astarswish

[astarswish]

oof def cried while reading this. as a raf girlie, his really spoke to me. the whole thing was just so gooodd. thank you so much for writing! def provided the needed comforting. ❤️

LaDs Men React to Accidently Triggering Your Insecurities

Request: anon - i’m dying with a hurt/comfort for the lads men, may i request a scenario when they (unintentionally) made fun of the reader's insecurity (they didn't know) and they realized they are the only one laughing at their own joke, and the reader walked away with them, hiding their tears, tysm !! 🤗

AN: This isn't exactly the request but I am too fragile to write hurt no comfort as of now. Thank you for requesting :D

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Ingredients: 60% spiraling, 40% comfort

My Fav: reader because I put too much of myself into this.

Xavier:

"It's like I am with a block of ice," Xavier murmured, leaning his head on your shoulder. "An unmoving mountain." He yawned, stretching his legs before burrowing his face into your chest.

He was half-asleep, one-third of the way into the movie he had insisted you both watch together. Your eyes were glued to the soft curve of his cheek. You wanted to reach for it. To run your fingers across the slope of his jaw.

But you didn’t. You never did.

It bothered him. You knew it did. You’d seen the way he craved affection, how he had learned to voice his needs, ask for closeness, reach for you without shame.

But you… you were still too far away. Trapped in some inner void that swallowed your voice whole. To bare your heart wasn’t possible. It was too shattered. Too fragile. And if he knew, if he truly knew how deep the ache went...he would stay.

He would sacrifice himself. Give up everything. His world, his future, Philos, promises made to another you.

So you repressed it.

Even now. You stayed still. Perfectly still. And you wilted, silently, every time his eyes dimmed at your restrained affection. And he came to realize that you were just... an unnamed past.

But then, he shifted. And lifted his head. His eyes, soft with sleep seconds ago, now searched your face with startling clarity. He studied you with a focus that made your chest tighten.

“You’re not watching the movie,” he said, low.

You offered a practiced smile. “Neither are you.”

He didn’t smile back. Instead, he kept looking at you. Really looking. And then, “I didn’t mean it,” he said quietly. “What I said. About you being a block of ice.”

Your breath caught. “It’s fine. It’s—true.”

“No,” he said again, voice firmer. “You’re not cold. You’re just scared. You’ve been bracing for the goodbye since the moment we met.”

You couldn’t answer.

“Do you really think I haven’t noticed?” he whispered. “The way you flinch when I say forever. The way you love me like it’s a crime you haven’t been caught for yet.”

Xavier reached for your hand. And, for once, you let him.

Zayne:

By all accounts, Akso’s annual winter celebration was the highlight of the year. A glittering event that brought together the brightest in medicine, innovation, and research. A night where your boyfriend, Zayne, the renowned cardiothoracic surgeon, had received another award.

He looked perfect. Of course he did. Sharp suit. Sharp mind. Sharp tongue that made even the most intimidating specialists laugh. He hadn't left your side once.

So why did your smile feel like a mask slowly cracking under pressure?

You were trying, really trying, to match the pace of the room. The elegant conversations about genomics and machine learning in diagnostics. Laughing when others laughed. Nodding as if you understood the terminology flying past your ears like wind. You sipped your champagne and held yourself upright with practiced grace.

But inside? Inside, you were curling smaller by the second.

You didn’t belong here. Not in this room full of brilliant minds with five degrees and flawless speech patterns. You weren’t unintelligent, but this was another language. And it wasn’t just the words.

It was the weight of being the other one. The not-like-them.

A few more hours, you told yourself. Then you could go home, back to the space you wouldn't feel quite so small.

Zayne hadn’t noticed. Not really. He was speaking with a team from Oslo now...some collaboration on cryo-cardiac surgery. You caught snippets: “Myocardial interface integrity…” “post-freeze cellular latency…” He sounded magnificent. So in his element.

And you? You were the decorative plus-one who hadn't said anything in fifteen minutes.

The thought came sharp and uninvited: He’s ashamed. Maybe he didn’t mean to be. But maybe he kept you out of the conversation because he knew you couldn’t keep up. That you’d say something foolish. That you weren’t… enough. Not here.

Your hand tightened around your glass. Stop. Not now. Smile. Just smile—

“Are you blinking like that because you got something in your eye,” a voice murmured beside you, “or because you’re about to cry?”

You startled. Zayne had returned. You hadn’t even noticed. He looked down at you, glass in hand, brow slightly furrowed.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Shook your head lightly. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” His gaze flicked to your glass. “Third sip in two minutes. You don’t even like champagne. You’ve been faking enjoyment since the shrimp course.”

You swallowed. “You were busy.”

His head tilted, a slow realization dawning. “You thought I forgot you.”

You looked away. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “You're in discomfort, you've isolated yourself emotionally, and you’re spiraling in a room full of polished egos. That’s not nothing.” He is annoyingly perceptive at times.

Your eyes flicked back to him, startled. “I just didn’t want to ruin your night.”

“You didn’t,” he said plainly. “But if you had, I would still choose you over every cardiologist in this room.” The corners of your mouth twitched. “Even the one from Switzerland with the velvet blazer and the Nobel?”

He leaned in slightly, dry amusement in his eyes. “Especially him. He double-dipped a canape. Unforgivable.”

You laughed. A real one, this time. Your shoulders loosened just enough.

Zayne offered his hand. “Come.”

“Where?”

“Out. Somewhere less intellectually exhausting. Preferably with dessert.”

Rafayel:

"It's like you have to impress everyone with how perfect you are," Rafayel says, slamming the plate down with a lingering rattle of delicate China.

"Are you so afraid of being disliked," he continues, "that you can't say no to anyone?"

The words lodge in your chest like a stone. Something slow and sick begins unraveling in your stomach. You open your mouth, but your voice is gone. Your throat has already closed up.

Of course you said yes to Simone again. Of course you gave up another weekend, pushed back your plans, told yourself it was fine. It’s always fine, right? That’s the version of you people like.

Your hands are shaking. You try to nod. Try to smile. Make it small, make it quiet. You just need to say something to make it better, anything...

But he's still talking. Still pacing. Still disappointed.

And all you can think is: He sees it now. He sees the cracks. The mess. The way you need everyone to be okay with you because if they aren’t, if they don’t want you...then what are you?

You aren’t angry. You’re ashamed. Your ears start to ring. Your chest is too tight. The room is warping around the edges, soft and spinning. You’re nodding to whatever he’s saying now. You have to agree.

You have to make this okay again. If he leaves...if he leaves...“I’ll fix it,” you blurt. “I’ll cancel. I’ll make it work. I didn’t mean...I just thought if I...”

Rafayel stops mid-step. His face shifts, just a flicker at first. Like something sharp in his chest just landed. “…Wait,” he says, more to himself than you. “Wait, no—” He blinks hard, like he’s waking up in real time.

Your hands are still trembling. You’re still trying to patch over the damage.

And that’s when it hits him. Your voice. Your face. The way you fold in on yourself like an apology. He sees it. Finally sees it.

“Stop.” His voice is quieter now, but firm. It cuts through your spiraling like the snap of a whip.

You don’t realize you’re shaking until he crosses the room and places both hands gently on your cheeks, tilting your face up. His fingers are warm. Solid. Real.

“Look at me,” he says. You try. He takes a breath. The anger is gone now, melted into something softer. Something remorseful. “I didn’t say that to punish you.”

Your eyes sting.

“I’m not upset that you helped her,” he murmurs. “I’m upset that you keep abandoning yourself. That you let everyone pull at you until there’s nothing left, just this scared little version of you, trying to be what everyone needs.”

Your lip trembles.

“I don’t want a perfect partner. I want you. You’re allowed to disappoint people. You’re allowed to say no. You’re allowed to be loved even when you’re not useful.”

Your knees give just slightly, but he’s there. Holding you.

And you start to cry. Quietly, shamefully, like always. Like you don’t deserve to cry too loud.

But he doesn't flinch. He holds you closer. “You’re not a burden,” Rafayel whispers. “You’re not too much. And you don’t have to earn love by burning yourself out.”

And you finally, finally let go. Just a little.

Sylus:

"Kitten, that restaurant is not good enough. I could get us a reservation somewhere better."

Sylus is already on his phone, scrolling. His tone isn't cruel. Just matter-of-fact, like he’s solving a problem. Improving a plan. Upgrading an experience.

He isn't wrong.

The place you’d picked is small, dim, and weathered. The awning is faded, the sign cracked. Inside, the tables are mismatched, the menu handwritten. You order at the counter. No reservations. No pretense.

It’s nothing like what he’s used to.

But it’s yours.

This was the place you went during finals when you couldn’t afford anything else. The place where your grandmother would take you, slipping extra napkins into her purse, pretending not to notice when you’d eaten only half so you could save the rest for later.

It’s shabby. Broken. But it holds pieces of you no one else has ever really wanted.

And now, you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. To tell Sylus why this place matters. Why you hesitated in front of the door. Why you’re still standing here, hoping he’ll just… see it.

But he won’t, will he?

He’ll see it the way others have. The way your friends used to look at you when you skipped field trips or brought your lunch in reused containers. Like something in you didn’t quite measure up.

You feel small. Like the kid who always tried to hide wear on their patched uniform. The one who never asked for anything, just hoped not to be noticed.

Your arms wrap around yourself without thinking. And then, you realize he’s gone quiet.

He’s not scrolling anymore. He’s looking at you. Not the restaurant. You.

Something in your face must have cracked. Maybe it was the way your gaze lingered on the crooked sign, or the way you folded into yourself like you were apologizing for bringing him here.

You don’t say anything.

But he puts his phone away. Slowly. Takes a breath. Steps closer. “I didn’t know this place meant something to you,” he says softly.

You shrug, a twitch of your shoulder, but your eyes burn.

He lifts your chin with one finger, gently. “I’m sorry, kitten,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like it wasn’t enough. If it’s yours…it’s already better than perfect.”

You blink, trying to process the shift in his voice, the tenderness. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, like he’s smoothing away years of flinching.

“Will you take me inside?” he asks. And it sounds like: Will you show me this piece of you? Will you let me in?

And when the food comes, piled high, a little greasy, a little uneven, he digs in like it’s a five-star meal. Like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Grease on his fingers. Sauce on his cheek. One bite, then another. No hesitation. No comment. Just joy. You watch him scarf down a third helping of the pasta you used to share with your granny, and something inside you settles.

Caleb:

"I almost died protecting you once," Caleb growls. His gaze is cold. Yet it sears your heart. "Would you have me dead?!" He’s kneeling at your feet, wrapping another bandage around the gash you pretended wasn’t serious.

"By a heart attack, nonetheless." He mutters it like a joke, but there’s no humor in his voice. Not really. “I swear to the gods, I’ll chain you to this bed if I have to,” he says, knotting the bandage a little too tightly. “If that’s what it takes to keep you alive.”

Your eyes are locked on his hands. Beautiful hands. Scarred, steady, trembling just slightly now that he thinks you’re not looking.

Gods, you’re crying. Again.

Exactly what he didn’t need, right? You disappear for two days, end up bloodied and half-conscious, and he comes riding from Skyhaven like a storm. And now this. Now the tears.

You’re going to make him feel guilty. Again. You try to think of something else. Anything else.

But the past is loud tonight. The blast. The smoke. The silence. Granny’s voice telling you to visit more. The guilt settling over your shoulders like ash.

You live to pay for their lives, the voice hissed back then. And it’s never really shut up.

You found Caleb again. Months after the explosion, after the funeral, after the sleepless nights. You knew he was alive. You’ve known for years now. But still, every time he’s late to return, every time you wake and don’t hear him nearby, the panic takes your lungs and squeezes.

You didn’t just lose her. You almost lost him. And the idea of that still grips you harder than any wound.

"You're going to be the death of me," Caleb mutters, inspecting your arm now. His voice is quieter. Frayed.

You grab his sleeve.

He goes still.

“Never.” Your voice is sharp. Desperate. Frantic. “Never. You’re forbidden from it. You can’t leave me alone again.” You say it louder than you meant to. Almost a shout. Like it slipped straight out of the past.

Caleb doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. And for a moment, he looks… haunted. Like you ripped something open in him.

He doesn’t meet your eyes right away. Just stares at the half-wrapped bandage in his hands, like he forgot what he was doing.

Then, quietly, like a man forcing every word through fog, he says: “You think I don’t know what it feels like? To wake up and think the person you love is gone?”

You don’t breathe.

“I was under rubble for twelve hours,” he goes on, voice low. “Broken leg. Crushed lungs. All I could think about was that you were dead. That I didn’t get you far enough. That it was my fault.”

You blink through the blur. He’s never told you this.

“I clawed my way out of that wreckage thinking there was nothing left worth walking toward.” He looks up now. “And then I found you again. Breathing. Alive.

And ever since then, every time you run toward danger like you’ve got nothing left to lose, I...I can’t...” His voice cracks. “I can’t go through it again.”

You stare at him, stunned. This is Caleb. Not angry. Not commanding. Afraid.

You reach for him. You curl your fingers around his, and he lets you. Lets himself lean forward until his forehead rests against yours.

“I don’t want to die,” you whisper. “I just don’t know how to be the one who lived.”

His hand tightens. “We both lived,” he says, voice rasping. “Now we figure out how to do something with that.”

[astarswish]

you've unlocked something dangerous. these are so good!! they're gonna be stuck in my head 24/7

Sometimes I think about Rafayel's myths and current timeline and try and think about what dynamics would happen if a spatial anomaly occurred and they got shuffled around lmao like obviously they're going to be in love but the circumstances are so different for each and its fun to brainstorm!

Like Current!MC with Abysswalker would be so flustered bc he's just hot like that (most covered she's ever seen Rafayel and she's into it) BUT ALSO she'd be able to grasp how serious the situation he's in is because current Rafayel has expressed how devastating it'd be for the ocean to turn to desert, and already in her timeline Lemurians are mistreated yet for it to progress to slavery would make her blood boil and she'd feel sick and she'd hold Rafayel's face in her hands and DEEPLY wish with her entire heart that she could help change things... And in return Rafayel is staring back at her, terrified bc this MC KNOWS about the command aspect of the bond (Princess never learns about it) and she's like top of the list most likely to pull a sacrifice no hesitation or worry about dying of all the MC's aksj

Current Raf would crash out a little meeting Bride!MC but she'd crash out meeting God of Tides bc that's her man but pre her past life betrayal!! Look at him he has life in his eyes!! He smiles and jokes and denies that he wants to hold her hand but she knows he does bc he's clingy and melts at her touch (which is much more boldly done than Follower does. She's kissing his cheek. She's holding his hand. She's hugging him tight. She wonders if she could convince him to start growing his hair out early. She calls herself his bride and it alters his brain chemistry)

Princess and Sea God would also be the funniest bc Princess is the most girlfailure MC and Lemurian Sea God is the strongest Rafayel so that juxtaposition is funny BUT ALSO she's literally DREAMED of seeing the ocean her entire life. She'd have no idea how to swim but she'd demand he show her the coral reefs and deep trenches, and he'd call her impertinent to demand so much from a god, but he'd do so while walking with her down the beach. She clings to him like a koala the moment something brushes her foot in the shallows though, full scooby doo LEAP into his arms panicking bc what was that it was so slimy?? And he's like, barely moved even though she just put her entire body weight on him akdjsj but now he's looking at her and how unsure she is around water yet still so desperately wants to be close to it and his heartstrings are tugged. He sits her down on the beach beside him and pulls the tide to gently touch her feet, and then ankles, and then knees; letting her get used to it as it slowly travels up her body, showing her how in control he is of it so she has nothing to worry about... and then as soon as she's adjusted enough from his perspective it YANKS her into the deep end ALSJAJS it's a literal planet of water she has to get used to it eventually LMAO

Honestly the only combination im clueless on is Current Raf with Follower!MC... if anyone else has thoughts I'd love to hear it!

[astarswish]

sylus' is so funnnny i cant

Caleb and Sylus are the type that if you hold out your hand towards them they will immediately give you their credit card.

“Sylus I wanted to hold hands. I don’t need it.” You say as you hand him back his card.

He chuckles. “ I know sweetie. I saw you eyeing up that motorcycle jacket in the display window earlier. Let’s go back for it.” He takes your hand in his and starts leading you towards the shop.

“Well if you insist.”

