#Rafayel x reader

[mephisto-reporting]

Princess Treatment - LADS HCs

Premise: You spoil him rotten, giving him the true princess treatment whenever he least expects it. Based on this request. Pairing: reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is pure fluff and I wrote these as headcanons on how the MC would spoil the lads men.

XAVIER

Tying His Shoelaces: Xavier, perpetually lost in thought or too sleepy to notice, never realizes his shoelaces have come undone. You’ve taken it upon yourself to stop him mid-step, kneeling down without hesitation to tie them up for him. "Y-you don’t have to do that,” he murmurs, his ears tinged red as other hunters in the UNICORNS squad snicker or raise eyebrows. Despite his protests, he secretly loves the care and attention you give him. Sometimes, he’ll glance down at his laces before heading out, secretly hoping you’ll stop him again.

The Crumb Crisis: You’ve come to notice that Xavier is always getting crumbs on his face—whether it’s from a snack he didn’t realize he’d left out or a meal he’s rushed through. You’ve made it a habit to carry a handkerchief with you, and whenever you see those crumbs stuck to his cheek, you gently take the cloth and wipe them off. He’s always caught off guard, sometimes even stammering, "I'm fine, really!" but the quiet appreciation in his eyes is unmistakable.

Homecooked Comfort: After grueling missions, Xavier is too drained to do much beyond collapsing on his couch. And given his well-documented kitchen disasters—he once managed to burn soup—you’ve made it a point to spoil him with hearty, homecooked meals. From comforting stews to his favorite snacks, you make sure he’s well-fed and taken care of. The first time you did it, his sleepy eyes widened in surprise. “You… made this for me?” “Of course. You deserve it.” He savors every bite, and though he’s not great with words, the way he quietly finishes everything on his plate is thanks enough.

Fuck the machines: Claw machines are Xavier’s mortal enemy. You’ve watched him struggle time and again, his focus no match for the slippery claws, even when he uses his Evol. So, you’ve taken over as his claw machine champion. "Which one do you want this time?” you ask, cracking your knuckles as he hesitates before shyly pointing to a particularly adorable plush. You win it with ease, handing it to him with a triumphant grin. “For you, Your Highness.” He laughs softly, his rare smile lighting up his face. “You’re too good at this.”

Bedhead Boy: Xavier’s perpetually messy bedhead is endearing, but sometimes it’s just too much for you to resist smoothing down. With a quiet hum, you gently comb your fingers through his hair, fixing it without a second thought. “Hey…” he starts to protest, but he always lets you finish, his ears pink as you pat his head affectionately.

ZAYNE

Door Dash: Zayne’s disdain for hospital canteen food is no secret, and you’ve made it your mission to ensure he eats something wholesome during his grueling shifts. You send him meals carefully packed in insulated containers, often including his favorite dishes. Occasionally, you’ll slip in a small dessert, knowing his secret sweet tooth. He doesn’t say much when he gets them, but you’ve caught a glimpse of the faint smirk he wears when he opens the package. “You know I can survive on vending machine snacks, right?” he’d quip over the phone later, but the fact he finishes every bite says otherwise.

Sticky notes: Zayne isn’t the type to expect grand gestures, so you leave small, thoughtful surprises instead. A note tucked into his hospital coat pocket with a cheeky, “Don’t overwork yourself. I still need my heart surgeon around.” Or a sticky note on his dashboard that reads, “Drive safe, handsome.” Once, he found one in his mail that simply said, “Stop glaring at everyone, I know you’re secretly nice.” He pretends to be unfazed, rolling his eyes or muttering something sarcastic like, “Am I being stalked?” but he keeps every single one in a drawer at home.

Spoil me, rotten: Zayne’s wardrobe is filled with impeccably tailored long coats, a staple of his polished appearance. You’ve taken to buying him accessories like elegant brooches, leather gloves, or even scarves that perfectly complement his collection. He always protests when you present them, narrowing his eyes and saying, “You do know I can buy these myself, right?” But the next time you see him, he’s wearing the latest item with an almost imperceptible look of pride. You tease him about it, and he deadpans, “It’s just practical. Don’t overthink it.”

Doctor's Day Out: Knowing how chaotic Zayne’s schedule as a top surgeon can be, you take charge of planning the weekends so he doesn’t have to lift a finger. Whether it’s booking a cozy dinner reservation, arranging a quiet getaway, or even planning an at-home movie night, you ensure everything is set. “All you need to do is show up and look stunning,” you joke, and he raises an eyebrow. “Well, I’m halfway there already,” he retorts dryly, but the way he leans back and relaxes during those weekends tells you he’s more grateful than he lets on.

Massage therapist: Zayne’s hands are his lifeline, and after long, intricate surgeries, they’re often sore and strained. You’ve made it a habit to take his hands in yours and gently massage them, working out the tension in his fingers and wrists. He pretends to be indifferent at first but notices that your skills have improved. After all, you’d put in the effort to learn different techniques to aid him and his skilled hands. “I hope you’re not charging me for this.” He jokes. But as your thumbs press into the tight knots, his usual stoic demeanor falters. The sharp lines of stress around his eyes soften, and his shoulders, once hunched from exhaustion, slowly unwind.

RAFAYEL

After you: It’s no secret Rafayel enjoys being the center of your attention, and you’re more than happy to oblige. Wherever you are—be it a café, an art gallery, or even your own home—you always make it a point to open the door for him. Without fail, he pauses, waiting for you to complete the gesture. It’s not that he can’t do it himself, but he loves seeing that soft, proud smile on your face when you hold the door just for him. Of course, he’d never outright admit it. Instead, he’ll quip something bratty, like, “Took you long enough, Cutie” but the faint curve of his lips tells you he secretly adores it.

Color Splash: Rafayel’s world revolves around his art, and you’ve made it your mission to fuel his creativity. Whether it’s hunting down rare pigments, finding unconventional materials to create new textures, or gifting him innovative tools, you never miss an opportunity to surprise him. When he first discovers your thoughtful additions to his collection, he’s practically radiant, eyes gleaming with inspiration as he eagerly experiments. Of course, he’ll nonchalantly mutter, “I could’ve found this myself, you know,” but his excitement is undeniable, and you know you’ve made his day.

Cheater, Cheater: You pride yourself on your competitive streak, but when it comes to Kitty Cards with Rafayel, you can’t help but let him bend the rules. He catches on every time, glancing at you with a knowing smirk as he casually switches out cards while you pretend not to notice. He knows exactly what you’re doing but plays along with a sly grin. Winning always means he gets to name his prize, and without fail, it’s more time with you. “Your competitive streak is slipping, cutie,” he teases, already pulling you closer. “Guess you’ll just have to pay for it with another evening by my side.”

Passenger Princess: Whether it’s the car or your motorbike, Rafayel is always the passenger princess with you. He’s perfectly content letting you take the wheel, whether it’s navigating through traffic or cruising down open roads. He’ll sit back, casually tossing a playful comment your way, his relaxed demeanor making it clear he has no interest in taking control. But even more than that, he loves the attention you give him. He’ll rest his hand on your shoulder or his head against the seat, basking in the comfort of being close to you. It’s his way of enjoying the ride—and you—without the fuss.

Creative Clean up: Rafayel’s studio is a whirlwind of creativity, but it’s also a constant mess. Brushes, paints, papers, clothes—everything’s scattered around like a storm wrecked his living space. Coffee cups would double as pen holders, and brushes would be left lying around like they were an afterthought. But no matter how chaotic it became, you never complained. You’d roll up your sleeves and clean up every single time you visited him. He’d give you a cheeky grin, the same one he wore whenever he was being a brat, and say, “You know you don’t have to do this, right? I like my space just the way it is.” But he never stopped you, and in the moments when he didn’t look, his eyes would soften, and a hint of appreciation would slip through his normally playful mask. He knew you cared for him in a way that no one else did.

SYLUS

Product Placement: Sylus was used to getting what he wanted, whether it was luxury items or rare finds. He had his preferences, and he wasn’t one to settle for less. But when you made it your mission to keep his favorite, expensive brands stocked in your home—whether it was gourmet food, skincare products, or niche equipment—it didn’t go unnoticed. The first time you did this, Sylus had been caught off guard. He’d teased you, of course. “I don’t need you to be my personal store, kitten. I’ve got everything I need.” But when he came over and found everything perfectly laid out just the way he liked it, the teasing turned into a more meaningful smile. He would let you spoil him just enough to acknowledge your effort, but never enough to let you feel like you were getting the upper hand. That was the Sylus way.

Rare Rhythms:  Sylus’ love for rare records was well-known, and so was the fact that he had an extensive collection of limited-edition vinyl. But you didn’t mind diving into the world of obscure, indie artists just to get him something new for his collection. It wasn’t easy, though. It took long hours of scouring flea markets, searching online auction houses, and talking to music enthusiasts who knew more than a thing or two about underground talent. It was often a challenge, but for you, it was worth every second. Sylus didn’t say much, but you could tell by the way he listened to every single one of them, that he was genuinely impressed. "They’ve got potential," he'd said, before you knew it, that same artist was suspiciously rising in popularity, and you’d smile every time Sylus mentioned them. “You really know how to find a diamond in the rough, don’t you, sweetie?”

Spoiled Stubborn: Sylus was always the one taking the lead, always the one orchestrating the grand gestures. Spoiling him? Not so easy. He didn’t make it easy for anyone to do that. He would never outright refuse, but it was clear that when you tried, he preferred to return the favor rather than let you take charge. But you were stubborn—probably even more so than he was. You wanted him to be spoiled just as much. You wanted him to experience the kind of care he gave to everyone else, and you had just the way to do it: Planning dates where he couldn’t take over. Once it was picnic in the woods. You went all out—your best blankets, his favorite snacks, wine you knew he’d like—and most importantly, you took care of every detail so that he couldn’t take charge. The other time, it was a movie night at your place where everything was set: Popcorn, soda, the projector and candy. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” he remarked softly, but there was affection behind his words. "I want spoil you... but you’ve managed to spoil me instead." You smiled, the warmth in your chest spreading, knowing that in these small moment, you had made him feel cared for—something he usually avoided letting others do.

Sylus’ Salon: Sylus had always been a little gruff, his rugged demeanor giving off the impression of someone who was clinical and composed. But you knew him better than that. One of those moments was when you washed and dried his hair. He’d never asked for it, but you’d begun doing it without thinking. Maybe it was the way his silver hair shimmered under the water, or maybe it was the way he looked so disarmed when he let his guard down, letting you comb through his hair with graceful  fingers. You’d always notice how his breath would deepen, how his eyes would close just a little longer than necessary. "I know you like doing this," he’d say, the faintest hint of a grin playing on his lips. "But you’re making it hard for me to act all tough with you fussing over me like this." You’d laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead before continuing to dry his hair. It was an act of tenderness, a side of him that no one got to see.

Touch Starved: Sometimes, it wasn’t the grand gestures that mattered. It was the little touches. —a soft brush of your hand against his cheek or the fleeting warmth of your fingers tracing his jaw—he couldn’t help but pause. He’d find himself rewinding moments of you brushing his hair out of his face, or simply wrapping your arms around him when he least expected it. He’d tense, but only for a moment, before letting the warmth of your embrace dissolve his guarded exterior. “It seems like a certain kitten cannot keep her hands to herself.” Sylus would tease, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as you snuck in another kiss, letting him know that you’d spoil him with your touches and kisses, even if he won’t admit it loudly.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[strwberri-milk]

hello! i really love your works that’s why i wanna request something wherein how would LaDs men react if you catch the bride’s bouquet on the wedding? i am so excited to see zayne and sylus!

Zayne smiles at you fondly when you show him the bouquet in your hands. You look so happy he can't help but wonder if you're trying to tell him to propose to you now, or if you want to wait. It wouldn't be an issue either way considering he'd already hidden the ring at his office to avoid you finding it at home. He doesn't say anything directly to you but when you find yourself in his arms, a soft kiss pressed to the top of your head you know he's thinking about the same thing you are.

Xavier doesn't understand right away the significance of you catching the bouquet. All of your friends are looking at him expectantly, clearly expecting him to react in some sort of way. You'd have to tell him the superstition behind you catching the bouquet, him nodding with understanding once you do. He'll also tell you that there's no point in waiting to a catch a bouquet for him to propose - he'd be doing so soon regardless. The look on your face is priceless, making him laugh softly at your surprise before the two of you return to the festivities.

Rafayel doesn't really care much for weddings so it was a miracle you got him to come with you, honestly. The entire time there he spent doodling in his sketchbook, looking up and making conversation with people you introduced him to politely at least. The bouquet toss at least seems to slightly intrigue him, smiling to himself when you catch it. You show it off to him, Rafayel congratulating you on a job well done. When the two of you get home you decide to take a peek through his sketchbook, discovering that he spent the entire wedding doodling photos of you and him in place of your friend getting married.

