prefers the fruity bath and body works type stuff. at first he never lets people get close enough to him to learn this, and even if he did start warming up to people enough to let them get close, they wouldn’t have anyway in s2 because he’s a paranoid lil bitch boy. martin begins to associate those scents with jon later on but doesn’t realize why until they get to the safehouse and he sees all of jon’s hair products and immediately understands.

3. jon greys a lot over the course of the series. he goes through a lot of stress so obviously this would make sense, but since he was marked by the web so early on i think that would have happened whether or not he’d been chosen as the archivist (yknow cause white hairs are kinda similar to webs? idk it makes sense to my brain parasites). also it makes him look older than he is, which he appreciates at first because it helps with his stuffy academic persona

4. he has kinda the same feeling about shaving throughout the show as he does with haircuts, as in at first he tries to stay clean-shaven for professionalism, but eventually he gets to a point where he only shaves when his facial hair starts being inconvenient and/or bothering him sensory-wise because he’s autistic (we’ll get to that later)

5. as soon as he learns that his job entails monster encounters and almost dying regularly, he basically says fuck you to the dress code and starts wearing skirts and jewelry and all that fun stuff because he likes it, and if he gets fired then it might be worth it to get out of there. he’s wearing a skirt in the s2 image because i say so. sweater vest + long pleated skirt combo jon yes please (i will be drawing this soon, trust)

6. as alternative as he is, he never got any more piercings than the four on his lobes because at the end of the day he was still an academic and wanted to pursue research, and knew that that kind of thing pushed the boundaries of that image a little too far. he regrets this later but doesn’t think too much of it since his priorities are placed… elsewhere

7. at some point during s2, elias/jonah notices his lack of care about the dress code and decides to gift him the eye earrings that i gave him in that image. obviously he has ulterior motives but jon doesn’t know that and thinks they’re cool so he wears them regularly. he’s also given a glasses chain with eye charms on it, but he forgets to wear it most of the time since he can barely see without his glasses anyways so he has no need for it

8. obviously he can’t go back to his house in s3, so he has to borrow a lot of what the ghost? merch from georgie. he is still a skeptic about the ghost hunting genre despite everything he knows now, but he still wears it because he doesn’t have any other option and wants to support his friend. he’s a very sweet guy at heart but just doesn’t want to admit it most of the time because it’d conflict with his stuffy academic image

9. it’s fairly common to see people draw him as not needing his glasses anymore after his avatar transformation, as well as his eye color changing, and i fuckin love it gimme more of that please. i also saw someone say that all the eyes are green because jonah has green eyes but after jon becomes the pupil all the eyes turn brown, but idk how to feel about that one since the whole show is just green atp and it would be weird to change that

10. in s5, he has eyes all over his body and they usually don’t close unless they’re about to get poked or touched. when he uses his power, the sclera turn black and the irises glow. he also has the funny glowing eye halo but it’s not tangible so it’s not too big of a deal for him. also, fun fact: i never draw eyes with pupils. it’s just not a part of my style. i only threw them in here because he can literally see everything, especially in his glitched-out finale form. it’s meant to seem like he’s looking at you because he is. the archive can s̠҉͍͊ͅẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ he is w̦̺̐̐͟ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑c͕͗ͤ̕̕ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑

11. literally everyone thinks this man is beautiful. he is so pretty and even people who aren’t attracted to men can see that. however, most are dissuaded by the stuffy academic persona at first and the “you look like hell” vibes later, as well as his generally standoffish personality. this does not apply to martin, who sees all of those traits as 100% his type, or elias/jonah, who has a religious sort of reverence toward jon as his perfect archivist (this was touched upon by alex during the magnus fanfic-reading video and i’ve loved the idea ever since). jon does not like this but he’s also unaware of it for most of the show so it’s not too big a deal for him

12. i only just learned who dev patel is from people fancasting him as jon, but i looked him up and yes i approve of the fancast. i also drew these before i looked him up so i think i accidentally drew dev patel a few times (also as a white person i can’t say much about his race and how it would play into his character but whenever i see art of him that doesn’t portray him as a poc i just go “why is he white” so i’m just gonna go along with the majority of the fandom’s interpretation of him being south asian)

13. he is very small. not too short, per se, but small, like a tall skinny person was scaled down in photoshop. he’s about 5’7, and at first he wears shoe lifts to hide this, but eventually just decides to wear platforms and heels like he did in college, and sometimes just forgoes them entirely because he’s stopped caring. martin likes to pick him up and carry him around the safehouse (and in places where he’s cut off from the eye) and he enjoys it.

now for some non-appearance related ones that have been chewing on my brain along with the parasites

14. WE’RE FINALLY GETTING TO IT‼️ he’s 100% autistic (i’m autistic and i hit him with the tism ray). him responding to “have you seen a dog?” with “in general, or…?” is so autism-coded it’s not even funny. he doesn’t have too many sensory issues but he hates tight pants and ties and things like that. he also hates the feeling of air on his skin most of the time so he always wears long sleeves if he can help it. for the first few days after he realizes he doesn’t need his glasses, he keeps wearing them anyway because he’s so used to them. he doesn’t melt down but he does shut down sometimes, though he does lose the ability to go nonverbal after his transformation and that fucks with him a lot. martin is a big help with this in s5 because he’ll just be quiet, not provoking the eye to give or collect information at all.

