Havoc

[riihavoc]

⚠️Trigger Warning: Contains themes of emotional and psychological abuse, manipulation, exploitation, trauma, and graphic metaphors of violence and suffering related to toxic love.

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Do you want love like mine?

I've died repeatedly when love WEARS a human face. What seemed like a hug and kiss was a shackle that bound me to EXPLOITATION. That cursed ‘I love you’ was a BLINDFOLD to the cruel hands that tightened around my throat. And each smile that PROMISED FOREVER was a chainsaw that MEANT to sever EVERY VERSION of me—feeding my rotten flesh to vultures circling overhead, hungry for what was left of me.

Love isn’t a word—it’s a phantom, a PSYCHOPATHIC KILLER. A predator wearing BORROWED faces and STOLEN voices. One who studies monsters not to imitate—but TO SURPASS. It collects sins like trophies and wears severed bodies like TWISTED EULOGIES.

Love is a charmer—MANIPULATIVE like Gacy—hiding in plain sight, VEILING ITS CLAWS before it strikes like a SEASONED BUTCHER. It has no pattern, but it’s patient and observant like Keyes—SLITTING OPEN your isolation and FEASTING on your vulnerability.

It sneaks up on you, draping itself in SWEET FANTASY—telling you YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE, giving you a love story that is ENVIED BY EVERYONE. It WORSHIPS you like a divine, crafts you a HOLY CROWN, cradles you in a SACRED SHRINE—only to CORRUPT your mind with a surreal, twisted reality. It calls you a GOD, only to MAKE you kneel—STRIPPING your crown and ROBBING the grace it once made you feel, then SEALS YOU ROTTEN in a once-sacred shrine turned BLOODSTAINED HELL. Totally exploited and manipulated, you were told—‘IT'S YOU, NOT ME.’ And you’ll believe it. You’ll question your own SANITY until the TRUTH turns slippery.

They see LOVE as something WORTH chasing. With a sinister pattern, it can claim millions of WILLING VICTIMS—smiling even when they're bleeding, convinced that THEY DESERVED TO BE RIPPED OPEN. Love is a true harbinger of manipulation and delusion—watching you shackle yourself in isolation as it leaves you in its DEN OF DESTRUCTION.

They say I was lucky—FUCK YOU and look at me. A BODY STITCHED TOGETHER like a HIDEOUS MONSTER, chest ripped open and a HEART THAT FESTERS. I am no longer human but a creation no god would foster. And while you’re saying, ‘May this kind of love find me.’ I was desperately scraping my way out of A STORY THAT WAS RITUALLY SLAUGHTERING ME.

[riihavoc]

🐈‍⬛

⚠️Trigger Warning (TW): Explicit sexual content, exhibitionism, voyeurism, BDSM dynamics, domination/submission, graphic genital and sexual descriptions, intense erotic scenarios, sexual coercion (consensual roleplay context).

We are peas in a pod.

Nothing excites me more than the way his eyes stay fixed on mine, as I touch myself for him—like a sinful delight for him to dine. It makes him ache—hard, throbbing—as he watches me unravel beneath his stare like a shameless doll. With nothing but my bare and flushed skin, I look like a plaything made only for him.

I drip wet each time he swallows hard as my fingers start moving; from my lips down to my neck, biting my lips as my other hand cups one of my breasts—pinching the swollen bud, perking hard at his gaze alone.

Fuck! I'm hot and already slick when my fingers finally reach their destination—my cunt, soaked and glistening with desire.

My gaze locks with his smoldering eyes—making me ache even more under his hungry stare—setting everything in perfection.

Every time I call his name—touching myself, thinking it is his hand giving me the pleasure I need—his straining hard cock twitches.

Every rub to my clit as I fondle my breast makes him bite his lip.

Each time I insert my fingers into my aching pussy, he groans.

The sounds he makes seem like he’s on the edge, about to explode at the mere sight of me pleasuring myself. Though it may look like I’m the one holding the reins, as if I’m in control, yet it’s far from the truth we pretend to share.

I am his to command. I am his to play. I am his to use. I am his to hold.

Or simply say...

I belong to him .

"Wider... Your legs." When his low, commanding voice reverberates around the room, I can’t help but shiver.

I follow like a zealous worshiper—parting my thighs, showing the depths of my sinful devotion.

Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.

Each squelch I make is like an erotic symphony, bringing to life his most forbidden fantasy. Accompanied by his stifled grunts that intensify my arousal, feeding lustful courage to my wanton side.

“Add another finger.”

His words drive me wild. I bite my lip, shivering—every inch of me aching desperately for his touch. His fingers wrap around his throbbing cock, desperate to feel my slick cunt, stroking in rhythm with the frantic thrusts of my fingers into my gaping cunt, aching even more for his attention.

"Faster."

Another command that I comply with gusto—my fingers plunging inside my dripping core with fervent urgency, aiming for the zenith my body aches to reach, while my head is consumed with only one thought: a taste of him, once I make him cum just by letting him watch.

"Stop."

I groan, yet my fingers freeze at the entrance. Just one plunge and I’m about to cum—but he makes sure to remind me that I am his to bend to his desires, right at this moment.

His eyes flicker with exhilaration as he watches my sour expression. He knows it... that I want to cum badly. But it seems far more satisfying to watch me whimper in deprived pleasure than to see me unravel with my own hands.

"I want to cum." I bite my lip, the crease carved deep in my forehead. My eyes aren’t on him, but on his throbbing cock that seems to want the same thing as me: to ruin me.

"Beg."

He commands as he rises from his seat, like a king emptying his throne. His hands never stop palming his unyielding erection as he positions himself in front of me, eyes locked on my essence-coated fingers frozen at my entrance. He is like a Gen Ad fan who scores a VIP pass to see his favorite part of me up close.

"Fuck it, sweetie. You're dripping so much." He can’t hold back from whispering, as he brushes his already leaking cock against my entrance.

He chuckles as he watches my expression change with every brush of his skin against mine. I meet his gaze, and, just like me, his expression betrays how much he wants to wreck me. To possess me. To make me his plaything… bound to him eternally.

He leans in and whispers in my ear, "Beg, love. Don't make me ask you again. Tell me what you want..."

I hiss and glare at him, but the words that come out of my mouth are as soft as my aching cunt.

"I beg you… please…" I pull him in just enough to brush my lips against his. "Wreck me."

He hums, a satisfied smile curling on his lips. "We really are peas in a pod, sweetie."

One swift thrust, and I tremble beneath him. Another deep thrust, and I cry for more. His lips meet mine, our tongues tangling in a heated fight for dominance.

Our bodies?

Well, just like peas in a pod…

We’re fused together as one—affection and desire, our entwined bodies on fire.

[riihavoc]

⚠️ TW: Addiction, Heartbreak, Emotional Struggle, Substance Use (Smoking) 🚬

Love is like a vice—a smoking vice.

I didn’t start smoking because of the cigarette itself, but because of the pull behind it—curiosity. I wanted to know what it feels like, why people get addicted to it. The first drag had me coughing—smoke filling my lungs, so much that it was smothering. Dizzying. The second drag, I slowed it down—gently, carefully. Still suffocating, but hit after hit, I grew used to the harsh burns in my throat and chest, until nicotine settled in like a quiet lull, along with an arrhythmia I no longer questioned.

Same with love. The first time I took a drag, it was because of one thing—curiosity. I wanted to know what it feels like to be loved. Why is everyone pursuing it? Heartbreak after heartbreak, they seek it, crave it—addicted to it, like a vice they can’t let go. An obsession they can't forego.

My first drag was overwhelming. Like cigarettes, it ignited my chest with a strange mix of discomfort and thrill, stimulated my brain like a slow acting dopamine, and sent my senses spiraling into overkill. It is painfully addicting. The first reciprocated clumsy confession almost made my chest explode. It makes my heart race like I'm high, it was dizzying in the best way. It was an intense, unrestrained passion. It left me breathless, burned hot, and etched itself to memory—raw and unforgettably heavy.

Like the first drag of a red variant.

Over time, Reds feel way too heavy, it makes me harder to breathe along with a rough aftertaste. So I switched to lights—a variant that promised relief, softer on the lungs, smoother on the tongue. An illusion of being healthier, as if it were less damaging.

It was the same when I moved on from my first taste of heartbreak. I tried a new variant, convincing myself it would be healthier. But deep down, I knew—I was only chasing a gentler lie. Changing variants is nothing more than a poor excuse to hide the vice I was learning to abuse.

Lights Cigarettes are like a comfortable steady love. Unlike the fiery passion that Reds give, Lights are softer, calmer. They still make my chest tighten, still make me burn, but never too harsh, never too gentle—just enough to keep the thrill and passion alive. It's a kind of fire that you can keep without burning too much.

But then again... it doesn't last long no matter how steady it is. If too much passion makes you burn, too much steadiness makes you bored.

After smoking Lights for a while, the feeling it gives has become routine—predictable. So I tried Menthol, and guess what? The kick was different. It was less about harshness or comfort, it's more about the refreshing feeling it gives, the soothing vibes I never knew would make my heart race again like it was the first time.

In love, switching to Menthol was like meeting someone new who gives you butterflies without even doing anything—reigniting the fire that I thought had died down amidst the calmness. This new love experience is equally addictive. And even though I know it won't last, I keep going back for that rush.

So you see... for me love is like a vice—a smoking vice.

One drag is enough to know you're hooked. One stick and you find yourself craving for it. One pack is all you need to say you're addicted to it. And no matter which variant you take a hit—Red, Lights, Menthol—like love... this vice has so much risk, yet you'll keep going after it.

And if Love is a vice.

Then loving is like exhaling smoke. Once you’re done, it fades, leaving only the faintest scent of ache.

[riihavoc]

Have you ever loved someone so much—enough to rip your heart out and offer it at their feet? To let them clip your wings, only for them to push you from the heavens down into scorching hell? You can’t even feel how hard the fall is—because as you’re falling, you’re already shattering beyond repair.

I did.

They said Cupid was a god who bestows love—but no. He’s a sadist. A manipulative son of a bitch with a quiver full of lies and poison-tipped arrows. He lures me into a house coated in comfort—just enough for my burdened soul to breathe—unaware that inside, it's shrouded in heartache, anguish, and betrayal.

He’s a hunter with a bow—yes. But his deadliest weapon was not his golden-tipped arrow.

It was you.

A poison wrapped in candy. An instrument of ruin. A marionette in his arc of deception. A lure designed to trap me in eternal torment—one I walked into willingly, helplessly, and utterly devoted.

You were once my salvation—draped in love, hope, and bliss. I found light in your eyes whenever you smiled at me, pulling me from the chasm of emptiness I could never escape alone. You painted my monochromatic world in vibrant hues, gave a soul into an empty vessel that never believed it deserved one.

You were a flicker of euphoria in a life defined by melancholia.

I made you my world, but what I didn’t realize was—you were slowly building a dome of pain and suffering around me, and it was too late to notice how my once-blooming world has already wilted beneath the suffocating rain of ash.

