#rafayel qi fluff

[beneathashadytree]

THREE CONFESSIONS - RAFAYEL QI X READER

Warnings : spoilers for his date from the last event, references to his Lemurian nature & myths, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : so much tooth-rotting fluff <3

Word count : 1.5K words (oops)

Additional notes : This was a combination of 3 lovely suggestions I received for Rafayel. Writer’s block sucks sometimes☹️ But I’m actually quite proud of this!! Hope you guys like it🫶🏽🫶🏽

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Masterlist

Rafayel’s tongue wasn’t used to the saccharine sweetness that they made him want to spout.

He was a fighter; a man—who wasn’t a man, not really—who bled for his people and burned like a flame that would never be put out. He lashed out, like a beast that couldn’t be tamed, and struck true, like a blade that never rusted. Though objectively he knew he was beautiful, he always saw himself as having that sort of fierce beauty; a contradictory sharpness and roughness lying in his soft siren-like features.

But somehow, those edges of his were rounded to a gentleness he’d never known himself to possess. All for one person, the very same person who’d managed to tame him first had laid claim to his heart—or what’s left of it. It made him want to do the unthinkable; made him want to speak the words he’d never thought he’d even want to say.

It wasn’t easy to go against your very nature, though. Sparkling daggers didn’t turn into smooth silk over night. So maybe it was the coward’s way out, but he thought the best way to ease himself into it was to devise a new plan, based on 3 things he’d learnt through simple observation and his keen eyes.

1- The way to one’s heart is through their stomach.

“C’mon, let me have it,” Rafayel whined, trying to pry their hands off the bowl that they seemed to have glued to their fingertips. He had not accounted for them being this strong (not that he had it in him to fight harder and potentially hurt them, anyways), nor had he accounted for them joining him as he was baking for them.

Gritting their teeth, they pushed back against him, protectively covering the bowl. “No. I will not let you eat raw cookie dough when you just got food poisoning last week.”

“Oh, but you would’ve let me have it if I had been perfectly fine?” he asked, a challenge in his voice as he arched his eyebrow. “So it’s not on principle of looking out for me then. Some bodyguard you are.” He dramatically waved them off, earning a roll of their eyes.

Unable to help himself, he smiled a little. Maybe every single one of their micro-reactions stung his torn and fractured heart, and maybe he liked it. Maybe the idea of spending the rest of his days bickering like this made his face flush, forcing him to turn to the fridge to hide it.

Maybe.

“You’ve got bonito flakes?” he asked, beginning to dig through their drawers.

“Figured you’d wanna snack,” they snorted, and he heard them set aside the bowl and rummage through their cupboard. “You always get hungry while baking.”

“Hey, are you saying I’m gaining weight?” Rafayel furrowed his eyebrows and turned back around to them. “For your information, I just wanted to add them to the cookie dough. Brand new flavor, it’s gonna be incredible. Trust me on this.”

Horror washed over their features at that, and their hands caught his arms in a vice like grip, an almost wild look in their eyes. “Don’t you even dare, you baking heathen.”

2- Sincere gifts speak volumes from the heart.

“Are we getting any closer?” they asked, shuffling slowly after him on the sand. Though Rafayel was tempted to do anything they asked of him (one of his baser instincts, he supposed, though this had nothing to do with being Lemurian), he still kept them blindfolded and tugged them along the beach.

And so what if a not-so-small part of him was just looking for an excuse to keep holding their hand? He wasn’t embarrassed about that—even if his blush said otherwise.

“Almost… two more steps actua—yeah, right here.” Much to his own disappointment, he was forced to let go of them in order to unveil his surprise for them. Maybe his hands shook a little as he removed the sheet and stabilized it, and maybe he was grateful for the fact that they couldn’t see how nervous he was.

But now that he’d taken their blindfold off and stood to the side, he’d never been more terrified to present his work in his entire life. There he was, baring his heart on a canvas, and there they were—

With a gasp, their hands flew to their mouth, and he could swear that there were no prettier jewels in the world than their teary eyes as they stared at his painting against the backdrop of the sunset reflecting on the ocean.

A vibrant painting of them in all the most passionate hues; the essence of their very soul captured in that breathtaking way of his and immortalized on a canvas. In a way, he’d breathed new life into them, gifting them some of his own years and they possessed all of his.

Nervously rubbing the back of his neck, he looked away. “You deserved something for your last mission. Something more than just empty praise.” Their silence only encouraged more of his rambling. “It’s not an exact portrait, of course, more of an interpretation. Just the way I—”

He didn’t get the time to spiral, because they threw themself into his arms before he could even continue his sentence, squeezing him tightly in their embrace.

“It’s stunning. Thank you, Raf.”

3- Words carry weight.

“If I used your name, would you do whatever I asked of you?” they quietly asked, the gentle breeze fluttering through their clothes.

For a few moments, Rafayel was silent. What was there to say, when someone asked you if they had full control over you? Dare you admit it and risk being hurt by them? Or would you hide the truth out of self-preservation?

“Yes.” The former. He tried to lighten the somberness of the moment by weakly joking. “But it doesn’t mean I’ll go down without a fight.”

Another silence. This time, he couldn’t tell what they were thinking. It scared him; Gods, it did. Then—

��Hold my hand, Rafayel.”

How foolish of them, to ask for something he’d so readily give them for no reason. Did they have no idea how his heart always roared to life everytime their hands were entwined? Hadn’t they noticed how reluctant he always was to let them slip through his fingers?

“You’re silly,” he tried to admonish them, though there was no malice whatsoever behind his words. Instead, immense fondness filled his eyes as he gently obeyed, every brush of his skin against theirs deliberate and careful. His thumb stroked the back of their hand, and soon it felt like everything were right in this world, right then and there.

He couldn’t walk away from their gaze. Not when they looked at him as though he was the most heavenly creature of the ocean.

“Now come closer.” For some reason, they sounded as though they were begging with a desperation that even words couldn’t conceal. “Let me really see you, Rafayel.”

And he did nothing, except inch forward a little. After all, what was there to do, when he’d already stood naked before them, his heart bare and his entire being open? There wasn’t anything else left for him to do to show just how vulnerable he made himself for them.

“You already do,” he softly smiled, an aching tenderness filling up his chest as he gazed at them. Gods, he’d never get enough of them, no matter how much time had passed. Amidst the sweet scent of the blooming flowers of the garden, and the gentle sunrays kissing every inch of their beautiful face, they were truly a vision straight out of his most wishful dreams.

Not looking away, not even for a second, they gripped his hand tighter. “Rafayel, just… tell me you—”

A finger against the plush of their lips silenced them, and he met their confused gaze with a shake of his head. Affection brimmed through his touch and overflowed, unable to keep it hidden any longer. “Don’t. You shouldn’t use my name to ask me to do something I want to do myself.”

Rafayel could feel their shaky breath leave them, and he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, impossible fondness lacing his voice and entwining with every single syllable he devoted to them; always them, only ever them. “I love you. With every part of me.”

Yearning seared through his blood, and he could almost sigh in relief as they leaned further into him. “I—Rafayel…” Rendered speechless, their eyelashes fluttered slowly, heavy gaze flitting between his intense eyes and his lips. Two breaths mingling with each other, hearts entwined like clambering vines—somehow, nature had made them so in-sync that they fell into a familiar beat engraved in their souls.

If he could stay like this forever with them, he’d immortalize the unadulterated, peaceful happiness he felt surging inside of him. For the first time in his life, Rafayel felt that he was made to love; made to rest his weary bones, and finally retract his sharp nails and let himself grow soft in their hands.

For once, both his Lemurian blood and his human soul burned for the very same thing—the person who owned him completely, and someone he willingly gave himself over to.

He couldn’t stand the little distance between them any longer. “Let me show you that for the rest of our lives,” he mumbled against their lips, before letting his all-consuming adoration engulf them both.

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[mephisto-reporting]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous.  His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[umamaki]

tw: NSFW, explicit smut, consensual violence, color system for consent, choking, breath play, hair pulling, dacryphilia, spanking, rough sex, markings (bruises, hickies, biting), bdsm i think, things of that nature

Rafayel doesn’t really hide the fact that he is a violent man. He doesn’t hide it when he sees your cute face and can’t help but feel the most intense cuteness aggression towards you. 

Greets you at his house and immediately has his head in his hands and jaw clenched tight, completely overwhelmed with the surge of emotions. He’s used to acting on his impulses, this is no different. 

The way he kisses you is telling enough. Once he feels your lips on his, a switch flips in his mind and he suddenly can’t get enough of you. Keeping you in place with his large hand holding the back of your head, kissing you with enough pressure that your teeth clash together and you reflexively walk backwards. Devours your lips to where you can’t recover fast enough to reciprocate his kisses.

Loves the way you look now, laying below him, face framed by his two hands leaving a bruising grip on your neck. Thinks it’s even cuter to see you struggle to take in breaths while he fucks the stamina out of you, letting you get a little dizzy before releasing you and fucking you impossibly harder as you try to regain your breath.

Otherwise, his hands are typically squeezing your ass, hips, tits, thighs. Gives him so much satisfaction to see your pretty body covered in darkening marks in the shape of his hands. 

Fucks you rough while the sweetest praises are coming out of his mouth. 

“You’re so cute, baby. You know that?” He coos while ramming his dick into your sopping cunt from behind. Watches your arched form below him, body jerking with each thrust and spank he gives you. Pulls you by your hair so you can turn your head just enough to lock eyes with him as you cum.

Thinks you’re even cuter with tears streaming down your face, makeup all messed up and a whimpering mess because of him. “Awh cutie, don’t cry. I know what’ll make you feel better,” he’ll say with faux comfort, only plunging his cock into you further.

Rafayel’s an artist, but he can’t decide if he likes the process or result of marking you up more. So shameless in how satisfied it makes him, seeing you covered up in developing bruises and bite marks. He’s a perfectionist, makes it all symmetrical. 

“Patience, baby, I haven’t even gotten to your left side yet,” even you’re pawing at his chest from the overstimulation.

He wants you to tell him to stop, tell him to control himself. The problem is, you’re enjoying this just as much as he is. 

“What color.” It’s less of a question and more of a demand, strained through his gritted teeth. Green, you’ll say, and he’ll grasp your chin so you’re looking at him. Makes you say it again, just to make sure his arousal and preoccupation isn’t clouding his hearing. It isn’t. Your color is still green. He gains confidence with the confirmation, makes it his mission that you’ll wake up sore the next morning. 

[sofiaswrittendelusions]

“His to break, his to save.”

synopsis: “He pushed you, Caleb made him kneel.”

Warnings: Silly little unhinged Caleb 😍

The shove is small. Almost nothing.

But to Caleb, it’s everything.

You stumble against the cold wall, your hand gripping the edge for balance as the junior officer brushes past without so much as a glance. His tone is clipped, dismissive, dripping with condescension.

“Watch it,” he snaps, like you’re the problem.

You freeze, heat rising to your cheeks, your chest tightening—not just from the lingering ache of therapy, but from sheer indignation.

Before you can recover, before you can even open your mouth, the air shifts.

You feel it before you see it—an electric weight pressing down on the room, the hum of tension thick enough to drown out every other sound.

Caleb.

He’s standing just behind the officer, his frame casting an impossibly large shadow across the corridor. His uniform is pristine, the insignia of his rank gleaming like a warning. But it’s his face—the eerie calm of it, the glint of something feral in his dark eyes—that makes your stomach twist.

The officer notices too late.

“You.” Caleb’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and cold, like the first strike of a blade.

The officer turns, blinking in confusion. “Colonel?”

“Come with me.”

The words are simple, quiet, but there’s a weight to them that silences everyone in the hallway. The other personnel scatter instinctively, avoiding Caleb’s gaze like it might burn them alive.

The officer frowns, his confidence faltering. “I don’t—”

“Now.” Caleb’s tone doesn’t rise, but it doesn’t need to. There’s something in it—a promise, dark and unrelenting—that makes the man stiffen.

He glances at you, then back at Caleb.

“What’s this about?” he asks, trying to sound casual but failing.

Caleb doesn’t answer.

Instead, he steps closer, the air growing heavier, suffocating, as though gravity itself has turned against the room. His bionic fingers flex at his side with a faint, menacing whirr.

The officer swallows hard.

“Colonel, I don’t see why—”

“Move.”

The single word is a growl, low and venomous, and it’s enough to make the man flinch.

Caleb doesn’t wait for compliance. He turns sharply, striding toward a nearby storage room without sparing you a glance. The officer hesitates, glancing around for backup, but no one dares intervene.

The door hisses shut behind them.

The air inside the storage room is oppressive.

Caleb stands with his back to the door, his presence filling the space like a storm ready to break. His eyes lock onto the junior officer, sharp and unrelenting, and the silence stretches so long it feels like the walls themselves might collapse under the weight of it.

The officer shifts uncomfortably, the tension clawing at his throat. “Colonel, I really don’t—”

“Kneel.”

The command is quiet. Soft, almost conversational.

The man blinks, confused. “What?”

Caleb tilts his head, his lips curving into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I said kneel.”

There’s no explanation. No preamble. Just the word, hanging in the air like an unspoken threat.

The officer’s confusion morphs into irritation. “Colonel, I don’t think—”

“Good,” Caleb interrupts, taking a single step forward. The floor seems to groan beneath him, the gravity in the room shifting ever so slightly. “I don’t need you to think. I need you to kneel.”

The officer scoffs, trying to mask his unease. “With all due respect, I don’t—”

The air snaps.

Suddenly, the man’s knees buckle, the invisible force slamming into him like a tidal wave. He collapses to the floor with a grunt, his hands bracing against the cold metal as he struggles against the weight pressing down on him.

