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bitterrfruit · 3 months ago

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iron tide [1]

fisherman price x reader cw: noncon undressing/bathing, dubcon touching. 11k words. 18+ mdni the crew aboard a deep-sea crabbing vessel rescue a woman adrift in the north sea. you wake up on a boat surrounded by men you don't know, with no memory of where you came from. or: john price rescues you from certain death and decides that you belong to him [masterlist]

Jonathan had long forsaken his godliness; but if he were to deify anything, it would be the Sea.

Great big blue, infinitely vast and infinitely deep. She was sweet when she was still, gentle, little ebbs like kisses against the barnacled hull — formidable when she was angry, titanic swells like mountains that crashed and shattered and sucked irreverent men down into the depths of her.

She took as much as she gave, demanded sacrifices for her gifts. Stole his father when he was a boy, swept off the deck of his ship by a rancorous wave and cast out into the expanse before she inevitably swallowed him. But what she purloined she returned in abundance — a cornucopia of life; fish, lobsters, molluscs — and enough crabs for John to make his living for the better part of his life once he retired from the Navy.

In more recent years, though, he had begun to lose faith in her, too.

The seas were violent and only getting rougher, warmer when they needed to be cold to let the crabs get meatier, colder when they needed to be warm so they could replenish their numbers.

A burgeoning resentment had rooted in his crew like a spreading cancer, minute at first but steadily swelling — every year they were paid a little less and damaged a little more, and who else was there to blame but their skipper?

Wrong spot, wrong depth, wrong time of year; he seemed to keep getting it wrong, despite decades and decades of seafare. As though the Sea was punishing him, as though he had taken too much — only a matter of time before it was his turn to give.

She made known her spite as he leaned over the paint-chipped railing of the deck-facing balcony, watching his crew haul in pot after pot from the raging ocean. Each cage more vacant than the last, the crabs smaller than he had come to expect from the once generous North Sea, soft brown shells where they should have been thick, ochre red, and thorny. Half of them too small to keep, so were begrudgingly tossed back into the deep.

The sun had set not ten minutes prior, hidden by black cloud and dense fog, the sea and sky smudged into a uniform shade of gloaming blue. The waves were tempestuous, whitecaps high and valleys low — the Iron Tide was a resilient girl, and she carved through the bulk of the swells, but even she could not avoid the plummets and climbs of an ocean this rough. He felt the mist of the cracking waves on his cheeks, the wind blistering cold and forcing him to squint.

As the Captain he had outgrown the need to get his hands dirty, he could stay in the comfort of the wheelhouse if he wished — but he still liked to venture down to the deck to pull ropes and haul pots when he could, if only to show his crew how it was properly done. He liked to ensure his callouses stayed thick and his mettle hadn’t turned soft.

“This’s a fucken’ suicide set, captain!” Roared Johnny from the deck, work-worn voice barely audible over the bellows of the waves on the hull. Lead deckhand with the attitude of a first mate.

The first mate himself, Simon, had begun ascending the rusty steel stairs with an uncharacteristic urgency, the hood of his fluorescent orange jacket around his shoulders, kept there by the wind.

“How many ‘ve we got?” John asked him, jaundiced, having to shout over the gale.

“Thirty-two,” Simon said rigidly, “from twenty pots.”

“Fuck’s sake,” John grunted, aggravated, smacking the rail with his palm. He cynically observed the next pot as it was hauled up, even emptier than the last one, and he made up his mind. “Alright, set ‘em back.”

“They’ve been soaking for twenty-four hours,” Simon disputed, but the pith of his irritation resided in the knowledge of how much labour had already been wasted. It was an inexorable fact, though — there was little point in retrieving them now, as empty as they were.

“It’s a waste of time to haul them all,” John barked. “What have we got, seventy to go? Set them back.”

Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb, exasperated. “Alright.”

He echoed the Captain’s command in a roar down the stairs, deckhands looking up to listen before they obeyed — John watched, disenchanted, as they began launching the string of pots over the side of the deck one by one, throwing loops of yellow nylon rope and the bright red marker buoys out to follow them.

It was easy for John to fall into a sour mood, and after the abysmal stew Nikolai had thrown together for their supper, his fuse was cut even shorter. Seemed the Russian mechanic’s turn to cook always landed on the harshest nights, left everyone crotchety and indolent.

He needed nicotine.

He made his way back to the helm with a crease in his brow and his jaw in knots. The bolted windows spanning the length of the bridge were near impossible to see through, the battering of sea spray distorting the view of the dark ocean that extended unendingly past the bow. He glared out into the abyss for a beat, stoically watching the black waves, wondering what next the Sea would punish him with.

A blink of red pierced through the mist.

He almost ignored it, at first, rubbing his forehead as he twisted his spinning chair behind the helm — until it was there, again; a pin-prick of bright carmine, cutting through the blue sea fog and disappearing behind a wave.

Frowning as he leaned into the radar screen, his eyes scoured over the bright blue disk and immediately caught on a tiny yellow blip. Due north, twenty degrees west. It was faint, flickering every odd moment, and he stared at it vigilantly — a spot he would normally dismiss as sea clutter, if not for the blinking light he thought he saw on the horizon.

He reeled down the window by the seat and stuck his head out into the winds, squinting through the spray — at the top of a crest shone the little red light, blinking at half-second intervals, clear as day.

The realisation rinsed him colder than seawater.

A lifeboat.

He snatched the intercom radio from its hook by the wheel and held it to his lips.

“All hands—” He barked, “Secure the deck. Got a lifeboat up ahead. Prepare for rescue.”

Simon’s crackling voice quickly came back through the radio, from the call point on the deck. “D’you say a lifeboat?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Roger.”

John could hear the yelling on deck from the wheelhouse, all that fervour frothing up at the prospect of an emergency; a new challenge. He immediately spun the wheel to adjust the rudder, steering the boat in the direction of the blip on the radar. Gently pushed the throttle to catch up and felt the roaring engine quake through the boat, the sharp bow of his ship cut through the swells like a fist through a wall.

“See it,” Simon called through the intercom.

“What’ve we got?”

“Life raft.”

He tugged the throttle lever back to halt the boat on approach, aligning the vessel so that the lifeboat was portside, knuckles white on the wheel. He set the engine to hold station before marching out to the deck, bracing for the wind as he hurried across the steel balcony and down the ladder, knurled steel stairs clanging loudly with every thud of his boots.

“Any survivors onboard?” John shouted, joining his crew where they peered over the railing, as another wave cascaded over the gunwale, greenwater flooding the deck before gushing out of the scuppers.

There it was, neon orange and climbing up a steep swell. Hardly a lifeboat — an inflatable raft, little red light blinking atop a rounded corner. From the deck he could tell it was ancient, the bright skin of the raft peeling and blistering, exposing the ballooning black rubber within that kept it afloat. Modern regulations demanded modern lifeboats — fully enclosed boats with their own motors, search and rescue transponders equipped. He struggled to imagine the kind of vessel the raft had even come from; certainly not a cruise ship, or any legally operating fishing or passenger boat.

“Only one,” Alex answered, yelling over the roar of the ocean.

Nik let out a grunt, dismissing it all with a sweep of his hand. “That woman is dead.”

John squinted at the raft, and quickly determined that Nikolai wasn’t unreasonable for thinking so.

The woman aboard the raft lay face down in the orange bed, bare-footed, nothing on but a saturated ivory dress that clung to her skin like glue. Sodden hair webbed across her back, tresses floating in the inch of water that filled the basin of the boat.

Even if she were a corpse already, though, he wasn’t going to let the Sea digest her unchallenged.

“Alright,” he declared, chewing on his plan before he uttered it. “I’ll strap on the lifeline, jump in and grab her, then you lot can reel me back in.”

The disputes were quick to gush from his crew, all cursing and shaking heads.

“Get fucked,” Alex scoffed, appaled, “skipper jumping overboard? What world are you living in?”

“You gonna do it, then, Keller?” John retorted, lips in a line.

“I can,” Soap yelled, already shucking off his heavy jacket. Daredevil that he was.

John gritted his teeth. Wasn’t sold on the risk of losing his lead deckhand; but as he considered it, he would never be prepared to risk losing any of them.

“You sure?”

“Ah’m the best swimmer,” he boasted through a grin, now down to his thermals, shoulders raised in the cold and rubbing his hands together.

“Good man,” John nodded approvingly, and the crew quickly went to work strapping him in — hooked the harness over his shoulders and secured it in the front, fed the end of the long blue rope into the winch so he could be retrieved after the catch.

Came the thudding of boots on the deck, running towards the commotion; “Fuck’s going on? Why’s the engine idle?”

Kyle, the ship’s engineer, finally emerging from the engine room with a smudge of gear oil on his cheek. Must have had his earbuds in when the Captain issued the all hands directive.

John let out a huff, not prepared to give a long justification to the designated safety officer, conscientious as he was.

“Oh shit—” Gaz chirped, discovering on his own the gravity of the situation, as he glanced over the railing and spotted the raft. “Is she alive?”

“We’re about t’find out,” Soap said keenly, bouncing on the balls of his feet to warm himself up.

“You’re jumping in?” Gaz balked, “That’s — you’re fuckin’ mental.”

John let out a sharp huff. He didn’t disagree, but he thought it counterproductive to express any reluctance. “Got a better idea, lad?”

Gaz sighed anxiously as he clutched the guardrail, head hanging from his shoulders. He knew as well as John that this was the only option — it was that, or leave the woman adrift in the ocean to die, if she weren’t already.

John held fast to his pragmatism, but his morals were unyielding. Nobody gets left behind.

Men took turns giving Johnny good luck pats on the back as he climbed over the railing. He hung off the other side like a monkey with his fist around the bar, looking down into the furious ocean and taking an anticipatory breath.

The crew watched raptly and let loose a strident cheer as he launched off, diving into the waves with knife-pointed arms and sinking out of sight. Nik remained steadfast by the hydraulic winch, ready to set it off at any indication of either success or failure.

Soap reemerged from the water with a visible gasp ten-odd metres out, breaking through the white foam and powering ahead in a freestyle stroke. He reached the raft quickly, and climbed aboard like a wet dog, hauling himself up over the ballooning sides and almost pulling it under the water with him. He kneeled beside the woman once he was in, pulling her by the shoulder to assess her — he gave no indication to the crew as to her status before he hoisted her up and held her tight to his chest, arms hooked under hers so that she wore him like a backpack.

He pushed himself back into the water with an eager holler; “Got ‘er!”

Nik immediately pulled the lever on the winch and it zipped loudly as it began spinning, winding up the rope and hauling Johnny through the swelling sea. The crane arm of the davit extended far enough beyond the gunwale that he didn’t slam into the hull on his ascent, and he clung to the limp woman for dear life — John and his deckhands leaned as far over the railing as they could without toppling overboard, hooking the rope that suspended the swimmer and heaving he and his cargo onboard.

Soap coughed out a splatter of seawater as he gingerly lay the woman on her back, before rolling over and wiping down his face, dripping wet.

“Found yerself a mermaid, cap,” he sputtered, sniffing and shivering violently as he pushed himself to stand.

“Nicely fuckin’ done, Soap,” Alex lauded, smacking him on the back and earning a screech from the Scotsman.

“‘S too cold,” he bit, grabbing at his genitals through his sodden thermals. “Ma fucken’ balls are gone.”

“Go in and get dry,” the Captain barked, as he hurriedly crouched beside the woman, sweeping locks of drenched hair from where it stuck to her face.

“Jesus,” Gaz muttered concernedly.

Her skin was bitterly cold, but soft on her cheeks; some indication that resuscitation might have been possible, that her skin wasn’t as stiff and waxy as corpse skin would have been. Eyes were lightly shut, her thick lashes clumped together by seawater. He used a gentle thumb to lift up an eyelid, and her pupils were nice and black — blown out, but not clouded over. Laces of capillaries meshed through her white scleras. Blood still bright red.

“How’s she looking?” Alex asked, crouching beside John, pessimism in his throat.

“She’s frigid,” John said grimly.

“Could be hypothermic,” Gaz said from behind him, worry leaden in every word. “That water is barely higher than zero.”

“Mh,” John grunted in agreement, hastily pressing the palps of his fingers under her jaw into a spongy jugular, held there for a few seconds — no pulse. “We’ll worry about warmin’ her up once we get her breathing.”

He leaned back and interlaced his fingers, laying his hands knuckles down between her breasts. Pushed his weight into her sternum with a hard shove and her ribs sunk underneath him, bouncing back up when he released the pressure. Repeat. Over, and over, grunting with each desperate compression.

The heaving bodies of five men caging her kept the bulk of the angry waves from dousing her, the spray crashed over John’s back and dripped from him, beads landing on her body. Solemn silence hung heavy between them, as though fearful that expressing any hope would condemn her to certain death. Simon clutched John’s shoulder, grip encouraging.

He counted his compressions until he reached thirty, before he urgently keeled forward and pressed his mouth to her cold lips, pinching her nose and lifting her chin — pumped air from his lungs into hers with a forceful breath, then another, then another. Her chest rose as it filled up with his air, sunk again as he let it seep out from behind her teeth.

Returned to compressions. Push. Push. Push. He pressed so hard into her sternum that her ribs threatened to snap under the weight of him, but they were rubbery enough to withstand it.

Continued the next round until he reached twenty-one — when water began to rise up her throat, sloshing about in her open mouth and trickling out of its corners. He urgently halted his compressions to flip her onto her side and tip out the brine, hammering into the midline of her back with an open palm.

“C’mon, love,” John growled, teeth gritting. “Cough it up for me.”

As though she had heard him, a gurgle eked from her throat, torso retching as an eruption of water gushed out of her mouth and sprayed over the deck. A few weak coughs followed the first, and she shuddered — the men roared in shock and celebration as John returned her to her back.

Her eyes fluttered open for less than a second, shrinking pupils fixed on John for a heartbeat — wet, glittering under the beaming of the deck lights, carving straight through him and taking root in the marrow of his skull. Vacant and yet swollen, the glow of life anew, as though glaring right into the heavens — and with a little sigh, they feathered shut again.

He held a hand to her cheek, gave her head a soft shake; prepared to continue the chest compressions, but as he curled forward and held his ear to her lips, he felt her breathing, shaky and weak against the cartilage shell.

“She breathin’?” Simon asked bluntly, laden with apprehension.

“Yeah,” John huffed, relief potent as liquor flooded hot into his chest and made his temples throb.

“Good shit, cap’n,” Alex commended, releasing a puff of pent air, just as relieved as the lot of them.

John nodded dismissively, hands on his knees, before he pushed himself to stand. He stood over the girl and hoisted her up with his hands under her arms, before delicately draping her over his shoulder.

“Gaz, help me with her, will you?” He grunted, before marching toward the stairs up to the superstructure. “You three — fun’s over. Get back to setting the pots. I’ll send Soap back out once he’s in his dries.”

“Aye aye,” Alex said facetiously, shaking out his hands as he and the others returned to the stack they had just tied down.

“What’s the plan?” Kyle asked stiffly, in quick pursuit as John steamed up the stairs.

“Gotta get her warm,” John said.

“Yeah—” he agreed with a hesitant tone, “what d’you want me for?”

John’s eyes rolled into his skull. “You did a couple years of health science, didn’t you?”

“One year,” Kyle corrected.

John could have said that he wanted Gaz specifically because he was the ship’s assigned safety officer, or because he was the only man aboard with a university degree. But, in truth, he wanted him simply for the fact he was the least likely of all of his crewmen to make stripping the girl into something needlessly lascivious.

He carted her to the head in steady stride, passing Johnny through the narrow corridor as he dried himself off with a towel around his neck.

“She’s alive?” He asked hopefully.

“Uh-huh,” John rumbled.

Soap triple-smacked the veneer panel of the wall with a flat hand in excitement, all but bouncing off the ceiling with it. “Halle-fucken’-lujah! Need help warmin’ her up?”

“No. Get your skins on and head back out to deck, Johnny, y’got more pots to drop.”

Johnny groaned like a teenager, but he went off as he was told.

The head was small — enough room for a toilet, a shower, and a three-inch wide sink, not quite the floorspace to lay her down gracefully. John tore back the curtain and propped her up against the wall of the shower, nestling her into the corner so her head leaned against the perpendicular wall.

No sense in wasting time. He clinically peeled the sodden fabric of her white dress up her thighs, lifting her limp leg to tug the skirt out from under her.

“Christ—” Gaz grumbled, disquieted, he turned away.

“Will y’hold her arms up for me?” John monotonously requested, uninterested in the boy’s reservations.

Gaz sighed as he obeyed the order, taking her cold hands by the wrists and holding them above her head. John hiked up her dress without reservation, revealing the saturated bra and underwear she wore underneath, as he lifted it her arms up above her head.

“This’s fucked up,” Gaz mumbled.

“What is.”

“Taking her clothes off,” he said, reluctance poignant.

“You’d rather we let her freeze to death, eh?” John bit, not even dignifying the engineer’s aversion by turning to look at him.

He tugged her flaccid body towards him, and her head fell against his shoulder — he reached under her arm into the space between her back and the shower wall, unclasping her bra with a single hand.

“No,” Kyle acquiesced. “Do we really need to take off her underwear, though?”

“She’s not gonna get warm in wet knickers, is she,” John grumbled, frustration blossoming, releasing it in a sharp sigh. “Y’need to grow up, Garrick. Go and grab my jersey and a towel from the laundry, then.”

“Okay. Sure, yeah,” he agreed, marching out of the head like he might trip over in his haste.

John bit down on nothing as he pulled the straps of the girl’s bra down her arms, adding it to the pile atop her drenched dress. Didn’t help that she was a lovely thing — pudding-soft curves, pretty little face — might lend an explanation to the young engineer’s discomfort, couldn’t reconcile the attraction he felt to a near-dead woman while she was incognisant of her nudity.

John did not care, he had no qualms.

A pragmatist, through and through. He felt no shame for admiring her as he leaned her back against the laminate wall, nipples grey-purple and hard as pebbles by virtue of her palpable hypothermia. Soft lips were slack, not as blue as they had been when she was fished out of the ocean, now that her blood was pumping again.

He wasted no time ogling her, though, he was no reprobate. His only priority was getting her warm and awake. And that happened to involve hooking his fingers into the waistband of her knickers, saturated in seawater and cleaving fast to her skin.

He hooked an arm around her to lift her from the shower floor, used the other hand to tug her underwear over the swell of her bottom before he set her back down to reel them down her thighs.

Pretty cunt, too. Unshaven, how he liked them.

He reached up for the shower head, held it in a fist as he switched on the water. Already nice and warm, preheated by the engine-powered calorifiers. He held the stream of warm water over her chest, watching as it cascaded over her breasts and flooded between her thighs. Didn’t care if he got himself wet in so doing. Checked her pulse every odd moment with the pad of a finger on her wrist, ensured her chest continued to rise and fall.

Rubbed his free hand over her skin to scrub off all the salt; started modestly with her arms, shoulders, back — but was unhesitant in rinsing and scrubbing her armpits, down her belly, between her legs. Didn’t touch her pussy, though, even John felt that was a step too far. He simply rinsed it. Let the water run over her mons and channel down the cleft of her unaided.

He tilted her head back and ran the warm stream over her hairline, careful not to let too much water pour down her face. He combed thick fingers through the tresses, scrunching her hair into a ball to wring out the brine before rinsing it out again.

As he carded his fingers through her scalp, though, he felt a lump; just above her hairline, concealed by the locks. A squishy protrusion from the skull, with a frayed ridge through the centre of it. Only then did he see the diluted blood in the water that puddled at the bottom of the shower, originating from the ends of her saturated hair.

Add that to the list of ailments, he thought. Poor wee girl. They’d need to tend to that.

Kyle finally returned with a cautious knock on the door, a single knuckle.

“D’you fall overboard, Garrick?” John murmured — he had been gone far longer than it should have taken to find the items he requested.

“Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t figure out which fleece was yours.”

John said nothing.

“She warming up yet?” Gaz asked tightly, likely not even looking in the direction of the shower, now that she was entirely nude.

The girl’s skin was now plush and pink under the heat of the water, and felt warm to the touch under the back of John’s hand; so with a satisfied nod he shut off the water and hooked the showerhead back into its fastening.

He reached backward with a gesturing hand, and Gaz handed him the crisp towel he had brought from the laundry without a word.

“Looks like she got hit in the head,” John commented, as he draped the towel over the girl's front, rubbing her down to get her dry. Arms, shoulders, armpits, thighs, feet. He was thorough.

“Shit,” Gaz said morosely, half-hearted. Soft young man, soft in a way John was almost envious of. Sometimes he wondered if he had grown too rough around the edges, too abrasive for his own good. “What the fuck happened to ‘er?”

“Not a clue,” John said. “Nothing good.”

“That life raft was — that was non-standard,” Gaz pondered aloud.

“Thought the same thing,” John replied, as he scrunched her hair in the towel, twisting it up to wring out the water. He was careful with the top of her head — dabbing her scalp gently, leaving dark red smears in the blue fibres.

“Ferry capsized, maybe?”

“We would’ve heard about a ship capsizing nearby,” John said. “‘Specially a passenger vessel. They’d have blasted the distress call out in every direction.”

“Mh,” Gaz agreed.

“She had no shoes on,” John remarked, tone sombre. “No gear, no jacket.”

“Running away from something?” asked Gaz, picking up what John might have been suggesting.

“Maybe,” John said, before hanging the towel around her back and hauling her up from the floor with an arm around her ribs.

He hung her floppy arms over his shoulder, kept her body tight to him, the towel just long enough to conceal her buttocks from Gaz, sensitive lad. He kept her up with a forearm under her rear, bounced her to adjust. She was impossibly easy to lift; John could have carried her one-handed, if he were less concerned about avoiding brandishing her nudity around the ship.

Gaz followed him out of the head, towards the galley.

“She had no belongings with her, eh?” Gaz asked, “no wallet, nothing?”

“No.”

Kyle let out a long sigh, worry oozing from his every pore. “Don’t wanna imagine how long she was drifting for.”

