#i hate being insecure over things i enjoy hehe

[zaynessbeloved]

Say it's me you want

Synopsis: You weren’t supposed to feel this way about her. It started with a look lingering too long, burning too deep. You told yourself it was nothing, that she was just captivating like that. You’ve only ever crushed on boys before, but Rafayel made you feel something different. Something sharp and soft all at once. When jealousy stung and curiosity pulled harder, you finally stopped running from what you felt. One kiss turned into something more, and suddenly you were touching, tasting, and learning what it meant to want her, and finally have her.

Content warnings: fem!raf, party girl raf, non-canon rafayel, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, exploration of sexuality, first-time with a woman, internalized insecurity, light alcohol use, jealousy, possessiveness, emotionally vulnerable dialogue, light dominance/submission dynamics, soft praise kink, mutual pining, consensual intimacy between women, kissing, biting, multiple orgasms, emotional sex.

Pairings: fem!Rafayel x reader

Word count: 30k

A/n: in order to celebrate pride month, i posted a poll for you guys to pick one of the guys as fem and rafayel won, hehe. so here it is fem!raf for whoever enjoys this kind of content, and i hope you'll like it.

p.s. i don't condone any type of hateful, homophobic behavior. so if this is not for you, please scroll. i will not hesitate to delete these types of comments and block you :)

that being said, enjoy 🌈

A/n 2: there will be a part 2 to this;)

part 2

Chapter 1

Rafayel was everything you weren’t.

Where you walked through campus trying not to draw attention, she moved like she deserved it—head high, laugh bright, hips swaying with an effortless kind of confidence that turned heads without trying. University, to her, wasn’t just about lectures or credits; it was a stage, and she was determined to steal every spotlight. If there was a party, she was already at the center of it. If there was music, she danced to it like it was written for her.

She didn’t just attract attention—she thrived on it. A flash of that disarming smile, a tilt of her head, and suddenly everyone was leaning in closer, caught in her orbit. Professors, classmates, strangers—no one was immune. Least of all you.

And honestly, you didn’t even want to be. Because Rafayel was beautiful in a way that felt unfair—like someone had sculpted her with soft gold light and left her to wander among mortals just to see what would happen. Breathtaking didn’t quite cover it. And yet, she wasn’t cold or untouchable, not some high-maintenance queen perched on a throne. No—she was warm. She was easy to talk to, easier to laugh with, and dangerously easy to like.

For her, being a social butterfly wasn’t a learned skill—it was instinct. She floated through every conversation like she’d been born knowing the right things to say, the perfect tone to strike, the exact smile to wear. And you, like the rest, were no exception.

You still remember how it started. Her smile, the way she said your name like it tasted sweet on her tongue. The casual way she draped herself over the arm of your chair during your first week, as if you’d already been friends for years. It hadn’t even taken a month before she’d wrapped herself around your routine, fluttering into every crevice of your day until you started wondering how it felt so natural.

And really, how could it have gone any other way? Because as fate would have it, you were also fortunate enough to be roommates.

Your life on campus had always revolved around rhythm—small comforts folded into familiar patterns. Mornings with coffee from the quiet corner café, afternoons tucked away in the campus studio with paint-stained fingers and half-dried palettes, evenings curled up in the dorm with soft music humming low from your speakers. You liked routine. You didn’t need chaos to feel alive. Spontaneity had its charm, sure—but only when you invited it in on your own terms.

So, on paper, living with someone like Rafayel should have been a disaster. She was color and noise where you preferred silence and softness. The kind of girl who thrived on attention, who found electricity in the pulse of nightlife. Her version of a slow evening was spent preening for a party, glass of wine in hand, eyeliner sharp enough to slice through the air. She was everything the roommate email warning had made you dread.

But strangely, it wasn’t a nightmare. You were different—drastically so—and yet your lifestyles didn’t clash the way you thought they might. Rafayel never tried to drag you into her world, not really. She offered the invitation often, a teasing grin curling at the edge of her glossed lips as she leaned against the doorframe, asking if you felt like crashing a party or sneaking into some underground rave with her latest crew. But there was no pressure behind the ask, and the both of you knew what the answer would be.

Still, she always asked. And you appreciated her for that—for never pushing, never mocking the quiet you clung to. You never complained about the noise she brought back, the soft thud of her heels at 2 a.m., the echo of laughter trailing behind her, mixed with her perfume. She never judged the nights you stayed in, wrapped in oversized sweaters, surrounded by half-finished sketches and barely touched tea.

Somehow, it worked.

There was one night, though—early in the semester, when the air still tasted like fall and possibilities—that you said yes. You’re not even sure why. Maybe it was the way she pleaded, her voice dripping with honeyed charm and half-laughs, telling you you deserved to be reckless for once. Maybe it was how her eyes sparkled when she talked about dancing under bad lighting and kissing strangers and chasing stupid stories. Or maybe it was just the way she looked at you that night—like you were a canvas she’d just been dying to paint.

Whatever it was, you caved. And the moment you said yes, she lit up like she'd won a prize.

She flitted around the room like a stylist on a mission, fretting over your outfit as if the fate of the night rested entirely on what you wore. Clothes flew across the bed, accessories jingled like windchimes in her hands, and she muttered to herself with the kind of focused intensity you usually only saw in her makeup mirror. You sat cross-legged on your mattress, watching her with a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation, your chin resting on your palm as you tried not to smile too much.

She had taste, that much you couldn’t deny. Everything she wore was a work of art—bold, unapologetic, striking. Her makeup was always something to behold: glitter-laced or smokey and sharp, sometimes delicate and otherworldly, like she’d stepped out of a dream. And no matter what she chose, it worked. She wore creativity like a second skin. Her clothes followed no rule but her own, and yet somehow, every look was flawless—raw and expressive, a visual melody that made people stop and stare.

That night, you let her take over your closet with a kind of quiet surrender. Maybe it was the way she moved—confident, radiant, alive—that made you feel like letting go for once wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. Maybe, just maybe, it would even be fun.

And it had been fun. More fun than you’d expected. More fun than you’d ever admit out loud. And really, why should you deny it? There was no shame in the way that night had bloomed around you like something soft and rare. You remembered the outfit she’d pulled together with surprising care—not overly flashy, not exaggerated or attention-grabbing, though you knew she could’ve made it so if she’d wanted. Instead, she’d chosen restraint. She’d paid attention.

She didn’t say as much, but you saw the thoughtfulness in every layer, in the colors she picked and the way the fabric skimmed your figure without shouting for a crowd. When you stood in front of the mirror, you didn’t see someone else staring back. You saw yourself—just a little more radiant, a little more daring. Accentuated, not reinvented.

And you felt beautiful. Not in the loud, dramatic way Rafayel so effortlessly embodied—but in your own skin, in a way that didn’t feel borrowed. You were grateful for that. Grateful that her excitement hadn’t swept her too far, grateful she hadn’t tried to mold you into some echo of herself. She only ever added, never replaced. That kind of care—subtle, unspoken—meant more to you than any outfit ever could.

Then, of course, being Rafayel, she’d gone and matched her outfit to yours. Not identically, but enough to feel like a pair—complementary, harmonious. It pulled a soft, involuntary smile from you. She caught it, grinning triumphantly as she grabbed your hand and tugged you out of your little safe corner of the dorm.

She didn’t let go once. That night, she stayed by your side—not hovering, not smothering, just there. You’d half expected her to disappear into a swirl of friends and admirers, some impossibly magnetic social circle you’d never quite seen up close. But if they were there, she didn’t seem to care. Not that night. That night, she was yours.

She smiled and laughed and leaned in with a conspiratorial wink as she led you toward the drink table, making some joke that had you giggling before the first shot even burned its way down your throat. The second one was worse, and you grimaced through it, earning a bright, delighted laugh from her that warmed you more than the liquor ever could.

And then the music pulled her attention—and she pulled you with it. But not into the chaotic heart of the dancefloor like you feared. No, Rafayel stopped at the edges, in that liminal space between wild abandon and quiet observation. She didn’t shove you into it. She didn’t force your hand. She just turned toward you, her fingers finding yours again, and coaxed you gently—come on, just feel it.

And you did. You let your eyes fall closed, let the beat sink into your chest, let the alcohol soften your bones. You felt the bass ripple through the soles of your feet, the dull thrum of energy in the air, the brush of her fingertips still lightly tangled in yours. And through it all, her perfume clung to you—warm, sweet, intoxicating. The kind of scent that wrapped around your thoughts long after it was gone.

You danced—awkwardly at first, but that didn’t last. Not with her swaying beside you, beaming like your joy was a secret she’d been waiting to unlock. Maybe she thought you’d been too stiff before. Maybe she was just happy you came. Either way, she looked at you like you’d done something right by being here.

And you laughed. God, you laughed. And later—when the night had melted into blurred laughter and flushed cheeks and aching feet—you found yourself lying in bed, replaying it all. The colors. The sound. The look on her face. And not once did you regret saying yes.

After that night, saying yes to her slowly became a rhythm. Not quite deliberate, not yet habitual—but with each passing week, the hesitation dulled. By the time second semester rolled around and the air began to soften with the first touch of spring, you found yourself agreeing to more and more of Rafayel’s spontaneous suggestions. A walk. A coffee. A bookstore detour. No longer did you weigh your silence before answering. Sometimes, your body moved before your mind even caught up.

One morning, unremarkable and quiet, she’d mentioned getting coffee—casually, half to herself as she slipped on her boots near the door. And before she could say another word, you were grabbing your bag.

She blinked at you, surprise flickering across her face like sunlight through leaves. But only for a moment. Then she beamed, bright and unfiltered, and with a delighted skip in her step, she matched her pace to yours as you strolled toward the campus café together.

Later that day, you lay side by side on the freshly mowed grass, coffee cups cooling in your hands, your skin warmed by spring’s gentle return. Rafayel turned her head, arched a brow in amusement, and teased you for leaving your cave, for daring to breathe air that hadn’t been recycled through your dorm room.

You rolled your eyes, naturally—but you were smiling, and she saw it. Because it was easy. Being with her was easy. Strangely, unexpectedly so. Her extravagance, her dramatics, her love of attention—it didn’t grate the way you might’ve once thought it would. In fact, you’d started to enjoy it. Or rather, you’d started to enjoy her. The full, messy, sparkling presence of her. You had your own kind of mischief, sure, but it wasn’t like hers. Hers was louder, brighter, like glitter in motion. And instead of repelling you, it pulled you closer.

It became a pattern—woven in quietly, like a new thread through familiar cloth. She took you to a museum next. An art exhibition she’d been gushing about for weeks, her eyes lighting up with every brushstroke and artpiece she described. And of course she asked you. Because you shared that passion. That hunger for texture and shadow and meaning hidden beneath layers of pigment.

You went. You studied together, sometimes. Pulled chaotic all-nighters with too much caffeine and not enough sleep when she wasn’t out partying. She even convinced you to come to two more parties with her, and each time, her excitement was more infectious than the last.

The first year of university slipped by like a dream—flickering with laughter and late-night talks, unexpected routines, and the kind of quiet companionship that made the days feel lighter. And when the time came to pack your things and head home for the summer, you felt it—that feeling. A dull ache under your ribs. The quiet disappointment that you wouldn’t see her every day anymore. That there would be an empty half of your room. That the beat of your daily rhythm would fall a little quieter without her in it.

But Rafayel? She was having none of it. Distance did nothing to dim her. Even in separate cities, in separate lives, she insisted on being close. She texted you constantly—unfiltered, chaotic, hilarious messages that popped up at all hours. She called, facetimed, sent voice notes that made you laugh in the middle of the night. She’d rant dramatically about things that barely mattered just to make you smile, exaggerate stories to the point of absurdity and then cackle when you finally caved and laughed along.

And you missed her. More than you expected to. There were nights when the house was too quiet, and you found yourself staring at your screen, waiting for her name to light it up. Nights where your playlist played too soft in the background, and you lay curled in bed, realizing you’d started looking forward to her calls like clockwork. Not just because she was loud or entertaining—but because she made you feel seen.

And one of those nights, with the window cracked open and the scent of rain in the air, you let the thought in. She had become part of your routine. A loud, beautiful, insistent part of it. You didn’t know when it happened, but now it was simply true. And you didn’t know if that was a good thing or a dangerous one.

————

You’d always been the organized one. The type who color-coded folders, packed two weeks before moving day, and somehow managed to balance study sessions with social obligations like clockwork. Your summer had been productive—filled with textbooks, late-night reading marathons, and a few familiar faces from your hometown that made the days pass a little quicker. Comfortable. Predictable.

And still, Rafayel lingered in your life like the scent of her perfume—soft but inescapable, present even when she wasn’t there. Always just a text, a call, a ping away. She’d kept you laughing, even from miles apart. And it was obvious—so obvious—that she’d had way more fun than you had. Her summer looked like a highlight reel: beach bonfires, neon nights, strangers turned friends, stories told with stars in her eyes.

You didn’t mind. Not at first. Not until she mentioned her. It started simply enough, folded into one of her sun-drenched ramblings—a story about a girl she’d met at the beach one morning. Apparently, they’d clicked instantly. Laughed too loud over iced drinks, talked like old souls, and then—of course—ended up challenging each other to a swim race.

And that was the moment something in your chest twisted. You remembered all too well how Rafayel talked about swimming—her element, her escape. You’d seen the glint in her eyes when she showed you old videos, when she talked about winning competitions like it was no big deal. You’d always laughed when she teasingly tried to drag you into the pool, dared you to race her. You always refused, knowing full well you’d lose, and she’d just grin at you, playful and smug and shining.

But this girl had said yes. Had raced her. Had done something you never dared to.

You didn’t understand why it bothered you. She had dozens of friends—dozens of stories about random, electric connections with people who came and went like seasons. You never flinched at those. Never cared, not really.

But this felt… different. Because it didn’t stop at that one story. No—throughout the rest of the summer, she kept coming up. A passing mention here, a laugh there. Something she said, something they did, some inside joke you weren’t part of. And with each mention, the feeling in your chest grew tighter, hotter—until frustration bloomed quietly beneath your skin, like a secret you didn’t know how to name.

You tried to rationalize it. Told yourself it was nothing. That you were tired. Sensitive. Maybe even a little jealous of how easily Rafayel connected with people. But those excuses fell flat the moment you realized how often you were thinking about her. How quickly her name pulled your attention. How your mind wandered back to her at night, again and again.

And then came the worst part—the part that made your stomach twist and your thoughts spiral into something messy and impossible. Because the truth started to echo in your mind. You’d felt this before. This ache. This want. This strange desire to be closer, to know what she was thinking, to be the one making her laugh, the one she mentioned in every story. You’d felt it before—just never about a girl. Or rather… never let yourself think you could feel it for one.

It wasn’t that it scared you because she was a girl. That wasn’t the part that rattled you. It was the realization that scared you. The sheer helplessness of it. Of knowing that whatever this was—this thing you didn’t have a name for yet—it had already taken root. It had already changed the way you saw her.

And now, you didn’t know what to do with it. You didn’t know how to act around her. Didn’t know if she could see it in your eyes. Didn’t know if it was something you should say aloud, or something you should bury before it bloomed into something more dangerous.

Because the truth, when you finally let it settle, felt like a wave crashing against your chest. You had a crush on Rafayel. And it terrified you, not because of who she was, but because you didn’t know what it meant for you. For your friendship. For the delicate, perfect rhythm you had already grown so used to.

The thing is, you had never really paid much attention to this particular subject before. Yes, you had crushes on guys before, and when it came to girls, you did think they were pretty. But honestly, neither of them really struck that cord in you. You never found yourself daydreaming about a certain person, and you weren't really the type to do that, if you were being honest. You were grounded, your head on your shoulders and not in the clouds more often than not. You’d always been grounded, feet on solid earth, your head never quite lost in the clouds like others your age. You didn’t write names in margins or imagine fairy-tale kisses behind closed eyes. Your heart never stuttered in your chest when one of your fleeting crushes smiled a certain way or brushed your arm in passing. They just… didn’t have that effect on you.

Your heart didn't really skip when one of your few crushes over the years did a certain gesture or spoke in a certain way that was sure to make you feel at least something. But there wasn't really anything like that. And there wasn't this unexpected and unwelcomed feeling of quiet jealousy stirring in your chest at the mere thought of the person getting close to someone else.

But now here you were, alone in your childhood room, sprawled across your bed in soft sheets, biting your lip and rolling around every few minutes, trying to make an understanding of this feeling. Rationalize it. Trying to convince yourself that this was ridiculous and you shouldn't even feel this way. Rafayel to you, was a friend. Your dramatic and energetic roommate. The one who always found herself orbitating around you in one way or another, trying to make you come out of your shell, slowly but surely. Never pressuring, never being too much to handle, even though she was intense. But she just clicked in the place beside you like it was hers to claim. And if you think about it, maybe Rafayel did see you as a good friend. A pleasant person to hang around, even if you weren’t that similar on the surface.

As time passed, as you grew closer, you did realize she wasn't all that different. She could also be quiet, and intense in a way that felt heavy. She was also often anxious about things, but she was sure to mask it well behind well-crafted smiles and teases. 

Your phone was somewhere nearby, silent. And all you could think about was her. Rafayel. She was intense, yes, but never too much. Somehow, her chaos fit beside your stillness like a puzzle piece finding home. She didn’t demand anything from you—didn’t push when you hesitated, didn’t mock when you clung to comfort. She simply existed next to you, radiant and strange and herself, and you had grown used to her presence like breath. Like background noise you didn’t realize you’d miss until it was gone.

And now, she wasn’t here. She was in another city. Maybe laughing with someone new. Maybe texting someone else the way she used to text you every night. Maybe talking about that girl from the beach—the one brave enough to race her, bold enough to earn a place in one of Rafayel’s stories. You hated how often she came up. Hated how the mention made your chest ache with something unnameable. Something sharp.

Jealousy wasn’t an emotion you were well-acquainted with. But that’s what it felt like—quiet and persistent, crawling under your skin like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch. And no matter how many times you rolled your eyes or told yourself it was ridiculous, the truth was always waiting beneath the denial: this wasn’t just friendship anymore. At least, not on your side.

It confused you, unsettled you in ways you didn’t know how to voice. You weren’t scared because Rafayel was a girl. That wasn’t what made your heart race and your thoughts spiral. It was the vulnerability of it, the helpless newness of it. The part of you that didn’t know how to act now, how to look at her without wondering if she could see it inyour eyes.

And maybe it was the fact that you had no idea how she’d feel if she knew. Because you’d heard the rumors, the late-night whispers and drunken hallway drama. Stories about kisses at parties, flirtations that leaned both ways. Rafayel wasn’t known for relationships, but she wasn’t known for being closed off either. You’d pieced the truth together slowly, listening without asking, tucking away small details.

She might be bisexual. That was the quiet conclusion you reached. And the realization was a strange mix of comfort and terror—because suddenly, the possibility existed. And with it, came every question you’d been avoiding. Every fantasy you didn’t dare name. Every what-if that now had just enough oxygen to burn.

————

The campus was buzzing with life—students hauling duffel bags and suitcases across uneven walkways, laughter spilling from open car doors, voices calling out greetings that blurred together in the sun-soaked air. Some wore the wide-eyed wonder of freshmen stepping into a brand-new world. Others looked like they'd barely survived the last semester and were already dreading the one ahead.

You stood somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. There was a quiet thrill to being back, to returning to a space that had started to feel like your own. You looked forward to slipping back into the rhythm of campus life, to reclaiming the small routines you’d built in that shared dorm room. But layered over the comfort was a thread of unease, one that had tangled itself deeper with every step closer to your door.

Three months. That’s how long it had been since you last saw Rafayel in person. Sure, you’d seen her—her face on your screen, her voice crackling through video calls, her texts chiming in at ungodly hours with chaotic energy and blurry photos. And yet, the distance between you had felt real. Tangible. Like a pause button had been pressed on something you couldn’t quite name.

Her smile still made you grin, even from afar—soft and involuntary, sometimes even exasperated, especially when she went on some dramatic rant or gave you a tour of whatever weird café she had found that week. But none of it had prepared you for seeing her again in person.

You had just started unpacking, hands methodically placing books on the shelf, clothing folded into neat drawers, when the door slammed open behind you with all the grace of a thunderclap.

“Roomie!” she announced, sing-song and smug.

You jolted, nearly dropping the sweater in your hands as you turned—only to find her already stepping inside like she owned the air around her. Which, of course, she kind of did.

Rafayel stood in the doorway, her purple hair pulled up in a messy, glitter-dusted bun, sunglasses perched on her head, and that ever-familiar backpack sliding off her shoulder like it had no weight at all. Her eyes—those sharp, gleaming amethysts—scanned the room and landed on you with a satisfied grin.

“Already at it, huh?” she teased, eyeing your half-organized side of the dorm. “I was gone three seconds and you’re already nesting.”

You didn’t even have time to reply before she was crossing the room with that effortless stride of hers and throwing her arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against her side.

The hug caught you off guard. Not because it was unfamiliar—but because of how familiar it was.

You scoffed a quiet laugh, returning the hug almost without thinking, your body reacting before your brain had time to catch up. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this. Missed her.

Despite the way your heart kicked once—just once, sharp and fast—you didn’t pull away. You leaned into it. The scent of her—something floral, something wild—hit you instantly, dizzying in its closeness.

“Well, aren’t you clingy as usual?” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips as she finally let you go, stepping back with a dramatic gasp.

“Excuse you,” she said, hand on her hip. “I’m being warm. Affectionate. Which, might I add, is very on-brand for someone who was sorely missed.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t act like you didn’t miss me.” she tilted her head, eyes glittering, voice lilting just slightly toward the edge of flirtation. “You totally did. Bet you cried into your pillow every night.”

You laughed, but something about the way she said it—the way her voice curled around the words, soft and teasing—landed differently. It tugged at your chest in a way you weren’t prepared for. And your cheeks… well, you hoped to God they weren’t warming, though they absolutely were.

You cleared your throat and smirked, reaching for the safety of banter.

“Please. The only thing I missed was sleeping without your nightly concert of Instagram reels at full volume.”

“Ouch.” she clutched her chest. “Wounded. Betrayed. And here I was, thinking of getting you a welcome-back cupcake.”

“You can still get me the cupcake,” you said, folding your arms. “As an apology for that entrance. My heart’s still recovering.”

“Oh, c’mon,” she drawled with a wink. “That was nothing.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. And inside, quietly, you were buzzing. Because being with her again felt like flipping a light switch—everything was suddenly louder, brighter, more real. The room hadn’t felt full until she walked into it. And now that she was here, throwing her backpack onto the bed and talking a mile a minute about the girl on her train who wouldn’t stop sneezing—you were starting to realize just how long you’d been holding your breath. And now, you didn’t quite know how to let it out.

Falling back into the rhythm of campus life came naturally—like slipping on an old, well-worn sweater that still smelled faintly of summer. The dorm room was exactly how you’d left it, with its too-thin walls and soft hum of traffic from the street below. And Rafayel… well, she fit back into your life like she’d never left at all.

She was sprawled out across her bed, limbs languid and unapologetically relaxed, the ends of her purple hair spilling across her pillow like ink. A half-empty iced coffee sat sweating on the nightstand next to her speaker, which hummed with a song you didn’t recognize—something dreamy and full of bass. She hummed along absently, scrolling through her phone with one hand while animatedly recounting the chaos of her summer with the other.

“So we get to these cliffs, right?” she began, eyes bright as she shifted to prop herself on one elbow. “And my friend Riley’s like, ‘No one’s actually gonna jump, we’re just pretending,’ and of course I’m already kicking off my shoes before she even finishes her sentence.”

You blinked at her. “You jumped first?”

Rafayel gave you a look like you’d just asked if the sky was blue. “Head first into freezing water. I may or may not have screamed the whole way down, but it was iconic, okay?”

You laughed, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it—genuine, warm, a little disbelieving. “You’re insane.”

“Thank you,” she said, flashing a grin, clearly taking it as a compliment. “Honestly, I think I peaked. It’s all downhill from here.”

She launched into another story—something about a bonfire that turned into a karaoke contest and ended with her getting a makeshift crown made of glow sticks. You listened, smiling as she spoke, her words tumbling over each other in their rush to be heard. It was so her—spontaneous, magnetic, a little chaotic. But charming, always. Effortlessly charming.

And when she turned to you, eyes expectant and voice lilting, it caught you off guard.

“Okay, your turn,” she said, rolling onto her stomach and kicking her feet in the air. “Tell me everything. And don’t you dare say nothing happened, or I’ll cry. Real tears.”

You chuckled softly. “You won’t cry.”

“Try me,” she challenged, narrowing her eyes playfully.

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to share, but because everything you could think to say felt so small next to her stories. But still, you told her about your summer—the quiet moments that felt like home. Lazy mornings with your childhood friends, stargazing on the roof of your cousin’s house, falling asleep in hammocks with a book balanced on your chest. You skipped over the more complicated parts, the restless nights spent thinking of her.

She listened, chin propped on her hand, expression soft and focused. And when you finished, her face lit up.

“That sounds perfect,” she said, almost dreamily. “Like the kind of summer they write songs about. Way better than mine. No cliff-diving-induced near-death experiences. Just vibes.”

You snorted. “You jumped off a cliff. I organized my bookshelves.”

“And I’d still trade,” she said, bumping her shoulder into yours as she passed by, heading to the closet for her slippers.

You watched her move, more out of instinct than intent—and that was the problem. Your eyes followed the sweep of her hair, the delicate arch of her back, the curve of bare shoulders peeking through the strange, flowy tank top only she could pull off. Her shorts were patterned and a little too intricate to be casual, but somehow they worked. Of course they worked.

And your heart did that thing again—that stupid skip that had no right making itself known.

You blinked, forcing your gaze away, pretending to dig through your backpack for something that didn’t exist. You reminded yourself of what you’d decided this summer. You weren’t going to say anything. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It wasn’t fear of how she might react—Rafayel wasn’t cruel. She’d never laugh at your feelings. She’d never belittle something like that.

No, it wasn’t her you didn’t trust. It was yourself. Your certainty. Or lack thereof. Because what if this was a fluke? What if this wasn’t real? What if this whole mess of emotions was just one long, slow unraveling you’d regret later?

So you didn’t say anything. You told yourself there was too much at stake. And if keeping her in your life meant swallowing this new, shaky truth, then so be it.

You moved through the weeks as if nothing had changed. Classes began. Deadlines crept in. Simone and Tara became your weekday constants, swapping notes and coffee orders with you as you pieced together projects in cluttered libraries and overfull group chats. You fell into the rhythm again, predictable and safe.

But Rafayel was the storm you always returned to. She still swept into your life like she was born to exist in motion—bursting into the dorm with your favorite takeout after a bad day, shoving iced coffee into your hand with a breathless “I’m so late, drink this while I change,” as if it were nothing. She still danced in the center of every party, effortlessly lit from within. People were drawn to her, pulled into her gravity.

And somehow, through all of it, she kept showing up just for you.

————

It came out of nowhere. Or maybe, if you were being honest, it had been coming all along—drifting quietly beneath the surface, waiting for a moment like this to finally break through.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, middle of November, the kind where the air had a bite but the sun still clung stubbornly to the sky. You were in that odd lull between classes, walking across campus with Rafayel, who had declared—loudly and dramatically—that she was suffering from "emotional starvation" and needed coffee and sugar immediately, otherwise she would simply perish.

You had rolled your eyes, of course. “You act like we haven’t been living in the same room for the past two months.”

“Exactly,” she’d said, linking your arm with hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. “We’ve been cohabiting, not living. There’s a difference, cutie.”

Her words were exaggerated, but her pout was real, and eventually, with a sigh and a reluctant smile tugging at your lips, you let her drag you out toward the campus café. There was something oddly grounding about walking beside her in the thinning autumn light, your fingers cold from holding your drink, her voice animated and full of unfinished thoughts. She talked about deadlines and professors and the disaster of her last group project—and you listened, letting her energy warm the space between you.

And then it happened. You were walking past the long path that cut through the edge of campus, nearly bare trees standing like skeletons on either side, when Rafayel suddenly gasped.

It was a soft sound at first, surprised and bright, followed by a burst of movement as she darted forward without a word, arms flinging out as she threw herself at a girl walking in the opposite direction.

The girl staggered back with a half-laugh, caught off guard but not unhappy about it. And that’s when you knew—they knew each other. Not casually. Not vaguely. The kind of knowing that came with late-night memories and shared secrets. That easy rhythm of familiarity between them, the way they smiled, the way their bodies leaned toward each other without thinking—it told you more than words ever could.

Your footsteps slowed. Rafayel was beaming, her arms still loosely looped around the girl’s shoulders, both of them laughing over something you couldn’t hear. And then she turned, eyes catching yours like a spark across a wire.

“Oh! This is her,” Rafayel said, voice laced with sudden excitement. “This is the girl I told you about—the girl from the summer camp, one of the cliff jumpers.”

Your breath caught in your throat, though you somehow managed to smile.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, holding out your hand like it didn’t cost you anything.

The girl shook it, friendly enough, but her focus was elsewhere. Her attention hung on Rafayel with a kind of quiet possessiveness, stepping a little too close, touching her arm just a little too long. And Rafayel didn’t move away.

You hated the way it made your chest tighten. Jealousy, you realized, wasn’t as loud as people made it seem. It wasn’t rage or confrontation. It was the quiet panic behind your ribs. The sharp, stupid ache in your throat when someone else stood in a space you thought you’d somehow earned without ever saying so.

You stood there for another moment or two, exchanged pleasantries, let the conversation roll over you like static. And then, thankfully, Rafayel’s hand found your wrist.

“C’mon,” she said, tugging you gently back onto the path. “We’ve got pastries with our names on them.”

You walked beside her in silence at first, sipping your coffee and pretending you weren’t still picturing the girl’s hands on her arms. Her laugh echoing against someone else’s skin. And the memory stayed with you long after.

And what you hadn’t expected—what truly caught you off guard—was the realization that Rafayel had noticed something too.

At first, she didn’t say anything. Just watched you with that tilted head and narrowed gaze she used when she was trying to figure out a painting that didn’t quite make sense. You’d smile, just a little too tightly, every time the girl’s name came up. You’d deflect with a joke, change the subject, or busy yourself with something trivial. You thought you were being subtle. You weren’t.

And Rafayel, for all her flair and theatricality, was exceptionally good at reading people. Especially you. She didn’t bring it up. She knew you. Knew that if she asked directly, you’d laugh it off or dodge the question entirely. Maybe you’d even get annoyed. No—she knew better than that.

Instead, she started noticing the little things. The way your brows furrowed when she mentioned the girl’s name. The way your voice dipped a fraction when you asked how her day went and she casually added, “Oh, I ran into her again.”

At first, she brushed it off. Maybe she was overthinking. Maybe it was just your usual resting frown face. But she kept noticing. Again and again.

And what bothered her more than your reactions was how familiar it felt—this kind of quiet retreat. This kind of guardedness. It reminded her of herself.

Because for all the ways you were different—structured, grounded, quieter—you shared one thing in common: you both hid your real feelings behind carefully constructed façades. You pretended nothing was wrong until it burned.

So Rafayel didn’t press. She just kept watching. And wondered when, if ever, you’d tell her what you were really feeling.

————

One thing about Rafayel—she was stunning even with no makeup on. Unfairly so. The kind of beautiful that didn’t ask for attention but caught it anyway, like sunlight filtering through curtains on a slow morning.

Right now, she was sprawled across her bed in nothing but a towel, legs bare, damp strands of lavender hair sticking to her shoulders as she leaned toward her small mirror. She applied her makeup with lazy precision, flicking her eyeliner with practiced ease, humming something under her breath to the rhythm of the music playing softly from her phone.

You were supposed to be focused. The project open on your laptop demanded it—pages of research waiting for your attention—but your eyes had other plans. They drifted. Again and again. To the curve of her shoulder. The way the towel clung to the tops of her thighs. The delicate motion of her hand as she swept highlighter across her cheekbone.

She looked softer like this, glowing in the quiet light, but you knew that softness would soon be layered over with something bolder. She was clearly preparing for another party—tonight’s look already shaping into something vibrant, dramatic, Rafayel.

And lately,  she hadn’t been going alone. That girl—the girl—had started appearing more and more in Rafayel’s stories. Her name, her laugh, some inside joke you weren’t a part of. It had become a pattern. A presence.

And every time she was mentioned, something unpleasant curled in your chest. Jealousy, maybe. Resentment, even. And while you knew you had no right to feel that way, knowing didn’t make it stop. You’d tried to push it down, to smother it with reason, but feelings didn’t care about logic. They simply existed, rising quietly until they drowned you.

You hadn’t said much all night. Too quiet, too still. And Rafayel being Rafayel, noticed. She flicked a glance your way, eyes narrowing just slightly. Then she leaned back on her elbows and tilted her head toward you.

“You’re being suspiciously boring tonight,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. “Like… emotionally constipated levels of boring. Do I need to check your pulse?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She smirked. “I’ve been talking to myself for the last ten minutes, and I know you’re not working because your screen hasn’t scrolled once. Either you’re dead inside, or you’re mad at me.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, forcing your shoulders to relax. “I’m not mad.”

“Hmm,” she said, clearly not believing you. “Then you’re brooding. Which is worse.”

You tried to muster something light in return, something to deflect, but your words came out a little too flat. A little too practiced. “I’m just tired.”

Rafayel gave you a look—one of those long, assessing ones that made you feel like she was seeing through the spaces between your words. But she didn’t press. Not directly. Instead, she brightened with her usual flair, flipping her brush dramatically between her fingers.

“Perfect,” she announced. “You need to unwind. Come with me tonight.”

You blinked. “To the party?”

She nodded. “Obviously. You’ve been acting like a ghost lately, and I miss your adorable semi-social presence.”

“I—” You hesitated, and she caught it immediately.

Her smile turned sly. “What, you’re too tired and too antisocial now? Damn. The bar is in hell.”

You snorted, and something about the way she grinned at that made the tension in your chest ease, just a little.

“Fine,” you muttered. “I’ll come. But don’t expect me to dance or socialize.”

Rafayel gasped. “You wound me. You come to a party with me and expect to sit in a corner? You know that’s illegal, right?”

You shook your head, but you were smiling now—genuinely. And she knew it.

Normally, you wouldn’t have hesitated. These invitations were familiar by now—spontaneous, chaotic, and very her. You would have sighed, maybe rolled your eyes, and followed her out into the night with a quiet kind of surrender. But tonight, your voice had stilled at the edges. It came out flatter than usual, your smile a shade too polished, like something gently rehearsed. A pause lingered where certainty used to be.

Rafayel noticed, because nothing seemed to get past her lately. But she didn’t ask. She just turned up the volume on her usual charm, laughing brighter, teasing louder, as though she could press her warmth into the quiet spaces and coax you back out again. And eventually, you gave in. You always did.

But this time, you moved differently. You’d slipped away to get ready before she could pick through your closet the way she usually did, before she could spin your reluctance into another dress-up game. When you returned, dressed and composed, something in the room shifted.

Rafayel had always thought you were beautiful. Not the loud, attention-stealing kind of beauty—the kind that people turned around for without knowing why. It was quieter. Something that lived in the curve of your smile when you were amused but trying not to show it, or in the way you concentrated when you were focused, oblivious to the world. It had always been there, just beneath the surface, and Rafayel had noticed. Again and again.

But tonight—tonight was different. When you stepped into view, something stilled in her. You weren’t trying to make a statement, not like she did. And yet, you made one anyway. Not through glitter or shine or bold color, but through the quiet confidence in the way the fabric clung to you. It wasn’t something she’d picked for you, but it suited you—more than she wanted to admit.

She let her eyes linger, just for a moment. Longer than she probably should have.

You looked... stunning. Hot, if she had to put a word to it. But she’d already known that. It just hit different tonight—undeniable in the dim dorm light, like seeing a painting she thought she knew in an entirely new frame.

Her mind flickered briefly, curiously, to the question that had circled her thoughts more than once before.  Was it a choice?The way you’d never spoken about anyone, never hinted at crushes or weekend flings. It wasn’t possible that no one had been interested. You were too striking, too sharp, too you for that. Which left only one possibility—that you had kept yourself untouched on purpose.

The thought stirred something in her—part fascination, part something else. Still, she was quick to compose herself, smoothing her features into something more familiar. A smirk curled at her lips, practiced and easy, as she finally turned fully to face you.

“Look who’s finally catching up,” she said, her voice dipped in that usual flirtation—light, effortless, never serious enough to demand a response. Her tone dripped with suggestion without naming the thing at all.

You were distracted, though. Lost in your own mess of thoughts. You hadn’t noticed the way her gaze had softened for half a second before it sharpened again. You didn’t catch the pause in her breath.

Because your focus had shifted too—and now it was your turn to forget yourself.

You looked at her in the mirror. You told yourself you were used to this by now. The way she dressed, the way she owned her space. But something about the way her shirt clung tonight—low at the neckline, deliberate in its looseness—paired with those jeans that sat low on her hips, framing her body like a sculptor had designed it all by hand—it caught you off guard.

Her waist curved into something unfair. The silver glint of her belly piercing shimmered when she shifted, and your eyes followed the arc of movement before you could stop them. It was a second too long. Just enough to feel it.

You blinked hard and looked away, heart suddenly a little louder than before, as if your body realized something your mind wasn’t ready to name.

To save yourself, you cleared your throat and reached for levity. “Are you planning on causing a scene tonight?”

Rafayel’s smirk sharpened like a blade sliding into silk.

“Sweetheart,” she purred, turning to grab her bag with slow, purposeful grace, “I am the scene.”

She didn’t glance back, but you caught the smile she wore as she said it—knowing, wicked, and just this side of affectionate.

You swallowed a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, barely able to stop your own smile from curling behind your lips. And somewhere beneath all that teasing and laughter, something delicate and dangerous shifted in the space between you.

————

Parties had never been your thing—and Rafayel knew that. But she still looped her fingers through yours with the same breezy confidence she always wore like perfume, and you still followed her into the pulsing noise and swirling crowd of the off-campus frat house like gravity itself had lured you in.

It was packed. Music thrummed through the floors and bodies pressed far too close, but tonight, none of that mattered. You didn’t even flinch at the noise or the spill of light bouncing off cheap decorations. You welcomed it. Needed it. Something—anything—to drown out the thoughts that had taken up residence in your head lately.

Or more accurately, the person.

You’d been trying to ignore it. That persistent hum in your veins whenever she touched you. The way your gaze drifted and lingered—on her bare legs in shorts that never seemed to be long enough, on the soft curve of her lips when she pouted for dramatic effect, on the subtle sway of her hips when she walked like the world owed her applause.

It had crossed into dangerous territory weeks ago. It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It wasn’t even the innocent kind of crush you could laugh off.

Your thoughts were getting bold—the kind that made you flush in the middle of the night when you remembered how it felt to wake up to her warm body sprawled beside yours in bed, her hair tickling your arm, her breath soft and slow. The kind that made your heart race when she stood a little too close. When she leaned in to whisper some biting, flirty remark into your ear just to watch you flinch.