“What the hell is this?!” he gasps, his voice cracking.

Caleb crouches in front of him, his smile widening into something predatory.

“This,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with mockery, “is where you belong.”

The officer’s arms shake, his breath ragged as he fights to lift himself, but the weight is too much. He’s pinned, helpless, as Caleb leans in closer.

“You shoved her.” Caleb’s voice is soft now, dangerously so. “You told her to watch it. Like she doesn’t matter. Like I wouldn’t know.”

The man stammers, his voice trembling. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” Caleb snaps, his bionic hand twitching at his side. “You meant every second of it. Now you’re going to apologize.”

“I’m sorry!” the officer chokes out, his face burning with humiliation.

Caleb’s head tilts further, his smile turning cruel.

“Louder.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Pathetic,” Caleb murmurs, his tone thick with mockery. “Do it again. This time, maybe pretend you have a spine.”

The man’s voice cracks as he repeats himself, louder, more desperate. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have—”

“Good boy,” Caleb purrs, standing to his full height.

The weight lifts suddenly, and the officer collapses fully, gasping for air.

Caleb doesn’t wait for him to recover. He turns toward the door, his voice cutting through the silence one last time.

“Crawl out of here,” he says flatly, not even looking back. “Before I change my mind.”

The officer doesn’t hesitate.

Caleb watches him scramble out, his grin sharp and unhinged, before stepping into the hallway where you wait, oblivious to what just happened.

He softens instantly when he sees you.

“Everything’s fine,” he murmurs, placing a gentle hand on your back as he guides you away. “No one will bother you again. I made sure of it.”

You don’t ask what he means.

And he doesn’t tell you.

[enyaliuswrites]

➽ Things Rafayel would do as a lover

Rafayel is the type of lover that will paint or sketch you a lot. Like A LOT. Mate has multiple books worth of drawings and paintings of you, either getting his references from imagination (he’s such a god at drawing frfr), a picture, or real life. But, he’ll always say that it’s not perfect. (It is in your eyes)

Usually, you’ll find yourself doing work or studying in front of Rafayel as he quickly props a easel and starts painting or grabs a sketchbook and pencil and starts sketching. He’ll make random retorts to stop you from your responsibilities,

“Come on, cutie, let’s do something fun together. You don’t have to do work, right? It’s so boring, I can see how much you don't wanna do it.”

However, after you ignore him and actually start doing work he’ll shuffle around and bring his art equipment. Once in a while he’ll say something like,

“Your facial expression is really cute when you're so focused.” 

or, “Hey, don't move, I’m nearly finished, just a liitttleee bit more.” 

If you’re focusing for a long time, he sees how stressed you are and he’ll boop your nose or cheek, smearing paint, charcoal or pencil led. Then, he’ll lift you up and force you to relax with him. Whether that be just lying down together on the floor in a peaceful quietness that is later broken by him going on a rant about whatever it is that happened that day, “I tripped over a paintbrush and I’m pretty sure I sprained my ankle for a second.”, or it be getting something to eat together.

Rafayel is the type of lover that will never press hard even if he sees something that's bothering you. He’ll wait until you’re ready but he’ll try his best to distract you or to lift your mood in the best way he can.

He’ll most definitely self-declare himself as your fashion consultant, taking control of your wardrobe and even buying more clothes every time you meet him, “Just a little gift, cutie.” 

One time you made a blushing Rafayel admit that he wanted to match clothes with you and that's why he bought you so many clothes. From that day onwards you guys started to coordinate outfits whenever you would meet.

If you’re a university student, Rafayel is the type of lover that will offer to guest speak at your university just so he can keep an eye on you, catching a glimpse of you and rushing over to see you. 

He’ll beg you to not go to your classes and hang out with him and even when you remind him that you can't do that he’ll pout and probably sulk at the bottom of your campus pool for a couple of minutes as you beg him to stop since a crowd’s starting to gather.

Rafayel is the type of lover that brings those disposable old cameras everywhere you go together and snap pictures of you when you’re unaware to print them out and stick them on his wall or a photo album afterwards.

Rafayel is the type of lover that makes handmade gifts. From paintings, sketches, scrapbooks, accessories from seashells. He’ll give them to you even when there’s no occasion, 

“You can't just expect me not to make you something when we haven't seen each other for so long.”

“Rafayel, we saw each other yesterday.”

And when there is an occasion he goes all out, a pop-up scrapbook, a corkboard with pictures of you two together and some of himself (“So you don't miss me too much, cutie.”) and a painting of you. Honestly, he gives so many gifts you swear that you can't store them all. 

A/N: Rafayel is such a sarcastic, drama queen, but honestly he's so much more than that. Art creds: Fireworks Vow - Love and Deepspace Dividers by @omi-resources

[m00nchildwrites]

Forever, You and Me: Rafayel x MC/Reader Smut

This is a one shot, smut drabble inspired by @jinwoosbabyboo 's answer post describing how the LADS men would react to you storming of and not responding to theirs calls and texts after a bad fight. Her writing is flipping amazing. ISTF I devour everything she writes. 

I was intending to just repost her post with a little response of how I think Rafayel would cope with such an event, and it just... took off and swept me anyway, and well... apparently it's angsty feels and thirsty hours and I blame @jinwoosbabyboo completely for this because her writing always getting my imagination going! So responding to her with my extra thoughts about Rafayel became a one shot, smutty drabble spilled out.  

So here is her post that inspired the one-shot below, so you can read the Rafayel part that got this whole thing going and also, please go read her sections about Xavier, Zayne, and Sylus because you will be missing out if you don't. Seriously, go now.: https://www.tumblr.com/jinwoosbabyboo/763177878569549824/dont-run-off-like-that?source=share 

18+. MDNI! 

TW: angst, cursing, self-depreciation, depression, mention of death or wanting to die, ya boy gets dark and big big sad, hurt/comfort, they def kiss and make up, SMUT, what is foreplay? They just want to bone, couple's first time together, detailed sex depicted, fucking, use of the word fuck a lot, dirty talk, usage of "babygirl", possessive Rafayel (in bed), unprotected sex, mating press, squirting, overstimulation, cum, my own Lemurian bond headcanon, Rafayel has a filthy mouth and MC loves it, cum/breeding kink if you squint. 

*clears throat* 

Enjoy. 

~~~~~~ 

Forever, You and Me 

[ @jinwoosbabyboo prompt: 

You told the LADS Men to not piss you off and what did they do? Pissed you off. How I imagine they would react to you storming off in tears and you're not answering their calls or texts.] 

The moment you spun on your heel and fled his home Rafayel was after you. The angry and uncharacteristic yell of frustration you had given out before doing so, after he failed to back off during your disagreement, turned argument, turned first real fight made his stomach drop and curl in the worst way. Your voice played in his head as he ran out his door and down to the street in front of his house after you. 

Stop! Just... please stop a moment. I hate that we are yelling. This isn't us. This isn't you. This isn't me. Just- Give me a second to breathe for fuck's sake, Rafayel, please! 

His words rang in his head too.  

If you don't want to hear the sound of my voice anymore, if you don't want to be with me anymore, then why don't you just leave. You always end up leaving anyway. 

He never expected you to actually do it. But he had watched as your eyes widened in shock and hurt, and then narrowed. Then you were gone. 

He ran, flinging open the metal gate and stepping onto the sidewalk, eyes desperate, searching for your retreating figure. He had to find you. Apologize. He knew he could be intense sometimes, dramatic occasionally, and that he could push your buttons just to see if you'd leave him. Leave him like the you of your past life had done. Like you had always done. 

But he was a fool. 

That you wasn't this you. That you was dead and gone. And you, you were the same but so different. You were everything and he had gone and fucked it up. Again. 

His head whipped around frantic. Spirits of his ancestors, did you sprint!?!  The pit in his gut swelled and grew. He couldn't see you anywhere. He yanked out his phone dialing your number as he started jogging off down the sidewalk. You couldn't have gotten far. Right? 

The call went to voicemail. He stopped staring blankly at it. You didn't answer. Maybe... Maybe you couldn't get it in time, yeah. That was it. He breaks out into a jog again, and again rings your number. He would find you. Maybe you were at the bus stop? He pushed his legs faster as the voicemail picked up again. 

You weren't at the bus stop. It had just left. Spitting out a stream of curses that made a little old lady whack him with her bag, Rafayel dialed a different number. He pressed the phone to his ear, "Thomas, I need a car.... no, I'm not at home. I am headed to Linkon City. On foot. Thomas, please no more questions, just have the car find me! This is urgent!" 

When the car-Thomas- found him, he was halfway to Linkon, sweating, sticky, gross, and stressed. He sent out a stream of texts asking you where you had gone, why you weren't answering, that he was sorry, begging you to come back, to answer, to curse him, anything. But they all went unanswered. 

As he went to all your known haunts and favorite places, from your work to the grocery store near your place to your apartment where he ran into an unimpressed blonde Hunter partner of yours that looked perpetually in need of a nap and who refused to buzz him into the building, Rafayel's mental and emotional state continued to spiral. His emotions went from apologetic to concern to flat out fear for your safety. Which he had made clear to that blonde partner of yours... he very nearly throttled the ass. Why did he not see how urgent this was? His words had struck Rafayel and made his stomach turn sour. 

"If MC was in danger, I'd be the first to know, after all, I'm her partner." 

His world felt off kilter. Would the blonde be the first to know? Surely not. Surely, it would be him, Rafayel. Your boyfriend of the past few months. You were soulmates. You came together lifetime after lifetime. He always found you. Always could hunt you down. Always. 

Except now. Except this time. Where had you gone? 

If you don't want to hear the sound of my voice anymore, if you don't want to be with me anymore, then why don't you just leave. You always end up leaving anyway. 

You always end up leaving anyway. 

He visibly flinched. He was a fucking idiot. He turned his head to stare blindly out the window, avoiding Thomas' gaze in the rear view mirror. His assistant had given up trying to get answers from him. Instead, he watched in with worry all over his face.  

Rafayel was soaked. It had begun to rain. It was quicky becoming night. He had been calling, texting, and searching for you for hours. He had ran himself to the point of near exhaustion, and nearly gotten the cops called on him at her work when he kept asking Hunter's outside if they had seen you. How embarrassing. For you, not him. He couldn't give a damn as long as he found you, but you... you clearly didn’t want him to find you. 

You were gone. He had told you to leave if you didn't want him and you had gone. 

He felt numb as the car stopped at last in front of his gate. The car hesitated, Thomas no doubt watching him in concern as he drug his feet passed his gate. Rafayel didn't care. He had pushed you away. Lost you. And it was all his fault. And for what? 

The argument had been so stupid. He walked in, not bothering to shut the door. Clothes dripping, leaving pools on the floor as he walked through his home. He passed the dining room that still had your wine glasses and the open bottle and desserts out. He grabbed the open bottle as he moved deeper into the house.  

He kicked off his shoes, leaving a trail headed to his living room. The flowers he had bought you sat on a vase on the coffee table. He stared it down as he plopped, wet, onto his couch. How had such a good night turned so sour? Why did he have to push at your buttons sometimes? Was it just to see? Just to see if you'd leave him? 

You always end up leaving anyway. 

His stomach felt sick. He chugged from the open bottle. Why would he do that? You didn't deserve it. Was he that fucked up from his past that he had to take it out on you? Why couldn't he let go of what had happened in your lives before this one? You were not like him. You didn't remember everything. No wonder you left. 

He tsked, and not for the first time, wondered if your "curse" to not remember your past lives was really a curse at all. After all, if he couldn't remember, then he wouldn't treat you as though you were going to leave at any moment. Because you had never given him any indication that you planned to. 

The past few months of your relationship, that you two were "official", had been perfection. Sure, you had little spat and sometimes would snap at each other, but there had been so much love. He swallowed a lump in his throat. Love. 

He had not even gotten the chance to tell you. 

He had been waiting- waiting for the perfect moment. He was going to tell you tonight. It was why he had gone the extra step to make lunch that much more romantic. It was why a meat and cheese board and fresh fruit were waiting in his fridge for later that night. He hadn't planned on either of you leaving until morning, if then. It was the reason for the flowers before him, the flower petals in the no doubt cold tub upstairs, the petals spread across his bed. Tonight was going to be the night. The one where he told you that you were the love of his life, of all of his lives. He was going to explain what that meant to a Lemurian- how binding and forever that was. And should you accept, he had planned to ask you to- 

He winced, eyes squeezing shut as his chest flared in pain. In protest. His hand not holding the bottle, now empty, clutched at his chest. A hiss of pain. The pain passed. Rafeyel dropped the bottle onto the coffee table before his eyes landed on the vase. He knocked the flowers over, sending the vase off the other side of the coffee table, glass shattering and water spilling with flowers and petals across the floor. 

It didn't matter what he was going to ask you. You were gone. His eyes blurred, hot, as tears formed on his lashes. He pulled his knees up to his chest. His shoulders shook.  

You were gone. 

~~~~~ 

Your feet tripped as you hurried down the sidewalk, dodging puddles as you went. You did not mean for time to get away from you. When you ran out of Rafayel's earlier, you had only meant to get some fresh air for a short while as you calmed down. You both had ended up yelling earlier and it had felt so wrong. Wrong because it wasn't like either of you.  

Yes, you had had disagreements. Rafayel hated when you put yourself in unnecessary danger, though he respected you and your skills at work, even you had to admit that he wasn't wrong when he said you took risks. You didn't mean to. It never was your plan, but something went down and you just sprang into action. He had been right, you had partner's in the association for a reason. But it was the way he had said it today, like you were doing it on purpose just to spite him. As though you enjoyed stressing him and making him worry, it had just set you off. You had told him off, and things had spiraled. 