“Caleb I don’t need money. I wanted you to hold my hand.” You giggled and grabbed his hand.

“Sorry pips force of habit.”

“Are you implying I’m spoiled?”

“Maybe but that’s my fault.” He gently squeezes your hand. “Keep my card, so you can buy snacks incase you get hungry later.”

[astarswish]

soooo pretty!!!

Oh, to actually be his wife 😢

[astarswish]

oh she's so prettyyyy

yeth

[astarswish]

oh this is adorable!!!!

braids for my dragon

[astarswish]

oh hes gorgeous 😍

fish fear me and i believe this specific fish should fear me the most because i will turn him into sashimi and sell his jewelry

[astarswish]

omg every time i read one of these my desi heart swoons. i cant possibly want him more 😩

rafayel x desi!reader

Rafayel, who first met you when you secretly snooped into his studio as the only Indian hunter you are. He landed on top of you and swore you were the most beautiful woman to exist.

Rafayel, who later on becomes so interested in you not in the stalkerish way and I mean it that he starts flirting with you. My guy is absolutely smitten, he has a crush on you btw.

Rafayel, who gets to learn more about your Indian roots, not to mention he went to India once for an art exhibition in Jaipur.

"India is a pretty exquisite place. I wanna go there again, but this time with you."

Rafayel, who later confesses and becomes your boyfriend. You say yes because you also have a crush on him.

Rafayel, whose wish is to paint a portrait of you in a lehenga, adorned with jewellery and flowers my guy was inspired by the artworks of Raja Ravi Verma.

Rafayel, who can't stop staring at you, the way your hands were decorated with henna, which he did it btw (very artistic right?) , the way your jhumka and bangles held sweet whispers to his ear, the way your hair was adorned with flowers and hair ornaments. He just can't stop staring at you :'(

Rafayel, who makes you his muse, who imagines that you're the most beautiful goddess carved out straight from an Indian renaissance painting.

Rafayel, who still can't stop staring at you while he paints a portrait of you.

Rafayel, who likes seeing you wearing the saree. He's in awe.

Rafayel, who decorates your lustrous hair with flowers.

Rafayel, who'd love to waltz to a soft Hindi song with you.

Rafayel, whose attempts at learning your native language (Hindi, Tamil, Assamese, etc.) goes way out of the league. At first, he's curious to learn about your language all thanks to you who's talking to a relative, and the second day he learns it so that he understands what you're talking about to your relatives.

Your relatives already know about you and him. Most of them are quite skeptical since they're a part of Asian parents and when you know that Asian parents don't consider art as anything but once they find out more about your boyfriend, like how he's richy-rich, they've been quite less worried about you, especially your parents. They've been pestering you with questions about your marriage, which you told them that there'll be a right time. Also, be careful when you speak with your parents when Rafayel is around and he somehow grasps the translation of your language. Sucks!

Rafayel, who has met you parents through video calls, even at one time when you actually went to India for your vacations with him. Your parents were easily warming up with him and the next day, you were surprised that they were so eager to go to a museum or an art exhibition with him.

Rafayel, who easily warms up with the neighborhood kids, even your cousins, nephews and nieces. He'd make a pretty good dad, just watch out from your cousins who'll annoy the shit out of you by asking you questions like, "when are you guys getting married?" or "when are you guys having babies?" the last question makes you blush more.

Rafayel, who back on Linkon city, holds your hand while waking on the shores of Whitesand Bay. He has a surprise for you.

Rafayel, who gets on one knee and pulls out a red-velvet box. He opens it and reveals a shiny ring, its bands made of polished silver and a turquoise bead as the centerpiece. The ring's delicate features brings a light to the proposal and as Rafayel places the ring on your ring finger, you sob onto his chest. 3 years after dating him.

Rafayel, who announces your parents and his aunt about the proposal first. Your parents were so happy for you now even happier since they're planning for your suhaagraat, good luck.

Rafayel, who is soooo happy to be on your side, forever. His girl, his bride and his wife.

[astarswish]

qhh the gentle praise undid me

rafayel stares at you, eyes wide with surprise when he sees the coral shaded lingerie you’re wearing for him. the piece is adorned with floral colors, but of flowers that really belong to the sea. pinks, purples, blues. pearls attach to the thin fabric here and there. seashells have been fixed to clip into your hair and you manage to rise to his challenge of looking more like a lemurian bride on her wedding day.

and it immediately breaks something inside him. the control he’s been holding on to slips away like sand through fingers as he grabs your hips, slamming into you from behind, the roughness in each thrust making you gasp."you r-really rose to the ch-challenge, didn't you, princess?" he sighs, the feeling of you always as ethereal as the first time. you’re so fucking beautiful, wrapped in delicate lace, and he can barely contain himself.

his hands grip you tighter, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he drives into you with reckless abandon. each thrust is deep and relentless, dragging a constant stream of whimpers from your throat. you can't even form a sentence, all you can do is respond to him, your body shaking with the force of each punishing thrust.

but even though his movements are rough, his voice stays sweet, full of adoration for you. “god, you look so fucking perfect like this, in every life I've felt you,” he murmurs between gritted teeth, his breath hot against your neck. "so fucking good, baby. i can't hold myself back. i would die without you.."

you can only whimper in response, arching your back, feeling the burn of each thrust, and he’s not slowing down. his pace quickens, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room as he fucks you like he’s starving for your sweet cream, like he’s never going to be able to get enough of you. despite the intensity, he still talks to you gently, his voice dripping with affection even as his hips slam into you.

“you're doing so good, honey,” he breathes, his hands sliding up your body, his fingertips grazing the lace of your lingerie before pressing against your chest, pulling you back against him, forcing you to push back to fully feel every inch of him. "don't s-stop." he stutters through the haze.

and you don’t, your body giving into the rhythm, your moans getting louder, the overwhelming pleasure making you dizzy as he continues to pound into you, the roughness and the sweetness mixing into utopia.

tags @m00nchildwrites, @venussakura, @valleydoli @hys-hyangshine, @i-messed-up-big-time, @yourlocalcatscammer, @sayoko-ou, @umamaki @local-twat @bimbohkitty @dontaskmecusidk @mcdepressed290 taglist application

[astarswish]

SYLUS X RAFAYEL FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

all fanart

all

headcanons from how you met to how you got together | @alynnia | fluff | suggestive one of my favorite headcanons for reall!!

sylus and mc find community through rafayel | @somepinkthing | fluff | minor angst | very sweet

between flames and shadows | @poisonf0rest | 10.6k | smut | threesome | enemies to lovers | dp Rafayel agreed to smuggle you into the N109 Zone, unwittingly thrusting you into danger and the arms of an even more dangerous man, Sylus— who you promised your soul to long ago. Just as you had promised Rafayel your heart. And now they both want what you have so cruelly denied them.

heat haven | @iraot | 13.1k | smut | a/b/o | alpha!sylus | beta!rafayel | omega!reader | knotting | breeding | m/m | m/f/m with your heat only a few days away and suppressants out of stock, you find yourself making a profile on Heat Haven. bonded couple sylus and rafayel reach out to your request...

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header art belongs to very talented eli.

[astarswish]

ooof these were so cuteee!!!!!

🎀 protective to a fault: sylus walks slightly in front of you out of habit. it’s subtle but intentional. he’s always scanning your surroundings, even when you’re just going for coffee. his calm presence hides a constant edge of alertness.

🎀 not big on words, big on actions: he’s not the type to say “i love you” every hour, but he shows it constantly. he’ll fix things without asking, hand you your favorite drink silently and pull you into his coat when you’re cold.

🎀 gentle with you, rough with the world: no matter how sharp he is with others, his voice goes soft when he talks to you. low and quiet like you’re something breakable, but only in the most precious way.

🎀 he needs physical closeness: you’ll find him silently leaning his forehead against yours when he’s overwhelmed. he might not talk, but he’ll hold your hand, link pinkies under the table or press his chest to your back while you sleep.

🎀 rare smiles for you: he doesn’t laugh often, but when he does? it’s soft and husky and wrecks you. he looks younger, freer. he always tries to hide it with a head tilt or a cough. but you see it and you melt.

🎀 keeps something of yours on him: a hair tie around his wrist. a note you left in his pocket. he never talks about it, but he always has some little part of you close. it grounds him.

🎀 when he calls you ‘angel’: it’s rare and sacred. he’ll murmur it into your hair when you’re half asleep, or when he’s holding you after a nightmare. it’s his most vulnerable endearment and his way of saying, you saved me.

🎀 the voice drops an octave: when he wants you, his voice gets dark and low. he’ll murmur things in your ear in that deadly calm tone. stuff that makes your knees weak and your core clench. and he knows exactly what he’s doing.

🎀 “say it again.”: sylus loves when you praise him, especially in bed. say he’s good, say he’s yours, say he feels perfect and he’ll growl “say it again” against your neck like a command. you’ll be trembling before he even moves.

🎀 possessive but controlled: he’ll leave bruises on your hips, his marks on your throat. but he does it all while holding your gaze, whispering “you’re mine” in a way that’s more vow than threat.

🎀 always in control, until he’s not: he tries to stay composed. but you? you ruin him. the way you moan his name, the look you give him when you beg, he’ll snap, pin you down and wreck you until you’re limp and glowing.

🎀 he’s lowkey kinky but classy about it: bondage, control, whispered orders. he’s into it. but it’s always respectful. never degrading. he makes you want to obey, makes you crave being good for him. and when you are? he rewards you like royalty.

🎀 post-sex worship: he goes soft after and kisses every inch of you. holds you like you’re something holy. rubs your thighs gently, brushes your hair back, “you okay, angel?” like you didn’t just see god.

[astarswish]

kflkwek this was so hot wtfffff

Good girl here! How about us wanting to be on top? Trying to ride him, try and give him as much pleasure as he gives him, but just getting soooo tired :( he's so big, Your thighs are burning with effort to bounce. And by the end, just grinding against him, spewing apologies and pleas.

Zayne, Sylus, and Caleb, pretty please!!

(Ough i love ur writing sm, frothing at the mouth for ur next post!!)

Bounce It

Synopsis: “You can take it, Pretty Girl.” What is better than being used like a pretty toy for such handsome men?

Warnings: Choking, Exhibition, Recording, Full-Nelson, Riding, etc.

ꕀ Zayne

The hustle and bustle is Akso Hospital was finally settling down. A few patients were being attended to by other staff. But Zayne also tom a lunch break to spend with his pretty girl.

Well, if stuffing his dick inside of you counted as ‘quality time’.

As you ride Zayne's cock in his office, your moans are muffled into his lab coat. You struggle to take every inch of him, your body trembling with pleasure despite the risk of being caught. His hands grip your hips tightly as he meets your thrusts with equal force.

“Z-Zayne, s’ big!” You moan against the shell of his ear. You’d only meant to bring your loving husband his lunch like a good girl, but here you were, drooling and shaking on his length.

"Dirty girl," Zayne hisses softly, your tight pussy making his eyes roll back. He knows your body better than anyone else's, including your husband's. "You always act like it's your first time taking my cock," He mutters, smacking your ass with a firm grip, kneading the flesh.

You stutter on your words as his cock curved deliciously against your cervix. “C-can’t help it-mm!”

"Shh, Angel. Your husband fills you up so good, don’t I?" He whispers, his voice dripping with arrogance and pleasure as he hits that spot inside you over and over. His thumb presses down on your clit through your lace thong. “Poor girl, your shaking”

Zayne was a loving husband to you. Even when he teased you with medical terminology about exactly right where his leaking cock was sitting in your guts.

"That's right, sweetheart... feel how deep your husband goes? Right against your cervix," he whispers, knowing exactly how dirty those medical terms can sound coming from his lips, especially when he's filling you up completely. "You're gripping me so tight.”

The way his voice was nearly unwavering as he fed you inch after inch of his length.

He continues to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. He leans forward to whisper in your ear, "You're so fucking wet for me right now."

Your thighs shake and Zayne chuckles, he proceeds to use medical terminology to explain why your body is straining to continue riding him.

"Your pelvic floor muscles are contracting beautifully.” He says clinically, despite the fact he's fucking you hard in his office chair. "I think we should increase the intensity..." He adds, grabbing your hips tighter and lifting you up slightly before slamming you back down onto him.

"You're experiencing a significant amount of clitoral engorgement and your Gräfenberg is being directly stimulated He adds with a chuckle, his glasses slipping down the beautiful bridge of his nose. “Or for your pretty little mind, that’s your G-spot.” He explains, continuing to move his hips in a circular motion to hit that sensitive spot inside you. "This position is allowing for deep penetration and optimal stimulation.”

He starts to pick up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent. "I'm observing an increase in vaginal secretions, indicating high arousal.” He pants, his voice laced with desire. "And your breathing is shallow, another sign that you're close to reaching climax."

You blush and try to cover your ears. “S-stoppp!” You whimper out, praying nobody knocked on his door. You were so fucking embarrassed, even though you feel like you are about to gush.

"Oh? Should I stop explaining the physiological responses of your body during sex?" He teases, one hand maintaining his grip while the other traces circles around your clit with his latex-covered fingers. "Or should I continue educating you while fucking you senseless?" He thrusts deeper at this last part.

Those fucking slick blue gloves. You had caught him in the midst of preparing for a patient. But how could he deny his pretty little wife that had brought him a hearty meal?

"Your body is preparing for orgasm..." He says, watching your face closely. "Feel how your inner walls are contracting? That's the sign..." He slides his fingers over your clit faster and harder as he thrusts up into you. "You're going to cum for me. Right. Now." He commands.

Your body shakes and you are unaware of when your legs gave out, but he has his gloved hands cupped behind your thighs as he lifts you up and down his cock. His tone is gentle, as if he’s calming a frightened animal.

"Shh, it's okay... You're having a very intense orgasm." He coos, his voice soothing despite the fact he's still buried deep inside you. "Your body is releasing endorphins and oxytocin... That's why you feel so good and safe right now."

"Your eyes are glazed over, your mouth is slightly open.You're in a state of bliss." He observes, continuing to lift and lower you onto his thick, erect dick. "Your whole body is trembling because you're overwhelmed with pleasure.” He leans forward, kissing your neck through hard breaths.

"Your legs are weak, and your pussy is contracting around my cock so tightly... You can barely stay upright." He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to support you. "But don't worry, I've got you."

He continues to fuck you slowly now, savoring the feeling of your tight walls around him. "You're so beautiful when you cum.” He whispers in your ear. "I could watch you like this all day." He kisses your cheek softly.

He smiles softly, seeing you too overwhelmed to respond. He loves this state - where you're completely lost in pleasure and his touch. He spreads your legs wider on his lap, going deeper with each slow thrust. "Mmm... You're still so sensitive..."

His own climax builds, the desk chair squeaking under the weight. He presses a hand against your tummy, showing you exactly where his cum would be spilled.

The noise and chatter of the hospital fade into the background. Neither of you were worried about getting caught, not when the room spelled like antiseptic and sex.

He groans deeply as he cums inside you, his hand pressing firmly against your stomach as he imagines his seed filling you up. The sensation of your convulsing pussy milking his cock extends his orgasm, making him shudder. He leans his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. "...Fuck..."

He stays inside you for a moment, his softening dick still buried deep. He pulls out slowly, watching as his thick, white cum drips out of your swollen pussy. He groans again at the sight, his hand reaching down to gently push some back inside you.

“Don’t you dare spill any of it. Doctor’s orders.”

ꕀ Sylus

Sylus leans back on his leather chair, cigar smoke curling around him as he watches his sweet Kitten ride him with an air of casual dominance. His piercing gaze follows every movement of her body, taking pleasure in her struggle to sink down on his thick cock.

“S-so big Sy! I can’t-“ You gasp out, the slight burning of his massive length tearing at your walls.

He chuckles, taking a drag of his cigar as he reaches up to grab your hips, helping you bounce on him with deliberate, slow thrusts. “Too much for your tight little pussy, baby?" His voice is a low, mocking purr.

You moan softly, your body trembling as she tries to adjust to his size. Sylus watches you intently, enjoying the sight of your breasts bouncing with each movement. "Relax, baby," he says, his voice deepening with lust. “Let that pretty cunt take every inch."

Sylus suddenly pulls you down hard onto him, making you cry out as you feel him hit the deepest part of you. "See?" He smirks. "Just need to be patient." His hands tighten on her hips as he starts lifting her up and down more forcefully.