Cupid fed me emotions I never knew I craved—let me taste the sweetness of love, the warmth of your arms around me, your breath lingering against mine, and the haunting yet beautiful symphony of your heartbeat. You were crafted to be my conditioned stimulus. And just like that, I became Cupid’s obedient hound—my conditioned response was to ache at the very sight of you.

Unaware that you were merely bait—his perfect reinforcement, crafted to make me dance to his cruel tune, all for his twisted entertainment—I worshipped you.

You made me bleed without even telling me to. I wore the crown of thorns you crafted just to see you smile, plucked my feathers to stop you from crying, and broke my ankles hoping to earn your trust. Still...

You wreck me beyond salvation.

I wasn’t just a moth to a flame—I was Icarus. Overwhelmed by the thrill of love, I keep soaring, higher and higher. Soared too close to the sun that melted my wings, and fell—plunging me into the abyss of yearning and resentment, drowning in the sea of our memories.

And still...

I want you.

Like a reincarnated Adam who keeps eating the apple Eve offers—despite knowing I’ll be damned, cast out of the Garden of Eden—I was more than willing to be trapped in this endless loop of suffering, if it meant I could be with you again.

[riihavoc]

“I love you.”

Three fucking words. Three cursed words that made me believe hell was home. They skinned me alive, sucked me dry until there was nothing, ripped open my chest and tore my heart from its cage—and laughed as they watched it stopped beating in their hands. They feasted on me—every inch of me—until I was nothing but shredded remains. And when they were done? They spat me out. Left me to rot in the demon’s den—a hell that I used to call love.

“I’ll treat you better.”

A lie. Another goddamn lie I clung to like a fool. I clawed my way out of the demon’s den with bloody hands, broken vessel, and tainted soul, thinking that maybe—just maybe—this was the fairytale I deserved after experiencing hell, that my prince has finally come to save me from the evil queen. But instead, I was flung from Disney’s pretty little lie, into the Grimm brother’s fucked up bedtime stories. A brutal slap to the face—that the reality of a fairytale I thought was flowery and happy, was steeped in blood, suffering, and thorn-laced tragedy.

“I can keep you.”

Keep me? Like I’m some broken thing to cage and mend? Funny. Pathetic, really. You think, you can fix me now? Love had wrecked me beyond salvation, so much that I now look at it with nothing but revulsion. The image God once bestowed upon me had long been damned. Gone. Only a monster remained—twisted and forsaken—stitched together with chaos and hatred, like something born from Frankenstein’s hand.

[riihavoc]

⚠️Trigger Warning: Contains intense sexual and violent themes. Reader discretion advised.

My thoughts are consumed with devouring you, like a beast maddened by hunger—pulse racing with every touch, breath hitching at your aching sound. My mouth waters with a tang of burning desire and sweet corruption clinging to my tongue. Fangs bared. Famished. Ready to ravish.

Your naked body was like an offering to a beast that had taken a slow-acting psychedelic—penetrating not my body but my soul—revealing all my sinful impurities in ways I never thought possible. And then came your scent, like a burning field of poppies—sweet, smoky, and intoxicating. The scorched sweetness crawled into my lungs; a terrifying euphoria took root in my veins, poisoning my blood with every drag.

I want to feast on your warm body beneath me—your warmth seeping into mine, beat pulsing like a ticking bomb that explodes with every possessive grip at the crook of your neck. Gnawing into your soft, porcelain skin was a dream I live to relive—tasting the faint saltiness mingled with a flavor that is uniquely yours—delicate yet defiant beneath my bite. And then tear through you like a monster devouring flesh—the sound of cracking your bones filling the air, mingling with your irresistible cries—as I save your heart like it's my most delicious prize.

The very thought of you sprawled in my bed, like a virgin maiden on bloodstained silk, drives me mad—flooding me with an ecstasy I’ve never known. It’s addicting—a craving for a deadly sin I can’t undo, a hunger that rewrote the pleasure I once knew.

And I thirst for your blood—impatiently—driven by the desperation of a dying man crawling through a wasteland of blasphemy. Ready to tear your throat open with my teeth just to have my first taste of salvation, knowing that after my feast, I'll be thrown into an infinite retribution.

[riihavoc]

Someone told me I bleed like I’m desperate to be held, yet I flinch the moment someone gets close enough to touch the demon I haven’t expelled. The words hung heavy—an observation wrapped in truth that exposed the conflict inside me.

No, I don’t bleed blood—but words. Words that exude addicting pain, beauty carved in darkness, and scorching rage, all wrapped in allure.

I leave fragments of me scattered across every page—like puzzle pieces waiting to be solved, or a shattered soul wanting to be restored.

Within each narrative, I hand people the pieces of myself that I’m afraid to give whole. A raw, aching yearning lingers in every scene, the unspoken pain that is feasting on me from the inside out, a desperate hope to be understood concealed in smudged ink, and a plea to be found hidden between the lines.

Not because it feels safer. It’s the sole door I know that opens acceptance—the only way my unhinged and rotten edges aren’t feared, in a way that my demon cannot interfere.

I crave warmth and connection. I want a safe space for my damaged version, perhaps a quiet room where silence isn’t empty but full of unspoken understanding. I desire to be wrapped in comforting arms, which could make me lower my guard without any ounce of hesitation, while they whisper gentle reminders of authenticity in a world tainted by overrated love soaked with toxicity.

But I fear the demon in me that keeps wanting to take full control. It lurks in the shadow like an obsessive stalker. It coils at me like a serpent beneath my ribs, tightening with every anxious breath. I hear voices in my head that aren’t there—twisting my thoughts, whispering doubts, and fueling my wrath—“You’re unworthy,” “You’re unlovable,” “You’re chaos incarnate.” And as if it wasn’t enough, it feeds me distorted delusions of people hurting me like it’s my inevitable reality. I know, this makes me sound like a schizophrenic person with a deteriorating progression.

So, when someone told me I bleed like I’m desperate to be held, yet I flinch the moment someone gets close enough to touch the demon I haven’t expelled, I just smiled because I couldn’t deny it.

Not when the demon I created in my dissociated mind was lurking behind me—wrapped in its embrace, wearing my distorted face.

[riihavoc]

Mayhem filled my head.

The moment your cock

relentlessly ravaged my walls,

taunting every corner my fingers couldn’t reach—

you carved your length in me,

rough and unforgiving.

You branded your desire

into places no one else dared to touch.

Wrath swallowed my heart.

With each cruel touch,

you ignited a fire I couldn’t extinguish.

You broke me down

with every tender word you murmured,

melting the walls I built to keep you out—

slowly,

with precise accuracy.

Sin tethered my soul.

And as the waves of pleasure crashed at me,

you claimed me completely—

breaking me open

and flooding me

with a fire I never wanted to fight.

Each thrust felt like a chain tightening around my neck,

muffling every moan escaping my lips,

yet wave after wave,

I melted

under your ruthless dominion.

Is it punishment?

No.

It is submission.

[riihavoc]

How do you yearn for someone you never had?

Yearning for someone you never had is like standing before a locked door—left only to imagine what lies beyond. It’s different from missing someone you did have. Missing is rooted in memory; yearning for someone you never had is rooted in possibility—the weight of ‘what ifs’ pressing on your chest. You long not for ‘what was,’ but for ‘what could have been.’

It lingers. It never closes. 𝑰𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒔. It’s a pain you can’t soothe by saying, I did my best—because the truth is, you never had the chance. Or maybe… you never did at all.

Yearning for the unattainable is writing letters you’ll never send.

Replaying conversations that never happened.

Carrying the ghost of a love that never breathed.

𝑺𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕.

Some call it a phantom bond—real in weight, yet built only on longing, never on memory. And that's the cruelest part: you mourn something that never lived, yet it still leaves you hollow. It doesn’t die with time. It stays, like an echo in an empty room, reminding you of what never was.

How do you yearn for someone you never had? You don’t. They haunt you instead.

It lingers. It never fades. A love that never was, and 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆.

[riihavoc]

🔞⚠️

Oh, how to be undone with his tattooed hand. One touch, and I unravel entirely.

There's something about his hand that could poke at my filthiest fantasy. Just the thought of his hand leaves me trembling and aching, desperate for a touch my own fingers could never give; ignited by a fire only his hand could kindle, the maddening itch my own hands can't reach.

The way his fingers trace my skin without an ounce of sexual intent, just while watching a basketball game, could awaken the incarnation of Lust lying dormant within me. It sends my mind into utter chaos. All my core emotions, present and just chilling, are set afire the moment Lust enters my inner sanctum. My heart beats at an alarmingly fast rate, as if Joy goes into overload and makes me inhale a cloud of euphoria that even Sadness forgets how to weep through. My lungs fill with heat, setting my body ablaze in an inextinguishable fire hotter than when Anger explodes. My mind drowns in filth that even Disgust can’t resist, and Fear surrenders to its embrace. My raw emotions cower under Lust’s reign—tamed and totally corrupted.

So, when my head rests on his lap and his fingers, casually caressing my face, brushing against my lips, I make sure he notices the desire consuming me from within. I stop his hand mid-motion, my fingers sensually tracing the length of his, before I take his thumb into my mouth, my eyes lock on his expression until he finally looks down to meet my gaze. My teeth graze lightly over his thumb, while my tongue teases the part resting inside my mouth. I’ll keep taunting him with my mouth until he himself takes his thumb away and replaces it with his index and middle fingers. His gaze is dark and provoked as he fucks my mouth with his slender digits.

And just like that, I’m under his mercy. Even without him doing anything other than violating my mouth with his tattooed hand, I’m already dripping. My body quivers in pleasure whenever he brushes the roof of my mouth or plays it with my tongue; like my body is made of a delicate instrument responding to the gentlest touch. The dark inked patterns just above his wrist catch my gaze, and somehow, they only intensify the pleasure coursing through me, each intricate etching daring me to lose myself entirely.

But I’m not the only one getting corrupted. The more I lose myself, the more he aches to violate me. Every quiver of my body makes him harder, each breathless sigh draws him deeper into the fire, until it’s no longer just the lust in me or him—it’s a violent storm consuming us both. And I know exactly what he needs: him straddling me, his cock in my mouth, his inked hands wrapped around my neck, marking me as his.

His hips sway with an unyielding rhythm, each thrust pressing deeper into my mouth, violating my throat just right. His inked hand wraps around my neck—claiming, guiding, reminding me I belong to him. Every slide of his cock in my mouth is mind-blowing, every tightening of his grip on my neck nerve-wracking. I’m his—and he’s using me exactly the way I want.

He usually loves to degrade me when I’m under his mercy—to fuel my desire. But today is different. He knows what drew me into sin. So he holds back from calling me his slut, from degrading me like a whore. Instead, his hands take over, gripping my cheeks as he grinds the tip of his cock on my throat with pure, hungry force, his eyes locked on me—watching me crumble beneath his pleasure.

Every grind, I’m thrashing.

Each squelch, I’m burning.

One ragged ngh from him, and I'm utterly ravaged.

