#the angst. the fluff. the lore

[lonelymoonbeams]

don't worry, sophia! according to my calculation, this is definitely the optimal angle for kissing someone!!

[ughbrie]

ravaged depths | rafayel

⤜ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - You remembered the first Ebb day—how he’d clung to you, delirious, burning up from the inside out. Lemurians didn’t just get fevers. When they went into heat, it was instinct and memory twisted into something raw and feral. He’d held onto you like you were the only tether keeping him grounded. Because you were. You always had been.

So when Thomas told you he’d vanished, that chill ran up your spine.

You knew what this was.

He was probably hiding it. Probably painting himself into madness with those blood-soaked corals he kept sealed in glass like trophies. Maybe he was hurting again. Maybe he didn’t want you to see him like that—vulnerable, a god stripped bare.

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ - rafayel x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ - smut

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ - 4.2k

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ (or tags) - nsfw, mdni, no use of y/n, use of pet names (cutie), dom!rafayel, depictions of heat or mating cycles, references to rafayel's bond story (ebb and flow), possessive behavior, oral sex (f! receiving), clit play, fingering, overstimulation, handjob, cum marking, multiple orgasms, penetration (p in v), dirty talk, unprotected sex, mating press, breeding kink, creampie, and mentions of ownership.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- Well, this was just something that had been bothering me and I had to get it out of my system, lol. There's no plot here, just plain smut. Enjoy reading!

You got the call on a Tuesday.

Thomas’s voice came through sharp and tight over the line, like he was trying not to panic but already halfway there. “I haven’t heard from him in three days. He’s not answering his phone. Studio’s locked, not even a brushstroke done for the exhibit.”

You rubbed your temples. Of course it would happen now.

The thing with Rafayel was—he disappeared sometimes. Not in the ghosting kind of way. No, he always told you where he was going. Always made you promise to text when you were working late, made you promise to tell him if you weren’t coming over. Just so he knew. Just so he didn’t wait by the window like some fool, eyes flicking toward every passing headlight.

“You don’t have to tuck me in, cutie,” he’d joke, head resting in your lap like he belonged there. “Just tell me when to stop waiting.”

He played it off like he was teasing, like he wasn’t dead serious. That was the thing about Rafayel—two faces, same man. Around you, he was soft, dramatic, a little clingy, a little spoiled. He pouted, he flirted, he draped himself on your couch like he paid rent. But when he was with others? Cold as ice. Calculated. He had that detached artist thing down to an art form, and it wasn’t an act. You’d seen the real switch happen more than once—the light in his eyes shutting off like a storm rolling in.

You remembered the first Ebb day—how he’d clung to you, delirious, burning up from the inside out. Lemurians didn’t just get fevers. When they went into heat, it was instinct and memory twisted into something raw and feral. He’d held onto you like you were the only tether keeping him grounded. Because you were. You always had been.

So when Thomas told you he’d vanished, that chill ran up your spine.

You knew what this was.

He was probably hiding it. Probably painting himself into madness with those blood-soaked corals he kept sealed in glass like trophies. Maybe he was hurting again. Maybe he didn’t want you to see him like that—vulnerable, a god stripped bare.

You didn’t wait. You grabbed your gear, told Thomas you’d handle it, and headed straight to his studio.

It was no surprise to find yourself pinned pinned beneath his muscular frame on the couch in his studio, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he feasted on your dripping sex like a man starved. The room was filled with the obscene sounds of his lips smacking and sucking, his tongue delving deep into your folds again and again. You could feel his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you with wild abandon.

“Rafayel—!” you gasped.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging at the silky strands as the pleasure built to a fever pitch inside you. Rafayel’shands slid up to grip your thighs, pushing them further apart as he buried his face between your legs, his nose pressed against your clit as he tongue-fucked your entrance with deep, powerful strokes.

Fuck.

You could feel your juices coating his chin, dripping down onto the couch beneath you as he ate you out with single-minded focus. Your hips bucked and writhed against his mouth, trying to grind your aching sex against his face as the pressure inside you reached a breaking point. You were so close, teetering on the edge of ecstasy as Rafayel’s tongue circled your clit with devastating precision.

Your fingers clenched in his hair, holding him tight against you as you felt your orgasm building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter. You were panting and moaning, your chest heaving with each ragged breath as Rafayel brought you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel your walls fluttering, clenching around his invading tongue as he pushed you ruthlessly towards your peak.

Just as you were about to come undone, Rafayel pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He looked up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes, a wicked grin spreading across his face. 

“Not yet, cutie. Don’t come, okay?” he purred, his voice rough and low. “I’m not done with you yet.” And with that, he dove back in, sealing his mouth over your sex once more and continuing his relentless assault on your senses, determined to make you crazy.

He was succeeding, because you were in fact going crazy.

Your hands remained fisted in his hair, holding him tight as he ate you out with wild, unbridled hunger, your body trembling and shaking with the force of your impending release. The room filled with the filthy sounds of your coupling, the wet squelches and slurps of Rafayel’s mouth on your sex echoing off the walls as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

You whined, “I can’t—I can’t…. I need to—ah!”

You felt two of his long—thick fingers push deep inside your dripping core. Your back arched off the couch, a sharp cry of pleasure tearing from your throat as he began to finger fuck you with deep, powerful strokes. His fingers curled and twisted inside you, stroking along your inner walls and brushing against that sensitive spot that made your toes curl.

Rafayel’s fingers pumped in and out of your tight heat, matching the rhythm of his licks and sucks on your clit. The dual stimulation was almost too much to bear, and you could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around his invading digits—trying to draw them deeper inside you. 

Suddenly, Rafayel added a third finger, stretching you wider, filling you fuller and the new sensation pushed you over the precipice.

You can’t hold it anymore. 

You can’t.

You came with a scream, “Rafayel-!”

Your body convulsed and shook as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you. Your sex clenched and spasmedaround his fingers, gushing and dripping with your release as Rafayel worked you through your orgasm, his fingers pumping and curling inside you, drawing out your pleasure.

You hiccuped, “S-Stop-! I can’t—"

Rafayel never let up his assault on your clit—licking and sucking the sensitive nub as you rode out the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. Your fingers remained fisted in his hair, holding him tight against you as you gasped and shuddered, your body still tingling with the lingering effects of your mind-blowing release. 

Rafayel’s fingers slowly stilled inside you, but he kept them buried deep, plugging you up, as he licked your sex clean of your juices, savoring the taste of your pleasure on his tongue.

You sighed and peered through your half-closed eyelids, Rafayel hovered above you like the tide itself—inevitable, consuming.

His eyes glowed with reddish pink melting into violet, a storm of color that shimmered like sunset trapped beneath the waves. They pulsed with something older, wilder, the kind of magic that belonged to deep-sea gods and forgotten lullabies. Looking into them felt like falling. They held you still, like gravity didn’t belong to the earth anymore, only to him. 

Specks of violet and blue shimmered across his cheeks and down the line of his throat—scales, iridescent and fine as dust, catching the light like stars scattered over his skin. They pulsed faintly with his breath, shifting as if alive, as if tasting the air around you.

You wanted to touch them. Trace them. Memorize the way they glowed like stars scattered across a sea that only he belonged to. But your hands stayed still, curled into the couch cushions, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and the part of you that ached for him.

His skin was damp, slick with heat—his own and yours—and glistened where it met the light, his chest heaving, breath labored but steady. Not desperate. Controlled. 

A god at the edge of surrender.

Sweat trickled down his temple, sliding over the curve of his jaw like it belonged there. His lips—parted, glossy, wet—obviously bitten raw and red from his assaults on your sex. You could smell salt on his skin. Not the kind from the sea. The kind born of fever. 

Of need. Of heat.

And still, the way he looked at you—fuck—it was reverent.

As if your body beneath him was sacred. As if you were the anchor keeping him from drifting into madness. His hand was firm on your hip, fingers splayed, possessive, keeping you pinned in place—not to dominate, but to keep himself from floating away. Like the warmth of you was the only thing tethering him to his shape.

“Rafayel,” you whispered, or maybe you just thought it. But his eyes flickered, focused sharper, like the sound of his name from your lips was enough to bring him back from wherever he was drifting.

He leaned in close enough that the scent of salt and skin filled your senses. 

His weight pressed down gently, never fully—like he was afraid of breaking you. Or maybe afraid of breaking himself if he let go. There was heat rolling off him in waves, dampening your skin where it met his, slick with sweat, pulse jumping in time with yours. You could feel the tremor in his muscles, the restraint, the feral edge buried just beneath the surface.

You weren’t even sure when you stopped breathing. Maybe it was the moment his hands slid up your trembling thighs, his fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. Maybe it was when his lips hovered a breath above your breasts, his lips latching onto your t-shirt covered nipples. 

He sucked and nibbled at the hardened peaks through the thin fabric, the rough texture of the cotton rubbing deliciously against your sensitive skin. You could feel your nipples straining against the shirt, aching for the direct touch of his mouth, but he teased you mercilessly, refusing to give you the satisfaction of skin on skin contact.

“Please, Rafayel…”

He smiled, and finally his hands slid up your quivering stomach, his fingers splaying across your skin as he pushed your shirt up inch by torturous inch. You lifted your arms, allowing him to peel the garment off your body and toss it carelessly to the side. The cool air hit your newly exposed skin, your nipples pebbling instantly from the change in temperature and the intensity of your arousal.

But that coolness was short-lived as Rafayel’s hot mouth descended upon your breasts, his lips wrapping around one aching, bare nipple and suckling—greedily. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the couch as pleasure sparked through your nerve endings like electricity. Rafayel’s tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, flicking and teasing, before he drew it into his mouth and suckled harder, sending jolts of white-hot bliss straight to your core.

His other hand came up to knead and squeeze the soft flesh of your breast, his fingers sinking into your skin as he massaged the supple mound. He rolled and plucked at your other nipple, pinching and tugging the hardened bud between his thumb and forefinger, giving it the same attention his mouth lavished on its twin. You could feel the heat building between your legs, your sex clenching and fluttering around nothing, still sensitive from your previous release.

Rafayel’s lips moved to your other breast, his mouth covering your nipple and suckling just as greedily as before. He nipped and bit at the tender flesh, his teeth grazing your skin before he soothed the sting with his tongue. You could feel the wetness of his saliva coating your nipple, the sensation of his mouth on your bare skin is a different sensation entirely.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as he worshipped your breasts with lips and tongue and teeth. You arched your back, pressing your chest further into his touch, silently begging for more. Rafayel obliged, his hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he feasted on your flesh like a starving man at a banquet.

Rafayel looked up at you, eyes glassy and wide, his pupils blown so wide they swallowed the pink and violet whole—like he couldn’t see anything but you.

He gasped, voice muffled against your nipple, his lips wet, “Cutie…”

You felt his hips nestle between your thighs, his thick, heavy cock resting against your sensitive sex, still dripping with the evidence of your release. You trembled, thighs shifting and parting slightly, and you felt Rafayel’s cock twitch against your sex, growing harder, more insistent.

He groaned, “I need…”

Understanding him, you reached down between your bodies, your fingers brushing against the hard, velvety tip of his erection. You could feel the moisture from your combined arousal coating his length, making it slick and smooth beneath your touch. You wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft, feeling it pulse and throb in your grip as you slowly stroked up and down, exploring the shape and size of him.

Rafayel let out a low, guttural groan, his hips rocking forward slightly as you touched him. 

“Fuck, cutie… l-let me help you….” he purred.

His hand slid down to cover yours, his fingers curling around your own as he guided your movements, showing you how he liked to be touched, how to stroke and caress his aching flesh. You could feel the heat building between your thighs, the desire coiling tighter in your core as you felt Rafayel’s cock grow harder, more urgent against your touch.

Rafayel groaned, low and ragged, “More, please…”

His head dropped against your collarbone—his breath hot and uneven.

Your fingers danced over the tip, teasing the sensitive flesh, smearing the bead of moisture that leaked from the slit. Rafayel’s breath grew ragged, his chest heaving against your own as you continued to explore his length, marveling at the way it twitched and jumped beneath your touch. You could feel the power and the strength in his body, the raw, primal masculinity that both thrilled and terrified you. And as you stroked and caressed his cock, you knew that you were playing with fire—but you were more than ready to be consumed by the flames. 

His flames.

As your fingers continued to tease and stroke Rafayel’s throbbing cock, you could feel the tension in his body building to a fever pitch. His hips began to rock and thrust against your hand, seeking more of that delicious friction, more of your touch. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he chased his own release.

Suddenly, Rafayel’s body went rigid, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath his skin. A guttural, animalistic groan tore from his throat as his cock jerked and throbbed in your grip, pulsing with a life of its own. You felt the first hot, thick spurt of his seed erupt from the tip, coating your fingers and dripping down onto your sex. 

His hips bucked and shuddered, his body trembling, “Oh gods…”

You continued to stroke his cock, working him through the aftershocks of his release as he collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the couch. You could feel his heart racing, his skin flushed and damp with a sheen of sweat as he struggled to catch his breath. Your fingers remained wrapped around his softening length, gently caressing and soothing him as he came down from the high of his climax.

Rafayel’s hand slid up your body, cupping your cheek, tilting your face towards his own. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his desire and his gratitude into the heated embrace. You could taste the desperation on his tongue, the raw, primal hunger that only you seemed to bring out in him. And as you kissed him back just as fiercely, just as desperately, you knew that you would never be able to get enough of this man—of his touch, his passion, his all-consuming love. 

You were his, just as he was yours, two souls entwined in a dance as old as time itself.

His breath ghosted hot against your cheek, shaky and humid, like the tide pulling too close to shore.

“Tell me I can,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked, lips brushing your skin. “Tell me I can have you…”

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss on your cheek, “Please… I need to feel more of you. All of you.”

“You don’t have to ask. I’m yours.” you whispered, as you reached up to caress his cheek.

He groaned, “You don’t know what you do to me—I’m holding back so much.”

“Then don’t hold back. I want all of it—all of you.” you reassured, “I trust you. Even like this, I’ll always trust you.”

His lips skimmed along your jaw, slick and trembling, like he was drinking you in one slow breath at a time. 

“You’ll ruin me,” he whispered, voice hoarse with need. “But gods, I want you to.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, glowing eyes flickering.

“I’ll give you everything. Just—don’t look away when I do.”

His gaze were intense and filled with a hunger that made your heart race. Slowly, inch by inch, he began to push forward, the thick head of his erection parting your swollen lips and sinking into your tight, wet heat.

You gasped as you felt him enter you, your walls stretching and yielding to his size. “Rafayel—“

You felt him shudder when you whispered his name, like a wave breaking at last against the shore. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a low groan escaping his lips as your silken walls enveloped him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. He began to push deeper, inch by excruciating inch, allowing you to feel every throb and pulse of his hard cock as it disappeared inside you.

He hissed, “You’re so tight. F-Fuck, c-cutie—” his voice cracked—soft, desperate—as if the need was clawing its way out of his chest.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your nails raking down his back as you struggled to adjust to his size. Rafayel’s hand slid down to your hip, gripping it tightly as he continued his slow, steady push forward, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt inside you. You could feel the heat of him, the weight of him, filling and stretching you in a way that was almost too much to bear.

For a long moment, Rafayel remained still, allowing you to feel the throb and twitch of his cock deep inside your core. His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with your own as he savored the feeling of being one with you, joined in the most intimate way possible. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the strength and power in his body as he held himself above you, pinning you down with his weight and his presence.

Slowly, Rafayel began to move, withdrawing his hips until just the tip of his cock remained inside you. Then, with a deep, guttural groan, he thrust forward again, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, powerful stroke. He set a steady rhythm, his hips rocking and rolling against your own as he began to make love to you with deep, purposeful thrusts that hit that secret spot inside you with every drive of his hips.

Your body responded instinctively, your hips lifting to meet his, taking him deeper, urging him on. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, of your mingled moans and cries of pleasure as Rafayel took you with a passion and a hunger that left you breathless and aching for more. You could feel the pleasure building inside you, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter with every thrust, every stroke of his hard, thick cock inside your dripping sex.

He moved like he was drowning in want, and beneath the glitter of scales and heat-slick skin, he was unraveling, and you were the only thing holding him together, like you were the only air left.

Rafayel suddenly hooked his arms under your knees, pulling your legs up and back as he pushed your knees towards your chest. He maneuvered your body with ease, his strength allowing him to bend and position you as he desired. As he did this, he pushed your thighs further apart, opening you wider to him. Your legs were now bent at an angle, your knees pressed against your chest, completely exposing your sex to his hungry gaze.

With this new position, Rafayel could drive his cock even deeper into your core. He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your ass as he began to piston in and out of you with long, powerful strokes. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper inside you, his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust. You could feel every ridge and vein of his thick shaft dragging along your sensitive walls, igniting sparks of pleasure that raced up your spine.

“T-That’s it, cutie. Take it, yeah? Take it.” he moaned.

Rafayel’s hips slammed against yours, the force of his thrusts making your body jolt and shake. He was fucking you with wild abandon, his eyes dark and intense as he watched your face, watching the pleasure play out across your features. You could feel the heat building between your thighs, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core as Rafayel’s cock pounded into you, driving you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Your fingers clawed at his back, your nails digging into his skin as you clung to him, anchoring yourself against the force of his thrusts. You could feel the sweat dripping down your body, your skin slick and flushed with the exertion of your lovemaking. Rafayel’s chest heaved above you, his muscles flexing and rippling with every movement, showcasing his raw, primal strength.

“Fuck, cutie,” Rafayel growled, his voice rough and low. “You feel so fucking good. So tight, so perfect.” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, grinding his hips against yours, stirring his cock deep inside you. “I can feel you squeezing me, cutie. You want to come on my cock, don’t you? Want to take every last drop of me?” His words were filthy, obscene, but they only served to turn you on more, to make you burn hotter for him.

You nod, frantically, eagerly. You gasped, “Yes, yes, yes—please, Rafayel!”

“Fuck, I want to breed this pussy—want to make you mine!” He growled, his voice cracking.

Rafayel’s fingers found your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, fast circles. The added stimulation was almost too much to bear, and you could feel your walls starting to flutter and clench around his pistoning cock. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as Rafayel continued to pound into you with wild abandon, his hips slapping against yours, the obscene sound of skin on skin filling the room.

“Come on, cutie,” Rafayel growled, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder against your clit. “Come all over my cock. I want to feel you come apart for me.” His words were rough, demanding, pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion.

Your body tensed, your back arching off the couch as you felt your orgasm building to a crescendo. Rafayel’s cock was hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, sending jolts of electricity through your veins. You could feel the pressure in your core winding tighter and tighter, your walls clenching and squeezing around Rafayel’s shaft, trying to pull him deeper, to keep him inside you.

With a scream of Rafayel’s name, you came undone, your body convulsing and shaking as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you. Your sex clenched and spasmed around Rafayel’s cock, gushing and dripping with your release as he fucked you through your climax, drawing out your pleasure.

Feeling your walls clamp down around him, Rafayel let out a guttural roar, his body going rigid as he found his own release. His cock jerked and throbbed inside you, pulsing as he spilled his hot release deep into your core. You could feel the warmth of it, the thickness of it, painting your insides.

He was draped over you in an instant like a weighted blanket, limbs tangled, cheek pressed to your chest, his breath ragged. His skin was damp, faintly glowing, but his body had softened, all the tension melted into your touch.

“Mmh…” he mumbled, voice low and lazy, lips brushing your collarbone. “That felt so good, cutie.”

You laughed, well, tried to. “Are you feeling better now?”

He shook his head, “Still burning. But I’m choosing not to die about it right now.”

You huffed a laugh, fingers carding gently through his sweat-damp hair. “Choosing?”

“Mmhm,” he hummed. “Choosing rest. Choosing you. Very brave of me.”

He tilted his head up just enough to look at you, eyes heavy-lidded but still glowing faintly, pupils still too wide. “Don’t move, cutie,” he said, dramatically nuzzling back into your skin. “If you leave, I’ll literally melt. You’ll come back to nothing but glitter and salt.”

You didn’t move. Of course you didn’t.

“Good,” he whispered, already half-asleep. “Knew you had a soft spot for me.”

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[delusionsofgrandeur13]

your former ex-boyfriend, dick grayson, is nervous.

he’s planned the day out to the letter. some of your favorite things, a museum stroll and a picnic in the gorgeous spring weather. (he made sure you took your allergy pill this morning, too.) he got absolutely no sleep, up all night with nerves, trying to take deep breaths into your hair as he cradled you close. he knows where you two need to be and when, and he’s got a square shaped box in his pocket poking into the meat of his thigh every time he takes a step. a step further with you, a step forward into your future together. but he’s nervous.

nervous you’ll say no. nervous you don’t want him the way he wants you. nervous he’s still not in the clear. it’s only been a year or so since he’d broken up with you, trying to decide he knows what’s best for the both of you.

he’s taken note, though.

of all the times you’ve joked about your ‘bare ring finger.’

all the moments he’s caught you lingering in front of a jewelry store.

you do always tell him you want him forever and always.

he’ll mention something in the future, float the idea of kids, or more pets, and you’ll talk about wanting to buy a house with him, asking him his opinion of architecture styles when you go on walks together.

the topic of the future is heavily woven into almost every interaction you have, fitting into place as perfectly as your hands do when he grabs yours.

but he’s nervous.

dick is being so weird. constantly checking his watch, hurriedly texting. eyes shifting around. you’d hugged him this morning, and felt his heart beating behind his ribs like a caged bird. he’s been a gentleman as always, curling your hair for you and asking you to twirl to show off your outfit. opening every door for you, walking on the side closer to the road as you walk down the sidewalk. but you know him. and something’s off.

you link your arm through his as you point out the brushstrokes in the rembrandt in front of you, and he nods in response, distracted.

“dick.” you say, exasperated.

“yes, angel?” he replies, obviously still a little distracted as you two continue down the gallery.

“what are you thinking about?” you ask, probing. he looks at you, the intensity in his blue eyes suddenly fully focused onto you. it’s a little jarring, one thing about dick you’ll probably never get used to. (and never want to.) having his full attention feels like being under a spotlight, like you’re the only other person in the world, and he wants nothing else but to hear what you have to say.

“i’m thinking about how gorgeous you look,” he says, the unexpected compliment sinking into your skin, warming you from the outside in.

“thank you, baby.” you say, a little flustered still.

he gives you his full and total attention the rest of the time you’re there, letting you look at every single exhibit until you’re satisfied.

he buys you a ridiculous keychain from the gift shop, a cutout of the panicked figure in edvard munch’s the scream.

it goes onto your keys immediately, dick’s satisfied smile even better than the keychain.

you head out of the museum, back to the car. dick opens your door, rounding to his side. he gets in, buckling his seatbelt after he’s sure you’ve already done yours. he kisses you on the cheek, starting the car.

“where to next, dick?”

“that’s for me to know and for you to find out.” he replies, and you laugh, rolling your eyes.

he drives further away from the city, deeper into the suburbs of gotham. the houses grow nicer and nicer as you drive up the hill, and you point some of them out to dick. he smiles, a knowing look on his face.

dick pulls into a park you’ve never seen before, and you get the oddest feeling in your stomach. almost a little apprehensive? you’re not sure why, you and dick have done a million dates like this before.

he parks, and opens your door for you, holding out a hand to help you out, even if you don’t need it.

you try to take the picnic basket from the trunk, but dick stops you, an incredulous look on his face. you smile in response, picking up the folded blanket instead. he easily slides the handle of the basket onto one arm, grabbing your free hand with his.

locking the car, he leads you to the hill crowning the park.

it’s a beautiful spring day, the sun shining but not too warm. birds sing out to each other from the trees, a light breeze rustling through the leaves, the lush grass covering the ground. one side of the park is covered in blooms upon blooms of flowers, intricately planted in order to be easily walked through. big, fluffy clouds float across the sky, every once in awhile in front of the sun.

you make it to the top of the hill, shaking the blanket out, setting it onto the grass. he sets the basket down, pulling out sandwiches and drinks from the cooler, a container of cut fruit, your favorite kind of chips. you go to sit down, take your shoes off, but he stops you.

bringing you over to the other side of the hill, he wraps an arm around your waist as you gape at the view. you’re overlooking the city, as far as the eye can see. the sun glints off of some of the high rises, and you pick the wayne enterprises building out easily. dick smiles at that, kissing your temple.

you turn from the view after that, focusing onto the one standing right next to you. his black hair gleams in the sun, his tanned skin making his blue eyes pop. he’s dressed so nicely, a good pair of jeans and a new button-up, his favorite pair of converse freshly scrubbed clean, a habit he has that’s so baffling to you.

you could’ve sworn you felt a raindrop or two, but nothing about the sky declares rain to come. you brush the idea off, turning back to look at the gotham skyline.

“angel,” dick says, and looking at him, you gasp.

he drops to one knee, and everything quiets except for the words he’s about to say. you can’t breathe, one hand is pressed to your chest, over your heart, the other one gripped tightly in dick’s. the ring in its ring box is positively breathtaking, but you only glance at it. he could propose with a ring pop, for all you care.

he opens his mouth to speak, and he’s cut off by a rushing sound. you both look up, confused. torrential rain sweeps across the park, across your picnic, thunder shaking the sky.

you’re soaked, your clothes and hair plastered to your skin. dick looks miserable, but you almost can’t help but laugh. poor dick, trying to get everything perfect. trying to do everything right, just for the one thing he couldn’t control, to be what ruins it.

dick’s only thankful for the rain because it’s hiding the tears threatening to fall.

“angel..” he starts again, his voice cracking. you shake your head. he doesn’t need to say anything, anything at all. you know what he has to say, and you agree with all of it, all of it and more.

his face sets into grim acceptance as he nods, but you just laugh again. he starts to close the ring box, but you stop him.

you slip the ring onto your wet finger, the stone glistening and sparkling, even under the dark skies. dick’s eyes light up, his mouth agape. before he can say a word, you tackle him into the grass.

“yes.” you say, peppering his face with kisses. some of the wetness on his face tastes salty, and you have no doubt in the world he was crying.