Sylus thinks it's cute how happy you are about catching the bouquet. You turn to him with a wide smile, Sylus clapping for you as he commends you on a job well done. You sidle up next to him, asking him if that gives him any ideas for your future. He plays dumb, telling you that he has absolutely no idea what you're talking about. You pout at him for the remainder of the evening, playing into his hand as he teases you for being so desperate to marry him. Honestly, he doesn't mind though - he's glad to see you're as excited about the prospect as he is.

[redactedbimbo]

Zayne and sylus—

You’re in a particular mood whilst in the midst of intimate shenanigans and it’s about to get you in a whole heap of trouble. Or when you ask them…

“Is it in yet?”

feat: Rafayel, Sylus, Xavier & Zayne (separately)

tw: female reader, brat behaviour, regretting decisions, smut smut and more smut, edging, overstimulation, temp play, light bondage (held bodily), all the boys bringing out their Dom sides to varying degrees, spanking, oral fixation, creampies, hair pulling, phew sorry if I missed something

“Excuse me?”

“What? It was an innocent question,” you huffed, biting your lip and glancing towards the ceiling light over his shoulder.

You could feel the hard length of Rafayel’s cock twitch within your walls, his hand, splayed wide at your hip, tensed until his fingertips pressed harder into the soft yield of your skin.

The urge to squirm was growing more intense, but then he would know. He would know you were goading him. Hell, he probably already knew given the narrow of his violet hued eyes and the crease forming between his eyebrows.

When he didn’t speak, didn’t move, barely drew breath, you piped up once more—pushing your luck too far.

“All I asked was if it was in yet. What’s the problem, Raf?”

Rafayel hissed.

The unnatural noise made you jump, a pathetic moan tumbling from your lips when the jerking motion nudged the tip of his cock against your swollen pleasure spot.

“Brat…” he seethed, pulling out of you and leaning back to spread your thighs wide apart. “And to think I was being so nice to you. Clearly, you don’t want nice.”

His long fingers splayed out on your sensitive inner thighs, holding you down on the bed with your cunt gaping and flexing from where he had just been buried. Arousal dripped along your slit until it dribbled to the sheets below.

You reached from him, squalling from the sudden empty feeling but he pushed away your hand and gave a stern shake of his head.

“Rafay—”

“Hush. Don’t speak. Let’s see how long you can last, hm?”

Gripping the base of his cock, he spread his knees wider so he was closer to you once more. The fat tip leaked with precum which he smeared around your entrance before pushing into you, but stopping when the tip disappeared.

It felt delicious and your skin warmed all over from the sensation. You keened, attempting to roll your hips upward only to be stopped by a firm grip.

“Oh? You feel it now… shame.”

Frowning, you licked over your suddenly parched lips.

Rafayel was pissed.

It turned you on to see him darken; from the colours swirling in his eyes to the shadow falling over his face to his entire demeanour growing sterner, everything more angular and sharp.

Again he withdrew and let his cockhead slap against your puffy clit, far from gentle. Your nerve endings were on fire, sweat gathering on your hairline.

Over and over Rafayel repeated the process. He gave you only ever an inch and never for long enough. Your stomach was in knots from the treatment, the continued smacking of your swollen pearl which he would reach down and tweak every now and again, stopping when he knew you were getting close.

“Please…” you begged, broken and near tears. “I need to feel all of you. ‘want your cock.”

“What’s that, cutie? I didn’t think you could feel anything… and now you want it all? Brats don’t get treats, they get tricks so hush until I’m ready.”

Rafayel edged you for the next hour; giving you enough stimulation to keep you tense and desperate but never enough to satisfy your needs.

It would be quite some time until you decided to be sassy with the Lemurian again.

Sylus paused.

His mouth pulled back from your neck, steady breaths tickling your skin and emphasising the bruises blooming to life.

“I’m sorry, I think I must have misheard you. What did you say, sweetie?”

You were regretting your moment of madness already, heart pounding so harshly in your chest that it just might beat right out. Funnily enough, your voice disappeared into nothing but a strand of whimpered syllables.

He clicked his tongue in dismay, and cupped your chin firmly to bring your focus to his face. You couldn’t run from the piercing intensity of his vermillion eyes, nor from the hold on your jaw that tightened until you were close to squeaking out.

“Nothing, I’m sorry—”

“No, no. You should repeat what you asked me, kitten. Something about ‘is it in yet?’, no?” His voice was a deadly calm whisper and that was so much worse than an overly emotional reaction.

Sylus thrust harshly into you when your mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water, your stomach clenched and your legs wrapped more tightly around his waist.

“Seems like you can feel me just fine… so why deny it? Does the kitten want to brat me tonight? Tsk tsk. Bad kitty.”

He peeled away your legs from his sides carefully, thumbs digging into the backs of your knees whilst he adjusted your body beneath him. You went from being intimately close to having your knees digging into your chest and your ankles by your ears.

The adjustment allowed him to sink deeper into you, knocking the air from your lungs. Sylus loomed over your folded body with one stretched hand holding your ankles. It was enough to keep you in the position he desired, enough that every forward momentum felt like you might burst all over him.

“I can’t hear you, sweetie.”

You squealed and squirmed. Your eyes rolled over to the back of your head. You wet his cock so thoroughly that slick dripped from his balls, only emphasising the smacking sound when they impacted heavily against your backside.

Over and over he drove you through orgasm after orgasm. Sylus wrung you like an overly used towel and listened to you sing his name along with the best attempts at apologies you could muster. Every sound was desperation incarnate and he let out an amused huff that gave way to a guttural groan signalling his own release.

“Sylus… oh fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Instead of releasing your trembling legs, the cunning man above you ran his fingers around the base of his cock, coating them in the mixed essence of you both which had managed to escape.

The digits came away creamy, shiny and debauched. With a wolfish grin, he pushed them into your mouth to silence your continued pleas for mercy. Your tongue flattened against roughened pads, the tang lighting up your taste buds and saliva rushed to meet them.

“I heard you, but bad kitties need to be reminded of their manners. Now then, suck my fingers cleans so I can fill you with another load. I need to make sure you really feel it after all…”

Sylus made you pay for your sass over and over that night…

“… did I? Did I hear you right?”

“Did I stutter? I said… is it in yet, Xav?” You asked churlishly. His cerulean eyes swam like oceans in front of your face, a fleeting look of hurt passing over his features and that was enough to deflate most of your bravado.

“Wait, baby, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve—”

Xavier cut you off with a move you could only describe as pro wrestling adjacent.

One moment he was cradled by the comfort of your body and the next, he was rolling you over onto your stomach and straddling your thighs. His hand traced the curve of your spine, pressing your chest deep into the plush mattress and ending by winding around your hair.

“No, baby. You don’t deserve to be given half-assed dick. Let me make up for my failings,” he rasped into your ear, leaning over you whilst his slick cock rocked between the cleft of your ass.

He tugged on the makeshift ponytail he’d made, drawing your head up at the same time the rest of you was crushed into the sheets, your hands trapped beneath your stomach—useless.

“Spread your legs—that’s it—I see you’re not completely off the rails tonight.”

Xavier worked himself through the gap of your thighs, the blunt head of him butting up against your clit and drawing little gasping hisses from you. His fingers tightened in your hair, and you squirmed, futile beneath his weight.

When he finally notched at your fluttering hole, you were holding your breath so hard you could hear the blood flowing in your ears. His hips descended, dropping himself flush along your body at the same moment he fucked into you.

“Shit!! Xav! Oh god…”

Xavier chuckled nasally, a hungry mouth clamping over the beating pulse in your neck. He set a harsh pace immediately, fucking you prone bone.

You could do absolutely nothing but take every hit. His cock moulding your pussy to fit him and him alone. The angle had him rutting right up near your cervix, so close to flashes of pain but measured enough to stop before he could inflict any actual damage.

He huffed into the crook of your neck, biting and licking over the hurt with shallow breathing that mimicked your own. Xavier was relentless and you had never seen him quite like this.

“So tight, princess. You feel me now? Tell me. Do you feel me in your belly? Gonna spill any minute,” he admitted with a heavy grunt punctuating the words.

In your belly? You could feel him in your damn throat with how deep he was hitting and all you could do was squeal. The sound heightened into a high pitch shriek only animals would hear when he shifted himself to deliver a hearty smack to your backside.

“C’mon… tell me. Is it in now? Is my cock deep enough? The cream you’re leaking tells me yes but I want to hear it from you.”

“Yes! Xavier, yes!”

Never again would you make that same mistake. Who knew your star boy had it in him?

At first, you weren’t sure if he had heard you. Zayne was frozen above, hands pressed to either side of your head and his eyes fixedly shut.

You were about to repeat your attempt at being a brat just to see how the good doctor would react when he blinked open his eyes and your jaw snapped shut.

The frown deepening his brow seemed genuinely startled and he raised a hand to feel your forehead like he was assessing you for a medical condition.

“You don’t feel feverish… perhaps some neurological condition has manifested,” he muttered almost to himself.

“Zayne—don’t be silly. All I asked was if it was in yet?”

He hummed—thoughtfully. “Yes. I heard you, but I can’t quite correlate the words with the sentiment because I know you can feel me.”

“Oh, you do, huh? Sound pretty full of yourself, Dr Zayne.”

As if for emphasis, he pumped himself into you with a snap of his hips. It resulted exactly as he wanted, with your breathless gasp and your head flying back against the pillows.

“You were saying?” He asked coolly. “Perhaps I should check your reactions to other stimuli, just to be sure…”

“What does that—oh!”

Ice veiled the tips of his fingers, careful blue veins creating intricate patterns. Zayne sat back on his haunches, cock still plugged into your clenching cunt, and traced those frozen digits down the column of your throat and towards your breasts.

“Cold! Cold! Stop that,” you yelped, swatting at his hand which diligently refused to be dissuaded.

Only the very corner of his mouth quirked into a smile, his smart, ever assessing eyes watching intently whilst he circled your puffy nipples and they stiffened further from the cold.

“You seem to react to low temperatures within normal ranges, how about warm temperatures,” he mused absently.

Without further warning, his head dipped and his tongue brushed your pert nipple. Zayne’s lips surrounded the bud and suckled with enthusiasm. The instant heat of his mouth bowed your spine and raised your ass so you were grinding yourself shamelessly against Zayne’s front.

“Zayne… fuck.”

The friction elicited from the coarse thatch of neatly trimmed hair at his pelvis caused you to mewl and whine. Your fingers carded through his dark hair and all rational thought flew from your mind.

Just as you were getting used to the hot sensation of your nipple being sucked and pinched by careful teeth, he switched. Ice enveloped the swollen skin, a burn gnawed at your gut but it was a pleasant one.

Zayne continued to tweak at your nipples in turn, cooling them down and warming them up with his tongue, all whilst he maintained a steady pace within you. His cock throbbed and your walls spasmed.

“My diagnosis,” he said quite suddenly, mouth breaking from your breasts with a shallow pant, “is that of brattitude. Quite a severe case too…”

You groaned aloud, eyes cast heavenward at the near orgasm that was close to cresting over you like a playful wave.

“Treatment begins now. I’ll make sure you continue to feel me all night long.”

The good doctor was true to his word, and come morning, the only thing you couldn’t feel were your legs.

[reilemon]

♥︎Amore Immortale♥︎ Ch. 2

♡︎synopsis: Unable to fall asleep after overhearing an argument, you unexpectedly find comfort in Xavier's presence.

♡︎pairing: vampire!Xavier, vampire!Zayne, vampire!Rafayel, vampire!Sylus x fem!reader (separately and together)

♡︎tags: vampire au, slow burn (-ish), eventual romance, eventual smut, eventual polyamory

♡︎word count: 4.4k

♡︎a/n: I rewrote this chapter like five times.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

The cool silk of the nightgown drapes softly over your skin as you sink into the bed, the lingering warmth from the bath helping you relax. The bed is welcoming you with fresh linens and warmth from the fireplace across the room. You reach out to the small stack of books left on the bedside table, probably picked out by Xavier. Your gaze shifts to the teapot and a single teacup resting on the table beside you, reminding you of Zayne’s presence. He’d only been here minutes before, setting the tray with steady hands and explaining, without offering any details, that they’d be away for a few hours tonight.

Your eyes drift to the crystal vase next to the tray, brimming with vivid autumn flowers. The petals bring a comforting warmth to the room, a reminder of how attentive they’ve been since the moment you arrived. It’s only your third night in this mansion, a place so remote you feel like you’re in an entirely different world, surrounded by complete strangers who, somehow, feel anything but strange.

Yesterday has passed in a haze, the fever pinning you to the bed, and the men had gone out of their way to make you feel comforted and tended to. Sylus and Rafayel had brought you the nightgowns and dresses you found in your wardrobe, pieces finer and softer than anything you’d ever worn. Xavier had kept you company, reading aloud in a gentle voice when your own eyes felt too heavy to make it past the first few words on a page. And Zayne—his meticulous care in crafting light meals, tea, and tinctures had left you feeling as if you’d been restored from within. Now, save for the faintest hint of the bruise above your brow, it was as though nothing had happened to you at all.

