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rcvcgers · 4 days ago

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guys i worked really hard on this chapter!!!!!! go love it before i combust!!!!

(credit to @kylominis for this pic omg it's amazing i love it go give them a follow they're amazing!)

Loathe To Paint You, part four

acc. masterlist | series masterlist | ao3

playlist

previous part | next part coming soon!

pairing ; rafayel x painter!reader

synopsis ; after rafayel ghosts you for a week, he takes you on a surprise double date. things get spicy.

word count ; 11.6k words

author's note ; hi everyone! i am so sorry for the BIG GAP between updates! i kind of got stuck with the story and wanted to write other things but...we're back to our regular scheduled programming! hopefully! i hope you enjoy the chapter <3 all songs featured in this chapter are in the playlist linked above if you want to listen along!

content warning ; vulgar language, raf n reader makeout, unprotected sex (PLEASE WRAP IT AND STAY SAFE), p in v sex, missionary & cowgirl positions, alcohol use, let me know if i missed anything!

my painters ✐ᝰ. ; @zeskyzed , @drowsyapple , @llamabois , @romils , @debrahhhhhhh , @kebarney , @mentaltrouble2201 , @itsmeaudrieee , @flamedancer13 , @lolightrealm , @ghoulishnero , @leeniverse , @justpassingdontworry , @yumesagashite , @m0ss-gremlin , @yunozumi , @azlyneamie099 , @m00nchildwrites , @mxkvlio , @nautismgremlin , @jexireads , @rafshottestgf , @blcknebula , @eve-ishu , @namjoons-toenails , @kaiii07 , @imhere2dosomething , @vyntheria , @queenkymmie , @animegamerfox , @achilleas-dream , @beaconsxd , @butterbiscuit444 , @eolivy , @shypotatoes013-blog , @cayrelyra , @curryexpress , @needsumcomfypillowstosleep , @plzdonutpercieveme

want to be a part of the taglist? click here!

Your eyes widen at the sight of Abigail, the empty tub of ice cream dropping from her hands and onto the ground. Some of the slightly melted ice cream that pooled in the bottom of the tub rolls onto the ground. It’s a standstill filled with nothing but silence and the occasional blink to try and dissolve the awkwardness that settles into your bones. She points her finger at you, trembling as the shock runs throughout her body. You point back at her and cautiously approach the front door of your very humble abode.

“You didn’t–”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Abigail!”

“You kissed him!” she gasps, her hands flying over her mouth.

“I think you’re seeing things,” you try to lightly gaslight her, a formidable attempt to sway the conversation elsewhere, “you did eat an entire tub of ice cream. The sugar can–”

“Nope! Nuh-uh! We are not doing this right now!” Abigail turns and follows you inside the house, abandoning the emptied tub of ice cream on the loose gravel walkway. “You are not going to sit there and tell me that you didn’t just kiss your mortal enemy!”

“You’re right,” you pause, turning to look at her from over your shoulder, “I’m going to stand and tell you that.”

Abigail scoffs and rolls her eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest and follows you into the kitchen. She watches you with close eyes, memorizing the way you oh so casually grab a soda from the fridge, cracking it open. She circles around the counter and swipes the can from your hands, tossing it into the sink.

“Okay now that was uncalled for,” you pout, frowning at the fizzing drink in the sink.

“Admit it, you slut,” Abigail leans in, her nose almost pressed against yours. “You liked kissing him, didn’t you? You had a big ol’ fat smile on your face when you two were done.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” you roll your eyes and push past her, heading in the direction of your bedroom. Waving over your shoulder, you call out, “Goodnight Abigail!”

“Goodnight, slut!” she calls back, waving back at you. “When you don’t wake up tomorrow absolutely hating Rafayel Qi, I’ll take that as a sign that your body has been taken over by something and I’ll put you out of your misery!”

“Have fun with that!” you call back, shaking your head with a small chuckle.

As soon as you reach the end of the hallway, taking the right hand turn towards your bedroom, a smile blossoms across your lips. You push inside your bedroom and close the door behind you, making sure to lock it so Abigail doesn’t come running in, and kick off your shoes. You strip yourself of your clothes and put on comfortable pajamas, humming along to a love song you listened to in a romantic comedy from the other night.

You plop down onto the bed, arms and air sprayed out with a big smile on your face. Your lips still feel tingly from the kiss with Rafayel. Your stomach is aflutter and your heart skips a beat as you replay the memory in your head, swooning for the Lemurian man all over again. You honestly feel like you are laying upon the clouds, your body feeling so light and airy as happiness courses throughout your body.

Sure, you absolutely hated Rafayel that morning when he accused you of needing a whole harem to keep you happy in life, but Rafayel sure did make up for it with that sweet and tender kiss. That’s what matters at the end of the day, right? Your hatred for him seemed to evaporate in that moment, taking a backseat as your secret and hidden crush on him came out. Admittedly, you always loved his purple locks, the way his face always crunched up whenever you annoyed him or accused him of being a man whore or tilapia — which according to him, is a bottom feeder fish who only eats shit — so the insult was appropriate in that moment. You have always loved the way his voice gets high pitched whenever he gets embarrassed and you really like the way the two of you are able to play pretend so well with one another. It sounds like a match made in heaven, right?

Well, that is exactly what you keep telling yourself through the night as you wait for him to send a text or to call you.

But…it never comes.

You stare at your phone screen, waiting for it to light up with a message from him. You expect to see the photo-less ID with his name besides a poop emoji but your eyes have yet to be graced with the sweet sound of the notification ding. Thinking that throwing your phone face down and across the bed would somehow help, that Rafayel will sense your fake indifference and get down on his knees in front of you in the virtual world of texting, but it never comes, just a notification from a language learning app that threatens to kill you and your descendants if you don’t do your daily lesson of the day or from a spam caller that’s here to talk to you about your car’s extended warranty.

It’s very, very disappointing to say the least.

But that’s okay! You won’t let it spoil your night! That is, until you feel the one thought that you would never expect to haunt you to arrive.

You should text him first.

It sends chills down your spine, shuddering at the thought. The idea of texting or calling Rafayel is so foreign to you. Why should it be you who reaches out first? He’s the one that kissed you! It was Rafayel who thrust the two of you into murky waters! You should be in bed planning out his inevitable demise, not the outfit you’re going to wear to see him next! The whole reason you are now laying in bed contemplating every single thing in your life is because Rafayel thought that playing mind games while you were ovulating — it’s quite unfortunate that your ovaries are working against you — was a good idea.

You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at the ceiling. The fuzzy ducks on your pajamas are not enough to save you now. The back of your mind is running a mile a minute while going over all of the possible outcomes that could have happened.

Is he dead? Did he crash his car and die after he dropped you off? Maybe if you go outside and inspect the beach roads, you can find his decapitated head beside his mangled body! The flames from his destroyed car would be a good backdrop for some light photography! He would appreciate you finding art out of his untimely death, right?

