crowfish-brainrot

[crowfish-brainrot]

i love him. i love this.

Rafayel's perfect, pretty little waist

The studio smells like paint and bergamot. Afternoon light spills through the tall windows, gilding everything it touches—canvases, sculptures, the sweep of Rafayel’s violet hair where it falls across his cheek as he lounges shirtless on the velvet chaise. His abs flex subtly with every lazy breath, golden skin dusted with drying pigment from some half-finished masterpiece behind him.

You’ve been watching him for the better part of an hour, pretending to be focused on your book. But your eyes keep drifting, don’t they? The taper of his waist. The cut of his obliques. The way even stillness looks sculpted on him.

You shift your weight, pulse quickening with every inch of your growing mischief.

He doesn’t notice the way you cross the room—until you're standing above him. He tilts his head, gaze sliding up lazily. "Mmm? Done pretending to read?"

You don’t answer right away, just lower yourself onto your knees beside him, resting your chin on the arm of the chaise as you let your fingers trail, featherlight, along the sharp lines of his waist. He watches you half amused, half intrigued.

Then, in your softest voice, you ask, “Can I ride your waist?”

Silence. The kind that crackles like lightning before the storm. His body stills entirely, even his breath.

“...Excuse me?” his voice drops, but it isn’t cold—it’s shaken, stunned. His amethyst eyes snap to yours, wide and glimmering. He looks genuinely thrown off, and it thrills you.

You smile sweetly. "It’s just—Rafayel, your waist is insane. Like, it’s so perfectly built and slim but strong and your abs are like…" you sigh dramatically, fingers pressing just slightly into the lines of his stomach. "It’s unfair. I think about it a lot."

His jaw tightens, and a bloom of pink rises to his ears, crawling to the apples of his cheeks.

You might’ve expected him to roll his eyes and flick your forehead. Tease you with some too-clever quip about how you’re hopelessly obsessed with him—because you are. But instead, he exhales a shaky little laugh and drags a hand slowly up your arm.

"You want to ride my waist?" he murmurs, voice lower now, richer. “That’s how you’re choosing to word it?”

You blink up at him, all innocent mischief. “Mm-hm.”

"Oh, cutie." the word slips from his lips like a sigh—mocking, indulgent, but edged in something rougher. He draws you in with a single tug of his hand, casual and possessive all at once, and suddenly you’re straddling his hips like it was always meant to end this way.

His gaze flicks down to where your thighs cage him. Then slowly—so slowly—back up. "You can’t just say things like that while looking at me like that." his voice is velvet-draped iron. “Is this what I get for letting you run around my studio unsupervised?” he mutters, feigning exasperation as his fingers flex just once.

“Mhm, could be,” you whisper, leaning closer, letting your breath skim his cheek, “Or maybe I got too bored by that book and instead figured out your weak spot. We both know it, Raf— I know exactly how to handle you.”

That earns you a sharp inhale. One that betrays just how close to the edge he already is.

You’re not sure what you expected—probably some mocking, sultry comeback, another of his theatrical flourishes. But instead, he just stares at you like he’s trying not to combust.

The shift in his body isn’t subtle: the tense exhale, the flicker of heat behind those amethyst eyes, the flex of lean muscle beneath you.

“I’m this close,” he murmurs, voice dropping, “to throwing all my paints off that table and letting you ride me until the sun sets.”

Your smirk falters barely, because you didn’t expect him to fold so fast.

“Oh?” his lashes lower, tone lilting now, teasing like silk slipping between fingers. “Don't tell me you're the one flustered now. I thought you had a plan.”

You meet his eyes and, even as your cheeks warm, you say, “I still do. I just didn’t expect you to short-circuit so fast.”

That earns you a real laugh, soft and breathless. He brushes a knuckle down your cheek, tilts his head. “I let you have your little moment, miss bodyguard. But if you keep looking at me like you want to devour me…” his voice is practically a purr now. “…don’t act surprised when I ask for seconds.”

And just like that, it’s your heart pounding. Your skin flushed. Your entire body suddenly hyperaware of every inch of him beneath you.

He sees it, and his grin sharpens, smug and devastating. But his ears are still pink. And those amethyst eyes are still completely wrecked with want.

“Yeah? What if I want seconds, hm?” your voice is silken mischief as your fingertip drags a slow, deliberate line down his chest, over the sculpted lines that tense ever so slightly beneath your touch. He flexes without meaning to, a betrayal you catch instantly—and savor. “Would you let me?” you murmur, leaning in, your breath warm against his skin. “I know how much you love when I’m on top. I could feel it... in the way you twitched just now.”

Rafayel doesn’t reply immediately. His lashes lower, amethyst gaze half-lidded as he watches you, pupils blown, lips parted in some half-formed retort that never quite makes it to sound. He always tries to act unbothered, lounging like a prince on his velvet throne—but the tension in his jaw, the way his hands tighten against your thighs, and the faintest blush painting his ears and cheekbones tells another story entirely.

You live for this. For the moments when you pull one of his own games on him and it actually works. He’s so utterly stunning like this—trying to maintain the illusion of control while it slips through his fingers, while you take the reins.

And of course his hands are already on you, smoothing along the length of your bare thighs, fingers slipping up beneath the hem of the oversized shirt you’d stolen from him days ago and never returned. You never really wear anything else in his studio anymore—just his clothes and a pair of soft panties, because somehow, the minute you step into it, his hands always find their way to your skin.

Usually, it’s him teasing you until you’re squirming, trembling, breath caught in your throat as he whispers maddening nothings and drags things out until you beg.

But now you’re the one pressing your thighs around his hips, you’re the one setting the air alight with tension, watching the slow unravel of that perfectly poised smirk as his composure frays under your fingertips.

He exhales, low and tight, before gripping your waist and shifting—smooth, practiced, but not as casual as he wants it to seem. He settles you both onto the nearby couch in a controlled sprawl, then leans back, chest rising and falling beneath you, his expression wrecked in the most delicious way.

He places you exactly where you wanted to be—right on the carved slope of his abdomen, skin flushed and taut beneath your weight. His voice is low, a breath of velvet, but there's a rasp to it now. "Go on, then," he murmurs, eyes fixed on your mouth, your hands, anywhere but your eyes. "If you're going to be bold... be bold."

His hands remain on your hips, thumbs grazing over the dip of your waist as though he could take control at any moment—but he doesn’t. He won’t. Not now. Not when you're the one unspooling him thread by thread.

You steady yourself, palms pressed to his chest and shoulders, his muscles twitching beneath your touch. Then you start to move slowly, deliberately, grinding against the sculpted ridges of his abs through the damp barrier of your panties. The friction is heady, just enough to drag a tremor through you, and the soft sound Rafayel makes—low and breathy, more felt than heard—only urges you on.

His hands grip your ass, firm and possessive, as though he’s trying to guide the rhythm. But he stops short of it, resisting the urge to take over because he knows this is yours to lead.

"Mm," he finally exhales, voice curling around a sharp edge of restraint, “I was going to paint today, you know. Finish that painting I’ve been stuck on this past week.”

You smile, rolling your hips just enough to make him grunt again, that beautiful sound escaping his throat like he didn’t mean to let it slip.

“Oh?” you tilt your head, feigning innocence as your nails lightly rake down his chest. “You can still paint. After I’m done making a mess out of you.”

That gets his eyes on yours. Fully. Raw, dilated, burning amethyst. His smirk is slow, shaky, wicked. “And what a devoted little muse you’ve become.”

But his voice is hoarse now. He’s falling apart, and he knows it.

His eyes are drinking you in like he’s memorizing brushstrokes—slow, reverent, utterly spellbound. You move above him, hips rolling back and forth with a rhythm sharpened by want, the slick friction of your soaked panties dragging deliciously across his abs. Every time your clit catches on the ridge of sculpted muscle beneath you, your breath stutters—moans slipping free, quiet at first, then sweeter, needier.

That sound wrecks him.

Rafayel’s head tips back with a low, unguarded whine, his fingers digging into the softness of your ass. It’s rare to hear him make a sound like that—honest, uncomposed, utterly undone. Your lips twitch in delight as you trace a teasing finger along the bow of his mouth, brushing gently like you’re sketching color into a living canvas.

His breath hitches at the touch.

“You have no idea,” you whisper, your voice syrup-slow as you lean closer, “how many times I imagined this. Riding you like this… your stupid perfect abs, that impossible little waist…” your thighs clench involuntarily as you say it aloud—confession edged in heat, dragging along your spine like the echo of a touch.

“You look obscene, you know,” you murmur, voice almost reverent now, “and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About making a mess all over you. Just like this.”

Your thighs tighten again, and he feels it, just how badly you want this—crave it, even. His eyes flutter closed for half a second, a groan bleeding out of his throat like he’s losing the ability to keep quiet. Then, suddenly, his mouth is on yours—desperate, fevered, bruising in the way it claims. Tongues clash. Teeth scrape. It's a kiss full of impatience and praise, of fire that’s been simmering too long beneath the surface.

You tremble in his lap, the pressure winding tighter with every roll of your hips, and still—still—he finds a way to speak, voice ragged and taunting in the most affectionate, wicked way. “Oh? Already trembling?” he breathes against your lips, a smirk ghosting along his tone. “Not going to give up on your little fantasy now, are you, cutie?”

You want to reply, to snark something back—but then his hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers brushing upward until they find one sensitive nipple and tug, hard and deliberate.

You shatter. Your orgasm crashes over you with a sharp cry that melts into a moan against the curve of his neck, your body locking up, clenching, shaking as your soaked panties rub your release messily across his abs. Rafayel groans beneath you at the sensation, hands gripping harder, like he wants to feel every tremor, every drop.

But his touch doesn’t relent. His fingers continue to tease your nipple even as your breath stutters, and before you can fully come down, his other hand is already sliding lower, sneaking past your panties like he owns you—and he does, in this moment, in every moment like this. You’re not even fully recovered when his fingers slip inside—long, slow, curling deliberately.

Your moan cracks on his shoulder.

"Still so wet for me,” he murmurs, voice raw with heat, yet still frustratingly amused, as if he isn't on the edge himself. “You finally got your little wish, mm?” his teeth scrape gently against your jaw, fingers stroking so slowly inside you it feels like punishment.

“That turned you on this much?” he breathes, tongue brushing against the shell of your ear. “Riding my waist… making a mess out of me. And now…” his lips ghost along your cheek. “Now you’re going to be good and give me one more, aren’t you? Just one. You looked so pretty when you came the first time…”

You can barely answer, your mind hazy and hips already moving again, helpless against the way his voice wraps around you, coaxing and coaxing and coaxing like he’s pulling strings beneath your skin.

Rafayel watches you like a masterpiece in motion, eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming, as his fingers work deeper, slower, crueler. And you’re already unraveling again around his slender fingers that know exactly how to work you up.

