#The deep blues are so good but the purples | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

where-dreamers-go · 1 day ago

Text

"Rescue" Leon Kennedy x Reader

(A/N: And so I finally write down an idea that’s been cinematically in my mind then made it a soulmate au. Leon Scott Kennedy is back in action! What happens when he realizes he’s closer to his soulmate while on assignment?

Warnings: angst, strong language, canon violence and imagery descriptions, hurt/comfort, fluff, and use of (Y/N) for your name.

Word Count: 4,145 words)

~~~

~~~

Mornings set the tone for the rest of the day. On most days. The hours ahead were hopefully to be positive ones. Your day started incredibly early. On purpose and with intention. Around you, wall were white and decorated with monochromatic modern art. Metal chairs were arranged in a rectangular fashion with an empty coffee table in the center as you sat. No magazines or pamphlets to entertain. Each step taken by others on the tile floor echoed in the lobby. There were no conversations or passing comments to fill the space. The sound of your breathing was louder than whatever the receptionist was busying herself with behind the tall desk. Just about ten minutes, you thought as you checked your watch. Talk steady. If they don’t mention a start date, ask. They definitely need more people for data entry. You got this. On your lap, you nervously spun a metal ring around your left index finger. The circular crystal embedded into the metal was currently light blue. Pretty normal. A sign you were not too far nor too close enough to your soulmate. If it was a mood ring the color would had signaled you were possibly calm. Despite your nerves, you felt good about the day ahead. It was an opportunity for something new.

. . .

Rumbling and the occasional bounce of the vehicle were unfortunately the only normal occurrences in Leon Kennedy’s day. Passing into the edge of a town, the team of agents were in route to a facility. A science center in appearance, there was nothing in advancement happening that late morning. The Umbrella Corporation made sure of that. An alert of bioweapons sightings came in two hours ago. To make matter complicated, not all civilians had evacuated the building. So saving any civilians was added to the to-do list. If Leon could save someone, he’d at least smile. “ETA: Two minutes.” The driver called out, another agent. Leon glanced out the small window. All geared up, his vest held nearly every weapon and tool he would need. Beside his watch on his left wrist sat a personal item, a metal bracelet. Both sturdy and a comfort on dark days. Its small crystal within darkened into a deep blue, almost purple. A little too close, Leon thought and hoped it would lighten by the time they moved in. The man could only hope.

. . .

“Shit.” Leon grimaced as he reloaded his gun. The lobby was trashed and blood-stained. Broken chairs and other bare furniture was scattered across the floor. Added a freshly eliminated infected. “Hate to see the break room.” Based on the intact entrance doors and windows, the bioweapons’ forced entry was not through the front of the building. Chris peered around and stated, “I’ll take the right side and sweep the first floor. You take the left.” “Got it.” Leon headed down a hallway. Its usually closed door was splintered across the tile. He avoided stepping on any debris that would crunch under his boots. There was no telling how many infected were in the building. Not until the other agents checked in. After taking a quick look at his watch, Leon registered the drastic change in color on the crystal bracelet. “Oh, fuck.” Leon sighed and swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “Not here. Why do they have to be here?” Steadily checking the hall, all his senses were alert for danger. His mind, however, was tumbling with the worst questions. What if you worked for Umbrella making bioweapons? What if you were a bioweapon, infected and doomed? Just make it quick, Leon thought somberly.

. . .

Adjusting yourself quietly off of your half-asleep leg, you leaned against the tile wall. Hunched in the back corner of the largest restroom stall was turning into a new, unwanted activity. I should’ve left as soon as the interview was over, you thought for perhaps the twelfth time in the past two and a half hours.

Over your time hiding, screeches could still be heard every so often. Piercing and making your blood run cold. Always when hope of it being gone rose in you, your heard it. Frightening and disheartening. You counted yourself lucky. For your quick thinking and for having your phone on silent, you were still alive. Too bad the cell signal sucked on the third floor. If only your heartbeat was the loudest sound that morning. How is this evening happening? You wondered as you counted the tile again. Feeling distressed would sure to wreck havoc on your system later. Raising your head, you swore you heard a sound. Please be nothing. The sound grew faintly louder. Soles of shoes out in the hallway. You remained silent. Not knowing who or what rampaged through the building after your interview left you at a disadvantage. One you were well aware of. At first, you had suspected an armed attack to the company, however blood-chilling roars proved otherwise. I wanna go home. You thought, still as stone on the floor. You were not about to meet any creature face to face. Bipedal or not. Small thumps shook the main door of the restroom. Is someone trying to come in? How well could that lock above the main door hold for?

THUMP ping WHAM

You covered your mouth as you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Hello?” A deep voice called out. “Is anyone in here?” Heart beating rapidly, you did not dare to move. Could you trust the stranger? This random man? How long were you intending on hiding in a stall? Bending lower, you observed dark boots slowly making their way into the restroom. A room with five stalls. “Listen, I’m here to help.” Likely, you thought suspiciously. “It’s too dangerous to be in here,” he said three steps closer. “We’re on orders to rescue civilians.” And he totally knows I’m in here. Government or something? “My name’s Leon. I can get you out of here.” Fine. Fine. Okay! “Are those things still out there?” You asked in a broken whisper. Fear and hours of silence effecting you. “Yeah.” “Crap.” “Tell me about it.” Your eyebrows pinched together. Didn’t expect him to say that. Easing yourself up to stand, your body was more than a little relieved to be off of the cold, hard tile. You took a steady breath. As quietly as you could, you unlocked the stall door and peered out. Icy blue eyes regarded you immediately.

“I’m Leon.” Said the man with dirty blond hair. A bulletproof vest covered his torso and overall distracting from his casual clothes. “Are you all right . . . ?” “(Y/N).” You answered, trying really hard not to glance a the gun he held. With all the other ‘tools’ on his person, he seemed pretty legit to you. “Is . . . everyone else hiding too?” Lips pressing together, Leon glanced away for a moment. Oh, no. “We still haven’t done a complete sweep of the building yet, but the team has found others.” He stated. “I’m sure they locked themselves in their offices if they didn’t run out.” “Do you know who’d be in an office now?” “I have no idea.” You said honestly, “I was just here for a job interview.” His eyebrows rose a fraction. “Oh yeah?” His tone was steady. “Guess I’ll keep looking.” You shrugged. “I hope you have better luck next time,” Leon turned back to the open door. “Let’s get going. Stay close.” “Okay.” What choice did you have otherwise but to follow him? You were ill prepared to observe the aftermath of whatever happened. The eerie emptiness and scattered belongings throughout the hall. Maybe this guy was your ticket out, your guarantee of going home. Anything was better than your earlier options.

Leon hadn’t been exaggerating when he said ‘sweep’. With his weapon ready, he checked every open room. Thankfully nothing scary showed itself. “Any chance they gave you a tour?” Leon asked as he glanced up and down a hallway. “No. But they have some pictures on their website.” “Helpful.” “Not really,” you whispered. Glancing over his shoulder, Leon gave you an amused look. Oh. Good sarcasm. You tore your gaze away. An open door down the hall became occupied uncannily fast. So quietly. Someone leaned against the doorframe. Stepping out, their professional attire looked wrong, hanging where it shouldn’t. A gravely, strangled breath carried towards the pair of you. Leon turned with aimed precision. Remaining still, you felt coldness creep up your arms. Something was very wrong. The person hobbled into the hall with unblinking eyes and a strangled screech. Their pace increased as they angled in your direction.

