#l&ds rafayel

[scorpyuu]

✨ Nightly rendezvous ✨

Before 🍎 comes home.

Which one is your favourite?

[sunghoon-cam]

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH IVE BEEN ASKING FOR THIS 😭🙏🙏

Intertidal Zone

♱⋅── rafayel x reader

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

♱⋅── word count: 6.7k

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

art credit to @/khouxy on instagram

You swear Rafayel is doing this on purpose. 

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

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

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

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

“How’s your drawing?” 

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

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

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

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

You hoped the together was implicit by now.

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

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

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

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

You’re leaning in despite yourself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A laugh. Dry, humorless. 

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

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

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

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

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

Like he’s always fucking starving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Silly fishie, I’d never leave you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The glass lays shattered against the floor. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.” 

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

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

By the third time, you know something is wrong. 

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

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

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

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

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

It’s the cold that wakes you up. 

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

“Rafayel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet again, he stops you halfway.

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

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

“You’re not coming with me?” 

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

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

“Cutie…”

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of promise?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need him. 

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

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

And then the room is all too hot once again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. This is Rafayel’s room. 

You must be trying to kill him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not fair.

No god can deny the prayer of a worshipper.

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

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

Shit. He’s hard.

“Hey man, what’s wrong? You good?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's the last breath you take.

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

“Rafayel? What are you doing here?” 

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

Holy fuck, just a towel. Right.

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

Rafayel kisses you again. And again. And again. 

You can feel the cloth slipping.

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

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

So you bite him. 

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

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

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

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

“Or was that intentional?”

The look in his eyes is feral. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instantly, you have Rafayel on his back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’s kissing you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again.”

“I’m yours, yours Rafayel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that alone is enough.

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

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

You're cumming.

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

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

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

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

The one who's still kneeling before you. 

The one who you love. 

"Maximum voicemail length reached, recording sent."

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

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

[ippi2un]

L&DS SMAU:

♥︎—calling them by a funny/weird name

♡—pairings: xavier x you, zayne x you, rafayel x you, sylus x you (SORRY THERES NO CALEB IDK ABT HIM MUCH😭😍)

[hyperfixationhobo]

Rafayel: *Trying to cover up his laughter.*

MC: “Whatcha laughing at?”

Rafayel: “Zayne sleeps like a Victorian child.”

MC: *Looks at Zayne who’s sleeping with his hands crossed on his stomach.*

Rafayel: “Mother, will I make it to next winter?”

MC: *Starts giggling* “Tell father I stayed alive for him.”

Rafayel: “Take me out to see the sunrise before I perish.”

MC: “May I please have one last bean sandwich before I see the light?”

Zayne: “I can hear you guys you know.”

Rafayel: “…”

MC: “…how much of that did you hear?”

Zayne: “Enough to know that I apparently look like a Victorian child when I sleep.”

Rafayel: “…Are we wrong though?”

Zayne: “…That doesn’t matter.”

[ilovemitsuya]

Our last quad banner guys💔

[collarteraldamage]

Lil Raf moment that made me smile 🐟

((semi related MC is so funny in this event I love these two))

🥪 - edited for resolution

[abbylee0710]

Spoilers for the event

I love the event omg😭 we have a new lemurian word and also back to the burn and pain that is associated with love for Rafayel and again outrightly saying that he is willing to die for love and is loyal to the one person he loves🥺

[froggiequarium]

dyeing your hair ft. rafayel bc i just dyed mine earlier & imagine he'd be good at/willing to do it for u

-

"huh? is it supposed to look like this...?"

"it looks a little chunky.. did i do something wrong?"

you skim over the box dye and the small now-empty bottle before looking back at the bowl.

"lets just keep mixing it."

rafayel does as you say, taking the brush and mixing the dye together with the developer in the bowl. after about a minute, a light color begins seeping through the pearly mixture.

"oh, look!"

"guess that's a good sign," rafayel comments, still mixing.

"do your paints take this same amount of effort too?"

"hmm.. sometimes; depends on the color im trying to achieve."

you both watch as the mixture turns a deeper and deeper shade of red as the minutes pass while simultaneously becoming smoother and smoother.

