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ravenswritings · 2 months ago

Text

── pretend

> love & deepspace; rafayel x fem reader > smut (explicit sexual content - nsfw) > 5.2k > a slight re-envisioning and expansion of the kindled scene from the gem affection card > content: 2nd person pov, petnames (your highness, princess, good girl), mostly pwp, switch rafayel and switch reader, cowgirl, missionary, creampie > [ ao3 ]

The best way to convince the palace maids to leave you two be is to act like you are lovingly wrapped up in each other. But where’s the fun in just pretending?

“Then I shall wait by the door. I’ll always be ready to tend to you, Your Highness.”

What had initially begun as a way to hide the marked-up map and mask your discussions of escape was gradually devolving into pure indulgence. Words of let’s make it convincing turned into what’s the harm if we continue? Rafayel sits atop the soft velvet covers of the bed - map long forgotten even though it was only moments ago that he threw himself on the bed to hide it - with you perched on his lap and your own self-control quickly waning. You hold a grape between your fingers, the fruit coated in a light, watery syrup, pressing it lightly against your lover’s lips.

It’s not as if you two could continue discussing your potential escape with the head maid just outside the door. It was too risky, all too likely that she would overhear something that would compromise your chances of getting back home. In the short time that you’ve been stuck in this world, you’ve deduced that the staff here would much prefer to have you stay, to fill the place of the missing princess and act like nothing is amiss.

You refuse to remain here forever, though.

Still… You two are so very close to settling on a concrete plan. It wouldn’t take much more time or effort to decide on your next steps, make the necessary preparations, and set out into the desert to search for the cave that should hopefully allow the two of you to return home. The temptation of indulging in Rafayel’s affections in this moment is simply too good to pass up. There’d be plenty of time later to finish your discussion.

In the meantime, you’ll continue to play the roles of the salacious princess and her favorite haughty beauty, basking in each other's company, plying each other in soft touches and teasing kisses, until the maid standing just outside the door leaves. It seems like a perfectly fine way to spend the time.

“Since Your Highness wants to spice things up, I’ll do my best to satisfy your every need.”

Of course, Rafayel just has to draw things out; he didn’t immediately part his lips and accept the grape that you had tried feeding to him, and now he’s teasing you back, playing. He grasps your wrist, long fingers curled firmly against your skin. Bringing it to his mouth, his warm tongue swipes up towards your palm as he tastes the syrup that had begun dripping down your inner wrist. Your fingers twitch at the jolt of anticipation that runs through your body, suddenly losing their grip on the slick fruit.

Your eyes immediately lock onto the grape as it bounces down Rafayel’s jewelry-adorned chest, leaving a shining, reddish trail as it soon rolls to a stop right at the edge of his waistband.

“Can’t take it anymore?” Rafayel teases, taunting you for your slip up, lifting his gaze to your face before his eyes flick down to where the grape had settled. There’s a ghost of a devious smirk on his lips, so subtle as he feigns innocence, eyebrows lifting to sell the sweet puppy-dog look while he tilts his head. “It’s so far away. I can’t get it. Your Highness, could you…”

You laugh quietly at Rafayel's apparent helplessness, rather enjoying the situation the two of you have found yourselves in and his insistence on playing coy. “I suppose I can get it for you…” you murmur, unable to help the smirk that twitches at the corner of your own lips. He wasn’t the only one who could draw things out, tease, drive the other wild.

You lean forward, pressing into Rafayel’s space, grasping his chin firmly as you tilt his face to the side to allow for easier access to his neck. Your hand cups his jaw briefly before trailing lower leisurely, the pads of your fingers brushing against his throat. If you pressed harder, you knew you’d be able to feel his pulse - but your touch was agonizingly soft and sweet against his skin. He swallows; breathing shallow.

“Did it fall over here?”

The words lilt in the same feigned innocence Rafayel used earlier. Pretending to be oh so clueless about where the grape had gone and thoroughly investigating its potential whereabouts, you allow your nails to graze his collarbone, brushing lightly against the gold adornments he wore.

“I think you need to go… a little lower,” he rasps, clearly trying to appear more unaffected than he truly is at this moment. A soft huff of laughter leaves your lips, but you happily play along with his false ignorance. Your hand runs down his chest almost lazily, the metal and gems of his body jewelry softly clinking as your fingers brush across them, the muscles of his abdomen jumping at the feather-light touch as your search continues lower and lower. Soon enough, your touches halt once they make contact with the fabric of his pants.

“Here?” you ask, head tilted and eyebrows raised, fingers hovering just over the runaway fruit. When you glance back up to your lover’s face, you see that a red flush had already settled across his cheekbones. His smoldering gaze is heavy on you, the gradient of red of his eyes prominent and rich in the subdued, warm candlelight of your bedchambers. You can’t help but notice how well his eyes and blush compliment each other.

Before he can say anything else, you pluck the grape up between your fingers, then pop it into your own mouth. If he wouldn’t eat it, fine; it’s yours, then. Swiping your tongue across your digits to clean the residue off, you make eye contact with him. The mild surprise in his eyes makes you feel giddy, and you want to keep pushing your luck.

So - given he had propped himself up on his elbows to play around and tease you - you firmly press him back down against the bed, in a rather similar manner that echoes the beginning of this little session between you two. But this time your push is much more slow, deliberate. His hands instinctively move to your hips, holding you steady as your positions shift against each other. You can’t help but smile at the way his eyes narrow; he’s trying to figure out your intentions, your next move. With him splayed out beneath you, that dark trail the syrup-coated grape left behind practically begs for your attention. You know what you’ll do.