“yes, dick,” planting another on his forehead,

“yes,” his cheek,

“yes,” the tip of his nose,

“yes,” his chin,

“a thousand times, YES!” on his lips, rolling him on top of you on the wet grass. he sighs into your mouth, relaxing into it, and you can feel the smile on his lips.

dick grabs champagne from the picnic basket, shaking it as he pops it. you squeal when he sprays you with it, grabbing it to do the same to him. you take a swig, giving it back to dick as he copies you. you kiss, tasting the alcohol, the cool rain on his lips. he picks you up, spinning you, and you’ve never felt so free, so happy.

later, you’re back in the car, the heater on full blast as you sit there soaked.

“mrs. grayson,” you say, sighing happily. dick blushes, his eyes popping. he watches you admire the ring on your finger, pulling you closer, into a kiss. you deepen it, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“did you mean to propose on the same day you broke up with me?”

“what?!”

☆ ☆ ☆

idea courtesy of @cottage-worm

love ya bae, you got one heck of a brain on you

go read her writing too! @wormwrites

☆ ☆ ☆

post divider!!! @saradika-graphics

[glitchgh0sty]

Decepticon!Prowl: Cycle 51. Signal

Context ✨ Previous ✨ Next

————————————————————————

Prowl: hmhmm,, I fear I misheard you. So, I’ll ask again,, who are you sending out right now???

- Soldier 664 NZ? He’s up next on the spread.

Prowl: … [but? - he wasn’t supposed to be sent out for the next 3 joor??]

[and Prowl definitely didn’t *cough* mess around a bit to make sure that was the case, 3 joor ago]

[cheriqube]

Fishsticks

My take on Rafayel's and MC first meeting as kids. Content: Mostly fluffy(?) Kind of angsty if you squint. Not canon compliant! Reader is AFAB, is referred to as 'girl'. No use of Y/N. 5.2K words

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It wouldn’t be long before Rafayel turned into a glorified fish stick. Two, maybe three hours tops? Then the ocean’s last great deity would be nothing more than a shriveled husk, stranded helplessly upon dry land like a dumb, oversized, tragically misplaced whale. No disrespect intended to whales, of course, he mused with a faint smirk, even now unable to resist a sardonic thought.

The young Lemurian’s mind churned as swiftly and chaotically as the muttered curses slipping through his parched lips. Every grain of sand felt viciously sharp, tiny shards of fiberglass embedding themselves deeper into his scales the drier they became, scraping mercilessly into his gills and fins. Definitely not his preferred exit from existence, but admittedly, there was a grim sort of poetry in it.

Pure, twisted artistry. The Last Sea God Abandoned. Rafayel could already picture it vividly: his tragedy immortalized on canvas, paraded shamelessly in some grubby human gallery, patrons sipping champagne while greedily devouring his suffering.

After what felt like two grueling hours of stubborn defiance—twenty minutes in actual, painful reality—he finally allowed himself to collapse in exhausted resignation. But hey, give him some credit; he'd made at least some pathetic inch-by-inch progress toward salvation, hadn't he? This whole melodramatic spectacle was turning into a rather embarrassing performance.

Still, despite the hopeless theatrics, there remained an irritatingly persistent spark inside him. It was a reckless whisper confidently promising he'd make it back to the sea—because he had to. At least, that's the story he desperately clung to, repeating it like a mantra even as doubt stubbornly clawed at his thoughts.

Trapped somewhere between complete despair and detached indifference, Rafayel let his head sink back into the gritty warmth of the sand, his gaze reluctantly drifting upwards toward the glaring sun. It burned like an overexposed photograph, harsh and brutal against his vision. How did humans tolerate such relentless brightness? Beneath the waves, sunlight danced softly, fractured into glittering patterns, gently cascading through the currents in a mesmerizing ballet.

It painted everything in hues of liquid gold and shifting sapphire; a sight infinitely more enchanting than this merciless blaze. He much preferred that tranquil beauty to this cruel, blazing spotlight. Especially now, as he lay helpless beneath it, slowly roasting alive.

For the first time, Rafayel actually paused to take in his surroundings. Up until now, he’d been too consumed with the singular, burning need to get back to the ocean to bother looking around. But now, stranded and marinating in his own bad decisions, the reality set in—this beach was far too close to Linkon, a sprawling human city that hummed with noise and metal and artificial light.

His guardian had warned him, of course. Don’t get too close to the surface. Stay clear of the cities. They’ll ruin you. But did he listen? Naturally not. He was a god, after all. Listening to others felt… beneath him. Why take orders from subordinates when you’re supposed to be the one giving them?

Still, as he lay half-buried in the sand, salty skin cracking under the sun, he couldn’t help but admit, just this once, maybe his judgment hadn’t been so divine after all.

Rubble and discarded remnants of human life choked the shoreline, a grim demonstration of the tsunami’s wrath. Shattered wood, twisted metal, and forgotten plastic clung to the coast like scars, making each step a gamble. The sea churned a venomous gray, seething with fury, and the sand had turned the color of ash. Dark, heavy, solemn.

Rafayel could still feel the weight of the tsunami’s rage, echoing in the waves and soaked into the earth itself. Its sorrow hadn’t just passed through; it had seeped in, stained everything it touched. In a way, he understood it. Sometimes, he felt like that too. Wild and wounded, desperate to be heard.

Jagged rocks jutted from the water like ancient blades, defiant and raw, while scattered boulders created a fractured path that led nowhere but the deep, open sea. It was tragic, chaotic… and yet, there was beauty in its ruin. A haunting kind of beauty. The kind that made you stop and stare, even if it hurt.

With a deep breath, Rafayel finally let his eyes flutter shut, arms stretched wide across the sand like he was offering himself to the sun. Maybe, for the first and last time, he’d get a tan. Or maybe he’d just combust into ash like an overcooked scallop. Honestly? He had no clue. But now seemed like the perfect time to find out.

Just as the edges of sleep began to blur his thoughts, the oppressive heat of the sun suddenly faded. A reprieve? A benevolent cloud, perhaps, drifting in with divine timing, moved by the tragic sight of a young, too-beautiful-to-die sea god wilting under its gaze?

Curious, he cracked open one eye, half-expecting to see a majestic puff of white mercy above him. Instead, he was greeted by a small, wide-eyed human child peering down at him like he was some exotic beachside cryptid. He gasped—you gasped—then thunk!

In a flurry of startled motion, he sat bolt upright and slammed his forehead directly into yours. Both of you recoiled, groaning and clutching your heads in synchronized agony, as if the universe had decided you needed to suffer together.

You let out a dramatic “owwwww” as you stumbled back a few clumsy steps, clutching your forehead like it had been personally betrayed.

Rafayel snickered, wincing as he rubbed the sore spot between his eyes. “What was that for?!”

You blinked at him, still dazed, and jabbed a finger in his direction like a tiny, furious judge. “W–what? You hit me!”

The two of you stood there, frozen in mutual indignation and confusion, both flustered and vaguely starstruck. Rafayel had never seen a human child up close, his only references were the blurry surface images drifting through currents and warnings from his guardians.

And you? You’d certainly never come face-to-face with a mermaid—or, well, whatever he was. A mermaid boy? Mer-kid? Mer–child? You weren’t exactly sure what to call him. Up until about fifteen seconds ago, they were nothing more than bedtime stories and glittery cartoon nonsense.

But here he was. Breathing. Blinking. Possibly sunburnt. And very, very real.

You were the first to break the silence. “Are you… really a mermaid? Or is that, like… a costume or something?” Your gaze drifted down, wide-eyed, to the tail sprawled out behind him—an iridescent masterpiece of blues, greens, and glimmers of violet that shifted with the light like living stained glass.

Rafayel’s expression soured instantly. Offended. Deeply. The kind of offended only a divine being could muster. Being gawked at by a human was bad enough, but to be questioned like some beachside street performer in glitter and spandex? Unforgivable.

“I’m a mer-MAN, actually,” he snapped, his voice sharp with wounded pride. He crossed his arms in an exaggerated huff, the pout on his face somehow both regal and childish. “And no, it’s not a costume. What kind of ridiculous question is that?”

Then, with a theatrical flick of his tail that sent a spray of sand in your direction, he added, “Not that it matters. You need to get out of here. Before I make you leave.” It was a bluff, of course. An empty threat dressed in bravado, tossed out in hopes you’d take the hint and scurry off without getting curious. He wasn’t exactly in the best shape to be intimidating… but he could still pretend.

Not that Rafayel expected much from a human child. Especially not one that had the nerve to poke at him like some beached curiosity. His voice remained cold, edged with disdain. He didn’t trust humans. Didn’t like them. Didn’t want anything to do with their noisy, stinky, chaos-loving ways—

“I think your scales are beautiful.”

The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, completely bypassing his scowl and the thinly-veiled threat. You weren’t listening to his attitude… you were looking.

His scales had caught you in a spell. No, he had. You’d never seen anything like him before. He shimmered like the ocean trapped in a prism, a living tidepool of blues and greens, glinting purples and silvers, every movement catching the sun like a whispered secret. He reminded you of the fish you’d stared at through thick aquarium glass, or seen flicker across TV screens and glossy textbook pages.

He was a storm In starlight. A rainbow with teeth. A myth dragged straight out of the sea and dropped into your world.

The sudden shift left you uneasy, a quiet tension blooming in the spaces between heartbeats. Had you said something wrong? Surely, it was just a compliment. Nothing more, nothing less.

Rafayel was utterly disarmed, the bravado he'd worn like armor crumbling in an instant, replaced swiftly by a charmingly flustered vulnerability. Heat surged to his cheeks, blooming into a deep scarlet that stood out vividly against his normally composed demeanor. His mouth fell open slightly, poised to retort with some witty comeback or playful threat, but nothing came forth except a choked silence.

Anxiously, you shifted your weight from one bare foot to the other, relishing the comforting scratch of the warm sand beneath your toes. It was something to ground you amidst the awkwardness of the moment.

“You-you don’t even realize what you're saying,” Rafayel stammered, each word tumbling clumsily over the next as embarrassment overtook him completely. “Where I come from, if someone says they like your scales, it-it means something entirely different. It means that you genuinely... like them!” His voice trailed off into an awkward murmur, thick with confusion yet woven through with threads of cautious curiosity. His eyebrows knitted tightly, reflecting the storm of intrigue and bewilderment swirling within.

“Okay, so maybe I do like you,” you admitted casually, watching carefully for his reaction. “What d’ya have to say about that?”

A mischievous hum escaped your lips as you brought the sleeve of Caleb's oversized sweatshirt thoughtfully up to your chin, the soft fabric comforting and familiar. With exaggerated deliberation, you pretended to consider Rafayel's words, eyes sparkling with playful amusement at his evident discomfort.

The words achieved exactly what you'd intended. Rafayel froze completely, eyes widening in startled disbelief. Truthfully, there was sincerity beneath your playful facade; why shouldn't you like him? Rafayel was charming in an unconventional way, a bit sassy perhaps, but fascinatingly mysterious. Plus, he was literally a mermaid! That alone elevated him beyond ordinary.

Rafayel opened his mouth, then closed it again quickly, abandoning any attempt at speech as if words had suddenly vanished from his reach. His pulse thundered wildly in his chest, each heartbeat resonating loudly enough to drown out the quiet crash of the waves. It felt as if every nerve within him buzzed simultaneously, shaken and uncertain. He couldn't grasp why he was so deeply affected by you… your voice, your laughter, even your playful teasing. Why, despite your obvious humanity, did you feel so strangely familiar?

“You look like you could use some help,” you pointed out brightly, gesturing once again toward his glittering tail, partially submerged in the sandy shore, surrounded by disturbed grains that marked his fruitless attempts at escape. Pointing, it seemed, was rapidly becoming your new favorite pastime.

“No, no, no! Absolutely not—I don’t need your help—” Rafayel protested emphatically, his voice edging on frantic despite the stubborn set of his jaw.

Confidently, you stepped closer, moving gently but determinedly over the sand. Rafayel immediately released a startled, almost desperate yelp, freezing you mid-step. You paused, eyes flicking upward to his face, cautious curiosity mixing with genuine concern at his apparent distress.

“Yes, you do!” you chirped back defiantly, inching toward him without hesitation.

“No!” he insisted, backing away as much as he could in his stranded state. Yet despite the melodrama, Rafayel made no real attempt to repel you. “If you so much as lay a finger on me, I swear I’ll curse you—I know how! I'll cast curses that—”

But whatever wild threat he'd intended evaporated abruptly into the evening air as your warm, determined fingers clasped tightly around his trembling hands. Rafayel instantly fell silent, his eyes glassy and distant, lost somewhere far beyond the moment. It was as though your touch triggered a spell of its own, placing him in a delicate trance.

“I can’t carry you,” you sighed dramatically, bracing your feet against the soft, shifting sand. You tugged at the stubborn mermaid with every ounce of strength your small limbs could muster, gritting your teeth against the effort. “Ugh, you’re so heavy!”

The accusation snapped Rafayel instantly from his reverie, and a scowl replaced the bewildered expression that had softened his features only moments ago.

“Heavy?” he spluttered indignantly, his voice pitched with scandalized outrage. “Did you really just call me heavy? First, I never asked for your help, and now you’re implying I'm big—”

“Well…” you mused mischievously, dropping him suddenly and stepping back to dust off your hands in exaggerated indifference. The mer-child toppled onto the sand with an unceremonious thud, limbs sprawled and hair wild as he landed gracelessly like a sack of potatoes. “You're right, I don’t have to help you. Maybe I'll just say bye.”

“Wait-wait a minute! You're seriously going to abandon me here?!” Rafayel called after you, disbelief crackling sharply in his voice as you purposefully trudged away, your back facing him. Each step was slow, exaggerated, crafted purely for dramatic impact.

Rafayel’s eyes widened comically, panic surging through him as he scrambled upright. The water was so tantalizingly close—just a few agonizing feet away—he could practically feel the gentle lap of the waves beckoning him home.

“Yep,” you drawled lightly, enjoying the theatrics of your exit, until a quiet sniffle reached your ears, stopping you in your tracks. A small pang of guilt squeezed your heart, compelling you to whirl around anxiously.

Your eyes widened in instant remorse as you caught sight of Rafayel, now dramatically collapsed onto the sand, his face buried deep within his hands. His body shook gently, as though he were some tragic royal mourning a lost love on a theater stage. The effect was immediate—you fell entirely into his trap, your resolve shattered.

“Oh—no, no! I-I'm sorry! I was just joking!” You rushed back over, sliding onto your knees beside the crestfallen mer-child, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on his trembling back. Your heart twisted uneasily at the spectacle you'd inadvertently caused.

“You… you really would've left me here to die,” Rafayel whimpered softly, voice dramatically thick, muffled behind his crossed arms. “How cruel can one human be? I'm the last of my kind, you know!”

“I’m really, really sorry, okay? Let’s just… start over.” Your voice softened as you crouched beside him, offering the olive branch with a small, sheepish smile. You told him your name, letting it hang in the air between you like a peace offering.

The sorrowful quiver in his voice stabbed sharply at your chest, twisting into a deep ache. A hot flush rose to your cheeks as guilt churned anxiously in your stomach. You dropped your gaze to your restless hands, twisting nervously against each other in your lap. It was only supposed to be a playful joke, yet somehow, you’d managed to upset him anyway, and that realization was unbearably uncomfortable.

Rafayel stayed quiet for a moment. Then, as if sampling something foreign and sweet, he whispered your name back to you. Slowly, deliberately, rolling it around his mouth like it meant something sacred. The way he said it sent a strange warmth skittering up your neck and into your cheeks, leaving you flustered for reasons you couldn’t quite pin down.

After a pause, he finally lifted his head. His face was suspiciously dry, not a single tear in sight.

“My name is Rafayel,” he declared, trying for regal but landing somewhere between smug and bashful. “From Lemuria.”

He stopped there, deliberately omitting The Last Sea God. No need to add that complication. Humans had a habit of getting grabby when divine titles were involved.

“Rafayel,” you repeated, grinning. “What a pretty name!”

That did it. With an audible groan, he buried his face in his arms again, but not before you caught the flash of crimson coloring his cheeks. Compliments weren’t rare for him—he was objectively, irritatingly beautiful—but when they came from you, they somehow bypassed all his practiced indifference. And he hated that.

“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered into the crook of his elbow. “So… are you gonna help me now?”

With a laugh bubbling from your lips, you reached out and gently took hold of one of his arms, then the other, tugging him carefully toward the waterline. He didn’t resist, just grumbled theatrically under his breath as you resumed the awkward task of dragging a slippery sea god across the sand like a misbehaving seal.

The foamy edge of the tide met your feet with a sharp, icy kiss, and you inhaled through your teeth. The contrast between the sun-warmed sand and the cold embrace of the ocean made you shiver, but you pressed forward, wading deeper until the water licked at your thighs, your legs stinging with each step.

“A little further, please,” Rafayel requested softly, his voice unusually gentle, and since he asked so sweetly, how could you refuse?

“Okay,” you said, glancing down at him with a mixture of triumph and exhaustion. “You should be able to swim from here, right?”

Moving him grew easier as the ocean buoyed his weight, gently lifting him from your aching grasp. Soon, the cool seawater rose to your collarbones, forcing you to balance precariously on the tips of your toes. Caleb was definitely going to murder you for returning his favorite sweatshirt soaked with salt and smelling like seaweed, but you knew his anger would melt into fond annoyance within minutes. It always did.

Finally, Rafayel managed to gracefully slip from your hold, freeing himself effortlessly. He turned to face you, his silvery tail shimmering beneath the gentle afternoon sunlight, the ocean rippling around him like satin.

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly, avoiding your eyes with sudden shyness, his gaze cast downward toward the glittering reflection dancing atop the waves. He reminded you of someone who longed to stare into the sun—captivated yet unable to bear the brilliance.

His voice softened to something vulnerable, almost pleading. “You can’t tell anyone you saw me, okay? Promise?”

Shivering slightly, your teeth chattering uncontrollably, you nodded vigorously. You wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone—not a single soul. Your heart held the secret safely tucked away.

“You…you really should get out of the water,” Rafayel noted with gentle concern, noticing your trembling. “It doesn’t look like it’s good for you.”

“N-no, I’m okay,” you protested, stubbornness coloring your tone. “I want to stay in… just a little longer.” The truth was simpler, quieter: you didn’t want to leave him yet. You craved the strange warmth of his presence, curious about his story, his home, most importantly, about him. You secretly wished you could see him every day, even knowing how impossible such a dream was. Still, you clung tightly to that tiny speck of hope, refusing to let it slip through your fingers. “I… I like swimming. Really.”

The Lemurian giggled at your insistence, the sound light and silvery like wind dancing over water. Then, with surprising tenderness, he lifted his hands and placed them gently on your shoulders. “This might help,” he murmured, almost bashfully.

The ocean around you had stilled, waves brushing gently past your body like silk ribbons, serene and infinitely tender. The waters felt alive, quietly rejoicing at Rafayel’s safe return home. And somewhere deep within, hidden beneath layers of conscious thought, you understood their gratitude, their happiness. It was a quiet celebration whispered in currents and tides.

From his palms radiated a soft, pulsing warmth that seeped deep into your skin, chasing away the tremble in your bones. The cold retreated like a shadow at sunrise, leaving behind a glowing calm that settled in your chest. For a heartbeat, you questioned everything. Was this real? Were you actually in the ocean, being magically warmed by a mythical sea boy with glowy hands? If it wasn’t real, you didn’t want to wake up.

He didn’t move his hands, and part of you was certain that if he let go, the chill would come crashing back in full force—icy, bitter, and deeply unwelcome.

You floated together in silence, not speaking, not quite looking at each other, but acutely aware. The kind of silence that felt full instead of empty. Like something important was being said without words.

Then Rafayel finally broke the stillness, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the sea. “Did you mean it?”

You glanced up, surprised by the tremble in his tone. His eyes met yours—vibrant violet-blues that shimmered with something distant, almost ancient. There was a strange familiarity in them, like he was seeing something in you that even you hadn’t yet discovered. His expression was gentle, searching. A softness poured from him that felt vital, but strange, like a melody you didn’t know the lyrics to.

“Mean what?” you asked, your voice quieter now too, respectful of the moment.

“That you liked me,” he said again, more deliberately this time, and his face flushed pink, rosy with nervous hope. He looked like he needed the answer—not just wanted it, but needed it. Even if your version of liking wasn’t quite the fairytale romance he might’ve been imagining.

“Of course I did,” you replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Rafayel’s breath caught in his throat. He nearly pulled away, hands twitching upward as if he might bury them in his hair in disbelief, but stopped himself just in time. His face suddenly shifted, a serious look overtaking his features—well, as serious as a sea child with a flushed face and sparkly eyes could manage.

Your eyes went cartoonishly wide the moment the words left his mouth, like someone had just proposed marriage in the middle of a math test. Then came the laughter: bright, genuine, and unstoppable. You laughed so hard your sides ached, until you caught the way Rafayel’s expression shifted from confident to confused, and then to downright devastated.

“We should get married,” he said matter-of-factly, as if it were the natural next step.

“Wait—wait, you’re for real?” you gasped, stifling your giggles as guilt crept in. “I’m only nine! And you don’t look much older than me either!”

He blinked, long and slow, as though your words were puzzling and distant, as though the concept of age was a tiny detail he'd forgotten to care about. “Well... you could just come back with me to Lemuria,” he said earnestly, like he was solving a simple puzzle. “We’ll get married in fifty years. Is that better?”

Clearly, Rafayel had no idea how human lifespans worked, or how short they were in comparison to… whatever he was.

You giggled again, but this time it was softer, laced with warmth, and you offered an immediate apology, sensing how tightly wound he’d suddenly become. “I can’t just leave, Rafayel. I’ve got someone really important to me here. I can’t abandon him. Caleb needs me.”

You saw it then—the way his face faltered, the way his grip on your shoulders tightened ever so slightly. Maybe wasn’t the word he wanted to hear.

“But maybe…” you added gently, “maybe one day I’ll run away with you.”

Maybe?

Maybe?

The word echoed in Rafayel’s mind like a crack through crystal. His lips formed a pout, but there was a storm behind his eyes. Who was this mysterious someone you couldn't leave behind? What kind of human could possibly be more important than the thread of fate Rafayel felt between the two of you? The thought gnawed at him—uninvited, irrational, and too loud to ignore.

“Next year,” Rafayel said, his voice steady with conviction, “let’s meet on this same day, at the same time. And every year after that… until you’re ready to marry me. I’ll chase you until I find you again if you don’t return to me.”

It wasn’t fair, he told himself. You were just a human girl, someone he’d only just met. And yet, deep in the marrow of his being, in the secret place where memory blurs into myth, Rafayel was certain he knew you. Not in this life, perhaps, but in another. A thousand tides ago. A thousand names ago. He knew you, and he had already chosen you. And you him.

He said it like a vow, carved into the ocean air, a promise wrapped in tides and time. Beneath his calm exterior, though, was an ache too vast for his small frame to carry. So much hurt pressed against his heart, fractured and layered like coral reef. But none of that mattered. Not now. Not when he looked at you and saw something he couldn’t explain—something that felt right. Even if it wasn’t today, or tomorrow, or ten years from now… he would wait. As long as it took.

And now it was your turn to blush. Your face lit up like the sun had turned its gaze directly on you. How could someone you’d only known for thirty minutes speak with such unwavering devotion? It was terrifying. And beautiful. And weirdly… comforting.

Without thinking, your hands floated up to his cheeks, cupping them with the gentlest reverence, like he was something fragile and rare. The gesture felt achingly familiar, like you’d done it a thousand times in a hundred forgotten lifetimes. Rafayel didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. He simply leaned into your touch, eyes flickering with quiet awe.

“I promise,” you whispered. “But—”

Your voice faltered the moment your name rang out over the waves, sharp and urgent. You whipped your head toward the sound, panic rising like a wave inside you. Caleb.

You weren’t supposed to be out here. Not this far. Not alone.

The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, its final light spilling across the sea in ribbons of gold and rose. It caught in Rafayel’s eyes, turning them into twin galaxies—deep, endless, impossible to look away from.

He was glowing. Or maybe the sea was. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Your name came again, closer this time, slicing through the magic like a knife.

You had to go.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer.” Your voice trembled with regret, fragile as seafoam. It wasn’t your fault—none of this was your fault—and yet the apology hung heavy in the air, like a promise you wished you didn’t have to make.

Now.

“Next year, okay?” you added softly. “Same day. Same time. And every year after that.”

You tried to smile, but it barely reached your eyes. It was a ghost of joy, hollowed out by the ache in your chest. You didn’t want to leave any more than Rafayel wanted to let you go. His hands stayed firmly planted on your shoulders, as if by sheer will alone, he could keep you anchored there forever. The sea murmured around you, reluctant to give you up.

Only when you quietly whispered his name did his grip falter. His fingers slid from your shoulders like seaweed slipping through the tide, falling back to his sides with quiet defeat.

“I’ll see you again,” you muttered, the words catching in your throat like sand in the wind.

You both lifted a hand in parting. Then, with one last look, you turned and began waddling out of the water, the hem of your soaked clothes heavy and dragging. Rafayel stayed where he was, motionless, then ducked behind a jagged rock, the coral-slick surface cool against his skin. He needed to see it. Needed to see who was taking you from him this time?

A boy. Slightly older than Rafayel, but not by much. Dark hair, sharp gaze, and wearing a thin white patient’s gown and matching sweats that fluttered in the salty breeze.

Then he noticed you were wearing the same thing—only yours was half-hidden beneath a dark cotton sweatshirt. Your feet were bare, and bandages wrapped your right hand and neck like the sea had tried to take pieces of you with it. A pang of unease twisted in Rafayel’s chest.

Is this… what all humans wear? he wondered. Are you sick? Hurt? Trapped?

He didn’t know. And that frightened him more than anything.

“You’re lucky I found you before they did,” the boy said abruptly, grabbing your soaked arm and pulling you against him protectively. “What were you thinking, coming all the way out here?”