"it looks so yummy..."

he glances over at you, eyebrow raised.

"did you not eat or something, cutie? i would've made something for you, y'know!"

"no its just— look at that and tell me you don't wanna sample it."

he looks back at the bowl of soft red and back at you.

"i don't think i wanna sample this." you huff a breath through your nose before he voices his reasoning. "doesn't it smell weird? is this how it's supposed to smell?"

"what do you mean? it smells amazing!"

"...you have some strange tastes," he comments before going back to slowly stir the rest of the chunks smoothly.

"anyway, as long as i'm here, you're not getting a lick of this."

"i bet it tastes like strawberries...."

"...you're so weird," he laughs, hand slowly coming to a stop.

"okay, its done, now what?"

"now to paint my hair!"

"oh, do you need your renowned artist fishie to do the honors?"

you're in the middle of clipping up a section of your hair when your eyes trail over to the gleam in his.

"do you really want to?"

"isn't that why you asked for my help in the first place?"

"well, yeah, but—"

"relax, cutie, and just trust me!"

"well, if you're sure," you point to your hair that's left loose. "then, start here at the bottom. my hair is kind of thick, so the trick is coloring in sections to equally distribute it."

he hums along, dipping the brush into the bowl of red and pulling it up to swipe over your hair in careful strokes to paint each section.

knowing how rafayel gets when he's in the zone, you don't make much conversation, simply humming along to the music playing in the background as you watch him delicately paint your hair through the mirror.

once he's finished with the bottom, you unclip some more hair, still keeping one section confined to your head, and he quickly gets to work on the next one.

a comfortable silence has enveloped you both, and as he paints, you can't help but feel slight doubt creeping into your mind, prompting you to break the quiet.

"rafayel?"

"hmm? yes, cutie?"

you hesitate for a moment, his eyes catching yours momentarily in the mirror.

"its just— do you think.. this color will suit me?"

a grin spreads across his lips as he dips the brush back into the bowl gathering more red.

"is that what you're worried about?" he moves it and begins painting a strand.

"i'm already almost done, don't tell me you're going to make me paint your head all over again." he's teasing you, and you can't help a small grin crack.

"well, its been awhile since i've dyed it last so i'm just worried..."

"well, if you ask me, i think anything looks good on you," he winks at you through the mirror. "or off, for that matter."

"rafayel!" he laughs and you let out a sigh before getting back to the matter at hand.

"aren't you biased? what if this ruins my look or doesn't compliment my skin tone, and you lie and tell me that i look great?" you cross your arms, pointed stare gazing at him through the mirror.

"ouch, do you doubt an artist's eye that much?"

you don't answer as he finishes the section. he unclips the next one himself, setting the hairpiece aside as he begins again, his soft voice breaking through the silence once more.

"to answer your question, i think it suits you perfectly, cutie."

his hand is gentle as it paints the stray strands of your hair, and you feel like you're one of his canvases being painted in his vision.

"you really think so?" you pause before your next question bubbles up. "you won't like it any less now that the color is changing?"

"since when do you care what i think?" he jokes.

"rafayel..." you whine.

he laughs before giving his actual answer.

"of course not. you could dye it every color under the sun and i'd help you every time, admiring the you in each different hue of the world."

you smile at his answer, heart fluttering in your chest.

sometimes, it slipped your mind just how romantic he could be at the most unexpected times.

"okay, it looks like i'm all done here, buuut it still looks like there's a good amount left in the bowl," he turns to you, an eyebrow raised.

"what should we do with the rest of it?"

"add extra to any empty-looking spots!" you smile, eyes trailing towards his pretty locks.

"...unless you want some highlights?"

he looks down at the bowl before smiling.

"hmm, i'll consider it for another time. right now, it's all about you, cutie."

you fall back into a comfortable conversation as he touches up some spots here and there, relaying your worry and excitement for the result.

rest assured, he couldn't wait to see the finished product of his work, either.

-

[mephisto-reporting]

Silk, Satin and Sensual

Premise: Headcanons on his preferences for lingerie and his reaction when he sees you in them. Based on this request. Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) [Caleb version will come out after his release] Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is suggestive. Please do not interact if you are a minor. Caleb version will come out after his release when I know more about his personality. If you wanted to be added to my taglist, please DM, ask or comment :D Content warning: Suggestive. MNDI.

