#rafayel love and deepspace

[sylusvrse]

IMAGINE . . . the lads LIs playing an otome game ?!

what would it be like if the love and deepspace love interests played an otome game in which YOU were the love interest instead? ⸺ heavily HEAVILY inspired by a thread on twt by @/Myaurxra_ on the same prompt!!

zayne who is strictly f2p. i cannot imagine this man spending money on the game. he occasionally plays during his breaks. he listens to the tender moments as background noise while he works. he has your affinity level at about 68 which is the culmination of many months checking in and mostly doing his dailies.

zayne who actually uses the ‘remind me’ feature to help him get some rest. nothing beats your sweet voice telling him he’s working too hard and that he needs to go to bed!!

zayne who seems like he’d be a very casual player who enjoys the sweet, soft cards. however, tomorrow’s catch-22 drops and he is a changed man!! <3

xavier who is somehow incredibly lucky without even trying?? he’s pulling your 5 star memories left and right, early pity. definitely posts his pulls on social media, which is the envy of everyone else.

xavier who enjoys the combat system the most. he clears abyssal chaos and the hunter contest with ease. it comes quite easy to him, the protocores, the substats, the playstyles.

xavier who only pays for the aurum pass, but that’s about it when it comes to his spending. he’s living off a hunter’s salary and can only offer so much to his virtual wife…

rafayel who is glint photobooth’s greatest enemy. he has all of your outfits and accessories unlocked. he didn’t buy those all for nothing. he’s spending hours on glint photobooth and snapshot, capturing your beauty just right. he’d post it on social media like the masterpiece you are <3

rafayel who actually takes the time to play the stories and read the lore. his assistant is calling him, but he couldn’t care less. he needs to know what happens next. he’s laying in bed, kicking around like a schoolgirl with a crush. he’s currently sobbing over your backstory and getting pissed off on your behalf when another character wrongs you.

rafayel who has your affinity level already maxed out. he’s flexing the ring on every outfit he dresses you up in. he’s cleared out all the story content there is to offer, besides the combat levels. he rarely plays the hunter contest, but he occasionally does abyssal chaos to read the stories and interactions.

sylus who is an absolute whale. we all know it. he is R3’ing all of your memories. lost a 50/50? doesn’t matter, his card is already out and ready to be used.

sylus who finds the game to be a rather endearing past time. you’re a welcome break in his busy day. luke and kieran will find him at his desk, looking rather amused as he pokes his phone for maybe the hundredth time tonight.

sylus who sends luke and kieran out to buy merch for him when he’s busy, sending them in his stead to fan events. he advises them to stop at nothing. online bid? he’s already won. limited edition merch item? he got it three weeks before it was even announced with his connections. on his desk, you’ll probably find a small acrylic stand of you by his computer.

caleb who actually has horrible luck. he has most of your standard 5 star memories maxed out, mostly due to losing so many 50/50s. at first he was like “psh. it’s just a game. i won’t have to spend any money.” but, then he lost the 50/50 on the anniversary banner and the flood gates opened. now, he’s willing to drop large amounts of money at a time if it means getting your precious memories.

caleb who takes full advantage of the ‘quality time’ feature. mostly to unlock your workout outfit, but he likes to have you cheering him on by the side while he completes his regimen.

caleb who gets oddly competitive during kitty cards? like he’s about to crash out the moment you cancel out one of his assist cards. his hands are gripping the phone, his palms are sweating, his breath is hitching, he’s grunting in frustration. someone looks over his shoulder to see what the hell is stressing him out so much… you just changed his teacup color from red to blue…

[lavandulawrites]

Yandere Love and Deepspace Memes

I had really fun making yandere Honkai Star Rail and Genshin Impact memes, so I just had to make some lads memes(^з^)-☆

[tbaluver]

hiyaa! can i request scenarios with the lads boys where MC flashes them in the middle of an argument >< also love your writing so much!! it's actually giving me inspiration to go back to writing myself adjhsfhlds

Flashing Them During An Argument- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader tags: slightly suggestive, not so serious argument, silly a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ omg thank you so much you're so sweet my angel (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)��� and you def should whenever you can! i hope i get to read whatever you create or hear your ideas ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ ) also i swear someone req this too and i dont know if im imagining it or i just cant find it(╥﹏╥) anyways i hope this was alright and that you enjoy reading!! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ ty to my beta reader MWAH @ilovemitsuya any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

GOOD GOOGLY MOOGLY

You two had been going back and forth for what felt like hours, trying to decide on what to eat for dinner. Every suggestion he gave was close enough to what you were craving but either it was too far or you just didn’t like the area it was in

The stores were closing soon and you both still couldn’t agree and the frustration was creeping in. Before he gives another suggestion and tries to persuade you, you cut him off by lifting up your shirt with nothing underneath. He didn’t even hesitate, his eyes immediately dropping and feasting on the soft mounds that sit oh so perfectly. He doesn’t even remember what restaurants he suggested, he just knew how enticing they looked.

“So..let’s go to my restaurant?”

“huh..?” He blinked a few times, his gaze still locked on the now covered skin but he can still catch a glimpse of your nipples peeking through your shirt. “oh yeah..sure..” He trails off, his mind completely consumed by how soft they looked.

“okay! let’s get- Xavier!” Before you could even get up, he gently pins you back down, his needy hands snaking up into your shirt.

Zayne:

It started when you gently told him he should get ready to go to bed, it was already getting late. You loved your boyfriend deeply and you admired his passion and dedication to his work but it was clear that he was pushing himself too hard again. He promised he’d finish this last report and he’ll join you later but that was exactly what he said after the last five reports.

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the deep bags beneath them. All the signs of his late night shifts, back to back operations, and countless hours of overtime in the past few days showed. His eyes fluttered shut just for a second, begging to stay closed, only for them to open again as he tried to push through.

You approached him again, urging him to go to bed. You told him he was being stubborn and how those reports could wait but of course, he countered back saying that you didn’t need to stay up and wait for him and that you should be getting some rest too.

The two of you went back and forth for a few minutes. But before he delivers another witty comeback, you lifted up your shirt, immediately silencing him. His eyes travel from your face down to your soft breast, losing his original train of thought and thought about how they sit so perfectly to him. They don’t linger for too long as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Zayne tries to regain his thoughts and you fail to notice the small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he shakes his head. “Just..” He sighs, “...Please, you don’t need to wait for me,” He said softly, standing up from his chair as he approached you. “I suppose I’m overdue for a long needed rest then right?” He whispers, his hands sneaking up inside your shirt.

Rafayel:

You were late, again. The mission took longer than expected and you already knew that Rafayel would be upset when you got home and sure enough, you were right. He didn’t bother to greet you the moment you stepped inside the house. His back was turned to you, ‘focused’ on his sketching. All the responses you got a dismissive “hmph” and a side pout that you’re clearly familiar with.

You gave him a moment to cool off as you slipped into something more comfortable, peeling off your hunter’s uniform before approaching him again. This time, you made an effort to apologize in front of him but he pretended you weren’t even there. “Huh..Do I have some bubbles in my ear? I swear I heard something..” He mumbles, pretending there was absolutely no one in front of him.

This escalates into you two having a back and forth, explaining how your phone died so you couldn’t text him and his responses were rather sarcastic, saying how fishes would’ve started walking on land before you’d ever show up on time. Both of you were exhausted, frustration bubbled inside of you as you paced around, groaning. In a last attempt to get his attention, you stepped back in front of him, lifting your shirt up without a word to flash your breasts in front of him.

His eyes widened, his breath hitching as his gaze slowly trails down. “You-” He shakes his head, fighting back his mind that’s screaming FLASH ME AGAIN. He’s trying to stay strong but unfortunately this sea god is not the strongest soldier when it comes to you. “Oh yeah? Well two can play that game cutie!” He huffs, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

Sylus:

He wouldn’t tell you a thing about his new mission and it was bothering you. How far was it going to be? Who was going to be involved? Nothing. He refused to budge, his lips sealed tighter than usual. Every time you asked, he deflected with vague answers. Every time you offered to help, he would tell you it's alright and that he has everything handled.

“It’s just a short trip.”

But you knew better that a short trip doesn’t involve secrecy. It was probably bigger than that. The tension between you was growing, both of you refusing to give in. But before he could even hint at how dangerous his short trip might be, you lift your shirt up, cutting him off mid sentence. It was a last and desperate attempt for sure to regain his attention, your boobs falling out and flashing Sylus in all it's glory.

His eyes widened for a moment, an amused smirk tugged at his lips as he watched you slowly lower it back down. “Oh? Is this your new counterattack?” He teases, inching closer to you. “I think one move isn’t going to easily take me down. What do you think?” His long fingers twirl the hem of your shirt teasingly. “Amuse me with more and I might just give in.”

Caleb:

clean up on aisle caleb’s pants!

You definitely caught him off-guard from the way his eyes shamelessly looked down immediately the moment you lifted up your shirt to reveal your exposed skin. The way you cut him off his sentence as he almost chokes on his own saliva.

“um..umm..” He stammered, attempting to look at you but his eyes betray him, flickering back down to your exposed skin. He fought the urge, his gaze shifting up and down but he was unable to tear his eyes away, his cock twitching in his pants. 

What was the argument even about? He doesn’t even remember what he said to you a few minutes ago and he doesn’t even remember what color your pants were. He didn’t even notice that you’d already lowered your hands, his gaze burning through the thin fabric as his mind lingered on the bare skin he’d seen. His thoughts of kneading your breasts were cut off when you called out to him.

“Can we do it Caleb?” His eyes snap back up to meet yours, the hypnotizing sight of your exposed skin covered and his mind slowly return back to reality.

“Of course, we can do it anytime pipsqueak,” He replies, a soft smile on his lips, completely unaware of what he'd agreed to. You could’ve signed him up for a cilantro eating contest and he’d win just for you. Whatever you want and say, he’ll do it for you.

[sofiaswrittendelusions]

“My wife.”

synopsis idea by: @starlitfool 🙏 “y'all remember when caleb had mc pretend to be his girlfriend back in college? i offer now to the caleb girlies council this consideration: mc pretending to be the colonel's wife at some farspace fleet gala/function/thing. thank u and goodnight”

The gala was a spectacle of power and politics, a glittering battlefield where words were weapons and alliances were forged under the weight of duty. Officers and dignitaries wove through the crowd, their conversations laced with veiled threats and rehearsed charm. It was the kind of event Caleb had attended a thousand times before—where appearances mattered more than truth, where strength was measured not in victories but in perception.

But tonight, none of it mattered.

Because you were on his arm.

Draped in elegance, fitting so seamlessly into the role of his wife that it made something dark and possessive curl inside him, something that had never truly left since the first time he heard you call yourself his.

It had started as a necessity, a calculated move—the Colonel’s wife carried more weight than any civilian could, allowed access, turned heads, ensured questions wouldn’t be asked. But it wasn’t the first time.

Years ago, when you were both younger, when his obsession was still something new and raw and barely contained, he had pulled you into his orbit with a simple phrase—play along, sweetheart. You had been surrounded by vultures then too, leering eyes and unwanted attention, and Caleb had hated it. Hated the way they thought they could look at you, let alone speak to you.

So he had intervened.

Wrapped an arm around your waist. Let his gaze burn through anyone foolish enough to challenge his claim. Felt something primal settle deep in his bones when you leaned into him, trusting him to play the part.

But that was a lie, wasn’t it?

Because there was no acting when it came to you.

He had never truly stopped seeing you as his.

And tonight was no different.

His fingers pressed against the small of your back, just firm enough to remind you that he was there, that you belonged beside him. The men he spoke with were high-ranking, powerful in their own right, but none of them held his attention.

Not the way you did.

You shifted slightly, polite smile never faltering as you listened to the conversation, but he felt the way you tensed when someone’s gaze lingered too long.

His grip tightened.

A silent warning.

You exhaled softly, leaning the smallest fraction closer, and it nearly undid him.

He had fought in wars, survived battles that left others broken, but nothing—nothing—unraveled him the way you did.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, meant only for you.

You inhaled sharply.

He felt it against his skin, the way your body reacted before your mind could catch up. The way you stiffened—not in fear, but in awareness.

And Caleb lived for it.

The night stretched on, a blur of empty pleasantries and strategic conversation, but his focus never wavered. Every time someone so much as glanced in your direction, his hold on you tightened. Every time your gaze flicked to his, searching for something—reassurance? Permission?—he was already there, already watching, already owning the space between you.

By the time the gala ended, he had you pressed against his side, guiding you toward the exit with the same quiet authority he always carried. You let him, falling into step as if it were natural. As if this wasn’t temporary.

As if you were his.

The car was waiting, sleek and dark, windows tinted to keep the outside world from seeing what was his to protect. The door shut behind you, locking the two of you away in the silence of the night.

For the first few minutes, neither of you spoke.

Then—

You frowned slightly, glancing out the window.

“Caleb… this isn’t the ride to my apartment.”

His lips twitched. Not quite a smirk. Not quite not one either.

“I meant our home,” he murmured, voice slow, deliberate.

The words hung between you, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous.

He watched the realization settle in, the way your body stiffened beside him, the way your breath hitched.

His gaze was already waiting when you turned to him, violet eyes gleaming in the dim interior.

And then—he leaned in.

Slowly.

A measured, predatory shift, invading your space without hesitation, letting his warmth, his presence, his ownership wrap around you entirely.

“You were my wife all night,” he murmured, voice deceptively soft. “You don’t want to stop now, do you?”

Your lips parted—whether to protest or to agree, he didn’t know. Didn’t care.

Because your body told him everything.

The way your pulse fluttered at your throat. The way your fingers curled against your lap, as if resisting the urge to reach for him. The way your breath caught when his hand—flesh this time, warm and possessive—tilted your chin just enough to keep you from looking anywhere but at him.

And then, quieter, more intimate—

“My wife wouldn’t leave me alone tonight.” A pause. A slow drag of his gaze down to your lips, then back up. “Would she?”

You swallowed hard.

And Caleb knew.

Knew that he had you again.

Just like before. Just like always.

But this time—

This time, he wouldn’t let you go.

[whosashan]

Hi! I love your LADS fics <3 if u dont mind i would love to know how youthink each LI do domestic things like grocery shop w mc, thanks <3

The Rhythm of Everyday

A/N: Hi there! I truly appreciate your kind words. I apologize for the delay in responding—life has been quite hectic with my final exams approaching. That said, I hope you enjoy!

Also, I feel like they might be a bit ooc, so if that's the case - then I apologize 😔

Xavier

Ever since moving in with Xavier, even the simplest errands had taken on an air of unpredictability. Grocery shopping was no exception.