So when her hand found yours again, weaving through the heat and crowd, your breath caught—sharp and sudden in your throat. Her fingers were long and cool against your palm. Elegant. She always held you like she knew you'd follow. And you did.

But as you walked behind her, winding through the music and the laughter and the haze of cheap beer and perfume, your thoughts spiraled again. Why wasn’t she meeting anyone tonight?

That question was meant to stay in your head. But your lips moved before your mind could stop them, casting it out like a careless net.

Rafayel tilted her head as you spoke, her eyes drifting toward the makeshift bar where someone had arranged bottles with questionable labels and an assortment of glowing mixers. She seemed distracted at first, scanning the options like she was choosing artwork for a gallery wall.

Her answer came with the same nonchalance she wore like a second skin, voice lilting, playful. Not even looking at you. But her words hit like icewater in your chest. Because she mentioned her. That girl. The one who lingered too close in every memory you didn’t want to keep replaying. The one with smiles that felt rehearsed and touches that screamed intention. The one Rafayel was supposed to meet tonight. The one she’d chosen before.

You knew it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you already knew. But hearing it aloud stirred something sharp. Bitter. Not even jealousy anymore—something quieter and just a bit tad too dangerous. Disappointment.

She turned back to you a moment later with a drink in her hand and that familiar smirk blooming on her lips—rosy, effortless, infuriatingly beautiful. She pressed the cup into your palm without comment, like always. Like nothing had shifted between you. But it had.

Your fingers wrapped around the plastic, but your mind was somewhere else—tugging at the edges of your self-control like an unraveling thread. The words came before you could stop them.

“I mean, you don’t have to babysit me,” you said lightly, but your voice came out flatter than intended. “You could still go meet up with them.”

You didn’t look at her when you said it. You took a sip of the drink instead, trying to ignore how your hand trembled faintly at the rim.

Rafayel blinked once. The smirk faltered—not fully gone, but fractured just enough to show the hairline crack beneath it. Her expression didn’t shift into something dramatic or angry. That wasn’t her. But there was something behind her eyes now—a small furrow between her brows, a flicker of confusion, maybe even something close to hurt.

“…Is that what you think I’m doing?” she asked, voice still light, but noticeably slower.

You shrugged, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite make it past your lips. “Just saying. You don't have to stay with me the whole night out of pity.”

Silence. Not awkward, but heavy. The kind that settles in your ribs and makes it harder to breathe.

She stared at you for a beat longer than necessary. And then, as if on cue, her mask slid back into place—smirk tilting upward, lashes low, gaze unreadable.

“You know, cutie,” she murmured, leaning just a little closer, “if I wanted to be somewhere else, I wouldn’t be here.”

You weren’t sure what stung more—her not saying the girl’s name again, or how much you wanted to believe her.

Rafayel turned slightly, the glitter of her top catching the pulse of the party lights as she faced the mess of bodies on the makeshift dancefloor. From where you stood by the counter, you saw the smirk tug at her lips as she sipped her drink, head tilting as she watched a guy nearly drool all over himself while attempting a body shot off a girl too busy laughing to care.

She rolled her eyes with a soft huff of amusement, the curve of her mouth curling higher as if she were watching a poorly written scene unfold in real time.

You followed her gaze, grateful for the distraction, trying to steer your mind anywhere but where it kept circling. The alcohol she’d handed you was sticky-sweet with something sharp buried underneath, burning down your throat like it was punishing you for every thought you weren’t supposed to have.

You leaned back against the counter, letting the low thump of bass vibrate through the room, through your bones. Rafayel looked relaxed again, or at least she wore it well—shoulders easy, one hip cocked as she rested her elbow beside you, the edge of her cup balanced lazily in her other hand. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder if your earlier comment had thrown her off more than she let on.

But before you could spiral further, she turned toward you with that unmistakable glint in her eye—the one that always came before trouble.

“Should I be bold enough to propose something?” she asked, head tilting, her voice syrupy with mischief.

You met her gaze, raising a brow with slow defiance. You’d learned by now not to flinch first—she liked it when you gave her resistance, liked pressing until you bent, just a little.

“That depends,” you murmured, angling closer without meaning to, your voice lower, laced with challenge. “Should I be concerned?”

Her laugh was low and honeyed, a dramatic little whine threading through it as she brought her drink back to her lips. “Ouch. No faith in me at all. How disappointing.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth curved despite yourself. It was always like this with her—this push and pull, teasing and toeing the line of something you didn’t know if it should be crossed.

She tipped the rest of her drink back in one motion, throat working in a way that drew your eyes before you could catch yourself. You looked away too late. If she noticed, she said nothing. Instead, she leaned in, eyes flicking toward the chaos of the living room before turning back to you, voice smooth as silk. “Tell me, sweet thing… ever done a body shot before?”

The words slipped from her lips like a secret. Her tone was light—too light. Playful on the surface, but there was something beneath it, something languid and dangerous, something that made your stomach tighten and your skin prickle.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Not with the image crashing through your mind like a match to gasoline.

Because of course she had. Rafayel was the kind of girl who turned any room into her playground, who was always five steps ahead, daring others to keep up. You’d always been content trailing behind—until lately. Until the way she touched your wrist lingered too long. Until her laughter started to feel like a private invitation. Until her gaze began to feel like it was peeling you open.

So you didn’t respond with a yes or no. You just scoffed softly and let her take your hand again, your skin burning where she gripped you, tugging you through the crowd. The music got louder, the lights blurrier, voices sharper with alcohol and laughter.

Someone whistled nearby. A cheer went up as a guy—half-naked and smug—took a shot off a girl’s stomach with unnecessary flourish. You recognized them vaguely: the usual suspects, the self-declared kings and queens of campus. Always loud. Always extra.

Rafayel barely spared them a glance before securing your spot in the next round like she’d done this a hundred times before—and you suspected she had. She turned to you then, one hand perched on her hip, the other resting on the edge of the table, her smirk curling with amusement. It wasn’t quite cocky. But it was close.

“So,” she purred, leaning in just a touch, “wanna take it off me… or should I go first and show you how it’s done, newbie?”

Her voice danced around the words, casual, playful—but the drop in her tone was unmistakable. Velvet and heat. It wasn't intended to be seductive. Probably. But your body didn't know the difference.

Your mouth went dry. Your brain short-circuited. And your imagination—traitorous thing that it was—offered up an entirely different version of what those words could mean. The tension coiled low, dangerously low. Your stomach twisted with something that felt embarrassingly close to butterflies. Lower still, heat flickered at the base of your spine.

You caught yourself just before you could visibly blush. Tilting your head, you leaned closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume—something floral, warm, her—and offered a smile of your own. One that barely masked how flustered you were.

“How about you just surprise me instead?” you said, tone soft, almost lazy, letting the words hang there. “Or are you too much of a tease to commit?”

Rafayel’s smirk twitched, just slightly—like she hadn’t expected you to throw it back that smooth. Her eyes narrowed in amusement.

“Oh?” she drawled, fingers drifting over the edge of the table as she chose her shot. “Someone’s getting brave tonight.”

You were. But only because the alcohol had blurred your hesitation, and the way she looked at you made it so easy to forget every reason why you shouldn’t be. And you had a feeling this night was only getting started.

Rafayel turned toward the shot table with the same ease she moved through every space—like the world always made room for her. The glass caught a glint of light as she poured tequila, the golden liquid sloshing slightly before settling, and she hummed in approval, lips curving with amusement.

Then, without looking, her hand landed on your shoulder, firm and warm, and gently nudged you backward. Not forceful, but guiding. Protective, even—though she’d never admit it that way.

You let her steer you, stepping away from the rowdy cluster gathering near the drinks, noting how her gaze flicked toward the louder group with a hint of disdain. You suspected she didn’t want an audience—especially not that one. You couldn’t agree more. These moments always felt a little like they belonged to just you and her anyway, whether you wanted them to or not.

You still lingered close to the table, eyes darting to the tequila glass in her hand, then lower—drawn to the wedges of lime nestled in a plastic dish, glistening under the low kitchen lights.

“Go on,” Rafayel said, voice lilting with mischief, “Pick one.”

You shot her a look, already reaching for the lime. “You know I’ve had tequila before, right? I’m not that clueless.”

She laughed at that—sweet and unbothered, the sound warm enough to wrap around you and pull you in. There was no mockery in it, just that syrupy delight she always took when you pushed back a little.

“I know,” she replied, her tone light but edged with something softer, almost approving. “But you’re cute when you act like you’ve got it all figured out.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat rising in your chest was impossible to ignore. There was something in the way she looked at you tonight. Something different. Not intense, not heavy—but curious. Attentive. Like she was seeing a version of you she hadn’t seen before, and didn’t want to look away.

You turned toward her, lime in hand, one brow raised. “So? How does this work?”

You didn’t expect the way her smile curved smaller, more dangerous. Nor the way she leaned in, her breath brushing against your neck—just barely—and igniting something sharp and involuntary inside your chest. Your pulse skipped instantly. Froze. Raced.

“Just follow my lead,” she murmured.

It was barely audible over the music—but she was close enough that you felt the shape of her words against your skin. And before you could respond, before your brain could even form a coherent thought, her tongue swept slowly over the side of your neck.

Your body jolted, breath caught halfway between a gasp and a prayer. A shiver rippled up your spine, subtle but uncontrollable. You didn’t even realize you’d gone rigid until she pulled back and you exhaled all at once, trying to ignore how warm your cheeks had gotten.

Rafayel said nothing. But the glint in her eyes spoke volumes. She saw everything.

“Head up for me,” she said next, gentle but commanding, and you obeyed without argument. The moment felt suspended in time. Detached from the chaos around you.

She poured a trail of salt over the exact spot she’d just licked, her fingers lingering a second too long on your jaw as she straightened. Then her gaze caught yours again—and something had shifted. The lights played tricks with her features, casting shadows across the edge of her jaw, but her amethyst eyes were unmistakably darker now. Focused. Almost predatory.

“Now,” she said, her lips curling as she licked them absentmindedly, “Put the lime between your lips.”

Her voice was casual, but your body didn’t register it as such. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Still, you complied—tucking the lime between your teeth, grimacing slightly at the sharp, bitter tang that met your tongue.

Rafayel chuckled lowly, clearly amused by your expression, but didn’t give you the chance to overthink. She stepped closer. One step. Two. Close enough now that her chest nearly brushed yours.

Her gaze never left yours. Not when she leaned in again. Not when her tongue dragged slowly across the salted skin of your neck with deliberate, maddening pressure. The sensation left your knees feeling a little less certain beneath you, left your lungs tight and shallow.

Then she straightened and threw back the shot in one clean motion, head tipped, the line of her throat exposed as she swallowed.

You weren’t sure where to look—her lips, the curve of her neck, or the floor. Anything but the wild thudding in your chest and the heat that had pooled embarrassingly low in your stomach.

But you didn’t have time to process. Because she turned to you again—and now her face was inches away, her breath warm, her mouth hovering. And without breaking eye contact, Rafayel leaned in and took the other side of the lime between her lips, her mouth brushing yours in a way that wasn’t quite a kiss. But wasn’t not one, either.

She sucked on the lime slowly, letting the motion linger. The space between you was charged, electric, and your entire body buzzed from it—frozen, strung tight, painfully aware of every single inch where you didn’t touch but could.

Your lips were so close it was maddening. And your mind, stupid and helpless, started spinning. What if there wasn’t this stupid lime between you? What would her mouth taste like? And why did your body ache to find out?

Then, mercifully—or not—she pulled back, tongue darting across her lips to chase the last of the bitterness. You swallowed hard and removed the lime, tossing it onto the table, your fingers trembling more than you cared to admit.

Rafayel was smirking again—but the look in her eyes wasn’t just teasing anymore. It was sharper now, reading you, cataloguing every twitch of your expression, every breath you hadn’t fully taken.

You didn’t know what to do with that. So you smirked back, because pretending was easier, safer. You leaned casually on the edge of the counter, tilting your head. “So that’s the famous body shot, huh?”

Rafayel braced her hand beside you on the table, trapping you in place without touching you, her breath still laced with tequila and citrus.

“Hope I didn’t disappoint,” she replied with a mock-innocent shrug, eyes dancing with heat and something almost smug.

Your pulse thudded stubbornly in your throat, loud enough that it almost drowned out the music around you. The burn from the body shot still lingered on your skin, but it was nothing compared to the way your heart raced, thundering ahead of your thoughts. A thousand of them, chaotic and conflicting, tripped over each other in your head.

Don’t read too much into it. That’s what you told yourself. That’s what you had to tell yourself. Because Rafayel was like that—flirty, playful, always dancing on the edge of meaning and meaninglessness. Her words were sugar-laced, her touches light, designed more to amuse herself than seduce anyone. You’d seen it before. She flirted with friends, strangers, bartenders, sometimes just to see how red their cheeks would go. And tonight? You were probably just the latest subject of her attention.

The way she’d smirked when your breath caught, how she’d laughed—warm, sweet, and unapologetic—when you tried to play it cool. It was her. It was just her. That carefree, teasing rhythm she carried everywhere she went.

But still, you couldn’t help wondering if there’d been something else in the way she looked at you. A flicker too long. A shift too subtle. Her hand on your jaw hadn’t felt indifferent. Her breath on your neck hadn't been meaningless.

Or maybe you were just losing it. Because the truth—the ugly, inconvenient truth—was that your heart wanted it to mean something. And that was the entire problem. You were smart enough to know better. Smart enough to protect yourself. Or at least you should have been.

But instead, you reached for the bottle. The tequila sloshed slightly as you poured yourself a shot, pretending you didn’t feel her eyes on you. You licked a dash of salt from the back of your hand, welcomed the burn of the alcohol as it scraped its way down your throat, and winced at the sharp tang of lime.

A soft chuckle cut through the bass-heavy music. You didn’t have to look to know it was her. Rafayel leaned in, her breath warm against your cheek, still tinged with tequila. “Wanted a taste for yourself too, hm?”

You didn’t answer, not right away. Then she added, voice lower, almost murmured, “Not brave enough to try what I taught you just now?”

There was a curl of a smile in her tone. Flirty, yes. But deliberately light. As if the moment from before hadn’t registered as anything worth lingering on. As if you were already supposed to have let it go.

You turned to face her, lips parting on a dry response—something sarcastic, something safe—but you never got the chance to say it. Because someone else appeared, cutting through the crowd like she owned the night.

She practically launched herself toward Rafayel, one arm flinging around her shoulders with a practiced ease that made your stomach twist. Rafayel straightened in surprise, blinking once, caught off guard—but not pulling away. And you went still immediately.

Your lips pressed into a tight, polite line, one you couldn’t mask fast enough. Of course it had to be her. That girl. The one who always seemed to orbit Rafayel a little too closely. She’d never done anything directly to you—no insults, no blatant disrespect—but she didn’t have to. The way she smiled at you like she knew something you didn’t, the way she lingered around Rafayel with a sense of ownership, was enough to twist the knife.

And now she leaned into Rafayel’s side like it was routine, like her body fit naturally there, like she belonged. Your insides tensed. Alcohol made everything feel warmer, louder. Emotions you could normally swallow down rose a little too fast, too raw. Still, you forced a smile. Stiff. Fragile.

She returned it with one that didn’t even try to pretend. Her hand, previously looped around Rafayel’s shoulder, casually slid lower, fingers finding her waist like it was second nature.

“Ayel,” she purred, gaze focused only on Rafayel. A small, calculated pout formed on her lips. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up. Why didn’t you look for me?”

Me, not us. The way she said it was intentional—whether she realized it or not. And that nickname… Ayel... it fell from her tongue with too much sweetness, too much history. Like it was hers. Like she was hers.

You swallowed hard, smile frozen in place. It was a mess of feelings. Jealousy? Definitely. Insecurity? That too. But more than anything, it was the sinking realization that, for all the ways tonight had felt different—for all the ways Rafayel had looked at you—you were still probably just another moment in her never-ending string of playful flirtations.

And maybe you hated how much you cared about that.

You turned to her with a practiced ease, meeting Rafayel’s gaze with something light, something that pretended not to sting, but your next words weren’t addressed to Rafayel, but to the girl.

“Sorry for keeping her away from you,” you said smoothly, almost breezily. “Told her she didn’t have to stay with me tonight. She could’ve joined you.”

Then, before Rafayel could say anyting, you turned back to the table and downed another shot. It hit harder than the last. Or maybe that was just your chest tightening.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Rafayel frown, something unreadable flashing in her expression. But you didn’t linger. You focused on the shot glass, the lime rind, the burning trail of alcohol that numbed things just enough.

The girl laughed softly—one of those feigned, sweet sounds laced with something sharp. She shifted closer to Rafayel again, fingers still teasing at her waist, trying too hard to pull attention back toward her.

“I didn’t think you’d bring your roomie,” she said, voice dripping with a false kind of niceness. “But hey—surprise of the night, right? I missed you. Had no one to keep me company. The guys were unbearable. Drunk and loud and doing the usual dumb shit.”

You could imagine the pout on her face without even looking. And you didn’t want to look. You didn’t want to see any more of her hands on Rafayel. Didn’t want to hear another syrupy word from her mouth. Didn’t want to feel the way Rafayel’s silence stirred something inside you—something that hurt more than you could rationalize.

You just wanted the night to end. Or maybe just for her to go.

But the worst part was that you still weren’t sure what Rafayel was thinking. Not really. Not now, not ever. And that—more than anything—made your chest ache.

Despite catching the flicker in your expression—the way your posture closed in on itself, the way your voice lost just a shade of warmth—Rafayel still turned to the girl with her usual ease. Not flirtatious this time, but playful enough to remain perfectly, frustratingly ambiguous. She didn’t push the girl away, but she did shift, just slightly, her weight leaning toward neutrality. Not quite enough to reassure you. Not nearly enough.

You didn’t wait to analyze it. You poured another shot like it might wash the jealousy from your bloodstream, like the bitterness of lime and the burn of tequila might numb the ache tightening in your chest. It didn’t. But the glass was cold, the salt sharp, and the moment gave you something to do besides watch Rafayel stand there with someone else’s hands on her body.

You turned toward them with a smile so practiced it could’ve passed for real, your lips still tinged with citrus. “No worries,” you said, voice airy, light, sweet enough to crack your own teeth. “I’ll just see you later. Have fun.”

You didn’t wait for her reply. You spun on your heel, disappearing into the press of bodies before her voice could reach you, before her eyes could hold you still.

The music was loud, pulsing deep in your chest like a second heartbeat. Sweat clung to the back of your neck, bodies moved in chaotic sync, and for once, you welcomed the noise, the distraction, the thrum of everything around you. You let your body sway, loose and light, like your heart wasn’t sinking further with every beat of the song.

Still, behind your closed eyes, all you could see was that girl’s hand on Rafayel’s waist. The syrupy voice. That nickname. The unshakable way it all felt intimate. Like you weren’t even there. Like you never were.

You knew better than to take it personally. Knew that Rafayel was always like this—open, magnetic, untouchable. Her flirtation wasn’t a promise, it was a performance. And tonight, you were just another audience member who’d clapped a little too hard.

You didn’t even flinch when a stranger’s hands landed on your hips from behind. He was warm, unsteady, and swaying with the music like he didn’t quite know where his limbs ended and yours began. You let him. You didn’t care. Or you were trying not to. One song bled into the next, and you kept moving, his chest brushing your back, his hands sliding against your waist like he belonged there.

You didn’t stop him when his mouth ghosted along the side of your neck, breath warm, lips grazing the exact spot where Rafayel’s tongue had lingered just minutes before. Your chest constricted at the memory, and maybe that’s why you let him press a kiss there. Maybe that’s why your body didn’t protest when he turned you around and looked at you like he wanted more.

You kissed him. You kissed him because you could. Because his mouth was there and open and asking, and your skin was too hot and your thoughts too loud. His lips were soft, eager, and tasted vaguely of rum. His tongue slid against yours with practiced ease, and your hands curled loosely around his shoulders, grounding yourself in the motion, not the man. But it wasn’t enough.

At one point you made the huge mistake of opening your eyes, half lidded and dazed, lips still entangled with his. And your eyes, as if by a curse, found Rafayel in the crowd of people. She stood just beyond the crowd, unmistakable even in the haze of pulsing lights and moving shadows. Her lavender hair shimmered faintly beneath the lights, her posture as regal and relaxed as ever. And draped across her, with all the subtlety of a stake through the heart, was the girl.  

Your heart twisted painfully when you saw that the girl had her arms around Rafayel’s neck and was peppering kisses on her neck while swaying to the music. But what twisted the knife was the fact that Rafayel was watching you, and had been for a while, you supposed. Her eyes locked on yours the second you saw her in the crowd. Her gaze didn’t waver, didn’t flinch when you met it. Those amethyst eyes were darker now, something simmering just beneath the surface. You couldn’t name it, didn’t dare to hope. But it held you still—eyes locked even as her hands rested on the other girl’s waist.

You wanted nothing more than to close your eyes and disappear. Run away from this horrible jealousy, this horrible ache. But something in you twisted painfully, so your eyes stayed locked on her unreadable ones as you kept kissing the guy. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fractured lighting casting shadows across the curve of her jaw. Or maybe it was just the cruel, glittering lie you’d been whispering to yourself for weeks now: that maybe, just maybe, Rafayel saw you as something more than her occasional companion in chaos. That maybe those looks, those touches, that soft curl of her voice when she used your name—maybe they meant something more.

But then, she moved—slowly, deliberately. Her fingers slid into the girl’s hair, tilting her chin up with all the grace of a puppeteer. The girl leaned into it, willing, eager, and a moment later, Rafayel’s lips were on hers—soft, slow, sensual. But her eyes never left yours.

That was what shattered you. She kissed another woman like she meant it, like it was art, but she looked at you while doing it. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Your thoughts dissolved into static, drowned in heat and confusion and something feral curling in your belly.

You should’ve looked away. Should’ve torn your gaze from hers and buried yourself in the anonymity of this boy’s mouth, his hands, his hunger. Instead, you kept kissing him—because what else was there to do? You let his tongue slide against yours, let his fingers tighten at your waist, let your own nails press into his shoulders. A distraction. A punishment. A plea.

And still, Rafayel watched you. Still, her mouth moved against that girl's like she wasn’t tasting her, but you.

A moan slipped from your throat when the boy bit your lower lip, and you hated it. Hated how your body betrayed you, how your skin prickled with heat, how your thighs pressed tighter together as your imagination twisted everything. His hands on your waist became hers. His mouth on your neck—hers. His lips at your ear became the phantom echo of Rafayel’s voice, velvet-smooth and maddeningly sweet.

The ache inside you unfurled into something darker and heavier. Your body burned, aroused and aching and furious all at once. And still—still—you didn’t look away. Because you couldn’t. Because her gaze had you caged and collared and she didn’t even need to say a word.

And somewhere in that unbearable tension, in the exchange of heat and power and silence, a truth cracked open between you. This wasn’t an accident. Rafayel knew exactly what she was doing.

You couldn’t blame her for kissing someone else. Hell, you were also kissing this random guy. That should’ve evened the scale—made it fair, made it easy. But it didn’t feel fair. And nothing about this was easy.

The difference was that you were overthinking everything, trying to stitch meaning into the silence between glances, while Rafayel…she was impossible to read. Her gaze had never left you, even as her mouth moved against someone else's, and that alone unraveled something fragile inside your chest.

It was stupid, truly, how your body responded not to the hands currently on your waist, not to the lips trailing lazy paths against your throat, but to the quiet weight of her attention. Even now. Especially now.

The guy shifted behind you, encouraged by the soft sound that had escaped your lips—one born of everything except him. He pulled you in tighter, mouth brushing the shell of your ear as his voice dipped low. “Wanna get out of here?”

The question wasn’t a surprise. His voice was warm, his touch bolder now, and the meaning behind his words as transparent as it could be. But you didn’t want him. You never did.

He was nothing but a failed distraction, a bad idea wrapped in cologne and sweat, and not even remotely enough to erase the image of Rafayel’s lips on someone else—or worse, the way she watched you while doing it.

You hesitated just long enough to regret the whole thing. Your gaze flicked up to meet his, and you summoned the ghost of a smile, slurred but soft. Too soft, maybe. “I—uh, don’t think we should.”

The music drowned most of your voice, but he leaned in again anyway, lips grazing your skin, persistence tightening into something more arrogant.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he murmured, breath warm against your neck. “Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

That made your spine go rigid. Not because of the words, but because they weren’t hers. Because they didn’t land the way they were meant to—didn’t stir anything but discomfort and the overwhelming desire to peel yourself out of your own skin.

You shoved him back, not harshly, but firmly enough to draw the line.

“Sorry,” you said, voice tipping toward hoarse, “you should find someone else for that.”

He scoffed, muttered something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch, and then you turned away without asking him to repeat it. You didn’t care. Not about him. Not about his bruised ego. All you wanted was distance—space, air, another drink, maybe something strong enough to wipe Rafayel kissing that girl from behind your eyes.

You shoved your way through the crowd, a little less steady than before, the music pounding in your skull, colors strobing too fast to track. You weren’t drunk, not fully. But the alcohol had settled into your limbs, sweet and stupid, blurring everything at the edges.

And maybe that’s why—when you reached the table again, breathless and half-numb—you reached for another shot without thinking. Or maybe you did think. Maybe you just didn’t care anymore. Not when the taste of jealousy still burned hotter than the liquor ever could.

Your cheeks burned, flushed with heat that had little to do with the thick, suffocating air of the room and everything to do with the scene that kept looping behind your eyes. Over and over. A relentless replay of her mouth on someone else’s skin, her gaze fixed on yours while it happened.

The bass thudded through the walls, vibrating in your ribs, but it was the pulse between your thighs that demanded the most attention now—persistent, aching, humiliatingly real. Your skin was damp with sweat, your throat dry, your body flushed and restless in a way that had nothing to do with dancing or alcohol.

You pressed your legs together tightly, trying to suppress the needy throb, biting down on the inside of your cheek. It didn’t help. Not really.

God, what the hell was happening to you?

You dragged in a shaky breath and closed your eyes, hoping—stupidly—that the darkness would bring some kind of clarity. But it only intensified the heat curling low in your stomach, only made you more aware of how soaked you were beneath your jeans, how your heart was still racing for all the wrong reasons.

Your thoughts weren’t coherent anymore. They were a fever dream of tongue and teeth and glances that felt like possession. You didn’t know what any of it meant—if it even did mean something—or if the alcohol was just dragging you deeper into your own fantasy, making you read into things you shouldn’t. Things that weren’t yours to want.

Still trembling slightly, you reached for a half-empty bottle on the table. You weren’t even sure if it was still tequila, but it didn’t matter. You tipped your head back and downed another shot, the liquor cutting down your throat like fire. You winced, coughing softly into your shoulder as you exhaled, the burn settling into your chest.

Bad idea. You knew it. You knew you should stop. But your thoughts were a mess and the party around you was louder than ever—music pounding like a heartbeat, people brushing too close, bodies moving in waves—and it was all too much. The heat. The air. The ache. The need to get out of your own head.

With a soft, frustrated huff, you reached for your cardigan, fingers fumbling a little as you peeled it from your arms and draped it somewhere near the edge of the table. Your bare shoulders prickled in the overheated air, skin slick with sweat, chest rising and falling a little too quickly.

You leaned forward, palms braced against the edge of the table, trying to ground yourself, trying to just breathe. But even that felt like a losing battle. Your head was spinning from the alcohol and the crowd and the weight of her eyes still branded into your memory.

You didn’t look toward the dance floor. You couldn’t do it. You weren’t sure what you’d do if you saw her still there—if she was still kissing that girl, still pretending like none of this meant anything. You weren’t sure which part would hurt more—that it didn’t mean anything to her or that you’d let it mean too much to you.

 The alcohol was warm in your blood now, humming through your veins like static. The music pulsed all around you, relentless, a rhythmic throb that seemed to echo the chaos in your chest. Your thoughts kept circling back—never stopping, never giving you peace—and it was getting harder to tell if the dizziness came from the shots or from the spiraling ache Rafayel had unknowingly carved into you.

You needed air. You needed silence. You needed to be anywhere but here. Eyes half-lidded, your lashes heavy with haze, you turned around—unsteady, your steps slow and uncertain—as you pushed through the crowd, making your best guess toward the bathroom. Your balance wavered with each step, shoulders brushing past others, sweat and perfume clinging thick in the air like static. 

When you finally reached the bathroom and slipped inside, the door clicked shut behind you like a mercy. The noise dulled instantly. The world outside fell away.

It was cooler in here. The air kissed your flushed skin like a balm, and you let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. For a moment, you just stood there, breathing in that blessed quiet, your hands trembling at your sides.

Then you moved toward the sink, your heels clicking softly against the tile. You braced yourself on the porcelain edge and lifted your gaze to the mirror, and the sight that greeted you made your stomach flutter for entirely different reasons.

You looked unrecognizable. Your cheeks were flushed a soft, petal pink, lips slightly parted as you panted for breath. Your makeup had begun to smudge just barely—just enough to make your lashes look heavier, your eyeliner a little smokier. A lock of hair had slipped from behind your ear and curled against your damp neck, and your eyes—glassy and blown from the alcohol—held a dazed, longing kind of sheen.

You looked like someone trying not to fall apart. Or maybe someone already halfway there.

You swallowed hard and gripped the edge of the sink tighter, as if grounding yourself might keep the rest of you from slipping. But your thoughts weren’t finished with you yet. The image was still there, dancing behind your eyes—the press of that girl’s hands on Rafayel’s waist, her lips trailing along that slender neck you’d thought about too many damn times, and Rafayel’s gaze, fixed squarely on you while it happened.

It was maddening. Cruel. Beautiful. And it made your core throb all over again.

You exhaled another shaky breath, fingertips fumbling to turn the tap. The cold water stung your skin, sharp enough to jolt your nerves—but not enough to silence the thoughts running feral through your mind. You washed your hands slowly, more ritual than need, the chill biting at your wrists as if punishment for thinking too much, wanting too much.

You didn’t dare splash your face, not when your mascara was already hanging by a thread. Instead, you braced yourself against the sink, eyes slipping closed as you inhaled deeply through your nose, trying—and failing—to will away the burn between your thighs, the slick discomfort of your ruined underwear clinging to you like a secret. You hated how turned on you still were. Hated that no amount of cold water or deep breathing was enough to shake her out of your bloodstream.

You didn’t even hear the door open. Didn’t hear the click behind you, or the soft shuffle of footsteps drawing near. The bass from the party throbbed against the walls like a heartbeat, dull and ever-present. So when you felt someone behind you—close enough to taste the heat radiating from their body—your entire frame stiffened.

Your eyes snapped open. And there she was. Rafayel. Reflected in the mirror like a vision conjured from your own delirium, her gaze unreadable and dark, pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted like she might say something—but didn’t.

“Shit,” you breathed, voice unsteady as your heart stuttered violently in your chest. “You scared me.”

She didn’t flinch or smirk. She just watched you through the mirror, the line of her mouth pulled taut, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she stepped closer—close enough that her presence wrapped around you like gravity, the warmth of her body brushing your back, her perfume subtle but unmistakable.

Your throat tightened.

“Where’s your friend?” you asked, each word sliding off your tongue too smooth, too casual, your tone rehearsed, meant to sound careless. It didn’t.

Rafayel scoffed lightly, a breath through her nose, her voice low. “Left,” she said, like it didn’t matter. “Don’t care, really.”

Something in your chest pinched. It shouldn’t have meant anything—it didn’t mean anything, right? But the relief that bloomed low in your belly was a betrayal.

“Then why are you here?” you asked, forcing your voice light, even though you could already feel the answer in the way her eyes hadn’t left yours since she entered. You turned casually, facing her now.

Her expression shifted—something subtle, something tight. “Where else should I be?” she replied, too casually. “With her?”

The words stung more than they should have. The way she said her, as if to see if it would make you flinch.

“Well,” you said, breath catching, “you seemed to have fun.”

You didn’t say kissing her. You didn’t have to. The implication hung there like smoke.

And maybe she was tipsier than she looked, or maybe just tired of pretending—because her patience snapped like a thread. In one slow, deliberate motion, she moved. Her hands planted on the sink behind you, bracketing your hips, trapping you in place. The cool porcelain kissed your lower back, but her warmth was all you could feel.

Your breath hitched. You didn’t move, frozen in place.

“Is that so?” she murmured, her voice still that maddening blend of amusement and bite, her tone dipped in velvet sarcasm. “Should I turn around and go after her, then?”

You blinked up at her, mouth dry, pulse slamming under your skin.

“If that’s what you want,” you replied, trying to match her tone, to stay calm. Detached. You failed miserably.

Her jaw ticked. You saw it—barely—but it was there. The tension. The shift. “We both know it isn’t.”

Her voice was soft now. Dangerous. Something hot unfurled in your stomach. And maybe you were too far gone to stop yourself. Maybe you were sick of pretending, of folding your feelings into polite silence. Your gaze didn’t waver as you pushed forward—just a little, just enough to press your body into the edge of hers.

“Isn’t it?” you murmured, your voice breathy, drawn out. “Then what do you want?”

The air tightened between you like a wire stretched too thin. Her eyes flicked to your lips, and stayed there.

Your mind stuttered—stalled, really—as your tongue swept instinctively across your lower lip. It was dry, parched from too much heat and tequila, but none of that mattered. Because Rafayel’s eyes followed the motion like a predator watches prey—slow, deliberate, hypnotic.

Amethyst gaze pinned you, and for a moment, she didn’t speak. Just studied you with that cool, unreadable focus, like she was cataloguing your every reaction. And then her eyes flicked back to yours. Still calm. Still controlled. But something deeper swam beneath the surface now—something sharper and searching.

You weren’t sure what she was trying to find. But you were sure she was getting close.

“You’re mad at me,” she said, voice low but steady. It wasn’t a question.

The words caught you off guard. You exhaled sharply, a breath shaped more by instinct than thought. “What?”

Her head tilted slightly, the edge of her lip quirking—not a smile, not quite. “You are. Or at something I did.” her tone held that casual lilt she used so well, but there was an unmistakable note beneath it. Curious. Careful.

Her eyes didn’t waver. And suddenly, it was you who couldn’t look away.

Rafayel was always easy to read if you only skimmed the surface—if you mistook the easy laughter and silky quips for simplicity. Most people did. That was the point. She wore her charm like armor, let it sit between her and the world like a polished mirror—reflecting just enough to keep everyone guessing, never enough to be truly known.

But you had seen the cracks. Little ones. Fleeting moments where the stillness behind her eyes slipped through—the hush between sentences, the breath caught too long, the joke delivered just a beat too late. There was more beneath the act. You knew that. You’d been paying attention.

And right now? Right now, something about her was off-kilter. Just a little. Just enough to make you wonder.

She was trying to sound amused, like this was all beneath her, like your tension and her kissing the girl and the entire night didn’t press down on her like it did on you—but her voice was clipped. Barely. Her posture just a touch too stiff, as if bracing for something she didn’t want to admit.

You swallowed hard.

“I—I’m not mad, really. It’s all good. I’m fine.” The words tumbled from your mouth too quickly, wrapped in a laugh that didn't quite land. It sounded hollow, even to your own ears.

Rafayel didn’t move, didn’t even blink. She only frowned—subtle, but unmistakable. The kind of expression she wore when a painting wasn’t coming together, when something in the lines didn’t sit right. She stayed close, hands braced on either side of the sink, body angled just enough to trap you between cool porcelain and her heat. The bass-heavy music outside was muffled to a distant throb, and so were your racing thoughts—blurred, drowned, fading beneath the pull of her.

She was too close. Too warm. And gods, she smelled good—some soft, citrus-sweet perfume laced with the bite of her cologne, heady enough that it made your knees feel like they were about to buckle. And it didn’t help—didn’t help at all—that your underwear clung uncomfortably between your thighs, soaked from all the tension you’d been pretending didn’t exist.

“Don’t lie.” her voice cut through you, a soft slash of breath, close enough to taste. There was a low burn beneath her tone—frustration maybe, or something messier.

You couldn't even answer. Your eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. The scent of her, the alcohol in your veins, the slow, heavy ache coiled low in your stomach—it all blurred together, leaving you suspended in a moment that was too sharp and too soft at once.

She exhaled. You felt it before you heard it, warm breath ghosting over your neck, and then her head dipped.

Your breath caught. Rafayel nuzzled against the side of your throat, her hair brushing your cheek, her mouth maddeningly close to your pulse. You froze like your body forgot how to function, fingers curling around the edge of the sink to stop yourself from melting into her. She was so close.  And you didn’t move. You couldn’t and didn’t want to. Not even a little.

She breathed you in, slow and deliberate, as though she had every right to, as if this—you—belonged to her in this moment. Her voice came next, low and cool against your skin, tinged with something sharp at the edges. “You smell like him.”

Your teeth sank into your lower lip hard. Anything to stop the sound—small and aching—that crawled up your throat at the sensation of her breath and the implication behind her words.

She dipped lower. Her lips brushed just beneath your jaw—not quite a kiss, not quite not.

“I hate it,” she murmured, each syllable curling against your skin like heat seeping through silk.

You exhaled, ragged and trembling, and hated how much your body liked hearing that.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, the space between you barely more than a breath. Her eyes searched your face like she was reading the strokes of an unfinished painting—and maybe she was. Your cheeks were flushed, lips parted, pupils wide and glassy with something far stronger than alcohol. You weren’t sure what she saw, but whatever it was, it made her breath hitch.

You opened your mouth to speak—to say something, anything that might anchor the moment—but your voice caught in your throat. It didn’t matter. Rafayel was already ahead of you, like she always was.

“Tell me I’m reading too much into this.”

Her voice was soft, low, carried on a breath that smelled faintly of tequila and lime. But that wasn’t what made your heart stutter. It was the way her voice trembled just slightly, like she already knew you couldn’t say it. Like she needed to hear the lie just to stop herself from doing something reckless.

You didn’t lie. You couldn’t. And gods, you wished you could.

You wished you could laugh it off and lean away, say she was being dramatic, ridiculous even. That none of this meant anything. That you hadn’t imagined kissing her before sleep, or catching yourself looking at her lips when she smiled too long, or secretly wondering what her hands would feel like somewhere other than your shoulders.

Your gaze dipped, unthinking, landing on her lips for the first time that night—soft, flushed, parted just enough to let out a shaky exhale that you felt more than heard. And then she kissed you.

Her lips found yours in a kiss that didn’t ask for permission and didn’t offer an apology. It was slow and sensual, but anything but careful. It tasted like tequila and tension and the weeks of aching silence that led to this moment. And when she groaned—deep and low, like something inside her finally snapped—it ripped straight through you.

You didn’t even think. You just kissed her back. Desperately. Hungrily. Your mouth moved against hers like it had been waiting for this, lips parting in sync, like some forgotten rhythm between you had always existed, just waiting to be played.