John nodded, as he sat her down on the bench seat of the dining table, the thin vinyl cushion squeaking underneath her. He dumped the towel, and grabbed his jersey from Gaz — one of his heavy Patagonia fleeces, fabric thick, plush like sheepskin, dark navy with a zip collar. He pulled it over her head, fed her arms through the long sleeves and adjusted it down her torso. It was long enough that it reached her mid-thighs, hands two-thirds of the way through the sleeves — big enough to conceal everything, and cozy enough to keep her warm. He pulled her hair out from inside the collar and lay it to one side over her shoulder.

“Grab me the first aid kit,” John ordered dryly, as he leaned her against the seat, holding her head upright with a hand at the back of her skull.

He fingered through her locks of damp hair, looking closely for the contusion that he felt ballooning out of her scalp — found it, eventually, dark purple and swollen, sticky burgundy blood coagulating around the open wound and gluing bits of hair together.

“Think she fell?” Gaz asked, as he returned with the red polyester pouch after rummaging through the galley cabinets, unzipping and unfurling it.

“S’there betadine in there?” John asked, before he had acknowledged the engineer’s question. “Hard to say, it looks rough.”

Kyle handed him the little brown dropper of iodine solution, popping off the cap for him. “You don’t think someone hit her.”

John’s jaw tightened. “If they did, they hit her bloody hard.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Gaz grumbled, upset, watching with his arms crossed as John tipped over the little bottle. He squeezed out several rust-brown drops, they landed squarely in the wound in her scalp, emulsifying with the tissue. “This’s all — just wrong.”

“Least she’s alive,” John murmured, through a huff, as he put down the betadine. No use in attempting to bandage it, the laceration was small enough that it would heal on its own if left unbothered.

“Wonder where her home is,” Gaz mused, tone dismal.

“We’ll ‘ave to see what the bird says when she wakes up,” John said, laying the girl down on her side, tucking up her knees.

“What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” John asserted as he stood, rapping an appreciative hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on her, will you? I need to get back to the bridge.”

“Okay,” Gaz nodded tightly.

“And get her a blanket,” John ordered on his way to the ladder. “Call me if anything changes, yeah?”

“Will do, Captain.”

You tasted salt on your tongue.

It was dark, and your body was so heavy — your neurons fired off to raise an arm, and all they mustered was the twitch of a finger. Skin felt warm and viscid, lacquered in a tepid layer of tar as though fully submerged in gooey black pitch, too thick to move around in.

Your eyes perceived nothing but deep, liquid burgundy, and the sparking of white-and-red stars that encroached on the borders of your vision, writhing and swirling in the abyss of your blindness.

Still, salt on your tongue.

It was foul, overpowering, all consuming — that brackish grit in every corner of your mouth, between your teeth, crystallising in the back of your throat. It filled your nose, stung where it adhered to the delicate mucosa of your nostrils, every breath hurt to take in.

You could feel it in your lungs, too. Shards of salt embedded in your bronchioles, saline glutted alveoli, trachea plugged with viscous brine.

Your diaphragm spasmed beyond your control, body seizing as you erupted into a coughing fit — wet and phlegmy, salty fluid gurgling in your chest and hucking out of your mouth with every ragged splutter, you almost choked on it as you heaved in as much air as your lungs could imbibe.

Your eyes shot open, then, vision so blurry that you had to wrench them closed a few times before the membrane over your corneas began to dissipate.

A rubbery cushion under the side of your head, fuzzy fabric enveloping your arms and chest, something scratchy and heavy over your legs. Warm, sore — you ached everywhere, every joint stiff, every muscle burning, every organ twisting and floundering inside you.

Dizziness wracked through your head, brain swimming free within your skull, spinning around in circles and bouncing against the walls of its cavity as though you were being tipped forward and backward and forward again.

Nausea swelled up quickly, filled you up to the ears and made your stomach cramp and contort — bile rose up your throat and burned on its way up, you leaned over the surface you lay on and let it spill out from your teeth. Hardly any vomit, merely an oozing stream of chartreuse bile that dripped in strings from the corner of your mouth.

You heard a voice, a man’s voice, at first too disoriented to understand it.

“Shit — oh my god, you’re—”

A hoarse groan escaped your chest in response, not a noise you made on purpose, as you tried to roll onto your back.

“Are you okay?” He asked urgently, and suddenly you noticed a pair of knees under a table beside you, only as they shifted when the person stood. “Hey — you’re okay, you’re—”

You moaned again, squinting under the bright light above you, vision distorted by vertigo and brine. Tongue too fat to form any words yet.

“You’re okay, let me — let me get you some water.”

You heard the hurried thuds of boots away from you, and you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your palms, finally able to see properly once you opened your eyes again. Shakily pulled yourself upright with a hand on the table, muscles quivering so violently that they could barely hold you up — but fired adrenaline began to kick in, thumping out from your chest and buzzing in your fingertips as you glanced around the room, utterly alien to you.

“Where…” you croaked, soaking in your surroundings. Panelled walls of honey oak, an ugly veneered table in front of you, you sat on its bench seat. A small circular window sat above the table, bolted around its borders, and a single light bulb hung from the ceiling.

The room smelled like dish soap and body odour, fetid with the scent of an unwashed sponge and a hovering note of fish carcass. A small kitchen, as you turned your head around to check behind you — the man towered over a sink, you heard the hiss of running water.

“Where am I?” You finally asked, finding your words, but your voice was as frayed as if you had swallowed glass.

The man turned then, and you did not recognise him. Not at all. A complete stranger, with a furrow in his brow, and an awkward smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You bolted up from the seat then, tossing aside the blanket that rested on your knees, fight-or-flight reigniting your muscles and setting your heart into overdrive — your head spun with it, and your balance was completely off kilter, you had to continually readjust your feet to keep yourself upright.

“Hey — hey, easy,” he said edgily, voice soft.

“Who the fuck are you?” You barked, immediately defensive, you tried to keep your eyes pinned to him while you made note of your peripheral surroundings.

“I’m — I’m sorry, I didn’t — I’m Gaz. Kyle. I’m Kyle.”

You scowled at him, panting, hackles raised high as you shuffled away from the table. “I don’t know anyone called Kyle,” you hissed. “Or anyone called Gaz.”

“We haven’t met before,” he said, body twisting to face you as you inched around him.

He put down the glass of water he held in his hand, and that only further enkindled your terror. Now his hands were free. He could tackle you, if he wanted to. Tall man that he was, muscular under his black jersey, his big doe-eyes did nothing to soften you to him.

“We found you in the water,” he tried to explain, “we thought you were dead. But we rescued you.”

“The fuck do you mean, found me?” You spat, now approaching the kitchen, your eyes scoured around for something to grab.

He could detect your scheming, inched closer to you on quiet feet, attempting to flank you.

So you dashed — bolted towards the small cooktop, where a magnetic strip mounted on the wall held an array of kitchen knives.

“Fuck—” He cursed, through teeth, failing to grab you in time before you snatched one by the handle, and held the blade in front of you with both hands.

You jabbed it at him as you backed out of his reach, arms so shaky you almost dropped it — but you kept it tight, holding onto it with vicious devotion, as though dropping it would be your death sentence.

He held up his hands, not in surrender, but as if he were attempting to settle a wild animal. “Okay, love, take it easy.”

“Stay away from me,” you shouted, trembling, backing away cautiously.

“Captain!” The man roared worriedly toward the ceiling, and you flinched. “Look, love, I’m not going to—”

“Fuck you,” you bit, before you spun on a heel and flew towards an archway.

“Shit.” He cursed as you escaped, but he had not yet pursued you.

You scurried down the narrow corridor, bare feet aching with every step, knife extended in front of you and prepared to slash at anything that got in your way. You were wobbling all over the place, as though the ground beneath you was rocking back and forth; you toppled into the wall on your right, yelping as you tried to get yourself upright again.

You reached a great big industrial door, painted blue and with a tiny circular porthole too high for you to see through. It had a wheel in the centre of it, connected to a series of bars that spanned it from top to bottom. Not a door you had ever seen before, but you inexplicably knew to twist the wheel — left, first go, and the bars shrunk away from the top and bottom, the steel door unsealing with a clank.

Now you heard the thuds of running boots, fast, growing louder, closer — you shouldered open the heavy door and leapt over the lip at the bottom, immediately blasted with an ice-cold wind that made you shrivel up and almost retreat back inside.

The sky was stark black, and you were blinded by floodlights. You stumbled towards the railing, hanging onto it for dear life as you almost slipped over on the frigid metal grating under your feet — it felt like barbed wire on your soles, and you whimpered with every step.

Your fierce desperation to escape trumped any pain, though, you burned hot as a boiler, thundering adrenaline keeping you aflame. You spun your head around to determine where you were; a pitch-dark abyss surrounded you on all sides — no sky, no ground, no lights on the horizon, nothing. You peered over the balustrade and realised then that you were on a ship, now seeing the building-tall waves that cascaded over the floor below, bedizened in ropes and grates and metal cages and buoys, populated with a few people in neon jackets.

“Hey—” Came a bark from behind you, and you shrieked — immediately scurrying towards a steep staircase, pole-narrow, almost toppling down it as you bounced to every second step.

The floor of the deck consisted of slippery water-logged wood, and the soles of your feet struggled to find any grip as you sprinted across it. You weren’t even sure where you were running, just away, from the man who had followed you — but it became quickly clear you had no escape, and the orange-jacketed men on the deck had turned their heads to spot you.

“Oh, fuck—” One barked.

Another erupted in bewildered laughter; “She breathes, alright!”

“Oi — girl—” Called one.

“C’mere, hen!” Shouted another, Scottish. “We don’t bite!”

You sobbed as you ran, ravaged by a fear so potent it made your heart shrivel up like a raisin — you were sprayed by a crashing wave, blinded by the salt, and your feet slipped out from under you. Collided into the hard ground with a slam, a bounce, you skidded across the wood and your knife tumbled out of your grip, sliding out of reach.

Only as you flopped around on the greasy floor did you realise your nudity under the sweater you were wearing, bare thighs slick with cold sea water, ass bitten by the arctic wind. You scrambled to get yourself back up, crawling on your hands and knees towards your only weapon — until a thick arm hooked under your belly, swiftly hoisting you up from the ground with yank, and you squealed.

“Easy, now, woman—” Gritted the man, the hoarse growl of an old dog, and he held you flat to his chest. “In such a hurry to go back overboard, eh?”

You wailed, attempted to buck yourself free from him while your feet dangled off the floor, but he only secured his grip with another mammoth arm. The other men on the deck approached hastily, concern and confusion etched in their cold-ruddy faces, looking between each other as though waiting for somebody to decide what to do with you.

“Let me go,” you sobbed, paltry voice broken by hiccups, you spluttered and cried and kicked when you could muster it. “Please, please—”

“Put her down, Nik, for fuck’s sake.” Came the roar of another man, approaching from further away, an authoritative fury that your captor swiftly obeyed.

You landed on your bare feet onto the wet floor with a squelch, and a sob, but he kept a firm grip of your shoulder to prevent you from fleeing. You wouldn’t have, though — now, it was clear to you — there was nowhere to run.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Yelled the evident commander, “All of you? Christ, look, you’ve scared the shit out of her.”

You saw him, then, as he stood in front of you — towering, heaving, you felt the vibrations of his heavy feet on the deck with each step. Broad shoulders cloaked in a rugged navy jacket, the hood pooled around his neck, a pair of roomy yellow overalls strapped over the waterproof layer. A black knitted beanie sat on the top of his head, folded just above his furrowed brows. His lips were in a snarl under his dense beard while he addressed the other men, but they softened into a neutral line when he looked at you.

There was something familiar about him, not that you could place it; a face you might have seen in a dream, or crossing the street once. A face you could imagine with a glowing light beaming from behind it, as though the moon eclipsing a sun. You had no memory to tie to it, and yet, it settled you slightly.

“Y’alright, love,” he said, voice honey-warm and thick with gravel, he held a hand in your direction and gestured to follow him. “Come back in, will you? Too cold for you out here, eh?”

You sipped a shaky breath, shivering in the bitter wind, glancing at the men surrounding you from under your brow. Returning to the man that gestured for you, you gave him a feeble nod, and waddled in his direction.

“Tha’s it, c’mon,” he said gently, hovering a hand at the small of your back. He turned over his shoulder to shout at the others; “You lot have more pots to set, don’t you? Get back to fuckin’ work.”

He guided you gingerly towards the stairs, close behind you to ensure you didn’t slip over on the way up. Opened the weathertight door to let you in, but walked in front of you down the same corridor you had escaped through. You held your arms tight around yourself, left soggy footprints along the vinyl floor.

“Got yourself all wet again,” he said, an edge of irritation in his tone.

“D’you get her?” Came a call from the kitchen you had awoken in, and the man — Kyle — appeared at the end of the hallway. You froze.

“Go finish your work, Gaz, y’still got an hour on the clock.” He ordered flatly, and Kyle looked at you past him.

“Yes, Captain,” he grunted disdainfully, shouldering past the man in front of you, and squeezing around you where you pressed yourself into the wall. “Hope you’re feeling okay,” he mumbled sheepishly, before disappearing down a flight of stairs.

The captain looked back at you, flicked his head in the direction of the kitchen. “C’mon, let's get you dry.”

The kitchen was much smaller than you remembered it being not a few minutes prior — cozy, much warmer than outside but still not quite warm.

“Siddown,” he said from the kitchen, not as forceful as a command but just as compulsory. You gingerly sat yourself on the same bench you had woken up on, watching him carefully, lips sealed.

He approached you with a tall cup of water, held by the rim with the tips of his fingers. “Drink it.”

You took the cup timidly, but once it was in your grip you did not hesitate; tipped it into your mouth and skulled it down desperately, a dribble escaping the corner of your mouth. You had no idea how thirsty you were until fresh water touched your lips — fresh, not salty — you panted like a dog when the cup was empty, half-quenched.

He took it from you, filled it back up at the sink before bringing it back, and you drank the second cupful just as quickly.

“Better?” He asked, and you nodded, wiped your mouth with your hand.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

You watched as he grabbed a light blue towel from the tabletop, and for a moment you thought he might hand it to you — instead he crouched in front of you, and took your leg by the ankle.

You immediately chirped and attempted to tug your foot free on reflex, but his grip was firm; entire hand wrapped tight around your ankle, he gave you a tut.

“Settle down,” he snipped, resting the sole of your foot on his collarbone. “I’m only dryin’ you off.”

Said with such certainty that you began to doubt your instinct that it was inappropriate for him to put his hands on you — tempered by the feeling that he knew what he was doing, that he was only taking care of you.

He looked at you impatiently until your tensed muscles eased, before he nodded in satisfaction. He hooked your foot over his shoulder so that your ankle rested on his trapezius, before he bunched the towel up in a fist and ran it up the length of your leg.

You leaned on your arms behind you, heart in your throat, beating so fast that you could hear it buzzing in your ears.

He was focused, wiping the seawater and muck off your skin, up and down your thighs, down the underside of your leg.

“Took a tumble, did you?” He asked plainly, dabbing a fresh graze on your knee with the towel, making you flinch with the sting.

“Yeah,” you said meekly; you were sure it would bruise eventually, but it was largely painless for the time being.

He tutted you, but continued, wiped down your calf and dried off your foot last; he was fastidious about it, pushed the fibers of the towel between your toes, engulfed your foot in the cotton, scrubbed it along the sole of your foot and your toes curled with the tickle.

He set that leg down once he was done with it, and wordlessly demanded the other with a curl of his fingers.

Confounding yourself, you did as you were told, and offered him your other leg; he repeated the procedure, resting your foot on his shoulder and scrubbing your leg with the crunchy towel, unabashedly wiping up to the top of your thigh, between your legs, under your knees.

It didn’t escape your notice that you were naked underneath the jersey, and if he were to look a little higher his eyes would be square with your pussy. The thought made you tighten, and he gave you a disapproving glance when he felt it — but he finished with the other foot, and set your leg free again.

“Thank you,” you muttered, tight-lipped, dizzy with confusion.

“D’you want a new jersey?” He asked as he stood, swiping a hand over the sleeve shoulder, where seaspray had beaded on the outside of the fleece.

“I’m okay,” you said timidly, tucking your legs together.

He nodded, dropping the towel back on the table. “Alright, pet,” he said. “Let’s get you a cuppa, yeah?”

You were quiet, but he busied himself in the tiny kitchen anyway — followed the rumbling of a water boiler and the slosh of hot water, the opening and closing of cabinets and drawers, the tinking of a spoon in a teacup.

“Hope you take it with milk and sugar,” he said. “You’re getting it whether you like it or not.”

“That’s fine,” you croaked.

“Good girl,” he said, as he returned with a brown glass mug and set it down on the table in front of you. “Gotta get some sugar in you. You remember the last time you ate?”

You shook your head.

“Mh, well, let’s get you fed.”

“I’m not — I’m not hungry right now,” you said hesitantly, and when a divot pulled in his brows, you clarified; “don’t think I can keep much down yet.”

He nodded. “No problem, love,” he answered, with a pacifying grin. “How’s the head?”

“Where am I?” You asked pointedly, cutting to the chase, unwilling to take a sip of your tea out of lingering suspicion.

He sat down across from you, landing in the bench seat with a grunt, interlocking his fingers on the surface of the table. His glare was scrutinising, albeit gentle, as though checking rather than inspecting.

“You’re aboard the Iron Tide,” he said candidly. “We’re fishing for crabs in the North Sea.”

“Iron Tide?”

“That’s the name of the ship, love,” he answered, a little patronising. “I’m her skipper, I’m Jonathan. You met Gaz, he’s our engineer — he gave you a fright, I bet, but he’s a good lad.”

You nodded edgily, looking askance at him. “Okay… but, how did I get here?”

He smiled sombrely at that, crow’s feet pinching in the corners of his tired eyes. An oceanic blue, you noticed, little round seas reflecting the light that bounced off the table beneath him.

“Was hopin’ you could tell me that, pet,” he gibed, nodding at your mug. “Drink your tea.”

You took a sip, as you were told. Just cooled enough to sip with a slurp, blanketing your salty tongue, warm and saccharine, hot as it went down your throat. Earl grey. The taste made you feel tucked in, as though a blanket were over your legs, a pillow behind your head — but the murky memory was as fleeting as it was vague. You swallowed it with a sigh, and he looked pleased.

“So?”

“So what?” You asked, with a frown.

“How’d you end up on the high seas, hm?”

“I—” You cut yourself off, as you stared into the steaming surface of your tawny-coloured tea.

Words danced at the tip of your tongue, amorphous and flavourless, nothing you could place. Notions that, if you were to reach for them, would drift away, or turn to smoke.

You didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know,” you said, voice shaky, glancing at him with worry knitting in your brows as though he might be able to remind you.

“You don’t remember?” He asked carefully.

A piteous heat swelled beneath your eyes, tears welling from their ducts and pooling in your eyes, your vision went blurry with it. You shook your head.

“S’alright, pet,” he said, fixing a hand to your wrist across the table. “It’ll come back to you. Do you remember anything at all? If you were on a boat, what country you’re from?”

Again you shook your head, sniffling, you wiped an errant tear with the soft sleeve of the oversized fleece you have no memory of putting on. “No.”

Concern cracked through his stoic expression, and it only made you more upset.

“Do you know your name, love?”

You vacuumed in a slow and trembling breath, eyes bouncing between your hands, as if they might hold the answer. You could think of names — Jessica, Lucy, Nina, Anna, Rebecca — but they were only that, random names floating about in the air around you, and you could not pin any of them as your own with any certainty.

“No,” you eked, followed swiftly by a sob, despite your effort to swallow it.

He exhaled, long and beleaguered, stroking the back of your hand with his colossal thumb. Hands as big as saucers, calloused and molten hot to the touch. Made your hand look like a pixie’s underneath it.

“Don’t fret, eh?” He said, failing to comfort you. “Y’got plenty of time to remember. Just finish your tea.”

“What do you mean?” You asked weakly, plenty of time comment making you uneasy. “Aren’t you going to take me to — back to land?”

He smiled, bemused, as he released your wrist with a pat and leaned back against the bench seat, hanging an arm insouciantly over the back.

“Not heading all the way back to port yet, love,” he said frankly. “We only left a couple days ago. Got a lot more crabs to catch.”

“I’m — I have to stay on this boat until you’re done fishing?” You asked, fighting back the tears that threatened another cascade.

He tilted his head. “This’s my job. If I don’t get crabs, I don’t get paid. Neither do the other lads, ‘n they won’t be letting that happen.”

You pouted, lip quivering and face scrunching, and he let out a huff.

“Look, sweetheart, what would I even do with you if I took you back now?” He asked, tone rigid. “Y’got no ID, no passport, no papers, nothing on you but that bloody frock. We don’t even know what country you belong to. You’d get snatched up by the authorities and tossed around immigration services until your head is on backwards.”

You sniffled, wiped your cheek with your sleeve. You had no argument, and even if you had the energy to muster one, you had no knowledge of how such a system worked, or where you would possibly go if they allowed you free movement. You’re sure you’d have a house somewhere, a family, someone out there must be looking for you…

The thought made you cry again, head falling from your shoulders and landing in your hands, you sobbed unremittingly into the dense fleece.

Jonathan sighed at that, evidently growing impatient, but he pushed himself to stand — he was suddenly next to you, planting himself on the bench with his thigh against yours, and he draped an arm around your shoulder.

“S’alright,” he crooned, voice as deep and rumbling as an engine, and you found yourself curling into him on instinct. Tucked up under his arm, head on his chest, a warm hand rested on the side of your head and smoothed down your hair. “We’ll sort it out.”

“I don’t even kn-know where my home is,” you blubbered into him, muffled by his jacket, still speckled with beads of sea mist. “Or if — if I’ve got a family, or a husband—”

“Y’look a little young for one o’ those,” he remarked, with a chortle.

“What if I don’t remember anything? Ever?” You cried, and he stroked the shell of your ear with his calloused thumb, fingers woven in your hair.

“None o’ that,” he grumbled, you couldn’t determine if he was rocking you or if it was simply the motions of the boat tipping over the waves. “No wallowing on my ship. Keep your chin up, and you’ll be fine.”

You whimpered, but nodded, and he petted your head like a cat.

“We got another nine or ten days at sea,” he said, comforting hand retreating from you, resting on his lap. Kept his heavy arm coiled around you, though, and you were daftly grateful for it. He patted you on the far shoulder with a stiff hand. “You’re a tough girl, yeah?”