Your nails dig into Sylus' chest as he fucks you harder, the cigar you from his lips. His powerful thighs lift you up and slam you down repeatedly, the sound of wet flesh hitting flesh filling the room. “Fuck... Sy..." you gasp out between moans.

Sylus grunts, his grip on your hips becoming bruising as he loses himself in the pleasure of your tight cunt enveloping him. He lifts you off him briefly before slamming you back down hard, making you scream out in pleasure. “That's right baby.” He praises.

He stubs the cigar out in the ashtray and manhandles you like you weight nothing, so you are sitting backwards on his cock. He hooks your thighs over his arms, hands coming to clasp the back of your neck.

The man was going to fuck you in a full fucking Nelson.

Sylus pulls your thighs high up to chest, making your back arch deeply, breasts thrusted out. He spreads your legs wider, pushing your knees practically to your ears. He growls possessively as he starts hammering into you ruthlessly, like a wild animal.

“Oh god, oh god, oh godddd!” You scream, your belly bulging with the intensity of his thrust.

Sylus's face contorts with pure lust and dominance as he fucks you mercilessly in the full Nelson hold. His hands tighten around the back of your neck and one of your thighs, holding you completely immobile as he pounds into your soaked pussy without mercy.

“ ‘God’ isn’t my name, Sweetie.” He teases, his cock drilling against her cervix. “Contrary to belief.”

Your moans become incoherent, your body shaking violently with each brutal thrust. You can feel Sylus' cock hitting spots inside of you that make stars burst behind your eyes. “Sy... please..." you beg, not knowing if you want him to stop or go harder.

Sylus's cruel laughter echoes through the room as he hears your desperate pleas. He pulls out suddenly, your pussy making a wet slurping sound. Before you can even catch your breath, he slams back inside, even harder than before. “Please what, baby?"

He starts snapping his hips, his cock hitting her spot so perfectly that your eyes roll back. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers dangerously. “You want me to go easy on this tight little pussy? Or fuck you like the dirty little princess you are?"

You whimper, your body trembling with need and exhaustion. You know you’re completely at Sylus’ mercy, and the thought only turns you on more. You bites your lip, trying to hold back your response, but it's no use. "Fuck me like the princess I am!”

Sylus smirks darkly, his grip on your neck tightening. He starts fucking you with even more force, his hips moving like a machine. Each thrust causes you to drool over your bouncing breast. "You want to be fucked like royalty, huh?"

He reaches down with his free hand, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing it in circles, in time with his thrusts. Your strangled cries fill the room as pleasure shoots through you, your pussy clamping down on his cock. “Then I'll make sure you get the royal treatment.”

The full Nelson leaves you completely exposed. Your eye catches the gleaming reflection of Mephisto red robotic eyes, the bird robot giving a squawk from its perch on the bookshelf. . “S-Sy I think the your fucking bird is recording.”

Sylus pauses for a moment, his cock still buried deep inside you, as he glances over at Mephisto. The bird's robotic eyes are indeed glowing red, indicating it's recording. A wicked grin spreads across Sylus's face as he looks back down at you. “Well, well, well…”

Sylus reaches out and lets the bird land on his wrist, holding it up so that its camera is pointed directly at your spread thighs. You are completely exposed, your legs spread wide, Sylus's huge dick still inside of your aching walls. "Look at that, Mephisto is catching every second of my pretty princess losing her mind.”

Sylus starts fucking you again, using the bird as a makeshift camera to capture every thrust. The wet sound of their bodies slapping together fills the room, along with your cries of pleasure. "Say hi to the camera, princess."

You blush furiously, your hands covering your face as you realize you’re being recorded. But Sylus just pulls your hands away, forcing you to look directly into the camera. Mephisto makes a coo that almost sounds like laughter. “No, no, let Mephisto see your pretty face while you're getting fucked like royalty."

He lowers the bird so it hops on your thigh, its eyes honing in on where the mixture of cum leaks out from your pussy. You are stuck between wanting to disappear and wanting nothing more than to make a mess on Sylus’ faux bear rug.

The bird's robotic chirps echo through the room as it tilts its head, focusing on the wet mess between your legs. Sylus reaches out and spreads your pussy lips apart with his fingers, exposing the pretty flesh and the white cream leaking out.

You whimper, thighs still shaking from his fat fucking load. “S-stop programming him to record…Pervert.”

“Never.”

ꕀCaleb

Caleb has his pretty wife bouncing on his cock. The workbench under him creaks. He took a break from working on his Jet, to fuck his pretty little wife.

Caleb groans in pleasure as you bounce up and down on his lap, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he lifts you up and down on his hard, throbbing member. The workbench groans under the force of your movements, the tools clanging together in the metal tray nearby.

"Fuck, baby... we’re gonna destroy my workbench..." His voice comes out husky with desire, even as he continues lifting you up and down, watching how your breasts bounce enticingly with each movement. "And you wonder why I can't keep concentrating on my work.”

You give a breathless giggle, pressing a hand to the side of the jet to keep your balance on his lap.

You were an angel in his eyes. A heavenly being that had come down to milk his cock dry and for him to worship.

His eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement and lust as he watches you giggle and press against the jet for balance. He suddenly smacks your ass playfully, making you yelp and squeeze around him tighter. “Mm, careful..”

He stands up suddenly, still inside you, and turns you around so your back is pressed against the jet's cold metal surface. He starts pounding into you harder and faster, his hands gripping your thighs and lifting your legs up around his waist. “Stick that tongue out for me, Pipsqueak.”

You stick out your pink tongue playfully, panting as he hammers into you relentlessly. He leans down and sucks it into his mouth, biting it gently before letting go with a grin. "Fucking adorable.”

He pulls out of you and spins you around so your hands are pressed against the metal surface of the jet. He slips back inside you from behind, one hand gripping your hip while the other reaches around to play with your clit. “I love fucking my wife, such a good girl.”

Your breast has spilled from your pretty sun dress. Caleb’s hands, still slick with grease, grasp at your hips.

He groans at the sight of your breast spilling out of your dress, the grease making his hands slide easily against your skin. He squeezes and kneads the soft flesh, his fingers leaving marks on your skin. He leans over your back, his lips brushing against your ear.

The jet was a solid wall, and so was Caleb. Your muscles mass of a husband made your feet dangle as his strong hands and cock keeping you upright .

He grunts and thrusts harder into you, his cock filling you completely each time he drives forward. The jet is Caleb’s baby, but YOU were his Good Girl. His breath comes out ragged against your neck.. “Fuck Pipsqueak... I love this fucking view.”

You whimper, a mixture of juices leaking between her shaking thighs. “G-God Caleb! Love you, love you, love you!”

You are rutting back against him desperately. You want every inch of his length, you want to feel the ache after he fills you with his cream.

He growls and picks up the pace, his hips slapping against yours loudly. He reaches around to grip your throat gently, pulling you back against him. “I love you too baby..." His voice comes out strained with pleasure. "I'm gonna fucking cum..."

With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you and holds you there as he comes hard, filling you up with his hot release. He pants against your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he keeps you pinned against the jet. “Fuck... Pipsqueak!”

You shiver at the feeling of his cum stuffed so deep.

He slowly pulls out of you, watching as his seed leaks out between your legs. He gives your ass a soft pat before turning you around to face him. “Let's get cleaned up..." He smiles down at you lovingly. “I think I've dirtied my wife enough for today."

[astarswish]

this soothed me so much! it was so good :)

sore spot

18+

bucky hits a sore spot when he makes a shitty joke, unknowingly triggering your deepest insecurity.

content warning: bucky x reader, mention of sex, angst, insecure!reader, a little crying, soft!bucky, hurt/comfort, fluff.

a/n: lower your expectations for this one, folks. it's just something i daydreamed and couldn't stop myself from writing at 3am. very self indulgent.

"This is the dorkiest thing ever," Bucky says with a wide grin as he holds up the action figure he picked up from your shelf. "You're so fuckin' cute."

"Hands off, asshole, that's 30 years old," You warn him as you sit up in your bed, the sheets tangled around your legs. "And limited edition. There's only, like, 50 in the whole world."

"No way!" He fake gasps, before smirking. "If I hadn't just fucked you, I'd call you a virgin right now."

"This is why I kept you away from my apartment as long as possible," You groan, lying back down. "You're too much of a jock to appreciate my collection."

Bucky saunters back over to the bed and kneels onto it, giving you a lazy smile. "You know you love me, candy," He coos, gently poking your cheek.

"Hold your horses, Barnes," You utter, narrowing your eyes at him. "You have a long way to go."

Exhausted from the long night you've just had, you lay back down and allow your eyelids to drop slightly, causing the glow of your fairy lights to blur. You can sense Bucky moving around, likely putting his underwear back on.

"Don't go to sleep yet," He whines softly once he's done, rubbing your bare leg. "I'm not tired."

You let out a half-assed moan in response, too comfortable to move and too tired to say a coherent word.

"C'mon, baby, let's talk about aliens or something," He goes on to implore you. "Tell me about your favorite childhood memories."

With a snort, you move your leg in an attempt to push him away. "It's bedtime, James," You grumble. "You can't seriously expect me to have any energy after what you just did to me."

He laughs heartily at that, and you feel a sense of pride. Your relationship is in its early days, so you're still in that stage of wanting desperately to impress him. Not so desperately that you'll stay up any longer, though.

"Fine. How about I go to Lisa's room, instead?" Bucky suggests, making your eyes shoot open.

Turning to look up at him, you shrug. "Yeah, maybe you should," You play along half-heartedly, feeling your stomach drop as a sense of dread washes over you. "You want to?"

"Maybe I should," He echoes with a smirk. "I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk about."

"Mhm," You reply, remembering last week when he made the same joke. Why does he joke about that so much? Is she constantly on his mind? Does he think of her often? They do say there's truth to every joke.

"Could I steal one of your condoms? I'm gonna need it," He says as his smirk widens. "Maybe two. You don't mind, right?"

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The combination of your exhaustion and the fact that your ugliest fears are rising to the surface almost makes you break down, so you turn away from him and pull the sheets up to your chin.

Shaking your head as best you can is futile, as a whimper leaves your throat on its own accord. It sends Bucky straight to you, utter concern in the way his arms wrap around you, which only makes the tears in your eyes spill out.

"Baby?" Bucky asks lowly, his tone suddenly serious. The bed dips as he moves closer to you, and you hope to God he'll think you're just falling asleep.

The past few weeks with Buck have been incredible. Nothing but good days have blessed you since you met him, but you knew it was only a matter of time until it all came crashing down. There was no way you could simply be happy forever. You try to hold in your emotions as best you can, but you can't help but sniffle quietly.

"Are- are you really upset?" Bucky asks you with a whisper, slight fear in his tone. Fuck. He can't have ruined things this early on.

"Shit," He whispers, and you inwardly cringe. This is the first time you've cried in front of him, and it's definitely way too soon to be getting this emotional, but fuck, you can't help it.

You knew this was gonna happen eventually. It always does. At least it was fun while it lasted.

"I was just kidding, I swear," He promises, holding you tight.

"It's fine," You manage to say through your sobs, convincing nobody. It becomes harder and harder to breathe until you finally breakdown, panic settling in. Pulling the sheets over your face, you cower away from him as though that'll be enough to hide your tears. He keeps his grip tight around you, slowly pulling the sheets down when you choke on your breath.

"Just relax for me, candy," Bucky says soothingly, holding you close. "Take in a deep breath. Just like that. One more for me. There you go, that's a good girl. Give me one more."

You do your best to do as he says, breathing deeply. After the third time, your shakiness calms down and you feel your heartbeat return to a normal pace.

"I'm so sorry, baby, I was entirely kidding," He swears, pure regret on his face.

"My last two exes said they'd have rather been with her," You utter, still unable to look at him. "One of them admitted that he only got with me because she rejected him." It's taking you a lot to say this out loud to someone else. To be opening up about the worst insecurity you have for the very first time. "It's been like that my whole life. Guys would show interest in me just for a chance to get closer to her," You admit with a wince. "Up until a couple of years ago, guys barely paid me any attention. When they did, it was because of her."

Wiping your wet cheeks, you shake your head, swallowing thickly. You can't even make eye contact with him and you instead stare at your hands which are grabbing fistfuls of the duvet. After a few moments, you've fully caught your breath and you can finally put together a coherent sentence.

"It's just a bit of a sore spot," You explain with a grimace. "The whole Lisa thing."

He silently nods, prompting you to explain further.

Bucky listens closely, his brows furrowing. "Fuck. I'm so sorry, baby, I'm the biggest asshole ever. If I'd known-"

"It's really not your fault, I know you were only kidding," You assure him, finally turning to look at him. "But there's just this voice that tells me not to trust you. That says you're playing the long con and you're only with me so you can get to her."

"I didn't even know her before I met you," He reminds you assuringly.

"Well, maybe eventually you'll realize you want her more," You mumble, sitting up when you see the look of shock on his face. "I know that's not true, but I can't help but feel that way."

He takes in a deep breath, keeping his eyes on yours. "Baby, listen to me: you and Lisa are not the only two women in the world," He says bluntly. "I don't need to decide which of you I want more. I've met a hundred Lisas, and there are thousands more out there, and I don't wanna be with any of them. I wanna be with you, and you're the only you."

"That was cheesy," You mumble as your lips pull up slightly.

"C'mere, candy," Bucky whispers, pulling you closer and softly kissing your forehead. "There is no way I'm gonna do anything to fuck this up with you. Liking someone as much as I like you doesn't come easy to me."

Giving him a smile, you rest your hand on his lightly defined abs. "I'm flattered," You whisper.

"You should be," He mumbles coyly, tightening his hold on you. "I want you. That isn't changing anytime soon, alright?"

"What about ever?" You ask sheepishly, running your fingers through the tufts of hair on his chest.

His lips gently kiss your cheek before he lowly says, "It isn't changing ever," He corrects himself. "As long as you want me, I'm yours. And as long you're mine, I want you."

"What about- what if I was an alien?" You wonder. "Would you still want me?"

"Sure," He answers confidently.

"With slimy tentacles and-"

"Abso-fucking-lutely," He immediately cuts you off, his eyes lighting up. "As long as you promise to peg me with them."

You laugh loudly, nodding. "Okay. I promise," You agree.

"Would you still want me if I was an ogre?" He questions you with a raised brow.

"A hundred percent," You reply. "Your dick would be even bigger."

"What if I was a dickless ogre?" He adds.

You contemplate it for a few moments before answering, "That's fine. I'd fuck you with my tentacles."

"Awesome," Bucky utters, before the two of you lay back down under the covers. He pulls you closer, cradling you in his arms. "You still tired?"

"I'm five seconds away from falling asleep," You warn him as your eyes flutter shut.

"Alright. Sweet dreams, candy," He whispers, stroking your arm soothingly. "I'm gonna go hang out with Lisa."

You nudge his stomach with his elbow, making him grunt.

"Sorry. Bad timing?" He asks between chuckles.

With a content sigh, you get comfortable in his arms, grateful for the heat from his body. "Say her name again and I'll choke you," You mutter, only half-joking.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," He says teasingly.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"Once I grow my tentacles, I will."

"Okay. Good night, candy."

"Good night, Jamie."

i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifs 💞

buy me a kofi <3

[astarswish]

this was absolutely hilarious 😆 i loved every second!!

my little demon | rafayel | episode two

synopsis : You accidentally summon a demon. He's annoying, endearing, and suddenly leaving. You hate it, hate him. Except, maybe you don't. And maybe that's the worst part. content : demon!rafayel, fluff, poor references to hell, comedy now playing : I.F.L.Y - Bazzi

previous episode

Sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows, warm and golden as you hummed to yourself, carefully decorating a tiny piece of cake like it was a masterpiece.

Pure bliss.

Until—

“Oh my fucking— Rafayel!” you yelped, nearly flinging the frosting knife across the room.

There he was. Smug. Smirking. Hovering horizontally above your kitchen counter like a cursed screensaver.

“Surprise,” he said, as if he hadn’t just shaved a few years off your life expectancy.

You glared, clutching your chest like an old Victorian woman recovering from scandal. “I have a front door, you know?”

He blinked, deadpan. “I’m a demon.”

You sighed, pointing your spatula at him. “Still rude.”

He shrugged. “Still me.”

His eyes flicked to your hand, then he slowly lowered himself into a standing position, circling the kitchen counter with the hesitant guilt of someone who just broke something expensive.