Caleb. Rafayel heard the name in your voice earlier, soaked in affection.

“I’m sorry… I just wanted to swim…” you murmured, voice barely more than a ripple in the wind. You looked down at your feet as you walked, salt still clinging to your skin, hair dripping a steady rhythm onto the ground. You truly sounded ashamed, like a child who’d broken something delicate. But you hadn’t said a word about Rafayel. You’d kept your promise.

Wherever it was you stayed, wherever you were being taken back to, it needed you to return. Urgently.

The older boy sighed, not with irritation, but with weariness softened by care. “Don’t apologize,” he said gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I just need to make sure you’re safe.”

His voice trailed off as the two of you disappeared down the beach, toward the dock bathed in the last golden blush of sunset. Maybe back to the city. Maybe to somewhere secret, tucked away from the world.

For a long time, Rafayel didn’t move. The sea lapped at his tail, beckoning him home, but he stayed crouched behind the stone, eyes fixed on the path you’d vanished down. Only when the beach was swallowed by dusk did he finally slip beneath the waves and return to the deep blue—where a very angry guardian awaited.

He didn’t care.

He didn’t know who that boy was. He didn’t know where they were keeping you, or why you wore such strange clothing. But he would find out. He had to. Because you were living in his head now, like a melody half-remembered, a face from a dream. He couldn’t stop thinking about you—about the bizarre certainty that he’d known you before, long before this life.

He would tell you next time. He would tell you everything.

About Lemuria, about the sea that sings his name. About how he’s a god—the last sea god. About all the lifetimes you’d met before. About how, century after century, you always found each other, and always fell in love.

But that’s how a child thinks. That stories are spells. That if he tells you, really tells you, you’ll remember too. That your eyes will light up and your arms will open, and you’ll come back to him forever.

Because you promised.

Next year.

Same day. Same time.

And every year after that.

[sanity-love]

“I DON’T KNOW.”

this is honestly just an excuse to draw baby papyrus!! i personally like the headcanon that papyrus and sans are very close in age, as i think (?) that they were supposed to be twins or left ambiguous (but had to be changed for japanese localization). howeverr, i made some creative liberties in this animation so. here, have parental sibling sans.

i’d like to imagine that if baby papyrus had a gaster blaster, it would have round jaws (like bby papy’s widely spread fanon design) and be crying (due to a desperate want to not kill). him not having arms like monster kid is such a silly idea to me and i honestly love the concept of child monsters slowly growing arms over time!! (also i don’t wanna draw his hands and arms 😓) this video is kinda up for interpretation to what it means. could it have a connection to gaster? does papyrus know something? does sans know something? are we in deltarune or undertale? is there no deeper meaning at all? i have no idea either!!! use your imagination!!!!!

[archivofliv]

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ » ℍ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤 . . . ♡ˎˊ˗

contains hcs for characters and the world homicipher takes place

may contain spoilers for the game

a lot of character lore and world building (if you have different interpretations than me please let me know !!)

yes most of these are angsty asf i am SORRY okay

I'd like to make it clear that only the creator knows the truth of these characters and the world they're in, this is just my interpretation of it

» 𝚃𝙷𝙴 '𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳' . . .

Most of the characters were originally human—except Mr. Scarletetta, who I believe created this entire world. He designed it as a trap and exists as an almost godlike glitch entity

The other characters went through the same thing as MC and fell into his trap, and the more monstrous they appear, the longer they've been trapped there

I believe Scarletetta—considering most characters and assuming my headcanon is correct—lures in individuals who are either deeply damaged or repressing their true selves to conform to society

Given that the story is set in Japan, where social norms emphasize politeness, humility, and cleanliness, these types of people would make ideal targets. Those who are damaged often have low self-worth, making them easier to manipulate, while those who suppress their true selves in such a structured society might be drawn to something raw and chaotic—like the decayed ruins surrounding the elevator and Mr. Scarletella’s striking red color scheme (as red represents violence and is psychologically an enticing color to the brain)

The characters were certainly in a better state when they first fell into the underworld. However, I headcanon that the longer someone remains there, it not only alters them physically but also affects them mentally, bringing out their most primal, repressed instincts and scrambling their memories

» ��𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 . . .

(Just Mr. Crawling and Scarletella because they're my favs and I have the most thoughts about them, but there are other characters in the next section !!)

Mr. Crawling:

Mr. Crawling is so unique because, at his core, he is genuinely a good person. Even as the underworld strips him down to his rawest instincts, thoughts, and emotions, his inherent goodness remains

However, he does kill—like when he takes the life of Mr. Stitch—showing that even he isn’t free from violence. But that brutality isn’t necessarily bloodlust or anything of the sort, but rather to protect MC out of the goodness in his heart

I believe Mr. Crawling descended into the other world more recently than some other characters— along with Mr. Hood, MC, and The Bride. While the other characters retain only a spark of their humanity, if you were to place him in a normal human body and remove his monstrous traits, he would still feel entirely human even as he is now

Mr. Crawling has very low self worth— he endures so much pain from MC: she nearly kills him, strikes him in the head with a crowbar, and dodges a flying chair, letting it hit him instead. And that’s not even counting the emotional pain she inflicts. She terrifies him, manipulates his emotions, and, despite everything he’s done for her, ultimately abandons him in multiple storylines. She makes him believe he is loved, only to leave him behind

Mr. Crawling protects MC and makes it his goal to get her home because he doesn't want her to transform into a monster the longer he stays down there

Mr. Scarletella:

Mr. Scarletella was never meant to be good—I don’t think there’s any reality where he is, even if he weren’t a glitch, a monster, or even if he were human

His nature is inherently selfish; he doesn’t truly care about the MC—he only wants her identity because he’s desperately grasping at anything he can

The reason Mr. Scarletella created the other world is the first place is because he just wants something to hold onto that even slightly resembles an identity and/or human connection but he doesn't understand those things so he does it all wrong

Mr. Scarletella is deeply lonely, as he never interacts with the other monsters (except for Mr. Crawling, but that’s not a positive interaction—Mr. Crawling just saves the MC from him)

In the Scarlet Rain ending, MC exploits Mr. Scarletella's obsession and isolation, making him her servant under the guise of giving him an identity—she names him

Mr. Scareletta, desperate for something to cling to, accepts it, misinterpreting it as love, because he doesn’t truly understand what love is—he just needs something to hold onto

(fine i'll give you a break from the angst, i guess, so have some random headcanons)

» 𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈 & 𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙳 . . .

Mr. Silvair gets his root touch up at the hairdresser and actually isn’t a natural platinum, he's a natural dirty blond

When Mr. Machete was human he used to bully kids on Roblox

Mr. Crawling loves when MC braids his hair or plays with it

Love Languages:

☆ Mr. Crawling- Physical touch and words of affirmation ☆ Mr. Scarletella- Quality time and words of affirmation ☆ Mr. Hood- Acts of service ☆ Mr. Machete- Acts of service ☆ Mr. Gap- Gift giving ☆ Mr. Silvair- Physical touch

Ms. Blue-Clad and The Bride were friends when they were human and shared a fashion Tumblr blog

Mr. Crawling would love taking bubble baths if they had bathtubs in the other world; he can stand for a short amount of time, but it's painful for him so showers don't work well for him

Mr. Hood is the oldest of all the characters and Mr. Chopped is the youngest (except for Hooded Child, of course)

ALL of the other characters know about the Mr. Crawling and Mr. Scarletella beef they all see it

Mr. Stitch finds it entertaining and Mr. Hood wants them to just shut the fuck up because he's sick of it (real)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

i'll be adding more to this as i think of more headcanons, i just like rambling on about this game :)

[sinisteryanderescribe]

Hello I'm curious on how Norton comfort Nurse Reader?

Norton comforting Nurse Reader pls?

Note: Hello dear sorry it took long I was very sick and had a lot of personal issues going on.

Depths Of Comfort

…………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………….

The echoes of the match still reverberated through the manor, a haunting reminder of the fear and pain that had unfolded in the twisted corridors. You sat in your room, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls, your breaths ragged and hands trembling from the harrowing experience you had just endured.

Norton, stood at the threshold of your room, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of concern and understanding. Without a word, he crossed the room to stand beside you, his presence a grounding force in the midst of turmoil.

In the dimly lit room, the male reached out a calloused hand to gently rest on your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone accustomed to the rough terrain of the manor. In that simple gesture, you felt a rush of emotions - relief, vulnerability, and a flicker of hope that you weren't alone in your pain.

With a silent nod, he settled beside you, his presence a comforting weight at your side. There was no need for words between you, for in the shared silence lay a deep understanding that transcended the horrors you had faced in the match. It was a connection forged in the depths of the manor, where words often failed to convey the magnitude of the trials you endured.

As you struggled to steady your racing heart and quell the rising tide of emotions, Norton's steady presence was a lifeline in the darkness. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining in a silent pact of solidarity and support, a promise that you didn't have to face the aftermath alone.

You found solace in Norton's quiet strength, a beacon of light in the shadows of the manor. His unwavering presence spoke volumes, offering a sense of comfort and understanding that cut through the chaos and fear that lingered in the air.

Norton remained by your side, a steadfast companion in the aftermath of the match. His role as a miner shone through in the way he navigated the complexities of your emotions, much like he would navigate through the treacherous passages of the manor, with caution and determination.

As you sat there, enveloped in the quiet comfort of Norton's presence, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his unwavering support in the aftermath of the match. Though the black haired man hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to navigate the unfamiliar territory of offering comfort and solace to someone in need.

Despite his lack of experience with overt displays of affection, Norton's actions spoke volumes. Sensing your need for reassurance, he leaned in slightly, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of emotions that swirled around you. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Norton's usual guarded expression softened, revealing a glimpse of the caring soul that lay beneath the surface.

Taking a deep breath, Norton tentatively wrapped an arm around your shoulders, a gesture both tentative and sincere. The warmth of his touch seeped through you, a silent reassurance that you were not alone in your struggles. It was a small yet profound act of comfort, one that transcended the barriers Norton had built around himself.

Feeling the weight of his arm around you, you couldn't help but lean into his touch, seeking solace in the simple act of human connection. Norton's presence, though unfamiliar in its tenderness, offered a sense of security and understanding that you desperately needed in that moment of vulnerability.

As the night deepened, Norton's instinctive need to provide comfort and solace to you grew stronger, overcoming his usual reservations about physical touch. With a subtle yet determined resolve, he gently lifted you from your seat, cradling you in his arms with a surprising ease that belied his strength as a miner.

Moving you to his lap, he settled you against his firm chest, his arms encircling your waist in a protective embrace. The contrast between his rugged exterior and the tenderness of his actions created a sense of safety and warmth that enveloped you in a cocoon of comfort.

Feeling his breath against your neck as he nuzzled his nose and face into your hair, a wave of shyness and flustered warmth washed over you. The unexpected intimacy of his touch, though not overtly sexual, stirred a gentle flutter in your chest, a mix of vulnerability and gratitude for his unspoken support.

In response to his touch, you placed a hand on his thigh, a soft and subtle gesture of reciprocity. The contact was a silent acknowledgment of the connection that had formed between you, a wordless reassurance that his touch was welcomed and reciprocated in kind.

With your hand resting on his thigh, you felt the tension in Norton's frame ease slightly, a subtle sign of his own need for comfort and closeness. In that quiet moment of shared intimacy, surrounded by the hushed stillness of the room, you found solace in the unspoken bond that had formed between you.

As the ex-miner held you close, his touch a balm to your weary soul, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to lean into his embrace, finding a sense of peace and security in the strength of his arms. The gentle rhythm of his breathing against your neck, the warmth of his body enveloping you, created a sanctuary of comfort in the midst of the chaos that had unfolded in the manor.

“Norton…” you would whisper softly, loving how his lean yet strong arms wrapped around your small form in a sort of protective yet intimate manner.

The said male would not respond but a soft raspy grunt followed by a hum. A way of informing you to stay quiet and relax on him…you knew him too well to be able to understand his language of communication.

[gt-daboss]

Retribution...

or maybe not...

time lapse!

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

Chapter XXVI: So Soft, You Make Me Hard

masterlist | playlist | prev. | pin

summary: it finally starts to feel like a vacation

tags: SMUT minors DO NOT INTERACT! unprotected p in v, vulgar language, adult content, slight angst, mostly fluff, weed and cigarette usage.

a/n: hey........ remember this one? lol. hope y'all still have a little interest bc it's ALMOST OVER! just a few more chapters to go of the Fundamental Differing universe, such as bittersweet feeling. Hope you enjoy!

taglist (closed): @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @lilpotatobean2 @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Reblog to support the author!

-- Your POV

It had barely taken a week for the tabloids to run the story: Rockstars can be Softies Too! Corroded Coffin frontman spotted snuggling up to Death Dance Approximately vocalist. Sources close to the star say they’ve been close since the beginning of their joint tour. 

You snort as you toss the Newsweek paper on your kitchen table for Eddie to see. The picture, of course, was staged by you and Eddie: Him in Ozzy-esque sunglasses, hair tied back, in regular clothing wrapped around you, an iced coffee in his free hand. You’re in jeans and Corroded Coffin t-shirt, snuggled into Eddie’s embrace as you sip on your own drink, a toothy smile on your face. You’d called Ralphie, a paparazzo in Boston that you’d grown close to, to break the story. He was more than happy to do it, knowing these photos would likely pay his rent for the foreseeable future.

“Think they’ll buy it?” Eddie muses, sipping his coffee.

“What’s to buy? It’s true. Maybe a bit exaggerated, but that’s just Hollywood.” You shrug, flipping the pancake on the griddle. “Chocolate chips?”

Eddie nods, rising from his seat to wrap his arms around your waist. “I need this tour to be over. I prefer waking up in a stationary bed.”

“Mmm,” You make a sound of agreement, resting your head on his as comfortably as you can without leaving the stove. “Only a couple more weeks and we’re home free.”

“Where is home, exactly?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Wherever, as long as it’s with you.”

He snorts. “Such a sap.”

“Huh, wonder who made me this way.” You giggle, poking his cheek. “You think we can put this whole thing to bed now?” You study the magazine article, rolling your eyes at their word choice: scruffy, angsty, disheveled. 

“Maybe, but there’s something else I wanna put to bed instead.” He waggles his eyebrows at you. Pretending not to squirm at his flirting, you rise from your seat at the table, clearing his empty plate and your own. 

“Though I am absolutely picking up what you’re putting down, I have shit to do today.”

He pouts, batting his big, brown eyes at you. “What could possibly be more important?”

–

“This fuckin’ sucks.” Eddie kicks the gravel from the sidewalk outside the mechanic. “I didn’t even know you still had a car.”

You shrug. “I like to keep my life outside of being a rockstar pretty normal. Unfortunately that includes taking my dad’s car in for routine maintenance.”

“I coulda taken a look for him, yknow?”

“Psh, right. Ask the rockstar to change the oil in my dad’s camaro.” “My life is not too glamorous to do my favorite person a favor.” There’s no humor in his tone, he genuinely wouldn’t mind getting his hands dirty for you. 

“While I appreciate that, my dad would never let anyone besides Theo and himself touch that thing. You know how many times I begged him to let me take it out?”

Eddie snorts. “I remember. And the one time he finally let you, it came back with the tiniest scratch and he’d grounded you for a month.”

“Theo was the one to fix it, and the one to talk him out of a harsher punishment.”

“And despite already being eighteen, you didn’t go out at all that entire month.”

You frown, because he’s right. “God, I’m such a fake punk!”

“Yeah. Total poser.” He shoves your shoulder playfully.

“Well, she’s all set, kid.” Theo strolls up to where you and Eddie are talking, wiping his hands on a stained rag.

“Thanks, Theo.” You fork a handful of cash in his direction. 

“No biggie. Anything for the biggest Boston rockstah I know. And I know a few, ya know, Steven Tyla…” He definitely doesn’t know Steven Tyler, but you’d seen him at a couple parties. 

“Yeah, for sure.” 

“Before ya go, though. Would yas mind signin’ somethin’ for my kids? They’a huge fans. Daughta can’t get enough o’ya.”

“‘Course, sir!” Eddie beams at the recognition, and your heart skips. He really is still living a dream. You nod in agreement, and Theo pulls out a receipt book that he hands you, along with the pen behind his ear. You sign the top corner, 

Thanks for listening, hope to see ya at the gig! and scribble your signature before passing it to Eddie. You peek over his shoulder and watch him scribble,

Keep rock n roll alive! and his big, blocky EDDIE. “How old are your kids?” Eddie looks up, meeting Theo’s eyes. 

“Eighteen and twenty.”

“Do they wanna come see us? We have a show here in about a month.” 

“Seriously?” Theo’s eyes light up, and you can't help but be awed by Eddie’s gesture. 

“You can too, if you want! I dunno if you listen to that type of music, but…”

“You can't tell my kids, but I'm actually a really big fan of both you guys’ stuff.” He lights up as he says it, and it makes you teary. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to this part, the effect you can have on other, real people. 

“Your secret’s safe with us, man.” Eddie offers out his hand, which Theo shakes enthusiastically. “We’ll see ya!”

—

Eddie’s POV

“That was a really nice thing to offer.” You nudge him, approaching the door to your parents’ house. 

Eddie shrugs off his vest and lays it over the arm of your couch. “Least I could do. We should probably let Steve know to add three to the guest list. You get his kids’ names?”

“Shit. No, but I can ask my dad.”

He nods, still standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room. “Well, uh. What else did you need to do today?” He can’t see what else needs to be done. You’d gone grocery shopping yesterday, and your parents’ place is pretty set for the week. He remembers trailing behind you: dressed in sinfully short shorts and white tank top while he managed to sweat in the freezer section, even if only in a tank top himself.

 The house is clean— with the help of your parents, but mostly because you’ve been anxiously cleaning since this morning. He had tried to help, but ultimately had to excuse himself when you bent over the kitchen counter to wipe it down. 

He wants to touch you. It’s driving him fucking crazy, he hasn’t been able to. He’s starting to feel like maybe you’re avoiding him, though you’ve given no indication that you’re not interested in having sex with him again. His brain is just telling him that. He hopes. 

Even right now, in a sundress and sneakers, he wishes he could bring himself to take you to the alley behind the mechanic’s. But neither of you have made a move. Eddie’s not even sure he’s entitled to. Everything has been on your terms, and he hasn’t had a problem with it. He owes you that, right?

You glance at your watch and shrug. “Dad’s doing an overnight, and my mom’s away on some business trip as of this morning.” 

“Are you implying what I think you are?” He focuses on the wall behind you to keep his pants from tightening.

“Horror movie marathon? Like old times?” If it weren’t for the hope in your voice, he’d accuse you of being cruel.

So he meets your eyes again and stretches his smile as wide as it’ll go. “Of course, sweetheart.”

—

You’re trying to kill him. You must be trying to fucking kill him.

“Whipped cream?” You offer out the can with a mouthful, a bit of cream landing on his cheek. Fighting the urge to use your outstretched arm to pull you into him, Eddie opens his mouth without breaking eye contact. Two can play this fuckin’ game, he thinks. Unfortunately the giggle that slips through your lips makes his knees wobble. 

“So, I have plenty of movies to choose from. Never brought ‘em when I moved out, guess they kept them all safe for me.” You glide over to the crates of tapes next to your television, neatly organized with their titles facing outward. “You in the mood for something really scary first, or something more along the lines of a horror-comedy?”

He’s in the mood for you, truthfully. The short cotton shorts and camisole you’re wearing aren’t helping that, either. “Ed?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, either one’s fine.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, and through his flushing cheeks he manages to smile back. Through gritted teeth, albeit. 

“You’re being weird.”

“Am not. What about Possession?” An attempt to dodge the subject. 

You seem to let the subject slide, plucking the tape from its case. “Possession it is.” 

The TV yawns to life, and you place the tape into the player, making sure it's been rewound before pressing play. 

“You gonna sit with me, or are you gonna keep being weird?” He rolls his eyes, collapsing on the opposite side of where you are. “Got it.” 

Half of the movie is spent like that, Eddie resisting the nagging voice in the back of his head, begging him to tug you by your ankle onto his lap. You seem blissfully unaware of his internal crisis, munching on microwave popcorn as the TV illuminates the frightened expression on your pretty face. You retreat under the blanket when the scene before you gets to be too much, and for some reason it springs Eddie into action. He crawls from his side of the couch slowly, doing his best not to spook you, and curls his body into your blanket covered form.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Protecting you from the scary movie.”

“My knight in shining armor.” Your body shakes with laughter, and he joins you. When you stop, you start flailing under the blanket, causing Eddie to release you so you can shove the cloth off your head. You inhale the fresh air deeply before once again descending into a fit of giggles.

“I think we’re safe now.” Eddie looks around dramatically, curly flying on either side of his face. 

“Thanks for rescuing me.” You crane your neck up to reach his cheek, placing a tender kiss against his hot skin. “However shall I repay such a noble act?”

Eddie groans under the heat of your breath against his cheek. “You’re killin’ me, doll.”

“Oh?”

“Gonna make me bust in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager.”

–

Your POV

His words propel you into action, quickly moving to straddle his lap, clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants. You can feel his length underneath you, twitching when you make the gentlest of contact. “And here I thought you didn’t wanna fuck me.” 

“What?” Eddie halts the beginning of your movement, grasping your hips to keep you in place. “What god awful crime could I have committed in the last week to make you think such a terrible thing?” He looks at you with a pout, his eyes dark with want, or maybe hurt. 

“It’s what you didn’t do, actually. I was walkin’ around the house in my underwear, Ed! And don’t even get me started on the shorts I wore to the grocery store.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” His breath is labored, like he’s just run a marathon. You grind your hips forward experimentally, and he whimpers in response. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Jus’ wasn’t sure it was the ri- fuck– right time, y’know?” Your grinding has become more consistent, still slow as the clothed tip of his cock prods teasingly against your throbbing clit.

“Mmm, such a gentleman all of a sudden?” You tease, making sure each word is barely audible, said so closely that each of your breaths tickles the fine hairs of his ear canal. “Where’s the spoiled rockstar that takes whatever he wants, whenever he wants, hm?” You’re being mean, but Eddie squirming and panting underneath you spurs you on. “You just gonna let me tease you like that while you mope because you can't touch me? Because it would be, what? Wrong? You’ve never cared about that shit before.”

“Didn’t wanna ruin anything, didn’t want you gettin’ the idea that I–” He stops short.

“Finish your sentence.” It’s a command. You don’t usually take the dominant role over Eddie in these situations, but you don’t hate the way it’s making you feel.

“Didn’t want you thinkin’ I oh- only wanted sex..” His voice is raspy with want, with need, for you, and you’ve never been good at denying him of it.

“But you do, right? You want sex?”

“I want your trust first.” His eyes bore into you as he says it. 

“Eddie,” You sigh, breaking character to caress his sweaty, flushed face. “You have my trust.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I would’ve kicked you out by now if you didn’t.” Eddie throws his head back to laugh, but it comes out strangled when you grind down on his lap again. “So, now that that’s out of the way…” Before you can finish the thought, Eddie lurches forward, one hand to the back of your neck as the other wraps around your waist, bringing your body closer to his as your lips meet. Your tongue slips sweetly into his waiting mouth, coaxing a groan from his throat that you feel between your legs. 

The movie playing behind you is long forgotten, now white noise as Eddie slips the strap of your tank top down your arm, calloused fingers gliding over your soft skin. Despite your earlier candidness, he’s being slow. Gentle. Almost cautious. In a way, it feels like revenge for the way you’d been teasing him, and you can’t help but relish the way it works you up. 

Eddie finally breaks your kiss, giving you time to breathe while he sloppily mouths your throat, eagerly adding teeth when you roll your hips forward again. His hands have a mind of their own, tugging at the fabric of your tank top until it's bunched at your waist, exposing your chest to the warmth of Eddie’s hot, panting breaths. At this point you’re practically riding his lap, begging for friction as he takes his time with you, like he’s memorizing every inch. 

“Ed, please,” Your voice is strained, broken and shameless.

“What do you need, baby?” He coos, sending you into a tizzy. 

“Need you to touch me.”

“I am touchin’ you, sweetheart.” He runs his finger down your arm with a feather light touch, barely registering over the way your entire body is vibrating. 

“You know what I mean.” You’re pouting, getting desperate. “Thought you wanted to.”

“Hey,” His eyes darken as he stills the rocking of your hips with firm hands. “I want to. But what’s the rush, huh? We’ve got so much time now. All night, even.” His voice holds an air of mischief, and you’re putty in his hands. 

“You gonna tease me like this all night? You don’t have the willpower.” You wriggle in his grasp for emphasis, and he muffles his groan with gritted teeth. You cross your arms over your bare chest, huffing smugly. “At least take your shirt off?”

–

Eddie’s POV

He can’t resist the way you ask, pleading with him to give you something. Eagerly he complies, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it lacklusterly aside somewhere in your living room. “Get that later.” He laughs breathily, and you lunge at him. Before he can adjust to your weight, your teeth have sunken into his neck, contrasting with the plush of your lips placing wet kisses along the column of his throat. Your tongue soothes over the sore marks your teeth have left indented in his skin, branding him as yours. He finds himself excited for the next time he’ll go out in public, wearing the hickies you’ve given him like designer accessories. 

“You wanna go upstairs?” You mumble the question between placing chaste kisses on his shoulder. 

“I dunno, I’m kinda set on the idea of you riding me on the couch.” 

“Eddie, this is my parents’ house.”

“I’ll buy them a new couch.” Before you can argue, he pulls you forward by the neck, his lips slotting into your like puzzle pieces. You seem to give in, letting him win the argument. He can get a couch here by tomorrow if he has to.

–

Your POV

You readjust, sliding the tank top and your shorts quickly from your body, tossing them over the arm of the sofa before claiming your former position, this time with less layers between your throbbing clit and the tip of his leaking cock. 

Before you can work him up too much more, Eddie’s hands are sliding down your form, stopping to lightly twist and pinch at your nipples, chuckling at the way you whine and mewl for him. Replacing one hand with his mouth, Eddie then slips his free fingers to the waistband of your panties, snapping them once and causing you to jump before dipping lower to gather your slick before rubbing agonizing circles on your clit. 