“I dunno,” you sniffled, sitting yourself upright and reeling away from him. He released you, then, arms crossing over his chest instead.

“Well you survived God knows how long floating around in the North Sea, pet, I’d call that pretty tough.”

You attempted to compose yourself, sucking deep a breath and wiping down your face with your sleeves. Hoped that whoever’s fleece it was didn’t care about tears and snot being smeared over the cuffs.

“Is there somewhere for me to sleep?” You asked cautiously, in an attempt to come to terms with reality — nine or ten nights of sleeping on a fishing boat. It made you sick to think about.

He curled his lips as he thought for a moment. “You can sleep in my bed,” he said. “Skipper’s cabin is a lot nicer than the crew berths, I’ll tell you that.”

You blinked at him, uncertain — it was unsettlingly vague whether that meant he was offering you the bed to yourself.

“Or you can ask one of the lads to share a bunk with them, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

You shook your head hastily, and he cracked a grin. “No, thank you, skipper’s cabin sounds good, please.”

“Alrighty,” he concurred, with a nod, the deal done. “Sleepy already, eh?”

You nodded sheepishly — for the most part, you just wanted to be alone, somewhere quiet and enclosed, out of sight. But you were utterly drained, left ravaged by receding adrenaline, body battered and bruised. Curling up in a bed sounded luxurious, and heaven only knows how long it had been since you slept in one.

“Y’only been awake for twenty minutes,” he joked. “And you’ve hardly touched your tea.”

He flicked his head towards the mug, and his imperious expression made clear that he wanted you to finish it.

So, if only appease him, you clutched the mug and tipped it into your mouth, sucking down the now luke-warm tea in five hefty gulps. Licked your lips when you were done, and dumped the mug back on the table.

“Happy?”

He smiled wide, let out a haughty chuckle. “Nicely done,” he said. “Alright, then, let’s get you tucked in.”

He pushed himself to stand with a grunt, finally freeing you from behind the table, and you followed him.

“Y’sure you don’t want a bite?”

You shook your head. “Maybe in the morning, if that’s okay.”

He laughed as he made his way toward an upward staircase. “Morning’s fine, but I’m not having you starve yourself.”

“I won’t.”

As you climbed to the top of the stairs you reached the bridge — a large control station with many screens, all showing different radars and panels and numbers. The wheel was there, too, a spinning chair with a sweater thrown over the back of it tucked in front of it. Sea spray made pattering rain-like noises on the thick windows, but very little light came in from them. The air was thick with cigar smoke and terpenic air freshener, the everpresent ghost of saltwater lingering in between.

“Just through here,” he instructed, and you followed him around to the other side, through a door, and down a shorter staircase.

There you were met with a bedroom; it was intimate, stuffed full of bags and boxes and papers. A fold-out desk jutted out from an warm-wood wall, covered in maps weighed down by protractors and a drawing compass. Coats hung over hooks, boots lined up by the door.

A cot bolted to the wall, perhaps a king single, unmade — a thick duvet with a red-and-navy plaid blanket tossed overtop, heavy wool that you could ascertain would be itchy without needing to touch it. A single pillow in a navy pillowcase, cream-coloured fitted sheet likely toned off-white due to age or overuse.

It was rich with musk in there, the single porthole window not able to be opened, and the heady scent made you dizzy. You imagined it was only a marginally diluted version of the same scent you’d get pressing your nose into his armpit. It was only tempered by traces of toothpaste and cigarettes, and the potent smell of Imperial Leather bar soap. Daft that you remembered that, and little else.

“Not a five-star hotel, eh?” He gibed, nudging you with his elbow. You didn’t have a response, at first, and he chided you; “Don’t be a sourpuss. No room for being fussy here, love.”

“No — this is perfect, thank you, I’ll sleep anywhere.”

He smiled and crossed his arms, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Alright, well, you get yourself comfortable then,” he said. “Loo’s just through there, if you need it. Use my toothbrush if you like, just give it a wash after, eh?”

You almost grimaced at the thought of sharing his toothbrush, but the lingering bile and salt in your mouth had you looking forward to the taste of toothpaste.

“Need anything else, pet?” He asked, still gruff. “Paracetamol? I can get you something else to sleep in—”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you insisted, perhaps too plainly eager to get him out of the room.

“Alright, love,” he said. “G’night, then. I’ll just be up there, still got some steering to do.”

“Okay.”

With a firm nod, he turned around and headed out of the cabin, shutting the door behind him.

You let out a pent breath once you were alone, potent exhaustion suddenly crashing into you like a train. You stumbled into the tiny ensuite — a small toilet and a sink, the shower head jutting out from the wall above the commode — rinsed his frayed toothbrush under the tap and globbed on some colgate.

Brushing your teeth made you feel marginally human again, and you spent a good five minutes scrubbing out every crevice of your mouth. You washed it afterwards, like he said, and stuck it to the wall with the suction cup on the back of it.

There was no mirror, and you found yourself glad of it. You couldn’t yet confront the fact that you did not remember what you looked like, an existential dread that simmered in your belly, but too tired to churn up.

Only then, as you glanced at his bar of soap (it was Imperial Leather, as you had guessed), did you realise how clean you felt — you wondered if he had washed you, and now you were certain that he had changed you. The thought made you shiver, and you tried not to think about it.

His bed was squeaky underneath you, and the mattress so soft that you sunk deep into it; the weight of him permanently embedded in the springs, you settled into the divot like a cat, curled up towards the wall. It was bitterly cold in the cabin, much like the rest of the ship, so you tugged the blankets up your cheek, rubbing your icy feet together to warm them up.

The sheets reeked of him, of man and musk, the pillow smelt of scalp and salt. It was unusually comforting. Such a human smell, and as you tucked yourself under his layers of blankets it swirled around in the front of your head and made you dozy.

Sleep called to you, dark and ebbing, and you slipped willingly beneath the surface.

You were roused, only slightly, at the sound of a door handle.

Not alert enough to open your eyes, you still floated deep in slumber, soft and warm. Your consciousness ascended close enough to the shallows to acknowledge the opening of a door, the footsteps across a hollow floor, but the sounds conveyed no meaning to you.

Sleep pulled you downward but you floated languidly back up at each noise; the fizz of running water, the scrubbing of brushing teeth, the spit of toothpaste.

A zip being undone, velcro being ripped open, boot laces being untied. The clunk of a shutting door, a cough, a grunt, and you finally broke the surface.

Now entirely awake, you remained completely still — not out of fear, you didn’t think — perhaps in the hope that he would leave you alone to keep sleeping, absolutely not ready to get up yet. He made no effort to be quiet, as he dumped his boots by the door, rummaged around in his belongings for a moment, coughed again.

You kept your nose close to the wall, eyes barely open. He flicked off a light switch and the room was abruptly drowned in darkness.

The blanket was lifted from you, then, and you flinched — with the cold air nipping at your skin, you realised your long jersey had been hiked up in your sleep, and your bare bottom half was starkly exposed.

You froze, curled up, tongue in your teeth; until a sudden weight plummeted into the mattress, bouncing you up before sinking deep behind you, causing you to slide into the dip.

With a grunt and a huff the blanket was pulled back up over you, scratchy wool brushing your cheeks. A titanic arm hooked over your stomach, and you squeaked — he paid no mind, yanking you backwards until your back was flush with his chest, ass nestled into his lower belly, his thighs tucked up behind yours.

You held your breath, skittish, not yet daring to move; he let out a deep sigh into the back of your head, warm breath seeping through your hair and into your skull.

His entire body was a furnace, burning hot, and you felt yourself melting into him whether you liked it or not. A mammoth hot water bottle, wrapped around and behind you, keeping you soothingly warm.

His hand ventured nowhere untoward, arm only hanging listlessly over the divot of your waist, forearm tucked into your chest. He felt clothed against you, sweatpants and a thermal on.

There was something wrong about it — something off, a survival instinct that buzzed around you, humming like a mosquito, a ringing in your ear, annoying and persistent.

But his pyretic warmth made you lightheaded, so comfortable tucked into him that it felt like you were already dreaming.

With a heavy blink, and a deflating breath, you sunk deep into him and let slumber swallow you whole once again.

#cunty little beanie is here #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #cod smut #bella-writes

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norristrii · 3 months ago

Text

PAWS ON THE BEACH.

It started as usual beach walk with your dog Coco, but when she starts playing with other dog on the beach, his owner really catches your eye.

pairing. Charles Leclerc x fem! reader

warnings. none

babs’ notes. cooking so close to chapter 2 rn, probably posting tomorrow or on this weekend

COCO WAS A FORCE OF NATURE. As a golden retriever puppy, she was equal parts adorable and chaos incarnate—a fluffy whirlwind of energy that left a trail of shredded napkins, chewed shoes, and overturned cushions in her wake. You loved her fiercely, though. She was a menace, sure, but she was your menace. It didn’t take long for you to realize she was you in dog form—spirited, mischievous, and entirely unapologetic.

Still, amidst all the chaos, Coco had a way of grounding you, reminding you to find joy in the small things. Your favorite moments were the ones like now—walks with her on the beach, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The sky stretched wide above you, painted in hues of amber, pink, and deep orange, as if the universe itself were creating a masterpiece just for this moment.

You eased yourself onto the cool, grainy sand, the gentle pressure grounding you as you stretched your legs out in front of you. The horizon was painted in soft hues, a blend of muted pinks, oranges, and the faintest trace of purple—colors fading into the endless blue of the ocean. The waves rolled forward and retreated with a rhythmic crash, their sound soothing and steady, like the heartbeat of the shore. There was peace here, a quiet stillness that wrapped around you, but never felt lonely.

Coco tugged on her leash, pulling it to its limit as she darted back and forth, a blur of energy against the serene backdrop. She was relentless, her paws digging furiously into the sand as if determined to uncover some hidden treasure buried just beneath the surface. You chuckled softly as her nose pressed deep into the earth, grains of sand flying everywhere, coating her golden fur in speckles of mischief.

The seagulls perched nearby didn’t stand a chance against Coco’s enthusiastic antics. She chased them, barking excitedly as they took to the air, squawking in alarm and flapping their wings frantically to escape. They circled overhead, momentarily regrouping before descending further down the beach, only to be pursued again moments later. Her joy was boundless, contagious even, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched her.

The beach itself was quiet, untouched by the crowds that sometimes came and went during the day. Now it felt like it belonged solely to you and Coco—a sanctuary where the only sounds were her paws scratching against the sand, the distant cries of gulls, and the steady, calming ebb and flow of the tide. The air smelled faintly of salt and seaweed, crisp and clean, carrying with it the essence of freedom.

You leaned back, resting your palms against the cool sand, and tilted your face toward the horizon. Coco ran in wide circles, her leash stretching taut as she explored every inch of the beach, her excitement boundless. She was chaos and joy intertwined, a little menace with a heart full of adventure. She paused occasionally, glancing back at you as if to check that you were still watching, still sharing the moment with her. And of course you were.

As you sat quietly on the sand, watching the horizon and listening to the soothing crash of waves against the shore, a faint sound reached your ears—soft, high-pitched barks carried by the gentle breeze. It was distant at first, almost like an echo, and you tilted your head slightly, curious to find its source.

Turning your gaze down the beach, you spotted a little shape bounding toward you. It didn’t take long to recognize the unmistakable figure of a dachshund—a miniature version, with tiny legs pumping furiously and floppy ears bouncing with every step. Its short, sleek coat shimmered in the fading light, as if the sunset had cast a golden glow upon it.

The little dog seemed determined, its tiny bark growing louder as it approached, full of energy and confidence despite its diminutive size. Coco, who had been enthusiastically terrorizing seagulls just moments ago, froze mid-pounce and turned her head toward the newcomer. Her tail wagged in curiosity as she trotted closer to investigate, leash stretched taut between her bounding enthusiasm and your watchful presence.

You couldn’t help but smile as the dachshund came closer, its expressive eyes shining with a playful glint. It was a bundle of determination, undeterred by its small frame, and it raced across the sand like it owned the entire beach. Its barks shifted to soft, excited whines as it finally reached you, stopping abruptly and wagging its tail so fast it was almost a blur.

Coco, now nose-to-nose with the newcomer, barked once, loud and clear, as if announcing her presence. The dachshund responded with an eager yip, and the two dogs began their own silent conversation—sniffing, circling, and playfully nudging one another in an instant friendship that only dogs seem to know how to form.

“Leo, no! Leo!” The shout echoed across the beach, cutting through the sound of waves crashing gently on the shore. You turned your head just in time to see a man jogging toward you, his steps hurried and slightly uneven as he tried to catch up with the little dachshund. So, you thought, Leo must be his name, and judging by the urgency in his tone, this wasn’t the first time the dog had run off to cause mischief.

As the man got closer, you couldn’t help but notice him. He was actually pretty good looking—more than pretty, if you were honest. His brown hair was tousled from the run, sticking up in a way that gave him an effortlessly charming, disheveled look. There was a flush on his cheeks from exertion, the kind that made him look alive, approachable, almost familiar. He reached the two dogs—Coco and Leo—just as they began to chase each other in a small circle, their tails wagging furiously in a kind of joyous chaos.

“Stop annoying this pretty lady and her dog,” the man said with a lopsided grin, his eyes flicking between his mischievous dachshund and you. His voice was warm and slightly breathless from the run, and you felt a flutter in your chest at his words. When his gaze finally landed on you, you noticed his eyes—a mesmerizing mix of colors, swirling together. Blue, green, maybe even a hint of brown; you couldn’t decide which shade you liked the most.

You smiled softly, brushing away your surprise and meeting his gaze. “That’s okay,” you assured him, your voice calm and easy despite the little whirlwind happening at your feet. “They’re just playing.” Coco barked happily in agreement, as if to confirm your statement, while Leo wagged his tail furiously, looking innocent despite the chaos he had just caused.

“I swear, he’s nothing but a troublemaker,” the man said, his voice tinged with playful exasperation as he rested his hands on his knees. He pointed at Leo, who at that very moment was trying to outmaneuver Coco in their chaotic game of chase.

You chuckled softly, a warm laugh escaping your lips. “I know this feeling all too well,” you replied, glancing down at Coco, who was now furiously wagging her tail while sniffing at something in the sand. “Coco is exactly the same.”

The man straightened up, brushing a hand through his messy, windswept hair. His face lit up with interest as he repeated the name. “Coco?” he said, tilting his head slightly. “My friend had a dog named Coco,” he added with a hint of a smile.

You couldn’t help but smile back at the coincidence, the corners of your lips curling upward as your gaze met his again. There was something easy, almost serendipitous, about the moment—a shared connection, however small, born out of nothing more than two mischievous dogs on a beach.

“What’s your name, if I may ask?” he said, his voice warm and casual, yet carrying a hint of curiosity that made your heart skip a beat. There was something about the way he asked, the way his eyes—those mesmerizing, multicolored eyes—locked on yours that set your pulse racing just a little faster.

“I’m Y/n,” you replied, a soft smile curving your lips as you tried to sound composed, even though you could feel the faint flutter of nerves in your chest. “And yours?”

He mirrored your smile, a lopsided grin that seemed to light up his face even in the fading glow of the sunset. “I’m Charles,” he said simply, his tone unassuming yet somehow disarming, as if his name alone carried a charm all its own.

For a moment, the world seemed to fade around you—Coco and Leo still chasing each other in the sand, the gentle crash of the waves, the golden hues of the beach—all of it softened as you focused on him. There was an ease to his presence, a quiet confidence that made the moment feel natural, as though meeting him was exactly what was supposed to happen.

“Do you come here often, Y/n?” Charles asked, his voice easy and conversational, yet there was an unmistakable undertone to his words—an interest that went beyond casual small talk. His lips curved into a subtle smile, one that reached his multicolored eyes, warm and inviting. He was already looking toward the horizon, but it wasn’t the sunset he was thinking about. It was the possibility of seeing you here again.

You felt your heart skip slightly at his question, a combination of nerves and intrigue swirling in your chest. “I do,” you replied, your voice steady but with a softness to it that you couldn’t quite hide. “It’s my favorite place—especially at this time of day.”

His smile deepened, as if your answer had confirmed something he’d been hoping to hear. “It’s a good spot,” he said, glancing down at Coco and Leo, who were now tumbling over each other in a playful tug-of-war with a piece of seaweed. “I think Leo might agree too.”

You chuckled, looking at the two dogs, their antics painting the moment with a sense of ease. “Looks like Coco does too,” you said, nodding toward your golden retriever, whose tail wagged furiously as she tugged on the seaweed.

Charles shifted his gaze back to you, his expression thoughtful, as though he were savoring the interaction. “Well,” he said, his tone playful but with a quiet sincerity beneath it, “I might have to bring Leo here more often then—just in case I run into you again.”

#formula 1 #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 x y/n #cl16 x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 fic #ferarri #forza ferrari #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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vixenofthemist · 2 months ago

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DESERT HEAT

Abysswalker!Rafayel X Princess!MC Rating: E Words: 4,220 tags: Minors Do Not Interact, Heat/Mating Cycles, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Fluff and Smut, not plot related but he has the tamino wolf cut lmao

Her Highness was used to the sound of her balcony door opening in the dark hours of the night when the desert palace was asleep, but this time was different as the noise brought her from a dream.

Blinking sleep from her eyes, she lifted onto a forearm as she peered through the darkness, the form of Rafayel becoming clearer where he stood rigid. Hand still on the doorknob.

“Rafayel?” She questioned as she rubbed her eye with the back of her free palm. “What are you doing here? I didn't summon you in my sleep again, did I?”

“No.” His voice was tight and slightly ragged, but he was in enough shadows that she couldn't make out the details of his features besides the broader shape of his mask and face above. One glance at where the fishtail beacon remained hidden beneath her pillows proved she hadn't been holding it. “I… did not mean to wake you.”

There was a sincere apology in his voice, and she smiled.

“Not many could get away with it, but you're an exception for most things.” Her Highness then reached out her hand, and beckoned him to her. The loose fabric of her nightgown- worn because it was the season where the hot temperature remained even into the night- slipped down her shoulder and revealed her bare skin.

Rafayel didn't budge at her invitation, causing her to frown.

“Rafayel? Aren't you going to come closer?”

“No.” She had never heard his voice waiver before, but it did, even in such a short word. Her confusion turned to concern now, and she sat up. Soft sheets pooling around her waist and her sleeve falling even further down her arm. Revealing half a collarbone.

She could hear the sharpness of his gulp from here, and the faint sound of metal creaking accompanied it.

Something was definitely wrong. Rafayel was too in control of his own reactions to give off such clear tells usually, yet here he was barely able to control his own strength.

“What has the poor doorknob ever done to you to deserve such a treatment?!’ Her Highness accused, pushing her bedding off her and sliding her feet to the floor. “If you damage it too much, Natasha will-”

She didn't get to finish her sentence, as one look at her temporarily exposed legs brought a strangled noise from the back of Rafayel's throat, and suddenly he was doubled over on his knees. One hand on the floor to support him as the other covered his eyes.

“Rafayel!” She raced towards him, but he halted her halfway with a shaky hand in the air.

“Don't.” Rafayel's voice held command to it that would have made her knees weak on any other occasion, but right now she couldn't process anything but worry. “Just- give me a moment to-”

“What are you talking about? You're clearly hurt!” She kept moving forward, and his hand fell easily when she batted it away to kneel in front of him. She could see beads of sweat gathering in his hairline, and his visible ear was almost red beneath his long hair.

When she pressed her palm against his forehead, the hand covering his eyes dropped away and she could see now the barest peek of pink skin at the edge of the mask.

“You're burning up. Oh no- um-” She felt woefully unprepared to treat him. She’d never taken care of someone sick before.

“Bath?” She landed on, rather weakly. If someone was this hot, maybe soaking in cold water would ease the heat? “I-I can draw you up a cold bath, would that… help?”

“Yes. Please. Water- any type-” He begged, and a new sense of urgency flooded through her. Lemurians went through something called Ebb day, right? It was rare with the tides being no more but rumors said sometimes they experienced phantom symptoms. If this was what Rafayel was experiencing, then he had put himself in real danger bringing himself to the palace when he was at his weakest.

She had to try and get him back on his feet enough for him to escape before dawn, but when she withdrew her hand from his forehead she found her wrist caught and jerked back to him. He rubbed his nose- mask still on- against the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist. Inhaling deeply.

“You have to leave.” Rafayel was unsatisfied with the amount of her smell he was able to get through his mask, so he quickly clicked it off and discarded it onto the floor where it slid beneath Blu-blu's table. Her cheeks burned as he now slid his nose from wrist to palm. Muttering as he did so. “It's bad to be near me, you have to go away.”

“Y-you're the one who came into my room,” She pointed out. Her turn to swallow hard as his lips brushed her skin ever so slightly. Leaving a tingling sensation in his wake. “AND the one keeping me from leaving. You need a bath, but I can't prepare it for you if you don't let me go!”

She gasped as his teeth bit- just barely- into the meaty part of her palm. She was lost now. She had heard Ebb day took a Lemurian's strength yet here he was able to keep a tight hold of her even as she struggled to get free.

“Rafayel, what is going on?” When she said his name the breathy back of throat noise was back again and he shifted his heady gaze onto her, and the cogs clicked into place as she registered what that noise was.

He was moaning.

Rafayel was moaning because she had said his name, and immediately she wanted to make him do it more. Saying it again was on the tip of her tongue when the moonlight hit something reflective on his cheek between the strands of hair, and at once her free hand brushed them aside to see what it was.

Dark blue, muted scales scattered across the highs of his cheekbones and down into the collar of his shirt. Her Highness' breath caught in her throat and all desires to tease were thrown out of her mind.

Right! The ebb thing was happening she couldn't- Rafayel was in danger - she had to be the responsible one between them for once-

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction of which of her hands he wanted to lean into, she withdrew both and leapt to her feet. Managing to turn and get a step away before strong arms were around her waist, and Rafayel's full body weight leaned against her lower back and legs and suddenly she was falling forward-

Her squeal was muffled by one of the softest pillows from her bed snapping to catch her fall. Brought by one of Rafayel's chains.