“Okay, don’t get mad at me,” he said, voice way too careful.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

He lifted a hand, finger pointing delicately. “Uh… that.”

You followed his gaze—down to your hand.

Your hand.

Which was now fully embedded in the cake you had just spent the last two hours decorating with painstaking precision and a frankly concerning amount of emotional investment.

You stared in horror. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Rafayel winced. “Still cute though.”

A second passed. Maybe two.

Then—

“I’m going to fucking. kill. you.” you hissed, eyes narrowing into murder as you turned to Rafayel, who immediately threw his hands up in surrender.

“H-Hey! Aren’t we the best of buds?” he stammered, inching backward.

Your hand slid toward the sink. Fingers curled around the nearest knife. You smiled sweetly—dangerously.

“One.”

His shoulders jumped, wings twitching. “Wait, let’s talk about—”

“Two.”

“Okay but violence isn’t necessary!” he yelped, already halfway to launching himself back into the air.

—•

“Ow~” he whined dramatically, clutching his head like you’d just decapitated him.

“Oh, shut up,” you rolled your eyes, rubbing the spot where your fist had connected. “You can’t feel pain from mortal weapons, dipshit.”

Rafayel pouted, lips jutting out like an offended child. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t sting emotionally.”

You snorted. “Demon logic is so weird. You can’t get hurt by swords or bullets, don’t bleed, don’t age—but you get bruises from a punch?”

He mumbled, sulking. “Your punches are very emotionally charged.”

You scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, beloved,” he sighed, draping himself across your kitchen table like a tragic opera star, “here I remain.”

You finally graduated—thank every cosmic force out there—and moved back into your family home not long after.

A bittersweet return, quiet in all the ways that once made you feel small.

Rafayel, of course, had not gotten his promotion yet. Which meant, tragically, he was still here. Still hovering.

Still dramatically consuming ungodly amounts of strawberry milk tea on your couch like a bored Victorian ghost with access to food delivery apps.

But if you were honest—annoyingly, frustratingly honest—you were grateful.

He was there the first night you came back. When the silence in the house cracked open old memories and the air still smelled faintly like your parents’ perfume.

You cried. A lot.

Ugly, snotty, gut-wrenching tears that made your chest ache.

Rafayel didn’t say much.

Just sat beside you, shoulder against yours, unusually quiet. A small flick of warmth—his hand brushing yours, his presence a strange comfort in a place that felt like a museum of what once was.

And then, in the middle of your breakdown, he said, “Okay, hear me out. What if we painted the living room black and added lava lamps?”

Which is how you ended up redecorating. Not just patching walls and changing curtains—but reshaping the house into something that felt more you.

Less like a shrine to loss, more like a new beginning. Chaotic, weird, and questionably stylish. Very you-coded.

With a hint of demon flair.

Now, as you gently rub the fading bruise on his forehead three months later, it’s safe to say the demon had somehow—unfortunately—wormed his way into your life.

A permanent fixture. Like a stray cat that never left. Chaotic, needy, weirdly comforting.

“Alright, Beelzebub, that’s enough feigning,” you muttered, rinsing your hands at the sink as you cast a dramatic glance toward the tragic remains of your once-beautiful cake slice.

Behind you, Rafayel let out an indignant huff, arms crossed, still floating a few inches off the ground. “I’m offended. I’ve achieved more than Beelzepoop ever did.”

You turned, one brow raised. “You? Achieved more than the actual Prince of Demons?”

He blinked at you with a ‘do-you-even-know-who-you’re-talking-to?’ expression. “Obviously.”

You snorted. “Right. And I’m Aphrodite in a hoodie.”

He scoffed, dramatically wounded. “Double offence. First, rude. Second, Greek mythology isn’t even real.”

“Says the guy named Rafayel who fell out of the Void and into my kitchen.”

Unfazed, he grinned. “You’re more of an Astaroth anyway.”

You blinked. “She’s literally a high-ranking demon of seduction.”

He winked. “Exactly. She’s hot. Fits.”

You groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m adorable,” he corrected, spinning in midair like it proved something.

Unfortunately… you didn’t have the heart to argue.

You made your way to the living room, Rafayel trailing behind like a chatty shadow, going off about how if you were really Astaroth, you’d at least know how to flirt properly.

“Please,” you scoffed, flopping onto the couch with the grace of someone utterly done. “Astaroth rides a dragon. She’s not just some seductress—she’s a badass.”

Rafayel wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, well, she’s also kind of a bitch in real life.”

You blinked. “You know her?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he casually pulled a full strawberry milk tea out of thin air and took a long sip like this was completely normal behavior.

You threw your hands up. “How?? Where are you getting these?!”

He shrugged, all too pleased with himself. “I’m a demon.”

You leaned forward, peering suspiciously behind him like he might be hiding a demonic vending machine in his spine. “Do you have, like, a secret stash somewhere? Is there a boba dimension?”

He ignored you entirely, now launching into a rant. “Everyone hypes up Astaroth, but Lucifer? Total icon. Charisma. Style. Actual management skills. Way cooler.”

You stared at him. “Did you just turn a boba flex into a Lucifer TED Talk?”

He grinned mid-sip. “Yes.”

You slapped both hands over your face with a long, tortured groan. “Please just get your promotion already and get out of my life.”

Rafayel pouted, hovering above the floor like a levitating drama queen, legs crossed and all. “Can’t you just admit you love me already?”

You lowered your hands, stared at him flatly. “No.”

Not even a blink. Just pure, stone-cold deadpan.

He gasped. “Heartless.”

You smirked. “Soulless.”

“Touche.”

—•

“Rafayel.”

“Yes?”

“Please stop hovering above me and let me sleep.”

A pause.

“…But I’m making sure you don’t get nightmares.”

“You are the nightmare.”

“Flattered.”

As much as Rafayel would have loved to keep teasing you—dangling upside down, whispering nonsense just to hear you groan—he let you sleep.

With a quiet sigh, he lowered himself onto his feet, the air stilling around him. He padded over to the chair beside your bed and sat down, elbows resting on his knees, watching.

Your face was soft now, pressed into your pillow, lashes brushing your cheeks, brows no longer drawn tight from stress.

Just peace. Just you.

His eyes softened.

“I lied,” he whispered, so quietly it was barely a breath. “I’m never getting that promotion.”

You didn’t stir.

“Because I don’t want to leave.”

He stood, the shadows folding around him as the edges of the room began to shimmer. The void called—quietly, like a familiar echo.

Before stepping through, he looked back one last time. His gaze lingered on you, curled beneath the blanket with your arm half-hugging your pillow, utterly unaware.

A slow smile tugged at his lips.

“Cute,” he murmured.

And then he was gone.

As Rafayel stepped onto the warm, scorched ground of his domain, the familiar heat curled around his boots like a welcome—and a warning.

He didn’t make it three steps before a demon rushed up to him, breathless and flustered. “Sire! The demons in the western region are acting up again! You can’t just disappear like that—”

Rafayel winced, rubbing his ear with an exaggerated groan. “Fuck, stop yelling. You’re worse than a smoke alarm.”

The demon blinked, wide-eyed. “But—”

“Relax.” Rafayel shot him a look, half-irritated, half-amused. “I was gone for like, what, three days? What, did the entire underworld fall apart without me?”

“…Yes.”

He sighed. Loudly. Dramatically. “Hell really needs to learn how to function without me. I’m starting to feel needed. It’s gross.”

“Well, you are the king…” the demon muttered, almost under his breath.

Rafayel stopped.

Slowly, he turned.

His usual laidback grin was gone—replaced by a sharp, twisted expression as his crimson eyes gleamed with something far less forgiving. The air around him crackled, heat rippling like a warning.

“And?” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Have I raised a bunch of scum who can’t get things done without hand-holding?”

The demon flinched, shrinking slightly under his glare.

Rafayel stepped forward, his voice cold now, all traces of sarcasm stripped clean. “Tell me—was I gone long enough for discipline to rot?”

“N-No, sire.”

“Then act like it.”

And just like that, the fire behind his eyes dimmed, and returned to their original colour, his smirk slowly returning as he stepped back. “Good chat.”

Rafayel skipped away happily, his coat fluttering behind him, humming some off-key tune as he thought about your sleeping face.

The way your lips were slightly parted. The softness in your brow. The rise and fall of your breath.

Utterly peaceful.

Utterly unaware.

Back near the gates of the palace, the demon who had been scolded turned to another, wide-eyed. “Has he forgotten he’s actually the King of Hell?”

The other demon shrugged, deadpan. “Who knows. But best let him be.”

A pause. Then, under his breath, “He’d rip your head off if you said anything.”

They both nodded solemnly as Rafayel twirled joyfully into the distance like the most dangerous fever dream anyone’s ever had.

—•

“Ugh, where is it?” you grumbled, crouching to look under your bed, then climbing onto chairs to peer above the cabinets like some caffeine-fueled treasure hunter.

You’d been tearing the house apart for the past hour, desperate to find one thing—your favorite hoodie.

It was Sunday.

Which meant hoodie, knee-high socks, hot chocolate, and absolutely zero responsibilities. A sacred tradition.

But the hoodie in question? Nowhere. Gone. Vanished like it had sensed you needed comfort and decided to flee out of spite.

You stomped your foot in frustration, letting out a noise of sheer despair.

“Woah, woah, woah— any harder and you’ll punch a hole through the floor,” came a voice from behind you.

You spun around, already bracing for nonsense.

And there he was—Rafayel, stepping out of the void like he owned the place, wearing a tired, lazy smile… and your hoodie.

Your favourite hoodie. Your favourite colour. Slouchy, warm, irreplaceable.

On him.

You stared.

He grinned. “Miss me?”

Your eyes narrowed into a glare sharp enough to kill gods.

“Raf. Five seconds.”

The grin on his face faltered. He tilted his head innocently. “Huh?”

“Five,” you repeated slowly, taking one deliberate step toward him.

Panic flickered in Rafayel’s eyes. He knew that look. He’d seen it right before you threw a toaster at him for ‘accidentally’ eating your cheesecake.

“H-Hey! What did I do this time?!” he yelped, backing up slightly.

“Four.”

He clutched the hoodie tighter around him like it might shield him from divine wrath.

“Okay, okay, wait, let’s talk about this like two emotionally mature beings—”

You didn’t blink.

“Three

“It was just a hoodie,” Rafayel sulked, rubbing his butt as he floated midair with the wounded pride of a dethroned drama queen. His pout was deep. Tragic. Oscar-worthy.

You, on the other hand, were seated triumphantly on the couch, smug and cozy, wrapped in your hoodie like a warrior draped in victory.

The very hoodie you had pried off his smug little body after chasing him down the hall and delivering a perfectly executed flying kick to his ass.

Hot chocolate in hand. Feet propped up. Hoodie reclaimed.

Peace restored.

“I think you bruised my ego,” he muttered.

You took a sip. “Good. Maybe next time you’ll ask before committing hoodie theft.”

He crossed his arms. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re warm-blooded lint with wings.”

“Still cute though,” he grumbled.

You smiled into your mug. He wasn’t wrong.

You took a deep whiff of your chocolatey masterpiece, eyes fluttering closed in bliss, before cracking one open to look at the demon still sulking midair.

“Any luck on that promotion?” you asked casually, lifting the mug to your lips.

The moment the hot liquid touched your mouth, you hissed and pulled back, fanning your scorched lips. “Shit. Too hot.”

Rafayel shrugged, utterly unbothered, leaning back into his crossed arms like he was lounging on an invisible beach chair. “Wouldn’t know. Hell has a weird system. Something about karmic paperwork and sin-to-chaos ratios.”

You snorted. “Or maybe you’re just not as overqualified as you thought you were.”

He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him. “How dare you.”

You smirked. “I dare. Daily.”

“Cruel woman,” he muttered, flipping upside down dramatically.

“Underachieving demon,” you shot back.

“Still adorable,” he mumbled.

You rolled your eyes. But you didn’t deny it.

You set your mug down with a satisfying clink and patted the empty space beside you. “Okay, friendly cuddle time.”

Rafayel scoffed like it was the greatest inconvenience in all the realms—but he still floated down and plopped beside you, limbs sprawling dramatically.

Without hesitation, you climbed over his lap, curling into his chest like you’d done it a thousand times before.

Because, at this point, you basically had. You let out a long, contented sigh. “Ah yes. I have a life-sized heater,” you murmured, poking his chest playfully. “And it’s squishy too.”

He grumbled, arms automatically winding around you like muscle memory. “I can’t believe you’ve reduced me to this level of uselessness.”

You gasped, hand flying to your chest. “Excuse you. Being a heater is not useless. Heaters save lives.”

He opened his mouth—probably to make another sarcastic comment—but you cut in, smirking against his sweater.

“You’re my emotional support demon.”

He froze for half a second.

Then exhaled through his nose, a quiet chuckle escaping before he tucked you a little closer.

“Lucky for you,” he muttered, “I’m warm and emotionally damaged.”

You looked up at him, head resting against his chest. “How are demons born, anyway?”

Rafayel paused, lips quirking slightly in thought. “Well… we’re not born, exactly. It’s more complicated than that.”

He reached up, gently tugging your hood over your head like he was tucking you in, and let you snuggle closer, his voice softening like he was about to tell a bedtime story.

“Lower-level demons,” he began, “are usually breathed into existence by Lucifer. They’re formed from whatever’s around—ashes, stone, shadows. Sometimes even stranger stuff. Like a cursed gust of wind. Or basement mold.”

You blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish,” he muttered. “There’s a demon literally made out of melted wax and self-doubt.”

You laughed, and he smirked, letting the sound of it settle between you like warmth.

“Hell’s weird,” you said.

“Hell’s home,” he corrected, mock-offended. Then, quieter, “But you’re warmer.”

You grinned, eyes alight with curiosity. “Okay, tell me something that’ll blow my mind.”

Rafayel looked down at you, your cheek smushed against his chest, hoodie half covering your face. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—uncertainty, hesitation—but it vanished just as quickly, swallowed by the usual smugness.

“Demons can’t fall in love,” he said quietly.

You jerked back a little to look up at him, brows furrowing. “What? Really?” Horror bloomed across your face. “So there are no demonic romances? No succubi falling for their victims? No tragic love stories in the fiery depths?”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re being sarcastic.”

You gasped, hand over your heart. “No, I’m not! That’s genuinely tragic!”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to actually care.

And for once, you didn’t tease. Didn’t smirk. You just looked up at him, genuine and a little sad. “That sucks, ‘yel.”

He glanced away, voice softer than before. “Yeah. It does.”

“But why, though?” you whined, dragging out the syllables like a child denied candy.

Rafayel smirked, leaning his cheek against the top of your head.

“It’s just the way it is. Though…” he drawled, smug creeping back into his voice, “you and I are an exception.”

You scrunched your nose. “Ew.”

He pulled back, lips parting in exaggerated offense. “Hey!”

You shrugged, grinning. “Sorry, I don’t do forbidden interdimensional romances on Sundays.”

He pouted. “So picky for someone who literally climbed into my lap ten minutes ago.”

“You’re warm,” you retorted.

“And devastatingly charming.”

“Mm. Debatable.”

“Rude.”

“Truthful.”

He sighed, cradling you a little closer. “One day you’ll admit you’re madly in love with me.”

“One day,” you echoed, eyes drifting shut, “when hell freezes over.”

“…You do realize I could make that happen, right?”

You groaned into his hoodie. “Go to sleep, demon.”

He chuckled, low and lazy. “It’s Sunday. Do you really want me to sleep when I could be entertaining you? Come on, ask me something. Anything.”

You tapped your chin, pretending to think, though the question had been sitting on your tongue for a while now. “Okay. Will you promise to visit… even after you get promoted?”

For a moment, he went still.

Then, with a half-hearted smirk, he leaned back. “Hmm. Probably not.”

Your heart sank.

“Unless,” he added, casually, “you promise to stop kicking my ass.”

You snorted, trying to keep it light. “Fine. I’ll just summon another demon.”

His eyes flicked to yours, a little too sharp, a little too fast. “Hey.”

You smiled, teasing. “What? Maybe one who doesn’t steal my hoodies.”

But he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“I’ll get jealous,” he said, and though the words were laced with his usual dramatics, his voice had dropped—lower, quieter, like something unsaid was bleeding through.