Or maybe he’s asleep! He had a big day, especially when he tried to out-macho a man who looks like he eats steel and drinks children’s tears for breakfast. The poor painter must feel so tired after carrying that heavy panda plushie and the small bag with Reddie in it.

You close your eyes, shaking your head. You pull the sheets of your bed all the way up to your chin, remaining hidden beneath the blanket. You refuse to think about Rafayel and the way he has left you hanging. He probably has a good excuse lined up that you’re a little too eager to accept if it means that you can feel the warmth of his lips on yours again and —

Okay wow! You are getting way out of hand here! It was one kiss, not a marriage pact! You need to pull your shit together and show that purple haired, beautiful lipped, gorgeous eyes of a man that you are an unbothered queen who doesn’t need his affection and attention to feel fulfilled in life! Yeah…yeah that sounds like a plan!

Okay, so your plan crumbled in a matter of twenty four hours.

When you didn’t wake up to a text from him — hell, even a missed call would have been acceptable — all hell broke loose. You told yourself to not think about it, to not make up excuses for him. You decided to wait another day. Thomas is a good agent who takes his phone away from him so he can paint his next big masterpiece.

But then a week passed. After that, you stopped looking at your cracked phone screen and trying to make things better inside your mind.

You were a mess leaving your bedroom at five in the afternoon, your hair knotted and sticking up, frizz overtaking the strands. Your pajamas’ fuzz has flattened and matted from constantly wearing them throughout the week. You didn’t shower, remaining inside the depths of your room, hidden from within the darkness.

It was only when Abigail saw you walking down the hallway looking like a zombie did she interfere in your nonexistent love life by taking your phone away from you.

She did what she knows how to do best and placed you in front of a large canvas with a fresh set of paints and brushes. She put on your rage playlist filled with the sweet sounds of Alanis Morrissette and Fiona Apple, their voices echoing off of the walls, and closed the door behind her so you can have some much needed privacy. You dip your hands into the paint, not bothering with the brushes as your rage over Rafayel not calling or texting you after your kiss takes over your body.

Reds and oranges and yellows scatter across the canvas, taking the form of a ginormous flame, the matchstick being created from black and grays as you drag your fingers down the bottom of the canvas. In the middle, you create the image of an anatomically correct heart — at least your version of one in your style — that is engulfed by the flames of your anger and rage.

How could he do this to you?! And to think that you let him get anywhere near —

Your phone rings. It sounds like a melody that is played by a sixth grade band; it sounds as good as it is going to get with some really pitchy clarinets. The sound echoes down the hallway and it comes from Abigail’s office. Your body stiffens. Your feet carry you across the art studio’s floor, poking your head out of the doorway to inspect it.

Abigail leaves her office, your phone resting in her hand. Her eyes meet yours, a sigh leaving her lips. You raise your eyebrows, gaze dropping to the phone before moving back up to her, your silent question reaching her ears as soon as your eyes meet once again.

“Yes,” she nods her head, shifting her weight to one side of her body, “it is him. I sent him to voicemail though—”

Without wasting another second, you bolt out of the art studio, trails of paint following in your wake, staining the hardwood floor as you snatch the phone from her hand, looking staring at Rafayel’s name on the screen, now hidden beneath smeared paint on the phone screen. You let out a sigh, unsure if you should call back or not.

That’s when it happens. The screen turns black for a brief moment before it lights up all over again, Rafayel’s name and face popping up on the screen.

You let out a shriek, tossing your phone into the air. Abigail catches it before yelling and throwing it right back to you. The two of you continue this game of hot potato, your cell phone now a poor victim in its constant flight back and forth between your bodies.

“I don’t want it!” you yell at her.

“He’s not my problem! He’s yours!” Abigail retorts, tossing the phone back. You catch it and stare at the screen, eyes narrowed, before you turn back up at her. “Wait — you wanted him to call! Why are you avoiding it?”

“You’re so right,” your body relaxes, voice turning back to normal for a split second before it returns to its high pitched shriek, “but it’s been a week! He shouldn’t talk to me!”

The phone stops ringing, the missed call notification appearing on the screen. You gasp and snatch the phone back from Abigail just for Rafayel to call for a third time. Your thumb slips on the screen, covered in paint as it fails to pick up on your touch. A panicked yell leaves your mouth and your friend has to step in with a wet wipe, something that she always has on her for situations like these, and frantically wipes your fingers and screen. Finally, you’re able to swipe the green bar across and accept the call, casually bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hello,” you say with a flip of your hair, “who is this?”

“That’s what you decided to open up with?” Rafayel’s voice is unimpressed, a light chuckle leaving his lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, watching as Abigail walks away to give you much needed ‘privacy’ aka her hiding in her office with the door cracked open for her to listen. “I still don’t know you who you. Maybe if you give me a name or a clue as to who you are, then I’ll remember you.”

“Oh, okay,” you can hear Rafayel’s eye roll from the other end of the line, “I see what you’re doing. Very funny.”

“I know,” you muse with a deadpan tone, “I’m hilarious.”

You walk down the hallway, closing the door to the art studio room behind you. You stare at the canvas, wondering if Abigail will choose to sell it or display it in a gallery nearby. Rafayel’s breathing is prominent over the phone and he keeps making sounds that sounds like he is going to speak but is shutting himself up.

“A week, Rafayel,” you break the silence, “it’s been a week.”

“I know. I am the scum of the earth and deserve to eat shit,” he breathes out.

“Okay, well, your words, not mine,” you mumble into the phone, trying to hold back a laugh from his dramatics.

“I meant to call you, I promise,” he continues, “but Thomas had me shipped away to another city because he booked me a last minute showing or whatever and I didn’t have wifi—”

“There’s cellular,” you interpret him, “but that’s besides the point.”

“Fucking cellular — you know what? I’m not even going to start with that fish hole,” Rafayel stops himself. He lets out a sigh and you can just imagine the way his brows are knitted from frustration, the way have to nitpick every single one of his excuses and reasonings. It’s the smallest form of revenge after he ghosted you for a week straight. You are enemies, after all, what did he expect? “I wanted to see if you would like to accompany me tonight on am adventure.”

“An adventure?” you question, slight annoyance in your voice.

He ignores you for a week then invites you on an adventure? Oh yeah. He’s killing you. He’s going to lure you in with the prospect of a date — a night where the two of you can live out your wildest fantasies with no remorse. That is, until the fantasies turn dark and he slices you up like a sushi roll ready to be eaten. You can smell the way you’re wrapped in the white rice and seaweed. Perhaps he has a nice, expensive can of caviar he can top you off with. It’s the least he can do.

“Well, more like a chore on my end, but it will sure to be a fun time for you, cutie!” Rafayel laughs to himself.

Wow. He really is trying to sell this on you. What a slick, slippery Lemurian man. The deplorable actions of this fish stick. He really is going to kill you. You’re so fucked.

“How long will this adventure take?” you sit down in a chair, spinning around as if you don’t have the time to leave. You’re doing important stuff, after all. This canvas won’t paint itself! “I have sooo much to do.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Rafayel immediately retorts.