15. he was definitely in the mechanisms in college. i don’t know too much about their lore yet since i’ve only listened to the first two albums (ulysses dies at dawn is a fucking masterpiece), but picturing a young version of this jon as jonny d’ville is absolutely wonderful

16. he definitely liked martin in the early seasons but he didn’t fully realize it until later. i think his bullying was a result of him having the feelings and not quite knowing what those feelings were because he’s autistic. my biggest point of evidence for jon not truly disliking martin is that when they were trapped while hiding from jane prentiss, jon straight up thinks that he’s hallucinating martin being there because his presence is comforting.

17. he is CANONICALLY ASEXUAL AND FUCKING PROUD. him being ace makes me so happy as an ace person myself, especially since he’s in an mlm relationship with someone who’s (assumedly) not ace but is not expecting anything out of him, just like myself. i feel incredibly seen by the whole magnus team just for that but this is a headcanon post so i won’t get into all that. he is very much a romantic and was incredibly touch-starved post-georgie and before martin, so he’s happy to be physically close and intimate as long as it doesn’t go any further than that. he loves big hugs and kisses and cuddles from his boyfriend and that’s fucking wonderful!! okay moving on from the projection

18. for his whole life, his favorite color was blue, specifically that of the sky or similar lighter shades like periwinkle and cyan and those such as. they’re peaceful, and he looks good wearing them. but after his coma, he realizes just how much he likes green, and starts wearing it a lot more… he doesn’t realize that it’s not his own brain producing that thought.

19. he does not look like the type to like rock and metal, but he does. he loves how complicated in structure metal can be, especially when it utilizes more melodic aspects as well. if he could have heard take me back to eden by sleep token (well, most of it—there are some flops on there), he would have loved it. he also loves classical pieces for that same reason, but the heavy stuff is super appealing to him on its own. he sometimes listens to prog and math rock as well, just to follow along with the time signatures and long runtimes projecting again maybe but it kinda makes sense so i’m putting it out there

20. he was never as much of a media nerd as he was an academics nerd, but he loves long speculative book series like a song of ice and fire, red rising, and the stormlight archive. intricate worldbuilding gets him every time, and he’ll throw himself into it completely, as is canon. he tried playing dungeons and dragons once, but the amount of pre-existing rules bothered him since he couldn’t do everything he wanted to with his character. star wars also bothers him because there’s so many inconsistencies in the lore. but, it did inspire him to write his own space opera lore for his band.

jesus christ that’s more writing than i’ve done for any of my novels in months yippee i’m dying over here

anyways that’s all i’ve got for now, i hope to incorporate this stuff into my art from here on out but hey maybe i’ll hyperfixate on something else soon and never draw mr. jarchivist again! has happened before could happen again folks

to finish off here’s my proper art of him again cause i feel like adding it!

c ya later 👁️

#gnawing at the bars of my enclosure #the magnus archives #tma #tma spoilers #jonathan sims #jon sims #the archivist #headcanon #fanart

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somuchforahobby · 2 days ago

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crawling back to you (pt. 2 of "how many secrets can you keep")

Second and final part of "how many secrets can you keep" Tags: Bad flirting + lots of angst + fluff Warnings: 1 mention of death / a few ugly arguments / you and nikolai are both jerks and u kinda hate zoya so sorry for that 😭 Word count: 5.5K GIFS belong to @dearemma Read on AO3 Writer's note: i am very happy this exists and I can't get enough of it but this might be my (temporary) goodbye to Nikolai. I hope you have enjoyed this ride as much as I have :)

-----

“Whatever we do next will define how wars are fought in the future. We should think about that.” Nikolai said before the council. He was standing beside the map, their closest advisors on his sides while you sat on your usual spot drinking coffee.

You changed your strategy; if before you avoided Nikolai at all costs, now you were everywhere he looked. You did not miss a single council meeting, breakfast or dinner, and invited him to everything your agenda allowed.

“You won’t win this war with the biggest weapon, Nikolai.” He turned to see you with wide eyes, you continued, “You will win this war with the fear you can inspire. An alliance with Shu Han and Novyi Zem will be enough for Fjerda to drop to their knees.”

“And how, my dear wife, will I have that?” There was a slick of annoyance in his tone, your smirk deepend.

“When your beloved wife sends word to her daddy to stop supplying steel to anyone but Ravka and its allies.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, love, but that is not enough to make them fear us.” His gaze returned to the army generals.

“It would also be a shame if Kerch pirates sacked Shu Han and Novyi Zem, don’t you think?”

“That would be very interesting.” Zoya turned to see you with a grin, “how would you reach out to them?”

“Oh well, a Queen can not have any sort of link to lowlifes and scoundrels, can she?” You shrugged, “But it wouldn’t surprise me if Kerch’s organized crime learnt of Ravka’s economic interest with their country and decided to protect them. With the right incentives, of course.” You took a sip of your coffee, feigning innocence.