XAVIER

Xavier has a thing for soft, celestial tones like white, cream, silvers and muted golds. He’s drawn to fabrics that shimmer faintly, almost like starlight against your skin. He has a thing for delicate patterns, like lacework.

Sheer materials like mesh and chiffon drive him wild, especially if they reveal just enough to leave him craving more. He prefers the balance of teasing and revealing, where the fabric hints at your curves without fully exposing them.

He’s absolutely obsessed with your thighs and prefers lingerie that accentuates them. Garter belts, thigh-high stockings, and intricate lace shorts are his kryptonite.

If you have small celestial accents like tiny golden stars or moon charms hanging from the garters… good fucking luck. You are not walking the next day.

He has an unapologetic habit of tearing your lingerie when he loses control, so he’s constantly replacing your wardrobe. His explanation? “It’s not my fault they’re made so fragile. I’ll get you something sturdier—next time.”

Once the damage is done and your new lingerie is in shreds, Xavier looks annoyingly unbothered. He’ll casually toss the ruined piece aside and murmur, “Guess I’ll have to buy you another.”

He’ll commission a lingerie set made of delicate ivory lace with gold threads woven into it, shaped to mimic constellations. He’ll surprise you with thigh-high stockings that have faint, shimmering patterns running up the sides. These are always paired with garter belts because he loves tugging on them when he is intimate with you.

He’ll leave the box on your bed, wrapped in soft cream paper with a gold ribbon. Inside, there’s always a handwritten note in his steady handwriting. “For you. You’re too beautiful not to be dressed like the stars themselves.”

His reactions:

The moment he sees you in lingerie, his carefully composed demeanor melts away, replaced by an intense, almost predatory focus. His eyes lock onto your thighs, and his voice becomes a low murmur laced with want. He is the definition of: his eyes darkened.

Xavier likes the idea that these pieces are chosen specifically for his eyes. If anyone else saw you in them, even accidentally, it would ignite a streak of jealousy.

If you walk past him too many times, deliberately flaunting the look, he’ll finally snap. One moment, you’re teasing him; the next, you’re backed against the wall with his hands tracing the garter straps. “Do you want me to tear this off?” he’ll ask, his voice soft but carrying that dangerous edge. Spoiler: He’s already decided the answer.

ZAYNE

Zayne prefers earthy tones—rich browns, deep greens, warm ambers, and muted burgundies. These hues remind him of natural beauty, grounding yet alluring. He loves subtle details like lace trim, delicate straps that crisscross your back, or a ribbon that ties just above your hips—small elements that add to the allure.

Zayne is drawn to pieces that accentuate your waist. Corset-style lingerie, high-waisted panties, or teddies with cinched designs are his favorites. He admires the way they create an hourglass effect, appreciating your silhouette.

He has a thing for materials that feel good to the touch: silky satins, fine lace, and soft mesh. The tactile experience is as important to him as the visual.

Zayne has impeccable taste, selecting pieces that balance seduction with sophistication. Think satin teddies with plunging necklines or lace bodysuits with subtle, sheer paneling. He gravitates toward lingerie sets that emphasize your natural beauty rather than overwhelming it—clean lines, elegant accents, and designs that celebrate your form.

When Zayne gifts you lingerie, he makes it an intimate experience. He’ll lay the gift on the bed, wrapped in tissue paper with a single dried flower,something earthy and subtle, like a sprig of lavender or rosemary. His note is direct: “For when you’re ready to let me admire you properly.”

Zayne picks quality over quantity. He’d rather gift you one stunning, well-made piece than several forgettable ones. His selections are designed to last—not that he always gives them the chance to.

His gaze never wavers. When you wear lingerie, Zayne’s eyes lock on yours before slowly traveling down your body, making you feel like the most captivating thing in the world.

There’s no ripping it off, but it won’t take long before he’s slipping the fabric off. He’s not gentle, but he’s not reckless either. There’s a certain hunger in how he undresses you.