And all I have to do is swallow every bit of his silent degradation, letting its thickness coat my throat. When he’s done using me—exactly how I want to be used—that’s the only time I’ll get my reward.

His inked hand slides between my thighs, fingers pressing hard and deep into a place my own fingers can’t reach—satisfying my filthiest fantasy using my favorite part of him, the one covered in intricate ink.

[riihavoc]

⚠️🔞

Oh, to be loved by a writer.

How good it is to sit on the lap of your beloved writer while his hands and mind are busy crafting a new world for his readers to escape to.

The slick, pulsing wetness and my breathy moans mixed with the steady tapping of his keyboard, his current soundtrack. The lavender fragrance of the incense blends with the sensual scent from our bodies, his aphrodisiac—which is why his cock, aching and unyielding—is still buried deep inside me even after all the release he’s spent inside me.

He’s not really busy—I’m just the reason his mind functions properly. The fuel that keeps him going. The sugar rush to keep his ideas flowing.

He pauses from time to time—when I grind hard enough to remind him of my presence. And he buries his face against my neck—not to take a whiff of my scent, but to punish, biting hard enough to taste my blood, marking me in a way he knows I love.

‘You're being naughty.’

He grunts, before claiming—no, crushing—my lips like a man starved for years. My hips grind against him again, and his hands dig into them, leaving bruising marks. He holds me tight as he drives upward, every movement sharp, punishing, yet impossibly precise—a sweet assault that leaves me moaning, gasping, and craving for more. The angle makes every thrust deep, unrelenting, and insatiable, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me, each wave hotter than the last.

My nails rake down his back as I cry out his name, the sound mixing with his grunts. His grip tightens even more at the sound I make, driving him to fuck me harder so he can hear more of my pleas—no, begs—sending tsunamis of fire through my veins, making my body tremble with the heat he stirs inside me.

I grind against him, matching each thrust, drowned in the pleasure, melted in the heat building between us as my moans mingle with his.

‘Fuck!’

I grin. Hearing him cuss boosts my confidence; it feels like the crown he was wearing has been passed over to me, and now I’m the one holding the leash.

But it doesn’t last long. His lips tease my nipples—tugging, sucking, sending undeniable sensations through me that make me cling harder to him.

As the scent of us fills the air, thick and intoxicating, I find myself arching my back, eyes half-lidded, feeling him devour me in more ways than one. He makes me realize I’ve never wanted anyone like this.

‘...more.’

He stops and lifts his gaze to me with a smug look on his face. ‘What?’

It’s the bad habit of a fuckin’ writer... they like to tease when you’re close to surrendering.

‘Break me more, you fucker.’

His smug smirk vanishes as he lifts me slightly onto the table. With a growl, he slams into me harder, making my world blur into heat and sound—his grunts, my cries, the slap of skin—until all I can do is scream his name as he finally shatters me apart.

So, to be loved by a writer has its pros and cons.

The pros? I find every version of myself in his pieces.

And the cons?

Mmm… I'll keep shattering under his sweet assault—

Because the only way he makes art is with my body writhing beneath him, every broken moan and pleading breath fueling his craft.

[riihavoc]

🍎🐟🔞

[A/N]: Alternate Universe for this one:

Post by @riihavoc · 2 images

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · CW: Suicide, Emotional Distress [This story explores sensitive topics, including self-harm and loss. Proceed with caution

Have you ever loved someone so achingly deep that time seems to slow down just by watching them? It makes your heart ache—a good kind of ache—when you see them smile as they play in the pouring rain, letting their inner child run free.

Because I do.

The rain had drenched everything, yet my beloved—my Rafayel—looked as though he belonged to the storm itself. His shirt clung to his lean frame, purple hair darkened and plastered to his face, and a laugh—light and free—kept echoing from his lips as he turned to me, hand outstretched.

“Caleb, come here! It’s not that cold.” Rafayel called out to me softly, but irresistible—the kind of invitation that I never was able to ignore.

I stood still for a moment, just watching the way his chest rose and fell, the way the rain kissed every inch of his skin, the way even the sky seemed to hush around him. It was a sight that made my heart ache in a good way. It made my world turn so damn slow—as if the Overseer of Time were abusing his power just to admire him too.

He’s so damn beautiful… and he’s mine. Rafayel is mine.

That thought finally pulled me forward. I closed the distance in just a few strides, slid an arm around his waist, and kissed him as the rain poured over us—heavy, endless, like a blessing. And without warning, I kissed him—not rushed, not desperate, but slow, like a confession. Like a memory I wanted to carve onto his lips—something he’d carry long after the rain was gone.

I don’t know how long the kiss lasted. Only that the world faded into the background the moment I took him back inside his studio. All I could feel was him. His warmth, the softness of his lips, the way his body leaned into mine like he was molded just for me, and every hitch of his breath as my hand trailed—unrushed and gentle—over his drenched body.

“Ayel…”

The way his name rolled off my tongue was like a psalm—soft, sacred, and aching, meant only for him. And when his gaze met mine—hazy, tender, full of things we never had to say aloud—a realization hit me. What I felt for him wasn’t a fleeting kind of love that fades with time. It was the kind that keeps blooming—quietly, steadily, endlessly—until we both wither with it.

With a featherlight touch, I guided his hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it—like a quiet vow, steeped in devotion.

“Did you know… I’ve always known where I wanted to go, what I wanted to do?” I pressed my cheek softly against his cold palm. “But the thought of a life without you in it… makes me feel… lost.”

Rafayel didn’t say a word. He just brushed his thumb across my cheek, like he was burying my image deep within the depths of his mind—locking it away in the quietest part of his soul, the one meant only for me. A place that exists only because of me.

“Funny.” He murmured. “Because I spent so long feeling like I was floating through space… until I found gravity—in you.”

It was a cliché—hearing words I’d only known from movies, read in books. And yet, my heart is flooded with happiness. I smiled—like a fool—and held onto it, like his were the only words in the universe that ever truly belonged to me—meant, undeniably, for me and no one else.

And then I kissed him once more—deeper, yearning, as if the silence between us had swallowed the world. My hands moved with purpose—adoring, mapping every curve, every shiver he gave like I was learning a language only he and I could speak.

It wasn’t the first time my tongue had explored his mouth, or my hands had traced every arc and dip of his body. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve marked him—whether with my teeth or the grip of my fingers. But I never tire of the erotic sounds he makes—those breathless gasps when my mouth is on his, the soft whimpers when my slender fingers find that spot, and the muffled moans that give way just how close he is.

Rafayel is my constant… my always. Grant me eternity, and I’d still want more—I’d still crave him like it was never enough.

A lot of self-control had been invested just to finally peel us out of our drenched clothes. I had to take a deep breath—to keep the beast within from breaking free. And though it lasted only a brief moment, the emptiness I felt when we pulled apart was almost unbearable—like some unseen force was tearing my soul from his.

I pulled him close… closer… but still, it felt like it wasn’t enough. Like no amount of closeness could mend the ache of even a second apart.

His soft giggle echoed through the room, blending with the rain that drummed against the glass window of his studio. The view outside mirrored the storm within me—messy, chaotic—until his calm voice came, grounding me, and for a fleeting moment, I felt at peace.

“I’m not going to disappear,” Rafayel said, his hands cradling my face, as if he understood the tempest he’d become in my life—and still, he stayed.

I pressed my forehead against his. “But what if I disappear first?” A question I knew I shouldn’t ask—yet it slipped out anyway.

His thumb brushed gently against my cheek, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then I guess I’ll end up floating back in space…” He met my gaze, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Until I find my gravity again—in our next life.”

It’s the end of my doubt—of my fear. Rafayel really is a storm—not the kind that destroys, but the kind that clears the skies, washes away the weight, and makes everything feel new again. Without a single ounce of regret, I let the tempest of him swallow me whole.

I faced death once—got lost in space, drifted into nothingness with nothing to hold on to.

But nothing had ever made me feel more alive than the way he looked at me now—like I was his world, just as he was mine.

And in that quiet, sacred moment, as he leaned into me, as our lips touched, something unspoken passed between us. It was like the universe exhaled—a soul-deep gravitational pull that rewrote our orbit forever.

As the rain kept kissing the windows, we stopped talking and let our bodies speak for us. Our lips moved in sync, and his body trembled beneath my touch—partly desperate, hesitant, and needy. I opened him slowly, as if asking for permission to ruin him sweetly, to devour him with devotion.

I was aching—throbbing—to feel him, but there was no rush in my movements. I savored the symphony of sounds he made with each slow slide of my fingers. It was a sight to behold, watching the way his body spoke to mine—every breath laced with trust and a hunger he never tried to hide. God, I wanted him so badly… bad enough that I was leaking just from making him feel good with my fingers.

“Damn…” The word escaped me like a soft cry, followed by his quiet laugh. My body jolted on its own when I felt his softness against my fingers. He was ready… so damn ready for me.

“I want to feel you.”

He wrapped his arms around my neck. “No one’s stopping you.”

I took his words as permission—no, a plea. A silent invitation to break him—beautifully. In one slow, breathless moment, I moved with the intention to claim. Guided by the desire in his eyes, I sank into him slowly… deeply… aching. Yet, I still wanted more. As if the deeper I got inside him, the more I wanted to swallow more of him—to devour him whole. He shuddered beneath me, breath hitching with every thrust I made, like he wasn’t prepared for how deeply I needed him… desired him—for how much I held back to shatter him completely in my arms.

But no matter how much I overwhelmed him, Rafayel didn’t falter. He welcomed me without hesitation. Every part of him responded to the pulse of want I could no longer hide. He melted into my kisses just like I wanted him to, and arched beneath me with every sweet assault, trembling as if the gravity of my desire echoed through every inch of his body.

And it didn’t take long before soft gasps, muffled moans, and whispered confessions of love filled the room—blending with the gentle patter of rain against the studio window and the quiet creak of the sofa bed beneath us, where our damp, tangled bodies moved as one. Outside, the sky had slowly begun to clear, but the beautiful chaos the storm stirred within us was far from over. In truth, it had only just begun. I had only just begun to worship him.

“C-Caleb…” he cried my name like a prayer—begging, as he tattooed his marks on my back. Marking what’s his.

I hushed him with a kiss—fiery, slow-burning, breath-stealing.

“I know,” I whispered between kisses, as I picked up the pace, giving him exactly what he was pleading for.

I rocked into him with growing urgency, until he came undone—shattering breathlessly beneath me. And I followed, spilling every ounce of what I’d been holding back… all over him, bathing him in the perfume of my desire, leaving traces of myself on him.

The air was thick with heat and unspoken things as I collapsed on top of him. His fingers trailed down my spine, his chest rising and falling beneath mine. And just like any ordinary day we found ourselves tangled in the sheets, I listened to his heartbeat—the loveliest melody I’ve ever heard.

With a deep breath, I slipped off of him—even though I didn’t want to—and let my body settle beside his. My arms instinctively wrapped around him, drawing him close until his back rested against my chest.