And for what? He wasn't even wrong. It just rankled your feathers today because of something some dumb Jock head at work had said about women Hunter's needing to be paired with a male Hunter since they were the weaker sex. The dude was written up on the spot; the idiot had said it in front of everyone including your very female boss- moron. But still, you hated being looked down on.  

And so, you had taken out that frustration on Rafayel. On your sweet, silly, bratty, but absolutely adoring Rafayel. You had seen how your words had hurt him. When you had said that you didn't need him or any man worrying or looking after you. You had seen the flinch as though you had slapped him as you flung his worry and concern back into his face as though it revolted you. 

You had hurt him. And then realized that you both were yelling, and it was all just too much. You felt like you couldn't breathe. It hadn't felt like you. Like him. So, when you asked for a moment to allow your mind to settle and clear so you could think rationally and he just kept on, you snapped. He offered you an out, and you took it the offer and walked out. 

You walked out knowing his fear of abandonment. You knew and still walked out without looking back. You walked and walked along the shore. Then it started to rain, and you had to find shelter. And to top it off, you hadn't realized your phone was dead until you were stuck miles down the beach, in the rain, hiding out under a pier, and realized you had to now walk all the way back. Why had you gone to the beach instead of your home? 

You sighed, spotting Rafayel's house in the distance at last. Of course. Of course, you knew why. Because the beach reminded you of your Lemurian, your Rafayel. Even when you were mad at him, you longed for him. Sought out his essence for comfort. Gods, you loved him so much. So much and you never said it out loud yet. You had to tell him. 

You picked up the pace and jogging up to his gate. Nearing his door, you saw it open, but thought nothing of it. Rafayel often left it open for you or from distraction as a bolt of inspiration hit him. The house looked dark from the entryway. You called out his name as you toed off your sandy shoes and socks. 

You gasped as you stepped and nearly slipped in a large, cold puddle. A trail of puddles large and smaller led inside. You tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear, and cautiously made your way inside. 

"Rafayel? Are you home?" "Rafayel?" "Ugh, why is it so dark in here? Stupid dead phone. I need a light." 

You stumbled into the dining room and followed the wall to the kitchen. You flicked a switch and squinted at the sudden change in brightness. His whole studio was empty and dark. The light from the kitchen spilling out into his painting area across the large room and into the living room area. 

Your eyes squinted, focusing. There was a lump on the couch. "Rafayel?" You near him and see the wine bottle on the coffee table nearby and broken glass and flowers scattered around. You step carefully to not get a shard of glass in your foot as you move around the room to him. 

"Rafayel? I'm sorry it's late. I didn't mean to be gone for so long, but I went further than I meant to and then my phone died..." You trailed off as he came fully into view. He sat on his couch, cheeks wet with tears, clutching his chest. 

You understood all at once why he grabbed that spot, and your heart lurches and drops. You kneeled next to him carefully, "Rafayel?" 

When you call out to him, he let out a choked sob of a tortured laugh.  

You lean, moving to place your face into his line of sight. He sits frozen, staring daze out of open windows. "Rafe?" 

His voice sounded hollow, "Go away." You heart dropped until his voice continues, "You are a specter. MC is gone. She left. Left me." His voice cracked, more tears spill over his lash line to trail down porcelain cheeks. His voice a near whisper, "I've lost you. I love you. I love you more than my homeland, my people. More than my very life. I have loved you through countless lifetimes and will through countless more." He clenched his eyes as he clenched his chest, "I love you enough to let you go if that's what you wish. I'd give it all for you. My last breath. So, please, leave. Don't haunt my mind like you've haunted my heart these last 800 years. You're gone. At last, you've chosen and it isn't me. Leave me to my heartbreak in peace. Leave me to fade into seafoam at last." 

A sob hiccupped past your lips. How could you have hurt him so? This beautiful man with such a beautiful heart and soul. You reached out to brush your fingers across his cheeks, fingers combing into lavender curls as you cup his cheeks, begging, imploring him to see you.  

His eyes shut, agony on his face. 

"I am here, Rafayel. I'm real." 

A choked sob fell from his lips. 

"Look at me." 

A shake of his head. If he does, you'll disappear. Slip through his fingers like mist. He wants to stay in his illusion just a while longer. Hear your voice just a while longer before he has to spend eternity without you, or at least, eternity until he fades away back into sea foam like so many of his people before. 

"Rafayel, my love, please look at me." 

Violet eyes opened, hesitant and sorrowful. 

You smiled, soft, full of love, thumbs wiping stray tears. "I am here. I'm sorry I got so mad earlier. It wasn't even about you; It was a long shitty day, and that's no excuse. You didn't deserve for me to react like that to what you were saying. And I'm sorry I ran. I hated that I was so upset and I couldn’t calm down, so I just need to step away, but- I hurt you. I hurt you so badly, and I never ever meant to. That's the last thing I want because I-" Your voice cracked, a lump of emotion in your throat. Your eyes fell, ashamed. "I just- gods, Rafayel, I love you so much it makes me feel crazy sometimes. I- I'm sorry this is not how I imagined telling you this." You started to pull away. 

Large, long fingered hands gripped your shoulders. "Say it again." 

You blinked, confused by the urgency in his voice as he searched your face. 

"Please. Please say it again or I will be convinced I imagined it." 

You studied his eyes. Firmly in his grip, your brows furrowed until it clicked. Your tension left you. Your hands rose once more to cup his face. A soft smile spread across yours as his cheeks pinken under your touch. "I love you, Rafayel. With all my hea-" 

You were jerked forward into his chest. His lips crashed onto yours. His hands were desperate as they clung to your back, crushing you closer, impossibly closer, as though he needed your very beings to blur into one. His tongue swiped at your lips, hot and wet, begging entry. Demanding it. 

You gasped from the intensity of his kiss. His passion poured forth like an unending wall of water bursting from a dam. His tongue danced along yours, caressing, tasting. Hungry and needy. Warm velvet and tasting of the wine you both had been drinking before your argument hours before. 

Your hands found his shoulders, trying to ground yourself or be swept away. You accidentally slipped out a sound. A needy sound of passion. His answering moan as he angled his head to kiss you deeper made a pleasant shiver run down your spine to pool between your legs. 

In a flash, his hands gripped your thighs, tugging you into his lap as he stood. 

You broke the kiss with a gasp, hands scrambling to hold on. Arms wrapping around his neck as his head ducked, his lips covering your neck in messy, hot, open mouthed kisses. 

"Wh-what? Where are you taking me?" 

His voice was a husky grumble from somewhere deep in his chest, as he licked and nipped at your throat. "I'm taking you to bed, my Heart." 

Next thing you knew, your back was falling onto cream silken sheets.  

He stood between your parted knees hanging over the edge of the bed. His violet eyes raked over your face hungrily. His lips were parted, chest rising and falling as he panted for breath. He didn't move, tongue peaking out to wet his lips. He was breathtaking. He was passion personified, hair mussed from your fingers, lips damp and red swollen from your kisses.  

His voice and the look in his eyes made your insides clench as he reached out, hand on your knee, thumb brushing the inside just so, "If you want me to stop... if you dont want this or..." his thumb stopped, he face flinched, eye closing briefly as though from pain, before opening to peer into your eyes. "If you are unsure of this, of us, of me, tell me now, because once we do this, once we... you will be mine, and I will be yours. It can't be undone. For Lemurians, this is for life, for all time. A soul bond. It's more than any mortal human tradition. More than marriage. It's unbreakable, unending, forever you'd be mine and I'd be yours. If you are unsure-" 

You sat up, going onto your knees atop the bed before him. Your palms rested on his shoulders, "Rafayel..." your hands slid down to his chest. "I- " Your hand stopped at the place on his chest were your mark laid, though the red fish wasn't visible now. Your eyes flicked to his, "I want this." Your hands were on the move again smoothing lower down his chest. "I want this bond. I-" Your hands found the bottom of his shirt, fingertips dancing along the hem before slipping under.  

He gasped, stomach muscles clenching beneath your touch as your hands found his taunt skin beneath.  

"I want forever. I want you." Your hands trailed up the plains of his chest, bringing his shirt with you. Until at last, you griped it in your hands, eyes meeting his in askance.  

His lashes fluttered, eyes falling half-mast. He was breathtaking. His arms rose, allowing you to lift the shirt from his body before flinging the offending material away. 

Your hands fell back to his shoulders, one sliding to cup his neck as you rose to meet him, chest pressing to his. His gaze turned molten, lust heavy and full of love as he looked over your face. His hands came to rest, just so at your waist, still hesitant but hopeful.  

Resolved, you pushed away your nerves, pulling his head down. Breath mingling with his, you gave him what he wanted. What he needed, "I love you. I chose you, Rafayel. Forever and always. Forever, you and me." 

His lips crashed into yours like waves upon a storm wall. He laid you down in a sea of silk and white rose petals.  

You snatched one, lifting it between you with a raise eyebrow.  

He flushed beautifully, "I had plans for us tonight." 

You dropped the petal, fingers weaving through his silken waves. "Show me." 

Clothes flew to land forgotten on the floor. Breaths panted; needy sounds filled the air, carried away through the open balcony windows and out to the sea. His hands and lips mapped you like you were a precious treasure. His lips and tongue worshipped you, swiping the salt from your skin. His breath was hot in your ear as he- at last- slotted his hips between your parted thighs.  

"My Heart, my Queen, my love," fell from his lips like a mantra.  

You felt him there, this mushroomed tip parting your lower lips, dragging the pooled wetness and spreading it. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. 

He groaned, head falling to nuzzle your neck. Still, he froze, going no further. He panted, asking, "Are you sure?" 

You cupped his face, dragging his eyes up to yours, "Rafayel, I have never been more sure of anything in my life. Take me. I am yours." You ran your fingers along his cheek, repeating his words from before, "A soul bond. unbreakable, unending, forever. This is what I chose. It's you, Rafayel. It's always been you." You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer, causing his hips to drop. You gasped. His tip slipped into your molten heat just so. 

His head fell back, long pale neck exposed. He bit his lip. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. When his gaze fell back to you, his eyes were dark, like the ocean in a storm.  

Your walls clenched.  

His eyes squeezed shut, a moan falling from his lips, a curse followed. His gaze, heavy and passionate, were back on yours, his arms shaking, "So be it. My Heart, my Queen, my love," his mouth would curl slightly into a playful smirk, "my bride." His hips snapped forward, his full hard length pushing into your gummy walls to full hilt, his pelvis slapping hard into your fleshy cheeks. You could feel him, his tip kissing your cervix. A moan fell from your lips; a hiss of pleasure from his. He stilled buried fully inside you, muscles trembling with the strain. His jaw clenched as he fought for control, "Fuck, love, you feel so good." 

Your hands scrambled for purchase on his shoulders, as he rocked his hips dragging almost all the way out only to snap his hips back, slamming back in. Your nail dug into his back. A babble of praise fell from your lips, "So good. So good, Rafayel. So full." 

He groaned head dropping to your collarbone, "Fuck, love, I can feel you sucking me in." He hissed, "so tight. Like you were made just for me, yeah?" His hips pulled back, dragging his length along your walls until just the tip remained. He leaned up, brushing your hair from your face to cradle your head in one hand, the other braced him on the bed near your head. "Look at me. I want to watch you as I make you mine." 

When your eyes fund his, his face softened a moment. His eyes sweeping over your face in awe before meeting and holding your gaze, he whispered a breathy, "I love you." His eyes darkened with heat again, and he snapped his hips to crash back into yours. He swallowed your answering moan with a bruising kiss, drinking you in, as his hip set a brutal rhythm.  

You clung to him, hips eagerly tilting and undulating to meet his as he pounded you into the sheets. The headboard slammed repeatedly into the wall. You shifted up slightly each powerful thrust. His hands grabbed yours bringing them to wrap around his shoulders, "Brace yourself against me, my love. Fuck! I'm going to ruin you. Ruin you for all others! MC, you are perfect. And you are mine." He melded his lips to yours, tongue moving along yours gently and loving. A sharp contrast to how he was fucking you into his bed. His thrusts were hard and deep, rolling into you like waves. The sound of slapping skin filled the air.  

You gasped, moaned, pleaded as he made your head spin with pleasure, "Yes! Yes, Rafayel! I am yours! Make me yours!" 

The sound that rumbled from his chest was a near growl as he leaned up to grip the headboard with one hand for leverage, his hips doubled in speed. His abs rolled as he kept one hand braced above your shoulder, locking you in place as he repeatedly slammed his cock as deep into as he could get. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you clung to his arms. Your legs went limp around his waist as pleasure boiled inside you, hot and heavy. Your head thrashed from side to side from the intensity of the waves of sharp pleasure swelling inside you. Your walls began fluttering, clenching, wrapping at his hard length as he pummeled your insides. His tip kissed your cervix with each thrust, giving a burst of the slightest pain-pleasure. You could feel the wetness of you gushing out passed his shaft as it pounded in and out of your tight channel, every ridge of him dragging along your walls in the best way. You were not going to last long. No one, not even yourself had ever gotten you this wet and close to orgasm as Rafayel was doing. It was as though he knew exactly how to make your body sing for him. 

He shifted. The angle changed and you gasped, clinging, clawing, nails digging as his tip bullied into your g-spot with every snap of his hips.  

"Fu-fuck baby!" You wailed, "God's, Rafayel, right there, baby. Please don't stop. Don't stop!" 

His response was a snarl in your ear as his hips snapped into that spot in double time. "Never. I'll never stop. Never stop making love to you, my love. My bride." He kissed you deeply as your walls started spasming. Your climax was close. A hand of his dropped from your neck to slip between you to where you are joined. His fingertips finding the pearl above where he slides into you. The pad of his finger swirling, circling and pressing your clit just right. 