You froze, the playfulness fading just enough for the air to shift.

“I’m serious,” he added, eyes meeting yours now, too steady for comfort. “I’d hate it.”

You swallowed, caught off guard by the weight in his tone. “Why?”

Rafayel didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking, the warmth of him wrapping around your shoulders like static. The kind of closeness that wasn’t just physical—it pressed against your chest, your breath, your thoughts.

“Because I’m not just any demon,” he said softly, eyes flickering to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “You didn’t summon them. You summoned me.”

And suddenly, the room felt smaller.

Quieter.

Too quiet.

You swallowed, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and throat.

His words hung in the air—weightless, yet crushing.

You summoned him.

Not them. Not anyone else. Him.

You tried to laugh, tried to pull the teasing tone back into your voice, but it came out thinner than you meant. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I’m not,” he said, gently—too gently for a demon who once tried to convince you to paint your kitchen black. “I’m just… saying what you won’t.”

Your fingers curled into the hem of your hoodie—his hoodie, your hoodie, yours now—and you stared down at your lap like it might anchor you.

“Rafayel—”

“Do you know what it means,” he cut in, his voice almost a whisper now, “for a demon to not want to go back?”

You looked up.

He wasn’t smirking.

No sarcasm, no smugness. Just ocean eyes too open, too raw.

“It’s not that I hate hell,” he said. “It’s home. Fire, brimstone, endless bureaucracy… all the fun stuff.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“But you,” he continued, “you’re warm in a way I didn’t think I could still feel. You make things quiet, even when you’re yelling at me. You make me stay.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, painfully loud.

And when you didn’t answer, when you just sat there frozen, unsure of what to do with the sudden tenderness filling the room like smoke, he leaned back.

Just a little.

Just enough to give you space again.

“I know,” he said softly, a rueful smile playing on his lips, “demons can’t fall in love.”

“But I think if we could…”

He trailed off, letting the silence finish the sentence.

You looked at him—really looked at him—and felt something shift. Something dangerous. Something irreversible.

And you weren’t sure if you were ready for it.

But you wanted to be.

“You can’t fall in love,” you said, barely above a whisper. “But… you can feel, right?”

The question sat there between you like something fragile, something sacred.

Rafayel didn’t answer at first. He just looked at you, really looked—eyes burning a little softer now, like dying embers that still held heat. His smile faded into something quieter, more honest.

“I can,” he murmured. “Not the way you do. Not the way mortals write songs about. But I feel.”

You nodded slowly, gaze dropping to your hands. “So… what do you feel now?”

He exhaled, and for once, it wasn’t exaggerated or dramatic—it was careful.

“Jealousy,” he admitted, almost embarrassed. “Warmth. Frustration.”

A beat.

“Peace. When you’re around, it’s—quiet.”

You looked up, heart caught between disbelief and something deeper.

“And when I’m not?”

He gave a crooked smile. “Louder. Colder. Boring as hell.”

You laughed, breathless.

He leaned forward again, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“I don’t need to love you to want to stay,” he whispered. “But I think… whatever this is, what I feel when I look at you—it’s the closest I’ve ever been.”

And you let your eyes close, just for a second.

Because even if it wasn’t love—not yet, not exactly—it felt like something just as terrifying.

Because somewhere between the banter, the teasing, and the endless pestering—between flying kicks, hoodie thefts, and boba-fueled late nights—you’d fallen.

Fallen for the demon who hovered too close.

Who made your life unbearably loud, yet somehow quieter.

Who never once asked for a place in your heart, but carved one out anyway.

Even if you didn’t want to admit it.

Even if you told yourself it was just comfort, just company, just friendly cuddle time.

It wasn’t.

Not anymore.

Because when he looked at you like that—tender, hesitant, a little afraid—you knew.

You’d fallen for your emotional support demon.

And hell, maybe he’d fallen too.

Rafayel pulled back just enough to look at you, and for a breath, everything was still—charged, heavy, full of everything neither of you had said.

Then he blinked.

“Wait a second,” he said, squinting at you dramatically. “Are you blushing?”

You immediately recoiled, shoving his face away. “Oh my god, Rafayel—”

“I knew it!” he cackled, twisting away to hover mid-air as you tried to smack him again. “You like me!”

“I literally just said—!”

“Emotionally support demon, huh?” he teased, spinning like an obnoxious orbit around your couch. “More like emotionally devastatingly handsome demon—”

“I take it all back,” you muttered, grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it at him.

He caught it mid-spin, grinning like he’d just won an award. “Too late! You fell. I’m basically your forbidden fantasy.”

You flopped back onto the couch with a groan, covering your face with both hands.

And somewhere above you, between the laughing and the twirling and the smug declarations, Rafayel slowed. Hovered.

He looked down at you—at your half-smile hidden behind your fingers—and said, quieter this time, more to himself than to you.

“Yeah… I think I’ve fallen for you.”

masterlist

[astarswish]

this was absolutely perfect!! so cute and sweet!!!!

intimacy | rafayel

synopsis : He’s the perfect man for you, sweet, caring, a little aloof but he’s also very good at making you safe. However, he’s never initiated contact with you beyond just a kiss. One girl talk later, you find yourself wondering if it was time to give it a try. content : smut(well it’s more romance than actual smut), first time, no pull out, a little bit of awkward ness, rafayel x non-mc!reader, Shaiya is an OC, fluff, MDNI

You’ve been dating Rafayel for over a year now.

You first met him at the amusement park one evening, when you overheard a particularly dramatic sulk-fest about a missing cotton candy.

Apparently, some kid had “stolen” it from him.

You later found out his lady hunter friend had given it away.

Willingly and with a smile.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Out loud. Before you could slap a hand over your mouth, it was too late.

Two pairs of eyes landed on you.

One, vaguely confused and highly entertained.

The other, hopelessly love-struck.

He asked for your number five minutes later, pressured—or really, bullied—by his lady hunter friend, who gave him a not-so-subtle jab in the ribs and whispered something that sounded suspiciously like “grow a pair.”

The next day, he brought you to the sea.

Just a chill, no-pressure, totally-not-romantic beach date.

Until he asked you to be his girlfriend with all the nervous energy of a schoolboy confessing to his crush behind the gym.

And things just… took off.

You had café dates where you tried, and failed, to beat him at Kitty Cards.

You endured constant third-wheeling by his lady hunter friend, who took it upon herself to be your official ship captain—teasing the both of you mercilessly and often.

Despite the chaos, you were genuinely happy.

Life was good.

You had a boyfriend who was equal parts adorable and infuriating, and a new best friend who always had your back when said boyfriend decided to be a lovable idiot.

Then came the day it hit you.

Like a truck.

Or a surprise test.

You were lounging in your living room with Shaiya, legs tossed over your couch arm, when she peeked at you over a bag of chips and asked with a smirk, “So… have you two done it yet?”

You choked on your drink. “Excuse me?”

But before you could even mount a proper comeback, something clicked.

Wait.

Hold on.

In the ten months you'd been dating Rafayel, he hadn’t initiated anything even remotely intimate.

You gasped. “…No…”

The horror in your voice only made it worse.

That was all the invitation Shaiya needed. Your loveable—albeit infuriating—lady hunter friend burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as she doubled over.

“Don’t laugh!” you hissed, watching her wipe away tears from the corners of her eyes.

��I was just asking for fun,” she said with a smug grin. “You’re the one who took it seriously. That’s one point for me, zero for you.”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “You’re right. He’s sweet. He’s an adorable puppy when we’re out and about, but I’ve never… thought of that.”

Her laughter softened, and so did her expression.

“Maybe it’ll happen soon. Don’t let it get you down.”

You threw her a half-hearted glare. “Now I’m insecure.”

That set her off again.

She laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry! But it’s part of my job, being your personal third wheel and emotional instigator. Besides,” she leaned in slightly, her tone more sincere now, “if I don’t talk to you about this, who else will?”

You paused. She wasn’t wrong.

There weren’t many women in your life you could talk to like this. And the old lady who sold potato sticks outside the café definitely didn’t count.

You let out a quiet sigh. “I just… never really thought about that.”

Your voice dropped as the weight of the thought settled.

Shaiya reached out and rubbed your shoulder gently. “Hey. I’m sorry if I went too far.”

You gave her a faint smile. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…”

Your words drifted off.

It wasn’t like you actually wanted Rafayel to be intimate with you.

Well. Maybe you did.

But it had never been the point.

You liked the playful arguments. The way he curled around you on the couch when you were sick or too tired to move.

The quiet comfort of simply existing beside him while he just… was.

And somehow, that had always felt like more than enough.

A knock tapped gently against the doorframe.

Both you and Shaiya looked up.

Rafayel stood there, casually leaning against the wood, his dusky purple hair slightly tousled, a paint-stained jacket slung over one shoulder.

His mismatched eyes flicked to you, then to Shaiya, one brow raising with practiced laziness.

“Well, well,” he said, voice smooth and low, “should I be worried, or flattered?”

Shaiya grinned. “You’re always worried and flattered.”

“I prefer revered, personally.” His gaze settled on you, softer now. “Everything alright?”

Your heart hiccuped.

You nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yeah. Just… girl talk.”

“Dangerous territory.” He stepped in, the scent of charcoal and citrus trailing after him. “I could feel the emotional tension from the hallway.”

Shaiya laughed. “I should go before I get accused of emotional arson.”

She rose and headed to the door, whispering as she passed you, “Think about what we said.” Then she tossed a wink at Rafayel. “Be gentle with her.”

He gave a mocking bow. “Always.”

When the door clicked shut, silence settled between you two.

Not uncomfortable, but charged.

Rafayel stayed near the door for a moment, watching you.

Then he crossed the room and lowered himself beside you with a graceful kind of stillness, the way he always moved when he wasn’t performing for the world.

“She meant well,” he said, voice barely above a murmur. “But she rattled you.”

You looked at your hands. “She just… made me think about things I wasn’t ready to think about.”

His fingers brushed yours. “Things like me?”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t push.

Instead, he leaned back slightly, eyes searching your face—not with judgment, but a quiet kind of curiosity, as if trying to see what you were protecting.

“I never expected you to be ready,” he said finally, “but I’m not going anywhere.”

There was no playful smirk now. No lazy swagger.

Just Rafayel, stripped of all the performative charm. Just him—deep and devastating and completely real.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

Maybe it was the way he didn’t demand anything. Or the way he offered the truth so gently.

But maybe—just maybe—you were starting to think about him after all.

“Well…” you began, turning to face him slowly, unsure where the words would land.

“I mean… we’ve kissed. A few times.”

He tilted his head, watching you with that same unreadable calm, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “Yeah…?” he said. “That’s normal, isn’t it?”

You nodded too quickly, then froze, your thoughts catching up to you a beat too late.

The memory of those kisses—soft, fleeting, innocent—brushed through your mind.

But then your thoughts slipped further, imagining what could come next. What might come next.

And suddenly, your face burned.

You glanced away, unable to hold his gaze now.

The idea of anything more than those kisses… anything more than the safe rhythm you’d settled into with Rafayel…

It felt daunting.

Especially when you looked at him.

Your boyfriend, with his tousled hair and teasing grin, who always reminded you of an affectionate puppy curled too close to the fire.

It was hard to align that image with the heat curling in your stomach.

Hard to reconcile the softness he gave you with the weight of want.

Rafayel leaned in a little, not close enough to crowd you, but enough for his voice to dip lower.

“Are you scared?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I don’t know.”

And that was the truth.

You weren’t scared of him. Not really.

You trusted him with your life.

It was the idea. The change.

The possibility of crossing that invisible line where intimacy stopped being soft and started becoming something raw, something deeper, something you couldn’t undo.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease.

He just nodded, like he understood.

“Then we don’t rush,” he said simply. “You tell me when you’re ready.”

And that, somehow, made your heart ache more than if he’d kissed you right then and there.

Because he meant it.

Because he saw you.

“I mean…” you trailed off again, glancing at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t you have… needs?”

The words hung in the air like fog—equal parts awkward, honest, and unintentionally hilarious.

You watched his expression shift, not in offense or surprise, but in that subtle way he always did when he was trying to read between your words.

There was no malice in your question. No pressure.

Just confusion.

Because it had started to gnaw at the edges of your thoughts—this quiet, growing need to understand him.

To repay him, even, in your own clumsy way.

For tying your shoelaces without being asked. For picking up the things you dropped when your hands were too full.

For tucking you in during thunder-heavy nights and crawling under the covers just to be near, to be warm, to be something steady when your world wasn’t.

For all the ways he took care of you without ever asking for anything in return.

And that’s what made it strange.

That he had never once initiated anything beyond a kiss.

Never reached for more.

Rafayel blinked slowly, his lips quirking—not into a smirk, but into something softer. Something unreadable.

“I have needs,” he said eventually, voice smooth, but not flippant. “But they’re not more important than you.”

You felt your breath catch.

“But… I want to make you happy,” you murmured. “Isn’t that part of it? Like… giving back?”

A shadow crossed his features, fleeting but there. He reached over, his fingers curling gently around yours.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone. “I do those things because I want to. Not because I expect something in return.”

You looked down at your joined hands.

“I just… thought maybe you were waiting. Or holding back. For me.”

“I am,” he said, without hesitation. “But that’s not a burden. That’s a choice.”

He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, warm and unhurried.

“You’re not a debt to be paid. You’re a story I want to keep reading, one page at a time.”

Your cheeks flushed hot, your heart thrumming in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

It was the way he looked at you—like you were already enough.

And that, somehow, made you want him even more.

“But what if… I want to?”

Your voice was barely more than a breath, but it was enough to break the quiet between you.

You hesitantly lifted your gaze to him.

Rafayel’s expression softened immediately, as if the weight of your vulnerability wrapped around him like silk. Not fragile, but precious.

You felt nervous—tingly all over, your skin aware of every inch of space between you and him.

He was the first.

The first guy you’d let this close. The first who made it past the walls you didn’t even realize you’d built.

You’d never actually done it before.

Never crossed that invisible line with anyone.

And now, here you were—sitting beside the man who looked at you like you were made of starlight and sea glass. Like fire couldn’t burn him if it came from you.

“I…” You swallowed. “I’ve never done this. With anyone.”

Rafayel didn’t move at first. His gaze lingered on your face, absorbing every word you didn’t say.

Then, gently, he reached up—fingertips brushing the side of your cheek, slow and featherlight.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

You blinked. “For what?”

“For trusting me with that.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in, close enough that his forehead almost touched yours, but stopped short. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“If you’re ready, really ready… then I’ll be whatever you need. I’ll move at your pace. I’ll hold you. Kiss you. Worship every inch of you.”

A flush bloomed down your neck.

“But if there’s even a sliver of doubt,” he continued, thumb brushing your jaw, “then I won’t lay a finger on you. Because I want all of you. Not just your body.”

You nodded slowly, your heart thrumming in your chest like wings caught in wind.

Rafayel didn’t ask again. He didn’t rush.

He just waited.

And something about that—about him—made your fear melt into something warm.

Something that felt like love.

You stayed still, your breath mingling with his, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

Rafayel didn’t move any closer. He didn’t try to sway your decision.

He just stayed there—close enough to feel, but far enough to wait.

Your fingers twitched against your lap before finding his. You laced them together, slowly, tentatively, and he squeezed once. Firm. Steady.

“I don’t know what I’m ready for,” you whispered. “But I know I want you.”

His smile was soft, almost pained in how tender it looked on him. His eyes shimmered—not with fire this time, but something far more fragile.

“You already have me,” he said.

There was no heat behind his words. No hunger, no pressure. Just truth.

And for the first time, that truth didn’t feel daunting. It felt like a quiet, open sky.

You leaned into him, letting your forehead touch his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you like you were something precious, not breakable—but worth protecting.

His breath came slow, steady, and you felt it rise and fall beneath your cheek.

No more words were needed.

No promises, no decisions.

Just this—warm skin, slow breaths, the sound of his heart beneath your ear.

He held you like that until your nerves melted into calm. Until the tremble in your hands faded into stillness.

And outside, the night rolled on, untouched.

—•

When you woke the next morning, everything felt soft.

The light was dim, filtered through the curtains in streaks of pale gold.

The room was still, quiet, heavy with the warmth of sleep.

You blinked slowly, disoriented at first, until the familiar scent of smoke and citrus drifted through your senses.

You shifted slightly.

That was when you felt it.