They’d insisted, though—Zayne especially—that you stay at least a night or two more to ensure your full recovery. The thought of leaving made you feel odd. Relieved that your health improved so fast, yet – you felt reluctance. You understand completely why you don’t want to leave, but you know you’re only an injured house guest here.

You open the book, letting your fingers glide over the thick, slightly worn pages, continuing where Xavier left off. As your eyes scan the first few lines, a smile tugs at your lips, and you nearly chuckle to yourself. You remember that first hazy night here, tucked in the same bed and looking at these high ceilings, with only the eerie silence for company. In your fevered state, a wild thought crossed your mind—that perhaps these men could be something other than human. Vampires – of all things.

Now, you couldn’t imagine how such a thought had crossed your mind. The household might seem unusual—Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, and Rafayel all clearly different, probably not related, living in this mansion hidden far from everything—but they’d shown you nothing but kindness. Their attentiveness, their patience, the constant tending to your well-being—it made you feel almost guilty for the thought. Perhaps the head injury, the fever, had sent your mind spiraling into those strange corners, blurring logic with fantasy.

But still, there was something undeniably unusual about this household and the way it worked. You blink, the page turning slightly out of focus as your thoughts drift. Odd, you think, that four young men live here without any...

Your eyes flutter shut, the unfinished thought slipping away as sleep settles over you, the book settling on your chest.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The creak of the staircase pulls you from sleep, and you blink, momentarily disoriented. The book lies half-open on your chest, its pages ruffled from where you drifted off. You stir, your ears picking up low voices from somewhere downstairs and heavy footsteps. They ascend the stairs, not toward your room, but past it, fading into the distance.

As you blink away the fog of sleep, you realize that the men must have returned. But there’s something… off. You listen as multiple voices overlap in muffled conversation from downstairs. Their tones, hushed yet tense, are different than the warm and comforting voices that you’ve come to know.

You turn onto your side, clutching the duvet, trying to will yourself back to sleep. But the restlessness simmering within you refuses to let you drift off again. You catch some snippets of movement—a few footsteps pacing, a chair scraping, low murmurs —and an unbearable curiosity pushes you to sit up. You hesitate, but the need to know gnaws at you, compelling you out of bed. Moving slowly, you slide out from under the covers, careful to let your feet touch the floor without a sound. Tiptoeing across the room, you reach the door and press your ear to the wood.

You hear footsteps again, and you freeze, barely breathing as they descend the staircase just outside your room. They stop midway for a moment, and then continue downward, finally reaching the ground floor where probably the rest of them are conversing.

Zayne’s voice cuts through first. “Next time, we can’t afford any more slip-ups. We were... lucky tonight.”

Sylus’s deep, annoyed tone follows. “If you’d let me handle it, we’d have been done hours ago. But no—”

Then comes Rafayel, his voice clear and firm. “Stop. It’s useless to argue now.”

The conversation dips for a moment, a brief silence settling over them. You almost step away, but then Xavier’s soft voice reaches you, quieter than the others. “I’m fine,” he murmurs, almost as though he’s trying to reassure someone. “It’s nothing, really…”

You strain to hear more, but their voices have softened, losing the edge they held only moments ago.

With a last attempt to catch any final word, you step away from the door. Your first instinct is to pace around the room, to shake off the tension coursing through you. But you force yourself to stay still, wary of letting them know you’re awake. Instead, you settle back into bed, pulling the duvet up around your shoulders, but your mind refuses to quiet. When Zayne mentioned they’d be out for the evening, you’d imagined something lighthearted—a celebration, perhaps, or an event in some nearby town.

Curiosity gnaws at you, making you toss and turn, urging you to find out more. Still, you feel a reluctance to pry - they’d taken you in, a stranger, letting you stay without hesitation, and the last thing you want is to betray their trust. But beyond curiosity, there’s a lingering need to do more. It feels maybe naive, but there’s an urge to comfort them, to offer something back for the kindness they’ve shown you.

Yet…how could you, without admitting you’d been listening?

As you turn again, your eyes settle on the empty teacup resting on the table beside you, as you wait for the sound of footsteps outside your door. This is your third night here, and last night, Zayne had quietly come in to take the empty cup, and relight the fire in the hearth. His presence had felt comforting, his voice a warm murmur as he asked if you needed anything else before he left.

But tonight, the room remains silent, the warmth from the fire has dwindled to a faint glow. Zayne doesn’t appear, at least not in the next few minutes while you wait. You sit up, feeling a surge of determination wash over your hesitation. You reach for the tray with the empty teacup, hoping it will serve as an innocent excuse for stepping outside.

The door creaks softly as you ease it open, and just as you step into the hallway, Zayne appears, making you flinch and the porcelain clink. He stops, his gaze landing on the tray in your hands, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

“You should be resting,” he says softly. He reaches out, taking the tray from your hands, his fingertips brushing yours briefly before he steps past you into the room.

You linger in the doorway, watching as he sets the tray down and moves toward the fireplace, kneeling to stoke the coals back into a steady flame. He doesn’t look at you right away, his expression focused, brow faintly furrowed. You want to ask him if he’s alright, but the words catch in your throat.

After a moment, he stands and turns back to you, his expression softening as he studies your face. Without a word, he reaches out, the back of his hand cool as it presses lightly to your forehead. His eyes meet yours, the faintest hint of a smile lifting his lips. “You’re nearly back to yourself.”

You open your mouth, ready to ask this time, but his gaze shifts.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks gently.

You shake your head, offering a soft “thank you” as Zayne picks up the tray, his lips lifting in a faint, reassuring smile. “Good night,” he murmurs, and with a gentle click, he closes the door behind him.

As soon as he’s gone, a heavy sigh escapes your lips. The warmth of his kindness is there, but tonight he is more reserved. You sit down on the edge of the bed, your mind racing to find another way to get closer to whatever they’re keeping hidden. But every option seems flimsy. With a restless sigh, you reach for the book on your bedside table, flicking through its pages, the words slipping past your eyes without meaning. Minutes crawl by, but the unease hasn’t faded. Closing the book with a quiet thud, you set it aside, steeling yourself as you stand.

A harmless excuse… sweets. You know it’s thin, and that Zayne had just asked if you needed anything, but at this point, any excuse to step out feels better than staying in this restless haze. Taking a deep breath, you ease the door open once more.

The door creaks, louder than you’d like, and you wince at the sound, pausing mid-step. But the moment you step out, movement catches your eye. You turn to see Xavier down the hallway, wearing pajamas and a silk robe. His gaze shifts toward you, his hand just on the handle of what you assume must be his bedroom door. His eyes meet yours, his expression softening as he takes a step closer.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, his voice warm.

You part your lips, ready to give your hastily-prepared excuse, but your words falter the moment your eyes trace over a thin scratch on his cheek. Your heart skips, a pang of worry tightening your chest. And then you see his hand—bandaged.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice almost too loud in the quiet of the hall.

Xavier’s gaze flickers down at his hand. He brushes it off with a light shrug, as if the wound were nothing but a scrape. “Nothing serious,” he murmurs. His eyes meet yours again, calm and sweet, as they always are.

Xavier smiles softly as he takes in your concerned gaze. “But why aren’t you in bed?”

You open your mouth to press him further, hoping for something, anything, but you know it’s futile. Resigned, you settle on your flimsy excuse. “I… I wanted to get some sweets,” you murmur.

A slight smirk touches his lips, and he tilts his head. “Sweets? You probably shouldn’t eat those before bed,” he teases, his eyes catching yours with a playful glint.

You shift under his gaze, feeling the faintest blush creep onto your cheeks. “I just… I can’t sleep,” you mumble, lowering your gaze.

Xavier’s gaze shifts to your bedroom door. For a second, you think he might suggest that you return to your bed after all. But then, with a small sigh, he glances back at you and says, “I’d offer to take you to the library, but it’s a bit of a mess at the moment.”

Your eyes light up, and before you can stop yourself, you’re nodding eagerly. “I don’t mind at all! I’d love to see it!”

Xavier raises an eyebrow, surprised by your sudden enthusiasm. He blinks once, and then chuckles. “Well now I can’t say no.” he murmurs, unable to mask the warmth in his gaze as he takes in the lively gleam in your eyes. “Follow me.”

He turns, guiding you down the dimly lit hallway. The quiet between you feels comfortable. Though he is injured, he seems to be doing fine, with his familiar calm expression and steady walk. Maybe nothing serious happened after all. Being confined in between four walls may be the cause of your overactive imagination.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As Xavier pushes open the library doors, a faint scent of wood, old leather, and parchment fills the air, enveloping you in that unmistakable fragrance of long-forgotten books. Your eyes adjust to the darkness in the room, noting immediately that Xavier wasn’t exaggerating. Piles upon piles of books are stacked in nearly every corner, most of the shelves are still dusty and empty. The room itself isn’t vast, but it’s larger than the bookstore back in your village, with high ceilings and walls lined with rich, dark wood paneling. While you’re captivated by the room’s potential, Xavier quietly moves across the room, opening the heavy curtains, letting the moonlight illuminate the room. Then he moves towards the center of the room, crouching down to light the fire in the large stone fireplace. It takes only a few moments before the first crackling flames rise, casting a warm, golden glow.

“Come over here,” he calls softly, gesturing for you to join him.

You wrap your silk robe a little tighter around you, shivering slightly, and step toward him. As you reach his side, you notice that this corner has been carefully arranged. Thick blankets and oversized pillows are gathered in a cozy nook by the hearth, creating a warm nest. Xavier watches you with a smile, his gaze attentive as you take in the inviting corner. You settle beside him on the fuzzy blanket, the fire’s warmth radiating through the corner as Xavier gently pulls another blanket around your shoulders. The fabric is thick and soft, warding off the lingering chill of the room.

“Have you noticed the ceiling?” he asks.

Curious, you look up, and a small gasp escapes your lips. Above you, stretching across the high ceiling, is a stunning, intricately painted night sky. Swirls of deep blue and violet mix with specks of gold and white, forming constellations and stars. Each star glints in tandem with the shadows, giving the illusion that the night sky itself watches over you. Xavier observes your reaction with a soft, knowing smile, the faintest hint of pride in his eyes as he watches you take it all in. “It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

Your eyes gaze over the ceiling, over the tall windows, towards the empty shelves that line the walls. Even in its disarray, the library feels timeless. As you pull the blanket tighter, a thought crosses your mind, and you glance over at him. “Did you all just move here?” you ask, your voice soft.

He shifts, his gaze falling to the fire. “We’re still settling in, you could say.” His answer leaves you with more questions than before.

You catch yourself before pressing further. Instead, your gaze wanders around the room, over the books scattered and stacked in every corner, the empty shelves waiting to be filled. “Well,” you say with a light chuckle, “if it’s just you, it’ll take you weeks—maybe months—to sort all of this.”

He nods in agreement. “You’re right,” he replies, a faint, tired smile ghosting his lips. “It can feel tedious at times. Zayne helps here and there, but even with two of us, it’s an endless task.”

Before you can second-guess yourself, the words are already out. “I could help you with it.”

His attention shifts back to you, studying your face with a spark of intrigue, waiting for you to say more.

“I… work in a bookstore,” you explain, almost shyly. “It’s nothing grand, but I know my way around organizing stacks of books. And, well, I’d like to return your kindness for taking care of me.” You finish with a small shrug.

Xavier’s eyes brighten. “A bookstore…” he murmurs thoughtfully. Xavier’s gaze softens as he considers your offer. “I appreciate the offer,” he says “But for now, your task is to rest and get back to full strength.”

You nod in agreement. Then, Xavier leans to the side, plucking out a book from a small pile on the floor. It’s the one he’d read to you the day before. He turns, holding up the book. “Would you like to stay here, or would you rather go back to your room?”

You look around the cozy corner, the thick blankets and cushions strewn around you. You glance up at him, meeting his patient gaze. “Could we stay here?”

He nods with a quiet smile. “Of course,”

You settle in, sinking into the soft pillows and pulling the warm blankets snug around you. He sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the faint brush of his shoulder when he shifts. The fire crackles softly, its glow casting flickering shadows across the room, and the warmth wraps around you like a comforting embrace. As he begins to read the lines, it feels like the rest of the world has disappeared, leaving only the two of you.

The flickering firelight bathes his face in soft, golden hues, highlighting the bridge of his nose and the curve of his lips. Your eyes linger on his soft lips a moment too long, and when you glance up, your breath catches—he’s looking at you, his lips curling into the faintest, knowing smile, before turning the page and continuing. Your cheeks are burning, and you steel your gaze to the fireplace.

The story takes a lighter turn, the characters exchanging playful banter, and you can’t help but laugh softly at one of the lines. Xavier glances at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he chuckles along. As he continues reading, the restlessness from before is finally drifting away. Your blinks grow slower, each one a little heavier than the last. You try to fight it, not wanting the moment to end, but your body has other plans. Your eyes flutter closed briefly.