“I will not pay for pirates nor organized crime to do dirty work.”

You rolled your eyes, “darling, pay attention here, you will not” your tone was obscenely condescending, “you nor Ravka will encourage them, they’ll do it because it’s what’s best for their own businesses.”

Nikolai sighed, his eyes still on the map.

“Can you make that happen?” Zoya asked, suddenly interested.

Your lips quivered, “maybe”

“What do you need for that maybe to become a yes?” She pressed.

“For the King to ask me very nicely.” You purred with a diabolical smirk.

***

“This is risky” Nikolai said while reading.

You sighed, thinking he would not agree to sign it. “Every reform process is a risk, it is a political decision whether or not to change your country into what you want it to be.”

His eyes remained reading, “but right now? In the middle of a war?”

“There is never a good time to release women from oppression.” You decided to stand your ground.

His eyes finally raised to yours. “Would you have signed it?” There was a slight sadness in his question.

The new law stated that all girls should attend school until eighteen years old, and then they could get married as long as they signed a declaration agreeing to the match.

“I don’t fall into that law because I am not Ravkan, Nikolai.”

“But would you?”

“I would have” you lied and he saw right through it, a hopeless sigh leaving his mouth. “Well no, not really” he nodded but before he returned his sight to the paper you continued, “at least not until I meet you.”

That brought a smirk back to his face and air back to your lungs, “Would my dashing looks have been enough?”

You tapped your finger on your mouth, fake-thinking, “well maybe after meeting you and seeing this place, I mean, look at it!” You turned to look at the walls around you.

“I like this, myshka, I really do” he moved the pages in his hands, “but it will cause us trouble.”

“Nikolai if you’re not gonna sign it just say it.” Your tone was soft and respectful, even if your blood was boiling. “I respect it.”

Without answering you he drew a signature at the end of the final page and extended the pages back to you. “You know what to do.”

Taking them, you rounded his desk until you were next to him, leaning against the wood. “Thank you, Moi Tsar.”

He leaned back into his chair, raising his face to look at you standing, “I’d recommend you learn to like my face better than this Palace darling, because after you have that published we might have to live in the tunnels.”

“I give you permission to throw me to the horde and save yourself.”

He smiled, “Now that is one idea that I won’t ever implement.”

After a minute of comfortable silence and staring, he extended one hand to you, you placed your own against his, which he then led to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

“Your Royal Highness” a valet said from the door, “General Nazyalensky requested your presence in the war room.”

Nikolai sighed, exhaustion all over his grim face.

“Can I go with you?”

“This appears to be an urgent yet confidential matter.” The man pressed.

Nikolai looked at you, without granting you an answer. “May I please see you tonight?” He said, your knuckles still on his lips.

You sighed, a grimace on your face, “I guess not.”

*** Every morning you asked for a tailor to make up your face, a slight blush on your cheeks, curling your eyelashes and fixing your hair was the standar. You also chose the tighter dresses with the lowest cleavage, just to torture Nikolai a little. You were the first to arrive at Council meeting and the last to leave, always pitching in ideas and debating the King’s strategies. And you came up with good ideas as well, you wanted to tease him but you also knew what was your goal in Council, but that morning the energy felt different.

It all had started when you walked in, nearly everyone looked at you strangely. Nikolai gave you his trademark smirk, gesturing to a seat next to him.

“Your majesty, the following information is sensitive, we recommend the Queen to leave the room.” a First Army general said after the first half of the meeting

“Excuse me?” you muttered, Nikolai placed a hand on your arm, insting you to calm down.

Your husband walked next to the officer, leaning close to him, listened to a few sentences before nodding and returning back to you.

“Myshka, for this time I think you should not be here.”

You did not give him an answer, you merely stood up and left.

You were waiting in his study when he walked in.

“May I say you look absolutely ravishing when you are upset?” Nikolai flirted with his usual smirk.

“You may but it will not change my mood.”

“It might lead you to use your energy differently.” He winked as he approached you. “Please, darling, have a seat.” He sat next to you on the loveseat.

“What was that, Nikolai?”

Leaning back in a relaxed position, he answered, “Ah, love I know my flirting is a bit rusty, but not enough to make you wonder what the hell am I doing”

“I am not in the mood for this, Nikolai-“

“Saints” he muttered,

“Why did you kick me out of council?” Your tone was firm but kind, even if you wanted to kill him right there and then, a part of you hoped he had a reasonable motive to do so.

“Ahh” he sighed, “there are delicate matters in this damned kingdom that I’d rather shield you from.”

“Like your late night buddy?” You pressed with a slight playful grin.

“Indeed” he matched your grin, “this one is a bit more… vulgar and common. It does not require your attention in the slightest.”

You scoffed, “As opposed to the gardens and the Palace decorations that require my intricate and academic dedication.”

“Precisely.” He smiled. “Dear, I wouldn’t have asked you to leave if it wasn’t a truly delicate matter I want you far away from.”

You nodded unconvinced, “Is it dangerous?”