Something firm, pressing lightly against your lower belly.

You froze.

Rafayel was still asleep, his arm draped around your waist, his breathing slow and even beside your ear. His body curled protectively around you, one leg tangled with yours, holding you in place as if even in dreams he couldn’t bear to let go.

And you realized, slowly, that you were still on the couch.

The two of you must’ve fallen asleep like that last night, somewhere between hushed confessions and shared stillness.

You swallowed.

You had never noticed things like this before. You’d always been so… innocent.

But after yesterday—after Shaiya’s teasing and the conversation that followed—you were suddenly aware.

Aware of the way Rafayel’s body was pressed to yours.

Of the heat between you.

Of every subtle shift in his breath when your thighs brushed.

You felt your heart stutter in your chest, a flush creeping up your neck.

Not from fear.

But from knowing.

From finally understanding the unspoken gravity that came with loving someone like this.

You tilted your head, just slightly, watching him. His hair had fallen over his eyes, his expression soft, almost boyish in sleep.

Still, there was something undeniably real about him like this.

Vulnerable.

Human.

And maybe a little bit yours.

You closed your eyes again, pressing your face gently against his collarbone.

You weren’t ready for everything.

But you were ready to hold this moment.

To feel.

To want.

And to slowly, carefully, let yourself fall.

You weren’t sure how to do it.

Your knowledge was limited to a blurry, awkward twenty-minute video from sex ed in high school, filled with sterile diagrams and uncomfortable silence.

Nothing about it had prepared you for this.

For the quiet rise and fall of Rafayel’s chest beneath your cheek.

For the weight of his arm still around your waist. For the strange, beautiful ache blooming low in your belly—tender, unexplainable, but insistent.

There was no plan. No clear thought.

Just a need.

Something stirring and restless and new.

You shifted carefully, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt as you tilted your head.

Your lips brushed his collarbone.

Featherlight.

A second kiss followed. Then another.

Each one just a little more deliberate. A little more brave.

You felt it when he stirred.

The faint hitch in his breath.

The way his muscles tensed slightly beneath you, as though part of him was trying not to move.

But he didn’t stop you.

He stayed still. Waiting.

You kissed your way higher, barely skimming skin, heart hammering in your chest. It wasn’t about knowing what to do.

It was about feeling.

Rafayel shifted, just enough for his hand to find the small of your back.

Not pulling you closer—just resting there.

Warm. Grounding.

His voice came low and rough with sleep.

“…Y/N?”

You froze, your lips hovering near his throat. Embarrassment flooded your chest.

“Sorry,” you whispered, already pulling back. “I didn’t mean—”

His hand tightened just slightly, not to stop you, but to hold the moment in place.

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmured. “Just… tell me what you want.”

You looked at him.

Really looked at him.

Hair tousled, eyes still hazy with sleep, voice like smoldering embers.

He looked breathtaking like this.

And vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before—waiting for your answer, for your choice.

“I don’t know how,” you admitted softly.

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Then we’ll learn together.”

There was no urgency in him. No hunger that would push past your hesitation.

Only patience. Only care.

And in that silence between your heartbeat and his, you realized this was what it meant to be ready.

Not to know everything.

But to want to share the unknown—with him.

Rafayel’s touch was warm against your back, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles as if he were trying to calm not just your nerves, but his own.

You felt the way your heart stammered against your ribs.

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but you knew one thing.

You wanted him.

Not just in the way people talked about behind closed doors, not just out of curiosity or some shallow idea of closeness.

You wanted this.

This softness.

This warmth.

The reverence in his voice.

The way he looked at you like you were something sacred.

You tilted your head, brushing another kiss over his collarbone.

He exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

Your eyes met.

And even though your chest felt tight and your fingers trembled, you whispered, “I want to.”

His expression softened.

Not with desire—but with something deeper.

Something tender.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

You nodded. “I don’t know how. But I want it to be with you.”

Upon hearing that, there was a subtle flicker of something in his eyes.

Something that resembled desire.

Rafayel leaned in and kissed you, slow and full of meaning, as if he’d waited forever to be told that.

His lips moved against yours with care, slow and deliberate, as if he was memorizing the shape of your mouth with every kiss.

He gave you space to breathe between them, never rushing, never pushing.

But then, something shifted.

A warmth, low and unfamiliar, unfurled beneath your belly—soft at first, then insistent.

You found yourself leaning into him, seeking more, like your body was moving on its own.

And when you exhaled a quiet moan into his mouth, you felt it.

The way his body tensed against yours.

Rafayel pulled back, barely, his forehead resting against yours as he fought for breath.

“I can’t hold back,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “not if you sound like that.”

His eyes met yours, no longer just soft with affection.

They burned now.

Still full of love, but threaded with something deeper—raw need, and desire so carefully restrained it made your chest ache.

You could see it in the way his jaw tightened. In the subtle tremor in his arm as he held himself still.

You reached up, brushing your thumb gently along his cheek.

And with a soft, trembling smile, you whispered, “Then don’t.”

His lips found yours again—this time with hunger.

There was no hesitation now, no careful pauses between kisses. Just heat. Intention.

You startled slightly at the sudden intensity, but his hands were already there, grounding you, guiding you—and soon enough, you melted into him.

The kiss deepened, breath hitching between the spaces where your mouths met.

Soft, involuntary sounds slipped from your throat—quiet, breathy mewls that you couldn’t have held back even if you tried.

And that was all it took.

Whatever restraint Rafayel had left unraveled, unraveling with the delicate curve of your waist beneath his palms, the way your fingers clutched at his shirt like you needed more of him.

His hands roamed now—reverent, searching, hungry. Not to claim, but to feel.

Desire poured off of him, thick and tangible, warm enough to set your skin alight beneath his touch.

And through it all, he still moved with care, even in his urgency.

As if your body was a canvas, and he wanted to memorize it with every brush of his hands.

Every kiss tasted like longing.

Every breath felt borrowed from something sacred.

And still, you wanted more.

When his fingers found the hem of your shirt, he stilled.

The heat between you didn’t fade, but his hands—once so eager—held still now, trembling faintly as his eyes rose to meet yours.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

It was written all over him.

The reverence. The restraint.

The barely contained desire he kept shackled beneath every careful breath.

You nodded.

Just once. But it was enough.

His jaw tensed, and he exhaled slowly, as though the motion alone steadied him. Then, with hands that betrayed nothing of the fire he felt, he lifted your shirt—inch by inch, never rushing, never daring to look away from your face.

As if watching for the moment you might change your mind.

But you didn’t.

You let him undress you with that quiet devotion, every movement full of patience, full of care.

His touch never once felt greedy.

Only awed.

As though this was something sacred. As though you were.

And in that silence between heartbeats, you realized—he wasn’t just touching your skin.

He was memorizing you.

His lips found your collarbone, warm and open, pressing kisses that trailed lower with aching slowness.

Each one was deliberate. Soft. Reverent.

You gasped, the sound catching somewhere between surprise and surrender, as a moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

It was a sensation unlike anything you’d ever known—foreign, yes, but raw and deeply, inexplicably real.

His mouth moved against your skin like he was learning it, worshiping it. Like this was something sacred to him, something he didn’t dare rush.

Your breath came shallow now, fingers curling gently into the fabric of his shirt, the weight of his body a comforting warmth above yours.

Rafayel paused only to look up at you again, his lips brushing just below your throat, his voice low and rough with restraint.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, as if the words weren’t for you, but something he needed to say aloud. Something he needed you to know.

And with every kiss that followed, you believed him a little more.

You let yourself explore him with trembling hands—fingertips grazing along his collarbone, then gliding lower, over the firm lines of his chest and the warmth of his skin.

He felt solid beneath your touch, alive and real in a way that sent shivers across your spine.

Your palms traveled along the curve of his back, tracing the dips of muscle, the heat of him burning beneath your skin.

Rafayel inhaled sharply, his hands catching yours in his own, gripping them tightly.

Not to stop you.

But to hold you.

As if anchoring himself.

As if grounding you both in this fragile, precious space between hesitation and surrender.

His fingers wove through yours, then slowly guided your hands back to him, encouraging, wordless, wanting.

He made you feel safe even in your uncertainty—made you forget the quiet fear of not knowing what came next.

Because with him, it wasn’t about perfection.

It was about presence.

And the way his body reacted to yours—the slight tremble in his breath, the way his muscles tensed when your touch lingered—made something ache sweetly within you.

His mouth returned to your throat, kisses hotter now, lingering longer, trailing lower.

When his lips closed gently around your skin and sucked, your breath hitched, a soft sound leaving you without permission.

The friction of your bare skin against his, the growing heat, the mounting need between your legs—it was all overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

And when his hands slid down your sides, drawing you flush against him, every inch of you humming, you let yourself stop thinking.

You just felt.

You moaned again, breath catching sharply, when his fingers found your nipple—already sensitive, already aching for more.

The contact sent a jolt through your body, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

Rafayel’s eyes darkened at the sound, and in one swift, practiced motion, he unclasped your bra, letting the fabric fall away.

Then came the heat of his mouth.

Warm. Wet.

You almost cried out at the sudden sensation—his tongue swirling, lips pulling gently around the peak of your breast.

It was overwhelming, the way he worshipped you, the way his mouth moved with such purpose and reverence that your spine arched off the couch.

You felt his hands on your hips, steadying you, holding you in place as he continued—slow, focused, unrelenting in the way he tasted you.

Your hands threaded through his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as your body writhed beneath his.

Every flick of his tongue sent sparks scattering through you, every subtle graze of his teeth made your thighs clench, the heat building between them unbearable.

And through it all, he never rushed.

He took his time—worshipping you like you were the only thing that existed.

And in that moment, in his arms, beneath his mouth, you felt like you were.

“R–Rafayel…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

Your fingers tangled into his lilac waves, clutching them tightly as your body instinctively arched into his mouth. You pulled him closer, unable to help yourself, craving more of his warmth—his weight, his worship.

He growled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your skin like thunder.

The way his name spilled from your lips—it undid him.

His tongue returned to your nipple, this time slower, more deliberate, tracing teasing circles before flicking softly across the sensitive tip.

The sensation sent your breath stuttering, your moans spilling freely now, raw and unrestrained.

You could feel him pressing against you, his arousal impossible to ignore—thick and straining against his jeans, the heat of it pressing right into the growing ache between your thighs.

Even through the layers of fabric, the pressure made your body tremble, made you more aware of how badly you wanted him—every inch of him.

Your legs shifted instinctively, parting just enough to invite him closer, to let him settle between them.

He rose slowly, lips trailing up your body, peppering your skin with kisses as he came to hover over you. His breath was ragged now, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with desire, but still watching you—checking, searching, waiting for your consent.

His voice, when it came, was rough and strained.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “Anything, and it’s yours.”

“You,” you breathed, barely able to form the word. “I want you.”

And with that, whatever thin thread of restraint Rafayel had been clinging to snapped.

He surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing like before—sloppy, desperate, filled with the kind of need that had been simmering far too long beneath the surface.

You gasped into his mouth, startled and breathless, but welcoming it—welcoming him.

His hands fumbled at the button of his jeans, the motion rushed, clumsy in a way that made your heart stutter. This wasn’t polished or perfect. This was real.

Raw.

Human.

And it made your chest ache with affection, even as your body burned for more.

He kissed you through it—deep and unrelenting—and when your lips parted on a shaky breath, he took the invitation without hesitation.

His tongue slid against yours, slow and claiming, exploring you like he had all the time in the world.

You whimpered beneath him, hips lifting instinctively as your thighs framed his waist, inviting him closer, pulling him in.

The heat of his body pressed into yours, every inch of him now impossibly close, and still it didn’t feel like enough.

You wanted all of him.

Not just the weight, the warmth, the passion.

You wanted the connection.

The kind that set fire to your body and soothed your soul all at once.

And Rafayel—he gave it.

Every kiss. Every touch. Every breath.

All of it, only ever for you.

He pulled away from the kiss, breathless, lips swollen and eyes dark with heat.

“I have to prepare you,” he murmured, voice husky and low. “Is that okay?”

You couldn’t find your voice, so you nodded—your body already trembling with anticipation.

Rafayel’s hands moved with care, helping you out of your underwear.

Every movement was gentle, reverent, his touch lingering as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you like this.

You nearly cried out when you felt it.

Hot. Wet. Unbelievably intimate.

His tongue pressed firmly against your core, slow and purposeful, and your back arched instinctively off the couch.

Your toes curled, thighs snapping shut on instinct, but his strong hands were already there, holding you open, steady, as he groaned into you.

The sound vibrated through your skin, deep and raw, sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you.

“So… sweet,” he breathed between licks, his voice thick with hunger and awe.

He devoured you slowly, like he had all the time in the world, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered.

Each stroke of his tongue was deliberate—teasing, tasting, coaxing soft, helpless sounds from your throat that only seemed to spur him on.

And all the while, his grip never loosened.

Like he needed to keep you close. Like he wanted you to fall apart in his hands.

And slowly, piece by piece, you did.

The sounds—wet, lewd, unrestrained—filled the quiet of your living room, echoing off the walls like a secret you were no longer trying to hide.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Not when he was between your thighs like this.

Not when Rafayel, your purple-haired boyfriend who always held you like you were something fragile, was now tasting you like you were something divine.

He buried himself between your legs with single-minded devotion, tongue gliding through your folds, slow at first, then firmer—more confident—as he found the places that made you gasp and twitch beneath his hold.

Your fingers dug into the cushions, your hips rolling into his mouth without thought, chasing every flick and swirl of his tongue.

He groaned again, the sound low and hungry, vibrating against your sensitive skin as he mouthed at you like he was drunk on the taste of you.

And maybe he was.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open wider, grounding you while your legs trembled around his shoulders.

You felt exposed, undone, utterly vulnerable.

But with him—there was no shame.

Only heat.

Only want.

Only the slow, steady build of something that was about to consume you whole.

Something coiled deep under your belly—tight and burning, like a knot drawn taut with every languid stroke of his tongue.

Your breath came in shaky gasps, the tension building faster than you could keep up with. Your body trembled, hips rising instinctively to meet his mouth, to chase the feeling you were terrified and desperate to reach.

Your fingers found his hair, sinking into the soft lilac strands, gripping tight as your body began to shake.

“R–Rafayel,” you gasped, your voice high and breathless.

He growled softly at the sound, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you as he doubled down, tongue flicking and pressing with deliberate, perfect rhythm.

The coil inside you tightened to the breaking point.

You were unraveling beneath him, your entire body flushed, teetering at the edge of something you had no words for—only feeling.

“Just let it go,” he cooed gently.

Rafayel’s hands never left you, his grip firm on your hips as he kept you grounded, held you open, guided you through it.

You felt yourself shatter.

Quietly.

Completely.

With his name on your lips and his mouth still worshipping you like you were something holy.

You were still shaking, the aftershocks rippling through your limbs like waves on a trembling shore.

Before you could catch your breath, his lips were on yours again—urgent, hungry, claiming.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, warm and heady, as he kissed you with a passion that made your head spin.

Your moan was muffled by his mouth, your mind hazy and dazed from the high you had barely begun to come down from.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as you felt him slide into you, slow but unrelenting.

You broke the kiss with a choked cry, the stretch overwhelming, unfamiliar, real.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes—not from pain, not exactly, but from the intensity of it all.

The sensation. The closeness. The raw, unfiltered reality of finally becoming one with him.

Rafayel stilled immediately, his hands cradling your face as he leaned in close, lips brushing your temple.

“Shh… it’s okay,” he whispered, over and over, each word a soft litany, a promise.

“I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

He kissed the tears before they could fall, his forehead resting gently against yours.

His voice was low, trembling with restraint. “Just breathe… we’ll go slow. You’re safe.”

And with those words—his warmth, his love wrapping around you like silk—you let yourself relax into him.

Let yourself feel.

Because no matter how overwhelming this moment was.

You weren’t alone.

You had him.

All of him.

You rolled your hips slowly, cautiously at first, adjusting to the stretch of him inside you. The ache was still there—sharp at the edges—but with every slow grind, it dulled, softened, giving way to something deeper.

Something hotter.

You gasped softly as your body relaxed around him, the pain melting into a slow-burning pleasure that made your skin tingle and your breath catch.

Rafayel groaned above you, his jaw clenched, chest rising and falling as he fought to hold himself still beneath your careful rhythm.