He had made you come like this before—more than once. So many times, in fact, that your body already knew the rhythm of it, the inevitable descent. The way his fingers moved like they were painting with you, not just inside you. The way he watched, every twitch of your body committed to memory like brushstrokes on silk. But even with all that history—every time he’d dragged you to pieces with just his hands—this moment felt different.

You knew exactly how much this turned him on.

The slow, wet sound of your arousal coating his fingers. The weight of you atop him, flushed and trembling, hips chasing each curling motion like you’d die if he stopped. He had to be aching. You could feel it in the way his breath stuttered, hot and shallow. The subtle shudders he tried to mask each time your walls clenched around his fingers. And still, the bastard refused to give you exactly what you wanted.

His fingers curved inside you with expert precision… but just barely missed that devastating spot that would’ve pushed you over the edge. Not by accident—never by accident with him. No, he wanted to see you like this—trembling, desperate, grinding down for more like you’d do anything to catch the friction he kept barely out of reach.

Your voice was nothing more than a mewl in his ear, broken words struggling past your parted lips as you whispered his name again and again, a chant, a plea, a breathless surrender.

And finally—finally—he gave in. Rafayel pressed his fingers just right, again and again, stroking over that aching bundle of nerves with such maddening purpose that you almost wept from the pleasure. Your moans melted into his neck, hot and needy, and he responded with a shiver so sharp it startled you—his whole body jerking beneath you like a live wire.

You were too close to speak. Too close to question the heat of his mouth as it opened against your throat, kissing, nipping, biting down as he groaned low and helpless right into your skin.

And then just as your thoughts began to splinter, he moaned. Not quiet, not restrained, but guttural and raw, right against your ear.

His fingers didn’t slow. If anything, they moved faster, deeper, relentless now as if he'd been holding back only for the pleasure of breaking you in this exact moment.

You shattered with a broken, wrecked cry, your orgasm hitting like a violent wave, all nerves and light and liquid heat spilling through you as your body convulsed around his fingers.

You heard him gasp. Felt the tension under your thighs, the tremble in his chest, the chaos in his breath. And then he stilled.

When his hand finally slipped from between your legs, he brought his fingers to his lips without ceremony, licking them slow and indulgent, violet eyes never leaving your face. His gaze was wrecked, utterly undone yet amused in that signature Rafayel way, with something darker coiled underneath the soft curve of his mouth.

He didn’t say a word. That look alone told you he was already imagining painting you like this—flushed, dazed, dripping with satisfaction, your thighs still twitching from aftershocks.

You leaned in, cradling his face in your hands, pulling him into a kiss that was all tongue and hunger and grateful, shaking need. And when you finally broke apart, breathless and pressed forehead to forehead, you felt his smile before you saw it.

And then—just barely, like it was nothing at all—he whispered against your mouth, “Guess I lost control too.”

Your brows furrowed, dazed. “What…?”

He hummed, soft and smug, one hand trailing down your back. “You were so sweet chasing your pleasure like that,” he murmured, lashes low, voice a whisper of silk and sin. “I might’ve gotten carried away watching.”

Your heart stuttered as realization sank in. He hadn’t even needed your hands. Just you. Just the sight of you falling apart.

You stared at him, jaw slack, and Rafayel had the audacity to grin—lazy and flushed and completely unapologetic.

And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added with a sigh, “You really do make the most breathtaking art, cutie.”

[crowfish-brainrot]

my heeeaaaaaarrrrtttt!!!!!!!

Meet me where the land meets the sea 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉

Rafayel sat in a chair next to your hospital bed, tracing the features of the little girl he was cradling in his arms

The little girl who he had waited centuries for

The most angelic thing he had ever seen lay in his worldly and tainted hands from the many life experiences he had faced

what an odd world we live in.

She adorned a little lace sleeved jumper with a matching bonnet, old timey sure but a relic of lumerian tradition he’d hand sewn himself even managing to thread the lumerian fish in the middle. It was perfect

Rafayel carefully tickled the sweet baby girls heel as her nose scrunched up, an exact replica of his down to the little freckle on her nose

But her eyes… her eyes

As they flickered open he felt he could die a happy man. his heart slowly but surely melting

One eye was all rafayel a beautiful juxtapose of blueish, pink and purple hues while the other eye was all you.

Rafayels chest fell forward in defeat

“oh little glubs , you just wanna break daddy’s little heart in two don’t you sweet girl” he said whining as if he was gonna start kicking his feet at any moment

“daddies a mess isn’t he seraphina” you replied tiredly through a yawn as you fiddle with the Polaroid in your hand.

Raf had asked one of the nurses to take a photo of all three of you shortly after seraphina was born and everything was settled

the photo capturing you holding seraphina angling her towards the camera and rafayel sitting next to you on the hospital bed, arms around you with his cheeks resting on the top of your head, you’re grinning from ear to ear showing your baby to camera while rafayel cries tears of joy

Raf carefully makes his way to over to you with baby seraphina in hand to get a glimpse of what you’re looking at

“you know, I had that photo taken cause I planned to paint it for the house but.. I dun think I can do it anymore” he says seemingly uncharacteristically calm as his focus flickers from the baby to the photo

“why’s that?” You reply as you shift over a bit in the bed and pat the open spot for rafayel to lay next to you

“Tyrian purple, takes tens of thousands of conches to get one gram, and the color I use for your eyes is made of seashells at the bottom of the sea, I’d be willing to explore the deep blue sea a thousand times over just for you but.. her” he sighs looking down at the baby who seems to be following his words intently

“she’s made up of colors that can’t be replicated, look at her eyes my love, the only ingredients that could make one as special as her is me and you”

As you play softly with seraphinas hand your eyes make there way up to rafayels taken aback by his words, but his eyes are already on you a soft smile gracing his face as his eyes are glassy brimming with tears

“in lumerian culture the land meeting the sea could only cause destruction. An eternal clash that didn’t account for the unity that could come out of it. Two souls damned from the beginning, when disdain becomes love and appreciation-“

“when opposites collide harmony is born” you finish of rafayels sentence tears now mirroring rafayels

At first he looks slightly shocked but his face settles into one of pure love and comfort as you rest your head on rafayels shoulder. he often wonders how your souls are already tied together eternally but he figures out a way to fall more and more in love with you everyday.

In rafayels exhibition hall now hangs a painting with a far deeper meaning than words could begin to explain.

one side rippling a soft yellow while the other side gleams the proud color of a calm sea, they both meet in the middle forming emerald green the exact color of seraphina’s birth stone

Another frame hangs right beside it but it’s not a painting it’s a photo, the photo of the day you and rafayel officially became a family

A little excerpt lays underneath the frames reading

“meet me where the land meets the sea, where opposites collide and create harmony”

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[crowfish-brainrot]

Oh this gives me ideas 👀

On the topic of the silent ones being the most freaky, Sylus fucked around and found that out the hard way, TWICE. Once with you and once with Zayne.

“What happened huh? All bark and no bite, I see.” You say as you and Zayne proceed to absolutely annihilate him after rigging him up and hooking him up to some toys.

He’s gone. Head? Empty. Body? Overstimulated and hot. Eyes rolled back, mouth open; drooling. Handprints and rope burns, hickies and bites decorating his skin. He’s cum so many times his brain is fried.

Sylus cannot believe his luck.

Being a brat never felt so good.

[crowfish-brainrot]

Being away from Sylus for like a week on a mission or visiting family or something. He's waiting for you at the airport, leaning against his car as he keeps an eye out for you. Completely ignoring people who want to take pictures with his car because he doesn't want to miss seeing your face light up when you spot him

He can pinpoint the exact moment you see him, too. The furrow in your brow as you scan the crowd, walking uncertainly, just trying to keep moving so people don't get upset with you. And then the bright, beaming smile when your eyes lock onto him, onto a familiar leather jacket and white hair

He holds back chuckles as he watches you weave through the crowd, running, pulling your luggage behind you as you sprint toward him. He leans off of his car and opens his arms just in time to catch you leaping into him

His arms feel like home as he uses your momentum to spin you around. He presses his cheek against yours to feel the curve of your smile. Even when he finally puts your feet back on the ground, he's hunched over to keep hugging you tight. You don't blame him; you don't want to let go either

"Did you miss me, kitten?" he teases beside your ear

You squeeze him tighter, push yourself onto you toes to press yourself further into him. "Nope," you tease right back. Your giggle warms his soul

He chuckles as he pulls back to kiss your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose, between your brows - absolutely anywhere but your lips until you drag him into a proper kiss. You don't care about the crowds of people. The jetlag. The unpacking you have to do. None of it matters when you're back home, holding and being held by the man you love

He pulls away slowly. Red eyes all warm and soft looking into your own. "I missed you, too," he says softly, like it's a secret shared between you both

[crowfish-brainrot]

Lads Li's temperature headcannons.

Zayne:

Starting out with the most obvious imo, this man is always cold. He's gotten used to it overtime to the point where he doesn't even notice, but when you go to hug him it's like stepping into a freezer lmao.

For the same reason, whenever it get warm out or his body temp becomes warmer, he tends to get irritable without knowing why, when he eventually figures out its because his body has become so adapted to his evol that it reacts negatively to higher temperatures, his snappieness becomes easier to manage.

The only one who it doesn't absolutely suck to cuddle with during summer time, bro is a walking ac unit.

Rafayel:

I think thanks to his lemurian genes he also runs cool, not as cold as Zayne but definitely lower than average. He also doesn't handle the heat well, poor fishie gets heat stroke way too easily. He sees its going to be above 75° Fahrenheit outside and immediately is hiding away in the coldest, darkest room available.

He's very dramatic about it.

Xavier:

His body temperature is pretty average in the sense that it fluctuates accordingly, but that won't stop this man from always insisting that he's cold. It could be the middle of summer and you'd still find him wearing a hoodie because 'it's cold out' and you apparently 'need to cuddle to conserve body heat'.

It's too late for you when you realize twas all just a ploy to get you to snuggle with him.

Caleb:

Hot.

No other way to put it, he runs warm, you've been convinced he was running a fever on several occasions, but no, that's just his default setting. Very good for when it's cold out, not so good when vice versa. Even worse when you realize he gets whiney and needy when you don't cuddle him for a prolonged amount of time. When you tell him it's too hot, he pouts at you and won't stop until you give in.

What a dog.

Sylus:

I'm saving my favorite boy for last because whew...

Bro is a walking furnace. You thought Caleb was bad? Sylus is ten times worse. I mean, he is a dragon, so it makes sense that he'd essentially be a breathing heater. Except as opposed to Caleb, who pouts when you won't snuggle due to the heat, Sylus simply raises a brow, pulls out his phone, and is silent for several minutes.