You moaned, head thrown back, "Yess!" 

He covered your neck in love marks, branding you as his. His lips moved to your ear, nipping at the skin right below it, "Are you gonna come for me, my love? Are you gonna come all over my cock like a good girl. Be good bride, hm, come for me," his voice was pure sin in your ear. 

You could only whimper and cling to him, desperate.  

"Answer me. Tell me who you belong to. Say it. I want the people down the beach to hear you scream it. To hear whose cock makes you feel this good. Say it. Say who you belong to." 

You sputtered and gasped out sobs, in capable of words as you race towards your end. 

He took your hips in his hands. He leaned back on his knees. He rose your hips off the bed. His hips slamming into you, hard and fast- almost inhumanly so. The plop, plop, plop of his sack as it slaps against the sticky mess of your cheeks filled the room. He groaned, "Fuck, baby. You feel so good for me. I fucking love you, MC. Fuck, I love you." 

The coil within you snapped and pulses of white hot heat sent tremors, shockwave through your body as your core clamped down on his shaft. Your head fell back as you screamed out his name in the height of your passion, in reverence, "Rafayel!" You sobbed. Actual tears escaped as the white hot waves of orgasm mixed with love for him kept coming.  

His hips never stopped slamming his hard cock into you, bruising your g-spot and cervix. It was heaven. It was bliss. It was so much. It was almost too much. You tensed nearly about to say stop when a sensation you had never felt before hit you like a brick. Your core tightened, abs clenching, your very womb felt like it clenched, your walls clamped tight down around him, almost stopping his movement completely. Then the spasms, ripples of pleasure pulsed from your womb down your walls, massaging, milking, clenching his shaft inside you. You vaguely hear him hiss and a debauched, "Fuck," escape his lips. And  then you feel a gush of warm liquid splash out of you and all over his dick and pelvis. 

Rafayel's violet gaze widened, his grip tightening almost painfully into the fleshy meat of your hips as he held you against him. His head fell back and he moaned, fully wrecked. "Fuck! Babygirl, you just squirted for me." 

Your core clenched at his words even as high sensitivity began to creep in, but he felt so good. So good and hard inside you. You could tell he wasn't too far off. Just the thought of it turned you back on. You desperately wanted to see him lose himself to orgasm. And he was so fucking beautiful as he began rolling his hips into yours again. 

You must've said that last part out loud, because he looked back down at you, lip caught between his teeth before he released it, plump and full. You wanted to bite it. A smirk was on his face, "Yeah? Is that so, babygirl?" His eyes darkened as his hips picked up speed, rolling more into you, faster as he spoke, "You know what's beautiful? You. You splayed out on my bed, looking fucked out, covered in your cum, face flushed as I. Fuck. You." He punctuated his words with a hard thrust, fingers digging into your hips deliciously. 

You gasped, walls clenching again as he steadily fucked you into another crest. His face fell into a grimace, as your walls, overstimulated into another quickly growing orgasm, clenched and released and clenched his shaft as he began to thrust into you with wild abandon, "Fuck, babygirl, I can feel you clenching me, yeah? You love the feel of this dick pounding you, don't you? So. Fucking. Beautiful. And. All. Mine." 

His mouth was filthy. Filthy and hot. You had never heard Rafayel speak in such a way. Rafayel who was often bashful and blushing when your flirting. Rafayel who tended to be a pouty needy boy that made your heart melt. This Rafayel was just as needy. But in a way you had never seen him before, as he panted your name from his lips like a mantra. His gorgeous head tossed back, neck exposed, abs clenching and rolling his hips as he slammed into you, face flushed and skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He was breathtaking. He was yours. You wanted him to come, and come for you now. 

Your hands scrambled to the headboard above you, bracing against it in determination. You started to roll your hips into his, meeting each powerful thrust with as much force as he was giving you. You were gonna come again but this time, this time, you were taking him with you. 

He gasped, fingers digging into your fleshy hips. His eyes snapped down to you, seeing the heat in your eyes as they raked over his body, your lip caught between your teeth. He groaned at the sight and at the feel of your hips moving in rhythm with his. "F-fuck, my love, I'm gonna come. Where do you- where should I-?" His voice is completely fucked out. Almost drunk. 

You tugged his arm and he fell back over you, compliant to your every whim, your knees swept up to rest over his arms as he braced himself with them framing your waist. Your legs were trapped pressed up and apart, unable to move as freely, to roll as deeply with your knees hooked over his forearms like this. But oh. You saw stars and he moaned in your ear. At this angle, with you opened wide, it felt like he went deeper. You both gasped out moans. Your lips brushed his ear as you told him your deepest want right then, "Inside. I want you inside me. Please, Rafayel. I want to feel all of you. Fill me up." 

He groaned, a pained sound before driving into you in earnest, "I am gonna come. I cant- I can't hold on much more." 

Your walls fluttered at the needy sound of his voice. Your Rafayel. Your beautiful Rafayel. He was so like the ocean, so many faucets to his personality. He could be calm loving one moment then demanding and passionate and then needy the next. You loved him. You loved all of him and he was all yours. 

"I'm coming too, baby. Let go" you implored him, "I want it. I am yours and you are mine. Forever. I want all of you. Give it to me." 

With a few more slams of his cock into your depths, you felt the moment he lost control of it. His forehead pressed to yours, noses brushing, as he let out a long moan of pleasure mixed with your name. His shaft pulsed as rope after rope of hot cum filled your womb. His blissed out face, the grind of his pelvis into your clit, the twitching of his cock as he came inside, and the warmth that flooded your inner most parts triggered your orgasm. 

"F-fuck!" He hissed out, blissfully as your walls milked him further. His thrust slowed until it was just a slow drag. His breath, panted by your ear. He peppered your neck and shoulder with kisses, before pulling back to press his lips lovingly against yours. When he pulled away, you noticed his eyes were nearly glowing blue as the Mediterranean sea, a spackling of blue iridescent scales freckled down his throat to his chest.  

Your fingertips followed the trail as his hips finally rested, fully seat against yours, spent, but refusing to leave your warmth. You could feel the hot mix of both of your fluids spilling out around where his now soft member still rested within your walls. Your eyes flicked up to his, watching you full of love. Your gut twisted in guilt, remembering what got you here. "I am sorry I ran out. I was so angry. I so angry, and it hurt to be so angry at you. I felt overwhelmed. I just... I needed space. To breathe. To calm down so I could think." 

He tutted, fingers combing some of your messy hair from your face. "Hush now, my bride. It is okay now. You came back to me. We are together. We are one now. That is all that matters." His eyes trailed your face before a sheepish look fell over his expression, "Besides, it was my fault you got overwhelmed. I kept pushing and pushing even when you said you needed to think. I was terrified that I was losing you so I couldn't bring myself to give you a moment." His eyes met yours, "I am sorry." 

You hummed, "Still I shouldn't have ran from you. I know about our pasts and I know that me leaving is something you fear. It was cruel of me," your heart lunched at the flicker of pain in his gaze. 

"Very well, though, I must admit I feel guilty for making you feel like what happened in those past lives is your responsibility. They both were and were not you. That's not your burden to carry." 

It was your turn to tsk, "I love you. Your burdens are my burdens. It's you and me, forever, Rafayel. You don't have to carry everything alone. Not anymore. Never again." 

His eyes went soft, as he dipped his head to press a kiss to your lips, "Whatever you say, my bride." 

You nuzzled into his palm cupping your cheek, "I do say. How about we both agree we are both idiots in love and leave it at that?" 

His chuckling at that shook you slightly. As your bodies were still pressed together, it shifted his shaft slightly inside of you. You realized that it was not all that soft anymore, and that he never left your heat. Your breath caught in your throat. Your walls fluttered around him. 

He hissed, head snapping up to meet your gaze. His eyes mischievous, "You want more of your Fishy husband, hm?" His hips gently pulsed, in and out of your heat slowly, testing the waters, a smirk stretching his mouth as you gasped from pleasure. 

Your eyes widen at his words. He had been calling you his bride. And now calling himself your husband. 

Seeing your look, he stilled and became worried, brows furrowing slightly. A blush spread across his cheeks and down his chest as his face becomes more pouty than the heat it held before, "I did say that to Lemurians this was essentially more binding than any silly human marriage." 

"You didn't say it quite like that!" You reeled dazed, your mind racing. 

His face crumpled before he smoothed his expression to one of more indifference. He plucked a shoulder in a shrug and rolled off of you, making you hiss as he slid out of you for the first time since you joined. 

He flopped onto his back a short distance away, "I apologize. I guess I should've been more clear. It's okay though. You won't feel the effects. We can pretend we didn't-" he gasped as you appeared over him and on him, having thrown your leg over his hip. You pressed him to the bed with a hand to his chest, your legs caging his hips between your thighs. "Nnngh," he groaned as you lowered your hips to sit over his pelvis, his once again harden length pressed between your nether lips, soaked in both of your juices from before. He had to fight not to roll his hips up into you, but settled for gripping your hips firmly. 

You sighed, hands moving, fingers dancing across the pale skin of his chest, from freckle to scale. "I never said I didn't want it." 

He stilled, eyes studying you intently. Holding his breath even. 

"I do want it. Want you. I told you, Rafayel, it's you and me. Forever." 

His grip lightened. His thumbs brushed tenderly across your skin. 

Your eyes sought out his, warm and tender. "So, husband," you grinned as his breath caught in his throat. "How do Lemurians enjoy their honeymoon?" You swiveled your hips to drag your wet heat along his now very hard again shaft. 

He gripped your hips, smirk nearly feral, "Let me show you, my Bride." 

[revasserium]

promise (to be holy)

rafayel; 1,745 words; fluff, fluff w/out plot, established relationship, kinda?spoilers for raf's lvl 55 affection story, no "y/n", genderless!reader, very suggestive but not actually nsfw

summary: oh, didn't you know? promises are sacred things beneath the ocean...

a/n: @syneilesis thank u for being my lad screaming buddy; this one's for you and for raf the little slut

The ocean has always been a certain kind of poetry, hasn’t it? You smile to yourself as you blink yourself awake and the world is the size of your sunlit bedroom. Rafayel’s breaths are even, his lashes so dark and long they remind you of a certain kind of midnight — the kind that catches starlight in her hair and has magic in her fingertips.

The kind of midnight that inspires wonder.

“If you really are that enamored with me… I can paint you a portrait. It’ll last longer.”

You blush, even as Rafayel’s eyes flicker open to catch yours, his lips pulled into a teasing, sleep-heavy smile.

“I — I wasn’t staring. I just woke up too and you were blocking my sun.”

You try to turn away, but Rafayel is faster, his arm looping around your middle to pin you to him, his breath warm as it kisses the skin of your bare shoulder. He cocks his head, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh? Is that so?” he asks, shifting so that your eyes are level. The morning light paints his outline in liquid gold, and from here, the shade of his eyes makes you think of all the secrets the sea might keep from the sky.

“Mhm,” you nod, licking your lips, and watching with some satisfaction, as his eyes flick down to trace the movement. His skin is warm and his fingers soft as they press into the bend of your waist to pull you closer.

“Liar,” he says — whispers, before he dips down to graze his lips against yours.

You sigh against him, grinning as you curl your fingers into his hair and tug. The way he gasps makes a certain, unnamable hunger surge within you, pushing you forward till you’re pressing him back into the bed, your thighs on either side of his hips.

“Y-you — ngh —” Rafayel hisses as he tips his head back, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, his fingers inadvertently into your skin. You cock your head — and perhaps it’s the tantalizing line of his neck as he leans back, straining beneath you, or perhaps it’s just the morning light, falling like a lover’s caress across the smooth of his skin, the soft wave of his hair as it splays across the pillow — dark against light.

“Now… who’re you calling a liar?” you ask, flattening your palm slowly against his chest, reveling in the way his stomach tenses beneath you, how his breaths seem to quicken as you lean down and down and down.

“Y-you —” he almost musters up a glare as he hisses, “bullying the weak…” he murmurs as he tries to turn away. You twist his face back towards you with a finger beneath his chin and watch as his eyes go wide.

“Oh? You think this is bullying? But… I haven’t even gotten started yet…” you don’t miss the way his pupils dilate, the way his entire body goes rigid and then soft.

“I — you — I’m not accustomed to the ways of you humans! T-to a Lemurian like me… this is — this is —” The words die on his lips as you lean down to skim your lips along the bend of his neck, dropping phantom kisses on the long line of his collarbone, your fingers still holding his head in place.

“Hm?” you hum, grinning as he arches up into your touch, his fingers digging crescent-moon grooves into your hips and thighs, “this is… what, exactly?”

Rafayel makes a broken, keening noise at the back of his throat as you pull away, a fox-fire smile twisting your lips. You blink down at him, feigning innocence.

“Didn’t you say you were going to tell me all about Lemurian traditions? Why not start now?”

His eyes narrow as he forces himself to look away from you. You can almost feel the heat radiating off him in waves, burning from the tips of his ears all the way to the roots of his hair.

“I — you —” his lashes flutter and you can’t help your own laughter as it bubbles from you.

“C’mon, let’s get up — didn’t you want to go to the paint shop today — oh!”

You make to pull away, swinging your legs off him, but the world tilts as a pair of hands pull you back, and a moment later, you’re being pressed into an ocean of tangled sheets and pillows, Rafayel’s face hovering above yours, his expression caught between annoyance and ill-concealed desire.

“You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish,” he cocks his head, lips drawn into a delightful pout as you try to tug your hand away. He huffs as he pins you down harder, the redness in his cheeks deepening even as he leans in.

“Who said I was starting anything?” you ask, batting your lashes up at him even as he scoffs.