Determined to finally stock the fridge, you clutched a neatly written shopping list as you walked into the store, intent on sticking to it. Xavier, on the other hand, had a more relaxed approach—one that involved significantly less planning and significantly more mischief.

It started small. A bag of chips appearing in the cart when you weren’t looking. Then a carton of ice cream. A six-pack of soda. You narrowed your eyes as you plucked out the offending items, holding one up in mild accusation.

"I didn’t make this list just for fun, you know."

Xavier merely smirked, his blue eyes filled with quiet amusement. "We need essentials."

"Essentials," you echoed, unimpressed, holding up a family-sized pack of cookies.

"Exactly." His voice was light, teasing, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made your stomach flip—like he was enjoying this little back-and-forth just as much as he enjoyed sneaking things into the cart.

What started as minor offenses quickly spiraled into an all-out game. You tried to stay vigilant, but Xavier was faster, smoother, slipping snacks and treats into the cart with the precision of a seasoned thief. You had no choice but to fight back, slipping in a bar of chocolate when he turned to examine the pasta aisle.

"I saw that," he murmured, his voice low with amusement. His lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile as he plucked the chocolate from the cart and placed it back on the shelf.

You pouted in protest. "Oh, but your three bags of chips get to stay?"

"I work in subtlety," he replied smoothly, nudging the cart forward. "You, on the other hand, have all the stealth of a toddler hiding candy under a pillow."

You gasped in exaggerated offense, swiping the chocolate back and tossing it in with a triumphant smirk. "Then I suppose I’ll have to improve my technique."

By the time you reached the snack aisle, your little competition had escalated into a full-fledged debate over which brand of candy was superior. You stood your ground, arguing passionately, while Xavier, ever laid-back, leaned against the cart with his arms crossed, letting you talk—only to counter with a single, calm statement that completely dismantled your argument.

"You realize we could just get both, right?"

You huffed, grabbing both bags and tossing them into the cart. And somehow, as if by unspoken agreement, you both continued, plucking item after item from the shelves until nearly half the aisle sat stacked in your cart.

"You’re a bad influence," you muttered as you surveyed the damage.

Xavier merely tilted his head. "And yet, you’re the one who just grabbed another pack of cookies."

Before you could argue, he did something entirely typical of him—pushed the cart forward, only to grab your wrist and, with surprising ease, hoist you into the basket, careful not to cause any damage to your groceries or you.

You let out a small yelp, gripping the sides as he casually maneuvered the cart down the aisle. "Xavier!"

"What? You fit." He glanced down at you, his expression unreadable as always, but you caught the slight quirk at the corner of his lips. "Besides, this is efficient. You can’t take things out of the cart if you’re in it."

You wanted to argue, but between the sheer ridiculousness of the situation and the warmth of his hand resting briefly on your knee to steady you, you found yourself grinning instead.

That was, until you locked eyes with an unimpressed store employee.

Xavier slowed the cart to a stop, gaze shifting to the employee, then back to you. The moment of tense silence stretched—before you both burst into laughter. You scrambled out of the cart as Xavier muttered something about "killing all the fun," and the two of you made a swift retreat to checkout before you got kicked out entirely.

By the time you stepped out into the cool evening air, arms laden with overstuffed grocery bags, Xavier glanced at you with that signature, unreadable expression of his. And then, with no warning, he took off running.

"Xavier—" You barely had time to react before instinct kicked in, and you were sprinting after him, the two of you racing down the quiet streets toward home, breathless with laughter.

Your carefully planned grocery trip had turned into something else entirely. Chaotic. Unpredictable. Unapologetically fun. But then again, that was life with Xavier.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Zayne

You stirred in bed, feeling the space beside you empty, the sheets cool where warmth should have been. Zayne had already left for work, but his scent still lingered—a mix of clean soap and the faintest trace of a scent that's just him. Instinctively, you reached for his pillow, pulling it close in half-conscious longing. That’s when you noticed it—a small sticky note resting beside it, the crisp handwriting unmistakably his.

"I made you breakfast. It's on the kitchen counter. Remember to take care of yourself. I love you."

The simple words sent warmth through your chest. Zayne wasn’t one for extravagant displays of affection, nor was he particularly expressive when it came to feelings. But it was in the little things—like these notes, like the way he always made sure you ate, like the way he remembered details most would overlook—that his love showed through.

You stretched and finally climbed out of bed, padding into the kitchen to find the breakfast he’d prepared. The eggs were perfectly cooked, the toast golden, and the coffee just the way you liked it. As expected, everything tasted incredible—sometimes you wondered if there was anything Zayne couldn’t do.

As you ate, your eyes landed on another note stuck to the fridge.

"Check the fridge."

Curious, you opened it and were immediately greeted by the sight of a neatly placed slice of your favorite cake, wrapped carefully in a container with a fork resting beside it. You couldn’t help but grin as you took it out, snapping a quick photo before sending him a message.

"Spoiling me, aren't you?" You attached a picture of yourself mid-bite, looking perhaps a little too pleased.

Zayne’s response was nearly immediate. "It is only natural for me to take care of my lover."

A simple statement, and yet, it sent warmth creeping up your neck. Even after all these years, he still had a way of making you blush without even trying.

The day carried on, and you went about your usual routine, tidying up a little before getting ready to step out for errands. As you slipped your coat on, your fingers brushed against something in the pocket. Frowning slightly, you reached in and pulled out yet another note.

"Remember to dress accordingly to the weather."

A soft laugh escaped you as you shook your head. He must have left this here last night, anticipating that you’d rush out without checking the forecast. Peeking out the window, you realized it was colder than expected—of course, Zayne had been right. You sighed, grabbing a scarf before stepping out, a smile still tugging at your lips.

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly, and by the time you returned home, you were met with the familiar sight of Zayne’s neatly arranged shoes by the door, signaling his return. You found him in the living room, his tie slightly loosened, his posture still composed despite the long hours he’d likely endured.

"You’re home," you murmured, leaning against the doorframe.

His gaze lifted from the book he was reading, his expression as neutral as ever. "I am. Did you eat properly today?"

You smirked, walking over and settling beside him. "I did. Thanks to my very considerate boyfriend."

Something flickered in his eyes—an emotion softer than words, yet unmistakably there. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the exhaustion of the day melt away in the quiet comfort of his presence.

A moment passed before he spoke again, his voice low, careful. "Did you like the cake?"

You tilted your head up to look at him, your smile turning teasing. "Are you fishing for compliments now?"

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to deny it, but instead, he simply sighed, shaking his head. "I am simply ensuring you were satisfied."

You chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. "It was perfect. Just like you."

For a moment, he said nothing—just exhaled, eyes closing briefly as if he was letting himself absorb your words. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it, he murmured:

"Good."

And that, with Zayne, meant more than a thousand words ever could.

Rafayel

Laundry day with Rafayel was never just laundry day.

It started simply enough—sorting through the mountain of clothes that had mysteriously accumulated over the week. You had just finished separating the whites from the colors when Rafayel waltzed into the room, barefoot, a loose button-up hanging off his shoulders in that effortless, disheveled way of his.

He took one look at the scene before him and let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to his chest like you had personally delivered a fatal wound.

"You started without me?" he whined, flopping dramatically onto the nearest pile of clothes. "Cutie, I thought we were in this together."

You snorted, tossing a sock at him. "You say that like you actually planned on helping."

"I was going to!" he defended, sitting up. "But now you've ruined my motivation. My artistic spirit is wounded." He pointedly rolled onto his stomach, chin resting on his hands, watching you with an exaggerated pout. "You should be making it up to me, not assaulting me with socks."

"You are literally lying on dirty laundry, Rafayel. That’s not exactly poetic."

He gasped again, as if personally offended by the very suggestion. "How dare you? Everything I do is poetic!"

Shaking your head, you grabbed a handful of warm clothes from the dryer and began folding. Rafayel, of course, made no move to help. Instead, he idly played with the hem of a shirt before suddenly holding it up with an exaggerated grin.

"Ah-ha! Finally, my masterpiece is complete!"

You blinked. "What?"

He slipped the shirt over his head with a flourish, the fabric way too tight for him. "You see, love, I have transcended fashion. This? This is avant-garde."

You stared at him, deadpan. "That’s my hoodie."

"Our hoodie," he corrected, sauntering over to steal another shirt from your pile and drape it over his shoulder like some kind of runway model. "Face it, darling, all your clothes look better on me."

"You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met."

"And yet," he purred, leaning in dangerously close, "you love me."

You sighed, but you didn’t argue. He grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your nose before finally—finally—deciding to be useful.

Sort of.

Because, of course, Rafayel didn’t fold clothes like a normal person. No, he dramatically shook out every single shirt, twirling them through the air before attempting what could only be described as the worst folding technique you had ever seen.

You groaned. "That’s not how you fold a shirt."

"Ah, but is there truly a right way to fold a shirt?" he mused, lifting one like he was contemplating the mysteries of the universe. "What is folding, but the physical manifestation of conformity?"

You grabbed the shirt from his hands, folding it properly in two swift motions. "It’s this. This is folding."

He let out a scandalized gasp. "You just destroyed art."

"Rafayel."

"Fine, fine," he sighed, plopping down beside you. But then his gaze flickered with something mischievous.

Before you could react, he grabbed a sock from the pile and tossed it at you. You barely dodged before retaliating with a towel.

And just like that, the war began.

Socks flew. Shirts were used as shields. Rafayel dived behind the laundry basket, dramatically crying out, "You betray me, cutie!" when you landed a particularly good hit. Eventually, he tackled you onto the warm pile of unfolded clothes, pinning your wrists above your head with a victorious smirk.

"Yield," he murmured, voice dipping into something softer, something almost sincere.

You swallowed, suddenly all too aware of how close he was, of the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"...We still have laundry to finish," you muttered.

His lips twitched, eyes gleaming. "You’re so practical. Can’t we stay like this a little longer?"

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers curled slightly under his hold. "Five minutes."

Rafayel grinned. "Deal."

And if the laundry still wasn’t done hours later… well, that was just another beautiful tragedy in his book.

Sylus

The first time Sylus attempted to braid your hair, you thought you were about to lose a chunk of your scalp.

“Hold still,” he grumbled from behind you, fingers threading through your strands with the delicacy of a man who had definitely never done this before.

“I am holding still,” you shot back. “You’re just yanking like you’re tying up a hostage—ow!”

He exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and amusement. “Well, excuse me, princess,” he drawled, tugging a little harder just to be a menace. “Didn’t realize I was dealing with such delicate conditions.”

You huffed, swatting at his knee. “You volunteered for this, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I was under the impression that braiding hair wasn’t some arcane ritual requiring years of training.”

“You could’ve just let me do it myself.”

"And miss the chance to watch you suffer? Not a chance."

Despite his relentless teasing, though, he actually kept trying. You caught him watching tutorials on his phone when he thought you weren’t looking, muttering under his breath about over-under techniques and damn YouTube instructors talking too fast.

And after a few weeks of unsolicited (but secretly welcomed) practice, you found yourself sitting in front of the vanity, Sylus standing behind you, fingers surprisingly deft as they worked through your hair.

"Huh," he mused, his breath ghosting over the top of your head. "Not bad."

You blinked at your reflection, reaching up to touch the braid. It was clean, even, woven with precision—shockingly well-done.

"Sylus," you said slowly, turning to look at him. "You actually got good at this."

He smirked, arms crossing over his chest. "I can be gentle when needed, kitten."

You narrowed your eyes, pointing a finger at him. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, here you are, willingly letting me touch your hair," he shot back, smug.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore. Sylus was like this—sharp words, endless sarcasm, always keeping his true intentions tucked away beneath layers of teasing. But you knew better. You knew the quiet effort he put into things like this, the way he never did anything half-heartedly—not when it came to you.

"Fine," you sighed dramatically, tilting your head in mock defeat. "Guess I’ll just have to keep you around as my personal hairstylist."

Sylus snorted, hands already reaching to undo the braid, just so he could redo it better. "Didn't expect anything less from you, princess."

And as much as he teased, as much as he grumbled, you had no doubt that this would become a new routine—because Sylus, for all his rough edges, was the kind of man who showed his love not through words, but through every little, unspoken action.

Even if it meant begrudgingly mastering the art of braiding, just to spoil you a little more.

Caleb

It started as a joke.

You had been curled up on the couch, flipping through old photos when you stumbled across one from years ago—an old, grainy snapshot of you and Caleb, tangled up in a mess of blankets and pillows, grinning like idiots in the dim glow of a flashlight.

A pillow fort.

You snorted, nudging Caleb’s arm with your foot where he sat beside you, one arm slung lazily over the back of the couch. “Remember this?”

Caleb glanced at the photo, and something flickered in his expression—fondness, amusement, something else you couldn’t quite name. Then, slowly, he smirked.

“Oh, Pipsqueak,” he drawled, tilting his head to look at you. “Are you saying you wanna build one now?”

You scoffed. “I never said that.”

“But you want to.”

“I do not—”

“You so do.”

And that was how, ten minutes later, you found yourself watching Caleb steal every blanket and pillow in the apartment with entirely too much enthusiasm.

He had always been bigger than you—towering over you even as kids—but now, with broad shoulders and an easy confidence to match, he looked even more ridiculous draping a fuzzy pink blanket over the top of the fort like it was some grand architectural achievement.

“You’re taking this way too seriously,” you muttered, watching as he wedged a chair into position for support.

Caleb flashed you a grin. “You say that now, but someone was always the first to throw a tantrum if our forts fell apart.”

Heat rushed to your face. “I was ten!”

“You were dramatic.” He reached over and ruffled your hair, and when you swatted at his hand, he caught your wrist with ease, tugging you closer just to be a menace.

“Still are, actually,” he murmured, voice low as he leaned in. “Kind of cute, though.”

You scowled, pushing at his chest. “Let go.”

Chuckling, he finally released you, settling down inside the finished fort with an exaggerated sigh. The fairy lights you had strung up inside cast everything in a soft golden glow, the air warm and filled with the scent of fabric softener and him.

After a moment, you crawled in after him, adjusting the pillows before flopping down beside him. “Alright, not bad,” you admitted.

“Not bad?” Caleb repeated, raising a brow. “This is my best work yet.”

You rolled your eyes, but the fondness in your chest was undeniable. The last time you’d done this, you’d been kids—sneaking flashlights under blankets, whispering secrets and bad jokes late into the night.

“…Feels kind of nice,” you murmured. “Like old times.”

Caleb’s expression shifted—softer now, something warm flickering behind his gaze. His arm curled around you without hesitation, pulling you into his side, his touch firm but easy.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice a little different now, a little rougher. “But this time, I don’t have to leave when morning comes.”

Your heart skipped.