You're about to ask what the hell he's doing before he looks up and says "Pack your bags, we're going to Alaska."

It becomes a tradition, every summer you spend several weeks somewhere where it's cold and snowy as a little vacation.

[crowfish-brainrot]

ARF ARF ARF BITING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSUREEEEE!!!!!!!

⤷How they react when you squirt for the first time

Caleb

You soak him mid-thrust—your slick gushing out suddenly, dripping between your thighs and down his stomach. Caleb stills for a moment, eyes locked on the mess pooling beneath you both, then lets out a sharp exhale like he’s just been punched in the gut. “Holy fuck… you just squirted all over my cock.” His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you back onto him as he thrusts up—deep and rough, chasing it again. "That’s it, baby. Make a mess. I want you to keep doing that—over and over until the whole bed’s drenched.” He thumbs your clit while he pounds into you, voice tight and desperate. “You can’t even stop now, can you? Look at you—so fucked out, still leaking. That’s mine. All of it. ”You squirt out suddenly around his fingers and he freezes, eyes locked between your legs, watching the flood of slick that coats his palm and thighs.

Rafayel

Then he smiles. Slowly. Darkly. “You’ve been holding out on me.” He pushes two fingers back in without warning, pressing against that same spongy spot, curling just right—and when you jolt from overstimulation, he laughs softly, voice syrup-smooth. “Aww, what’s wrong? Too much now?” “No, no. You’re not tapping out yet. Not when I just got to the good part.” He leans close, his forehead resting against yours as he whispers: “Be a good girl and squirt again for me. I want this whole room smelling like you.”

Xavier

You squirt mid-ride, and his entire body jerks—like it physically startled him, only to be followed by the dirtiest grin you’ve ever seen on his face. “No fuckin’ way. You just made a goddamn mess.” He grabs your waist and starts fucking up into you from below, rough, wet slaps echoing in the room.“Soaked me, baby. Look at you—dripping, shaking, moaning like a fuckin’ pornstar.” He thumbs your clit with no mercy, lips brushing your ear: “We’re not done. I’m not stopping until you squirt again. And again. Let’s see how wrecked I can get you.”

Sylus

You squirt across his face the moment his tongue flattens against your clit, and he moans, messy and loud, as your slick covers his chin, lips, even his neck. He doesn’t move away. If anything, he grips your thighs tighter, licking through the mess like it’s his last meal. “Ohh, fuck yes… that’s it, pretty girl.” “So wet for me. You gonna do it again while I’m sucking on this sweet little pussy? ”He sucks your clit harder, tongue dragging in tight circles, fingers fucking into you from below. You’re twitching, whimpering—and he’s groaning like he’s in heaven. “C’mon, give it to me again. I wanna drown in it.”

Zayne

Your thighs jerk, body tight, and then your slick gushes out—warm and sudden, drenching his wrist and soaking the sheets beneath you. For a moment, Zayne goes still. His gaze drops to where his fingers are buried inside you, now coated and dripping. The soft sound of your breathing fills the room, ragged and ruined. He doesn’t smirk. He doesn’t flinch. He just stares, almost fascinated. “You lost control,” he murmurs. “Completely.” He slowly withdraws his hand, watching the slick stretch between your folds and his fingers. A quiet pause. Then he drags his fingers across your inner thigh, spreading the mess without a hint of shame, eyes never leaving your face. “So reactive. And yet you haven’t even reached your limits.” He brings his fingers to his lips, tasting you with clinical slowness—not for show, but to commit the moment to memory. Then, without warning, he slides two fingers back in, deeper this time, curling with meticulous precision. “You’re going to do that again.” “I’ll make sure of it. His voice stays soft, composed—but the weight behind it is devastating. “Don’t hold back. I want everything.”

[crowfish-brainrot]

whew your writing sratches that itch in my brain fr 😵‍💫 i would LOVEE to see you write about zayne and sylus reacting to the reader being self conscious about squirting for the first time pretty please 🥲

I appreciate you 🥰 thank you for waiting, I just finished a longer fic, so I can answer this now!

MDNI 🔞

❄️ : Not only has Zayne learned your body and all its responses to stimuli, but he’s a surgeon as well as your primary care physician. His hands always worked with precision and care, whether it was keeping steady while holding a scalpel or working you open around his long fingers. Every time he made you cum, it was always mind numbing—but he wanted to give you more and test the limits of your pleasure.

After a particularly tough week at both your respective jobs, you needed release. Some nights, all you could muster was a slow make out session or a little dry humping before bed. “I’m sorry, Zaynie, I’m just so tired,” you said before rolling over, pressing your back into his embrace. Zayne is a patient man, his level of restraint was something that he’d sworn to maintain. So he’d wait until you were ready, because it was always evident in your gaze, your touch, even your scent.

You didn’t know there was a possibility to experience a more intense climax than the ones Zayne gave you. Your body always laid trembling and dewy with sweat when he took care of you. He made you wet with even the most feather-light touches and he always listened, never insecure when you told him to change his pace or pressure. And he loved to give, even if it meant not receiving anything in return. Zayne’s goal during intimacy was to watch you fall apart beneath him, by his hands, mouth or cock.

You stayed at his condo over the weekend, tidying his space while he was at work. He agreed to take a shorter shift since you had an early day yourself. Before he came home, you showered away the dust and grime accumulated while cleaning. He came through the front door quietly, his black tie loosened around his neck, lab coat draped over his forearm. Changing from dress shoes to house slippers, he shuffled his way into the kitchen. You stood with your back turned towards the island, preparing dinner, mindlessly chopping vegetables and humming to the music playing off your phone.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing a deep breath and sighing softly from the smell of your jasmine lotion. “You’re home,” you cooed, turning around in his arms. His bright dreamy hazel eyes were a little less tired, the previous dark circles now fading. “You smell good,” he murmured, nuzzling into your neck. “Thank you baby, hungry?” Zayne squeezed you a little tighter, held around your waist a little longer. “I am. Thank you for starting dinner, but let me help.” You gesture to a plate of chicken thighs, “season those for me?” He nodded, then pressed a kiss to your temple.

After finishing the dishes, you agreed on a movie night before bed. Your bodies were snuggled together under a mountain of blankets, taking turns popping candies into each other’s mouths. Zayne rubbed your thigh, an absent minded motion he did frequently, but tonight it was driving you crazy. After a while, the movie became less interesting. Taking hold of his wrist, you put his hand on your crotch and his fingers flinched from the heat rising from your core. “You’re being so bold,” he said low and husky, but slowly rubbing circles into the fabric. “Mm—we’ve been to tired and busy lately, I miss you…,” you moaned, feeling the muscles in his forearms flex with each turn of his wrist.

Zayne pulled you into his lap, planting his hand on your waist, “I knew the movie wouldn’t last long.” The buttons on your pajama top were undone just enough to expose your cleavage. Letting out a soft groan, Zayne buried between your breasts nose first. You carded your fingers through his dark hair, mewling as his lips grazed your nipple. “I’ve missed you all week, need to hold you, feel you around me,” he rasped, rolling the hardened bud between his teeth. Your hips began to rock against his lap, breath hitching when his erection nudged your swelling clit. Zayne’s normally chilled skin became hotter and flushed, his cheeks and ears a bright red.

When you kissed him, his tongue still tasted like strawberry candy. He slithered his hand between your bodies, diving into your pajama shorts. “God, you’re always so wet for me,” he said with a strained tone. You moaned into his mouth, grinding against his deft fingers. “I want to make you wetter, can I do that love?” His voice was raspy, breath brushing against your ear and neck. “Mhmmm, need you, Zayne, so bad.” You whined as he filled you with two fingers, curling the tips over your sweetest spot. His forehead fell, resting on your shoulder. “So…warm,” he groaned, “I don’t think I can wait anymore.”

He quickly rose off the couch, fingers still working you open, essence rolling in clear beads down his hand. Your back bounced off the mattress, watching Zayne shrug out of his dress shirt. His fingers were still soaked as he unbuckled his belt and slipped his grey slacks to the floor. He crawled over you, palms sinking into the mattress, cock hanging heavily between his legs. “I’m going to make up for everything,” he whispered, soft lips bruising your earlobe. You arched into him, pussy clenching around nothing, begging for fullness and friction. He pushed your hips into the sheets, “behave. I’m going to take care of you.” Zayne pursed a slow trail of kisses down your stomach, biting the plush skin under your navel. His lidded gaze fell to your messy panties, “fuck…,” he couldn’t help but drag his tongue over the transparent stain. “A-ah!,” you keened, gripping the hair at his nape. The doctor pulled your ruined underwear away , moaning deeply at the sight of your weepy sex.

His tongue slid in and out of your entrance, giving you a hint of fullness. You writhed impatiently, “baby please…” A tight smack stung your flesh, making a yelp rip out of you, “I said behave.” Zayne closed his lips around your clit, giving it light sucks while pressing his palm on your abdomen. “F-fuck…what are you doing?,” a foreign pressure began building from this new sensation. You could feel your pulse thrumming from inside your core. “Giving you more,” Zayne said with a clinical tone, reintroducing his fingers to your entrance. Your body shattered, you came around his pumping digits, hips bucking like a wild mare. “Mmmm fuck—Zayne!”

He rose from between your thighs, quieting your moans with a reverent kiss. “Feel good?” You looked at him with needy eyes, nodding frantically. “Use your voice.” “Yes, daddy, so good,” you whimpered, making his cock jump. He dropped his hips, rubbing the tip through your folds, “I’m not done, yet.” His breath was hot as it fanned over your shoulder, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. Zayne instructed you to breathe as he pushed himself inside, grunting from that first clamp of your walls. The stretch was intoxicating, every inch satisfying your need for fullness. “God, so tight,” thrust “so perfect,” thrust “so fucking good for me. It started with long, slow movements, warming your pussy with his length. He memorized every twitch, every shudder of your muscles, filling you deliberately. “Faster baby…please..,” you pleaded, asking for a kiss with your eyes. Your lips were met with a loving embrace, his tongue invading your mouth. The vulgar gushing between your bodies made lighting shoot up Zayne’s spine, you’ve never been this sloppy for him and it filled him with a sense of pride.

You were already feeling euphoric, mind dizzy and vision blurry. His hand reached under your pillow, retrieving your vibrator you thought he didn’t know about. A gasp ripped from your lips when the rattling toy met your flesh, making you fist the sheets. “Z-Zayne—I can’t take it, s’too much..,” you panted, an unusual pressure building in your gut. His thrusts changed, sliding in and out ferociously. “I got you, love. Be a good girl and cum for me.” You wept from the combination of pleasure and pain, this unknown pull at your insides was tearing you in half. “I…I—ohhh god, I’m cumming Zayne!” A scream shattered your vocal cords and a warm fluid sprayed from where you connected, leaving a small puddle beneath you. Your cheeks felt hot, “baby…what was that?” Your lover held your chin, pulling your gaze to his, “don’t be embarrassed, I just wanted you to feel better.” He gently kissed you, still plunging himself inside your fluttering pussy. “Did I squirt?,” you cooed, still feeling a little vulnerable. Zayne’s hips rutted into you, his cock coating your insides with cum. “Haah—yes, and I loved it, I love you.”