Your hands braced harder against the sink, just to keep from falling into her.

She groaned again—low and throaty—and her hands left the sink, moving up—fingertips ghosting along your jaw until they cupped your cheeks with startling gentleness. She pulled you closer, her thumbs brushing your skin like she couldn’t believe you were real. Like she needed proof you wouldn’t vanish the second she blinked.

And you—tangled in the press of her mouth, in the heady, breathless sound of her groaning again against your lips—you forgot to breathe. Forgot what had come before. Forgot everything except the heat and the taste and the terrifying, impossible truth that you had never kissed anyone like this before.

Her tongue brushed yours in a slow, deliberate sweep, and you let her in—mouth parting wider, surrendering with a need that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with her. The taste of tequila lingered faintly on her breath, but it was drowned out by something far headier. Her.

She moaned low against your mouth, the sound shameless and unfiltered, vibrating down your spine like a fever you couldn’t sweat out. One hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, fingers weaving through your hair with startling tenderness, anchoring you to her like she was afraid you might vanish. The other found your waist—barely a touch at first, her fingertips grazing your skin as if testing a boundary.

And then she felt your response—how your body arched into hers, how the quiet moan slipped from your throat unbidden—and her grip tightened. Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of your top, pressing more firmly now, claiming a small patch of skin at your hip and drawing slow, lazy circles. Teasing. Cruel.

You whimpered softly into her mouth, your knees wobbling under the weight of sensation. Your body was on fire—alive and trembling with the kind of ache that only grew sharper with every restrained touch.

She broke the kiss without warning, just far enough to drink you in—eyes half-lidded and impossibly dark, lips slick and parted, her breathing uneven.

And then she leaned back in. But this time, she didn’t go for your lips. Instead, she pressed languid, wet kisses to your jaw, down the delicate slope of your neck, pausing to taste you there—each kiss slower than the last, as though savoring something forbidden. Your fingers finally moved, one curling over the slope of her shoulder, the other slipping into the silky strands at the back of her head. She groaned the moment you tugged gently, her breath stuttering against your throat.

“Should I stop?”

The question slipped out like a whisper into your skin—soft, genuine, but thick with the kind of anticipation that made your whole body tense. Her voice was low, edged in something too raw to name, though her mouth never stilled against your neck.

You swallowed hard, a shallow breath trembling past your lips as you whispered back, “No.”

Your voice barely carried in the thick air of the bathroom, which no longer felt cold. Heat clung to your skin now, to every press of her mouth and drag of her hands. When she bit softly at your neck—just enough to leave the faintest sting—you couldn’t help the broken sound that escaped you.

She cursed against your skin. “Fuck.”

Her hands shifted, gripping your hips with firmer intent now, and in the next moment, you found yourself on top of the sink, her body between your thighs like it had always belonged there. Your legs parted automatically, mindlessly, aching for her. For more.

Her mouth stayed busy at your throat, leaving a trail of heat behind each kiss. Your chest rose and fell against hers, both of you breathing too fast now, too uneven. And then—slowly, deliberately—her hand began to move. From your waist, up, under your top, her fingers grazing the soft skin of your stomach before gliding higher, stopping just beneath the swell of your breast.

But she didn’t touch you fully. Her lips hovered near your ear, her voice a breathy tease, barely there. ��Still okay with this?”

The smirk was in her tone, not her words, the way it always was with her. Playful. Dangerous. And gods, it made your head spin.

You’d had enough of standing still—of letting her overwhelm you with every brush of her mouth, every slow, torturous touch that left you trembling but never quite satisfied.

 So you moved. Your hands gripped her sides, fingers digging in just enough to earn a startled gasp, and then you pushed her back—not far, just enough to free your mouth from her neck—and kissed her. Hard. Messy. Desperate.

Rafayel made a surprised sound in the back of her throat, but she didn’t hesitate. Her lips crushed back against yours with even more heat, more hunger. A moan vibrated against your mouth as your hands slid up to find her waist, pulling her closer like your body had given up trying to pretend it didn’t need her.

She tasted like tequila and temptation, like something you shouldn’t crave but did anyway. Her thumb slipped beneath the edge of your bra, a gentle graze beneath the soft fabric, and you let out a louder moan—unable to bite it back. Your back arched just slightly, your body leaning into her like it had always belonged there.

She broke the kiss again, just enough to look at you, and the sight of her knocked the breath from your lungs. Lips slick and dark with your kiss, eyes glassy with something that looked far too much like want. She was staring at you like she wanted to devour you and say something all at once—but couldn't quite choose which came first.

You stood there, panting, waiting.

“How about we leave?” she asked, breath rough around the edges, her voice low but tight with tension. Her eyes stayed fixed on yours, searching, like she wasn’t sure if she’d crossed some invisible line.

The words barely registered. Leave? Did she mean stop? Did she regret this? The high from her touch crashed for a moment, and something cold crept into your chest. You blinked at her, uncertain, the confusion—and flicker of hurt—no doubt plain on your face.

She saw it. Because she swore under her breath, quietly, like cursing herself, and pulled you into another kiss—not as desperate this time, but slow and full, like she was trying to erase the doubt from your mind one brush of her lips at a time.

Her mouth hovered against yours when she finally spoke again, breath ghosting over your lips. “I meant,” she said with a soft exhale, her thumb still dragging tender circles beneath your bra, “do you want to leave the party?”

The knot in your chest unraveled just enough for your breath to come again. She wasn’t running from this. If anything, she wanted more.

Your head tipped back slightly, eyes fluttering closed for a beat as the heat between you pulsed. She wanted to go—but with you. And that meant something.

You nodded. Rafayel stepped back, but only enough for you to slip down from the sink. Her gaze never left you, her expression unreadable except for the storm still smoldering behind her eyes.

Then, without a word, her hand reached out. Fingers brushed yours. And when you didn’t flinch, didn’t question it, she laced them together—slowly, deliberately, as if it meant something she couldn’t say aloud.

You blinked at her, startled by the tenderness of it. But she only squeezed your hand once and then tugged you toward the door, her grip firm and warm, pulling you with her into whatever came next.

You slipped through the crowd like a shadow half-formed, the bass thudding through your bones while laughter and glass and bodies collided around you in drunken rhythm. But the party had already faded into something distant, something irrelevant. Your body moved, but your mind was caught somewhere else—still trapped in the heat of that bathroom, in the way her mouth had claimed yours without hesitation, the brush of her hands beneath your clothes, the moan she pulled from you like it belonged to her.

You could still feel it—her breath on your neck, the ghost of her lips on your jaw. It had set something off in you, something deeper than just want. Now every heartbeat was a slow, deliberate ache. Every step you took was soaked in memory.

And maybe it was the alcohol—or maybe it was just you—but now your mind wouldn’t shut up. What if she regretted it? What if she laughed it off in the morning? What if she chalked it up to tequila and impulse and said it was all just fun?

Your stomach twisted as the cab pulled away from the curb, the world outside rushing past in streaks of color and noise. You barely remembered getting in. You didn’t remember climbing out. All you really remembered was the weight of Rafayel’s hand wrapped around yours the whole time—loose, like a secret.

The next thing you knew, the door to your dorm swung shut behind you with a soft click, and you were suddenly, startlingly, alone with her.

Your back hit the door gently, not rough but sure. Her hands found your waist like they belonged there, and her mouth was on yours before you could say a word.

You moaned into the kiss, reflexively, helplessly, as your hands scrambled for purchase on her shoulders. She tasted like everything you remembered—mint, liquor, and something darker, something sweet and a little dangerous. Her lips moved with an ease that made it feel like she’d kissed you a hundred times before. Like she’d always meant to.

The music was gone now. The noise. The lights. It was just her.

Her fingers slipped beneath your top again—more confident this time, more deliberate—and your breath caught in your throat. Your cardigan was long gone, abandoned somewhere at the party, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the heat of her hands on your bare skin and the way she kissed you like she’d been starving for it all night.

Rafayel pulled back just enough to look at you—your chest rising and falling with shallow, trembling breaths, lips parted, eyes glazed with heat and hesitation. The soft lamplight caught the sheen of sweat along your neck, the flushed curve of your cheek. You could feel her gaze as much as see it, dragging over you like silk and fire.

“You’re overthinking,” she murmured, low and taut, as if the words strained something in her to say them aloud.

There was no mockery in her tone. No teasing, no sharp smirk tugging at her mouth. If anything, she sounded… disappointed. No, not at you—at the fact that you were still doubting any of this. That you were still somewhere else when she was right here, touching you like she meant it.

Your eyes met hers in the dim, flickering light, and your voice escaped before your mind could catch it. “Do you really want this?” The question came out softer than you meant, like it had been buried too long under your skin.

The second it left your mouth, you saw something flicker across her expression. Her mouth parted, her brows twitched. And then she kissed you hard.

No hesitation this time. Just heat and teeth and hands gripping tighter at your waist like she couldn’t stand the distance for even a breath longer. You moaned, unable to help it, your thighs clenching at the sheer intensity of it. Her lips left yours only to trail down, hungry and wet, over your jaw, your neck, drawing breathy, helpless sounds from you with every flick of her tongue and every scrape of her teeth.

“Fuck, you don’t get it.” The words broke from her between kisses, between open-mouthed groans against your throat. Then her teeth sank into your skin in a sharp bite that made your gasp twist into something closer to a whimper. “You really don’t get how much—”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Maybe she couldn’t. 

Instead, she sucked hard on the sensitive skin just below your ear, her breath hot and shaking against your pulse. Your back was pressed harder to the door now, the chill of it clashing with the fever crawling up your spine, and when her thigh pressed between yours—just the barest graze of her knee through your jeans—you shudderedloudly, unapologetically. And Rafayel noticed.

“Oh?” Her voice dropped, amused and hoarse, and she rocked her leg forward just a little, testing. The friction hit you perfectly, and your moan escaped before you could swallow it down. 

“Yeah,” she breathed into your skin, dragging her hands slowly up your ribs, fingertips brushing the curve of your bra. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long… Should I spell it out for you?”

You gasped as her hands wandered beneath your top, sliding heat across your stomach, your ribs. Her knee pressed upward again, slow and rhythmic now, making your breath catch every time. Her lips brushed your ear, voice like velvet frayed at the edges.

“I didn’t think you were into girls,” she murmured, not accusing—just raw. “So I never assumed. Never pushed.”

Her honesty made something twist and unravel inside you. You whimpered, your hips involuntarily rocking into the press of her leg, desperate for more. “Fuck, Raf…”

At the sound of her name falling from your lips like that—high, breathy, desperate—she groaned low in her throat, almost feral, and buried her face against your shoulder.

“God. Don’t say my name like that.” She sounded ruined, hungry. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you moan.”

She pulled back just far enough to look at you, and her eyes were dark now, wide with heat, pupils blown open so much you could barely see the violet. And yet still, she held back. Still, she waited.

You reached for her with shaking fingers, dragging her mouth back to yours, and when you kissed her this time, it wasn’t messy—it was needy.

“Touch me more,” you whispered into her lips, the words trembling but no longer shy. “Please.”

And Rafayel smiled against your mouth—slow and wicked and almost reverent. Like she’d been waiting to hear that forever.

Her fingers ghosted up your sides with the hem of your top, a silent question written in the brush of her knuckles. You answered without a word, arms lifting, spine arching just enough to let her pull it over your head and toss it aside. The cool air kissed your skin, goosebumps rising—but it was nothing compared to the way she looked at you.

You barely had time to register her expression before her hands found the clasp of your bra, undoing it in one smooth, practiced motion, as if she’d been waiting for this—planning for this.

The garment slid off your shoulders, and the sharp inhale she took was almost a reverent sound. Her gaze raked over you slowly, hunger simmering beneath the surface, but her face stayed calm—composed in that way only Rafayel could manage, even when her eyes were dark with want.

Then her tongue swept out across her lips, and that composure cracked just a little.

One hand slid to your lower back, splaying wide as she coaxed you into a gentle arch beneath her. The moment your spine lifted from the door, she leaned in—slow and deliberate—her mouth closing around one of your nipples with a sigh that sent shivers down your legs.

Your cry wasn’t gentle. It ripped out of you, half-moan, half-shock, because God, she was good at this. Her tongue swirled with maddening precision, the suction just enough to send your head spinning, and all the while—all the while—her knee was still pressing between your legs, a rhythmic pressure you were beginning to lose your mind to.

She didn’t say anything as your hips bucked, as you instinctively arched further into her mouth, chasing more friction, more heat. But she could feel it. She could feel the desperation coiled tight in your body, the way you trembled against her, the wet heat pulsing against her thigh.

And then she smiled. “Let me take care of you, cutie.”

The pet name sounded devastatingly different now—lower, huskier, laced with something far more dangerous than teasing. You whimpered at the sound of it, and that was all she needed.

She pulled back, lips slick, eyes half-lidded as she took your hand and led you to the bed without letting go. The sheets felt impossibly soft against your back, though you barely registered the texture. All you could feel was her—her body following yours, her presence crawling into every heated breath, every flutter in your chest.

She climbed over you, slow and deliberate, straddling your hips like she owned them. And maybe, in that moment, she did. Your hands reached for her on instinct, dragging her down into a kiss that stole what little breath you had left. She moaned softly into it—low and approving—and let her weight settle just enough between your legs to draw another shaky gasp from you.

One arm braced beside your head while the other moved with aching care—from your jaw, down the line of your throat, pausing at your breast where her fingers cupped and lifted it again. Her thumb brushed teasingly over the sensitive peak, eyes locked on yours with a gaze that felt like it could split you open.

She looked so beautiful above you—hair mussed, cheeks flushed, lips slick from your skin—and it finally hit you. This was really happening. She was really here, and the way her fingers pinched your nipple made your back arch with a soft, broken mewl.

Her breath stuttered. She cursed under it, lips dragging featherlight over your ear. “If you want to stop, just tell me.”

The words were quiet, serious in a way most things from Rafayel weren’t. Not a challenge. Not a tease. Just a line drawn for you to cross—or not.

But you didn’t even think. You turned your head, brushed your lips against hers in the barest whisper of a kiss, and exhaled the only answer she needed.

“Don’t stop.” And she didn’t.

Her mouth drifted from your lips to your neck with a slow, languid hunger, her tongue tracing heat into the skin before her lips sealed over your pulse. She sucked gently, just enough to make you squirm beneath her, and her fingers—still twisting and teasing your nipple—coaxed another arch from your body.

The reaction pulled a low, amused chuckle from her throat. It wasn’t mocking—no, it was rich and indulgent, laced with satisfaction, like the sound of someone savoring something rare and sweet. That soft laugh alone sent a shiver down your spine.

Her kisses trailed lower, dipping to your clavicle, then further down to the curve of your breast. She drew a slow mark there, a small bruise blooming under the press of her mouth, and all the while her eyes were locked on yours—watching your face the way an artist watches canvas for the first flicker of color. Like she was memorizing your reactions with every brush of her lips.

You gasped sharply when her mouth wrapped around your other nipple, tongue circling with slow, unrelenting attention. The stimulation was too much, too good—you moaned helplessly, hips twitching beneath her. And then she bit, just enough to sting, just enough to make your whole body jolt. Her lips came off with a soft, wet pop.

“You’re so responsive,” she murmured, voice breathy and low, slipping through her smirk like silk.

The words shouldn’t have made you clench your thighs tighter around her hips, but they did. God, they did. And her expression told you she felt it too—the little twitch of pressure, the way your body answered hers without hesitation.

Her hand released your breast and glided up, fingertips brushing the side of your neck before curling around the back of it, pulling you up into her again. You met her halfway, mouths colliding in a kiss that was nothing short of messy—wet, open, tongues tangled and gasps shared between breaths. Your hand buried itself in her lavender hair, pulling gently, and the sound she made—somewhere between a moan and a sigh—told you exactly how much she liked that.

It gave you the confidence to push further. Your other hand crept under the hem of her shirt, finally tracing the warmth of her skin. Her stomach tensed at your touch, a soft intake of breath breaking between your lips. So you bit down gently on her bottom lip, teasing her, and the groan that rumbled in her chest made your skin burn.

You flipped the script, trailing kisses down the elegant column of her neck, finally tasting her skin for yourself. She tilted her head for you almost instinctively, one hand sliding up into your hair as your mouth placed open, wet kisses along her pulse.

“Mm… you’re learning fast,” she whispered near your cheek, her voice a little breathless now, a little ragged. “Playing now, aren't we, cutie?”

The pet name dripped like wine from her lips—warm, familiar, possessive. And the way she moaned again when you sucked softly at the base of her throat told you she wasn’t in control anymore—not entirely. Not when your lips were on her. Not when your fingers were drawing slow paths over her stomach, your body pressed so close she could feel every throb of heat between your legs.

You smiled against her skin, feeling bold, tasting the edges of power between the pleasure.

“Then stop me,” you murmured.

“Oh, god…” The words slipped from her lips as you sucked at her throat, and she tilted her head back, baring more skin to you like an offering.

You didn’t hesitate. Your mouth grew bolder, lips and tongue trailing the delicate line of her neck. When you found the tender spot just beneath her ear—where her pulse fluttered wildly—she mewled softly above you, hips stuttering against yours.

That sound alone made something coil tight in your stomach.

And yet, the jealousy still lingered, bitter and stubborn, crawling up your throat despite how close she was—despite how she moaned for you. 

You murmured against her skin, barely louder than your breath. “You still smell like that girl.”

The words were petty, broken by the way you were panting, but they slipped out anyway—half-buried beneath heat and insecurity. Your lips didn’t stop moving, even as you said it.

You felt her stiffen slightly, just enough to notice, but before she could speak—before she could twist the moment with one of her glib, too-clever remarks—you pushed her back. Not hard, but enough to make her shift off you, her expression flickering between confusion and hurt.

She probably thought you were done. But then you moved, closing the distance in one heartbeat—both of you now on your knees on the bed, facing each other in the low light. Your hands reached for the hem of her shirt, fingers curling around it in silent question. You didn’t look at her face—you couldn’t—but you waited all the same.

A beat passed. Then another. And then she chuckled, soft and breathless. She caught your hands in hers, her smirk lazy, eyes dark and gleaming. There was hunger in her gaze now—no mask, no teasing deflection. Just want.

She guided your hands upward, slow and steady, raising her shirt inch by inch until it caught beneath her arms and revealed the smooth line of her torso, the swell of her breasts rising in the cradle of her black bra.

“You can touch me as much as you want,” she said, her voice husky with desire.

It wanted to be playful, light—but she was breathless now, too, cheeks flushed deep rose, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven waves. Her bravado was starting to crack under the weight of what was building between you. Still, she held your gaze like a dare.

And god, you wanted to rise to it. Your fingers trembled slightly as you touched her again, this time more boldly—fingertips trailing up her sides, mapping the heat of her skin like it might vanish if you didn’t memorize it. Her muscles tensed under your touch, but she didn’t stop you. She only leaned in closer, her lips brushing your ear in a whisper that sent shivers crawling down your spine.

“But if you're going to be jealous,” she murmured, her voice like honey and smoke, “you’ll have to make it up to me.”

Your eyes locked with hers again, breath catching at the flush coloring her cheeks, the way her lips were slightly parted like she couldn’t quite catch her breath. And gods, you didn’t think you’d ever see her like this—eyes blown wide with want, shoulders heaving, trembling slightly under your touch.

Not unless it was in one of your daydreams.

But this wasn’t a dream, and the smirk that tugged at your lips said as much. You exhaled slowly, pushing her shirt higher, watching her shift to help you pull it over her head. She stripped it off in one smooth, sinuous motion—and the second it was gone, her hands cupped the sides of your face and dragged you into a kiss like she couldn’t stand another second of not having you.

There was no room for hesitation anymore. Your arms slid around her waist, drawing her in, your fingers fumbling slightly with the strap of her bra until she groaned softly against your mouth. The sound made your stomach flip, heat blooming in every nerve. You undid the clasp, finally, and she shrugged out of it without fanfare, tossing it somewhere behind her as if it didn’t matter in the slightest.

And then she pulled you close, fully. Her bare chest pressed against yours, breasts soft and warm, and the sudden friction of your nipples brushing made you gasp into her mouth. You moaned, loud and sharp, the sensation too much and yet not enough. You kept moving, chasing it, rubbing instinctively against her with every shift of your hips.

Rafayel swallowed every sound you gave her like they belonged to her. Her hands slid lower—waist, hips, then finally settling at the curve of your ass, fingers splaying with intent. She didn’t squeeze yet. Just held you there. Let you move.

“Oh, God… this is—” you couldn’t finish. The words fell apart on your tongue, dissolved into breathless moans and whimpers that clung to her mouth like a prayer.

But Rafayel understood anyway. She pressed a kiss just beneath your jaw, her voice a murmur against your skin, rough with restrained want. “Feels good, yeah?”

You barely managed a nod before she shifted again, lowering herself into the pillows and pulling you over her, guiding you until your thighs framed her waist. You followed without thought, lips finding hers once more as your body molded into hers.

Your bare chests slid together with every kiss, every stolen breath, nipples brushing with every movement, and you swore you could drown in it.

Rafayel’s hands moved again, one braced at your hip while the other guided you gently, deliberately, rocking you forward against her. The friction of denim against the soaked fabric of your panties made you whine, hips moving before you could think.

“God, just like that…” she whispered, her tone soft but frayed with heat. Her eyes were half-lidded, hooded with dark want, watching the way your body moved atop hers.

The rhythm was slow, torturous, your body begging for more even as you clung to the delicious tension. And Rafayel—of course—was content to take her time.

“Don’t rush, cutie…” she breathed, her hands tightening just slightly on your hips as you rolled against her. “I want to feel you come apart right here.”

And the way she said it—low, sultry, like she already knew she had you—you moaned again, desperate, undone, pressing yourself closer like you could melt into her.

You couldn't stop the tremble that rippled through your body—couldn't bite back the moan that spilled from your lips, raw and unfiltered, as your hips rocked instinctively against her. The friction, maddening and just shy of enough, made your breath catch in your throat. You were moving without thought now, lost to the slow rhythm, chasing the edge she kept you dancing along.

Rafayel watched you like you were a painting coming to life. Her eyes were wide and heavy-lidded, fixed to your every movement like she didn’t dare blink. Her gaze trailed from the flush on your cheeks to the way your parted lips trembled with each breath, and when your eyes met hers—hazy and hungry—it was like something in her unraveled entirely.

“You are so gorgeous like this,” she murmured, her voice a breathless rasp, reverent and frayed. “I’ve imagined you on top of me so many times… trembling in my arms, taking whatever you wanted from me.”

There was no flippant edge to her tone—no teasing remark to soften the blow. Just pure, unfiltered desire, spoken like a confession pulled from the deepest part of her.

Your lips parted in surprise, teeth catching your bottom lip as your hips rolled again, slower this time. The words lingered in your mind like a spark catching fire, and your body answered for you—a low whimper escaping you as your head dropped to her shoulder.

“Fuck,” she hissed, her breath shuddering as you moved just right, her fingers digging into the curve of your ass like she was trying not to lose herself completely. “Just like that…”

You lifted your head, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “What else did you imagine?” you whispered, your voice low and velvet-soft as you pressed a kiss beneath her jaw, then another just beneath her ear.

She shivered beneath you. Your teeth found a patch of skin there, nipping lightly. She cursed under her breath and pulled you tighter against her, her nails scraping lightly over the back of your thigh.

“I imagined a lot,” she said finally, her voice barely above a breath—hushed and almost pained from how much she wanted you. “But most of all… I wanted to make you feel good. So good you’d forget anything that wasn’t me.”

Her hands guided your hips once more, the drag of your clothed core against her thigh making you moan again, your forehead resting against hers.

“I want to taste you so badly,” she whispered, lips brushing yours, voice shaking with restraint. “You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about it.”

And the way she said it—like it was both a sin and a promise—you knew you'd never forget it.

You kept grinding down on her thigh, caught in a rhythm that made it hard to breathe, let alone think. Every roll of your hips drew a sound from her that echoed your own—low, drawn-out moans that vibrated between your bodies like shared heat. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, not really, but that didn’t stop you. The haze was thick in your head, and you were bold with it—your fingers drifting upward, cupping one of her breasts before gently pinching her nipple between them.

She groaned at that—deep and wrecked—and bit down against your neck, just enough to make you gasp. Her voice came like a breath dragged through smoke, rasped and dripping with need. “Fuck, cutie…”

The pet name, usually tossed out like a lazy tease, sounded ruined now—like it barely held together under how much she wanted you.

Her grip on your hips tightened, possessive and unyielding, guiding your rhythm until your movements faltered—until you trembled in her arms, thighs quivering from the edge you were so close to spilling over.

Then she stilled you. You whimpered, lips parted in confusion and want, but she was already watching you—eyes dark and greedy, lips wet and slightly swollen from the way you'd kissed her. Her tongue darted out to wet them again as she leaned closer, her voice lower now, almost reverent.

“Let me taste you,” she murmured, like it was both a plea and a promise.

The words landed like a spark to dry kindling, and you cursed without thinking—your hips jerking slightly as a soft, involuntary mewl slipped from you. You hated how easy she made you fall apart. But Rafayel—oh, she lived for it. She heard that sound and smiled like someone who’d just won something expensive and rare.

She didn’t wait for a clearer answer. She didn’t need to. That sound had said everything.

In one smooth movement, she eased you off her lap, laying you back against the mattress, your legs trembling beneath her. She kissed you once—slow and deep, like a promise sealed—and then began her descent.

Her lips traced a path down your body, unhurried, leaving a burning trail behind. When she reached your stomach, she paused to mouth at the skin there, teasing you with just her breath, her fingers already working open the button of your jeans. You squirmed beneath her, more plea than protest, your hands fisting in the sheets when her touch ghosted just above your waistband.

“God, you're so eager,” she murmured with a soft laugh—half groan, half worship.

You couldn't help the soft, desperate mewl that slipped from your lips as her mouth pressed warm and slow against your stomach.

“Please…” your voice was trembling, cracked open with need. “I need to come so badly.”

That made her groan—low and deep in her throat, like she felt it everywhere. Her eyes found yours, sharp and dark and glittering with heat. Your jeans were already undone, her fingers slipping under the waistband with a confidence that made your breath hitch.

She leaned back just enough to give herself space, voice dipping into something rough and coaxing. “Can you lift your hips for me, cutie?”

You didn’t even wait for the end of her sentence. Your hips were in the air before she could finish, shameless in your need. She chuckled, clearly pleased with the response, and eased your jeans down your legs, slow and deliberate, like she wanted to savor the sight of you. When they were gone, she sat back on her heels for a moment, her gaze sweeping down your body until it landed on the soaked fabric clinging to you.

“Fuck…” she breathed, more to herself than to you. And then, with a sinful sort of reverence, she lowered herself between your thighs, settling there like she was made to live in that exact place.

Her fingers brushed softly along your inner thighs, featherlight, until she pressed her lips to the skin there in a kiss that burned. You trembled beneath her.

“Good girl,” she murmured against your thigh, her voice all velvet and heat. “You’re so wet for me. Look at you.”

You gasped, the compliment hitting somewhere deeper than it should’ve. Your eyes fluttered open, and you looked down to find her already staring up at you—absolutely breathtaking in that moment, all lavender hair and flushed cheeks, a little smug, a little reverent, and still entirely her. That knowing look in her eyes, like she already had your body memorized.

“Don’t tease,” you whispered, voice cracking as your hips shifted, desperate. “Fuck, Raf…”

She didn’t answer right away, just leaned in and pressed her mouth to the inside of your thigh, her lips parting slightly against it in a kiss that was all promise and no relief. You arched into it, chasing the pressure, needing more—but she didn’t give in just yet.

Another kiss, this one slower. Her breath just barely fanned out, teasing the wet fabric like she could draw pleasure from just that alone. 

Instead of diving in, she lingered—her lips barely brushing your thigh, her voice murmuring against your skin like a secret she didn’t mean to say out loud.

“I suppose,” she said softly, breath ghosting over the damp heat of your panties, “you’ve never done this before?”

The question made your breath catch, heart pounding against your ribs. But it wasn’t the question itself—it was the way she asked it. Casual, almost curious. But the flick of her tongue on her teeth and the quiet tension in her grip gave her away.

You swallowed down your nerves and found your voice, trying for nonchalance despite the way your hips were already twitching beneath her. “I—I mean, I’ve been eaten out by guys before.”

And then it happened. Her teeth grazed your inner thigh before she bit—just hard enough to make you jolt, your back arching in startled pleasure. A shocked moan ripped from your throat, the sting of it sharp and gone too quickly, replaced by the soft kiss she pressed to the mark.

She didn’t say anything for a beat. But when she finally spoke, her voice dropped—low, rough, and undeniably tinged with something else. Not quite irritation. Something darker, hotter.

“Yeah?” she muttered, mouth brushing the edge of your underwear, warm breath curling over you. “Did they make you come?” a pause. “Or did you fake it and let them believe they were gods?”

You didn’t have the breath to respond. Not when she kissed you there again, firmer this time, lips pressing right where you were wettest through the fabric. A desperate whine slipped from you, hips buckling up, chasing her mouth. Her fingers flexed against your thighs, holding you down.

She noticed. Of course she did. Rafayel always noticed everything. A low chuckle vibrated from her throat, rich and pleased. “Mm. Thought so.”

You tried to wriggle against her again, but she just hummed, amused and maddeningly patient.

There was something possessive about her now—the way she held you open, the way she stared at you like you were hers already, like the thought of someone else touching you had no business existing in the same universe.

And god, that shouldn’t have made you wetter. But it did.  Her tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe up the center of your panties, and your entire body jolted with it.

“Let me show you how it’s done, hm?” her voice was honeyed and edged with heat, like she was already drunk on the thought of making you unravel.

“F-fuck—please,” you gasped, your fingers fisting the sheets. “I can’t take this anymore…”

She smiled against you. You didn’t see it, but you felt it. The smirk in the press of her lips. The delight in your desperation.

“You’ll take it,” she whispered. “You’ll take all of it, cutie.”

Her tongue only flicked against the soaked fabric a few times—lazy, exploratory laps that made your hips twitch and your breath stutter—before she drew back with a sound of quiet approval. Then her fingers slipped in, graceful and deliberate, hooking into the waistband of your panties. She tugged them down in one smooth pull, dragging the damp material down your thighs with a casual ease that made your face burn.

You barely had time to register the chill of air against your soaked heat before she was back between your legs—settling like she belonged there, like she had all the time in the world to ruin you.

And then she licked. Not gently. Not teasing anymore. Her tongue found your clit with startling precision, a firm lap that tore a cry straight from your throat. Your whole body jolted from the shock of it, your thighs trembling around her shoulders before you could even catch your breath.

Rafayel hummed against you, and you felt her smirk before you saw it—low, smug, utterly pleased with herself. The sound vibrated against your core, and your hands flew to her hair, fingers tangling in those soft lavender strands without thinking. She let out a low, satisfied moan at the sensation, the noise sinking straight into your spine.

Her eyes flicked up at you as her tongue dragged slowly through your folds—watching you unravel, cataloging every twitch, every gasp. You were utterly at her mercy, and she knew it.

Your hips jerked again, chasing more, desperate now. Needy.

“God, please—” you gasped, barely aware you were even speaking. “Raf…”

She didn’t answer with words. She just wrapped her lips around your clit and sucked. Sharp. Gentle. Then again. Alternating between soft licks and firmer suction, her rhythm unhurried but devastating. Every movement was maddening in how precise it felt, like she had mapped you already, like she knew exactly how to make you fall apart.

Your thighs tried to clamp around her again, body trembling under the weight of pleasure, but her hands slid up to pin your hips down with a firm, almost lazy pressure.

“Oh,” she murmured against you, breaking only long enough to flick her tongue again, “don’t rush me.”

And then she went back to it—lips hot and wet and relentless.

You choked on a moan, the pressure building so fast it was dizzying. She was too good. Too controlled. And you were already starting to lose that control entirely.

Your eyes rolled back as a moan tore loose from your throat, raw and helpless. Your spine arched sharply off the bed, every nerve lit up with pure, unfiltered need. Your hands fisted tighter in Rafayel’s hair, tugging with desperate abandon—and the low, wrecked moan she let out in response vibrated straight into you, reverberating deep where you were already aching.

That sound alone made your legs tremble.

Her mouth didn’t falter—if anything, she seemed to thrive on it. On the way you bucked under her. On the way you gasped her name like a curse, like a prayer.

“Ohhh, fuck—I'm gonna…fuck, I’m close—” The words tumbled out of you, breathless and broken, your chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm.

She heard you, and the glint in her eyes was nothing short of devilish. Without warning, her tongue slid down again, past your clit, sinking into you with aching precision. The wet, sinful press of it made your hips jerk violently. The cry that left you was strangled and high, your thighs clenching helplessly around her.

It was everything. The alcohol. The hours of want. The month of unbearable tension. All of it unraveled in that moment, snapping loose inside you like a breaking tide.

You shattered. Your body convulsed against her mouth, trembling hard with every aftershock as your orgasm crested and crashed through you in violent waves. You cried out again, her name caught somewhere between a sob and a moan, the pleasure dizzying and all-consuming.

Your fingers curled in her hair, pulling hard enough that it should’ve hurt—but Rafayel didn’t even flinch. If anything, she moaned into you again, low and satisfied, drawing the last of your climax from your body with slow, languid strokes of her tongue.

Her eyes found yours as she coaxed you through it—hazy, heat-drunk, dark with something unspoken. Possessive. Worshipful.

You were panting hard, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven heaves, your head tipped back against the pillow, eyes fluttering with the aftershocks that hadn’t yet let you go. Your whole body trembled in the aftermath, legs still parted and twitching from oversensitivity, when Rafayel finally pulled away with a low, throaty groan.

She dragged her mouth up the center of your body in slow, reverent motion, every kiss damp and lingering. By the time she reached your lips again, she was breathing just as hard—flushed, wrecked, utterly drunk on you.

And when her mouth met yours, it was desperate. You could taste yourself on her tongue, unmistakable and intoxicating, and the sound you made was high and helpless, a soft, mewling whimper that only spurred her further. Her hand slid low, fingers trailing with purpose as she kissed you again—wet, open, claiming. Then lower still.

She found you again—sensitive, pulsing—and her fingers dipped between your slick folds. You whimpered into her kiss, jerking slightly as she teased, barely brushing before slipping one finger inside you with practiced ease.

“Fuck, yes,” she whispered against your mouth, voice completely wrecked, a low rasp that made your core tighten again. “You were so good, cutie… tasted so sweet…”

The endearment curled something in your chest. You barely had time to react before she slid in deeper and pressed another kiss to your jaw, her hips shifting against yours with aching restraint.

“God, you're so tight,” she groaned, her voice almost delirious now. “Perfect. Just… taking everything I give you like you were made for it.”

You moaned, arching into her, your hands rising to curl around the back of her neck, pulling her close. Your breasts pressed together again, soft friction that made you gasp. You bit at her jaw, trembling when she added another finger, and your thighs clenched instinctively around her hips.

“R-Raf…I don’t—” your voice broke as her fingers curled deep, finding a spot inside you that made your entire body jolt. Your back arched off the bed, your mouth falling open with a soft cry. Her eyes lit up, wild and hungry, pleased with the raw honesty of your reaction.

“Mhmm… right there, huh?” she breathed, and then she bent to your throat, sucking at the skin until you knew you’d wear the mark tomorrow. Her voice was smug, but beneath it, there was something gentler—wrecked and tender at once.

“You don’t… what, baby?” she murmured, her tongue flicking against your pulse as her fingers pumped into you, steady and unrelenting.

You fought for breath, the build rising again too quickly, and the words came out ragged, half-whimpered between gasps. “I’ve never… done this before. With a woman. So I… I don’t know…”

You didn’t need to finish. Her rhythm slowed slightly, and for the first time since her mouth had touched you, she paused—just enough to lean back and meet your eyes.

Even through the haze, her expression shifted. Something warm and sincere flickered across her face, quieting the rougher edge of her desire. Her voice softened, low and careful, like she didn’t want to break you open any more than she already had.

“Hey,” she murmured, brushing her nose along your cheek. “You don’t have to know. I’m not here for that.”

You blinked up at her, lips parted, your walls clenching around her fingers at the intimacy of her words—at the way she held you, not just with her body but in the space between each breath.

“I just want to make you feel good, yeah?” she whispered. “We don’t have to go any further. Don’t worry your pretty head.”

The tenderness gutted you more than anything else had tonight. Not the pleasure, not the kisses—this. The way she looked at you like you were fragile and beautiful and deserving of being held right there, in that ache.

You didn’t have to answer aloud. You kissed her instead. And Rafayel kissed you like she’d wait as long as you needed.

You wanted more—more of her, more of this—but somewhere between the rise of your hips and the way your chest heaved for breath, a flicker of doubt stole in. It slipped uninvited into your bloodstream, quiet but sharp, and your brows knit slightly without meaning to.

What if she didn’t enjoy this? What if the idea of you—new, unsure, trembling beneath her—wasn’t enough?

That frown tugged at your lips, not quite erasing the lust in your eyes, but softening it with something fragile, something you couldn’t quite hide.

Rafayel saw it immediately. Her fingers were still moving inside you—slow, curling, coaxing moans from your throat without effort—but her attention locked on your face, and her expression shifted. Not annoyed. Not even impatient. Just—pained. A little wrecked.

“Fuck,” she breathed, eyes dark as she leaned in closer, her forehead falling gently against yours. Her voice was ragged, husky at the edges, full of tension that vibrated just under her skin. “Don’t look like that, cutie. Please.”

Her lashes fluttered, brushing against her cheeks as she exhaled—long and shaky. “I want you. So fucking badly I can barely hold back. But you’ve never done this before and I—” she faltered, voice dipping, “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to overwhelm you. So don’t… don’t think I’m hesitating because I don’t want this.”

She opened her eyes again, and they were raw with restraint, amethyst depths burning with barely leashed desire. “The problem is I want this too much.”

The vulnerability in her voice pierced something inside you. You leaned up instinctively, closing the space between your lips, catching her mouth in a kiss that was soft but certain—an answer. A promise.

When you pulled back, your breath was warm against her cheek. “I’ve wanted you for months,” you murmured, the words falling out like truth finally unshackled. “Please… take me, Rafayel. I need you.”

You looked up at her then, a little hesitant, the edge of uncertainty still there. “But if my inexperience is going to be a problem, we can stop. I don’t want to ruin this for you.”

Her reaction was immediate. A groan, almost guttural, tore from her throat, and then her mouth was on yours again—hard, hungry, desperate in a way that made your toes curl and your fingers cling to her back.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered between kisses, every word landing like a vow. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

Another kiss. Fierce. Dizzying.

“I don’t care in the slightest,” she breathed, and this time her voice was shaking with how much she meant it. “Fuck, I want you. All of you.”

And the way she looked at you, like she’d been starving for you and had only now been allowed to taste. There was nothing performative about it. No pretending. No pressure. Just Rafayel wanting you exactly as you were.