He was now laying on top of her, shifting upwards till his head rested between her shoulder blades and his hot breath spread across her skin. His weight pressed down on her, and she was flushing something awful as she lifted onto her forearms.

“R-raf-” Her reprimand died on her tongue as her own shifting made something firm and thick rub against her thigh, and Rafayel groaned in response and pressed a kiss to her spine, and her mind turned to momentary mush as the realization of what was actually happening hit her.

“Rafayel… are you in heat?” She couldn't hide the excited quiver in her voice and she bit her bottom lip, shifting her leg to rub against the tent again. In response Rafayel groaned. Mouth hot and open against her left shoulder.

“Your fault.” He rasped, his arms shaking in restraint as even now he was desperately trying to keep it together. “Usually it's nothing. Barely even a problem but- but you called for me yesterday and…” His tongue swiped a hot path from the nape of her neck up to behind her ear where he took in a deep breath. “Can smell it on you. Fills my senses. Couldn't- can’t think of anything else but how your body is all ready and waiting for me.”

A mixture of embarrassment and thrill coursed through her, and her thighs pressed together.

“You can tell I'm…?” She turned her head, uncertain of how exactly to describe it, and he eagerly pitched forward to press their foreheads together. The tension in his brow loosening as if being close to her eased whatever experience being in heat brought him.

“Fertile? Yeah.” Rafayel filled it in for her. Nose brushing against hers and their lips were a breadth apart. “Makes sense, doesn't it? Lines up perfectly with me to fu-” He cut himself off with a harsh inhale, and he was suddenly off her. Rolling onto his back with an arm thrown over his eyes.

“Fuck. FUCK!” His chest was rising and falling rapidly. “I- I didn't mean to come here. Meant to go further away but I blinked and you were in front of me so pretty and tired but- This isn't your problem to deal with.”

“Problem?” Her Highness had never heard her voice so low and silky as it was now as she crawled towards him till she was in reach to delicately drag the back of her knuckles against his scales. “How could this be a problem?”

Rafayel was blinking quickly as he lifted his arm just enough for one eye to look at her.

“You don't understand-”

“I think I do.” She cut him off, tracing the scales down his throat. “Lemurians go into heat to reproduce, right? All their senses and thoughts go into the extremes and won't calm down till their urges are sated…”

Rafayel's adams apple bobbed beneath her fingertips. Skin still burning hot with what she now knew was desire.

“Do you know how relieved I am that this is something I can help with? I thought I was going to have to nurse you back to health and we both know that would be a disaster!” She laughed lightly, and the corners of his mouth upturned despite everything because it was a ridiculous thought. “No, this is… exciting.”

The sound of the top buckle of his collar clicking open moved his arm from his face and she found herself half laying over his head now. Balanced a little awkwardly on her hands and knees.

“You don't understand.” He repeated, raising his head so he could trail kisses along her exposed collarbone between words. “If we started, it wouldn't be quick nor once. I'd take my time filling you over and over so something will for sure stick. Maybe till sunrise, maybe till noon… Someone would come get you, and they'd catch us.”

Her knees felt wobbly, and a gasp left her as his hand pushed a breast out of the low dip of her nightgown, and his mouth latched onto it. Marking the tender flesh.

“What would they say when they see their precious princess being used by a dangerous Lemurian like that? One that's personally killed so many of their nobles, and now so dangerously close to their immortality?” His voice was low and dangerous with lust. But her own arousal was only growing at his words, and leaking through the already moist fabric of her underwear.

“If anything, I'd be using you.” She slung a leg across his abdomen to angle her aching center against the hard and ridged leather of his coat as if to make her point. Using him for momentary relief. “I hate it here. I want nothing more than to leave, and if I was with your child you'd have to take me, wouldn't you?”

His still gloved hand grasped the back of her thigh to urge her to rock against him, and she gasped into a moan as his own reverberated around the nipple he had in his mouth.

She grinded down, trying to find the spot that would properly satisfy the pulsing ache.

“If- if you don't take me they'll marry me off as soon as they know.” She braced herself against his shoulders to give herself more friction, and his head snapped back to look up at her. His eyes darkened to a deep purple and the saliva string between his mouth and her breast broke.

“They'll claim I slept with whoever they decided to marry me off to, and I'll be forced to be someone else's bride-”

Her breathy pleas were cut off with a yelp as Rafayel's mouth suddenly crashed into her. Hands on either side of her face so he could slot their mouths together properly.

They were both desperate and needy, and it came through in their kissing.

It was raw and instinctual, a dance of tongue and teeth fueled by the rocking of her hips releasing more of that smell that drove his innate desires crazy. It only ended when lungs burned for oxygen.

They panted into each other's swollen lips, and after catching his breath enough to speak, Rafayel dragged a thumb across her bottom lip.

“Mine.”

That growl brought a delightful whimper of agreement from her, and when he pressed back in with his tongue she was pliant in letting him in.

Her movement had stopped; she was too caught up in how devouring Rafayel was with his kissing to pay attention to herself, but Rafayel hadn't forgotten.

Hands shifted to her waist, and his teeth pulled a little on her bottom lip before he leaned back against the marble floor.

“I hope you're serious about this, because I can't hold back anymore. Need you so-”

He couldn't finish because there were no words to encompass the depths of his love for her, because that was the basis of why his heat was affecting him so intensely. The love that burned so fiercely it had left a permanent mark on time itself spurred the want to make up for lost lifetimes together.

She did not remember, but she did not need to to recognize what he did not say. She held his face and he nuzzled into her palm. Eyes fluttering open and closed.

“I've never been more serious about anything.” She confirmed, brushing back his sweat soaked hair from his forehead so she could press a kiss to his scales. “I want nothing more than to be with you, Rafayel. In every way, including this and what might come after.”

His heart swelled, and she was urged onto her hands and knees. Thighs framing his face.

“Have to get you ready first. Want you to enjoy it.” As Rafayel spoke, fingers hooked into her underwear and pulled it down her thighs. Seeing the mess already there, an appreciative noise came from him. Spreading her apart with two fingers to get a better look. “You're so wet for me already, Your Highness.”

“Was dreaming of you.” She confessed, and that revelation brought a full body groan from him before his mouth was on her; the occasional scrape of his earrings against her inner thigh a delicious contrast to the care of his tongue.

She felt the pressure building in her as his ministrations got more focused and his fingers joined. Pistoning in and out of her while his lips focused on the bundle of nerves that challenged her ability to hold herself up with how good it felt to be stimulated.

On one particular thrust and suck where he scissored his fingers to stretch her even more, her shaky arms gave out- and she found herself with her forehead against her wrists as her upper body weighted in on her forearms while her lower half was still above him.

“You alright, Your Highness?” His hot breath was a cruel reminder that his ministrations had stopped as Rafayel removed himself to check in on her.

“Just s-sore. Awful posture lesson all day where I couldn't lower my arms while books were on my head.” She explained rather poorly, but they weren't exactly in a position for conversation. To remind him of that, she wiggled her hips in impatience that he had paused. “Fine now though don’t stop please, s’ close.”

He didn't have to be asked twice.

Sucking and stretching her walls as the chord in her pulled tauter and tauter till it snapped, and with a cry she muffled into her fist, she came on his tongue and fingers.

Rafayel was like a traveler in the desert who found an oasis the way he began eating her out with even more fervor through the climax. Letting her ride and use him through it till she was blinking back to her senses.

When she tried to moved away, his hands locked around her thighs. Keeping her there even as she tried to shift to get a moment of respite to catch her breath.

But the movement made her wince, and realize something even more pressing.

“R-Rafayel” She reached beneath her skirt and found his hair, and with a few insistent tugs she told him with a slight whine: “My knees hurt!”

That made him unlatch himself, and tilt his head back- locks of dark purple hair spreading around the light floor- as a slanted grin made its way onto his handsome, red, upside down face.

“Hah, such a sensitive Princess.” He chuckled, giving one last kiss to her clit- proving her sensitivity in more ways than one as she shook- before he released her and sat up.

“It's a hard tile on bare knees…” Her Highness pouted, but before she could get up herself Rafayel was lifting her- bridal carrying her to her expansive bed where he dropped her down onto the mattress.

It was so soft that she bounced a few times with a squeak before stopping on her back with her limbs spread all around her, but all thoughts of sitting up left her mind in favor of ogling up at Rafayel as he started to undress.

One glove was already on the floor back where they'd been laying (She hadn't noticed when he took it off, but she should have realized he hadn't been wearing it when inside her), and it's twin followed suit.

His overcoat was next to be unbuckled and shrugged off easily, revealing the sight that always made her mouth water; The sleeveless leather shirt exposing Rafayel's bare, toned arms. Her eyes roamed over every flexing muscle and scar as his hands worked at his belt while kicking off the spiked heel boots, and once the belt hit the floor Her Highness found herself biting her lower lip in anticipation. Gazed locked on to the straining tent in his trousers.

Rafayel noticed, and his knees hit the bed as his pants were undone. Then one hand was around her ankle, pulling her towards him so he could crawl over top of her while the other freed and pumped himself.

“You want it my cute, cute princess?” He asked in the low timbre that went straight down her spine and into her renewed pooling desire.

“Yes.” She said, airy and needy. “Need you so bad, Rafayel.”

To prove it, she rolled her hips up, and met him halfway for an open mouthed kiss.

She let her legs fall open as she felt him tease against her entrance, and once he felt the warmth of her against the tip a strangled moan tore from him and he had to cling onto every ounce of restraint in him to not snap into her all at once. Easing in instead till his pelvis was flush against hers.

He stopped there, both to give her a moment to adjust and to gather as much of himself as he could.

The memories of his past lives could never compare to actually experiencing the ravenous need that almost made his vision white out nor the feel of her clenching around him as she wiggled her hips. Telling him to move with a pleading whine at the back of her throat.

One hand settling on her hip while the other gave him balance on the bed, he obliged.

Rafayel's pace was fast and hard. Inching her further up the bed with every powerful thrust. Lavishing her neck, collarbone, and breasts with wet kisses and lovebites as he chased his first release-

But he couldn't do it before she did. Needed to satisfy his beautiful bride on him to prove he was so, so devoted. So skilled at making her feel good. So worthy of her choosing him to give her a brood because he wouldn't just fill her and leave- No, Rafayel was a better mate than that. Such a better option than the men she danced with at balls who left their pungent scent on her-

His teeth sank onto her shoulder where he remembered the vile stench of a “suitor”, as the maid called them, and Her Highness groaned in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Rafayel lifted his head to observe the indent of his mouth on her skin. Where those idiots could only put a whiff of claim, Rafayel could mark and scent her anywhere.

A smirk curved his lips as the hand that had been holding her hip slid down to find once more that bundle of nerves.

“So responsive for me, your Highness.” Rafayel said with utmost appreciation. Eyes half lids as he watched her jerk and gasp at his touch. Her pleasure building at the combined work of his thumb and him repositioning her leg around his waist so his thrusts hit that sweet spot within her. At the new sensation, her nails dragged against the scales on his shoulders and her whole body arched off the bed- “That’s ‘cause it’s me, yeah? You wouldn’t be this good and ready for anyone else, right?”

“Y-yes!” She nodded as tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her flushed cheeks. Palm gliding up his shoulder to lace her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. “Lo-oove you soo- so much!”

“HA~!” Hearing that made Rafayel’s thrusts turn more sporadic, and a few scales on his face and neck glowed a bright blue, like the nature and instincts the desert deprived of him awoke at her loving moans. “Say it again for me, My Heart. Tell me more how you love me and I’ll be yours even more than I already am. It’s all I need to survive, ya know. Your voice and your love- you won’t deprive me of it, will you?”

”No!” She shook her head, pulling at him to get closer to her. “Love you, Love you, love you, looove-“

It descended his mind into a haze of desire to hear her sweet music, and his tongue devolved into its own symphony of words she did not understand all of, yet she preened to hear it all the same.

A mixture of love declarations as ancient as the oceans and crude descriptors of his desires to breed her till she was swelling with his children all left Rafayel’s tongue in Lemurian alongside a quickened pace of his hips.

A loud moan was quickly muffled as she bit down on her thumb as her second orgasm rocketed through her, covering her noises as much as she could from the guards outside. Seeing it was the only thing that reminded Rafayel to do the same, and he collapsed down onto her with his mouth at the juncture of her neck and shoulder as he did one final grind into her tightness before shuddering into his own release.

His hips kept moving on instinct, shooting his warm ropes to coat as deep into her as he could before slowing to a stop.

When Her Highness blinked back from the clouds, she savoured the way Rafayel was almost dead weight on top of her, letting everything sink in d e e p as they came down from their highs with shoulder heaving pants.

Having recovered quicker, she wiped sweat from her brow and took in some quick breaths before running a hand through the soft strands of purple and blue. A slightly hoarse, yet very pleased, hum trailing into the tulle canopy above.

Her tuneless song was interrupted with a squeak as a few tickling pecks at her neck surprised her. Quickly recovering, she giggled and wiggled away from the teasing lips and tongue as best she could with Rafayel still hard inside her and his arms locking her in beneath him, but she had no plan of going anywhere else, really.

“That’s one, My Heart.” Said assassin god rasped as he lifted himself onto a forearm just enough that he could look into her sparkling eyes. His bangs tickling against the bridge of her nose. “Are you certain you want to keep going?”

As he asked, he rubbed a few comforting circles into her thigh.

She didn’t even consider it for a second before her arms were around his neck, pulling him down so she could kiss him.

“I have a great excuse to have us be left alone till tomorrow afternoon,” She whispered with a smile, tracing his bottom lip with a thumb. “All you have to do is chain the door, and keep all those appealing promises you made at the end there. I do know some Lemurian, you know.”

#love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel smut #rafayel x mc #rafayelmc #rafayel x reader #no one perceive me but also pls read this

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gtgbabie0 · 4 months ago

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{A soft, quiet moment away from camp with Queen!Natalie}

My poor girl literally can not catch a break </3

Natalie needed to get away from all this ‘Queen’ bullshit— from Shauna’s bullshit and Mari’s bullshit and whatever bitchiness was going on between them. Just everything and everyone, for a single moment so she could breathe without someone bitching and moaning at her— honestly this whole leader thing was so much more harder than she had anticipated.

It felt great at first, being anointed by the fireplace in the dead of winter—all the attention the group gave her, the way people looked at her with a glint in their eyes, warmed her and gave her purpose. Now it was spring, and she was just exhausted.

“We’re meant to be relaxing, Nat.” The sound of your gentle voice snaps her out of her thoughts, breaking through all the troubles that have clouded her mind.

She hums in acknowledgment, leaning back against your front with a small grumble— something incoherent. You had snuck her out of camp a while ago, guiding her through the forest and into a clearing— a small creek that you had found, hidden behind trees and foliage, the water crystal clear and twinkling beneath the afternoon sun.

It was a nice getaway from all the stress. The water had been cool against her flushed skin, almost relaxing in a way as the pair of you splashed around— a mini water fight that had ended in you both being stripped down to your underwear, your clothes now hung up over a tree branch to dry in the sun as the pair of you now relax by the water, bathing in the warm rays that peak between the trees.

You drop a kiss to her freckled shoulder, arms curling around her waist from behind as if to keep her from slipping too far away in her own mind— “I am relaxing. So relaxed.” Sarcastic as ever.

"Mhm, you're all tense still." A smirk stretches across Natalie’s lips at the feeling of you nuzzling against her shoulder, trailing kisses along the side of her neck— “Is there anything I can do to help, my Queen?” You giggle against her warm skin as she all but groans, slumping against you dramatically.

“Don’t you fuckin’ start with that too.” She mumbles through a small scoff, trying to hide her amusement behind slightly narrowed eyes as she turns her head to catch your gaze— a playful frown scrunching up over her face.

“Don’t pretend like it doesn’t secretly turn you on.” She shoves your shoulder for that, sticking her middle finger up at you with a grumbled “Asshole,” beneath her breath as you lay back against the blanket you had laid across the grass in a fit of giggles.

Natalie swears you’re the prettiest damn girl she’s ever seen, especially like this. Careless and free, stripped down to a worn out tank top and your underwear— the colour faded from the fabric. She absolutely whipped for you. Admiring how the orangey afternoon sunlight dusts across your face, painting you in some kind of heavenly light. You were an angel, her angel, she thinks.

Yeah, it’s a mushy thought, but she doesn’t find herself wanting to shake it off or push it down— you had managed to soften her sharp edges and for once she wasn't afraid to let someone in, to let you in. It felt good, like really good.

Natalie’s gaze softens into something tender, watching as your laughter ebbs away gently only to be replaced by the surrounding sounds of nature— rustling leaves and trickling water. “You’re so pretty.” Her words sudden yet gentle, a meaningful whisper, carried out by the breeze.

You push yourself up with a small smirk, brow twitching slightly in fond surprise— it's not often you can get her like this, so you relish in it. “Mm, no you are.” you throw her compliment back at her with a soft kiss to her cheek, “You’re the prettiest.”

And she really is. The sun has left the faintest smattering of freckles across her face and shoulders— her chest. Her roots now growing through, peroxide blonde clinging to natural brown as she slowly sheds that grungy, angsty persona into something… dare you say a little softer perhaps mature?

Natalie rolls her eyes, “Yeah, yeah— whatever you say.” She acts like it’s not a big deal, that your compliments didn’t make her heart jump several beats and her stomach feel all fluttery— but you could tell, just from the way her eyes glint with love, shining in a way that takes your breath away.

Silence settles between you both comfortably as Natalie drops her head against your shoulder, face tucked into the crook of your neck— you could practically hear her the cogs in her mind wiring up a storm of concerns once more.

“Stop thinking.” You sigh, brushing your fingertips through the soft blades of grass— plucking up two daisies and idly making rings out of them, something that Akilah had taught you one night.

“I can’t.” The words are huffed, muffed frustratedly against your neck— then her tone drops, barely whisper “What am I gonna do?” It makes your chest feel uncomfortably tight, an ache building up inside you.

“Whatever you feel is right, Nat.”

“Won’t matter if they find out. You've heard the way they all speak” Right. Coach.

With a small sigh you turn to sit in front of her, hands gently cupping her face— her eyes flickering up to yours almost pleadingly and you wonder how they’d all react if they knew their ‘Queen’ looked at you like you were some sort of deity.

“No matter what happens I’m right behind you, always.” That seems to be enough for right now because she’s nodding against your palms, with a soft— “Yeah, you promise?”

Natalie watches you as you settle down beside her with a nod, fingers going back to work on the flower rings that quickly catch her attention— her brow twitches questioningly but before she can ask you, you're slipping the daisy over her ring finger with a soft smile. “I promise.” Eyes fixed onto hers.

It shouldn’t make her heart jump as violently as it does— but god it does, the reverence in your tone, the way you look at her so unwavering in your words. She lets herself believe you.

“Okay. I’ve got you too.” The words are whispered just as sternly as yours, her fingers fumbling with one of the dainty flowers you've made rings from— and ever so gently she slides it over your finger and you both burst into breathless giggles, leaning into one another suddenly overcome by a wave of giddiness that wipes all worry from your minds, it felt as if nothing existed outside of this tiny little bubble you've built around yourselves.

It’s sappy, unbelievably so and she lets herself drown in it— drown in you as you wrap your arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. “You know behind every great ruler is an even greater woman…”

“Don’t push it.” Her finger pokes your side before her hands drop to your hips, stealing a kiss from your lips— then another and another until you’re on your back and she’s hovering over you, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Maybe, just maybe she’ll be fine as long as she’s got you.

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bathroomshopukonline · 10 months ago

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

i saw your ask for marauders requests so could i pls request some soft giggly and maybe mildly suggestive remus pls ?? i am foaming at the mouth for remus recently

cw suggestive content mdni

A knock on the door. “You okay?”

“Stop.”

“I’m just asking if you’re okay.”

“I’m drowning. Come in and save me.” You sink further into the tub, water climbing your arms and warming your tummy. “Is that what you want me to say?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to saving you.”

You’re washed, you’re done, you’d just wanted to spend some time soaking in the warm bath to alleviate the pinched nerves between your shoulders. It would be nice if Remus were to sit in here with you, but from the sounds of his voice and his perseverance he’s going to want to do more with you, and you’d say yes. It isn’t a problem of wanting him, it’s just —you just got clean again.

“You can come in if you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Deal,” he says.

You cover your dignity with a crossed leg and arm as the door opens. Remus smiles at you, all love, not one to ignore your wants. If you don’t want to be seduced, he won’t do it, but you can’t ignore the long drag of his eyes down your thigh.

“Hi,” he says. “Beautiful. Can I wash your hair?”

“I wish you’d offered before, I’ve already done it.”

He has no qualms kneeling by your side to touch your wet face. You wish there was room for both of you., and he’s on the same wavelength. “When we’re rich, we’ll have a big freestanding tub.” He strokes your cheek, voice softening, “We’ll sit end to end so I can see your face.”

“How about one of those rainfall showers?” you ask, shifting, the water sloshing around your shoulders and down your chest.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Yeah, any shower you want. Multiple heads, we can get hosed down.”

You laugh. It’s remarkable to get to lay there and have him think you’re only beautiful, unposed, the water cooling. He squeezes your cheek with his thumb before brushing over your mouth.

“Will you be getting out any time soon?” he asks.

More laughing, “No, I don’t think so. This is making my back feel better.”

“I can do that.” His hand falls into the water, behind your shoulder, searching for a muscle to soothe.

Aware that you’re naked and he’s touching you, you laugh, still nervous after more than enough time being in love to think it might ebb. He’s very pretty, and he touches you like you’re precious, sometimes, but more often it’s that he knows every part of you and what you like. He knows how you like your shoulder scrunched, your face held, your hip rubbed in the night under the quilt.

Remus finds the tensed nerve between your shoulder blades and mumbles sympathetically. “Ouch.”

“It’s okay,” you say.

“What’s the matter, anyways?” he asks in a murmur. “You look tired. Are you tired?”

“A lot.”

“Yeah?” He lifts up on his knees and leans down to kiss you, softly but wonkily.

“I need to go to bed.”

“I’ll carry you, lovely, is that what you want?”

“You’ll drop me. I’m like a fish.”

“You’re nothing like a fish,” Remus says. “Want me to get you a warm towel?”

“Will you?”

“I put one on the radiator when I heard you getting in.”