“Not really.” He grabbed your hand and by the way he drew circles with his thumb, you knew it was, “I just think you’d sleep easier without this bit of information.” His fond smile made you trust him.

“Alright.” Your chin was up regally, “but please let this be the first and last time you kick me out of a political matter.”

“Of that you can be certain.” He kissed your knuckles to seal the deal.

***

It wasn’t. Which is why you had chosen a next victim in your war when you were on your way out after some First Army officer kicked you out of Council, again.

“Count Nerenski, what a pleasure to see you again.” You said with a smile.

The man seemed tortured, a grimace on his face told you enough of how clear Nikolai’s threat had been. “Your majesty, the pleasure is mine.” He bowed awkwardly.

“I was just leaving for a walk, would you like to join me?”

The poor Count turned yellow, “I am here to see his Majesty, The King, I would not want to interfere with your plans for the day.”

“Nonsense!” you looped your arm on his, “Besides, my dear husband is really busy right now with the war council and he would not want you to wait by yourself.”

He did not stir, he followed your pace easily, but if his slight trembling told you anything, it was that he was terrified. You sent a prayer for forgiveness to the Saints, but it was quickly dismissed when Anton began speaking.

Your mother was right when she said if you want to earn a man’s interest, ask him about himself. The man would not stop talking about his Estate, his hunting, his art; if this did not mean an easy win in your war against Nikolai, you would have left him standing outside the Palace for hours.

“You should visit my Estate soon, your majesty. I am sure we can find some other activities I can join you in while the Tsar is busy.” A flirtatious smile spread through his mouth.

“Perhaps” you fake-smiled and kept walking by his side, “where do you say it is?”

While he spoke, you guided him to the very place in the gardens you knew was spottable from the war room, and just like magic, a guard appeared requiring Count Nerenski back in the Palace.

When you saw Nikolai standing by the dais, you did not hide your smirk, which he noticed and grinned back.

“Anton, what brings you around today besides flirting with my wife?” Nikolai spat at him as soon as you stepped inside the Palace.

Count Nerenski was appalled; the man was a flirt but you did not want him to be sent to prison. “Oh, love, you’re so funny!” You threw your arms around Nikolai’s neck, placing a kiss on his cheek, “I merely asked him to walk with me to the gardens while he waited for the council meeting to end.”

Nikolai put a possessive hand on your waist, pulling you to him, the killer stare was still in his eyes. “Well, the council meeting is over so please, Anton, join me at my study.” He gestured to the hall, Anton following his instruction neatly. You hanged to his shoulders, your face inches from his. He turned to you with an amused smirk, “That was low.”

“All is fair in love and war.” You said with a seductive smile.

“Which one is this?”

“Both”

***

“Heading out, darling?” Nikolai asked from the dais of the stairs, your carriage already waiting outside.

“Yes, I have a busy day so if you don’t mind I will get going.” You answered without looking back. Your ladies in waiting, already standing by the carriage.

“I do mind” he approached, “I’m afraid I’ll miss you terribly so I must accompany you.”

You turned to find him much closer than you expected, “I’d be honored, moi tsar.” You gritted the words out.

“Two can play this game, myshka.” He said in your ear.

You visited a women’s hospital. In every room a young pregnant lady would batter her eyelashes at the King while you asked the nurses and doctors for their supply needs.

“Wouldn’t you like one?” The main doctor asked while you walked through the cradles.

Nikolai rushed to answer, “oh, doctor, we can’t wait to get that lucky.” You merely smiled.

“You do know how those are made, right?” You whispered to your husband while the doctor continued explaining the different areas of the hospital.

Nikolai scoffed, “would you like me to show you?”

“I am just wondering if you actually know?” you asked sarcastically, “since you’re praying for us to get lucky while not getting it done.”

“I can’t have you questioning that, love, now can I?” With a hand on your waist and a winning smirk, he whispered, “I’ll answer you anytime, anywhere, as long as you drop your little hatred act.” He winked before following the doctor.

***

“I respectfully request your majesty to derogate this law that will hurt the Ravkan values and economy.” A Duke stood before you and Nikolai, making his case against your latest project. “Treats must be made over land, products and cattle, you can not take away one of the main strategies of negotiation.”

“You will have to come up with new ways to negotiate that do not involve the freedom of children.” Nikolai tried to dismiss his claim.

“They are not children, they are women!” He pronounced it like an insult, making your skin crawl.

“They are human beings and wielders of rights, and as such they will be educated until eighteen years old and then, and only then, they will marry if they wish.” You sat next to your husband while he dictated his decision. Proud of him but upset that your ideas had brought him too many problems.

“When women are educated their value as a wife decreases, moi tsar.” The Duke insisted.

“I wholeheartedly disagree.” Nikolai’s comeback arrived with a smirk.

“The Kerch values are not Ravka’s” the Duke turned to you before returning his gaze to Nikolai, “There are businesses, alliances and peace that can only be granted with a marriage alliance, shouldn’t you know that moi tsar? Given you’re so engulfed by a common cunt.” The man spat on the floor, your eyes widened in horror.