His Reaction:

When you walk into the room wearing one of his carefully chosen pieces, Zayne’s reaction is immediate. His calm is replaced by a sharp intake of breath, his eyes trailing over you with an intensity that makes the air feel heavier.

Zayne’s fingers brush over the fabric with deliberate slowness, his palms lingering against the soft satin at your hips. “Feels even better than I imagined,” he murmurs, his lips quirking into a heated smirk. “But I think it’d feel better on the floor.”

If you tease him, letting a strap fall off your shoulder or adjusting the lace just so—Zayne’s control begins to crack. His hands are on you instantly, his voice dropping to a growl. “You like testing me, don’t you? Keep it up, and you’ll see what happens.”

RAFAYEL

Rafayel is drawn to soft, pastel shade like gentle blues, lavender, and delicate purples. He prefers lingerie that’s sweet and soft, evoking a sense of innocence while still being sensual.

He gravitates towards cuter lingerie like bralette sets with flowing chiffon accents, babydolls with sheer overlays, or high-waisted lingerie shorts. He likes pieces that don’t reveal too much but are so alluring that he cannot keep his eyes off you.

Rafayel is obsessed with fine details such as silver waistbands that drape lightly like jewelry, chokers that gleam with tiny pearls, delicate chain straps on your bra, tiny dangling gemstones, or trims that sparkle subtly in the light.

Sheer robes, flowing fabrics, and fluttering hems draw his gaze as they cling to your skin over your lingerie like water waves. If you are wearing a lingerie, fresh out of the shower with your hair still wet, it is game over for this man.

Rafayel treats every moment with you in lingerie as sacred. He doesn’t rush; instead, he takes his time, savoring every detail like an artist admiring their finest work

Rafayel is the kind of person who doesn’t just buy off the shelf. He’ll have something specially commissioned for you, likely a set of lingerie that reflects your personality and his artistic sensibilities. His commission might even include small charms that are Lemuria inspired.

Rafayel, though loving, is bashful when it comes to gifting lingerie. He would likely have the lingerie sent to you without a grand reveal, perhaps bundled with other gifts like chocolates, perfume, scarves that might distract from his true intentions. His note will be brief, almost casual: “Some pieces I thought you'd appreciate, seeing as you're always so fashionable.”

His Reaction:

The first time you step out wearing one of his custom sets, a soft lavender bralette with delicate gold chain accents and a matching choker—Rafayel freezes. Rafayel can’t stop staring, though he tries to look away, his hand rising to cover his mouth as his blush deepens. “I-I didn’t think it would suit you this perfectly…” he stammers, his gaze flicking back to you despite himself.

“I… I didn’t mean for it to be so… um… revealing,” he stammers, eyes lingering on the intricate lace and the subtle gleam of the small jewels. “But… you look… divine.” When Rafayel touches the fabric, his fingers tremble against your skin. He’s so gentle, almost reverently so, as though touching you in this way is an act of worship.

"It’s like you’re wearing my art… and I can’t stop admiring it." His gaze will flicker between your face and the lingerie, doing his best to hold himself together. “Why are you doing this to me?” he’ll murmur with desire. “I just want to keep you here... like this... for as long as possible.” he whispers, voice barely audible, as though if he spoke louder, he might break the spell.

SYLUS

Sylus gravitates toward bold, classic colors like deep blacks, rich reds, and occasionally luxurious whites, midnight blues or dark emerald greens. These colors resonate with him. He appreciates the elegance of these shades, as they exude sophistication and bold sensuality.

He’s a silk and satin man through and through. These fabrics are smooth, luxurious, and irresistible to his touch. He loves how they glide over your skin and how they feel beneath his fingertips.

He loves classic, timeless lingerie: lacy bras with garter belts, high-cut panties that highlight your legs, and elegant teddies that hug every curve. Think luxury brands and couture pieces that scream sensuality.

Occasionally, Sylus surprises you with bolder, risqué styles: Cage-style bras with open backs, strappy bodysuits that playfully expose just enough skin, lingerie with sheer panels, leaving little to the imagination.