You sit up, bared, water racing down your back and your stomach, not a wisp of steam from the water. “That’s really kind,” you say, though you’d meant to think it. “I love you.”

I love you in place of ‘thank you’ is commonplace with Remus.

“I love you, too,” he says, instead of ‘you’re welcome’.

He gets your towel, and he holds it out. You step into it and let him wrap it around you tightly, let him tuck it into itself near your armpit, before his arms wrap across your front. You tip your head back. If Remus cared about getting wet, he wouldn’t have initiated the hug to begin with.

Remus doesn’t say anything, just holds you. Water pools at your feet.

“Love you.” He kisses your ear. “So much. Now you smell amazing.”

“You’re welcome to use all of it. ‘Cept my hair smoothie.”

“Not sharing?”

“Only a little bit left.”

He’s practically whispering, his breath tickling your neck, to your quiet giggling, “Just tell me what it is and I’ll buy you a new one.”

“So you can use what’s left?”

His nose at your shoulder. “You smell so nice.”

You go lax in his arms. Maybe… maybe you’re not so tired. He’s always gentle. “You think so?” you ask shyly.

He hears what you’re not saying, his hand resting on your stomach. “Sorry, I’m not keeping my hands to myself. I’m not… I’m just holding you.”

“Maybe we can break our deal.”

“Oh?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Do you want to?”

“It’s not about me, dovey.”

“It sort of is.” You turn your head to ask for a kiss without talking. “S’about both of us,” you whisper.

“You want me to break our deal, is that what you want?”

You shift in his hold to curl an arm behind his neck. He kisses you soundly, his hands holding your towel in place, always a gentleman even when he’s pressing at the seam of your lips with his, kissing you deeper.

“You’ll have to clean me up when we’re done,” you say under your breath, eyes closed and nose tucked against his cheek.

“Is that the new deal?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Okay, dove. Deal. Easy deal. I feel like I’m getting much more from this than you are.”

You laugh in a huff at his subtle flirting. “Then make it fair,” you goad.

“I will.” His tone lowers. “I promise.”

His hold on your towel is much less careful after that.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

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clovdgyu · 4 months ago

Text

#rafayel x m!reader #smut, fluff #the new lds memories seriously has me in a chokehold. so i made this

#hard and vanilla sex, friends to lovers trope, rafayel is possessed by an incubus, unprotected sex, creampie, rafayel moans a lot, lore-wise rafayel which means he has two dicks (i mean he's a lemurian and a mermaid so...), i'd like to think ebb day is when rafayel becomes in heat lol, foreplay, some mild choking, rafayel's scales hehe, pet names, a bit of blackmail and manipulation, some kind of DUBCON, overstimulation, double penetration, cockdrunk reader, belly bulge

your eyes turned to look at the other male who suddenly dropped down to the floor, placing a hand on his head as he held onto the chair for support. "rafayel! are you okay?" you asked the other male who was whining at the pain.

you looked at him with wide eyes, not knowing what to do. you hummed in panic, thinking of a solution before deciding to get him a glass of water. "fuck. you should've told me you needed to go to the ocean or whatever. let me start a bath for you."

just as you were about to give it to him, the moment you turned around, you were surprised when you saw him just looking down at you. in your shock, you accidentally dropped the cup and spilled the water.

"rafayel? are you finally doing okay? sit down," you told him, guiding him towards the sofa but was stopped when he held onto your arm and pulled you towards him. "wh--raf? what is this?"

the purple-haired male smirked and looked into your eyes, using his other hand to trace along the line of your lips. "hm? and who do we have here? can i have the honor in knowing your name, pretty boy?"

the confusion was evident in your eyes as you tilted your head to the side, thinking the other male was just making fun of you. "what the hell? cut this out, rafayel. it's me, m/n," you answered, looking up at the other male. "what is with this strength? were lemurians usually this strong?"

a curious and mischievous glint in his eyes made you gulp. "m/n, huh? you must be the guy he—" all of a sudden, he slapped himself which surprised you, "--you goddamn psycho, get out of my body!"

what the hell is going on? you thought to yourself as you looked at the other male who was...talking to himself? slapping his face over and over until his cheeks were red. deciding to end this madness, you shouted, "stop! can you just tell me what the hell is going on here? and why are you hurting yourself?"

rafayel let out heavy breaths as he looked at you before removing his arms from you and moved towards the sofa which made you follow him unconsciously. as you two sat down, he began to talk, "i am an incubus."

you let out a scoff. "uh huh, yeah. and i'm thomas. now stop with this pranks," you said. you were just about to move away but realized you weren't able to move. "what-"

"i'm serious. i indulge in the desires and pleasures of any men i see and unfortunately, this man has suppressed feelings," he stated, pointing at himself then smirked as if to say he was confident with something. "which is why i will help him."

"help him? why?" you asked him, confused.

the incubus (in rafayel's form) let out a sigh as he crossed his legs. "because he's currently in the verge of death. if he gets no action tomorrow, he's bound to die," he told you, making you confused yet again.

he pointed towards the calendar and saw that the next day was encircled red. that's when it hits you. "ah...it's ebb day. but he's always survived on his own. was it actually killing him? i never knew," you asked him.

his demeanor changed yet again before he shook his head and looked at you with a frown. "m/n, don't believe a word this demon says. i will be fine."

"fine, my ass! you'll die for fuck's sake. now, m/n, you wouldn't want that, won't you?" the demon told you, looking at you expectantly. it was obvious you were debating, looking at how you nibbled on your lip and eyes were practically quivering.

you let out a sigh before nodding. "alright. i'll help him."

the next day, as you expected, rafayel was heating up and you were there to help him. "wh-what the fuck, dude? this hurts as fuck," the incubus stuttered as he held onto his stomach.

you were already in your robes, ready to give yourself to your lemurian friend. "rafayel, i'm ready," you told him, the other male looking at you with hazy eyes as he sat up weakly.

you got on the bed and crawled yourself towards him, straddling him as you place your hands on his shoulders, blushing. "j-just so you know, this will only happen every ebb day a-and...this is my first time. i've never been on the receiving end."

a simple hum was heard from the other male before he moved to lean his head onto you neck, taking in your sweet scent, placing small kisses as he moved along your neck. you covered your mouth with one hand, stifling your moans.

"don't stop yourself from letting out those sounds, sweetie. i want to hear you," the incubus stated as he pulled you closer towards him, slowly grinding his erect dick onto your--wait, why were you feeling two dicks?

"what's..." you voiced out, pulling back before looking down at him.

he let out a deep chuckle as he looked up at you. "guess he has two dicks. didn't quite expect that as well," he stated before going back to your neck. "you smell so fucking good."

you were just about to protest but then you felt his hand adjust your robe to get your leaking cock out and began jerking you off. "w-wait, i haven't touched myself in a while. i-i might cum easily," you told him, but he didn't do anything, instead he continued his assault on your neck.

he jerked you off as he moved to the other side of your neck, placing love bites and hickeys as he did. "r-rafayel," you called out to him, hands latching onto the other male's hair. "i-if you keep doing that, i-i might--"

"you can cum as much as you like."

rafayel's voice near your ears was like hearing the symphony of the angels, quite ironic. "oh god," you let out, pulling him closer as you began to buck your hips, fucking yourself into his hand.

he let out an amused chuckle as he jerked you off in rhythm, trying to make you cum. "what a needy bitch. do you really want to cum that badly, huh?" he stated, using his thumb to tease the head of your cock that was already leaking pre-cum.

your moans began to grow louder. getting conscious of it, you buried yourself in the other male's neck as you stifled your moans, biting on your bottom lip.

"what did i tell you, hon?" he stated, stopping his movements as he looked at you, earning him a whine from you.

"wh-why'd you stop? i was just about to cum," you complained, brows furrowed as you looked down at him.

the purple-haired male only chuckled as he grinned, placing a kiss on your cheek before he whispered, "just let those pretty moans out, baby boy. it'd feel better that way, trust me."

then, he began to jerk you off once again. his hand was so big that it practically engulfed your whole cock and it made you feel so good. your toes curled at the pleasure as the once denied climax began to crash into you again. "ah fuck! oh my--rafayel, i'm gonna cum."

the man nodded as he placed kisses all over your neck, licking and biting as his hand began to jerk you off faster. "cum for me, m/n. do it."

and just like that, you let out a pleasured cry as you threw your head back, cumming on the other man's hand and splattering some on his toned stomach. "a-ah! cumming..!"

rafayel continued to jerk you off, slowing down once you came down from your high. "that felt good now, did it?" he asked you which you answered with a nod. he let out a chuckle before he let out a pained whine.

"r-rafayel? are you okay?" you asked him.

and then all of a sudden you found yourself beneath him, pinned down on his king-size bed. the usual soft and calm look on rafayel's eyes were replaced with something else. as if he has finally snapped and had enough. "fuck, you're just too sexy."

all you could do was stare up at the other male as he stared down at you, wanting to devour you right then and there. "a-are we...gonna do it?"

cute. rafayel thought as he roamed his eyes around your body, undoing the robe's belt and finally seeing you in your naked glory. "shit. so delectable," he murmured to himself before leaning down, latching his lips onto your nipples.

the suddenness made you flinch (in a good way), placing your hands onto his hair. "th-that tickles—ah! w-wait," you cried out. rafayel, wanting to hear more of you, began to jerk you off once again as he prodded his middle finger against your hole, using your own cum as lube. "no! r-rafayel, i just came!"

"i know you can still cum for me, sweetie. i need to get you ready for my cocks," he said before taking your nipples into his mouth again, licking and biting before moving to the other.

the pleasure was too much for you to handle, it was far too overwhelming. not a second later, the other male inserted his finger inside your hole which made you yelp. "relax, m/n."

you followed his instructions, but all you could focus on was rafayel's mouth on your nipples and his hand that was jerking your hard cock. "r-rafayel. oh fuck," you moaned out, pulling on his hair as he gave you the pleasure you needed.

it took you a moment before you realized that scales were showing on his body. you touched them unconsciously, earning you a hiss. that made you flinch before looking up at him, eyes teary and hazy. "you're seriously turning me on. no wonder this man likes you a lot."

what?

you weren't even given a second to ponder what he just said as he finally entered a second finger, his fingers pistoning inside your hole, preparing you for his big cocks.

rafayel's lips moved up, towards your collarbone, towards your neck then back down onto your chest. he knew how to make you feel so good. as he continued his assault on your nipples and his hand on your cock, he continued to finger your ass.

your moans began to grow louder in volume. "rafayel, it feels—agh!" you let out a yelp, clenching onto the purple-haired male's fingers as he hit a certain spot inside you. "th-that felt strange."

the lemurian smirked as he used his tongue to flick your nipples over and over, the ticklish yet pleasurable feeling making you moan louder. "this?" he asked you before pressing on that same spot again.

this made you throw your head back, a strangled moan escaping your lips as your eyes practically twitched. "quit it! p-pressing on it...ah!"

rafayel heeded no mind to your protests as he pressed onto your prostate ever now and then. he inserted another finger whoch makes it three. he hummed, "you're taking my fingers quite well, m/n. am i making you feel good?"

the question made your mind go haywire as you tried to answer, but all you could do was nod. his fingers were quite long and it could reach the perfect spots inside you which drove you crazy. "use your big boy words, hon."

damn, how can someone be so alluringly sexy yet soft at the same time. you gulped, "y-yes. it feels good."

"that's good to hear," he stated before he began to finger your hole faster, making your toes curl in pleasure. the pleasure on your nipples, cock, and ass was all too overwhelming.

your moans became ragged as you neared your climax. but just as you were about to cum, rafayel stopped whatever he was doing and pulled away, smirking. a whine escaped your lips as you looked at him, watery eyes and cheeks warm. "why do you keep stopping when i'm about to cum."

"cause it's fun tormenting you. and you would probably be asleep by the time we're done here since you're tired," he stated, but you just glared at him.

the other male placed his hands beside your head, looking down at you. "i guess you're finally ready," rafayel stated as he leaned back, using one hand to jerk his two dicks. the size alone was enough to scare you.

"th-that's going inside me? that'll never fit, rafayel. it's too big," you tried to reason with him, hut all he did was growl as he rolled his eyes. "did you just roll your eyes at me?"

he just hummed as he lined his cock towards your hole yet you kept pulling away. fed up, he growled and placed a hand on your neck, choking you. "do you want him to die or not?" he asked.

you shook your head in response. "no...i can't do that," you answered, but sighed as you looked up at him. "fine, just do it slowly."

the other male let out a whispered 'good' before he held onto his cock, slowly entering. you were just about to tell him something but he suddenly inserted his whole cock in. this made your cry out in pleasure, cumming on the spot at how his cock brushed against your prostate.

"fuck! relax, sweetie. you're gonna snap my dick off," he stated, basking in the pleasure of seeing you make a mess of yourself, blabbering and all as you threw your head back, gripping the sheets tightly as your curled your toes and arched your body.

rafayel's eyes turned manic as he placed his hands on your hips, groaning at your tight heat. "shit, you feel so good, m/n," he said as he thrusted inside you harshly, wanting to see you writhe and quiver in pleasure.

the other male leaned down towards you, placing hickeys and love bites on your neck. you let out loud moans which rafayel loved. you placed your hands onto his back, scratching it out of pleasure, eyes rolling back.

"oh, fuck! your ass feels so fucking good, babe. taking me so well," he stated out as he threw his head back, fucking you with no remorse. you buried your nose into his neck, trying to bite back your moans as you engulfed the man in your embrace.

this obviously annoyed the other male as he placed a hand under your chin, making you face him. "what did tell you about holding in your moans, babe? i want to hear you."

"i-it's embarrassing," you answered him, feeling your cheeks warm up.

the man chuckled, amused. "i like hearing them, m/n. moan for me, please?" rafayel pleaded, placing his hands back onto your hips as he began to fuck you once again.

you nodded at him, but still stifled your moans. wanting to hear more of you, he began to jerk you off and he thinks you liked being jerked off cause the moment he did, you began to whimper and moan so loudly. "yes, just like that, baby. let those pretty noises out."

his thrusts gradually increased in speed, placing his arms by the pit of your leg, pushing them towards you into a mating press. "fuck, you feel so good, m/n. i've wanted this for so long. shit, ah."

rafayel's voice became louder as he pistoned his cock inside you, reaching deep inside you with every thrust. his cock consistently brushed against your prostate perfectly, not failing to make you moan every time he pushed his hips towards you.

the sound of your skins slapping against each other reverberated throughout his whole bedroom, your cries and his moans filled the entire area as well. you could practically hear the squelching sound your hole produced every time he thrusted hard inside you.

rafayel leaned down, placing his forehead against yours before placing his lips on yours. you weren't new to kissing but this obviously shocked you. nevertheless, you responded to his kiss as you pulled him closer towards you.

the other male grinned mischievously as he stuck his tongue inside your mouth, exploring the wet cavern. rafayel swallowed your pleasured moans, groaning as he sucked on your tongue, swirling his own wet muscle with it.

his hands moved towards your chest, playing with your erect nipples, making you cry out, gripping hard onto his hair as he played with them, flicking and twisting them.

"fuck," he cursed out as he removed his lips on yours, some saliva dripping down from your lips at the heated makeout session. you wondered why he stopped but you were rid of your questions once you noticed how he let go of your legs and changed your positions without pulling out.

your back was now turned towards him and now you were on all fours. rafayel chuckled as he landed a slap on your ass, liking the way it jiggled. "so fucking hot," he stated as he began moving again, using one hand to hold onto your hip. "you ready for cock number two, sweetie?" he asked.

you didn't know what to answer since you were already to drunk on his cock to even think about anything, blabbering nonsense and something about 'cumming'. taking that as a yes, he lined his second cock against your hole as he stopped moving before pushing all the way in.

the sudden intrusion made you cry out in pleasure as you threw your head back, cumming yet again for the third time that day. "n-no..wh-why...hurts.." you muttered out as your arms gave out, involuntarily sticking your ass up towards him.

"it'll feel good in a moment. okay, m/n?" rafayel assured you as he sheathed his cocks inside your stretched hole. he let out a breathy moan as he threw his head back, feeling even better now that both his cocks were inside your warm hole. "hah, you feel so fucking good, baby."

you adjusted to his cock as you fisted on the sheets. not a while later, he began to pummel your ass needily, moaning out as his cheeks were now tinted in red. "g-good...ah.." you moaned out.

suddenly, rafayel leaned his body down towards you, placing an arm around your neck before pulling you up with him. the position made rafayel's cock reach deeper inside you which got you a moaning mess, throwing your head back as you clenched your fists.

“m-my stomach, no…!” you cried out as the other male reached out a hand and pressed against the bulge on your stomach, pressing down which got you cumming again. “n-no more…fuck! i c-cant cum anymore,” you said, but it was as if he was drunk in pleasure and paid no attention to your protests.

instead, he turned your head and kissed you, choking you with his strong arm while using the other one to keep you both steady. your sweaty bodies mingled with each other, the pleasure making your eyes roll and your cock twitch back to life. you were already too tired at this point.

rafayel's thrusts grew faster and harder, moans getting louder as he held you closer, as if wanting to fuse his body with you. the scales that appeared on his body grew in number as he felt his own climax come to him. “fuck, i'm about to cum, m/n. can I cum inside you, baby? please?” he said, hugging you tightly as he placed soft kisses down on your shoulders.

as you were nearing your own release again, rafayel jerked you once again so you two could cum together. this made you cry out as tears finally dripped down from your eyes at the overstimulation. “rafayel!” you moaned out his name, holding onto his biceps that was around your neck.

rafayel nodded as he gritted his teeth, veins pulsating as he thrusted faster and harder inside you, hitting your prostate spot-on, jerking your cock off in the same rhythm. “cum for me, m/n. fuck, m/n. i'm cumming!”

“m-me too,” you announced, turning your head to kiss the other male who was already waiting for your lips. then your lips parted as you both chased your climax.

with one final thrust, rafayel came inside of you, biting down on your shoulder while you squirted all over the white sheets. “t-tired..” was all you could mutter as you fell asleep in the other male's embrace.

“i hope he's fine. i think i overdid it,” you heard someone say then a rather deeper voice was heard as well.

“well, when are you planning to tell him about this whole shenanigans?” the other male asked as he looked at your state.

rafayel bit his lip out of guilt before he sighed and looked at the demon. “the moment he wakes up, i will tell him everything.”

“tell me what?”

your voice made the two scream out in surprise, looking at each other then back at you. they watched as you blinked your eyes open, then sat up, using your hand to rub your eyes awake. “rafayel? who is he?” you asked, once you finally saw the stranger beside him.

“the demon that possessed him. nice to meetcha. i'll be on my way then, tata!” the incubus stated before he disappeared, leaving you and rafayel alone together.

the purple-haired male turned to look at you and held your hands, checking on your stature first. “are you alright? nothing hurts, does it? i got a bit carried away, sorry,” he asked.

“i'm fine, rafayel. it felt good honestly and thanks for cleaning me up. i got too tired and passed out. if anything I should be the one asking you if you're alright,” you stated, a smile on your lips as you adjusted the blanket draped on you.

rafayel mentally prepared himself before finally blurting out his feelings towards you, not wanting to regret not telling you. “i like you, m/n. ever since we met back then. it was love at first sight and I just couldn't let go of you, I needed you,” he started.

"i wanted to treasure you and the moment i found out you were into men, i got so hyped up. i decided to make you my best friend slash bodyguard. but along with it, my feelings grew stronger. to the point where i wanted to defile your body."

he looked into your eyes, fearing that you'd hate him once you finally found put the truth. "i could never bring myself to do that, and so, i decided to summon an incubus to help me get the courage i needed to touch you. i'm sorry."

once he was done, you let out a laugh before looking at him, wiping a stray tear away. "you mean you were holding back? damn, you liked me that much? you're seriously cute and funny."

"what? no violent reactions?"rafayel asked, confused. but all he heard from you was a simple 'nope'. "shouldn't you be mad at me?"

you smiled. "if you knew i was into, why haven't you asked me out yet?"

"i didn't know if i was your type. what if i--"

"dude! you're a famous painter, tall, handsome, has constant moodswings, and did i mention your two dicks? who wouldn't want you, rafayel?" you stated, making the man in front of you blush, embarrassed. "so, when are you gonna ask me out?"

"will you really go out with me?" rafayel asked shyly.

you scoffed at him hitting his shoulder. "stop acting so coy. as if you haven't rearranged my guts earlier. now why don't we get breakfast, hm?" rafayel smiled before letting out a chuckle. "you're right. let's."

#male reader #x male reader #m!reader #bottom male reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x male reader #love and deepspace x male reader #love and deepspace rafayel x male reader #gay #smut

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adore-laur · 5 months ago

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Omgg I would love to see different times dadrry gets protective !! Like I can so see him being one of those dads that set boundaries the first time the baby is being introduced to family. He’d be like “no kissing on the face, no taking her away from mom without asking her first and wash your hands before holding her” etc etc. Or him getting defensive when people start to pity him when they find out he’s having a third girl and he gets annoyed and defends his girls 😭😭

Also ofc need to say your dadrry series is the best thing ever I still have tumblr solely to read your writing ☺️☺️

PROTECTOR

——

Pacific loons wailed hauntingly near the shoreline as you sat in the patio's swing chair, listening to the sundry sounds of nature. The oceanic view was a calm presence, one that often lulled you into a hypnotic trance with the endless ebb of waves and the horizon's dying light. Above the railing, brass wind chimes produced a plinking melody in the wind. The atmosphere of home engulfed you like a warm hug.

It was a moment of serenity while Harry went on a grocery run with the girls. He had offered to take them after work, and it was sweet of him to give you time to decompress after parenting alone all day. Plus, it got them out of the house. You would usually be able to take them somewhere for fresh air and fun sights to see, but pregnancy fatigue prevented any hopes of traveling past the front door.

A month had elapsed since you surprised Harry with the news of a third baby. Two weeks since you both had found out it was a girl. In that time, life had coasted by blissfully between the routine of working part-time, daycare drop-off and pick-up, and bonding with your little family over the weekend.

As much as you cherished the hustle and bustle, it was necessary to prioritize personal time. Sometimes it came in the form of sinking into a hot bath, venturing to the beach with a novel, or catching up on much-needed sleep. Today, it consisted of feeling the breeze pass through your hair and appreciating the beauty of southern California.