I rained kisses on his bare shoulders, making him softly giggle.

“I had a dream…” I began.

He hummed, as if urging me to go on. I exhaled and pulled him closer.

“In my dream, you were crying while watching a video. A video of me.”

Rafayel chuckled, shifting his weight to face me. “Why was I crying?”

I held his hand, planting soft kisses on the back of his palm before nuzzling my face against it. “Because I left you too early.”

I pulled him closer, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

“Seeing you cry that hard… fuck, it was killing me.” I looked up to meet his gaze, not even bothering to hide the pain and fear that damn dream had left behind.

Rafayel smiled sweetly, his touch warm and tender as he caressed my cheek—and just like that, all my fears melted away.

“It’s just a dream.” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my lips—slow and aching. He pulled away with the sweetest smile lingering on his lips.

“And even if it happens someday, if that’s how our story will end, I want you to remember—I was happy because of you.” Rafayel looked at me—eyes filled with love he doesn’t need to declare. “I’ll always be grateful… because the happiest days of my life began with you.”

“Damn…” I pulled him close, exhaling a sigh of relief. “You always know exactly how to pull me back together—like the lone transmission breaking through static after I’ve been drifting in the void for years.”

He chuckled as he looked at me with a curious expression. “But seriously, I cried? Was it messy?”

I laughed—a hearty one with no ounce of fear left in it. “Yeah.”

Rafayel frowned. “How messy?”

I paused as I stared at him, thinking about how love had changed me. From someone with a mind filled with chaos, living in a world where hope wasn’t part of the equation, to someone who’d found light in places I once thought were dead ends—someone who finally learned to breathe in the calm he brings. The change was too big, too drastic, if I may say. But then, thinking deeper, I realized—it wasn’t love that changed me… it was him. Rafayel.

And I have no regrets…

I kissed his forehead. “Not as messy as when I make love with you.”

If that dream ever becomes the reality of a future we can’t foresee… then I’ll make sure to fill his days with memories worth holding onto before it happens.

[riihavoc]

CW: Suicide, Emotional Distress

[This story explores sensitive topics, including self-harm and loss. Proceed with caution if these themes may affect you.

"PLAYBACK"

I bought the house the way I start most paintings—without a plan, only the need for stillness and the kind of space the city never offered.

It sat on the outskirts of Skyhaven, surrounded by trees and wrapped in weeds—just the right place for a man like me, trying to disappear into canvas and paint.

The house looked like a forgotten masterpiece—its colors dulled by age, yet its frame held firm against time. It was like an artwork that was abandoned by its artist, patiently waiting for them to return.

"Are you sure you’ll be fine here?" Thomas asked, his expression tightening with something unspoken as he glanced at the house I’d chosen to paint my pieces for the next exhibition, and then shifted his gaze back at me.

"I'm fine. You should go back to Linkon," I said, brushing him off as I walked around the car to unload the last of my things.

I had only a suitcase, a mattress, and an easel—the same one I’d asked Thomas to assemble a few days before the move. It wasn’t much. But it was enough. Since I'm only here to paint. Nothing else.

Thomas gave me one last look before he headed to his car and drove away. For a moment, I lingered by the door. The house was filling me with strange warmth. I tucked my long hair behind my ear as a gentle breeze danced over me—like a quiet voice welcoming me home.

The house echoed with emptiness the moment I stepped inside—but not the kind of emptiness that's unfamiliar. I'm used to silence. To voids. Yet somehow, this silence curled around my heart like a cold hand.

Sleep never came on me when night comes. The streetlight leaked through the blinds, sketching faint lines over the floor, like an unfinished brush strokes. Maybe it was the sudden change of the place so I can't sleep. But deep down, It felt like I was waiting—for someone, or something to appear.

Still unable to sleep, I roamed the house like a ghost in my own skin. I moved slowly through the rooms—familiarizing myself. The cool night air brushed against me like a quiet breath as I paused by one of the windows, watching the trees outside sway gently in the dark, their branches whispering secrets I couldn't hear.

I stayed there for a while. Strange as it sounds, the silence—the stillness—was comforting. Not the kind that felt empty, but the kind that lets you breathe. Then something fell upstairs. A soft thud—not loud, but enough to break the silence and pull a slight frown from me.

I glanced toward the ceiling, then up the hall where I hadn’t looked too closely before. There, at the very end, was a narrow staircase—wooden, steep, and clearly old—leading to the attic.

I pulled my cardigan tighter around my frame and made my way toward it, each step creaking beneath my weight like a tired sigh. At the top, I found a small door, low and warped at the edges. I pushed it open. Dust greeted me first. Cold air, stale and undisturbed. I squinted against the dimness as my eyes adjusted.

The attic wasn’t empty.

It was full of boxes and stacked crates, furniture covered in old white sheets, books, frames, and canvas—so many things left behind. No signs of a rodent, no sign of a break-in. Just a space frozen in someone else’s time.

I didn’t feel fear.

Just… curiosity.

And the faintest pull in my chest, like I was standing in the middle of something that used to mean to someone.

I sorted through it slowly, checking each box until my gaze caught a faded label: “Lemurian’s Treasure."

Curiosity got the better of me upon reading the name of my favorite civilization that was long gone now. And opened it.

Inside, tucked neatly beneath a layer of dust, was a VHS tape—its label blank, worn at the edges. Beside it were bundles of old letters, yellowed with age, tied loosely with string. Underneath those were sketches—some rough, others detailed—all of the same person.

A guy.

He looked familiar in that strange, aching way—like someone you might’ve met in a dream and forgot as soon as you woke up.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my fingers brushed the edge of the tape.

Then—another thud.

I turned sharply, gaze snapping toward the sound, only to notice the small attic window creaking open, just barely, like it had been nudged by the wind.

I crossed the room, reached out, and closed it gently—just in time for the first drops of rain to tap against the glass. It came all at once after that—a sudden downpour that felt like it waited for an eternity to fall.

I immediately left the attic the chill of the dusty air still clinging to my skin, as I hurried down the narrow stairs to the living room. My heart skipped a beat as I scanned the huge window—thankfully, it was tightly shut. The canvases lined up against the wall were safe and dry. Relief washed over me, and I slumped onto the long, worn couch, and let out a long, tired sigh. The weight of the day is settling heavy on my chest.

That’s when I realized—I was still holding the VHS tape, its cold plastic smoothed against my palm.

My eyes lingered on the tape for a long moment, weighing what to do with it. The realtor never mentioned anything about the old owner—no name, no story. Even if I wanted to return it, there was no one to give it back to.

Maybe it’s just some forgotten home movies, I told myself. Or…

A part of me hesitated. What if it was something more? Something intimate—meant to be kept hidden, locked away like a secret no one else was supposed to see?

The thought made me uneasy. But curiosity? Curiosity was a different kind of weight. It pulled me in. I could put it away, ignore it. But seeing the old player in front of me was like a silent beckoning—the tape urging me to press play.

And so, I did.

The screen flickered to life with a grainy glow, the familiar hum of the old player filling the silent room. Static gave way to a dimly lit music room, the kind of place where echoes linger and memories settle.

A young man sat at the piano, his long, slender fingers moving gently over the keys. The song was unfamiliar, but it carried a nostalgic weight—like a forgotten memory trying to find its way back to me. The camera angle was careful, almost shy—as if the person behind the lens didn't want to disturb him.

He looked familiar.

I thought as the camera zoomed in on the young man’s side profile. I frowned, pausing the video for a moment. Without thinking, I hurried upstairs to the attic and grabbed the sketches I’d found earlier.

A chuckle escaped me when I realized—the man in the video and the one in these sketches were the same. I returned downstairs, holding the sketches in one hand, and resumed watching the tape.

I held my breath as the music filled the air in that flickering image. Then the young man looked up—eyes sharp, searching—and then frowned.

["Who's there?"]

His voice was deep, yet familiar. As if I’d heard it somewhere before.

Suddenly, the screen jerked violently. The figure behind the camera shifted, stepping away quickly. The screen went dark for a moment, then flickered back on.

This time, it was a bright afternoon. The same guy from the first clip was outside, running across a soccer field. His smile was as bright as summer, and I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him laugh.

The angle was distant and shaky—like it was filmed from somewhere high up, probably a classroom window. He moved with effortless grace, sunlight catching the strands of his hair as he chased the ball. Then, as if sensing that someone was watching him, he glanced up toward the camera and smiled softly. But the person behind the lens quickly hid, keeping out of sight.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips—but it was cut short as I realized it was the first time something had made me laugh genuinely in a long while. I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed with true happiness—not the practiced smile I wore for business, but the kind that comes from deep inside.

My thoughts came to a halt when the next scene flickered onto the screen. This one felt different from the first two. The camera wasn’t pointed at someone’s face this time—but at a chest, close and steady, focusing on a school uniform. The name tag caught the light just enough to make the letters legible.

[Caleb]

Caleb, huh. What a nice name.

I thought.

Then came his voice—deep, warm, unmistakably fond. It was him—the same guy from the earlier clips. That’s when it hit me.

This film wasn’t just about him.

It was made for him.

"It should be you who’s being filmed... for having such a pretty face."

The camera shifted slightly, the frame wobbling—as if the person behind it had fumbled or shyly looked away. But when it steadied again, it pointed straight at Caleb’s face.

A close-up.

And for some reason, my heart thudded.

It was the first time I was truly seeing him—his features, his eyes, that small smile that didn’t quite reach his lips. He stirred something in me. Something I couldn’t name. Something I didn’t expect.

And just like that, I felt it—like I had wandered into something sacred. A memory not meant for strangers.

And so, I stopped watching. Out of guilt, maybe?

I turned the TV off, the screen fading to black with a soft click, and sat there for a moment—hands still, heart oddly restless. Then I stood, needing to do something—anything—to quiet the noise building inside me. I picked up a brush. If I couldn’t understand what I was feeling, maybe I could paint it instead.

--

“Fuck!” I exclaimed, exasperated, as I tore through the failed canvas. The rip echoed louder than I expected.

It had been a week since I moved in. But every single piece I created felt like a failure—a blur of color and form with no meaning behind it.

No soul. Nothing I painted spoke to me. Nothing felt real. Just strokes. Just noise.

My gaze snapped to the tape sitting in the corner—untouched but weighty, as if it was waiting for me to pick it up again. To watch it. I wanted to believe that it was that tape’s fault why I couldn't paint. Ever since I watched it—unfinished—I couldn’t stop dreaming about him. Caleb.

It was too vivid to ignore. So vivid that I stopped taking sleeping pills just so I would stay awake. So I wouldn’t see him in my dreams—often smiling, rarely mad, and...

I groaned and shut my eyes, trying to stop myself from even thinking about that sinful dream I once had about him. For Pete’s sake! I couldn’t even get hard for that actress who tried to seduce me at an exhibit, yet—

"Fuck."

I slammed the paintbrush down and marched to the mini fridge Thomas brought me yesterday, stocked full of drinks. My eyes locked on a bottle of wine. Without hesitation, I pulled it out, grabbed a glass, and dropped myself onto the couch.