You squirmed weakly, feeling full, spent and drowsy. You kissed each other lazily moaning softly against your sweeping lips. He gently pulled out, watching you leak onto the sheets, “such a good girl, I love you, angel.”

🐦‍⬛: Sylus was no stranger to love making. He put you in positions you didn’t know existed, pulling the most earth shattering orgasms from you multiple times a night. He had an open mind when it came to you and your needs, giving you anything you desired. After all, he made it his life’s purpose to spoil you rotten, to feed your greedy intentions. His devotion for you was ancient, otherworldly—it showed in more ways than intimacy. Lately, however, he noticed your light was a little dimmer than usual.

For months Linkon had several waves of Wanderer attacks. Terrorizing local communities, so much so that it took multiple teams to defeat them. Sylus frowned at your slumped shoulders and dark circles, feeling an ache in his chest for his normally feisty kitten. “Is there anything I can do to help?,” he asked, thumbs digging into your traps. Your head fell back against his shins as you sat in front of the couch, melting from his firm ministrations. “Mm, no Sy, it’s okay really.” He grumbled above you, slightly annoyed by your stubbornness. “You don’t always have to be so independent, Sweetie,” he murmured, gliding his hands down the back of your neck. You leaned over and kissed his calf, “m’fine, I promise.”

Then the next day, you weren’t. Finally at your wits end, you thrashed through the base doors. Sylus had no time to greet you as you shut yourself away in the bathroom. You were frustrated, on the verge of angry, exhausted tears and all you wanted was a hot bath. Stripping away the layers of your Hunter’s uniform, you threw them in a messy pile and began to fill the tub. Your muscles loosened and bones felt softer when you sank in the steaming basin. A deep sigh, blew from your lips and slowly, you closed your eyes.

Sylus knocked on the bathroom door before peaking his head inside. You were so immersed in your soak, that you didn’t notice him undress and sink in behind you. “Mmm, hey you,” you groaned, resting your head on his chest. A light kiss pressed against your hair, “everything okay, Kitten?,” he asked, gently rubbing your arms. You sighed, “just so tired, of everything…” “I understand, why don’t you let me take care of you tonight?,” he soothed, arms squeezing you tighter. After months of grueling work, you finally gave in.

You let Sylus wash your hair, run a loofah over your skin, practically purring from his touch full of intention. As he rinsed away the suds from every part of your body, a trail of kisses followed. You nuzzled into his lap, still surrounded by the warm embrace of the water. “Sy…I want more. More touching, more kissing. I need it.” He hummed sweetly, lifting you out the tub. Kneeling before you, he smoothed a towel from your tummy down each leg pursing his lips down your skin. His touch was worshipful, making you sigh with a mixture of pleasure and feeling seen. Then he stood, blotting your dripping hair, grazing your neck with his nose. “You’re so soft, smell so sweet…,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. You let out a soft hum, leaning into his broad frame.

You wrapped the towel around your self while Sylus put your hair in long braid down your back. “There, feel better?” “Mhmm, thank you, I’m sorry for being so stubborn,” you mumbled. His finger curled under your chin, pulling your gaze upward. “It’s okay, Sweetie, I know it wasn’t personal.” He guided you backwards until your back met the cool marble countertop. You floated upwards, landing softly as you sat by the sink. Sylus pushed between your thighs, “from now on, you’re under my care. Understand?” The towel fell to the floor and his hands splayed over your thighs. “Yes–“

“Good.”

He kissed you slowly, reverently, slipping his long tongue into your mouth. A low growl rose from his chest when you bit his lower lip. Sylus moved to your neck, sucking rosy marks into the flesh. “Mine..,” bite “mine…,” suck “all mine.” Your fingers raked through his silver locks, lightly tugging at the roots and earning a small moan. He palmed your breast, needing the plush swell in his large hand. You gasped as he inhaled a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak. “Good girl, keep making those pretty noises for me…” His tongue gave your other breast some attention, making your mouth fall into an O shape. “Sylus…more…,” you breathed, parting your thighs further, feeling sticky at your center.

Your lover could smell the arousal lifting off of you, sliding his fingers through your slick. He groaned, rubbing circles around your clit, “fuck…you’re so messy already, I need to taste you.” He sucked his digits clean before using them you fill your entrance, caressing your puffy insides. “Ah—Sylus, yes…,” you mewled, tossing your head back. His fingers warmed your core, gushing lewdly, making the silver haired man bite his lip. “I love it when she talks to me, so dirty,” he growled, “I’m gonna make her leak everywhere, too.” You yelped as Sylus threw you over his shoulder, still buried knuckle deep. You whimpered, every step he took towards the bedroom nudged his fingertips against your walls, making you clench tightly.

You melted into the mattress, face down and a curved arch in your back. Large hands gripped your ass, spreading it apart slowly. A warm glob of spit plopped on your pussy, then spread evenly with his crown. “Don’t hold your breath and make those pretty little sounds for me, okay?” You whined, moving your ass in needy circles against his erection. Smack “hmm?,” Sylus hummed, soothing the stinging spank with his palm. “Y-yes! Okayyy!” His weight leaned against you, pursing a kiss between your shoulder blades. You could feel him in your guts when he finally sank inside, filling you to the brim. “Goddamn,” he rasped, pulling back and watching his cock disappear with each languid intrusion.

Your moans were muffled by the blankets before another warning spank swiped across your ass. “Ah—s-sorry baby.” He rubbed the flushed cheek, accepting your adorable little apology. Sylus’s eyes never left your pussy as it swallowed him whole, leaving a ring of slick around the base. He knew being in doggy was your favorite position, how hard you came from his hips slamming into you from behind. When your legs began to shake and voice was raw from calling his name, he prepared for the moment you’d break beneath him. As his thrusts grew more intense and rapid, your arm swung back, pushing away from intense waves of pressure. Sylus held your hand but kept his bruising pace, “don’t run Kitten, you’re almost there…”

You nearly collapsed to the bed when his fingers found your clit, “w-wait—oh my god!” But he didn’t stop, only growled at your pleasured moans and how your back arched even deeper. An unfamiliar feeling boiled in your lower abdomen, threatening to crash over you at any moment. Just when you felt like you couldn’t hold on any longer, Sylus tapped your clit repetitively. You wailed, clawing at the sheets and gushing endlessly down your thighs. “Yes that’s it’s, just like that, Kitten.” The mess pooling on the bed drove him crazy, and he came hard, holding your hips with an iron grip. A soft whimper fell from your lips as he claimed you, limbs struggling to hold you upright. “Good girl,” he purred, pulling himself free. You winced, rolling on our back. Sylus bent down and dotted kisses all over your dewy skin, the worship returning in his touch. “Love you so much, sweetheart,” he soothed. You sighed, sweeping the plastered strands of silver from his forehead, “I love you, baby…but I feel so embarrassed. Never squirt before.”

A subtle laugh rumbled from his throat, and he pulled you into his arms. “Don’t ever apologize for experiencing pleasure. I wanted you to let go.” His reassurance was warm and sweet. You curled into him and let out a relieved sigh. “But don’t fall asleep yet, I’ll definitely need to change these sheets. My little mess maker.”

*further proof I need the snowcrow duo in my bed*

[crowfish-brainrot]

"Be honest with me, Cutie. Please." But his words are slurring, his cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink, and you swear there are tears brimming in those beautiful duo-chrome eyes.

"Raf, you're drunk..." But he clings onto you tighter, more of his weight falling into your hold as he nearly chokes on a sob. "I don't care, Cutie. Please, just be honest when I a-ask this." A little blip, the tiniest choke, but you know you can't deny him now.

"Okay, okay. Anything, ask me anything and I'll be honest." The night air was slightly chilly by the water, his home was only a few blocks away. But whatever he needed to ask you, he needed to ask it now. Nothing else would subdue him until he got an answer.

"Do you see me as more than a friend?"

It was said so confidently, so steadily, you nearly tripped on the pavement and took him down with you. "Rafayel-" But he grabbed onto you tighter, steadying you despite being unsteady on his own feet. You had no choice but to look at him, stare into those eyes and-

"You said you'd be honest with me, cutie. So answer my question honestly." Your throat was dry, your mouth full of sand, he was centimeters from your face, noses nearly brushing, his breath warm and lingering with the scent of alcohol.

"You're drunk, I'd rather have this conversation when I know you'll remember what I say." But his nose is scrunching, those pretty lips turning downward in a pout. Fuck he was so cute, so pretty, so endearing. He was a siren, that was the only way to describe him.

"We can h-have this conversation again in the morning, and you'll tell me what I want to hear. But I will never forgive you if you don't answer me right no-hmph!" You crushed yourself to him, pulling that infuriatingly perfect face against your own.

He tasted of champagne, fizzy drinks, something so uniquely Rafayel that you couldn't help but whine. Despite his drunken state, he was able to catch up quick. His hands groping every part of you that he could reach, mouth moving sloppily against your own.

Actions have always spoken louder than words, and you hoped that this would be enough to satisfy is drunken thoughts. Maybe subdue the insecurities that ebbed their way up his spine and landed him where he was now.

“Does that answer your question?” You gasp, barely getting the sentence out before Rafayel’s lips chased yours again. Before they connected, you swore he mumbled out a “yes.”

At least when he crashed, he landed in your embrace.

[crowfish-brainrot]

MUSE

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚ rafayel x fem!reader

summary: you have a chance encounter with a stranger at an art gallery. when you run into him the next time, you can't seem to get him out of your head. but neither can he.

₊˚⊹♡ tags: rafayel x fem!reader, stalking, obsession, f masturbation, fingering, riding, references to raf's lumerian form, pet names, p in v, rafayel fucks you in front of a painting of yourself, porn with plot

word count: 5k

₊˚⊹♡ a/n: obsessed mc AND rafayel? sign me up. hope you enjoy!

The first time you saw it, you felt it. Something deep within you called you to it. You walked up to the piece in a hypnotic state, its glittering waves luring you in as if it were saying your name like a hymn. As you were pulled closer to it, the crowd in the gallery slowly faded away. They simply became background noise, obsolete to the painting in your sight. You stopped in your steps, still as the painting itself. But in your mind, it was alive, buzzing with life. You were there, on the dimly lit beach. Waves crashing over the rocks, bioluminescent creatures floating in the water and creating a path to a distant place.