Because he was right. Back then, your forts had always ended with him sneaking back to his room before sunrise. But now?

Now, he wasn’t going anywhere.

You swallowed, curling into him slightly, fingers toying with the edge of the blanket. Caleb's hand settled at your waist, squeezing just enough to make you squirm, feeling ticklish.

Your face burned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

And, okay—maybe you didn’t. Especially not when he kissed the top of your head, his voice a little quieter when he added,

“…Love you, Pipsqueak.”

And in the glow of the fort, in the warmth of his arms, you smiled.

[vellatrelle]

Coquette fish🎀

[poisonf0rest]

wrath of the sea god

♱⋅── rafayel x reader

♱⋅── about: Rafayel is a creature worthy of worship. Something born from the deep sea, something incomprehensible, something that should scare you. And yet his siren song only lulls you in closer, and you fear it may be too late to even think about running away. (deep sea monster!rafayel)

♱⋅── word count: 5.8k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, inhuman raf, possessiveness, worship, breeding kink, tw yandere, tw drowning, tw teratophilia, tw thalassophobia

art credit to @/hcneyvae on x, dividers by @cafekitsune

psst, if you want more monster!raf read this next

What does it mean, to drown in something?

To watch the surface break above you, disrupted by the last bubbles of oxygen leaving your lungs, like a lover’s final kiss. To feel the vicious urge to fight, to struggle, to scream even as you feel your final dregs of strength escape, leaving you cold and gnawing and alone. To not feel fear, because even as your vision goes dark the melody is still there, the voice still singing, cradling you gently as you draw blood. To know, perhaps, that drowning was the only way this story could have ended. 

What does it mean, when I kiss you and finally feel like I can breathe again, even if you were the reason I sank in the first place?

Rafayel has been nothing if not the perfect boyfriend. Clingy, annoying, hopelessly devoted, but perfect for you nonetheless. 

Three months into your relationship, and you’ve begun to notice things that are only just slightly… Off.

For one, Rafayel runs terrifyingly cold, and the baths he gives himself twice a day are even colder than he is, and when he teasingly splashes you with it you scream, complaining he’s soaking in the arctic or the depths of the ocean’s abyss.

But the approach of summer means more baths, more moisturizers, and more of poor Rafayel always complaining about how it’s too hot, too dry. His skin gets bumpy, rough, textured patches growing on the sides of his neck, his arms, down his ribs too. Like something coming to the surface, something cracking through the flesh. 

The list of anomalies goes on.

His joints bend just a little too much, his fingers curving at unnatural angles when he moves quickly or reaches for something. His spine rolls more like an eel or a shark than a human’s, like a creature still adjusting to having bones, something he brushes off as old habits from dance or ice skating. Whenever you take flash photos his eyes come out hollow, even the faintest glimmer makes them shimmer like something not meant for the surface. 

It’s becoming more common to catch Rafayel slipping now, uncanny moments where he fumbles and slows down, repeating certain movements or habits, as though remembering them. Reminding himself of them. 

You’re lounging on the couch in his studio, your legs kicked up onto his lap as Rafayel holds a book in one hand, the other caressing your ankle with the gentle rub of his thumb. Something prickles against the back of your neck and you look up over your phone, expecting to see Rafayel still engrossed in his reading. Instead, he’s staring down at you. Watching you, unblinking, for so long that your skin begins to crawl. 

At first, you don’t really mind— willingly lost in the warmth of his gaze, the way it seems to hold so much unspoken devotion, the way his pupils dilate viciously when you finally meet his gaze. But then minutes pass. He doesn’t shift, doesn’t fidget, doesn’t break eye contact.

"Raf," you say, laughing a little, trying to shake the unease creeping up your spine. "You're staring."

His lips quirk, just slightly. "Am I? Can’t help it, cutie."

You hum, expecting him to look away. He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, something you’ve always considered adorable, the way his full lips pout and innocent doe eyes seem to plead up into yours, studying you with an intensity that makes your chest tighten.

Then you realize what’s wrong.

"Blink," you whisper, suddenly uncertain if he's forgotten how.

He does, slow and deliberate, like he’s remembering only because you told him. And when his eyes open again, they shine, hollow and flat, reflecting the dim light of the room like something that doesn’t belong in the light.

“Shit!” 

This is the last time you cut steak with a dull knife. 

It’s nothing severe, but you must have nicked a vein in your thumb, because the damn countertop is splattered with blood, a thick stream of it nearly at your wrist as you run for a paper towel. 

Rafayel was supposed to be by the stove, tending to the vegetables busy sauteing, but when you move to rip a sheet from the dowel, you find yourself bumping into him headfirst. How did he manage to cross the kitchen so fast?

His gaze flicks to your hand, brows furrowed. You follow it, noticing the vibrant red already soaking through all the layers of makeshift gauze. Maybe you cut yourself deeper than you though.

"It’s nothing, Rafayel," you say, knowing how worked-up he can get when you injure yourself, fully expecting a dramatic lecture later. 

Turning, you step to throw away the bloody napkins when his fingers close around your wrist too fast. Too tight. Rafayel’s pupils dilate, nearly turning his entire eye black as his body physically follows the trail of blood down your wrist, lips parting just slightly as if—

As if he’s tasting the scent of your blood on his tongue.

"Rafayel," you call to him again, voice shaking. Why is your voice shaking?

He blinks, slow, as if waking from something deep. His grip loosens, but his fingers linger, his thumb dragging just barely across your pulse against the inside of your wrist before he exhales a quiet, low sound from deep in his chest. Something between a sigh and a growl.

“You really should be more careful, miss hunter. You could get hurt next time.”

Neither of you notice the slight acrid smell of something burning in the background. 

The next time it happens late at night. 

After spending the weekend lazing in each other's company, the two of you decided to end the day with a movie, drifting from various positions on the couch to curling up against Rafayel’s chest, the soft glow of the TV flickering across the room. The credits are rolling, low music humming beneath the sound of his steady, rhythmic breathing. He’s cold, almost unnaturally so, compared to the sticky, sweltering summer night air, but you can only be thankful for that fact as his chill and the gentle rise and fall of his chest lull you into something hazy, that liminal space where thoughts slip too easily from your grasp.

When suddenly, it just stops. Rafayel’s body goes still beneath your touch. 

No breath. No movement.

Just complete and utter stillness.

It doesn’t register at first, not fully. Still feigning sleep, you fight to keep your own exhales even, purposefully holding your breath to get your heart to calm from its erratic skip, the hairs on your arms prickling, some primal part of you sensing it before your mind catches up. Wrong.

You shift slightly, pretending to be lost in a dream, just enough to press closer to his chest, to feel the gentle rhythm of where his lungs should be. Wrong.

But nothing comes. Rafayel’s chest does not rise, his heartbeat does not echo against your cheek. The only movement is the gentle circling of his fingers against the tender flesh of your ribs, tracing the curve of bone. Other than that, he is completely, utterly motionless beneath you, the kind of eerie stillness that isn’t possible for a human. A stillness reserved for hunters, for predators. Wrong. 

Something is wrong.

Your pulse kicks, a sharp, violent thud-thud-thud against your ribs, under the tips of Rafayel’s fingers, and in that instant—

Rafayel breathes again.

A slow, deep inhale as if rousing from sleep. His arm tightens around your waist, fingers slipping under your shirt as he shifts beneath you, stretching out his long limbs with an exaggerated yawn like nothing happened at all.

“You still awake?” His voice is drowsy, laced with warmth, so natural you almost believe it.

You nod, pressing closer, trying to shake the creeping chill settling in your bones. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you were too tired, caught somewhere between dreaming and waking, your mind playing tricks on you. You were simply tired from the long week. Simply haunted by nightmares that no longer exist. 

But you feel it. The way Rafayel’s fingers idly stroke over your side, slow and soothing, almost seeking out your own heartbeat as close as he could get to it. The way he breathes too deliberately now, a flawless imitation of what he thinks you expect to hear. A rhythm that’s just a little too shallow, a little too perfect. 

Then, there’s something prodding and coaxing into your brain, and instantly, the feeling of calm returns. But your pulse does not slow, because the thought has already settled in the back of your mind, something cold and certain.

He didn’t start breathing again for his sake.

He did it for yours.

Rafayel must have been sculpted by divine hands. A Greek statue given breath, something carved from impossibly white marble and polished by time itself. 

His is a kind of beauty that isn’t soft or gentle, but arresting, almost violently so. One that makes your breath hitch every time he turns to face you, all sharp cheekbones and full lips, somewhere devastatingly between beautiful and handsome, possessing every muscled curve of a swimmer’s body honed by centuries in the depths. It isn’t just his face, his form, his effortless strength. It’s the way he moves. Angelic and otherworldly— graceful, powerful, always with the effortless magnificence of the ocean itself.

And, of course, his voice.

He hums under his breath sometimes, a habit he seems to be letting slip the longer the two of you are together, barely audible in the quiet hours when you’re cooking or painting or lounging together. At first you mistook it for an old record or the echoing sound of the ocean from the open balcony doors, and when you ask him about if Rafayel simply laughs it off, the sound addicting enough that soon you’re laughing too.

But on late nights after sex you hear him humming again, something absentminded and indulgent, like the sound exists only for his own amusement. And for yours. 

Oh, but when Rafayel sings, it’s something else entirely. It’s after an opera the first time you heard it, and any memory of the show prior is dissolved into a monotonous drivel at the music Rafayel makes. You swear you felt it in your ribs, melody settling beneath your skin, an ancient song that spoke to your soul in ways that left you dizzy and aching and yearning for something you couldn’t name. 

It left you hungry.

And still, Rafayel’s paintings hurt the most.

Each one nearly brought to life with each brushstroke, enough that you swear you can hear the crash of waves or the sharp sting of sea-salt, each one that brings a deep, unknowable sorrow and guilt to your core. Each one hurts to look at a little more than the last. 

There’s one painting in particular that hangs in his studio, larger than the rest. A towering, floor-to-ceiling masterpiece of muted blues and violent reds, brushstrokes slashing across the canvas with all the power of a storm at sea.

At first, you think it’s simply a shipwreck.

Then you’re lured in closer.

Bodies tangled in the waves, limbs limp and reaching. Some still clutching weapons, some are already swallowed by the dark. But every single figure seems perfectly content, relaxed, embracing death as they are lulled—just as you are—to the sirens below.

They are not the doe-eyed, half-drowned beauties of fairy tales. They are terrible, glorious, vicious beings. Something between human and god, their bodies half-submerged, lips parted in a song you cannot hear but can still feel, something clawing at your heart, begging you to listen. Begging you to come closer. 

And Rafayel is among them.

It takes you a moment to recognize him, but once you do, you cannot unsee it. The slant of his jaw, the sharp curve of his cheekbone, his lips curled not in hunger, not in rage, but in something unreadable. Something almost mournful.

"Do you like it, cutie?" His voice startles you.

You turn, pulse jumping, but Rafayel’s only watching you with that same lopsided smile, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He looks like part of a masterpiece himself, bare shoulders kissed by the low light, the soft glow catching on his collarbones, his throat, his hands. 

"They were hunted." Not a question.

A laugh. Short, humorless. "Of course they were, don’t you know Lemurians cry pearls?"

Your fingers tighten at your sides, but nothing you could think of saying seemed appropriate. After all, what did you possibly have to offer a mourning god? 

You look back at the painting. "And worshipped?"

Rafayel’s gaze lingers on the canvas for a long moment before sliding back to you, eyes failing to reflect the light of the sun as he tucks himself into your embrace, pulling you close. You swallow hard, body naturally yielding to relax into his embrace. You’re not prey, and yet, something in you screams at you to run.

"Is there a difference?"

You don’t answer. 

You think of the way he moves, the way he sings, the way your breath catches every time he looks at you, the way you could drown in the depths of his eyes, the cloudless blue like the ocean at dawn, stained with a red more vibrant than blood. Like a shipwreck. Like a massacre. 

“Would you worship me, cutie?” Rafayel purrs against the shell of your ear, nipping the tender flesh. Your knees buckle, and you’re already kneeling before him, looking up at those same eyes as he smiles at your answer. 

You already do.

You’ve been noticing gaps in your memory.

Not big ones. Nothing you can really say for certain, just little things, things you used to chalk up to your goldfish memory. Forgetting why you stood up. Losing track of time mid-conversation. Finding yourself already doing something before you even register why.

And it always—always—happens when Rafayel is speaking to you.

It’s never forceful. Never obvious. But there’s always a soft hum in his voice, a subtle pull in the melody beneath his words.

You don’t even remember when he began doing it, and that might be what frightens you most. 

You’ve always been weak for Rafayel, giving in as soon as he pouts and complains about how he might die of neglect, how he just needs you so badly, and how, oh, won’t you do this for him? There’s no command. No sharp pull at your mind, no unnatural force prying into your thoughts. Just his voice, smooth and honeyed, curling around your resolve like the tide creeping onto the shore. Gentle. Patient. And before you even notice, you're waist-deep, sinking into something you can’t quite name.

"Let’s go to the beach," Rafayel suggests, fingers lazily tracing patterns against your thigh.

You frown down at him, in the midst of filling out a hunter’s report when he snatches your computer away, replacing it with his own head plopping down in your lap. 

You glance at the clock, it’s already six pm. Late, not to mention the drive is an hour away. And you have a mission early in the morning.

"I can’t," you say.

He hums, thoughtful. "Mm. No, of course not." He turns his head, pulling your sleep shirt up just enough to kiss your stomach, lips cool against your skin, grazing your hip as he speaks. "But," a pause. A slow, indulgent breath. "Wouldn’t it be nice? Just us. Moonlight on the waves. I could take you out past the shallows, show you things no other human has ever seen."

You close your eyes. You can picture it too easily. The salt in the air, the sound of the tide pulling you both forward. His hands on you, weightless in the water, his voice a hum against your throat. A melody entering your brain. 

"It’s a Tuesday," you murmur, weaker now.

Rafayel begins sitting up, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "So what?" Another to your jaw, "Work is so boring, you don’t need it anymore. Not when you’re with me." You feel him smile, sucking a mark right against your pulse. "It’ll be worth it, promise."

You should say no.

You should.

You should shut out the idea of indulging him, of the welcoming feel of sand beneath your toes and the gentle curl of the tide. And how nice the fading sunlight feels on your skin. Because you’re already standing at the shoreline, waves licking at your ankles, the city far, far behind you. Rafayel’s fingers laced with yours, his smile easy, teasing as he pulls you forward. 

You don’t remember driving here.

Your pulse stutters. "Rafayel."

He turns to you, eyes dark, unreadable, his mouth curving into a wide smile, a sweet gummy one that has too many teeth. Rows upon rows, like a shark’s, gone by the time you blink. "Yes, my muse?"