BANG

You covered your ears a second too late. What used to be an employee laid in an unmoving heap on the tile floor. Discolored and inhuman. “What happened to them?” You asked with a shaky voice. “They’re infected,” answered Leon as he turned down the other half of the hall. You kept up without missing a beat. “So a zombie?”

GRRAAAH!

Two more infected raced out from the open room behind you. Jaws slacked and fingers clenched forward like claws, they targeted the pair of you. “Crap,” you exclaimed. Before you could move anywhere, Leon had opened fire on the infected. Aim perfect and practiced. The threats were down before your heart rate raised too high. Grumbling under his breath, Leon went forward to inspect the room. “Stay right there.” He advised as you remained by the hall’s intersection. “Sure.” Freaking zombies, you thought. Out of everything -- anything. Zombies. Briefly, you peered around and thankfully nothing moved. Leon’s handling this well. Maybe zombies aren’t new? And real. You cringed at the thought. Witnessing and knowing what had rampaged through the building earlier wasn’t a comfort. A bit of scary closure maybe. “All clear in there,” Leon announced as he joined you. “We’ll see the rest of the floor and meet back up with the team downstairs.” “Cool.” You breathed out a short reply. “Don’t worry,” Leon assured you, “I’ll get you outta here.” “I appreciate it. Really.” He sent you a small smile. It warmed the hope in your heart.

The rest of the hall held knocked over seating areas and ignored art. Beyond it was a closed set of doors. Unlocked and probably designed with fire safety in mind. Leon paused as he reached one of the doors. Does he hear something? You dared not stand too close. Not that standing near your new acquaintance was disagreeable. Simply, you did not want to be in his way.

WHAM

“Leon!” You jumped back against the wall. On the floor with growling and grunting was a struggle of alarming visuals. Both Leon and an terribly disfigured infected fought for purchase, for an upper-hand. For survival. Frantically watching over Leon with increased anxiety, you didn’t move. You didn’t even scream. Should I kick it? With a frown, Leon hit the infected back to get out one shot. It was enough. Leon scooted back before rising to his feet. “You all right?” He turned to you. “Me? Sure. You?” “I could use some pizza later.” Leon said as he cautiously entered the section of the hallway. “Sounds good,” you added as you followed him and dearly hoped your stomach wouldn’t start vocalizing its agreement. Especially after witnessing that frightful fight.

Glancing around, the plain walls gave a stark contrast to what could be lurking behind every door. Every unexplored corner. “We almost made a full circle,” you announced as you spotted a familiar elevator at the very end of the hall. “Then we’re out of here and --” “What?” Leon’s arm came up to block you from moving forward. A well defined, muscular arm. You didn’t notice anything abnormal. Yet that didn’t make you feel any less hesitant of what lay ahead. So you elected to stand behind Leon. “Show yourself.” Leon called out with his gun raised to a doorway. “If they’re still human.” You whispered.

Steadily with raised hands, two people in business casual attire walked out of an office. They appeared healthy. Definitely unnerved in their situation. But human nonetheless. “We just want safe passage out,” said the taller of the two men. No duh, you thought as you brought yourself to stand beside Leon. “Then stay close.” “Who are you?” Asked the second man wearing glasses. “I’m Leon Kennedy. I’m on orders to --” “Rescue us?” Interrupted the first man. “Let’s not waste time.” “Right.” Leon subtly turned to check on you. Blue eyes giving you a quick once over. You gave a brief, if not tiny, smile of encouragement.

The faster we’re out of here the better. At least those two had each other. You thought as you followed Leon across the echoing tile. “Which department are you from?” You glanced over your shoulder to notice the shorter man directing his question to you. “Oh, I don’t work here,” you answered. Both man shared concerned frowns between themselves. Therefore, you followed up quickly with, “I was here for a job interview. For data entry.” “And you didn’t do it from home?” Asked the taller man. “I . . . didn’t see that option.”

Being as the men asked no more questions, you set your sights straight ahead. Thankfully, stepping around a trashed bulletin board. You kept closer to Leon than your new group members. Definitely not going to work at any place associated with this one, you thought as all of you reached the end of the hall. Stealthily, Leon crept into a stairway and quietly beckoned the three of you onward. “We’re three floors up,” whined the taller man behind you. “I’ve never not taken the elevator.” “Good time to try them out,” commented Leon as he headed down stairs. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Better than ten flights of stairs, you thought to yourself. Even better with Leon leading the way. He probably did the ground floor too. Hope of safety and freedom, you lively took each step. Easily done even with two grumbling men following after you. You’d think they’d be more thankful. They work here! You frowned. Did they call for help? “Uh, Leon?” You inquired. “Yeah?” He paused to look up to you. Patience in his eyes. “Are there any more of those . . . things in the lobby?” “There shouldn’t be.” “That’s not very confident,” sneered the shorter and obnoxious man. You rolled your eyes. “Let’s keep going,” Leon announced and took two steps at a time.

With the door to the lobby in sight, you were anxious to see if the rest of Leon’s team found other survivors. Surely, there were people who weren’t infected. What do we do when we’re out? You wondered. Were other buildings attacked too? You swallowed dryly. Where does Leon go?

SLAM

Yelping, you peered above as a broad shouldered infected burst through the second floor’s door. “RUN!” At Leon’s order, you rushed passed him to the door. In seconds, you were back in the same lobby and surrounded by broken furniture as your heart pounded in your chest. Electing to head towards the reception desk was your first thought. The front entrance was further off and a little too good to be true. “Hey,” you stumbled as the two men pushed passed you. The men did not utter a word to you nor did they let up their speed. They knew where they were going. They knew where to hide. Both heading towards a far door. But what if they run right to a zombie? Fear rushing through you again, you made your way to the tall desk. After checking inside the space, you entered through the unlocked door. You were safe for the time being. Just wait for Leon. That’s all. You thought as you tried calming your breathing. He’ll be fine. We can go home. I can, you corrected yourself. Everything will be fine. Quietly, you sat on the cushioned chair. You’re safe. Just breathe. Besides your breathing and heartbeat, you did not hear anything else. A relief for sure until you immediately considered your new friend. The brave man you left in a stairwell alone with some monster. Your stomach dropped as you remembered him being tackled earlier.

“(Y/N)?” Called out a familiar voice. “Leon,” you exclaimed happily and jumped out of your seat. In another breath and a few echoing footsteps, Leon was in front of the receptionist desk. A smirk soon curving his lips. “Rethinking a job position?” Leon asked with raised eyebrows. “No.” You hastily exited the tiny room. He didn’t appear injured. “Where are the others?” “I think they took the stairs.” Pointing off in the direction they had gone, you asked. “Are they going back up?” A frown creased Leon’s concerned expression. Their actions troubled him. “They could’ve left, right?” You glanced towards the entrance. “Yeah . . . So why go down to the basement?” “There’s a basement?” Icy blue eyes regarded you. “Not that I’m scared of basements,” you said quickly. “We can check it out. Maybe they’re stealing or something.” “We have to get you out of here.” “Them too. Who knows what they’re doing? They might need help. Not with stealing hopefully.” Expression softening, Leon nodded. “Come on. Stay close.” “Will do.” You whispered with a determined nod of your own. “Not too close to step on your heels though.” “Heh. That’s the least of my worries.” “But everything should be good now, right?” “Let’s hope.”

Together, Leon and yourself made a beeline for the basement door. An easy task even with knocked over display cases of assorted business accomplishments and dead infected in your path.