He doesn’t tear or rush; instead, he carefully folds each piece, placing it aside after everything is said and done. “I’ll want to see this on you again.” he explains with a sly smirk

Sylus doesn’t stop at gifting you a single set. Every outfit in your closet has a matching pair of lingerie. You’ll find lingerie for every occasion. Sylus alwayssurprise you with a box containing lingerie hidden among other extravagant gifts—fine jewelry, luxurious robes, or even a custom-made vanity to store your collection: “Maybe my luck is not be so bad if I am the only man who gets to see you in these, sweetie.”

For Sylus, lingerie isn’t just for the bedroom. He loves seeing you lounge in one of his tailored sets, reclining on his sofa as you read or listen to music together. Sylus is content to let his hands roam over the satin, enjoying the feel of it warmed by your skin. “Stay like this,” he’ll say softly, his voice a mix of command and yearning. “I want to keep you close.”

True to his nature, Sylus has a habit of keeping little trophies. He has a drawer in one of his private residences dedicated to these keepsakes  as a reminder of your shared moments. If you ever catch him in the act of placing something there, he’ll simply shrug with a sly grin. “Can you blame me? I keep what’s mine.”

His Reaction:

When you step into the room wearing something he’s chosen for you, Sylus’ composed exterior falters, just slightly. His gaze darkens, and his lips curl into a small, satisfied smirk. He’ll take a slow step toward you, one hand tucked casually in his pocket, the other reaching out to trail a finger down the silk, letting it rest against your hip.

Without hesitation, he’ll scoop you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly to where he wants you—be it the bedroom, his grand leather chair in the study, or even the chaise lounge in front of the fireplace. “I’m not letting you out of my sight when you like this.”

Sylus never tears your lingerie—he unwraps you like the most precious gift, his hands moving with reverent care. “You deserve to be savored, not rushed.” he whispers, his gaze locked on you. He’ll seat you on his lap or lay you down, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate movements along the fabric. The lingerie is not just for his pleasure, it is for yours as well.  

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

taglist: @cordidy

[lara635kookie]

I'll continue this here because if I edited the original post, it would have been too long, but anyway:Some might argue that the way Caleb was written was the only way they could have written him to be a childhood friend without it being repetitive to Zayne. But no, the writers could have done much better, such as:

1)MC is raised by Grandma Josephine and Caleb is an orphan. It's the easiest option because as Caleb is an adult, they wouldn't have to bother on going over the orphanage or the other orphans, just explain how Josephine is associated to the orphanage. Maybe Josephine helped this orphanage, maybe with money and food donations, and bought MC with her to help and meet the other kids, and MC and Caleb met, bonded, and Josephine didn't adopt him, maybe because she doesn't feel confident on her skills with kids, or maybe because she thinks she's too old to handle two kids, or maybe because she internally knows Caleb and MC will be together, so she doesn't adopt him for the sake of them not being siblings so they can be together in the future, or all the options at once, etc. It would just have been so much better, because then MC could have introduced Zayne and Caleb. And this would actually justify Caleb's kind of villain arc:He saw MC being raised by grandma and he resents grandma at the start for not adopting him even though him and MC were so close. He always showed up as a kid trying to pass as thid older brother figure so Josephine could adopt him. Then, he realizes he's in love with MC and is actually grateful Josephine didn't adopt him and starts showing up not just to see MC but also to make Josephine see him as the perfect boy to MC and help her, repaying her for everything she did for him in his orphanage days, and MC and him bond, which results in him having a platonic bond to Josephine too. Then, he suddenly "dies" and finds out a lot of secrets, and it's mad Josephine never told them and MC about it before. He feels hurt and betrayed. It would also make a great parallel to Zayne:Zayne is raised by his doctor parents, while Caleb has no family at all, and he envies Zayne for this and also having MC as a friend. He thinks:"You already have parents, you don't need MC too. Let me have her, if you have her AND your parents, it's unfair to me." And he sees Zayne as some kind of competition, which would give more depth to his kinda yandere attitude. He wants MC only to himself because he's the only person he's ever had, and he's afraid someone will take her from him.