She slipped her fingers from inside you, slow and wet, and the sudden absence made you gasp—a soft, startled whimper catching in your throat as your hips instinctively chased after the sensation. The cool air kissed your heat in her wake, and you blinked up at her, dazed.

Rafayel moved away only slightly, enough to lean back on her knees and begin tugging at the waistband of her pants. The room filled with the quiet rustle of fabric and breath, the sound of your heartbeat pounding loud in your ears. Her gaze never once left you—dilated pupils, dark lashes, lust simmering low and thick behind her amethyst eyes. But there was something else layered beneath it too. Something that made your breath catch.

Need. Reverence. Want wrapped in affection so intense it felt like gravity pulling you closer.

You reached out for her—an instinct, not a thought—and it earned you a low, amused chuckle as she crawled back toward you. Her mouth found yours again, this time slower, deeper. She kissed you like she knew you were nervous. Like she could feel the tremble in your breath, the rise and fall of your chest trying to find rhythm.

Her voice brushed against your lips, warm and hushed, edged with heat but anchored in something more tender. “Do you trust me?”

Your nod came without hesitation—your body moved before your voice could.

That seemed to be all she needed. She coaxed you back onto your spine, hands guiding without pressure, until you were sprawled beneath her again, open and waiting. The bed shifted slightly as she rose to her knees, and then her fingers curled around your right leg, dragging it slow, deliberate, over her shoulder. You watched the movement—your breath caught somewhere between awe and anticipation.

Her palm slid along your calf, squeezing gently, and her lips pulled into a grin that was equal parts wicked and reassuring.

“Relax,” she murmured, nuzzling the inside of your knee with her cheek before she shifted again.

This time, it was her turn to curl a leg around you. Her right thigh looped around your waist as she settled in close—closer than you thought possible—and the moment your eyes flicked down between your bodies, your entire breath seized.

She was glistening, dripping onto the sheets. Want slick between her thighs, glistening in the low light. And it was so close to your pussy, so ready to touch, to slide against yours, that you couldn’t stop the moan that slipped from you—raw, needy, involuntary. Your hips jerked upward, trying to close the space.

You heard her inhale at the sound. Heard her smile. Felt her hand stroke your outer thigh again as she murmured, playful but low with need, “Mmm, you're eager, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t answer with words. Not when your whole body was burning, already aching for the press of her against you. You could only nod, biting your lip, eyes glazed as she moved just slightly.

She groaned low in her throat, the sound curling around your ribs like smoke. Her hands found your waist with an aching sort of reverence, fingers pressing into your skin as she inched closer—agonizingly slow, deliberately restrained. Her body hovered just shy of yours, a breath away, the tension between you almost unbearable.

Her eyes, half-lidded and dark with lust, swept over the flushed rise of your chest, drinking in every tremble, every inch of your need. And when her fingers ghosted down, grazing your soaked folds with featherlight curiosity, your breath caught in your throat, a soft mewl slipping out before you could stop it.

“Relax for me, pretty,” she murmured, her voice a breathless rasp, as if she were already halfway undone. Her thumb traced soothing patterns into your thigh, and her lips curved—playful, fond, heat-drunk. “Follow my lead. I’ll make us both feel good.”

The words slid down your spine like warm honey, and then her fingers dipped between your legs—just one slipping inside, shallow at first, then withdrawing, teasing, coaxing your walls to flutter and tighten with every pass. You whimpered, hips shifting instinctively, chasing more.

Then Rafayel shifted again, planting one arm behind her for balance as her other hand remained possessive on your thigh. And just as you tried to inhale, to steady yourself, her eyes met yours.

That look—like the whole galaxy had narrowed to this one moment between your thighs—hit you harder than her touch.

And then she moved, her hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, her pussy sliding over yours in one seamless, molten grind.

The sensation made your back arch off the bed with a startled, broken moan—so loud and raw it barely sounded like you. Her own groan met yours, deep and shaking, pulled from somewhere far below the surface. She did it again, slower this time, letting the slick friction of your bodies melt together—wet, warm, aching.

It only took a few more rolls of her hips before your body understood, matching her rhythm instinctively. Her thigh flexed against yours, her fingers digging tighter into your leg as your clits caught on each other with every motion, drawing moan after moan from both of you.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t form words—your thoughts scattered and fevered, drowned beneath how good she felt, how real it was, how impossibly right.

Rafayel was flushed—gorgeous and flushed—her lavender hair falling across her face, strands sticking to her cheeks as her mouth parted on a quiet gasp. Her eyes were locked on yours, hungry, reverent, mouth twitching up at the corners like she couldn't believe it either. Like she’d wanted this just as long.

Her hips rocked forward again, and you cried out, voice catching on a moan that tangled with hers, the rhythm between you growing more frantic, more desperate.

You didn’t even have room in your mind to wonder if you were doing it right—because the look in her eyes answered everything.

She was wrecked. She was beautiful. And she was falling apart on top of you, just as much as you were for her.

“You’re doing so well,” Rafayel gasped, her voice tight and wrecked with pleasure, and the sound of it alone sent your eyes rolling back. Her grip on your leg tightened, fingers digging in like she needed the anchor, needed you. Her breath shuddered across your skin as she rasped against your leg, barely able to hold the words together. “Perfect—just like this. Fuck, cutie… you feel so good. I’m—damn, I’m close.”

Her hips dragged against yours again, slow at first, then faster, grinding down with increasing desperation. Every slick roll of her body sent pleasure shooting straight through your core, making you gasp and cry out and clench helplessly around nothing.

“I’m close too,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut as you arched into her, trying to match her pace. “God, Raf—I wanna come with you.”

The words tumbled out in broken gasps, your body trembling, every muscle drawn tight with the edge of it. You tried to move faster, to chase the release pooling in your belly, but it was too much, too good—especially when her hips pressed down again, harder this time, slick and perfect.

“Please,” you whimpered, “I’m so close, I need—”

“Oh, fuck, cutie—” she groaned, her voice cracking, “don’t beg like that.” She was unraveling above you, her whole body trembling with restraint.

 “You’re so wet,” she muttered, almost to herself, looking down between your bodies with a dark gleam in her eyes, “Look at that… how good we fit… how easy it is to slide against you…”

You moaned brokenly, biting down on your lip as heat surged through you like wildfire. The tension was unbearable—right there, teetering on the edge—and Rafayel wasn’t helping, her own voice thick with need as she pushed you closer and closer.

“C’mon, angel,” she breathed, hips stuttering against yours as she breathed out, voice rough with heat and coaxing. “Let go for me, yeah? Come apart. Let me feel it.”

That did it. Just a few more slick, desperate rolls of her hips and the dam inside you broke. Your body convulsed, a high-pitched cry tearing from your throat as you came hard, clinging to her like your life depended on it. Her name caught on your tongue, broken and trembling.

Rafayel didn’t last a second longer. She chased the sound of her name from your lips and followed you over the edge, her own moan low and syrupy as she came with you, her body jerking in rhythm with yours as your slicks mixed and made a mess of everything between you.

You were both gasping for air, trembling, wrecked and glistening—but she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she slumped forward, mouth catching yours in a heated, messy kiss, tongue dragging over your lips like she couldn’t stand even a second of distance. You moaned into her, still so sensitive, but you kissed her back just as desperately—hungry and languid, lips sliding together in the haze of afterglow.

“You did so well,” she murmured against your mouth between kisses, voice a breathless hum of praise. “Fuck, you were perfect.”

You couldn’t even speak. Your breath was still trying to come back to you, your skin still tingling, your body still wrapped in hers—and her mouth was on you again, claiming you with slow, reverent kisses. Like she needed to memorize you. Like she didn’t want to let you go.

The air between you was thick with warmth and want, the kind that lingers long after the pleasure has passed. And from the way Rafayel held you, lips dragging slow and lazy down your jaw, it was clear the heat between you wasn’t over just yet.

You stayed like that for a while—tangled in each other, skin to skin, your bodies still humming with aftershocks neither of you dared to name yet. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, softened only by the slow rise and fall of your breaths syncing, like waves finally retreating from the shore. You were dizzy—buzzed from the alcohol, sure, but mostly from her. From the weight of her draped over you, from the way her lips still lazily explored your neck as if she couldn’t quite stop.

“I think the hangover is creeping up on me,” she murmured into your skin, voice low and petulant, like she was mourning the end of your high already. A tiny whine slipped through her lips, so unlike the composed, maddeningly theatrical girl the world knew. It made you chuckle, even though your head throbbed too.

You didn’t talk about what had just happened yet. The words hadn’t caught up to the moment. So you let yourselves fall into quiet comfort instead. She clung to you shamelessly, splayed out across your body like a lazy cat, her limbs tangled with yours, and no apparent intention of moving.

She heard your soft laugh and lifted her head with a mock pout, strands of damp hair clinging to her flushed face. “Don’t laugh,” she grumbled. “You’ll be suffering right alongside me soon enough.”

Her makeup was ruined—smudged by heat and sweat and the brush of your bodies—but you thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Her cheeks still glowed with afterglow, her lips swollen, her violet eyes a little dazed. There was something almost unreal about her like this, half-drunk on lust and barely holding onto her usual theatrical armor.

She caught you staring. And naturally, she couldn’t help herself. “Someone can’t take their eyes off me, huh,” she cooed, her smile slow and feline. “Cutie, if you keep looking at me like that, I might melt right here before the hangover even hits.”

You flushed, scoffing under your breath and glancing away, but she wasn’t having that. She gently turned your chin back toward her with two fingers, eyes locked on yours with something softer now—less teasing, more real.

“Don’t get shy on me now, hm?” her thumb brushed your jaw. “Look at me.”

So you did. And for a second, it all caught up with you. What you’d done. What you’d said. The taste of her still on your tongue. You didn’t even know if it had really happened, or if it was just a beautiful illusion crafted by alcohol and desperation and months of buried want.

Rafayel saw the spiral in your eyes before you could voice it. Her lips pressed to yours in a slow, grounding kiss, coaxing you gently back into the present. Her hand settled on your jaw, steadying you, thumb stroking your cheek with the kind of reverence you hadn’t expected from her.

“You should get out of that pretty little head of yours,” she whispered against your lips, voice quieter now, velvet-soft. “I meant everything I did tonight. Everything I said.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. Her smile grew, warm and unguarded, and she kissed the tip of your nose.

You winced slightly, the gesture catching you off guard—and of course she noticed.

“Oh, so now you’re bullying me?” she huffed dramatically. “I see how it is.” her voice dropped into a playful murmur as she trailed kisses down your neck. “You didn’t seem so mouthy when I was between your legs, cutie. You were moaning so sweetly. Being so nice to me. And now you’re bullying me?”

Your cheeks burned, and you gave her a light smack to the side. “Can you not say things like that? Jesus, Rafayel.”

She just laughed, unbothered, and nuzzled into your throat like she owned the space there. Then she shifted, squirming her way up until she hovered above you, her violet eyes catching yours—bright, watchful. The smirk faded just enough for you to recognize the shift in her. She was about to ask something real.

“How long?” her voice was soft, almost curious. But not quite.

You blinked. “How long what?”

Rafayel tilted her head, her expression unreadable for once. No sly grin. No sharp quip. Just raw amethyst eyes, rimmed in smudged liner and open in a way you rarely saw.

“How long have you wanted this?” she asked, then hesitated just for a beat, as if she decided if she was really gonna go for it and say it. “Wanted… me.”

The question didn’t carry the weight of accusation, but something in it still made your breath catch. She was trying to sound nonchalant, casual even, but you could hear it. The crack in her voice. The part of her that needed to know.

You looked away for a moment, then forced yourself to meet her gaze. You couldn’t lie to her. Not now.

“Since before tonight,” you said, voice quiet but sure. “Since before the party. Before… her.”

You saw the flicker of amusement tug at her lips, soft and a little smug.

“So you were jealous.” she grinned wider when you rolled your eyes. “I knew it. You always frowned when I brought her up.”

You smacked her arm again, and she just beamed, undeterred. She kissed you again—quick, playful, a little breathless—and then murmured against your lips, “So… is that why you kissed me tonight? Because you saw me with her?”

You frowned, chest tightening. “No. I didn’t have any right to be jealous.”

“No,” she agreed. “But you still were, weren’t you?”

You looked away, cheeks burning. Her voice had dropped to something slower now, more thoughtful, as she traced idle patterns across your bare hip.

“And you still didn’t answer me, cutie,” she added softly. “Is that why you let this happen?”

You knew what she meant. She wasn’t asking if you’d done it to hurt her. She was asking if it had been real.

So you reached for her hand, fingers threading between hers. She glanced down at the movement, then back up to your face, her expression unreadable—but no longer guarded.

“I think you know me better than that, Raf,” you whispered. “I’m not that petty. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time. I just… didn’t know if I should.”

Rafayel stared at you for a moment longer—then leaned down and kissed you again. This time, she didn’t rush. She just lingered there, warm and steady, her thumb brushing over your knuckles like she could memorize every piece of you by touch alone.

And in that quiet, with her body wrapped around yours and her kiss still warm on your lips, you knew she believed you.

Your kisses deepened, no longer tentative, no longer testing—just hungry, lazy, unhurried. You melted into the warmth of her body, the press of bare skin against bare skin. Rafayel lay draped over you, her thigh slung possessively over your waist, her limbs loose and content like a cat in a sunbeam. The room was still—thick with the scent of sweat and skin and the faint remnants of perfume—and somewhere beyond it all, the dull weight of the oncoming hangover loomed like a storm cloud waiting to break.

But you didn’t care. You were tired. A little dazed. A little tipsy still. But there was something else—something low and curling, gathering again in your stomach with an ache that had nothing to do with thirst or headache.

She shifted slightly, brushing against you in that unconscious, intimate way she had. And you felt it again. Desire. Heat, slick and growing. And the curiosity that had been haunting the back of your mind for months crept forward like a secret you’d tried to ignore. You'd never gone down on a girl before. You’d been with boys who expected you to lie back and be quiet, who never asked what you wanted, let alone what you wanted to give. But Rafayel was different. And for all your nervousness, the idea of tasting her made your pulse stutter.

You wanted to. You wanted her. But how the hell were you supposed to say that?

You stayed quiet, letting your hands speak instead—sliding through the silky strands of her purple hair, tugging gently until she let out a pleased, indulgent little moan.

“Mmm… you’ve really got a thing for pulling my hair, don’tcha?” she hummed, lips brushing yours as she smiled lazily.

“You talk too much,” you murmured against her mouth, trying to sound teasing, not shaky.

She laughed—light and amused, like velvet against your chest—and you kissed her again before you could lose your nerve. This one was hungrier, bolder. She opened for you easily, tongue meeting yours like she'd been waiting for it, like she knew this was coming.

You rolled her beneath you in a tangle of limbs and covers, your bodies sliding together as you shifted. She let you, delight flashing in her half-lidded eyes even as she blinked up at you in surprise.

Your lips found her neck again, the space just beneath her jaw, and she moaned as her fingers curled into the sheets. Your hand trailed downward, fingertips skimming the slope of her ribs before closing around her breast, soft and warm and yielding. You kneaded gently, listened to the way she gasped, the way her thighs flexed around your waist in a wordless plea.

Then her hips moved—subtle, almost shy. But it was there. A quiet lift. A silent please.

You bit her neck, just hard enough to mark, and she shivered beneath you.

“O-oh… do that again,” she breathed, head tipping back to bare more of her throat for you. Her voice was high, near-whimpering now—so unlike the smug, self-possessed girl she’d been before. This Rafayel was different. This Rafayel was undone. Yours.

So you did. You bit her again, a little lower this time, and her back arched with a soft cry, her hands fluttering helplessly against your arms. Her nipples peaked under your fingers, and when you brushed one with the barest graze, she gasped—louder now, almost desperate.

Underneath you, Rafayel wasn’t teasing or taunting. She wasn’t in control. She was open. Responsive. Beautifully unraveled. And she had no idea what you were planning next.

But still, your hands didn’t drift. Your lips stayed fixed to her neck, marking her in slow, possessive kisses, as your mind whirled, trying to work up the nerve to go lower. To tell her what you wanted without falling into silence or embarrassment. Her thighs shifted again, restless against you. Her breaths came faster, broken and hot, her fingers twitching against your shoulder.

“Cutie,” she breathed, a little impatient now, hips shifting again under yours. “You trying to drive me insane on purpose?”

She noticed you didn’t really respond, or that you were not 100% present. Rafayel’s fingers curled beneath your jaw, gentle but firm as she guided your face away from the crook of her throat, just enough to see you properly. Her brows were faintly drawn, eyes wide and dark with heat, but behind that was something softer. A thread of concern, even in the middle of all that breathless pleasure.

“Hey…” Her voice was hushed, velvet-soft. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

You shook your head quickly—too quickly, maybe. Her touch lingered on your cheek, and she didn’t press, but the question remained, written across her features in unspoken script. You didn’t want to explain. So you kissed her instead, harder this time. Not rushed, but urgent—an attempt to swallow the nerves crawling up your throat.

Rafayel gasped softly into your mouth, surprised, her lips parting beneath yours, but she responded instantly, always eager to meet you in your madness. When you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, your breath shaky, and you didn’t need to look at her to know she was studying you.

“I want to try something,” you said, your voice roughened by restraint, trying too hard to sound nonchalant.

Her expression flickered. You could feel her curiosity sharpen, her gaze searching yours like she was trying to solve a riddle before you gave the answer. But when she tilted her head, when she didn’t press you with words, you took it as a cue. You dropped your gaze and let your lips return to her skin—this time lower. A kiss to her jaw. A slow drag down her throat. Her breath hitched.

Then lower. Your tongue circled a nipple, experimentally slow, and Rafayel let out a moan, sweet and sharp and trembling. Her head fell back into the pillows, lashes fluttering, hair spilling wild around her like a storm.

“Oh, fuck… cutie,” she breathed, laughing a little breathlessly even through the pleasure. “What exactly are you trying to tell me right now?”

You didn’t answer. You just kept going, trailing kisses down the line of her ribs, over the soft curve of her stomach. Your hands were gentle, bracing her hips, and as you lowered yourself between her legs, you looked up.

You could feel your own hesitation in the tightness of your shoulders. Not because you didn’t want to—god, you did—but because this was uncharted territory. Because you wanted it to be good for her. Because you didn’t know what the hell you were doing.

Rafayel’s breath caught when she met your gaze. You saw it in her face—the realization dawning, a bloom of pink spreading across her cheeks like rising heat.

Still, she didn’t say anything right away. She just smiled softly, a little crooked. Then she tilted her head, amusement and fondness flickering in her gaze. “…Go ahead.”

You swallowed, heart hammering, but something still made you pause, even if just for a second.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, voice quiet, barely more than a breath.

Her expression didn’t shift. If anything, it deepened into something more tender—warmth, ease, maybe even pride. Her hand found your cheek again, thumb stroking the skin there in soothing circles.

“Then don’t think so hard,” she murmured. “Do whatever you think’ll feel good. You’ll figure it out.”

And with that, she reclined slowly, giving herself to the moment, to you. Her body relaxed under your hands, and she smiled again—open, ready, trusting.

For a girl who always had a witty comeback, always had control of the room, she had never looked more beautiful than she did now—laid out for you, gaze soft, lips parted, breathing just a little faster than before.

You took your cue, inhaling softly as you lowered yourself between her thighs, letting your courage take the lead before hesitation could anchor it down. Rafayel gasped when she felt the first brush of your breath against her—so soft, so tentative it made her twitch. Her hips lifted slightly, as though coaxing you closer without words.

The sight of her was enough to make your mouth water. She was already slick again, flushed and pliant from the heat winding between you. You swallowed, steadied yourself, and turned your head instead—not yet brave enough to taste her, not yet. You started with the softest kisses to her inner thigh, reverent and lingering, as though mapping your way forward with your mouth alone.

A breathy, approving moan slipped from her lips.

“Don’t get shy on me now, cutie,” she murmured, voice warm and low, like silk pulled over bare skin. “You’ll ruin the anticipation.”

But she didn’t rush you. Didn’t push. Just let herself sink back into the mattress, limbs loose and gaze half-lidded as she watched you explore.

And when you finally looked up, she was already looking down at you. Eyes hazy, lips parted, her chest rising and falling with slow, measured breath that stuttered as your gaze locked. She didn’t say a word—but she didn’t need to. The invitation was in every inch of her expression, in the quiet flex of her thighs, the gentle rock of her hips.

So you took it. You leaned in and let your tongue part her folds, just once, slow and unpracticed—but the sound she made in response ignited something in you. A soft, broken moan, her back arching as if her body wanted to chase the warmth of your mouth.

So you did it again. Long, languid strokes of your tongue that dragged along the soft slickness of her, tasting her. Learning her. With every pass, her breathing grew more ragged, more erratic—until you circled your tongue around her clit, experimentally light, and her hips jerked.

“God—fuck.” her voice rasped through the air, threaded with disbelief. “Right there… just like that.”

The praise made your cheeks burn, but you didn’t stop. If anything, you doubled down, watching the way her body reacted to every shift in pressure, every flick of your tongue. Her fingers curled into the sheets, white-knuckled, and the other hand tangled into your hair, guiding you gently, keeping your face close like she never wanted you to leave.

You moaned into her from the sheer intimacy of it, from the way her thighs bracketed your head so trustingly, so needily—and she answered that sound with a deeper one of her own, almost guttural.

Whatever you were doing, you were doing it right. She wasn’t the type to fake her pleasure, and she certainly wasn’t doing that now—not with the way her body trembled, with how her voice cracked around half-sobs of your name.

So you kept going. You changed the rhythm, played with pace—lapping and sucking until you could map her reactions, know what each twitch or gasp meant. And when she moaned your name again, voice shaking, you slid one finger inside her, curling it carefully.

That did it. Her whole body jolted under your touch, a strangled moan tearing from her throat. “Oh my god—fuck, there. Cutie… please—”

The way she begged, breathless and undone, made something bloom deep in your chest. You did it again, curling just right, tongue never ceasing, and she bucked into your mouth with a cry, loud and raw. The desperation in her voice undid you completely.

“Shit—don’t stop. I’m gonna—fuck, I’ll come if you—” Another moan swallowed the rest of her sentence, and you pushed a second finger in, feeling the tight clench of her walls and the heat threatening to spill over.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against her soaked core, voice hoarse with want. “Wanna make you come.”

And then you dove back in, lips slick, tongue greedy, fingers stroking her just right—just like she needed.

You didn’t think you’d ever see Rafayel like this. So flustered. So flushed and gasping. So thoroughly ruined by your mouth. She moaned your name again and again, high and broken, while her hips rocked instinctively against your face, chasing the release building under your touch.

And then, suddenly, she froze—every muscle tense, her thighs trembling as her voice cracked. “Mhmm—fuck, I’m… oh, I’m coming. Shit—cutie—”

You felt it. The shudder that rippled through her, the sweet rush of wet heat on your tongue as she came with a choked cry, head thrown back and fingers gripping your hair like it grounded her.

You coaxed her through it, slow and steady, the way she had done for you not so long ago. Every flick, every swirl of your tongue softened, easing her down from the high, and when she finally collapsed back against the bed, breathless and glowing, your heart nearly burst from how beautiful she looked.

Rafayel—undone and utterly yours in that moment—exhaled a shaky laugh, eyes glazed and lips pink from biting back more moans. “…You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?”

Her voice was hoarse, teasing, laced with the remnants of her pleasure. You looked up at her, flushed and trembling, lips slick and heart thudding.

“Guess I’m a fast learner,” you managed.

She grinned, lazy and satisfied, eyes twinkling as she tugged you up by your hair. And when she kissed you, she moaned again into your mouth, tasting herself on your lips with zero shame.

“Mm,” she whispered, nose brushing yours, “we’re definitely doing that again.”

© zaynessbeloved 2025

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @syluslittlecrows, @asiaticapple

[caelivir]

for your event, can you add fwb!atsumu and sweet boy by malcolm todd to the aux please !!

thank uuuuuu

now playing: sweet boy by malcom todd

first tsumu req of the event hehe. this song was lowk hard to figure out i cannot lie ‘cause it’s lowk angsty but i took one of the verses and tried to weave something cute from it. i hope u enjoy 🤗.

content. miya atsumu x fem!reader, fwb (he’s lowk in love tho), hint of jealousy, insecurity, communication, little suggestive | wc. 880+

three whole days.

miya atsumu has had this gut feeling that something’s wrong for three days, and it has to do with you. you’re not missing or anything terrifying like that. you posted a selfie on your instagram story just a day ago.

you guys can go without contact for a few weeks at a time, but this silent is different. it nags at him like spidey-senses telling him something’s not the way it should be.

that’s why he’s here, outside your apartment, even though his flight landed just two hours ago. he forced his manager to take care of his luggage and got the first taxi he could find to take him straight to you.

when you swing open your door, you blink, staring at him perplexed before you nearly shut it in his face. atsumu is barely able to wedge his foot before it completely shuts.

“oh come on.” atsumu huffs as he overpowers the strength you’re putting into trying to shut the door. he allows himself into your home when you give up.

you scowl, an expression he loves seeing you make when it’s not directed at him. “what are you doing here?”

“what? can’t see my favorite girl, now?” atsumu winks, trying to play things off as if his nerves are knotting into a tight coil in his gut. it results from a scoff out of your mouth as you shut the door.

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “sure, miya.”

that makes him stop dead in his tracks. atsumu whips his head towards you. the surprise is etched across his face, expressed through his raised eyebrows and dropped jaw. “miya?”

sure, atsumu’s annoyed you before, and to that you’ve called him a jerk. a dickhead, but not once has he ever been called miya. he doesn’t give a shit if others call him that. however, it’s different when it comes to you. a lot of things are. being called miya by you is wrong, illegal. it goes against every law of nature. atsumu can be anything to you, anything but miya.

he must’ve fucked up. severely.

he stalks closer, which in turn forces you to take steps back. this shuffle continues until your back presses into the back of the door. his face is dangerously close to yours, and he can tell it makes you nervous. it’s not obvious, but he sees it. your eyes waver every so slightly.

“back up.”

“not until ya tell me what i did.”

“who says you did anything?” you narrow your eyes, challenging him. always so stubborn.

“‘cause yer callin’ me miya. ya never call me that.” atsumu shoots back. that shuts you straight down. your eyes wander, looking at anything but him. “tell me what’s wrong.”

you scrunch your nose, feeling guilty. “sorry, tsumu. it’s- it’s stupid.” you mutter.

atsumu hates how dejected you look. he hates the frown on your pretty features. he hooks his index finger under your chin, forcing you to bring your eye up to his face. “hey. nothin’ ya say to me is stupid.”

“it’ll fuck everything up.” you whisper, genuine fear coating your voice.

“tell me anyway.” he assures you, lightly stroking your chin with his thumb. the silence overtakes. he waits, waits until you’re ready.

“i saw the pictures.” you admit quietly. “and the article.”

the ones from paris, atsumu realizes. so that’s what this is about. he gets it now.

“i just-” you pause, pursing your lips, weighing your next words. “i know we’re not together. we’re not anything really. i know. but i- seeing those pictures, reading that article… i hated it.

“but again, what right do i have? i mean you’ve got everything ahead of you, y’know? we don’t even see each other often. you’re all over the world. you’re bound to get all this attention, especially from girls that look like her. you deserve that. so i- i was just thinking that maybe-”

“no.” atsumu shuts that idea down before you can even get it out. he knows. he knows what you’re trying to do, and he won’t have it. he won’t even dare to entertain it.

“just listen to me.”

“not gonna.” he reaffirms with a hint of tease.

“(y/n), i don’t care about ‘em. i don’t care which model tries to throw herself at my feet. i like what we have. i’m not throwin’ that away for anyone. it’s you. it’ll only be you, ‘kay?”

however, you still don’t look convinced. he sees it in the way your frown dips slightly deeper. atsumu doesn’t like when people doubt him, but doubt is fuel. it tells him that there’s more he can do. that means there’s more he can do for you.

atsumu brings his face closer to yours, pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek, another one to the tip of your nose, one on your jaw, before crawling up to peck the corner of your lips. he drops his hand from your face, navigating them to your waist where he slips them under your baggy shirt to feel the heat of your skin.

atsumu presses his forehead to yours, his lips hovering over yours. “i can prove it to ya. let me prove it to ya. let me show how much ya mean to me.”

[strawberryrafaxzd]

⋅˚₊‧ Oikawa Headcanons ⋅˚₊‧ Gn reader enjoy ⭑.ᐟ

✮Whenever Oikawa is with you, he lets his "tough guy" mask fall off. That's why, most of the time, you two tend to have calmer dates, deviating a bit from the usual, like picnics in parks, watching movies, and other things.

✮He likes to lie on your lap while you play with his hair. He complains about how he hates geniuses like his kohai Kageyama (ahhajaja lol) and other things that annoyed him. You just laugh at the cute and funny way he imitates them and give him a peck while his cheeks turn red and he kisses you back.

✮As silly as it may seem, he has some kind of shame about feeling this inferiority complex and hates showing that he feels insecure. The only person he feels safe to talk about this with is you, so be prepared to take his late-night calls and comfort him. Believe me, it will take hours for you to convince him that you are serious when you say he's an incredible player. Even if he thinks he will never measure up to the "geniuses," that's the biggest lie because he's already superior to them just by the effort he puts in "to reach their level."

✮Oikawa often gets "mad" and throws a tantrum because you refuse to go see him play and cheer for him because you're afraid that, one day, one of his crazy fans will throw a rock at your head out of jealousy (akhajajakakakak sorry, I had to write that). But it turns out he always convinces you to go by looking at you with his puppy eyes and that pout. No matter how hard you try, you always end up losing to your sweet boyfriend. But maybe it's not so bad to lose since, in the end, he will always be there thanking you for being the best girlfriend in the world, cheering for him while he showers you with kisses on your face.

✮When his family has special events, his mom always invites you. She definitely loves you, always saying how Toru finally found someone to straighten him out. The gatherings always end with you and his nephew doing his makeup and styling his hair with ribbons and braids. In the end, Oikawa always ends up toppling both of you over, tickling you until his mom sees the three of you sleeping on the floor hugging each other (she always smiles, sighs, and covers you with a blanket, saying,( "these young ones nowadays").

✮In that same vein, when Oikawa sees you and his nephew bonding and having fun, he thinks of one of his greatest dreams. Aside from his volleyball career, it's to marry you and have a family together. He definitely can't wait for that.

✮One of the dates you love the most is when Iwa joins you two. You always die laughing at their fights. You and Iwa get along very well. To be honest, when you buy or make sweets or any kind of food for Oikawa, you always make extra for (wa to eat too ;)

✮Omg, who is that person who isn't even from Seijou that is screaming nonstop in the Aoba Josai cheering section against Karasuno? Wait, the person just called Karasuno's number 9 an idiot.

(Stories say that when Aoba Josai lost, you cried more than the players themselves. Yes, you are Aoba Josai's biggest fan.)

✮One of the cutest things ever seen was you going to his school to deliver his glasses that he left at your game night on Friday and putting them on him, giving him a kiss in front of everyone during recess. By the way, he didn't use to wear glasses because he thought they looked ugly until one day he asked what you thought, and you said he looked "super hot" with glasses hehe (Matsun and Makki still wonder why

Oikawa suddenly decided to wear glasses every day and almost die when he forgets them).

✮Oikawa always wears the sweaters you wore and the ones you drew little stars on. When Iwa notices that he always wears sweaters with stars and a perfume that doesn't belong to him and asks why, he simply says, "it's my way of showing others that I belong to my angel."

Bônus ⊹˖ :

Iwa still has nightmares about the time when Oikawa had gone to Argentina and hadn't settled in yet. Only he knows what it was like to hear you crying out of longing when you went out to bars together after your video calls with Oikawa. At least now he can sleep well knowing that Oikawa is finally okay and has managed to take you to Argentina with him. Now it's Iwa who gets the video calls from the two of you😊🥹🥹

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚

Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language I hope you enjoy it, it's the first time I've written headcannos so it definitely wouldn't have been that good, I hope you enjoyed it

[tomsbly]

Ken number FIVE — Rex!

CW: Incest (I absolutely do NOT condone it irl, but this is a work of fiction. Putting this warning in so people who aren’t into that will enjoy the morph only and move on!)

Rex was always the typical younger brother: energetic, obnoxious, bratty, yet always everyone’s favorite. His behavior was always overlooked since he played sports, was doing alright at school and was one of The Boys. After blowing up on TikTok, he solidified his title as the popular, hot, fuckboyish guy. And his older brother, Cody, hated that.

He really, really wanted to be genuinely happy for his younger bro but his insecurities got the best of him. The timing was awful too. Rex, freshly 18, would be graduating high school this year and he was at his peak. Cody… Cody was not.

Being three years older than his brother, he was already in college, yet still living with his family. It was cheaper that way. He wasn’t really passionate about learning, but he didn’t have any other possibilities, or so he thought. He worked part-time, but the job sucked, he couldn’t work full-time because of college and he couldn’t even start a family since he and his long-term girlfriend broke up. While his brother was being his best, Cody was horny, alone and depressed.

With his newfound popularity, Rex found a lot of friends, mostly boys, muscular and fuckboyish, just like him. Since his parents weren’t at home most of the time, just him and Cody, he started inviting them over to hang out. You know, like the boys they were. They would play video games, listen to music, just chill and have a good time. But after several weeks it got kind of boring… Their solution? Alcohol. Cody was 21, so Rex begged to get them beer or some shit, so they can spice things up a little bit. Cody was hesitant at first, but then he thought:

“Why not? But only if you will all behave and won’t wreck the fucking house. You will be the ones cleaning up after.”

The boys agreed, so Cody got them some beer and vodka, too much vodka maybe. After leaving the teens with the booze, he went upstairs to his room to get some sleep. Two hours later, he was woken up.

Moans…

Loud banging…

Groans…

A loud “I’m coming… fuck…”

His heart sank to his stomach. Oh no. What has he done?

Cody ran downstairs to see the boys all naked, having some kind of an amateur, fucked up orgy. There were clothes everywhere, cum on the walls and empty bottles of lube on the floor. Rex saw his brother first, pulled out his dick out of his friend’s hole and slurred:

“Oh hi, Cody… We… um… we went a little wild, hehe… Do you wanna-”

“Rex, what the hell? You promised me everything’s gonna be alright!”

“Everything’s alright, bro..!” Rex was growing really tired at this point. “It is kinda your fault that we all fucked… you got us booze…”

“I- Rex, please…”

“Please what..?” Rex sighed. “Cody… if you get to fuck one of us, will we make it up to you?”

Rex smirked at Cody. He knew he hadn’t had sex with anyone in a while.

Cody blushed. He was exposed. And so was his bulge. Rex saw that.

“Oh… someone’s excited..!” Rex got on his knees and now was facing his older brother’s throbbing dick, still inside the boxers that he started to pull off.

“You know I can take care of you, Cody… Just don’t be mad…”

“Rex!” Cody recoiled. “I can’t fucking do this! You’re… you’re my brother! It’s wrong… I- I just…”

“It was also wrong to buy us alcohol…”

“How much did you drink?”

“Oh, enough to not… not think about… the future… or today… just let me suck you off and we’ll forget about it…”

“Rex, I-”

But even super drunk, Rex was quicker. He took off Cody’s underwear, now admiring the dick he only got glimpses of before. He started to suck his older brother off. Cody was shocked, but his bro’s mouth felt too good to stop. He gave in. After a minute, Rex looked up at Cody.

“Dude… I’m kinda… done… I can’t…”

“Oh, so you won’t even let me finish?”

“I…”

“Turn your fucking ass around.”

Rex was too out of it to not oblige. Cody spread his bro’s ass cheeks and a single drop of cum leaked out of his brother’s hole. Even though it was used today already, it didn’t stop Cody. Nothing could.

“I just need to cum somewhere, dude. And show your friends how it’s done.”

Cody grabbed onto his brother’s hips and started pounding his hole. With each fast, aggressive, almost careless thrust Rex was more and more lost. He didn’t know what to feel. Was it pleasurable? Forbidden? Embarrassing? He didn’t know and could only whimper as his older brother was close to finishing. None of Rex’s friends were in the right state of mind to stop this. Or remember it.

Even though the boys were all hungover the next morning, they did their best to clean up and were trying to piece together the events of the night. Rex’s best friend, Dawson, could actually remember the fact that they had sex and wanted to talk about it privately. So they came up to Rex’s room and he told his friend everything. Rex was shocked, but at least he lost his virginity to his best bro. But Dawson wasn’t the only one who remembered that night. Cody did too. And he heard everything. It was great to know that his brother was oblivious to who’s cum stained his underwear, so he kept quiet. For a few months, at least.

After several weeks, Rex developed some pregnancy symptoms. He obviously brushed them off as a stomach bug or stress or sleep deprivation or… He soon ran out of excuses. His “oh, it will go away in a few days” bloat didn’t go anywhere, so he was beginning to worry. He could still hide his "bloated" belly under a hoodie at school, but it was April already. This won’t work for long, especially at the gym.

He always went there with his friends, his bros. They all wore either tight or super loose clothes to show off their bodies and loved to go shirtless. But Rex couldn’t do that anymore. His friends were questioning the fact he wore a 3XL t-shirt all the time and didn’t take it off at all. He was so confident before, what happened. Dawson noticed it first. One day they went to the gym alone. After their normal workout, it the locker room, Dawson asked Rex that question.

“Dude, what’s going on with you? You can tell ME, you know…”

“Daws, I- I don’t really wanna talk about it…”

“About what?”

“Ugh…”

Rex turned to his friend and lifted up his shirt to reveal his three-month bump that he tried so hard to conceal. Dawson was puzzled.

“You’re afraid of a… bloat?”

“It’s not a fucking bloat, dude. It’s not going away. I don’t even gain weight anywhere else, so it’s not fat. And I am sick a lot… I just… I don’t know…”

He took off his shirt completely, putting his belly on display. Dawson got closer and touched it. It clicked.

“Dude… Do you think I knocked you up that night..?”

Rex’s heart sank to his growing stomach.

“I… Wh… I can’t! You can’t! I can’t have a fucking baby! I- It’s not…”

“Rexy, please, calm dow-”

“HOW THE FUCK CAN I BE CALM WHEN I FIND OUT THAT I AM FUCKING PREGNANT WITH YOUR CHILD. I AM FUCKING EIGHTEEN. I AM A FUCKING ALPHA, DUDE.”

“REX, STOP IT FOR FUCK’S SAKE. IT MIGHT NOT EVEN BE A PREGNANCY, WHAT THE HELL DUDE??”

Rex shut up. They changed without talking to each other. They caught a few weird looks from men on their way out, but it wasn’t as bad as Rex trying to buy a pregnancy test. He told the cashier it was for his girlfriend, but did it so awkwardly that they only chuckled in response.

As soon as he got home, he locked himself in the bathroom and did the test. The five minutes of development felt like an eternity. Then, he looked at it.

Positive. Of course it was positive.