“Words aren’t the only way to make promises, y’know,” he says, and you feel his grip on you loosen. But there’s a tantalizing lilt to his voice that holds you in place, a dark, faraway look in his eyes as he leans back slightly, his gaze grazing down the shape of you, splayed out beneath him.

“Yeah? Then… what’s another way of making a promise?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows as he shifts back to allow you more space. You shift and the pair of you find yourself sitting face to face, the sheets rumpled around you like a white-sand beach, the remnants of the night before scattered in the folds like footsteps in the sand.

He looks at you before his eyes cast downwards. Your fingertips itch toward him and you reach out, brushing aside a stray strand of hair. Quick as a flicker, he catches your hand, pressing his cheek to your palm, eyes falling shut as he sighs.

“There’s… lots of ways to make a promise…” he says, murmuring it against your skin as he turns his face to press a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. You shiver as heat chases up your arm, tingling through your body as you swallow.

You sit there, frozen, as he leans in, slow and slow and slow — till you can feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

“You see… words are a little harder when you’re underwater, so sometimes we make promises by touching palms —” he turns his hand around yours till your fingers lace, “sometimes… we brush cheeks…” he grins as he leans in further, his cheek brushing by yours.

“And sometimes…” he pulls back ever so slightly, till you feel your own breath catch in your chest. His voice is deep and warm and soft and sweet — tugging you in as the moon on the tide, and you can’t help but wonder at the mysterious forces that might’ve pulled you towards one another in the beginning.

Chance, or perhaps something much less nebulous — like gravity.

Your lips meet like magnets clicking into place, and it’s far from the first time you’ve kissed but somehow here, in the morning light, with the windows of the bedroom thrown open to welcome the sea, the salt hanging solid and heavy in the air, it feels like the first time. You can taste the smile on Rafayel’s lips, can feel the eager way he presses in, tongue sweeping across your lips as you gasp open for him. You feel the weight of his body as he pulls you in, pushes you down, and the gentle give and take of it all somehow rings out against the slow shushing of the rising tides.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless. You wonder, briefly, dazedly, if he might’ve been able to go on kissing like that forever. Do Lemurians even need to breathe? What might it be like to kiss like that and never feel the burning ache of oxygen in your lungs? It’s a dizzying thought, and you let yourself linger on it for a second more before Rafayel’s laughter breaks your train of thought.

“What? Was it so good that you’ve gone into shock?”

You blink, shaking your head as you feel heat wash up into your cheeks.

“No! I — I was just wondering… what does a kiss promise, exactly?”

And at this, Rafayel’s cheeks darken again, but he sighs and lowers himself onto the bed next to you, a finger trailing idly along the bend of your ear.

“Well…” he says, “it depends on the kind of kiss.”

You yelp, swatting at him with a pillow as your stomach flips inside you at the implications. His laughter is bright and pure and sweet, but as you both settle down again, he shrugs, pulling you closer to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“But mostly… a kiss just promises that there’ll be another kiss.”

You smile, leaning up to graze your lips against his, “Like that?”

He lets out a soft groan before pulling you in, his lips parting yours, slow and sensuous.

“Yeah… just like that.”

“And so… if you kiss once then…” you press a finger to his lips to stop him from leaning down again, “you’ve gotta keep on kissing? Forever?”

Rafayel grins, tugging away your hand, “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

You purse your lips, humming as you feign contemplation. Rafayel scoffs and makes to move away again, but you pull him back, laughing.

“You can’t leave yet! We’ve got a promise to keep, remember?” and with that, you kiss him, and he softens. As he always does.

“I think…” he says, a little breathless as the pair of you sink back into the sheets, “we’ve got a bit more than one promise… but I think we can start with this one…” and he leans in to capture your lips in his, fingers drifting to the skin of your waist. And as the dawning day watches from beyond the window, the ocean shushes itself against a stretch of forgotten beach, water through sand like tangling lovers’ fingers, reaching and holding, pushing and pulling.

And for lovers like that, there will always be promises to keep, and keep, and keep.

pls come talk to me about love and deepspace oh m ygod

[blaire-apricity]

LADS Plushies

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ┆ : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘓𝘈𝘋𝘚 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘊?

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ┆ : 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 & 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘖𝘊

─────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

The first thing Xavier does is gawk at it, blinking in surprise. He turns the plushie over with care, examining every detail of the creature that so closely resembles you.

He starts poking its cheek, imagining it's your own, a small playful smile tugging at his lips. His eyes light up, filled with tender amusement.

Passersby notice his expression—an uncharacteristically satisfied and innocent smile gracing his face—as he gazes at the plushie.

He looks like a child who has opened their Christmas present early, filled with pure contentment.

Xavier takes the plushie everywhere with him, unable to bear being apart from it.

Instinctively, he holds it close, his protective instincts kicking in as if the plushie were the real you.

He might even tuck it into his pocket as he scouts new places or hunts for Wanderers, a small but significant token of comfort.

The plushie reminds him so much of you, making him feel as if you were with him at all times.

The best part is how soft and fluffy the plushie is, like a miniature pillow. He often rests his head on it, finding comfort in the softness.

As he lies down, he imagines it is your lap beneath him, a peaceful and soothing thought.

He definitely brags about it to Jeremiah.

"Look, it's Y/n," he says, with the plushie perched proudly on his head.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Normally, Zayne doesn't care for plushies, nor does he like to keep one.

Unless, of course, it is from you. Or, more specifically, if it is you in a miniature fluff form.

With his usual aloof and cold demeanor, he examines the plushie, gripping it with one hand, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

Unlike Xavier, he doesn't carry it with him everywhere.

But the plushie always has a place in his office, a silent but constant presence.

Sitting alone at his desk, Zayne sighs, massaging his temples as he finishes surgery after surgery, glancing at the plushie of you seated on his table.

'Well, it’s like having her in pocket-size. Cute,' he thinks to himself, a rare softness in his words.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

Rafayel immediately takes several photos of the plushie, capturing its likeness from every angle.

Feeling inspired by this miniature work of art, he might sketch or paint it, blending his artistic talents with his affection.

He proudly shows it off, exclaiming, "It's Miss Bodyguard in plushie form!"

As he works on his latest masterpiece, he places the plushie somewhere prominent, ensuring it is always in his line of sight.

Talking to it as if it were the real you, he shares his thoughts and ideas, finding comfort in the imagined conversations.

He doesn't feel odd about this; heck, he’s quite proud of his little confidant.

Thomas might overhear him and think, "Maybe it's a normal artist thing," shrugging off Rafayel's eccentricities.

He definitely calls you, plushie in hand, the excitement evident in his voice. "Y'know, I'd rather have the real thing, but this is a close second."

·❆　　　❆　❅　　　　•　　　　.　　　　　❆❆• 　·　.　　　❅

ᴍᴀɴɢᴀ: ᴋɪᴍɪ ɴɪ ᴀɪsᴀʀᴇᴛᴇ ɪᴛᴀᴋᴀᴛᴛᴀ

𝐴𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝐶𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑦 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑏𝑖𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑. 𝐻𝐴𝐻𝐴, 𝐼 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑧𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑂𝑂𝐶 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑍𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑅𝑎𝑓𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑙, 𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒.

[kefiteria]

💌 Stars in a Blanket Fort

• Zayne turns a rainy night into something magical, trading stargazing for cozy time in a blanket fort.

💌 Sylus 💌 Rafayel 💌 Xavier

The rain drummed against the windows, a soothing rhythm filling the quiet room. The city skyline beyond was blurred by the downpour, its distant lights faint, nothing like the stars you’d hoped to see tonight.

“Rain. Of all nights, it had to be tonight.” You sighed as you leaning back into the couch, arms crossed in mock frustration.

His eyes flickered toward the rain-streaked window before returning to you. “You’re acting like the rain has it out for you personally.” Zayne remarked with slight amusement lacing his voice.

A dramatic sigh escaped your lips as you gestured toward the window. “We finally had time to sit under the stars, and now there aren’t any stars to sit under.”

For a long moment, he simply watched you, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, Zayne stood and moved toward the hallway.

“Where are you going?” The question hung in the air as you watched his retreating figure.

“Stay there.” he replied, voice already distant.

Curiosity gnawed at you as he disappeared, but the wait didn’t last long.

Zayne returned with blankets and pillows stacked in his arms, dropping them onto the floor with a careful precision. Without a second glance, he began to arrange them, his movements purposeful.

“What’s this?” you asked, stepping closer.

“Fixing it.” came his simple reply, the words almost matter-of-fact.

A frown tugged at your lips as you watched him continue. Blankets spread across the floor, a cushioned base taking shape, followed by a quilt draped over two chairs pulled from the dining table. The structure began to resemble a canopy a makeshift fort.

“Think a pillow fort can replace the stars?” you asked, unable to suppress a smile.

“Better than nothing…" he answered, not sparing a glance. “Unless you'd rather keep sulking.”

“I'm not sulking.” you muttered, though the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed you.

“Keep telling yourself that.” came his dry retort as he placed a string of fairy lights across the canopy. The soft glow of the lights illuminated the space, casting gentle, flickering shadows across the blankets.

Crawling under the soft canopy, your earlier frustration melted away, replaced by a quiet calm. The golden glow of the lights, the steady rhythm of the rain, and Zayne’s unspoken presence made the room feel smaller, cozier, like a little world of its own.

Zayne settled beside you, his usual calm now accompanied by something else an almost imperceptible satisfaction. “There. Not a star in sight, but it’ll do.”

A warm smile appear at your lips as you looked up at him. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

His gaze softened, and he leaned back onto his elbows. “Maybe not. But you'd have stayed annoyed all night. This saves us both the trouble.”

Slowly leaning your head against his shoulder, your voice whispers to him “You're sweet when you’re not pretending to be above everything.”

His smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though his voice remained neutral. “I’m not pretending.” But when his hand brushed against yours, the simple gesture said more than words ever could.

“You’re really not good at pretending~” you teased softly.

Zayne chuckled, the sound low and almost imperceptible. His chest vibrated lightly against your head, a quiet comfort. Despite his reserved nature, Zayne had a way of making every action, no matter how small, feel significant.

“Do you remember when we used to sneak out to the fields behind our house to look at the stars?” The words slipped out softly, memories flowing with them.

“You mean when you’d drag me outside at ridiculous hours and swear you saw shooting stars every five minutes?” He raised his eyebrows, sceptical of your claim.

“They were shooting stars!” you protested, your voice light with laughter.

“They were planes, dear.” he corrected with a knowing smile.

“Know-it-all!” you muttered, the laughter bubbling up again.

His gaze softened, a quiet intensity settling in his golden eyes as they met yours. “And you were… everything I couldn’t ignore.”

A flutter of emotions rose in your chest, caught somewhere between surprise and something deeper. Before you could speak, Zayne leaned closer, his lips pressing softly against your forehead in a kiss that lingered, as if his touch was meant to convey all the things left unsaid, all the emotions that words could never capture.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes lingered on yours, steady and filled with a warmth that seemed to wrap around you. “Still are.”

As your heart raced, words failed you. So, you let the moment linger between you, content in the quiet where each breath shared and each heartbeat in sync.

Zayne, ever the practical one, broke the silence with a soft smile. “This fort might actually be better than stargazing.” he said, eyes drifting up to the makeshift canopy. “No bugs. No cold. No wet grass.”

“You just don’t want to admit you enjoyed making it.” you said with a playful eye roll, huffing lightly.

He let out a low hum of amusement, his chin resting gently atop your head. “Maybe I did.”

The rain began to slow, its soft patter fading as the night wore on. The fairy lights cast a gentle glow around your little sanctuary, a quiet haven for the two of you. And as you drifted into a peaceful sleep, cradled by the warmth of Zayne’s presence, you realized that the stars weren’t needed after all.

[scarafi]

not proof read lol, inspired from a lounge quote!

rafayel was always doing something. art submission to thomas, supplies to restock, commissions to fulfill —oh and don't forget the piles of laundry he still has to fold.

currently, rafayel was brushing delicate strokes of paint onto a canvas. the vibrant hues coming to life with a flick of his wrist. the lines swimming together, creating his vision into a physical form. it all came to life with each passing second and his brain tingled in anticipation as—

knock knock knock

an exasperated sigh left him, his art tunnel vision interrupted.

but his spirits lifted when he heard a familiar voice calling from behind the front door.

"rafayellllllll! open up, the wind is ruining my hairrrr."

at this, he nearly teleported to the door in his haste to greet you. not even checking the peephole or security camera, he swung the door open.

just the sight of you made him absolutely giddy, yet his face stayed nonchalant.

"oh, its only you, miss bodyguard. thought someone important was waiting for me."

unfortunately for him, his eyes and actions betrayed him. revealing his overwhelming excitement to see his beloved bodyguard.

with a laugh, you pushed passed him. beelining it for the mirror he strategically hung near the entryway.

"yeah yeah, took you long enough," fidgeting with your bangs, as you sent a pout his way. one he returned by sticking his tongue out at you.

closing the door and walking towards you with light footsteps, he spoke, "what's the occasion for the surprise visit, cutie? need something from me?"

he wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind. staring at you through your reflection in the mirror. he drank in you beauty as you continued to meticulously fuss with your hair.

"nothing in particular. wanted to drop by. were you busy? i knowww, i should've texted first, but i just had to see you! i was going to get food, but i know you had stuff in your—"

slipping a hand over your mouth, he shut you up.

"you talk too much, cutie."

a scoff left your lips, but before you could whine out an apology he spun you around to face him. a chaste kiss was placed on your lips before he mumbled, "yes i'm busy, but you're more important."