You swallow hard. The words tangle on your tongue, and you forget, just for a moment, why you were about to say them.

But the worst is when he begs.

Because it doesn’t feel unnatural, it doesn’t feel wrong.

Because it feels good.

You don’t realize how much you’re giving him until your body won't stop trembling, until you’re wrecked and obedient, until he’s cooing praise against your skin like you’re something precious. 

“Can’t–” you sob, barely getting the word out. “Can’t cum again. Please, Raf, Raf, please don’t.”

Your hands scramble for his head, still buried between your thighs, tugging violently against those sweat-slick strands of hair as you all but scream as he whines into your cunt in protest.

You’ve lost track of how many times he’s made you come, lost track of how long you’ve been beneath him, beneath his touch, beneath the spell of his voice. Time means nothing, just a rhythm of sensation and need.

All that you can feel is the hot layer of sweat making the sheets stick to the sharp arch in your back, the painful overstimulation of your clit as Rafayel moves to suckle against it once more, lapping greedily as you kick and push at his shoulders with a cry. You can’t take it, not again, not when you’re already raw and aching and falling apart.

"Just one more time, cutie," he begs, relenting just long enough to kiss your marked-up thigh. "Please? Look s’cute like this, taste even sweeter."

Rafayel’s pale skin glows faintly where his lips brush yours, a ripple of bioluminescence that pulses in time with your heartbeat. The dull blue light blooming along his veins, casting soft, eerie shadows across the sheets, a reminder of the alien beauty woven into his flesh and blood.

You’re sobbing, shaking your head as the entire room spins around you even without the extra stimulation. But Rafayel simply unlaces your poor trembling hands from his hair, unfurling your fists and kissing your palm before intertwining your fingers together, pinning them to the bed as he leans in closer. His hands are cold, an icy restraint to your feverish skin, and you shiver, goosebumps prickling along your arms.

"Last time, promise."

You don’t believe him. You shouldn’t.

But Rafayel’s voice is addictive, liquid gold, sinking into your skin, forcing you to relax against him just enough for his mouth to reacquaint itself with your swollen clit, immediately making you scream again as your hips mindlessly buck, writhing to get away, to find mercy from his touch as you fight to hold onto the last scraps of your fraying resolve.

“Don’t.” His voice is a purr, a low warning against your flesh as his hand tightens, pressing your wrists together, bruising. “Don’t run from me. Don’t make me chase you.”

Your body stills, responding to his command before you can even process what he's said. Surrendering as he hooks your ankles around his neck, forcing you up onto your shoulders as his tongue delves back into your cunt, curling inside you, savoring every spasm, every quiver. It’s a slow, indulgent kiss, his tongue is colder than his lips, drooling and messy as he brings you closer and closer to the edge for the nth time. 

"You’d never leave me right?" His voice once again sings like a promise against your skin. "You can’t. You wouldn’t, she’s too sweet for that—" His nose grinds against your clit and you moan, seizing. "Always so needy, always taking me so well. Practically made to worship me."

You're babbling nonsense now, incoherent. Rafayel coos, kissing you through it, one hand never letting go of yours as the other greedily gropes up the plush of your ass, your breasts, and he watches with rapt fascination as you arch for him. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, and wonders absentmindedly how it is you humans produce milk. How he could get you to do that for him.

A deep trill vibrates through him at the thought, more felt than heard, a sound that curls around your ribs and settles there. 

“You know that you’re mine, don’t you?” he breathes, voice dipping lower, “Mine. Made for me. Nothing else in this world could satisfy you like I do. You’ll never need another god.”

Rafayel’s words slip into you, twisting through your mind, settling like truth in your core. And just like that you shudder, body tensing, and you’re cumming again, hard.

Squirting across Rafayel’s awaiting mouth and jaw as you scream his name like a prayer, cum dripping down his heaving chest. Rafayel moans, lapping at the mess, and you feel his devotion in the way his entire body trembles as he consumes you, as he claims you, his offering, his sacrifice. His beloved bride.

His fingers subconsciously trace your empty ring finger. Worshiping it, memorizing it.

You don’t even realize you’re still nodding as his fingers loosen their grip on your thighs, finally setting you back down on the bed as a pleased little sound spills from his lips. His tongue drags up your limp body, lazy and lingering, kissing every inch of you, bringing your hand up to kiss your ring finger as well.

Nuzzling his face between your breasts, Rafayel looks up at you, eyes glowing, too bright, too colorful, too gorgeously inhuman.

When sensation finally returns to your legs, the haze of pleasure fading and your breath evening out, you’re revolted by the feeling of something releasing its hold on your mind. Shuddering, you press a hand to your temple, trying to shake off the eerie feeling of something slipping out of your head.

Rafayel watches you, tilting his head, his fingers brushing lightly down your arm as he pushes himself up on his elbows. Grabbing your chin, he swallows any questions you might have asked, kissing you with the same reverence he did your clit and every inch of your body before, the taste of you still on his tongue. When he pulls away, his expression is soft, almost tender, even as his hand curls back around your ankle, a possessive shackle.

“You’ll never need another god,” he repeats, the words sinking into your bones, echoing in your mind. His fingers tighten, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Because you’re mine.”

And yet, you’re the one who can’t seem to breathe without him.

You suppose it should scare you, knowing Rafayel isn’t human. Even if you have yet to understand what a Lemurian really is or wants, what Rafayel’s true form really looks like, what or who truly resides in him. 

You suppose it should scare you that despite not knowing any of this, you listen to his every whim regardless. 

The ocean is calm tonight, with the full moon hanging directly overhead and her silver providing the only light over rolling waves. You’re floating on your back, eyes closed, weightless in the gentle pull of the tide, safe knowing Rafayel couldn’t be far away. He never is. 

At least, you can only assume that’s still the case. Since the ocean itself is dark enough that it blends in with the horizon, dark enough that you wouldn’t be able to see your own toes should you stop floating, the only sounds are the gentle crashing of waves on the distant shore. 

Rafayel was untraceable in the water, his powerful twenty-foot-something Lemurian form outpacing yours as soon as he hit the water, cutting through the black waves with a grace that should be impossible for a creature of that size. That was nearly an hour ago, and only an occasional singing that seemed to both surround you and come from deep within the ocean served as reminders that your lover was never far away.

There it is again, that distant sorrowful song, and you try and hum along, not realizing how far from shore you’ve drifted. 

Something brushes your ankle.

Jolting upright, you spit out a bit of salt water from your scare, scanning the horizon as you tread water. Rafayel is nowhere in sight.

Of course you don't even realize he's been circling you, tail cutting above the waves before twisting around your kicking legs. Laughter echoes into the night, sweet and addicting, enough to have your body relax involuntarily into the cold rock of the waves. Enough to send every other sea creature swimming away in terror.

Then, warmth. Hands, familiar and steady, slide up your bare ribs. There wasn’t even so much as a splash as Rafayel swims closer, arms pulling you in tight, nuzzling deep into the crook of your neck as you feel the entire length of his tail tighten like a coil around your body. He could drown you before you'd even remember to scream.

Rafayel kisses up your neck, savoring the taste of sea salt, arousal, and fear against the broad, cold length of his tongue. It feels rougher than usual. 

“Need you, cutie.” A trill, something deep and low, vibrating in his chest as his entire body tightens its grip around you. Grinding up against you. “Need you s’bad.”

His voice is a low, syrupy murmur, words dripping into your ear with the same fluid grace as his body winding around yours. You shudder, pulse thrumming as the coil of his tail tightens, the powerful muscle shifting against your skin, keeping you perfectly in place. The realization should terrify you. Perhaps it should terrify you more that it doesn’t. 

But Rafayel’s still nipping at the delicate skin of your neck and jaw as that soft, mournful hum resonates from his chest. The sound vibrates through your bones, familiar and soothing, seeping into your mind as easily as seawater through the crevices of a sinking ship.

You shiver, the sensation of his touch and the water deliciously cold against the heat pooling in your belly.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, turning you so you straddle only a fraction of his enormous tail, clinging to his shoulders and the scales that now rest there. “Hate that you can’t swim with me, can’t see my home.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, the same playful lightness you’ve heard a thousand times. But beneath it lies a deep, aching hunger that has his clawed fingers pressing into your ribs, hard enough to draw blood.

“I-It’s not exactly possible,” you stammer, voice shaking, breathless, the world narrowing to the feel of his enormous body wrapped around yours, the prodding of something slimy and thick between your legs, the soft vibration of his hum still echoing inside your head. “I can’t breathe underwater like you, Rafayel.”

He pouts at that, tail flexing, shifting, and you feel two other appendages begin to caress your thighs, gently snaking around them. Not that you could see what exactly they were, not with how impossibly dark the ocean is, left completely to his mercy. 

“Poor little human,” Rafayel coos, feigning sympathy as his hands begin to wander, cupping and squeezing roughly at your breasts. A constant fascination he excuses for the fact that fish don’t produce milk and thus have no need for such… interesting appendages. “Your silly human body isn’t much fun. Too fragile. I can fix that.”

His words send a chill through you, something prickling at your spine—but then his lips are on yours, firm and insistent, stealing the breath from your lungs as his fingers tangle in your hair. His inhumanly long tongue invades your mouth, rough and tasting of salt and sea, and you melt, hands clawing into his shoulders as he swallows your moan, fucking his tongue down your throat. 

His tail shifts again, something sharp nicking your inner thigh as you gasp into the kiss, only allowing Rafayel to press in closer, deeper, grinding against your core.

Your body reacts on instinct, earning another low trill, hips rolling to meet the pressure, Rafayel’s hands still busy pleasuring your chest as something else forces your legs wider, guiding his cock to grind against you once, twice, fighting the tense ring of muscle as you quiver. 

“Please, cutie. Please let me in, my sweet darling. Please, please,” he’s rambling, begging so sweetly into your lips as you feel the jagged cut of his teeth trace down your neck, collarbone, grazing your nipple, licking up the drops of blood as your flesh splits as easily as rotten fruit on the edge of a knife. “So good to me. Always so good to me.”

You barely recognize the moan that leaves your throat—something needy, desperate. And at that sound Rafayel shudders, something else writhing against your pussy as it suddenly pushes in, thrusting and sucking gently at your entrance before following a rhythm he knows will make you fall apart. 

“Rafayel, wait, cold. It’s cold—” 

“Shh, you’ll warm it up.”

You can only moan in response, clinging onto Rafayel like a lifeline as the ocean surges around the both of you, your limbs trembling and useless as one of Rafayel’s hands goes to circle your clit, matching the tempo of his thrusts as you come undone with a silent scream.

“Say it again for me,” he whispers, reverence dripping from every syllable. His eyes—too blue, too bright—burn into yours, possessive, adoring, hungry. And when he looks at you like that, how could you ever refuse? “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

Your heart stutters. There’s a pull, something deep and heavy, sinking into your chest. The hum returns, curling around your thoughts, coaxing you to say the words, to give him what he wants. What you both want.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word slipping past your lips before you even realize it. “Yours.”

Rafayel’s pupils narrow into slits, and his mouth crashes against yours, hungry and savage. His tail tightens, grinding against you with purpose now, every slow roll of his hips sending another shockwave of pleasure through you, something else beginning to press up against you as well as the first intrusion begins to retreat from your poor overstimulated pussy. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks, teeth scraping against your pulse, marking delicate skin of your throat. Something under the water coils tighter, pulling you closer, keeping you where you belong.

No. 

“Yes.”

His laughter is the last thing you hear, soft and sweet, washing away every other thought before the roar of the ocean swallows you whole.

The cold is instant, biting, sinking into your bones as the saltwater tears into your nose and mouth. Panic claws up your throat as your chest seizes, lungs heaving uselessly, instinctively, drawing in nothing but seawater.

Instinct demands you thrash, but Rafayel is there, hugging around you like a devoted lover, like a predator with his kill. He drags you down deeper, enraptured, scales scraping against your skin as his body locks you against him, pressing you against the seafloor as the two of you hit the bottom, soft sand floating under your back. 

How easy would it be, to leave you full of his brood and writhing, before dragging you to some island far, far away. 

He’s dazed at the thought, still inside you, still thrusting, still playing with your body as if you aren’t suffocating, as if the way you kick and claw at his back, nails tearing into flesh and fins, is only a sign of pleasure. You feel him shudder, and it isn’t just from the tight, helpless way you squeeze around him.

It’s your eyes that Rafayel can’t seem to look away from. They’re wide, wild, locked on his face with desperate, pleading terror. Adoration. Fear. Love.

So human, so fragile, and all you can focus on is him, the rest of the ocean blurring into a black abyss.

Rafayel adores it, finally being the epicenter of your attention. 

A low, pleased rumble vibrates through his chest, pupils blown wide, swallowing the blue of his eyes until they’re black and endless, reflecting your horrified face right back at you.

All the screaming has left you dizzy, and Rafayel moans, pushing deeper, grinding his enormous tail against your overstimulated clit as your throat convulses around a silent moan as you watch the bubbles leave your throat. 

Smiling, Rafayel’s lips curl, exposing sharp, jagged teeth, feeling each shudder, each pitiful, heaving spasm as your lungs beg for oxygen. He wonders how they must feel, those delicate sacks of air tightening, twisting inside you.

Pressing his palm against your chest, right over your heart, Rafayel feels the stuttering beat as it races then begins to falter, slowing to a delicate pulse under his touch. 

He could watch you like this forever.

Your nails rake down his arms, leaving raw, bloody scratches as the world begins to go dark. He shudders, his cock twitching inside you at the sting, the way you keep fighting even as your movements grow sluggish, your limbs growing heavy. Your chest heaves one last time, and then your eyes leave Rafayel’s, rolling back as your lips part in a silent prayer. 

No. No, don't look away from him.

It makes Rafayel frown, wanting your gaze focused on him alone, wanting your attention back. He wants it forever. His tail coils, possessive, hugging you tight with all the devotion of a human lover as he finally, finally leans in, pressing his mouth to yours.

His hands come down to caress your jaw, fangs nicking your lips as he forces them apart, kissing air back into your lungs. 

And you breathe in again, sobbing into the kiss, body trembling, clinging to Rafayel like he’s your lifeline. You do what he knew you would. You kiss him back. Desperate, dazed, pushing closer as though you don't realize there's no where else you could go, the deep, endless dark of the ocean yawning hungrily above you both. 

He's close, so close now. Body nearly aglow with that eerie, deep-sea light, casting shadows onto your body as you welcome him even now, desperate for warmth, for safety, for him.