He couldn’t believe it for a few seconds, but then it hit him. He could be a father. He could give birth. It was terrifying. He clutched his belly and started crying. It was too much. Even after sex ed. I happened to him, and now what?

He was crying loud enough for Cody to hear him. He knocked on the bathroom door.

“You alright there, dude?”

“…”

The crying has stopped, but something was definitely up.

“Hey, what happened, man? Can I come in?”

Rex opened the door without saying anything. Cody came in.

“Why are you crying, dude. You haven’t cried like this in a while…”

Rex didn’t know what to say. He was holding on to the positive test in the pocket of his trousers.

“Please… Please don’t tell mom and dad…”

“What… Did you fucking kill someone?”

“It might be worse…”

Rex took the test out of his pocket and gave it to his brother.

“It’s mine, Cody…”

“What the- DUDE. That’s- That’s… cool..?”

The thought of his brother being pregnant with his child struck Cody mid-sentence.

“I don’t fucking know what to do. It’s Dawson’s… He told me that he fucked me that night you bought us booze. I found cum on my und- Fuck, dude, it’s so embarrassing.”

Cody was trying to come to his senses. He couldn’t figure out if his brother possibly being pregnant with their child was creeping him out or turning him on.

“Did you think about abortion? I mean, it’s so early to have a kid.”

“I want to talk to Dawson first. Maybe he wants it, even if it’s not from a girl… I just… I can’t…”

Rex hugged his older brother and started crying again. Cody didn’t bring himself to tell the truth, so he hugged Rex with his left hand and put his right on his bro’s belly.

“It will be okay. I promise. If you decide to keep it, I’ll help you out.”

Rex didn’t stop crying.

He told Dawson about the baby the next day. As Rex thought, he was actually down to become a dad. Probably because he wasn’t the one carrying.

Rex kept the baby.

He and Dawson graduated during the first week of May. Even though it was getting hot in California, the robe covered Rex’s belly up. They didn’t know if they were in a relationship at that point. They separated from the friend group and only hung out with each other. Dawson started to feel something towards Rex, but he still wasn’t sure. Rex was only able to be free with Dawson. And his brother. He was only comfortable being shirtless with him and Cody. Only they could touch the bump. Dawson was very gentle. He began to kiss and rub his bf’s belly and Rex didn’t resist. It felt nice. It felt warm.

The fact that he kind of disappeared from social media didn’t help his image. The last things he posted were some selfies from when he was only about 10 weeks along. His fans started to question his absence and it was getting to Rex’s head. He should do something, post something, come clean to everyone.

That’s why he decided to take some pictures on their upcoming vacation. Rex, Cody and Dawson planned to go to Miami for a week to relax. Rex was hesitant before, but now he was the most eager of the three to go. Dawson couldn’t make it because of his new job he took up and Rex and Cody went alone.

The next few days were spent on the beach, tanning, swimming of just napping in the shade, Rex’s preferred pastime. The pregnancy was getting to him. Reaching the fifth month of pregnancy, Rex’s energy was fluctuating. He would be filled with energy one day and just barely making it out of bed the next day. Most of the time, he just wanted to sleep. After six days of this, Cody wanted to do something different. He wanted to go out. Maybe he could find a girl to bring back with him.

Rex was absolutely against it, his sleepiness and gravid belly were the reasons he stayed at the hotel napping and looking through the photos taken by his brother a day before. The beach, their lunch, and a ton of photos of the bros: Rex putting on sunscreen on his belly, him sunbathing, eating lunch, him and Cody flexing on the beach, Cody’s sunburnt back, his nudes… Rex shivered and brushed it off. He chose one picture to post, taken at the balcony of their hotel room. No caption, no hashtags, the photo will say it all.

2 AM. Rex finally decided to post this picture, so everybody could find out what happened first thing in the morning. He texted Dawson that he’s going to finally do it and tapped “Post”. As soon as the picture was online, he turned off his phone. He just wanted to sleep calmly for a final time. Five minutes later, a drunk Cody opened the room’s door.

He was shirtless and barefoot, his shorts barely staying on his hips, covered in stains.

“Heeyyyyy maaaaan, how’s it goinnn?” If it was obvious to Rex before, Cody was really drunk.

“Dude, what the- How much did you drink?”

“A few beers, some shots, I don’t really remember. Does it even matter?” Alcohol made Cody go angry in seconds.

“Yes, it does. We’re not even home. What were you thinking?” Rex gulped.

“Don’t you fucking remember the night I got you knocked up? You were so drunk you can’t even remember how you begged for my cock and let me breed you?”

Rex’s heart skipped a beat. Cody sobered up in an instant. Rex felt a flutter in his belly. His baby kicked for the first time.

Their baby.

[lunathegalacticwolf]

Random Dandy's World headcanons I have

Rodger and Teagan are Toodles' parents. However, she's adopted, which is why she often refers to them by name. (teacase aaaaaahhh)

Sprout is chubby bc yes.

Finn has a really low pain tolerance. He would cry over stubbing his toe.

Shrimpo is secretly extremely protective over Toodles. If anyone harmed her, he'd kick their ass.

Glisten is a gay uncle figure to Toodles. So is Boxten. (jewelrybox go wee)

Sprout and Cosmo have a crush on each other, and while they never made it official, they act like a couple. (fruitcake go brrr)

Shelly = Vee's pookie (hehe shellvision)

Shrimpo is extremely touch-starved, but he refuses to ask for hugs, cuddles, headpats, nose boops, kisses, etc and he hides when he has mental breakdowns or panic attacks. (angst hehe)

Tisha has OCD. If anything is out of order, she HAS to fix it.

Toodles = AUTISM

Coal is spayed, but neither she nor Pebble know that and they want to have puppies. (no, they're not related in any way. If you headcanon that they are, that's fine, but keep in mind that in my AU, they're not)

Sprout has a fluffy leaf tail that wags when he's happy. He doesn't even bother to deny it.

While Cosmo is really good at baking, he CANNOT cook actual food for the life of him. Give him a microwave pizza and he'll find a way to set it on fire. He always has to ask either Ginger or Sprout to cook for him, or he just gets take-out. How many wrong ways can you use a microwave? Cosmo's done them all.

Boxten struggles with social interactions. He never talks to anyone he doesn't know unless he absolutely has to.

Boxten has glasses. Even though he's supposed to wear them all the time, he usually only wears them when he has to read something because he thinks they make him look like a geek. (insecurity alert)

Scraps and Goob are Boxten's cousins.

Dandy has attachment issues. He gets anxious when a friend stops talking to him for too long (aka a day 💀)

Toodles is really stupidly strong despite her age.

Shrimpo claims that he hates cats, but he secretly owns one.

Boxten knows Japanese. He learned it from his oldest brother.

Boxten is also the youngest of nine brothers and sisters.

Tisha is the type of person to run herself ragged just to keep things clean and in order.

Finn is nineteen years old and he's still afraid of the dark.

Boxten can't handle chocolate very well. Ironically, he still enjoys eating it. (me lmao)

When Connie and Looey have sleepovers, Looey tries to kick Connie off the bed in his sleep.

Coal is extremely lazy. She'll stay in one spot for hours.

Pebble sees himself as being the same as wolves. The only real difference is that he has Dandy to feed him.

When Toodles is picked up, she'll screech like a pterodactyl. She hates being picked up, unless it's Rodger or Teagan.

Rodger was thought to be mute as a child due to not having a mouth, but he slowly taught himself how to talk. Due to this, his grammar isn't the best.

Dazzle is slightly shorter than Razzle, so the two of them walk a bit funny, but it doesn't cause them pain and that's all that matters.

Despite not being in Brightney's book club, Razzle does enjoy reading, but he's not the biggest fan of Dazzle's reading tastes, so it usually puts him to sleep.

Gigi teases Cosmo and Ginger by saying they're dating. (They're not though, this isn't- well, I am in Alabama, but you know what I mean!)

Rodger calls Toodles 'sunshine' bc yes.

Shrimpo is a big back. Not as much as Toodles, but he could be in his bedroom with 30 bags of chips all to himself at any time-

Toodles has a little fluffy tail and paw beans on her hands and feet because yes.

Looey's tail usually never stops wagging, so if it does, something is very wrong.

Finn used to cut his shoulders and thighs when he was younger, but he doesn't do it anymore and he's nothing but happy now. He doesn't even bother to hide his scars, since Gigi told him it's a sign he went through something tough, survived it, and came back stronger.

Rodger has a country accent bc yes.

Shrimpo likes dandelions. Even though they're technically weeds, he thinks they're beautiful and they calm him down during his mental breakdowns.

Looey identifies as non-binary. While he's okay with he/him, he prefers they/them pronouns.

Boxten likes sitting in boxes. He finds it comfortable.

Boxten and Poppy have been best friends since they were practically babies. They're inseparable.

Toodles likes to sing in the shower.

Astro writes in his diary with a glittery gel pen.

Cosmo owns and wears Hello Kitty socks, though he's embarrassed about it.

Looey tackles and wrestles people to show affection.

Connie makes Your Mom jokes.

Dazzle is really scared of dogs.

Rodger has fallen asleep when working several times. Like Tisha, he tends to run himself ragged.

Sprout won't pass up the opportunity to spend time with Cosmo, and even hides when he's sick to do it. as soon as Cosmo finds out, he's the one to take care of him until he gets better.

If you don't like the ships that I mentioned, that's totally okay! Just don't be rude about it and if you feel like they get too shoved in your face, let me know nicely and I'll take a break from posting anything ship related. ^^

[myl0v3l1f3]

hiiiii hello hii Jecka is the prettiest girl at the party so can u drop all ur headcanons for her? I wanna hear ur thoughts 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Hehe I love you

Also im giving u this (Jeckole sims mobile cus my dad won’t let me use his pc or laptop 💔)

Anyway I got distracted

She has a little brother, his name is smth generic like jack, Jake, Finley (I like this one so ima stick w this) or whatever. Hes 8 in the re-up, and hes literally such a cutie. Jecka is putting all of her free energy into being somewhat of a good big sister. She’ll play with him, watch tv with him, read with him, let him “help w homework” (when he was little, like 4) and like, protect him when their parents got violent, aggressive, started arguing or shouting etc.

She really loves her mum, like, a lot and she hates it sometimes. Since her mum puts all her time and effort into looking good, heroin, alcohol, cigs etc, Jecka (from a young age) picked up these habits (like smoking and drinking and looking good all the time) and cant get rid of them. But when her mum is sober, or trying to be, she is actually an alright mum, like jecka can tell her about school, about some drama she leaves stuff out of, they paint nails, or just sit at the table talking, and she genuinly really enjoys it because again, she really loves her mum and hates to hate her.

Hopes her dad kills himself

She drinks monster quite often with Nicole if they can’t get any alcohol (or they mix it w it for a fun kick) and her favourite flavour is pink or watermelon. In my silly British au Ive made up in my head (pls ask abt im dying), she drinks the winter edition, watermelon and any pink version of redbull, because the can is pretty.

She doesn’t really know what she wants to be when she’s older, so she’s picked something like a nurse or surgeon for now. Honestly I never really think about it like that because my favourite version is some random version of the meth eaters au.

Is actually quite artsy. She isn’t like art GCSE artsy, but she can draw more than a stick figure. She likes drawing herself a lot, because she thinks shes gorgeous (we love a self confident queen)

Anyway so some more angst ones (idk how deep these will be so tw??)

She’s always being catcalled, even from a young age and sometimes she fucking hates it, it makes her feel disgusting and gross, except when she’s thinking late at night and she’s laying on her side sobbing her eyes out because she feels so ugly and she fucking craves being catcalled because then she knows she’s pretty enough for that :(

Is constantly being sexually harassed, and again like the last one, it makes her want to vomit and make herself look ugly but when she’s crying at night wondering why she can’t be prettier she remembers it and relishes in it. It means shes pretty enough for that. It means shes a skinny, pretty, stunning bitch.

She does struggle a bit with eating and how she looks, mainly because bitches like Jeffery will see the slightest stomach roll that everyone gets from sitting down, and be like “ewwww wtf is that’ and start crashing out. Things like that make her feel so self conscious

Shaves all over everywhere incase one day she gets r4ped and she won’t look ugly.

Originally, her parents weren’t gonna get her braces, until she begged on her knees, crying, shaking etc for them because she felt so insecure about her teeth (they were a little bit wonky)

Her mum installed some really, really damaging mindset into her, so now she had this toxic routine to keep herself “pretty”

Her upper thighs are different colours to her from scars

She was never allowed friends over for sleepovers during middle school and elementary school because neither of her parents could stay sober past 6pm. They would have screaming matches (including breaking stuff) at last mindnihgt.

Her fake tan is kinda blotchy and you can smell it from a mile away

Her birthday is April 8th (same day as my irl bby ❤️)

She does frequently self harm on her thighs, and a few times on her wrist, but it’s mainly from pulling hair, over exciersiing etc)

Her red tube addiction is actually seriously bad. It’s mainly from sexual trauma she’s gotten from family members in the past.

Snes so bby Icl . There’s def more Ive forgot about somewhere.

Edit 1: Forogot to add shes a quarter Swedish, a quarter Dutch and the rest American cus no one talks about it enough

The Mir ski lyric is her, and the cats r her and Nicole

[mallgothyamaguchi]

ive seen that all of your bookmarks are tskym and you dont have many of them (not that thats a bad thing!!!) could you give a bookmark tour and like give a reveiw of each?

ofc! tsukkiyama bookmark tour begin!

autumn by windofjune - this fic is ongoing but i'm just totally in love with the author's writing style. essentially, tsukishima and yamaguchi have had mutual feelings for a long time, but nothing was ever acted upon, so in college, they begin to drift apart from one another even when living in the same apartment. tsukishima faces an injury to his knee and yamaguchi gets dumped by his boyfriend, leading to their slow-burning reconciliation as they both recover from their emotional and physical injuries. everything is so beautifully written and i'm not-so-patiently waiting for chapter 8 hehe

Sleeping Habits by BlueColoredDreams - piece written in a series of vignettes as tsukishima and yamaguchi grow older, ending in their high school years. very sweet and very fluffy. i'm a snuggler, so any fic that involves sleeping and cuddling, i'm there.

(Not) A bad day by WhereDoesTheTimeGo - yamaguchi has a bad day, and all of his insecurities bubble up, so tsukishima comforts him. they both have their own self-doubts and insecurities unveiled, but everything's okay with a snuggle and first kiss. you will notice there is a pattern in my fic tastes, lol.

Home Is Where The Heart Is by Pepper_Moon - very short and sweet domestic fic about the two moving in together in a cottage in the countryside after marrying. artist yamaguchi and writer tsukishima. SO COTTAGECORE. the author is also currently writing a chaptered piece for day 1 of tsukkiyama week i'm very much looking forward to reading!

just ourselves by beefybuttlord - another short and sweet fic where hinata asks yamaguchi what his relationship with tsukishima really is. essentially it's a "what are we" fic. puts how i think their canon relationship is in 800 words.

hottaru-kun by palebluestings - very much plays around with the significance of names and naming conventions in japanese culture, and the different ways kanji can be read. tsukishima has started calling yamaguchi 'tadashi', but yamaguchi still calls him 'tsukki'. also, cue tsukishima being a little jealous of yamaguchi hanging out with his brother. it's a cute and thoughtful fic.

The sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me. by yamaguchiforpresident - as they get older, yamaguchi gets more and more attention from girls (and guys), and by their third year, tsukishima realizes he's in love with his best friend. lots of pining from tsukishima, and does he do anything about it? hmmm... a little bit of yamayama (at least from tsukishima's perspective), so yet again, jealous tsukishima >:)

Won't You Stay For The Ride? (The Views Will Be Nice) by xxet - self-hating tsukishima begins to have his walls broken down by yamaguchi as they grow up. tsukishima is totally whipped, and everyone knows. flips back and forth between past and present throughout. good mix of fluff and angst.

i wish to be found by TheFledglingDM - ok this one isn't in my bookmarks but i'm actually obsessed with this fic i'm shocked i didn't bookmark it. essentially a 'You've Got Mail' au, where yamaguchi is a small bookstore owner who took it over after his mother passed and tsukishima is a financial executive for a chain bookstore with aspirations to become a published author. when tsukishima helps to make the decision to put a store location near yamaguchi's bookstore, yamaguchi fears he may be put out of business. unknowingly, for a whole year prior, they've been online best friends over discord. mistaken identity, enemies to lovers, influence of and allusions to pride & prejudice, what more could you want from a fic? so skillfully written. i will never shut up about it. i finished it a month ago and i think about it every other day.

hope you enjoyed my thoughts on these fics! honestly, i haven't been reading many fics recently since life got pretty busy and then that makes me pretty tired and i've been very focused on writing my own fics...but! with all the entries for tsukkiyama week i have so much new content to read. i'm still pretty new to ao3 (it's been a little over a year since i started reading fics on there), so that kind of explains why my bookmarks list is pretty short, and also i tend to bounce between different forms of reading like manga to physical books to fanfiction. kind of just depends on what my mood is at the moment. now that i've started writing, i've really been fueling my tsukkiyama brainrot into that, lol. when it's slow at work, i'm collecting ideas in my brain for them.

bottomline: tsukkiyama will always and forever be my #1, so if there's a fic i'm reading it and if they have zero fans, i'm dead.

[marshmallowprotection]

Hm...this may come across as oddly specific, therefore might not appeal to a broad range of people! But, I hope it could still be appealing to answer!

My prompt is: How would both Grave/SE!Suit and SE!Saeran feel about an MC that struggles with similar issues to Grave? An MC who has a low tolerance around people, low emotional energy, and gets angry/snippy really easy- who thinks these things make them a bad person and hard to love.

Oh and also they're head over heels in love with Grave and Saeran (she hasn't told them this bc of the insecurities) hehe

SE Saeran gets it. You can't handle being around people for long? He is in the same boat. If he spends too much time around people, even in crowds where he's not the focus, all he wants to do is hole himself up until he doesn't have to worry about the itchy impulse in the back of his head. Being free isn't easy, especially when you go from having no power to having all the power you could ever dream of. To go from a place of nothing into a place of abundance is akin to whiplash.

He doesn't want to be angry with people who overwhelm him, it's not their fault he has a limit. But, being with you... it feels like there could be a way for him to be around someone and not be afraid of hating all the little things that made him care about them eventually. You don't make him feel pressured to talk much, nor do you make him feel like he's a failure for not being able to do more than hold your hand for a few moments at a time. By all accounts, he has to take a relationship slower than most people, and he doesn't want to hold anyone back.

That doesn't mean he doesn't want to give you more than what he is capable of right now, but he understands that... you understand. You know where he's coming from because you're hounded by the same thoughts. You're not hard to love, and neither is he. This is one of the things you get to learn together as you build up trust. There is some comfort to be found in the beautiful silence between you, as he holds your hand and smiles. A smile meant just for you.

He isn't much of a talker, but he doesn't have to be. You just love being with him as much as he enjoys being with you, and after a lifetime of being afraid of being abandoned because he wasn't good enough... this is more of a paradise than that dump ever could've been. Anger and silence are nothing to fear when you're not alone with your insecurities.

SE Suit Saeran isn't as quiet about what he feels. He knows if he isn't forthcoming about his frustration, people will bother him anyway. He responds fast and hard, even if he doesn't mean to be overtly mean to someone about it. That's just how he is, and sometimes, he thinks it's for the best because it keeps not only him guarded, but it protects SE Saeran, too... somebody who doesn't have the energy to say what he needs to say when he gets worked up.

If he wants some space, he'll make space for himself and leave the room without another word. It doesn't always work out in his favor, though. He has the tendency to push hard and think about whatever consequences may come of it after the fact. This has made him hurt other people before, God knows how many times, and likely, it's done the same to you at some point even if you understand that he doesn't want to hurt other people. He just wants to be alone when he doesn't feel like he can breathe. You've been there, though.

You know what that feels like, and seeing him do his best to navigate those feelings despite how difficult they are made you admire him. It never hurts to know you're not alone, but there's always a kick there when you realize the person you love thinks of themself the way you think of yourself, too. You want better for them, and in turn, it makes you want better for yourself. That's what your dynamic is like, being there for each other with a sincere understanding that most people don't get.

The only issue you have is when you butt heads. When you hit your hits and he hits his, that's when it's important to take a time out and breathe away from each other. It's not even that you did anything, it's more so... that you needed to be alone for five minutes, and he knew he needed to step aside because the smallest noises were making his skin crawl. It's just like that sometimes, but that's why you talk about the feelings as they come and have boundaries to sort yourself out in a high-tension moment.

[jennmpov]

Hiya love!!

Saw your post and though I would ask! 😁

Can I ask all of them? 1-36 lmao

Last question is: what's your biggest fear?

Love u, byeeeeee🩷

OMG this made me so happy!!!!! I'm a nobody and you want to know about me?!?!? 😭means the world to me!!!❤️I love you !!!!!

I did try to answer all of the questions and I thought I posted it but I am new with posting so please forgive me! Also, I'm an over sharer so I'm sorry in advance for that too!

What is your nickname?

Lately, my colleagues have been calling me Jay. Other times I'm Jen or Jenni.

When is your birthday?

4/3 :)

What was your longest relationship?

I've only been in one serious relationship and those were the hardest 4 years of my lifeeeee! Seriously, barely made out alive. 😮‍💨

What is your favorite book?

I have so mannnnyyy! It's so hard to pick one but I'll share a few that actually caught my attention and still have resonated with me:

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman

Anxious People by Fredrik Backman

Tony and Susan by Austin Wright

It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover

I'm thinking of ending things by Iain Reid

I honestly have so many more, but these are the ones I have read recently and absolutely loved. Also, Fredrik Backman is currently my fav author so I definitely recommend checking him out !

What is something you're insecure about?

My appearance for sure. I don't feel confident in my looks whatsoever haha. I feel like I am fugly most of the time but that just what has been embedded in my brain since I was younger. Also, I've recently have gotten insecure with my voice. Which is so random but I kind of hate my voice LOL.

5 Male celebrity crushes

Jake Gyllenhaal (obvy LOL), Pedro Pescal, Jaime Camil, Tenoch Huerta, Aaron Taylor-Johnson. I honestly have many more and they are all from Novelas. That is all I grew up watching with my mom hehe.

5 Female celebrity crushes

Elizabeth Olsen, Emma D'arcy, Scarlett Johanssan, Ana de Armas, Anne Hathaway and again, I am many many moorreee.

What is your dream job?

I always wanted to do something in music or theatre. A singer or actor. I was a huge choir nerd in high school. I even did piano lessons for a few years. On my last year of high school, I ended up doing theatre and it was so much fun! I did plays and that experience really made me love theatre. Maybe one day in the future... 🙏

What do you consider your biggest accomplishment?

I haven't accomplished much in life to be honest so I don't know what I would consider an accomplishment. Maybe being able to learn different professions throughout the years. I am a Certified Patient Care Tech and all though I am not even that work field anymore, I still very much enjoyed learning about the healthcare process and what different titles mean when it comes to taking care of patient and getting the help that they need.

What is a fact about you that nobody would believe?

I have no clueeeeeeeee......maybe that I'm from MX ?? LOL My accent is completely gone now from the 12 years that I've lived in the States. Which is so sad cause not only do I suck at speaking English, my Spanish is going down hill too.. I'm slowly turning into a sabo kid!! 😭😭

What were your highs and lows for this last month?

Lately, my lows have been just feeling very lost and out of place. I feel like I should be at a certain point in my life but I am so far from reaching it or maybe I won't ever come close but yeah, its a very crappy feeling. My high this month is definitely receiving this ask from you. Made my day 100% better! ❤️

Where is somewhere you'd like to visit?

I have sooooooo many places I would like to visit!!! In States, I would love to visit New York, Florida for Universal Studios and World Disney. Out of States, I would love to visit Sweden, Italy, Japan, South Korea.

How do you de-stress?

I nap like my life depends on it. I'm stressed, NAP. Upset, NAP. Happy, NAP. Sad, Nap. I could rot happily in my bed if I could get paid for it.

What are your favorite apps besides tumblr?

I honestly only mainly use Tumblr and Tiktok LOL they control my life right now. I don't think I use any other apps. Maybe Amazon and Barnes & Nobles 😁

Describe yourself in one sentence.

Lover girl in a world where love no longer exists. 🫠

What do you think makes you attractive?

I don't know actually... I would like to say my personality perhaps? I think I'm pretty cool I think I'm quite hilarious actually haha. I had someone once say that my eyes and smile was the most attractive thing about me, but I think the opposite.

What is something you're really good at?

Procrastinating. I procrastinate so good that when the deadline of something is like 5 minutes away, I overwork and stress myself out so bad that my work just comes out beautifully. I work amazing under extreme and stressful situations. Not healthy at all so please don't try!!!!

What is something you're really bad at?

Math. Which is funny because I was doing accountant work for a Retail store as my first job and I was amazing. Maybe it was the power I felt while holding thousands of dollars a night while making minimum wage 🥲LOL

A time that you told a lie.

I never lie, I speak my truth all the time but while I was in my first serious relationship, I lied ALOT about being okay and happy. It was such unhealthy relationship for me and I wanted to keep the peace at all times that I lied a lot to my family. Trust me when I say, even if they are older, does not mean they are mature. Learned that the hard way.

What's a totally random and useless fact that you know?

Our brain doesn't know our eyeballs exist and if they did know, they would attack them. You can permanently go blind if our brain was like, "wait a min, where did they come from??" Freaking GNARLY!

Who knows you the best?

My mommy ❤️

What is your most prized possession?

I am in LOVE with V for Vendetta. From the moment I saw it back when my dad would let us rent random movies from Blockbusters, I just love it. I read the comics and love the theatrics of how V is and how beautifully he was portrayed by Hugh Weaving. I ended up buying a screenplay book that contains the directors notes and small changes that were made that didn't make it to the movie and that is my most prized possession. Definitely fueled my love for acting and everything that comes from just being able to shoot a movie.

What is your longest friendship?

9 years but unfortunately, life drifted us apart :(

When did you first feel like an adult?

When I did my taxes for the first time. I was not ready to adult, and I still can't adult correctly but surviving!

Do you/ Have you played any sports?

Yes, volleyball!!!! My family used to play it all time when we lived in MX. I turn into a competitive monster.

How are you feeling right now?

Tired and hungry. I've been surviving on Moster Energy drinks these last few days.

Are you an early bird or a night owl?

I'm honestly neither. I used to be able to stay up all night but now, I can barely wake up early and can barely stay awake lol I'm old now.

Do you believe in love at first sight?

I do, I'm a hopeless romantic.

Favorite song lyrics right now?

I've been listening to sad songs lately. Currently have I Can't Make You Love Me by Bon Iver on a constant loop. "I'll close my eyes, then I won't see. The love you don't feel when you're holding me. Morning will come and I'll do what's right. Give me 'til then to give up this fight." UGH gets me every time! 😭

What does self care look like for you?

Honestly, a nice hot bath in a candle lit bathroom, bright enough to be able to read a book and because I love in AZ, thunderstorm sounds in the background. My definition of self care ❤️

Describe yourself with 3 singers.

This is on hard! I don't know. Ummmmmm can I say 3 of my favorite singers? Amy Lee from Evanescence, RAYE, and Beyonce.

What makes you nervous?

Knowing that we have only explore 5% of the ocean and ocean nearly takes 70% of our planet. Not sure what phobia that is but thinking about that makes me nervous. Also meeting new people. I'm very shy so I get super nervous and anxious.

What’s a pet peeve you have?

When I am with someone and I am sharing something or just telling them something and they are on their phone, not listening at all. Then they have the audacity to say, "Huh?" Like no thank you. The excitement is over and now I'm hurt. 🥲

What will always make you cry?

Thinking about my life. Kidding! I am a huge crybaby so it doesn't take much to make me cry. Show me a sad video, I'll cry a river.

What kind of first impression do you think you make on people?

I don't know, I smile a lot so maybe they form some kind of opinion based on that. I hope it's all good first impressions though. 😊

Special Question: What's your biggest fear?

I have a lot of fears and some may seem so little. I am afraid of never being able to accomplish or become the person I dreamt of being. I'm afraid that I will never get back on track with how I envisioned I would be right now at 24. It's dumb little things that scare me. Never finding love and having a family of my own or not being able to be fully happy. Sometimes it feels like something is missing and maybe that's why I have been feeling lost lately. Those are biggest fears.

THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN!!! I really enjoyed answering these questions and would totally love to see you answering them too!!!!!! Love you!!!❤️❤️❤️

[zaynessbeloved]

Say it's me you want

Synopsis: The morning after your long-awaited night together, you wake alone in Rafayel’s bed—her warmth gone, the sheets barely holding the memory of her touch. For a brief, aching moment, doubt sets in. But Rafayel isn’t one to disappear without a reason. What follows is a quiet exploration of intimacy after vulnerability: tender moments shared between each other, soft teasing over breakfast, and the slow, unspoken confirmation that what bloomed between you wasn’t just a night of pleasure, but something deeper taking root.

Amid subtle glances, playful remarks, and the weight of emotions left unsaid, the two of you navigate the morning after not with declarations, but with gestures—cups of coffee passed between lips still marked by kisses, and touches that linger just a little too long. It’s not just comfort—it’s the beginning of something real.

Content warnings: fem!raf, party girl raf, non-canon rafayel, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), post-sex intimacy, fingering, exploration of sexuality, internalized insecurity, jealousy, possessiveness, emotionally vulnerable dialogue, light dominance/submission dynamics, praise kink, mutual pining, consensual intimacy between women, kissing, biting, multiple orgasms, emotional sex, grinding, nipple play, clingy affection, domestic tenderness, neck kisses, cuddling, defining a relationship

Pairings: fem!Rafayel x reader

Word count: 13k

A/n: in order to celebrate pride month, i posted a poll for you guys to pick one of the guys as fem and rafayel won, hehe. so here it is fem!raf for whoever enjoys this kind of content, and i hope you'll like it.

this is the second part because some people really liked the first part and I also had a lot of fun writing this, so I got inspired to write more.

p.s. i don't condone any type of hateful, homophobic behavior. so if this is not for you, please scroll. i will not hesitate to delete these types of comments and block you :)

that being said, enjoy 🌈

part 1

Chapter 2

The morning after, you woke not in your own bed, but tangled in hers. Which, frankly, made sense. Your sheets were… well, unusable after the night you’d had. The first thing you noticed was the absence of warmth beside you—Rafayel was gone. Her side of the bed was empty, a faint indentation the only trace she’d ever been there. For a second, your stomach dropped. You weren’t sure what to make of it—didn’t want to jump to conclusions. That wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t like her. But still, the silence was louder than you'd like.

And then, just as your overthinking mind began to stir, you shifted under her silk sheets and caught sight of a small note beside the pillow. Pale blue paper, her rushed handwriting slanted and a little messy—not quite her usual dramatic flair. She must’ve written it half-asleep. Or hungover. Maybe both. 

“Cutie, don’t panic. I’m just grabbing coffee. There’s water and painkillers on the nightstand. Be good. Or don’t. I’ll know either way. ♡”  

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. It was quiet, barely more than a breath—but it was real. Your fingers clutched the note before you even realized, thumb brushing over the little heart she'd scrawled at the end like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. To you, it was.

Memories from the night before returned like a tide—slow at first, then crashing. Your lips tingled at the thought of her mouth on yours. Your body responded instantly, heat curling low in your belly, skin still hypersensitive, as if Rafayel’s touch had etched itself permanently into your nerves. You could still feel the ghost of her fingers trailing down your spine, her breath at your ear, the way she spoke your name like it tasted too good to waste on silence.

She made you come twice, murmuring filth against your skin like poetry. It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t even just discovery. It had felt like something else entirely. Something terrifying and exhilarating and far too intimate for the word casual to ever apply.

You were still clutching her note when you realized you’d been biting your lip, dazed in the center of her bed, sheets wrapped around your bare body like a lover’s afterthought. There was a faint ache between your thighs—not unwelcome—and a softness in your limbs you hadn’t felt in a long time. And somewhere beneath the hangover pounding behind your eyes, a different kind of pulse drummed—steady and trembling with anticipation.

You hadn’t known what to expect when it came to being with a woman—with her. But Rafayel had made it feel… electric. Undeniably sensual, but also kind. Like she wasn’t just trying to take your pleasure, but gift you hers. There was something so intimate in the way she touched you, like she had always known your body, always waited to claim it, and now that she had, she’d never let you forget it.

And maybe you didn’t want to forget it.

You reached for the glass of water and the small packet of painkillers on the nightstand—just as her note had said. The medicine went down with a wince, the sting at the back of your throat reminding you that no matter how sweet the night had been, the morning had teeth. 

Still aching in places you didn’t want to admit, you rose from her bed and padded to the shower. The water was hot, soothing, and it slid down your skin like a balm, though it couldn't wash away the lingering heat trapped in your muscles, or the way your body still reacted to memory alone. Her lips. Her voice. Her hands. 

And when you stepped out, steam curling off your shoulders, you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. A soft, dusky mark stained the curve of your neck—just beneath your jaw. Deliberate. Beautiful. Undeniably hers.

Your breath hitched, stomach flipping as your fingers ghosted over it. It wasn’t just the ache between your legs or the tremble in your limbs—it was the mark itself, subtle and intimate, like a secret she’d left behind just for you. You swallowed hard and dressed quickly, throwing yourself into anything to stay occupied—changing your sheets, folding laundry, pretending the silence didn’t feel like a countdown.

She’d be back soon. You knew that. You felt it like a thread pulled taut beneath your skin. But still, questions swirled. Would she say anything? Would she pretend last night never happened? Should you bring it up, or wait for her to? Did this change anything or was it just a fluke, a beautiful, sensual accident wrapped in heat and alcohol and aching need?

You didn’t want to think the worst. Rafayel had never treated you like you were disposable. But this was new—you were new to this—and somewhere deep in your chest, your heart coiled in quiet, cautious hope.

The dorm door swung open without warning.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” came the familiar lilt of her voice, too smug, too chipper for someone who had definitely been drinking just as much as you last night.

Rafayel strolled in like sunlight with teeth—radiant, smug, effortless. Two paper cups of coffee balanced in one hand, a bakery bag tucked beneath her arm. She looked like someone who didn’t have a single thought weighing her down. And when her eyes found yours, she lit up with a smile that made your breath hitch before you could stop it.

“Still alive?” she teased, sauntering over like she hadn’t made you come undone against her mouth hours ago. “Because I feel like death warmed over. And this,” she held up one of the cups, “is my only salvation.”

You took the offered coffee with a quiet smile. It was warm. Sweet. Just the way you liked it—milk and sugar. Of course she remembered. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, wrapping your hands around the cup like it might anchor you. 

She collapsed onto your freshly made bed with a dramatic sigh, folding one leg beneath her and unceremoniously tossing the bakery bag beside her. She looked casual—or her version of it: slouchy black trousers, a ribbed crop top hanging off one shoulder, silver rings glinting on her fingers. Her lavender hair was still damp from a quick wash, curls soft and loose around her face.

And then she took a sip of her own coffee. A low, pleased hum escaped her throat—casual, involuntary, entirely unaware of the way it made your spine straighten.

You looked away, biting your lip, pretending to be fascinated by the steam rising from your cup. Rafayel didn’t seem to notice. She was already pulling open the bag, revealing a pair of flaky croissants dusted in powdered sugar. Your stomach growled at the sight, loudly enough that her head tilted toward you, one perfectly arched brow raised in amusement.

“Well, well,” she purred, holding out one of the pastries with exaggerated flourish, “someone’s body remembers how much energy she spent last night.”

Your face flushed immediately. “Raf.”

Her grin widened, biting into her croissant like she hadn’t just sent your brain into flames. “What?” she said around the flaky bite, voice innocently muffled. “I’m just being generous. I don't have to guess that I probably left you a little sore.” 

You nearly choked on your coffee. She winked over the rim of her cup, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to kiss her or bury your face under a pillow until next semester. 

Rafayel watched you, her gaze dappled with amusement and something softer—something quietly curious. The way you flushed, the way your fingers fidgeted slightly around the pastry, like your body hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that it was morning and not last night.

She could tell what was swirling in your head—maybe not all the details, but enough. She remembered what it had felt like, the first time she'd kissed a woman. The quiet panic of unfamiliar territory, the way it cracked something open inside her. But this—what you’d shared—was more than a kiss. Far more. And she knew that. Which is why she didn’t press. Why she lounged there now, eyes bright with mirth, voice syrupy and sweet whenever she spoke. Keeping the edges soft. Giving you space to breathe.

And you noticed that. The way she didn’t hover. The way she didn’t act like anything had changed—even though everything had.

You took a bite of your croissant, chewing slowly, trying to buy yourself a moment of courage. Her leg was still tucked beneath her, her posture relaxed as she drank her coffee, but you could feel the weight of her attention on you—not heavy, just present. Like she was waiting. Patient. Attuned.

Your eyes flicked to her, then away. Then back again.

“I—uh…” you began, your voice catching slightly before you pushed through, “I don’t want to make this more awkward than it probably is already. For you.”

You didn't look at her when you said it. Your eyes stayed on the rim of your coffee cup, or maybe on the flecks of sugar still clinging to the pastry. Anywhere but her.

“But I need to say this.”

There was a pause. A beat. Long enough that you finally glanced up—and found her watching you with that quiet tilt of her head, brows gently raised, eyes unreadable. Not guarded. Just waiting. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t deflect, didn’t slide in with a joke to ease the tension. For once, Rafayel just let the moment breathe.

Inside, her thoughts were racing. Not that it showed. She knew—or hoped she knew—where this was going. She could still feel the imprint of last night in her bones, the sound of your voice cracking on her name, the way you’d held her like you didn’t want morning to ever come. She hadn’t imagined the way you’d looked at her afterward. Hadn’t dreamed the way your fingers had clung to her skin like you were scared she’d vanish if you let go.

But still, she let you speak first. Let you decide the tone. She knew what it had been like for her, realizing desire didn’t always look like she’d been told it should. And she wasn’t about to take that away from you by saying too much, too fast.

You swallowed, voice a little steadier this time. “Last night wasn’t just… I mean, it wasn’t just some wild thing I did while drunk. I know I was tipsy, but it wasn’t because of that. I wanted it. You. I chose it.”

Rafayel’s lashes lowered just a little, but she said nothing. Her cup lowered to her lap, one finger absently tracing the rim.

You continued before you could lose your nerve. “And I don’t know what it meant for you. Maybe nothing. I’m not trying to make this heavy, I just— I can’t pretend it didn’t mean something to me. Because it did. And I guess… I guess I just need to know if it meant something to you too.”

The quiet stretched again. 

“Mmm.” Rafayel hummed softly, head tilting further as a slow smile crept across her lips. “You say that like it’s a confession,” she mused, voice like silk laced with something warmer, something knowing. “When all I’m hearing is that you wanted me.”

Your heart stumbled. She leaned back slightly, exhaling a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. 