“Jesus, angel, you’re fuckin’ soaked.” His pupils are blown as you’re sure your own are, looking at you with a lovely mixture of lust and love. 

“What can I say, you do it f’me.” You aren’t trying to be sexy, it’s the truth. Eddie doesn’t have to do much to turn you on.

“Feeling’s mutual, doll. Gettin’ me all hot ‘n bothered.” His breath is labored as he speaks, and you can feel his heart racing as you press yourself further into his chest. “Need to be inside you, love. Don’t think I can take much more teasing.” You can’t resist his desperation. You move quickly, letting him shove his sweatpants, now with a damp spot staining the crotch, and his boxers to the ground. His cock springs free from the confines and slaps against his stomach, precum dampening the coarse hair of his happy trail. You lick your lips absentmindedly, and before you can drop to your knees in front of him, Eddie grabs your wrist, pulling you back into his lap. 

“Wait, Ed I’m still– oh, f-fuck.” Eddie drags the tip of his dick against the damp cloth of your panties, causing a sensation that ripples through your core. 

“You gonna say somethin’?” He’s taken control, stroking himself against your hole, fabric doing nothing to cease the waves of pleasure crashing through you. “Use your words, baby.” He’s chiding, condescending as you can only whine in response, the heat between your legs seemingly cutting off the communication between your brain and your tongue. “Tell me what you want, can’t read your mind.”

“Need you to fuck me, baby, please.” The words fall out without decorum, desperate and high pitched like you’re being tortured. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Such a good job.” Relief floods your senses when he pulls your panties to the side, sliding himself easily into your drenched hole. You both moan at the feeling, your walls clenching around his thick cock, his grip a vice on either side of you, not yet ready to let you move. You can only shake your head, too cock drunk to form a coherent sentence. Usually, he’d scold you for not speaking, make it harder for you to get off, but you can tell he’s just as desperate to fuck you, possibly even more than you are. “Need you to move.” He tries to keep his voice even, but you can hear it’s close to breaking, begging. You obey, rocking your hips, rolling forward, each movement accompanied by his own, the head of his dick pressing against the sweet spot inside you each time.

“Feels so good, darlin’, takin’ me s- so well.” He knows you value his praise, regardless of how difficult it is to give it between labored breaths. 

“Missed you, Ed.” You sigh the words, brain too fuzzy to muster up the strength to properly speak to him. 

“I missed you, baby.” Eddie’s head falls into the crook of your neck, kissing the marks he’d previously left on your throat while you continue to ride him. “Not gonna last much longer. Need you to cum for me. Please, I need you to cum.” His fingers find your clit without struggle, like he’s memorized the map of your body. He makes tight, quick circles on your clit as he continues thrusting inside of you, and your walls clench more tightly around him as you feel your orgasm climbing. Finally, as Eddie has pulled your face into his, crashing your lips together as his hand and hips stay moving, you fall apart on top of him, legs shaking on either side of his lap as he watches you ride it out, mesmerized by the look of you; sweaty, panting, bouncing on top of him. You’re still shuddering when Eddie lets go, head buried in your neck as his thrusts lose rhythm and grow eager, no longer worried about getting you off. His noises are guttural, coming from the deep recesses of his body. He spills his load inside you, his cum painting your walls as he mutters sweet nothings: “Fuck, shit, you’re perfect, missed this pussy so much, like it’s made for me, ‘s all mine, mine, mine…”

When he’s emptied himself, body heaving with each breath, Eddie lifts you off of his lap, both of you wincing as he slowly pulls out. “Shit!” You fall into a fit of giggles as your bare butt falls onto the couch next to him, suddenly shy about being naked in front of him. He joins you, cackling as you wipe the sweat from your brow with an exaggerated “Phew!” 

“Why weren’t we doin’ that all week?” He says through laughter, and you shrug. 

“Probably because other people live here?”

“Ugh, what a bummer.” He reaches over to the cigarette pack on the side table. “You wanna smoke?”

[ughbrie]

anchored to you | rafayel

⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- You rolled your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” he mused, his voice lilting, coaxing—so effortlessly familiar. “You wound me, Miss Bodyguard. Here I was, trying to paint a masterpiece, thinking of you after an agonizing week apart, only to check my notifications and find you, in the dead of night no less, liking another man’s post. Truly, a betrayal of the highest order.”

“Thomas is your agent.”

“Doesn’t change the facts.”

You sighed again, but this time, it was laced with amusement. “You know what? I’m coming over.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, sharper now— “What?”

(Or... at 3:30 AM, Rafayel calls about you liking Thomas’ post. You know him far too well to believe that’s all it is. So you go to him, finding him amidst half-finished paintings and restless emotions, teetering between wanting space and needing you too much.)

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- rafayel x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- smut & fluff

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 10.5k words

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ (or tags)- nsfw, mdni, no use of y/n, use of pet names (cutie & miss bodyguard), dom!rafayel, jealous!rafayel, themes of codependency and insecure feelings, references to rafayel's limited five star memory (intertidal zone) and bond story (nightly stroll), angst (slight-ish), possessive behavior, making out, clit play, mutual masturbation, cum marking, overstimulation, penetration (p in v), dirty talk, unprotected sex, marking (biting), creampie, mentions of ownership, and aftercare.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- I've always wanted to write about that one time in the game when Rafayel called MC (us) early in the morning just because she (we) liked one of Thomas’ posts—but, of course, with a little more plot. Hope you enjoy!

The quiet hum of the city at 3:30 AM was a stark contrast to the sharp vibration of your phone on the nightstand. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, your screen casting a cool glow over your hands as you stared at the caller ID. 

Rafayel.

Bringing the phone to your ear, you barely got a word out before Rafayel’s voice came through, low and unmistakably petulant.

“At 3:30 AM, four hours after you said goodnight to me, you liked Thomas’ post. Instead of, like, sending me a message.”

There was a slight pause, just long enough for you to picture the way he must look right now—sprawled out somewhere, his dusky purple hair a tousled mess, one hand probably still holding his paintbrush, the other curled around his phone. His voice was smooth, casual even, but you caught the edge beneath it, the restless undercurrent of something deeper.

“Rafayel—” you sighed, rubbing at your temple, but he cut in before you could finish.

You had only just liked a post. A simple tap of your finger on Thomas’ latest Moment, barely even thinking about it. But somehow, that was enough.

“Is this what you do when you can’t sleep, cutie? Scroll through posts and ignore me?” His words were lighthearted, teasing, but that wasn’t all there was to it.

You knew him well enough by now—there was a reason he called, and it wasn’t just to complain about a liked post. It was the same reason he always asked you to update him, the same reason his messages came at odd hours, checking in without outright saying he needed to. He wouldn’t ask for reassurance, not directly. Instead, he’d do this—wrap himself in playful irritation, hide behind his usual theatrics, and hope you’d read between the lines.

And you did. 

But it had been a week since you last saw him—because he asked you not to visit, claiming you were too distracting. “Cutie, if you’re here, how am I supposed to suffer properly for my art?” he’d said, all dramatic sighs and faux despair. “What if I forget to be miserable and start painting you instead?”

You had laughed, indulged him, and then you had listened. Given him the space he asked for. But now, with his name flashing across your screen at 3:30 AM, his silence stretching between you like a thread pulled too thin, you wondered if that had been the right choice.

Shaking your head, you drew in a slow breath and let a small smile tug at your lips, even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t think you’d still be awake.”

“I was trying to paint,” Rafayel admitted, his voice carrying the faintest hint of exasperation. “But then my phone buzzed, and—what do you know? Turns out I am capable of being abandoned and creatively drained at the same time. Tragic, isn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” he mused, his voice lilting, coaxing—so effortlessly familiar. “You wound me, Miss Bodyguard. Here I was, trying to paint a masterpiece, thinking of you after an agonizing week apart, only to check my notifications and find you, in the dead of night no less, liking another man’s post. Truly, a betrayal of the highest order.”

“Thomas is your agent.”

“Doesn’t change the facts.”

You sighed again, but this time, it was laced with amusement. “You know what? I’m coming over.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, sharper now— “What?”

“You’re still in your studio, aren’t you?”

“That’s not the point. It’s late.”

“Exactly. And now you’ve got me wide awake.” You sat up, already reaching for your sweater. “Besides, if you’re going to whine about being abandoned, I might as well do something about it.”

“Cutie.” His tone was suddenly more serious. “It’s dangerous.”

“I’m a Hunter, Rafayel. I deal with Wanderers. I can handle myself.”

“That’s not—” He exhaled, as if weighing whether to argue, but he must’ve known it wouldn’t change anything. 

“Cutie, you’re being reckless,” Rafayel muttered, exasperation slipping into his voice.

“And you’re being difficult,” you shot back. “I’d much rather talk to you in person.”

He let out a sharp breath, like he was running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get angry.”

You smirked, already slipping on your jacket. “Try not to get too angry when I’m there, then.”

A pause. Then, quieter— “You’re impossible.”

But he didn’t tell you not to come.

You pulled a sweater over your head, the soft fabric settling over your shoulders as you slung a small bag across your body. Extra clothes—because you knew this wouldn’t be a short visit. Because you knew, deep down, that appeasing him would take time.

As you grabbed your phone and house keys, it vibrated once. Then again. And again.

Rafayel.

You ignored it for now, slipping out of your apartment and making your way down the quiet hallway. The city outside was still alive, neon lights flickering in puddles from the earlier rain. You stepped through the building’s gate, raising a hand to hail a cab.

Only when you were safely in the backseat, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence, did you finally check your phone.

The next message was just a long, broken string of typed-out ellipses.

Rafayel: dun come

Rafayel: ill get mad

Rafayel: cutie cutie listen to me i mean it

Rafayel: ur so stubborn its insane who raised u like this

Rafayel: if u show up i swear to god ill

You could picture him—pacing in his studio, running a hand through his hair, chewing on his bottom lip as he typed and deleted messages, trying so hard to pretend he didn’t want you there.

Rafayel: fine but im not opening the door

Rafayel: i mean it

Rafayel: its locked

Rafayel: double locked

Rafayel: barricading it rn

You typed back.

Rafayel: go to sleep like a normal person

Rafayel: cutie go home dont test me

Rafayel: actually u know what im turning my phone off

Rafayel: fr

Rafayel: im pressing the button

Rafayel: last chance to stop being reckless

Rafayel: …

Rafayel: wait what r u doing why r u not answering

Rafayel: hello???

Rafayel: ur not actually coming right

Rafayel: right

Rafayel: CUTIE

Try not to trip over all that furniture when you let me in.

The little “typing…” bubble popped up immediately. Then disappeared. Then popped up again.

You smiled.

Rafayel: ????????

Rafayel: EXCUSE ME

Rafayel: who said ur getting in

Rafayel: who said im letting u in

Rafayel: who said ur not gonna get stuck outside FOREVER

A few minutes passed, you were near his studio and once the cab turned onto his street, there he was.

Rafayel stood outside the gate of his studio, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp silhouette carved against the dim glow of the streetlights. His tousled hair, usually a careful kind of mess, was more unkempt tonight—like he’d run his hands through it too many times while pacing. Even from a distance, you could see the way his jaw tensed, the slight furrow of his brows. He looked intimidating. Unapproachable. Like someone who hadn’t just been blowing up your phone with ridiculous messages.

And yet.

Here he was. Outside. Waiting for you.

The cab slowed to a stop in front of the gate, the tires rolling over the uneven pavement with a soft crunch. Before you could even reach for the door handle, Rafayel was already there.

His fingers curled around the handle of the passenger seat, yanking it with a sharp pull—only for it to stay locked. A fleeting scowl crossed his face, irritation flickering in his eyes—like a storm brewing in a sky streaked with rose-colored clouds as he rapped his knuckles against the window, then motioned for the driver to unlock it.

The driver hesitated.

You could see it in the way his grip tightened on the wheel, his gaze shifting to you in the rearview mirror, uncertain. Concerned. And maybe, if you weren’t you—if you didn’t know Rafayel, if you hadn’t memorized the way he carried himself like an unspoken warning, all sharp edges and simmering intensity—you might have felt that hesitation, too.

But you only sighed, already reaching for your bag. “It’s fine,” you reassured the driver, voice steady. “I know him.”

It was only after you placed the bills into his hand that the lock clicked open.

The moment you pushed the door open, you barely had time to step out before Rafayel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His entire demeanor shifted like a switch had been flipped—gone was the intimidating figure who had been standing outside, waiting with crossed arms and a brooding scowl. Instead, the Rafayel in front of you was warm, playful, the same one who had sent you all those ridiculous messages. His hold on you was firm, pressing you flush against him, his chin resting atop your head like he had been waiting for this the entire time.

“You’re so stubborn,” he muttered, his voice laced with something between exasperation and relief.

You huffed a laugh against his chest. “I thought I was staying outside forever since you barricaded the door?”

Rafayel stilled for a fraction of a second before exhaling sharply, his grip on you tightening just the slightest bit. “Yeah, well,” he drawled, his tone slipping back into something teasing, “I figured you’d just break in anyway.”

You sigh into his arms before he’s leading you towards the entrance of his studio.

Inside, the studio was dimly lit, the scent of paint and turpentine clinging to the air. You had barely stepped in before Rafayel was already leading you deeper into the space, steering you toward the large canvas propped up on an easel. He didn’t give you a chance to bring up the real reason you had come—not his cryptic messages, not the weight in his voice, not the way he had been waiting for you outside despite claiming he wouldn’t let you in.

No, instead, he gestured at the painting, his voice smooth, light, deliberately avoiding whatever had been simmering beneath the surface. “What do you think?”

Your gaze drifted over the painting, but before you could answer, something else caught your eye—the mess surrounding it. Crumpled papers littered the floor, discarded sketches with deep, frustrated lines slashing across them. Streaks of paint smeared over the nearby desk, some dried, some still tacky, as if he had gone through so many iterations, chasing something he couldn’t quite reach.

It wasn’t hard to understand why.

The painting in front of you was unmistakably his—a swirl of haunting beauty, a dreamscape teetering on the edge of something sorrowful. And in the center, hidden within layers of colors that bled into one another, were streaks of red coral. Not just any red coral. The same shade, the same intricate, fractured formations that you had seen in all his works.

Rafayel’s work had always been laced with something more than artistry. It was a requiem, a quiet, painstaking tribute to a world long buried beneath the sand. His people. His home. The Lemurians, slaughtered and scattered, their blood mixing with the ocean until all that remained were these paintings, these desperate fragments of a civilization that humanity had tried to erase.

And yet, standing here, seeing the evidence of his struggle—all those discarded attempts, the restless, feverish way he had chased this image—you knew this one was different.

This wasn’t just another piece to be sold to the highest bidder, another silent form of vengeance wrapped in beauty.

This painting—this one meant something to him.

You exhaled softly, still taking it in. “It’s beautiful.”

The words left you before you even had time to second-guess them. And they weren’t just words—you meant it. This painting was raw in a way that went beyond his usual work, and knowing what he had gone through to reach this version of it only made it more striking.

But as soon as you said it, you felt his gaze on you. Heavy. Unwavering.

You turned to him, and your breath caught at the sight.

His eyes—those pools of blue and pink—were darkened, pupils blown wide, swallowing up the usual sharpness of his gaze. There was a strange kind of intensity there, something unspoken, something restless. Like he was waiting. Like he was memorizing the way you looked as you said those words.

You’d seen him like this before, but it never failed to leave a lingering warmth in your chest, a quiet awareness curling at the edges of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, trying to steady yourself against the weight of his stare. “So… about that phone call.”

Rafayel blinked once, slow and deliberate, before tilting his head, watching you beneath thick lashes. The studio light caught the pink in his irises, making them gleam like crushed petals under glass. For a moment, he didn’t react, didn’t move, and then—like a tide pulling back—his expression changed.

His lips curled into something languid, lazy. A smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, tousling the dusky purple strands even further. “Tch. Here we go.”

You ignored his theatrics, crossing your arms as you leaned against the closest surface. The room still smelled like oil paint and damp canvas. “You sounded—” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Like you needed me.”

His fingers twitched at his sides.

For just a second, you saw it—the way his breath hitched, the way his eyes flickered, something raw flashing across his face. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. His shoulders rolled back, his stance shifting into something looser, deliberately careless. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, cutie. All I remember is telling you not to come and you showing up anyway.”

You arched a brow, tilting your chin. “Oh? So you didn’t mean it when you said you’d get mad?”

He scoffed, casting his gaze aside, suddenly engrossed in the streaks of dried paint staining his fingers. “I was gonna get mad.”

You stepped closer—close enough to catch the faint flush creeping up his ears, close enough to see the way his jaw tensed, just barely. “Then why were you waiting outside for me?”

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

His tongue swiped over his lips—slow, deliberate, stalling. Then, finally, his eyes lifted to meet yours. Something swam beneath the blue and pink, something unreadable, something fragile.

He exhaled—a breath caught between a sigh and surrender.

“Because you were coming.”

Then, as if realizing the weight of his own admission, he turned away, raking a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “So you came all this way just to nag me? So unromantic, cutie.” His voice was all drawl, all lazy amusement, but beneath it, beneath the teasing, there was something else—something raw, something he didn’t want you to see.

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “You were the one who called me first.”

“And you were the one who liked some other guy’s post at 3:30 AM.” He shot back without missing a beat, eyes flickering toward you, sharp even in his supposed nonchalance.

You rolled your eyes. “Thomas is not ‘some other guy.’”

“Don’t care.” Rafayel flopped down onto the couch with dramatic flair, draping himself over the cushions like an exhausted cat, arm thrown over his forehead. “What’s done is done. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You sighed, gaze drifting past him to the painting still propped on its easel. In the dim studio light, it looked almost alive—the deep reds and ink-dark blues swirling like something dredged up from the ocean’s depths. The scattered, crumpled drafts around it told you everything you needed to know.

“Rafayel.” Your voice was quieter this time, careful.

He didn’t look at you, but his fingers twitched against the couch cushion.

“You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” you continued. “I know why you called me. I know why you’re like this.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted. Then, finally, he let out a slow exhale, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah? And what am I like, cutie?” His voice was light, teasing, but you could hear the thread of something else beneath it—something taut, something fraying at the edges. A quiet challenge.

Your gaze didn’t waver. “You’re scared.”

That got him.

His lips parted slightly, breath catching—just for a second—before he covered it up with a slow, lopsided smirk. “Scared? Of what? You?”

“Of me leaving.”

His smirk lingered, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Rafayel didn’t answer right away. His fingers curled into the fabric of the couch, grip tightening for the briefest moment before he forced them to relax. The smirk on his lips wavered—just a fraction—but enough for you to catch it.

Then, with a scoff, he turned his head away, staring somewhere past you, toward the half-finished painting standing in the dim light. “Don’t say stuff like that,” he muttered.

You took a step closer, voice softer now. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

His jaw tightened, his throat bobbing in a swallow. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you could see it—woven into the way his body tensed, the way his hands refused to stay still, fingers tapping restlessly against the couch. You knew him. You knew how he was when he got like this. When he tried to pretend things didn’t bother him, when he played the fool because it was easier than admitting the weight pressing against his ribs.

You sat down beside him, close but not quite touching. “Rafayel.”

Nothing.

You let out a slow breath. “I’m here. You don’t have to act like I’m not.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, suddenly, he let his body slump sideways, his head dropping against your shoulder in a heavy, boneless motion. His hair tickled your cheek, and his warmth seeped through the fabric of your sweater.

“I don’t like it,” he muttered. His voice was low, muffled against you.

“Don’t like what?”

“You being far.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. Slowly, carefully, you reached up, brushing your fingers through his hair. He didn’t stop you. If anything, he melted further, like a thread pulled loose.

“I’m not far,” you murmured. “I’m right here.”

He huffed, but it wasn’t his usual theatrical sound of complaint—it was something quieter, something raw. “Still don’t like it.”

His arms moved before you could react, looping around your waist, pulling you in, pulling you against him like you’d disappear the second he let go. His grip wasn’t desperate—but it was firm, certain, stubborn.

You exhaled, smoothing your fingers over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of him pressed against you. “For the past week, I gave you space,” you murmured. “You said you’d be painting something for an exhibit. That having me around was… distracting.”

Rafayel let out a soft scoff against your shoulder, his grip tightening—like he knew exactly where you were going with this and didn’t like it one bit.

“So I listened,” you continued. “I gave you space. And yet—” you pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your head and look at him, “—you’re acting like I vanished off the face of the earth.”

His eyes flickered over your face, something restless, unreadable, shifting beneath the surface. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he pulled away, flopping back against the couch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, cutie,” he drawled, throwing an arm over his eyes like he was shielding himself from a particularly blinding light. “I was doing just fine.”

You raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking pointedly to the chaotic mess of crumpled papers and paint-streaked cloth littering the room. “Yeah. Clearly.”

A pause.

Then—his fingers twitched. A tell.

You caught it—the way his fingers curled slightly, a fraction too tense, like a stray thread barely holding everything together. It was the smallest thing, but with Rafayel, the smallest things always spoke the loudest.

Your gaze softened. “Rafayel.”

His arm remained over his eyes, but his lips twitched—just a little, like he was debating whether to smirk or frown. In the end, he did neither.

Instead, his other hand lifted, reaching blindly for you, fingers curling loosely around your wrist. He didn’t pull you closer. Didn’t say anything. Just held on.

Your chest ached.

“You were doing fine, huh?” you said quietly, shifting so you could properly look at him. “Then why does this look like the aftermath of a war zone?”

Rafayel groaned, finally dragging his arm away from his face to glare at you. “It’s called the creative process, cutie. Not all of us can be effortless masterpieces.”

You snorted, unconvinced. “Right. Creative process. Is that why you sent me a hundred messages at three in the morning?”

He clicked his tongue, clearly about to dodge the question with something absurd, but you squeezed his wrist before he could. The reaction was immediate—his mouth shut, his eyes flickering toward your touch.

For a second, just a second, you saw it again—that restlessness, that hesitation, the war between wanting you close and pretending he didn’t.

Then, quieter, you asked, “You really didn’t want me here?”

His jaw shifted. He looked away, fingers tightening around yours, voice dropping lower. “That’s not—” He exhaled sharply, as if physically forcing himself to swallow down whatever instinct had been his first response. “Don’t twist my words, cutie. You know what I meant.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “You could have just asked me to come by, you know.”

Rafayel’s gaze snapped back to yours, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“For the past week,” you continued, voice steady, “even when you told me I’d be a distraction… if you really wanted me here, you could have just said so.”

His fingers twitched again, his grip flexing slightly around your wrist. “That’s—” He clicked his tongue, his expression shifting like he was trying to rearrange his thoughts faster than he could say them. “That’s not how it works, cutie.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No? Then how does it work?”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his tousled hair before letting his head loll back against the couch. “I don’t know.” His voice was quieter now, like he hated admitting it. “I don’t know how to want something and not ruin it at the same time.”

Your chest tightened.

It was the closest he had come to saying it outright—that he didn’t just want you here. He needed you here.

And it terrified him.

You sighed, shifting closer, your hand settling over his where it rested on the couch. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at you either. His fingers flexed beneath yours, restless.

“I don’t want you to shut me out,” you said, gentle but firm. “Even if I know what you want by now—I still respected what you asked of me. I didn’t come by, I gave you space, because I thought that’s what you needed.” You hesitated, then softer, “Was I wrong?”

A muscle in Rafayel’s jaw twitched. His lips pressed together, something pensive behind his gaze.

Then, with an exhale, he finally looked at you.

“You weren’t wrong,” he murmured. “I thought I needed it too.” He huffed a soft laugh, humorless. “Turns out, I’m just an idiot.”

You smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t say you’re an idiot.”

“Then what would you say?”

You squeezed his hand lightly. “Stubborn. A little dramatic.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but instead, he only turned his hand over, fingers curling around yours. His thumb brushed idly over your knuckles, contemplative.

“You should’ve just ignored me,” he said after a moment.

You raised an eyebrow. “And let you suffer in silence?”

“I would’ve survived.”

You gave him a look.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, fine. Maybe I wouldn’t have.” He peeked at you from between his fingers, voice quieter now, more uncertain. “But you still listened to me, didn’t you?”

Something in the way he said it made your stomach twist—not with relief, but with something heavier. Like it hurt him in a way he didn’t know how to put into words. Like it would’ve been easier if you hadn’t.

You held his gaze, steady, unwavering. “I did,” you admitted. “But I would’ve come—if only you asked.”

You exhaled, your fingers tightening around his. “And now I did come, because I knew this wasn’t just about me liking Thomas’ post.”

Rafayel stilled. Just slightly. His hand in yours remained lax, but his grip on your other hand faltered for half a second—like you had struck something he wasn’t prepared for.

Then he scoffed, leaning his head back against the couch, gaze flicking elsewhere. “Obviously. You think I care that much about some dumb post?”

You gave him a pointed look. “You called me over it.”

His mouth opened—then closed. His expression twisted into something begrudging.

“Okay, maybe I cared a little.”

You rolled your eyes. “Rafayel.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple, before finally—finally—meeting your gaze. But he didn’t look teasing now. Didn’t look like the Rafayel who had whined about your stubbornness through text messages or tried to act put out when you showed up at his door.

There was something raw there. A flicker of hesitation, of want, of something he had trouble admitting even now.

“Fine,” he muttered. “It wasn’t just about the post.” His eyes searched yours, voice quiet. “It was about you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you. His lips parted like he wanted to speak, but the words hesitated—lingering somewhere between thought and voice.

Then, with a heavy breath, he raked a hand through his tousled hair and dropped his head back against the couch, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You really wanna talk about this, huh?” His voice was light, almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something strained.

You didn’t answer right away. You just held his gaze, waiting.

Rafayel let out a soft, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Wherever you want,” you said gently.

He was silent for a while. Then, finally, he sat up properly, elbows resting on his knees, fingers lacing together like he was grounding himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Not soft—Rafayel never did soft—but honest.