“Mine,” Rafayel sings against your lips in a language you cannot understand. Savoring the way you still arch up to kiss him again and again, desperate for his air and his touch despite it all. Despite knowing what he is. Despite knowing what he wants. “My mate.”

When he finally cums he feels it breach your womb, he feels you swell with it, feels it stick with how eagerly your body welcomes him, his perfect little human.

And for the first time, you truly wonder if you were meant to survive loving something like him.

[bellewist]

rafayel · explicit, minors don't interact. unedited. slightly, unfiltered filth. pwp. kinda vanilla but also messy. breeding kink, pregnancy kink. established married relationship. degradation and praise.

Your moans could be heard from outside the window at Whitesand Bay.

At first you weren't sure what was happening. You and Rafayel were drinking amicably a glass of wine, chatting happily with each other, before everything changed in a blur of purple, blue and pink, and you found yourself underneath him with your legs spread wide open.

Your pussy clenched tightly around him, breath hitching at the sounds of his groans. You cried out as he thrusted harder and harder into you, his movements too slow for your liking. Something primal inside you wanted him to fuck you silly, wanted to milk his cock for all his worth.

"Come on cutie, come around me," he tried to gently coax you into your orgasm, but you merely glared at him with red cheeks and teary eyes.

"You first," you tugged him closer, touching your foreheads together. "I want you to fill me with your cum, I want you to fuck me like you mean it."

Rafayel actually growled at this, but like you, he didn't bestow your request. His hips moved slowly and sensually, fucking your pussy with all the attention it deserved. If you couldn't give him an orgasm, he wouldn't give you the fucking that you want too.

So he tortured you with slow strokes, your cries turning into hiccups. It wasn't until he grazed your very sensitive spot that your melody changed. You gasper, lurching up from the bed as your back arched, wailing loudly.

Rafayel's eyes widened, staring in awe as the physical manifestation of your bond materialised now on your skin. He couldn't breath, he couldn't take his eyes off the bright red mark on the valley and top of your breast.

He didn't know that was capable among humans, he resigned himself into being the only one who would perceive you through mating bond, because you weren't a lemurian, and though your humanity didn't lessen your feelings for him any less, seeing it take over you was a prayer come true.

Because just as the red symbol appeared on your chest, his brightened up too, and like a synchronised symphony, you became as desperate as he was. You started sobbing, clenching around him so tightly he had to grit his teeth. Your juices doubled the amount, dripping from your cunt down to the sheets, and your mouth gaped open as you fought for breath.

"So beautiful," he whispered, kissing the mark, his tongue picking out to lick the salty skin with a groan. You keened loudly, grasping his hair in your fingers and pressed him closer.

"Raf," you sobbed. "My Raf, my Rafayel!"

Fuck.

Your wrapped your legs around him and tugged him closer, crying out at the impact of his hips to your thighs and asscheeks. Your eyes rolled back, pussy convulsing around him as you cummed, painting his cock white with your essence. You blabbered incoherent sentences, grinding your hips down to his cock, taking him deeper, cooing as you bite the side of his jaw.

Fuck. He almost hissed as he supported you, hand coming down to squeeze your plump behind. He buried his face into your neck and moaned loudly, cumming right after you. He shuddered as he felt you react to his own cum, the gasp that you let out, the way that you shivered. He made sure he didn't come out of you, plugging his seed inside you.

Both of you fell into your instincts. You opened your legs wider, welcoming him deeper as he thrusted languidly into you.

"More," you gasped, clawing at his back. You parted slightly from him so you could look at his face, taking in the lust filled eyes that looked at you in awe, his red cheeks. You weren't ferring any better no doubt. You looked at him like he was the galaxy and he wanted to weep because that everything that he ever wanted.

"Such a good slut you are for me," he murmured with fondness, tacking a piece of hair behind your ear. "You want me to breed you? Fill your womb with our little one?"

You sobbed as you hang you head, pressing your hips down, moaning abashedly. "Yes, yes yes!"

And how could he ever deny you? His Queen.

[wolfofcelestia]

The boys' schedules

[simbiotictears]

LnDs Boys if they were an Idol!boy group:

I won’t hear anyone out. I need this group to become a reality. Infold make a card of them as idols and I am yours!!

Leader + Main Rapper: Zayne

Appears to be the most mature but isn’t. He was voted the pettiest by the members followed by Sylus and Rafayel. He was given the role of leader due to his ability to keep the fans and his members under control (minus Sylus).

Designated translator: he can speak the most languages in the group. As a result, he leads the international interviews and fan interactions.

His fans know he likes sweet things, so they often gift him sweet treats in fan meets. The staff end up confiscating most of it to stop him from eating them all and getting cavities.

His stage persona is the cold nerdy type, this is because he refuses to wear contacts, so this allows him to wear his glasses when he's not performing on stage.

He gets injured the most. Don't even try to tell me he doesn't.

In terms of his voice, he has a mellow voice. He doesn't really sing but he raps well.

When it comes to dancing, he can’t really dance, but he works hard. After the main and lead dancers, he trains the third hardest. If dance was a science, he'd have top marks. It's the moving the body part he struggles with.

He did aegyo once and it got clipped and shipped and he hasn't been able to live it down since.

He doesn’t post on social media often, but when he does, he posts book reviews (mostly nonfiction and medical books) on Substack.

His day in the life YouTube video for the group channel was him visiting Cafes and testing their sweet treats. All of those Cafes have been packed ever since he went.

He is the third most popular in the group, and his fans are the most mature and peaceful. However, they do go feral when he gets freaky for the concepts.

Main Dancer + Lead Vocalist/Rapper: Caleb

He is a jack of all trades. If he was the youngest, he’d be golden. But he’s not, so he’s just the most versatile.

He sings, he dances, he raps, he’s pretty—what can’t he do?

His rapping is far better than his singing, but his singing is nowhere near terrible. He had to work very hard on his vocals before debut, but only his bandmates know that.

He is a hit or miss with the fans, still extremely popular, but those who love him are very devout.

He’s had the second most scandals in the group, after Sylus, for fake rumours and clips taken out of context.

He’s a big nerd and is very chaotic despite his cool more chill front he shows sometimes (when he’s not in the mood). His stage persona is the popular boy next door/big brother type, and he fits the role perfectly.

He is the one to say the most random facts in the middle of a video. Definitely watches 'Cunk on Earth.' He is chronically online.

He has 'Train with me' videos which sound a little questionable due to his loud breathing.

He surprised his fans with the news of his piloting license by randomly uploading a video of him piloting a fighter jet.

He pranks Zayne often and likes to dance late at night in the studio with Xavier.

Him and Sylus have beef that no one else understands— but they do and that’s all that matters.

He has a girlfriend who he unapologetically talks about, whilst not mentioning anything at all. This has got him into a lot of trouble, but he doesn’t care. He doesn't want his fans to try and hit on him. He is a committed man. Other than that, he is very private.

Designated cook: he used to cook for the members when they all lived in the dorms together.

Visual + Sub Rapper: Sylus

Actually, the most mature. He is the oldest and hottest. People ignore the fact that he can’t sing (though he is getting better) because of how hot he is.

He usually leads when the concepts are suaver and sultrier.

I can't emphasise this enough, but he got in because he’s hot— can’t lie, that’s most of the reason he got in.

His stage persona, much like his real life personality, is the bad boy/daddy type. (I am not sorry, you know he's going to be in a suit giving it an ateez level performance)

He speaks the second most languages in the group, so he usually sits behind or at the end of the line in interviews and takes some of the stress off of Zayne. Once the interviewers know he speaks their language they do try to get him to answer a lot of questions just to hear him speak... and you know what? same.

The camera loves him.

People beg him to do aegyo and he only does it very rarely. Not even losing a bet could force him to do aegyo. It has to be if one of the boys has got his (secret) girl on the line.

Has the rich man laugh. Hear me out, he once accidentally laughed at the end of a recording session when the mic was still on, and they kept it in the track… let’s just say that track and that specific part of the track won them their first seven awards.

He has the most ravenous, horny fans. Even straight men go feral for Sylus.

He is the most likely to be put on stage shirtless or told to rip his shirt mid performance; he’s not opposed, he works hard for his abs.

His 'Day in the life' YouTube video on their group channel where he drank wine, played the organ, made steak, boxed, and watched a movie over the span of ten hours has over 109 million views.

Still, he goes live the least. Mostly because he doesn’t know how to use the live feature properly.

Naturally, he has had the most scandals in the group, not by his own fault mind you. And there have been public issues with their company's unfair distribution of his lines in most songs. (Sometimes they’re lucky if he gets four lines.)

He calls his fans “kittens” which makes all the other members hurl.

Face of The Group + Centre + Main Vocalist: Rafayel

The pretty boy of the group.

Designated Brat: he will argue with everyone about everything. He is the sassiest of the group and also the whiniest. He acts like the youngest but isn’t??

Has the voice of a literal angel and the face to match.

He spends the most time with Xavier because Xavier doesn’t argue with his insane logic (the boy is exhausted, save my boy Xavier).

He pretends to hate acting cute, but he secretly loves it.

People ship him with literally everyone in the group, but mostly Xavier and Zayne. It’s the icy x sunshine dynamic.

Designated model: He has the best fashion and always dresses like he’s about to hit the runway. His airport photos are basically photo cards in and off themselves. And a few times they've ended up on the cover of high fashion magazines. He would never be caught dead in anything less than the best.

He is the laziest in terms of training, but who needs to train when they’re that beautiful? (His words, not mine.)

Zayne has to threaten him to get him to go to dance practice.

He goes live with Xavier most often.

He is the one who controls the social media pages. He loves posting the most random stuff.

His ending fairies always go viral.

One time a fan asked him to marry them when he was live and he asked how big their paycheck was.

Should have more scandals than he does, most of his drama is people arguing about his sexuality— to which he tells everyone to mind their own business.

He’s terrified of cats. The group went on a YouTube Channel where they got to play with cats as they answered questions. Rafayel hissed at any cat that came near him and hid behind Sylus.

He once did a paint with me stream and everyone was shocked at his skills and art knowledge to which he said he went to art school.

Maknae + Lead Dancer + Sub Vocalist: Xavier

The youngest of the group.

His stage persona is the shy boy/prince type. Because of this, everyone thinks that this sweet man is innocent, but he’s a freak.

Can pull off literally any concept.

Has insane dance skills. (I don't want to hear it. In a world where they are idols that man can dance.)

Him and Caleb are the most likely to be in the dance studio late at night practicing.

Because he works so hard at night and off camera, the fans think he is lazy or “always tired.” He is anemic, but his sleepiness mostly comes from his excessive training.

He has a secret dance TikTok called Lumiere; where he dances with a hood on, a face mask, and in baggy clothes. Some fans have hypothesised that him and Lumiere are the same person, but he never confirms it.

He nearly got caught once when Rafayel was live, and he walked back into their hotel room with the same hoodie on as his latest TikTok video.

He mostly enjoys releasing dance videos on their group TikTok and YouTube channel with Caleb because their styles blend well together.

When they do more lifestyle like content, he is either with Rafayel or Caleb.

He has a very soft and pretty voice, which makes most people swoon though he actually prefers rapping, but the group would have too many rappers, so he sticks to singing.

He once sat in on Caleb’s live with Sylus and Zayne and rapped a whole cypher, which shocked all the fans because he sounded so good! He’s got insane flow.

It started the #letXavierRap trend.

Has a secret partner, and his biggest scandal was a hickey that wasn’t covered up properly.

People love the princely concept on him. He lowkey hates it. He only wears it on the stage.

He grew out his hair once and everyone begged him not to cut it again (he did, it got in the way of his face when he was dancing.)

They once had a concept where they all had to act. Much to everyone’s surprise, Xavier did so well that he started to get offered acting gigs. He mostly turns them down, but once in a while his fans might spot him as the lead in a C drama or two.

He can’t cook to save his life.

He relies on Caleb and Sylus to make everything; however, he does eat pot noodles when they refuse.

He once tried to cook for the members, and they had to move dorms because the place caught fire. Of course, that was before they all moved to their own places.

[milknhoneybeez]

YOOOOOO HES ACTUALLY MENTALLY UNSTABLE 💦😩

IM BARKING 💦💦💦

a guillotine couldn’t stop the head I would give this man 🤤



[veggiesxxx]

Their reaction to you saying... (2/2)

Their reaction to you saying... "I could stab you right now." (2/2) - Rafayel, Caleb & Zayne ...

Rafayel

The Lemurian sat carelessly on his sofa, a book perched between his slender fingers. You stepped over to him, and sat on the sofa, perching on the edge cautiously. You gazed at him, and he put down the book, raising an eyebrow at how suspicious you were acting. "Can I help you, cutie?"

You couldn't suppress the grin on your face as you pulled his blade out from behind your back, swiftly placing the sharp tip against his chest.

"I could stab your heart right now.."

"You're... threatening me with violence? Against me? Oh, you're breaking my heart, darling!"

"I'm a lover, not a fighter," he added.

You expected a reaction, yes, but not like this. Couldn't he just... amuse you? Be a little more genuinely afraid?

"Please, have mercy! I'm a fragile fishie."

....

"But, also..."

Your raise your eyes to meet his, feeling your hand loosen around the blade, and he wrapped his smooth fingers around yours, effectively lowering the dagger.

"I'd much prefer if you didn't stab yourself, darling."

--------

Caleb

You glanced up, looking at the array of the newest Skyhaven weapons the Colonel was allowed to have. He left them spread on the coffee table, as he planned to get back and then organise them. You reached over and picked up a little neat dagger. Caleb would be home anytime now.

What if...

You hid by the front door, so you could ambush him.

...

The door clicked, and you held your breath, excitement coursing through your veins. Without warning, you pinned the unsuspecting Caleb against the wall, blade against his chest. "Woah, pipsqueak– What's gotten into you?" he questioned, not even flinching. A smile stayed on his face, like he didn't believe you'd hurt him.

"I could stab you, right now."

"For-?"

"Hostages don't speak,"

"...alright." He played along.

"So? What're you gonna do? I could seriously hurt you."

"...Well.. Nothing." He shrugged. "You can go ahead, pipsqueak."

"Just promise to tell me what i did wrong after, so i won't make you angry again."

-------

Zayne

You fiddled with a fork in the café, and tapped your feet against the flooring, restless and impatient to receive your cakes. The two of you had spent the last hour or so together, though you were still trying to figure out if it was a 'date' or just him making sure you 'ate properly'.

At some point, you squinted and pointed the fork to him, poking his chest across the small table.

"I could stab you, right now." you huffed, your leg brushing against his.

"Hm? And here I thought you liked me," he adjusted his silver glasses, a faint smile formed on his lips.

The deadpan delivery, the slight teasing that laced his tone— It was infuriating. It was.. Zayne.