After a quiet moment, he closes the book with a soft thud. “You’ll be more comfortable in your bed.”

You shake your head with a sleepy smile. “No, I’m fine here,” you protest, your voice barely above a murmur.

Xavier chuckles softly. “Comfortable, maybe,” he says, leaning closer, “but it’s too cold to sleep here all night. You’ll catch a cold.”

You start to protest, something about being perfectly fine, but the words catch in your throat when you feel his arms slide under you, the blanket still wrapped snugly around your form. Before you can register what’s happening, he lifts you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest.

“Xavier,” you murmur, heat rushing to your face. “I—I can walk, you know.” 

“I know,” he says simply, a soft smile tugging at his lips as his arms tighten slightly around you.

Your head rests naturally on his shoulder, your face close to the crook of his neck. His scent, subtle and clean, fills your senses. His footsteps echo softly against the wooden floors as he carries you down the dimly lit hallway. Every so often, you feel his thumb brush lightly against your shoulder, a comforting gesture that sends a soft flutter through your chest.

His warmth and scent make you flustered and now you’re wide awake by the time you reach your bedroom. He nudges the door open with his shoulder and crosses the threshold, moving carefully until he’s at the edge of your bed. As Xavier gently sets you down on the bed, you feel yourself start to sink comfortably into the mattress. But when he begins to lift the blanket off, it is simply not budging - in your half-asleep state, you’ve somehow managed to wrap yourself up so thoroughly that you’re practically cocooned. The fabric has twisted around your legs and tangled around your arms. Xavier laughs softly at the cozy mess you’ve created.

“Snug as a bug in a rug.” he teases, lightly tugging on one corner.

You can’t help but laugh as you try to wriggle out of the fabric. With mutual efforts, the fabric begins detangling around your limbs.

Finally, after a last tug, he manages to pull the blanket completely. You exhale in relief as the laughter subsides, and you sit up, adjusting the silk robe that had gotten a little loose.

Xavier tosses the blanket on the chair near your bed, and turns to you with the amusement already faded from his expression.

“You’re really okay?” he asks quietly. 

The question catches you off guard. You nod. “I am,” you whisper. “Thanks to all of you.” 

His lips curve into a faint smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good.”

The stillness stretches, the room is quiet except for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. You swallow, hesitating for a moment, unsure if you should say anything at all. But - “Could you…” you start softly, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “Maybe stay? Just—just to sleep.” 

His eyes widen just slightly. He searches your face, as if making sure he’s understood you. “You want me to stay?”

You nod. “I just – I would like some company.” Your voice falters slightly, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks as you speak, but you don’t look away. 

For a moment, he doesn’t move, his gaze holding yours. With an almost imperceptible nod, he says, “Okay.” 

Relief floods through you, though the calm is short lived as both of you discard the robes and slip under the duvet, making your heart pick up the pace. You’re clad in nothing but a silk nightgown and undergarments, only inches away from one of the - from a man that gives you butterflies.

“Better?” he asks softly.

You nod, swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat. “Yeah… much better,” you murmur, but you barely register your words, distracted by the way his eyes linger on yours, then on your lips. Your heart pounds as the moment stretches, and then slowly, you’re leaning in, testing the waters. You close the distance just a fraction, your lips close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. Your heart races, the anticipation nearly unbearable. After a moment he mirrors your movement, his face inching closer, until you’re just a breath apart. Xavier pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours one last time. You don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in just a bit more, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

His lips meet yours, gentle and warm. You return the kiss, your breath hitching at the softness of his lips, the way they tenderly move against yours, making you feel those butterflies again. Xavier’s fingers graze your jaw, his touch feather-light at first, before he cups your cheek in his hand, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens, his lips pressing more firmly against yours. You let out a soft sigh, as your hands instinctively move to grip the fabric of his shirt.

Suddenly, breathless, he pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes search yours, “Is this okay?” he asks.

You can barely form words, your heart pounding in your chest. “More than okay,” you manage to whisper, your lips still tingling from the kiss.

Before you can say anything more, his mouth is on yours again. His lips moving hungrily against yours, his hand holding the back of your head as he pulls you closer. Your fingers find purchase in his hair - his soft, fluffy hair – every graze of his lips stealing your breath away. All you can feel is him—the way his hands trace down your back, pressing you flush against him, his scent, his warm breath and the taste of his lips.

Xavier’s hands slide along your side, his fingertips grazing the thin fabric of your nightgown. He shifts his weight, and you sink back onto the mattress, his body following until he hovers over you, his hands resting on either side of your head. Your legs part instinctively, and he accepts the invitation without a second thought. The soft fabric of your nightgown rides up, bunching around your hips as his body presses flush against yours, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. The only barriers between you are the thin fabric of his pajama pants and your undergarments, and they’re doing nothing to dull the dizzying feeling of his hard length perfectly pressed against your clothed slit.

Xavier groans softly, the sound vibrating against your lips as he kisses you deeply, his tongue teasing yours in a way that makes your toes curl. His hands find your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he rolls his hips against yours. His hard length grinds against your wet folds, and your back arches instinctively, seeking more of him.

He pulls away slightly, taking in the sight of your beautiful face as you moan under him. Then his lips trail over your jawline to your neck. His warm breath fans over your skin, and when his teeth graze the sensitive, thin skin on the side of your neck, a small whimper escapes you at the sensation. His tongue follows, soothing it, and you shiver beneath him, your hands clutching his shoulders, pulling him even closer. His hips grind harder now, the friction against your clit making you soak through the fabric of your underwear. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently as his lips return to yours, his kiss hungry, desperate. Every sensation is driving you closer to the edge, your hips moving in tandem with his, both of you chasing the pleasure. 

But then, he stills, his forehead pressing against yours as he catches his breath.

“We should slow down,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks.  

You blink up at him, dazed, your body still thrumming from his touch. “Why?”

He swallows hard, “You’re still recovering,” he says gently, his thumb brushing your cheek.

You want to protest, but the words get lost in your throat, and you can only nod. It’s frustratingly true—you’re not fully back to your strength, and he’s injured. He gives you a tender kiss, before lying back on the mattress. He pulls you into a soothing embrace, your head resting against his chest, your eyelids growing heavy at the sound of his heartbeat.

[kaiserthebiter3]

Hiii, I was wondering if I can request???? I got this idea from the weird pregnancy craving, so what if she was in her period and having cramps but the characters weren't there that time so she chats themm, its okk if you dont do this or this request has been made tyy..!

I'm literally on my period right now so that's perfect.

L&ds men reacting to your period cramps

Xavier , Zayne , Rafayel and Sylus x reader

requests are open :)

[zaynveir]

Doing Christmas stuff with the Lads boys ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺

-its only november but i needed to write something festive

-So I’m new to tumblr and this is my first time writing a post like this so please be nice 😭 if you have any feedback please share!

🎐𓍼ֶָ֢⊹ ࣪ ˖

Zayne

- you guys would definitely go to the local Christmas markets together and spend so much money on overpriced food.

- Because of Zayne’s sweet tooth, you would be checking out the stalls that would offer pancakes/waffles/churros that would have lightly dusted sugar or tons of nutella dripping from it.

- While walking around you would spot something but not buy it, Zayne would notice this and get it later as a gift.

- You would find a big Christmas tree and take a selfie with him and he would use it as the background for his phone.

- I would imagine there would be a street performer playing music and you would just stop and take in the beautiful song and just stand close to one another taking in the moment, hands intertwined.

- He would pick out an ornament to hang on the tree to remember that day.

Xavier

- okay so I think you and Xavier would go see the Christmas lights and walk through them.

- He would hold your hand the entire time and would wrap your scarf around you before giving you a warm smile.

- He would say things like “why does that reindeer look like that?” Or “that tree wasn’t decorated very well” which would make you laugh at how clueless he is.

- The different lighting would make him look even more pretty than he already does and you would capture it in so many photos.

- He would point out his favourite decorations and be so engrossed in the twinkling lights, that he wouldn’t even notice the cold air of the season. He would be so happy to share this evening with you.

- At the end of the night you would get hot chocolate and head back to his apartment, cuddle up in your matching pjs and watch some classic home alone.

Rafayel

- you can’t tell me that Rafayel wouldn’t take you ice skating in the winter months. He’d persuade you into going by saying things like

- “Cmon!…it will be an exercise to see how good your reflexes are from fighting all those wanderers.”

- He would try to be poetic and say “I would love to see you gliding around like a swan”

- You would be careful at first but you’d get the hang of it only falling on your butt 3 times, but Rafayel would surprisingly be clutching onto the side railings for dear life. You’d have to come over to him and teach him

- When you both got more comfortable it felt like the world melted away and it was just you two sharing a smooth dance

Sylus

- I think you and Sylus would do something like decorate the christmas tree together.

- “you don’t have a Christmas tree?! Do people in the N109 zone not have the Christmas spirit??”

“Sweetie I think people have bigger things to worry about than…a tree.”

- You would meticulously place ornaments only for him to place them somewhere else just to get a rise out of you.

- You would creep up behind Sylus and place the tinsel around him only for him to retaliate by chasing you to do the same to you.

- Mephisto would also take part placing the tinsel or decorations around the tree.

- At the end Sylus would lift you up to the top and you would place the star completing it.

[lndsismaeverything]

Asking lnds men help to pick a nail design

A/n : was going to get my nails done next week so...(ㅅ˙³˙)♡ though of what would the lnds men choose?

Xavier :

Both of you where on the couch you where looking for some nails insp but couldn't find any . So you turned to your boyfriend and ask him for some help

" you want me to pick a nail design for you?"

He gladly wants to help but is afraid if it doesn't match your style or you don't like it

Since he doesn't know these kind of stuff , but it can't be hard right? It's just going to be looking at pictures and finding the best one out of all of them for you

He spends about a whole hour looking for a design on Pinterest until he found the perfect one

Something that's really suits you and is cute too

" I choose this one " he showed you , you end up loving it and got them done the next day

You snowed them to him

" these look better on you in person "

Zayne :

Even though zayne is really busy, when you are about to ask him but stop mid way because you don't want to bother him with something this so stupid . He has way more important things to then picking out your nails

You decided you'll just pick something it's not that big of the deal right?

" give it to me " zayne said asking for the tablet your holding. He noticed you been scrolling on that app for the past hour. And noticed how your about to asking him but stop mid way

" I don't mind I can take a small break for these files and documents "

After a few minutes he gives you the tablet back , you looked at the picture he choose for you

" it's simple but still elegant... It would look every good on you "

Rafayel :

Rafayel would love helping you pick out some nails design for you

But he would like enjoying designing one for you better

" you want me to pick a nail design for you?"

" yes"

" I have a way better idea. How about I despite one for you? One that stands out from the rest of them. "

He quickly grabs his sketch book and some colored pencils and design your nails

He ended up finishing within a day... Yea a day because he was going all out

After he showed you the sketch, he insisted on you bring him with you to the nail salon. Because he wants to make sure they get the colors correctly

It took the nail artist a full 5 hours on doing your nails because of your boyfriend nagging about how it's the wrong color and how the shape isn't right

" no that's the wrong shade"

" hold on , it isn't straight "

You apologize sincerely to the nail artist and swear you wouldn't bring him again. Or you let him do your nails at home

But you ended up loving them since they have personal touches that reminds you of him

Sylus :

When you first ask sylus to help you out , he didn't really get them, but decided to help you pick a design

" sure sweetie, I don't get why you get them thought. I guess kitten like to get her claws well maintained "

Sylus took in the task every seriously, asking you question if you like pastels, charms, gems etc

You said anything is fine " as long as you pick them "

It doesn't take long for him to pick a design for you

" here kitten, this one would look nice "

After you get them done and showed your nails to sylus. He ended up getting why you get your nails done.

It's because it's pretty and it really suit you . Or he just liked it because he picked it out for you .

Now he's going to pick every nails design for you when you want to get your nails done

[cherimoyatea]

Heyyyy I hope you are doing well!! Could you do rafayel as a girl daddd?? And the daughter is just like him, sassy and all? (Feel free to ignore!)

Hi Annonie!

I'm fine, thank you so much! Hope you're doing good too :)

Thank you for your request! I always imagined Rafayel as a girl dad, and I think their dynamic would be absolutely hilarious and nerve-wracking at the same time! Hope you like what I've come up with for this :)

Had so much fun researching a suitable name for his daughter and ended up sticking with Nerina, which comes from greek mythologie and means ''mermaid'' hehe.

❧ Rafayel- Double Trouble

Pairing: Rafayel x You Word Count: 969 Tags: married au, comedy, rafayel and cats, bratty daughter, overstimulated mom, thomas being bullied, tara

''Moooom??'' You hear your daughter call from the other room while you're hiding in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet lid to escape the madhouse you call home. You've only been away for five minutes, and just from the tone of Nerina's voice, you can tell she's already quarreling with Rafayel.