“Bitch,” your voice sharpens. You open your mouth to yell at him, to scream that he has no right to demand that you leave your oh so important life just because he needs someone to carry his bags at the mall!

There’s a knock on the window. Your body freezes, eye widening. Slowly, you swivel around in your chair, facing the large window that overlooks the sea. Rafayel stands on the other side with a raised eyebrow and his lips are pressed into a thin line. You narrow your eyes. Purse your lips. He straightens his posture, crossing one arm over his chest. He cocks his head to the side, a triumphant smile spreading across his lips.

“I hate you,” you state, “I hate you so fucking much.”

“And I am thoroughly disgusted by you. Get changed, I’ll wait for you outside.”

You took a nice and long shower, standing underneath the hot water doing nothing just to spite the man. He’s impatient and irritable, everything that you plan to exploit. You want to make him wish that he immediately texted you back instead of leaving you on read for a week. That bitch. You’re still salty about it and rightfully so.

You changed into a casual outfit, trying to match his black shirt, jeans, and sneakers. You put on dark jeans with a red top that’s cropped with a white undershirt. Your hair is back in a braid, unable to contain the frizz and knots that formed because, well, you’re an idiot who let Abigail use your hair products. That bitch. A silver necklace sits on your chest as you quickly leave your house. Your friend follows behind, spraying your perfume on your body as you shove your wallet and phone into your purse, fighting a pack of gum that stops your phone from fully fitting it.

Rafayel turns around the corner of your house. His curiosity got the best of him and he inspected the walls, already putting in a call for Thomas to hire someone to touch up the paint and fix the cracks. He even hired a gardener to stop by and fix the greenery of your yard, the weeds growing out of control while your flowers look like they’re about to die. It looks like a nightmare to him, one that he must remedy.

“If you need me to come get you,” Abigail begins, already out of breath, “remember that our code word is ‘aquamarine’ and I will come running,”

“Yes, yes,” you nod, barely able to pay attention as Rafayel turns back into view. He smiles at you and the ice around your heart begins to melt. Fuck. You should’ve fortified it with steel instead of frozen water.

“Aquamarine? Really?” Rafayel snorts. He takes his place at your side, fighting the temptation to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you close.

His eyes flit to the ocean backdrop, the sun beginning to set. When he turns back to look at you and Abigail, his face drops. The two of you scowl at him, hands on your hips. Abigail steps forward, poking a finger into his chest. Fear settles into his bones. He’s unsure what’s going to happen with him, the wrath of your best friend prominent in the flame of her eyes, a look that will kill him.

“Aquamarine is a fantastic coming of age movie where a mermaid and her two friend teach her life lessons and the importance of friendship and love. I suppose a man like you,” she narrows her eyes, “wouldn’t understand the complexities of female friendship.”

“You’re right,” Rafayel immediately surrenders, glancing at you for some kind of relief. You don’t give him it. “You are very correct. I am a dumb man who knows nothing about female friendship and should remain silent.”

“Yeah, you should,” Abigail looks him up and down once, “if you hurt my friend: I will kill you.”

“Duly noted,” Rafayel nods. Just when he thinks he’s safe, your friend pretends to lunge at him, quickly pulling away at the last second. A fake out that causes Rafayel to flinch back, hand attaching to your arm as he pulls you in front of him.

“Bitch,” Abigail mutters. She gives you one last look, one last out to not leave with Rafayel, but you simply nod and watch as she disappears into your humble home.

“Shall we?” Rafayel asks. You turn and nod, feeling his hand rest on your lower back as he walks you to his car, opening up the door for you. You get in and place your hands on your lap, watching as he quickly jogs around to get into the drivers seat. “So, how do you feel about karaoke?”

Rafayel stands beside you, looking up at the karaoke sign. It was a new place in Linkon, one that you never thought that you would even be at the grand opening for. You glance at him and notice the look of disapproval on his face, the judgement that settled into his muscles. He has his hands on his hips, looking at the flashing lights of the bar. When eh finally notices you looking, he turns to full face you, giving you his full attention.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“This is your so-called ‘adventure’? Karaoke?” you point at the building. People filter in and out through the doors, a few groups drunk despite the sun barely setting mere minutes ago. “How is this considered a chore, exactly? Is singing Funky Town too strenuous for you? Wait, let me guess,” you look him up and down with pursed lips, your mind slowly working through a collection of songs in your head, “you’re more of a Cry Me A River by that Timberlake guy.”

Rafayel wears the most unamused look on his face. While you’re giggling, continuing to make fun of him for his song choices — which are actually scarily accurate, he’s quite terrified — he just rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Are you done?”

“No,” you shake your head, covering your mouth as more laughs spill from your lips, “I can imagine you having a whole dance too while you sing. It’s a performance—”

“Okay, okay,” Rafayel rolls his eyes. H reaches out and flicks your forehead.

It’s like a manual reset. Your laughter immediately dies and you blink at him, unable to form a coherent thought of your brain reboots. Damn you and your fish-like brain. Once your thoughts come back to you, you turn and glare at him, shoving his chest. He’s the one to laugh this time, throwing his head back as his beautiful purple locks fall out of his face. And man, oh man, is it a sight to behold.

“I’ll leave,” you threaten him, “I’ll leave you to do the chore of singing fuck boy songs by yourself—”

“MC invited me,” Rafayel’s words stop you in your tracks. You stare at him, tiling your head to the side. His ex? Why would she invite him here? Rafayel huffs and looks away, a slight scowl resting on his face. “I guess that boyfriend of hers, Chauncey or whatever—”

“It’s Sylus. You weren’t even close to getting it right,” you’re dumbfounded but Rafayel keeps talking.

“—really liked your ‘spunk’ and wanted to hang out with us again so…now we’re here!”

“Ha!” you clap your hands together, feeling a wave of triumph crash over your body, “they like me more than you!”

“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far,” he rolls his eyes once again. He watches you with a close eye, though, admiring the cute expression on your face. Your face scrunches up as you pump your fist into the air, your victory taking over your body. His expression softens, heart slowly unwinding. Oh, how he could paint a plethora of paintings of your beautiful face. You are his new muse, the person that pushes him to create better pieces of art with his heart muddled into the paints and colorful pigments.

“I would,” you smile, tilting your chin to look up at him, a sparkle of mischief in your eyes, “because they clearly wanted to invite just me but had to settle for you and your horrible voice.”

“My aunt is literally an opera singer,” Rafayel’s offended by your comment, as usual. He puts his hands on his hips and leans down as annoyance filters through his body. “And you know that I’m a si—”

“Rafayel!” MC’s voice comes form behind.

The two of you immediately stand up straight, backs stiff as you turn in unison. Just down the sidewalk, MC and Sylus walk hand in hand. Her smile is bright and beautiful while his is more casual, his red eyes scanning the immediate surroundings. You bite your lip at the sight of him. Six feet and five inches of pure muscle, his little waist looking even more slutty. Rafayel’s cheeks that up from jealousy, watching as you salivate over the silver haired fox that walks towards you.