"..you're impossible."

He brought his gaze down to the tabletop, and the lightest pink dusted his cheeks and coloured his ears.

"Well.. I'll allow it."

"Only if you'll bring me to the hospital, after."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Previous part

╰┈➤ Their reaction to you saying... "I could stab you right now." (1/2) - Sylus & Xavier

[ihexez]

🫦

[dearrafayel]

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 & 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍-𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍.

rafayel’s exhibitions seem to leave a trail of mysterious disappearances in its wake.

content. yandere!fem!reader (or mc) x rafayel. dark content. canon divergence. fluff. 9.3k words. established relationship (you’re married). graphic depictions of murder. don’t act like this irl please. sexual content. unprotected (shower) sex. obsessive behaviour. cursing.

notes. two things in life are undeniably true; rafayel for sure gets hard from seeing your 'devotion’ and he curses in lemurian during sex, send tweet.

Rafayel was cursed. That is, if you were to ask any person within the art community. It was, after all, the most recent rumour to circulate amongst the socialites. Lately, every person that was perceived to have stood an inch too close to him, been a tad too friendly, or even hoarded his attention for a bit too long than one would’ve deemed appropriate, had strangely vanished off the face of the earth.

With no trace left behind, the authorities and the victims’ families were left grasping at straws to figure out what exactly had happened to them. Though, the one common denominator had been the fact that all of them attended an exhibition of Rafayel’s before their disappearance. The turn-out had been affected by this over time, but there were plenty of people left who didn’t believe in such a silly superstition—much to Thomas’s relief.

Rafayel himself didn’t particularly care much about the attendance record of his exhibitions, nor about the event in general, really, even before its dwindling popularity. However, the reason for their fears still felt so silly. In no world could Rafayel find a logical reason for someone to target people who’d tried to lay some of their moves on him; or rather, he couldn’t think of a person who’d do such a thing.

He’s keenly aware of anybody that surrounds him, and he certainly hadn’t taken notice of a stalker, so the possibility of an obsessed fan cutting down the competition seemed deluded. As for other romantic options. . .The only one who’d been granted permission to be in such close proximity to him, ever, and whenever their heart desired, was you. You were the one in his heart, but you were far from the jealous type—even if Rafayel sometimes wished you’d be.

To fear something as ridiculous as being murdered simply for being near him was, therefore, bordering on the edge of stupid.

Or so he thought.

Rafayel’s mind short-circuited at the sight in front of him; His darling, plushie-adoring, kitty-card fanatic, public servant of a wife bent over an individual that lay bleeding out on the cold, concrete ground of an alleyway. You kneeled in front of the man—Rafayel recognised him as the waiter that had been a little too close to him for comfort earlier this evening—and twirled your hunter’s knife between your fingers. A peculiar feeling arose in Rafayel’s chest. One he definitely should not be having at such a sight.

Ah. Who would’ve thought? You do have a jealous side.

Rafayel suppressed a smile.

In hindsight, he thought he must have been blind not to notice it sooner. Recently, you’d started coming home later than usual, and always insisted on quickly rinsing yourself off in the shower since you felt grimy from fighting all those wanderers. A believable excuse, truly, though when he asked your colleagues about the increased amount of assignments lately, they were none the wiser. Wanting to have some faith in you and your relationship, he’d simply chalked it up to coincidence—perhaps you and those five, six, alright seven, colleagues he spoke to weren’t assigned on missions together.

Rafayel did anything to avoid thinking of the, increasingly real, possibility of you being unfaithful to him. He didn’t want to believe it—couldn’t believe it. For, even if you express your love for each other in very different ways, Rafayel is sure that you do love him; confirmation of it came as soon as he finished the thought. And as he watched the waiter cough up blood onto the pavement, he could do little about the butterflies that erupted in his stomach.

The part of him that wished to take in the sight before him for a bit longer was quickly defeated by the bubbling excitement he felt at the discovery, and he watched as your movements seized with his first step forward. With the heels of his dress shoes clicking on the ground, his footsteps were loud in the otherwise silent alley.

“How lucky must I be to have such a devoted bodyguard,” he called out, a familiar lilt to his voice. Slowly, as if you couldn’t believe what you’d heard, you turned your head towards him. Rafayel hid another smile, attempting to remove the smugness off his features upon seeing the way your eyes widened and your jaw clenched. “There are very few people who are that committed to their job nowadays.”

You blinked at him. Once, twice. Rafayel tilted his head to the side, not breaking eye-contact.

“. . .What are you doing here?”

A hint of a smile broke through. “I could ask you the same thing, cutie.”

You scrunched your nose up, huffing. “I asked first,” you mumbled. Cute. Your eyes trailed over his figure as he moved closer to you and your victim, never letting a second pass without having him in your line of sight. Your gaze was focused, analytical, as if trying to gauge what he will do next. “What are you doing here, Rafayel?”

He hummed at your question. Acknowledging it, without answering it. A soft, pity-filled sigh slipped past his lips as he crouched down in front of the waiter, and next to you. “Y’Did a real number on the guy,” he commented. The artist frowned in disgust as he poked the man’s face.

The waiter made a sound that resembled a garble, and a plethora of groans were heard throughout the alley as Rafayel’s quick poke seemed to bring the man back to consciousness. He blinked, and started breathing heavily again, panting, nearly, as he realised he hadn’t passed away, yet. Frantically, the man looked around, and flinched when his eyes fell on you—though, they filled with hope when he saw Rafayel.

As soon as they did, Rafayel heard you scoff.

“Rafayel!” The man shouted, or tried to, with his voice as hoarse as it is. He coughed again, and more blood came up with it. Rafayel scrunched his nose up, and inched backwards to prevent it from getting on his shoes. “Ra—Rafayel! P—Please, you. . .you have to help me, she—!”

The waiter reached a hand out for him. A few seconds later, a knife was stabbed through the palm of it.

“None of you have any manners,” you said, chastising him. With narrowed eyes, you looked down upon him as he cradled his palm close to his chest while screaming bloody murder. “Who do you think you are to address him so casually?”

Rafayel’s heart skipped a beat.

It seemed you had taken the time to remember one of his latest pet-peeves; strangers being overly comfortable with him and forgoing all honorifics. In all honesty, Rafayel knew he rambled quite a lot about seemingly everything, so he hadn’t expected you to remember it. Such a considerate wife, he has.

Wails continued to sound through the darkness of the night, and you swiftly grabbed the source of them by the collar and slammed his head into the pavement to make them stop. It was effective. You and Rafayel sat in silence shortly after. He looked at you, a certain sense of glee dancing in his eyes, while you did everything you could to avoid his gaze. Was it wrong to think you had never looked more beautiful to him?

Even though your hair was a bit ruffled, and your fingertips were stained a dark red, and even though there were tiny specks of blood decorating your face—Rafayel fell for you even more.

“So,” he spoke up, and watched as you stiffened. He rested his elbow on one of his thighs, and placed his chin on his hand; glancing at the corpse laying at both of your feet. “What do you usually do with them?”

You turned towards him again. Scarily slowly, just like before. Your eyebrows furrowed, but you didn’t answer him immediately. Every thought you had was reflected in your eyes, visible to Rafayel, and only to Rafayel for the mere fact that he knew you best. You sought to deflect, but quickly gave up on that. Then, you thought about denying, which seemed even sillier. Confused, you decided on staying quiet a little longer.

His lack of reaction was strange. It threw you off. When you finally met his gaze, Rafayel’s restraint broke and a small smile started to form. Without much effort, he could see the gears in your head starting to turn at an even faster speed as they desperately tried making sense of the situation.

“Well?” He goaded. One of his fingers poked your side, but you didn’t squirm away and giggle like you would usually. It helped bring you back to him, mentally, though, and you cracked a tiny smile.

Taking a deep breath, you shifted on your feet. The crouching position you were in was starting to get uncomfortable. “I toss them in the ocean,” you confessed, looking at him. “They’re offerings.”

His eyebrows raised. “Offerings? To whom?”

“The Sea God.”

Rafayel’s eyes darkened. His breath hitched in his throat, and suddenly all he could think of, all he could feel, was you, you and your devotion to him that was so much stronger than he’d initially thought it to be.  His hand cupped your cheek; his thumb caressed it, not caring about the blood that clung to your skin. You gazed into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, and then a few more, until Rafayel let out a shaky sigh and released his hold on you.

He cleared his throat.

“Dibs on the head,” he called out, and finally got up from crouching. You blinked at his sudden departure, entirely dumbfounded as you watched him bent over the body and take a firm grasp of its head. He tilted his own head to the side again when he noticed your lack of movement. “C’mon, it’s not gonna walk itself to the sea, you know? Not anymore.”

“I. . .” You started, but it appeared that your sentence would forever remain unfinished. With a sigh, you interrupted yourself, and with a quick shake of your head, you went and lifted the lower part of the body. Together, you carried the corpse out of the alley, engulfed in the shadows of the night and hidden by it from any prying eyes. You grunted, and Rafayel looked at you. “My car’s over there. We can. . .”

“Gotcha,” he said. Wanting to lessen your apprehension, Rafayel cut in before you could finish your sentence. He knew what needed to be done, anyway.

No further words were exchanged as you walked towards your car. He still kept a watchful eye out for any potential witnesses, but was relieved to find the streets of Linkon entirely deserted. That would certainly make this entire debacle less of a hassle. Once arrived, you wasted little time in opening the trunk. Rafayel raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Came prepared?” He asked. There were a variety of things in there; a plastic sheet—no doubt so the blood wouldn’t stain—gloves, two clean knives, some cable ties, tape. It made him wonder how often you’d done this. Were there any people he didn’t know of?

You sniffed, and cleared your throat. “What are you? A cop?”

Before he smiled, Rafayel bit his lip. He looked at you from head to toe. “Aren’t you?”

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek. Amid the tiny sliver of annoyance, he slowly saw a hint of amusement fighting its way onto your face.

“You’re driving,” you said, and threw him the keys. He caught them with practiced ease, having little time to protest. Rafayel laughed softly. Right before taking your seat, you paused to look at him. “And I’m a public servant. Not a cop. You know this.”

He does. Still, Rafayel laughed again. The door to the passenger side closed, and he finally deemed it time to get in the car himself. As he hoisted himself into the driver’s seat, he glanced at you for a few seconds with a small, adoring glint in his eye. It wasn’t long before you caught him, and he took it as a sign that it was time to start driving. To the beach. Ah, the amount of things you’ve done together on a beach. It seemed that, as of today, disposing of a body will now be added to that list.

A few minutes into the drive, Rafayel first felt your eyes on him. Your face still carried faint traces of anxiety, visible to him even if he only glanced your way every now and then. Without a doubt, your mind must still be going at a hundred miles an hour; trying its best to decipher him, trying to gauge whether he truly wasn’t affected by this in the slightest—whether he truly wasn’t disturbed at all. Oh, on the contrary.

Rafayel felt elated.

After staring at him for a little while longer, you finally spoke. It was a question he could have expected to receive, as you’ve never shied away from asking the hard-hitting ones. Seeing you return to your usual antics was a good sign.

“Have you killed before?”

His answer was immediate. “Of course I have.”

Confessing his darkest secret didn’t feel like that big of a deal anymore. In the past, Rafayel thought of you finding out as one of the worst things that could happen to him. Funny how things can change.

You didn’t make a sound after that. Merely staring at him from the passenger seat, blinking every now and then as your mind struggled to comprehend all of the information thrown at it. However, Rafayel wasn’t one to allow uncomfortable silences to appear with you, which mostly stemmed from the fact that he never wanted you to feel uncomfortable when he was near.

“I didn’t have such an obvious pattern, though,” he teased, shooting you a quick glance. The smugness was radiating off of him, and you scoffed. It sounded like music to his ears. “Bit of a rookie mistake.”

Glancing at him, and throwing in the world’s cutest-scariest glare, you shifted in your seat. You grumbled something under your breath, but Rafayel couldn’t quite make out what. “Turn left here,” you said eventually, nodding towards the next cross-road. “It’ll bring you to a cliff.”

He did as he was told. It was hard to stay focused on the road in front of him, especially so with you huffing and puffing all cutely next to him. He’d gaze at you all night if you let him. Well, there was always later. Just as he’d turned back to look at the road, you murmured a sly remark.

“It wasn’t that obvious.”

Rafayel suppressed another smile. “Meh, it was preeetty obvious,” he responded, and watched as you acted offended once again. You, too, hid a smile, though. He was lucky enough to catch it in time. “There’s no need to worry, though, cutie. I’m flattered.”

Something changed within your eyes when he said that. You looked at him, really looked at him. His nonchalance when sitting behind the wheel, the calm exterior he was carrying, the calm interior he was feeling. And then, you laughed—or scoffed—he couldn’t really tell. It sounded like a mixture of the two, giving birth to a sound of disbelief.

“You’re insane,” you concluded.

This time, he let himself smile. “And you aren’t?” He asked, and thoroughly enjoyed seeing the slight fluster on your face when he shot you a quick wink. “Need I remind you whose murder victim is in the trunk?”

You tried your very hardest not to smile, he could see it in the way your tongue poked the inside of your cheek. “Alright, alright, Mr. Rafayel,” you said. “You’ve made your point.”

And all of the sudden, the air felt light again. It shouldn’t be, especially not considering the current situation, but it was—and Rafayel couldn’t get enough of the feeling. He had seen another side of you, and you knew about that other side of him; still, it felt like little had changed. If anything, he felt even closer to you. What more could he need to be on cloud nine?

“Dibs on the head,” you called out quickly, words slightly strung together as you rushed to get them out. Rafayel opened his mouth, pretending to be appalled at your hasty proclamation. He parked the car in one of the many free spots; it was easy, the entire row was empty. Slowly, he turned to face you, looking as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. You grinned a bit sheepishly. “The feet were a pain to carry.”

He narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t even my kill. Why should I get the short end of the stick?”

Your smile turned cheeky. “Because you love me,” you said. It wasn’t a question, more so a statement. A truthful one. “Please?”

“Fiiiine,” Rafayel sighed. He acted as if it were one of begrudging relent, but in all honesty, he’d already decided to indulge you the second you smiled at him. “Oh, the things I do for love.”

Though, with the way you did a short celebration, triumph decorating your face, fists pumping, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret his decision one bit.

As a true gentleman, Rafayel helped you out of the car shortly after. Together, with much more ease than the first time you’d carried the body together—practice really does make perfect—you lifted the corpse towards the very edge of the cliff. Your eyes locked for a second. He glanced between you and the ocean beneath you two, the wild waves hitting the bottom of the cliff. Rafayel waited, and it didn’t take long for the body to land in the deep waters after your nod of confirmation finally came.