Despite the intensity in your eager gaze, Rafayel is quick to regain his composure. “You're quite the tease, aren’t you?” His voice is husky, barely above a whisper. He looks amused as he watches you, sitting so pretty and coy on his lap. “I think you enjoyed that more than you let on.”

“Maybe,” you respond vaguely with a cheeky smile. And then you’re scooting back slightly, putting a necessary distance between you two so you can enact your next course of action. Leaning down, your lips press against the bare skin of his collarbone, right at the very beginning of the sticky, sweet line of syrup. You hear his breath hitch in anticipation, his chest stilling beneath your lips.

With your hands placed on his biceps as you brace your body against his, you move your face a bit lower, flatten your tongue against his pec, and drag it upwards towards his shoulder, licking the skin clean. Rafayel’s digits noticeably twitch against your hips and you hear him exhale a long, shaky breath just above your head. Pulling your mouth away from his skin, the tip of your tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and you glance up at him briefly while you shift further down his body. But before you can get too far ahead of yourself, one of his hands moves to grasp your chin firmly, stopping you from reaching your next destination.

A swift tug pulls you up, and a moment later your lips lock with Rafayel’s in a firm kiss. Despite the initial surprise you felt, only a heartbeat passes before you’re melting against him, a little sigh leaving your nose as your arms loosely loop around his shoulders. You break the kiss to breathe, to press yourself ever closer to your lover. Rafayel's eyes, hooded as he gazes up at you, flutter shut as you lean in once more, meeting in another searing kiss. His hands depart from your hips and slide upwards to cup your face, leaving tingling trails that cause you to shudder. He lets out a soft moan against your mouth as your own hands roam down his chest in return, fingers tugging at the gold jewelry adorning his torso.

“Mmm, I love it when you take charge,” Rafayel purrs, words mixed into a sigh as he breaks the kiss. His fingers tangle in your hair and tug you back gently, preventing you from pitching forward and stealing another kiss. Who’s really in charge here? Regardless, arousal washes down your spine at his easy confession, at the light but persistent grip he has on your hair. Your eyes are half-lidded as you stare down at him, head tilted back just slightly due to Rafayel’s hold.

His eyes flick to the closed door of your bedchambers at that moment, and your gaze follows his. That’s right, you think to yourself, pulled slightly from the fog of your arousal as if just remembering where you two are and what transpired before you two started getting lost in each other. Is the maid still out there?

Well, it didn’t matter either way, in the end.

A charmingly wicked grin spreads across Rafayel’s face as your eyes meet his again. “Someone might still be out there. But don't hold back, my love. Let them hear every moan, every gasp,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning against your skin. His hands move to your hips again, gripping the flesh tightly as he ruts his hips up against yours, the friction causing your breath to hitch in your throat. His thumbs massage little circles into your hip bones and you squirm at the slightly ticklish sensation. “I want you to ride me, Your Highness. Show me how much you enjoy your favorite concubine.”

His pupils are blown wide with adoration and desire, red flush still so pretty across the apples of his cheeks. The dim candle light casts shadows across his features, but you swear it only accents his already devastating beauty. A smitten sigh escapes your lips. “Well, I can’t say no when you look at me like that,” you coo, lifting a hand to trail your fingertips across his face, brushing strands of his dusky purple waves away from his eyes and lingering along his jaw. You certainly couldn’t deny his demands when they sounded so sweet coming from him, no matter how haughty they come across. And why would the princess deny her favorite’s wishes, anyway, when they are so easy to grant?

“Besides…” you add, voice coming out in a whisper while you tilt his chin up with a single finger, your eyes locked on his. The heady emotion in your eyes reflects your next words: “I want it just as much as you.”

Lifting your hips slightly, you begin to untie the navy blue sash around your waist. A more desperate part of you wants to just bunch your skirt up to your thighs and get on with it to save time, but you know it’s just going to interfere, getting in the way of you enjoying your dear, sweet, beloved Rafayel. While you love to tease him and draw things out, this side of you is warring with the one that wants to dive in and lose yourself in him. His hands grasp and lightly tug at your skirt, pulling the now-loose fabric a few inches down the flare of your hips.

As much as you loathe to separate from him, you shift off his lap, moving to the side and stepping off the bed. Working the skirt the rest of the way off your hips, you let the light, flowing layers drop to the floor along with your panties. After stepping out of the little pile around your ankles, you settle back down on the bed beside him, drawing your legs loosely up beneath you. Your palm brushes across his waistband, a short distance above the tent that had been steadily growing between his legs, your nails lightly teasing the skin right along the edge of his pants. Rafayel’s eyes flutter closed as he exhales shakily.

“You’re pretty like this,” you hum, allowing your eyes to roam his figure from head to toe before returning to his face. He opens his eyes with a soft chuckle and the heat in his gaze sends a buzzing anticipation across your nerves.

“Pretty, huh?” The words are smug, as if he already knows just what you thought of him. He knows he’s pretty, of course. But you nod, readily feeding his ego. Your fingers deftly tuck themselves into his waistband, tugging the sash loose. The sheer coral fabric that draped across his chest, as well as the teal and crimson panels of fabric that hung around his hips, fall slack. Rafayel flicks the coral fabric over his shoulder while you remove the excess fabric from his lower half.