Nikolai stood and the twins were beside him instantly, “seize him” he ordered, “take him to a cell, he will face a trial for injuries to the crown and treason. Take him out of my sight.”

When he turned his body towards you his eyes were closed, his chest moving up and down in rapid motions.

“Thank you” you whispered.

“Do not thank me, a man like that has no place in my country.”

He stormed out of the throne room.

***

Most of the time you were not this anxious, but the festivities had you going ballistics. Back home, whenever you were this anxious, you’d cook, but in the Palace that was not a possibility you had, until today.

You were cutting vegetables when Nikolai walked in with a puzzled look on his face. “Your majesty?” He placed both hands on the counter, opposite from you. “What are you doing here?”

You scoffed looking at him; he was wearing his First Army uniform as always, with his hair perfectly in place, yet he was hunching on the kitchen of the Palace, where -you were certain- he had never been before. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I am looking for my wife, have you been blessed to see her by any chance, cook?” He flirted.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Mmm” he sat on a stool, “is that enough for two?” With his chin he pointed at the vegetables you were boiling.

“Depends”

“Oh?” He smiled, “on what?”

“On whether or not you’ll help me chop that.” You pointed at the onion with the knife. With a smile, he grabbed a chopping board, a knife and one onion. “How did you find me?”

“Tamar told you ran away, I sent a search party to town but the minute I saw Anna the cook sleeping in the gardens I knew where to find you.” He looked up with a grin, “why did you run?”

You sighed, “I was overwhelmed, Nik.”

His eyes widened for a second at the nickname, regaining his poker face shortly. “Overwhelmed by a party?”

“Overwhelmed that everyone knows my husband better than I do.” You did not meet his stare.

“That is not fair, some people here have known me my entire life.”

“I feel like an idiot when someone asks for your favorite color, food or music and I stand in silence while Genya answers everything in a heartbeat.”

Nikolai sighed, “Genya spent the last 15 years of her life with my mother, she knows those things” leaning back and folding his arms he continued, “green, pancakes and sea-shanties.”

A scoff left your mouth involuntarily, raising your eyes you found him smirking. “Thank you.”

“Yours?”

“Pink, the soup I am preparing and” you bit your lip thinking, “ars nova.”

He nodded, “Anything else you’d like to know?”

“Is this the first time you enter the kitchen?” You resumed your work and pointed the knife at his.

Nikolai laughed, denying with his head while chopping the onion, “You must remember I was the second son, and a bastard at that, I ate here all the time.”

Your head shot up, “really?”

“Yeah, I was friends with the workers’ children, I’d sneak here to have a jam sandwich whenever.”

“And where did you learn to chop onions?”

“At sea” he raised his eyes to you, “no fancy cooks 24/7 in the Volkvolny.”

“I can’t believe the fancy prince of Ravka would get his hands dirty.” You teased.

“And the King has a taste for getting dirtier, dear.” He shot you a wink and you blushed. He passed you the chopped onion and you put it in the soup, you did the same with your own work and then covered the pot. You turned to him with your arms folded.

“We have a few minutes, what do you have in mind?”

He raised both eyebrows and smirked.

“Not that, definitely.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

“Why did you come here?” He asked, leaning forward on the counter.

“I craved normality, for once. And cooking gives me that sense of home.”

Your confession made him smile, “so you kicked every worker out and threatened them for not telling anyone where you were, very normal dear.”

You laughed, “I did what I could.” Your eyes wandered the place, “do you ever wonder if all this is necessary?”

“The kitchenware? I think it is.”

“No” a scoff, “all of this Nikolai. Thirty kitchen workers, seven gardens, a lake, a thousand rooms—“

“A monarchy” he interrupted you.

Your eyes returned to his, expecting to see him upset but he seemed relaxed, “maybe that too”

Nikolai stood up and rounded the counter to stand in front of you. “Saints help me, my wife will be the leader of the revolution.”

You looked up to him, just a step from you, and you realized just how big he was; his broad shoulders appearing bigger with the uniform lapels, your eyes barely reached his chest. He could overpower you so easily and yet you challenged him. “If you don’t treat me nicely I might.”

He laughed, extending both arms to the sides, “I will spend my life treating you more than nicely; not to keep my crown but to persuade you to keep yours.”

You turned to the pot, uncovering it to see the progress, in a lame attempt to hide from Nikolai.

“I miss you, myshka.” He put your hand between his gloved ones.

“I miss you too.”

He pulled you to him, “then please let’s go back to where we were” his eyes were warm and kind on you, pleading.

“We can’t” your own filled with tears, “not until you trust me.”

“It’s me and the monster I do not trust.” His sobbed whisper broke your heart.

“I trust you enough for the both of us.”

The next thing you knew his lips were on yours, both of his hands on your cheeks leaning you backwards to deepen the kiss. Your barriers were a joke, you gave up every single inch he demanded with his tongue. He pushed you against the counter, guiding you leg to his hip when the sound of water boiling made you push him away.

You gasped for breath while looking up to him, your hunger quickly shifting paths.

“You should take your seat.” You instructed him after regaining your breath.