[beneathashadytree]

THEIR KIDS TEXTING THEM - TEXTING THE LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MEN

Warnings : Zayne & Rafayel each have 1 kid (around 4 y/o), Xavier has twins (6 y/os), kids’ genders aren’t specified, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : tooth-rotting domestic fluff

Additional notes : This is a combination of two requests I’d been looking forward to posting for a long time. My number 1 weakness is tender-hearted family men☹️💗 To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just old requests I had in my inbox🫶🏽

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[gojosatoruwifey]

rafayel is cuddled up next to you, his face on your neck as he tries to sleep despite your insistent talkative self appearing at the most inconvenient time — just as the moon is high in the sky, the stars are awake and sleep is bugging him to leave the waking world.

“talk to me more?”, rafayel frowns and moves closer to bury his nose deeper.

your whispered voice is laced with mischief. you’re up to something, he just knows it.

“rafayeell” you whine.

“ppsst, rafayel. you’re still awake. talk to me. psst.” you can’t help it okay? the cure for boredom is curiosity and curiosity has no cure unless rafayel wakes up and lets you see what he is wearing. it’s late at night you get to be free from your hunter work and cold nights must be spent with your partner. also, you remember he is texting you every five minutes earlier begging you to come home as much as possible but when you open the doors and see his curled-up figure in the bed, you suddenly feel a little bit defeated.

you promise you will make it up to him…

however, rafayel proceeds to topple you over to him and covers you with a blanket.

you narrow your eyes when you feel the unusual material he is wearing, unlike his usual sleepwear despite being buried by the fluffy blanket.

now, that got your attention.

“my pretty and awesome mister, so dreamy–” you tilt your head to kiss his forehead, “ —so sassy—” rafayel scoffed. “ —sweet pea, the love of my life and my all-time favorite lover boy—-”

rafayel shuffled and sat up, pinning a piercing glare in your direction.

you laugh out loud seeing he is wearing your lingerie.

there’s a blush painting on his cheeks and with the moonlight inside the dim room, he looks even more alluring but you can’t find yourself to stop laughing not when he is pouting at you, offended at your reaction as he had his arms crossed against his chest.

"i let you borrow my clothes, but when i try to borrow yours, you find it funny? stop, stop laughing!”

sitting up, you wrap your arms around his waist as you coax him to lie in the bed with you, planting a coy kiss on his naked shoulders, “i’m not laughing..”

“liar,” rafayel is quick to crane his neck as your lips climbed up to the sweet spot you knew had him shuddering. with your body pressed close to him like this, you feel him sighing and slightly trembling. his pretense wall crumbling under your touch, cheeks, and ears flaming red, his half-lidded eyes tempting you to leave a mark on his pale skin.

in the art of dealing a sulky rafayel, you’re proven to be a skillful master.

[mephisto-reporting]

In Those Little Things With Rafayel

Plot: You adapt and adjust your routines to make your fishie more comfortable, more loved. But little did fishie know that these things were what makes you indispensable to him. This request was the reason for this fic Pairing: Reader x Rafayel (can be MC or non MC) Note: Rafayel and reader are in a relationship. This is purely fluffy. If you want to be included in my taglist, please let me know in DMs, Comments or my inbox.

The art studio smelled faintly of turpentine and paint, a mingling of chaos and creation. Rafayel sat cross-legged on the floor, a canvas propped against his knee, his brush moving with a flourish as streaks of fiery orange and deep indigo merged into a seascape that looked more like a dream than reality. He hummed a low tune to himself, though it faltered as you set a mug of coffee—exactly how he liked it—on the small table by his side.

He didn’t acknowledge you at first, too focused on his painting, but the slight tilt of his head told you he knew you were there.

“You’re predictable, you know,” he said after a moment, his voice dripping with his usual teasing tone. “Let me guess. Coffee, my way?”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, crossing your arms. “And yes. Two sugars, no cream. But I made sure it’s not too hot this time. You complained last time, remember?”

He glanced at you then, his dual-toned eyes catching the light, a spark of amusement dancing in their depths. “Oh, so you do listen. How charming.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t miss the faint blush that dusted his cheeks. You sat a few feet away, cross-legged on the floor, a book in your lap as you stole glances at him. It had become your routine to quietly occupy yourself while he painted. You knew better than to disturb him when he was in the middle of a creative streak, but you also knew he liked having you nearby. There was something grounding about your presence, something that softened the sharp edges of his usually aloof demeanor.

“Do you ever get tired of just sitting there?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. He didn’t look at you, but the faintest smile played at the corner of his lips.

“Do you ever get tired of painting the same thing over and over again?” you shot back, smirking.

“Touché.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. “But for the record, my work is timeless. Yours is… well, questionable at best.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh. “My ‘questionable’ work brought you snacks, didn’t it?” You gestured to the small plate of fruit and crackers you’d set beside him earlier.

“Hmph,” he muttered, grabbing a piece of fruit and popping it into his mouth. “Fine. I’ll allow it.”

This was how it always went—Rafayel’ s bratty attitude paired with your patience. Over time, you’d learned to see through his barbs and teases, recognizing the warmth he tried so hard to hide. It showed in the small things: how he never truly asked you to leave, how his brushstrokes slowed when he noticed you were watching, how he’d sigh dramatically but let you adjust the light in the studio so he wouldn’t strain his eyes.

And it wasn’t just in the studio. It was in everything you did. You couldn’t pinpoint the moment you’d started making small changes for him, but they had become second nature.

You remembered your last trip abroad. While you had picked up the usual trinkets and souvenirs, you’d gone out of your way to find something special for Rafayel—a small, intricately carved figurine of a Lemurian charm. When you’d handed it to him, his eyes had widened, and for a moment, he’d just stared at it in stunned silence.

“It’s nothing special.” you’d said, trying to downplay it. “I just thought you’d like it.”

He’d scoffed, his ears turning red. “Obviously. You have decent taste, cuite.”

When you’d brought him a rare shell from a coastal village a few months back, he’d stared at it in stunned silence for so long you thought you’d done something wrong.

“Where did you even find this?” he’d asked, holding the shell up to the light.

“I saw it in a shop and thought of you,” you’d replied casually, as though it hadn’t taken half a day of bargaining with a grumpy shopkeeper to convince him to part with it. Rafayel had turned away quickly, muttering something about you being “too much.” though you didn’t miss the way his fingers lingered on the shell, tracing its delicate patterns.

From that moment, it became a habit. Wherever you went, you’d return with something small but thoughtful—a book on ancient Lemurian myths, a sketchpad made from handmade paper, even a piece of driftwood that reminded you of one of his paintings. Each time, his reaction was the same: a scoff, a dramatic roll of his eyes, and a mumbled, “You’re insufferable.” But the way he carefully placed each gift on his shelf told you all you needed to know.

Then there was the time you cooked shellfish for him, even though you were allergic. You remembered how his jaw had dropped when you set the dish down in front of him.

“Are you insane?” he’d asked, staring at you like you’d grown a second head. “You could die just touching this!”

“I’m not that fragile…” you’d replied, laughing at his exaggerated concern. “And I made something else for myself. Relax.”

“Relax?!” he repeated, his voice rising a pitch. “You’re literally risking your life just to feed me! This is madness!”

You’d only shrugged, brushing off his dramatics, but the way he devoured the meal told you he appreciated it more than he let on.

Then there were the major changes you made for him, for things he probably thought went unnoticed by you. Like how you moved your rental apartment from the third floor to the ground floor after you realized his fear of heights. He’d never said it outright, of course, but the way he avoided your balcony like the plague was a dead giveaway. He’d pretended not to notice at first, but one morning, as you sat together on the balcony with coffee, he’d murmured, “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know,” you’d said, smiling. “But I wanted to.”

He’d gone quiet after that, fiddling with his mug as a faint blush spread across his cheeks.

There were so many moments like these. You’d always make time for his galleries, no matter how busy you were, standing in the crowd with a proud smile as he presented his latest masterpiece. You’d memorized how he liked his coffee, how he sometimes liked snacks while he painted and other times didn’t, and how he’d pout if you didn’t let him go first during a game of Kitty Cards.

And then there was the way he indulged you too, even if he’d never admit it. He’d listen (mostly) patiently when you rambled about your hobbies, offering the occasional sarcastic comment but never actually telling you to stop. He’d pause his painting to help you carry something heavy or fix something in your apartment, grumbling all the while but never refusing.

You were different for him. He’d never say it outright, but you could see it in the way his teasing softened around you, in the way he let you see parts of himself he kept hidden from the rest of the world. To others, he was aloof, cunning, and untouchable. But with you, he was bratty, dramatic, flirty and—when he thought you weren’t looking—vulnerable.

But lately, you’d noticed something a little different.

It started with small, subtle things. Like the way he’d hang around you more often than usual, offering “advice” on your projects when he wasn’t even asked. He’d randomly appear by your side when you were reading, throwing his arm around your shoulder and acting as if he had better things to do—despite clearly not wanting to leave.

“You’re reading that again?” he’d scoff, his chin resting on your shoulder as he peeked at your book. “Couldn’t you pick something better?”

You’d grinned, nudging him off. “Says the man who stares at the same canvas for hours.”

The more you did for him, the more he found himself unable to ignore the fact that you were slowly but surely becoming indispensable to him. He’d always been used to taking care of things on his own, to relying on his own charm and wit to navigate the world. But you? You were different.

He never expected you to be the one to adjust your life to fit into his, but somehow, you’d managed to do just that. At first, he’d brushed it off, telling himself that it was nothing special. After all, it was just a few adjustments. Moving your apartment to the ground floor, bringing him snacks, going to every gallery opening without complaint. Nothing too remarkable, right?

But then it started happening more and more.

You stood in the doorway of your guest bedroom, surveying the space. You had cleared out the clutter, shifting furniture around to make room for his materials. The bare walls, once adorned with your own eclectic taste, now felt like a blank canvas for his work.

As you worked, you heard him outside the room. “Is this it?” Rafayel asked, peering in from the doorway, looking at the setup you had prepared for him. His eyes moved over the rearranged furniture, the large desk by the window, the extra shelf you had cleared for his materials.

You nodded, giving him a slight smile. "Thought it might make for a good workspace. I’m sure it’ll be cozy enough."

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Cozy, huh? Well, as long as it’s functional, that’s all that matters.”

He stepped inside, glancing over the scattered papers and books you had placed neatly on the desk. “I’m starting to think you have a secret obsession with me. First, the little things, now this.” His voice was laced with teasing, but there was a certain warmth to it too. You didn’t respond, instead turning to gather the last of the supplies for him.

He caught your eye as you worked, his expression changing ever so slightly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. But I guess I do appreciate it.” He offered you a quick, almost awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. Just, don’t expect me to start painting you any damn portraits or anything.”

You chuckled under your breath, watching as he turned toward the desk, already eyeing the pile of books you had set out for him. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you teased back.

The room felt less like a guest bedroom and more like a space that belonged to him now, the air thick with the scent of books and paint. It wasn’t exactly what you had imagined, but somehow, it felt right.

Even your habits started mimicking his. It wasn’t intentional at first. You had simply chosen a deep purple scarf to go with your outfit that day—an old piece you hadn’t worn in ages. As you checked yourself in the mirror, adjusting the soft fabric, you realized that you had unconsciously paired it with a sea-blue blouse and white pants.

When Rafayel arrived, you could almost see the flash of recognition in his eyes. He stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at you as if trying to piece something together.

"Is that...?" He trailed off, eyebrows knitting together in confusion before he smirked, that trademark playful gleam in his gaze. "Matching my colors now, are we?"

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of you, adjusting the scarf once again. “I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you said, shrugging nonchalantly.

He crossed the threshold and came closer, eyeing the colors of your outfit. “No, it’s definitely intentional,” he teased. “Purple, white, sea blue... You’re starting to blend in with my aesthetic.”

You shot him a playful glance, shaking your head. “I didn’t realize you had such an ‘aesthetic.’”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m a man of style. You should try to keep up.” His voice held that familiar mix of arrogance and amusement, but there was a subtle pride in the way he looked at you, the corner of his mouth twitching as if trying to hide something more genuine.

“Don’t get too excited,” you quipped, running a hand through your hair. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Sure, sure,” he muttered with a knowing grin, giving you one last scrutinizing look before turning away. “But I’ll admit it—seeing you in my colors isn’t half-bad.”

The comment made your heart flutter, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you simply smiled and shook your head, feeling a warmth spread in your chest.

And then there was your enthusiasm to learn Lemurian. You sat across from Rafayel, the soft hum of the evening filling the air as the warm glow of the lamp illuminated the pages of the text, he had given you earlier. You were holding the ancient Lemurian textbook with a certain amount of awe, the foreign symbols dancing across the pages in an almost hypnotic swirl.

"Okay, let’s try this one again," Rafayel said, his voice a little softer than usual, though you could still hear the playful edge beneath it. "You’ll need to pronounce the vowels differently. Remember— ‘a’ is ‘ah’, not ‘uh.’"

You squinted at the strange script, nodding with determination. “So… ‘Rala… rah’?” Your attempt was far from perfect, but you felt like you were getting somewhere.

Rafayel’s lips twitched at the sound, and you could see a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He leaned forward; his arms folded across his chest as he tried to hide the soft amusement in his eyes. "Not bad," he teased lightly. "Though it’s more like… ‘Raaa-lah’… with emphasis, like you mean it. You sound like you're hesitating."

You let out a groan, embarrassed, but refused to give up. “This is harder than it looks! How did you learn it so quickly?”

He chuckled, leaning back and giving a shrug, his smile widening at your frustration. "I’ve had more practice, that’s all. I’ve been hearing it for as long as I can remember." His voice dropped just slightly, becoming more thoughtful. "It’s my native tongue, after all… though a dead one, unfortunately."