Once he kicks his pants off, nude aside from the gold adornments across his chest and the shimmering teal cloth tied to both biceps that loops behind his back, you waste no time alighting yourself on his lap once more. Rafayel places his hands at your waist, though they only remain there briefly before sliding upwards, drumming along your ribcage. His thumbs brush against the fabric of your top; the body jewelry you wear, identical to your lover’s, softly jingles with the motion. Your hands press against his shoulders to steady yourself, pussy hovering above his hard cock. Lowering your body, the pretty flushed tip catches at your slick entrance briefly before it slips, brushing right past your clit.

You bite down on your lip to stifle the whine that threatens to leave your throat. Rafayel’s breath stutters; a short, shuddering gasp at the sensation of his tip dragging across your folds. Your walls clench at the spark of pleasure stemming from that sensitive bud, and you can’t help yourself; you rock against him again, folds practically gliding against his shaft, leaving your arousal along his length. A groan leaves your partner’s lips, equal parts frustrated and eager.

“Make me yours, princess.”

His demand is strained, desperate; as if he’s barely holding himself back from grabbing your hips and rutting into you. He wants you to indulge, wants you to claim him - and you’re going to grant that wish of his. It’s your wish, too, after all, even though you know very well that he’s already yours… and that he’s been yours for a while now.

Your response to him comes in the form of your hand grasping his length, holding him steady as you tuck the leaking tip against your entrance again. You ease yourself down onto him slowly, taking him into your slick heat inch by inch. The leisurely descent is almost agonizing, but you pride yourself on your self control as you try to draw the act out; you’ve always relished the initial stretch of your walls whenever he first enters you, his girth providing the perfect amount of stretch. Rafayel’s jaw clenches while you take your time, trying to keep his breathing and hips steady as you work your way down. A pleased little sigh escapes you once you’re fully seated on his lap, his member nestled all snug inside you, filling you so deliciously.

With both of your hands braced against his shoulders once more, you lift your hips until just his tip remains inside. A short pause, a deep breath. Then, your tight heat engulfs his length again, quicker this time. You grind against him, back arching as you rock your hips, though you continue to take your sweet time. The languid drag of his cock as you ride him drives you crazy, but it allows the pleasure to swell gradually; the warmth of arousal slowly spreads from your core to the rest of your body.

“Your Highness…” Rafayel gasps out between breathy little moans that you manage to pull from him. Every few thrusts, his hips buck upwards as he ruts into you - a whine escapes your throat each time it happens, and you find yourself shuddering as your head starts to hang between your shoulders. Your hands curl into fists against his chest, leaving pale pink lines as your nails scrape against the skin. “Aren’t you being too much of a tease, now?”

When Rafayel’s grip around your waist tightens and he starts to control the rhythm of your bodies, clearly tired of your mischief, you put more of your weight into your descent and firmly plant yourself on his lap. His brows twitch and his lips curl into a pouty scowl when he’s unable to continue to thrust up into you, the pace coming to a grinding halt. Your knees tightly press around his hips, further restricting you both, though you can’t help but rock your hips in small, torturously languid circles while you try to catch your breath. A strangled groan leaves Rafayel’s lips as he throws his head back, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your abdomen, one of his thighs jumping in response to the constrained, regulated pleasure.

A breathless laugh escapes you in a huff and you can’t help but smirk at his crumbling composure.

All movement on his part halting, Rafayel’s eyes narrow, shades of ruby red briefly gleaming in stark contrast against the dark azure surrounding it. His expression is dangerous, and suddenly you realize your mistake. A shudder wracks your body, though you’re not sure if it’s due to uneasiness or anticipation.

He’s going to swallow you whole.

And you’ll let him. You’ll welcome it, even.

There’s a moment of stillness, of bated breaths - then, your vision spins as Rafayel flips your positions. Fingers clutching his shoulders, you cling to him as your world shifts. Your back is pressed into the mattress now, and he’s hovering above you. With the way his bangs frame his face, the flickering candle light is blocked from fully reaching his eyes; the shadows make his gaze even more intoxicating. Given how tightly both your hips had been pressed together before your hubris, his cock easily remains firmly lodged inside you despite the shifting of bodies and power. You suppress the low moan that bubbles up in your chest, arousal spiking as he pins you beneath him, his cockhead pressing right up against your cervix. Fuck, you feel so full like this.

He leans down and nuzzles his nose against your cheek; it feels almost cool against your warm skin. One of his palms rests on your hip, while the other is planted against the bed. A shiver runs down your spine as his breath fans over your ear, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm your heart pounding with anticipation. Quietly, he chuckles; you almost feel it more than you hear it. When he pulls his face away slightly, you open your eyes and they flit up to meet his gaze. With a smug smirk, not unlike the one you gave him moments ago, he speaks. “Forgive me, but I’m getting impatient tonight. I need you, princess.”

“Rafayel–?”

As if to prove his words, he pulls out just slightly before rutting back into you again sharply. You’re left breathless as your back arches upwards, and your thighs twitch against his hips. Rafayel pushes himself into a more upright position, moving both palms to your waist, using your hips as an anchor and holding you tight as he starts to steadily roll his hips against yours. A keening whine leaves your throat as your head lolls to the side, overwhelmed with pleasure even as your walls greedily suck him in.

“You’re - hah - so gorgeous like this… Gonna make you feel so good…” Rafayel groans, heavily affected by the exquisite sensation of your walls clenching around him, your arousal drenching his length and making a mess where your bodies meet. Though subtle, you can feel your own pulse in your walls that are stretched tightly around his girth whenever he presses his cock in as deep as it can go.