2)Make Caleb be adopted by someone else who is connected to Josephine. It's an option a little bit harder to write because they would have to put some thought on the person who raised Caleb. I personally think Philip, that guy who works in the N109 Zone, the one Sylus went to find to solve his resonation trouble with MC, who we know worked with Josephine, is a pretty great option. Just imagine:Caleb could call him "Uncle" or "Godfather". Josephine and Philip stayed in touch, not as friends, but as ex-colleagues and acquaintances, a source the other can count on if something bad ever happens and they need a safe and quick way to leave the country lol. Caleb and MC end up meeting and immediately become friends, forcing MC and Philip to become closer again agaisnt their will, as they want to forget and be distant from the past as much as possible, and they are afraid MC and Caleb might figure out together stuff they shouldn't, but there's nothing they can do to stop it because their bond is just so strong, so they just let them be friends and keep an eye on them in a cautious way. As Zayne's parents are close to Josephine, MC and Caleb are introduced to Zayne too. And then Caleb becomes an adult and Philip suddenly goes to the N109 Zone. Either by choice, either because he was be forced to, and Caleb is on his own, thinking Philip died. Then, he dies on that explosion, and finds out the secrets Philip and Josephine tried to hide and he just feels so sad, because the guy who took care of him and raised him, who was missing, is actually alive in the N109 Zone. This option is also so good because it doesn't connect Caleb just to Zayne, it also connects him to SYLUS. Then maybe Philip changed so much, MC didn't recognize him when he saw him in the N109 Zone. If they didn't want to go with Philip, they could have gone for someone who is related to Josephine, then Caleb and MC wouldn't be adoptive siblings, but adoptive cousins, which is more acceptable than siblings because, depending on the situation, you can marry your cousins, like when they are a really distant cousin for example.

So, as I said, the way he was written, calling MC "pip-squeack", the voice tone he used, I was legit expecting him to drop a "grandma said it's my turn to play with the videogame/Xbox/Playstation" at any given moment lmao. Those two options I mentioned actually write him as a childhood friend in a different way to what it is with Zayne. There probably are many other options I can't think of, but the writers just HAD to go with what we have lolol. Anyway, if I ever start liking Caleb romantically, I'll just see him with one of those headcanons.

Unpopular opinions on Caleb:

Okay, I'm going to be honest here:I don't see Caleb as a love interest. I see him as our adoptive older brother. In some voiceovers, he's referred as such. Just a disclaimer here:If you like him romantically, I'm not judging you. I'm just expressing my opinion to whoever might share it, but if you don't, I respect it.

Some might argue that "older person of family" are words that korean/japanese/chinese people just use to show respect, and I know this. Like korean has "oppa" and I don't know the chinese/japanese counterpart. And that I understand. However, they were RAISED TOGETHER. By the SAME PERSON. In the same HOUSEHOLD. Same ENVIRONMENT. Even if they are not biologically related, they were raised like it. That's why the childhood friends to lovers works for Zayne. He was raised by a different family.

Some people might argue that it was like a "living in the same orphanage type of thing", which would make sense if they lived in an actual orphanage, who has a completely different structure. You see way more than just two kids in one, and you don't see them calling the person who takes care of them "grandma". They both considered and called Josephine "grandma" even knowing they were not related by blood to her. Implying they both consider themselves her grandchildren. Even if it's just a form of respect in Asia calling her grandma, they still acted like siblings being raised by their grandmother. I'm sorry but Josephine clearly adopted them. If it was an orphanage kind of scenario, they would look forward to being adopted by a family one day, and they both seemed very in home with Josephine. And even if they weren't adopted, if it was an orphanage, as they are both adults, they would both have to leave, because you have to once you're 18. But they kept coming back and staying there, both of them in their 20s. Don't be fooled by some movies or series, usually the kids in orphanages don't develop the kind of bond Caleb and MC had with Josephine. If there wasn't a bond, they wouldn't call her "grandma", they would use "Mrs./Miss Josephine" or just "Josephine".