You furrowed your brow, half-sensing the weight behind his words. He’d been raised with this language, but you could tell there was something more to it than mere fluency.

Rafayel raised an eyebrow, his voice becoming teasing again. "You just need to relax. And don't rush it. Take your time."

You focused, clearing your throat. “Fine. Fine. Rala… rah…”

You could swear that this time there was a subtle blush creeping up his neck, though he quickly masked it with a grin. "Hmm… not bad, but you’re still not quite hitting the right tone," he said with an exaggerated sigh, though the teasing lilt in his voice betrayed his soft spot for you.

You couldn't help but smirk at his response. "Oh? And what's the right tone, then?"

Rafayel leaned in a little, his voice turning even softer as he spoke the word again, his accent almost melodic. "Rala… rah…" His lips curled in a smile that seemed both fond and slightly embarrassed.

For a moment, you just stared at him, surprised at how his voice seemed to change when speaking the words in his native tongue. There was something almost sacred about the way he spoke the syllables, and you could tell it was a part of him that wasn’t easily shared with just anyone.

“You sound…” you hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it. “You sound different when you say it.”

He blinked at you, his smile fading just slightly before he leaned back and cleared his throat, trying to regain his usual confidence. "I’m just making sure you’re doing it right." But the blush on his face was undeniable now.

“Sure, sure,” you said teasingly, feeling a little triumphant. “You just don’t want me to butcher your precious language.”

Rafayel huffed and rolled his eyes, but you could tell that the teasing wasn’t entirely genuine. "Oh, please. As if you could ever butcher something so beautiful." His voice was a little more sincere than you expected, and you caught the wistfulness behind it, even though he tried to cover it up with his usual teasing demeanor.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him—trying so hard to maintain his usual bravado but failing to hide the warmth in his eyes. It was moments like these that made the lessons feel less about learning a language and more about getting to know him in ways you never expected.

“Well, I guess I’m improving,” you said lightly, trying to steer the conversation back to something playful.

He smirked, though there was a soft flush still lingering in his cheeks. “Yes, but you’re not getting away that easily. Try again, but this time, put some feeling into it.”

You mimicked his earlier attempt, this time adding a little more of the tone he was asking for. As soon as the words left your mouth, you saw his blush deepen, and his teasing smile waver.

"Now you’re just trying to make me blush, aren’t you?" he said, though his voice had softened with something almost tender. You caught a glimpse of something that looked like admiration—and embarrassment—flashing in his eyes before he quickly turned his gaze away.

You chuckled softly, enjoying the way the lessons had become more than just learning a language. They’d turned into something a little more... intimate, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for it. "Guess I’ll have to keep practicing then, huh? I can do so after work. I’ll put in a few hours for it."

You always made sure he had what he needed, even if it meant sacrificing your own comfort. His heart had raced, and he knew that something had shifted. The way he felt about you was no longer something he could hide behind his usual aloof exterior.

From that point on, his clinginess began to show in all sorts of subtle ways.

During your usual gallery visits, Rafayel would no longer keep his distance as much. He’d stand close to you, hovering near your side, his hand occasionally brushing against yours. He’d pretend it was by accident, but the way he lingered was all too obvious.

“You can’t leave me alone for a second, huh?” you teased one afternoon when you felt his hand settle on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

He scoffed, but his ears flushed pink, his eyes avoiding yours. “You’re just... distracting, okay? I can’t focus with you looking all... cute.”

“Cute?” you echoed, surprised by his admission.

He immediately turned away, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Forget I said that. You’re not cute. You’re—”

“Not cute at all?” you finished for him, amusement in your voice.

His response was a dramatic huff, a slight whine escaping him. “Fine. You’re perfect, okay? But stop distracting me. I have work to do.”

You chuckled, noting how tightly he kept his arm around you as you walked to the next room of paintings.

On your next business trip, he found himself waiting by the door when you got back from your trip. He’d pretended to be busy with something on his phone, but the moment you walked in, his usual playful demeanor slipped.

He couldn’t help himself. He’d gone up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close in a way that was unmistakably clingy. It wasn’t like him at all, but when you’d leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, he’d quickly turned his head and stolen a kiss on your lips instead, his heartbeat rapid.

“You’re late…” he muttered, his voice low and slightly sulky.

“I wasn’t even gone that long.” you teased, smiling as you pulled away, but his arms stayed firmly wrapped around you. He didn’t want to let you go.

“I missed you.” he said, his voice soft and surprisingly sincere for someone who usually wore such a careless mask.

You raised an eyebrow at him, noticing the slight blush creeping up on his cheeks. “Oh? You, the great Rafayel, missed little ol’ me?”

He let out a dramatic sigh, though the playful edge in his voice was gone. “Yes, yes, it’s terribly tragic. I’m just a lovesick fish now…” he teased, though the hint of vulnerability in his voice made it hard to believe he wasn’t speaking the truth. “Do you realize how long you’ve been gone?” he whined; his voice muffled against your shoulder. “It’s been forever. I almost went insane.”

You smirked, patting his back as if consoling a child. “I was only gone for a few days, Rafayel.”

“I don’t care. Days is as good as an eternity” he grumbled; his voice muffled against your shoulder.

And you realized, in that moment, that your small, quiet acts of affection for him had transformed into something more than either of you had anticipated.  You knew that you were just as much a part of his world as he was a part of yours.

When you looked up at him, a soft smile on your face, he’d finally admitted what he’d known for a while but couldn’t bring himself to voice:

“I think I might be in trouble.”

“In trouble?” you asked, your voice teasing but with a hint of curiosity. “With what?”

He sighed, his grip tightening slightly around you, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “With you,” he murmured, barely above a whisper, as if admitting it out loud made it more real. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, but... you make everything harder to ignore. I don’t know how to make sense of it, but I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

You blinked, processing the words that fell so freely from his lips. Rafayel—aloof, sarcastic, always in control—had just admitted to being unsure. And it wasn’t just about his work or his usual stubbornness; it was about you.

The realization hit him like a wave, crashing against his chest, and suddenly the studio didn’t feel like just a place of creation anymore. It was a place where something deeper was growing, something between you both that had been simmering under the surface for a while.

“I’m saying you’ve been on my mind,” Rafayel said, his tone half defensive, half earnest. “More than I’d like to admit. I’ve never been good at handling things like this, and I don’t really know what it means. I just know I don’t want to mess this up.”

His usual bravado was nowhere to be found, and what remained was the side of him that you rarely saw—the side that needed to let down his walls, if only for a moment.

You blinked again, processing his words, then a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Rafayel...” you started, as if tasting the sound of his name in this context was something new. “You’re not messing anything up. I’ve been... I’ve been right here all along. And well,” you said softly, “if it makes you feel any better, I think I’m in the same kind of trouble.”

His gaze flickered to yours, and you could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He looked at you as if he was waiting for you to laugh, to dismiss it as some sort of joke. But you didn’t.

“I think I’m in trouble, too,” you repeated, your voice steady and sure. “Maybe even more than you.”

A beat passed, and Rafayel let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since you’d walked through the door. The corners of his lips curled upward, that familiar, teasing smirk returning, but now it had a different kind of warmth to it.

“You’re not as good at hiding it as you think,” he said, his tone still playful but with a hint of affection. “You’re just as bad as I am.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess we’re both in over our heads then.”

“You’ve ruined me, you know that?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of something much heavier than just simple frustration. “I was fine before you came around, convinced I didn’t need anyone. But now? Now I can’t seem to get you out of my head. You’ve completely messed with my mind, and I can’t—” he paused, a low exhale escaping him. “I can’t imagine being without you anymore.”

He reached up, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers trembling ever so slightly against your skin. “And, honestly, I don’t think I want to. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. Not that I need anyone else when you’re around.” His voice cracked just slightly as he admitted it, the weight of his words hanging heavily between you. You could hear the love in his tone, the longing, the quiet desperation he always tried to bury under layers of sarcasm and bravado. But now, in this moment, it was all laid bare, raw and unfiltered.

It wasn’t just his admission of vulnerability—it was the way he stood there, so completely bare and open in a way he never had before.

“Well,” you said with sincerity, “lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

"You don't have to say anything," he said, his voice hoarse, pulling you closer. "But just know that I’m ruined for anyone else. I don't want anyone else, and I don't ever want to let you go."

There was no teasing in his voice now. No sarcasm. Just the overwhelming sincerity of someone who had let their guard down, vulnerable and exposed. And for once, you could see him for what he truly was—entirely yours. And you? You were unapologetically his.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

[umamaki]

SHOOT YOUR SHOT!

it’s “don’t fuck a frat dude” until you meet the boy who wants to shoot tequila into your mouth with a water gun.

2/5 of my valentine's day event!

rafayel x fem!reader

CW american university au, rafayel frat boy lol, explicit smut, alcohol, language, drunk sex, intoxication, parties, fake weapons, pet names, fingering, finger sucking?!, orgasm denial, penetrative sex, red flag if u squint? praise kink, protected sex yay, one night stand ish. WC 1.7k

NOTE so sorry this is the only non-established relationship fic in my vday event. partially inspired by real experiences from a darty last semester, liquor really tastes better from a fake firearm. fun fact, i was in a sorority once… (said in spongebobs voice) (flashbacks…) ok enough about me lol enjoy. the title itself is my best work yet.

The most common piece of college dating advice you’ve received: don’t get involved with the frats. don’t date the dudes, and definitely do not fuck them. Maybe there was some truth in the warnings, but you’d be a fool to pass up free booze on the weekends.

It’s only but an hour into the afternoon, and the house’s backyard is already crowded with drunk bodies dancing asynchronously to the music. It’s hot as fuck out. In this moment, your have to be thankful for the beach theme, allowing you to wear the minimal clothing you have on: your best bathing suit and cutest coverup.

There’s no way you’re doing this sober, so you part with the friends you came with and make a bee-line to the drink table not long after you’re all in. You could do with something cold, or something bubbly.

The crowd around the table dissipates and you step up. It’s one of those white foldout tables, branded in paint with the fraternity’s emblematic greek letters. Bottles of soda and empty solo cups are scattered throughout, whereas the alcohol was guarded behind the table, where the fraternity brothers stood. The surface of the table itself is covered in enough liquid that the clear blue of the sky reflects up from below you.

“How about a shot?” You must’ve been taking too long to decide. You look up at the boy across from you. He leans slightly forward with two hands resting on the table’s edge for balance. He has his floral shirt completely unbuttoned, displaying his sculpted chest, with his designer sunglasses pushed up into the sea of his purple hair. He smiles at you as if you had known one another your whole lives, but you swear you’ve never seen his face before today.

“What?”

“Tequila.” The boy shakes the water gun he picks up and you get what he’s implying.

Taking a shot of tequila from a water gun? Absolute insanity. The idea is hilarious to you, something only a frat brain could come up with. You hold in a laugh, letting the only thing come out of your mouth being a noncommittal, “sure.” Because why the fuck not.

He smiles at your response, pleased to have convinced you to entertain him during his shift. There’s a foreign warmth in your stomach as he does so, like his satisfaction made you more secure in your answer. “Open up then, pretty.”

You do as he says, unhinging your jaw and flattening your tongue to the bottom of your mouth. Theres not a moment of hesitation before you feel the liquor hit the back of your throat. Its contact with the inside of your mouth slightly burns, but you recognize that it’s the good brand. You feel an intrinsic desire to take it all down, to satisfy him, make him proud. Therefore you decide that the burn is quite nice. Tolerable.

His finger doesn’t lift from the gun’s colorful trigger, so you keep your mouth open, gladly accepting the continuous stream of alcohol that he shoots into your mouth. His hand stays steady, his face stoic and focused. You watch as his eyes trail down to your neck, where your throat bobs with every swallow you take. His gaze lingers in that spot before he forces himself to lock his eyes with yours once more, now with a flicker of determination.

You stay in your positions, eyes silently communicating to one another a feeling you couldn’t pinpoint yourself. You’re maybe four or five shots in before the flow of tequila sputters and stops, the last drops of it dripping down your chin.

That damn smile is back on his face. He looks at you the way he did before, with a kind familiarity. You’re still trying to catch your breath, and maybe your balance too, the liquor has already warmed the inside of your stomach and is making its way to your cheeks.

“Dude, Rafayel. You used all the tequila, bro.” Rafayel turns to the other man, looks down at the gun, then back at you.

“Oh, shame.” He says, uncaring. Again, he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he speaks. His friend shakes his head before leaving you in your bubble for two. “Ah, let me get that for you.”

Rafayel doesn’t give you a warning or wait for your approval before reaching to wipe the leftover tequila from the side of your lips, even going so far as to suck the waste from his thumb afterwards. “Hm, good,” he notes to no one in particular.

There’s something about the man that makes you want to stay in his company. You don’t want him to refill the tequila-gun. You certainly don’t want him to serve a drink (or five) to anyone else. You had to think fast.

“Do you have any water?”

Rafayel nods, face back to its previous stoic state, as if gears were turning in his head. “It’s good to stay hydrated. Water’s inside.”

He circles around the table to your side first, before leading you into the house. You’re grateful the inside is empty. He pulls a water bottle from the house’s poorly stocked fridge, giving it to you.

You’re halfway through thanking him before your back is pressed against the cold fridge, cold drops of condensation from the plastic bottle drip down your half-exposed chest. His sturdy arms cage your body in on both sides and his face is mere inches from yours. He’s desperate.

“What are you doing to me?” He strains the words out, as if it hurt to say them.

“What?”

“Don’t play coy. What you did to me out there… it was…” You can’t believe what you are hearing. You’re still trying to wrap your head around what went on a few minutes ago outside. “Do you want to go upstairs with me?”