“I don’t like being alone.” The words came slow, deliberate. His thumb ran idly over his knuckles, a nervous habit you rarely saw from him. “Not really. Not when it’s—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Whatever. You get it.”

You did.

He exhaled, tilting his head, gaze flickering toward the painting propped up on the easel—the one he had clearly agonized over. “I told you I needed space. That I had to focus, that I—” He scoffed, pressing his fingers to his temple. “But the second you gave it to me, it was like—like something was missing.” His eyes flicked to you, laced with something almost accusing, almost vulnerable. “It was unbearable.”

You swallowed, watching the way his fingers curled, the way his expression twisted between frustration and something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

“I kept telling myself it was fine,” he continued, voice rough, like he hated the confession even as it left his lips. “That it was good, even. That I could work without distraction. But every time I tried to paint—every time—I just ended up staring at the damn canvas, thinking about you instead.” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “I hate that.”

You frowned. “Hate what?”

Rafayel clenched his jaw. “Hate that I need you this much.”

Your breath hitched. His words, raw and unguarded, settled between you like something heavy.

He laughed, short and sharp. “God, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” His fingers curled against his knee. “I used to paint because I had to. Because it was mine. And now—now I feel like I’m dragging you into it too.” His expression darkened, something bitter curling at the edges. “Like I’m taking from you.”

You knew what he meant. Rafayel had always taken from the world. From pain, from suffering, from the ghosts of things that could never be restored. His art had always come from that—extraction. And now, you could see the fear in his eyes. That he had started doing the same with you. That his love for you, his need, had become something he feared he would drain dry.

But you didn’t move away. Didn’t recoil. Instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing over his, grounding him back.

“You’re not taking from me,” you said, firm but gentle. “I’m here because I want to be.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then his fingers curled over yours, his grip tight—desperate, almost.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. But you could hear the waver in his voice. The uncertainty.

Like he wanted to believe you. Like he didn’t know if he could.

Rafayel’s fingers tightened over yours, his grip feverish, like he was anchoring himself to something—someone—before he could spiral too far. His eyes flickered, restless, torn between frustration and something else, something raw.

“It doesn’t help,” he muttered, almost like he was talking to himself. “That you’re always here. That you’re not—” His jaw clenched, and he looked away, shaking his head. “That you’re not pushing me away.”

You frowned, squeezing his hand. “Why would I?”

His laugh was sharp, almost bitter. “Because you should.”

You inhaled, steadying yourself. “Rafayel—”

“No, listen.” He pulled back slightly, though his fingers still lingered over yours, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. “You don’t turn me down. Not when I act like a pain in the ass. Not when I pull you into my mess. Not when I—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You don’t even get mad when I tell you to stay away, then act like an idiot when you actually do.”

You swallowed, watching the way his expression shifted—tight, conflicted, like the words hurt to say.

“You don’t leave,” he said finally, quieter this time, almost accusing. “And it just—it just makes it worse.”

Your breath hitched. “Worse?”

His eyes flickered to yours, something turbulent beneath the surface.

“I keep thinking,” he murmured, voice rough. “That if you did—if you pushed me away, even just a little—maybe I could stop needing you this much.”

The air between you felt heavy, thick with something unsaid.

He huffed out a humorless laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. “But you won’t, will you?” His eyes, shadowed and tired, flicked to yours. “You never do.”

You didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Rafayel exhaled, shutting his eyes briefly before opening them again, something tired—something helpless—settling behind his gaze.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what I thought.”

Rafayel let out a slow breath, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His fingers raked through his tousled hair, shoulders tense, like he was holding something back—like he was bracing himself.

“I don’t trust it,” he admitted finally, voice low, rough around the edges.

You frowned. “Trust what?”

His lips twisted, like he was trying to find the right words. ��This. You.” A pause, then he huffed out a quiet laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Not because of anything you’ve done. You’re—you’re too good to me, cutie.”

The way he said it—like it was an accusation—made your heart ache.

Rafayel’s hands flexed against his knees before curling into fists. “It’s just that…I know what it’s like. To have someone be everything. To be convinced that no matter what, they won’t leave.” His fingers twitched. “And then one day, they do.”

Your chest tightened. “Rafayel—”

“You can say it won’t happen,” he cut in, looking at you now, eyes dark with something heavy. “You can promise all you want. But I’ve heard it before.” He let out a shaky breath. “I’ve believed it before.”

Your heart pounded.

“And that’s why I—” He broke off, shaking his head. “That’s why I don’t know what the hell I want. One second, I need you here, and the next, I think maybe—maybe it’d be easier if you weren’t.”

Your breath caught.

“Because if I let myself have this—if I let myself need you—” He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “Then what happens when you leave?”

There it was. The real fear.

Not anger. Not frustration.

Just the quiet, aching certainty that he would be left behind. Again.

Your throat tightened. Slowly, carefully, you reached for his hand. His fingers were still curled into a fist, knuckles white, but you pried them open, threading your fingers through his. Warm. Calloused. Shaking.

“Then I won’t,” you said simply.

His breath hitched. His gaze snapped to yours, searching, uncertain. “You don’t—you can’t know that.”

“I do.” You squeezed his hand. “Rafayel, I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a ragged breath, and you held his hand tighter. “No matter what happens, no matter what you do, how much space you need, or how much you push and pull—I’m here.” Your voice was steady, certain, because you meant it. “I’ll always be here.”

Rafayel exhaled sharply, as if the weight of your words had knocked the air from his lungs. He looked away, jaw tight, throat working like he was trying to swallow something down.

“You say that now,” he muttered, voice rough, “but—”

“But nothing,” you cut in gently, tugging his hand just enough to make him look at you again. “You’re not just some phase in my life, Rafayel. You matter to me.” Your thumb brushed over his knuckles. “I’m not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

His breath shuddered out of him, his fingers tightening around yours like he was afraid to let go. And for the first time since you’d arrived, you saw it—that tiny flicker of hope beneath all the doubt.

Your lips curled into a small smile. “You know… you’re not the only one who needs someone, Rafayel.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “That so?”

“Mmhm.” You squeezed his hand, tilting your head playfully. “I just happen to be better at hiding it. Comes with the job, you know. Can’t have my client thinking his bodyguard is just as much of a mess as he is.”

That earned you a scoff, though there was the faintest trace of amusement in it. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You shrugged. “I mean, think about it. If I didn’t need you, why the hell would I be here at three in the morning?”

Rafayel stilled. His grip on your hand faltered for half a second before tightening again. You saw his throat bob, his lips part slightly—like he wanted to argue, to throw something back at you. But he didn’t. Because you were right.

His gaze flickered, searching yours, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve, some sign that you were just saying this to make him feel better. But there was none. You meant it.

A breath left him, shakier than he probably wanted it to be. Then, quietly, he muttered, “…Idiot.”

You grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

You suddenly sighed dramatically, stretching your arms above your head before letting them drop. “You know, you didwake me up in the middle of the night. And I did drag myself all the way here, just for you.”

Rafayel arched a brow, skepticism flickering over his face. “You just said you came for me.”

Before he could go any further, you reached out, cupping his jaw with one hand and pressing his cheeks together, effectively smushing his lips into a ridiculous pout. “Shhh.”

His brows furrowed, a muffled noise of protest escaping him.

You smirked. “See? Much better.”

His eyes burned into you, but the effect was entirely ruined by the way his lips were puckered like a sulking child. You had to bite back a laugh.

Rafayel made another unintelligible sound, hands coming up to pry yours away, but you held firm, tilting your head. “Now, are you gonna make it up to me or what?”

Without letting go, you leaned in, pressing the softest, most fleeting kiss against his ridiculously pouted lips.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Rafayel tensed, his entire body going rigid beneath your touch. And then—

His face erupted in color. A deep, searing red that bloomed across his cheeks, climbed to the tips of his ears, and even dusted down the length of his neck. His eyes widened, pupils dilating, mouth parting slightly as if his brain had short-circuited entirely.

You pulled back just enough to see the full effect, utterly pleased with yourself.

His hands, which had been trying to pry yours off a second ago, twitched uselessly before dropping altogether.

“Wha—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, glaring at you as best he could while still blushing furiously. “What the hell was that?”

You grinned, finally releasing his jaw, tapping his cheek lightly. “You looked too cute not to.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing. But the red across his face refused to fade. If anything, it darkened.

“I hate you,” he muttered, voice thick with embarrassment.

You hummed, utterly unbothered. “No, you don’t.”

He didn’t respond—because he couldn’t. Not when his body betrayed him so obviously.

Before he could recover, you leaned in again, this time pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his flushed cheek.

Rafayel froze.

A sharp inhale, his fingers twitching against your waist as if debating whether to push you away or pull you closer. The warmth of his skin burned beneath your lips, the heat radiating from him palpable.

And then—

A strangled noise. Half a scoff, half something else entirely. “You—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply, tilting his head away as if that could somehow hide the deepening red overtaking his face.

His ears. His ears were burning.

You smiled against his skin. “You’re really easy to fluster, you know that?”

His hand curled into the fabric of your sweater. “Shut up.”

You kissed his other cheek just to spite him.

Another sharp inhale. Another full-body flinch.

“Cutie.” His voice was strained, and when you finally pulled back to look at him, his eyes were dark, unreadable, something perilously close to desperate lurking beneath the surface.

It sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. The way his breath fanned against your skin. The way his grip on you had tightened, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

And then, quieter and lower—almost hesitant—he spoke.

“…You’re doing this on purpose.”

You barely had a second to process the way his eyes darkened before he moved.

A sharp tug—your breath hitched—then suddenly, the world tilted.

Before you could react, you found yourself toppled onto the couch, your back pressed against the cushions, Rafayelhovering above you. His grip on your waist was firm, his body heat overwhelming, and his beautiful eyes—flushed with something you couldn’t quite name—devoured you.

You blinked. “Raf—”

And then he kissed you.

No hesitation. No teasing remark. Just desperation, raw and unfiltered, poured into the space between you. His lips found yours in a feverish press, warm, insistent—taking.

Your fingers curled into his shirt instinctively, anchoring yourself as he deepened the kiss, as if trying to chase away something neither of you had spoken aloud. His weight caged you in, a solid, unrelenting presence above you, his hand sliding from your waist to cradle your cheek.

It was different from before—this wasn’t just his usual playful antics, wasn’t just him indulging in his own flirtation.

This was real.

A shuddering breath left him as he pulled back just an inch, enough for your lips to part but not enough to create space. His forehead rested against yours, his own breath uneven.

“…You came for me,” he murmured, almost like he still couldn’t believe it.

You smoothed your hands over his back, feeling the tension in his frame, the way he was holding himself back. “I did.”

His lips brushed against yours again, softer this time. “Say it again.”

You smiled, breathless. “I came for you.”

His exhale was shaky, his hold on you tightening. Then, he kissed you—slower, more lingering, like he was memorizing every second. 

For a moment, it was like that.

His lips pressed against yours again—harder this time, more forceful, less patient. The teasing, the usual playful give-and-take between you, was gone.

This was different.

His weight pressed you down into the couch, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted. His other hand curled around your hip, firm, possessive—demanding.

You barely had time to breathe before he was kissing you again and again—deeper, slower, like he was trying to carve the feeling of you into himself. There was heat, unmistakable and consuming, but also a quiet desperation simmering just beneath the surface.

His lips left yours only to trail along your jaw, then lower—lower—pressing against the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

“You always do this,” he murmured, voice rough, breath warm against your throat.

You shivered. “Do what?”

He pulled back just enough for you to see his face, still flushed, ears burning, but his gaze? That wasn’t the usual playful Rafayel staring down at you. It was something deeper. Darker. Unrestrained.

“Make me want more,” he said, his thumb tracing slow, maddening circles against your hip. “And you don’t even try.”

Your breath hitched as his lips found yours again, more insistent, more relentless. His grip tightened, keeping you right there, letting you feel every bit of his warmth against you.

Your breath was unsteady as you tilted your head back against the couch, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. His lips ghosted over your jaw again, trailing lower, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to make you feel him.

“What…” Your voice came out weaker than you intended, a soft, breathless thing. “What are you doing?”

Rafayel huffed a quiet laugh against your skin, his lips brushing against the hollow of your throat. When he pulled back just enough for you to see his face, his smirk was smug, but his eyes—half-lidded, dark with heat—betrayed something else.

“Making it up to you,” he murmured. “Like you asked.”

Then his lips were back on you—pressing, dragging their way down the curve of your neck, slow and deliberate. His hands, warm and steady, slid along your sides, mapping out the shape of you through your clothes.

You barely had time to breathe before his kisses wandered lower—just beneath your collarbone, just above the fabric of your sweater—his fingers toying with the hem as if debating how much further he could push.

He wanted to push.

You could feel it in the way his grip flexed against your waist, the way his breath came out uneven, like he was barely holding himself together.

But he was waiting.

Waiting for you to stop him.

Waiting for you to tell him no.

And when you didn’t—when you stayed still beneath him, your own breath shaky, your fingers curling into his shirt like you needed him there—his smirk faltered for just a second.

Rafayel barely gave you a second to register what was happening before his arms wrapped around you, strong and unwavering. A startled gasp left your lips as he lifted you, pressing you flush against him as he rose to his feet.

Your arms instinctively tightened around his shoulders, legs curling slightly, but he carried you with ease—his grip firm, his body heat seeping into yours through the fabric of your clothes.

He didn’t stop kissing you.

Even as he moved, his lips barely left yours, stealing breath after breath, deepening the kiss with each slow, deliberate step. His pace was unhurried, almost lazy, like he was indulging in every second it took to drag you both toward the bedroom.

His fingers flexed against your thighs, pressing you closer, and you could feel the way his heart pounded—just as wild, just as reckless as yours.

Somewhere between the hallway and the door, you tried to murmur his name, but he swallowed the sound with another kiss, tilting his head, teasing you, taking you apart one stolen breath at a time.

By the time your back met the soft sheets, Rafayel was hovering over you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his lips swollen, his breath uneven. His tousled hair framed his face, a few strands falling over his forehead, and his cheeks—his ears—were still red.

But his expression was different now. Not the usual playful teasing. Not the embarrassed flustered mess you were used to. Something deeper. 

And he was still looking at you like he was starving.

You felt yourself shrinking under his gaze.

But he doesn’t let you.

Instead, his fingers trail up your skin, his touch searing, possessive. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you can’t quite name “You said I had to make it up to you. What, getting shy now?”

You barely have time to react before his fingers curl into the fabric of your sweater, tugging it up with slow, deliberate intent. The air kisses your skin as he drags the material higher, his fingertips brushing along your sides—light, teasing, making you shiver.

His gaze never wavers. Heavy-lidded, sharp with intent, the dusky pink in his eyes darkening like the sky before a storm. He drinks in every inch of you as more of your skin is revealed, his breath coming a little heavier, his lips parting just slightly.

“See?” His voice is low, almost coaxing, though there’s an edge of something darker beneath it. Hungrier. “Nothing to be shy about, cutie.”

The sweater slips over your head in one smooth motion, and before you can even process the loss of warmth, his hands are on you again—this time against the curve of your waist.

His hands move with unhurried precision, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama pants. The fabric bunches under his touch as he drags it down, knuckles grazing the curve of your hips, the dip of your thighs—his touch light, but purposeful.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t give you the chance to hide. His eyes drink you in, dark with something unreadable, something smoldering beneath the surface.

“Still with me?” His voice is lower now, rougher, as if he’s feeling the weight of this just as much as you are.

You nodded.

The fabric pools at your ankles, and his hands return to your skin, smoothing over newly exposed warmth. His thumbs press gently into your hips, grounding, as if savoring every second. As if making sure you’re not going anywhere.

“You’re perfect—so perfect.” he mumbled.

“Raf—” you murmured, skin flushing at his words.

His lips curved, fingers tracing slow, reverent lines over your skin, as if memorizing every inch. He leaned in, pressing a kiss just above your knee, then another, his breath warm against your skin.

“You don’t even know, do you?” His voice was quiet, almost in awe. His hands skimmed higher, thumbs grazing your hip bones, his touch a slow burn. “How impossible it is not to want you. Not to need you.”

Your breath hitched. He was everywhere—his warmth, his presence, the way his eyes pinned you beneath the weight of his gaze.

“Rafayel—” You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but he only hummed, the sound deep, pleased.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing another lingering kiss to your skin. “You don’t have to say anything.”

His fingers curled against your thighs, his grip tightening just enough to make you shiver. His touch was deliberate, lingering—like he wanted to take his time. Like he had no intention of letting you go.

You shuddered as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties. With a slow, deliberate tug, he began to drag them down, inch by excruciating inch, his knuckles grazing against your sensitive skin.

You could feel your heartbeat pounding between your legs as he finally eased your panties off completely, leaving you bare and exposed before him. His gaze was intense, almost reverent, as he took in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire.

Without saying a word, he parted your folds with his fingers, exposing your glistening, needy flesh to his hungry gaze. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks at the intimacy of the moment, your body trembling slightly under his touch.

Rafayel traced a single finger along your slit, not quite penetrating, but teasing you mercilessly. He gathered the moisture that had already begun to gather at your opening and brought his coated finger to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you.

His eyes fluttered closed briefly at the flavor, a soft groan escaping his lips. “God, you taste so good, cutie.” he murmured, his voice rough and low.

A whine bubbled at your throat, “Rafayel, y-you…”

He dipped his finger between your folds once more, gathering more of your essence, before smearing it along your sensitive flesh. He didn’t push inside, didn’t give you the satisfaction of penetration just yet. Instead, he simply smeared your arousal along your slit and around your clit, teasing you with the lightest touch.

Rafayel reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he guided it between your legs. He pressed your palm against your slick, heated flesh, urging you to start touching yourself.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire. “I want to watch you pleasure yourself while I undress for you.”

With his other hand, he began to unbutton his shirt, his fingers working slowly, almost teasingly. He shrugged the garment off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as he revealed his toned, pale chest.

His eyes never left yours as he reached for his belt, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness. The clinking of the metal made your heart race, your breathing growing more ragged as anticipation built.

“I want to see you touch yourself, cutie. Come on…” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. 

He shoved his pants down his hips, his hard, thick length springing free, already visibly aroused, slick forming at the tip. He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a single, slow stroke from base to tip.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered again, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. “Show me how much you need me.”

With trembling fingers, you began to touch yourself, tracing your slick folds and circling your aching clit. Soft mewling sounds escaped your lips as you pleasured yourself, your hips rolling instinctively into your touch.

Rafayel loomed over you, kneeling between your spread thighs, his gaze riveted to your face. He stroked himself slowly, his eyes dark and intense as he watched your every expression, every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features.

His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading your leg further, opening you more to his hungry gaze. “That’s it….” he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble. “Touch yourself just like that.”

You could feel the heat of his body, the way his skin seemed to burn against yours. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as you circled your clit faster, your fingers slick with your arousal.

Rafayel’s strokes grew more purposeful, his grip tightening around his thick length as he watched you. The sight of him touching himself while he stared at you with such raw, unbridled lust sent a surge of heat through your core.

“Rafayel,” you gasped, your back arching off the bed as you felt the first flutters of your impending release. Your fingers moved frantically over your clit, your body tensing, your thighs trembling.

“Don’t stop,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “I want to watch you come undone. I want to see your face, cutie.”

His words, his intense gaze, the feeling of your fingers on your clit—it all pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, your body shaking and convulsing as waves of intense pleasure consumed you.

Through it all, Rafayel watched you, his strokes growing more urgent, more desperate as he chased his own release. The sight of your pleasure seemed to drive him wild, his chest heaving, his grip on himself almost punishing.

As your orgasm subsided, leaving you trembling and gasping, Rafayel let out a guttural groan. His strokes became erratic, his grip tightening around his throbbing length as he found his own release.

“Look at me. Just m-me.” he moaned, his voice cracking.

Your eyes locked, and almost immediately, thick ropes of his hot seed spilled from the tip of his cock, painting your stomach and thighs with his essence. The sight of his pleasure, the feeling of his warmth coating your skin, sent a fresh surge of desire coursing through you.

Before the last waves of his climax had even subsided, Rafayel pressed the swollen head of his cock against your sensitive, dripping folds. He coated himself in your arousal, mixing your fluids together as he teasingly parted your lower lips.

“Rafayel,” you whimpered, still sensitive from your own intense orgasm. The feeling of his hard, hot length pressing against your core made you clench and quiver with anticipation.

He didn’t push inside, not yet. Instead, he simply rubbed the head of his cock along your slit, up and down, coating himself fully in your slick heat. His eyes, dark and intense, stayed locked with yours, watching your every reaction.

“Tell me you want it,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Tell me you need my cock inside you…”

His words, the feeling of his hard length stroking your most intimate place, made your heart race and your breath come in short, sharp gasps. You could feel the heat of him, the way his skin seemed to burn against yours.

“I need it,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Rafayel. I need you inside me.”

Rafayel cursed under his breath, “Fuck. You’re driving me insane.”

Agonizingly, he pushed the head of his cock inside you, a low groan rumbling in his chest at the feeling of your tight, wet heat enveloping just the tip. He paused there, his hips pressed against your inner thighs, as he savored the sensation.

Your back arched off the bed slightly, your hands fisting in the sheets below you. The stretch of you around him was delicious, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around just that small part of him.

“You feel incredible,” Rafayel breathed, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. His fingers dug into your hips, his grip tightening as he fought the urge to surge forward and bury himself fully inside you.

He rolled his hips forward just slightly, the head of his cock pushing in a little deeper, stretching you just a fraction more. The movement made you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at the sheets as a jolt of pleasure shot through you.

Rafayel’s eyes were glued to your face, watching every flicker of emotion and sensation cross your features. 

He let out a breathy chuckle, his lips curving into a smirk even as his cheeks and ears burned red. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement and something darker, more indulgent. “Clinging to me like this, and I’ve barely even started.”

You glared at him, your body trembling, “S-Shut up…”

His breath hitched, the smirk on his lips faltering for just a second before he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Can’t,” he rasped, his voice unsteady, tinged with something raw. “Not when you feel this good… not when you’re making it so damn hard to hold back.”

Rafayel couldn’t hold back any longer. With a low, guttural groan, he surged forward, burying his hard, thick length deep inside your tight, wet heat. He didn’t stop until he had pushed in to the hilt, his hips pressed flush against yours, his heavy balls nestling against your skin.

“See?” he murmured, voice rough, uneven. “Told you… I need you. Don’t ever—” His lips found your temple, your cheek, anywhere he could reach. “Don’t ever leave me…”

You bit your lower lip, before gasping, “I-I won’t Raf—”

Slowly, almost torturously so, Rafayel began to move. He withdrew until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before thrusting forward again, burying himself to the hilt. He set a deep, powerful rhythm, each thrust pushing you further up the mattress.

His hands gripped your hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he held you in place. “If I ever tell you to leave me alone for a week again…” He let out a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “Smack some sense into me, alright? Because that’s not me—never me.” 

He angled your hips to take him even deeper, his cock kissing your cervix with every driving thrust. The room filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by your gasps and his grunts of pleasure.

His lips brushed against your ear, voice raw, pleading. “Let me hear you, c-cutie—oh!” A pause, a sharp inhale as he held you closer. “Don’t hold back.”

Your breath hitched, fingers clutching at him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I—I’m not… just—” Your voice wavered, breaking into a gasp as heat curled in your spine. “Rafayel—”

His breath was hot against your skin, ragged and uneven. Then—sharp. A gasp tore from your lips as his teeth sank into your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you shiver.

“Mine,” he mumbled against your skin, lips brushing over the fresh mark before he soothed it with his tongue. His grip on your waist tightened, like he wanted to pull you even closer—like even now, even here, it wasn’t enough.

He pressed another bite just below the first, this time lingering, as if engraving himself into you. Then he pulled back, gaze hooded, cheeks flushed, lips red. “There. Now you really can’t leave me alone for a week.”

Rafayel drew back, breathless, his lips hovering just above your skin. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dazed, his flushed cheeks still burning with heat—but then you saw it.

The mark.

Faint at first, but unmistakable, glowing softly against his chest, just above his heart, near his collarbone. It pulsed in rhythm with his ragged breaths, a delicate yet unyielding reminder of something ancient, something that had endured beyond time itself.

Your fingers lifted before you could think, you’ve always been drawn to it. Even more so now. The moment you touched it, Rafayel shuddered—a full-body tremor, like you had reached inside and wrapped your hand around his very soul. His breath hitched, eyes snapping to yours, wide with something raw.

“Cutie—” His voice was hoarse, almost pleading, but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t.

It’s like something in him snapped. Suddenly, Rafayel gripped your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He used the leverage to pull you towards him, meeting each of his powerful thrusts and pressing you even closer.

Your own body moved with the force of his actions, your breasts bouncing with every slam of his hips against yours. You could feel the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core, your walls beginning to flutter and clench around his pistoning length.

“That’s it, c-cutie,” Rafayel grunted, his voice thick with desire and impending release. “Take it. Fuck, I can’t—you’re too much.”

He drove into you harder, faster, the bed creaking beneath the force of his thrusts. His balls slapped against your skin, the obscene sound spurring on his lust.

Suddenly, with a roar of your name, Rafayel slammed into you one last time. His cock jerked and throbbed as he found his release, thick ropes of his hot seed painting your insides. He ground his hips against yours, pressing as deep as he could go, making sure every last drop of his essence was buried inside you.

“Cutie—!” he bellowed, his body shuddering and convulsing above you. 

You could feel the heat of his release flooding your core, filling you up. Your own body responded in kind, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cried out, your voice joining his in a symphony of pleasure as you came undone around him.

You both stayed like that for a while, the sound of your breaths mingling.

As Rafayel finally pulled away, you shuddered at the sudden loss of warmth, your body still thrumming from him. He huffed out a breath, his forehead dropping against yours as if gathering himself—his flushed cheeks and dazed eyes making him look almost boyish, despite everything he’d just done.

Then, in true Rafayel fashion, he smirked. “Tired, cutie?” His voice was hoarse, but smug.