Despite everything, you thought, at least Leon is easy to get along with. The lady who interviewed me was . . . seemed bothered to talk. Oh well. Coming up to the door, Leon raised his left hand to the handle. It was then that you finally noticed his bracelet as you stood mostly behind him. A crystal so dark a shade, you nearly mistook it as onyx. You took a quick glance at your ring. “Oh.” Heat rose to your neck. “Yeah,” murmured Leon over his shoulder. “Some first meeting, huh?” “Yah think?” Of all other things to happen today. My soulmate is rescuing me from zombies? What the heck is going on? You blinked and asked without another thought, “You knew this whole time?” “There was no one else in the restroom.” “Touché.” Stepping back, you observed Leon peek beyond the door. You weren’t quite sure what to make of the indistinctive sounds coming up. Leon did. Grabbing his walkie talkie, he communicated the news to his team. Something about an umbrella and biological weaponry. The others advised a warning regarding the two employees. What is his job exactly? Efficiently and quickly, Leon checked over his gun and remaining supplies. Set for another round of sweeping. “Stay here,” he ordered firmly as he pushed open the door. “But--” “Here.” You sighed and leaned against the wall. “Fine, but come back in one piece. This place has made me nervous all morning.” “Then we’ll have lunch somewhere else.” In a blink of an eye, Leon was out of your sight. Every minuscule sound afterwards made you jump or hurriedly check your surroundings. Being alone again activated the rest of your fear. It was a wonder how being in good company, very capable company, eased your worries. He’s my freaking soulmate, you thought as you attempted keeping your breathing even. And he’s down there with two strangers or fighting off infected like a regular Thursday for him. You sighed again. Tuesdays suck.

. . .

“Damn it,” Leon leapt out of the way. A basement of a science center should had been much quieter and clear than how Leon found it. Somewhere behind a generator, the two men -- scientists -- were terrified and hardly conscious. In the open area beyond, storage containers stood a large infected. Slender with thick legs, the infected had a new target. It lowered to the floor with a deep growl. Just my luck, thought Leon. Thankfully, the experienced agent was more motivated than usual. With Chris and the rest of the team on the way down, they’d be finished in no time, which left good news in regards to his soulmate. You were alive and well. Leon was determined to keep you safe no matter the danger. “Who’s hunting who, pal?”

BANG BANG BANG

. . .

Anxious and heart rate moderately high, you remained close to the basement door. Nothing came in or out of the lobby. All around you had remained silent as chaos erupted beyond the closed door. Half an hour of not knowing what occurred in the basement felt like two hours worth of unnerved twitching. Is the whole basement full of infected? You thought as you fiddled with your ring. What if one comes out? What if Leon doesn’t --? “Ah.” You nearly jumped a foot back as the door opened and a team walked out wearing protective vests. Not one could you recognize. Each armored and live human eyed you before heading to the exit. Even the two men from earlier were dragged out. Weird. You thought, expecting someone to at least converse with you for security reasons. “Uh…” Despite the clear lack of danger, the situation appeared all the more odd. Confusing too. Less odd, thankfully, when a familiar dirty blond haired man stepped out into the lobby. “Leon.” You rushed up to him without a second thought. A little beat-up with red marks, Leon turned in your direction. “How are you not one bruise?” You exclaimed. “Give it time.” Leon smiled. “Are you okay?” You asked. “A little hungry, but fine.” You shook your head. “You’re something else, you know that?” “In a bad way?” “No�� Different in a very…unexpectedly impressive way. If that makes sense?” “Heh.” Leon rubbed the back of his neck. He is pretty handsome, you thought off-handedly. “So, if all’s well, what now?” “We get out of here.” He answered simply before adding, “medical checks, debriefs, reports.” “I’ll take that over infected.” “Me too.” Icy blue eyes studied you softly. All seriousness and survival focus faded away. He was Leon Kennedy. A man who probably did not expect to find his soulmate amongst entering chaos. “Leon!” A muscular man called from the entrance. “Let’s go!” Without a word, Leon and yourself headed out of the building. Armored and unmarked vehicles were pulling into the parking lot. An organized sign of clean-up. It was going to be okay. You survived and your soulmate found you when all was terrifying. The rest of the day lay ahead. “So…about lunch?” Leon murmured.

. . .

Music smoothly filled your living room as a movie played with interruption. Something calm and a little nostalgic. Just what you needed. Days had gone by after all the checkups and documenting of the events that had taken place at the science center. You hadn’t even looked at your résumé after that. On a brighter note, the ordeal had placed your soulmate in your life. When each document had been signed and you were free to go, you were able to start getting to know each other in a domestic setting. No infected sightings. No upcoming job interviews. Both of you were completely safe and quite comfortable. Relaxing on the couch, you found solace in being all snuggled into Leon’s side. Cozy and cared for. He had an arm wrapped around you as his other hand played with the soulmate ring on your finger. Together and alive. You counted yourselves lucky. Situations could had been extremely different. Over the past week or so, nightmares plagued your sleep and made days uneasy. So having Leon, your soulmate, who completely understood helped. Life didn’t have to be all scary. Neither of you needed to run from one day to the next. You were able to take things slow or any pace you desired. All would be okay. Leon had promised safety. You had no doubt he meant it.

Nudging your head against Leon, you caught a glimpse of his smile. Like a sunrise. “Leon.” “Hmm?” “We could pretend we met in a grocery store or something.” “Oh, yeah?” He pulled you closer. “Like during a holiday rush. It gets wild…I’ve heard.” “Which aisle?” You snickered, “Toilet paper aisle.” “Nothing says ‘want a date’ like two ply.” “Homemade pizza does.” You kissed his chin and was rewarded another smile from Leon. “You had me at ‘not really’. After I asked if they gave you a tour.” “That’s so random.” “You were just being you. How could I not like you?” You raised an eyebrow. “Is this a soulmate thing?” “As long as we’re together, I don’t care what it’s called.” Gently, Leon leaned in to kiss your forehead. His smile curved against your skin. “I’m just glad I found you.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Leon Scott Kennedy Tags: @bumblebeesfromvenus @c4rl40n4 @d333athw1sh

** Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #Leon Kennedy soulmate au #leon kennedy fluff #where dreamers go #protective! Leon #leon scott kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy oneshot #angst #angst with a happy ending #it took so so long to figure out why this wouldn't save in drafts..

88 notes · View notes

duhshereadz · 2 days ago

Text

Jinx and Ekko preparing for battle:

Jinx stares at the paintbrush in her hand, the bristles tapping softly against her palm. Her eyes flicker back to Ekko, who is carefully mixing his own colors in a cracked tin. A nervous energy hums between them, neither sure where to start, both on edge but oddly connected in this moment. She’s still wearing the remnants of her chaotic outfit—scorched leather, mismatched gloves, and the bright blue strands of her hair tangled like a wild storm. Her fingers twitch at the brush.

“Are you gonna sit there all serious, or are you gonna paint?” she asks, her voice a little too high-pitched, as if it might crack under the weight of the moment. She’s trying to hide it, trying to turn it into something playful, but the words feel like they hang heavy in the air. She stares down at her hands, the blue paint that’s already splattered across her palms, mixing with the residual powder of explosives.

Ekko looks up, his eyes softer than she’s used to. There’s something different about him today—something less certain but also more grounded. He tilts his head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans forward, setting the tin of paint down and picking up a second brush.

“I’ll paint,” he says, but his voice is quieter now. “But I’m not just painting, Jinx. I need you to listen.”

She raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t reply immediately, but her curiosity is piqued, despite herself. She twirls the brush in her fingers, her eyes narrowed in that characteristic mischievous way, but her heart’s racing, a nervous flutter in her chest.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening. You know I’m the best at everything, even listening,” she says with a wild grin, but it comes out almost fragile. She dips the tip of the brush into a bright purple color, the bristles splattering some paint onto her cheek in the process.

Ekko doesn’t smile this time. His gaze softens, the weight of what he’s about to say pulling him into a rare kind of seriousness that makes Jinx’s playful demeanor falter for just a second.

“You know how we both got here, right?” he starts, his voice low and steady. “How you got to be… well, this version of you?”

Her eyes flicker away, the mention of her past hitting like a punch in the gut. She clutches her brush tighter, her breath slightly sharper now.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I did a few things—exploded a few things—what’s your point?” she says quickly, looking back at the wall like she can hide behind the chaos of the artwork. Her fingers twitch with the urge to pull out one of her many grenades, but she stops herself.

Ekko sighs, his eyes distant for a moment, as if remembering something painful. He runs a hand behind his neck, avoiding her gaze for a second. Then, he looks at her, and there’s a quiet ache in his eyes. It’s hard to see him like this, vulnerable, but it makes his next words hit harder.

“I came from another place, Jinx. Another world. A world where things were… different. And you were different, too. Powder wasn’t broken. She wasn’t lost.” His voice cracks slightly as he says the name, the pain of remembering who she used to be slipping through his tough exterior. “You… you were good, Jinx. You didn’t have to be this. You could’ve been so much more. I was gonna save you. I thought I could—”

Jinx freezes, her fingers stilling on the brush as his words fall around her like rain. The name “Powder” sinks into her chest, a tightness clawing at her throat. She doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know if she wants to hear it, but part of her is already feeling that desperate pull, the old wound reopening. She looks at Ekko, his face so raw and open now, and something deep inside her cracks.

“Stop it,” she mutters, voice trembling just a little. She’s never been one for softness—never known how to handle it—but she knows something’s coming. Something's broken. And she hates how much she wants to believe him.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Ekko continues, leaning in just a bit closer, his voice soft but unwavering, “but I need you to hear it. You weren’t always Jinx. You were Powder, and you were good. You still can be. That part of you, the one that cares, the one that dreams—she’s still there. She’s not gone.”

Her heart pounds against her chest, and her grip on the brush loosens. She tries to laugh it off, but the sound is hollow, desperate. “That’s not who I am anymore. I’m Jinx.” Her voice cracks on the name.

Ekko reaches forward, taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing over the paint-streaked skin. His touch is warm, grounding, and for a moment, Jinx forgets to be afraid. He meets her eyes, and in his gaze, she sees a reflection of something she’s been running from for so long: the hope of what she used to be, and the possibility of being something more than the chaos she’s built around herself.

“You don’t have to be Jinx. You just have to be you. Whatever that means. It’s okay to let go of the bombs for a moment. You don’t always have to explode.”

For a moment, Jinx says nothing. Her heart hammers, her breath shallow. She stares at him, trying to read the sincerity in his words, trying to find some way to make them fit. But they don’t fit—not yet. She opens her mouth to speak, but instead, she suddenly stands up, her body tense, and, in a frantic movement, she grabs the nearest can of bright red paint.

“Fine!” she yells, her voice wild again, “But if I’m gonna be good—we’re gonna be good together, okay? You’re still gonna fight with me. You’re still gonna make things go boom!”

Ekko stands up too, a small laugh escaping him despite everything.

“I never said we couldn’t make things go boom,” he says, a little grin tugging at his lips. He steps forward, gently taking the can from her hands, setting it aside with a quiet chuckle. His fingers hover near hers, the air thick with tension. Then, without thinking too much about it, he leans in, just a little, closing the distance between them.

“Jinx,” he says softly, his voice low and steady. “I’m with you, whatever happens. You’re not alone.”

And just like that, the air around them shifts. Jinx’s breath catches in her throat. She’s never felt this way before—not with him, not with anyone. For a brief moment, everything inside her stills, and then her heart beats faster than she can understand. Her mind races—fighting to pull away, to push him back, but the pull between them is stronger than anything she’s ever known.

Without thinking, she moves forward, closing the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss is wild, unsure, and a little broken, but it’s real. It’s not the explosion she’s used to—it’s a gentle, messy collision. When they finally pull apart, both of them are breathless.

Jinx grins, her fingers trembling against his chest. "Guess we’re really doing this, huh?" she whispers, her voice cracked but full of a strange, quiet hope.

Ekko looks down at her, his face soft, but with a spark in his eyes that tells her, for the first time in a long while, maybe they could be something good.

"Yeah," he says, his voice steady, "we are."

#arcane #ekko arcane #ekko #ekko league of legends #jinx arcane #jinx and ekko #jinx x ekko #jinx league of legends

27 notes · View notes

poisonf0rest · 11 days ago

Text

Intertidal Zone

♱⋅── rafayel x reader

♱⋅── about: Nightly Rendezvous card, but now we finally understand why rafayel was so desperate when he came back to the hotel room.

♱⋅── word count: 6.7k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, porn with some plot, the belt scene, slight exhibisionism, sooo much kissing, slight oral fixation, Lemurian mating bond, needy raf

art credit to @/khouxy on instagram

You swear Rafayel is doing this on purpose.

The first time it happens is right after your flight, the two of you only just managing to check into your hotel and change for dinner.

It's a fancy restaurant overlooking the vast desert, and the outdoor patio offered a clear view to gorgeous sunset. Furious spirals of orange and vermillion cast their light across the sand, making it appear to glow as winds kick up waves of golden dust along the horizon.

It’s beautiful, almost as much so as the man across you, who is still staring longingly into the distance as though committing every color to memory. As if repainting it entirely in his mind.

Not hues of warmth, but those of the deep sea. Blues and purples and colors so dark they’d only come to life in the night.

“How’s your drawing?”

Rafayel sighs at your voice, tossing his pen across the dinner table with a huff before leaning back against the sofa. A stack of crumpled sketches litter your table among half-finished plates of food. He insisted on traveling here to relax, and yet he seems to be doing everything but.

“If a few lines count as a drawing, then wonderfully.” Sassy as ever.

He sighs again, but this one sounds more pained, and you notice the red tinge highlighting his ears and neck as he leans against your shoulder.

“You still don’t feel good?” You ask, voice hushed as you place a kiss against his temple, the skin burning beneath your lips. Raising a hand, Rafayel immediately nuzzles into your palm as you pull his chin up towards you, feeling the rising temperature along his cheek and forehead. “We can head back if you’d like. Take a bath, or shower?”

You hoped the together was implicit by now.

But Rafayel only nods, placing a chaste kiss against your exposed shoulder. “What about the sunset? I saw you admiring it, and squandering a beautiful view is unacceptable for an artist. It’s one of the greatest offenses.”

Rafayel’s breath is minty and dry against your ear, and when you turn to look at him, his face is doused in the fiery hues of the sunset, each one casting deep purple shadows that only make his features all the sharper, half his face veiled in darkness.

Some days you wish you were an artist as well, if only to capture moments like this—to show Rafayel just how gorgeous he was.

Perhaps it’s only natural for a god. After all, no mortal could ever need beauty so violently arresting, so worthy of worship.

You’re leaning in despite yourself.