Your body begins to adjust - somewhat - to his unrelenting thrusts, becoming used to the waves of pleasure that flush through your core. You focus your gaze on him; his cheeks are flushed with desire and exertion, a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples and along his delicate neck, lips parted as a result of his panting breaths and husky groans that accentuate the cadence of his hips. Eyes fixated on his mouth, his pretty lips that you want on yours so badly, your fingers twitch against his shoulders before they move.

Hooking your fingers through the gold metal dangling inches away from his sternum, you yank him down; he yelps and frantically catches himself with his palms against the mattress, pulled off balance by the sharp movement. His rhythm falters, hips stilling at the sudden change in position. You then loop your arms around the back of his neck, keeping him close and not allowing him to escape. Most of his weight rests on you, though his forearms dig into the bed on either side of your ribcage, propping him up just enough so that he isn’t crushing you. Capturing his lips with yours, you muffle the gratified groan that crawls up your throat.

The kiss is messy, sloppy as your open mouths press against each other. Teeth graze plush lips, slightly too abrasive, though neither of you can bring yourselves to care. Tongues meet, brush past one another, depart. Rafayel coaxes a moan from you as the tip of his tongue curls up against the roof of your mouth, and you retaliate by sucking his bottom lip in, biting down; a breathy whimper escapes him. He breaks the kiss momentarily to inhale deeply, rocking his hips against yours as his lust-hazed mind remembers that his length is buried deep in you, hard and throbbing.

With the current angle of his hips, each time he moves against you, friction greets your clit. Your legs, hooked around his waist to keep him close, help corral his body in towards yours each time he rolls against you. “Nn, Rafayel…”

“Hm?” His answering hum rumbles against the crook of your neck, where his lips are leaving soft kisses along with light, pinching nips from his teeth. A swipe of his tongue and a loving peck soothes the skin, and his hand - one now roaming your body, nails dragging lightly across the side of your plump breast and down the curve of your ribs - provides a sweet, tantalizing distraction. Your eyes flutter shut and you tighten your hold on him, fingers clutching at the string of body jewelry that rests against his spine.

Each time he drives his length into your sopping wet pussy, a short little moan bubbles out of your mouth. You’re too far gone at this point; any thoughts of banter and teasing nonexistent in your mind. All that matters right now is Rafayel, how he’s making you feel, and how he’s indulging in you as he chases his own pleasure. “Please, Raf… I need…” your begging drops off into a whine. The muscles in your lower abdomen are tense, a manifestation of your desperation because you need to cum soon, or you’re going to lose your mind.

“You’re taking my cock so well,” Rafayel praises, statement husky and ending in a low moan. “Nngh–! Such a good girl, such a perfect little princess for me.” He’s just as close to falling apart as you are, his breathing heavy as he pants against your skin. His fingers press into your skin in a halfhearted attempt to ground himself.

Your eyes roll back into your head when he calls you a good girl, his perfect little princess - his voice sends a white-hot flash of arousal straight to your core, and your pussy practically drools around him in response, body shuddering as your orgasm edges ever closer. When Rafayel’s fingers start moving in tight, quick circles on your clit, you bite down sharply on your bottom lip, subduing the high-pitched cry torn from your throat.

“Raf - ah - Rafayel…” you babble, and your fingers clutch at his back, tugging at the jewelry as if it’s your lifeline. His tip brushes against that spongy spot repeatedly with each pass of his hips, and you vaguely notice the barely perceptible tremble of your limbs in the midst of your lust. “I’m–I’m close–”

And with a well-timed, sharp thrust while his fingers press down on your clit, you come undone. Your back arches and you cry out, walls clamping down tightly around his cock before fluttering, subsequently coaxing his orgasm from him. Your breath hitches when you feel the subtle, telltale warmth pooling deep in your canal, right up against your cervix. The sensation is accompanied by a sultry mix between a groan and a whine coming from Rafayel, forehead pressing against your collarbone.

With a shuddering exhale, he relaxes against you, weight bearing down on you, suffocating you just a little. Your fingers untangle themselves from the body jewelry and ghost over his shoulders, his skin sweaty and sticky beneath your touch. After a few moments where you try to catch your breath, you lightly smack his bicep. “You’re crushing me.”

Rafayel grumbles a bit, complaints unintelligible, but pushes himself up onto his forearms, peeling his body off of yours. He shifts back, pulling his softening cock out of your pussy - your walls clenching almost instinctively as if trying to keep him in - then flops over onto the bed beside you. Now with his weight off you, your lungs can get the air they need. Inhaling deeply, your eyelids slide shut as you allow your body to go limp against the gold-embroidered velvet donning the bed. It’s soft, easily holding onto the warmth from your activities.

Moments later, Rafayel’s hands grasp at you and pull you against him. Your face scrunches at the tacky feeling of your sweaty-and-cooling skin against his, but the mild distaste is easily overshadowed by the warmth of your heart as you indulge in a bit of skinship after your little romp. Lying on your side, you press yourself against his front and sling an arm over his waist lazily, letting out a tired but pleased little sigh. A few heartbeats later, you crack your eyes open and look up at him, head resting on his arm - your own personal pillow (until your beloved complains that his arm is going tingly and numb, and then you’re going to have to deal with him rolling away in the other direction, and you’ll delegate yourself as the big spoon).

Rafayel’s eyes meet yours and his eyes light up with the grin that spreads his lips. He nods his head to the side, gesturing vaguely towards the door. “Think she’s still out there?”