“I bet his voice is fantastic,” you smirk, knowing that your comment will send Rafayel over the deep end. It does, but he refused to verbalize it and instead ignores you, giving MC a wave as they approach you.

“It’s so good to see you again!” she drops Sylus’ hand and walks towards you. You open your arms and the two of you hug, a ball of excited giggles and chuckles before you pull away. She looks you up and down and gives you a subtle wink, her approval for your outfit making you feel even more confident. “Sylus got us a VIP room! Unlimited food and drinks and no time limit on singing!”

“Sylus, you’re a god,” you comment. MC wraps an arm around your waist and you do the same.

You ditch your boyfriends — one real and the other very much fake — and saunter inside of the tall building.

The employee hands you the key to the VIP room, one that sits at the very top of the building. The group enters inside, the view of Linkon on full display. Just in the distance, you can see the edge of Whitesand Bay, a small smile spreading across your face. You turn to look at Rafayel. You wiggle your eyebrows and give him a little shoulder shimmy, nudging into him as Sylus and MC walk to the bar to order drinks.

“He’s so much better than you,” you innocently smile, a quiet chuckle leaving your lips as Rafayel glares at you. Was your comment meant to annoy him? Absolutely. Was it meant to make him lose his cool and prove to MC and her god of a boyfriend to choose you when you and Rafayel meet your contractual end? Why yes, of course.

“How?” Rafayel asks, annoyance prominent in his voice. “He wears leather in the summer heat! He drives a motorcycle while I have sports cars! Four of them! If he were to crash, he’d basically die or get, like, really bad road burn, meanwhile my cars give you more protection! Also, he wears too much cologne—”

“Oh my god,” you point up at him, leaning in, closing the distance between your faces, “you’re totally jealous of him!”

“I feel like this whole time I’ve been trying to prove to you that I’m not jealous and yet here you are being stupid and—”

“MC! He just called me stupid!” you step away from him. You hide your laugh and point at him, feigning a look of sadness. MC immediately turns around and gasps, eyes fixed on the Lemurian.

“Rafayel! You have to be nice to your girlfriend! You can’t bully her!” she yells. She crosses the room as Sylus carries the four drinks in his hands placing them on the table in the middle of the room. MC pulls you into a hug, glaring at Rafayel.

“I didn’t call her stupid,” he tries to reason, “I said she was being stupid!”

“Oh, the horror!” you whine into MC’s shoulder. She shakes her head at the purple haired man and pulls you away from him, taking you over to the seating area in front of the large karaoke screen. “MC, will you start us off tonight? Please, do the honors!”

“Of course! Sy and I were taking about songs on the way over here and I have the perfect song to start with!” MC smiles.

You sit down on the leather couch beside Sylus. He’s just so big compared to you. If you were a dainty flower then he was the unmovable rock that protected the garden. Rafayel sits down beside you, arms still crossed over his chest, as he looks down at you.

“Why don’t you sing with her Sylus?” Rafayel suggests.

The silver man looks over and a small smile spreads across his face, one that makes your kitty purr. With one nod, he stands up and moves to MC’s side, wrapping an arm around her waist as they look in the electric song book. You squint and look up at Rafayel, who places his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him.

“You smell,” you comment, trying to push him away just for him to pull you right back in.

“And you smell amazing. Wipe some of your perfume on me,” he snorts, taking his hand and wiping it across your face. You gasp and shove him away, ready to fight when you notice MC and Sylus watching.

They look like a pair of proud parents, ones that are watching their son — damn you Rafayel for claiming them first — finally fall in love with the woman of his dreams. Not that you’re the woman of his dreams, though, could you even imagine? He kissed you, then ghosted you, just to drag you to karaoke with his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. This feels like something out of a movie and you, my friend, have just fallen victim to whatever scheme it is that he’s brewed.

“Why are you the worst?” you quietly groan once MC and Sylus turn away. You glare at him, huffing. “You kiss me then ignore me for a whole week—”

“I have a reason for that,” Rafayel fully turns to face you, grabbing your hands into his, squeezing them. Your heart skips a beat. You look down at your hands, noticing a few specks of paint on his fingers. You suck in a breath and look up at him, heartbeat loud in your ears. “I swear I do! It’s a good one, too. It’s such a stupid story, really—”

“Tell me then!” you gush, leaning forward, your face dangerously close to his. His shoulders slump. Lips pushed to the side of his face. His bright blue eyes look away from you, a slight amount of shame flickering across his face.

“It’s stupid,” he sighs.

“I bet it is,” you match his frown, “but I deserve to know the truth, right? You did leave me hanging…I really wanted to hear back from you.”

“You did?” Rafayel asks, his demeanor becoming instantly brighter. You nod, trying to hold back the sadness form the week that wants to pour out of your mouth. You hold back your anger and the need to yell and scream at him for playing with your heart, for putting you under an immense amount of stress. “I’m so sorry—”

“This song goes out to my lovely girlfriend,” Sylus’ voice interrupts Rafayel before he can finish.

The two of you turn to watch Sylus. MC quickly leaves his side, taking her spot on the couch beside you. You’re sandwiched between her and Rafayel, all eyes of the room trained on the muscular man. MC reaches for the drinks, all alcoholic in nature, and passes them to you and Rafayel.

“You’re going to need this,” she murmurs, leaning into the couch.

You raise an eyebrow and look at Rafayel. He shrugs and puts his arm around your shoulder again, pulling you close to him like a good boyfriend would. Even though he is definitely not your boyfriend. Nuh uh. No way. He leans down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. You shiver and lean into him, goosebumps littering your skin as his warm breath envelops the side of your neck.

“Ten dollars says he’s horrible and sings a Backstreet Boys song,” he whispers, amused.

“Twenty says that he sings Elton John…and that he has the voice of an angel,” you whisper back. The corners of his lips perk up and he nods, holding out his pinky. You twist yours around it, the deal now sealed. You glance at MC and notice that her drink has been emptied and she moves on to Sylus’ drowning that as well. Your jaw drops, slight dread washing over you as you realize that you’re about to lose your best to Rafayel.

The song begins to play. The light strum of a guitar plays and Sylus sings a quiet “yeah,” into the microphone. You reach for Rafayel’s hand, an immense amount of shock and awe solidifying in your body. The sight of Sylus clutching the microphone partnered with the serious look on his face as he stares at MC, the music blaring through the speakers as the colorful party lights coloring the room in bright colors, a rainbow flashing on the wall. The lyrics to the Backstreet Boys’ song I Want It That Way is displayed on the screen behind Sylus. Your jaw drops, looking up at Rafayel.

“I fucking told you,” he smugly says. He reaches and gently closes your mouth, hand pushing your chin up.

“You are,” Sylus sings, voice out of tune and cracking, “my fire. The one desire. Beeeelieve when I say…I want it that way!”