A silence hung in the air between you as the corpse floated away, washed away further and further from the shore and towards the Deep Sea. It would never resurface again; Rafayel would make sure of it. He tore his eyes away from the ocean first, which was unusual, as he was normally the one to gaze a little longer at the place he once called home, but he did so regardless—to look at the one he now called home. He huffed, the thought he used to carry now seemed so ridiculous.

“I thought you were cheating on me,” he confessed.

Immediately, you looked at him, the sea long-forgotten. “I could never.”

He smiled. It was so small, any person that wasn’t you wouldn’t even notice the way the corners of his mouth were slightly curled upwards. “I know,” he said, and paused. “It didn’t even feel right. The thought of it, I mean. I just couldn’t comprehend it, but you were acting sooo sketchy, really it’s a miracle you haven’t been cau—Ouch! Hey, hey, hey, I’m not one of your vic—Hey!”

Rafayel laughed. Truly laughed, all while taking the playful hits to his chest. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and a dimple on his right cheek appeared. “Alright, enough, enough,” he said, still chuckling, and grabbed your wrist when you went in for another swipe at him.

You giggled, and if Rafayel had to choose between hearing another siren’s singing, something that has been deemed the most beautiful melody in the world, or your blissful laughter—he would forever choose the latter. With a lovesick smile on his face, he tugged on your wrist and gently guided you towards him. You bumped into his chest, eyes twinkling in the moonlight as your laughter dialled down into a careful smile upon eye-contact with him. For a few seconds, you merely allowed yourselves to get lost in the other’s embrace, relishing in their closeness; and not just on a physical level.

“I’m sorry,” you said, breaking the silence. “For making you feel that way. It was never my intention.”

Rafayel shrugged. “S’okay,” he mumbled, and caressed your cheek. He frowned, noticing the specks of blood that now lay underneath his thumb; dirtying your soft skin. “Trust me, you more than made up for it.”

You huffed, a little flustered still at his discovery. Your cheek felt hot under his touch, which was an indication of your sheepishness. Rafayel wouldn’t have immediately guessed it otherwise. Your sigh in relief captured his attention, slightly popping the peaceful little bubble you two had created together at the cliffside. Quietly, while he was still busy caressing your cheek (and assessing the other spots you’d managed to get blood on), you decided to take the opportunity and ask him what you’d been thinking of since the drive over.

“Who did you kill?”

Rafayel paused for a moment. He wet his lips, thinking about his answer. “. . .Dunno,” he said eventually. It was the truth. “I don’t remember their names. Some of them, I never learned.”

He felt your reach for his hand. Looking down, he smiled as he watched you intertwine them; your smaller hand wrapped around his larger one, and you started playing with his fingers. Cute, again.

“And, why? Why did you. . .”

“The world is filled with bad people,” he said, purposefully keeping his answer a little vague. Your eyebrows furrowed at him, mind hard at work trying to decipher his words. “Some of them try their hand at hurting the ones I hold dear, others think they have the right to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Rafayel caught the exact moment his words had been figured out. Your features softened, and a small, loving smile took place on your lips. “I see,” you said, clearing your throat. Though you did your best at hiding the flattery you felt, it still didn’t escape his keen eye. Certainly not when he’d been feeling the exact same way all evening.

The only two that Rafayel had killed for; you, and Lemuria. You, and his home. However, the longer he looked at you, the more the line between you and the word ‘home’ started to blur. Rafayel sighed. What a night. His movements seized—his thumb no longer caressing your cheek—instead he moved it so he was cupping your chin. Little by little, he guided you towards him, watching with a fond smile as your eyes fluttered shut, before leaning down and pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips.

That familiar flame that always appeared when you’d allow him to kiss you showed itself again, a fire in him that was so different from the one he’d make himself, so very different from his Evol. Though, it was the one he greatly preferred. Rafayel let out a soft groan against your lips, the sound travelling from his mouth to yours, it seemed, considering you echoed it right back at him. He had to put an end to this, or he’d be taking you right here, on this cliff.

He was panting when he pulled back, as were you. A string of spit connected the two of you, and Rafayel gave you another chaste kiss to get rid of it. You nuzzled your nose against his in response, and it made him smile; brightly, boyishly, and incredibly mischievously. He looked at you again, utterly enamoured.

“Alright,” he cleared his throat. Looking you up and down, he stole another peck in-between his smiles. “Let’s get you home, you insane cutie.”

Rafayel’s reaction, or rather lack thereof, had been a surprise. Not an unwelcome one, no, certainly not, but a surprise nonetheless.

Admittedly, your heart had gotten stuck in your throat upon noticing his arrival in the alleyway, and within seconds, your mind conjured up every possible doomsday-scenario. Fleeting images of your wedding bands laying discarded on the kitchen isle, of your hand being held by his own to force the signing of divorce papers, and of flashing lights as the police came to take you away after Rafayel proclaimed his wife to be a psychopath came rushing in immediately.

Luckily, they stayed just that—Fleeting.

Your ring finger was still, and forever will be, adorned by a personally, hand-carved gemstone that was entirely too big for it. It stayed where it belonged, as did Rafayel’s own ring. The word divorce hadn’t been so much as mentioned, let alone been given serious thought. And the police. . .the police were still left grasping at straws, aimlessly chasing leads that will bring them nowhere.

As for your husband, he was rather touchy. More so than usual. The kiss shared at the cliffside was the suspected denominator, as he started sneaking in lingering touches wherever he could reach after that; a featherlight brush over your thighs as he fastened your seatbelt, a subtle kiss to your cheek as he pulled away from you, and the firm clasp on your hand as soon as you’d gotten out of the car.

Rafayel seemed restless. Again. It’d been a good while since he acted this way, with the most recent occasion being a few years ago in the desert of Aridum. The mere memory of it brought back a familiar ache deep within you. Clearing your throat, you removed yourself from his side upon entering the studio. You shook your head, as if that would make the impure thoughts suddenly disappear.

“I, uhm, I’m going to take a quick shower,” you said. The dried blood clung to your skin, it felt sticky, and gross, and you couldn’t wait to wash it off.

Rafayel hummed, feigning interest in the envelopes that lay on the hallway table. More invitations, no doubt. You sincerely doubted he’d attend any of the exhibitions, but (as of today) it turned out he had a knack for surprising you, so, who knew?

Unable to tear your eyes away immediately, you allowed yourself a moment to admire your husband; his fair complexion, those pretty purple locks that you, at first, believed to be dyed, his delicate features that made you want to kiss him all over, and most of all, the twisted mind that hid behind his angelic exterior. One that perfectly mirrored yours.

You smiled. Oh, how lucky you are.

Looking away from him proved to be a very conscious effort, one that required all your willpower, but one that was carried out nonetheless as your awareness of the filth lathered across your body continued to grow by the second. You needed it off you, now. With that thought, you finally left Rafayel in the entryway and rushed into the main bathroom.

Once inside, your hand hovered over the door handle; over its lock, specifically. After doing this so often, locking the door behind you had become customary—something akin to a reflex. Only on nights like these, did you instantly lock the bathroom to bar Rafayel from entering. Him seeing the blood wash down the drain was a recurrent fear of yours, after all. However, this time things were different.

This time, there was no need to lock the door.

You blinked, still looking at the door handle. Your thoughts ran rampant, almost too fast for even you to keep up with. Your grasp tightened and loosened on the handle, on its lock, tightened, loosened, tightened, loosened, in an endless loop, until you finally decided to push it down and open the door again. It’s hinge made a soft clicking sound, and then the door was left ajar.

Not locked. Not closed but unlocked. Ajar. Something you’d only ever dreamt of doing on a night like this.

The implications of it sent a shiver down your spine, and a subtle excitement started to brew in your stomach. Setting up the bait was always easy, as Rafayel was more than eager to hook himself to anything that even remotely involved you. Though, for tonight, you wondered if it would work its magic like always—if you’d still be able to reel in your prized catch.

Only time would tell.

You exhaled, and walked towards the mirror. Leaning your palms onto the sink, you took a moment to gather yourself and comprehend what exactly had just happened. The waiter, Rafayel, the strange yet surprisingly effective bonding moment of disposing of a body together, the kiss he’d given you on top of that cliff—that kiss, you would never come to understand, you thought, as you scrunched up your nose once you finally laid eyes on your appearance.

It wasn’t that your frazzled state came as a surprise. They were all sights you’d seen before. Yourself covered in someone’s blood, with a murderous glint in your eyes and your hair a tousled mess. No, what surprised you was Rafayel’s willingness to kiss you despite you resembling something that had crawled out of a sewer. What a darling, truly.

The thought of your husband made you smile again. With a silly, lovesick little grin you undressed yourself, and finally sought some much needed reprieve under the soothing, hot stream of the shower. In an instant, all the tension in your muscles disappeared and you breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, over time, the water underneath your feet started to turn a soft red as the blood came off your skin and washed down the drain. It made you feel much cleaner, even before touching a single bar of soap.

When bringing your hands down and away from your face, your breath hitched in your throat as you suddenly felt a pair of hands settle on your waist. It worked, you thought immediately. Your heart stuttered in excitement, and the familiar flutter of butterflies appeared in your stomach as Rafayel pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your temple. You sighed in relief. It still worked. Your murderous escapades hadn’t deterred him one bit.

His fingers gently collected your hair in their grasp, gathering all the strands before he kissed your (now blood-less) check. “Let me wash your hair,” he whispered, his breath feeling hot on your ear.

“Mhm,” you hummed softly.

He was here. He was here, and he was warm, and gentle, and loving, and that mere fact of the matter sent a thrill up your spine. Rafayel truly didn’t seem to care. If you were a little bolder, you’d dare to say he even enjoyed the revelation he had tonight. Though, it was best not to jump to conclusions. Being flattered was still a far cry from enjoying it. However, it was much better than your initial scenario. A win is a win.

You let out a relieved sigh. Rafayel’s fingers in your hair, massaging your scalp, and carefully rinsing out the shampoo, a gesture so simple, yet it never failed to soothe your fraying nerves. It almost felt like you ascended to Heaven when your darling Lemurian started humming a soft tune. His song echoed through the ever-damp bathroom, the lullaby carried from one of your ears to the other and back again. You’d never understood the appeal of sirens, not until you met your own.

“You always sound so beautiful,” you mumbled in awe. With your eyes closed, your other senses sharpened and you could feel and hear him chuckle against the shell of your ear again.

Rafayel kissed your temple once more. “So I’ve been told,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. Teasing, because the only person he ever willingly sang for, and therefore told him such, was right in front of him. You huffed, lips curling up into a smile. “Hair’s all done, my love.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It truly wasn’t fair how easily he could do that to you; Just by uttering a nickname. My love. It wasn’t something he called you on a daily basis. With good reason, as it was usually loaded with meaning, with passion—only uttered on the days where Rafayel felt the all-consuming need to intertwine the essence of his very soul with yours so you two may never part, to crawl underneath your skin and live out his days happily in the confinement of your ribcage if it meant an eternity of being close to you.

You hadn’t expected to hear it today.

Your expression told him as much. With widened eyes, and a hitch in your breathing, you spun around in his arms, frantically searching for his gaze. Rafayel was already looking at you. His eyes carried a swirl of emotion you hadn’t seen in there before, not at the same time. They were warm, and adoring, and happy, and at ease, as if something inside him finally found the missing piece he’d been searching for; they held all that, and more, with bouts of possessiveness shining through, and the piercing glint of them felt as if he was staring straight into the very depths of your soul—as if he was, perhaps for the first time ever, truly seeing you.

All of you. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the darkness you’d tried so hard to hide.

. . .And yet, he never looked away.

You blinked, and so did he. Rafayel brought one hand up to cup your cheek, tilting your face upwards while his other one made sure to firmly situate itself around your waist. He pressed your flush against him, chest to chest, and you released a shaky breath as you felt the hardness of him against your stomach. The longing for him intensified, and your legs started to weaken as you felt bits of his pre-cum staining your wet skin. You wanted him, and it seemed that, even after all of this, he, too still desperately craved you.

“My dearest,” he spoke up again. He kept his gentle hold on your cheek, making it so you couldn’t look away from him even if you tried. That was of no problem to you, as you never felt the desire to do so, anyway. You hummed, eyes briefly fluttering shut in bliss as you felt his other hand caressing your back so very lovingly. “May I…”

“Please,” you choked out. It sounded depraved, and under any other circumstances you might have felt the urge to be embarrassed.

However, it was all Rafayel needed to hear. His lips were on yours before your mind could catch up. They were soft, and familiar, and tasted vaguely of the sweet cotton candy the two of you had snagged on the way home from the art exhibition earlier today. It was a stark contrast to the way he was kissing you; as the kiss was bruising, deep and passionate as if the air in the room could only be given to him through the reprieve of your mouth on his—as if you were the oxygen he breathed. It felt as if he were stealing the air in your lungs and transporting it to his own, as you got more and more out of breath by the second.

“M—hm,” you grunted, as an attempt to catch your breath without having to pull back too much. He felt so incredibly good, and parting from him seemed far worse than succumbing to the lack of air in your lungs.

As always happened whenever Rafayel kissed you, you suddenly became keenly aware of his very being; of the very palpable presence of him, even with your eyes closed, you identified the soft flutter of his lashes against your cheeks, the texture of his skin underneath your fingers, the pressure of his lips against yours, and the roaming of his hands from your waist down to the back of your thighs.

He was here. He was real. And he was yours.

Rafayel pulled back first, the moment so brief that it didn’t even give him the time to gloat about the fact that you desperately chased after him, and gave both of you no more than a second to breath before connecting you two again; deeper this time, as he nudged your mouth open and swiftly slid his tongue inside.

The moan you let out was involuntary, as was the short squeak that slipped out as Rafayel suddenly grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you off the ground. Your protests got stifled by him deepening the kiss, and he greedily swallowed the mixture of groans and hisses you let out as you felt the cold tiles of the shower wall against your skin. Any complaint you had melted away like snow underneath the sun, completely distracted by the searing onslaught of his lips. And still, you wanted him to be even closer.

Your hands reached up to his hair, and tangled in the wet strands. The gentleness you usually reserved for him was briefly forgotten as you tugged on his locks with a little too much force, the need for him overpowering you. Rafayel let out a groan, and adjusted your legs around his waist. With them firmly wrapped around him, your bodies fully pressed together, you could finally feel him in its entirety.

His heavy, needy cock brushed against your sticky folds, and your breath hitched in your throat as you felt it smear some warm pre-cum against the underside of your ass. When he pulled back from the kiss, Rafayel’s cheeks donned a fiery red colour, his quick pants brushed against your lips, and just as you were about to plead with him to get a move on—he suddenly brought his fingers to your mouth.