Rafayel meets you halfway, one hand on your waist as the other traces your jaw and bottom lip. But as soon as you feel the brush of his lips across yours, he pulls away.

You open your eyes in confusion. Rafayel’s never denied you before.

When you look at him in question, he only gives you a tired smile and pulls you to your feet with a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Sorry. I’ll feel better as long as I’m close to you like this.”

The second time it happens is when the hotel reception mixes up your and Rafayel’s rooms, leaving you to deliver some sort of formal invitation to him.

But the letter is soon forgotten; you can’t be bothered thinking about it, not when Rafayel still looks so absent.

He’s right next to you, knees brushing yours as you sit side by side on the couch, and yet he seems to be miles away, gazing out the window as the dunes shift and rise like waves under the moonlight.

"I used to really enjoy scenic spots before," Rafayel says, voice barely rising above the hum of the heater. "Catching sights of subtle things that might be easily overlooked used to feel like enough. More satisfying than finishing a painting, even."

A laugh. Dry, humorless.

His fingers grazed the edge of his glass, tracing the condensation absentmindedly. A droplet trails down his wrist. "But now, sometimes, I forget why I even decided to travel in the first place.”

You watch him, waiting. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

"I think," Rafayel continues, "somewhere along the way, I stopped just... noticing things. And I started needing them. Like the world wasn’t worth looking at unless I could turn it into something. Capture it, hold it in my hands, and call it mine." He shakes his head, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "It’s not a very generous way to live, is it?"

"You don’t need to be generous with everything," you say carefully. "Some things are just... for you to enjoy."

"Enjoy," he repeats, like the word doesn’t quite fit in his mouth. A pout. "It doesn’t feel like enjoyment anymore. It feels more like... hunger.”

Like he’s always fucking starving.

Rafayel finally turns to look at you, eyes eclipsed in the dark. Nearly dilated black.

“Sometimes I’m afraid that if I feed it, it’ll only grow worse.”

You turn to face him on the couch, sliding your leg between his thighs before perching yourself on Rafayel’s lap. It’s not lost on you how his heartbeat picks up, chest rising and falling rapidly as each shallow breath hits your lips. Perhaps it’s cruel, but you can’t help but touch him again, fingers tracing his full lips, up his jaw, fluttering against his eyelashes and into his hair.

“You think hunger gets worse when you feed it?" You finally ask, voice quiet, slow, daring to push back. "Doesn't it stop when you're full?"

Rafayel’s mouth quirks, a sharp, fleeting twist of a smile. "Not always. Sometimes it makes you realize just how much more you want. Or how much more you could take."

You frown. “You’re not demanding anything. Not from the world, not from me."

"Maybe not yet. But, if one day, I become someone who only takes… If I were like that, would you leave me?"

The confession hangs for a moment, the truth of it hidden. Something about the way his shoulders tense under your touch— like he's bracing for something, but it hasn’t yet arrived. A phantom pain from centuries ago, and a pain to come for a thousand years more.

“Silly fishie, I’d never leave you.”

Rafayel smiles in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty.

“Thank you…” he hums, finally pulling you closer as his lips skim alongside the curve of your neck. “for accepting me the way I am.”

His breaths come out in desperate huffs against your skin, and he inhales sharply, freezing, before finally placing a kiss against the crook of your neck. And then another, and another.

“You’re just anxious,” you whisper, sucking a mark into Rafayel’s neck as he moans so sweetly against your ear. “I can help you relax.”

You wiggle your hips to better balance yourself on his lap and Rafayel looks almost near tears, one hand forcing you still while the other grabs your wrist, trailing kisses from your fingertips back up to your neck.

More. You need more. Rushing, your hands fly up into his hair, about to tug Rafayel to lay down on the couch when a crack echoes behind you.

The glass lays shattered against the floor.

Panting, Rafayel stares at the spilled water for a long moment before pulling away. You feel his erection digging into your thigh, the warmth of his fever spiking yet again as his skin burns against yours, yet he still refuses.

“As you said, I’m anxious…” Still panting, Rafayel picks you up, gently lifting you up as he stands from the couch. “Or, more like restless. In every sense of the word.”

The need in his eyes almost makes your knees buckle. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he could ever crave, like a bite would both be salvation and leave him hungry forever.

“But see, now I can’t stand the idea of letting you go again, and you don’t want me to either.” He sets you down just a little farther than necessary, but his hands don’t leave your waist, trembling, waiting. “What should we do?”

“Rafayel…” You want him. You want him so badly it hurts.

“Fuck.”

You nearly jump at that. Rafayel curses again, his head falling onto your shoulder as his breath hitches. “I can feel your concern. That and…” another convulsion, his body burning up. “Fuck. You have to leave.”

You don’t even have time to retort before you’re pushed out of his hotel room, and the door slams shut behind you.

By the third time, you know something is wrong.

It’s not that you and Rafayel haven’t kissed yet. Hell, you’ve had sex before. The last time was quite literally on the night before you were supposed to leave for this trip. Obviously, Rafayel suggested that you stay at his place for the night—insisting he was closer to the airport and getting an Uber would be quicker this way—and one thing led to another, as is what happens nearly every time Rafayel and you are left alone for too long.

But now it’s been nearly a week and Rafayel has barely touched you, let alone picked up on your not-so-subtle clues.

So yes, it's safe to say you’ve become rather pent up.

You’ve fallen asleep in the off-roader the two of you rented out for the day, bobbing up and down the dunes like waves flecked white not with seafoam but snow. There’s a chill as you drift off, but your dreams are anything but, plagued with memories of Rafayel.

His hands, deft and talented with a brush, are even more so when teasing your skin, knowing exactly how to trace delicate circles against your thighs before roughly curling into your cunt. His tongue, every smartass comment and teasing grin now silenced as he licks and sucks against your clit. His body, the warmth of it, bearing down on you with every thrust, or perhaps writhing beneath you as you take him again and again and again—

It’s the cold that wakes you up.

Your eyes flutter open, first noticing the dim light of the hotel parking lot, and second, the burning desire still aching between your legs.

“Rafayel?”

A shuffle makes you turn, and you find said man still seated in the driver’s seat, unbuckled as he sits with his head resting on his hand.

“Yes, cutie?” Rafayel’s tone is teasing, but the way he stares down at you feels like anything but. The hunger is back.

Sitting up, you clear your throat. “How long have I been asleep? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You seemed like you were having such a nice dream, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You inhale sharply. Glaring, you try and see if he’s teasing again or being serious, but Rafayel doesn’t let you read him for long, already leaning over the middle console.

He places his lips gently on your temple, brushing over the skin, and then moves down to your cheek, his breath warm against your neck. He whispers your name, so softly you almost think it was a trick of your imagination.

Your mind goes blank when he kisses your jaw, a small noise escaping the back of your throat as you feel his hair tickle your skin.

"Raf," you mumble under your breath, but you know he hears it because he exhales sharply against you.

Rafayel trails a series of kisses up your neck, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, cutie." His body temperature is rising again, and the air in the van feels dangerously thin as he sways in your grasp. "I'm trying."

The hunger is back, all-consuming and hot as you genuinely fear you might burn up. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and you finally cup Rafayel's jaw, leading him towards your lips.

Yet again, he stops you halfway.

“Do you want to go back to your room first?”

At first you think he’s suggesting moving there before continuing, but you know better at this point.

“You’re not coming with me?”