I drank. Once. Twice. Then again.

The sharp bitterness bled down my throat, but I didn’t care. My eyes were fixed on that damn tape in the corner of the room, still where I’d left it—still waiting.

I hated how much it pulled at me. I hated how the idea of him—of Caleb—had carved out a place in my thoughts without permission. And yet, Here I am, glass in hand, tempted to look at someone’s memories like a madman.

Forget conscience.

I downed what was left in the glass, stood up, and walked over to play it again. If I was going to lose sleep over a ghost, I might as well face him.

The screen flickered back to life, right where I’d stopped watching—his face. Dark brown hair, purple eyes, a playful smile that made it hard to look away. Like a golden retriever—bright, warm, and far too charming for his own good.

He looked straight into the camera, and though I knew it wasn’t meant for me, something in my chest tightened anyway. He took the camera, but the film never showed the other person’s face. Instead, it cut to the next scene.

Caleb was lying on a couch, eyes fixed on the lens, all smiles as he held up a book about planes.

["You’re still filming me? You’re unbelievable."]

He laughed, yet his cheeks flushed with a warmth that made it feel like the room itself softened. And so as my heart.

["What was that for anyway? You're not going somewhere far, right?"]

The person behind the camera said nothing. Just silence.

Caleb’s smile faltered. His expression shifted—more guarded, more serious.

["You know..."]

He said softly, gaze lowering for a second before meeting the lens again.

["If you disappear one day, I won’t forgive you."]

The screen froze. I paused it—just for a moment—just so I could breathe. I stood up, grabbed another bottle of wine from the fridge, and drank straight from it.

For some goddamn reason…

I was jealous.

Jealous of whoever it was that gaze belonged to—whoever held Caleb’s smile, his laughter, his eyes.

It didn’t make sense.

I didn’t even know this man. Caleb was just a face on a screen, a memory left behind in a box I wasn’t supposed to open. And yet... the way he looked at the camera—soft, warm, full of something I couldn’t name—it made my chest ache.

What kind of person was he looking at? What kind of love was strong enough to be caught on tape and still echo this loud?

I drank again, deeper this time, letting the wine burn its way down.

Was I envious of the one behind the camera... or the version of Caleb in front of it?

I laughed. A bitter, sarcastic sound.

"Really, Rafayel? Seriously?" I muttered to myself. "Why the hell do you feel like a third party in someone else’s memory?"

I sank back into the couch and hit play again.

The screen lit up with Caleb painting a wall, his sleeves rolled up, hair messy with effort. Boxes were scattered all over the floor.

From the way the space looked, I could tell it was this house. And with all those boxes… it felt like a beginning. A move-in. A life being built—shared—with whoever was behind the lens.

The scene shifted again.

Now Caleb was in the kitchen, humming softly as he cooked something. He glanced back at the camera with a smile that was far too sweet for someone like me to be witnessing.

["When are you going to get tired of filming me?"]

He asked, voice teasing, affectionate. Then he reached out and covered the lens, the frame tilting slightly—as if he’d pulled the one behind the camera closer.

I heard them laugh softly. Then kisses. Gentle. Familiar. Followed by a whispered confession.

["At the same time, I don't want you to ever get tired of me, Ayel."]

Ayel.

That was the first time I heard him say the other person’s name.

I smiled—bitterly.

Of all names. Why did that person have the last four letters of mine?

I pouted. Jealous.

The next scene made me nearly drop the bottle of wine that I'm holding.

Caleb appeared on the screen—bare-chested, flushed, skin glistening with sweat. His hair was messy, lips parted, his gaze dark and heavy with want. A look that could melt anyone on the receiving end.

["Are you seriously going to film me like this?"]

He asked, laughing breathlessly as he shifted closer—lower—between the legs of whoever was behind the camera.

I froze.

The camera tipped slightly, but not enough to hide what was happening. The sounds, the movements. I blinked, as if I’d seen it wrong—like the grain of the film had tricked me somehow. But no. Caleb’s mouth was wrapped around that person’s hard cock, his gaze never leaving the lens.

A man. He’s with a man.

But in his eyes, I saw something that made my heart ache—no, yearn. It wasn't just affection. It was desire. Raw and consuming.

My fingers curled tightly around the neck of the bottle, knuckles white, chest tight. I shouldn’t be feeling this. Jealousy, confusion, heat curling in my gut like a flame I didn’t know how to put out.

He wasn’t mine. He never was. He was a stranger on a screen. So why did it feel like he’d just touched something inside me that no one else ever had?

And then I saw it. A masculine hand. Broad. Veined. Tensed with restraint as it reached for his face—caressing Caleb’s cheek with a gentleness that felt almost reverent. Caleb withdrew from pleasuring him, only to press a kiss against those fingers—slow, lingering... like he was worshipping a god’s hand.

["I want to stay like this... memorize every inch of you."]

Caleb whispered softly, pulling away just enough to settle between the man's thighs.

["You don’t even realize what you do to me."]

He added, voice breathless—eyes dazed with affection, like he was drunk on more than just desire.

Then he moved—slow, deliberate, almost solemn. A kind of gentleness that wasn’t just about pleasure, but something deeper. Something far past desire—quiet, raw, and utterly devoted. If love had a language beyond words, this was it—a worship made flesh.

And then he took the camera and threw it onto the rug-covered floor. Their silhouettes danced on the wall, blurred and indistinct, while all I could hear were the sounds they made.

It wasn’t indecent. The soft gasps, the sweet whispers of Ayel’s name rolling off Caleb’s lips—his voice like a symphony. A delicate hymn to desire.

It was too much, but I couldn’t look away from the screen. Though all I saw were their shadows, I felt it—the love, the respect, and the devotion Caleb held for that man.

The screen flickered, revealing the sprawling cityscape of Skyhaven bathed in twilight. Then it shifted to Caleb, kneeling in front of the camera, a small velvet box clutched in his hands.

[“Don’t laugh,”]

He said, eyes glistening.

[“I practiced this a dozen times, but now that I’m doing it, I’m freaking out.”]

The screen shook slightly, as if Ayel was doing his best to stay calm behind the lens.

"This may sound overrated, and I might get an F for originality." He took a deep breath and stared at the lens.

[“When I realized my feelings, I was terrified. Terrified of the version of myself once I let it all out. I’m scared that I might end up clipping your wings—hindering the life you’ve set your path to.”]

It was the first time I heard the vulnerability in his voice. And for some reason, I found myself crying.

[“Loving you makes me afraid—but it also makes me alive—like I’m standing on the edge of something terrifying and beautiful all at once.”]

He let out a half-hearted chuckle, trembling just slightly.

And it made me sob even harder. I don’t know why my heart was shattering with just those words. It wasn’t meant for me. His words weren’t meant for me. But I could feel it in my bones. Every word. Every single word he uttered.

[“The version of me who loves you this much is someone I’m still trying to understand—and it might take me a lifetime unraveling it, so...”]

He sighed and smiled lovingly.

[“Will you give me your lifetime as well, Ayel?”]

I didn’t hear Ayel speak, but the way he offered his hand was enough to know his answer. Caleb immediately stood and pulled the person behind the lens into a tight embrace. The camera shook with the movement, tilting down to show only their shoes. And in the background, Caleb’s voice mingled with Ayel’s soft sobs.

[“You’re my home. The reason I keep waking up every day,”]

Caleb whispered lovingly.

[“I won’t stop you from chasing your dreams. I’d give you everything you ask for—even my life. But please, promise me one thing.”]

A pause.

[“Don’t ever leave me.”]

The screen flickered to black.

I paused the tape, my nose stuffy from crying. The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, I just sat there—lost in the weight of his words, feeling the ache settle deep inside me

“Fuck,” I groaned, wiping tears that felt like a dam breaking—I couldn’t stop them from falling.

I don’t know him—them. But they opened a door inside me I never knew existed.

My eyes shifted to the canvas in the corner of the room—unfinished, untouched. I had started it without thinking, guided by instinct, but never dared to finish it.

Because it felt like a sin.

It was him—Caleb.

I hated myself for wanting someone I shouldn’t. But the more I watched the tape, the deeper I fell—like slipping into an abyss I couldn’t climb out of.

It’s crazy to fall for someone I’ve never met in my life. But it’s even crazier to want him more now than I did when I first dreamed of him.

I planned to stop there—to not know more. My mind told me to. But my stupid heart wanted otherwise. It wanted to see more of him. To hear his voice again. As if the tape was meant for me to watch.

And so my heart won.

The next clips were just full of Caleb—some shots stolen, some intentional. He was full of life. Bright. A ray of sunshine in motion.

Until the screen flickered to a new scene.

This time, no one was holding the camera. It was set up in the living room—the same exact spot where the player sat now. The whole space was framed in still silence. Caleb walked out of a room, his footsteps heavy. His voice—angry, but more than that, wounded.

[“Why is breaking up always your answer whenever you’re faced with tough choices? When things stop being easy, you just... run.”]

His voice cracked, raw and trembling.

[“You throw the word around like I’m disposable—like we never mattered.”]

Silence.

But Caleb wasn’t done. He paced the room, hands in his hair, eyes filled with pain.

[“I understand. You have to leave. That it might take you a long time before you come back. I get it. And I told you—I can come with you! I want to be with you! I want to stay with you, Ayel. Through everything. Through your doubts, your silence, your goddamn cold days—because I love you! But you… you want to break up with me just because I’m choosing you over my job? Over my dream?”]

A quiet rustle came from off-screen—the sound of someone stepping forward. Footsteps as heavy as the air around them.

[“This is why I’m leaving you.”]

I froze. I knew that voice.

And then he appeared—a man with wolf-cut purple hair and fair skin dotted with small beauty marks—the same face I’d seen in the mirror every single waking day of my life.

[“Why would you choose me over your dream?”]

I gasped, hands flying to my mouth to muffle the cries. I shook my head, as if trying to convince myself it wasn’t real.

[“I told you to wait for me. Three years is just a short time. You don’t have to sacrifice your dreams just to be with me. But you don’t listen—you always do whatever you want—”]

[“Because I love you.”]

Caleb cut me off—the younger version of me. The version of me I have no memories of.

[“I’d do anything. Everything. Just to be with you.”]

I saw it—the coldness, the detachment—in my own expression.

[“Your love is suffocating.”]

Caleb’s eyes widened, jaw clenched, as my younger self sighed.

[“Why can’t you wait for three years? I will come back. We can always see each other. Call each other. Will you die if I’m not by your side?”]

I shook my head—a silent cry trapped within me—as memories began pouring in, relentless and overwhelming, like the downpour outside that I hadn’t even noticed.

---

"I'm not asking you to stay," Caleb said in a low voice, eyes searching mine. "I'm simply asking that you take me along with you."

I blinked, exhaustion weighing down my limbs and heart alike. "Why? Your life is here in Skyhaven. Why would I take you to—"

I trailed off, the words tasting bitter. The weight of everything—the love, the pain, the endless fights—pressed on me until I could hardly breathe.