“Cutie,” she murmured, almost fondly. “I’m flattered. Truly. But if you think I spent all night worshiping your body like that just for the sport of it—” she gave you a slow once-over, her gaze lingering, deliberate “—then I must not have done a good enough job.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden warmth blooming in your chest. Her tone softened a little more. Still playful, still teasing—but there was something earnest beneath it now. 

“Of course it meant something,” she said, setting her coffee down on your desk. “I don’t… I don’t do that with just anyone. And especially not with you.”

You looked up at her, the knot in your chest loosening by degrees.

She smiled again, this time gentler. “So, no. It’s not awkward. At least not for me. And if it is for you… well.” her lips quirked. “I can think of a few ways to help with that.”

And just like that, the tension eased—not gone, not entirely, but softened by the truth finally laid bare between you. It hadn’t been nothing. It hadn’t been one-sided. 

Heat curled low in your belly, blooming outward like sunlight catching on still water. Your heart flipped the moment her hand reached for you—not forceful, just a soft brush of fingers, her palm cupping your cheek with a gentleness that made your breath stutter. The warmth of her skin against yours wasn’t new, but in the quiet light of morning, with your nerves still tender and exposed, it felt different. It felt like something blooming rather than burning.

Your fingers trembled around the coffee cup, just enough for her to notice. Her smile deepened—not mocking, not even teasing. Just soft. Patient. But she didn’t lean in. Of course not. Rafayel never did what was expected. She waited, letting you decide. Letting you want it first.

So you exhaled quietly, hand moving to set your coffee beside hers on the desk. And then—slowly, deliberately—you turned toward her.

Rafayel chuckled low under her breath, a sound rich with amusement and something warmer beneath. “Well, well,” she murmured, her voice silk-laced and lazy, “took you long enough.”

But she met you halfway. Her lips found yours in a kiss far softer than any from the night before. There was no hunger in it this time. No urgency. Just an unspoken promise. Her other hand found your knee, fingers splaying gently there, grounding you. You sighed against her mouth, the tension in your shoulders melting like sugar in tea.

The hand at your cheek slipped into your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a tenderness that made you ache. She pulled you closer, not roughly—just enough to make it impossible to pretend you didn’t want more. And you gave in easily, leaning into her like gravity itself had shifted, like she was the center of it now.

She tasted like coffee and chocolate and something distinctly her—rich and addictive, impossible to describe but unforgettable all the same. Her lips were soft, slow-moving against yours, languid and teasing, like she had all the time in the world and wanted you to feel it. You did. Every brush, every press, every shared breath. You felt it in the way your chest settled, in the way your nerves unknotted one by one.

Your anxieties began to drift—not disappear, not completely, but ease. She hadn’t said the words. She didn’t need to. Not with a kiss like that. Not when she was still holding your knee, her touch lingering like a secret she meant to keep.

When she finally pulled back, she pressed one last kiss to the corner of your mouth, featherlight and sweet, then leaned away with another quiet laugh, reclaiming her coffee like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just rearranged your entire sense of reality in under thirty seconds.

You watched her, lips tingling, pulse unsteady, heart full.

She didn’t say I like you. She didn’t have to.

You were surrounded by the scent of her perfume—soft, floral, unmistakably expensive—and the warmth of coffee and chocolate, and the dizzying comfort of knowing that whatever this thing was between you… it wasn’t one-sided.

————

You and Rafayel never defined what this was. No labels. No late-night confessions or neatly packaged explanations. Still, things had changed. There was no denying it. Not when you were waking up to the soft echo of her perfume clinging to your clothes. Not when her lips found yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Living with her in the same dorm meant sharing space in ways that blurred more than just physical boundaries. Casual kisses became routine. At first, she didn’t push—always letting you lean in, never demanding more than you were ready to give. But Rafayel was nothing if not observant. She saw the way your eyes lit up each time, how your fingers instinctively reached for her when she got too close. She noticed the way you melted at her touch, the way your breath hitched when her lips brushed yours, even in passing.

So she kissed you more. Not urgently, but often. Lingering kisses in the mini kitchen after brushing shoulders. A quick peck on your temple as she passed your desk. A slow, teasing kiss that left you chasing her mouth with your eyes when she pulled away with that infuriating, knowing smirk.

And you adored every single one. You clung to her when she kissed you, even if it was lazy and half-distracted. Your hands would find her sleeves, her shirt, the chain around her neck—something to hold onto. As if the kiss alone wasn’t grounding enough.

Sex never followed. Not again. But that didn’t stop your mind from wandering. Sometimes, when she lounged across from you in shorts and a sleep shirt, you’d catch yourself remembering how her skin felt bare against yours—soft, warm, unforgettable. You remembered how she kissed you like she meant to devour, how she bit down when you gasped, how she made you come with her mouth like she already knew all the ways you wanted to be touched.

And Rafayel remembered too, even if she didn’t say it. Her glances came often—casual, hooded, layered in that infuriating ease of hers. But they lingered too long on your mouth when you laughed, or your throat when you stretched. Her lips would twitch like she wanted to say something, but she never did. She didn’t need to. The air between you was thick with memory.

Still, she never crossed the line again. Only kisses. But she was sweeter now. Still dramatic—gods, always dramatic—but softer around the edges when it came to you. She whined more when things didn’t go her way, leaning into your side like a child seeking comfort, or draping herself over you while doing absolutely nothing productive. She’d lie across your bed while you studied, prodding you with her foot like a bored cat. She’d burst into dancing in the middle of brushing her hair, twirling around, demanding you join her in what she dubbed her “pre-night-out performance.”

“You’re so lucky to witness this,” she declared one evening, yanking the blanket off you as you groaned. “Not many people get front-row seats.”

And you laughed. Because how could you not? It was ridiculous and theatrical and completely, achingly endearing. She brought something out in you—something lighter. Freer. You hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for that version of yourself until she coaxed it to the surface like it belonged there. 

Weeks passed. A month, maybe more. You settled into the rhythm of this strange, unnamed intimacy—where kisses were common but questions were not. Your heart ached with the quiet uncertainty of it. Not because you needed declarations carved in stone. But because she never said what it meant. You didn’t know where you stood. Or if you were even standing in the same place she was. 

Rafayel invited you out more often now—museums, concerts, obscure cafés with dessert menus longer than their wine lists. She called it fun. She called it necessary. She called it artistic inspiration. But she never called it a date.

And you wanted her to.

They felt like dates. The laughter, the stolen glances, the way her hand brushed yours across a table and stayed there a moment too long. But she never gave it a name. And maybe that was what stung the most. Because you were starting to realize you had fallen into something deeper—and you weren’t sure if she was just enjoying the fall, or bracing for the ground.

And you had almost forgotten about her. The girl who hovered near Rafayel like a fly drawn to honey—persistent, irritating, and impossible to ignore once she buzzed into your field of vision.

Almost. But not quite. Not when you saw her again one afternoon, practically glued to Rafayel’s side near one of the campus café carts, her entire posture a study in too close. Her body tilted inward, eyes wide and fluttering, the kind of closeness that tried to pass for casual conversation but reeked of something else entirely. Clingy. Intentional. Territorial. 

You had just stepped out of a seminar, the sun brushing soft warmth across your shoulders, your mind half-occupied with deciding whether you needed another coffee or just liked the excuse of it. That pleasant haze evaporated the moment you caught sight of them. A twist curled low in your stomach—tight and sharp. Ugly in a way you didn’t like to admit.

You knew she was one of Rafayel’s many friends—though it didn’t take a genius to clock the crush she wore so brazenly on her sleeve. Especially since you remembered the kiss.

That night on the dance floor, heat and color and music blurring at the edges, and Rafayel’s mouth finding hers—deliberate, slow, while her eyes stayed locked on you. You hadn’t reacted properly then. You’d only realized later—maybe too late—that it had been for you. A push. A challenge. A dare wrapped in gloss and teeth.

But it had still happened. And it still stung.

You didn’t have a right to feel possessive. Not technically. No rules had been drawn. No promises whispered. But your body was already moving before your mind caught up, weaving through the crowd, your phone clutched loosely in your hand as if you were simply passing through. Casual. Accidental. 

Only you weren’t.

Rafayel stood with her back to you, all lazy grace and indulgent laughter, her head tilted slightly as the girl said something that made her smirk. You were close enough now to catch the flirtatious tilt in her voice, the soft fingers resting on Rafayel’s arm like she’d earned the right to touch her there. The sight made your jaw tense.

The girl saw you before Rafayel did. Her smile flickered, and something petty in you bloomed—sharp and mean and gleeful.

You stepped in. Your arm slipped around Rafayel’s waist in a move so smooth, so familiar, it might’ve been mistaken for innocent. Might’ve. But the way your hand lingered just a moment too long, fingers brushing her hip, and the way your voice softened as you leaned into her shoulder—it was anything but.

“Hey,” you murmured, a little too close to her ear.

Rafayel turned, clearly surprised, but her eyes lit up instantly, lips curving into that warm, magnetic smile she only ever gave you.

“Cutie,” she purred, voice slow and lazy like sunlight through silk. “What a fortunate coincidence.”

She didn’t move away from your touch. If anything, she leaned into it slightly, the barest shift—but enough for the girl beside her to notice. You could feel it—the way her mood changed, the way her posture straightened as she tried to reclaim the air between them.

“Oh,” the girl cut in quickly, eyes flicking between you both. “I didn’t know you were so close.”

Rafayel didn’t miss a beat. Her eyes stayed locked on yours as she took a sip of her drink and said, “Mmm. She’s always hanging around. Like my own personal moon. Tragic, beautiful, and constantly pulling me into her orbit.” 

You blinked, thrown off for a second, and your pulse jumped. Rafayel didn’t look at the girl at all, didn’t bother clarifying or softening the implication.

The girl huffed a little laugh, awkward, forced. “Right. Well, I’ll let you guys do your thing. Hope to catch you later, Ayel. Yeah?” 

She didn’t wait for a response before stepping back, her smile polite but strained. You watched her go, a strange mix of satisfaction and guilt simmering in your chest. 

Once she was gone, Rafayel turned back to you, eyebrow raised, amusement dancing at the corners of her mouth. 

“Jealousy looks good on you,” she murmured, teasing, but her gaze was sharper now, searching. “Were you going to say hello, or just murder her with your eyes from across the quad?”

You flushed, ready to deny it, but her smirk deepened and she leaned in, whispering just low enough to melt the pretense.

“I would've kissed you, you know,” she said, her voice velvet-smooth. “But I figured you’d prefer to be the one doing the stealing this time.” 

And you hated how right she was, how easily she saw through you. But gods, you loved it, too.

You let your hand slip from her waist—slowly, reluctantly—and Rafayel’s eyes followed the motion with a barely-there frown that curled at the corner of her lips. Not disappointment exactly. More like amusement, like she was watching you write the next move in a game she already knew the ending to.

You didn’t say anything. Just turned, leaning back against the tall café table with a faux-casual air, plucking her coffee right from her hand and taking a slow, deliberate sip. She said nothing about that, either. Only quirked a brow and stepped closer, her presence brushing softly into your space like she didn’t need permission.

You didn’t want to ask. Truly. The last thing you wanted was to sound like the jealous almost-maybe-girlfriend. But the words itched at your throat like they’d been waiting all day.

“So…” you began, light and breezy. “She’s around a lot, huh?”

Rafayel tilted her head, that silken lavender hair cascading over one shoulder like it was painted to move with her. Her violet gaze sparked, amused but thoughtful. “Which she, cutie? I know so many.” 

Her hand lifted slowly, brushing against your waist—tentative at first, like she was still figuring out where the invisible lines were drawn. Public gestures weren’t your thing. Not hers either. At least, not in front of people when neither of you had said what this was. 

She didn’t know where your comfort ended, or whether you’d ever really talked about your sexuality out loud. She didn’t know if you were ready. Or if you even knew what this meant yet.

What she didn’t actually know was that you didn’t care. Not about the label, or the eyes, or any of it. You just wanted her. You wanted her to touch you like that—possessively, softly—and not only behind closed doors. You wanted people to see.

So when her hand settled on your waist again, you didn’t pull away. You leaned into it, casual but sure, sipping her coffee like it was yours to take. Her expression shifted, that teasing smirk curling deeper as she let her palm slide slightly, slowly, across the dip of your hip. Her fingers didn’t press, they lingered.

“I was being polite,” she said, voice low and honey-smooth. “She’s clingy, but she’s harmless. You’re the one who stole my drink without asking—that’s far more dangerous.”

You didn’t smile at that, even though you should have. It would have been easier. But instead, your eyes stayed on hers, quiet, intense. “You kissed her.”

Rafayel’s lashes lowered briefly. But her tone didn’t flinch—playful, cool, veiled in velvet. “I also kissed you. But funny enough, only one of those things still keeps me up at night.”

Her thumb rubbed slow circles into your waist, grounding you in that maddening, magnetic way she always had. But under the ease, something in her shifted. A flicker of regret. The kiss on the dance floor… she hadn’t forgotten. She knew why she did it. She knew you knew, too. And it had worked, hadn’t it? That kiss, that tiny act of recklessness—it had changed everything between you.

Still, she wished she hadn’t done it. And maybe, in that second, you saw it in her eyes.

Before you could say anything else, Rafayel reached for your hand, fingers twining through yours with zero hesitation, and tugged you away from the café.

“Come on,” she said, grin lazy, tugging you into motion. “You’re clearly thinking too hard.” 

You let her pull you across campus, your hand snug in hers as the sun dipped lower behind the trees. She led you past the edge of the main building, to a small alcove hidden in greenery and concrete—half-shadowed, half-sunlit—before backing you gently against the wall, laughter bubbling up in her throat. 

And then she kissed you. She kissed you like she’d been waiting all day. No teasing. No hesitation. Just her lips on yours, firm and warm and devastating, stealing every thought you had left. Your hands slid to her cheeks, cupping her face, and her body leaned into yours with a soft sigh as her fingers found your hips again. 

You didn’t hold back.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathless and flushed, Rafayel’s gaze lingered on your mouth—her thumb brushing the edge of your bottom lip where your lipstick had smeared. Her usual smirk was there, but something quieter lived beneath it now. A kind of hush.

Her voice dropped. “What are you feeling, cutie?”

The words hit harder than you expected. There was no grin in them. No mockery. Just quiet curiosity—and maybe, just maybe, a trace of vulnerability she rarely let anyone see.

You blinked at her, stunned. “What?”

“I mean,” she said, leaning back just a little, “I can keep kissing you in stolen corners and pretending we’re just friends with excellent taste and poor impulse control. But if you’re going to keep looking at me like that, I need to know where we stand.” 

You swallowed. “You’re putting me on the spot.” 

“I know.” her smile softened, eyes searching yours. “But it’s been a month. And I’ve been good, haven’t I? I didn’t push. I didn’t ask. I waited.” 

She brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch featherlight. 

“But that night… the way you touched me. The way you looked when she put her hand on my arm just now. That wasn’t nothing.”

It wasn’t. And you couldn’t pretend it was. You opened your mouth—not even sure what you were going to say—but she beat you to it with a sudden, breathy laugh, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw.

“Don’t panic. I’m not asking you to write a sonnet. I just want to know if I get to keep kissing you in broad daylight, or if I should start running now before you change your mind.”

You looked at her, startled, and she gave you a grin that was entirely too smug. Still, beneath all the performance, all the drama, there was a single truth. She wanted you to choose her, out loud, in public, for the world to see. And your heart—stupid, reckless thing—already had.

You knew it took something—something real—for Rafayel to be this direct.

She wasn’t careless with clarity. She dressed everything in smoke and mirrors, in half-smiles and lilting sarcasm, as if speaking plainly would make things too real. So when she did—when she asked you point-blank what you were feeling, what you wanted—it startled something in you. Stirred up a kind of giddiness that danced through your chest like wind catching fire.

Your heart was a mess of fluttering beats. And still, you couldn’t resist teasing her back, if only to buy yourself a breath. A little grin tugged at your lips, and you leaned in close, brushing a kiss just shy of her mouth.

“Hmm,” you murmured, eyes bright with mischief, “was that your way of asking me out?”

The laugh that broke from her lips was soft and incredulous, like she didn’t expect that from you—but adored it. Her smirk melted into a grin as she closed the space between you again, claiming your lips with a soft sound of delight. The kiss was slow, lush, deliciously unhurried. Her tongue slid against yours, coaxing rather than demanding, and her fingers at your waist curled a little tighter, like she was trying to memorize the way your body fit against hers.

You pulled back—not far, just enough. Just enough to leave her chasing. You watched the moment her eyes flicked open, a faint pout at the loss of your mouth, and the amusement dancing behind her gaze when she realized what you were doing.

“Playing hard to get now?” she teased, voice velvet-soft against the shell of your ear. “Or are you trying to make me beg?” 

You smiled, trailing a kiss to her jaw, then to the delicate hollow just beneath her ear. You felt the subtle flutter of her breath, the faint tremor in her hold. 

“I just want to hear you say it,” you whispered into her skin, your words soft but unmistakable. “Say what you feel.”

You felt her still, just for a second. A sharp, almost imperceptible pause in the rhythm of her breath. And then a slow exhale, and a chuckle that sounded like surrender.

Her hands slid up your sides and then rested on your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your skin as she leaned in again. But this time, her kiss was softer. Less playful. More present. Her lips molded to yours like she wasn’t hiding anymore, like she wanted to give herself away in the way she knew best.

When she finally pulled back, just barely, her forehead pressed against yours. Her breath was warm and sweet between you, her voice low and intimate.

“I tried not to feel this,” she said, voice light, but without a trace of mockery. “Tried to keep it all casual and cute. You know. My specialty.” 

You swallowed, heart pounding. 

“But you…” she gave a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You make it impossible to pretend I don’t care. I do. I care too much. About your stupid sleep schedule. About how you always steal my coffee and then pout when I steal it back. About the way you look at me like I’m some sort of mystery you want to solve.”

You blinked, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.

“And I care,” she added, eyes searching yours, “about the way you melt when I kiss you. And the way you kissed me back that night like I was something you finally admitted you wanted.”

The air felt suddenly charged—so thick with unspoken things it was a miracle you could still breathe.

“You don’t scare me,” you whispered, your hands curling into the fabric of her top. “I was waiting for this. For you.”

She kissed you again—like that was all she needed to hear. Like that confession was enough to loosen something deep inside her, something she’d been guarding far too long.

And when her lips moved against yours, slow and reverent, it wasn’t a question anymore. It was a promise.

————

The rest of that day passed in a golden haze—soft laughter pressed between lingering kisses, playful jabs that dissolved into grins, and the kind of handholding that made your chest ache with something warm and weightless. Rafayel was clingier than usual. Or maybe she’d always been this way—touch-starved and dramatic—but now she didn’t have to hide it anymore.

Some people stared. Some didn’t. Neither reaction mattered. Not when her fingers threaded through yours like they were made to belong there. Not when she dragged you aimlessly across campus with no destination, only momentum and mischief, tugging you behind her like she couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second. Her gaze glinted with that impossible combination of flirtation and something softer, rarer. Real. It left you rolling your eyes so much your head hurt—but your cheeks stayed warm the entire time.

Eventually, you parted ways. She had sculpting class and was already half-late, swearing under her breath and sprinting down the hall. But not before stealing one more kiss—quick, open, a little messy—and flashing you a smug smile that lingered in your chest long after she vanished around the corner.

Hours later, you were curled up in the dorm, the scent of takeout seafood clinging to the air, when the door creaked open. Rafayel stumbled inside with the grace of a ghost and the dramatic sigh of a diva meeting her tragic end.

“I swear,” she groaned, dropping her bag with a thud, “that sculpture has a personal vendetta against me. I’ve never been so personally victimized by a block of marble.”

You laughed, already expecting the theatrics. “Maybe it’s just trying to capture your true essence—sharp, stubborn, and a pain in the ass.”

“Oh?” she arched a brow, fingers moving lazily to the buttons of her shirt. “Is that what you like about me?”

You meant to say something snarky back, but your mouth dried the moment she tugged the shirt from her shoulders and let it fall, revealing smooth skin and black lace that did absolutely nothing to help your focus. 

Her eyes caught yours—cool amethyst, alight with quiet heat and something undeniably wicked. “You’re staring,” she murmured, voice low and knowing. 

You tried to turn, to look anywhere but at her. “I��m not.”

Her laugh curled around your spine. “Liar.”

Before you could retreat farther, her arms wrapped around your waist from behind. The contact stole your breath. Her bare skin met yours through the thin fabric of your shirt, and her lips found the side of your neck—soft, lazy kisses that didn’t match the spike of need they left behind.

“Don’t run now,” she whispered, like she was talking about more than just your failed attempt to flee. “You started this by looking at me like that.”

You shivered in her hold, your hands gripping her forearms as you stared hard at the cluttered desk ahead, pretending the warmth of her mouth on your skin wasn’t unraveling you piece by piece.

“We haven’t done this since…” you managed, breath shaky.

“I know.” her teeth grazed your pulse point. “That night ruined me.”

Your knees buckled slightly as her fingers slipped beneath your shirt—slow, exploratory, reverent. You hadn’t bothered with a bra, and the moment she realized it, her palm curved upward, cupping your breast in a warm, steady hold.

“Rafayel—” your voice caught, half-whisper, half-plea.

Her only reply was a soft hum and the gentle drag of her thumb across your nipple. The sensation hit like a live wire, your body already reacting before your mind could catch up. Your hips twitched, your thighs pressing together as arousal pooled hot and thick between your legs.

“Still so sensitive,” she mused, mouth brushing your ear now. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, cutie?”

The nickname sent a new wave of heat straight through you. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped when she pinched lightly, rolling the soft peak between her fingers while her other hand snuck lower, skimming along the waistband of your sleep shorts with maddening patience.

It was unbearable. Addictive. Every touch, every breath, felt amplified by time and distance and restraint finally crumbling. You were shaking, melting in her arms, undone by how slowly she was letting you fall apart. And she hadn’t even kissed you again.

You squirmed in her hold, helpless and pliant, a shaky sigh spilling from your lips as Rafayel’s mouth continued its slow, indulgent exploration of your neck. Each kiss was lazy, deliberate, like she had all the time in the world—and you were the only thing worth tasting.

Your underwear was already clinging to you, soaked and sensitive, the arousal pooling between your thighs impossible to ignore. When her teeth sank softly into the tender skin just beneath your ear, your breath hitched, a high, needy moan escaping before you could catch it. Her fingers pinched your nipple again, and your voice cracked on the edge of it, barely more than a breath.

“Mmn,” she purred, her tone amused, her lips brushing your skin. “So fussy tonight, aren’t you?”  

The hand at your waist hadn’t moved lower. It hovered, trailing along the band of your sleep shorts in lazy circles that did nothing to ease the ache and everything to stoke the fire. Her fingertips were cool, featherlight, the faintest contrast to the heat blooming beneath your skin. And gods, they were so slender—too perfect not to imagine them inside you again. Your back arched instinctively, hips pressing into her, seeking more.

That earned you a quiet, delighted sound from her throat—a low hum, warm and indulgent, vibrating against your skin as her smirk curled into your neck.

She knew. Of course she knew. You were transparent in the way your body trembled, in the way your breath caught every time she touched you like this. Rafayel didn’t need you to say anything—she read you like one of her own sketches, fingertips gliding over every unspoken desire.

She shifted then, just enough to whisper, “You remember how I touched you, don’t you?”

A whimper answered her before you could speak. She chuckled—quiet, sinful, pleased—and the sound alone made your knees weaken.

She liked this. The control, the teasing edge of power in her hands. But she wasn’t cruel with it—never cruel. She coaxed more than she commanded, every touch a question and a promise. She wanted to draw you out, unravel you, piece by piece. Make you beg, make you melt. Make you hers.

And you were. Weren’t you?

“Still not using your words,” she murmured, lips grazing your ear now. “Should I stop?”

Your head shook before your voice could catch up. “No—don’t stop.”

“Hmm. Thought so.” 

Then she bit down again, harder this time—marking you. A sharp little sting beneath a flood of warmth. Before you could breathe through it, her fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts with practiced ease, sliding beneath your soaked underwear in one smooth motion.

You gasped, a full-body shiver racking through you as her fingers finally found you. She didn’t rush—of course not. That wasn’t her style.

She circled your clit once, twice. So slow you thought you might scream. Your voice broke around her name, cracked and breathless and desperate, and Rafayel grinned like she’d won something. Which she had.

Her fingers moved with maddening ease between your folds, dragging through your slickness, teasing and stroking—but never pushing in. She knew exactly what you wanted, and she was going to make you feel every inch of the wanting.

You whimpered, hips rocking subtly, chasing the friction, and she tsked softly behind you.

“Impatient,” she whispered, her voice all velvet and sin. “But I like you like this.”

You could feel the thrum of her arousal behind you, the way her breathing had quickened, her body pressed flush against yours. Her own want was simmering beneath the surface, but still—she gave all of herself to you, focused, reverent. Her fingers played you like an instrument, tuning every reaction with the same attention she gave to her most delicate sculptures.

And you were crumbling. Needy and soaking and trembling in her arms, begging with nothing but moans and the way you leaned back into her, silently pleading for more.

“Feels… good,” you managed, voice catching as her fingers slicked back and forth again, gliding with lazy expertise between your folds. “R-Raf…” 

It wasn’t quite a plea yet. But it was close. Her breath skimmed your neck as she hummed in mock curiosity, the sound equal parts teasing and wicked. 

“Mm? That good?” she murmured, her fingers not quite still—but infuriatingly slow. She traced over your swollen clit with featherlight strokes, then dipped lower again, just to feel the way your hips shifted into her hand, hungry for more friction.

You bit your lower lip hard, trying to keep your voice steady, but it broke again the moment she pinched your nipple. A sharp ache, a jolt of pleasure, just as her other hand circled your clit again—this time with more pressure. She alternated between soft and firm, cruel and kind, a rhythm designed to leave you dazed and gasping.

She was out to wreck you, and you both knew it. And this time, you were entirely sober—no excuses, no haze to hide behind. 

“Ahh… Ayel… please…” 

The nickname slipped out before you realized it—breathy, whimpering, soaked in need. You hadn’t called her that before. No one had, no one besides her. The girl you’d been so jealous of.

Rafayel froze for half a second—just long enough for you to feel the shift in her energy, the pause in her breath, the amused tension that curled behind her silence.

Then she let out a low, sultry laugh.

“Oh? Now I get the special nickname,” she whispered, lips grazing your jaw. “You sure are so pretty when you're jealous, baby. Claiming this nickname as yours, finally, hm?” 

And then without waiting, she pushed two fingers inside you. 

You gasped, sharp and high and ragged, clenching tight around her as your hands flew to grab something—anything. Her arms, her shirt, your own desk. Her moan followed yours, soft but heady, like she could feel everything through your body.

“Fuck,” she breathed, her tone losing some of its usual lightness. “You’re—so eager.”

She began to move them slowly, knuckles deep, dragging her fingers in a rhythm that matched the way her lips pressed into your neck—wet, warm, reverent. Her other hand hadn’t stopped its torment, rolling your nipple between her fingers with a kind of absentminded care, like she already owned this part of you. Like she was sculpting you to her exact shape.

And maybe she was.

You weren’t sure what you liked most. You hadn’t figured all of that out yet. But this—this felt right. Being undone in her arms like this. The way she coaxed you, praised you, the way she pulled these sounds from you without ever needing to demand them. It was effortless. Dangerous.

“Look at you,” she whispered, kissing the shell of your ear. “So good for me. You don’t even realize how pretty you sound, do you?” 

You tried to speak, but the words tangled in your throat as her fingers curled just right, pressing into that spot that made your knees threaten to give out. She caught you, arms tightening, holding you steady as you trembled. Her breath was hotter now, her rhythm faster—still controlled, still calculated, but unraveling at the edges.

You were moaning freely now, a broken, breathy mess, your hips grinding down against her hand. She matched your pace with a low, shuddering sound in your ear, so turned on she was almost shaking too.

And still, she kept that teasing lilt in her voice, whispering things that made your spine arch and your skin flush.

“You gonna come for me like that?” she asked, tongue flicking over your earlobe. “Soaked and shaking, begging in your sleep shorts?” 

Your body answered before your voice could. You were right there, breath hitching, back arching, vision blurring. And she didn’t stop, not this time. Not when you were finally falling apart the way she wanted to see you. 

“I’m gonna—”

The words caught on your tongue, dissolved into a ragged moan as Rafayel’s fingers kept moving inside you—slow and deliberate, then curling just right, coaxing you closer to the edge with every thrust. Your body trembled in her arms, hips chasing her rhythm, the wet slick of your arousal echoing obscenely between your thighs. 

She knew. The way your walls clenched around her fingers, tight and pulsing, was all the confirmation she needed. Her own breath was shaky now, her thighs pressed together as her own arousal pulsed low and hot. And yet, her voice—when it found you again—was still a breathy tease, low and playful against your ear.

“Oh? You're gonna come just like that, pretty girl?” her lips grazed your skin, open-mouthed and greedy. “So easy for me…” 

Her mouth closed around your earlobe, sucking gently as her fingers curled again, dragging against that spot that made your whole body lock up. Another pinch to your nipple had your breath hitching, your mouth falling open as a choked moan burst free. 

Then it hit you—your release crashing down, electric and wild. Your head fell back onto her shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, jaw slack in a breathless cry as your hips jolted with the force of it. You came hard, pulsing around her fingers, the pleasure so deep it bordered on painful.

Rafayel held you through it, one arm steady around your waist as her other hand slowed but didn’t stop, drawing the orgasm out, making you feel every flicker and spasm. Your sleep shorts and underwear were soaked through—her hand glistening with your release—and still she wasn’t quite finished.

You winced, oversensitive, when she finally withdrew her fingers—but then gasped again as she circled your clit, slow and unrelenting.

“Still so sensitive…” she murmured, the breath of her voice hot against your neck. “I could do this all night.”

You turned in her arms, still dizzy, still floating—and kissed her. 

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t shy. Your lips met hers in a rush of heat and want, all teeth and hunger and wordless need. She made a surprised noise, muffled in your mouth, but it melted quickly into a moan as she kissed you back, matching your urgency. Your tongues tangled, breath fast and shallow, her fingers finally slipping out of your shorts completely.

You didn’t break the kiss as you guided her backward, fumbling toward the bed, your hands greedy now, claiming. Rafayel’s back hit the mattress with a soft thump, and you followed her down, crawling into her lap with shaking limbs and relentless need.

She gasped when your hips settled over her thigh, her breath catching at the friction. Her hands found your waist, fingertips bruising, nails just grazing your skin through the damp fabric.

“You’re taking charge now?” she managed to tease, voice wrecked and breathless. “God, I must’ve done something right.”

You didn’t answer her with words. Instead, you bent to press kisses along her neck, wet and open, your teeth grazing over the skin just above her collarbone. Your hands slid up her back, unclasping her bra with a quiet click, and she arched into the touch, a soft moan breaking in her throat as you pushed the lacy fabric away and tossed it aside.

Your hands cupped her breasts, warm and full in your palms, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they peaked beneath your touch. She gasped again, head tilting back against the pillow, lips parted and glossy with the remnants of your kiss.

“Fuck…” she breathed, voice fraying at the edges. “You really…know how to keep a girl on her toes.”

You kept moving your hips over her thigh, slow and unhurried, dragging your soaked shorts over her bare skin, the pressure hitting just right as you rocked against her. Her thigh flexed beneath you, offering more resistance, and you moaned into the crook of her neck.

Her hands clutched at your hips now, not guiding, just holding—as if she couldn’t decide if she wanted to take back control or simply watch you take it.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “So wet for me already.”

You bit down gently on her throat in response, your own voice thick with want. “You made me this way.”

“Mm. I’ll take the credit.” she smirked, but the sound that followed was helpless—a whimper from deep in her chest as your fingers teased her nipples again. “But you’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you, sweetheart?”

“Mmm… What do you want, Ayel?” you breathed against her throat, the nickname slipping past your lips in a low murmur, laced with just enough mischief to make her pulse beneath your mouth. 

You felt it instantly—how her hands clenched just a little tighter on your hips, her fingers digging in as if the sound of her name from your lips had undone something inside her. And maybe it had. She knew what the nickname meant, where it came from—the girl who used to say it with syrupy sweetness, the one who had no idea how much it burned you to hear it. But now, here it was—falling from your lips, claimed and transformed. 

And Rafayel felt that too. Her grip on you flexed, sharp enough to draw a gasp from your throat, and you moaned softly against her skin. 

“Cutie,” she said, voice a ragged whisper, half-laughing, half-wrecked. “Don't moan it like that, god.”

You kissed her again instead of answering, slow and open-mouthed, stealing the breath right out of her lungs. And even though you were new to this—still fumbling your way through how to touch, how to take—you knew what you wanted.

You wanted to make her feel good.

Last time, she’d let you try, let you explore her body in ways you never had with anyone before. You hadn’t been sure you could do it right—go down on a woman, make her come—but Rafayel had held you through it, murmured her praise between gasps, and you had watched her fall apart on your tongue.

The memory of it still made your stomach twist with pride and heat.

Now you wanted more. You wanted her to guide you again—but this time, you wanted to learn it, commit every gasp, every twitch of her body, to memory. You wanted to understand every line of pleasure she kept hidden behind her smirks and playful banter.

So, slowly, you slipped off her thigh, lowering yourself with care and purpose. Your lips began to trace a path downward—over her collarbone, her sternum, her ribs—leaving soft, reverent kisses in your wake. You paused at her breasts, your breath hitching as you took her in.

She was already panting softly, eyes hooded and dark with heat as she watched you from above. Her amethyst gaze burned into yours—half-lidded, heavy with anticipation, but laced with something else too. Pride. Wonder.

You wrapped your lips around one nipple and sucked gently, tongue flicking over the peak, watching how her lashes fluttered in response. That look she gave you—like you were beautiful just for wanting her—filled you with a heady confidence, the kind that made your heart pound and your thighs ache.

“Fuck…” she whispered, her voice frayed and airy. “You’re gonna ruin me if you do things like that, sweetheart.”

You smiled against her skin, a little drunk on her reaction. “That’s the plan.”

Of course, Rafayel couldn’t let you win that easily.

“Oh?” she hummed, arching a brow even as her back arched beneath your mouth. “Then be a good girl and listen carefully…”

Her voice dipped lower, soft and sweet and absolutely not innocent. She told you what she liked—how she liked it—but even then, her instructions came laced in innuendo, phrased like gentle dares, always leaving room for you to misbehave.

You responded by dragging your teeth lightly over her nipple in retaliation, biting down just enough to make her cry out, loud and honest. Her hips bucked beneath you, breath breaking, and her hand shot up to grip the back of your head.

Fingers tangled into your hair—not to push you away, but to hold you there. The pressure of her hand was possessive, grounding. Her moan was sharp, her spine a taut bow beneath you.

“God—” she gasped. “Don’t stop. Just like that…”

You obeyed, mouth worshiping one breast while your hand came up to toy with the other, pinching, rolling, teasing. Rafayel’s breath came faster, her thighs twitching beneath you, her body caught in that beautiful space between control and surrender.

And you—new and still learning—felt her fall into your hands.

Rafayel trembled beneath your touch, and the pride blooming in your chest was impossible to hide. Her fingers tangled deeper into your hair as your mouth continued its slow, reverent attention—teasing, tasting, alternating between licks and playful bites along her flushed skin. You’d begun to understand the rhythm of her body, how she arched so beautifully into your mouth, how her breath stuttered when you bit just right, how her thighs tensed every time you switched from one nipple to the other.

Her head tilted back against the pillow, mouth parted, chest heaving with every panting breath. Even in her haze, she still found the strength to tease—because she was restless even in the bedroom.

“Enjoying the feast, angel?” she panted, voice thick with pleasure, yet still carrying that smooth, playful lilt. Her fingers slid through your hair again, tugging gently when you swirled your tongue over her nipple. “You’re doing so well—ah—don’t get cocky though.” 

A soft moan caught on the end of her sentence when you nipped her again. One of your hands trailed upward, smoothing over the soft skin of her thigh, where her skirt had ridden up from her shifting. The gesture made her gasp softly, her legs parting just enough to let you settle closer, though you didn’t move further. 

You liked having control—you liked seeing her unravel beneath your mouth—but you still wanted her to lead. To show you. You were still learning. Still eager.

Rafayel seemed to sense that in you like it was written into your skin. And gods, she looked wrecked—beautifully so—with her thighs parted, her skirt bunched up, and her flushed chest rising and falling. Her violet eyes burned as she looked down at you between her legs, and a knowing smirk curled at her lips.

“You really are… dangerous like this,” she murmured. “Look at you. All spread out between my legs, acting like a good girl—just so I’ll take control.” 

You blushed hard, lips moving to kiss a spot just below her breast, where you sucked gently until her breath caught again. She whimpered, then suddenly grabbed your wrists, pulling you up with a force that knocked the air from your lungs—but you gasped into her kiss as she rolled the both of you over, now hovering above, all flushed skin and tangled limbs and hungry mouths. Somewhere in the haze, she pulled your shirt over your head, baring you to the cool air.

Her kiss was more desperate now, more open, her breath mixing with yours. And in that pause between gasps and grazed lips, she murmured, “Tell me what you want.”

It was so soft, but you felt the urgency in it—the plea not for clarity, but for closeness. 

You didn’t hesitate. “I want you,” you whispered back. “I want… sex. I just—I don’t know what to do. What works. If it’ll be like last time, or…”

Your voice trailed off, but Rafayel heard the doubt lingering beneath your want. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her chest pressed flush to yours, and the gentle curve of a smile softened her features. Her hand slid up your side, and her mouth brushed your collarbone. 

“God, you’re adorable,” she whispered, then nipped the space between your neck and shoulder. “So sweet when you’re trying to figure it out. Lucky for you… I’m very educated.” 

You laughed breathlessly, blushing deeper when her nipple brushed yours and both of you moaned at the accidental contact. Your hips shifted, tangled together in instinct more than intention, and the friction made you both gasp.

Between kisses, you told her again—shaky but certain—that you wanted her. All of her. Rafayel chuckled softly, even though she moaned when your thigh pressed between hers. Her lips curved against your skin. 

“There are lots of ways we can do this, cutie,” she murmured, hot breath fanning over your jaw. “I could ride your thigh until I cry. Let you sit on my face. Maybe I’ll fuck you against the headboard with my fingers so deep you forget your name. Or…” 

She dipped her head, lips brushing your ear, “...you could sit back, legs wide, and let me show you exactly how well I know this body of yours now.” 

Your breath hitched. A tremor rolled through you so strong it made her smirk. 

“Mmm, see?” she purred, dragging her tongue slowly up your neck. “That’s my favorite sound.”

And then she kissed you again, slow and deep, while her hand trailed lower—already making good on every filthy promise she’d just whispered.

“Raf… mmh, you can’t just say things like that so casually,” you breathed, the words dissolving into a moan as her fingers curled around the waistband of your sleep shorts and tugged them down your trembling thighs in one slow, deliberate motion. Your underwear went with them, dragged off like an afterthought, leaving you bare and flushed beneath her gaze.