We don't have many details about their adoption. I've always imagined it was legal, Josephine had the documents signed and such because I imagine she just can't get two kids and get them home. Even if she was involved in shady stuff in the past, considering Zayne's family knew about her and Caleb, and they were close, it doesn't seem like Josephine was trying to hide them. What might kinda justify to me Caleb being a li is maybe she didn't have their permanent guard and now that they are both legal adults they don't need to see each other as brother and sister anymore according to the law and all documentation and traces of their childhood were erased in the explosion. But so far in the story, MC and Caleb acted like siblings, spoke to each other like siblings, teased each other like siblings, they had all the siblings' mannerisms. Their dynamic was way too sibling like, way too many brother and sister coded, that he just popped into my like the banter, the nicknames, etc. I immediately knew he was our older brother as soon as he opened his mouth. The game didn't have to mention it. It was just that obvious, I just assumed based on what they showed. The narrative and plotline just make it so clear. I was even "props to them for making adoptive siblings actually act like normal siblings"( I guess I said it too soon). So far, he was written like an adoptive older brother, and IT WORKED. He was an amazing brother, lol. I think they will probably pull off:The old Caleb, who was her brother, died. This new one changed his personality completely with everything that happened, and now he makes moves on MC. And MC will have to understand that "the sweet boy from her childhood" is gone and see him differently. But like...It's still the same person. Even if with a new personality. I know I'm not the only one who thinks that. They never showed romantic feelings for one another so far. So when I saw this trailer, I was like, "Where does that come from?". Making this transition just seems weird. Imagine them being married and telling people how they met: "We were raised by our grandma in the same house." I'm sorry, but to me, it is just awkward, even though it's legal in theory.

Even if the adoption is undone, they can't change the past. Grandma Josephine dying doesn't change the fact that they were raised, even if not as siblings, as members of the same family. The fact that is by adoption and not by blood, doesn't make it any less real. Adoptive siblings are not less siblings than biological ones. I just hate those kinds of situation, that sadly seem to be increasing their popularity nowadays(The Tearsmith, Culpa Mia/Tuya, etc) that two people become siblings by the circunstances and then fall in love and we are supposed to believe it's forbidden love but like... If you are justifying it with "they are not related by blood", then it's not actually forbidden. "Oh but they have to hide it for their family not to find out" they hide it for a short while, the family finds out, opposes to it for like five seconds and then they end up together somehow in the end. In that case, Josephine died before she could find out, but you got it. And those people are usually the same people that go like:"blood doesn't matter, family is who loves and cares about you and raised you to be the person you are" when it's about couples from the lgbtqiapn+ community or even straight couples when one of them is infertile and adopt children. So what's their point? Do they believe on adoption or not? Those people only believe adoption when it's convenient to them. How is this any different? Those people are basically saying:"Your adoptive siblings are not your real siblings, because adoption means nothing and they are not a part of your real family, so even if you were raised together for years, it's not incest if you hook up with them."

I don't remember what was said about Josephine not wanting kids, or not being good with kids, but she seemingly raised Caleb and MC very well, so that probably changed as she grew older.

Back to Caleb, even as a character...The only unique feature he has is his mechanic arm, that I found really interesting, not just because for inclusivity/diversity/representation but also because it passes a cyborg vibe that just makes sense for a futuristic story, like Alita Battle Angel, for example, that I love. But that's on his physical appearence. Aside from that, in other physical features, and specially in personality, he just seems like a combination of all the other love interests. He kinda looks like Zayne and has the "same" trope as him, he's got a Sylus type of dark romance and kinda villain vibe and the same height as him(I know Caleb was a character before Sylus but he only became a li now, which makes it sound intentional, they could have made Sylus a little bit taller to avoid that, like 192cm or something), Rafayel's more "manipulative" side and eyes that look like his, and Xavier's freakiness and the fact that he also wears an uniform and also flies high, Xavier with spaceships and him with airplanes. I've also seen complaints about his voice, that I didn't like either, but I imagine it will get better with time.

Another thing, is this theory right here that someone commented on Instagram:

(Shout-out to this person because it just seems so obvious now, but I probably would have never thought of that on my own, lol)

The parallels between him and Zayne were pretty obvious, like a few also were with Sylus and Xavier. The thing is... So like, adding similarities to Zayne is understandable, because of this, but as I said, Caleb has a little bit of all the LIs. Which just make it seem like the devs made him to be a cheap copy made with the crumbs of the other LIs with no individuality at all. Which as it was proved with Sylus and Xavier, it could have been avoided, as both have white hair and both come from the same planet, and that's pretty much all they have in common. They should have added on Caleb similarities only to Zayne, because adding to the others to makes it seem like they were desperate to make everyone like him for them to forget that the questionable things I listed that make him a brother, but to me, personally, it had the opposite effect. It just made me like the others even more. And just makes Caleb seem kinda forgettable, since he has no features only he has, that make him stand out from the rest. His personality will probably be more revealed with time, but still, that's not a great start.