And in that distant place, was something you’d never seen. A creature— no, a man. Tall in stature, purple hair cascading around him and adorned with charms of the sea. He was accompanied by a woman in a tight embrace. It was… ethereal. 

You slowly reached a finger out to touch it. To really see if it was real. But before you could, you heard a voice breaking your trance.

“Hey, lady! No touching the paintings.”

You dropped your hand to your side, paying little attention to the stares you’d garnered. Your eyes remained locked on the art piece, and you tilted your head to perhaps see it in a new light. But another voice interjected.

“I see you like the painting.” His voice was like honey; sweet, yet rich. But you didn’t turn to face him yet.

“Yes, it’s breathtaking. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

He chuckled. “Are you interested in art?”

“To be honest no,” you laughed, “but my friend dragged me here. I saw this and… I can’t even place the emotion I feel.” 

You finally turned to face the man, and much like the person in the painting, his hair was a deep purple but shorter. His eyes were trained on you, choosing to analyze your reactions over the piece itself. They were composed of varying hues, his skin pale but not lifeless, and the white button up fit his lean frame expertly. 

He was hauntingly beautiful.

“What about you?” you asked. 

“I… enjoy art, you could say.” He looked back at the painting, but your eyes remained on his. He appeared to be a kind man, but you could see in his eyes that there lived something else. Perhaps pain and misunderstanding. Maybe something a little darker. Nevertheless, he looked almost cheerful. You turned back to the painting. 

It was silent between you two, but not painfully so. When you turned to ask another question to the mystery man, he had disappeared. You looked around the gallery to see the head of purple hair but came up short. Your shoulders sagged, but what for? You hardly knew this man. 

Rafayel had seen you in the distance of his gallery. He saw how you drifted over to his newest painting; a painting of himself— his true self— and a woman he hadn’t known, but had dreamed of for years. Her hair resembled yours, her smooth skin like yours, almost everything like yours. 

He kept his eyes on you as your hand reached out to touch the painting. But before you could, a security guard had stopped you. His eyes flickered over to the stocky man in brief annoyance, but she hadn’t minded. He wanted to approach you. To see if you really did resemble her, or if his mind was simply playing tricks on him. So he did.

Your conversation was short-lived, but he gathered everything he needed to know. It was clear that you were her. Not a copy, not someone who vaguely looked like her. No, you were her. His muse. 

He decided at that moment that he would have you. Sketch every feature, draw the smallest details of your curves, and capture the essence that was you. He wanted to see your face as it screwed up in distaste or pleasure. He wanted to see how your body would react to his touch, to see whether you wanted him gently or something more vicious. He wanted to lay your bodies on a canvas and create something worthy of praise. 

He left you alone, but not for long.

He found out everything about you. It started with the basics: how old you were, where you worked, your socials. But he wanted more, so he went deeper. He found where you lived, even where your friend, the same one that dragged you to his gallery, lived. Just in case you visited there. But knowing these things about you weren’t enough. If anyone tried hard enough, they could find the same information. He discovered places you frequented: your favorite cafe, occasionally accompanied by a man with raven-like hair and glasses, much to Rafayel’s displeasure. Your grandmother’s house, which you visited often. He could only imagine you introducing him to her, how he’d sweep her off her feet just to prove his worth. How much harder you’d love him if he did. But the dark haired boy with violet eyes took his place at your dinner table. 

But only temporarily. 

There had been times where he questioned why he was doing this. Yes, he had confirmed that you were the woman in his dreams, in his paintings. But you barely knew of his existence. Why would a successful artist, a sea god, be so enraptured by this mysterious woman from his gallery? 

It was something he chose to brush aside. It didn’t matter why or how. All that mattered was when he would see you next, and just how far he was willing to go to earn you. 

It was raining out, which meant it was the perfect day to grab coffee with a friend. You ran from the taxi to the café’s awning, your hands making a futile effort to shield yourself from the downpour. You had forgotten your umbrella in your apartment as a result of rushing out the house to meet Tara, but as you peek into the building, she was nowhere to be seen. 

You enter the café and the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and decadent pastries fill your nose. You dust your wet shoes on the mat before finding an empty table by the window. Before you can get settled, a text appears on your phone.

Hey! I’m so sorry, but I have to cancel today. Last minute mission. I’ll call you later! Promise. 

Seriously? You thought. Despite how sweet Tara is, she had a track record of bailing last minute. Either way, you wouldn’t let this ruin your afternoon. You looked at the menu and placed your order shortly after. Soon enough, you were warming up from the warm coffee entering your system, save for the tiny droplets of rain falling from your hair. 

It was quiet. Nice. But you wished you had company. 

Being a hunter was by no means easy. You could really only confide in Tara and Xavier, but with their own busy schedules, it was nearly impossible to even see them. You sighed into your drink, feeling a little more alone than usual. 

But you weren’t. Far from it actually. He’d been there, across the café, waiting. Watching. He’d known you would be at this café from your most recent post, but you’d mentioned coming with a friend. Now, you were alone, cupping your mug and bringing it to your plush lips. 

He wanted nothing more than to go over there. Maybe introduce himself again as the man from the gallery. But what were the odds? It would be too obvious, and Rafayel is anything but obvious. 

His thoughts quieted when you stood up. You were walking in his direction, most likely to the bathroom. He pretended to busy himself on his phone.

You were going to use the bathroom, pay for your drink, then catch a taxi home. Simple as that. But that was until you saw him.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you.” 

He looked up and you were greeted with violet and gold eyes. 

“You just looked really familiar… were you the man I spoke with at the gallery?”

He didn’t say anything at first. He sat there and looked at you with something you couldn’t quite place brimming in his gaze. His eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest second, you nearly missed it. 

“Maybe not,” you said more to yourself. “I’m sorry.” You almost offered a wave goodbye until he interjected. 

“No, I remember you. You were the woman whose friend took you to the gallery, right?” You nodded, smiling softly.

“Yea. You disappeared so suddenly,” you remarked while chuckling. 

A waiter holding a tray suddenly came behind you, brushing past your shoulder in the narrow space. Rafayel pointed to the seat across from him.

“Please. Take a seat.”

You accepted his offer and sat down. “Thank you,” you muttered shyly.

You were able to get a good look at him in this light. He was just as ethereal as the man in the painting. His face was scattered with tiny moles, barely visible to the naked eye. He was easily one of the most beautiful men you’d ever seen, but the feeling of something else lingering beneath his shackling beauty remained. 

“Have you already ordered?” But he knew the answer to that question already.

“Yes, I have, but I wanted to try their creampuffs. I’ve heard only good things.” 

You felt slightly… awkward. You didn’t know this man. Didn’t even know his name yet, but you felt a strange pull. If he hadn’t offered you a seat at his table, a part of you would’ve wanted to just take it. 

“Order as much as you’d like,” he said softly.

“No, trust me it’s fine. You don’t have to spend your money on me.”

“But I’d like to…” he replied in search of your name. So you gave it to him.

“Rafayel,” he followed.

Rafayel. Rafayel. Rafayel.

You liked it. 

“Well thank you, Rafayel.” You gave him a genuine smile. His cheeks flushed.

You both fell into a simple conversation. You told him what you did for work, your ruined plans (though not anymore) for the day, and other little things about your life. 

“I’m an artist.”

You paused.

“Seriously? I mean I knew you liked art, but that hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Really? What did you think I did?” You thought before answering.

“If I’m being honest? Unemployed.”

His mouth hung ajar as you laughed. The flush on his cheeks deepened. It was cute.

“Well that’s a first,” he said both bashfully and annoyed. 

“I’m sorry,” you replied in between laughs. “What have you painted?” 

He looked at you intently. 

“What if I told you I painted the piece you saw at the gallery?” He sounded proud of himself.

You were mid bite into your pastry and you stopped. You looked at him with wide eyes. Placing the dessert down, you lean forward in your seat. 

“Really?”

“I own the gallery,” he said as if it were no big deal.

“You own the gallery?” He nodded.

“It was my newest piece.” He looked off to the side. “It’s… personal to me.” He scratched the back of his neck. You absorbed all that he was telling you before answering.

“I’m glad you decided to share that with the public. I know I enjoyed it. Perhaps too much,” you laughed.

“What do you mean?” He was searching. Not for a right or wrong answer, but something— anything that you felt even the tiniest bit of how he felt. 

“When I saw it, everything around me kind of stopped.” Your eyes were in a faraway place as you spoke. “I could only see the varying hues of blue, the stars in the night being reflected in the water, the attention to detail. I don’t have the words to truly describe it.”

His eyes darkened as you finished speaking, his cock swelling in his pants at the sight and sound of you. You were just so fucking pretty. Your small smile whenever you looked at him. Your hair slightly frizzy from the rain. The trace amounts of cream around your mouth that he has to stop himself from reaching out and tasting on your skin. 

He had to stop.

You’d only just learned more about him. You couldn’t possibly feel the same. But a part of Rafayel, a deeper part, didn’t care. Even if he had to convince you, he would do anything to feel you. Taste you. Compel you into becoming his.

You exchanged numbers before you took your leave.

You returned to your apartment with a smile on your face, your face hot from your interaction. There was hardly any suggestiveness within the conversation, but it had felt so good to be seen. He didn’t touch his tea, nor the creampuffs he had bought you. It seemed as if his appetite was more focused on you. Not that you minded.

You sat on your bed and sighed. 

You wanted to see him again. You wanted to learn more about him. Everything about him. You closed your eyes and imagined his face. What would he look like if you two went on an actual date? What does he look like when he’s painting, his undivided attention on the task at hand? What would he look like when his attention is on you? His lips ghosting over yours before kissing your jaw, down to your neck, right above your breasts.

Where would he put his hands? Would they cup your cheek as he kissed you? Or would they wander, exploring just how sensitive your nipples get? Would he place the flat of his palm on belly as he pushed into you, reaching places your fingers never could?

You didn’t notice your hand underneath your shirt, cupping your breast, fingers gingerly rolling over your nipple. Or the other hand sliding into your now unzipped jeans, pressing your clothed clit. No, you didn’t notice these things. You imagined him.

Rafayel. Rafayel. Rafayel.

You whispered his name like a mantra as your thighs shook, and his fingers pushed your underwear to the side, and slowly slid in. They curved gently inside of you and you whimpered. He pinched your nipple harder, and your breathing picked up. His pace increased and he zeroed in on your ear.

“How does that feel?” He nudged your clit with the heel of his palm.

“Good?” You nodded your head, beckoning him to continue.

“So tight around me… Wonder if I’ll fit. What do you think, Cutie?”

His voice was sin in your ear. You threw your head back on the mattress as his fingers stroked in and out of your soaked cunt. 

“Rafayel,” you whimpered as his fingers moved faster. 