Your hand moves to cover your mouth. You choke back a laugh. Rafayel’s grip on your tightens, face turning red as he tries to keep his serious expression on his face. MC shakes her head from beside you, murmuring an apology about just how bad he is, explaining that he loves singing so much. It only makes you and Rafayel hold onto each other tighter than before. A laugh vibrates your throat, having to close your eyes as Sylus’ out of tune and unnecessary vibratros leaves the speakers.

“I never wanna hear you say! I want it that way!” Sylus belts out. You choke on your drink, hoping that it would keep you from laughing. Oh, how you were wrong.

“Oh my god,” you sputter, trying to catch your breath as your face turns hot, “oh my god I got the ick—”

You shudder as Sylus travels towards MC. He is still completely serious. Your throat feels raw as you hold back laughter, tears falling from your eyes. You bury your face into Rafayel’s side, trying to steady your breathing as Sylus lets out a loud and long note — one that he holds into for a little too long.

“Don’t want to hear you — SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Sylus belts out.

“Cutie,” Rafayel gasps, “I can’t breathe!”

Sylus walks back to the stage to finish the last minute of the song. You and Rafayel turn to MC, who wears a grimace on her face. She awkwardly smiles, her own laughter coming through.

“I’ll go get us tequila shots,” she says with a nod, standing up to leave for the bar just as the song ends.

Sylus sets down the microphone, a smug look on his face. He walks back to the group, settling on the couch as MC comes back with a tray of shots and a new round of drinks. You had to finish your cocktail to get the raw feeling out of your throat. Rafayel gently rubbed your back, his nails gently scratching the itch you didn’t even know you had until it disappears, pulling his hand away. He stands from the couch and takes your hands, pulling you up.

“MY beautiful girlfriend and I will be next! A duet to start the night off!” Rafayel proclaims. Your eyes widen but you play along, forcing a smile onto your face. While singing isn’t really your forte, you assume that you’ll be better than the sounds that Sylus made because, well, they were sounds. You’re not really sure if it was singing or not…

“Wait! Take a shot!” MC stands with two glasses in her hand. She passes them to you two and Sylus stands behind her, slipping a glass into her hand. She raises the glass in the middle of the group, a bright smile spreading across her face. “To friendship and singing!” She toasts. The four clink their glasses in the middle before drowning the shots.

“Oh, fuck,” you grimace. Rafayel shoves a lime into your mouth to silence you. Your eyes look over to Sylus and MC, watching as he reaches out to wipe away a droplet of tequila that spills from the corner of her mouth. He brings the pad of his thumb to his lips and licks it off, smirking down at her.

Rafayel notices you watching. He lets out a ‘hmph’ and mimics Sylus’ action, dragging the tips of his fingers across your mouth. Your face scrunches up and you push him away, the two of you launching into a war of slapping hands and grunts. It’s only when Rafayel lands another fucking flick to your forehead that you stop your childish fight. You reboot, again, and let him guide your body to the microphones and songbook.

“How do you do that?” you ask, taking one of the black microphones from him. “It’s like a superpower.”

“Well, my Evol is fire,” Rafayel shrugs in a matter of fact way while clicking through the songs. His hip bumps into yours, pointing to a song that you nod your head at, agreeing with his choice. “But I suppose an Evol in taming you comes in handy.”

“Taming me? Bitch please,” you turn around with an eye roll, smiling at the two on the couch. MC gives you a reassuring thumbs up, one that helps dispel the slight nervousness in your heart — okay, maybe it’s the tequila talking — as the opening notes of the song play.

The upbeat piano and string instruments fill your ears, the beginning of a guitar riff playing as Rafayel takes his place at your side. He gives you a look, one that silently asks if the two of you are gonna do a little routine even though you just made fun of him for having one ready for his solo songs, and you nod because, well, fuck it!

“Don’t go breaking my heart,” Rafayel sings into the microphone, standing behind you. He leans to the side, looking down at you. You pop your hip out, hand resting on it, as you bring the microphone to your face.

“I couldn’t if I tried!”

“Oh honey if I get restless,” Rafayel steps around you, taking your hand into his. He spins you into his chest, your eyes meeting once again as your line comes up.

“Baby, you’re not that kind,” you smile, a quiet giggle leaving your lips. You shimmy your shoulders to the beat of the song and step away from the Lemurian, the man quickly following behind as you play a fun, pretend game of cat and mouse on the karaoke stage.

“Don’t go breaking my heart!”

“You take the weight off of me!” you laugh as MC and Sylus clap, cheering you on from the couch.

“Oh, honey, when you knocked on my door,” Rafayel smiles down at you, unable to contain the happy look that is now etched onto his face.

“Ooh, I gave you my key!” you turn towards the couch and make a side comment into the microphone, “he actually broke into my house—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafayel rolls his eyes as the chorus begins, “she’s lying!”

You sing in unison, perfectly hitting the notes…unlike Sylus. He stands in front of you, swaying to the beat of the song while you shimmy your shoulders. You move in sync, sharing the same brain cells as he drops to his knees in front of you.

“When I was down!”

“I was your clown!” you leaned down and pretend to give him a kiss on the lips, pulling away at the last moment, teasing him.

The song continues and he pushes up to his feet, walking around you as you sing the long note of the chorus. Your voices are perfectly intwined as the melody plays on. Rafayel’s inner siren comes out while your voice harmonizes with his with ease. He moves behind you, a hand on your hip, pulling you close to him.

“So don’t go breaking my heart,” he sings the words a little too truthfully, wishing to mend the mistakes that he made between the two of you.

“I won’t go breaking your heart,” you sing back, connecting your hands as you sing in unison: “Don’t go breaking my heart!”

The night is filled with music and laughter mixed in with plenty of cocktails and drinks. Between songs, MC and Sylus share stories about their own adventures while you and Rafayel listen in awe. Turns out, Slylus is NOT a fruit vendor but is basically the mafia daddy of the N109 Zone, a place you have yet to visit. It made him even more impressive, swaying back and forth in your seat while Rafayel’s hand lazily rested on your waist.

The two of you didn’t really have many stories to share in return, just the times you fought and argued in art exhibitions over your different interpretation of pieces. While you very eagerly expressed your disdain for Rafael’s take on your friend’s piece titled Death of a Bee, his fingers trailed up to your exposed skin, tips of his fingers painting invisible swirls and portraits into your skin. It sent chills down your spine, your drunken eyes meeting his half-lidded ones.

“Hey,” MC calls out your name. Her cheeks are light pink in color, her smile still bright but definitely more on the tipsy side of things than sober. She leans forward and takes your hand in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You haven’t given us a solo yet! You did Kiss From A Rose with Sylus and we did Espresso while the boys got us food! It’s your turn to show off!”

You begin to shake your head, wanting nothing more than to disappear behind the silver screen instead and pretend you got bubble guts or that you’re too drunk to do it. You and MC did consume an ungodly amount of alcohol. Rafayel tried to keep up but he’s gone non-verbal on the couch while his hands remained attached to you. Sylus looked unaffected, though, which is honestly just impressive on its own. Your eyes meet Rafayel’s and he offers you a small smile and nod, shooing you off of the couch and towards the stage.