“As you order, moi tsaritsa.”

***

You had a genuine smile on your face during Nikolai’s birthday party. You even opened the dance floor with him.

“This is lovely, myshka, thank you.” Nikolai said with a gilded smile as he swayed you through the dance floor.

“I’m glad you like it.” You smiled back.

His hands moved to your waist as a slower waltz played, “this is so easy” he whispered in your ear.

“Dancing?”

“Being your husband” Nikolai’s warm eyes sink into yours, “I don’t have to be anybody else, being myself is enough.”

“Of course” you reassured him, “but I was going to ask which one of you is your favorite?” You asked playfully.

“Oh? What do you know?” One of his eyebrows lifted in question.

“Well, Genya shared a few stories with me today.”

He laughed, “did she tell you how my mother called me?”

“Yes”

A slight blush crept through his face, “I will fire her as soon as possible.”

It was your turn to laugh, “I forbid you from doing that.”

Nikolai bit his lip, “I hate to pull ranks on you, honey, but I am the king; nobody is above me.”

“We’ll see about that later” your smug answer erased his winning smirk off his face and replaced it with a blush.

Your dance was interrupted by a man whispering in Nikolai's ear; you spotted Zoya already leaving the Saloon, so this could only mean your husband would be following shortly. Which you confirmed when he looked back at you with an apology hiding in his warm eyes.

“I can go with you” you attempted.

“That won’t be necessary, love, enjoy the party.” He turned to leave but you grabbed his wrist.

“Nikolai, please”

“Stay” He replied in a serious tone. “I will come back later.”

Couples kept dancing all around you.

“Do you not trust me anymore?”

“It is not that”

“Then what is it? I was meant to be a political advisor.”

He looked around, “Let's not do this here.”

“Nikolai, stop pushing me away.” Your voice cracked at the request.

He took a step back to you, his hands laid tenderly on your face, “everything I do is for your safety, love can’t you see that?” His condescending tone was enough to bring back all your anger, but he kept you in place. “Let’s not make a scene, smile and keep dancing.”

“No” angry tears were already in your eyes.

“Do as I say.” His tone was commanding, then he leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, when you looked back at him there was a perfect smile on his face.

“I hate you right now.” You said with a fake smile.

He knocked on your door that night, harsher than usual. You opened with a grimace. “No need to prove your rank further, moi tsar.”

You met a strange version of your husband, his hair disheveled and frowning. “Do you want out of this?”

“Excuse me?” A strong smell of whiskey reached your nose, “are you drunk?”

He sighed and repeated, “Do. You. Want. Out. Of. This?”

Your stomach turned, you could feel your blood falling to your ankles. “Are you asking me to leave you?”

“I am asking if you’d like it so.”

Your anguish turned to anger. “If I’d like it so?” You took a step closer to him, out of your room. His eyes widened given you were in a nightgown with your hair down, “how thoughtful of you, moi tsar. I do not. Want. Out.” You pointed each word with a finger on his chest. Now you were both standing in the middle of the hall, guards peering through the corner of their eyes.

“It seems like you do, you’d be happier anyway!”

“Stop with deciding for me, first the marriage and now the divorce. Allow me to make choices by myself for once, Nikolai.”

“You’ve grown to hate me! Forgive me if I offer you an easy way out of your worst nightmare!”

“My worst nightmare is a blue kefta standing outside your door! waiting for you to go to bed, Nikolai. Do not turn this on me when you are the one who has disrespected me over and over!”

He leaned closer to you, “I have told you, there is nothing going on between the General and me.”

“Enough is going on for me to hate it! even if, for once in your life, your dick is not to blame.”

“Alright that is enough.” He turned to leave.

“The truth is all I ask of you, and you cannot give me that.”

“You have the truth!” He turned back to you with a grimace of pain, “I hide nothing from you.”

“Then why do you not let me into Council anymore?”

A cruel scoff left his mouth, “alright, you want to know why? Because I have riots all over the country because of your laws” he pointed a finger on your chest, the touch left a sting of guilt, “guards have been killed, people have been arrested and I wanted to shield you from learning that.” There was an air of arrogance in his tone and movements, like he had been dying to see your face when learning this information.

“I am sorry”

“No, love, I am sorry for prioritizing your feelings while having protesters at our gates just for you to light up this place from the inside.”

“Saints” A sobbed cry left your mouth, “I still wish you would have told me before, so I could have been there for you as your friend, your confidant, your advisor, your wife, instead you kept crawling back to her.” Your tone was lower than before, tears gathering in your eyes.

“I am crawling back to you!” he was practically yelling now, “begging for forgiveness and understanding! Begging you to understand as my queen why I have made such decisions. But if you won’t I will prevail in my place as King, waranteing those choices that have been made for your safety and Ravka’s. I will not apologize for putting your safety first, above everyone else’s. And if you can’t understand that, then you are no queen.” He spatted.

You looked at him with weary eyes, his last sentence had been a knife on your chest, and he had noticed it too, taking a step closer with kinder eyes.

“Maybe I am not.” You whispered, “maybe I am just an idiot who loves you.”