“Come all over my fingers. You want to, don’t you?”

He curled his fingers and you nearly cried out. His name was a litany on your tongue as you reached closer to your orgasm. You lifted your hips off the bed, chasing his fingers. The knot in your belly tightened further and further, until it couldn’t anymore. You screamed as your orgasm hit you hard, harder than ever before. 

And it was the mere thought of Rafayel that had your legs spread and dripping for him.

Nearly a week later, you woke up to the sound of a text. You sat up in your bed and reached for your phone, only to discover another apology text from Tara. You told her countless times that the other day with the café was fine and you two would reschedule another day, but she persisted. 

You also didn’t want to admit to yourself that you secretly wanted to hear from him. Did he even want to talk to you? Did he feel the same way?

You shoot a quick but honest response, set your phone face down, and groan.

To say you were slightly embarrassed from the last few nights was an understatement. You had gotten off to the idea of another man you didn’t fully know. If he had known, you imagine he’d want nothing to do with you. You plop your head back onto the bed and contemplate going back to sleep.

It was slowly approaching noon when you got a call.

Probably Xavier wanting to discuss the new mission details, you thought.

But a faceless contact picture came into view with the name “Rafayel” resting above it. You stared at the incoming call. You couldn’t accept it too fast, but if you waited too long, would he just hang up? 

After a few rings, you answered.

“Hello?” You were greeted with silence. 

“Rafayel?”

“Oh, yes,” he finally responded, making sure to ask your name.

“Yea, it’s me. I didn’t think you’d call.” You race into your bedroom and nearly scream into a pillow. 

“I’ve been thinking about you and wanted to ask something.”

You choked on your spit. Was he…?

“Would you like to stop by my studio? I know you weren’t that interested in art, but I figured I could change your mind,” he said, an edge of charm in his tone. 

“Yea I’ll be there,” you replied all too quickly. 

“How does tomorrow sound? If you’re not too busy.”

“I’m free all day.” You were so obvious.

“I’ll send you the address. See you around six.” His tone was cheerful but carried an edge to it, like he couldn’t wait to see you yet didn’t want to make it too obvious. 

You hung up the phone with a drawn out sigh. 

Finally. 

He watched you walk up to his studio, a frilly skirt moving with your steps and a simple lacy shirt hugging the swell of your breasts. He stood up from his stool with a quick sigh, trying to calm his body’s reaction to you, and walked over to the door. You knocked twice before he opened it.

“Hi,” you said, slightly dazed. 

He was dressed in all white today, with an open collared shirt and white linen pants. Even with the loose fit of his clothes, you could see his muscles peaking through, teasing you. 

“Come in.” He stepped aside and you entered.

Immediately, your eyes were drawn upward to the high, white ceilings. Every wall had both finished and unfinished paintings, splatters of color along with it. White and beige tarps rested on the wooden floors, nearly a dozen easels on top of them. Grand marble pillars stretched from floor to ceiling, and a soft evening glow cascaded through the windows near the top of the studio. 

“It’s gorgeous in here.” 

The light caught your features in a way that made him want to spin you around and kiss your lips raw. By the time you were in the middle of the studio, you stopped in front of a painting covered with cloth. He stood there with his hands in his pockets before steadily approaching you.

“I figured I could teach you.” You could feel his breath on your cheek as he bent down to whisper in your ear. All you could do was nod. 

He rested a gentle hand on your hip, guiding you to a fresh easel. He picked up a palette with fresh paint, colors you’d never seen before. 

“Take a seat.” You walk over to him and sit on the stool in front of him. He places a brush in your hand, but he doesn’t let go. His hand stays on yours as your fingers hold the brush, and he bends down again to meet your face. 

You couldn’t believe you were here in a studio with a man you met a week ago. Who’ve you only talked to twice, but not even, in your whole life. But he invited you. He wanted you here.

He guided your hand to dip the brush in the paint, and then brought it to the canvas. You two made languid strokes on the canvas, slowly filling it with color.

“What are we making?”

“Don’t focus on what you’re making.” His hand left yours for the briefest second, but not your skin. His fingers trailed up your forearm, guiding it closer to the canvas. 

“Let your hand guide you. Just feel.”

You turned to face him. His eyes were intently set on the canvas. His love for his craft shone through his gaze and his movements. You smiled and turned your head back to the easel.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All he could feel was your body's warmth on his. But when the canvas was filled, he pulled back. Your body followed, resting your head and shoulders on his torso. He stilled, looking down at you.

You looked so proud of your work.

“You did so well.” He rested his hands on your shoulders and gently massaged the muscle. You softly moaned at the contact before catching yourself.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” You turned around to meet him with apologetic eyes. He smiled.

“It’s fine, Cutie,” he said with a wink. Your face warmed at the pet name. The same name that you had—

“Come with me,” he said, interrupting your thoughts.

You got up from your seat and followed him closely. He brought you to an area of the studio you hadn’t seen. It was void of windows, but the ones from across the room provided just enough light to see. It was another painting covered in tarp. You stood in front of it, wondering what hid beneath. 

He brought his fingers up your arms, a trail of goosebumps littering your skin. His fingers graced your shoulders, collar bones, then eventually your neck. His lithe fingers circled your neck, forcing your head on his chest.

“Rafayel,” you whispered.

“I want you to do something for me.” He brought his mouth down to your exposed neck, licking a small strip along the column of it. He kissed the trail of saliva to right beneath your jaw. 

“Remove the covering.” 

You reach your arm out as he plants kisses on your body. You tear down the covering to reveal—

You?

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Look at it. Look at you.” 

You did. You were—

“Breathtaking,” he answered for you. You were painted as a siren of the sea, covered in kelp, pearls, gold, your skin and eyes glowing. Your hair long and vibrant. You look otherworldly, like a goddess fit for a god. 

“Ever since I saw you at the gallery, looking at my painting like that,” he pointed at the look he captured in the painting, “you wouldn’t leave my head.”

You release a shaky breath.

“I spent hours here trying to capture your beauty. It was nearly impossible.” His hand was back on your neck, squeezing lightly.

“I knew you were the one. My muse.” You moaned when his other hand cupped your breast.

“I wanted to wait. Get to know you more. Get to know you properly.” He palmed your breast and rolled his hips into you. You could feel him everywhere. Your skin, your head, your heart.

You needed him. 

“I wondered if you felt the same. Then I saw you.” Your eyebrows screwed in confusion. Or maybe in pleasure. His fingers moved from your breast to beneath your skirt. He cupped your cunt in his hands and pressed.

“What do you—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence.

“I saw how you moaned my name as you pushed your fingers into this pretty little cunt. Couldn’t go too far, could you?”

He saw you? How was that even possible?

But before you could ask, his fingers slipped beneath your underwear and stroked your folds. 

“I bet you were like this the whole time, weren’t you Cutie?”

You dumbly nodded your head, blissfully unaware of who you were allowing to touch you like this. He pressed his thumb against your hardened clit and groaned into your ear. His mouth made quick work on your neck, sucking marks onto your cherubic skin. He rolled your clit in slow circles, eliciting small whimpers from your throat. He pushed two fingers in and you whimpered at the stretch. They filled you up perfectly. You bucked your hips to meet his pace.

The hand gripping your neck moved to your jaw. He pulled it away from his chest to force your face forward.

“Look at yourself. Fucking perfect.”

You turned around to meet him, his thumb still working on your clit and his fingers moving faster and deeper within your weeping hole. You leaned into him, pressing your mouth to his and tangling your fingers in his hair. You gave the strands a soft tug. 

He kissed you like he was making a promise: He was going to cherish every inch of your body until you were begging him to stop.   

His tongue entered your mouth and he searched you like uncharted waters. You moaned into his mouth, bucking your hips faster. You were so close.

“Cum,” he ordered, and putting his mouth back on you. 

It wasn’t long after until you came on his fingers. You threw your head back on his chest and moaned his name. His fingers slowed before taking them out, snapping your underwear to your wet cunt. You bashfully faced him. His eyes were dark and trained on you as he placed his fingers on his tongue and pushed in. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt you coat his tongue. 

“Taste even better than I imagined,” he said, taking his fingers out of his mouth with a lewd trail of saliva following. You grew impossibly needier.

“Sit.” He directed you to the blankets on the floor. You hadn’t noticed them before, but it didn’t matter. He pulled his pants down just below his hips, freeing himself from the confines. He gave himself a few slow strokes before continuing. He makes quick yet purposeful work on removing yours and his clothes, the articles scattered somewhere in the studio. 

You take him in, lean muscles and a soft yet pronounced ‘v’ leading to what you wanted most. You almost drooled at the sight. 

He sat down, back laid flat on the blankets beneath him. 

“Come here,” he said smoothly.

You obliged, soon straddling his waist. He grabbed fistfulls of your ass, bringing you in closer to his aching cock. 

“Wanted to fuck you in front of this painting. Want you to see just how perfect you are.”

Your eyes shoot up to the portrait of you. How could someone you’d hardly known feel so inclined to create such a masterpiece? You look back down at him, eyes glossed with need.

He placed his hands on your hips and slowly guided you down his leaking cock. Your hands rested on his sculpted chest as you were brought down on him.

“You fit perfectly, don’t you?”

A breathy sigh escaped your lips as you sank down on him. You weren’t even half way and you already felt so full. He hit spots that you’d never before with how deep he was already, and when your hips met his, a sultry moan ripped from your throat. 

You were leaking around him. The heat emanating from his cock, the size of him, the feel, how he was looking at you right now. 

It was intoxicating. 

He reached up to cup your cheek in his palm. With your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingled in the minimal space between you. Your mind could think of nothing but him, and he hasn’t even fucked you properly yet. 

Without warning, he thrusted into your heat, keeping a steady but brutal pace. The sounds of skin against skin, the mess you were making dripping onto both of your thighs, and your sweet moans filled the space. You met his thrusts with your own. It was messy, but not sloppy. He filled you with precision and purpose, like you were an art piece he had the fortune of creating. He kissed down your body until his lips met your nipples. He sucked them into his mouth as he pistoned inside of you. Your head lolled back in pure ecstasy. 

“Rafa–”. Your breathing was quick, almost erratic. His tip kissed your cervix in the most delicious way as he continued his attention on your nipples. His hand reached between you to rub your clit, rolling and pinching and squeezing until you were brought closer to your second orgasm. 

“Look at us when you cum.” His voice was heady, dark, full of need. He wanted you to see yourself how he saw you. A being worthy of praise, of adoration. Something that needed to be captured, yet whose beauty could never truly be grasped. 

He watched as you turned your head to look at the piece. He felt your pussy clench around him, how you rode him harder, chasing what you wanted for weeks now. He followed your gaze, his cock twitching inside of you. He groaned, picking up the pace. 