I swallowed hard, my voice trembling but steady. "You know what? Sometimes... I wish I never met you."

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

"It's too much," I admitted, eyes stinging with unshed tears. "Loving you has been the hardest thing I've ever done."

---

The film played out exactly as I remembered.

Caleb, stunned, but said nothing. My younger self turned and walked away, leaving Caleb alone in the vast living room—like a melting candle, fragile and slowly dissolving. Quiet sobs echoed through the empty space.

Then the screen went black.

I fell to my knees, the sobs wracking my body uncontrollably. The face in the video, the voice, the love, the pain—it was all mine. I had forgotten everything.

Memories I buried deep clawed their way to the surface. A flashback—sharp and haunting—played in my mind.

After the fight, I locked myself away in my studio for an entire week, ignoring every call and message from Caleb. I wanted to avoid the pain, the confrontation. Until one day, the silence was absolute.

When I finally came home, I found him—Caleb—lying lifeless in our bed. The only thing beside him was a faded photo of us from when we first got together.

That moment shattered me.

Consumed by guilt and grief, I abandoned my art. The brushes and canvases gathered dust as I spiraled deeper into despair. And in a desperate attempt to escape the torment, I overdosed on pills. When I woke up. I remember nothing. The doctors called it a psychological block. But the pain was still there, even when I couldn’t remember why I was hurting.

But slowly, painting pulled me back—a fragile thread to life, the only thing that made me feel alive again.

As I sat trembling on the floor, the screen crackled once more.

The final clip played.

Caleb, now holding the camera, was filming himself. His eyes were red, but he was smiling.

["Hey, Rafayel… if you’re watching this... I guess you found the tape."]

And now it all made sense to me, why this was meant for me to see. I may be the one behind the lens all the time, but I was never the one who made every clip into a film.

It was him.

["I’ve been thinking a lot since you stopped coming home."]

He said, his voice uneven, like a thread fraying at the ends. And then Caleb laughed—painfully.

["You asked me once if I’d die if I wasn’t by your side."]

He sighed.

["Honestly? Yeah. Just thinking of you being far from me for three damn years... I just wanted to end my life."]

Then, with a soft, breathless chuckle, he added,

["But I know you’d hate me if I did that."]

My hands shook. My breath hitched.I grabbed the remote.

Rewind.

["But I know you’d hate me if I did that."]

Again.

["But I know you’d hate me if I did that."]

And again. Until it sank into the marrow of my bones.

["But I know you’d hate me if I did that."]

He didn’t take his life. He just… didn’t wake up.

Tears streamed freely, but for the first time, the guilt—that thing that wrapped itself around my chest for years—slowly began to loosen. Like it, too, had been waiting for the truth.

[“So… come back to my side quickly, alright?”]

Caleb smiled—the same soft, foolishly loving smile I used to wake up to.

[“I’ll be waiting.”]

He paused. His voice dropped to a whisper.

[“And please… take it back.”]

He looked directly at the lens, eyes glassy, begging.

[“That you wish you never met me.”]

And I nodded, sobbing—uncontrollably, desperately. I nodded like he could see me. And I swear... he smiled as if he did see me.

["Always remember this...Even when you weren’t around, you were still the only place I wanted to be. Will it be too much to ask if you think that way too while we're apart?"]

Caleb's smile didn't fade—as if patiently waiting for a reply.

“No,” I answered, smiling—not with sorrow, but with something close to peace.

["I love you, Rafayel."]

"I love you too, Caleb."

And then the screen went black, letters forming words—like a final vow.

[You're the ache and calm in my chest—the only chaos I'd gladly choose again.]

---

The gallery buzzed with whispers as Thomas scanned the room. Rafayel’s final exhibition had arrived in Skyhaven.

Yet, the familiar energy was replaced by something else. The entire space was dominated by a solitary image.

One face.

Caleb.

Once forgotten, now immortalized.

The name of the exhibition echoed softly in the air.

Lemurian’s Last Requiem.

[riihavoc]

⚠️ Trigger Warning: graphic violence, toxic dynamics, sexual content, degradation.

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It all started with a simple text from Rin.

[My cover was blown. 37.9184°N, 102.4739°W]

And just like that, I found myself looking for her—with the person I hated most.

“Stop being so fucking reckless!” Caleb yelled, grabbing my arm just as I reached for the car door.

We had just watched the video Sylus sent—a sick performance, calm and cruel. Rin was bound to a chair behind him, barely conscious. Her face was bloodied. Her body slumped. Every bruise felt like a punch straight to the gut. She looked half-dead.

The rain came down in violent sheets, soaking us to the bone, but it couldn’t put out the wildfire roaring in my chest. Rage. Fear. Helplessness. They clawed at me—louder than Caleb’s voice, sharper than the wind. All I could think about was her. Getting to her. Saving her—even if it meant losing everything else.

“Rafayel!”

Caleb stepped in front of me, grabbing my shoulders and forcing me to face him. His expression mirrored mine—tight with worry, jaw clenched, eyes burning with the same terror I felt but refused to name.

“Would you calm down for a second?” His voice stayed steady, annoyingly composed, like he wasn’t unraveling inside the way I was.

But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

“Calm down?” I snapped, heat rising in my throat. “You think I can fucking calm down after seeing that?” I shoved his hands off me, heart thundering in my ears.

“Rin is out there—broken, terrified—and you're asking me to breathe like everything’s fine?” I took a step back, fists clenched. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Caleb sighed—loud, exasperated. “Look, I’m worried about her too, okay? But you can’t just rush into his domain without a damn plan.”

He stepped closer, rain dripping from his lashes. “What? You’re gonna march in there and demand he hand Rin back? Do you want to die?”

I gritted my teeth. I knew he was right. Every part of me screamed that he was right. But that didn’t stop the fire crawling under my skin.

“I’m aware,” I snapped. “But every minute we waste planning, she could be dying.”

The words caught in my throat like glass. I didn’t mean to say them so raw. So real. But they were already out—hanging in the air between us, jagged and soaked.

Caleb’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know that?”

“If you know, then why the hell are you stopping me?” I glared at him, voice low but razor sharp. “I will save Rin no matter what the cost—even if it’s my life.”

I reached for the car door, desperate to move.

But Caleb slammed his hand down, blocking me.

The calm he’d been holding shattered. His eyes burned with a fierce, undeniable anger I’d never seen before.

“You what?” He asked, taking a step toward me, making me suffocate with just his presence. “You don’t mind dying? Why? Are you a cat? You have nine lives or something?” Caleb’s voice was laced with sarcasm—no, more like...anger.

But that didn’t faze me.

“I only have one. But I don’t mind giving it. If it’s Rin.” I answered, voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “She’s worth every risk. Every damn thing.”

Caleb’s jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter. His fist balled up, trembling with frustration.

“Are you in love with her?” His voice was low but sharp, like a blade sliding under my skin. I blinked, caught off guard, before my brows furrowed at his ridiculous question. “You sound like one. Is that why you’re so desperate to save her? Risking everything—just for her?”

Just for her?

My fist shot out, slamming into his cheek as thunder roared overhead.

“Just for her?” I growled, landing another punch. “She’s your childhood friend, you idiot! How the hell can you say that? Like it’s something small?”

Caleb staggered back, eyes darkening with a flicker of something more—jealousy, pain, or maybe guilt. He glanced away, then back at me, voice rough but honest.

“Exactly. She’s just a childhood friend. Why would I give my life away for her?”

I huffed in disbelief, “You—!”

Caleb wiped the corner of his mouth, blood mingling with the rain, and fixed his gaze at me with a serious, almost dangerous look.

“If you’re going to risk your life just to save her without a goddamn fucking plan...” He closed the distance between us, his voice dropping low, edged with a raw intensity. “I’ll break your ankles if I have to.”

His eyes locked onto mine—steady, unflinching. “I won’t let you die, Rafayel.”

For a moment, I just stood there—drenched, stunned, staring up at him.

What is this idiot saying?

The rain hammered down between us, but it couldn’t drown out the fury building in my chest. He said it so easily. So fucking sure of himself. Like I was some reckless idiot he had to leash down.

What? Break my ankles?

Something in me snapped. Without thinking, I shoved him hard in the chest, enough to make him stumble back a step.

"I dare you to." I said fuming in rage before walking back to the car. But even before I could take a step, I felt his grip on my arms so I turned and gave him another punch, but this time, it didn't land on his face, it landed on his palm.

"That’s your punch? No wonder you think dying is heroic."

That smug grin tugged at his lips—infuriatingly calm despite the storm between us. I tried to yank my arm free, but his grip only tightened. The rain clung to his skin, made the veins in his forearm stand out, and I hated that I noticed. Hated it more when he leaned in, voice low and taunting.

“That's all you’ve got, princess? Thought you had more bite.”

I snarled, yanking my arm free and shoving him again—harder this time. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll knock that smug look off your face.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. He stood there, rain streaming down his face like it belonged to him. The bastard wore the storm like an armor.

So I said it. The one thing I knew would hurt him.

“This is why I hate you so damn much.”

The words tore from my throat like glass.

He didn’t flinch—not one bit. I guess saying I hated him out loud every time we ended up in the same room had made him immune to it.

“I’d rather die than stay stuck with you for another second,” I added, out of spite.

The rain roared between us, soaking everything but the heat in my chest. His eyes widened—not in anger at first, but like something behind them cracked. And then...

He hit me.

A brutal, instinctive punch that sent my head snapping to the side. Lightning tore across the sky. My lip split open. Blood mixed with rain.

I spat out the blood before I moved fast and threw a punch—sharp, desperate, fueled by every ounce of anger and frustration boiling inside me. Caleb punched back with equal intensity, as if our long-buried emotions were finally breaking through the surface.

The rain fell hard—angry, relentless—drenching the cracked pavement of the N109 zone. It blurred the neon signs in the distance and soaked through every thread of clothing. But neither of us moved to take cover. Even the rain couldn't cool down the heat between us, it just burned hotter with each every blow.

I managed to get on top of him, raining down punches while he struggled to defend himself—and from time to time, landed a hit of his own. We were both soaked, wild with adrenaline.

Then lightning cracked close by, and we both froze—breathing hard, fists hovering just inches from our battered faces.

My knuckles were already split, blood mixing with rainwater as I glared at Caleb like I wanted to end him. Caleb wiped the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking through a busted lip.

“Go ahead and walk into hell alone,” Caleb huffed, eyes fierce and serious. “I’ll make sure to replace whoever sits on its throne.”

Before I could react, he attacked again—this time, not with his fist.

His lips.

It was punishing—ravaging, like he wanted to devour me whole. Then he pulled away, his fists now fists no longer—just trembling fingers clutching my shirt. His forehead pressed against mine, eyes locking onto mine—and the anger that had burned there before was gone.

What replaced it was something else.

Hunger.

"Why—"

He licked the blood from my lips, stopping me from asking—slow, deliberate.