She licked her lips without shame, clearly pleased by the sight of you laid out so open and wanting. The softest chuckle left her throat, warm and husky. “You say that,” she murmured, “but look how pretty you sound when I do.”

Then without warning, two fingers slid up through your folds, slick and teasing, and you gasped, hips jerking at the sensation. You were still sensitive from your last orgasm, the nerves raw and eager, your thighs instinctively parting for her.

You reached for the zipper of her skirt, hands shaky with both want and awe, and she let you pull it down with surprising ease. But when the fabric fell away, her underwear remained. You saw the darkened patch there, unmistakably soaked, and couldn’t help the way your teeth sank into your lower lip at the sight. Your eyes lingered, locked on the way her arousal clung to the thin fabric, pulsing with need.

She smirked, even as color rose to her cheeks—still blushing under your gaze, despite all her confidence. She could pretend she was in control, but you saw the tremble in her breath, the way her body gave her away when you looked at her like this. 

“Mmh… you want it again already?” she asked, voice a purr as she straddled your bare thigh. “Didn’t know I had such an insatiable little lover.” 

She rocked forward, grinding down with slow, deliberate movements, the wet heat of her soaked underwear dragging across your skin. You could feel her throbbing against you, and the friction made her gasp, her eyelids fluttering half-shut. The sight of her—panting, flushed, grinding on your thigh while watching you with blown pupils—made your stomach twist with heat.

You whimpered softly, and she smiled like a cat with cream. “I could make you beg again,” she murmured, her voice thick with breath. “Could take my time. Maybe ride your face until you forget your own name. Or…” she leaned down, brushing a kiss to your jaw, “tie your hands and ruin you with my fingers till you're crying for me.”

Her hand slid up to your breast, squeezing gently before pinching your nipple between clever fingers. You gasped, moaning into her touch as your hips shifted instinctively.

“Oh, I like that one,” she added, smirking through a breathy moan of her own. “God, look at you… You want everything, don’t you?” 

You nodded—frantic, desperate, unable to pretend anymore. 

She chuckled, though it broke on a pant. “I could use toys, if you want,” she murmured against your throat, placing soft kisses there. “A strap, maybe. Let you feel what it’s like to take me slow and deep. You’d look so good like that, spread open just for me, all mine.” 

The words shot straight through you. You felt the heat between your thighs intensify, slickness dripping onto the sheets below, your body betraying every bit of restraint you didn’t have to begin with. 

Rafayel felt it too—saw it, heard the change in your breath—and whimpered softly. Her moan was caught in her throat as she ground harder against your thigh, the friction making her shake. Then, with a gasp and a wicked smile, she leaned forward and kissed you—deep and open, her tongue sliding past your lips while her fingers found your clit again, circling with a maddening softness.

“God, you're so wet for me,” she whispered against your mouth, teasing but reverent, her voice trembling just enough to tell you she wasn’t as composed as she wanted to appear. “Think you’ll come again before I do?”

You didn’t answer because you couldn’t. Not with her mouth back on yours, her hand between your thighs, and her body moving against you like you were already hers. Because honestly, you were hers, and there was no denying it.

You were a mess of stuttered moans against her mouth, gasping each time her fingers circled your clit with the same slow rhythm she rocked against your thigh. Her body trembled in sync with yours, soft sounds escaping between parted lips—those rare, choked gasps she couldn’t hold back when pleasure snuck past her composure. She buried them into your neck, warm breath hitching as her hips stuttered for the briefest moment.

Then without warning, she slid two fingers inside you. Just a little, just enough to tease, enough to make your back arch in response.

Her breath hitched when she felt how easily you welcomed her again, how impossibly slick you were. She didn’t move deeper yet. No, she paused right there, savoring the heat, the way you clenched instinctively around her fingers. She pulled her head back enough to look at you, eyes half-lidded and heavy with lust, lips curved into a knowing smirk.

“God…” she murmured, voice thick with want. “You’d take three so easily, wouldn’t you?”

You choked on a whimper, thighs trembling. The sheer filth of her words had you clenching again, and your nails dragged down her back in a wave of instinct that made her shiver.

She was close—so close—you could feel it in the way her hips faltered just slightly, how her moans started to lose their polished tease. But so were you. And in the haze of shared heat and daring new confidence, you leaned up and caught one of her nipples in your mouth, sucking deep before biting down.

The reaction was instant. Rafayel cried out, high and soft and ruined, her body shaking against yours as she came—mewling into the crook of your neck, breath ragged and broken. You felt it, hot and soaked, the way she pulsed through her panties, against your bare thigh, every wave of her release making you whimper and clench around her fingers again.

Her movements stilled briefly, caught in the aftershocks, but you whined at the loss. And Rafayel—always indulgent—kissed you hard, messy, still drunk on pleasure, still panting into your mouth as she picked up the pace again.

“You’re still so needy,” she whispered against your lips, her voice raw and a little breathless. “Greedy girl.”

She was still dazed, still flushed, but the glint in her eye told you she wasn’t done with you. Not yet.

Her fingers started to move again, steady and firm, the slick sounds between your legs only adding to your unraveling. She curled them—once, then again—stroking that spot inside you with expert care, watching your eyes flutter, your body writhe. She wanted to see you fall apart.

“Mmh, you could take more, y’know,” she teased, her voice dark velvet now, pressed low against your ear. “Slow and sweet… or maybe deep and fast. Would you like that, pretty thing?”

Her words barely registered—your brain too fogged from pleasure, from the rhythm building deep inside you. She felt it too—the way your body gripped her fingers tighter with every thrust, how your legs tensed, how your voice started to crack from the sheer desperation in each moan.

She kissed your jaw, your cheek, then found your neck again, sucking a mark just below your ear as her fingers never stopped. “Look at you,” she purred, nearly undone herself. “So good for me. So perfect like this.”

And then—with a few final curls, angled just right—she found that spot again and didn’t let up. Your entire body seized around her, and the cry that tore from your throat was as raw as it was beautiful. 

“Give it to me, gorgeous,” she whispered, her smirk warm against your neck. “You take my fingers so well… such a well-behaved girl, yeah?” 

Your head fell back as your orgasm hit hard, loud, helpless, your hips grinding against her hand as she held you through every wave. Rafayel hummed low in her throat, almost reverent as she dragged it out, still praising you, even as your body trembled beneath her.

She didn’t stop until she felt every last flutter fade, until you collapsed against the bed again, breathing hard, lips parted in bliss. And even then, she held you close, smiling against your hair.

“See?” she whispered, voice smug but sweet. “Told you I’d make you sing.” 

You were still trembling when the second wave crashed over you—long, rolling, and so intense it left your limbs quivering beneath her. You hadn’t come since that night, over a month ago, so this second orgasm hit even harder because you were so sensitive and worked up. 

You had been caught in your own head, tangled in feelings you hadn’t wanted to name, you hadn’t dared to seek release alone. And now, it all unraveled at once. Rafayel had touched you, looked at you, and your body gave in with an ease that left you dizzy, drunk on her and the pleasure she’d poured into you like it cost her nothing. 

Your chest heaved, lips parted against her shoulder, breath hot and shallow. And so was hers. Rafayel was panting into the crook of your neck, her skin slick with sweat, her lavender hair falling in soft, damp strands against your cheek. She didn’t move right away—only pulled her fingers out slowly, slick with your release, and sat back on your thigh to study you with a lazy, pleased smile.

Then—eyes locked onto yours, half-lidded and burning—she raised her hand and wrapped her lips around her fingers, tongue curling to taste you.

You moaned at the sight. And Rafayel, ever the performer, whined softly like she couldn’t help herself, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

“Mmm,” she purred, drawing her fingers from her mouth with a slow pop. “Still sweet, cutie.”

You let out a strangled breath—half embarrassment, half arousal—and yanked her down by the neck, crashing your mouth onto hers. She giggled against your lips, surprised but pleased, before melting into the kiss—open-mouthed and messy, tasting yourself on her tongue, giving back everything she’d taken.

At first, it was frantic. Starved. Teeth and heat. But soon, it slowed. Turned languid. The kind of kiss that didn’t beg for more—it was more. You clung to her, arms wrapping around her damp back as she melted over you, sighing into your mouth as if the moment itself had undone her.

She shifted, straddling your thigh again, and let out a soft groan at the friction. “Ugh,” she muttered into your hair, voice playful, strained. “These panties are a crime from how uncomfortable they are.”

You laughed—breathy and warm against her shoulder—and she chuckled too, hiding her flushed face in the curve of your neck. The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, just breathing. Letting your bodies cool and your heartbeats settle.

She nuzzled closer, arms wrapped snugly around you, still occasionally brushing her fingers along your side or across your ribs—casual, familiar touches that sparked soft shivers each time. You weren’t done. The heat hadn’t faded, not with her still pressed against your thigh, still whispering every now and then with that teasing lilt.  “You looked so pretty like that.” “Think I should paint you next time… but I doubt I’d capture the right shade of you being all wrecked.” “Oh? Blushing already, cutie?”

Each line left you somewhere between a shiver and a laugh. You had no idea how she managed to say things like that so casually, like she wasn’t absolutely wrecking you with every word.

She had whispered a dozen sinful things earlier, proposals in the heat of the moment—things she’d like to try, things she could do to you. Some you didn’t even fully understand, but the images stuck in your mind like heatprints. Especially the one about toys. A strap-on. It had been tossed out between a moan and a gasp, but now it circled in your head with maddening persistence.

You swallowed hard, not quite ready to bring it up. Not yet. You weren’t sure how to ask, how to phrase something so new and intimidating. But you were curious. Far more curious than you expected to be.

You shifted beneath her, and she tilted her head with that knowing look, brushing damp hair from your cheek with the backs of her fingers.

“What’s got that little head spinning now?” she murmured, voice low, lips brushing your temple. “Still thinking about all the things I said I could do?”

You glanced away, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

She grinned, absolutely delighted by your flustered silence. “Mm. Thought so.”

Her hand trailed down your side, teasing but not demanding. Just a soft, grounding touch. “You don’t have to say yes now,” she whispered, more tender this time. “We’ve got time. I’ll wait for you to ask.”

And you knew she meant it—not just the words, but the promise laced in them. She’d wait for your voice, your comfort, your desire to match hers. She wasn’t pushing. But god, she knew exactly how to pull.

————

That night unraveled slowly, sweetly, like the softest dream you never wanted to wake from. Rafayel had kept teasing you even after, her touches no longer urgent but languid—fingertips skimming your bare skin, her lips brushing yours between half-murmured jests and low, amused hums. You’d curled into one another under the weight of soft sheets and the warmth of spent desire, tangled limbs and flushed cheeks pressed close, hearts still drumming a shared rhythm.

She didn’t sleep right away. Instead, she talked—low and velvety, like a purring cat basking in the glow of her own satisfaction—her voice threaded with mischief, with lazy grins and half-lidded eyes that sparkled whenever they landed on you. And you, helplessly enamored, kept combing your fingers through her soft lavender hair, twirling it idly while she nuzzled into your touch, humming in approval as if your hand belonged there.

You had never felt happiness like this. A deep, consuming kind of contentment that left you weightless, floating somewhere just above the sheets. Her body molded into yours like it was meant to fit there, and the glow in her gaze matched the ache of affection swelling in your chest. You were on cloud nine, drunk not on lust anymore, but on love that had snuck in so gently you hadn’t noticed it carving itself into your bones.

You must’ve fallen asleep like that—wrapped around her, cheek against her hair, one hand still tangled at the nape of her neck.

And for once, when you woke the next morning, the bed wasn’t empty.

There was no hastily scribbled note left beside your pillow, no lingering scent of her on cold sheets. There was her—soft and warm and sleeping soundly, her limbs still looped around you like she didn’t intend to let go anytime soon.

You blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the morning light spilling through the sheer curtains. It dappled across her face in golden streaks, catching on her lashes, illuminating the soft curve of her cheek. Her mouth was slightly parted, breath slow and even, and her brows relaxed in a rare, vulnerable stillness.

And she was still clinging to you like a clingy cat. So you pulled her closer, arms tightening instinctively around her bare waist until she made a small, sleepy sound in protest—or maybe in pleasure. It was hard to tell with Rafayel, even now. Her body shifted just enough to press herself fully against you, a satisfied hum vibrating in her throat like she was sinking deeper into your warmth.

You stayed like that, quietly, letting the moment stretch out. Your fingers drifted to her spine, tracing soft, aimless patterns along the bare length of it. Up and down, up and down. Featherlight and rhythmic. She made another sound against your collarbone—half sigh, half moan—and nuzzled in closer, as though even in sleep, she wasn’t ready to give you up.

Then, with a muffled little grumble, she mumbled something into your neck.

You laughed softly, the sound muffled against her hair. “What was that?”

She didn’t answer—only pressed a lazy kiss to the hollow of your throat, then another. Her lips moved slowly, affectionately, trailing kisses along the same spot like she was imprinting herself there.

“Mmm… that tickles, you know,” she eventually murmured, voice thick with sleep and teasing warmth.

“You’ll live,” you whispered back, smiling even as you kept stroking her back, your fingertips gliding just beneath her shoulder blade. She let out a pleased sigh, clearly unbothered by your challenge.

The moment felt timeless—suspended in quiet, golden warmth. There was no rush. No questions. Just Rafayel in your arms, draping sleepy kisses onto your skin while your legs remained tangled beneath the sheets, bare skin sliding lazily against bare skin. The soft scent of her shampoo lingered on her hair, and the way her fingers flexed lightly at your side told you she was still somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, perfectly content to stay wrapped around you until the sun had risen far too high.

And truthfully, you didn’t want to be anywhere else either.

© zaynessbeloved 2025

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @syluslittlecrows, @asiaticapple, @lifeisnotaesy, @chiikasevennn, @dramaticalsachan, @3ophelia3

[sunflowerhoney]

Hello darling! 💗 Can you answer: 8, 17, 19, 21, 31, 43, 54, 61, 66, and 84 for me? 🙂‍↕️🫶✨

Hello my love!! 🥰

8. What are your current goals?

Since it’s the New Year I’ve definitely been thinking about my goals a lot!! I’d say my main one is to save up more money and be more wise with my spending, especially since it ties to another goal that I (well we hehe) have which is moving to a new apartment!! I also want to eat out less and eat more food at home/cook more! I’m also hoping to get back into running again or maybe start a new hobby!

17. Something you don’t mind spending all your money on?

Trips or experiences, I’m not the kind of person who goes on a lot of trips but when I do like being able to splurge or do the things I want to do, I’m not the kind of person who tries to save money on vacation, if I’m on a trip I’m going to enjoy myself 😅

19. When was the last time someone told you you were beautiful?

I’m pretty sure you did multiple times while we were getting ready for work this morning so…today 🙈💓💓

21. Do you keep a journal?

I did for a while In 2023 but then kind of stopped when things got busy, now I’m trying to start it up again though since I got a journal for Christmas

31. Something you did and you are proud of?

Getting promoted to my current position at work and making it 150 days self harm free :) (as of today!!!)

43. Who inspires you?

Not in a weird way but my boss, she’s one of the nicest people ever and is literally so hard working, she’s always wanting to do the best things for the clients we serve at work and is just an insanely selfless and self-made person which I think is really cool

54. What would you tell your 12 year old self?

STOP TRYING TO CONVINCE YOURSELF YOU LIKE BOYS YOURE A FREAKING LESBIAN 🗣️🗣️🗣️

lol but in all seriousness I think I would just tell them that things are going to get better, you won’t be stuck with your family that fights all the time forever, you won’t be stuck in New Jersey forever, you’re not bad or evil despite what people might say you’re literally just a kid who’s been through a lot and isn’t getting the help they actually need, you deserve more than what you’re experiencing and none of it is worth hating or hurting yourself over

61. Something you find romantic?

Sweet messages or gestures just because without having to ask, I love knowing I’m thought about/cared for it makes me all 🥰 plus my self esteem sucks so the feeling of being reassured feels very safe and romantic too

65. How would you describe your bad side?

Competitive, jealous, insecure, angry, negative, low self esteem, tendency to lash out when I’m feeling scared or hurt or coping with humor instead of addressing the issue, raising my voice instead of speaking calmly, having a difficult time disengaging from a hard conversation even when sometimes a break is for the best, very stubborn

84. Vodka or whiskey?

Vodka (because vodka cranberry…yum! 😋)

[starboy-lovebug]

17, 20 and 30 for either of your date everything ships (i've also been thinking of shipping with 2 of the characters from that game hehe)

ur blog often makes my day brighter :)

Okay so uh... I'm sobbing thank you so much for sending this ask!!! Like aaaugghhhh I feel so special <3 I love posting on this blog and I love talking about my self-ships, but I'll admit sometimes it feels like I'm just out here talking to myself with no one noticing. Which at the end of the day is fine, as I do this all for me anyway... But aarrgghhh knowing my blog somehow makes your day brighter has me beaming! To think- someone out there is taking note of the silliness I post, and is actively enjoying it! Wow!!!

Also yes you should ship with some of the characters!!! I love seeing Date Everything self-shippers it makes me so happy <3 If you ever dive into it further lemme know, I love seeing which characters people fall for! But I digress! Now to focus on answering the questions...

17) What song do you associate with your relationship to your f/o?

+ Mateo: Love Like You by Rebecca Sugar

Mateo and I are both deeply in love, but both workaholics with some issues related to work-life balance and resistance to being helped by others. So I think this song fits for us so well... especially early on in the relationship we'd both be a bit insecure, unsure why the other is so hopelessly enamored. I think Mateo is just so compassionate, so stunning, so selfless in ways that seem so effortless that I'd struggle to feel like I was loving him well enough, that I was being a good enough partner. And vice versa for Mateo... This song encapsulates that very well, and it just sounds so lovely and is hopeful despite the kind of melancholic tone which I think would match the arc of me and Mateo's early relationship.

+ Johnny: Stuck On You by Elvis Presley

I mean... it's Johnny Splash, of course it had to be an Elvis song. But I think this song is simple, romantic, and aggressively cheesy which I think is me and Johnny to a T. I think our relationship is simple, just two hopeless romantics in love and I think we're both such cheesy lovebirds the song is just perfect for us. Also I think Johnny is the type to fall in love hard, so him being stuck on me just fits the bill. He's not going away no matter what.

20) What's a common argument between you and your f/o?

+ Mateo: I think Mateo and I are prone to whisper-spats when we argue. This would have started because Mateo would notice I get very easily overwhelmed if I notice an argument is brewing, so to help me feel less stressed out he'll only whisper at me and I'll whisper back and we'll end up giggling as we argue and before we know it the argument will be over. I think our arguments are probably about managing our free time, we both have busy schedules and will sometimes have differing opinions on how to handle our free time together. So it'd be small arguments over where to go to eat or when to schedule a date or things of that nature.

+ Johnny: I think any arguments between me and Johnny are about my self-esteem. Johnny adores me and gets exceptionally upset if I talk bad about myself, but he doesn't always know how to help in a way that isn't incredibly intense. He'd never get mad at me, but I think he's the type to believe a good pep talk will solve the issue and thus a few arguments are bound to crop up where I get too down on myself and Johnny gets frustrated because he hates to see me unhappy. I think at the end of the day we're always going to end up canoodling and happy, but it's just an occasional spat or two. I'm not the arguing type to begin with, so it's more just Johnny and I talking with increasing levels of stress in our voices before one of us starts crying from frustration and then the other is stopping everything to check in on them.

30) Whose sleep schedule is worse?

+ Mateo: You would think it would be Mateo, considering he's the person running an inanimal shelter- but it's absolutely me. Mateo needs more sleep I'd say, but his actual sleep schedule is surprisingly consistent whereas I get (on most days) more than enough sleep, but my sleep schedule is by no means consistent. I'll go to bed at 10 PM one night then 2 AM the next, and I know it drives Mateo crazy. He's constantly trying to get me in bed at a reasonable time.

+ Johnny: I think Johnny is out like a light by midnight every night, but honestly he's likely falling asleep closer to 10 PM. The only nights he stays up are nights he's performing, but even those nights are on a fixed schedule. So yeah, considering my arbitrary sleep schedule I think I'd be worse in this situation too.

[eofoc]

hi! i saw on oc-center that you have mentally ill queer vampire ocs and those are some of my favorite! i briefly looked through their profile posts (GORGEOUS layout by the way. wow) and i'm really curious about them; do you have any story or world set up for them, or do they more exist like Conceptual Dolls in the mind? (/not judgemental, that's basically how mine are hsbdcahcs so i just figured I'd ask!!)

is there anything you particularly love about them or any dynamics between them you'd like to talk about?? open prompt to infodump a little!!

HI!!!!!1 THANK YOU SO MUCH.. i love make silly little aesthetic layouts... (not very tumblr proficient yet when it comes to that but. i will get there)

answer under the cut because i went crazy

they do have a whole world and story set up!!! :D with a pretty..extensive worldbuilding actually (jhbhads)!!!! i dont talk much about the story/plot because sadly i am a bit insecure and also. it changes all the time. but its There!!! id love to talk about it here in the near future!!!!!

i did just make a . google doc combining all of the worldbuilding i have so far :] it goes into detail about the history of the world and what vampires are in this universe!!! you can find it here

i didnt format it yet (i plan to make it a some sort of masterdoc with complete profiles as well) but. it does have the most recent info i think hehe

theres a lot of things i love about them.. kind of because they all carry a part of me / my experiences in a prettyi d abstract way :] so theyve became very special to me over time!!!!! ive poured a lot of love and own experiences into them ... which does have its cons too jjdshjsd

i honestly like all of the dynamics.. but. i feel like orifiel and mischa make me the Craziest overall for story reasons (which are only vague ideas for now) ..

mostly because theyre two lonely people that ironically are fundamentally very similar but also very different. they are really based on polar opposites and it makes me enjoy them a lot.. mischa who grew up alone and unwanted by his family obsessed over the religious unreachable figure that orifiel was to him and grew up with so many emotions regarding him - love, hate, obsession, admiration, rage, feeling of injustice and jealousy... all without having even met him JKSDKJD

and then theres orifiel, who despite growing up as an object of affection never really got a chance to pour his all into one person.. he grew up with a very warped view of love and affection (it being one-sided and obsessive) and. mischa feeds into it for selfish reasons. and. jesus i dint even know what to say here because my brain is FRIED

orifiel is a very selfish person too in some aspects so ultimately. theyre two lonely selfish nonbinary FREAKS who dont know how a healthy relationship looks like.

at one point in the plot (bad ending?) i have this. thing planned in mind. mischa almost dies since a certain plan goes wrong - and orifiel literally sees Red. like despite all his reason and rationality he resorts to a desperate speedrun of human experiments - the thing that is the core trauma of his childhood :] fellas is it gay to bring back your boy best friend to life but you dont even recognize him anymore . he doesnt even feel human anymore but you cannot bring yourself to lose him . at the same time you wont grant him the mercy of freeing him from the life of being a mindless beast like Omggg whats wrong with you

another bad timeline? ending? thing? VERY VAGUE THOUGH. i had in mind was mischa just. going Wrong at some point . where to guarantee his safety he decides that he must pretend to be the enemy (part of the Church)... hes a wholeass vampire mind you. the church fucking HATES vampires. well . his religious trauma goes bonkers at some point in this timeline and he ends up blackmailing orifiel into increasing the power of the church so that his position of power is guaranteed . hes a bit of a selfish asshole but i accept him anyways .

i feel like i talked a lot about mischa here. but orifiel. jesus Christ girlie. he doesnt even know it but hes self-destructive to an absolutely crazy degree. letting the church do whatever the fuck it wants to do with me ;;3 i have no identity and no name btw ;333 everything is okay and fine. at the same time he also thinks hes the greatest person and entity ever so like idk whats his deal i want to eat him alive

once again brain fried . i can talk so much about threm with a specific question or a prompt though i Promise .

the yap here is fucking crazy im so sorry damn

[catboyhdb]

my hair doesnt look that bad. the roots r like... a light green and the rest of my hair is darker? a brownish sorta deal? so i might buy another dye n go over it so its... hm. but i work tmr (i wear a hairnet and a hat so it wont even be.. obvious!) but im still like 🧡 anxious now. n i keep thinkin everyone there will think i look dumb :+(

[imkillerbae]

Dancing in the Dark (Part 1) (Valorant Yoru x Fem!Reader x Valorant Sova)

Part 2 Here. Summary:

Yoru watches from the sidelines as you dance the night away with Sova, the man who stole you away from him. Or so he thinks. He then gets good news, stretching that definition out as far as he can.

Words: 2.4k CW: Lots of cursing, name calling, violent language, sexual language (not too graphic), break up fic, jealous rage from Yoru, gaslighting, drinking ang liquor use. (A/N: I found that it was good to split this into two parts hehe. I enjoyed writing the two trying to communicate, emphasis on try. Please send me requests and I hope you enjoy!)

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

Yoru watched you from afar, holding whiskey on rocks. You danced to generic party music, in your white dress printed with small pineapples flowing softly as the cold ocean breeze blew. The cots that were set up shook against the wind, everyone either dancing or drinking into a stupor. The lights were glaring against the emptiness of the night sky, save for the small light that was the moon and multiple stars. Night swimming was something you always liked. It was good that the base was on a tropical island.

Matching your step was Sova, holding a drink as you dragged him around. Unconsciously, he found himself counting the times Sova stepped on your feet. He was smiling, wider than anyone had ever seen him smile. He couldn’t blame him; you threw this surprise birthday party for him. Anyone would be beyond elated.

But not Yoru. He attended for formality’s sake. If he had his way, he would’ve teleported between the two of you and landed a punch on Sova’s face, probably knock him unconscious if he was drunk enough. Beat him until his nose was nothing but mush, until he had no more teeth to chew with, until—

He calmed himself. As much as he wanted anger to take over him, he held on tight to the little honor that was left of him after this whole ordeal.

But still, it crushed his heart seeing you so happy with that blonde guy. Ever since you and him became a thing, he always had doubts about Sova. You two were ‘best friends’, as you put it. He knew there was something else going on inside that damn blonde’s head. The way he looked at you, the way he stood too close.

“I severely doubt that Sasha only sees you as a friend,” he said once in one of your many arguments with him. “Oh please Ryo, stop being so childish. He’s like a brother to me,” you would reason time and time again. He had enough of your bullshit, your naivety.

“Want me to stop being childish? Fine, let’s not sugarcoat it. He’s trying to fuck you, open your goddamn eyes.” He spelled it out bluntly, and you gasp. “Wha—how crass can you be!? Are you hearing yourself right now? He’s my friend! He’s your friend!” You throw your book to the floor, and his gaze follows it. It was one of his many gifts to you, and you tossing it like it was nothing fueled his anger even more.

“And I’m your boyfriend! Aren’t I? AREN’T I?! Because I’m not fucking sure anymore. How many times have I told you that I was uncomfortable with that guy? And how many times will it take for that to get into your thick skull?” He yelled back, knocking the flower vase off the table. It shatters, leaving the roses on the ground. “And you’re my girlfriend, you’re supposed to take my thoughts into consideration. Surely you’re not that much of an idiot to not take a hint right?”

“It’s not my fault you’re projecting your insecurities on him, and it surely isn’t his either. I’m your girlfriend, and I’ve told you so many times that he isn’t like that,” you counter, your eyes stung with tears. “I’ve known him for a long time now and he’s just the way he is! It’s just you, twisting things because the fact is, you hate everyone. I’m not even sure if you really love me! You’re only concerned about yourself!”

You hear him curse at you in Japanese before he continues. “I love you that’s why I’m fucking mad that you’re not listening to me! Does he really matter more than me just because you met him first? How can you expect me to be happy knowing damn well that he pulls more weight than I do? I’d rather us break up than feel like an afterthought, a second goddamn choice!” He finally had enough, slamming he table with his fist. It shrieks under pressure, threatening to break under his anger.

You stood there with your jaw open, shocked at what he said. Your heart clenched. You didn’t mean for it to end up here. You swallow the lump in your throat. “You’re not a second choice… I already chose you. Please Ryo, don’t say things like that…” You start, approaching him, but he pushes you off him. Not enough to knock you down, but enough to hurt. But you will yourself to continue. “I hope you understand I can’t just cut people off when you ask me to, especially people who’ve been with me for a long time. Especially the people you and I work with on a constant basis.” You cried as you stood, trying to make sense to him.

He avoids your eyes, staring at the shattered vase on the floor, the roses wilting somehow faster than they naturally would. “I just wish you’d trust me like how I trust you.” She held his hand finally, squeezing.

Trust you, eh? He chuckles at the memory. He shouldn’t have. The first time he ever opens up his heart for anyone else other than himself, and he’s betrayed, left with nothing but a broken heart and little to no pride. If he was drunk enough, he’d love to crash this party so bad. But he didn’t. He loved you too much to ruin this perfect night for you.

It’s been about 2 months since you both officially broke up. It was a civil break up for the most part, despite how violent your fights could get. But Yoru never hurt you. He never hit you or anything of the sort. He initiated the breakup. His reason was rather unfair. “I don’t see this working out in the foreseeable future. You and I both want different things.” He was cold and stoic about it. You tried to change his mind but he never did. He was firm. “A-at least we tried, right?” You replied.

And he regrets his decision. He hates seeing you so happy with someone else. It could’ve been him.

“You look too serious Yoru. Have you had enough to drink my friend?” Yoru darts his eyes upward to see Sova standing in front of where he was sitting, holding his drink. Without breaking eye contact, Yoru downs his own drink in one gulp before standing up. He was so ready to leave this shit party. Maybe leave it with a bloody fist if the alcohol got to his head on time.

“Look Sova. You’ve already embarrassed me enough by mandating everyone attend this stupid party of yours as part of our socialization. At least leave me with the pride I have left and not rub your victory on my face. You got the girl. Congrats.” Yoru slams the glass against the table, and it almost shatters. Amidst the music, the loud thud was dismissed.

Sova tilts his head curiously. “What are you insinuating?”

“You stole her from me, you fucking snake. Or do you want my fist to tell you that face to face?” Yoru glared daggers at Sova, gesturing to you as you danced with Neon and Jett. Sova looks at you then back at Yoru. He then smiles. “Ah,” he replies meekly, smiling and scratching his head. Seeing how clenched his fist was, Sova thought better to sit next to him. He knew Yoru’s threats weren’t empty, and as much as he knew he could beat the younger man into a pulp, he’d rather not. Not on his birthday at least.

And plus, he didn’t have the right to be angry right now.

This time it was Yoru who stood in front of him, and he beckons the man to sit down. “I’d like to clarify something,” he starts, and Yoru’s eyebrows knit. He stood there for a moment until he noticed that Sova wouldn’t talk until he was sat down. Begrudgingly he sat down, his ass slamming against the poor chair like an atom bomb. Sova chuckled. Yoru resembled a child who’s favorite toy was taken away.

Sova sighs before he started talking, eyeing the beach and the bright yellow lights that illuminated them. “I do not blame you for your suspicions of my intentions. If I were in your place, I would have acted the same. Although I’m not as much of a brute as you,” he slides in an insult at Yoru just to spite him. Yoru snaps his head towards him, eyes wide and glaring as if he was seeing red. Sova only looks at him with an unbothered look.

“You are correct. I was in love with Y/N, even before you were hired in the protocol. It was a mistake not telling her sooner.” And with that, Yoru laughs loudly, his foot tapping impatiently on the sand. He wanted to strangle the guy so hard his artificial eye would pop out. But he laughs at how right he was, and how absurd this whole situation is.

“Aaaaah, you fucking scum. And here she was, gaslighting me into thinking it was a me problem.” He claps, amused. “So what old man? What’s the point of telling me this huh?” Yoru says, then grabs Sova by the collar before he could blink. They were both very far from the crowd, so no one batted an eyelash at them. Yoru’s hands were shaking, itching to bash Sova’s skull in, but he knew he couldn’t. For your sake and his reputation. But goddamn he was close to.

“All your talk of principles and honest was bullshit. Didn’t think I could see through you? You didn’t have to fucking tell me. I fucking knew you were a lowlife scumbag trying to snake my fucking girlfriend from me. And now you have the gall to fucking say it to my face? I swear to God if Y/N wasn’t here I would’ve shoved a gun down your throat and shot your rotten insides until you bleed and die.” He wasn’t the most creative person, but his mind was swirling with ways he’d kill this man. Oh, how crazy you had him. This was a side he’d never show you, but existing nonetheless.

Sova only sighs and raises his hands. “That is not the whole story. Listen, and you might just have a chance with her again.” With that proposition, he almost instantly settled, his eyes wide at him. The grip on his collar loosened, and with a few seconds of tension, he finally shoved the man away from him, sitting down. Sova only moves to fix his shirt. “I came here to tell you that she knows now. I told her even before you broke up. She refused to tell you because she didn’t want to anger you, and seeing how you’re reacting now, I do not blame her.”

Yoru was taken aback by what he had said. You knew? Since when? And why the hell would you keep that a secret?

“Since when did you tell her?”

“4 months ago if I recall correctly. And to ease your troubled mind, I will clarify it for you: she has rejected me. You do not need to worry, her heart is set on you and no one else.”

And now this blew Yoru’s mind. Weren’t you and this prick a thing already? What the hell was this birthday party then? The dancing? How you’ve been so distant? His head was swirling with so many questions, but he held himself back from asking. He didn’t like Sova’s guts, all the respect he once had was thrown out the window ever since he dated you.

“You expect me to believe you when you’ve been trying to get in her pants for the better part of our relationship? You split us up. And now you’re dancing with her in this party she threw for you.” He shakes his head in denial. If this was true, why couldn’t you tell it to him yourself?

“That is half true. I admit that it was a mistake for me to get close with her. Although I have my own reasons that I do not care to discuss.” He then looks at Brimstone being dragged to the center by KJ to dance the macarena. “But know that for the past few weeks that I have been with her when you weren’t, she was always talking about you. How she wanted to fix things but figured that you needed space.

“As for me, in those same weeks, I have also found closure. So I say this with respect; she does not have hold of my affections. Not anymore. You do not need to worry about me. Now, I just want to fix what I broke. And I want to see her happy. As much as she smiles right now, she is miserable without you.”  He finishes, standing up to leave.

Yoru slumps on the chair, watching the ice melt in the glass. Somehow knowing you were miserable without him drowned the anger he had for Sova, at least for this single moment. He looked up from his seat at Sova who was adjusting his crumpled shirt. “Sage threw this party for me. Y/N just happened to help. Maybe listen twice as much as you yell,” he scoffs before walking back to the crowd.

Yoru was left there to his own thoughts, swirling the water inside the whiskey glass he held. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks you, but you are too far away to hear him ponder. Maybe he was really blinded by his own biases. You did tell him that Sova was a brother to you, he just didn’t want to listen. He was right, but the way you handled it was something he didn’t agree with.

You should’ve told him, so he could shoot Sova in the head in his sleep or something. Were you so scared that he would be right and get angry? He would. And he is. But knowing you, you probably preferred to keep the group dynamics amicable. And he couldn’t blame you for having the protocol’s best interest at heart.

He sighed in his seat. He needed some whiskey.

Going to the bar, he reaches over it and takes the whole bottle. He was going to drink himself into a stupor, crash this party and hopefully end up in another shoreline.

That is until you grab the bottle from him.

[sixthwater]

Hello again~! Welcome to this special PAC welcoming my two newest dark decks to the family! Today we are going over quite a bit using quite a lot, so I hope you have a glass of water and a snack, and that you enjoy!

Decks Used: The Rider-Waite Tarot, Tarot of the Divine, Woodland Wardens Orace, The Horror Tarot, The Abandoned Oracle

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Pile One

How You View Them: Wheel of Fortune Rx, X of Cups, Death, II of Swords

How They View You: VIII of Cups Rx, VIII of Swords Rx, Ace of Swords, Ace of Pentacles Rx

You view your future spouse as someone who tends to attract bad luck but that’s mainly due to that hesitation. They can be a bit of a ‘sourpuss’ is what I’m getting, because they get a bit stuck on the fact that these things happen to them, and either forget how it got to that point or the blessings in disguise that come from it. It’s not that they’re indecisive, but they can overthink or get cold feet when it’s time to sign on the dotted line, if I were to put it in another way. They start to wonder about the what-ifs and if there are any other paths or what the negative possibilities of their choices are, so then they get a little frozen. There are moments where they might make a rash decision due to an adrenaline rush, but those moments are very rare, and probably due to feeling very passionate about a project or issue. Either way, you see them dealing with their setbacks and troubles beautifully. Despite them mulling over their issues, you see them learning and growing consistently, and never being fooled by the same trick twice. I’m getting the imagery of someone looking through a photo album and every picture of them is different, like they’re going through different phases every five years or so? That’s how your future spouse is but it’s more internally – emotionally, spiritually, or mentally. Due to this, I believe you think they make a perfect partner and parent. They cover or soothe some fears you have, and some insecurities you have about the big scary world of parenting isn’t so bad with them there by your side. They also feel very sweet on your side. Like the type to either have a child who’s a ‘Daddy’s Girl / Momma’s Boy’ or struggle to punish their kid. I’ve been watching Everybody Hates Chris lately and I’m thinking of the scenes where right before Julius has to talk to his kids, he goes through like four stages of grief before he pulls himself together lol, it’s cute.

On the flip side, your FS views you as elusive? Hehe I love when this happens. I’ve been ignoring the music for the most part but Never Close Our Eyes by Adam Lambert came on and I wanted to check it immediately and this lyric yelled at me: ‘It's so hard to think this could fade away, but what goes up must come down’. Which, along with the chorus, sums it up I think. They see you as someone who is a breath of fresh air in a way. You feel very fast over here. It quite literally feels like air blowing through my fingers. They see you as someone who has witty thoughts and can be charming in quick bursts, like someone who drops a corny joke out of the blue, riding off of someone else’s story. However behind all of that, they feel like you’re about to slip away from them at the same time? It’s not necessarily like you’re not relationship material, but they’re worried about if they commit, will they get hurt (their overthinking). You’re someone who they believe has been able to free themselves from a lot of heartache thanks to past beliefs or relationships, but you also don’t want to put yourself back out there and risk hurting yourself again. So it’s like you’re there but you’re not fully there / opening yourself up. Might be a Scorpio – Gemini dynamic lmao. They want to be there for you to help you actually absolve the root of your worries because while you seem to have moved on, there are still some small things that will trigger that worry for you which they notice (they’re pretty observant). Now Every Heart by BoA is playing, you may look up the lyric translation. I think the whole song resonates.