His fingers gripped your waist, firm but reverent, like he was anchoring himself with you.

“God,” he hissed through his teeth, voice low and wrecked, “you’re so warm… so tight.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

He dipped his head, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You feel like heaven.”

You whimpered, your thighs trembling around his hips as you moved again, grinding just enough to feel every inch of him drag deliciously along your walls.

He shuddered, his breath stuttering as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, mouthing at your skin, kissing and biting gently as your pace gradually built.

Each movement became easier, slicker, the room filled with the obscene, wet sounds of your bodies moving together.

You moaned louder this time, your hands running over the planes of his back, nails dragging lightly as your hips met his again and again.

The friction, the fullness, the stretch—it overwhelmed you in the best way, your body burning, trembling, needing.

Rafayel lifted his head, eyes meeting yours, completely undone.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, thrusting into you with a slow, deep roll of his hips. “So perfect around me.”

You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure began to spiral inside you again, tighter this time, urgent and all-consuming.

And as he began to move faster, matching your rhythm, all you could do was hold on—moaning his name like a prayer, unraveling piece by piece beneath him.

“Let me,” he whispered, voice rough with desire.

His hands slid firmly to your hips, holding you in place as to still you, then began to move.

The first thrust was slow, deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you.

You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, your head falling back as your body trembled from the sensation.

He set the rhythm carefully at first, hips rolling into you with steady, deliberate strokes. Each one made your breath catch, your core fluttering around him with need.

He moaned into your ear, low and broken, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“God… you feel so good,” he groaned, pace beginning to build.

You moaned as he picked up speed, your voice rising with every thrust—soft gasps giving way to louder, breathless cries as pleasure rippled through your body in waves.

Your walls clamped around him, clenching with every stroke, the friction maddening, perfect.

“R–Rafayel,” you choked out, your body rocking with his, overwhelmed by how full you felt, how completely he claimed every part of you.

He answered you with a kiss—hot, desperate—his mouth crashing into yours to swallow the sounds spilling from your lips.

You kissed him back, open-mouthed and hungry, moaning into him as his thrusts grew deeper, harder, the slap of skin echoing with every movement.

His hands roamed your body��palms sliding up your back, thumbs brushing the swell of your breasts—never stopping, never breaking the rhythm as he lost himself in you.

You felt it building again, that heat coiling low in your belly, unbearable and perfect, and with every breathless grind of his hips, it drew tighter, closer.

He felt it too, in the way you pulsed around him, in the way your cries turned into sobs of pleasure against his mouth.

And still, he didn’t stop. He gave.

All of him.

Your body tightened around him, trembling with the rising pressure that coiled low and hot inside you, each thrust sending sparks down your spine.

Rafayel groaned against your mouth, hips moving harder now, more desperate, his rhythm faltering just slightly with the intensity.

“Fuck—” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were wild with heat, pupils blown, flushed skin glowing under the low light. “You feel… so good around me. So fucking perfect.”

You cried out, voice breaking as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot deep inside you that made your vision blur.

Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, your body clinging to him as if you could pull him even deeper, never wanting to let him go.

He grunted through gritted teeth, his control unraveling.

“Don’t hold back, cutie,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Let me hear you. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

Your nails dug into his back, your head thrown back with a loud moan as your orgasm crashed over you, blinding and all-consuming.

You pulsed around him, muscles spasming, hips jerking as waves of heat tore through you, leaving you gasping his name like a plea.

He cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering again as you clenched around him.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me—”

His mouth fell open with a low, guttural groan as he thrust deep, grinding into you once, twice more before he came.

You felt it—the sharp, delicious jerk of his body as he spilled into you, heat flooding your core as he buried himself to the hilt, trembling through his release.

You moaned at the feeling of each rope, filling you up.

“God… Y/N,” he gasped against your neck, lips pressing against your sweat-slicked skin, “I love you. I love you.”

He kept whispering it, even as his body slowly stilled, even as he collapsed gently onto you, careful not to crush you beneath his weight.

The only sounds left were your shared, heavy breaths, your heart pounding against his chest, and the soft hush of his voice murmuring your name like a vow.

The world had gone quiet again.

Not silent—but still.

The kind of stillness that settles after a storm, where everything feels washed clean, softened by the weight of what had just been shared.

Rafayel lay above you, his forehead resting gently against yours, eyes still closed as he caught his breath.

Your bodies remained tangled, skin damp with sweat, his warmth wrapped around you like a blanket. Neither of you moved to speak at first. There was no need.

It was all there, in the quiet.

The trust.

The vulnerability.

The love.

After a while, he pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair gently from your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

His thumb ghosted over your cheekbone, and he leaned in to press the softest kiss to your temple.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hushed and a little hoarse.

You nodded, too full to speak for a moment.

Then, “Yeah… I’m okay.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. He looked at you like you were something fragile, sacred, something he could never take for granted.

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” you whispered. “You were… perfect.”

You saw the relief in his face, the way his shoulders finally relaxed.

And then he tucked you against his chest, his arms sliding around you, holding you close like he never wanted to let go.

Your head rested against the curve of his collarbone, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“I’ve never felt anything like that before,” you murmured. “Like… I could break apart and still be safe in your hands.”

He tightened his hold around you. “You are safe with me. Always.”

You lay there together, your fingers trailing gently over his chest, his hand drawing lazy circles along your back. The room was filled only with the sound of your breathing, the occasional quiet kiss he’d press to your hair, your forehead, your shoulder.

“Was it okay?” you asked, almost shyly.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Okay?” He gave a breathless laugh. “It was everything.”

Your lips met again—this time slow, sweet, lingering.

No hunger now. Just gratitude.

Intimate. Love.

And as he pulled the blanket up around you, as you curled tighter into his chest and let your eyes flutter closed, you realised.

You hadn’t just given yourself to him.

You had found yourself with him.

And he had held every part of you like it mattered.

Like you mattered.

masterlist

[astarswish]

this was so cute and healing!! absolutely adorable and i loved it so much!!

≡;-꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍

╰┈➤ ❝ rafayel x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : softdom!rafayel, hints of switch!rafayel, reader is hesitant with intimacy, descriptions of self-esteem issues and general insecurities, mentions/implications of toxic relationships, implications of dubcon (not with rafayel), praise and reassurance, kissing and making out, heavy petting, first time sex (with each other) (no virginity loss), masturbation (f), oral (m. receiving), vaginal sex, cowgirl and missionary positions, unprotected sex, creampie, soft sex, use of pet names "cutie" "princess" "baby", references to card "fiery undercurrents", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((unedited))

wc : 7.9k (help me)

youtiful masterlist

a late birthday os for our favorite deep sea painter! ✨

You jumped at your phone, nearly gasping at the caller ID that flashed on your screen.

"Rafayel!"

Your grip on your phone was tight, held against your ear with an immediate burst of excitement.

It had been days.

You knew how it was, of course—an artist's inspiration was often sporadic and fleeting, and you'd even lost count of the number of times Rafayel had told you that. How essential it was to grab the spark of creativity before it you lose it; how paramount it was to focus on your flow before it disappeared... It was ingrained in the forefront of your mind, by now.

And even more than that, if Rafayel had always been one to speak of the elusiveness of inspiration, then Thomas had always been one to insist you leave him and his stroke of genius alone whenever he called for it.

You didn't understand much about the world of artists, so it was natural for you to take their words to heart, but it hadn't been easy.

Rafayel, being Rafayel, would always send you texts and updates, never failingly missing a single day... But it had been days since you'd last heard his voice at all—much less seen him. Now, marking a week sinve you'd been to his studio at all, you were pacing back and forth in your apartment, wondering how long you had to wait, and if maybe you should take a chance and visit him yourself—

But you didn't want to be selfish.

In fact, you quite despised being needy at all—with a quiet laugh, you thought, that was usually the role that Rafayel would play in your relationship. You wouldn't think to take it from him.

Yet, now, your phone rang, and the ever-familiar sound of his voice brought on a wave of butterflies in your stomach that had your mood lifting in seconds.

"Heeyyy there, cutie!"

In the background, you could make out the faint sounds of metal against concrete in the background, and your ears perked.

"Is... that your ladder? Have you finished your painting?"

"Yeah! It really took a while, this one... But Thomas'll be happy to know that it's finally finished! ...That is, if I could get ahold of him..."

You carefully sat on the edge of your bed, swinging your legs in sheer happiness at his little ramblings.

"...And, actually, I kind of need your help."

You blinked.

"Hm? Help? With what?"

"Well, you know how I told you it's been kind of a while since I last cleaned this place...?"

"...Yes..."

"Are you free now?"

"Rafayel, you can't mean...?"

"Yeah! Can you come over and help me clean?"

You couldn't believe his first thought with this call was to ask you for your cleaning services. You strained to hear the familiar tease in his voice, even waited for a moment for some kind of "Just kidding!" or whatever else that could tell you he wasn't being serious—

You felt your eyes narrow in disapproval when you found nothing.

"Rafayel, I'm not your maid, you know."

Not even an "I missed you", not even a " Want to hang out later?".

"Yeaaahh.... But you're my bodyguard, right?" The hopeful tone in his voice now would have made you laugh.... In other circumstances.

"What does that have to do with anything?!" There was a laugh, then, on the other side of the line, and you huffed. "Rafayel, don't joke with me—"

"Look! I told you, right? Thomas won't answer me, and, seriously! The studio's a mess. I really need some help... Please?"

He was laughing completely now, and the sound brought over that same, very familiar ripple of butterflies, despite all the odds.

You caved.

"This is labor abuse, Rafa. Of your own girlfriend, might I add!" You hmphed, but stood up from your bed, haphazardly gathering your things into a purse and walking out of your flat. "Fine. I'm on my way there."

"Oh, you really are the best girlfriend I could ever have wished for! Thanks, princess! See ya!"

Not even a "stay safe"!

You wondered if this was what Rafayel felt whenever you were late to receive his calls or to reply to hia texts, and you sighed.

Is he just trying to get back at me...?

Regardless, he made up for his actions by immediately twirling you over with a kiss the minute you knocked on his door, and you smiled.

"Nice to see you again, princess," he grinned.

You thought you could never have wanted to see his smile as much as you did now—

But you couldn't bring yourself to admit that to him.

"Would've been better if you said that when you called me, huh?" You rolled your eyes playfully, shoving him aside and scanning the space in front of you.

He hadn't been lying.

Paint had been scattered around, well past the patches of safety paper he usually had lying all over his studio. While you were used to seeing the place mostly messy, anyway, this seemed a lot less like the organized mess you were used to. What's more, the painting wasn't even in this room anymore, and god knows where he'd put it now to dry.

You turned towards him with the raise of an eyebrow.

"Geez, Rafayel... This place looks like it's been through a hell hole. What were you doing?"

"Painting."

He shrugged, ever nonchalant and casual, only as if stating the obvious—that clearly being so engrossed in your painting would result in such a mess, and that clearly—he handed over a bundle of cleaning supplies—this was a very normal way of greeting your significant other.

You sighed.

You supposed, nothing was ever truly normal with him, anyway.

By the time you had finished, the sun that peeked through his windows bathed his studio into a golden glow. You settled onto the couch beside him, silent as he rubbed soothing circles into your shoulder, your head resting contently on his shoulder.

"You're rich, Rafayel," you mumbled, a little tiredly. "Why can't you just hire a maid if you don't want to clean things yourself?"

"And where do you think I'd find one I could trust enough to let near my paintings?"

The scoff in his voice made your lips quirk into a smile, and you tilted your head up to look at him.

...Ah.

Your breath caught in your throat when your eyes met, the gentle mix of red and purple hues in his eyes once again having you transfixed. His hair was slightly unruly from the work you'd both done, but the sunset rays streaming in from the window had little specks of sunlight painting his tresses in such a way that had you utterly mesmerized.

He chuckled slightly.

"Cat got your tongue, princess?"

You could barely bring yourself to mumble a response when he leaned in, shifting your positions just enough to have you lying on your back against the couch. Half of his weight rest over you, and you could feel it; his heartbeat against yours. You could almost amazed feel at the comfort in your synchronicity.

He sighed, brushing your hair out of your face. "...Why haven't you been to the studio?" he mumbled.

His words pulled you out of your reverie, and immediately, you felt your heart sink.

"...I thought... I thought you'd be busy..." Your voice came out meek, already searching his eyes anxiously. "Thomas told me not to disturb you, a-and I thought, maybe, you didn't want to be interrupted? I know how hard it's been for you to finish that painting..."

You swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, that might be true..." Rafayel nuzzled your nose affectionately, succeeding in soothing your nerves down to a certain degree. "But what if I wanted to see you, too?"

"...You... You usually just ask..."

Your words were met with silence, and you squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.

"Rafayel—"

"But you can't expect me to be the one asking for you all the time, right?"

Something at the back of your mind told you he didn't mean it that way, but his words stung nonetheless. The disapproval in his pout made your stomach churn. The atmosphere had, to you, become a little weightier, and your chest felt heavy with guilt.

You promised you wouldn't make him wait... But didn't you, in the end? Some useless game of seeing who'd cave first?

Your gaze shifted away from him, and you played with the hem of your shirt.

"Sorry, Rafa, I didn't mean to upset you... I-I don't know much about art, and I didn't want to bother you, and—god, actually, maybe it was stupid of me to just rely on Thomas' words instead of asking you, I'm such a terrible girlfriend—"

Tears began to well up in your eyes as you spoke, but before you could proceed any further, you felt the soft sensation of lips upon yours.

You blinked your tears away rapidly, refocusing to meet his, parting your lips slightly in shock when he pulled away.

"Don't say that, princess." He shook his head, and there was a ghost of a smile on his face. "You're not a terrible girlfriend. You're perfect, actually, and... I'm partly to blame. It was wrong of me to test you like that... You're right. I should have just asked."

You drew in a breath.

Perhaps, it was because your roles had been reversed today; perhaps, it was because you'd been so anxious to see him again that even the slightest signs of any conflict had you feeling like walking on eggshells. But it was rare for you to see him take the situation at hand so maturely, and it did well for the tenseness in your shoulders to melt away.

He moved his hand back into your hair, soft, gentle strokes, if only to soothe you further away from your worries.

"...Well, actually, maybe we both are a little stupid. I... kind if made the studio messy on my own."

Your ears perked up with that, and you looked at him curiously.

Rafayel laughed.

"It wasn't that bad when I'd finished! And I wasn't lying, I had been neglecting the studio, I just..."

When his voice trailed off, you found the courage to speak again.

"Did you.... Make an excuse to bring me here?"

He smiled, bringing his lips over to the top of your head, another one on your temple, and then another one over the corner of your eye.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I missed you a lot. I guess I just got creative... A little too much, anyway."

His lips were on yours again the next second, soft pecks that made your heart soar with glee. You wrapped your arms slowly around his neck, barely registering the way he'd pulled himself over you, feeling safe under the weight of his body—you liked this. And you missed it, being close with him, having a few moments to yourselves just to revel in each other's warmth.

With half-lidded eyes, he pulled back for air, panting softly over your skin.

"...You really could have just asked me," you whispered, gazing into his eyes and allowing yourself to get lost in them once more.

He let out a soft laugh. "Hm, yeah. Buuuut, maybe I thought this would be more interesting... And maybe, then, you could stay the night, too..."

His eyes flickered closed as he ran his hands through your hair once more, bringing a lock up to his face and letting out a sigh.

"You used that shampoo again."

You faltered slightly at his words, but he pressed you against the couch, capturing your lips into a deeper kiss.

...That shampoo.

You knew exactly what he was referring to.

The last time he'd noticed this scent on you, the way he'd pressed his lips against yours had been anything but innocent—it was one of the first times the both of you had made out together, the hairdryer and towel that had started the whole ordeal then long-forgotten beside you. The mere thought of that night brought an undeniable flush to your face, an all-too-familiar tingling sensation breaking throughout your body.

And you knew what he was insinuating. Even as he continued to kiss you, and even as you felt yourself easily melting into him the way that you would.

His hand began to roam your body, slowly stroking down your sides, making their way to your thigh and inching closer, closer, to the heat of your clothed core—

Your breath hitched.

You couldn't control it.

It was like instinct, whatever this conflict of mind and body really was—

You immediately reached out to grab his wrist, and his reaction was immediate. In an instant, his lips were off of yours, and he froze in place, wide eyes searching yours.