“Even if you damn yourself, I’ll follow you into the fire. I’ll fight hell itself, overthrow the devil, and sit on that throne—just so I can be where you are.” Caleb whispered, voice serious, emotions raw.

His words shook the walls I’d built around the part of me I hated—the part I kept buried, hidden... the part that somehow... felt like it had been made only for him.

Once more, he pulled me in—hungrier this time, more desperate. Wanting. Tempting. Pleading. Playful and searching, his tongue sought every hidden part of me.

He made it impossible not to give in.

---

The loud crash of thunder shook the N109 zone, making anyone else jump in their seat. But in this cramped car parked on some abandoned stretch of road, none of that mattered. Because here, it was just me and Caleb—two silhouettes tangled together like we wanted to consume each other whole.

Rain hammered against the windows, drowning out everything except the sharp gasps between us and the wet, desperate clash of our mouths. Caleb had me pressed back at the back seat—his fingers dug into my hips, nails scratching through fabric as if trying to hold me in place, right here, right now. But I wasn’t any gentler—one hand clenched tight around the collar of his shirt, the other tangled deep in his soaked hair.

Our breaths were ragged, lips slick and swollen. No words. Just the weight of everything we’d never said, exploding between teeth and tongue.

This shouldn’t be happening. Not here. Not with him. But maybe that’s the curse of enemies who burn too close to the same flame.

“Haa… fuck… Caleb…” My head slammed back against the hard edge of the car's window as his mouth closed over my cock—skilled, greedy, like he’d memorized every damn nerve ending of my body and exactly knew how to fuck me right.

He hummed. The gentle vibration it made as he took me deeper heightened my desire, making me lose my mind completely from the pleasure.

The obscene pop that followed as Caleb drew back from my cock, tongue dragging one last time, made my head snap toward him. My glare burned with impatience, breath sharp and uneven, while he just grinned—bruised, bloodied, and still fucking gorgeous.

That fucking face—bloody lip, darkened jaw, and still looking like sin itself. I hated how good he looked. Hated how much I wanted him anyway.

“Why’d you stop?” I rasped, voice tight as I reached down and fisted his hair.

He chuckled low and smug, like he knew exactly where he had me. His grin widened as he looked up at me from between my legs—bruised mouth glistening, pupils blown wide.

“I like it when you beg,” Caleb said.

I cursed under my breath. This fucker really knows how to make me lose my shit in every way.

I tugged his hair, making him grimace a little from the pain—but it only seemed to arouse him. His eyes said it all.

“If you want to hear me beg...” My free hand slid up to his lips, tracing their outline before I shoved two fingers into his mouth, letting him play with my fingers on his tongue. “Get this mouth to fucking work.” I pulled my fingers out and shoved him back down onto my aching cock.

And he went—eager, filthy, taking me to the base without hesitation. His throat flexed as he swallowed me, my hand tightening in his hair, hips twitching, because fuck—he knew exactly how to ruin me. No teasing this time. Just heat. Wet, hungry, relentless.

My back arched against the sticky leather seat. Every moan that vibrated around me shot straight through my spine—white-hot and dizzying. My thighs trembled.

I was close. Too fucking close.

And then his fingers moved—slow, deliberate—making their way inside me. I froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden flood of pleasure building deep inside.

Then another finger slipped in, and I was trembling—too overwhelmed, too undone to hold myself together.

I melted in his warm mouth and slender fingers, my body shuddering as release crashed through me. When I looked down, he was drawing back—lips slick, breath heavy—a string of my cum clinging to his lip, still connecting us, glistening in the dark under the soft, amber glow of the lone lamppost outside.

But he didn’t stop there. He raised my legs onto his shoulders, spreading me open with deliberate ease. His tongue replaced those long, slender fingers—tracing the only entrance I had, licking into me with the same ruthless precision that had already shattered me once.

A high-pitched sound escaped my lips before I could stop it—and fuck him for grinning like that. All smug and cocky as he stretched me open with his mouth and fingers, like he was proud of every damn reaction he tore out of me.

“Y-you—! Stop!” I yanked at his hair, voice cracking, face burning red—and even under the low amber glow bleeding through the lamppost outside, I knew it was obvious.

Caleb looked up with a smirk and slowly sat back—big as he was, he had to hunch awkwardly, nearly curled in on himself in the cramped car. Yet somehow, he still managed to take up all the space, like even the air between my gasps belonged to him. His broad frame caged me in completely, still crouched between my legs, my thighs resting on his shoulders.

“What?” he asked, tilting his head, voice low and thick with smug heat as he stared up at me—right between flushed thighs and crumbling pride. “That moan just now didn’t sound like a complaint,” he teased, fingers stretching me carefully and deliberately.

I couldn’t find the words to fight back. It felt too damn good—so fucking good that if I didn’t stop him, I’d swear I’d lose myself completely.

He glanced at me when I stayed silent, then slid another digit inside as he spoke. “I need to stretch you properly. Or you’ll tear from this.”

With his free hand, he unzipped his pants, letting his cock spring free.

My eyes widened, heart pounding in my chest as I looked at him—bare, exposed, not even fully hard yet, but already promising both heaven and hell. The slick gleam of his skin under the dim lamplight made my breath hitch.

I swallowed hard, caught somewhere between disbelief and a raw, pulsing desire that twisted through me.

“What the fuck is that? A murder weapon?” I gasped, voice rough between sighs and groans every time his fingers hit a spot deep inside me.

Caleb chuckled, pulling his fingers out slowly and guiding the throbbing proof of his desire for me. “I thought you wanted to die?” he teased, rubbing his cock against my throbbing entrance, shamelessly demanding, aching for him.

“You ass—” I started to snap back.

But my words died on my lips as Caleb thrust into me without warning. He filled me up, sinking in about half deep, every inch stretching me wide, even though he wasn’t fully inside me yet.

I felt a twinge, and even though I tried to hold it back by biting my lip, Caleb noticed. He said nothing, but didn’t move either. Instead, he leaned in to lick my neck, sinking his teeth in to mark me, while his hands rubbed my cock, softened slightly from the stretch. He was letting me get used to his shape—slow, deliberate, owning every inch of me.

“I’m not fragile. You can start moving,” I hissed, eyes locked on him.

Caleb sighed, meeting my gaze. “I’m not moving because I’m afraid to break you,” he snapped, pushing in slowly, making me wince just a little. “It’s so I don’t come right away.”

His head rested on my shoulder as he moved with deliberate slowness. “Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty. Just feeling your walls wrapped around me makes me want to cum.”

I was left speechless. His slow thrusts sent waves of fire curling through me—each inch sinking deeper, claiming me piece by piece. My breath hitched as his lips trailed down my neck, teeth grazing over my sensitive skin, marking me again like a prize.

“God, you feel so tight,” Caleb murmured against my skin, voice thick with need. His hands roamed lower, gripping my hips to pull me closer, matching his rhythm to the heat coiling in my gut.

I clenched around him instinctively, every movement dragging me closer to the edge. Every whispered curse, every low, raspy moan tore through me—shattering the invisible walls I’d built just to keep him out, to replace everything with hate.

And yet here I am. Beneath him. In this goddamn cramped car. Forgetting everything. Everyone.

Begging.

“Don’t hold back,” I groaned, my voice rough—raw—almost like a plea. “Stop holding back, you id—” The words died on my tongue the moment his pace quickened—rougher, harder, untamed.

Every thrust was punishing, like the words I’d spoken had finally unleashed the beast he’d been suppressing. And it was getting too much. The pleasure, the need, the ache.

The car’s windows fogged over—not because of the rain, but due to the warmth and moisture trapped inside. My body moved with his, shamelessly meeting every thrust. The sounds our entwined bodies made were obscene—wet, desperate, and unfiltered. The kind that could drive anyone listening to madness.

"I'm close..." Caleb whispered in my ear, devouring my lips gently—a stark contrast to how he plunged into me.

I trembled beneath him, gripping his shoulders as the heat between us spiraled. “Just come,” I gasped, voice raw and needy.

His grip tightened on my hips, fingers digging into my skin as he slammed harder, faster—every movement driving me closer to the edge. The car rocked hard with his every thrust. The world narrowed to nothing but the slick, burning friction between us, his ragged breath mixing with mine.

Caleb’s hand slid down, rough and urgent, stroking my cock as we both teetered on the edge—his touch fueling the fire inside me. My walls clenched around him, desperate and trembling, pulling him deeper as my own release tore through me like a wildfire. My nails raked down his back—leaving my marks on him.

My body gave in first—release tearing through me like a violent wave. I came hard, thick spurts painting my chest, some even splashing onto the fogged window behind me. My walls clenched around him, tight and pulsing, dragging him down with me. Caleb’s voice cracked, a hoarse growl rumbling through his chest as he came—hot, relentless—spilling deep inside me. Every shudder, every curse, was a confession of need and unsaid emotion.

He collapsed on top of me, our bodies slick and shaking, breath tangled in the heavy, fogged air of the car—utterly spent.

We stayed like that for a while. Only the sound of the pouring rain outside and the occasional thunder rolling through the sky filled the heavy silence, punctuating the quiet moments between our ragged breaths and the steady pounding of our hearts.

And slowly, I’m coming back to my senses—my mind wrestling with everything I just did with Caleb, wondering how the hell things went from fistfight to this.

It all started with a text from Rin, begging for help—her cover blown, her life at risk.

The thought of Rin snapped me out of the haze, and I pushed Caleb away without hesitation. He stared at me, frowning like an abandoned dog—used briefly for fleeting leisure.

"Don't tell me you're regretting this?" Caleb asked as he pinned me back down against the leather seat. He grabbed my thighs, pushing himself back inside me—into a heat already dripping with his essence. Like he had no intention of letting go.

I frowned and tried to push him off, but he kept me caged beneath him, making sure I wouldn't leave his side.

"You idiot! What about Rin?!" I snapped, my voice sharp. That made him pause, like he’d just remembered why we were in this goddamn place to begin with.

He was about to pull out when his phone rang. The name flashing across the screen: Rin.

He answered immediately.

"You asshole! How the hell did you two end up fucking in my fucking car—"

Caleb flinched and yanked the phone away from his ear as Rin’s voice shrieked through the speaker. But then it cut off—like someone had snatched the phone from her.

A deep, smooth voice followed in the background, calm and borderline amused. "Sweetie, we did the same once, didn’t we? Let them be."

I frowned. Caleb just shook his head, exhaling like he finally pieced everything together.

"Sorry about that, Colonel," the man added smoothly. "I forgot to turn off the surveillance camera… after that little kiss you two shared."

I snatched the phone from Caleb, my voice sharp with panic. “What the fuck is happening?”

Sylus chuckled on the other end, the sound deep and maddeningly calm. “Relax. Rin’s safe.”

My brows furrowed. That didn’t make sense.

Caleb sighed beside me. “They set us up,” he muttered, voice low but certain.

Before I could process what he meant, he took the phone back and hung up—just as Sylus’s laughter echoed through the speaker like a final taunt.

I was still trying to process everything when my phone beeped.

A message from Rin.