It would be easy to fall asleep out here. The crashing waves, birdsong, and rustling trees were a lullaby. But you knew the moment you closed your eyes, you would miss the last streaks of the sunset, with its delicate wisps and golden clouds. So you shifted slightly to wake your limbs that were becoming jelly-like, and as you did, the blanket previously draped across your collarbones pooled into your lap. You stared down at it, smiling. The bedroom's storage ottoman held approximately a dozen different blankets, all with some sort of sentimental value attached to them. The crocheted quilt your first daughter had come home from the hospital with; the heated one with Mom embroidered on it; the oversized fleece one Harry liked to specifically use for cuddling either you or his girls.

The one you had chosen for your peaceful patio time was a ragged, faded patchwork quilt that Harry had kept (possibly stole) from the walk-up apartment you lived in together nearly eight years ago. It had watched your love for him grow beyond your wildest dreams. Had seen moments of rib-aching laughter, frustrated tears, pain and passion, and a commitment that would always withstand rough waters. Neither of you had wanted to part with that blanket, so now it stayed in a special place in the home that had once been a far-fetched fantasy.

As your fingers plucked loose threads from the fabric, you felt your phone vibrate with an incoming call. It was hidden somewhere under the thick blanket, and after a moment of searching, you picked it up and looked at the screen. It was Harry, made evident by his contact photo—a family picture on the Temescal Canyon Trail, your youngest strapped to your chest in a carrier and Harry carrying your oldest on his shoulders. A generous elderly couple had offered to take it, with the stunning backdrop of the expansive coastline. You especially loved the picture because it showed off Harry's legs in his athletic shorts, all long and tanned.

"Hey," you answered, assuming he was calling from the grocery store. He often did with ideas for meals or questions about kiddie snacks. Sometimes he'd ask what desserts you were craving, and then he'd spoil you by bringing home more than you could even fathom eating.

"Hi, baby," he said, sounding winded. "Can you unlock the door for me? Both girls are out like a light in my arms."

"Oh!" you said, not expecting him back so soon. Nature's hypnosis made you lose track of time. "Okay, I'll be right there."

"Thank you. I'd hang up, but my phone is balancing rather precariously on my shoulder."

You laughed and hung up for him, then untangled yourself from the cozy confines of the swing chair before heading inside. You were careful to hop over the dolls and picture books and blocks scattered across the living room carpet.

When you reached the front door and opened it slowly, your heart melted. Harry stood there holding one daughter on each hip, their little bodies slumped against him as they slept. You could tell your youngest was in a deep sleep. Your eldest, though, was definitely pretending so she could be carried inside like a princess. The sunset's pink light peeked into the garage and softened Harry's handsome features ethereally. Who else could look this good after grocery shopping?

"We're home," he whispered, and those two simple words filled your heart with an unspeakable amount of happiness.

"I'll help put stuff away," you replied quietly, taking his phone to relieve him from his uncomfortable position. "You go tuck the girls in." It was nearing their bedtime anyway, so better to take advantage of a smooth transition.

Harry smiled with that attentive look on his face, then bent to tenderly kiss the sweet spot on your neck. "You're glowing," he murmured in your ear, then walked past you, leaving your cheeks flushing like a besotted teenager.

Once the groceries were put away and the kids were down for the night, you and Harry went to relax in the bedroom. The sky was now devoid of color with stars twinkling faintly, and the full moon spilled its light through the bay window.

You were already in your pajamas, collapsing onto the comforter, when Harry asked, "How was your day?" He shut the closet light off, dressed in just a T-shirt and black boxers. There were those legs again, the lean muscles a feast for your eyes.

"Mellow," you said. "We stayed inside mostly. Morning sickness has been kicking my ass."

"Good thing you didn't have to work today."

You nodded. That was the nice part about working part-time and partially from home—it allowed for the freedom to be with the kids more often. You didn't mind taking them to daycare, especially since it was imperative for socialization, but it lessened your anxiety when you had them under your supervision. It was a suitable balance.

"Did everyone behave at the store?" you asked, sliding your socks off under the sheets.

"Yeah. No tantrums." Harry raised his eyebrows proudly, and you both shared an air-five. "They seemed knackered. Slept all the way home."

"I tried my best to tire them out."

"Well, you succeeded," he said appreciatively, then joined you in bed, stretching his limbs. You were so thankful for his diligence. To work ten hours and then parent to take some responsibility off your plate was admired more than you could ever put into words.

Harry reached his hand over to the nightstand to resume the book he'd been engrossed in recently but paused and turned to you instead. "Can I gossip with you?" he asked.

You quirked your brows. "What happened?"

He breathed deeply and stared into the distance. "So, I was in the cereal aisle, right?"

You laughed while cuddling up to him. "This is juicy so far."

"It's not even gossip, really," he said. "Just something that irked me."

"Please continue."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and painted a picture of the scene. "I had the girls sitting in the shopping cart, and an old lady nearby started fawning over them. Which is fine, because they're adorable. Anyway, she started asking a bunch of questions—how old they are, what their personalities are like. Somehow I accidentally let it slip that we have a third one on the way, and I know we're telling our families next week, but I got caught up in the conversation and—"

"You're so bad at keeping secrets," you interrupted with a good-natured groan.

Harry kissed your forehead apologetically. "The worst. So, this lady had the audacity to act all surprised that I was going to be a father of three girls. Gave me a face like she pitied me. And then guess what she said..."

"I assume something mildly offensive," you replied.

"She goes, 'I bet you were hoping for a boy. To bring some balance to your home.'"

You scoffed and said, "More like chaos. What did she even mean by that?"

He shook his head, equally puzzled. "I don't know, but I just said, 'I'm very happy with my life,' then grabbed a box of Cocoa Puffs and went on with my day."

You frowned. "Why do some people think having daughters is such a burden?" It was mind-boggling. They had taught you so much and would continue to as they grew and spread their wings. It was your purpose to shape them into resilient, kind, and empathetic women. What a beautiful honor anyone would be lucky to experience.

"I'll never understand," Harry mused, locking eyes with you. "It's the most..." He trailed off with an emotional smile, and you stroked his cheek, letting him take his time. It wasn't often you or he could speak so rawly about the life you'd created together. "It's just the best feeling imaginable, you know? I can't describe it. All I know is that I wouldn't want it any other way."

You kissed him softly, feeling the sincerity of his words in the way he gracefully slipped his tongue past yours. With your palm still cradling his cheek, you halted his kisses using your thumb to say, "You're this family's heartbeat."

His lustful green eyes opened, his pupils dilating as if absorbing your admission. "If I'm the heartbeat, then you're the lungs."

"Sweet-talker," you teased.

"You started this love fest."

After a stretch of comfortable silence, Harry settled his hand on your small bump, a warm and knowing touch. "Please don't think I'm waiting on a son," he said.

You snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. I know more than anyone else how much you wanted daughters. You told me during our first date."

"I did?"

"We talked each other's ears off that night about our futures. The universe must have been listening." The conversation was burned into your brain. In that dim oceanside restaurant, you had known he was a keeper.

"Yeah," Harry whispered, kissing all over your stomach, leaving no skin unmarked by his gentle lips. He then rested his head in your lap. "I can't wait to meet her."

You hummed. "Have you ever thought about what she'll be like?"

"A combination of all four of us."

A ghost of a smile spread on your lips. "We're going to have our hands full then."

"I'm ready."

"I know you are," you said while playing with his hair. "That's why I chose you."

He was a protector, down to the fibers of his being. You didn't have to be in the room for him to remind the world of his devotion to being your husband. To being a father. He laid it all bare, and you could only hope that it would be passed down to your daughters like an heirloom blanket.

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #dad harry #dadrry #dad!harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #adore-laur

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reilemon · 1 year ago

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🦪Iridescent Scales🦪 heads up - audio is nsfw-ish

♡︎synopsis: You help Rafayel with whatever he's going through (mermaid heat).

♡︎pairing: Rafayel x fem!reader

｡°⚠︎°｡MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)｡°⚠︎°｡

♡︎cw: temperature play, blowjob, multiple orgasms (both Rafayel and reader), creampie

♡︎word count: 1.5k

♡︎a/n: Ofc I had to write a spicy version for Ebb and Flow.

♡︎ special thanks to my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for reading and helping me with this

divider by @cafekitsune

"Don't hold back. Share your warmth with me." Rafayel breathes out, his hand clutching your wrist.

"..." You're confused by the request, almost a plea. Before you can say anything, his hand starts guiding yours from his satin cheek, over his neck, down his exposed chest...

You try to free your hand when you realize where he's going. "Rafayel - !" But his hand doesn't let you move.

"You're burning up! I need to get you some ice!" With that you manage to free your hand and hurry towards the kitchen.

For whatever reason, your boyfriend didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, so you filled a resealable bag with ice cubes. You might go grocery shopping for him tomorrow, if he doesn't get better.

You slowly approach him as you notice that his eyes are closed, but they flutter open and he turns to you when you sit down next to him. He doesn't say anything, just lets you gently rest the ice cold bag on his neck. He's still wearing that uncomfortable frown, as he's looking at you, studying you, like he's waiting for something.

Even if this condition, whatever it is, only happens once a year, you still feel bad for Rafayel. You wish you could take away the pain.

You switch the bag to the other side, and you press your lips to his forehead. Still burning up.

"I wish there's something more I could do." You softly murmur.

"I've told you..." He groans and grabs your free hand and starts leading it down again. And you stop him again.

"Rafayel, I'm not gonna take advantage of you!"

Now he frowns at you in both discomfort and confusion. "I'm not intoxicated, am I? And I'm both telling you and showing you how to help me."

Is it how he used to make it go away? You don't want to make him even more upset by asking that. Even if he says it will help, you're still hesitant about helping him in that way. An Ice cold bath would certainly help the most, but he's too tired to move and you can't drag his dead weight to the bath.

You still have ice though.

With a new idea, you open the bag and take out one ice cube. Setting the bag aside, you work the rest of the buttons and open the shirt, exposing his torso.

His breath hitches as you slowly drag the ice cube from his collar bone and his toned chest. Rafayel pants as he watches you take another ice cube, the first one melting on his hot skin in seconds. You take two, three more, the ice gliding and melting over the ridges and valleys of his muscles, goosebumps sprinkling his pale, glistening skin.

You rest your hand on his chest, feeling the damp and cooled skin under your touch, thinking you made some progress, but his chest is still rising and falling rapidly.

Rafayel whispers your name and takes the hand on his chest, this time gently, bringing it to his lips, planting a soft kiss. "Touch me, please."

And how can you deny him, when he's looking at you with those mesmerizing, pleading eyes.

"Okay." You give his lips a small peck. "But you need to tell me if you start feeling uncomfortable."

He nods, agreeing to your condition, and pulls you by the back of your head in a deep, desperate kiss, while the other hand frees his hard member in mere seconds.

You don't want to tease him, as much as you love doing that to him, you know that now is not the time. You're going to indulge him, and you love that even more.

Rafayel hisses against your lips, as your still cold hand wraps around his so fucking hot dick. You whisper a small sorry and he just shakes his head and continues the kiss, tongue darting out to lick your lips, and to slide inside, meeting yours.

Your hand, already warmed up, slowly starts stroking him, your finger playing with the tip, spreading around the precum, so much precum, that was leaking out. You spread it around, making it easy to pump his cock, going up and down, twisting your wrist, rubbing the sensitive swollen tip.

And it's getting harder for Rafayel to keep his lips locked with yours, moans and pants following your every move.

You're no better. Watching his flushed face with those beautiful scales, while his cock is throbbing under your touch, has you holding back moans, your mouth salivating, and your panties soaked.

Telling yourself that he needs this, you get down on your knees, sitting between his thighs. Rafayel watches you in awe, as your tongue goes from the base towards the tip, licking and swirling, followed by your plump lips wrapping around, working your way down. He curses under his breath as you suck and slowly bob your head, his hand resting on your head.

"Fuck, princess, you're - haah- doing so good ..." He chokes back another moan. "Touch yourself for me, please..."

And you do just that - your free hand buries itself inside your panties, two middle fingers sliding between your folds, then zeroing in on the bundle of nerves, going up and down, and around. You moan around his dick as you pleasure yourself, the vibration and the lewd sight driving Rafayel crazy. His hips thrust upwards with more vigor, the cockhead hitting your throat more, and you let him use your mouth and throat however he wants. The sensation of his dick hitting the back of your throat, while moans are spilling out of his lips, with your fingers in your panties, makes you so desperately aroused, so needy for more.

With one last thrust, hot semen fills your throat and mouth, tears pricking your eyes as you choke a little. There's so much of it that some of it still spills down the corners of your mouth.

Swallowing, you pull your lips away from his still hard cock before you start overstimulating him, and you take your hand out of your soaked underwear. Rafayel brings you up and makes you straddle. He brings the hand covered with your essence to his lips and wraps them around your digits, eyes closing as he savors your taste.

He pulls away from your fingers and cups your cheek. "Get yourself off on my dick."

You almost yelp at his words. "But - You -?"

He throws the blanket from the sofa onto the floor, sweeps you up in his arms and lays you down on top of it. He tugs off your pants and underwear in one swift motion, picks you up, and you're on top of him again. His breath fans over your lips as he lines his cock against your dripping entrance. "Use me, pretty girl. I'm all yours."

The frown from before is gone, and is replaced with lustful daze in his eyes, the only thing on his mind being chasing each other's high. And you're not sure if it's your skin adapting to his heat, or if his body temperature has actually gone down. The burning red on his cheeks and chest is still present though.

He makes the decision easy for you as he pushes his tip past your entrance, and like a reflex, you slide down his length, a slight sting following the motion but is replaced with waves of pleasure as you start moving your hips.

"That's it doll, just like that." Rafayel admires you from below as you roll your hips, your clit grazing his pelvis as he thrusts up in your rhythm, moans leaving your alluring lips. His hands, clinging to your hips, dig into your supple skin in a bruising grip, as he feels another orgasm building up.

You whimper as he sneaks his thumb between your bodies, rubbing your sensitive nub, and you hold onto his still clothed shoulders. "Don't stop - !" You pant and within seconds you lie down on top of him, waves of your orgasm leaving you breathless, letting him move you to ride out your high.

His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, his feverishly hot body making you sweat. Rafayel grits out "Can I cum inside you?"

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck and nod, sloppily kissing the smooth skin and delicate scales, tasting his sweat on your tongue. You're held in place as he pounds into you, his dick hitting your sweet spot over and over, his pelvis slapping against your clit. Your pussy throbs with another orgasm, and with strangled, breathless moans, Rafayel fills you up, the twitching and his cum - all of it making you lightheaded.

With the last few slow thrusts, Rafayel pulls out, the emptiness and cold air against your leaking entrance making you shiver.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, resting on either side of his head. You brush away the curls sticking to his forehead. You softly whisper, still catching your breath "Are you okay?"

He smiles and caresses your cheek "Yeah. But I'll feel even better if you can spend the night by my side."

#love and deepspace #lads rafayel #rafayel x you #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel smut #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #lads x reader

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veebeeboo109 · 1 month ago

Text

[Read on AO3]

Continuation of Cleaning up the Timeline

[10.6k words - Poly!Lads x Reader: Rafayel is acting weird, and why does everyone seem to know what's going on except for you?]

Tags: Scenting, BREED!NG, Heat, Merman!Rafayel, Polycule Love and Deepspace MxM and FxM.

Ebb Day

“You smell .” Rafayel hisses when you return home on early spring evening. You’re surprised to see him lounging on the couch, and more surprised still when he jumps up and approaches you.

“I was running around all day.” You defend with a sigh. It wasn’t a particularly hard day, but the nature of your job was a physical one; you would think Rafayel would be used to it by now. “I just walked in, geez. ”

Xavier steps close behind you and audibly sniffs, “You don’t stink to me.”

You laugh at his gentle tone and wave him away, “Thank you, Xavier, but clearly I’ve offended Rafayel’s sensitive nose.”

You speak teasingly, but the scowl on Rafayel’s face doesn’t falter. It’s an odd day when your resident sea god isn’t tucked away in his studio when you get home, and even more bizarre when he doesn’t entertain banter.

His comment on your scent leads to him stripping you before you’ve even entered your bedroom and crowding you into the shower. It must be serious when he forgoes the bath. In another odd turn, Rafayel picks through the lineup of body wash you’ve collected, sniffing each one and scowling until he finds one he can tolerate.

Rafayel scrubs at your skin with a fluffy pink luffa, and the determination in his eyes confuses you. He looks at you like you’ve betrayed him somehow, and so you grab his hand before he can continue his chafing. “What’s the matter? Did something happen?”

Rafayel’s eyes widen at your audacity to grab him. When he looks up at you, there’s an eerie blue tinge to his usual alexandrite eyes. Your heart twists in both fear and anticipation.

“You stink.” He says curtly, twisting his wrist to detach your hand. You’re aware of Rafayel’s power, on a surface level, and the danger could pose to you, but you always forget what being at the receiving end of his ire feels like.

You’re a mackerel in a swarm, swimming wildly as the shark cuts through the water. You’re neither faster nor stronger than he is. You’re hardly a proper meal to chomp between his teeth.

There is less than one second where you realize something’s definitely not right before your cheek smacks against the tile wall. The icy cold sending shocks down your spine, contrasting against the scalding water.

Steam has coated the glass walls of the shower, creating the illusion of being hidden. A sense of privacy that you know doesn’t truly exist in a house such as yours. Rafayel never really minds it. He, like a few of the others, enjoys the idea of the others hearing you.

Though, today seems different. There’s an unhinged edge to your lover’s eyes, something has come loose inside him and it leaves him in shambles. Jaw open and panting as he pushes your shoulders into the wall but draws your hips back.

With one hand, he grabs a fistful of your behind. Squeezing your flesh and looking drunk while he does, like the malleability is this new, novel, enchanting thing.

“How dare you…” Rafayel’s voice is a growl– a deep, predatory sound. “How dare you…come here…like this…”

“What are talk–” Your words are cut off as Rafayel moves his hand and presses the tip of his thumb to your folds. The breath inside you falters, and escapes as a stuttering gasp.

“It’s too hot.” He huffs and with the hand not teasing you, he reaches over to the shower controls and twists it to cold. It takes a moment for the spray to catch up, and when it does you squeal.

The icy cold water is a shock to your system, and reflexively you wiggle away from it, pushing closer to the wall. “ Ah ! What’s wrong with you!? Turn it back!”

“Don’t run from me.” Rafayel croaks, sounding much less aggressive than before and much more desperate. The growl in his voice has turned to a whine.

You turn, too concerned now to entertain Rafayel’s seduction. Grabbing the siren by the sides of his face, you hold him still, letting the water cascade over his back.

“Are you sick?” You ask gently, tilting his face from side to side.

He doesn’t look flush, at least, no more than usual. There’s a pink tinge to his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, but you could write that off from his arousal– which is currently resting against your hip and tapping you in time with the beat of his fast-paced heart.

His eyes search your face and then drag down. Down the line of your neck and collarbone, sweeping across your chest and back up again. Lazy and unfocused like he can’t help himself.

“Rafayel,” You say when he doesn’t reply. Shaking him slightly, you try again, “Rafayel what’s going on?”

Rafayel blinks slowly and then squeezes his eyes closed tight. He grabs your upper arms like he might slip right down the drain if he doesn’t. “It’s nothing. It’s…I’m fine.”

You’re not convinced, and continue to hold him. The temperature in the shower is making you shiver, but you’re not going to be the first to let go. If something is wrong– and there clearly is– you won’t let him suffer alone.

“Are you feverish?” You ask a little quieter. Nearly whispering.

Rafayel’s shoulder jerk, and his head lifts suddenly. Snapping back to himself, he takes a quick breath and turns the shower off completely, “The water’s freezing. Let’s get you dry.”

The diversion makes you frown, but you follow him out of the shower anyway. The rosy tint to his cheeks remains, and somehow gets worse when he grabs a towel and begins to pat you dry.

“I’m not letting this go,” You say firmly, grabbing the towel from his hands and wrapping it around yourself.

“Ehh…” Rafayel makes a whiny, petulant sound, “Can’t you? It’s fine. I promise.”

You frown pointedly at him. It’s not like him to be so secretive. Usually, if something is bothering him, he’s chatting your ear off about it. Rafayel is guarded with most people, viciously so, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. Have you lost his trust somehow?

You get dressed and mull over this for a moment. Rafayel kisses your cheek and then your temple. He inhales deeply, like he’s trying to press your scent as far as it can go in his mind. Although that would normally amuse you, you’re only more perturbed.

Rafayel retreats to his studio, mumbling to himself. While you head back downstairs, frustrated and confused.

Things only get weirder from there.

Rafayel’s already keen senses seem to be even sharper. He refuses to let anyone sleep in the bed unless they’ve bathed with scentless soap.

Your room has somehow become his room, and your bed has become his bed. A safe spot that you have to have permission to enter. Rafayel refuses to entertain sass, and physically kicks Sylus out of the bed one night when the dragon teases a little too hard about him being needy.

Zayne hardly gets a moment to himself, the poor guy. The cool aura the doctor exudes has Rafayel glued to his side. At night, you’re sandwiched between them, shivering despite being surrounded from tip to toe. One afternoon, after another day of hunting, you arrive to find Zayne on the couch with Rafayel in his lap. The artist has his arms beneath Zayne’s shirt, pressing as much flesh against him as possible.

Finally someone acknowledges that something is wrong, but it comes in the form of a plane ticket and an already-packed suitcase being handed to you.

Rafayel is buzzing about the house, prepping for this impromptu (but not-so impromptu) trip to your isolated beach house. He fusses over Caleb’s choice of traveling clothes, and the fact the pilot is only bringing a single duffle bag.

Xavier follows the two of them around, mediating between the slightly neurotic artist and the too-casual pilot. Xavier’s suitcases sit beside yours in the entryway, and he’s been spending the better part of an hour trying to coax the two towards the door.

Sylus coordinated the driving service and the airport for your flight (because all six of you won’t fit in the cars you currently have), grumbling on his phone about keeping things discreet. He’s got Mephisto on his free arm, typing what looks like some instructions to Luke and Kieran about an upcoming job. Always busy, that one.