“You’re going to do great, cutie!” he proclaimed, words slightly slurred. You swallow the lump in your throat and look down at the song book, swiping through as you try and find a song. Rafayel turns to MC and Sylus, snapping his fingers to get their attention. “She’s probably going to do some Alanis Morissette song that depicts her angst as a female artist—”

The electronic beat catches the room off guard. Rafayel’s eyes widen, tilting his face to look at you on the stage. The supplied background vocals fill in the room as you take center stage, a determined look on your face as you hold the microphone for dear life. His jaw drops when you rap the first line of the song…

“I used to be scared of the dick, now I just don’t give a shit, libido like Magneto—”

Rafayel’s jaw is on the floor. You recite each and every word with precision, your tone aggressive yet still somehow sweet on his ears. He turns to look at MC and Sylus. MC’s eyes have brightened up, hands clapping as she cheers you on. Stylus’s eyes simply widened, the man unable to believe the words that are coming out of your mouth. He turns to look at you and meets your gaze while you perform the song, the next lyrics specifically for him and him alone.

“Dick ain’t long, it’s wrong! Can’t fuck till dawn? Yawn!”

Rafayel gasps. How vulgar! How crass! Have some decorum, why don’t you?! Out of the corner of his eye, MC jumps up from her spot on the couch, belting the next line with you—

“Don’t be mad that I fucked your dad!”

“My dad?!” Rafayel screeches. He stands from the couch, shaking his head, unable to comprehend what the fuck is going on. “Why the fuck did you bring my dad into this?! He’s dead!”

What happened to his sweet girl? The one that has a fire in her whenever she talks about art or the ocean? The girl that rips him to shred every chance she gets but always remains PG-13? Since when did the two of you get into the rated R portion of your relationship?!

Rafayel’s heartbeats out of his chest, unable to contain his shock while the bass from the song shocks his bones back to life. Every nerve is on fire, his cheeks and ears a bright pink color as you sing about his cock being sad and that you’re never going to go near it — which, really, makes his cock even more confused on if it should harden or not while he watches you rap about sex and fucking.

Oh, how he would have preferred you to sing an Alanis Morissette song.

“Prove your self worth,” your eyes meet again as you rap, “make the pussy hurt—”

“Oh. My. God,” Rafayel’s jaw drops again. MC and Sylus laugh from the scene, unable to control their amusement over just how riled up Rafayel is getting.

That’s when you turn your attention to Sylus. Rafayel gasps, unable to handle the new competition he has with Sylus, ready to fight the brick wall of a man, when you point to him, singing—

“I know you’re pushing thirty!”

Sylus’s face drops. Shock written all over his face. Rafayel claps his hands with a laugh, pointing at him as you smile proudly, clocking him. Rafayel looks at you and you hold up a finger at him, curling it as a silent sign for him to come to you.

It’s your siren song, this so called…Miracle Grow by the Buttress. A rather controversial choice but your choice at the end of the day.

“Yeah it’s true I’m a slut, don’t give a fuck,” you rap as Rafayel gathers your purse and belongings. He takes the last shot of tequila on the table, cursing the agave gods as it burns his throat.

“Hell yeah you are, queen!” MC chants from the couch, her laughter filling the room as the song comes to an end. She claps and cheers while you give a room a bow, your body staggering back and forth as you try to regain your balance.

Rafayel shakes his head, purple locks moving back and forth on his forehead. As soon as he’s close enough, he snatches the microphone from your hand, wrapping a possessive arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. He turns to the other couple and brings the microphone to his mouth, making an announcement.

“I think we’re done for tonight. Thank you so much for having us but we need to leave,” he shakes his head, snorting at your inner slut that came out. It’s a side that he’s never seen to you before, one that he wants to see more of, quite frankly. He sets the microphone done and picks you up with ease, tossing you over his shoulder. You squeal and giggle, hands smacking his butt as he grumbles to himself. You wave to MC and Sylus, your giggles disappearing from the karaoke room.

“I can’t believe she called me thirty,” Sylus mumbles to himself. MC rolls her eyes, patting his shoulder.

“Everyone knows, babe. It’s not a secret.”

Rafayel keeps you over his shoulder in the elevator. You pat his butt, humming along to a song that plays inside of your head. He rolls his eyes, using your purse to over the tent in his pants. He quickly walks out of the building once the elevators door open, wasting no time into walking into the night air, the breeze cold enough to chill your warm skin.

But Rafayel’s? His skin feels like it’s on fire.

He approaches his parked car. He sits you down on the edge of the car, the convertible’s top open. You yelp when you’re about to fall back, arms wrapping around Rafayel’s neck. He immediately grabs your waist, pulling you back towards him, stabilizing your body. You cover your mouth with one hand, laughing as he lets out a shaky breath. he stands between your legs, chests close to one another. You look up at him through half lidded eyes, shaking your head. He rests his forehead against yours, lips dangerously close.

“You’re trouble, cutie,” he murmurs, his breath hot on your face. You shake your head, biting your lip. He simply nods and pulls away, cupping the side of your face with his hand. He looks down at you, a smile growing on his face as you lean into his hand with an innocent look on your face. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, carefree. You tilt backwards, feeling Rafayel’s long and slender fingers dig into the exposed skin of your back. It sends chills down your spine, a warmth forming between your legs. You lick your lips while staring at his own, unable to hide the way your body craves his, the way his blue and pink eyes burn into you. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to kiss you,” Rafayel’s eyes are stuck on your lips. The way they’re perfectly painted. The shade matches your skin tone and it drives him crazy. He wants to taste the flavor of your lipstick, having melted the fruity scent from being so close to you. He lets out a quiet grunt, unable to hold back as he leans in. You press a hand to his chest, though, and push him away, shaking your head. “Did I do something wrong?” You shake your head. “Is everything okay?”

“What if you kiss me and ditch me for another week,” your voice is quiet, small. Vulnerable. It makes his heart ache. “I don’t think I can handle that again.”

“I won’t,” Rafayel shakes his head, voice low and husky. He pushes into you, the tent in his pants pushing into the pool of warmth between your legs. You quietly gasp. He grabs your chin and tilts your head up, eyes meeting his. “I’m going to kiss you and never leave you again.”

“Do it,” you wrap your arms around his neck, “and if you do leave, I’m going to cut your dick off and turn it into fish food. Deal?”

“Deal,” Rafayel whispers, chuckling. He leans in, closing the distance.

“You know I hate you, right?” you whisper against his lips, a shiver running down your spine.

“And I am thoroughly disgusted by you,” Rafayel finishes the small amount of banter, lips pushing into yours.