Rafayel pulls out the invitation from before, waving it between the two of you as if all this was the letter’s fault. “I still have to attend my friend’s salon thing.”

“But you’re still burning up! Forget this, I can’t let you go out to who knows where when you’re still acting strange. Maybe we can see a doctor—”

“Cutie…”

“—No, no. Or maybe I can come with you.”

Rafayel says your name this time. Firmer. Cutting off your rambling as he places his forehead against yours.

“Do you want me to turn into a sea creature that’s beached on the sand after the ocean recedes? Leaving me to suffocate when I come out of the water?”

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, feeling his desperation in every word even as you struggle to make sense of it.

Rafayel continues, pulling away from you again. “Don’t you trust me? How about we make a promise?”

“What kind of promise?”

A smile. “I promise… I’ll be okay without you tonight.”

There’s no joke, no hidden meaning, just Rafayel who so violently hopes that this promise will hold true.

So you relent. “Okay, just take care of yourself.”

Finally, Rafayel opens the car door, letting the desert night winds sweep in with a biting chill as he leans back against the driver’s seat. He lets out an almost inaudible sigh. “You can head back. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Rafayel promised he’d be okay without you tonight, but you don’t think the opposite could hold true.

Not when the dizziness Rafayel caused remained. Not when you still feel the phantom touch of his lips and hands all over your body, burning you up, leaving you cold and empty and aching.

You’ve been burning for the better part of a week now.

Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you as you fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “This is pathetic.”

Even the damned sheets smell like Rafayel, pillows deeply laced with his shampoo and the smell of his cologne—amber, yuzu, and something salty like the ocean—surrounding you as though this were his hotel room and not yours.

Desert nights were cold, but even the room's chill could do nothing to quell your desire, arms shaking with it as you quickly stripped yourself of your shirt and bra. The room spins as you stumble around, leaving your clothes on the floor, another delirious whimper seizing you as you sprawl against the silk sheets.

You need him.

Fuck, you need him, and you hate him for leaving you while the growing ache between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole.

The sheets are deliciously cool against your flushed skin, and you turn your head to rest your cheek in the cool embrace of the pillow. But it only needs a second to heat from your desire.

And then the room is all too hot once again.

Kicking off your pants, your hand snakes down your bare torso, leaving half-hearted squeezes to your breasts and hips, failing to replicate the touch Rafayel already has you addicted to. The memory only makes you more frustrated.

A hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and fuck, you’re dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. You force yourself to slow down, rubbing slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to have your hips bucking up against nothing.

Inhaling sharply, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. It’s not enough.

You force yourself to draw each movement out, the curl of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the slick, obscene sounds echoing alongside your ragged breath. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the fingertip, two plunge back in this time, and your back arches off the bed with violent tremors as you imagine it was Rafayel's hand instead.

How he’d tease you in the early mornings to wake you up, how he’d take special care of every sensitive spot on your body, how he’d draw his fingers along your clit just the way that will make you come undone.

And as your fingers find that sensitive bundle of nerves, the way you cry his name into the empty room is no different.

Your head is spinning, falling, your thighs shake, and it's not long before you're gasping out, "Rafayel, please.”

Still not enough. Every rough thrust of your fingers brings you higher and higher, but without the pressure of Rafayel's chest pressed to yours, or his hot breath ghosting across your ear, his voice, his lips, his touch—

Without him.

A sob rips from your throat, your hips bucking uselessly against the air as you fuck yourself harder, deeper. But your fingers are only so long, and your free hand, fisting the sheets, is unable to make up the difference. "No, no please," a whine, and your free hand rushes to circle your clit, the other picking up pace.

You're close, so close, sobbing his name when the dizziness from the car returns tenfold, overtaking your body in waves as your eyes roll back. "Please, ah! Rafayel, m’cumming-"

The world goes silent as pleasure surges through you, muscles convulsing, a choked, garbled sound escaping as you come. Collapsing back against the sheets, you struggle to catch your breath, the stickiness of both the heat and your orgasm coating your thighs.

There’s another tug, a violent pull against your chest, but the dizziness remains.

You know you should change the sheets or at least move them aside, but you can’t manage to do either as you rush to shower before Rafayel returns from his friend’s exhibition.

It’s only when you stumble into the bathroom that you notice it.

Shit. This is Rafayel’s room.

You must be trying to kill him.

Surely, this is the gods' cruelest trial—a final test of his resolve—to see if he’d bow once more, forsaking divinity and succumbing to the temptation of you.

Because it’s been barely an hour, and Rafayel has already resigned himself from the party, passing blank smiles and empty compliments as he quietly counts down the minutes until he can return to the hotel, when suddenly he feels it.

The tug of your bond flashes through his body as his dick aches.

Rafayel freezes mid-sentence, the polite smile he'd been wearing slipping from his face. The conversation at the bar around him, something about chiaroscuro in the artist’s latest piece, become muffled static as the chains tighten, digging into his heart.

It’s unmistakable now. The rhythm, the rising intensity, the waves of pleasure that don’t belong to him but still manage to spark delirious heat up his veins.

Rafayel’s breaths quicken, body temperature rising as his Evol flickers out of his control. He glances around the room, feigning interest in the conversation, the glittering glasses of champagne, the faint hum of the crowd. It doesn’t work. The only thing he can focus on is you.

He should leave. Go outside, breathe in the night air, and let the tether between you both loosen, just to regain control. Just to prove to himself it’s not too late.

But the bond tightens, as invasive as it is intoxicating, demanding Rafayel’s attention like a leash coiled around his neck. It’s not gentle. It’s not kind. It’s primal, every nerve in his body pulled taut like you’re screaming his name over and over into the depths of his soul.

It’s not fair.

No god can deny the prayer of a worshipper.

Your pleasure becomes his, and when Rafayel closes his eyes, he swears he can feel your phantom hands on him, dick already heavy and throbbing, leaking through his expensive trousers.

Are you in bed, thighs trembling as you grind against your own palm? Or maybe the shower, steam curling around you as you chase release? Or worse—are you riding something of his? His shirt? His pillow? Is this vengeance a cruel punishment meant to shatter what little resolve he has left?

Shit. He’s hard.

“Hey man, what’s wrong? You good?”

The slam of a glass brings him back. Gods, he hates these rich socialites.

The champagne glass Rafayel was holding is now covered in cracks, blood trickling down his ring finger. He’s unraveling, composure fracturing with every pulse of your pleasure surging in and out as violently as a full moon’s tide.

Rafayel looks up, smiling. “Stress. And apparently a very needy pet.”

The man laughs at what he assumed was a joke, but Rafayel sees his hesitation, the type animals give when they pick up rustling in the bush. Fear.

Rafayel’s grin only widens, all teeth. “I should probably go check on her. Wonderful party,” he adds, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast before setting it down with a sharp clink.

As he steps outside, the desert air does nothing to soothe him. If anything, the dryness makes it worse as the pull becomes sharper, like you’re reaching for him, your need coiling tighter around his chest.

A growl, almost feral, rumbles low in his throat as he staggers down the cobblestone streets. He doesn’t need directions. He doesn’t even need to think. His body moves instinctively, guided by the bond, by you.

Rafayel swears he can feel you all across his body, your heartbeat picking up as you get closer, the smell of your skin and arousal, the cries of his name that only become more and more desperate as you fail to bring yourself over the edge without him.

You’re begging for him in a way his bond mistakes for worship, because Rafayel’s body feels like it’s burning. Like blood spilled on his altar, an offering of yourself to your god, your husband.