This leaves you and Zayne waiting near the front door. Everyone else seems to be on board, and you’re beginning to wonder if they held a family meeting without you. Not that you’re complaining about having a week off, but this doesn’t feel like a vacation for some reason.

Xavier is finally able to get the two bickering parties out the door, and the poor prince is exhausted. He falls asleep on the way to the airport and thankfully misses Rafayel’s hissy fit about the temperature inside the vehicle.

Sylus leaves the driver a heavy tip.

Surprising to no one except you, Caleb is going to be flying the luxe private plane Sylus has procured. He puts on his fancy aviators and enters the aircraft first, meeting the other few members of crew that had been hired.

Rafayel pulls you onto the plane and into a seat next to him near the back. Silently, he buckles you in and then begins to fidget with the air vents. He’s so on edge you can almost feel it radiate off of him, and you’re close to smacking him upside the head and demanding answers.

You feel the plane whir to life beneath you. The intercom overhead statics before Caleb’s voice comes through, slightly muffled, “Lady and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Looks like we’ve got good weather on our trip. We’ll arrive at our destination at about 0800 hours local time.”

The plane begins to move, rolling slowly from the tarmac where you boarded to the runway.

Caleb’s distorted laugh continues, “Probably a bad time to mention I haven’t flown a passenger aircraft since I was in flight school–”

A tight unamused silence falls.

“ – anyway! Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.”

Sylus finishes off his glass of wine in one swig. “Hold tight.”

“If he pulls a barrel roll, I’ll kill him.” Zayne grumbles, not even looking up from the shopping catalog he snatched in the airport.

Thankfully, Caleb doesn’t pull a barrel roll. Despite not having flown a passenger craft in a while, you weren’t able to tell at all.

The last time you were here, you’d been hopped up on painkillers and surrounded by men so worried that your keel over from a harsh breeze you could barely enjoy it. You still had a wonderful time, but you were ready to experience your beach hideaway to the fullest this time.

Only, you’re more worried about Rafayel to enjoy the scenery right now. It’s late when you arrive, and Rafayel insists on a bath. He pushes past the rest of you to shamble inside, and you’re dragging your suitcase so fast behind you it clacks against the sidewalk.

You abandon the suitcase at the door and follow him, “Rafayel!”

He doesn’t turn, climbing the stairs and shoving open the hall bathroom. You hadn’t seen the upstairs on your last visit, and you're surprised by the large window that overlooks the ocean. The free-standing white tub sits just in front of it.

Rafayel turns on the cold tap and starts to fill the tub, stripping off his shirt without looking back at you.

You grab his arm before he can take off his pants, “Rafayel, what’s– oh god, you’re burning up!”

Before he can even reply, you’re reaching out to place your hand against his forehead and then his neck. The heat coming off his skin is sweltering– searing like the flames of his evol.

“I’ll get you some medicine or something.” You say, hating the way his eyes seem unfocused. There’s a pink blush spreading across his face, down to his neck and to his chest. You don’t want to leave him, but the desire to help was too strong.

You hear the splash of water as you escape the bathroom, and nearly stumble down the stairs in your rush.

“Zayne!” You call, and find him with your suitcase in his hand, bringing it to your bedroom. You scurry past a concerned looking Caleb to approach your doctor, “Do you have something for fever? Rafayel is sick.”

Zayne’s brow furrows, “Sick?”

“Kitten…” Sylus drawls, coming up to nearly press into your back. He too is rather warm, but even the heat from a dragon’s form pales in comparison to the fever you’d just felt coming off of Rafayel. “He’s not sick.”

You whirl to give Sylus a sharp, unamused glare– while Zayne roots through his carry-on bag for some medicine. Scowling at the amusement on the dragon's face, you poke him in the sternum harshly, “He’s burning up, and he could hardly keep eye contact. He’s clearly ill.”

“Here.” Zayne offers you a white pill bottle. An over-the-counter pain reliever, “I’m not sure if it will help with his different physiology, but it’s what I have. Though, is a fever not to be expected?”

Sylus chuckles like they’re all in on a secret, and you’re close to fuming. Xavier comes up and places a gentle hand to your back, giving both Zayne and Sylus a stern look, “Don’t be cruel. You know she wasn’t told anything about this.”

“Told about what!?” You screech, throwing your hands up and rattling the pills inside the bottle. “Somebody better start talking or I’m gonna start throwing hands, I swear to god.”

Zayne exchanges a look with the others, a silent exchange that looks too much like should we? Another scathing remark burns at the tip of your tongue, ready to kick these too-tall men into shape if they keep playing coy with information. If something’s wrong with Rafayel, then why can’t you know about it?

However, your snark disappears as Caleb comes shambling down the stairs, looking a little wide-eyed and startled. “Uh, pips? Rafayel wants you.”

You turn and find that Caleb’s clothes are both wet in places and scorched in others. He brushes through his hair and sighs, like he barely escaped with his life.

“What the hell happened to you?” You ask.

Caleb laughs sheepishly and shrugs, “He doesn’t want me, clearly . Told me he’d turn me into an apple fritter if I bothered him again.”

You huff, and turn to the others. “I’m going to take care of Rafayel.” Your voice is firm and leaves no room for argument, “And when I come back down, I expect some answers.”

You take the steps two at a time back up stairs, leaving the rest of your lovers in various states of amusement and discontent.

“Anyone care to fill me in?” Caleb asks as he pats down the side of his shirt that caught a little too close to Rafayel’s flames. The attack from the sea god hadn't been aimed to kill, just to scare. A wide spread of fire to disperse the unwanted intrusion.

“She won’t be coming downstairs for a while.” Sylus replies, shifting on his feet and crossing his arms. “Our resident fish is experiencing his special time.”

Xavier scowls at the fiend, “We were sworn to secrecy on the matter. Where is your loyalty?”

“It was Rafayel’s idea to come here,” Zayne says matter-of-factly. “If it were to remain a secret, why not hide away for a week like he always did?”

Caleb groans, “C’mon, just tell me. I’ll find out eventually, won’t I? What harm is there now?”

Previously, Rafayel dealt with this time of year on his own. Sweat it out locked away in his room, or in a safehouse a few cities away. It was just an unspoken rule, Rafayel was at his most vulnerable at this time– and until recently, things were too uncertain for him to indulge in it.

In the Sanctuary, Rafayel was adamant that this unusual occurrence would be kept from you. The other men were sworn to secrecy, and promised to keep you occupied while Rafayel disappeared for a few days every year. Because, while Rafayel’s heart belonged to all of them, the bond of Lemuria was first forged with you.

You knock softly before entering the bathroom. The sound of sloshing water meeting your ears as you slowly step inside. “Rafayel? You okay?”

A soft groan replies, and you spy his head hung back, resting on the rounded lip of the ivory tub. His hair is wet and slicked back, the long creamy length of his throat bobs as you grow closer. Sweat beads at his crown and drips down his nose– rosy lips parted and panting.

And as pretty a picture he makes, it’s not what you stare at.

Where his legs once were is a long, powerful, cerulean tail. The scales are huge and iridescent, shimmering like an opal with every tiny movement, gradually growing smaller down the length of it. It’s far too long to fit in the tub, so nearly half hangs out of it, draped across the floor. The translucent tailfin lies limply at your feet, and looks thin like dewy skin of a jellyfish.

You haven’t seen his tail in this life, and it’s more striking than your returned memories could do justice.

“Rafayel…” You whisper, partially in awe and partially in concern. He doesn’t look well, and he’s never changed forms in the bathtub before. Setting the pill bottle aside for a moment, you step close to the tub and use your hand to cup water and trickle it down the exposed scales– worried they might dry out.

A soft, whine leaves his blushed lips, and his eyes stare at you like he can’t believe you’re real. Like you might be something conjured from the fever.

“It’s okay…” You say, reaching out to brush your hand through his damp hair, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

A piteous moan rings from him, and he grips the side of the tub like he might sink and drown. Hips rolling against the cold water and sloshing more over the side, splashing down on the tile. “I need….” He rasps, licking at his lips like he hasn’t tasted moisture in days. “I need… ”

“I know,” You say, reaching down to grab the pill bottle. “I got some painkillers. Here–”

You go to open the bottle, but Rafayel’s scalding palm snaps to your wrist. The sound of your gasp and the pills scattering to the floor fill the room, but then quickly followed with a low, animal rumble from Rafayel’s chest.

He drags you close, hovering over him. Unceremoniously, Rafayel pulls your hand down beneath the water– the frigid temperature stings your skin. You feel the heat of him before you touch him, and the slick almost slimy feeling of his scales meets your fingertips.

The instant your fingers meet his heated flesh, a ragged, dragged out moan is punched out of him, and his hips rolls towards your open palm. You’ve barely touched him, and he already looks completely fucked-out. Multi-colored irises rolled back, mouth open, throat bobbing.

You press your hand a little firmer to the scales around his hip, and he inhales sharply through his teeth– a deeply satisfying sound. Dragging your fingers towards where you’re sure he wants it, you’re met with another shock.

Where normally, his pretty flushed cock would be waiting for you– he throbs so pretty when he’s desperate– you find nothing. Well, not exactly nothing , but not what you were expecting.

Rafayel still has a vice grip on your wrist, and pulls you closer to the crux of his hips– where his penis should be. Only, instead, you find more scales. Large, thin, and glass-like. The dip in them is nearly imperceptible, and looking through the rippling surface of the water provides no more clues.

Your fingertips catch on an anomaly in the patter of his scales, a little divot you hadn’t felt the first time across. Pausing, you press a little to this odd dip, and Rafayel's keen moan lets you know you’re on the right track.

You lift up to watch his face– the lewd colors of his cheeks contrasted by the shimmery scales that decorated it. You can almost see his pulse pound in his neck, and resist the urge to overstimulate him further with your teeth. Pushing your fingers harder, you gasp when the dip gives way to a slit. Your digits slide easily into a tight, fleshy passage, fluttering around you like a welcome.

“ Ahh!” Rafayel cries, “Please! Please love….inside. Inside more…. more …”

He’s practically delirious with it, and it’s intoxicating. You’ve never had Rafayel begging for you like this, and the power is too delicious to stop. You’ve got the god of tides writhing on your fingers, and you're not even knuckle deep yet.

“Why did you hide this from me?” You coo softly, leaning over to place your face close to his. He turns to face you, and his eyes immediately fall to your lips. A soft, silent, plea for your kiss.

He tries to speak, and you can tell because his tongue moves ineffectually in his pleasure drunk mouth. You tut softly, and give him the tender kiss he desires.

“Shh…” You hum against his lips, “I’ve got you. It’s okay….just let me take care of you….”

He dissolves at your words, pressing his face as close as he can to yours. You keep up a steady, slow rhythm of your fingers. Letting the gooey topography of his slit guide you. You’re not sure how much he can take, and you’re not interested in hurting him– yet.

Rafayel’s hips continue to rut, as indiscernible pleas spill from his lips. You wonder if this is what you look like in the heat of things– a wanton amalgamation of desperation and desire chasing a high.

As he gets closer to his peak, you notice something change. A tighter pressure that presses against the back of your fingers and then up. It’s wet, and swelteringly hot. The heat alone has you turning your head to try and get a better look at what’s going.

Oh.

You gasp softly, even through the shifting water you can see the flushed, nearly purple appendage protruding from his slit just beneath your hand. So he does have a cock in this form.

Except…it’s not alone. Side by side, they lie. Forming an almost mandorla shape together, and two halves of a whole separately. They long and prehensile, you discover, as they split apart to wrap around your wrist.

It’s obscene. It’s….amazing. You can’t look away, and you can’t stop yourself from drawing your fingers from his channel and reaching for them. His cocks greet you like they’d been waiting for it. A deep, heavy throb as you wrap your fingers lightly around them. They fit together almost seamlessly, and if you hadn’t seen them move apart, you’d think there was only one, large, tentacle-like cock.

You’ve barely squeezed them when Rafayel shouts– a strangled, surprised noise cutting through him. His cocks jolt and you can feel him come. The rush of come spurting out and into the water. Pump after pump after pump.

Rafayel’s hand grabs at your arm, and his nails dig into your flesh harshly.

You’re mesmerized. There’s a matching beat deep in your belly, as your own arousal begins to hurt slightly. Drunk on this all-encompassing control you have over him, you turn to watch his face as he comes down from his sudden, bone-shattering high.

He starts to catch his breath, and you can see as his eyes slowly come back into focus. Whatever feverish delight had taken over him, is subsided for now, and he languidly draws you in. A hand on the side of your face and the other on your neck– he doesn’t let you escape. A soft kiss at first, and then a little harder. He bites at your lip like he might sustain himself from the taste alone.

He pauses and pulls away, but only an inch. He searches your face for a moment, before whispering, “Did I hurt you?”

You laugh breathlessly and shake your head as much as you can while he holds you tightly, “No. No, I'm fine. Are you? You’ve never been like this before….”

Rafayel sighs wistfully, and lets you go. He looks down at himself. The tub is nearly half-empty now, with how much water he spilled in his rutting. The end of his tail knocked over the little side table which held the bath salts and bubbles– which now lay strewn across the floor.

The water is a little murky now, and he frowns.

“I guess I should explain.”

You’ve got your arms folded, sitting cross legged in the center of your bed and glaring at the sea god and his audacity. “So what was the plan? Come here and just hope I didn’t notice?”

Rafayel is bad at explaining things, and it felt like pulling teeth before you got even halfway to understand what was happening.

Ebb Day. A day when the tide flows the opposite direction and creatures from the deep sea come to the surface. He’d started the explanation with some long winded fairytale about a mermaid and sailor that fell in love, but it turns out that has so very little to do with what is happening to him.

From what you could piece together, it’s a day of extreme weakness for Lemurians. A day where even the weakest human might overpower them, and even more dangerous for those who were bonded.

Lemurians’ whole beings become dedicated to those they love. They forge an unbreakable, soulbond with their chosen one, and all their senses become attuned to them. And the weeks leading up to Ebb day, their bodies not only crave their beloved but they need them.

The week of Ebb day is uncomfortable for most, and wretched for those with bonds but for whatever reason unable to be with them. Rafayel is sparse in his explanation here, mumbling out half-heartedly comments about the pain and possible hallucinations that can occur.

Ebb day is now five days away. Rafayel is almost too casual as he tells you that what happened in the bathroom will only get worse the closer you get.

Zayne returns to the room with some bottles of water. He hands one to you, and then hands the other to Rafayel– letting his evol frost it over before the siren takes it.

“I figured I’d spend it in the ocean.” Rafayel replies to your previous discontent with a shrug. “You get a little vacay, and I get to stay close. This is easier to deal with in the water anyways.”

That makes your scowl deepen, “You were going to go through this alone? Why? If you didn’t want me to know, then you could have at least had one of the others help?!”

Rafayel pauses mid-gulp. He finishes his water and tosses it aside, “It’s not that simple, cutie. It’s a nice thought, but I’m not exactly fun to be around when this happens. And I could seriously hurt you.”

“Don’t be dumb.” You bite back. “You think I can’t handle a little neediness and rough handling?”

Zayne sighs as he leaves the room, letting the two of you continue bickering with a shake of his head. Distantly, you hear Caleb’s muffled voice from just outside the door– he’s been lingering just outside, listening in just in case.

Rafayel’s face hardens, and he sits up from where he lounged against the pillows, “You think that’s all it is?”

He sounds a little darker, a little more genuinely irritated instead of that feigned annoyance he usually wears. The way he prowls across the bed to you has the hair on the back of your neck standing up, and you lean back on your hands.

Rafayel’s grin is predatory, and it tingles that coil in your gut that makes your lips part in a soft, subtle gasp. He doesn’t touch you, but somehow pushes you onto your back nonetheless. Placing one hand to their side of your head, he crawls over you.

“You’re not a Lemurian.” Rafayel purrs, “You won’t understand. It’s about connecting…body, mind, soul. It’s about possession. It’s about procreation.”

You swallow a heavy lump in your throat. Heart pounding in your ears as his lips caress every word. “P-procreation?”

Rafayel hums and lowers his head, hiding his face against your chest. He places a feather-light kiss to your collarbone, and then ghosts his lips up your neck, whispering against your jaw, “A week of being so tightly pressed together...you can’t tell where one body ends and the other begins. The final day…I’ll be so obsessed with the idea of filling you, I won’t stop til it takes .”

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. Mind spinning as it slowly catches up with what he just said. “Do you…really want that?”

Rafayel pauses in his teasing. Lips hovering over the untouched side of your neck. He looks up at you through violet tinged lashes and smiles gently, “Not until you do.”

He returns to kissing you. Placing tender, loving touches to all the skin he can reach. It’s slow and lazy– like you’ve got all the time in the world.

You blink a few times and try to screw your head on straight, “If we do this…” You whisper softly, “Is it guaranteed that I will…that I’ll…?”

You only ask because you’re not entirely certain that your poor human birth control could withstand Rafayel’s sea-god sex week. It’s been a wonder that it’s withstood the onslaught of your lovers up until now.

Rafayel laughs, but it sounds like thunder. “Don’t tease me, cutie. I might get ideas…”

“Rafayel, I’m serious.” You reply, placing your hands to his face and pulling him to look at you. There’s a daze to his eyes again, but he’s still lucid for now. “I won’t let you go through this alone. Me and the others…we’re here for you. I just need to know if I should take something beforehand.”

There’s a shift in his expression. The teasing and taunting fading into something uncertain. You feel his gaze shift around your face, the weight of attention like layers of thick silk. A sense of anticipation tightens in the air as he shifts ever closer.

Rafayel sighs, nearly silent. “I warn you and warn you, yet still you insist…”

His voice trails off, words disappearing into the air around you. A firm hand on your hip has you sliding into him, and Rafayel catches your lips in a heady kiss.

You feel the heat radiating off of him again, seeping into your mouth and warming your tongue like a steaming cup of tea. It’s hard to match his fervor when his entire body is hardwired to perceive you. How could you hope to meet him halfway when his body yearns not for food nor water, but for you?

In between wet kisses, Rafayel mumbles, “I won’t be held responsible then…” He tilts his head and drags his sharp teeth across the tender flesh of your throat, breathing raggedly like he has to put great effort in not biting down. “And I won’t hold back….”

Rafayel’s fingertips leave trails of tingling sensations in their wake. His evol burns at the very tips of his skin, burning him from the inside out and using his desire as fuel. You’d be worried about him actually burning you if it didn’t feel so delectable.

Your clothes are torn from you, seams popped in the rush to remove them. A button from your shorts clattering across the hardwood floor. Rafayel doesn’t seem to hear any of it. His ears are filled with the sound of your breath. The soft whines that leave you, coaxed from you like a divine instrument. You sing for him even before he’s able to get his tongue inside you.

The taste of you has his eyes rolling back in his head. He thought you tasted heavenly before, especially when you were close to ovulating. A special kind of sweetness that bloomed across his tongue– whispering in low tones to his worst instincts that you were ready.

But this? Rafayel can’t get enough. He can’t stop from lapping at you like a ravenous beast, and maybe that’s all he is. Maybe all that talk of sea god this or god of tides that was just folklore to hide the true nature of him. The nature of a gluttonous, greedy man made weak from the dew between your legs.

Your back arches and Rafayel moans, he reaches one hand up your body– needing to feel more of your precious skin. You’ve never felt cool to him before; your touch is always warm, but this heat ….this burning heat inside him threatens to melt his brain, and it feels like you’re the cure. You’re what he needs to quench the flames.

The room is a blur. Anything that isn’t you fades into a muted background. Rafayel isn’t sure how long he spent tongue-fucking you, but when he finds another moment of clarity, he’s above you. He’s got your thighs pressed to your chest, the backs of your knees acting as handrests as he presses you in half.

“ Ra-Rafa–” You can’t even finish his name, nearly drooling as he teases his cock inside. Your weepy cunt throbbing for him– for him.

Usually, Rafayel is whispering filth in your ear. He loves to watch your eyelashes flutter and feel you tighten up. It’s almost too easy to mumble praises and get you into that pliant, floaty headspace, and he never misses an opportunity.

Except for now. Now, he’s slack jawed, groaning with every rough push of his hips. In this position he can reach that deep, squishy spot inside you that has your voice pitching up. He can feel you gush in a new wave of slick that has his tongue feeling too restless for his mouth– torn suddenly with the urge to drink it up.

Rafayel doesn’t even realize he’s close to coming until you do. It’s like his body isn’t his– like the stimuli he’s feeling is just secondary to you. When you come– singing for him, squeezing him, Rafayel follows immediately after. Like your cry of pleasure is a plea for his come that he’s helpless to obey.

It’s not enough to just come inside you. It’s not enough to just know he’s filled you up– no. No , it’s not enough. Rafayel grits his teeth, an uncomfortable feeling scouring under his skin that’s only soothed when he continues to thrust inside you. Deep, heavy rolls of his hips that pushes his come deeper and deeper and deeper .

Rafayel nearly works himself back up into a fever again. The mantra burning inside his head is impossible to ignore, and he needs to know his come as where it’s supposed to be.

He’s not sure how much time passes, only that he has to keep going. As long as it takes.

A hand enters his line of vision, and Rafayel hisses softly. The pale skin of the intruder is familiar, but for some reason his hackles still raise.

“You need to let go of her.” Xavier’s voice is soft, but firm. His hand rests on Rafayel’s shoulder, a cool but heavy weight that sobers the sea god slightly.

Rafayel blinks, and looks down. You’re still beneath him, folded into a deep mating press. You’re breathing heavily, and when you meet Rafayel’s eyes he can see the remnants of tears that have leaked out.

He pulls away, and scowls when he sees the imprint of his hands left on the backs of your legs. You exhale in relief as you unfold yourself, and lean your face into Xavier’s hand when he caresses you.

Rafayel burns inside. The bond in his heart sits like a white-hot coal. This bond….was forged with you, and Rafayel had always assumed that he’d unconsciously reject the others if they’d intruded.

But that’s not what he feels. He doesn’t feel possession over you, or a desire to sever Xavier’s hand from his wrist for daring to touch you. Rafayel sits on his heels and watches as the blond assesses you, cares for you, and places a soft kiss to your nose.