Rafayel waited. His digits rested against your lips, waiting for you to open your mouth and welcome them in there like you had done many times before; waiting for you to suck on them, to get them nice and wet before he used them to spread you open and get you ready for him. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that the two of you were underneath the shower and that they, therefore, were already wet.

Though, on a night such as tonight, you didn’t crave his fingers. You craved him.

With a shake of your head, you pushed his fingers away.

It surprised him, clearly, as he tilted his head to the side. “No?” He asked, an eyebrow raised. An amused smirk settled on his lips, and he playfully tapped your lips with his index finger. “You sure?”

“Very,” you said, nearly immediately, and used your hold on his shoulders to pull him tighter against you. It startled him a bit, as he had to adjust his hold on you. You granted him little time to gather his bearings, and grinded your cunt onto the base of his cock. Rafayel stifled a groan, tensing up at the feeling and squeezing the fat of your ass as a reflex. “Your fingers won’t be enough this time. I want you. I want you now, Rafayel.”

In any other circumstances, he’d make you work for it. He would choose to tease you a bit here, throw in a taunt there—this time, however, the neediness you felt was shared.

“Fuck, okay,” he breathed, sighing, as if that would make him catch his breath any faster. “Yeah, okay, c’mere, princess.”

He stole another moan from you with the bruising kiss he pressed against your lips, and another one as he kissed you again, and again, and again, until he pulled back again to rest his forehead against yours. One of his hands trailed downwards, in-between your bodies, and wrapped around his hard cock, its normally soft-ish pink tip now an angry shade of red. He stroked himself a couple of times, and let out a low moan as your hand accompanied his and started moving in sync with him.

Each pump of his cock was joined by another profanity, and when you were confident he’d muttered all the curse words underneath the sun, you lined him up with your entrance—only for him to switch to Lemurian and continue his array of colourful words. Rafayel was forming a knack for surprising you, it seemed.

“Please, just. . .” You trail off, biting down on your lower lip as you felt his tip slowly, painfully slowly, start to breach your entrance. You attempted to guide yourself forward, to feel every part of him within you sooner, but he didn’t allow you to; his firm hold on you prevented you from moving even so much as an inch. “Let me have you, please.”

“You have me,” Rafayel said, tearing his gaze away from where the two of you were slowly becoming one so he could look into your eyes. His lips found yours again, as they have many times this night, and he greedily lapped up every sound you let out as he finally drove himself into you fully. Spit, kisses, soft moans, and high-pitched whimpers got exchanged between the two of you as Rafayel bottomed out inside you. “You got that? You have me. All of me.”

“All of you,” you echoed.

The pink and blue hues in his eyes started swirling together, creating an imagery that once again made you aware of the otherworldly beauty your dear husband possessed—which was a given, of course, as he truly was from another world. You sighed in bliss, and Rafayel started moving at last once he deemed enough time to have passed for you to adjust to him; since you always had to, no matter how often you’d taken him already. The stretch had become familiar, yes, but in no way had it seized to exist.

“All of me,” he confirmed, and started to set a proper pace.

It wasn’t rough, or hard, or fast, but god, was it deep—as if he were pouring a fragment of his very essence into you with each thrust. Pulling out all the way, just to fuck himself in even deeper; over and over and over again. He made sure to savour every little feeling, to feel each and every ridge of your inner walls, and allowing you to feel every vein on his lengthy cock. And even though you’d had sex with Rafayel plenty of times before, somehow this felt as if it were the firs time all over again.

In a way, it was. For the first time, you made love while truly knowing every single inch of the other’s inner workings—while really knowing the other. Leaving that door ajar hadn’t just opened the bathroom door. It left space for a deeper connection to form, for a vulnerability to show that both of you had kept so well-hidden before.

The fear of losing the other.

Whether it was to other people, or to (seemingly) unknown dangers didn’t matter. That fear had driven you both to show exactly how far either of you would go to make sure it would never come to fruition.

Rafayel’s pretty moans graced your ears and pulled you out of your daydream, guiding you back to the present with him and making you aware of the steam that’d started to form in the bathroom. You nearly couldn’t see a thing, only able to make out Rafayel—which was all that you needed to, truly.

“F—Fuck, you feel so good, I. . .” He panted. Another plethora of Lemurian rambles slipped past his lips, and under different circumstances you’d try your hand at understanding it; with your limited but ever-growing knowledge of the language. “Fuck, I—I love you.”

“I love you,” you told him, making sure to push as much of your love for him into those three words. You wanted him to feel it, rather than just hear it. He gave a particularly nasty thrust at that, one that caused his tip to bump into rather sensitive spot of yours. You whined, and dug your nails into his shoulder blades to steady yourself. “So much, yeah? F—fuck, I love you so much, Rafayel.”

He groaned at the feeling of your nails digging into his back. “So much,” he repeated your words. Almost like a mantra. “So much, so much, so much, ah—!” Rafayel rambled, each case followed closely by another rut into your tight heat.

Overcome by pleasure, you nearly missed the way his bond mark started to glow a faint red. Nearly, of course, being the keyword. Your heart immediately fluttered at the sight; At the eternal reminder of his belonging to you. A shaky hand of yours found its way to his collarbone, engulfing the mark as a surge of possessiveness coursed through you.

“All of you,” you mumbled again. You could feel Rafayel’s heartbeat underneath your palm, directly underneath the mark. It was erratic, and it skipped a beat when he gave a harsh thrust upon noticing your hand on his chest. “A—All mine.”

Rafayel placed one of his hands on yours, while the other helped keep you upright. “All, ah, all yours, my love,” he stammered, and you could tell that he started to near his end by the way his grip on your hand started to falter.

But, your darling husband was a romantic down to his very bones, and would rarely allow himself to indulge in the wicked sin of cumming first. It was something he saved for those lust-filled nights where you were in control, with him entirely at your mercy—but, as it was, tonight was not one of those nights. And so, Rafayel slowed down his pace to prolong his release. While his speed went down, the intensity of his thrusts stayed the same. Deep, hard strokes hit into that same, familiar spot within you that only his cock has ever been able to reach.

The hand that had been tenderly wrapped around yours dropped down in-between your legs, seeking out your clit to intensify the euphoria coursing through your veins. Each rub, flick and pinch against it was calculated, given in such a way that Rafayel knew would make you keen under his touch. With him being so intimately familiar with every inch of your body, it didn’t take him particularly long to drive you further towards the edge; and he greedily drank up every one of your moans, even when they’d started to pick up in pitch.

“I’m. . .Raf, I—!” You gasped against his mouth, but he silenced you almost immediately by pressing a firm kiss against your lips.

“I know,” he said, panting against you. Another kiss was given to you, and another, and another, and you squealed as he started picking up the pace again. “I know.”

Because of course he does. There wasn’t a person out there who knew you better than him, nor was there anybody else who knew him better than you.

“Don’t stop, please,” You said. Your voice didn’t make it further than a breathy whisper, with you being nearly out of breath. Both your hands cupped his face and you held him as close to you as possible. “I love you so much.”

Rafayel let out a strangled whine at that. Your walls clenched around him, and your fingers tangled from his nape up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Once there, the soft tugs you gave on them sent a shiver down his spine—and a sharp whimper left him the second you came around him and tugged harshly on the purple-ish strands.

“Ah,” he hissed, the muscles in his body tensing as he felt the way your walls sucked him in with an amount of greed he’d never seen before. “Fu—Love you, l—love you, so. . .ah, f—fuck!”

There was little he could do except for tumble right over the edge alongside you.

Your blissful melody sounded through the bathroom, moans weaving together to create the most beautiful song while the two of you got lost in each other. Rafayel’s hand faltered against your clit, biding you some reprieve to come down from your own high, as he let himself go and filled you up as much as he could.

Long, thick ropes of his cum seeped into you, nearly straight into your womb as Rafayel’s tip sat snug against your cervix. Some of his seed started dripping down your leg as he came, and came, and came, and unloaded every drop of his most intense orgasm to date into you. It almost felt never-ending, but nothing truly is—so when he finally did finish, he was out of breath, a little disoriented and nearly entirely flushed red. His chest was heaving upwards rapidly, and he let out a deep sigh as he rested his forehead against yours.

Neither of you had any air left to give. Still, you sought out the other for a kiss.

It was no longer as charged as before, though. It was soft, and loving, and so delicate; as if both of you were afraid of hurting the other if you were to be too harsh. Rafayel nudged his nose against your own, an action that made you giggle.

It was the only movement between you two for a good while, both of you choosing to relish in the other’s closeness for just a little longer. When it was time to finally pull away from you, Rafayel (begrudgingly) made the first move to.

He pulled out of you slowly, and you nearly let out a whine at the emptiness that washed over you because of it. All that you were left with was his release partially inside you, with the rest of it clinging to the inside of your thighs. Rafayel huffed in amusement, a small entertained smirk curling at the end of his lips as he watched your reaction. Finding it cute, he pressed a sweet kiss to your cheekbone before carefully putting you back onto the ground.

“Careful,” he chirped, noticing how you struggled to remain upright with your shaky legs. One of his hands quickly rested on your waist to steady you, and his smirk widened.

You tried to scoff in annoyance, but failed miserably due to the smile that crept up your face. “Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled instead, watching as Rafayel’s usual bravado gradually made its return; the intensity of the moment you shared slowly fading away.

Though, despite that, you still felt impossibly closer to him.

Rafayel looked at you. His head tilted to the side, and a few of his fingers gently brushed over your collarbone to wipe away a few of the droplets of water laying on your skin. A futile effort, really, as more and more fell on you anyway considering you were still underneath the hot shower.

“Let me wash your body, too,” he said. “Please?”

With all that had happened, you nearly forgot that you’d gotten into the shower to clean yourself. And so, you gave Rafayel a quick nod and watched as he happily reached for the vanilla and caramel-scented soaps and shower gels before getting to work.

He touched your body with the utmost care. Every inch of you got caressed in a way that not just left your skin clean, but also left your heart full. After each part was done, Rafayel pressed a kiss to an area there—from your arms, to your shoulder blades, to your nape, to your lower legs, and to your stomach and thighs. Nevermind that he had to kneel in front of you to reach certain points, he did it without a fuss.

It was clear to you then. Rafayel loved you. Absolutely every part of you was thoroughly adored and revered by the man in front of you.

You felt like the luckiest person in the world.

And then, as if it were simply like any other night, the two of you fell into your familiar routine. With you dressing yourself into one of his shirts, and him only putting on a black pair of boxers, and with the two of you goofing off in front of the bathroom mirror while brushing your teeth. Rafayel dried your hair like he did on every other night and then tucked the two of you into bed, making sure that the covers were snugly wrapped around your bodies.

You sighed, head laying on his chest. The starry sky was entirely visible, with little to no clouds in the way of them, and Rafayel’s sunroof allowing you a perfect view of them.

What a day.

Rafayel held you in his arms. You felt as if that was were you always belonged. Basking in his presence, admiring the stars above you while he gently traced silly patterns on your back (seriously, you thought you’d identified a fish, a butterfly and a squirrel). Though, despite the increasing amount of peacefulness that settled upon you—there was one thing still bothering you.

“How did you know where I was?”

“Hm?” Rafayel hummed, pausing his tracing. It seemed his mind buffered a bit, as it took him a few seconds before he answered. “Oh, there’s a tracker on your car.”

It’s as if you asked him what he’d had for dinner; the airiness in his voice something he’d usually only reserve for the most mundane questions.

“You—!” You stuttered, a little bewildered at the ease with which he made his confession. Though, in hindsight, you shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t the first time. “First it was my suitcase, now it’s my car. . .How many trackers do you have?”

It was meant as a joke.

“Seven, but one of them got destroyed when you decided to walk through a heavy downpour without an umbrella, so, six are left,” Rafayel answered anyway.

You blinked, and he tapped the tip of your nose with a small smile. “You’re insane,” you concluded.

Rafayel tilted his head to the side, with an eyebrow raised. “You kill people who stand too close to me,” he said matter-of-factly.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “I—you—you make me sound so deranged,” you grumbled, attempting to defend yourself at least a little. The warmth on your cheeks spread out to the tips of your ears when you felt Rafayel laugh; it was a knowing laugh, a chuckle that called your bluff. “I’m not! I swear, I’m not entirely unreasonable. Of course, you can speak to other people. Some of them, though. . .”

“Yes?”

He was enjoying this way too much. Too much cheerfulness was in his voice to be considered normal. You didn’t know whether to be relived or find the nearest rock to crawl under out of embarrassment, because, yeah, it did sound a little unhinged. You gently hit him in the chest, as if that would get rid of the smug smile forming on his lips.

“They’re just so rude,” you mumbled, scrunching up your nose. Rafayel hummed in agreement, sensing some truth in your words. “Other than being overly familiar with you, they also bat their eyelashes, touch your arm, playfully hit your chest. . .´

“Like you just did?”

“Yes, exactly, like I just did—your wife,” you said, making sure to put a great emphasis on the very last word of your sentence. Rafayel’s smile grew in size. “And it just seems like they don’t care for that fact at all. Even after I arrive, or even after they see your ring, they don’t seem to be deterred at all.”

Rafayel hummed. He grabbed your hand, intertwining it with his own. “And that bothers you?”

“Immensely,” you said, eyebrows furrowed at the mere thought of it. You glanced at your husband, your previous disdain-filled look making way for a questioning one. “I mean, you’re mine, aren’t you?”

He smiled. Your seeking of reassurance was adorable, and Rafayel would gladly give it to you every single time. With his arms wrapped tightly around you, he held you against his chest and rested his chin on top of your head after pressing a light kiss to your crown. His way of confirming that, yes, he definitely was.

“My crazy wife,” he mumbled, sighing happily. Your inability to deny his statement left you feeling a little sheepish. “Oh, how I adore my crazy wife.”

A crazy wife, and her equally crazy husband.

You snuggled closer to Rafayel, a peaceful smile on your lips.

Yes, the two of you sure make quite the pair.

[eclipixels]

Rafayel NSFW Audio

Rafayel x Listener

Content: You invite Rafayel into bed to help you sleep but ya'll end up fucking. What'd you expect? (Fingering, handjob, blowjob, cunnilingus, eventual sex)

A/N: This took my the whole fucking day to make 😭 I didn't even get to log into L&DS today. I will right after I post this. 😝 Can you believe I got all these voice lines from the game? Anyway, pls enjoy as I do ts for free but if you fw it, give me a follow 🫶🏾 lemme know if you wanna be moots 😙😘 MWUAHH

Wanings: 🍋

[burningmoonus]

the valentine's event memes. Bc why not?