You walked back into your room and cried until you fell asleep.

***

Since that night you did not leave your rooms. You wallowed in solitude, refusing to let anyone in but an occasional meal a day.

Weeks passed without anyone asking you to go out, but every single night, Nikolai knocked on your door, asking you to let him in and begging for forgiveness.

You did not summon the courage to answer any of them.

*** After your month of solitude, you decided you had to leave. So you got yourself ready, as best as you summoned the effort to, putting on a dress but letting your hair down and not bothering to call a tailor to make up your face.

You finally walked out, everyone in the Palace looked at you with wide eyes before bowing to your confident strut. You let yourself into his study, ignoring his valet’s explanation of who was inside.

Nikolai stood up when the door opened, ready to storm whoever dared to interrupt his meeting. You saw some First Army officials do the same, but the moment your husband laid eyes on you he ordered everyone out with a shocked reaction.

“Myshka” he looked at you with tender eyes, “you look-” Nikolai walked to you, looking like a bull in a china cabinet, cautious not to break anything.

“awful, I figure” you interrupted him with an unbothered tone, he denied with his head. You looked up to him as he stood a step from you. “How is everything?”

“Much better. The riots have stopped although we had to send some incentives to the leaders and work with several communities to reach peace agreements.”

“Did you derogate my laws?”

“It did not have to get to that.” He reassured you with a soft smile.

“Good, thank you.” You cleared your throat. “I want to go home”

“This is your home” he whispered

“No, it is not.”

“I-” he swallowed, “I am your home”

You looked away, the tears in your eyes threatening to come out, “I thought that too”

“Myshka, if you go, we will never go back to where we--”

“Well maybe we shouldn’t, Nikolai. Maybe I should go, and you should declare our marriage null and find someone else.” The cracks in your voice made it clear enough that you did not want that either, yet he asked.

“Is that what you want?”

“That’s what you wanted”

“No” he quickly corrected you, “If that is what you want I will respect it, but that is NOT what I want and you know it.”

“I am not fit for the job” you cleared your face with the back of your hand and by the way his own turned into fists, you guessed he was dying to do it himself, “you deserve a queen.”

“You are my queen.”

“I am not, and I will go home.”

“Love, please don’t” Tears started to gather in his eyes.

“We could not make this” you repeated the gesture he did on your wedding day, “work”

“Don’t do this to me, please.” He sank to his knees, grabbing your wrist as he looked up to you with weary eyes.

You knelt in front of him, “you deserve a proper queen, Nikolai.” You laid a tender kiss on his cheek before standing up and leaving the room.

He did not knock on your door that night. ***

You had only been to his rooms on your wedding night, when he had promised to never abuse you. And given the latest events you did not think you’d be getting inside any time near, much less the night before you departed back to Ketterdam, but his screaming made you change your mind.

The second you realized it was his terrified screams in the room next to yours, you jumped out of bed and ran there without even pulling out a robe. With the corner of your eye you saw the twins running to his door as well, but before they could ever say a thing, you opened the door and locked yourself in.

Nikolai was in his bed, screaming in pain, his hands and feet were chained to the posts, while he helplessly pulled and tugged, trying to ease himself from whatever nightmare was clouding his mind.

Drops of sweat went down his face and neck while he frowned in pain, guttural screams and sobbed cries filled the room.

“Nikolai wake up” You sat next to him.

“GET AWAY FROM ME” he shouted with eyes still closed.

“Nikolai” you touched his face and he leaned into your palm; tenderly you continued to call his name repeatedly but his terror was only increasing. You could hear the twins already calling you out and threatening to knock down the door while your husband shrieked in pain.

Out of ideas, you climbed on his lap, pushing yourself against his agitated chest, while your fingers wiped his forehead.

“Easy, love, I am here with you.” You mumbled with your face crooked on his neck, kissing his skin softly. The weight of your body against his helped to lure him just enough to stop pulling the chains. “Nikolai, my love, everything is alright, it is just a nightmare.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, go” he cried in his sleep.

“You would never hurt me and I would never leave you.” You said in his ear.

The door opened with a loud kick and soon enough Zoya and Tolya were next to you.

“Your majesty, you need to leave this room.” Zoya instructed while Tolya tried to lift you off Nikolai. You slapped his hands off and returned to your previous position.

“He does not need an army, he needs to wake up.” You nearly yelled.

“He will turn into the monster, this is how it usually goes.” Zoya spatted, “He would want you to leave.”

“Then wake him up before he does!”

“We can’t, moi tsaritsa” Tolya said with shame.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“The King is heavily drugged now, it is physically impossible for him to wake up before morning.” Zoya’s face remained proud, with her chin up and perfect posture.

“HE IS WHAT?” You spat.

“There is a solution but he has never taken it in this state” Tolya explained.

Under you Nikolai kept struggling.

“Wake him up, NOW.” You ordered.

“Your majesty, with all due respect you do not know what you are aski-” Zoya began but you interrupted her.

“I am not asking, I am ORDERING you to wake him up.”