[I played cupid. You two are such a pain in the ass.]

I blinked, confused.

Then another message arrived—a photo of Rin flashing a cheeky peace sign, and right behind her was Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, tied up in a chair, looking far less threatening than usual—chest bare, like they were about to get up to some adult-only fun.

My jaw dropped.

"You’ve got to be kidding me..." I muttered, staring at the screen like it had just slapped me.

I exploded in anger, fingers trembling as I was about to call her. But before I could, Caleb snatched it from my grip and tossed it onto the front seat like it was nothing.

His hands were already on my thighs, spreading my legs gently but firmly.

“Do it later,” he growled low, voice rough with something fierce—possession, warning, and something more.

"Now that we know she's safe..." He licked my earlobe as he pierced his unyielding cock inside me again, "Focus on me."

I clenched around him instinctively, every movement making me forget Rin and her crazy antics.

His grip tightened on my hips, his breath hot against my skin. Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability amid the chaos, he whispered, “I’ve wanted to do this… wanted you, for longer than I can remember.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. I looked into his eyes burning with desire and raw affection.

"What about you?" he asked in an almost desperate voice, yet the way he moved on top of me oozed with confidence.

And I hated it. I hated that I loved it.

That I love him.

“I’ve wanted you too,” I admitted, my voice barely more than a breath. “More than I ever wanted to admit.”

A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine. “Then stop being mad and let’s thank Rin for doing us a favor...”

I smirked—my voice low and wicked. “Yeah, by filling her car with the proof of our love.”

My words made him laugh—a dark, hungry sound.

“You’re so evil,” he whispered before claiming my lips with a fierce, desperate kiss

His hands roam boldly in my body, igniting every nerve as he trailed kisses down my neck, teeth grazing my skin.

I arched into him, breath hitching as his hips pressed harder, relentless and sure.

And in that cramped, heated car, with the rain hammering the windows, we finally stopped fighting—and just let ourselves drown in our desire, laid bare alongside our unfiltered hearts.

[riihavoc]

⚠️ TW: Explicit sexual content, dom/sub, breeding, obsession, bloodplay, blasphemy.

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"Do you want to fuck?"

I could tell my question caught him off guard, but I didn’t look away from the screen—like I hadn’t just said something insane. Not that the porn we were watching was any good. I was just trying to keep my sanity intact... to keep myself from fucking him without consent.

It wasn’t just my libido talking. I’ve wanted him ever since I realized what I felt. Fuck those sleepless nights, wondering what this is. And damn those boners I kept hiding whenever I saw his defenseless form crashing on my couch during sleepovers.

I want to ruin him. Mark his skin. Fill him with my essence—inside and out.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck it, Doctor Zayne.

“What did you say?”

I scoffed, finally turning to him—revealing the desire that’s been eating me alive, corroding what little sanity I have left.

I leaned closer. Almost pinned him. He didn’t even flinch.

“Let me fuck you, Doctor Zayne.” I moved in closer… inhaled that scent of his that only made me more feral. “Fuck… I want to breed you, if I can, Zayne."

I licked his neck, and I felt him shiver—yet he didn’t dare move. That only gave me more reason to be bold.

“I want to bend you over this couch… taste you… loosen you up… and fuck your wits out.”

I nibbled his neck, leaving a mark behind—claiming him in the way my body’s been screaming to.

"Will you let me, Zayne?" I hummed calmly, though my grip tightened around the armrest of the couch behind him.

"Let me worship you... defile you..."

I locked eyes with him, letting him drown in the lust blazing through mine.

"Breed you."

Zayne remained silent, and I waited—like a good, sinful dog in heat, cock hard and pulsing with restraint. His silence wasn’t rejection. It was permission simmering beneath the surface—etched in the way his breath hitched, in how his lips parted like he was on the edge of surrender.

Then, finally, his voice—quiet, low, wrecked—came out of his parted lips.

“No one’s stopping you, Colonel.”

Fuck. That was all I needed.

His goddamn consent.

I claimed his lips—no, ravaged. My tongue had a mind of its own—teasing, tasting, devouring every lustful gasp he dared to make. And my hands? Hah. Possessed. Bound to him—every inch, every tremble, mine.

This doctor is mine.

I abandoned his mouth and went down to worship every sinful nook and begging corner of his tempting form—my gaze never leaving his.

I needed to see it... his sin-drenched stare as I made my way down to his clothed chest, lifting his shirt at a tantalizing pace.

A smirk curled my lips when his body arched the moment my mouth closed around his hardened nipple, and he gasped like a sinner relapsing.

God, I don’t need your forgiveness. I’m a sinner—and I’ll stay that way. Lucifer doesn’t have to drag me to hell. I’ll go down myself if it means hearing his melodious moans, symphonic gasps, and euphonious whimpers as he writhes beneath me—with my mouth on his throbbing cock—every damn day of my corrupted life.

His hand tangled in my hair, hips thrusting as his head fell back against the armrest of the couch. A sight to behold—because of me.

Fuck him and his alluring body—for making me throw out all my reasoning, for making my cock ache and throb, for making me love every damn bit of his existence.

"Damn God... I want you so much."

The words spilled out before I could stop them.

Zayne only chuckled, crossing his legs over my back like a throne, his cold fingers gently ruffling my hair—petting me like a dog.

A big, desperate dog in heat.

"Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?" I groaned, my voice thick with hunger as I dragged my tongue over the tip of his cock—slow, deliberate—before wrapping my lips around it and sucking like it was the sweetest sin I’d ever tasted.

"Hmm... tell me," he murmured, voice laced with amusement, though his eyes burned dark with hunger. He licked his lips—playful, cruel, provoking. Like he took pleasure in dragging the confession out of me.

He knew exactly who held the leash—and it wasn’t me.

“Since forever,” I murmured, voice dazed and completely enthralled—like I was caught in a trance.

My lips wrapped around his cock—slow and needy—eyes locked on him the entire time.

Every twitch of his brows, the gasps and hiss that came out of his half-opened mouth, and the way his grip tightened in my hair will be forever ingrained in my twisted mind.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. Just the sight of his face—lips parted, brows drawn tight in bliss—was enough to nearly make me come untouched. But he had to be ready for me. I needed to stretch him, to make sure he could take every inch of me.

Every. Goddamn. Pulsing. Searing. Hard. Inch. Of. Me.

I pushed a finger into him as I took him deeper into my mouth. He shuddered—but never told me to stop. Slowly, deliberately, I teased him with that single finger, letting him adjust. When he loosened around me, I slid in a second, curling both until I found that sweet spot that made his hips jerk and a breathy moan escape his lips.

I smirked, watching every shift in his expression. With my fingers buried inside him, one hand stroking his cock, and my tongue sweetly assaulting the tip—he looked like a beautiful mess—just the way I wanted him to.

And when he quivered—eyes flying wide, fingers tangling hard in my hair as I brushed that certain spot—I chuckled.

“Found it…”

I thrust my fingers again, deliberately hitting that same place that shattered his dominant demeanor.

“Your sweet spot,” I murmured, voice low as sin, continuing to work that spot with purposeful rhythm, determined to make him come first.

I didn’t stop there—I couldn’t. I needed more. More of him. More of the way pleasure contorted his face. I needed to see him fall apart beneath me—spent and ruined. So I kept going, my mouth wrapped around his cock, my fingers pushing deeper, stretching him open. I moved with unrelenting rhythm, desperate to see him reach his zenith.

"Caleb! I'm—!" Zayne couldn’t finish his words, but he came—thick, hot spurts spilling across my tongue as his body arched and trembled—completely overwhelmed, utterly undone.

My chest rose and fell, but not as fast as my hands—ripping at my belt, parting his legs, and pressing my aching cock against his entrance.

And fuck—

I almost came right then and there. While Zayne... Damn, Doctor Zayne... he’s too tight... fuck... too good... fuck... too... everything I never thought I’d want, but now I couldn’t stop craving.

God, how does he do this to me? My chest tightened, my breath hitched—and then blood trickled from my nose, a wild, raw reaction to the sight of Zayne’s pleasured face.

"God, you’re so beautiful like this…" Words slipped from my mouth, blood dripping as I watched him tremble—wrecked and whimpering—with every thrust.

"Let me hear more of your moans, Doctor Zayne." I groaned, wiping the blood from my nose.

I needed more. I needed to break him, claim every shiver, every gasped plea. He's mine—completely, utterly mine.

I leaned in, capturing his mouth, passionate—no, ravenous. I devoured him greedily, unable to get enough. Even with my cock buried deep inside him, pressing into his walls until they memorized every inch of me, it wasn’t enough. I needed to mark him. To carve my existence into him.

"I wish I could breed you." The thought slipped out before I could stop it, and I felt him clench around me.

"Heh." I licked along his neck, hips driving in a steady, unyielding pace. "You like this kind of talk, huh?" I whispered, sinking my teeth into the base of his neck, leaving my mark on his pale skin.

“Shut up. You talk too much, Colonel.” He groaned, voice thick and hoarse from moaning, hiding his face in his arms while biting his lip to hold back another moan.

I laughed and paused for a moment. I gently removed Zayne’s arms from his flushed face and made him meet my gaze.

For a moment, I said nothing. I just stared at him, memorizing every expression he made as I thrust slow and deep.

"I can’t help it, you know." I lifted one of his legs and pushed it up, resting it on my shoulder. "I’ve dreamed of this long enough. And now that I’m inside you… it feels surreal."

Zayne chuckled. "You’re not dreaming." His cold hands cupped my cheek, and I rubbed against it like a loyal pup.

Then my thrusts quickened, my eyes closing on their own as I raced toward the edge, every nerve ignited and trembling with need. Meanwhile, Zayne held onto me tightly, his lips urgently searching for mine as we both teetered on the brink, about to find our release.

Hungry groans and trembling whimpers filled the living room until we finally had our release—mine inside him, and his on my chest and face.

I dropped on top of him, still half-hard.

"You came more than that guy," Zayne murmured, breaking the calming silence between us—referring to the man on the screen who’d climaxed along with us. It made me realize the porn we were watching had been playing the whole time, yet all I could hear was his voice.

"I can do you more, though," I whispered, rolling my hips and thrusting back in, hitting that swollen spot deep inside him.

Zayne groaned, his gaze snapping back to me—brows furrowed, but his eyes burned with nothing but hunger.

"What? You think once is enough?" I thrust my hips harder. "Once isn’t nearly enough to quench the decade-long yearning I’ve held for you, Zayne." I leaned in, capturing his lips. "So please... don’t stop me."

Zayne bit my lip—just enough to ignite the fire inside me. “Who says I’m stopping you?” he murmured, before trailing his tongue along my neck and biting down to leave his mark.

"You said you want to breed me." He pulled back, meeting my lust-drunk gaze with equal heat.

"Then don’t stop… not until I’m soaked in your scent. And my body is molded by your shape."

And that's it.

That's the end of me.

So, to all the Gods watching us.

If I’m a sinner and he’s my sin—then let me burn in hell, because I’ll never repent.