Snapped out of your blissful little reverie, you huff, a pout on your lips as you reach up and pinch his cheek softly. The way his skin squishes between your thumb and forefinger is reminiscent of a marshmallow. “I don’t know,” you answer with a sigh and you press your face against his chest again, hiding away from reality. “I guess I don’t really care. It’s not like they don’t already expect this from us.”

“True.” The agreement is punctuated with a quiet laugh from Rafayel, softened as he nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head. “Though I think it’s funny that you took on the role of the promiscuous princess so easily.”

He yelps as you retaliate with a sharp bite to his shoulder.

The candles in your bedchambers continue to burn late into the night.

You’re unsure when exactly the maid beyond the door left - all you knew is that she was gone from her post by the time you and Rafayel had bothered to extract yourselves from each other to go check.

You’re leaning against Rafayel’s side as you two sit up side by side in the bed, cheek pressed into his shoulder. Even though the incense has long been extinguished, the faint smoky fragrance continues to linger in the room, contributing to the ongoing intimacy of these moments.

Plucking a grape from the bowl in your lap, you hold it up to your beauty’s lips. He obediently opens his mouth and you pop the fruit in, fingertips brushing against his lips. His eyes flick from your face to the map that he’s holding up before the two of you. Chewing absentmindedly, his gaze traces over the notes the two of you had scribbled into the parchment earlier.

Popping a grape into your own mouth, you also look over the map. You two have marked the caves that are most likely to hold the mural that should allow your return back to your original world. With a decisive hum, Rafayel folds the map up, setting it off to the side. He then turns his body towards you, and you make a disgruntled noise in the back of your throat as your support - in the form of his shoulder - moves away from you.

His hands grasp the bowl, taking it off your lap as he cradles it in his arms; then he slots himself in your arms, resting his weight comfortably against you. You slump against the propped up pillows and cushions that support your back, allowing him to use you as his own pillow. He noses your collarbone, brushing freely along the skin, your jewelry having been removed some time ago. Rafayel picks up a grape and holds it up to your lips to feed you and pamper you, just as you had done for him. You take the grape into your mouth while giving a teasing nip to the tip of his finger at the same time. He smiles up at you, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“You know, all things considered, I’d say our time here hasn’t been terrible,” Rafayel starts, grabbing another grape to feed you. Once you take it, he licks the watery syrup that lingers on the pad of his thumb.

You shrug and nod your head. “Yeah,” you agree, though your tone is more ambivalent. “I won’t lie, it’s been kind of fun. A vacation in and of itself, almost. But…” You run your fingers through his dusky purple hair, lightly massaging his scalp. Rafayel practically melts against you. “I’m looking forward to being back home.”

“Mm, me too.” Rafayel’s long arms deposit the bowl of grapes - now nearly empty - onto the side table before settling back down into your embrace. His fingers trace languid, abstract images into the bare skin of your torso, his blue-pink eyes drowsy and half-lidded. A yawn escapes his lips and he nuzzles his face against your chest. “Does tomorrow night sound good to you?”

“Yeah, we’ll leave tomorrow.”

In the meantime, you’ll happily luxuriate in these moments with Rafayel as the princess and her sweetheart, certain that you two will find your way back home.

#love and deepspace #love & deepspace #rafayel #lads rafayel #l&ds #l&ds rafayel #lnds rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #ravenswritings #baby's first l&ds fanfic!!#constructive criticism is welcome!

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ravenswritings · 2 months ago

Text

── adrift | 01 [sacrifice]

> love & deepspace; rafayel x fem reader > romance, fluff, angst > multi-chapter; 4.2k > content: the events of the sea god myth, 2nd person pov, reader has a backstory (mix of canon and headcanon regarding the island/temple), chapter 1 is all backstory and written in past tense, pirate!reader (in ch 2) > [ ao3 ]

|| masterlist ||

It started off with an idle question you had voiced in the middle of reading an old book detailing the various ceremonies the Emissaries of the Deep Sea performed, including the various situations and reasons why they would make an offering to the sea. Some areas were glossed over, however. “Human sacrifice is pretty major, isn’t it? What would warrant that?” Your voice rang out suddenly, disturbing the almost suffocating quietude of the archives.

Most of the memories from your childhood and teen years featured a seaside temple that sat on a low cliff at the edge of the island on which you were born and raised.

The Emissaries of the Deep Sea practiced and demonstrated their devotion day in and day out. They were constantly faced with the primary subject of their worship; the sights, sounds, and smells of the ocean easily weighed on one’s mind and senses due to its proximity to the temple. Prayers, chanting, and the singing of hymns resounded through the main hall daily, at dawn and dusk, echoing down the stone walls of the smaller corridors branching off further into the building. The emissaries lit sacred flames during ceremonial rituals held on special occasions, symbolic offerings of light and warmth dedicated to the dark, icy depths of the ocean.

And there you were in the middle of it all, a child in the midst of these followers of the sea and the Sea God, graciously taken in by the temple at eight years old after you were orphaned.

Prior to your life in the temple, you were raised by your single father who was a fisherman and sailor - meaning that you grew up with your father’s intermittent absence. Your mother had passed while giving birth to you, and you had no living grandparents or other relatives. Thankfully, your neighbors (good people, your father often insisted) would keep an eye on you when needed, though once you got a bit older you were allowed to stay home by yourself for a few hours at a time as long as you promised to stay safe and secure in your home.

One night, your father never came home.