“I’m okay…” You whisper softly, reassuring Xavier with a soft kiss to his palm. “I didn’t know I could bend like that for that long.”

Xavier hums, sounding both amused and impressed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I was worried.”

Rafayel finally finds the ability to move again, and slides back up you body, propping himself up on his elbows and laying across you like a heated weighted blanket, “Aw, were you worried she couldn’t handle it?”

Xavier, who was now sat on the edge of the bed near your head, looks over to Rafayel with an impassive expression, “No. Besides giving her a muscle cramp, I know bunny can handle it. It was you I was worried about.”

Rafayel’s brow lowers, and he has to grapple against a sudden rush of heat again. His mind whirls with this casual confession of concern, because he’s itching again. The desire to touch and taste is back– rising like a stoked inferno, but it’s not just you anymore.

You sit up slightly, and Rafayel is caught ensnared by the vision of you. Your skin is flushed, hair askew, and a litany of lovely marks against your neck that Rafayel isn’t certain when he left.

“He feels a little cooler now,” You say, reaching out to brush some hair from his face. A tender, compassionate gesture that shouldn’t stir him as much as it does. “I think letting him go a little wild is helping.”

Xavier hums and reaches out, placing the back of his palm against the forehead you exposed, “How frequently are the bouts of delirium? We should time them to make sure you’re eating enough…”

Xavier lets his hand fall, and Rafayel will deny the sound of disappointment that left him.

“Rafayel?” Your voice calls to him, but instead of drawing his attention, the syllables of his name ring like weights at his ankles– dragging him further under. Vaguely, he hears you say, “He’s getting droopy eyed again. Rafayel, can you hear me?”

Rafayel feels your voice and moves, rising up to slide his form against yours, feeling the curves of your body like a wave against the sand. Dragging skin against skin so he can feel the balm you provide his heat, “I hear you…darling. I hear you fine.”

“You need to go again?” You whisper, reaching out to hold the sides of his face, “Can you wait? Take a drink at least…”

Rafayel grins, breathing out against your lips in an amused huff, “Oh good idea… I’m so thirsty…just let me…”

He slides back down, heading towards the only thing he wants to taste at the moment. Why would he need anything else? He’s certain, in this moment, that he could be sustained fro your pussy alone.

Before he can get his mouth where he wants it, something– someone – stops him. A hand that first tries to get his attention by squeezing his shoulder. Xavier calls Rafayel’s name, but the man doesn’t hear it. And when that doesn’t work, Xavier finds a grip in the sea god’s hair, fingers tangled in violet tresses and pulling his head back.

The sound that leaves Rafayel is wrecked. A broken, pleading moan that is far too high and whiny. “ Oh…”

Xavier inhales sharply and too easily, Rafayel follows his hold, crawling back up your body and rising up to his knees to be closer to Xavier’s face. The blond holds him close so that there’s no question the delirious man can hear him, “You’re going to hurt yourself, or hurt her. Is that what you want?”

Rafayel’s eyes and drooping, unfocused and unseeing because the sensation of the hand in his hair is too much. “N-no…”

Xavier nods, stunned slightly by how permissive Rafayel is with the manhandling. A whole new side of the artist is being revealed, and the room buzzes with anticipation for it.

Something about Xavier’s command has Rafayel staying put, obeying despite everything. The prince exits to retrieve sustenance, and returns to find Rafayel covering your exposed skin in soft, wet kisses. He hadn’t moved from where Xavier had put him, and only touched what he could reach.

Rafayel downs another entire bottle of water while you take a few sips of yours. You barely get the lid on before he’s grabbing you again, hot breath steaming out of him as he lines his weepy cock up with your tender entrance.

“ A-ahh… ” You sigh as he wastes absolutely no time pushing inside you, too eager and too hot to think of anything else.

Xavier hesitates before leaving, covering the sides of your face with his hands to watch the pleasure melt you. His hazy blue eyes look up at the other man currently wrecking you and asks, “Can I stay?”

Rafayel grunts, rutting his hips a little harder, “You’re next.”

It sounds like a horrible threat and a loving, desperate promise.

Xavier keeps his distance for the moment, only entering the cloud of candy desire by holding your hands through the thorough wrecking. Rafayel doesn’t let up, his inhuman stamina coming to strut it’s stuff. Leaving you a leaky, trembling mess.

After Rafayel comes inside a second time, you’re left drooling into the blankets, unsure what happens now. He’d said Xavier was next, but what did that mean?

You feel Rafayel drag Xavier onto the bed, tearing at his clothes even rougher than he’d been with yours. It’s hard to breathe, watching as the blond is unwrapped like a birthday present– clothing ripped like tissue paper and discarded for the prize underneath.

Your mind is only a few seconds ahead of what’s in front of your eyes, and your imagination supplies lurid images of Rafayel pulling Xavier into a kiss. A beat and it happens, like foresight. You imagine Rafayel pushing Xavier onto the mattress beside you, and voila, there he is.

You imagine Rafayel moving in between Xavier’s leg and being too hasty with trying to get inside him– but that’s not what happens next. Rafayel doesn’t rush like you thought he might. Instead, he takes his time to taste the prince’s neck. His chest and down the ripples expanse of his abdomen.

Xavier is just as surprised as you are by the attention to his pleasure, and a sharp hiss cuts through the blond’s teeth when Rafayel drags his tongue up his cock. He was already half-hard just watching the two of you, but with that one lascivious lick he’s steely and twitching.

This time, you get to kiss Xavier through his pleasure. Drink in his stunned gasps and shuddering moans as Rafayel takes him in his throat down to the hilt.

Now that you’ve caught your breath, you can dedicate more attention to them. Letting your fingers dance across Xavier’s chest, feeling the way his heart pounds in his chest, and pinching his peachy nipples.

It’s always been such a treat to see a man like Xavier crumble. His voice is always so soft, like feather down and sun sugar– but in pleasure it gets deeper, darker. Rich like couverture chocolate sparked with chili. Even as rough as Xavier can be, there’s gentleness.

He likes to hold you by the throat, and he does so now. Not gripping, but cradling. Feeling the tender chords of your throat bend as you swallow and breathe. Your pulse thrums against his fingertips and it soothes him. Xavier finds comfort in him like you do in him. A place to unravel from your defensive coil and exist in decadent vulnerability.

Xavier gets a little rougher when he’s close. Biting at his lip and pulling your face closer to his with one hand while his other goes to grip Rafayel’s hair– mindlessly thrusting up into the wet heat of his lover’s mouth.

Rafayel knows it as well as you do that Xavier’s on the precipice– probably more so. With a satisfied rumble, the sea god draws away. Chuckling as he watches Xavier thrust up into nothing.

“Stay just like that…” Rafayel commands, voice low, soft, but dangerous. He rises up onto his knees, and places his scalding hand just below Xavier’s navel. “Let me look at you for a minute.”

The minute passes agonizingly slowly. Xavier struggles not to move, his face twitching and you can almost see his train of thought. He’s debating disobeying– taking control. He’s not usually a fan of being on his back, even with you.

You wonder if Rafayel is doing it to edge the poor prince, or to try and memorize him to draw later. You found Rafayel’s more salacious sketchbook once while cleaning his studio– a small letter sized book filled with graphite sketches of you and your lovers in various erotic positions.

Rafayel doesn’t say anything before he moves. There’s just the slightest shift in his breath, a sharp inhale that breaks the pattern before he’s dragging his hand down and gripping Xavier’s cock. Pumping a few times until the prince moans prettily.

Of the months you’ve been with them, you’ve never seen Rafayel bottom. Not once. Not once has ever let the other men take him in that way, so it’s more than a little surprising to see him shift to straddle Xavier’s waist.

Xavier’s hands snap to Rafayel’s hip, gripping him tightly, “Wait…are you sure?”

Even Xavier can’t believe it, apparently. The hands on Rafayel’s waist are pulling him down, but keeping him up.

You sit up onto your elbows and reach for Rafayel’s hand, which he grasps tightly.

“Don’t deny me.” Rafayel hisses, glowering down at the blond with his chin raised, “I need it.”

So demanding, even like this. You're completely tongue-tied and unsure what to do, because your equal parts worried about the change in character and interested to see where it goes.

“Bunny,” Xavier turns his head to motion towards the bedside table, “Lube.”

His voice is tight and strained and so you don’t waste any time. You clatter to the table and retrieve the half-empty bottle from the drawer. When you turn, Rafayel isn’t fighting against Xavier’s hold anymore, but is sitting on Xavier’s hip just behind where he wants to be. Letting their cocks sit beside each other.

Rafayel is almost petulant as Xavier coaxes him to move, making sure he can prep him properly with his fingers. You soothe the siren’s hunger by keeping him occupied with your mouth. Kissing him sweetly until his whines of irritation turn into soft keens of pleasure. You wrap your hand around his reddened member and let him drive his hips forward and back– into your palm and back onto Xavier’s fingers.

Once Xavier’s satisfied that no damage will be done, he returns to their original position. Xavier lays on his back and gasps when Rafayel climbs him like he’ll die if he doesn’t sit on Xavier right. this. instant.

Xavier moans, long and drawn out as Rafayel attempts to spear himself– gasping like he’s drawing. And maybe he is? You’ve been so consumed in the heat of the moment, you haven’t really considered what Rafayel might be feeling.

It must be frightening to feel like you’ll die if you don’t get to touch someone.

You rise to your knees, and move. Grabbing both of Rafayels hands and pulling his attention to you, “Slow. Slower than that. Rafayel, look at me, yeah?”

Rafayel does. Through a cloud of amethyst haze, his eyes find yours. He’s panting, shivering, sweating.

“I need…”

“I know.” You say, and when you nod your noses brush together. “But you have to start slow. If you start slow, you can go fast later…follow me. Move with me.”

“Yes…” Rafayel begs, leaning forward to kiss you weakly. He slows the press of his hips downwards, following the gentle guidance of your hands. “ Oh…yes…”

“That’s it.” You breathe reverently. “You’re doing wonderful. So perfect.”

Rafayel responds to your praise with a staggered moan, breaking up into little pieces like thin sugar candy.

Xavier is a barely contained flame. He’s got one hand gripping Rafayel’s hip to hold the slow pace, despite the pleasure that threatens to consume him from the sweltering heat swallowing him up. His other hand rests on your thigh, squeezing you like a stress ball as if it’s the only thing keeping him from coming apart at the seams.

Soon enough, you find a rhythm. You feel powerful– like a goddess – guiding Rafayel with your hands up and down. Up the veiny length of Xavier’s shaft and back down again.

Once Rafayel is moving without your assistance, Xavier is able to find his control again. It’s only a flicker of sanity through the draping heat that leads the prince to grabbing you, hauling up and grunting, “ Sit, bunny.”

It doesn’t take a starfleet scientist to figure what he means, because he’s forgoing thrusting up for the moment to make sure you’re positioned right. Thighs on either side of his head, and drippy sex right above his face.

Bracing yourself against Xavier’s chest you slowly press down, but Xavier isn’t having any of the demure shit right now. He’s got a sea god bouncing on his cock, and he was a goddess on his face. He growls– the only warning you get before he’s dragging you down. Meeting your cunt with his outstretched tongue.

The combined stimuli of Xavier’s devilish tongue and watching Rafayel ride him is enough to overcome any hesitation. Less than a minute later you’re rolling your hips. Riding Xavier’s face just like he wants you to.

“ Ah! Ah! Ah!” You cry rhythmically, meeting the tempo Rafayel’s thrusts like you might connect your lust drunk minds, to feel what he feels. To taste that decadent pleasure you both deliriously chase.

Oddly, you come first. Shaking and trembling as you feel Xavier drink up every drop of honey you give him. A muffled moan vibrates against your clit and sends shocks of sensation up your stripped spine– sparking into painful overstimulation.

Xavier isn’t far behind, wrung of his orgasm from the vice heat of Rafayel’s plushy insides. His peak is muffled because he won’t let you pull away. He won’t remove his tongue from inside you and miss even a second of the syrupy sweet taste.

Rafayel slows his hips as Xavier slowly softens inside him, and when you find a moment to breathe– that breath catches in your lungs. Rafayel’s attention has turned to you, eyes falling on you like a headsman's axe.

“Come to me.” Rafayel says sharply.

Xavier barely has enough time to release his hold on your thighs before his violet haired lover is pulling you away. Pushing you over to squish your face in the bed right next to Xavier’s messy face, and pulling your hips up.

“Can’t waste it.” Rafayel sounds possessed. Like his voice doesn’t belong to him. Speaking absentmindedly as he grips the base of his cock, precome dripping from the weepy slit. It takes a few searching half-hearted thrusts to find your seam and press inside. “Don’t waste a drop… my darling girl. My beloved bride…”

Rafayel thrusts with his whole body, and it’s the first sign of any exhaustion he’s shown. He draws out to the very tip and then pushes back inside, carving his place inside you like it’s his. And it is. You’re his.

“Nngh!” You choke on a mixture of pleasure and pain. You’re pushing against the limits of what you can handle in a session, but the feeling satisfying this radiant divine part of Rafayel is enough to keep you going. “I-I won’t! I won’t waste it!”

It’s only two more thrusts before Rafayel comes, thready dripping from his blushed lips like a siren’s song. And it feels like that’s exactly what it is. Your mind sinks into a fluffy, warm space. Drunk and sedated simultaneously from his reverent attention and the heated rush of come flooding you once more.

Later that day, you’re laying on a lounge chair on the back porch, letting the afternoon sun warm your skin. Caleb sits beside you, massaging your body with some oddly scented lotion.

On paper, spending all day squished between your ravenous, heat-stricken lover and one or two of your other lovers sounds great. On paper, Rafayel’s ebb day rut sounded great. Marathon sex without end? Yes please.

Only, the reality is a little less sexy and a bit more sticky. Rafayel refuses to come unless it’s inside you, even when he was previous fucking someone else. You’d feel special if you didn’t feel like an overfilled cream donut– who’re you kidding? You’re definitely gonna miss this once it’s over.

Until then, you hurt. Your muscles ache and you feel raw inside. It stings a little when you walk– the little limp you had when you finally got a chance to stand up only riled Rafayel up again.

Currently, Zayne is occupying the sea god with Xavier. While Sylus and Caleb keep you company and let you rest for a moment. Sylus sits in a lawn chair right next to the door, sipping at pomegranate lemonade with a little yellow umbrella, and acting like a bouncer. No one’s going in or going out at the moment, not until Caleb’s done.

“I smell like a medicine cabinet now…” You whine softly but make no effort to move away.

“It’s magnesium lotion, pipsqueak.” Caleb explains as he digs his thumbs into your calf, rolling out the potential knots and pressing the cream deep. “It’ll help you from getting sore.”

“I’m already sore.” You hide your face into the pillow and groan softly. “Ugh this is only day one….”

Sylus chuckles and swirls his drink a few times, the ice cubes rattling together, “We should feel grateful he’s willing to play with others. He was always adamant it could only be you.”

Lifting your head, you give Sylus a sharp look, “What do you mean ‘he always’ ?”

Sylus brings his drink to his lips and smiles when he places the bendy straw in his mouth. He takes a long, slow swig before he answers you, “I’d like to preempt this with the fact I was never on board with keeping it a secret, but it wasn’t my secret to share.”

“Big on transparency, are you?” Caleb remarks as he gently rolls his fingers around your ankle.

“Oh, communication is key.” Sylus replies playfully, “We were made aware of his predicament in the world before. The Sanctuary was hardly a place for a Lemurian to hide away during such a vulnerable time. This bond that Lemurians forge, he was certain it would reject everyone except you, and your fishy had the sense that you , for whatever reason, couldn’t handle a week of his full attention. Though, was he wrong?”

You pout but it quickly morphs into a grimace as Caleb finds a knot in your thigh. “Sorry, pips.” He says softly, and then under furth examination, clicks his tongue in disappointment. “You have bruises here. On the backs of your thighs.”

Sylus lowers his chin to peer over his sunglasses, while Caleb traces the blooming marks with his fingertips. You twist to try and see, but the backs of your thighs aren’t exactly accessible, and so you fall back to lay on your stomach. “I’m not surprised. He had me in that mating press for like thirty minutes.”

“M-mating press?” Caleb stutters, hand falling a little heavier on your skin and squeezing ever so slightly.

“Okay so maybe he wasn’t wrong entirely.” You concede, “But he was wrong about the bond rejecting you. He didn’t have to go through it alone.”

“If someone is half-wrong,” Sylus begins as he leans back in his chair, “Does that make the half-right part inconsequential?”

“He should be gentler.” Caleb mumbles softly, drawing his thumbs up the back of your thigh, and then– a moment later– pressing his lips there. “If he can’t control himself, then maybe he should go through it alone.”

You turn and give Caleb a stern look, letting him stew on the words he just said.

Sylus’ laugh is devilish and he lowers his sunglasses to give Caleb a mischievous smirk, “Ooh, better apologize puppy. I’d hate to see you sleeping outside.”

Caleb frowns, and no such apology is made.

Thankfully, after the first day. Rafayel cools off a little. The excitement of the new opportunities had made his poor fishy brain melt a little, and he’d gotten so carried away he even wore himself out.

Shifts were taken. Though it was hard to keep as Rafayel’s instincts were fickle and unfathomable. He would seek out one of your group like he’d been starved of them, and it felt like a roll of the dice who it would be.

On the dreaded Ebb day . It was gloomy– the sky was overcast in bluish grey and the wind was sharper as it rushed in from the ocean. It felt foreboding, and it was.

Rafayel wouldn’t let any of you leave the bedroom. He snapped at Zayne for daring to try and go make breakfast, and nearly clawed Caleb’s arm off when he tried to escape the nest of bodies and sleep on the floor.

This bed wasn’t nearly as spacious as your bed at home, but Rafayel seemed to enjoy the closeness. While the rest of you sweat through the humidity, the sea god seemed soothed by it. Though he complained about the heat constantly, when someone was touching him he would sigh like a cold compress was pressed to his skin.

During the week, Rafayel would have time between his bouts of ravenous desire. Sometimes he was granted hours between them where he was able to drink, eat, and bathe. And then, just as suddenly, he’d grab you. Pin you to the ground and mount you like he hadn’t seen you in months. Begging you to take it like he might cry if you didn’t.

Today, there was no such reprieve. The moment the sun rose, Rafayel was gone. Replaced by someone who didn’t exist without you. His skin needed to be pressed to yours. He’d awoken you with his cock inside you– with slow, heavy thrusts. Sylus was still awake, and talked the two of you through it. Holding onto Rafayel’s hip with a tight hand to keep from pounding too harshly into you.

After you were filled, Sylus kissed you. He drank in the remnants of your pleasure and gently detached you from the sea god. He handed you to Zayne, whispering a soft request to take care of you to the doctor.

You were able to get a few more hours of sleep while Sylus battled against the other mythic creature. Dragon versus siren, and this once– the dragon came out on top. Bending Rafayel over to fuck him deep and fast. It was hard to sleep through the harsh slaps of hips against one another, and the weepy cries of Rafayel’s cross-eyed pleasure.

When Sylus had had his fill, Rafayel found you again. Pushing you into Zayne’s chest and not caring that the doctor held you while he pushed your legs apart. Pleading with you to please, please, please show him your pretty pussy again.

Zayne was an active bystander for this round. A slower, more purposeful rutting as Rafayel rolled with him. Guided by the doctor’s skilled fingers that shimmered with frost.

You could hardly catch your breath. Every inhale stung with the frigid air, and every exhale swallowed by Rafayel’s desperate mouth. His cock felt even more swelteringly hot inside you with Zayne at your back. The contrast was too much, and you came three times before Rafayel met his end– filling you again.

You were icky and dripping by midday. Sticky with sweat, leaking Rafayel’s come despite his commands to not spill a drop. While the others tried to rest in between rounds, Caleb couldn’t sleep, and spent most of his time trying to take care of you.

He tutted softly as you sleepily leaned into him, letting him drag the warm washcloth against your abdomen and then down to the crux of your thighs. It was gentle and reverent, but Rafayel took personal offense to this. He snarled at Caleb and snatched the washcloth– throwing it across the room like a poisoned article.

Caleb was punished with face shoved into your pussy, lapping like the little puppy he was while Rafayel fucked him harshly. It was almost mean, and even Xavier woke up and attempted to draw the siren’s attention away.

It didn’t work. And Rafayel wasn’t satisfied until he’d made Caleb beg to come. The colonel sang his pleas into the folds of your cunt, only drawing his tongue away for those few moments until it was back again.

Rafayel didn’t come inside Caleb. In a flurry, he pulled out, and rolled Caleb away, dragging you by the ankle to shove back inside you. It seemed you were due a punishment too, for letting Caleb wipe away his come in the first place. Rafayel whispered his promises to fill you darkly in your ear. Now, he’d have to try twice as hard.

Xavier was the only one Rafayel was halfway gentle with. The only of your group besides you that he seemed willing to ride without harsh desperation, and so the rounds that included the blond were the easiest.

It was almost sundown when you found yourself feeling a bit dizzy, draped across Sylus’ chest as Rafayel fucked you from behind. Xavier’s firm hands on the artist’s waist kept him from pounding you, and the blond’s low voice in his ear had him trembling close to orgasm in record time.

The sunset, and darkness blanketed your house. It snuck up on you, because one moment you were still being used like a come dump and the next you’re passed out alongside the others in a haphazard pile.

Zayne, of course, is the only one sleeping halfway properly. He’s got a pillow and everything. From there, it’s just downhill With Sylus leaning against him, nearly upright and Xavier in his lap, splayed like a sleepy housecat. Caleb is snoring on top of Zayne with his legs over Xavier’s and an arm draped over his eyes. You’re nestled somewhere in the middle, with Rafayel laying on your chest with your legs intertwined.

Exhaustion is too soft a word. This is bone-deep debility. Wrung out like wet rags of every last drop of moisture. You snore louder than you ever have, and even the storm that brews outside that night does nothing to stir any of you.

A short spring storm wets the earth. Thunder rumbles and lightning casts flashes of cool light into your room. None of it disturbs your rest. Not even the rush of wind and rain tapping against your window intrudes upon the blessed peace you’ve finally found.

When morning comes, the storm is gone, and Ebb day is finally over.

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