With an exasperated sigh, you let your head fall back and silently count down—waiting for the other parent in your household to call for you, too.

''…3…2…1''

''Mcccc!?'' Ah, there it is! You roll your eyes at Rafayel's shrill voice, shaking your head at the Lemurian who sometimes feels like your second child.

''Nerina let that little demon into my studio! AGAIN!!''

The little ''demon'' is Miu, your daughter's pet cat and your husband's worst nightmare. Even though he's still convinced that every cat on earth exists solely to threaten his life, he couldn't deny his daughter's wish to adpot a cat and eventually gave in when she looked at him with those big, sunset-colored eyes she inherited from her father.

But now, the white ragdoll is a daily reminder that your patience is running thin with their quarreling and fights over whether the cat should be allowed to stroll around the studio or not. You sigh and reluctantly leave your hiding spot to face your rivaling family members, preparing yourself for the worst.

As you enter the studio, you see your husband and daughter standing opposite each other, arms crossed and pouting faces. You hold back a giggle at the scene in front of you, while a famous saying about the apple not falling far from the tree crosses your mind.

''Listen, Princess! Daddy loves you more than the ocean loves the beach, b-but I'm gonna snap if I see that 'thing' in my studio again!" Rafayel explains in a shaky voice, standing at a safe distance and pointing at Miu, who shamelessly nuzzles up on the orange couch, purring innocently. Nerina's pouty frown deepens as she hears her father's words. She stomps her foot and shakes her head, making her long locks sway with the movement.

''You're a meanie! Miu didn't even do anything, you just hate her!''

Rafayel's heart breaks a little at your daughter's words, while his face turns to you, his eyes almost pleading for you to step in.

Noticing his silent request for help, you walk closer and crouch down to your daughter hoping to smooth things over between your family members. ''No, honey, that's not true. Daddy loves Miu... he just doesn't like her spreading fur on his artwork, that's all.''

Nerina's expression brightens slightly at your words, the frown disappearing from her little face. Leaning in, she shields her mouth from her father and whispers in your ear, loud enough for Rafayel to hear.

''Mommy? I think Daddy is afraid of Miu...''

She nods, as if trying to convince you of her revelation, and you almost snort in response, quickly clearing your throat to hide your amusement—your sharp-eyed little daughter had clearly picked up on the obvious!

''I... what?! I'm not afraid, I just don't-'' Rafayel's protest is abruptly silenced by a stern look from you, his pout reappearing on his flushed, embarrassed face.

As much as he was proud of his little starfish, Nerina was already challenging him so much at her young age. ''Fine, fine...'' he mumbles, slowly stepping away with a sulk, his eyes locked on the white ragdoll on the couch.

When did his little girl grow up so fast? He sighs.

Later that day, you find yourself sitting in a quiet corner of the mall, having coffee with Tara. It's one of those rare occasions when you both get to enjoy a little chat since you became a mom.

You're completely engrossed in your conversation when a familiar voice suddenly echoes through the mall. You turn your head toward the sound, and your eyes widen as you spot Rafayel and Nerina, followed by Thomas, leisurely strolling through the fancy shops on the other side of the mall.

''Thomas! What's taking you so long?! Daddy promised me ice cream!'' You hear Nerina's sassy voice. She glances back at poor Thomas, who is struggling under the weight of several shopping bags filled with dresses, toys, and plushies. Beads of sweat trickle down his temples as he hurries to keep up.

When Rafayel had called earlier and invited him along on their shopping spree, Thomas clearly hadn't expected to become their pack mule. ''Coming, Miss...'' He replies, his voice heavy with exhaustion, narrowing his eyes at the purple-haired artist, as he once again questions every life choice that led him to become his manager.

''Give him a moment, my little starfish. Thomas isn't the youngest among us, yeah?" Rafayel jokes with an amused grin, patting his daughter's head as he turns to Thomas, raising an eyebrow and mimicking Nerina's sassy tone.

"Thomas! Come ooon, hurry up! My Princess asked for ice cream!"

A bright smile spreads across Tara's cheeks as she observes their interactions, while you shift in your seat, silently hoping your family doesn't notice you yet. ''Awww, like father, like daughter!'' She giggles, shifting her gaze back to you as she grips her coffee cup again. ''They're so cute, you must be proud of them!''

''More like 'outnumbered' you mean!'' You mumble under your breath, taking a sip of your own cup as you watch the trio disappear into the ice cream parlor.

Suddenly, a smile forms on your lips, and a warm, comforting feeling spreads through your chest as you think of your beloved husband and your precious daughter.

Sure, they could be a handful at times, but you wouldn't want it any other way... and you couldn't wait to get home to them later.

But for now, Rafayel was the parent in charge.

Thanks for reading

Cheri 🍒

[nanamiscocksleeve]

Visibility reblog

Key:

🌟 Xavier ❄️ Zayne 🖌️ Rafayel 🐦‍⬛ Sylus 🦄 Multicharacter

Headcanons:

Telling them to ditch the condom 🦄

Sylus is a switch 🐦‍⬛

Their nicknames for you 🦄

Hades & Persephone 🐦‍⬛

Poly 🦄

Flowers For You 🦄

How They Position Their Fingers 🦄

Voyeur!Sylus 🐦‍⬛

Someone You Loved 🦄

Reactions to reader saying she hasn't shaved down there🦄

Best Friend! Zayne ❄️

Oneshots:

Prescription for Pleasure ❄️

Paintbrush Lesson 🖌️

When The Snow Melts ❄️

Bunny Breeding 🌟

Fresh Cream 🐦‍⬛

Halloween Makeup 🌟

A Tight Spot 🐦‍⬛

Moodboards:

Sylus Rafayel Zayne Xavier

Random:

Eternal Attachment Birthday ❄️ Gojo and Sylus

Upcoming/Requests:

Headcanons

Their favorite, unconventional places to have sex

Jealous/angry/rough sex (combining 2 inbox requests, jealous Sylus and rough sex, multicharacter)

Their reaction to seeing a tiktok of MC working out at the gym and she's getting thirst comments on it as a 'hot hunter" (combining 2 inbox requests, Zayne getting hard at the gym for her, and the tiktok request, multicharacter)

Their reaction to seeing MC reading spicy books

MC breaking up with them

Plus sized reader

Oneshots 1. Zayne temperature play 2. Zayne Master of Fate

Possible Multi-Chapter Deepspace University (each one as a professor)

[bluefunkybeats]

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐅𝐖] ❀ She/Her , 18yo ❀ 　 ｃａｌｌ　ｍｅ　ａｒｏ dividers: @cafekitsune

𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧

chauffeur!yuuta

yuuta and chapstick

papa toji barbecuing

megumi with café doodle napkins

𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐣𝐤

papas and the restaurant’s kid activity sheet

papas gojo, shiu, and toji watching cartoons

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞

papa sylus with his daughter

domestic zayne headcanons [suggestive!!]

laundry stories with zayne

toy med kit with xavier

𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐬

papas and the restaurant’s kid activity sheet

𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮!!

kenma looking after your little sibling

[strwberri-milk]

Idk if anyone has requested this yet but if not then can i request lnd men w reader who likes to them their husband? Like its so out of pocket and at the most random times too

lowkey i have no idea what this request means so i took it as reader who calls them their husband

Zayne doesn't react at all. You start to think that he just doesn't care, shrugging to yourself as you continue to just call him your husband wherever you go. You don't realise that he responds in kind, calling you his spouse whenever he refers to you. It's to the point where people just assume the two of you have been married for years, shocked when they finally see actual wedding photos and a wedding band on his hand.

Xavier gets a little confused at first, gently correcting you. You simply repeat yourself, telling him that as far as you're concerned, he's your husband. He gets used to the title, knowing that you're doing it to get a reaction out of him but sometimes. He's able to give you some sort of reaction each time, just the slightest widening of his eyes and a hitch of his breath.

Rafayel doesn't know how to feel about it at first, looking at you continuing your conversation casually as though you didn't just totally shift his world. He doesn't really respond to the title until you use it a few more times, telling you that if you keep it up you're going to have to suffer the consequences of him using the exact same nickname for you. They end up becoming pet names for the two of you, used in the privacy of your own home unless purposefully trying to tease the other person.

Sylus likes being called your husband. He's a bit smug about it, crossing his arms as he makes you repeat yourself. It ends up having the opposite affect, your goal of flustering him turning on its head. He ends up bullying you a little, laughing at the shy look on your face as he makes you repeat yourself for his amusement.

[zylusmusings]

"what do you think our wedding will be like?" she asks, and rafayel feels his heart still immediately. he gives it a second, letting the two sides of his heart battle it out.

a part of him feels giddy - she wants to be his bride again. it will happen again, because they are fated mates! all of the worrying was for nothing because look! she wants to get married, bonded to him again. sure, the "sanctity" of marriage amongst humans on this earth is laughable and ludicrous compared to the solemn oath he literally has embedded to his chest... but he'll take it nonetheless. he'll take anything she has to offer, honestly.

albeit the other part of him wants to sulk and throw a tantrum. because this question is simply yet another reminder of what was left to be forgotten. the fact that she was already his bride, but the fact to be so horridly and devastatingly taken away from him. ripped away from his clutching fingers. sea of god he may be, but the strength of fate has no competition. what a painful reminder that question is, to be reminded, oh yeah you were my bride... until?..

rafayel doesn't realise that dancing around the two emotions has taken some time. purple eyes swirling with mixed emotions as his lips are pursed to the side in silence. this reaction causes her to shift nervously, afraid that she's made him uncomfortable with the question.

she clears her throat soon after, sitting up after spending hours on the couch with him, slouching against the backrest as his purple hair splays out against her chest. the movement shakes him out of his trance, a brief moment of confusion (and a dramatic look of "how could you!”) plastered on his face as he turns around, sitting up for the first time in 2 hours as well. he faces his blushing partner who is clearly flustered at his lack of response.

"um.. i mean - i'm not saying we will definitely get married or like whatever, it was just a question. i don't even know if you wanna marry me. again, it was just a question, you don't have to answer it if you-"

he gasps dramatically, brows furrowed deeply as he scoots away from her in bewilderment. "did you say you don't even know if i want to marry you?" he scoffs, standing up and begins to pace around the room. "is my devotion and quite frankly obvious and constant yearning for you not enough? for you to even question that?"

"rafayel, i-" "maybe the hunter's association should put you on bed rest if your brain's not functioning properly. oh perhaps, it's not the brain, it's your heart and its inability to feel the love i have for you. is that right, hm?"

"rafayel," she repeats louder this time, sighing. "that was not what i meant - i just. you went completely silent on me when i asked the question, so i thought you felt uncomfortable with the topic of marriage." shrugging, the red on her cheeks deepens as a replay of the scene comes to mind. she shrivels into herself, crossing her legs as she begins to play with the loose threads of her sweater. "and i know we’ve never talked about it either, so i shouldn't have just sprung it on you like that."

his face softens immediately, guilt pricking his chest as he watches the vulnerability she was expressing. while she wasn't exactly wrong - the topic of marriage does make him uncomfortable. as much as he wants her to be his bride, it’ll undoubtedly open new doors for pain all over again. but as uncomfortable it is, rafayel knows that she is someone he'd carve his own heart out for (well....).

"you have nothing to apologise for." he tells her gently, the tone contrasting the loud rant he performed earlier, and he's back on the couch, crawling onto the space next to her. his fingers are careful, he reminds himself he's holding onto his reason of being, his kyrptonite, the atoms of sunlight itself. he feels his stomach flip, and the soft warmth that begins to exude from the side of his chest tells him that if she peeked underneath his shirt, she'd bear witness to the physical embodiment of his sacred vow. "it threw me off guard, yes. but only because i've been keeping it myself for far too long, cutie." he smiles, still ever so gentle as his thumb caresses the smooth of her cheek.

"i’ve known that i have wanted to marry you for years now," and while she'll take that as a mere dramatisation (rafayel being rafayel), he means that as literally as it gets. only he knows about the pain, humiliation and fear that comes with the wait and for a moment, he's grateful that she doesn't know. he doesn't want her to be burdened with such hardship-filled emotions, so he'll carry it for the both of them.

"you won't be in white - maybe a light shade of blue. i'll obviously wear the best suit ever to be worn. we'll have a ceremony by the beach," he's speaking straight from the vision he's replayed in his mind countless of times, the smile on his face unconsciously growing as he mindlessly twirls a piece of her hair. "you'll have your hair down, and it'll probably get caught in the sea breeze - but it just makes sense to me."

"and," he pauses for a moment, hesitating before he continues. "we'll say our vows twice. one for everyone to bear witness to, and one just for you and me." a vow so sacred and intimate, rafayel refuses to share with the world. he refuses to taint it even a little bit, it should simply be meant only for his lover and him, and his pure everlasting love for her.