You only nod, and you know it isn’t just the alcohol in your system speaking, you’ve wanted him since the first time he flashed you his smile.

He kisses you, needy and passionate, with a force that sends your head bumping with the refrigerator door. He takes the gasp you release when he nudges his knee between your legs as an invitation to insert his tongue into your mouth, claiming it as his.

His hot breath is the only air that surrounds you. It is dizzying, yet leaves you wanting more of him. The alcohol in your system only made you crave his touch more. You tug on the loose flap of his button-up. “Upstairs,” you mutter it into his lips, refusing to break the kiss.

Rafayels lips are still on yours when he carries you up one flight of stairs and takes you to his bedroom. You notice that he smiles when he kisses you.

He lays you on his bed only to reluctantly leave. He takes an new box of condoms from the bottom of his dresser and tears it open, grabbing one before making his way back to you.

You make quick work in undoing his shorts once he’s at the foot of the bed. His hard erection is a mouth watering sight. He was long, and he shivers in your hold when your thumb spreads his leaking precum around his tip. The moan that escapes him is pornographic. You lick your lips and gather as much spit as you can, letting it pool onto his length. You begin to lower your head before he pulls you back up.

You’re extremely confused. “You don’t want me to suck your dick?”

“No. I mean yes, it’s all I’ve been thinking about since…” he gives you a kind smile with a shake of his head, “just — allow me.”

He positions you on your back and hovers above you; close, but not touching. He pulls the bottom of your bathing suit to the side, giving him access to your wet folds. He inserts two long fingers into your entrance, easily slipping inside and immediately hitting your g-spot.

“That’s a good girl. Taking it for me so well, just like you did outside, yeah?” Hearing his praise sends pleasure to your core. Your dripping arousal coats his fingers and absorbs into the sheets below you. Your chest heaves with each moan that his fingers coax out from you.

Rafayel’s fingers abuse your pussy at a brutal pace, jamming into you even harder when he feels your walls clench around his digits. Your release never comes. He pulls out at the last second, leaving your hole spasming and you frustrated.

“What the f—mmh!” He stuffs his digits in your mouth to silence you; nonetheless, you clean him off of your juices. Again, you catch him staring at the movement of your throat as you take thick swallows.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t wait any longer.” The condom goes on, and he’s back on top of you, lining himself up with your entrance. His hand takes hold of the base of your neck as he connects his lips back to yours. He thrusts himself into you at last, drawing matching gasps from your lips. “So tight, baby. You look so cute like this, already wanting to come from being fingered. You can wait, can’t you?”

There’s that feeling wanting to please him again, wanting to keep being his good girl. He brutally jerks his hips into yours. Your wet sounds fill the room, bouncing off your bodies and the four walls that surround you.

“Fuck, I can’t get enough of your perfect pussy. Gonna carve it out just for me, so I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.” He grunts through gritted teeth, fucking you so hard that you know it’ll bruise.

“Rafayel — gotta come, please,”

“Go ahead, come on my cock. Prove to me how good I make you feel.” Your orgasm finally comes crashing down on you. Rafayel fucks you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you’re writhing below him.

He makes sure that you’ve caught your breath before allowing himself to spill his seed into the condom, still inserted inside your warm cunt. He collapses on you and the weight feels comfortable. You feel his heartbeat beating through his chest, and notice the way it quickens when he embarrassingly asks if you’d like to go on a proper date with him.

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[vilhelios]

—; DROWNED IN LIVING WATERS.

( your guiding hand pulls me under. ) ; there is no such thing as less, when it comes to rafayel: always more. at least when it comes to you, of course.

CW: fluff ; slightly suggestive content ; mentions of abysswalker!rafayel my beloved ; just lots of kissing bc rafayel is big and greedy!!!

no matter what it is, rafayel always wants more. more conch shells to crush to attain a singular gram of lustrous pink-white paint. more plates of seafood platters when you both go out to your favourite beachside restaurant. more time with you when you’re away from your rightful place by his side, wrapped up in nothing but the scent of seasalt and paint and each other’s arms.

“what happened to just one more…?” you pant, nails digging slightly into the bare skin of rafayel’s shoulders—they’ll be his battle scars for the night, red crescent moons borne of greed. one kiss had turned to two, and two to three, and—well, now the two of you are breathless, bodies flushed warm and lips kiss-bitten on his couch. your eyes zero in on his, and you drink in the sight of his darkened eyes—the blue depths you want to be baptised in, the red desire that will burn your very soul. everything fades away; the sound of the waves breaking upon the shore, the seagulls cawing, the moonlight filtering in through his grand, arching windows. there is only him.

( lord, there is no saving you now—only in him will you find salvation ever again. )

“you know it’s never just one.” rafayel chuckles, the soft breath of it fanning across your skin as he presses his forehead against yours. he looks beautiful, ruined like this—lips a darker red from how you bit at them, his cheeks and the tips of his ears painted the prettiest shade of red, his bathrobe almost slipping off his shoulders. rafayel’s hand falls from where it was at the back of your head, down to cup your cheek. his thumb gently brushes against your lower lip, as he murmurs, with a growing smile, “i need more, cutie. always more—” 

he doesn’t even let that final word hang in the air before he presses his lips to yours once more, melding together in a sweet desperation. 

more, more, more. more of your touch, more of your lips on his, more of your very presence. how could he ever want any less than all of you after going an eternity without? he won’t deny it—he’s a selfish, greedy man, and the only thing he ever wants to hoard is you. rafayel’s kisses, often, are sweet and chaste—like the softest flutter of a butterfly’s wings that have you chasing after more. and yet, there are times like this, where he seems intent on consuming you, a hunger unrivalled as his lips move skillfully against yours. it’s as though if he had anything less than all of you it would be his undoing. 

( the thing about stray dogs, you suppose, is that they will hoard the food and affection they are given. after all, who knows how long until it is ripped away from their maws again? he can’t survive another hundred years without you, with nothing but memories of those no-longer-lonely nights in lemuria, and desperate visions of what could have been. it would be too cruel an existence for a starving, stray dog. )

when you pull away (and even then, he chases after your lips), you feel absolutely winded. your hands clutch uselessly at the dark satin of his bathrobe to ground yourself. even as you try to steady your breathing, your senses are assailed by his very being—every gulp of air is laced with the scent of seasalt, citrus, and sandalwood. he occupies your every thought, now. (maybe it has always been that way, since a time long lost.)

“i thought you said… you were hungry…” you manage between shaky breaths. right, right; you two wanted to get dinner and then spend the rest of the night lounging around, but well, that was an hour ago. the sun was setting when rafayel first pulled you onto his lap and pressed the smallest of kisses to every inch of skin he could reach… but it’s dark now, and those kisses have long since devolved to blooming hickeys when he shifts his focus away from your lips…

“nuh-uh. not anymore.” he quickly quips back and, almost like he was afraid you’d try to slip away from his hold, pulls you closer with the arm he has around your waist. if you were close before, then you melted into one entity now, with his chest flush against yours. you think your racing heartbeats are beating in sync, beneath the flimsy material of your nightgown and his bathrobe. 

a desperate whine leaves him as he tries to chase after your lips, only managing to press a peck to the corner of them. (that’s not enough, never enough—) “don’t wanna eat. just want you, please–” and again, he somehow manages to pull you closer, close enough to get what he wants once more. and of course, you happily relent, melting against him as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

...

( and somewhere, in the far off future, amongst the golden sands, nothing has changed. ra’el is foolish to think he ever would. no, he is still weak to those lips that first kissed his aeons ago. what was first an act borne of your desperation and will to live against the drowning waters turned into the fuel to his hunger and a basic, primal need.  

“i’m not leaving you yet, your highness.” he murmurs, and it feels something like a promise as he presses a gentler peck to your cheek. it does take all his restraint to give you some respite from his barrage of kisses, however, as he watches you heave for breath. his eyes can’t help but dart all over, as he feels you clutch at the leather of his garb, but they always return to your kiss-bitten lips and hazy eyes.

he smiles, a cheeky thing, a practised swipe of his thumb against your bottom lip. “surely your highness would not call me with the fishtail beacon just for a bedtime story, hm?” 

and the hungry, stray dog, found once more by its rightful owner, begins to hoard its meal. )

a/n: inspired by horny posting with my pookie wookies on lndtwt 🫶💕 ty lisa my beloved for this mental image that you've conjured. also, i guess this is the fic to celebrate getting lvl 100 affection with rafayel!

creative notes: rafayel is very much so a dog-like character to me and less cat-like; especially abysswalker! i heard somewhere that stray animals will hoard food and ask for food more (and if you feed a stray animal on the road it will follow you) and rafayel himself does compare himself to a stray animal/animal in need of help in nightly stroll, i think? so uh. that's why i have a lot of dog-like comparisons for him 🫡💕

[scribeofnight]

⸝⸝ ꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃. 🫧ㆍ₊⊹

✦ 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 ;; rafayel x gn!reader ✦ 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 ;; fluff, pure fluff and brainrots, not fully coherent thoughts ✦ 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ;; 0.7k ✦ 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 ;; obsessed and thinking about husband rafayel 24/7 - so a little filler drabble while i finish up the zayne oneshot and before i go to bed. enjoy my seashells <3 (currently can't add my yellows - i'll edit the format tomorrow)

✦ 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦 (𝘧𝘪𝘤/𝘩𝘤𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯!!) ♡.

⟢ husband! rafayel who makes sure there's always a place for you to sit or lay down on when you're in the room watching him paint

⟢ husband! rafayel who smears paint on your cheeks while you're sleeping, only to feel bad and paint a small sunset or ocean or sunrise or the sky or anything, really, across your cheeks

⟢ husband! rafayel who will trace miscellaneous shapes on your collarbones and shoulders - connecting every freckle and mole

⟢ husband! rafayel who looks at your stretch marks and kisses them gently, tracing every curve and smiling up at you, stopping to only tell you how much they look like stardust

⟢ husband! rafayel who would cave when you give him puppy eyes and a pout - he's weak for you, he knows

⟢ husband! rafayel who once reserved a whole restaurant because he remembered you saying you don't like eating in front of a lot of people, just so you would be comfy on your date night

⟢ husband! rafayel who would collect seashells everyday as he walks on the beach with you, telling you stories about his adventures when he was a little kid in lemurian waters; placing them in a tiny jar that he gives to you - and his grin is so blinding and hug so warm and kiss so tender when he sees it on your desk and in your bag.

⟢ husband! rafayel who thinks you look exceptionally pretty in pearls, but he thinks you're ethereal when you're in his bed, curled up around him, bed hair and sour breath and all

⟢ husband! rafayel who grew fond of cats because of how much you love them - who fell in love with the way you looked and loved cats, and could never think of cats as harmful ever again (especially when you look at them like how you look at him)

⟢ husband! rafayel who buys you dresses upon dresses, if only to see you wear them and spin around like the disney princess you deserved to be but couldn't affort to be

⟢ husband! rafayel introducing you to little fishies during a swim in the ocean, calling you his wife and watching with awe as the fishes boop your nose and circle you two, guiding you both through the waters to the prettiest coral reef ever

⟢ husband! rafayel who lets you see his silvery scars from fighting for his kingdom, letting you trace them even though he flinches from the memories - only soothed by your fingertips and gentle kisses to his skin, your calloused thumbs wiping away falling tears

⟢ husband! rafayel dedicating a whole exhibit with every painting of everything you've ever loved and liked, with the centerpiece as both of you dancing at the banquet, with the words "for my ocean" as its caption

⟢ husband! rafayel who has never thought of having kids until he took one look at you with your nephew, and decided he wanted some then and there

⟢ husband! rafayel who brings you trinkets and tidbits from wherever he travels to, be it in Linkon or overseas, because every little thing reminds him of you (he'd rather live with your memory and you by his side than have to lose you again)

⟢ husband! rafayel that would not let you go anywhere without him - he knows you can defend yourself, but he wants to be able to see you and touch you just in case; he likes protecting you (if only to make up for all the time that he wasn't there to protect you - could you blame him? he wanted you to forget, he was sure you would)

⟢ husband! rafayel that would cook for you when you return home from work, shit-faced and weak, wobbly, exhausted legs - who would feed you and hold you close as your words slurred, a fond smile on his face as he squished your cheeks, watching you fall asleep, your features so beautifully calm and peaceful

⟢ husband! rafayel who never wants to see you cry, but would sit there on the bathroom floor at 5am, wiping your tears away when memories of you both together centuries ago flooded your mind, his heart aching as he watched you cry over not remembering him when it really was his fault

⟢ husband! rafayel who would hold your hair back when you didn't like the way it felt, tying it up into a bun and decorating it with little seashell clips so you felt pretty

⟢ husband! rafayel who would see his child hold a paintbrush, painting a very wonky looking apple and sing with glee - who would frame the apple painting and title it "[child's name]'s first painting"

⟢ husband! rafayel who would tell his child how wonderful of a mother you are, spinning the baby around before he tucks the baby onto his hips, holding her close

⟢ husband! rafayel who would rest his forehead against yours at least 5 times a day, loving the peace and love that radiates from you, seeping into him and soothing his bones, a quick kiss on your lips sealed the deal

⟢ husband! rafayel who always tells you that he's glad to finally be yours, to kiss you and hold you close

⟢ husband! rafayel who looks at you like you hung the moon and stars when you tell him you love him

⟢ husband! rafayel who is just so happy you come home to him everyday

♡. head empty only husband rafayel.

✧˖°. header creds ;; @editshan <𝟑

♡₊˚ 🪼・ copyright @scribeofnight all rights reserved ;; do not copy, steal, plagarize, reword or repost to other platforms without proper permission || all credits to original owners and creators of the characters from the media + pictures that are not my own.