The thought that you might be doing so unintentionally only drives him further into madness.

But, beneath the frustration, there’s something else. A glimmer of something Rafayel hates to name but knows all too well: relief.

Because as much as he might deny it, Rafayel could never leave you. And now that you’ve reciprocated, now that you’ve begged for him oh so sweetly, he would gladly submit to his bond and become chained to you once again, forever at your mercy, unable to escape the inevitability of his fate.

He doesn’t even knock when he reaches the hotel room door. It swings open under the force of his hand, and the sight of you standing there—wide-eyed, startled, only in a bath towel—hits him like a blow to the chest.

There's a soft click as Rafayel locks the door. A hurried shuffle of shoes as he all but stumbles toward you, closing the distance between you in one hurried, unstoppable motion. A startled gasp as he grabs your face in his hands.

It's the last breath you take.

An arm wraps around your waist, blocked by only a flimsy hotel towel as Rafayel violently spins you around. Your surprise is swallowed by his lips as you’re pinned against the window, the chill of the desert snow, frosted against the glass, a harsh contrast to the burn of his touch. His hand pins yours at the wrist as he stares down at your fingers.

“Rafayel? What are you doing here?”

The question barely gets out, not before he rushes forward to claim you in a kiss, if it was even that. A desperate, consuming need overtakes him, Rafayel pushing you back so insistently that your head hits the window with a thud, pain immediately distracted as his clothed knee grinds up between your bare thighs.

Holy fuck, just a towel. Right.

You try to push him back, one hand pressing against his chest as the other flies back to tighten the towel. “Wait–”

Rafayel kisses you again. And again. And again.

You can feel the cloth slipping.

But Rafayel makes it very hard to care. His hand traces your throat, your heartbeat, then drags you closer by your hips as he thrusts forward in time, still caging you against the window. He’s relentless, every kiss only broken with a ragged breath or gasp as though he’s given up on breathing entirely, content to consume you instead, his tongue sweeping against your lip before it coaxes yours to meet it halfway, licking and sucking into your mouth.

It’s obscene, animalistic, and you swear that there has to be something wrong with you because the dizziness is back, and this time it’s enough to make your knees buckle, the two of you blindly stumbling across the hotel room.

So you bite him.

“Why–” Breathe. Remember how to breathe. “Why are you here?”

Rafayel almost looks offended, thumbing his bitten lip before licking away the smudge of blood with a lopsided smile.

Fuck, he’s hard. You feel the heat of his cock jolt against your thigh, pressing into you as he surges forward again, kissing you as his hands squeeze and cup your waist, lifting you up.

"Why?" Rafayel laughs, roughly grinding up against you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. "This is my room, remember? You’re the one who decided to come in here." He growls the last part, licking, biting, sucking at your throat.

“Or was that intentional?”

The look in his eyes is feral.

There’s no hesitation left, no half-riddled questions, no sweet praises, no semblance of your devoted lover. Just hunger. He’s rushing, pushing forward even with nowhere to go, almost in revenge. In punishment. Your teeth click together, foreheads bumping, unable to talk because when you try to open your mouth his tongue only slides in deeper.

The wet sounds echo against your ears alongside your racing heartbeat, only causing you to grind harder, rougher, before Rafayel ungracefully drops you onto the bed.

Your body bounces on the mattress, but it gives you a moment, and you scramble to cover Rafayel’s lips with your palm before he can begin devouring you again.

“What I meant was, shouldn’t you still be at that art salon?”

He all but collapses into your touch. Lips parted, he grabs your wrist, tongue darting out as he licks up your middle and ring fingers, moaning against your skin.

“I tried. I tried going, leaving.” He's panting, breathing in your scent before biting your palm. “But you called me back, you cruel, selfish human. And now I’ll never leave again.”

Your words come out between moans, unable to look away. “I called? I didn’t do—” You’re cut off as Rafayel licks up your skin, sucking lightly at your fingertips as his eyes, half-lidded and blown out stare down into yours.

Oh.

A hot flush of embarrassment seizes you and Rafayel must sense it because his eyes flutter closed. His hips snap forward, grinding his erection into the side of the bed, and he lets out a low whine.

Gods, the taste of your cum lingers in Rafayel’s mouth. Every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every horrid urge and simply consume until—

“You don't think I know? Don't think I can’t tell?” Rafayel goes back to kissing your wrist, needing something more, something stronger. His hand ventures to the edge of your towel. ”Can feel everything you do, no matter how far away I go. Gods, I feel it, feel everything, and it drives me insane. Need you so bad, need to hear you, feel you, taste you..."

A shudder runs up Rafayel’s spine at the mere thought, and he can't stop himself anymore, leaning down to suck your fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits, saliva coating your fingertips. He rips the towel from your body.

"Say you need me too," He’s begging, sinking down to your knees. "Say you need me just as badly. I–ah fuck—I can smell how much you want me."

Throwing the towel to the floor, Rafayel runs his hands down your chest, rougher, long fingers cupping and massaging your breasts as his mouth trails wet kisses down your stomach, his tongue dragging against the smooth skin, a clear goal in mind as he settles between your thighs, looking up at you as though you were a thing worthy of worship. His Goddess.

He’d offer himself to your alter time and time again. So long as he was the only one who got to bleed for you.

“Yes.” You’re already soaked, the sight of Rafayel panting between your thighs enough to have you babbling, ”Yes, Rafayel. I needed you so, so badly all week. Couldn’t help m’self, please.”

He freezes at that, pouting. “Right, you already came, didn’t you. So mean, cutie. Leaving me out.”

Before you can argue, Rafayel dips his head, dragging his tongue up your cunt before sucking roughly at your clit.

Your legs thrash above his shoulders. “Ah– wait, not so!” It’s too much too soon. Still sensitive from your prior orgasm, your back arches violently off the mattress, but Rafayel pays it no heed, deaf to your cries as he sloppily makes out with your pussy, drool and slick connecting his lips to you in sticky strands even as he pulls away just far enough to talk.

“She’s already so sensitive, s’not fair,” he pouts, mouthing against your thigh as he flicks your throbbing bundle of nerves. You jolt, gasping at the sharp jolt of pain. At the same time, Rafayel fucks his tongue into your cunt, just barely dipping in before he moves back to rub nonsensical patterns on your clit. “But this is mine. I don’t want you touching it without permission anymore.”

Fuck, if you had any semblance of a coherent thought you would have argued, maybe even laughed at the sheer audacity of the man.

Instead, all you can manage is a pathetic whine of his name, because the strange swirls and harsh lines he’s licking into your clit aren’t patterns at all but letters, spelling something over and over and over again.

R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y—

The ring of the hotel phone buzzes from the nightstand. It’s the artist whose party Rafayel left only minutes ago.

“Tch,” Rafayel scoffs in annoyance, whipping his chin as he goes to decline the call.

But this gives you a moment to breathe, and all you can think of is getting revenge. Especially on the bastard you tried to take Rafayel from you tonight.

“Wait,” you grab his wrist. “You’re just going to hang up? What if it was something important?”

Rafayel turns to you with narrowed eyes, knowing there’s no good intent behind your wicked smile. It turns you on more than you can admit, the sight of his glare, mad at both the call and you interrupting his feast. But Rafayel can't deny you anything and does as he’s told, pressing accept.

“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message.”

Instantly, you have Rafayel on his back.