Though young, you were made aware of the nature of your father’s trade and the possibility that the sea might claim his life any time he set out. He made you promise that you would reach out to your neighbors in the event that he didn’t return when expected. That night, you stayed huddled up on the sofa, taking up station in the small room that served as a sitting area, kitchen, and dining room all in one. Dread and anxiety clawed at your insides, and you restlessly waited for the front door to open, for your father to walk through alive and well. That suffocating feeling you got when you wanted to cry settled deep in your chest, but you refused to shed any tears, wanting to hold out hope that your father was simply very, very late. You would doze off briefly, only to awaken within the hour by the slightest of sounds.

Come morning, you were jolted awake by several steady knocks at the front door. Squinting at the light streaming in through the thin, patchwork curtains, you rubbed at your eyes as you hurriedly stumbled off the couch. You toddled to the door, gait stilted in your half-asleep state, little legs unsteady. When you pulled it open, you saw an unfamiliar man - looking worse for wear with a sallow complexion, dark eye bags, bruising to his right cheek and jaw, and mussed, frizzy hair - with a deeply apologetic expression, eyes heavy and weary with regret and sympathy. Before he even opens his mouth to speak, you have an undeniable sinking feeling that your father is dead.

It was supposed to be a routine fishing trip; one that took the fishermen out a little further into the seas than usual, but a run that had been done numerous times in the past. But the sea is dangerous and fickle, and one’s safety could never truly be guaranteed. There was a storm - harsh and sudden, the small crew not able to turn the boat around in time to make it back - that resulted in half the crew falling overboard and drowning. The man that had come to the door was one of the few crew members who managed to make it back on the small fishing boat.

Having heard of the tragedy (how could they not, when they often keep a close eye on the comings and goings of ships and boats around the island?), one of the Emissaries of the Deep Sea approached you during the hastily put together last-minute funeral, offering to take you in. Among those who attended the funeral for the deceased fishermen, the now-orphaned child was one of the highlights of discussion. The emissary explained that, while the temple might not be the most ideal place for a child to be raised, they had the means to provide for you. They could allow you to grow up with food, a roof over your head, and people to keep an eye on you and keep you safe. Despite feeling alone and lost and terrified of what the future held, as if you were adrift at sea and about to drown, you agreed without hesitation.

What else could you do, really?

You might have been young and scared and so unaware of many things in this world, but you had some awareness of your situation. You didn’t have any family that you knew of, and your neighbors had their own children as well as their own struggles. You had been staying with them, temporarily, while preparations for the funeral were underway; it had been a tight squeeze in their little house, a strain on their limited food stores. Besides them, there wasn’t anyone else you could reasonably rely on. Since the temple offered help to you, you gladly took it.

For what it’s worth, the emissaries took decent care of you. They may not have been the warmest or most affectionate - you don’t know if you ever felt loved by them - but you had a place to live and people to speak to regularly. The temple’s followers consisted mostly of men, but there were a handful of women as well who, perhaps unsurprisingly, were often a bit more adept at caring for a child, despite most of them not having had children of their own. Your education was supplemented with plenty of teachings about the ocean and the Sea God. Primarily the latter, though the former could not be neglected either.

However, you were rather disenchanted with the idea of the Sea God.

If the God of the Sea was a being so revered and worshipped, why does he allow the ocean to claim so many victims in such brutal and unexpected ways?

The first - and only - time that you expressed those sentiments, you received an hour-long scolding. The sea is powerful and vast, and thus should be respected. Life as we know it would not exist without the sea. You held your tongue after that, but your participation in prayers and rituals were half-hearted at best. Otherwise, you were simply following the motions, doing what was expected of you since the temple was so kind as to take in an orphan such as you.

And then you learned that you were to become a sacrifice, once the time was right.

You were a bit older when you learned of that fact, in your early teens. It wasn’t something that you were meant to find out, at least not at that age. You already knew that people were sometimes offered as sacrifices to the Sea God, though items such as gems, ceramics, and glassware were presented much more often. The idea of human sacrifices, both willing and unwilling, were rather morbid, but you hadn’t thought too deeply about it, simply accepting it as one of the many sides of worship. You know that plenty of other religions made similar offerings. But the knowledge that the temple had long had you in mind as a future sacrifice was new to you, incidentally discovered through someone’s slip of the tongue.

There were a few other emissaries in the room with you, repairing old works, sorting and storing them away, and brushing up on old, half-forgotten topics. One of them answers you, his tone rather light and pleasant despite the grim subject matter. “It’s something this temple only does once every ten years. It’s not something we take lightly, of course, but it’s done to ensure the continued safety of our lands. The sacrifice is typically offered before the winter storms, in hopes that the ocean will be more forgiving that year and in years to come.”

With a mild hum, you returned your gaze to the tome in front of you, fingers tracing the edges of the page that was currently flipped open. You supposed the explanation made enough sense, but you couldn’t help but wonder what they believed would happen if they didn’t offer a sacrifice, if there had ever been a time where a sacrifice wasn’t made each decade. And how was the sacrifice selected, anyway? You were about to ask another question when a different emissary across the room had quietly spoken up, speaking to the one beside him.

“That’s why we’re keeping her around, isn’t it?”

His conversation partner quickly hushed him, pointedly ignoring your gaze as your head snapped over to them. For a split second, you dismissed the statement as a joke. But the weight of the silence in the archives doubled as soon as the words were out of the man’s mouth, and none of the men in the room met your eyes. It was true, wasn’t it?

The feeling of betrayal swelled hot and sharp and quick in your chest. But there was a strange, desolate sorrow that dragged it down, drowning it, as if all along you always expected there to be a catch for their previous kindness. You had heard the whispers over the years, a few emissaries questioning why a child was taken in by the temple when there were surely other places they could go. Slowly closing the book in your hands, the slight tremble (out of anger or despair, you’re not sure) in your fingers making it difficult, you turned back towards the emissary who had originally answered your question.