"oh." he has rendered her speechless, and now it's rafayel's turn to be nervous, fearing he has made her uncomfortable. hiding the embarrassment behind a scoff, he pulls away with a pout. "y-you were the one who brought it up first!" immediately, she shakes her head and pulls him back into her chest and rafayel doesn't fight his body when it relaxes immediately. "i was just a little surprised, raf - in a good way. didn't think you would've had all these little details in mind already." her voice mirrors his previously gentle one, and rafayel feels his eyes flutter shut, coaxed by her fingers running through his hair.

she hesitates, but braves herself to say it. time and again, once peeling off his layers, she's beared witness to his endless courage so why not walk in his footsteps? "i do hope we get married." her voice is quieter, but it speaks volumes to him. he feels a lump form in his throat at the emotions that begin to overflow within him. he reaches out to catch onto her hand that's combing through his hair and brings it to his chest in attempts to quell the tears that threaten to form behind his closed lids.

shakily, his lips whisper against her knuckles, "in my mind, we already are."

in his world, they already were. how lucky was he to get married to her, again and again, and again.

god, he'd do it a million times over.

[justwinginglife]

At The End Of Life

Having a boyfriend is great. Unless he has a huge bounty on his head and you're just trying to enjoy one date without him getting killed.

“Baby, I love you. I really, really do love you. But next time you slam a guy’s head through the table, could you at least move the dessert out of the way first?” 

Rafayel rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, but a grin was tugging at the edge of his lips. “Hey- I bought you another slice of cake, didn’t I?”

With the tip of your shoe, you nudged the unconscious man off of the splattered remains of your dessert. “And what if I wanted that slice of cake in particular?” 

Rafayel tilted his head to examine his handiwork before smirking at you. “That slice is occupied. Besides, I bought you a bigger slice to make up for it, so hurry up and forgive me already.” 

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately, Mr. Rafayel, the girlfriend bylaws clearly state that no forgiveness shall be issued until a satisfactory date has been had, and so far, the aforementioned date has not been on par with company standards.”

He snorted in response. “Thought I hired a bodyguard, not a lawyer. Alright, I’ll see your ‘company standards’ and raise you one ‘romantic boat ride’ across the lake, how’s that sound, cutie?”

You beamed at his suggestion, clapping your hands excitedly. Then you cleared your throat, reassuming your professional demeanor. “After careful consideration, your proposal has been accepted by the council. You are free to proceed with date activities immediately following this approval.” 

Rafayel chuckled, shaking his head slightly, before holding his hand out to you. “Then would the invited party please accompany me to the docks?”

After paying the bill, paying for the broken table, and boxing up your leftover dessert -still paying no mind to the unconscious hitman lying on the restaurant floor- Rafayel was finally ready to lead you to the next part of your date. 

As you made your way down the dock, you giggled to yourself, thinking about the last time the two of you had been in a row boat together. You were honestly surprised he’d proposed a boat ride after he almost didn’t survive the last one. But maybe this time he’d learned how to properly work a boat, maybe this time you wouldn’t have to swim your way back to shore. Either way, you were sure to have a lively time. 

When he paused in front of a yacht, holding his hand out to help you up the steps, you froze. “What happened to ‘romantic boat ride on the lake’?”

He gave you a sly grin, tilting his head teasingly. “But isn’t the ocean just like a really big lake? And a yacht is just a really big boat.” 

You laughed and took his hand, letting him lead you aboard. “I see you learned from your past mistakes.” 

He straightened defensively, lips pursed into a slight pout. “I have no idea what you’re talking about; I just wanted to take my girlfriend for a ride on my newly acquired yacht, that’s all.” 

“No puking this time,” You teased, poking him on the nose as you settled beside him on a lounge chair. 

“I would never puke! I’m not a puker.” He whined, crossing his arms. 

You pinched his cheeks. “No, no, you’re right. Not a puker. Just a really big baby.” 

He swatted you away as his ears tinged red. “Hey, cut it out! Besides, doesn’t today’s date make up for that… incident?” He looked over at you hopefully. 

You curled up against him and watched the city shrink from view. “It does, baby. It really does. This is lovely, thank you.”

For a moment, he just held you in silence, enjoying the warmth of your body against him, as you drifted further out to sea together. The sunlight danced on the waters, and the fluttering breeze gave you an excuse to hold him tighter. With one hand, he played with your hair, and with the other, he fed you a plate full of chocolate covered strawberries. It was the perfect date. 

And then he set the deckhand’s hair on fire.

It wasn’t until the man dove head first into the ocean in a crazed attempt to put out the fire, screaming bloody murder the whole way, that you noticed the gun he had been holding, having clattered to the deck amidst all the chaos. 

You sighed. Is everyone trying to kill us today?

Rafayel simply munched on a strawberry as he watched the scene before him play out like he was doing nothing more than snacking on popcorn at a movie theater. He even had the audacity to call out his score of the man’s dive like he was some judge in the Olympics, “Boo, poor form. 4/10! Try arching your back more next time!” He waved at the man bobbing in the water as the boat took you further and further away. 

“Another strawberry, cutie?” He thumbed at your lip to get you to open wide.

You waved him away. “I don’t know how you can think about food at a time like this, I mean, what in the hell is going on today? This is the third person to attack us in, like, the last two hours. Are we even going to survive a full date?”

He shrugged and popped the strawberry that was meant for you into his mouth. “We’ll be fine, cutie. Besides, the bounty on me is so little, I highly doubt it’s enough to tempt anyone else to give it a shot, I mean really, only 24 million, that’s all I’m worth? What lousy, cheap-”

“I’m sorry, DID YOU SAY BOUNTY??” 

He scratched the back of his neck. “Did I say bounty? Is that what I said? It’s so warm out here, I think I may be getting heat stroke.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Rafayel-” You warned.

“-And the waves are loud, the birds are loud, the breeze is loud, can you even be sure you heard me right?”

You pinched his arm. “Rafayel!”

“Yeah, okay, alright! So what if I have a bounty on my head? Can’t help it if I’m in high demand.”

You flicked him in the forehead. “No, your corpse is in high demand.”

He feigned injury, bringing his hand up to shield his wounded forehead. “Yeah well, corpse or no corpse, it’s still me they want. Your boyfriend is a high value target, I’ll have you know.” He straightened in his seat, almost sounding proud. No, not almost. He was proud.

“You know what I highly value-” Another man approached from behind but you’d already shoved the last strawberry into Rafayel’s startled mouth before smashing the metal fruit tray down on the man’s head. He crumpled to the floor with a thud and Rafayel smirked at his unconscious figure as he licked chocolate off his lips. He’d never been more in love with you in his entire life than he was right now. “-I value my life. I value your life,” You continued to lecture Rafayel as you handcuffed the man to the railing, “-And I value someone who knows how to hire legitimate staff. I mean seriously, when you were picking employees to man the yacht, was it a prerequisite for them to have murderous intent on their resumes? How did you hire nothing but mercenaries?”

He shrugged. “Blame the economy- do you know how hard it is to find good boating staff on such short notice?”

You face palmed. “Rafayel, honey, you can’t blame the economy when you’re literally rich.”

“Global warming then?”

“It’s a good thing I love you.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “Try to remember that, yeah?”

He didn’t make it easy for you. 

When you had to literally hold the Captain of the ship at gunpoint to turn around and take you back to the city because, surprise surprise, he was also a hitman who was hired to send Rafayel to his watery grave out in international waters, you muttered to yourself over and over again, “I love my boyfriend, I love my boyfriend.” When you finally docked in the harbor, called for a cab, and then had to beg said cab driver to wait just a moment longer because your boyfriend got distracted by a person selling flowers on the sidewalk and wanted to buy you a bouquet as an apology, you rolled your eyes and shook your head laughing to yourself, “I love my boyfriend, I love my boyfriend.” When you picked through the flowers in the car ride home and noticed a strange gadget tucked in between the stems just in time for the three of you to jump out of the cab before it blew up, you explained to the cop who took your statement, “You see, I love my boyfriend, I love him, but-”

12 assassination attempts later, after swerving buses, after poisoned glasses, after clumsy sniping, the two of you finally made it back to Rafayel’s house with almost all your limbs intact. Almost. Rafayel claimed he sprained his wrist during one of the scuffles so badly that you were now required to hold his hand for “support.”

You wanted to call him on his BS.

But there was just something about 12 assassination attempts, on your boyfriend’s life that put things into perspective. You were expecting to grow old with him. You were expecting to wake up to him whining about where he last put his dentures or hear him whizzing by in his wheelchair and race after him in your walker. You were expecting rings and wrinkles, cradles and coffins, all with him. So it could’ve been 12 assassins after him, could’ve been 13, could’ve been 100, could’ve been 1000- didn’t matter the number; you weren’t letting anyone take him from you, not when he still owed you a lifetime. If the Grim Reaper himself knocked at the door, you’d kick him to the curb. Try again in another 80 years. 

So if Rafayel wanted to fake injury just to hold your hand, you'd hold his damn hand. If he wanted to run into the line of fire, you'd keep pace.

At the end of the day, Rafayel was still yours, and at the end of his life (his very, very long life), you’d still be his: that was your prophecy and that was your promise.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The End! Thanks For Reading!

Author’s Note: I have a headcanon that Rafayel totally knew he hired hitmen to man his yacht but he was like, "But the chef makes the best food though. I can only hire the best for my baby, who cares if he tries to kill me on the way? And the captain is the best at navigating the waters, what if a storm comes on? Who cares if he’s an assassin, he’s a damn good driver." Rafayel isn’t worried in the least, he knows he’s stronger than all of them and could take them down in an instant if needed. He’s just surprised that you’re the one taking them down. With a fruit tray, no less. And it was hot. Maybe he wandered into trouble 12 more times just to see you jump in to protect him. So hot. 

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @minasfwoopyponytail @tbaluver @ouiouimochi

[sinnabarmoth]

Broken Promises

Pairing: Rafayel x fem|Reader

Summary: Reader thinks that her relationship with Rafayel is a fling, some casual fun. Rafayel does not. So when he catches her flirting with other guys he is intent on making sure she knows that he did not wait 800 years to be a second choice.

Content warnings: Adult language. Hate fucking. Vaginal fingering. P in V.

Length: 5k

“Thank you for another fine day of work, miss bodyguard.”

You picked your head up from Rafayel’s shoulder and glared at him. 

“What’s that face for?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes and sat up, the blanket that had been covering you slipped down exposing your naked chest which Rafayel took no precautions in hiding his ogling. You grabbed his chin and forced his gaze back up to your face. “Do not start calling you tricking me into coming over as work. You know I thought you were in actual danger?”

He melted into your touch, resting his chin fully in your hand like an attention starved puppy. “I was in danger.”

“A teeny tiny spider is not dangerous.” You let him go, crossing your arms over your chest so his view was obstructed.

“Sure it is. Do you know how many tiny spiders are super venomous? Black widow. Brown recluse. Yellow sac spider.” he ticked them off one by one on his fingers.

“Mister fish facts has spider facts too. How fun.” You rolled out of bed and started grabbing your scattered clothes from the floor and pulling them back on. How the hell did your panties get on the lamp? Did he chuck them like he was pitching for the Linkon Lions?

“Do you have to leave?” Rafayel asked, sitting up to watch you move around the room.

“Sure I do. I have work in the morning.”

“I could take you to work in the morning.”

“And wear what? The clothes I was in when I rushed over here? No thanks.” You didn’t think Jenna would be happy to see you at work wearing your lilac sweats and fuzzy character socks.

“I could send someone to pick up an outfit from your house.”

You glanced at him as you pulled your shirt back on. “You are super clingy tonight. Something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong it’s just…” he was staring down at the rumpled sheets of the bed, smoothing out the creases around him, “you always leave so soon after.”

“Well unlike a certain artist, I have duties and errands to run and can’t spend all my day in bed or on the couch…or in the hot tub…or against the wall--”

“Yeah yeah, I get it. You have a million things more important than me.” he slumped back against the headboard. “I’ll just stay here and rot won’t I. Waiting for my bodyguard to come check on me when she feels like it. Who knows if I’ll be even still be alive when she deigns me worthy of her attention.”

“You are so dramatic. Remember that you tricked me into coming over here to squish a spider and then corralled me into the bedroom almost immediately after.” you plonked down on the bed next to him. “If you want me to come over cause you want to have sex then you can just say that. We’re both adults.”

“Takes all the romance out of it then.”

“Now you’re worried about being romantic?” you shook your head. “Will wonders never cease.”

His expression did not soften out of his pout. With a small sigh you scooted closer. “Hey, how about I stop by tomorrow to see you after work. Okay?”

He perked up at that. “Promise?”

“Yeah. I’ll buy us some chicken and we can put on a movie that we will probably abandon watching for some other fun.” You held out a pinky to him. “I promise.”

He looped his pinky finger around yours. “You made a vow. You can’t break it now.”

“You are racking up vows, aren’t you? First to never keep you waiting, now this. If this keeps up we’re gonna have to start writing down all the promises we make.” you teased and his face fell again. Oh no.