You scoffed, swatting weakly at his shoulder. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

He chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “Just checking. Wouldn’t want my bodyguard passing out on duty.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest when he eased you onto your back, his hands already reaching for the discarded sheets to pull over you both. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they traced over your skin, smoothing over every mark he’d left.

A comfortable silence settled between you as he ran his hands over your arms, your waist—touches more soothing than teasing now. Then, quietly, “You okay?”

You softened at that, at the way his usual bravado slipped just enough for you to see the raw concern underneath.

“I’m fine,” you reassured, brushing your knuckles over his cheek. “Though I think you owe me a week’s worth of massages for all that.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping dramatically beside you. “Demanding, aren’t you? First, you drag me out of my self-imposed exile, now you want labor?”

You smirked, shifting to drape yourself over his chest. “Shouldn’t have woken me up at 3 AM, then.”

Rafayel clicked his tongue but didn’t push you off. Instead, his arms curled around you, holding you so close it was almost suffocating—but in the best way. His lips ghosted over the crown of your head, lingering there.

“Not gonna make that mistake again,” he muttered. “Next time, just smack me back to my senses.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Deal.”

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[adrift-in-thyme]

May I request Fairy Time and Hyrule doing some wing care or teaching the others how to help them take care of their wings?

Yes you absolutely may! Tysm anon!! I hope you don’t mind a bit of angst with all the softness

CW for one mention of blood

———————————————————————-

“How long has it been since you did this?”

Hyrule runs gentle fingers over Time’s wings. They spread grandly on either side, hues of soft greens and delicate blue-violets reflecting the sun’s smiling rays. Usually, they are colored in bold crimson and royal blue, which clash like swords on a battlefield. But today they take on a more tired appearance. Faded, they have begun to droop discouragingly.

Time has never admitted it, but Hyrule has eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that his wings change when something is wrong. More often than not, they herald the disturbance before it can truly become known. A flash of forest green and the next thing he knows Time is fading into the mist in search of solitude.

…or collapsing in the middle of the trail.

Now, Time hums, sounding distracted. His hands lie in his lap. Absently, he twists his wedding band back and forth so quickly it is liable to rub a rash into his skin.

(Another nervous habit of his Hyrule has picked up on.)

“I’m not certain,” he admits, after a moment of quiet contemplation. The words are spoken with an air of something so desperate to be flippant. “I’ve been occupied with other matters.”

Hyrule blows out a weary sigh.

Other matters like worrying about all of us.

True, things have been strained amongst the heroes since Twilight’s injury. And as unofficial leader — and the rancher’s ancestor — Time has borne the brunt of it all. But still….

Malon had warned him about this.

“Oh, he just doesn’t take care of himself.” She had whispered during a visit to the ranch months ago after Time had fallen asleep at the dinner table. Head resting on her shoulder, he slept far deeper than he had in days.

“I’m not askin’ y’all to hover or anything. Heaven knows you’ve got enough on your plates as it is. But…just check in once in a while, will ya, loves? I don’t want him to lose himself while trying to take care of everyone else.”

Hyrule can’t help but feel that he has failed. The events of the past weeks have left their mark upon him too. Exhaustion has hounded him at every turn, dragging him down so heavily that he has nearly collapsed beneath it. And yet, he had noticed the signs. The quietness, the reservation, the increase in snappishness…the fear. But he had done nothing about them.

It wasn’t until Time had asked if he had taken the time to care for his own wings that he realized he hadn’t seen the older hero settle down to tend to his own lately.

He winces as he weaves the spell into some of the worse areas, mainly gathered around a large scar. These large wings, normally so bright with magic and life, have begun to lose their glimmer. Frightened, they shrivel, curling in one themselves to shield from the light.

With wings like this, flying will soon become agonizing.

Would he have tried to anyway? Hyrule doesn’t want to know the answer to that question.

Solitude can be harmful. He knows that far too well. But sometimes he wonders just how much of his life Time has spent alone to end up believing it is the only way to get by. Even after this family they have formed along the paths of hardship, even after Malon, it seems to be the road most familiar to the hero.

“You can always ask me, you know.”

He has been gentle this entire time, even more so than he is with his own wings. But with this part, he is extra cautious. He threads the healing magic into Time’s veins with the delicacy of one handling glass.

“I know it’s hard to take care of your wings yourself. And I know it’s even harder to trust others to do it for you. But…” He swallows as his fingertips graze the scar.

What had occurred to create such a chasm? To his knowledge, Time has never spoken of the event. Sometimes, he wonders if he ever will.

“You trust me…right, old man?”

Time looks up, fingers stilling at last.

“Of course, I do, traveler,” he says, softly. “I don’t mean to make it seem like I don’t.”

“Then, let me help you. Please?”

“I’m allowing you to now, aren’t I?”

The traveler huffs. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. It doesn’t mean I can’t tease.”

There is a smile in his voice, and Hyrule is glad of it. Even still, if the hero believes he’s going to escape without a proper reply, he is sorely mistaken. If Hyrule is known for anything, it’s his infinite stubbornness.

“Come on, old man,” he urges, softly. “Promise me you’ll ask someone to help tend to your wings when you need it. It doesn’t even have to be me. Just ask someone, please.”

Time’s wings are beginning to improve now. Threads of vibrant red glow from beneath the green. Like blood on new cloth, they spread, engulfing the other colors. He watches, slightly awed.

“I love you, Time,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you enduring pain just cause you don’t want to be a burden.”

For a long moment, Time says nothing. The only sounds are the subdued jingles of the spell twined about Hyrule’s fingers and the harmony of their breaths. It is peaceful in a pensive sort of way.

Then, “alright,” he says in a voice taut with emotion. “But only if you allow me to help you when you need it. Don’t think I don’t see how you struggle to remember your own welfare. You are too selfless for your own good.”

Hyrule chuckles. “Well, I could say the same about you.”

A small smile lifts Time’s lips. “Such is the path of the hero, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” The traveler’s gaze goes to the scar once more. “I guess.”

Silence pads in on soft, silken paws and settles down cozily. Time goes back to rotating his ring, though the motions are slower, calmer this time. Hyrule turns his full attention to finishing his task. Above them, the sun smiles, and Time’s wings transfer it in panes of pale red upon the blades of grass.

“Traveler?” Time’s voice is so quiet it is hardly above a whisper. It nudges aside the quiet, murmurs with the wind.

When the hero is in his fairy form, it is as though he is of the nature that surrounds them; as at home amongst the towering trees and great sky, stones and moss and gurgling streams, as the fleet-footed deer or furtive foxes.

Hyrule looks up, head cocked in question. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. And…” Time smiles, so soft it erases years of anguished hardship from his visage. “I love you too.”

The traveler smiles.

[yamanehaize01]

Miracle laid in Serendipity: Unveiling the Voyage of Miraculous Bearers

The Unknowing Tale between Y/n L/n & Adrien Agreste

Chapter 04: Swirl of Magnetica

Previous & Subsequent Chapters | 01 | 02 | 03 | Loading...

Third — Point of View

Perspective of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Upon arriving infront of the school, the bluenette waves her hand with a smile when she sees Alya walking towards her. “Hey girl, good morning! You ready for that, you know!” Alya lifts her two fingers, creating peace signs and gesturing it up and down. Marinette gave her a nervous chuckle as she scratched the back of her head. “I-I.. um! O-Of course! Haha-” The bluenette grins widely with an unsure expression, while her best friend gives her a pat on the shoulder. “You better be, because there he is–” Alya was about to point her finger towards the familiar blonde boy, but Marinette cut her off.

“W-What?! W-Where..!” The bluenette stuttered, looking from side to side then looking behind her, as she gasped. Seeing Adrien getting out of the car then closing the door, Marinette could already feel her face reddening and she quickly clung her hands around Alya’s arm, in case she’d fall right then and there. “O-Oh my gosh, A-Alya! H-He’s walking t-this way-! W-What do I do now..?! S-Should I-” Marinette stumbles on her words, uncertain on what to do. And she could feel her heart stop when Adrien notices them ahead, before waving towards them with a gentle smile.

Alya shakes her head with a giggle as she tries to support Marinette’s body, who’s literally about to pass out and fall to the ground if she doesn't keep her on her feet. Alya grabs the bluenette’s forearm and lifts it up, motioning her to wave back at the blonde. Marinette forms an awkward grin, trying her best not to embarrass herself infront of Adrien. “Girl, keep it cool.” Alya whispers, as the bluenette nods her head anxiously. “Marinette and Alya, good morning.” Adrien greeted, it took every ounce of Marinette's energy not to make the situation awkward — attempting to respond back.

“G-Good-.. Good mor..mor-ning! Y-You too! I-I mean- to you! Too..!” She lightly laughs, internally hoping that Adrien wouldn't mind her little slip up. She doesn't know why she couldn't get her act together! She's supposed to have a normal conversation with him, and possibly give him the keychain she designed a week prior, without stumbling herself up in the middle of it. But- it's almost impossible, she feels weak in the knees every time he faces her or just- talking to her normally! The tension isn't forgiving.

“Morning, Adrien.” Alya responded, before looking back at Marinette, it was the perfect opportunity for her friend to hand Adrien the small gift. And she knows that Marinette knows it too, she just needs a little push– just a little bit. So as Adrien was about to continue his way towards the school’s entrance — Alya smoothly guided Marinette infront of the blonde. “I think Mari wants to tell you about something.” The bluenette once again froze in her place, while Adrien looked at them – firstly confused but then it was soon replaced by curiosity, waiting for Marinette to talk.

“I-I.. t-there’s this thing that I-” The bluenette starts, her pupils gazing around, unable to make eye contact. “I.. I- made..” She continues, her face reddening even more as the minute passes by. She squeezes her eyes closed, intending to spill the words out in one go. “I made you a—!” Before Marinette could finish her sentence, a loud and annoying voice interrupted her. “Adrikins~!” At that point, both Marinette and Alya's faces dropped in an instant. Not be able to do nothing but watch Chloe hug Adrien and give him a kiss on each side of his face.

A cheerful voice suddenly emerges as Rose and Juleka quickly make their way towards Marinette and Alya, sparing a small glance at the commotion going on with Chloe. “Have you given it to him ye–!” The bluenette immediately put her hand up against Rose’s mouth, muffling her words. While the clueless girl looks at her innocently, Marinette chuckles hesitantly – looking towards Chloe and Adrien to see if they heard Rose. And considering that their overly confident classmate is still yapping on and on about her morning to Adrien, she draws a sigh of relief and removes her hand off of Rose’s mouth.

“Sigh.. unfortunately no, Chloe got in the way.” Marinette replied, as Rose and Juleka glanced back at the two. “Really? Oh no..” Rose whispers, but then Chloe unexpectedly turns around to face them, causing them to pretend to be preoccupied with each other. They could already feel the look Chloe was sending their way, the awkwardness was in the air as Nino swept in to call out for his friend. “Yo, dude! How’s it going? Mornin’!” Nino greets, raising his hand as both of them high-five one another before proceeding to head straight to school.

With Marinette peaking a slight glance back at Adrien as they pass by her, knowing the opportunity is way beyond reach right now. A snap of a finger made the bluenette startled as she heard Chloe laugh. “Seriously, Dupain-cheng! What an embarrassment, right- Sabrina.” Chloe smirks, fanning herself with her hand as Marinette fights the urge to grit her teeth. “Knock it off, Chloe.” Alya retorts, sending her a glare to which Chloe scoffs. “Here comes the savior of the day, really- you're just proving my point. Can't even stand up for yourself, Marinette Dupain-cheng.” Rose gasps, putting both of her hands against her mouth.

“Hey, that's not tru–” Rose was about to say but the other blonde easily brushed her off. “Ugh, I can't with these peasants, let's go Sabrina.” Chloe flips her ponytail back in an arrogant way, sparing them a nasty look. “Y-Yes, Chloe.” Sabrina nods before trailing after Chloe, holding her bag and other textbooks. Both Rose and Juleka was shocked at how the situation turned out, mostly Rose as her eyes followed to where Chloe headed up inside the school. “She’s so rude! How can she say that?” Rose says with a pouty look, turning back at Marinette, who has her head hanging a bit low.

“Mari, don't listen to her. She just wants to get under your skin, and you can't let that happen.” Alya reassures, as Marinette stares back at Alya. “Y-Yeah.. Alya’s right..” Juleka joins in, trying to keep the bluenette to the bright side. Marinette huffs out a breath, calming her nerves down before shaking her head and replacing the frown on her lips into a smile. “Mhm, we know Chloe.. so full of herself.” Marinette sighs, as the three girls let out a smile. Although suddenly, another voice calls out for the group.

“Ayee, girls!” Alix shouts out, waving both of her hands up as she runs towards them. “Hi, Alix!” Said Rose, waving back with a bright smile. “What’s up? Did Mr Agrestimó Francé arrived yet?” Alix questions, adding a tint of accent, earning a chuckle from the four of them. “S-Stop with the nickname..!” Marinette giggles, placing a finger against the side of her face. Alix however, dramatically puts a hand over her chest, looking back at Marinette with a fake-offended expression. “Oh, you're covering up for the model boy now? Hm.. if we place two and two together–” Alix teased, as the bluenette’s face went flustered. “I-I.. I w-wasn’t! I-I’m not even–” Marinette stuttered terribly, as she put both of her hands against her flushed face. “Ooo-! What if, what if!” Rose cheered, lifting a finger up.

“Alright, I think Mari is about to burst into flames if we keep going.” Alya chimes in, as she raises one of her eyebrows with a playful grin. “Fine, I'll stop– for now!” Alix chuckles, crossing both of her arms before asking again – “So, is Adrien late? Or- you know.” Alix hinted, acting a small cough. And as she looked at the four of them, their faces weren't saying any positive notes. “It didn't go exactly as planned..” Alya answered, pinching the bridge of her nose, thinking back at the mayor’s daughter. “Let's just say someone was blocking the road.” Alya clued, receiving a mixed look from Alix.

“Damn, if that's how it's gonna be then you could go and make a quick shot and throw it in Adrien's bag with your name on top, there! Problem solved..!” Alix shrugged her shoulders.

“Pftt– you did not!” Marinette lightly slaps Alix on the shoulder, the mood lightening up entirely. “Now that I think about it! That is a good idea, isn't it?” Rose claps her hands with a big smile, passersby were sending some looks their way- noticeably confused. “Where is Mylene and Y/n, by the way? Are they already inside?” Alix questions, earning a baffled look from Rose. “We haven't seen them, maybe they're just a bit late.” Marinette replied, as both Alix and Rose nodded. “We should probably get settled in and wait for them in class.” Alya says, turning her phone on and looking at the time.

“Sounds good, I need to get these rollerblades secured, gonna use it later!” Alix says, patting the two rollerblades that she holds against the side of her waist.

“Oohh, are we going somewhere after school..!?” Rose innocently asked, as the rest blinked in unison. With Juleka chuckling a bit, placing a hand on top of her friend’s shoulder.

🂱   🂱   🂱   🂱   🂱   🂱   🂱

Second — Point of View.

Perspective of Y/n L/n.

Hovering your hand on the classroom’s doorknob, you tried to quietly twist it open and have a peek inside. The voices of your classmates are now becoming clearer, and it seems the teacher hasn't arrived yet. You open the door enough for you to slid into and close it behind you, most of the clatter dying down and eyes sparing you a swift glance. At that point, you only wanted to head onto your section and sit down. “Oh Y/n!” Alya waves her hand up, as you send her a smile. Lightly holding the handle of your bookbag, then taking the way in the middle.

Audible whispers coming out of Chloe and Sabrina's side of the class, not to mention the unnerving stares they're giving you. From your first day being a part of the class, you did know that Chloe is bad news. She doesn't really mercy you either – quite the opposite, you don't understand where the sudden hatred for you came from. But knowing it's Chloe, she basically hates everybody. Besides herself and a few of her ‘supposed’ friends.

“You have got to be kidding me. Little Miss airhead over here shows up, no wonder she's friends with that baker’s daughter.” Hearing that loud and clear, things like that shouldn't bother you– ignoring her will be best either way. A worry glance lifted from the first row, emerald green eyes dotting on you. Chloe wasn't even trying to hide her voice from bouncing across the room, if Adrien heard it– heck then definitely you heard it too. “How ridiculous..” Chloe quipped, brushing the fabric of her blazer, some quick glares were sent her way but she didn't pay any mind to it.

Once you made it to your desk, you sat down on your seat and leaned low– settling your bookbag down under the desk table. Then lifting your head out from below, unexpectedly bumping into a soft edge. “A-Are you okay..?” Hearing Nathaniel's voice, you turn your head a bit to face him, looking up. Noticing how he has his hand gripping against the edge of the desk, ending up with you narrowly avoiding a rather painful little accident. “I.. thanks, I'm fine.” You replied with a small smile, now fully lifting your head up from under the desk and fixing your posture. As Nathaniel retrieves his hand back next to the side of his notebook, a tinted blush forms on his face.

—

The sense of recognition among the citizens and also the prestigious higher ups of the city is beyond fluttering. Being heroes, your image as one has been spreading like wildfire since the day you started out. It was overwhelming at first, even now you are still slightly overwhelmed by the thought of many people seeing you as one of the protectors of Paris and appreciated you as one. Your heart feels very light, a warm smile visible on your lips — you haven't got time to realize that Ms Bustier was calling your name. And once you did, it was already too late to recover from.

“Y/n, please pay attention. In some cases we should respect the important topic of our national heroes. And as to why they're putting themselves on the line for the core reasoning of our safety.” The firm tone of Ms Bustier’s voice makes you want to shrink in your seat, and let the table swallow you whole. “O-Of course..! I'm sorry, Ms Bustier. I'll pay attention..” Scarcely, despite keeping track and being limitless in the field of your counterpart — you have to remember that as Y/n L/n, everything is different. And in the eyes of your classmates, family and others that barely knows you, that.. you're just- Y/n L/n. Nothing special besides the fact that you make your life more difficult than it already is.

Which isn’t that surprising either.

“Jeez, someone needs to pour cold water on that pathetic loser. And you know what, I might actually volunteer.” Chloe mused, raising her hand and giving you a sharp stare, with Sabrina lightly chuckling at the statement. Marinette furrowed her eyebrows, striking up a glare at the mayor’s daughter, as Alya seems to be doing the same. “Chloe, enough. It's not nice to speak badly of others, so please. Be kind.” Ms Bustier scolded with a sigh leaving her lips, Chloe only rolled her eyes before speaking with a dried tone. “Hmph, whatever.” The blonde has her chin up and arms crossed, layering with an attitude.

You lower your gaze on your desk, you could feel the humiliation fawning over you. It's not a good feeling to have, the trickling sensation of your stomach twisting and being tightened in a way that it shouldn't be. Not.. not a good feeling. Trying to brush away any lingering thoughts, you set your pupils back at the projector screen on the board. “It's wonderful how much our heroes did in order to keep Paris protected from evil, does anyone want to share their experiences in the midst of an akuma attack?” Ms Bustier smiles, scanning around her students to see if someone will raise their hands. The first one quickly raises her hand, seemingly intrigued.

“Yes, Alya.” Ms Bustier motions her hand towards the direction of the brunette, as the girl stood up. “It's totally amazing! Having to meet the heroes face to face, like really! Watch the vlogs I posted on my Sekkiblog, it's getting tons of views!” Alya squealed excitedly, waving the screen of her phone up. Ms Bustier let out a small chuckle, as the others had their attention towards Alya. Some actually pulling out their phones to visit the page and check. “This is sick, dude!” Nino says, turning his phone horizontally to watch the video.

Adrien feels a slight tug on the inside pocket of his white jacket, looking left and right quickly to make sure his classmates are distracted – he lifts the side of his jacket open, just enough not to draw any suspicion. He was greeted by the view of his Kwami, with his tiny arms crossed. “What plagg?” Adrien whispers, while the Kwami shakes his head and points to his mouth. “How long is this class, there's none of my camembert left–!” Adrien quickly shuts his jacket, nervously looking left and right again before opening his jacket once more. “What was that for..!” Plagg finally whispers with a frown.

“Shh- I thought someone might've heard you, wait.. class is almost over.” A groan escapes the small feline’s throat, clearly not happy about waiting, but he has no choice but to accept it. Adrien let go of his jacket, looking back at the projector screen upfront. His eyes dragged onto the familiar figure of red and black, a determined smile colored on your lips. Cameras are really everywhere, huh? He sometimes wonders how those people capture pretty much a clear angle in the middle of an akuma attack. He has to give them credit, it's not that easy to do. Mostly.

The bell ringing spread across the school, indicating that classes are over. “Okay, students. That's the bell, we will continue on this topic another time.” Ms Bustier nods before undoing the equipment used, putting it back to its case. Kim offered to help, carefully taking the projector from the teacher’s desk. The rest of the students left the room, chatting along the way. “Y/n, Y/n!” Rose calls happily, as she gives you a hug right as you walk out of the door. Adjusting yourself a bit so you weren't blocking the entrance, returning the hug before both of you pull away with Rose putting her hands on top of your shoulders.

“Oh wait! Let's go, Marinette and Alya are waiting for us!” Rose grabs your hand, as the other holds onto Juleka’s hand as well. Dragging both of you with her down the hall, you had to keep a firm grip of your bookbag as it almost slipped off of your fingers from the impact. Trying your best to keep up, you look around, not expecting to make a split second eye contact with those verdant eyes. His mouth slightly opened, intending to call out for you but the opportunity was quick to pass by, leaving him sighing internally.

—

“What are you thinking, kid? You're quiet.” The small feline flew up, facing his holder with a half eaten camembert in his tiny hands. Adrien exhaled out a breath, putting his stuff inside his locker and closing it after. “Nothing, Plagg.. I feel like I need to apologize to.. someone. She's my classmate.” Plagg hummed as he took another bite of his camembert, savoring the flavor then staring back at his owner. “Why? You did something wrong, did you?” Adrien let out a small cough, looking surprised at his Kwami. “What?! No, I didn't! It's about something else.” The blonde quickly defended himself, although he went silent for a moment, making sure to listen if anyone was approaching to go to the lockers.

“Then go apologize for whatever it was that happened. She's not waiting for you.” Plagg says, his tone coating with disinterest, licking his paw. Adrien blinked in slight disbelief before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Thanks a lot, Plagg. You’re helping.” The blonde spoke, walking over to the bench he left his fencing helmet to. “I know I am.” The feline Kwami snickered as he followed behind, grinning at the sarcasm his holder threw. 

“Make up your mind, if you feel like you need to apologize to the girl, go for it. And wait– make it clear too! Who's truly at fault, was it you?” Plagg crossed his tiny arms, the Kwami didn't particularly remember the blonde done something wrong to others, or said anything bad. Eh- he will never know, maybe he's taking a nap at that time. How many times has he slept after being satiated by cheese? He lost count basically, his ears could've missed the whole thing, and looking at how he has no idea about what his bearer is talking about. Yeah, he definitely did.

“No, it wasn't me.. sigh, it's one of my closest friends, Chloe. I heard her say some awful things towards Y/n.. I hope she's okay.” He knows that his childhood friend could get a bit too much at times, still- that doesn't justify the way she treated others. “Why should you be the one apologizing? From what I'm getting here, it's your ‘childhood friend’s fault.” The feline Kwami replied, trying to make sense of where Adrien’s getting at. “You don't understand, Plagg. I can try and explain to–” His tiny companion interjects with a quick lift of his paw.

“All I can say is, kid. You're not getting anywhere if you keep having to explain your friend’s actions, and make them see reason. It should be the other way around, is how I see it.” The blonde paused, averting his gaze. Plagg does have a point, but.. how will he be able to do that? It shouldn't be hard, it's.. his childhood friend, he could talk to her about it. He can't just stay ignorant, when he doesn't support her actions at all. “You're right, Plagg..” Adrien muttered, not getting much of a word from the Kwami as it quickly flew over behind his shoulder to hide. The voice of one of his fencing partners called out for him, indicating the training lesson is about to start.

“I’ll be right over!” Adrien yelled back, grabbing his fencing gear before hurrying over the exit door of the locker room. And as the door closed behind him, the feline Kwami quietly made his way towards his holder’s locker. Easily going through the blockage of the front frame of the locker, settling inside the blonde’s bag. His voice soon speaking under his breath with a small yawn – “Could use another nap.”

☘︎   ☘︎   ☘︎   ☘︎   ☘︎   ☘︎   ☘︎

Wiping a drop of sweat from your forehead, you walk out of the front exit of the school, following after the students who already made their way outside. Switching your bookbag to your left hand, so you could have a proper look at the papers on your right. Although- you suddenly hear a ring coming from the pocket of your pants, making you stop for a moment to check. Grabbing your phone and turning it on, seeing your mother calling you. You pressed the green button as you placed it against your ear before letting go and moving your shoulder upwards to support the phone from falling.

“Y/n, where are you? Is your classes over?” You hear your mom’s voice over the phone, as you struggle a bit from putting the papers inside your bookbag. “Mom? Erm- yeah, I just got outside of school.” You replied, finally settling the papers and closing the strap of your bookbag, as you slip your hand back to hold your phone properly. “Alright- good! I need you to come over to the subway station and come pick up– wait.. you’ll see once you get there, now hurry up! I haven't got the time since I'm at work–!” The voice over the call cuts out, as it ends.

“What– mom..!” You drew the phone back to look over the screen, who even are you picking up from the train station? Do you even have time– oh! Maybe not-..! You quickly run down the stairs, looking left and right as you ponder for a second on where the train station might be. Before hurriedly making a turn and making sure not to accidentally bump into anyone on the way. “Ugh.. What's up with that weirdo, hold that tight, Sabrina. For a second I thought she's about to steal my expensive purse!” The blonde girl irked, loudly chewing a gum as she crossed her arms.

“Oh please, Chloe. No one wants that.” Alya puts up a smile, holding her phone and scrolling down. As Marinette brings up her notebook to cover her lips. Chloe scoffed, looking over the two with a judging glare. “What did you say–” The blonde blinked twice, seeing both of them turning around and walking away without much of a second glance. She puffs out an irritated groan, while Sabrina tries to tap her best friend on the shoulder to gain her attention – although resulting in a flinch. “Ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous..!”