“Is that true?” Your question came out soft and weak, but it felt so loud in the oppressive silence. You hated the way you sounded so heartbroken, like you had truly believed the emissaries actually cared about you.

Some of them, perhaps, cared about you to some degree. You were fond of a few of them, felt that they were fond of you. But that didn’t matter at that moment.

The emissary sighed, eyes downcast. He busied himself with sorting away the books on the cart next to him, unable to bear looking you in the face. “It is something that had been discussed, regrettably,” he spoke eventually, tone troubled and very much a contrast to his lighter tone from earlier. It was not easy news to bear, nor was it easy to hear, but you respected the fact that he admitted to it. “But there is no need for a sacrifice for some time. Many things could change in the coming years. It would be best if you did not concern yourself about it.”

Your eyes narrowed at that, and the bitterness started to resurface, clawing its way through any sort of sorrow you were experiencing. Were his words supposed to be some sort of consolation? Was he trying to placate you, make you believe that your fate wasn’t already decided? Yes, we considered using you as a sacrifice to the Sea God, and we might. But we could find someone else to sacrifice in your place.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Much of your trust and respect towards the Emissaries of the Deep Sea dissipated that day, just like the seafoam that fizzles out as waves dash the shore.

You continued to stay in the temple, albeit rather reluctantly. There were limited places you could run off to on an island, after all, even one that was a decent size such as yours. You entertained the idea sometimes. If you were to run off, would they even bother searching for you? A definitive answer never came to you. But you knew you would absolutely seethe with rage if you ran off, only for them to come looking for you and eventually find you. So you stayed, bided your time, dreamed of finding a way out of this temple, off of this damned island, even.

It was when you were seventeen that you learned that the emissaries had, officially, decided on you becoming the next sacrifice. Or, at least, that was when they officially made it known to you. The head of the temple made some grand, sweeping gesture about it, melodramatically bestowing you with the ‘honor’ of being selected. “Your life, given to the deep, will secure the future of our land and our people. It is a noble duty, one of utmost devotion. In three years, a gift must be prepared for the God of the Sea, and that gift shall be you.”

Three years.

It made you wonder who had been sacrificed when you were ten. It wasn’t anyone you knew, as the people who you had contact with both in and out of the temple were still going about their lives.

But you didn’t want your life to end in three years. You held no grand devotion to the God of the Sea, not sure if you even truly believed in Him. What you did know was that the ocean, for all its beauty, was unforgiving. Surely the worship of a small population would not be enough to influence the nature of the sea. It seemed downright foolish to you.

Besides, you were selfish and you knew it. Selfishness is the reason you don’t want to give up your life for maybe calming the seas around your island for the next decade. You were growing ever jaded with the temple and its beliefs. And yet, you still held some fondness for the sea itself, as well as the life and mysteries it carried, despite the fact that it took your father and that one day it might take you, too.

If the ocean did take your life one day, you didn’t want it to be because you were sacrificed by a group of emissaries who refused to become sacrifices to their own religion.

One year passed, then almost two.

In some ways, your life changed very little. The Emissaries still performed their prayers, chants, rituals, and hymns. The sight, sound, and scent of the ocean bore down on the seaside temple every day; a constant reminder of its presence, of your eventual demise. Really, no matter where one went on the island, the ocean wasn’t far. You were still stuck participating in some of the day-to-day activities of the temple, which you had long gotten used to while you pretended to be devoted to their beloved Sea God.

But ever since your fate was confirmed to you, you’ve spent much of your time dreaming of escape. Except, as time passed - as that fate drew closer - those idle thoughts became more restless, leaving you feeling frustrated and trapped. With your free time, you started roaming the island more and more often instead of staying holed up in your room and refusing to engage with anyone. Each time you went out, you scoped your surroundings for potential places to run off to, places to hide.

Your attention kept returning to the port, specifically to the ships that intermittently came and went.

If there was nowhere on the island that could allow your escape, then the only solution was to leave the island altogether.

The night that the idea planted itself in your mind as a seriously viable option (you had always wistfully considered it, but never placed much stock in it because you had little faith that it would work out), you could barely sleep. You kept tossing and turning, your mind chewing on possibilities only to get choked up on the logistics. It was high risk, high reward - and you know it’s not going to be easy getting the necessary information or even carrying out whatever reckless plan you would decide on. Forcing your eyes closed, dragging the blanket up over your head, you decided that you weren’t going down without a fight.

Whenever you had a free moment, you started gathering data and making small preparations.

While the Emissaries of the Sea often kept an eye on any vessels that left and came to the island, mostly to bless outgoing fishermen and ships, they didn’t hold any influence on who docks or departs. You could manage to get on a boat without attracting their attention quite easily, so long as you timed it right. Ships leaving in the very early morning or very late at night were going to be your best bet; it’s rare that an emissary would be out by the docks around those times.

The tricky part of getting on a ship was either sneaking on without the crew noticing (practically impossible) or somehow convincing them to let you board. You can’t imagine they’d just allow you to set sail with them out of the goodness of their hearts, however.

Maybe you could barter with them. You didn’t really have much in the way of valuables, though, other than a set of matching silver bangles adorned with several small squares of tourmaline in a shimmering teal; simple in design, but still very pretty. The set was one of the few things you bothered keeping over the years that had belonged to your parents, perhaps the last thing you really had to remember them by, but…

If you held onto sentimentality too tightly, you wouldn’t be able to keep moving forward. Your potential freedom was worth more to you than those bangles.