Your hands on his chest began to slip, so he caught you. Your chest was brought to his, head still turned to face yourself. 

“G-Gonna cum,” you warn.

“Me too, love,” he replied, voice wavering. 

“Want it inside, Rafayel.”

Something inside him almost fell apart at your words. He gripped your hips and kept you still. He moved methodically within you, bringing you both closer to the edge. He spills into you with a loud groan, and you follow quickly after. Your vision is spotted with fucking stars as you cum around him, your thighs spasming.

But as you’re cumming, you study the painting closely. You’re not sure what it is. Maybe it was magic, maybe it was the dark room. Or maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you. But you swear you hadn’t seen it before.

A man tall in stature, glowing purple hair cascading around him, and adorned with charms of the sea. His hand splayed over your middle, possessive and firm. It was him.

[crowfish-brainrot]

Shooting your shot

Lads men x Reader/MC SMAU He seems to not get the hint, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. Safe to say, seduction is not your strongest suit. But you decided to try <3 Tags: MDNI, Suggestive pick-up lines *wink wink*, non-established relationship, slightly NSFW (be warned), mc/reader is a loser trapped in a hot body lol, you making the first move in the most questionable way XD

────୨【 Ｘａｖｉｅｒ 】ৎ────

────୨【 Ｚａｙｎｅ 】ৎ────

────୨【 Ｒａｆａｙｅｌ 】ৎ────

────୨【 Ｓｙｌｕｓ 】ৎ────

────୨【 Ｃａｌｅｂ 】ৎ────

Hope you enjoyed it! LMK your thoughts! <3

[crowfish-brainrot]

Awake in the middle of the night

Ft: LAD boys

Tags: comfort, slight angst(?), kisses, hugs, mentions of nightmares.

[4:01]

Glancing at the time blinking on the alarm clock at your bedside, you couldn't help but let out a shaky sigh, rustling against the sheets that felt too thick for your frame.

It wasn't that you didn't want to sleep, you just couldn't.

You tried every method in the book- counting each little fish in the sea, thinking about your most memorable moments with rafayel to make you relaxed, constantly blinking your stinging lashes to make them tired.

But nothing seemed to work.

You didn't know whether it was stress keeping you up, or the silent memories of all your failed missions this past week that clung onto your sleep. Now, all you could do was count the minutes left to sunrise and then silently leave.

As you were lost in your thoughts, a hushed whisper from your side disturbed you. You turned over to see the sleeping lemurian- his lavender locks curled and tangled over the pillow covers, hands slightly twitching under the sheets as his dark silky lashes fluttered softly against his pale cheeks. You couldn't help but reach out to hold his trembling hands, giving it a gentle squeeze which seemed to slightly ease the tension between his brows.

You got up from your shared queen sized bed, your heels grazing the cool marble tile as you searched for your fluffy slippers that had been gifted by your beloved on your 100 day anniversary.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, filling yourself with another glass of water, glanced back at the time on the faint pink clock -which was shaped like a butterfly -hanging above the refrigerator.

'Almost five... better start getting ready...' you muttered to yourself, rubbing your eyes as you down the water to numb the burning feeling in your throat.

Suddenly, two arms encircled around your waist and you let out a yelp, turning around to find the familiar set of magenta orbs staring into your flaring and shocked gaze.

"Raf-"

"Cutie...don't you know what time it is?" He cut you off, his voice raspy and slightly deep. His gaze didn't hide his concern as he noticed how red your eyes looked. "Couldn't sleep..?" He asked gently, calloused fingers tracing the apple of your cheek. "Why didn't you wake me?" You tried to shy away, too embarrassed to say anything, but those coloured eyes held you in position to answer. "I.. I just..didn't want to disturb you."

Rafayel quietly bit the inside of his cheek. He felt guilty to say that he knew you were going through something, but was too afraid to say anything; Afraid that maybe he would stress you even further to the point you may become distant. And the last thing he wanted was to make you leave him.

But he knew he couldn't hide it anymore. Maybe it was better for you to leave him than just keep hiding stuff from him.

So he lifted you off the ground in an instant, ignoring all the smacks you threw at him which felt like feathers tickling his skin.

He quietly dropped you on the bed, silently climbing on top of you. You quickly shut up, noticing his grave features, like he was about to scold you. (But you knew that he never could)

"I know something is wrong with you.." He stammered, fidgeting with his hands. Your mouth slightly fell open, but shut again as he continued.

"But it's not fair that you keep trying to hide it from me." His head dropped like a sad puppy and it crushed your heart. "I don't want the girl I love to hide stuff from me.. thinking that saying anything would be a burden.." He laid his head on your chest, burying his face inside. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gliding through his locks.

'He loves you, he says.'

"I'm sorry.." You whispered to which he was internally ecstatic. Yet, he still groaned, nuzzling into your chest like a toddler stuck on his tantrum.

"I'm soo upset that now you will have to sleep in with me." He whined, to which you let out a soft giggle. "Alright.. I'll agree this once because I feel too bad." Your hands patted his hair, leaning down to place a peck. "I love you too, Rafayel."

He placed a lingering kiss on your cheek and you sighed, leaning into the touch.

He lifted you onto his lap as though you were made of glass, placing your head on his shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist as he hummed a lowly tune in his ancient tongue, calming patting your back.

Sleep slowly crawled up your spine, and soon, you went slump in his arms.

In almost all the years Sylus has lived in his human form, he had never once been blessed with the gift of being a deep sleeper. But once his soul was finally completed with yours, he could at last let down his guard and nuzzle with you -tied in the closest proximity between your bodies.

But one night, as he leaned to rub his cheek against your neck (a way for him to relieve his itchiness without removing his hands from your waist) his skin met with the soft fabric of a cushion. Sleep was gone in an instant as he got up to find his companion, rubbing his eyes like a needy dragon who wants his beloved sorceress.

He searched every room, silently cursing to himself for having such a huge Mansion with so many rooms. No wonder you liked to play hide and seek with the twins.

"Sweetheart?" His voice echoed in the gloomy mansion and yet, he couldn't find your head poking out from one of the rooms, grinning at him with the words "I got you." It was nearly three in the morning and he was starting to grow worried, thinking about all the things that could have made you leave the comfort in his arms.

He was about to make a turn until a warm tint of yellow shone against his skin from the crack of one of the doors, which lead to the small library next to his study. He slowly made his way to room, pushing the door with the back of his hand to take a peek.

He let out a sigh of relief as he saw you, nuzzled within the thin covers of the blanket- which was usually kept in his study during times he slept in. A thick book filled the tiny gap between your hands with the title "Forging weapons 101". He knew you had been wanting to know how to forge hybrids of weapons like him, but was also shocked to find you reading such a book at a time like this.

You let out a soft gasp as he gently called out your name, setting the book aside. "Why are you awake?" You whispered, even though you knew there was barely anyone in the mansion who could hear you-except for the twins, but they were on the second floor, under the covers without their masks.

"I should be asking you the same." He formed a small smirk, mostly hiding his concern at how red your eyes looked. "I couldn't sleep.." you mumbled as he rested his warm palm on your cold cheek. "Nightmares?" He softly asked, to which you silently nodded. He let out a sigh.

You had always been suffering with nightmares, but these days they grew even more intense-managing to shake you out of your sleep almost every night. Sylus knew all this, with him usually trying ways to make you sleep better and sometimes becoming successful. But his powers were growing a bit weak and you knew there was no point relying so much on him. He just opened his arms waiting for you to step in, which you did.

"I'm sorry I can't be of much use.. but know that I'll always be here for you. So don't run away from me." He kissed the crown of your head, rubbing circles on your back. You buried your head into his collar. "I just want to get better." "You will, sweetie. I'll make sure of it."

"Can you talk me to sleep?" You asked, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes he fell in love with.

"I don't think you really need to ask, kitten." He lightly tousled your hair.

So he carried you in his arms, ranting about pretty much anything- let it be his daily progress in his boxing sessions, or which of your favourite brands he likes the most. He tucked you in, still ranting about how during the initial days he had met you, he would constantly send mephisto out of the house to check up on what you were doing to the point mephisto got tired and refused to come back home. You felt your lids becoming heavy as Sylus talked about how he used to have a tough time picking between disguises for your friends, finally choosing with a fruit vendor because you had once complained about fruits being too expensive.

And as you peacefully slept, not once did Sylus complain, just smiling to himself as he placed a kiss on your cheek.

"Good night, darling."

Tired from one of his usual 12-hour long shifts, all Zayne needed tonight was sleep next to his lover. He couldn't remember when he collapsed into your arms, nuzzling his face into the warmth in your chest as you gently patted his head, rocking him to sleep like a baby.

Even in his deep slumber, his arm reached out to feel the hotness of your skin against his cool fingers. Instead, he felt the cold mattress beneath his touch. Soon, after he realised that he was the only one in bed, his eyes shot open.

You had a terrible habit of leaving your home in the middle of the night when notified about sudden last-minute missions; without even telling Zayne that you were going. So it wasn't rare that his sleep was disturbed by your absence.

Yet, he still felt the urge to call out your name, slipping out of the sheets in only his hello kitty pajamas that you had gifted him for Christmas last year. He had sworn to never wear it, but here he was, wandering around the house in his hot pink pajamas, plastered with cute emotes of the hyped character.

As he began to think that you had really left him, he heard soft giggles echoing from the kitchen and the tension tying between his brows softened. "Darling?" He carefully pushed the door with his knuckles, breaking into a relieved smile as his eyes caught your face.

You sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling off the edge as one hand gripped a spoon and the other held a small icecream bucket that Zayne had bought for the two of you to share. Your mouth was shaped like an "O", your eyes widened as you realised you had been caught.

He leaned against the doorframe, smirking at you. "Seems like someone didn't want to share." You broke into a toothy grin, your teeth covered in chocolate. Zayne let out a soft laugh, slowly making his way towards you. He placed his body between your legs and his hands fell to your hips, tracing small circles against the fabric. "I was hungry." You pouted, sticking out your dark tongue. "Yes, I can see that." His fingers trailed up your hips to your face, now caressing your jaw. "But I was growing lonely." He rubbed his face against your collar and you giggled, leaning to his head. "Zayne-sto-haha-!" You practically yelled as Zayne lifted the hem of your shirt, tickling your bare skin. You threw light kicks against the marble yet he didn't stop until both of your laughs filled the air of your home.

"let's go to bed, hm?" He smiled, kissing your lips to taste the flavour of the icecream.

"Sweet."

Note: Caleb and Xavier will be posted soon! (If this manages to gain enough attention ㅠㅠ)

© strawn1nn13 Please do not modify or translate my work

[crowfish-brainrot]

this is so beautifuuuullllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!!