—

Took almost your whole breath, but you finally made it down the flight of stairs and into the train station. Gripping your bookbag against your chest, as you walk closer to the halting train. Just good enough distance to be certain that you won't get pushed off when passengers start getting out. You tilt your head a bit to try and find who your mother's talking about through the train’s window.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we have reached our destination. Please ensure you have all of your belongings with you before exiting the train.” The announcer said over the speaker, as the people inside started preparing to leave and some people outside were also preparing to get on the train afterwards. Then, the doors begin to slide open – as the people walk out with their belongings in hand, a few weren't paying that much attention and on their phones and headsets. You move slightly to not get in the way, tiptoeing a bit and lifting your head up to see if anyone looks familiar.

Inching yourself to the side, you almost got knocked off – and thankfully you turn your shoulder just in time to avoid a small accident. Suddenly, you heard a voice call out your name, shifting your head to the direction. Your eyes widened slightly, as you mumbled – “Mrs Ikaro..?” The woman forms a warm smile, sending you a small wave from a few distance. You can't believe it, isn't she–! “N/n, N/n..!” You didn't get time to react before you saw a familiar young boy happily running towards you with his arms spread out. Earning a small yelp from you as the toddler gave you a hug, placing your hand on top of the child’s head.

“Gio..?” You muttered the boy’s name, slowly returning the hug, adding up to your surprise as you saw two more familiar faces – walking their way through the passersby. Locking eyes with those keen gray hues, his hair was a rugged mix of copper and sandy highlights, tousled in different areas, creating that messy kind of style. Feeling sort of uneasy within his gaze, you stare over the other. Seeing some similar qualities, more to their facial features, although her hair is leaning towards a lighter sense of shade. Her pupils are the same gray color as the one from their parents.

You didn't expect for your mother’s close acquaintance to come and visit– let alone meeting them again after a long time! “How have you been, sweetheart? You look quite frantic in the middle of your search.” Mrs Ikaro says with a tint of amusement, causing you to lightly scratch the side of your cheek. “I’ve been.. alright! Yep- school’s going fine..!” Mrs Ikaro hummed softly, as her older daughter lifted up a finger to gain your attention, walking up to you. “I’ve heard there's multiple attacks that have happened here in Paris! Also heroes and such–?!” She went beside you as she put a hand over your shoulder, holding her phone up.

“Uh yes, there's–” You tried to reply and view what she’s drawing your attention to, but Gio turned his head upwards — grabbing his sister's arm and leading the phone downwards to let him see. You notice from the corner of your eyes how his brother clicked his tongue in slight annoyance, piercing eyes staring back at you with a tight smile. “Gio- stop, let Y/n see.” Kija hushed, removing her younger brother’s hold on her arm. “Aww.. I didn't see the heroes!” The boy pouts, attempting to jump to be able to see the screen. “It's right there- huh? Sigh, Gio what did you click now.”

“It's the live news..!” The young toddler says with enthusiasm, you blinked twice as you catch the view of the live. Having only seconds to process what it was — when suddenly a loud crash resonated from above the station, making all of you and the few people walking by look up. “What was that?” Mrs Ikaro spoke first, looking back towards her daughter in worry. Part of you is certain that indicates danger, as you then witness people running down urgently from the stairs with a harrowed look on their faces – going over inside the train. You knitted your eyebrows together, grabbing a hold of Kija’s phone and watching the news live to gather up what's happening.

“There's an ongoing akuma attack, you need to find someplace to hide until it's taken care of–” Another violent collision could be heard from above, as Gio hugs you tightly, feeling scared. You pat the boy’s head in an attempt to reassure him, before pulling one of his arms, putting your hand under and quickly crouching down to pick him up. “An attack?! On the very second we arrived, oh no- I need to see this!” Kija clasped her hands together in excitement, as you walked over to Mrs Ikaro and brought Gio into her arms. “Have you lost your mind? It's dangerous!” Soun – the second eldest firmly warned, but Kija sent her brother a bored look.

“He's right, it is dangerous.. anything's at stake there, so it's better if you stay out of harm’s way.” You say, giving back her phone, as you pat her on the shoulder. Kija raised her eyebrows, embarrassment covering your cheeks in realization of your firm tone, on top of that– she's much older than you are..! You gulped down your nerves with a nervous smile, scratching the back of your head. “S-Stay safe, please..” You force out a small cough, turning back and going towards the stairs leading up into the city. “Y/n, oh dear-! But where are you going?” You paused as you heard Mrs Ikaro’s voice, trying to come up with a possible excuse.

“Err- haha.. I’ll try and warn everyone else! J-Just in case..!” You're not technically lying out of your tongue, but it's the only excuse you could think of at the moment. Horrified yells and continuous deafening crash shattered the remaining calmness you felt, reverberating off nearby walls and sending vibrations through the air, the ground trembled as the sound reached its peak, filling the atmosphere with a palpable sense of urgency and tension. Without thinking any further, you step up on the first line of stairs as you swiftly continue moving up, pushing yourself to the side when a few other people are going the opposite way down.

As you reach the main ground of the city, you immediately duck your head, seeing a lot of items flying around, colliding with the buildings and some- crashing upon one another. You notice the possible centerpiece of it all, spotting a figure from a far — it was hard to catch a full glimpse of what the figure looked like with all multiple objects and small constructions darting around. One thing about it did tickle your eyebrows, it has sources on what direction it goes. Ending up in a pile stuck in the wall of the houses, even the ground, it's like- that specific areas are absorbing anything close.. but, you could also be wrong, and maybe it has a different function you haven't yet realized.

“This is a bit unfair, don't you think? It’ll be more of a challenge if you didn't take my weapon away! Wait- now I know what you meant! A challenge for me? Aw, you shouldn't have!” The certain masked feline taunted with a smirk then soon a grunt left his throat when he narrowly avoided a metal object from hitting him, with a swift sidestep, he evaded another strike now coming from the villain’s floating amulet that buries ominous power. It emanated an eerie glow that cast shifting shadows down below. The amulet crackled with malevolent energy, its surface etched with cryptic runes and swirling patterns that seemed to pulse faintly with a sinister light.

The female villain is in a clad suit that shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Her attire was a masterpiece of metal trail designs, fused with a single symbolic type of element, embodying a kinetic aesthetic that mirrored her stern and enigmatic persona. The fabric of her outfit appeared to be woven sleek, metallic fibers that hugged her form like a second skin, enchanting her lithe and daunting presence. Embedded within the fabric were intricate patterns of circuitry, glowing softly with a subtle luminescence that traced her silhouette.

From her shoulders, slender metallic tendrils extended like neutral pathways, pulsing with energy and serving both decorative and functional components of her magnetic ensemble. With a flick of her wrist, a glowing energy resonated from the floating amulet, shooting towards the direction of the masked feline, but his movements were a swerve of evasion and counterattack, each step deliberate and purposeful. Dodging with a cocky grin, effortlessly slipping past the onslaught of striking sense of energy from the amulet. His slit eyes never wavered, somewhat always one step ahead of the next attack.

“You little nimble cat, make it easy for the both of us, and hand me that ring of yours.” The female villain demanded in irritation, flicking her wrist once more and targeting the masked feline’s line of direction. “Sorry, but I have to deny the commitment! Proposing is quite a big deal, only Milady gets that privilege from me!” Chat noir shrugged, as the portion of energy went past the hero’s figure, but a set of magnetic infused objects started getting attracted from where the glowing energy had been shot at. Almost half of the objects damaged already in terms of getting out of its built-in place and swiftly flying towards the direction of the knowing feline.

“What a plan you have there! I see where you're getting at–!” With a rather intimidated expression plastering over his face, he attempted to get a headstart, turning around and sprinting back — thinking of some type of tool around the area that he could use to knock a few of the heavy laid objects off to a non-lethal direction. Although- to his luck, he felt a wave of energy burst and collide with his hand, surrounding a major base of the area, as the objects completely darted to his hand. More to his split second reaction when he saw a bus coming to his view from the right, stopping in time, as the weights of the metal bollard was first to press onto his hand followed by the others, making him crash into the middle side of the bus.

“She's really serious about that connection huh- this won't come off.” Chat muttered below his breath, trying to remove the magnetized fixtures and objects from his hand, mostly half his arm with the size of the bollard stuck onto it also. He looks towards the distantly figured from afar, walking painfully slow, as if cherishing the sense of victory that she caused. The masked feline gulped down, presenting a nervous laugh. “What a poor way to turn the events, after all.. victory was already under my name.” She muses, closing her eyes and flicking her wrist accordingly, the ominous energy from the amulet prepares to launch.

“Not on my watch, Magnetica!” The villainess sharply switches her gaze, barely scraping by in terms of the gray-masked heroine’s attack. The bluenette counted her steps, looping her jumping ropes around Magnetica’s arm, though- the female villain shot off the energy loaded amulet towards Multimouse. As the masked bluenette almost dodges if the opponent didn't take advantage of the heroine’s wrapped jumping rope around her arm and pulled her right when she attempted to avoid her charged source.

“Feeling cornered, quivering mouse?” Multimouse’s lips twist in a frown, as she quickly unwinds her jump rope from Magnetica’s arm. Backing off and putting a hand over the side of her waist, that's slowly forming into a glowing white outline. Her feline teammate has already been restrained, the only best course of action is to lead Magnetica somewhere out of the area before she gets tackled down due to the magnetic source that's now formed beside her waist, in remaining mind that their bug partner will show up any second now. Unless, their red-spotted partner is in need of assistance too and constrained somewhere, then- that would be a major problem.

“You say that, but I am still free from all corners, Magnetica! Is this all you’ve got? Sigh.. I was expecting much more.” Multimouse holds her chin with fluttering eyelashes, forming an upwards smile. Magnetica furrowed her eyebrows, heating up an incoming fused attack and targeting the masked bluenette once more. But Multimouse quickly dodges, a yelp escaping from her mouth as she didn't expect a mailbox to appear from the direction to her left, almost getting hit at her waist – where the magnetic outline is currently laid.

Not wasting much time to let the fixtures and other objects gather from all directions, she briefly jumped over a nearby street light and continued until she perfectly landed on top of a roof. Taunting a high wave from Magnetica, as the female villain scoffed, swiftly if not graciously making her way up towards the rooftop, just in time for Multimouse to launch a quick attack and dart off when she missed. Trying to secure the plan she made inside her head and lead Magnetica out of her troubled-made field.

—

“I told you to stay where it's safe! Why did you follow me out here–”

“Because you're being idiotic yourself! Haven't you grown out of that headspace of yours?” Soun flick the side of your forehead, causing you to rub it multiple times, before sending him a perturbed stare. Both of you are currently crouched down and hiding behind a car, trying to avoid anything that's moving around left and right, getting stamped into the pile. “I'm not being idiotic, I'm just-! Trying to warn people..” You mumbled the last sentence under your breath, however the unkempt auburn haired male somehow heard as he clicked his tongue.

“Wouldn't you argue that mostly everyone knows the danger by now, right when they see floating things crashing around?” You open your lips to speak but then pause, unable to come up with a better reason to put up. “Didn't think so, doesn't this city have heroes? Leave it up to them and don't endanger yourself, that's stupid.” You have a lot of words and reasons pretty much bottled up inside your throat, but you have no choice but to force them down and swallow. You turn your head across the street, seeing a girl around your age trying to scurry her way out of the area without getting hit. An idea popping up inside your head, as you saw a good opportunity to grasp by.

And with that, you hastily stood up from your place and put your bookbag above your head, sprinting across and in the direction of the troubled girl. “Y/n..! Where- that idiot hasn't changed at all.” Soun sighed, putting a palm over the side of his head, looking around for anything he could use to cover if he's thinking about moving from his place as well. You managed to reach the timid girl, grabbing her arm quickly and running forward into the bustling pedestrian lane. A frightened squeak falling from her mouth when a store sign dangerously flies across both of your heads, only an inch to spare you two any injuries. “That was close.. it's okay, we're fine.” You softly comforted, leading her further until you saw a nearby bookstore

A portion of the front wall of it is destroyed, but seemingly there's minimal danger around it, so you swiftly open the door and lead her inside, both of you panting. Spotting a few people peeking from behind the bookshelves, with a concerned look on their faces but also quite puzzled. You hurry over and guide the panic-stricken girl towards the empty aisle, as you put both of your hands onto her shoulders. “H-Ha.. You're safe here, I- need to go..” You remove your hands from her shoulders, wiping the sweats that drip down from your forehead, and turning back to leave the store. The girl stiffened from her place, placing her hand over her forehead as she was sort of recovering from the shock that's been happening at once.

You flinched as you covered your ears from another deafening crash, shifting your attention to the side, your eyes turning small for a second. “C-Chat noir..?” Your voice went pass like a lingering wind, the sound of it unnoticeable. The masked feline visibly trapped within the weight confines of the objects restraining him, keeping him in place. You were about to go ahead and run towards him to help– although you caught a glimmering green light from the corner of your eye. Knowing exactly that signature paw print, you didn't hesitate to move over to the traffic light, seeing how Chat’s weapon is attached to the pole a bit high.

You jump over to grab it, managing to hold onto it with one hand, your feet kicking in the air as you try to pull it down. And– you successfully did, but you ended up landing on your bottom. You stood up, drawing a breath as you remained a proper hold of Chat’s weapon in hand, with your bookbag on the other. And it might've taken you quite a while, but you reach close towards where the feline hero is trapped against. His palm opened, as if he was coming to a silent conclusion that he might need to use his cataclysm in order to free himself. Slit eyes widened upon seeing you, momentarily, at a loss of words. “Y/–.. be careful- be careful!” He stammered, nearly forgetting that he wasn't supposed to know your name– yet at least.

You nod your head with a sheepish smile, rushing over to him, being dumbfounded for a second – darting your eyes left and right, as you look down at the metal staff in your hand. “Stay still, I think this would work..” Chat blinked, curious pupils landing locks on you. “The floor is yours, I’ll keep an eye out for you.” With that, you press hold on the middle paw print of the metal staff, drawing a quick jolt from you as it extends abruptly, dropping your bookbag in the process. The blonde feline couldn’t help but chuckle at your small struggle, he offered out his other hand as your gaze fell on it. “Need some help? What's the big idea?” He questions with a hint of subtle tone in his voice, as you hand him over the metal staff, adjusting its extension – correctly so. 

“Not much, we could use that and angle it beneath this thing to loosen it enough for your hand to slip away through.” You say, tapping the metal bollard that's keeping the masked feline’s hand trapped. “You're onto something,” Chat mused, returning his weapon back in your palm, entrusting the said plan to you. Examining the narrow edges and ways for a moment, you direct the end of the metal staff underneath the tapered edge of the bollard. Pressing it securely, as you push down onto the extended weapon, a silver lining up into your eyes noticing it inches a movement.

Chat remains a watchful eye behind you, and it seems like both of you will have to be on borrowed time as he catches sight of the main key of the chaos — that Paris is currently below into. “Can you do me a quick favor–!” You turned towards the masked feline, almost flinching at his urgent tone, his grin plastered nervously. “Uhm, okay?” You say, switching your gaze back onto the task at hand, though– a half gasp escaping from your lips as Chat moves without delay – his hand wrapping around your upper arm, bringing you close to him. Your side being pressed up against his chest, confusion bubbling up in your system.

“Stay put for me.” Hearing his voice close to your ear, you froze – not knowing how to exactly react. His hand went across your back, grabbing a hold of the other end of his weapon, replicating your action as he applied further pressure. The weight seemingly being lifted off of his restrained hand, slowly moving it out of the area – dropping off of your space out mind, you push down on it as well until he's able to tug his hand free. “Finally, ack- now I feel numb!” The white half portion of outline stamped onto his palm, from the looks of it – attempting to absorb any metal energy, grasping your line of sight. And one thought comes to your mind – 

“Cov..Cover..! We need something to cover it with!” You look around, searching for any fabric or material to coat it. However – a sinister voice made you stop, your jaw tightening in place. “What do we have here? Decided to offer a helping hand? Bad choice, little one.” Magnetica ticked, swirling the energy around her finger. Not sparing her a single stare, you firmly lock your fingers with Chat, concealing the magnetic source so as to not drive any attention of nearby materials. The masked feline was left astounded, words shuffling up inside his head, looking down on your intertwined fingers.

“We can't stay around like this–!” You say, about to lead the blonde feline away from the commotion. “Then why don't you hold tight, lovely~?” Suddenly, you were taken back, both of you sharing a split second stare before you felt his arm swiftly going under your knees as his intertwined hand with yours adjusted around your back – lifting you up from the ground, squeezing your hand with his at the feeling of not likely accustomed to being picked up. “Don't worry, I won't drop you.” He gives you a wink, as you return with a bewildered gaze.

“Chat noir! Hurry and find a safe location for her to bring to. Magnetica and I still have some loose ends we need to talk about.” Multimouse drops down infront of the both of you, an assured smile coloring her lips, as she ready up her weapon. “Got it, where's Sekkibug? Haven't received anything from her.” Chat adjusted his staff from under your knee, the weapon opening up its screen as he dragged his slit pupils across, looking for any notifications – but found none. You gulped down, realization dawning on you. Multimouse hastily dodges Magnetica’s attempted fire, making the villainess groan in fury. “I'm not sure either..!” The bluenette replied, as the masked feline’s expression partially waver.

Closing his eyes for a moment, before opening it up – exhaling a breath. He turned around and pressed the middle end of his staff, taking both of you into great heights as he landed on top of a roof. Continuing to run further into the direction, you gaze up – seeing the flicker of concern in his features. Now.. you didn't know just how hard it would get having to control both your life and the life of your counterpart. How will you even tell him you're fine without hovering over too much information? Should you just.. keep it to yourself? You don't know.. it didn't take much to scoot close to your urge.

“Maybe.. Sekkibug’s just running late? She wouldn't want you to worry too much..” Chat spared you a swift glance, his lips turning into a small smile as he lightly chuckled. “..I hope so, haha.. Am I being too obvious?” He hops down from a building and into a small alleyway. “A little bit.. I can't blame you.” You say, as he sets you down, with you feeling more comfortable now that your feet are touching the concrete ground. “Of course, Milady has this on a chokehold, you know.” He snickered, putting a hand over his chest, you playfully shook your head at his statement, as you looked over to his  leather belt – suddenly getting an idea.

“Hand me your belt for a second.” Chat perk up a brow, before following up with your request, undoing his belt around his lower waist as he lends it to you. “This would be a better replacement, check it from time to time to make sure it hasn't loosened.” You say, untangling your fingers with his as you bandage his magnetic fused hand with the belt, wrapping the remaining leather tail around his arm. “Comes in handy, hm? Sharp thinking.” You blinked, as you sent him an unamused stare once you figured out his intended pun.

“I think Multimouse could use your help dealing with Magnetica, you have hero duties to do. She wouldn't want you slacking around.” You clasped your hand together behind your back with a close-eyed smile. Though you stumbled on your footing, caused by the masked feline placing his hand on top of your head and ruffling your hair. “Ehh–!” You put both of your palms onto his hand that's above your head, stopping his relentless act. “Not even a thank you? I’ll go if you say it.” Chat teased, somehow slipping by your grasp as he gave you a pinch on your cheek, a pout forming – feeling his claws lightly digging at your skin. “W-We're even actually..!” You pointed out, your words slightly out of tone and muffled from the way your cheek is lifted up than the other.

“Oh, you're not wrong, aww.. how about your name? That's it!” You let out a small sigh, there isn't anything wrong with giving him your name – it's not like you’ll regularly meet him anyway, aside from maybe your counterpart. You gave in, muttering it under your breath. “It's.. Y/n.” His cat ear twitched, a smile forming onto his lips. “Y/n, already sounding too precious? Don't doubt it, I'll see you again soon, Y/n~” He coos, not giving you much time to react as he smoothly lifts up your hand and places a gentle kiss on the back of it. Bleaming in another upwards smirk, as he pressed the middle button of his staff – propelling him up accordingly, landing onto the roof and quickly turning his way back into the previous location. Leaving you stricken in your place, your lips opening to speak but it's already too late.

You feel gentle shuffling under your sleeves, as the red Kwami smoothes her way out of the ends – quickly twirling in the air as she floats up to face you. “He can be confusing sometimes, or is it only me?” Tikki aligned her tiny hand under her chin, as you shook your head with a small smile. “No Tikki, he is confusing.” You quirk an eyebrow, tracing a gentle caress of your finger along the side of the red Kwami’s face, evoking a soft giggle from Tikki. Nevertheless, another deafening crash has erupted, slicing through the sense of your hearing. The sound was a violent crescendo, a chorus of chaos reverberating through the urban labyrinth. Distant car alarms joined the dissonant symphony of the city’s unrest. You and Tikki look at each other with concern expressions, one thing is for sure —

“The people are counting on us,” You clutch your hand, glancing in both directions before saying — “Tikki, spots on..” The red Kwami nodded as she soon ascended towards your earring, the tone of your voice lingering firm yet to not attract unwanted attention in the process of the transformation. A mixture of glowing light pink and white firstly transferring from the top until it reaches to the limit below your lead vibrant loafer shoes. Form-fitting suit hugging your skin, you unclip your yoyo that's around your waist, refusing to let  another second pass by as you target your yoyo upwards across the balcony railing. The yoyo wraps around the spindle, prompting you towards it with a tug of your fingers onto the string. You effortlessly land on top of the railing, your foot balancing, as you scan a higher building to wrap your yoyo around for a brisk swing. And once you did, you quickly threw your yoyo towards the far off chimney, clinging it around.

You tug on the string once more, jumping off the balcony railing, the yoyo sending you into great heights, swinging by the area of the city. As when you undo your yoyo out of its current source, you proceed to target it around another and another, continuously swinging further without delay until you can now see the prime focus that triggered a harsh setting of metropolitan tumult. You narrowly avoided a soaring street sign, as you set your feet onto the slim base, pushing it downwards as you leap off of it mid air. Immediately undo your yoyo from its clinged place, retracting it back to your hand as you hastily turn back, circling it around the middle base of the street sign before it could hit the ground.

Without any second thoughts, launching it towards the main magnetic source of it all. Blue eyes landing onto your form, both of you making eye contact as you tilt your head to the side, signaling her to move aside. The bluenette grins, buying more of Magnetica’s time in those cowering seconds. “Chat, on your left!” Your voice cut through the atmosphere, undoubtedly earning the masked feline’s attention as he looked over his shoulder. The expression on your face as when he didn't follow through in time, leading to you pulling onto your strings as you land onto the ground, dunking your head — releasing your yoyo around the street sign, letting it go by.

“Milady–” A grunt slips out of the blonde feline’s mouth, when your yoyo envelopes around his abdomen, tugging him towards you — in terms of avoiding Magnetica’s attempted fused attack from making contact on your teammate’s figure. A small mistake revolving your part, as Chat almost collided with you — but the masked feline skimmed his arm across your back before you could potentially stumble backwards from the close proximity. You look up, meeting his seeping green hues, he charms you with a wry smile. “What took you so long, Cuddlebug? I’ve missed you..!” Chat whines, and you are about to open your mouth to speak although your eyes widen when he leans in with his lips pursed together.

Your voice trails off an awkward – “Aha..” as you raise your palm and press it under the masked feline’s jaw, leaning your head back as you lightly push his face away – making your indication clear. “Chat, focus! We can't afford to risk anything right now, Paris is all in shambles!” You say with a resolute tone, your eye catching another attempted strike belonging to Magnetica, targeting from behind the masked feline. Undoing your yoyo around him with seconds to spare, your hand gripping onto your partner’s arm as you dragged Chat to the side – barely on time. “If it isn't Sekkibug who has finally joined my field, you're late. It’ll be all the more satisfying when your miraculous is in my possession.” Magnetica smiles evilly, a scoff then running down her lips once Multimouse goes for an attack.

As both of you and Chat look over towards Magnetica, the blonde feline returns back to face you. Playfully letting out a laugh, making you switch your gaze back at him with a confused stare, especially the frown that's visible on your lips. “She's just jealous, Milady. Obsessed with me in fact!” Chat stated aloud, earning an even more confused glance from you. “I– don't need to know that, Chat.” You sigh, unimpressed by the masked feline’s statement. He sparks you a teasing smirk, brushing his shoulder. “Is Cuddlebug the one getting jealous, purr–haps?” The masked feline murmurs, as you firmly cross your arms at his teasing claim. 

“That's the last thing on my mind, Kit-Kat.” You hummed with a close-eyed smile, lifting up one of your hands as you clatter his bell with the tip of your finger. “It's still on your mind either way, Milady~” Chat remarked, right as you smoothly walked past him, shifting his head towards you. “Enough meowing, and begin pouncing, Chat. Leave it for later.” You wave your finger, not turning back as you let your yoyo fall from your hand — before spinning it simultaneously, with an unwavering smile, continuing to walk towards Magnetica. “Meow?” The black suited feline adds, while he leans over his extended metal staff with his chin hovering over the top, his smug grin very much visible.

Moving with precision, you quicken your steps until you were sprinting towards Magnetica, her glinted eyes counter your attack — the floating amulet in the nick of blasting a charged shot, although it was a slim chance it could’ve ended in her favor, you manage to barely tangle your yoyo around the amulet, causing Magnetica to step back to stop your attempt. And that might’ve just given you a perfect picture of where the akuma might be. A solid reason.

You wrapped your yoyo around an approaching fixture – going for Multimouse’s line of direction, remaining in a blink of an eye as you pull it down for it to meet the concrete ground instead. While the masked feline kept you covered in the course, a swift rotation of his metal staff was enough to conquer her strike. “Say, since you're acquainted with magnets,” Chat trails off with a curious yet flowy tone, turning his body to the side – carelessly dodging a detached car door, as he spun his weapon, brushing his shoulder a bit before continuing. “Do you agree that Milady and I have that magnetic pull between me and her?”