It’s slow…sweet. Your bodies ignite with flames, sparks flying between you. His fingers dig into your body, pulling you closer. Your knees ride up his sides, squeezing him as he pushes his hips into yours, your clothed heats aching for more. He tilts his head and deepens the kiss. His heart pounds inside of his chest, scared that you’re able to hear it. His tongue slips into your mouth. A quiet moan leaves your lips. Your fingers slip into his purple hair, gently playing with the loose strands. Rafayel shudders at your touch, eyes rolling into the back of his head. One hand moves to his chest, feeling the hardened muscles from beneath his black and white shirts.

His swollen lips move away from yours. He trails kisses from your lips to your jawline, taking his time in worshipping your body. He takes note of every breath you give him, memorizing the way your breath hitches when he bites into the skin on your neck, leaving behind a mark for all to see. Your skin is his canvas and his kisses are the paint, marking up the sides of your neck with ease. You grab a fistful of his loose shirt, holding the back of his head to keep him trapped against your neck. He slowly inhales the scent of your perfume, the scent intoxicating as he moves to your collarbone.

“Rafayel,” you breathe his name out. His dick twitches in his pants, brain fried at the sound. He pulls away, looking down at you. Your chests rapidly rise and fall, breathing ragged and heavy. His eyes move to the bites on your neck, the sight pornographic. A groan vibrates in his throat. “I want you.”

Something in the back of his mind snaps. The breathiness of your voice. The quiet plea as the world moves all around you. In one motion, Rafayel picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He opens the car door and places you on the backseat, lips detaching from one another. You’re breathless, a vision from the heavens. A car honks. He looks to the side with a glare. He turns back to look at you, letting out a huff of air.

“Not here,” Rafayel declares. He settles into the driver’s seat, car engine roaring to life. He stares at the road ahead, blinking. He’s had one too many drinks but the adrenaline that pumps through his veins clears the fogginess of his brain. He doesn’t need to drive too far, just to a place where he can get the two of you alone. He doesn’t even bother with his seat belt, the tires spin on the asphalt, leaving dark tire marks in its wake as the car speeds out of the parking lot.

You are a troublemaker. You stay in the backseat, sitting up as you take your place in the middle. You stare at Rafayel through the rear view mirror, heart thumping inside of your chest. Your core aches for him, desperate for any kind of attention. A touch to alleviate the way you clench around nothing. To fill and stretch you out. You slowly kick off your pants, tossing the fabric into the passenger seat. Rafayel’s body goes stiff at the sight. You remove your panties — comfy cotton ones because, well, you weren’t really expecting this to happen — and toss them into Rafayel’s lap. The man’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, eyes flickering between you and the road.

A moan leaves your lips as your fingers attach themselves to your clit. A fluttering feeling spreads across your stomach, pulsating and eager for more. You open your eyes to see Rafayel watching you, a dark look in his eyes as he drives away from the city and to the beach, to his house that is just a few miles away despite it feeling like it’s across the world in this moment.

“Slow,” he clears his throat over the loud wind, “go slow.”

You follow his command, rubbing slow circles into your sensitive bud. Your legs are spread open and on full display for him to see. Your back arches, your breathy moan filling the backseat. It’s like music to Rafayel’s ears, the way you slowly please yourself, running your finger along your entrance before it attaches to your clit again. You moan out his name, wishing that it is his hand attached to your pussy instead of your own. He jerks the steering wheel, the car on two wheels as he pulls into his home’s drive way. The car skids along the gravel driveway, coming to a stop in front of the white doors.

The moon hangs low in the night sky. It’s bright and yellow, the color reflected on the dark waves in the distance. As soon as the car is parked, Rafayel gets out, swinging open the backseat. You look at him, turning to the side. He looks down at you, eyes darkened and full of desire and lust. He grabs your ankles, pulling you to him. You gasp, feeling as he picks you up with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist, his hardened cock pressing into your wet core. You groan at the touch, desperate for more friction.

His lips attach to yours as he walks inside of his home, navigating the route to his bedroom. Your tongue slips into his mouth, finding his as your combined moans fill the room. He carries you up the stairs, making sure to not fall like you did at the Dreamscape before this whole fake-dating scheme came about. How bed is just up ahead, a small distance before he can devour you whole, claiming your body as his own. He tosses you onto the bed, towering over you.

His hand reaches for his belt, slowly unbuckling. Your jaw drops at the sight, salivating. He smirks loving the way your eyes attach to his hands, watching his every move. He removes it and tosses it to the the side, not caring where it lands on his slightly messy floor. You sit up, fingers trembling as you unbutton your shirt, watching as his pale skin and abs are revealed to you from under the moonlight. He removes his pants next, cock hard and ready as you toss your own shirt to the side, nipples pebbled from the cool air.

Rafayel settles above you, his body blocking the moonlight. Your hand attached to his cock, slowly pumping him, using the pre-cum that spills out as lube. He’s stiff beneath your touch, twitching as his breath hitches. You lean in and connect your lips with his, tongues immediately finding each other. Rafayel moans against your lips, one hand guiding your legs to open up for him. You remove your hand from his cock, hands settling on his chest as he lines up with your aching core.

“Do you want this?” Rafayel asks.

Your eyes meet his. You bite your lip and nod, heart skipping a beat. You cup his cheeks, his purple hair capturing the moonlight. He looks like a painting you saw in a dream, one that you’ve desperately been chasing ever since it slipped from your consciousness. Something that you’ve been craving to see again, to feel in your real life instead of it being a helpless scenario your mind used to keep you happy.

He pushes inside of you. You gasp, back arching, chest pushing into his. Your skin is so soft against his. It drives him crazy as he pushes all the way into you, filling you whole. Your legs tremble, eyes closed as he stretches you out. It feels so good, the way he reaches the sweet spot that makes you see stars. He pulls out, leaving you feel so empty before he thrusts into you again, the man needy and starved. You hook your hand to rest between his shoulder blades, nails digging into his flesh. He moans into your neck, fingers gripping the silk sheets of his bed like his life depends on it. He pulls his hips back just to roll them back into you again, his cock filling your pussy. He picks up the pace, unable to contain himself from hearing your sweet moans in his ears.

“You’re a dream,” Rafayel whispers into your ear. He kisses your cheek, biting the sensitive patch of skin just below your jaw. Your breath hitches, hips slapping into yours just as he bites down into your flesh, the combination making you see stars. “You drive me fucking crazy…”

“Ah — fuck,” you breathe out. His sweet praises make your heart skip a beat while his dick makes you feel even more drunk.

Rafayel’s hips snap into yours. He pounds into you, his whines and cries filling your ears like a melody. He moves one hand to your waist, feeling the goosebumps that formed against your skin, the tension in your stomach slowly building up. His thrusts are relentless, hungry, needy. You drag your nails down his back, leaving bright red lines in their wake. He gasps from the stinging sensation. The tip of his cock presses into your sweet spot, making you cry out for him even louder than before. He pulls his face from your neck, lips swollen. The sound of his dick moving in and out of you is orgasmic, pushing him even further to the release you both crave.