You gave a little tug on your intertwined fingers and pulled him closer, placing a quick kiss on his mouth. “There. A vow sealed with a kiss. Feel better?”

“Much.” he smiled softly at you. “See you tomorrow, cutie.”

~~~

The work day was a long and tedious one. You had spent nearly all day patrolling and ended up fighting a whole horde of Wanderers that had taken up in an abandoned warehouse. By the end of the day you were in desperate need of some relaxation and perhaps a stiff drink. So when Tara announced that everyone was going out for drinks after work to celebrate the impressive job you and the other hunters did on raiding the warehouse you were more than happy to come along.

You were two drinks deep and starting on a third. The stress of the day melted away, replaced with the warm fuzziness that was your buzz. Thank goodness it was the weekend so you didn’t need to worry about getting up early with the hangover you were working towards developing.

At some point a drinking game got started. There was a piece of paper that had every body’s name written on it. The point of the game was that if some flipped a coin and it landed on that person’s name they had to drink. If it landed on a blank space they got to write a rule until the paper was completely full.

Soon the paper was full of outlandish rules, each getting progressively more “creative” the longer you went on. It was your turn and you flipped the coin. You had been aiming for Nero’s name and ended up hitting the rule an inch below it. “Text the last person you messaged a bad selfie.”

You sighed but pulled out your phone and brought up the camera. You twisted your face into a funny and unflattering expression and went to your messages. You couldn’t remember the last person you texted and prayed it wasn’t someone embarrassing.

Please don’t be Zayne. Please don’t be Zayne. Please don’t be Zayne!

You let out a small breath of relief seeing that Zayne was not in fact at the top of your messages. Rafayel was. You opened the chat and sent the picture without any context.

You rolled your eyes at your co-worker’s laughter and resumed watching the others play the game. Yet, you could not focus entirely. It felt like you were forgetting something but you couldn’t remember what. Trying to think with your head awash in cocktails wasn’t exactly helping your memory. All your brain was coming up with was chickens.

Well, if you couldn’t remember it couldn’t have been that important.

You leaned over towards the person next to you, he was another hunter but you hadn’t spoken all that much since he wasn’t on Alpha Team. You weren’t sure of his name but maybe it was Jasper or Jordan. To be blunt there wasn’t anything remarkable about him but he did have a very nice face and a rather infectious laugh. His arm had been resting against the back of your chair but now settled on your shoulders.

“So,” you leaned closer to be heard over the music of the bar, “if you are a hunter I’m guessing you have a preference on which weapon you like using.”

“I do.” he said. “Do you want to know?”

“No. I’m gonna guess but first I need your hand.” you held your hand out for him.

“Okay.” he said with an easy smile and held his hand up. “Why?”

“Think of it as palm reading, but instead of telling your future I’m telling your preferred weapon.” you placed your palm against his. “Hmm, yes.” You nodded very seriously before linking your hands together. “It’s coming to me. With big strong hands like this, your preferred weapon is a claymore.”

He smirked at your flirting. “That is quite the talent you have. I do indeed prefer the claymore. After handling it for so long, throwing anything around whether it be light or heavy is a piece of cake.”

“I bet that comes in handy.”

“It sure does.” he tugged you closer. “It comes in very handy for many different…scenarios.”

You couldn’t tell if the heat in your face was from the drink or his implication but either way it made you feel tingly all over.

“So, what are you doing after this?” Jacob or Jasper asked, his face a mere breath away from yours.

You were yanked back so hard you almost tipped out of your chair completely. You scrambled to see who had grabbed you and saw Rafayel standing above you, a fistful of the back of your shirt in his hand. “You broke your promise.”

~~~

Rafayel had felt something was wrong when his alarm went off that told him your shift had ended and he didn’t hear anything from you. Then a half hour had passed and there had still been no word from you. Maybe you had gone home to change. He tried texting you but had gotten no response. Your battery was low, surely. That’s why you hadn’t texted back.

After an hour he had started pacing, more excuses for your absence filtering through his brain. You could have been picking up the chicken like you said and there was a long line. That had to be it.

Two hours went by. Was there traffic?

Three hours. Maybe there was a Wanderer attack. Were you okay?

He was about ready to go out looking for you when a message came through his phone. It was from you! He opened it expecting any number of excuses and apologies but instead it was just a picture. You were at some bar and were making a very stupid face at the camera. That wasn’t what had caught his attention though. It was the arm that was wrapped around you oh so casually. The pig it was attached to was leering at you in the top left corner of the shot.

Rafayel felt many emotions shoot through him in the span of five seconds of seeing your message. Relief. Confusion. Dejection. Anger. Then pure hot resentment.

You had broken your promise to him to go out to a bar with this scumbag that touched you so casually? No. This would not stand. He was going to go get you. He had to study the picture a bit more to figure out which bar you were at. Thankfully there was a cocktail napkin printed with the bar name on it within the shot.

He sped over as fast as he could and burst into the bar. His gaze swept over the bustling room until he saw a large group sitting near the back. You were among them and that pig from the picture was right next to you, his hand laced with yours and hunger in his eyes. He waited to see you pull away, to tell him to fuck off but you didn’t. You leaned in closer, batting your eyelashes and smiling at him in that way that teasing smirk that drew Rafayel crazy. That was meant for him! Why were you flirting with someone else! Why!

He had charged forward as your faces drew closer. No. He would not see you kiss someone else! He would not suffer that indignity tonight as well!

He grabbed the back of our shirt and pulled you swiftly away from the man. The thundering of his heart was pounding in his ears. “You broke your promise.” he seethed.

You blinked and he could see your brain trying to catch up. “Raf--what are--why are you here? Let go of me!”

“Not a chance.” he grabbed you underneath the armpits and pulled you out of your chair. “You have had enough to drink. We are going home.”

“Hey!” the pig stood up. “Who do you think you are? You can’t just take her.”

“She’s my girlfriend and she’s wasted, so I think I am more than justified in getting her out of this dive.” Rafayel started to drag you away. “Come on.”

He dragged you out to the car despite your protests and shoved you into the passenger seat and buckled your seatbelt for you. Once you were in the car a lot of the fight went out of you. He shoved a water bottle at you and told you to drink as much as you could. When you didn’t oblige he stayed glaring at you until you had swallowed the whole thing. Then he pulled out another and told you to keep drinking. “I need you sober. So keep hydrating.”

By the time Rafayel had gotten back to his house you had drank another full bottle of water and the glassy sheen of drunkenness was ebbing away. The anger and pain his chest was still boiling but he kept his mouth clamped shut until you were inside.

For what felt like forever you stood in the foyer, looking everywhere but at him and not saying a word. When you dared to meet his gaze again he noticed you flinch as guilt shot through you. “Raf, I’m sorry. I had a really stressful day at work and I completely forgot about our chicken and movie plans. I swear I will make it up to you tomorrow--”

“Who the fuck was he?” Rafayel cut you off.

You paused your stammering and stared at him, brows knit in confusion. “What? Who?”

“That pig that was hanging off of you at the bar. Who is he?” he demanded.

“What does that have to do--”

“Answer the question!”

You snapped to attention, shock and indignation sharpening your features. “You do not talk to me like that! I know you’re pissed that I forgot our plans but you do not yell at me like that. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Rafayel felt like laughing. Laugh like he was mad. “I want to know why you were flirting with someone else. Did you even realize that he was two seconds from kissing you?”

“Uh yeah? That was kinda the whole point of us flirting. Why are you getting so worked up about this?” you settled your hands on your hips. “Do you know what everyone is going to think now that you announced to all my co-workers that you are my boyfriend? No one is gonna want to get anywhere near me now. Thanks for that.”

“Is that what you want? To be with other people?”

“Wait. I’m confused. When did we ever establish that we were exclusive? I thought this was casual. Why are you being so possessive all of a sudden?” you asked.

“Because you are mine!” he shouted. He charged forward caging you against the wall. “This is not something casual to me and it shouldn’t be for you either! You are mine and mine alone I will be damned if I see someone else lay hands on what belongs to me.”

“Raf, where is all this coming from all of a sudden? Did you really think that we were in some serious arrangement?”

“You promised.” he repeated, angry tears threatening to spill.

“I know. I know. I promised to come over but I told you that I forgot--”

“No. You promised. You always promise. You keep making promises to me and you keep on breaking them! For eight hundred years you’ve been breaking your promises and I am tired of it! No more! You do not get to break my heart any more!” he seized you by the arms, staring into your eyes, willing something to unlock in your mind.

“Why do you never remember?” he said, his voice quieting. “Why do you keep breaking your promises?”

“What are you talking about? Eight hundred years? I don’t know what it is you are upset about. Did the coral finally get to your head now too?”

“For fuck’s sake.” Rafayel couldn’t take this anymore. He slammed his lips to yours, forcing your lips apart and pushing his tongue into your mouth. He did not yield until your tense body melted into his arms and you started to kiss him back.

He pulled back, breathing heavily. “Eight hundred years.” he muttered. “I know you don’t remember but I am going to make you. I am going to remind you in one way or another that you have always been mine. That you will only ever be mine. If I cannot make your mind remember then I will emblazon it on your body, etch my name into your bones so you never forget again.”

“Rafayel, why--”

“Yes or no?” he said, desperate to claim you but refused to move without your consent. “That’s all I need.”

“Are you going to talk to me about what the fuck is going on in that head of yours?” you snapped, impatience stoking you back into a rage.

Yes. Be angry. Be vengeful. But be mine.

“After.” his hands moved to your hips, pressing your body against his. “Now yes or no?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

His lips were back on yours, pouring all the frustration and desire he had into it. Mine. He thought. Only mine.

You started to slump as your knees buckled and he pulled back, keeping his arms locked around you as you made your way deeper into the studio. There was a fire roiling through his blood and it screamed at him to make you his. He didn’t have the patience to take you to the bedroom and instead tossed you onto the couch when it came into view.

He hovered above you and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to look at him. Your lips were parted and panting slightly, eyes wide with rage and lust and defiance. By the tides he loved it. He loved everything about you. If only you would say the same of him.

He kissed you again until you were breathless. There was still a taste of alcohol on your tongue. It tasted like rum and oranges, the sear and tang of summer overwhelming his senses with every swipe of your tongue against his. He wanted to get drunk off the taste. Wanted nothing else but reminders of you. Your taste, your scent, your warmth.

He left your swollen lips to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking dark bruises onto the sensitive flesh. A gasp left your mouth as his teeth sunk down above your pulse. You had always been so adamant about not leaving marks where other people could see them. Well no more. Everyone would know you were spoken for. No one would be able to question who you belonged to ever again. You included.

His free hand fumbled for the buttons of your shirt before impatience took over and he ripped it open instead. Buttons popped from their seams and flew off in different directions as your body was finally exposed to him.

“Hey! This is a work shirt!” you huffed, picking at one of the buttons that still held onto the shirt by a stretched thread.

“I’ll buy you another.” he slid the ruined shirt off and continued the descent of his mouth down your chest. “If you don’t want the rest of your clothes to meet the same fate, I’d advise in taking them off quickly.”

“Raf--”

“You have ten seconds. Be quick.” he stood up and started counting down.

It took you a moment to catch on that he was not indeed joking and to spare your clothes from decimation you quickly untied and tugged off your boots and were trying your best to shimmy out of your pants. Rafayel also began to shrug out of clothes, not as panicked as you were as he kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt off over his head. By the time he got to zero you had just managed to kick your pants off and were reaching for the clasp of your bra.

“Too slow.” he pinned you back against the couch his knee slotting in the spaced between your legs, pressing close to your clothed cunt. You tried to stifle it but he heard the low whine of arousal that hummed in your throat. He pressed knee closer, letting you grind on it. He could feel wet you were getting. The evidence of your arousal soaking through your panties and wetting his pants.

He reached around behind your back and undid the clasp that held your bra in place and tore it off. You were lost in your own little world, grinding against his leg like an animal in heat. Your sweet moans filled the air as his hands cupped your breasts an tweaked your nipples into hard peaks. So sweet. So beautiful. And all of it his. At least, it should have been. The idea that someone out there possibly had seen this version of you, had driven you into this state made his blood boil. Who else had you been with when you weren’t with him? Had you ever left him and gone off to be with someone else? Did you moan for them like you did for him? Did you speak such filthy and beautiful words in their ears like you did with him? How many others had been tasting your lips after him?

“How long?” he asked, eyes trained on your face.

Your eyes which had been closed in ecstasy cracked open again. “What?” you breathed out.

“How long have you been flirting with others?” he said and your eyes widened. “Answer me.”

“I thought you said we were going to talk about this after.” you said. “Why--ah!” he gave a sharp squeeze to your breast.

“Answer the question.”

“I--I don’t know.” your hips kept moving, kept pushing yourself closer to the sweet release your body craved. You were getting close, he could tell.

“Yes you do. Now answer. Have you been flirting with others the entire time we’ve been together?”