Over the next few weeks, you continued your preparations while waiting for a half-decent chance to escape. One day, when you were out idly roaming the town in the late afternoon after attending to your duties in the temple, you heard the uneasy mutterings of a number of villagers you passed: a pirate ship had docked earlier that afternoon, and while they hadn’t made any moves to pillage or terrorize, their dangerous presence was still unwanted by those that call the island home. You, however, had to suppress the rising hope so it didn’t show on your face.

This could be your chance.

After checking in with some of the villagers who worked near the docks and fishermen who frequently came and went, you learned that the pirates had stopped at the island for the night for a brief reprieve and would be off again in the morning. It didn’t seem like they were up to any funny business, no plundering or attacking, though they had been quite rowdy and rude to the various merchants and the barkeep. Not that any of that really mattered to you, though; the fact that they were leaving in the morning was the only thing on your mind.

It was a sudden, unexpected opportunity, but you’re going to grab it with both hands.

That night, when you returned to your room, you packed a small knapsack with a couple changes of clothes and just a few measly rations of food. It wouldn’t be wise to travel too heavily, you knew, though you couldn’t help but feel underprepared for your potential journey. If it even panned out, that is. Though you tucked yourself into bed, you didn’t sleep, too antsy about sleeping in too late and missing the ship’s departure.

And so you snuck off at dawn, the sun barely peeking over the horizon while shades of pink bled into the deep blue of the sky. Having long memorized the routines of the emissaries, you silently prowled through the dark, stone halls, slipping through the doors and making sure they closed softly behind you.

There were a few fishermen from the village milling about near the shore, but they avoided coming too close to the docks, eyeing the scene warily. The pirate crew was getting their vessel ready to set sail, some men much more energetic than others in the early hours, milling to and from their ship as they dragged some cargo (stolen or properly purchased, you weren’t sure) aboard. It was still early enough that it was half dark, though a few rays of sunshine danced across the very tops of the waves.

This was it. Now or never. You weren’t sure how this would all end up, but it didn’t matter if you made a fool of yourself or got hurt in the process; anything was better than just sitting around and waiting to become the sacrificial lamb the temple wanted you to be.

You ran up to the docks, and a few of the crew turned when they heard your quick footfalls thumping across the rickety wood. Ignoring the mix of confused and amused jeering, the men wondering what a little lady was doing approaching them so brazenly, you declared: “I want to speak to your captain.”

Your nerve garnered some guffaws, but you remained steadfast, expression not wavering from its stern, determined set. Irritated that they weren’t taking you seriously (though part of you couldn’t blame them; you would likely react similarly if you were in their shoes), you were about to open your mouth again to repeat your demand when another voice - a rough baritone - spoke up.

“And what might you want with me, lass?”

Your gaze shot up to a man that had walked to the edge of the ship’s deck. He appeared to be middle aged, skin weathered from being long exposed to the elements and hair that was a rich chestnut brown but graying tied back away from his face. A bandana covered the top of his head, and he wore a stiff, long coat over his tunic and leather armor. There was an amused smirk on his face, eyes narrowed in a speculative curiosity.

You took a step closer to the ship. “I want to board your ship.”

A beat passed before he scoffed a single laugh, sounding at once endeared but exasperated at your naivete. “Really, now? Humor me, lass. What’s the reason for such a demand? And what makes you think I’ll agree?”

“I wish to leave this place, but my options are limited,” you started, voice steady as you began to make your case. “I don’t care if you just drop me off at the nearest island; please let me board.”

“You realize we’re pirates, aye? We’re not a charter for little girls who want to run away from home,” the captain sneered, leaning his forearms against the taffrail, unconvinced by your pathetic attempt to sway him.

With a deep breath, you settled the desperation welling up in your throat. “If I don’t run away then I’m going to be thrown in the ocean to drown before the next year is over, because the temple here wants to make me a damn sacrifice,” you spat, deciding to get to the heart of the matter, your words frank and honest. “Besides, pirates attack coastal villages and kidnap pretty maidens often enough, don’t they? Consider me a captive or something, just walking right onto your ship.”

The captain was no longer smiling, but rather looking at you with an evaluating expression, studying the frustrated desperation that washed over your face and voice.

Unsure if he had been persuaded, you continued. You raised your hand, silver bracelets glinting in the early dawn’s sunlight. “The most valuable things I have on me are these bracelets. They probably amount to nothing you could get from ransacking another ship or village, but they’re yours if you let me on.” You paused for a moment. “Please. I need to leave.”

Considering your words, his fingers drummed the wooden railing in a heavy and slow staccato. The captain let out a short sigh, then straightened up and laughed, the sound rich and deep - but not mocking. “You’ve certainly got guts, I’ll give you that. The audacity of a young lady making demands of a pirate crew!” He made his way from the deck across the gangway, stopping right in front of you on the docks.

“I won’t promise you a comfortable journey, but you can board and we’ll find somewhere to drop you off,” he announced, then held his hand out, palm up. “And I’ll take those shiny bangles as payment.”

And that was how you managed to become a runaway sacrifice, spirited away by a pirate ship.

As the ship sailed off, watching the island become smaller and smaller in the distance felt surreal. There was a bit of trepidation deep in your chest; you were leaving behind everything that you knew, everything that you were familiar with. Despite everything, though, the anticipation of the future overshadowed everything else.

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