You’re a vision. Hair fanned out around your head like a halo. An angel that falls apart from beneath him. A beautiful woman that cries out his name, that allows him to fuck so hard that his toes curl. You open your eyes, half lidded and drunk from the pleasure that crashes through your body. God, it makes him want to go like his for hours, to listen to you breathy moans and cries. You let out a giggle, reaching up to push his hair out of his face.

Fuck, even your laughs are addictive.

Rafayel feels himself ready to release inside of you, ready to claim you as his own. He leans down to bite the skin of your shoulder when he feels your hands attach to his chest, pushing into him. He falls onto his back, eyes widening as you sit on top of him. Your pussy swallows his dick whole, clenching around him as your hands rest of his chest. Nails bury into his skin, dragging down his chest. He cries out your name, unable to handle the way he’s buried inside of you mixed with the burning feeling of your scratches. His hips jerk up into you.

You sit up straight, eyes closing. You roll your head back, the moonlight capturing your body. The light is gentle against your skin. It shows off the perfect curves of your body, the dark marks from his bites and kisses on full display. You roll your hips against Rafayel’s, guiding his hands to your chest. His hands envelop your breasts, squeezing them. His fingers capture your nipples, rolling the buds between the tips.

One hand leaves your breasts, traveling up your chest. Your hand moves on top of it, guiding him further upward, his slender fingers dragging up to your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, simply dragging his finger along the sensitive bite marks, small gasps leaving your lips as your pussy squeezes around him.

“Fuck, Raf,” you cry out.

You look down at him, a pathetic look on your face, one that’s desperate for release just as much as he is. To fall into the pure and fiery feeling of ecstasy, the euphoric ending to your night together. He nods, breathing your name out.

“That’s it,” he licks his lips at the sight, watching as you bounce up and down on his cock, needy for more, “come undone on my dick. Use me.”

He moves his hands from your chest. Your breasts bounce up and down. He sits up and claims one of your boobs in his mouth, unable to stop himself. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, sucking on it. He catches it between his teeth, tugging on it. You cry out, grabbing his shoulders to steady himself. You see stars, his dick hitting your sweet spot every time, filling you so well. Your head rolls back, your cries and moans replacing the silence of the night.

Rafayel worships your body, hands traveling up and down your back, his mouth moving to your other breast. His hands drop to your ass when he senses your body coming undone, slowing as your orgasm makes you go stiff, unable to control yourself as your eyes roll into the back of your head. He squeezes your plush skin, moving your hips up and down for you as you clench around his dick, slowly milking him as he release into you, your orgasms hitting at the same time.

“Fuck!” the two of you cry out in union, a desperate cry just for the two of you to hear, your cunt being filled to the brim with his seed.

Aunt Talia exists her car. Thomas stands in front of Rafayel’s studio door, knocking, unable to get inside. She removes her designer sunglasses from her face, slowly approaching the man. She smiles at him, much to the evident stress on his face. She places her hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he desperately jiggles the door handle, ready to kick the door in.

“Good morning, Thomas,” Talia greets him with a quiet chuckle, “did you lose your key again?”

“Lose it?” Thomas rolls his eyes. He releases the doorknob, out of breath, and turns to Talia. “Rafayel ‘revoked’ it. Said that he needed the week to figure things out and that I wasn’t apart of it.”

“Oh?” Talia muses with a smile. She reaches into her bag, fishing through to find the silver key to her nephew’s art studio.

“Do you think he’s going to fire me? Did I push him too far with his art? Tell me,” Thomas takes Talia’s hand, the one that has the key in it, “did I push him too far by dating his rival?” Talia raises an eyebrow at him. He sounds absolutely crazy.

Rafayel? Fake dating his rival? Bitch, please. Rafayel wouldn’t do anything as crazy as that, let alone date the one woman in the world he supposedly hates. Oh yes, Aunt Talia knows all about you. Whenever she sees her nephew, the purple haired Lemurian fills her ear with all of the annoying things that you do, the way you went back to college just to get a degree in marine biology to have better insults for him. Talia always smiled at him and the passion he felt towards you. He called it hate while Talia called it love, the bond between the two of you going beyond that of a petty rivalry.

“No, Thomas, he isn’t firing you,” she rolls her eyes. “He was with me that week. I needed his help.”

“Oh,” Thomas stands up, shoulders pushed back, “well, then, that’s good.”

“Mhm,” Talia hums. She gently moves her nephew’s agent out of the way, unlocking the door for them to walk inside.

The art studio looks as it normally does. Unfinished canvases sit discarded along the walls, paint supplies scattered across the floor. There’s even half-melted candles along the floor and walls. Ambience, as Rafayel liked to call it. Talia steps through the studio with Thomas hot on her tail, the two looking around for any sign of life. She shrugs and looks at the agent, signaling that she’s going to check for him upstairs. Ebb day was coming soon and, well, she thought she’d spare Thomas the horror of seeing a naked Rafayel after the first time it happened.

She slowly ascends the stairs, her warm smile on her face. She wears a patterned silk dress with the matching scarf over her head. A pearl necklace sits around her neck with a matching pair of earrings hanging from her lobes. Talia reaches the top step and turns the corner, Rafayel’s bed coming into sight.

“He’s still asleep isn’t he—oh,” Talia pauses when she nears the bed.

Rafayel lays behind you, the silk sheets covering your bodies, tangled legs and feet exposed to the room. His arms are draped across your body, forehead resting on the back of your neck. The two of you peacefully sleep, quiet snores coming from your mouths. She would have thought that this was a normal…date night for the two of you—something fake, of course—but the scent of tequila and alcohol in the air tells her a different story. She shakes her head, quieting her laughs as she turns on her heel, quickly moving back down the staircase.

“Well?” Thomas asks, offering Talia his hand once she reaches the bottom steps. “Is he alive?”

“He is, yes,” she nods, chuckling, “that rival of his stayed the night.”

“Stayed the night?” Thomas narrows his eyes at Talia. She raises an eyebrow, allowing him to process the information. He swipes his tongue over his teeth before he connects the dots, eyes widening. “Oh! Oh! Stayed the night! Okay! That’s a…that’s a development.”

“They’ll be hungover when they wake up,” Talia’s maternal instinct kicks in. She walks towards the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the shelf.

“Hungover? No! They have their modeling class with Rhys in a few hours! They can’t be hungover!” Thomas whines, feeling his blood pressure rise.

“That is why you are going to go get them two hearty portions of seaweed soup—extra salty!” Talia points at him. She fills the glasses with ice water, grabbing Rafayel’s salt shaker, pouring a healthy amount of salt into both glasses. Thomas raises one eyebrow.

He knows about Rafayel’s Lemurian background, one of the few to know this. But you? Why do you need the salt of the sea to come back to life? Wouldn’t it hurt you instead of helping you.

“Maybe I should get something greasy for her,” Thomas reasons, grabbing his keys to his car from his pocket. “That salt will kill her—” Talia snorts. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh Thomas,” Aunt Talia laughs. She grabs the cups after stirring in the salt. She walks up to him, ready to pass him to go up the stairs. “She’s Atlantean!”

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