“Raf--”

He pulled back, leaving you cold and panting against the couch, your precious orgasm right out of reach. “Answer or this ends now.”

“Yes.” you answered, your voice quiet. “I guess you could say it was happening the entire time, even before we met.”

Icy dread so cold it felt like burning coursed through him. He pushed you down so you were sprawled across the cushions of the couch. His hand pushed against the soaked materials of your panties, teasing your clit through the cotton.

“And how many touched you like this, hm?” he rubbed your clit harder. “How many of them did you fuck?”

“None of them. I promise. I didn’t sleep with anyone else.” That was a small relief. Your body had remained his, but what of your heart?

He pushed the material aside and plunged two fingers into your weeping hole. “And why not?” he continued, stretching your walls and curling his fingers in the way he knew drove you mad with want. “You had no problem flirting with them. Letting them touch you, letting them kiss you. Why not give your body over completely? Is that where your conscience kicked in? Remembered you already had someone when things got that far, did you?”

“Didn’t--didn’t--” you were struggling to form words, “Didn’t like them that much.”

“So if you liked them more you’d let them touch you like this?” his thumb pressed against your swollen clit, adding to the sensations you were already feeling. “You’d let them put their fingers in you, touch your most sensitive spots, let them taste how sweet your arousal is? All it would take is a few more sweet words and you’d let them fuck you. Drive their dick into you like they own it, own you. Is that what you’re saying.”

“No. No--fuck! Raf, I never wanted to fuck any of them.” your words kept wavering as he kept you dancing just out of reach of release. “I promise.”

There was that word again. Promise.

“Your promises mean nothing anymore. You’ve proven that.” his pace got faster and your legs squirmed and kicked as your orgasm raced forward with frightening speed. “Why should I believe you this time?”

It was as if his words had ignited something hot in you The wanton need and delirium of pleasure snapped and you surged up as your pussy clamped down hard on his fingers, arousal gushing from your hole as you came. You had grabbed him by the shoulders and forced your mouth against his, kissing him hungrily. You kept pushing, forcing him down against the couch, trapping him under you just as he had done.

You pulled away, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth as you withdrew. The momentary bliss was gone when he saw the rage written across your face. You sat straddled across him, chest heaving in the aftermath of your orgasm. You hastily unbuckled his belt and were shoving his pants further down his hips so his cock was free from their confines. “Now listen here and listen well you prima donna!” you growled, teasing the wet tip of his cock in your hand. “You are going to believe me when I say this: I never wanted to fuck any of the people I flirted with. That’s all it ever was, flirting. If you wanted us to be something more serious you should have fucking said so sooner!”

His nostrils flared as you worked over the hard flesh of his erection. He tried to grab you but you smacked his hands away. “You do not get to be angry at me for treating what we have as something casual cause that is all you have ever treated it as too.”

“It was never casual for me!” he snapped back. You gave a hard squeeze and his head fell back. “Fuck--that’s not fair.”

“Neither were your methods.” you reminded him. “Now, you said you wanted to etch your name onto my bones so I never forgot you. Well that is a two way street, you know. If you want to sear yourself into my memory then I get to do the same to you.”

“Trust me,” he said, eyes dark with desire, “You already are.”

You sat back, angling yourself as you lowered yourself onto him. You watched his gaze slide from your face down to where you were connected, watching his cock sink in and out of you. You rode him hard, pulling up till only the tip remained inside before slamming back down on him again. He steadied you by holding your thighs, pushing them wider when he wanted you to sink down deeper on him.

It didn’t matter how many times you had sex. Every time he had you like this it felt like he was in some amazing dream he did not want to wake up from. But you were no dream. You were real. So breathtakingly and heartbreakingly real. And you were with him, wanting him, riding him, eyes begging him and only him for pleasure and release no one else could come close to giving you.

His hips moved to thrust up into you, needing more. Needing to mark you in a way that you never forgot in this life or the next or the one another eight hundred years from now.

Your thrusts got shallower and faster as he hit some wonderful spot in your pussy that had you seeing stars. Your legs were shaking and started to lose their rhythm. Your body collapsed forward, laying on top of him. He kept hold of your ass, forcing your hips to keep moving as you moaned and panted, nails scratching down his chest.

“Fuck! Oh fuck! Raf! Raf!” you started squirming again, release so close you could taste it. At least, that’s what he figured with your tongue hanging out of your mouth. He craned his neck to taste it, pull your mouth onto his and made you swallow his own moans.

Your pussy was so hot and wet and it was squeezing the life out of him. He never wanted to leave. He wanted to mount the pair of you on a pedestal in this embrace, immortalized in shining marble. Scholars and lovers would come from all over the galaxy to study the love and lust your coupling represented. Women would desire to be you and men would envy him for having claimed something so perfect as his own. But none would know just how good you were. How your lips felt pressed against their own, what your arousal tasted like, or what little things turned you into a screaming moaning mess. This was all his to know and no one else.

“Let go.” he murmured against your lips, “I know you want to come. Go ahead, let go and come for me. Oh fuck please! Be a good girl and come all over me. Please!” he stressed. He felt himself about to blow but he’d be damned if he left you behind.

“Raf! Raf! Fuck Raf! Want to! Want to come!” Tears were leaking out of your eyes. “Want to be yours. Want to--want to--fuck! Make me! Make me yours!”

“Yes. Be mine! Be mine! Be only mine!” He crushed your mouth back against his. He wedged one hand between you and found your swollen and neglected clit, rubbing it gracelessly to give you that final little push you needed.

“Ah!” your voice pitched an octave.

“Keep your eyes open.” he gritted through clenched teeth. “Look at me when you come. Look at me!”

You forced your eyes open despite the pleasure wracking your body telling you to close them. “Raf…ay…el…” his name was but a struggled whisper before your cunt clamped down around him and the tremors of your body seized as you were thrown into your orgasm.

Rafayel followed shortly behind, his eyes never leaving yours as the tides of pleasure washed in and out and away. The shaking of your body stilled and you stayed flush against him, chests heaving and hearts hammering as the adrenaline wore off.

After several long minutes of silence you spoke again in a quiet voice, devoid of any malice. “Rafayel?”

He almost wished you hadn’t said anything. He didn’t want to ruin this peaceful moment. But you probably had questions. “What is it?”

“You said it was never casual for you.” you traced patterns across his chest. “What did you mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” he tilted your chin up to look at him. “After eight hundred years of waiting I finally have you back and you think I was going to want anything less than all of you?”

“Again with this eight hundred years thing.” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “I get that you’re older than you look but I am not eight hundred years old, Rafayel. If you are projecting some lost love onto me--”

“It’s not projection. It is you. It has only ever been and only ever will be you.” he could see the war in your eyes, trying to reconcile what he was saying.

He grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart. “We promised. I know you don’t remember but I do. We made a vow and you cannot break it. We are bonded, always have been, always will be.”

“Do…” you took a shaky breath, “Do you love me?”

“It is a tragedy you even have to ask.” he cupped your cheek. “But yes, I do. And I will do anything to make sure you stay mine.”

“Well,” you cleared your throat, snuggling against him further. “I think you definitely staked your claim. But even if I am this same person from eight hundred years ago, what makes you think me and her are in any way the same? Do you want me to be more like her or something? Just how far is this going to go?”

“I never want you to be anything less than who you are. You don’t have to be her because there is no her to be. I just want you in whatever way you come.” he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Okay?”

“Okay.” you smiled. “And I promise, really actually promise, that I will not flirt with anyone that is not you.”

“Because you love me?” he teased with a dopey smile.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. Because I love you.”

-----------

A/N: Hi, so this was my first foray into fanfic for this particular fandom. As it is I'm still fairly new so a lot of my characterization is based off of limited knowledge and vibes. That being said I hope you liked it and if you have other prompts for me whether they be angsty, spicy, or fluffy I'd be glad to have a crack at them. Love ya!

[cherimoyatea]

This is so wholesome and sweet 🥹🩷

Imagine Rafayel and you having sex for the first time… He lays on top of you eyes closed as he thrusts into you softly. He has a slight blush on his face and is whining into your shoulder. His teeth sink softly into your flesh. He tries his best not to bite too hard but ends up leaving cute little marks all over your shoulders. You just feel too warm and he can’t help himself. “Does it feel good.?” he’d say through moans while you nod your head and hold him even tighter. It’s just so intimate and soft and feels like heaven. He doesn’t last long but he keeps going until you’re satisfied. Overstimulated and all, he still wants to make sure you feel good too.

a/n- just a cute little brain worm i had :p i’ve been loving l&ds recently and i just got to lvl 96 with raf :) the new cards are so cute and though raf is my fav i love how sweet zaynes card is <3 thank for reading as always and sorry if he feels a little ooc !

[hellinistical]

"Dance with me?"

WC: 903

Warnings: Fem.Reader

The studio was bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, the sun spilling through the tall windows in streams of amber and honey. Dust motes danced lazily in the beams, settling on half-finished canvases, scattered brushes, and palettes smeared with a rainbow of colors. On the worn leather couch in the corner, the artist lay sprawled, his arm draped over his face, the soft rise and fall of his chest betraying his peaceful slumber.

His lover stepped quietly into the room, her h/c hair ablaze in the sunlight. The glow caught every strand, making it look like a fiery halo surrounding her head. She paused, her eyes softening as they lingered on him. The way his hair was tousled, the smudge of paint still on his cheek—it was all so endearingly him.

A mischievous smile curled her lips. She tiptoed closer, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath her steps. Leaning over him, she placed her face close to his, her breath warm against his ear.

"Sleeping on the job again, are we?" she whispered, her voice playful.

The artist stirred but didn’t open his eyes. A small, lazy smile played on his lips as if even in his sleep, he recognized her teasing tone.

She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. "If you’re going to nap, at least do it in a bed, you dolt."

When he still didn’t respond, she leaned in closer, her lips almost grazing his ear. "If you don’t wake up, I’m going to paint something embarrassing on your face."

That did it. He groaned, his hand reaching out blindly to swat her away, but his smile widened. "Five more minutes," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Not a chance," she replied, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his temple. The warmth of her lips seemed to wake him more than her words. He cracked open one eye, the golden light reflecting in its e/c depths.

"You're too pretty for your own good, you know that?" he murmured, his gaze tracing her glowing hair, her cheeks, and the way the sunlight made her eyes sparkle.

"And you’re too sluggish when you’re half-asleep," she shot back, tugging at his arm until he reluctantly sat up. His hair stuck up in wild directions, and she reached out to smooth it down, laughing when he pouted at her.

"Fine, I’m up," he grumbled, though the soft smile on his face betrayed him. "But only because you threatened my face."

She grinned, leaning down to kiss his lips this time. "See? I’m a great motivator."

Y/n set the stereo down on the coffee table with a gentle clunk, its worn-out casing a relic of countless years and countless songs. The bent antenna stuck up at an awkward angle, like a stubborn reminder of its resilience. The plastic had yellowed with age, but she swore it added character—just like Rafayel's perpetually paint-smeared hands.

“Dance with me?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with playful insistence. Her e/c eyes sparkled in the golden light, and her smile—cheeky and irresistible—hinted at mischief. She tugged on his hand, urging him up from the couch.

Rafayel raised a brow, his expression caught somewhere between amused and skeptical. "That thing still works?"

"It does now," she said, flashing him a triumphant grin. “I fixed it. Kind of. You just have to wiggle the antenna a bit.”

Before he could respond, she bent over the stereo, her hair cascading like liquid fire, and clicked a button. A static-filled hum buzzed through the room, followed by the crackle of an old tune fighting its way through the speakers. She gave the antenna a determined jiggle, and suddenly, a slow, soulful melody spilled into the space.

"See?" she said, straightening up and offering her hand again. "Now stop being grumpy and dance with me."

He sighed, a half-laugh escaping as he let her pull him to his feet. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"And you love it," she shot back, already swaying to the music.

Rafayel allowed himself to be guided, his larger hands settling on her waist as hers rested lightly on his shoulders. She moved effortlessly, her body flowing with the rhythm as if the song were written just for her. The golden light framed her, making her appear ethereal.

He stumbled a little at first, his sleep-heavy limbs struggling to find the beat, but her infectious energy soon drew him in. They swayed together, spinning in lazy circles across the wooden floor. She laughed when he misstepped, and he pretended to frown, only to catch her off-guard by dipping her dramatically.

"Show-off," she teased, her laughter bubbling up as he brought her back upright.

"You're the one who dragged me into this," he countered, but his grin betrayed him.

The song crackled and skipped, the stereo hiccuping under the strain of its age, but neither of them cared. In that golden-lit moment, the world outside the studio seemed to disappear, leaving only the music, their shared laughter, and the warmth of each other's presence.

As the melody faded, Y/n leaned into him, her cheek resting against his chest. His arms wrapped around her instinctively, holding her close.

"You're terrible at dancing," she murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"And you're terrible at fixing stereos," he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.