You were the one who chose to open the door. What lies behind it aren't ruins anymore.

source

[crowfish-brainrot]

so I’m not sure of like the etiquette for this so forgive me if this is not it buuuut I’m a published author. like several hundred people have read my books 👀 (I debuted this year 😅)

I don’t think I’ll tell yall my pen name, though, bc this is meant for my brainrot & silly lil vibes

I want to write lads fanfic bc if I don’t the brain worms won’t leave me alone & I’ll just daydream about the wrong fictional men 🤣

Also this is purely fun for me, since it’s all self-indulgent where I get to write my favorite thing, smut! (Seriously, you can do an entire character study based on how characters have sex, and why, and oooh I just love it)

It’s all the fun of writing without worrying about things like worldbuilding, deep plot, or developing characters. I just get to play in the sandbox, and it’s really nice to create just for the sake of being creative.

However that means I’ll sometimes have to take breaks from writing fics bc my Actual Books take priority. My vertigo episode fucked me a lil, but I just finished working on my most recent Actual Book so my brain rot has time on the playground again. So I hope to finish the first part of You’re in for it Now sometime next week, but idk if I’ll post it right away since I can already feel the urge to write beach banner inspired smuuuuuuuut & it might be best for me to write the full set of 5 parts before posting p1 since the end of this year is suuuper busy for ya girl.

I just want to keep yall updated so you know I am working on this over here 😌😌😌

[crowfish-brainrot]

Another Myth with sword weapon let's gooooo💃

[crowfish-brainrot]

A Perfect Tease

Rafayel x Reader

Buying that perfect dress for an event turned into.. much more

INTENDED FOR 18+ READERS. MINORS DNI

⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆

As much as you hated shopping, you had to admit that it had its perks.

Sending teasing photos to Rafayel happened to be the biggest one. It was his fault, anyway, seeing as he sprung the gallery invitation on you last minute. As a result, you were determined to find the most risqué dress you could get away with.

And at your very last stop, you found just the one.

The hue was such a deep shade of red that it almost appeared black in certain lighting. It hugged every curve enough to leave very little to the imagination. The sweetheart neckline clung to the swell of your breasts, but the center plunged half way down to your navel. The edges of that deep v-line were woven together by a sheer fabric that became near invisible against your skin. But what drew you to the dress wasn’t so much the plunging neckline, nor the bare back. Instead, it was the slit in the floor-length skirt that came to a daring end along the top curve of your hip. The moment the lustrous fabric slid along your skin and settled in place, you knew it was The One.

Of course, you couldn’t help but to send one last teasing message to Rafayel.

You turned your back to the mirror in the dressing room, popping your hip up so that the slit in the skirt was exaggerated even more. The swell of your ass peeked around the hem just enough in that position to be scandalous, and that was what you framed in the quick snapshot. With the photo, you sent a text caption.

Don’t think I’ll be able to wear panties with this one lol x3

Rafayel’s response was immediate; a string of emojis ranging from the heart eyes to the red-faced sweating emote. That solidified the decision to purchase it, despite the hefty price tag, and you couldn’t wait until the gala in two days. You couldn’t help the grin on your face, even as you were pulling up to Rafayel’s villa. This lunch date was going to be a fun one, you could feel it.

After setting the lunch ingredients on the counter, you set out to find where Rafayel’s hidden himself in his home. The studio was the first place you checked, but you were surprised to find that he wasn’t there. His materials were set up as if he were going to begin work, but they appeared to have been abandoned. The idea made you uneasy, because there wasn’t a lot that could rip him away from painting.

But it didn’t take too long for you to realize where he was. With a sly smile, you made your way to the bathroom, where you heard soft splashing sounds. Nudging the door open a crack, you could see him in the bath. His back was to you, but his face was turned to the side and cupped in his palm. A heavy groan from him sent a spike of worry through you, and you pushed into the room.

“Rafayel?” You questioned, approaching the tub.

And then you saw the source of his…affliction.

The pretty blush spread on his face should have been a hint, but it was something you’d conveniently missed when you first entered the room. He acknowledged your presence by watching your approach through a half-lidded gaze, still stroking himself beneath the surface of the water. You stood beside the tub and forced your eyes away from where his hand was occupied under the water, dragging them up to meet his. A lazy smile spread on his face and he tipped his head to the side.

“Cutie,” he said playfully, his voice husky. “You’re here early.”

Some part of you had hoped to have some sort of effect on Rafayel with those pictures you sent him, but this was even more than you expected. You didn’t trust your voice so you said nothing, instead reaching for the zipper of your jacket and slowly pulling it down. His eyes tracked the movement then flicked back to yours once the fabric separated. You let your jacket fall from your shoulders, hands immediately moving to untuck your shirt and lift it over your head. This slow tease continued until you stood bare before him. His eyes raked down your form, continuing back up until those heated blues settled on your face once again.

You kept your gaze locked to his as you took the two steps to the tub. There was no graceful way of climbing into the tub with him, but that didn’t matter once you were settled in the water, kneeling over him. You leaned into him, crushing your mouth to his. The deep guttural groan was a sound you’d never heard from him before, and it sent a thrill through you that settled heavily in your core. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you down firmly over him. Hands explored your body as eagerly as your tongue explored his mouth. You could feel his cock pressed against your belly, the length all but digging into you. Rafayel broke the kiss to drag his mouth down the column of your throat, the scraping of his teeth against your skin breaking up the heat of his lips at random intervals.

“R-Rafayel,” you whimper, reveling in the feel of his body beneath yours. Every inch of you was pressed to him, his heat pouring into you.

“Fuck, cutie,” he moans into your neck. “It’s been torture all day, seeing those sexy pictures of you and not being able to touch you.”

“Well, you have me now,” you say, biting into the slope of his neck. He threw back is head, a harsh sound between a growl and a moan erupting from him. His fingers dug into the underside of your thighs, lifting you so that his cock was notched against your folds. It didn’t take much prompting for you to sink down and impale yourself on him. Rafayel bit back a curse, hips jerking up into you so he was sheathed fully in you.

You smiled sweetly down to him, sitting upright so he could get full view of you. With your hands braced against his chest and his hands roaming your body, you began rocking against him. The movements were slow and calculated, meant to tease just as much as meant to pleasure- and Rafayel was very vocal in the pleasure he took from you. His head rolled against the rim of the tub, his eyes fluttering closed, his heavy intakes of breath coming out as deep, guttural moans. The pretty blush that dusted his cheeks traveled further, spreading to his chest as he exerted effort to maintain control.

You decided to take it a step further once he was thoroughly squirming beneath you. Lifting from him, you tease the tip of him just inside you. One, two, three times you popped the crown of him in and out of you before slamming back down onto him fully. His fingers dug into your hips, desperately trying to keep you from lifting and repeating the action again- without success. He trembled beneath you, whines commingling with his moans. You leaned forward to devour his sounds, slanting your mouth over his and coaxing him open. You drank in his every sound, offering your own to him in return.

The last threads of Rafayel’s composure threatened to snap. His arms circled your waist, holding you in place as he thrust into you. His mouth traveled down your neck before latching onto the slope of your shoulder. You tilted your head away, giving him more access while your hands threaded into his hair, tugging the strands gently.

“Raf…ayel,” you moan breathily, barely able to murmur the rest of his name. His arms tightened around you.

“Fuck, cutie, say my name like that again,” he moaned against the purpling spot he made on your neck. His thrusts became chaotic, slamming into you almost violently while water from the bath sloshed over the edge of the tub. You quickly lost any semblance of control, relinquishing it to Rafayel’s fraying composure.

“R-Rafayel,” you moaned again, clinging to him. Every strike of his cock deep inside you sent you spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, say it again,” he begged. His fingers dug into your skin, his grip on you harsh, but it served to heighten your pleasure. The frantic way that he drove into you told you that he was nearing the edge himself.

“Rafayel,” you cry, throwing your had back. Your voice echoed off the tile, his rising to join yours.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his thrusts stuttering as he buried his face in your chest. “Fuck!”

“Come with me,” you command, gripping your fingers in his hair. “Come with me, Rafayel.”

He obeyed almost instantly at your breathy words. A string of curses erupted from him, your name joining them every so often as he threw his head back and arched beneath you. The twitching pulse of him met with the cascading flutters of your own release, your body milking his for everything it had to offer. His body jerked beneath you as pleasure continued to steamroll him, and you continued to ride him through your shared climax. He whimpered, hips chasing yours each time you lifted from him.

“You feel so good,” you whine, still riding him even as you both returned from the high of the release. Rafayel’s head still rested against the rim of the tub, his eyes clenched closed as you continue to wring pleasure from him. Hands dig into your hips, his back arched, his moans breathless. You can’t help but take in the sight of him writhing beneath you, locking it away in your memory to savour indefinitely.

“Cutie…please,” he whimpers, trying his best to bury himself in you as deep as he could. His face scrunches up adorably, ecstasy being ripped from him with every grinding crush of your core against him. You leaned back, bracing your arms against the tub to entice him to open his eyes. And when he did, his gaze locked onto the way your tits bounced and swayed with every plunge.

“F-fuck, I-I’m,” he moaned, dropping his head back against the tub once more. He trembled beneath you, another orgasm rising rapidly in him. You increased the pace of your plunges and he bucked wildly beneath you to meet you half way. The water churned around you, though there wasn’t enough left in the tub to slosh over the edge like earlier.

With a guttural cry that rang out in the room, Rafayel reached out and crushed you to him. His cock dug into you as deep as your body could accommodate, flooding you before your own shuddering climax ripped through you.

Spent, you just rested against him while the both of you tried to calm your breathing. Your ardor cooled with the water, and now all you wanted was to curl up against Rafayel. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back while he hummed his pleasure in your ear. Nuzzling against his neck you placed a gentle kiss there.

“Cutie, this was a pleasant surprise, but I think I’m late for my lunch date now,” Rafayel rumbled. You laughed and pulled away from him, placing your forehead against his.

“How will you ever make it up to her?” You ask playfully.

“I can think of a few ways,” he said with a smirk, hauling you out of the water and carrying you from the bathroom. Assembling your meal was a challenge with the way he insisted on crowding you against the counter, with the way neither of you could keep your hands to yourselves.

After finally finishing a very heated lunch, he stole you away and showed you every single one of those ways he would make it up to you for being late.

[crowfish-brainrot]

THATS MY MAN!!!

I love this so much. He’s so precious 😭🥰

Being a Rafayel main gotta be bliss man, like a whole God of the ocean and part time serial killer is letting me princess carry him. You know what the best part about winning is? It’s when you WIN

[crowfish-brainrot]

Rafayel's Anecdote "Addictive Pain" + minor Headcannons

I've been working on this for a month and I just wanted to share it with you guys

🥺💖 Rafayel will always have a soft spot on my giddy heart ���💞