Where did you summon the courage to speak to her like that would be a mystery for the centuries, because all the time you had been here you barely dared to look at her and now you were ordering her to do something while you hugged your drugged off husband like a koala. With pursed lips, she looked at Tolya, who carried you off Nikolai with an ease you had never witnessed while Zoya took out a small vial and put a few drops on Nikolai’s mouth, it was a matter of seconds when he woke up startled.

“Where is she” he mumbled, still struggling to wake up.

You stopped struggling at Tolya’s arms, securing you to the spot, looking at your husband while praying internally he would not call out for Zoya. None of you dared to make a move. With eyes still closed, he whispered in lazy words, “my wife, is she gone?”

Tears spilled from your face freely, you knelt next to him, “I am right here, Nik.”

He barely opened his eyes when he whispered “Zoya”

You moved to stand when he struggled against the cuffs again, “take this off” He instructed while still looking at you, “I need to hold my wife.”

The General uncuffed him efficiently, when she was done, Nikolai ordered to be left alone with you.

“Did you hear what I said?” You did not summon enough confidence to look him in the eyes while you asked.

“I did.” he mumbled, “Come here” He commanded you as well.

You sat next to him on the bed, he rearranged you to lay next to him, an arm on your waist and your back to his chest. “What was that, Nikolai?”

“That was you stopping the monster.”

Both of you were exhausted, so without saying another word you nuzzled in him, falling asleep shortly after.

***

It was all a haze.

Rays of sunshine fluttering in your eyelashes, golden curls against your skin and a strong arm keeping you in place.

He held you like a kid holding a teddy bear, his head on your chest with your heartbeat as a lullaby.

“Nik” you mumbled, still half asleep.

He raised his head to you, lids heavy and a smirk already on his face. “Good morning sunshine.” He mumbled before tumbling next to you again, nuzzling his face in your hair.

“What am I doing here?” Your slumber fog faded last night memories.

“Saving me.” He whispered in your ear as he laid a lazy arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He laid sleepy kisses on whatever skin he found; shoulders, neck, ear, and when he ran out he turned you to face him and continued his work on your neck.

“Nik”

“No” he mumbled, “let me stay in this moment” he found a place that made your breath hitch and worked there with his teeth.

“We should ta-ahh” a soft moan caught your voice.

“Much better”

Next your nails were digging on his scalp and he was on top of you, pulling your nightgown to make room for his trace.

“You’re never leaving this bed, darling.”

“How, are you gonna chain me?” You joked.

The dirtiest, mischievous grin appeared on his face, “I was planning to keep you myself, but I am always open to comply with your darkest desires.”

You pulled his shirt open, sliding it off his arms.

He returned to your lips with a desperate pace and you felt his desperation between your legs as well.

The door opened with a loud thud and a man’s voice announced in panic “Moi Tsar, the queen is gone!”

Nikolai’s shoulders limited your visibility, and you thanked the saints the announcer could not see your crimson cheeks either. Nikolai bit a smirk, turning to the man without leaving his place on top of you, “I found her, you can go now. And lock the door on your way out.”

Your face was hot with embarrassment when Nikolai turned back to you.

“Now, would you rather have both hands together or one on each post?” He asked you with a grin.

“I’d rather have them in your hair.”

“yeah that’ll do” he leant back down to kiss you.

You pushed him softly, “Nikolai, we should talk about last night.”

He laid next to you, “Don’t you remember?”

“I remember yelling at Zoya” you looked at him, biting your lower lip in regret.

“Oh that will be fun” he mused.

You smiled, your sight and fingers focused on playing with his hair, “And climbing on your lap while you screamed, but then you woke up and everything was alright.”

“I was-uh- struggling with the monster.” He swallowed, his eyes lost on something past you, “I felt it overcoming me and then I heard your voice, I begged you to leave but you didn’t and somehow that… helped.”

“Well you are very welcome” you joked.

“Since you’ve found the cure I am afraid I will have to keep you by my side forever” He pressed a peck on your shoulder, “if you want?”

“Do you want me to? And not because I am useful to keep the monster at bay.”

His lips continued to kiss wherever skin could find, “I want you to stay.”

“Then ask me to.” Your gaze returned to his warm eyes.

“I can’t ask you that” he moved his head sideways, “because asking requires a logical process of thinking and certain authority to inquire in your life choices, and with you I have none of that. I can only pray on my knees for you to spare a glance my way.” He kissed your shoulder again, but more intently this time, “for you I only have incoherent beggars and unworthy cries” his lips traced towards your chest, “I save for you my most human pledgaries and I am to you not a king nor a sovereign but a man. This place fooled me to believe myself regal, all mighty, then you came around and turned me into a man, a lame attempt of one, so as one I do not get to ask of you a thing, as such I only get to beg the love of my life to please spend the rest of her nights nuzzled next to me, and her days holding my hand.” He left a wet trail on your chest and neck to fall back into your lips.

Your eyes weary with emotion, you pulled him deeper into you with hunger.

“Is that a yes?” He mumbled against your lips.

“I don’t think I can say no to you, moi tsar.” You finally answered before kissing him again.

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov x reader #grishaverse

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