The visible deadpan faces that you, Multimouse and even Magnetica weren't hard to notice. “Are you that foolish? Don’t question me about that!” The female villain’s level of hatred and anger couldn't suffice much longer, letting her power do its work as she shot at a specific spot. Her unexpected sidestep causes you to retract back, your shoulder accidentally meeting with Chat’s chest, as he places his hand across your shoulder in a gesture to make sure you're okay. “That was a bad moment to ask,” The masked feline chuckled, however your eyes widened as a street sign was headed both your way. It was indeed a cycle of mess, as you got a small glimpse of Magnetica’s evil grin in the midst of her fighting with Multimouse. And before you could even make sense of the reason she's grinning, there’s not enough time to process it.

You moved quickly, with you spinning your yoyo to defend against the overwhelming magnet-attracted objects, while Chat did the same with his metal staff, rotating the said weapon to retaliate any close encounters. Despite that however, with the amount of strong magnetic effect around, Chat's hold on his weapon was slipping off, as it went flying in an angle upwards. “I swear, my own weapon is lacking loyalty!” You notice the mishap at the corner of your eye, fortunate enough – it was about to head past you, and then you wait for that small chance to time it right. As you were able to grab a firm hold of the metal staff, the force caused you to get pulled for a moment towards its direction but your traction against the ground kept you on foot.

The masked feline went over to you, in order to help — although, that only resulted in a mistake as you both weren't expecting one of the city fixtures to come out of nowhere, propelling you both into the air and as soon you and Chat landed onto the ground, knocking the wind out of both of you. Mixture of your grunts and huffs corresponding with the impact, as the two of you rolled over the road – Chat kept a tight hold around you, his other hand placed against the back of your head. The side of your face pressed against his chest, ending with you on top of him. A blush forms onto the blonde feline’s features, quicken beats of his heart didn't go unnoticed by your eardrum. Pretending a cough, he played it off –

“She's giving mixed signals, wouldn't you say so, Milady?” Pushing both of your hands onto the concrete ground, Chat blinks twice before slipping his hand from your head and laying it against your cheek, allowing you to lift your head to face him. His slit pupils are shrinking slightly, focusing solely on you and his dangerous pace of heartbeats. For him, it felt like time went by so slowly for a moment, unable to keep himself from getting lost within it. Those eyes that he could only wish will set on him one day – just like his that already have locked themselves onto you since. He didn't if so realize that only a mere two seconds had transpired in between, he felt your hand placed on top of his own – heavens.. he can't look away-

“Gnh-?” A confused expression flickers on his face after you block his face with your palm, as you then spoke. “She has plenty of signals around already, what's left for us is to take the hint, come on.” You say, removing your hand from his face and pulling yourself up, with your other hand holding his – helping him up on his feet. “It's you-! Oh I've been searching for you, have you been hiding like a little coward?” A breaking sound of a voice made both of you turn your heads, your expression wavering when you saw Multimouse landed roughly against the ground from Magnetica’s use of attack. “Multimouse..!” You sling up your yoyo back to your hand, gripping it as you run towards your teammate to aid her.

Chat extended his weapon accordingly, making sure to gain more pressure around it to ensure it doesn't slip off again. He didn't move from his place just yet, his gaze concentrating on Magnetica’s shift of attention. “P-Please! I-I found it, I found it..!” The person shakens, his appearance wrinkled with sweat and fear, he tries to walk towards the female villain – but his foot is stuttering to make a step. His hand up in the air, holding a bangle bracelet, its silver base shining within the sunlight. “Hand it over, now.” He flinched from Magnetica's tone, he nodded fearfully, attempting to hurry – but the bracelet was suddenly getting pulled by one of the magnetic sources, the look of panic on his face was inevitable. “N-No! I-It's falling off!” He scraped his teeth, trying to pull the bracelet back, but it was futile as his hold vanished from it, and the only thing he could do was reach his hand out.

Magnetica’s eyes shot wide, she moves to the bracelet’s source of direction, the chaos of fixtures avoiding her presence – as to not land any hit on her figure. Her field of vision kept intact on the bangle bracelet, though – she blinks when it stops, a black gloved hand securing hold of it. The faint sound of his sharp claw accidentally grazing onto the silver base, she went silent and immovable on her stance. The masked feline shrugs her piercing glare, he adjusted the bracelet right on his knuckles – providing a taunting act despite any consequences. “Is this your kind of style? Silver with this design is nice and all,” He turns his hand like so, as if examining the bangle bracelet, brushing his thumb on the intricate patterns. “But gold could maybe suit it better.”

CLINKKK..!!

A low huff came out of his mouth, his grip tensed around his staff, the screeching noise of metal dragging down on metal was an unsettling feeling on the eardrums. His unnatural instinct saved him from the sharp top point of a detached street lamp, the glass breaking in the process of his defense. Bits of multiple shards that explode close to his face, causing him to lower his head, front hair casting down on the middle bridge of his nose. “I guess you didn't like the suggestion?” His voice sways through, putting up an innocent grin as he lifts his head up after. Then followed by a fused shot coming his way, dodging shouldn't be that hard – but the approaching magnet source was both attracting his weapon and the bracelet, stubbornly leading him towards it rather than avoiding it.

From where you're standing, you saw the scene happening after tending Multimouse and helping her from any encounters with the fixtures –  especially since she's also at a disadvantage with the glowing white outlite stuck on the side of her waist. It comes with an itch for you to head towards your feline companion as well, although — a faint gasp passes from your lips. The huge shadow dimming the sun from the masked feline’s view, Chat could see it, Multimouse could see it, the few people standing distance away could see it, Magnetica could sense it – You thought you could prevent it if you could just wrap your yoyo around and use any other support nearby to stop it. But you already hesitated, the timing won't be right.

Only the best course of action is to use your voice.. even if it’ll barely help or it will, you always knew not to take any chances if not necessarily.

“Chat noir– Cataclysm!!” You shouted through the barriers of your throat, the blonde feline’s expression shifted – that flashy smirk lining up. He lifts up his right hand, tossing the bracelet up high, a firm tone elevates, as he activates his ability, following the word — “Cataclysm!” A bubbling void-like particle floats on his palm, destruction awaiting the touch it places. The car alarm rang above, its shadow dimming onto his figure moreover, a momentary advantage for Magnetica. Quickly dissolve as the feline hero’s hand presses firm onto the car, turning it into nothing but fragments of ashes, as it falls like leaves onto the ground. “Give that back, that doesn't belong to you!” Magnetica charges towards him, a nick of time as he leaps up to retrieve the tossed bracelet, then landing back.

“How about a trade~? Where is your akuma hiding from?” He puts the bracelet back onto his knuckles, catching a quick glimpse of the masked bluenette dashing from the corner of his eye. “Do you take me as an idiot? How about handing me your miraculous first!” He counters her moves and hits, receiving a scowl from the female villain. “Two for one?” You tap the tip of your finger onto the front of your yoyo, your chin tilted up a bit, wondering. They halted for a moment, Magnetica through clenched teeth– looking at you. You sent her a careless smile, hinting at an ideal opportunity. “If so, that bracelet might be made out of lucky— charm..!” You throw your yoyo upwards, a burst of shining red particles starts to surround it, creating a specific object. And, happens to be a.. chain necklace?

You reach up and obtain the red and black small spotted item before any magnet source could attract it. Multimouse ready her weapon at hand, attempting to catch Magnetica off guard – as the villainess steer her gaze at the masked bluenette. Both sides eager to overtake and defeat the other, while the black suited feline sweeps in to join the battle dance. “A thin necklace? What plan am I going to do with this?” You scan around, a little surprised mumble flowing out of your lips, as you spin your yoyo to your side – stopping a metal object from stealing a hit. You knitted your eyebrows together, determined to figure it out. You kept a firm hold of the chain necklace. “There has to be a way.”

“S-Sekkibug..!” A male voice from behind drags you from your thoughts, he hurries over towards you, cowardly trying not to get hurt as he reaches you. Then when you turn back to face him, he desperately holds your hand with both of his, squeezing your palm shakily. “P-Please, you need to help me! I don't wanna get fired from my job! T-That bracelet needs to get returned to Ms Heima..!” He begged, you blinked twice at his request. Ms Heima? Who exactly is her..? Or is he- referring.. Routing your gaze back to the female villain, you wave off the many clouds above your head.

To Magnetica..? The slick shine of the silver bracelet manages to catch your eye, clamped right onto Chat’s knuckles. A spark twinkle around your pupils, picturing an idea inside your head. Your lips gracing into a smile, you face back the panicked individual infront of you, as you gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Don't you worry, I think I know exactly what to do in order to return it around her wrist.” You reassured, a hint of mischief in your tone yet he didn't seem to notice. “R-Really?! Oh- thank you so much, Sekkibug..!” He bow down his head onto your hand in gratitude, as you scratch the back of your head from the unexpected gesture. “No need to thank me, we’ll handle it. Please, stay safe.” He lifts up his head, nodding eagerly before scurrying off. Looking down on the thin necklace in your hand, you were about to go on and head towards your feline teammate.

But it seems like he already beat you to it. His arm trailing across your back, supporting you as he swivels you around and against his side. Orienting his metal staff, fending off the close approaching fixtures from meeting you off guard, both of you slowly walking backwards. “Who would've known that you had plenty of time for chit chatting?” He muses, with a little edge to his undertone than usual. Your thoughts got a bit shambled up to reply instantly, shifting your gaze. “Isn't that my job, Cuddlebug?” He leans in close, his breathing hovering over yours — quickly shutting him off as you press the back of your closed hand against his cheek, turning his face back ahead.

“He asked me for help, I had to. And it might've just given me an idea, can you hand me the bracelet? I have a plan.” He hummed playfully with close eyes, before unexpectedly sliding his arm off your back, making you wobble backwards – your foot traction on the ground wasn't enough, as it was at that point – relying on your back heel to balance yourself. “Chat–!?” You called out in the middle of your fall, though– he still managed to seize you before then, his hand capturing yours in a swift intertwine. It occurred quicker than what you could comprehend in your daily studies — and the only thing your mind centered on entirely was the silver bracelet that seamlessly slips over your intertwined hand with his til it settles around your wrist. “How many times have you fallen for me, Milady~?”

A tint of puzzlement looms onto your face, ignoring his question altogether as you pull yourself up using his lent hand. A last dot of time when you drag him over behind you – switching places as you spin your yoyo in shield of Magnetica’s charged shot. “Almost but not quite, Magnetica.” You provoked, your face displaying a composed and unbothered expression. “I can't tell you just how much I despise bugs! Bring me back what's mine!” Magnetica seethes, bawling her fists as she carves a path towards both you and the masked feline. “The tables are turning around, Magnetica! Actually I can invite one more visitor..!” Multimouse chuckles, her jump rope slowly glowing bright pink as she activates the ability — “Multitude!” The exact replica of her appeared, an addition to her defense against the overwhelming metals around the city. “Oh I didn't cower, you insolent mouse. After your little bug friend drops like a fly under my wrath, you’ll certainly be next!” Magnetica laughs evilly, as the twin Multimouses share each other a dismissive look.

“Saving me for last? See, I told you she's obsessed with me, Milady.” Chat grins, his remark filling your brain with loading errors, as you couldn't help but facepalm yourself. However a beeping alert transcends from the blonde feline’s ring, as he crosses his slit pupils down to check, roughly three charges remaining. “Nevermind, it's reversed, I’ll be the first..!” Chat nervously jokes, as he lunges towards Magnetica, thrilled for a fight despite the short amount of time he has left. You lead your yoyo back to your hand, raising your wrist and locking the lucky charm’s necklace onto the bracelet, a small click resounding after. Yet abruptly — a startled noise came from the masked feline’s direction. His metal staff overpowering his grip, throwing him off into a bunch of metal fixtures. The horizontally extended weapon against his stomach pinning him firmly, struggling to break free.

“You bit your own tongue, how interesting!” Magnetica mocked, firing a fused charge behind her continuously – a sabotage towards the masked bluenette who’s right on her tail. You glance for a second at your feline companion, a sense of urgency showering down. For some reason, he's always been at risk, you don't particularly get it. However he hasn't shown any deep concerns about the thought, but.. that's also the reason why that reminds you so much of.. him. Risky and cocky, flirty also. It's so distinctively him, even his luck is outwardly against him too. You find it silly, but even with the latter– worried also. So through and through, you wouldn't allow such an ending. And you're certain, neither does your other teammate.

And then you.. waited.

Standing still, making eye contact with the villainess — till you can snatch the opportunity, and snatch you did. Once she even angled her fused amulet at her main target, it was already too late to back down from. As the magnetic charge shot in your direction, you sprinted forward and threw her silver bracelet directly at her as well. Both item and magnetic energy barely hit one another from the force. Magnetica’s lips widened, as she retrieved her bracelet, returning it onto her wrist, only noticing the thin red and black spotted necklace locked onto her bracelet at a moment’s notice. You use the front of your yoyo as prevention from her magnetic shot, your yoyo glowing white at the outline. Point on the dot, you smirked. Going exactly how you blue printed inside your head.

A beep rings in your senses, a major sand loss on the hourglass. Your eye twitch, launching your yoyo towards Magnetica, an already satisfied smile on her face at two Multimouses hurdling to defend against the bundle of city fixtures and scraps rushing their way from behind her. She merely yawns in indifference, turning her body to the side, resulting in your yoyo to go past her. Then.. “Wait, why is this–” she froze from her place, a faint sound of the swaying chain necklace connecting to your yoyo’s magnetic source. Her arm was forced to go with it, causing her whole body to be pulled back. She crashes into her own pile of metal ruins, grunts leaving her throat. “Multimouse, destroy the amulet!” You yelled, dodging the heavy swirling metals that fortunately and unfortunately got attracted by your yoyo’s magnetic source. The two bluenette’s turned their heads, before nodding in unison. “We will, Sekkibug!”

“No..! This can't be happening! You.. Sekkibug, what did you do!?” Fierce anger displayed in her eyes, not receiving any answer from you as she could only watch as her amulet broke into pieces onto the ground. Her eyes closed in defeat, as the ominous black and glowing purple butterfly was revealed and out of the bridge of control. All of the magnetic energy slowly falters and loses grasp of connection, falling one by one from either the air or its stamped place. You halt in your step once you're face to face with the akumatized victim. Grabbing her wrist and unclipping the lucky charm necklace from the bracelet, and swiftly returning your yoyo back to your hold. Staring up at the escaping akuma as you took some steps back.

“We had seen through your tricky disguise, evil akuma.” You glide your finger across the middle of your yoyo, as it opens up evenly and reveals the inner dimension. Latching the strings onto your pointer and middle finger gracefully, slinking the yoyo across the down line of the strings as you revert it back and swathe it around your other wrist. Then abruptly retract the movements, spinning your yoyo synchronously. “Don't fret now, and face justice!” Locking your sight onto the flailing akuma, with due time you throw your yoyo towards its flying progression, having a successful capture of the akuma as your yoyo immediately closes back, momentarily snaring the akuma. “Trapped ya’!”

You stare down at your yoyo, pressing its main front, triggering it to open as the newly white butterfly flutters out. “Fly high, purified butterfly.” You bid the butterfly a soft farewell, lending your hand under it for a bit, as the white butterfly continues to fly into the blue skies. Another beep from your earring scoops your attention, as you press a finger on top of it, the third spots already flickering out. You wouldn't want to know how much your feline teammate has left, so with that, you drag your hand downwards before throwing the red and black spotted object into the air, firmly shouting —

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

The lucky charm item bursts into multiple tiny ladybugs, all of them splitting into different directions, clearing out the awful mess that the city endured in the present time. And soon, returning the akumatized victim back into her original appearance, her eyes flutter open rapidly. Looking around with a fuddled expression, before standing up on her own. “How did I end up here?” She questions, an addition to her baffled mind as she saw the two– three? female heroes infront of her, and then a masked cat-like male running up next to the bug spotted heroine. She wasn't expecting to meet the superheroes face to face, but she guessed wrong. A curious spark on her face as you all did a signature gesture. “Pound it!” And on the spot, the masked feline’s ring last charge blinks nonstop as a warning of de-transformation.

“Happened twice now! The bad luck is growing on me day by day.” Chat cried out as a dramatic effect, taking his metal staff from his back. “I wonder when my lucky charm will come and save my bad omen, one day~” The blonde feline sent you a sneaky look from the corner of his eyes, a hint in his message that you half figured out but– half not. “Chat, you need to go, you're about to change back–” You pause when he unexpectedly lifts up your chin by the top edge of his staff. “You're such a worrywart, Cuddlebug.” He teased, as he pulled back quickly and turned around, and just like in that alleyway — leaving you stricken and confused at his direct and indirect actions. Or are you the only one not processing very direct clues from your feline teammate?

“Ahem..” Ms Heima cleared her throat, as she dusted her uniform. You shifted your attention onto the akumatized victim and Multimouse, both of them blinking at what they just witnessed. “Well- Miss..! Haha- if you want I can escort you back to your home? Office? I wouldn't mind.” Multimouse saves the awkward silence, as the woman shakes her head. “No, I'm fine. I think I already troubled you all enough, I’ll call a taxi.” She says with a small smile, bringing up her phone, as Multimouse nodded in her decision. “Stay safe, ma’am. My partner and I will be on our way as well.” You say, as she gave you a nod of her own. And with that, you and Multimouse go on separate ways, traversing effortlessly into the city of Paris. 

Locating your safe spot to de-transform, you drop down onto the corner alleyway near to your house, right across the street. You look left and right, securing if anyone’s shadows will appear in the corner. When you saw none of the sorts, you closed your eyes and softly muttered — “Spots off.” a swift moment transpires as you change back into your civilian form. Your kwami flying out of your earring, you cupped your palms together, as the tired Tikki lay down softly in it, the urge for energy causes her hunger to intensify. “Y-Y/n..” Tikki mumbles, as you quickly pat your pockets for food. A cheery smile hovering over your lips, before taking out the mini bread bun from your left pocket.

As you undo the silk strings, you unwrap it from its plastic, then hand it into Tikki’s small hands after. You let Tikki finish consuming her food, as she smiles in content before smoothing her way inside your sleeves for cover. You got out of the alleyway, a dark colored car infront of your house managed to tickle your eyebrow in curiosity to why it's parked purposely there. By then– you remembered your mother’s supposed visitors. A mixture of panic pierce into your heart, four seconds counter on the pedestrian countdown. You run hastily towards the lane, crossing the street in time as you drew a breath. Your legs took you infront of your front door, not knowing if you should knock or ring the doorbell– or just walk in..! Well– you already erase option three in the clouds above your head.

The doorbell would be preferable, atleast you think so.. you shake your head, okay– you’ll just go ring the doorbell and hope your mother answers the door instead..! And if not– well, just go come up with some light lies, like got trapped in the midst of the akumatization or something? Yup that's clearly reasonable– you paused.. a ring from your phone causing you to look back and snatch your phone a bit too hard from your back pocket. Strange glances from passersby throwing your way, you quickly press the doorbell – before facing the door— but there isn't any door anymore, only an opened one. Your eyes slowly go up to meet those glinted gray hues, his severe gaze darting on yours, you gulped down awkwardly.

“Did being a reporter work out, Y/n?”

Why do you have a feeling that he's not going to easily let that go..?

Previous & Subsequent Chapters | 01 | 02 | 03 | Loading...

[flushwithdarlings]

Argentei was not good with Spite, not to begin with anyway.

There is an old, deep fear of demons and possession that sits in the back of their mind. You know how it is in Thedas: a classic case of The Bad and Tragic Childhood Incident. Honestly, it's a pretty reasonable fear to have, regardless. And they were largely fine until the biggest contract they've ever taken involved dealing with demons, spirits, and the Fade on a nigh daily basis. Simply forcing their way through became more difficult then.

On a good day, they're okay as long as they have a hand on a weapon at all times. 

On an alright day, they also take tinctures to numb the fear. Thankfully, this is most days. 

On a bad day, the fear can be constricting. Along with everything else, they'll forgo their magic entirely and go blades only.

They thought that they hid it well. Nobody seemed to really notice or, if they did, they had the decency to keep their worry to themselves (they did notice and they did worry).

But then on one particularly bad day, about a week after the Ossuary, Argentei tried to cut Lucanis' throat. 

It wasn't their fault or Lucanis' fault or Spite's fault. It was just unfortunate that Spite wandered into Argentei's room while they were in the grip of a nightmare. Still half trapped in fire and smoke, they woke in a dazed state to Spite looming over them in the dark. Like a cornered animal, fight or flight kicked in and they lashed out.

No real damage was done but they felt awful about it for days even though Lucanis and, after an explanation, Spite did not blame them. But Argentei did not want something like that to happen again. It could not happen again so they needed to find a way to be at ease around at least Spite.

On Emmrich's advice, they started slow. Lucanis and Spite were so, so patient with them, the way they'd answer all their questions and unfurl their wings to allow them to pass a shaky hand along the ghostly feathers.

"So...I was wondering..." Argentei began, their fear giving way to curiosity after weeks of slowly becoming more and more comfortable in Spite's presence.

"Yes?" 

"Can you feel it? When I do this?" Delicately, they rubbed a thumb in a circle against the tip of a quill. To them, there was a feeling of the Fade coiling around their fingers but nothing completely tangible. To Lucanis and Spite, however...

A small shiver passed down Lucanis spine but he remained still, staring rigidly forward. "Ah, yes," he replied, perhaps slightly too quickly. "We both can." 

"I. Like. This. We. Bo-"

Lucanis wrestled back control to loudly interrupt with an annoyed huff. "Ah ah ah! Mierda, Spite, be professional."

Argentei's eyes widened in surprise for a moment at Spite's frank admission and then they laughed, half amused, half delighted. "Really? Well in that case..." Feeling emboldened, they pressed their fingers slightly deeper into the smokey plummage and stroked their hand down. Then they repeated the motion, as if they were fussing over one of the messenger crows back home. If they kept telling themselves that's all this was, maybe things wouldn't be so bad.

The shiver turned into wave of relaxation that spread across Lucanis back and up his neck. Completely unbidden, a quiet sigh slipped past his lips. Spite's wings flared further open suddenly and Argentei immediately dropped their hand, jolting back with a hurried step.

"Sorry," they said with a sheepish grin. "Was that too much?" 

Lucanis hesitated for a moment, torn between the answer he should give and the answer he wanted to give, the one that was far too difficult to entertain right now. He forced himself to go with what he should give: "Perhaps...for today."

In the corner of his eye, Spite grumbled and sulked against the wall. 

[lovestruck-butterfly]

audios i need

Angel getting hurt and David freaking out and fussing over them

Possesive and jealous Asher when they go out to eat and when Ash steps away someone flirts with Baaabe

Lovely brings in a stray cat and when Vincent comes home he finds them on the floor playing (the cats name is Fang)

Gavin and FL move into a bigger place together and they have Caelum over to show him around.

I need more Aaron fluff content. And not a sleep aid just pure wholesome content where they are doing something together over the weekend.

ANYTHING WITH AGGRO

just a few that have been going through my head lately. Love the sleep aids but missing the storytelling content a bit.

[dandelion-blues]

#3 What if...

Garmadon becomes aware that Misako abandoned Lloyd when he was still at Darkly's?

Lloyd knew from a young age that he wasn’t normal. That glowing red eyes and long, sharp canines were inhuman, but they also brought him close to his father.

After all, it was the skulkins that worked at Darkly’s School for Bad Boys that told him (well in not so quiet whispers he happened to overhear) that they thought Lord Garmadon was looking at them when Lloyd peered at them with his red eyes. However, that’s where much the similarities ended, for no evil warlord was a short eight year old boy with a bowl-cut. However much he tried to imitate his father from the terrified rumors he heard of him, he always fell short. He couldn’t be an evil genius, or a merciless warrior, or a cruel warlord because he was too good, but what could they know? He was going to rule by his father’s side and they would bow before him someday.

“Muwahahahaha,” Lloyd laughs evilly.

‘Then, the other students and teachers would fear me for my power and respect me as my father’s son. They would stop calling me a monster, or else they would pay!’ Lloyd thinks practicing his evil laugh some more.

‘But then if I hurt others would I finally be a monster on the inside too if I did that?’ Lloyd thinks. ‘No, thinking of others is bad! That’s how I failed my Bad Ethics 101 class!’

‘Ugh, that’s not important, what’s important is delivering this letter, no message, to my dad.’

Lloyd scrambles down the hallway quickly trying to avoid the other students, lest he’ll be on the bad end of a vicious prank. Lloyd had burning questions, no missives, he needed answered! Missives he hoped would get answered on this letter:

Dear Lord Garmadon,

This is Lloyd Garmadon your son and future right hand man to your dark empire! I was just wondr wand thinking if I could skip school and come work with you now. Now I no I am only 8, but I have a lot of pott potanc potencial, and would love like to start working with you!

Oh and I have your red eyes! And fangs! Does your skin ever feel really itchy too? Like your um too big or is it too small? I don’t now but I think you get it, cause you now every thing.

But if you no every thing why didn't you ever come see me?

I’m sure whoever my mom is left me here so I could work with you when I gradate, but I want to start now and I am ready. I was left here at 3 so I had lots more time to learn and prak practa practice being evil than the others. So please please let me work with you!

Love From Lloyd Garmadon,

Son of the Super Evil Lord Garmadon

and Future Dark Ruler

Lloyd spent the whole day in the library perfecting his letter. He wanted it to be perfect. Thankfully, he knew how to read and spell somewhat well, but the teachers never thought learning how to read or write beyond the minimum was that important.

But Lloyd finished his letter, and it was finally ready to be delivered to his dad. He just hoped that his dad would answer, and even better if he could get out of this school and work with his father!

Lloyd clutched the letter carefully as if it was his most prized possession, and hurried to the mailroom. After all, even evil kids have parents and guardians and need a way of sending things to and from the school.

Notes:

The letter has grammar and spelling mistakes on purpose, but I felt it necessary to include, as I feel that Lloyd hasn’t had the most well-rounded education, not to mention that I sure didn’t spell too well when I was 8 either.

Needless to say, this letter does reach Garmadon, and he is furious with Misako. He will do whatever it takes to take care of his son since apparently no one else will!

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