His neck looks far too bare, and you climb onto his lap, enjoying the way his pulse kicks up under your palm. Ripping his shirt’s buttons off you begin biting dark spots down the pale expanse of his chest and neck. You’re about to aim right for the glowing mark on his chest when the phone beeps again, playing a voice recording of a clearly very drunk man.

“Why did you leave, bro? Come back here r’now. One more round of drinks a—” Incoherent laughter and sounds of clinking glasses.

No. No, Rafayel’s not allowed to leave you, not again.

You don’t know where the fear comes from, but you force yourself closer on top of him, breasts pressing into his abs as Rafayel shivers beneath you. Leaning down, you kiss the glowing mark atop his heart, admiring the way it flickers and glows when Rafayel bucks into your touch, moaning as you begin to nip and suck in earnest.

And then you’re flipped onto the mattress once more.

Rafayel’s heaving, arms trembling to keep himself up. Away. “...Are you sure?”

“If I don’t, then you might actually leave. What will you say if you’re asked why you didn’t go back?”

Rafayel smirks, and you catch a glimpse of fangs as he sits back on his knees. There’s a click, the rough sound of metal on metal as he undoes his belt, unzipping his trousers with one hand as the other cups the inside of your thigh, yanking it over his shoulder as he drags you down the bed. “I’m busy.”

And then he’s kissing you.

You’re lost, so hopelessly lost in each other that you fail to notice the phone beep once again, the monotone voice of the machine saying, “Please leave a message at the tone,” before flashing twice, still running.

Again, Rafayel seems to forget the concept of breathing, gasping into your lips as he ruts his hips into yours. “You’re not leaving me, right?” Fuck, he’s leaking all over his stomach, pre-cum splattering across your thighs.

“Never. I’ll never leave you, Rafayel.”

“Then tell me you’re mine. Tell me, please, please—hah—tell me and I’ll do anything, promise cutie, promise.” He’s all but gasping between kisses, cock trapped between his body and yours as he grinds forward, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Say it, say you're mine, tell me, I need to hear it again."

He's talking in circles, rambling, the desperation in his voice palpable. Grasping the base of his cock, he sloppily fisting himself once, twice, before thumping against your entrance.

“I’m yours, Rafayel.” You writhe, grinding yourself up against him in hopes that he’s just hurry the fuck up.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, yours Rafayel.”

“Again, ah—again,” he’s nuzzling into your neck, lifting your leg higher and higher, pinning it to your head as he folds you into a matting press. Still, he refuses to press in, cock throbbing against your clit as he hugs you tight, every muscle in your body screaming in protest and pleasure. “Again, please, please.”

“I’m-” You’re either gasping or crying, words flooding out, ”Rafayel’s, I’m Rafayel’s.”

At that, Rafayel’s entire body convulses. He sobs, finally thrusting forward, bullying up into you bit by bit, forcing you to count every inch as the entirety of his weight bares down onto you.

You can feel the way his muscles shift, the way his arms bulge and contract as he holds himself above you, hips flush against yours. The desert air must be infecting him, because Rafayel is dripping sweat, flushed from his ears to his chest as he begins to pull out and slowly grind himself back in.

His voice is wrecked, breathless as he tries to kiss you, missing slightly as he sucks against your bottom lip, drooling. "I'm yours too, I'm yours." At the same time, his cock jerks in you, burying deeper with every filthy roll of his hips, throbbing against your sweet spots.

Then something snaps, Rafayel’s lips sealed back on yours, and the rhythm he sets is brutal.

Rafayel's cock drags over your walls, molding you in ways you never thought possible. Each thrust is hard, deep, and leaves you gasping, eyes rolling back into your head as you arch off the mattress, nowhere to go as his body folds yours damn near in half, weight bearing down on you.

It's all you can do to wrap your arms around him, nails scratching into his back, drawing thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades as you try to stay grounded, keep your mind from being swept away as the dizziness returns.

But the pressure building up in the pit of your stomach makes it hard.

Harder still as Rafayel begins mumbling into your lips, the filth pouring from his mouth making you clench, cunt fluttering around his cock as he pounds into you.

He can see and feel everything like this. Unable to look away from your face only inches away, watching every expression with love-drunk eyes, hugging you closer, fucking you harder.

"Can feel you, can feel you getting tighter. You're close right? Say you're close, please, mhm fuck." he's panting, and if you focus hard enough you can hear the sloppy noises of him sliding in and out, wet and obscene, the harsh slap of his balls against the curve of your ass.

But then Rafayel’s pushing himself lower, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as his chest is pressed so tight against yours you can barely take a breath.

"You're mine, only I can touch you like this, feel this. My wife. Say it, say you're mine, wanna hear it, please. Please, ah, I’ll do anything, say it."

He's barely pulling out anymore, resigning to quick, deep grinds as though he can’t bear to part.

Too uncoordinated to kiss you, Rafayel's head falls to your neck, sobbing into your marked-up skin before messily kissing atop the bruises.

"Yours. Yours. I'm yours, your wife," the words spill from your lips before you can even think, and Rafayel nearly passes out trying to stop himself from cumming then and there.

It’s like you’re trying to milk him, hugging him closer and ankles wrapped around his neck as he’s lifting your hips right off the bed. But now he needs to see it.

Needs to know the way you'll cry out his name, how your eyes will glaze over and roll back into your head, the way your chest will heave, the sweat that will pool at the valley between your breasts, the way the skin will flush from a soft pink to a burning red as you lose yourself in the feeling. To him.

It's the only thing he's able to concentrate on, the only thing he's able to think of. The feeling of your body beneath him, the sound of his name on your lips.

And that alone is enough.

Rafayel’s orgasm is sudden, a jolt of pleasure that surges up his spine with enough intensity to have him collapse, pinning your body beneath him. You can feel it, the way his cum splatters against the walls of your womb, painting your insides, filling you up until the excess squirts out around his cock and your intertwined thighs. He can't stop his hips, can't stop the way he grinds his pelvis against yours, trying to get deeper and deeper still.

"Mine, mine, mine," is all he can say, eyes wide and pupils blown out as he watches the way your body twitches, a mixture of sweat and cum painting your body as you nearly pass out in exhaustion. "Gonna- gonna fill you up, fuck, so pretty, my pretty girl, pretty wife, gonna make sure it sticks, so I’ll never leave. So you’ll never leave me again."

You're cumming.

He can feel the way your cunt spasms, the way your walls lure him back in, the way you tremble and shake as you throw your head back with tears.

Rafayel can't stop himself from leaning down and biting, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, his hands grabbing at any bit of flesh he can find. All the while he fucks you through your orgasm, the mess of fluids creating the most obscene noises as they squish and bubble out, pooling out from between your bodies.

As you’re swaying in and out of reality, you think you see it. A field of red flame lilies, a poison so sweet that when you drink it, you lick your lips and thank the gods.

God. Just one, the one of the sea and the flaming sun.

The one who's still kneeling before you.

The one who you love.

"Maximum voicemail length reached, recording sent."

♱⋅── a/n: Uber now canonically exists in the lnds universe, thanks. Also, I would have included the absolutely gut-wrenching aftercare included in the card with MC asking Rafayel to sing for her, but honestly I would not change that scene in the slightest and am content to believe that is exactly what happened next.

Oh the things I’d give to hear Raf sing~

#𝖕𝖔𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓 writes #poisonwrites #nightly rendezvous #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lnds smut #l&ds smut #l&ds rafayel #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #intertidal zone #love and deepspace smut #rafayel smut #lnds #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel #lnds rafayel

4K notes · View notes