Your Favorite Traits of Your FS: The Hierophant, Ace of Swords, II of Swords, V of Pentacles Rx, Queen of Swords, The Antelope and Wheat Rx

Your FS’ Favorite Traits of You: The Hanged Man, The Devil, VII of Wands, IX of Wands, The Bear and Cedar Rx

**Quickly. Animal by Neon Trees and then Super Freak by Rick James played while I was shuffling. Anyway.

Your favorite traits are pretty funny. I think I mentioned it before, but your FS seems to ground you and make you feel safe in a way. Right here it seems to be that they take the lead in some way and make you feel comforted when you don’t necessarily feel like being ‘the adult’ in a situation. At the same time, in areas where they’re not so strong, that’s where you can come in to boost them up and act like a shoulder for them to lean on – so you like how balanced the relationship is overall, in a sense. You like that while your FS is very traditional, they’re not afraid to communicate and ask you for help. To let you know that they’re struggling and your advice or time would be really nice. Also, when mentioning traditional, I don’t really see them being strictly traditional. They have the guidelines of ‘okay we have the commitment, we have someone who will mainly look after the ‘kids’ per say, we have someone who is the main breadwinner’ etcetc, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be exactly those things, they just need the guidelines – the structure so they know they can fall back onto something. Kids can be pets, there can be someone who mainly looks after the kids but they still have a side or main job, maybe they just chose to. It’ll be different depending on the relationship. You really appreciate that they stress the importance of communication as well. I have to imagine that this person either has a bad work-life balance or is too much in their head, because they might need a lot of friends or family to remind them to take a break. However, because they always have this front of being put together, it’s nice to know that they’re not afraid to show this other side of themselves either. They also don’t put up with any bullshit either, and that includes you I believe. If there is an issue within the relationship or they’re bothered by something, they won’t just sulk over it without talking to you, and you really appreciate that.

On the flip side, your FS really appreciates your drive. You seem unstoppable to them; whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is up to the situation at hand. The Devil is represented by the story of a snake that is hoarding gold that it doesn’t need, but it’s going to harm anyone who tries to take it. Mesh that with the seven of wands that’s represented by John Henry, and the nine of wands which is a girl dealing with baba yaga; your FS views you as a person who is very defensive of themselves and this connection overall. They appreciate the fact that while you fight for what you believe in, you know when to protect yourself from things or people that don’t serve you. The healing might need work, or they might’ve met you at a time while you were in the middle of healing deep wounds. However you’re coming off as very fiery or airy to them, but it’s attractive to them nonetheless. I think a small worry for them throughout this entire piece is that they might want to remind you to slow down and take care of yourself because I keep hearing this and currently Here We Go Again by Paramore is playing. They like that you’re unrelenting of the space that you’ve acquired, but I keep wanting to include your relationship as well. I don’t believe that it’s in danger or anything, but it’s included with you having to struggle with your personal happiness being denied and you finally have something good so you don’t want to even bother with people who won’t be happy for you. Honestly this was pretty straight-forward, I think they might speak more in the next section, but they’re really proud of you and it’s more of a concern than anything.

Your Least Favorite Traits of Your FS: Page of Cups Rx, Wheel of Fortune Rx, The Magician, Knight of Swords, Distortion Rx

Your FS’ Least Favorite Traits of You: King of Wands Rx, Queen of Pentacles Rx, Ten of Cups, Ace of Pentacles, The Feeding Rx

Your message is. Interesting. I’m going to explain and sum things up at the end of these. You don’t like how logical and dry your FS can get. There isn’t a lot of emotion or passion here, and when there is, it can come off as immature or irrational to you. Like you’re not understanding where the outbursts are coming from, and to you it seems a bit unfair or ‘unlucky’. Honestly with this imagery, it kind of feels like you’re the woman on the wheel and they’re throwing all of the weapons at you, but the weapons are their insults or accusations. So to you it seems like they’re hot and cold, they seem okay and loving one day but the next day they can be really cold and like they’re shrugging you off. It can also feel like they’re watching you like a hawk and toying with your emotions at times.

Now your FS feels like you’re not trying hard enough in the connection. I’m not going to lie, these aren’t very pretty cards, but this deck can be exaggerative. Both the court cards here look like they’re scheming, and the king has a mask on. They don’t like the sides of you that can come off as domineering, and only use people for your benefits and when they ask for things in return or they’re starting to bother you, you start to get annoyed and try to ghost them. They feel as if all of their actions and love is not being reciprocated or wasted – it’s draining them at the end of the day. When you look at the ten of cups, it starts off full but it can’t make it down to the bottom few, one barely has any on it. Plus with the ace, they feel like you present empty promises at times (the hand is presenting a foundation sure, but it’s not connected to the rest of the body)

What I believe is happening here is quite literally just a miscommunication, I don’t think it’s this heavy lmao. Either this is someone with a false start, or you will struggle a bit in the beginning. There’s a lot of you dealing with your own healing, so I doubt you will be too focused on anything regarding love really, meanwhile this other person seems to care for you a lot but their way of wanting to help seems to be…well, love. So this issue here is that someone feels like they’re being taken advantage of but that’s not what’s happening. It might have to deal with former past connections on your FS’ side and their worry that it’s happening again. The Distortion card upright deals with mood swings, and reversed it means seeing things clearly or sound judgement. So I believe that your FS is just very anxious and worried that this connection is a repeat of past issues, but it’s not. You are worried about healing, and you’re worried about the same thing but in a different sense. You guys are dancing the same dance but different versions with different steps is all. Communication is definitely recommended but I’m not too worried about it <3

Before starting this pile I wanted to listen to a mix based around Sub Urban songs, and most of them have a grunge, dark feeling to them. The lyrics themselves aren’t necessarily always dark though, they can be quite fun or eccentric, even outside of Sub Urban. I think this is a connection that’s going to be quite in your face and flushes out emotions that you need to get rid of, or if you’re not careful or have good boundaries, can feel like Bandit by Sub Urban. 

Pile Two

How You View Them: The Tower, Death, King of Swords, VII of Cups

How They View You: The High Priestess Rx, X of Swords Rx, IV of Swords Rx, IX of Pentacles

Your FS leaves an impact on you, way after your first meeting. The End Is Where We Begin is playing and all the lines like ‘I'm an alien' cause I'm not of this world’ give off the energy of your FS. I think there will be moments where you wake up and just stare at them like ‘yeah, I’m glad I chose you’. The moment you saw them you were sure they were the one. It’s not necessarily the whole inner knowing thing, but it’s how they hold themselves. It’s a quiet confidence and how they can command a room, even if they’re not doing anything. They can seem a bit larger than life and also a bit nit-picky because I’ve been bothered by something else for the past fifteen minutes when I’ve been trying to focus, and I’ve noticed that the King of Swords seems waaaay bigger than the other objects in his card. Plus Death is above everyone else in their card. They seem to not be a person of many words, and it’s more like their actions is what you notice the most about them, or that’s what leaves the strongest impression on you and that’s what wants to come through. An interesting thing is that in The Tower card it seems like they are the ones throwing these people out, and it’s not necessarily their energy. You view them as someone to not be crossed. Your FS views you as someone very gentle and soft. Honestly, ‘a catch’ was one of the first lines that came through my mind. I think a piece of them sees you as disconnected from your higher self or maybe religion, if they’re religious? You’re operating more from a physical / material point of view in their eyes. They see that you have a lot of material assets (I hear rewards or profits, things to be proud of it doesn’t have to necessarily present itself as actual money), but you keep it protected. Also just now processing that Bad Girls by M.I.A was playing as I was trying to break down this card. So to them you seem very calm and mature and handle yourself well in those aspects. I want to get into these swords cards because they seem interesting. They came out right after the other so it’s like your FS will take notice of you knowing when and how long you need to heal. You are unapologetic of it and when the time is ready you’ll ‘remove the swords’, but you’ll always be ready to run back into hiding if you need more time to tend to your wounds. So, if I can step in really quick, they believe that you are out of sync with your higher self or not fully in tune with spirit. Or definitely more so you have a weaker bond with faith because you’re well aware of your emotional or spiritual needs to make sure you’re functioning well with others. So like, you’re not in tune but you’re in tune.

Your Favorite Traits of Your FS: The Devil, Death, IX of Swords Rx, II of Wands, II of Pentacles, The Salamander and Black Pepper

Your FS’ Favorite Traits of You: King of Pentacles, VIII of Swords, The Hermit Rx, The Chariot Rx, IX of Cups Rx, The Coyote and Datura

You like that your FS doesn’t agonize over making decisions. They set their mind on a goal and they go achieve it. Despite the intensity that I mentioned earlier (which I’m not ignoring, you definitely like that about your FS), there is a gentleness and slight silliness to your FS. It’s one of those things where it’s only brought out in quiet moments with you, and if you have pets, plants or children, with them as well. Even though they have a card representing Scorpio and Capricorn here, they don’t feel the need to have control all the time. They can be flexible and they’ve learnt to go with the flow over the course of time. You also really appreciate them making time for you, or working you into their schedule. They might be very busy, or in the midst of a major life change? However they still manage to make sure they have time to call, text, or visit you. I’m getting visit because of this imagery on the two of wands here. There’s a small message of not being able to get anything past your FS either. The story with Death is kind of dark, but I’m getting this picture quite literally lmao. Like if their kid attempted to stay up to play their nintendo 3DS, it wasn’t happening. That also makes for a great surprise event planner though so hey, but you’d know that in due time. Plus, the obvious or maybe not so obvious message, they’re probably hot and make you hot (some would say flaming). So this is a really weird message, but your FS likes the fact that you’re never happy with what you have due to the fact that it motivates you? Like you could have the best car or the best designer clothes but still feel like that’s not enough and decide to keep working your ass off, leading to this king of pentacles. They like the fact that you want to break the glass ceiling and you don’t want to get comfortable or be settled with your position. They also like that you’re kind of like them in a sense that you’re okay with diverting from the original plan. You do definitely have a more structured life I believe, and you prefer to stick to it, but you’re not opposed to trying something new and seeing what happens. Letting the wind take you where it will. Another thing is, you’re authentic with them. The nine of cups is the story of Tàj al-Mulúk and the Princess Dunyà (summed up; how the guy dressed up and proceeded to be someone who the girl would want to be with), and the eight of swords is the tale about Donkeyskin. With them, there is no mask and there is no pretending, you’re who you say you are and that’s the end of the story – they appreciate that. Another thing about the eight of swords, they like that you put yourself there, in a way. You only put yourself there to contemplate your next move and when you’re ready you step back out. It’s sort of the same as when you’re ready to come back out and socialize after healing. It’s also a piece of you being able to tell a snake from a snake charmer. You don’t let people in so easily and they pick up on why you do that.

Your Least Favorite Traits of Your FS: V of Wands Rx, IX of Wands Rx, The Fool, X of Wands Rx, The Plaything Rx

Your FS’ Least Favorite Traits of You: VIII of Wands Rx, IV of Wands, VII of Swords, The Lovers, The Viewing

I’m sorry this is so funny, AND ANIMALS BY MAROON 5 IS PLAYING Pile two you’re going to try and get underneath your FS’ skin and they’re going to ignore you every single time, and in turn it’s going to piss you off. All the imagery gives me someone who is trying to be lured in or is being hunted on your end, but on their end they have knowledge from all over the world or well beyond their years so there’s no way you can overcome them. They are not playing your games and they’re not even matching your energy. It’s not like you guys are arguing but it’s more like teasing or seducing if their side is anything to go off of. The thing with the fool is that whenever they bite back with whatever is going on here, it’s always very witty and something that catches you off guard. It’s also like you’re the big monsters in the back while your FS is the girl running through the woods here. Also with Plaything, it’s like you want them to just get caught one time. Take the bait one time. But they don’t. And it’s annoying as hell.

Your FS on the other hand is doing this for a reason. There might be a gap in experience or age*, but they want to take care of this relationship and also you. Honestly looking back, for some of you this might be LGBT, difference in culture, status if their family deems it important – because The Viewing talks about ‘an irreversible outcome’ and I’m thinking about Simple and Clean by Utada Hikaru. The line ‘ When we are older, you'll understand what I meant when I said, "No, I don't think life is quite that simple" ’, is ringing in my head. If that’s not the case, then it could definitely just be inexperience within relationships and you’re looking at everything through rose colored glasses and they’re worried that this’ll ruin a really good thing. They see you as romanticizing a lot of things that can hurt you or them (depending on who is coming from the more judgmental society, unless you both are). Plus with the imagery within the lovers alongside that message of the viewing, yeah. They also really don’t like all the tricks and cheap shots you try and take to get them to go along with whatever you want to go in regards to this. It’s all out of love, truly. Also I Love You 3000 by Stephanie Peotri is playing and I think that’s from them. ‘No spoilers please’

*I don’t know why I keep feeling the need to add this, even after a night’s rest but age gap between two consenting adults. No funny business.

Pile Three

How You View Them: X of Pentacles Rx, IV of Pentacles Rx, VII of Wands, Ace of Cups

How They View You: VII of Cups, The Emperor, V of Cups Rx, Queen of Swords Rx

Your FS comes off as quite defensive to you. Closed off as well, because I’m struggling to get a good grasp on these cards for some reason. I’m believing it’s more like you see them as hard to read at times. They present the same energy but slightly different over the course of different weeks? Like there will be different levels of response to the same triggers so you can pinpoint what’s happening but not be quite sure of how to approach or soothe them sometimes. They present some dysfunction within their family, but it’s one of those situations where you show up to family events or holidays that celebrate family — just to get it over with or because it’s nice — and then you won’t really see or hear from them much again. They also might have a struggle with maintaining their finances? It’s not that they’re an over spender but it’s little things that they either don’t care for a savings account, or they have a vice grip on what’s in their account so they complain about any type of ‘expensive’ purchase, looking over all avenues before deciding on what to buy, those things. They’re very protective over what’s theirs, and that includes you (so you might have to get on them about that terminology which I think I see a little on their side). Despite all of that you do see them as someone who does have emotions and care to offer, it’s in a sweet way. Kind of naïve, for some reason? When it comes to revealing sensitive sides of themselves they can be kind of sensitive or childlike, which you think balances out all of the above. Meanwhile your FS’ side is much easier to comprehend and views you to be kind of intense. Besides the emperor and the queen, I’m seeing the middle chalice within the seven of cups. If you’re a gamer, you know how when you unlock an underground opening and it slowly raises up to ominous music? That’s what it seems like to me. I’m mainly just getting that you’re an equal match to your FS. You have no problem putting them in their place. There is some inner turmoil or sadness that seems to be making it’s way to the surface at times, or maybe you just seem to have an appearance that looks sad (glossy eyes, downturned lips, etc). I think it has to do with the eyes because the hill in the background looks like an eye to me when I look somewhere else and it distracts me. Either way, they happen to discover different facets of your personality over the course of the relationship and it fascinates them sometimes, but they do think you can be a little harsh or bossy with them sometimes. You know what you like and don’t like, but even if it’s in a joking way, they can get hurt by your comments or nitpicking? In their eyes. Though this does seem to be a person who tends to go for people who are more in control than them, or are in their power. And Feeling Myself by Nicki Minaj & Beyoncé just started playing, yup.

Your Favorite Traits of Your FS: The Empress, Page of Pentacles, VIII of Wands, II of Wands, The Cat and Lavender Rx

Your FS’ Favorite Traits of You: The Chariot Rx, Knight of Swords Rx, VII of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles, The Fox and Ivy

Yeah this is displaying the very muted duality your FS holds, but it also works very well together which is why I called it a muted duality. You like that on one hand your FS can be very caring and sweet towards you. They present themselves as very gentle and calming in private manners. They also can be very loyal and somewhat steadfast? It’s like when you get a new plant so you’re dedicated to learning its favorite nutrients, what time of day it prefers, the sunlight it wants, its quirks — all of that. That’s what you like about them, a very dedicated sweet lover. On the other hand, they can be very instinctual and sure of themselves. This is a case where I don’t believe they’re aware that they’re listening to their intuition but it’s like when you’re looking at crystals or feeling something out and you just know it’s the right one for you. That’s how they make decisions and they do it so boldly, so sure of themselves, you really admire that about them. I can’t say whether or not they always make the right choice, but the confidence that they have when making these choices is mighty attractive to you. They’re also someone to come quick to your aid or defense if you need or request it. I’m getting the image of someone rushing into the room with like four care packages all catered to different scenarios haha. Your FS wanted to send a message while I was writing your passage I guess, but Think by Aretha Franklin was playing lmao, staring at that knight of swords. Anyway, I stand by what I said earlier. They can be a little sensitive to your comments, but they’re not opposed to a little friction. They do find your combative attitude attractive, even if it’s against them at times. The main thing here though is the fact that you’re able to get the most out of life. You are the phrase ‘one man’s trash is another man’s treasure’. You don’t waste any opportunity that’s given to you and you try to see how far you can run with it. You also don’t give up on things (or connections I guess, in this sense). You will sit with your projects, friends, struggling ideas, and see what will come of them after some tender love and care. The only thing that will make you abandon it is if the object of attention doesn’t want to ‘put in’ the same effort. You are willing to compromise and roll with the punches as long as they don’t make you sacrifice anything at your core. Your FS really loves that about you.

Your Least Favorite Traits of Your FS: The Chariot Rx, Page of Pentacles, Knight of Wands Rx, IV of Wands, Envy Rx

Your FS’ Least Favorite Traits of You: IX of Cups Rx, III of Wands, The Devil, Death, Blessings

**LOL, not the both of you going ‘AHT, let me correct you real quick’ omg. Also, getting the chariot multiple times, someone has to have cancer placements in this connection. I’m getting specifically cancer venus or mars for some reason and I’m feeling like it’s them.

You can get annoyed with the complacency your FS holds. This loops all the way back to holding onto what they have and never looking for anything else, generally. It’s like you operate from this Envy card upright, while they move in the reverse. You are always trying to see what you can get out of things, to your detriment sometimes but we’ll get to that, and they don’t bother to even see if there’s more to things sometimes. It’s like if they have a car that can go on auto-pilot; they’d turn it on and take a nap. They’re okay with celebrating tiny milestones, or like ‘aah, mailed one letter today time to reward myself’ — things like that. Which is okay, but I’m going to assume it’s also intertwined with them getting way too in their head and making quick snap judgements based upon emotions. It’s not lost on me that the knight of wands is represented by a mummy and it’s also placed over the eight of wands currently. In the page of pentacles you can see that while someone is sleeping, a bunch of demons are slowly creeping up to attack her, presumably. I’d equate that to nightmares, or things catching up to you. So it’s like they would do a little bit here and there, celebrate, put it off, and then because of a deadline creeping up on them; either get way too stressed out or rush a bunch of stuff, as an example. All of this is centered around their ability to be okay with what they currently have, but they’re also not necessarily improving or bringing anything in. Your FS on the other hand thinks the exact opposite lmao. They think you give too many people or projects too much of your time or attention. I think the three of wands is interesting because it’s like someone waiting for their plans to come to fruition but the witch is old, the land is decrepit, and everything is withering away. Combined with the nine of cups, this person sees you pouring your efforts into all of these things and waiting for it to come back but you’re just. Standing there waiting with no reward. You guys are quite literally ‘working hard or hardly working’. Blessings is about granting others pardons or forgiveness, basically acting as a priest, but notice all of the creatures on him. It’s a double meaning here. They see you forgiving people that they believe shouldn’t get more of your time because they don’t have good intentions (one is literally yanking on the man’s ear). Mixed with Death, once again it’s mixed. You go around wearing yourself thin to wish people the best who aren’t doing the same for you, believing there will be a revival within a connection (for sure this time), or the other person is the reaper as they’re holding a scythe ready to cut you down. The devil here over the seven of coins speaks to them seeing your dedication falling into a slight obsession at times. It’s a bit unbalanced and sometimes you forget to take care of other things in your life, and you can get tangled within your projects and tie them to maybe your self-worth (if this fails then I failed because I couldn’t keep it going). I think you guys are good for each other in terms of learning your strongest qualities to help balance out your own personal lives honestly. Also Sun Goes Down by Lil Nas X started playing right as I finished.

Pile Four

How You View Them: Justice, Wheel of Fortune Rx, Queen of Wands, X of Wands

How They View You: IX of Swords Rx, The Hanged Man Rx, Queen of Swords, VII of Cups

You view your future spouse as someone quite rational. They’re not the type to believe in things like ‘fate’ or manifestation; if they want it they go get it. They firmly believe in seeing the world through an objective lens but you feel like sometimes they can be a little full of themselves in that sense. Like they have the final say in things. Besides that, they try to be fair and just about most things. It’s pretty basic, the people who are right are right, people who are wrong are wrong, if they feel like they aren’t informed they won’t speak on the matter — it can leave them seeming like they don’t really have much of a voice or opinions besides when they’re speaking up for people, because I definitely feel them here. You see them as someone who knows their worth and they’ll probably make jokes about it (‘oh you think you can get with me, come on now’). They’re pretty light-hearted when it doesn’t come to the state of the world or social politics, and you see them as someone who keeps up with their appearance. Beyond physical beauty but also watching what they eat and exercising as well, they’re very attentive of what makes them feel good. However they tend to take on too much, and I think this leans more back into how others around them are affected. If the state of the world is in shambles it can get to them, and they’ll look into what they can do. They might take on more than they can handle though, like maybe trying to go to a lot of charity events on top of their job, or trying to inform as many people as possible when they can barely fit it into their schedule. Things like that along with their slightly ‘I have the final say’ attitude might be the only annoying things here from you. Your FS views you as…kind of spacey. Weirdly. Ah! The second I figured it out, Bulletproof Heart by MCR started playing leave me alone lmao. So you took them by surprise when they first started to get to know you I think, but they also stuck around for these two sides of you. The majority of their perception of you is that you’re not present most of the time. You’re in your head or imagination and you’re not really paying attention to your surroundings — which I think can worry or annoy them sometimes. You also look like you’re constantly watching the world pass you by because you’re contemplating and would prefer to either help others or you’re not too privy to take control of your life. Like you’re exhausted in a sense and don’t feel like getting back in the ring, so you’d rather just sit back and people watch, or allow other people / things to come to you. This could also be the result of a former relationship (platonic, familial or romantic) that left you scarred and defensive. However, there are topics or times where you come out of hibernation and you come out with a bite. You have extensive knowledge about the subject and you can go toe to toe with them. You keep them engaged in the conversation. You can also give them the feeling that you’re allowing them to approach you but if they say the wrong thing then you’re bringing the sword down. These are not qualities that they expected to see in you, a person who is caught in a standstill, so they find it interesting. Okay Roman’s Revenge by Nicki Minaj is playing and I don’t want to take the lyrics, but the intensity and feeling of the song is the feeling of when that queen of swords comes out, to them.

Your Favorite Traits of Your FS: Death, The Star Rx, The World, III of Pentacles, The Snail and the Huckleberry Rx

Your FS’ Favorite Traits of You: V of Cups Rx, Ace of Swords Rx, The Emperor Rx, VI of Swords Rx, The Caiman and Poppy Rx

So first off I have to say that your FS has to have fixed placements or is a fixed sign? Lmao maybe their birthday is valentines day maybe that’s why they have such a thing with the divine and all of that - or maybe not because spooky guy of all songs just started playing so maybe they are a scorpio, god I get it. Anyway, Your favorite traits are the fact that they are so rooted in the 3D. Usually I don’t like the star being reversed, but here it’s really sweet. With its positioning, it’s looking down at the three of pentacles meaning it’s working with you, which we’ll get into later. Your FS is someone who faces their fears and demons with rationale and like, a guidebook almost. So it’s no longer that big and scary to them, it’s not really that much of a challenge but they’re still able to be rewarded with the transformation that comes afterward. They also feel like a missing puzzle piece to you. I don’t spread the idea of ‘there’s someone out there that will complete you’, and I never will, but when you meet this person they will feel like they can make up for things that you lack. They can also help teach you to strengthen your weaker qualities as well. It quite literally is people with different skill sets coming together to ‘complete a project’. It also always feels super sweet and fun whenever you’re with them. Your FS loves basically all the opposite traits of what was mentioned above. I have to mention that Asystole by Hayley Williams is playing as I look into this five of cups, which is over the nine of swords. So I do believe there is a recovery taking place that they notice within you, and they adore it in a sense that they’re very proud of you. Every day that you wake up and decide to face your fears, keep doing inner work (‘whatever that is’), and placing trust in them makes their heart grow three times bigger — just like the grinch. There is a feeling of wanting to move on or flee out of instinct and self-preservation but choosing not to, and they give you space to figure that out on your own, so hearing that after you work through it and the ultimate answer is to stay — well they don’t want to show it because they want you to do what’s best for you but it’s very nice to hear. Overall we have this energy of you being pretty scatterbrained, which leads to a lot of absurd thoughts and late night ramblings. They find it fun, even if it doesn’t make sense and they can’t really keep up or actively engage at times. You can get stuck in them, which is when they come to ground you, but unless it’s causing harm they just let you have fun in there. They do love when your 'aggressive' side comes out though, because that’s what they’re familiar with and they can keep up with that. They like when you’re stubborn sometimes, because it can be over something small or maybe you guys are debating serious stuff, but it’s a fun shared activity between the two of you. They don’t necessarily want you to get rid of your spacey qualities though because they can learn from it and you teach them a few new things, like how to relax and disengage.

Your Least Favorite Traits of Your FS: Queen of Cups, IV of Cups Rx, III of Pentacles, Strength Rx, The Feral Child Rx

Your FS’ Least Favorite Traits of You: The Empress Rx, Page of Pentacles Rx, The High Priestess Rx, Ace of Pentacles, Revenge

Hey remember when I said they seem to have a complex about them at times from your perspective. You can get irritated with them because in the process of them wanting to help care for you, it seems like they’re treating you like a child. You might decline their help sometimes because you feel like they’re looking down at you. When you look at the way the queen of cups is presented, she seems as if she’s someone of high status. Even in the book it says ‘do not fear the queen of cups, even though she seems intimidating, she is caring’. Your FS can come off as an ‘I told you so’ person at times, but they do wish the best for you. There’s another piece of them seeming to always want to align with ‘the norm’, or what is allowed within society, and that can annoy you because you don’t feel like they’re ‘being authentic’. This can be as little as them not partaking in any hobbies they like because people will mock them for it or they personally feel like it’s embarrassing. For others of you, this has to do with poor anger management and pent up frustration. They don’t know how to channel it elsewhere or relieve it, and it builds up until they blow up over something small or create an issue over nothing, due to something else that was a legitimate problem a few weeks ago. Now a funny side note is — unfortunately you won’t be able to tell from this picture I think, but in person if you look closely enough at this four of cups; one of the drink’s mist is just a bit darker than the rest. I think that’s how you literally feel about your FS’ intuition, it’s blocked and it can annoy you at times that they miss what is obvious to you, but it’s not obvious to them. You guys just speak different language so to speak, that’s all. Your FS wants you to treat yourself better. I giggled because when I pulled the high priestess I heard ‘you call this intuition?’, I’m sorry your FS has been quite the smart-ass this whole reading. The main focus here is split a little bit, with an interesting side message here as well. You can be pretty sensitive and beat yourself down over some small stuff. Your self-esteem isn’t that strong so when you don’t meet goals you set for yourself or you just happen to have one of those days, it hits pretty hard. It feels like you’re eating yourself alive. It might also be that you don’t have good self-care habits as well, because remember, your FS does. There might be days you won’t take care of yourself too well and they won’t like that and might nag you about it. I’m also getting a sense that if you’re in the process of — or maybe beginning to when you meet them — start your own business or indulge in a hobby, you will put your blood sweat and tears into it which is something that worries them because of what I started before. They don’t mind taking care of you or watching out, but it’s the imbalance that stresses them out. They also want you to trust yourself more because sometimes you can feel like you get messages or intuitive hits wrong. Like if one thing goes wrong, and you follow it because of a gut feeling, you beat yourself up for it and that’s not how that works. However at the same time, sometimes you can use that against your FS. This is only for a select few, and it’s not bad it’s more funny and irritable from them tbh, but sometimes you can withhold things from them relating to this stuff if you’re in a funky mood towards them and it irritates the living shit out of them. Like let’s say you guys have reached a mutual understanding and respect for each other and sometimes they ask for a second opinion before deciding on something, maybe you’re a little annoyed and you claim you’re not getting anything but they can tell when you’re lying. Stupid stuff like that lmao.

Pile Five

How You View Them: III of Pentacles, King of Swords, The Hanged Man, The Tower Rx

How They View You: The High Priestess, The Lovers Rx

Your pile will be somewhat different or interesting. When I was pulling for their side, I was shuffling for quite some time and the first card to come out was the high priestess, and with that I got ‘they should know’. I don’t really feel one way or the other that you already know this person, if they want to reveal it later on they will, because I asked them if they want to divulge information and they basically said ‘I don’t want to talk petty gossip but I will shine light upon my qualities’ essentially (3 of cups rx and queen of wands). So this pile can fall into the pool of: 1) you guys are communicating through your high selves, 2) you’ve met through dreams, 3) you already know this person and the connection is being protected from ruin, etcetc.

Now that that spiel is over. You view your FS as someone who is co-operative. This reads to me as someone who is willing to split the chores, there is no clash of house rules going on, etc. They’re willing to work with you on things so it runs smoothly, and they want it to run efficiently and properly as well. The king feels very kind here? It’s not as noticeable as he usually is and it feels more of someone who you go to for advice or help. They don’t feel like someone who runs the show to you. They feel more like someone who watches from a distance and just makes sure things are going okay without directly interfering or leading anything. They definitely protect you or make moves from behind the scenes though, and you obviously would find this out later along the way. I feel this because for some reason it’s like the king of swords is smiling (?) gently at me while beneath or behind them, the tower is happening. It’s reversal feels more muted to me than to take it as a reverse, like it’s still happening but no one else sees it except for those who need to. You view your FS as someone who is very quiet, calm and supportive. Doesn’t have to literally be gentle but they give off that energy. Feels Taurean? For their rising at least. Now your FS…like I said, they didn’t want to speak up for how they see you for some reason. I definitely don’t think it’s because they’re shy, but there’s something here that they don’t want you to know yet? Which I’m just merely here to show the cards and explain the messages so—

Your Favorite Traits of Your FS: The Fool, Page of Swords, Nine of Wands, Queen of Cups, The Fox and Ivy Rx

Your FS’ Favorite Traits of You: Six of Swords, III of Cups, VII of Cups, The Ladybug and Sweet Pea Rx

*For those of you that don’t know me, I usually take The Devil or The Moon as a sign to stop asking, and considering the above, I let your FS know that, and for the last card they gave me both LMAO, very very protective and serious about this I like that.

Your favorite traits are seemingly about the same thing LOL. There is a bit of a stubborn streak to your FS; they stand for what they stand for, if they don’t want to do something they won’t do it. It’s not in an aggressive manner, but they are simply not budging, it takes a lot to get them to bend to someone else’s will. It’s rooted in the fact that they’re willing to explore and uncover a lot, listen to many other people’s perspective and understand a lot of things they aren’t familiar with. They’re willing to take the plunge before they can say with resolve that something just isn’t for them. They’re not combative and they’re quite gentle and caring with the way they handle people and their affairs, which is what you like about them. Two extra things, there might be a small pet they have that you adore or grow close to? That and they might enjoy, find peace, or live near the sea.  On your FS’s side, I kept replaying Gurenge by LiSA but I only paid attention to this line: ‘Tell me why, tell me why, tell me why, tell me, I don't need you’, and I see that being highlighted on their side. You reflect your FS somewhat in the fact that when things no longer serve you or you find them to be unhealthy, you leave them behind. You understand that not everything or everyone is meant to be in your life until the end of time, and that’s okay. If they happen to be, then you find yourself to be extremely lucky, that’s all. It’s also a little bit like a social battery when in combination with the three of cups. You do enjoy socializing with the people that you want to socialize with and you fully understand your limits. I also feel like this is you enjoying more of celebrating holidays or certain traditions and going all out for them, which they find cute. You’re idealistic and creative, nothing (within reason) is too much for you, and it’s like you always happen to be able to pick from the right cup when it matters. Also, Cool Kitty from Class of 3000 is playing and I think that just highlights that message, I wasn’t even processing that lol. This episode was about one of the kids hanging out with other kids that just didn’t authentically care for her and were willing to drop her at a second’s notice if she was suddenly not fitting the aesthetic, which calls back to you understanding those that are meant for you and those that aren’t.

Your Least Favorite Traits of Your FS: Death Rx, X of Cups Rx, V of Cups, V of Wands, The Specimen

Your FS’ Least Favorite Traits of You: Judgement Rx, X of Pentacles Rx, The Elixir

Only If For A Night by Florence + the Machine is playing. You feel like your FS can be too unchanging at times. They do explore, try things, travel, etc — but their end results seems to be that they go back into their bubble to stay with what’s familiar. So while their wisdom expands, they don’t. I was looking at the five of cups and Too Sensitive by Sean Kennedy started playing. I was going to say the imagery looks like someone knocking the cups over after a fight to really rub salt into a wound. There is a defensive energy that’s been seen throughout the entire reading, and it comes out with you too, but it’s when you challenge them on this aspect of their mindset. It feels like someone pulled the wool over your eyes and now you’re being shown the truth, in a way. I think it’s a small problem that can boil into a big one if not cared for.

Your FS feels like you try too hard to solve a problem that’s not there. The Specimen is, well it’s a creature. I find it very interesting that you both got vials, and it’s like one is the problem and the other seems to be like an antidote. They’re both showing up negatively though. One of these interpretations could be that they feel like old arguments or fights get recycled again and again, and they’re tired of it. However, I don’t feel like that’s the main message here. That’s for very few of you, and if you don’t know who I’m talking about, then you picked the wrong pile, there’s a very high chance of that. Sometimes piles can be hijacked by people who need to hear a specific message. This feels like a relationship with a lot of squaring going on astrologically. Two people approaching something with the same mindset but from different perspectives. Sun by CHANMINA is playing.

For some of you, there is a high chance that this is a past relationship, or someone that you knew / worked with, and they just never made any moves towards you during that time.

Pile Six

How You View Them: III of Wands, Queen of Swords, Knight of Swords Rx, VI of Wands Rx

How They View You: Kings of Wands Rx, V of Wands, King of Swords Rx, Queen of Pentacles

You view your future spouse as someone who has something to prove. They can come off as a bit blunt and dismissive. I believe that’s due to their focus being on something else, which would be their goals and achievements. It’s kind of interesting because they might have made a bad first impression, or maybe this is when they get really stressed out and tense, but they can be quite unfavorable to be around during those moments. They might have Aries influence actually, because I feel like whatever they feel, they let it out without thinking, that’s their stress relief (even if it doesn’t really do anything). You might see them as someone who has some growing to do and is all talk, but on the flipside it kind of seems like they’re just anxious to fill the shoes that are set for them? Like the reason why they act like that is because they know what’s coming but they’re worried that it might not be all it’s amped up to be (you know, because they keep hyping it up), so then they get in their head and then they’re a little bit of a shit-head. One of the more interesting viewpoints of the piles today I’ll say. For your FS I struggled with these king cards at first I'm not gonna lie. Looking back at it, very simple. I keep getting a strong feeling that this person has to at least be a year younger than you. Anyway, they see you as quite the authoritative figure in their life, sometimes to an overwhelming degree. It’s giving the feeling of being someone’s manager or supervisor and always micromanaging them, I’m not getting the feeling of abusing your power. They see you as combative over petty stuff, feeling like you throw your weight (intelligence and status) around. This can include them being less experienced than you in some way and it might strike a nerve with them even if you aren’t attempting to do that. Like they might appreciate the fact that you do take time to either guide or show them that you care, but then they might feel like you’re looking down on them and it might fire them up all over again.

Your Favorite Traits of Your FS: Page of Wands, The Emperor Rx, VIII of Swords Rx, The Hermit, The Deer and Oat

Your FS’ Favorite Traits of You: Strength Rx, X of Swords Rx, Wheel of Fortune, VI of Swords, The Bee and Pomegranate

Your favorite traits are that they can be unapologetically themselves and that they offer you a place of solitude or safety. It doesn’t have to be physical, but they feel safe to you. Maybe quite literally feel healing to you, but mainly safe. They might request vacations where you guys have your phones turned off or at least on DnD. There’s a lot of youthful energy to them that is refreshing to you, so maybe you’ve felt the need to constantly be mature and presentable whether that be in your career, around friends or family, etc — but they give you that space to let you be goofy, have food fights in the middle of baking, finger paint, bring out your inner child with them. There’s also a more introspective quality to them that isn’t so front and center in their daily life that you enjoy experiencing. They can seem to not really be grounded or listen to an inner voice but it is there and there’s a bit more happening internally than meets the eye. Hm. JA ARA E by Burna Boy is playing and I usually don’t draw back to ethnicities or anything but someone might be african or african-american considering the cards as well. Your FS’s side is pretty straight forward so I’m very sorry if this is so short but they like the side of you that is able to let go and let be. They wish to understand how you’re able to not fight against so many things, or not be so anxious about the world around you at times. How you can heal so beautifully after the worst betrayals. The way you can take the tried and true road, even if it’s not the best road for you at the time, with not many complaints. They’re slightly jealous but also admirable of these gentle qualities of yours. I’m mainly getting this from my gut but there might be a piece of them that feels like they have a lot of catching up to do when it comes to you so it makes them feel small and slightly…it’s not scared or embarrassed but it’s like they want to rush and put in a lot of overtime to catch up, but when you’re not looking. The feeling of inadequacy is always in the back of their mind, it just kind of depends on when it gets triggered.

Your Least Favorite Traits of Your FS: IV of Pentacles Rx, II of Swords Rx, IV of Swords, III of Swords, The Feeding

Your FS’ Least Favorite Traits of You: II of Wands Rx, Judgement Rx, Queen of Swords, IX of Cups, Tears

You think your FS can be sneaky or try to take shortcuts to make things happen, which can annoy you sometimes. With the four of pentacles combined with feeding, it makes me feel like entanglements and promises, but too many things get caught up within their web for things to happen so it must be sacrificed, ultimately making it not happen. The cycle keeps happening though because someone doesn’t want to fall short of their self-imposed goal. You also feel like they hide away from big responsibilities or scary choices. The skeletons are popping up from the ground but I’d have to imagine it wouldn’t be able to see which choice is being made, and the vampire is peeking out of her coffin, looking like she’s risen, but can easily shut it again. All of this leads to a lot of heartbreak and a woe is me mindset that can be easily avoided from your perspective

Your FS on the other hand thinks you worry too much and it can get to them. I was wondering why it seemed like the energies started to intertwine but it seems like you’re both directly affecting each other here. They don’t like when you worry about them to the point of covering up their mistakes and cleaning up their mess. You can nag them a lot and sound like their mom which is not too attractive. This nine of cups feels like the ‘cleaning up the mess’ part for some reason. You can also remind them a lot of their failures in a backwards way. It’s you telling them to be cautious and giving them advice or different paths to take next time, and them taking it the wrong way. Thinking you’re being underhanded and referencing their last failed attempt. There’s just a bit more communication that is needed here so people understand exactly what is being said and ego’s aren’t hurt along the way, is all. Might have squared or opposing mercury, mars, or ascendant aspects? Honestly even Pluto I think, since it’s dealing with authority.