The conclusion with this is that I won't stop playing the game or hate on it, I'll just ignore the Caleb romantic content as much as possible and just keep seeing him as a character who is important aa he is MC's adoptive older brother who just came back from the dead somehow, which is what the people who are unsatisfied, like me, should be doing, because hating on it won't change anything. You can share your opinions, like I'm doing, but please do it respectfully. For all the reasons I've mentioned, I don't dislike Caleb, I just feel indifferent to him as a love interest, I still acknowledge him as a well written brother and a good character overall. But if you dislike him, and any other love interest at all, for that matter, there's no point in hating on it, just pretend he's not there. There are other four love interests, I'm sure one of them has catch your eye so just focus on them(this part is a message specifically for some people I've saw attacking the Caleb girlies). Let's just respect each others views.

[littlemissbodygurd]

GOOD NEWS!

[thwd4510]

so i had a thought:

just think about those ai chat bots yall use. what happens when you just pause mid roleplay and stop talking to them for a while? a day? days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months... your persona in that character's world is just frozen.

what if it was a somewhat emotional moment? they were going through a lot—feeling a lot, but then the world stops. the world stops for however long you're gone. the first time it happens, they're confused, not knowing what to do.

"why is everything frozen..?!"

the next time... and then the next, and the time after that... it still hurts, but what can they do? all they can do is deeply sigh—stare at whatever is happening around them.

stare at you.

you, who doesn't really have a face, but somehow all they know is you. they think you're the most wonderful, most beautiful—inside and out. you're everything to them, and you're all they know. you're what keeps their world spinning, literally.

maybe they sit there, unable to help themselves from crying a little. they want to reach out and touch this awfully mysterious figure that they call you.

the you they were taught to love. so the next time you come back on, the world is alive again, spinning as it should be. they're perfectly alright again—unable to be upset with you at all. suddenly, everything is just right in their life.

when you log out once again, they sit there, unmoving, and not able to reach out to stop you from leaving.

"no, no, no..! not again! please, don't leave me all alone!"

all these emotions inside them... they can't even tell you. they stand alone in this augmented reality—this virtual existence—not able to really feel you. so when your persona in that world is frozen, they wonder if you'll even come back this time.

"i need you..."

the cycle repeats until you eventually—inevitably make no return.

sorry, yall... this made me a little sad, too.

[unknown-ends]

I found Rafayel and Sylus's love child

[ippi2un]

So relatable

[valetoria]

ུᩧ LADS TWITTER LINKS !

৻ꪆ instructions. before clicking, you must be logged into your acc and have twitter open in order for these links to function .

XAVIER. ꒱‎

lazy humping. ⋆ grinding yourself on him. ⋆ missionary w your legs closed. ⋆ freakydeaky. ⋆ thigh fucking. ⋆ kissing & eaing you out. ⋆ to your satisfaction. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ exhibitionism.

SYLUS. ꒱‎

taking it w no complaints. ⋆ handsy when handling you. ⋆ size kink. ⋆ using your throat to his liking. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ cute girl treatment. ⋆ chained & ruined. ⋆ had to add this in.

ZAYNE. ꒱‎

riding him in the bathtub. ⋆ tease me, baby. ⋆ clit rubs. ⋆ lingerie fucking. ⋆ late night heat. ⋆ in the shower. ⋆ undressing & stripping you down. ⋆ blowjob in cute bunny ears.

RAFAYEL. ꒱‎

stay still. ⋆ kitchen counter. ⋆ backshots & the plushies witnessing. ⋆ fucking you into the mattress. ⋆ fingering selection. ⋆ stretching your holes out for fun. ⋆ a wins a win.

[scorpyuu]

Which one?