"Shit," he whispered. "Princess, I'm sorry— Did I— Did I go something wrong—"

Though breathless and panting, your lips quivered, and your grip on his wrist tightened.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Slowly, you felt him peel himself off of you, sitting up carefully... And you took in a deep breath.

"R-Rafayel, I..."

The waver in your voice and the alarm that had found its way into your eyes weren't missed by him, and you turned your head. "I'm sorry," you swallowed thickly. "I... I don't think i can do this right now..."

You felt feeble and small as you moved to draw your knees up to your chest, almost as if with the intention of hiding yourself away. "I... M-maybe, just... Not tonight...?"

When you sneaked a glance back up at him, you could see it. That glimmer of hurt in his eyes, perhaps just barely there, but more noticeable to you than anything else. You were also made painfully aware of the sun that had set, the studio now darker into the night—a cold draft blew in through the windows and made you shiver, and now, you felt incredibly small.

Rafayel, however, gave you another soft smile, gently moving to sit with your legs over his lap, resorting to holding your hand in his gently.

"Okay," he said.

And it was so simple the way he accepted your rejection, so devoid of judgement, that it made you feel...

Guilty.

Even guiltier than you already were to begin with.

"...I'm sorry, Rafa, I—"

He shook his head, giving your hand another squeeze.

"No, that's... Well, also on me. I should have asked you about this first, too..." The regret in his voice made you want to hit something. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything today. I'll wait until you're ready, princess."

...He'll wait?

Quietly, you moved to crawl back towards him, snuggling into his chest.

This wasn't the first time he had tried to go further with you. That night, after drying your hair, had been one of such times, and it wasn't as if you didn't want to take the next step in your relationship.

In fact, you wanted it just as much as he did.

You've fantasized about it for nights on end, laying on your bed, fingers playing with your clit and imagining how well his hands would have worked you, how well his cock would have stretched you out and filled you up far better than your fingers ever could. You lost count, how many times you'd come undone, alone on your bed, having his name spill from your lips as you did.

You wanted so badly for him to ravage you.

But thinking of it was incredibly different from having the situation at hand right in front of you.

You were nervous.

There were so, so many things that could go wrong from just exposing yourself to him as you would have if you did go that far—just as so, so many things had already gone wrong the last time you had, with other people.

You buried your face into his chest, pressing against him, drowning yourself in his warmth.

"...Are you mad?" You whispered.

"Me? Why would I be, when you're cuddling me like this so tightly?" The playfulness in his voice chased enough of your worries for you to let out a little laugh. "Just so you know... I'm perfectly fine with this."

You shifted, tilting your head to look up at him.

Rafayel gently poked at your nose.

"I can't be mad at you, princess, just because you said no to me. There are other ways for us to be affectionate, and I don't need to have sex with you, you know?"

"...But you want to?" Your voice remained meek, still very obviously wanting to hide yourself back into his shirt. And you would have, if he hadn't pried you away, hands firmly over your arms, leaning down to study your gaze.

"R-Rafa—"

"I want to, princess, but only if you want to. And I need to make that super, suuper clear to you, because I won't be forcing you into anything you don't want. 'Kay?"

His words sent a flurry of comfort into your stomach.

"...But... But what if I make you wait too long? You dislike waiting... A-and it's normal, anyway, right? For couples to have sex? If we don't, then..." As you spoke, you noticed a frown frown gradually form over his face, and you faltered.

"You... You expect me to leave because of this?"

You turned your gaze away in silence.

"Princess... You... May I ask where that's coming from? Do... Do you feel unloved with me? Am I doing something wrong?"

It was like a trigger—the way his voice dropped into a soft whisper, his hands falling back down to take yours in his, lacing your fingers together.

He was so gentle with you.

You felt the unwelcome sting of tears in your eyes, and you shook your head—"N-no," you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. "You've done nothing wrong, but... But you're so—so nice to me, Rafayel..."

"...Baby? Of course I'm nice to you! Aren't you my girlfriend?!"

The nickname switch made your heart jump, and you nuzzled yourself further into his embrace.

"...I don't deserve you."

A pause.

You felt as if you could drown in the silence, even though you knew that he was just thinking of what to say.

"I'm sorry, I just made things worse—"

"...Deserve me? There's... there's nothing for you to say that—princess, that's my line, you know. You deserve everything—every little good thing out there, and so much more than me."

"But—! You—you're so good to me, and I'm—! How many times did I disappoint you? This whole week, and even just now, and—"

You felt yourself sniffling, and Rafayel once again brought you to look up at him. You chewed on your bottom lip, a flash of insecurity in your eyes that made him sigh softly.

"No, no, no... Don't cry, princess... Nothing's going to change just because of this, yeah? You know I love you. And nothing in the way that I love you is tied to... whatever ways you'll allow me to love you. I get it, you know? If you're not ready to go there yet, then that's fine. I promise. I don't make promises without reason, princess."

His gaze, now, was firm, and his words were warm. Genuine—like he always was with you. In the silence that followed, you felt yourself calm down slightly, your breath easing, the tears in your eyes blinked away in your insistence not to cry in front of him.

And more than anything, you found thr conviction in his words to be something you could... Trust.

You took in a deep breath.

"I've... I've done this a couple of times before," you spoke, slowly, quietly. "It's been a while since the last time, but— it's— it's just scary, Rafa."

Your voice trembled, and you hung your head.

"And I feel like it's so silly to be scared of it. It's always so obvious that I am, because I get too focused on trying to relax that I never really do, and then in the end I can only ever make up for it by letting them finish. So I— I don't know. Everyone says that couples always do this, like it's supposed to be a staple... Or else, what are they for, right?"

You let out a dry, sarcastic laugh, but it almost came out as if you were scolding yourself.

"Wait—hold on. You... You've never orgasmed?"

You blinked in surprise this time, looking up at him with a confused frown. "Huh? Only on my own, I guess... Never with them, no, but—"

"Oh, princess..." he began, almost like a whisper. "You've never enjoyed it, have you...? To call it a staple... Gosh. It's not something necessary to maintain a relationship, let's get that out of your pretty head first."

You watched him bring his hand over to the side of your face, a gentle caress.

"I don't know if humans really do think such fickle things, but I wouldn't leave you just because you won't go further with me. I want you to be ready before we go there. Okay? God, who have you been with?! They sound like the worst kind of humans!"

Despite yourself, you laughed at his indignation, watching him fall back against the couch with his arms crossed.

"No, seriously, baby—doesn't it sound wrong to you?! You know, I wouldn't have stopped until you came. In fact, I bet I could make you feel so much better than they ever could—" He paused, ears turning slightly red in telltale embarrassment. "...Sorry. I'll be totally patient, I really mean it. I was just, you know... saying..."

You giggled.

Rafayel was always cute when he was embarrassed, even if just a few moments ago, he'd so obviously reduced you to just a puddle through his kissses alone.

But his words, once again, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. When you looked at him, his eyes were as gentle as the waves of the ocean you'd grown to love almost as much as him, and you couldn't help but feel... safe.

You'd never really felt safe before—not with anyone else.

Any time you opened up about this, your previous partners would have scoffed in your face—would have told you there couldn't have been a basis for what you felt, and that there was nothing more irrational than all of these needless worries of yours.

It was silly.

You had always believed that.

Yet you couldn't help feeling the way that you did.

Whenever you experienced sexual intimacy with anyone else, though you had let it happen in the end, you had never... associated it with anything special. Like you'd said, it only ever felt a mandatory part of any relationship. It was like going through the motions, and then you'd find out that you'd been a terrible experience—no matter how pretty they said you were, no matter how much you'd always be told that they were looking forward to it.

You were disappointing.

That was what conclusion you'd come up with, after several times of the same result.

And you always envied your friends, too.

Whenever the topic came up, they'd speak of how magical it was—how sweet, and how loving, and how good it felt... Yet you'd felt none of that. If there was anything good you associated with sex at all, it had been you—by yourself—in your room.

You really didn't know how to reconcile all of these feelings together—

And, yet, Rafayel had been the very first one to let it slide in a way that put your feelings first.

You promised him you wouldn't make him wait...

Yet here he was, adamant on letting you do exactly that.

You looked up at him, again, listening to him guide the conversation elsewhere, talking about how his week had been, and how painful it had been to get that painting done.

"You haven't seen it yet, have you? Hmm... I'm thinking if I should show you. I guess my girlfriend can have early access to it before the exhibition, right...?" He had one hand resting on your back, the other brought up to his chin in thought. "What do you think? Do you want to see it now?"

You stared, silently, as his eyes were back on yours.

That familiar, adorable tilt of his head, the inquisitive gaze in his eyes bringing that familiar shine to it that you loved, loved, loved, so very dearly.

You watched a small smile form on his features, and he pulled you close enough to have your foreheads touch.

"Hey. What's on your mind, cutie? You're spacing out again. Everything okay?"

God. You really loved him.

Even the simplest phrase had the butterflies in your stomach fluttering around almost mercilessly, and if you hadn't known better, you thought you were very likely blushing in that moment.

"Just you," you spoke, softly, quietly, barely even registering that you'd spoken so honestly in front of him before you recognized the look of surprise on his face. "Shit—I mean—"

"Nuh-uh, no take-backs! I like it when you're honest," he cut you off with a laugh, placing a quick peck on your lips.

Though he didn't say anything more on the subject, you knew he was thinking it—even if you'd tease, endlessly, of Rafayel's own clingier habits, you knew that in the end that you could easily eat your own words.

Rafayel was so good to you.

Sometimes you'd think he was too good to you—too good for you.

But admitting it out loud was always so difficult to you; your honesty of your own overwhelming feelings for him often more than you could speak to him yourself.

He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ears.

"Maybe we should go to sleep, yeah? It's pretty late. You've worked hard!"

Slowly, you moved to straddle his lap, and then buried your face into his neck.

"...Princess..."

"...Are you really okay with this, Rafa?"

"Me? I told you, I'm perfectly fi—"

"I just—I could make you feel good, at least..."

Maybe you'd let him consume your thoughts more than you'd intended, or maybe the guilt was simply eating away at you, having never been truly placated. You didn't know which side of emotions you were acting upon, and perhaps, it seemed as if he'd sensed that.

"Baby... No. We're not going to do it tonight. I want you to set your mind straight first."

"But—"

"No buts!"

He lifted you off of his lap, another firm shake of his head. "I want to ease you into this. And that means I won't be taking any pleasure for my own just yet, because I want you to feel good."

"...Wh- What do you...?"

He smiled, before poking your forehead.

"I mean, I want you to be comfortable around me first, before you even think of trying to give me an orgasm." Rafayel gave your hand another squeeze. "I'm hoping I can at least show you that it's not supposed to be a bad experience. So we'll sleep on it first, clear our heads, take things slowly... Then we'll see how things go from there. 'Kay?"

"Rafa..."

"Baby, relax. No rush. I'm not going anywhere."

Rafayel was always so good to you.

Even through your biggest insecurities, there would be no exception.

It had been quite some time since that conversation, and, sure enough, he had been adamant on taking things slower with you. You could feel it, how he'd constantly hold himself back with you. The way he would be sure not to take it too far when he kissed you, always respectfully lifting you off of his lap whenever he felt like it would get too much if you continued...

He took things step by step, just like he said he would. From kisses, to slowly dipping his hands beneath your clothes—You had found, over the past couple of days, how warm his hands were around your breasts, cupping and kneading them like a perfect fit. It was comfortable. And it had become almost a staple to your cuddling sessions over time.

Those nights in his bed slowly, slowly became less than innocent as weeks passed by.

And then one other night, you'd finally gained the courage to let him go even further. His fingers were long, able to reach deeper inside of you than you ever could, and the stretch in your walls felt more than welcome after so long. It was just as you'd fantasized—he'd buried his fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt, slow thrusts gradually picking up the pace until you were trembling around him, his arms holding you safe as you released. Even now, when you thought back to that night, you felt tingles all over your body. It was the first time anyone had made you cum, the first time anyone had bothered to cradle you in their arms afterwards, the first time anyone had cleaned you up without you having to do it yourself—

You hadn't known that this could really feel so intimate.

So loving.

That Rafayel could ease all your worries away, so... naturally.

It had gotten to the point that you began to notice a boldness in both of your actions—you were growing more comfortable with him, like he'd intended you to, and now, you found yourself gladly on your knees, feeling the drag of his cock against the walls of your mouth.

He'd gotten you to cum from his fingers and his mouth multiple times over the past few days, and you had promised him—promised him—that you were only returning the favor because you wanted to. Because through the past weeks, Rafayel had been gentle with you, and patient—always asking for your consent, never pushing you to do anything you didn't want to, never even giving a thought to his own pleasure as long as it meant focusing on yours.

And this, you thought to yourself with a smile, was now a reward for for him just as much as it was for you.

Your eyes closed as you swirled circles over the tip of his length, taking your time with him as he often did with you. Your tongue ran up and over his cock, wetting him fully becore taking him in again, keening at the way his hips would stutter and his moans would reach your ears in a well-received melody.

"Fuck, yeah—Just like that, princess—" Rafayel's words were broken, his eyes half lidded as he watched you work him. "So good for me, baby—ngh, shit—"

You found his praises go straight to your core, eager to please him, eager to hear more. And in effect, your pace quickened, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, stroking and sucking him with a new hunger. His hands tangled in your hair, the sensation more than welcome as he guided you into a rhythm, hips bucking upwards to meet your mouth.

"So, so good— Feels so good, princess, don't stop—"

Another tug on your hair had you moaning against him, feeling him throb in your mouth at the extra stimulation.

He was close.

Determined to take in the sight, you watched, fondly, as his head fell back into the pillows, the skin of his thigh hot to the touch, your eyes drawn to the way his mouth hung open, his own eyes squeezing shut.

"Shit— M'gonna—! Gonna cum, baby, pleas—"

He arched his back, his hands fleeing from your hair to fist into the sheets beneath him. It hit in an instant, then—the sheer intensity having rendered him silent, mouthing curses, eyes still shut as streaks of cum shot out of him and onto your tongue.

You were familiar with the taste; warm in your mouth, and salty—thick. There was a certain discomfort to it, swallowing every last drop, but it couldn't compare to the thrill of it. Having Rafayel finally cum in your mouth, finally come undone for you... Your eyes locked as you released him with a wet 'pop', licking your lips and then hastily wiping your mouth with a little smile.

"Damn... That was..." He was breathless, chest heaving, barely moving to allow you to climb back up on the bed and reach for the bottle of water on his nightstand. "You're really... Really good at that, princess."

Feeling warm at another word of praise from him, you exchanged the bottle for the washcloth beside it, and crawled over to gently pat him clean.

"...Baby, I can—"

"If you won't let me do it when I finish, then I won't let you, either."

Your gaze was firm, and he laughed.

"Well played. My habits are growing on you, huh, cutie? That's good."

He pulled you up into his arms for a kiss, and you snuggled into his embrace. The heat from his skin was comforting—another thing you'd slowly gotten used to, having your activities now easily practiced without the need for any more clothes on.

"...How are you feeling? Was that okay?" He mumbled into your hair as you buried your face into his chest, lifting your leg over him as if to draw him even closer to you. You nodded quietly, and a soft sigh escaped his lips when you brushed your wetness against his still-sensitive cock. "Princess... Did sucking me off get you all wet?"

You could hear the laugh in his voice, and you whined.

"You— you made me wait to do that!" You protested, and you didn't need to look up to know he had that ever-present smirk on his face. "...I wanted to make you cum, too..."

He only replied with a chuckle, trailing his hand down your back to settle upon your waist. "I know. And thank you, by the way. Your mouth feels heavenly. Did you know that?"

You swat at his arm playfully. "Rafayel!"

"What? I'm only saying the truth! And, anyway..." You squealed when he leaned over to nip at your earlobe, completely sure of how flushed you were in that moment. "You're drenched, so which one will it be? My tongue? My fingers? My thigh?"

When you didn't reply immediately, he gently gave you squeeze. "Or do you want to sleep it off? We don't have to do anything if you—"

"N- no!"

You looked up, pouting, and found that the mirth in his gaze had melted away into one of pure adoration.

"I... I think..." You gulped, your eyes traveling downward to where you rest over him.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest.

You would have been lying if you said you hadn't been thinking about it on a constant—how he would feel inside you. And though you'd thought about it generally before, you found yourself warming up to the idea. Craving it, even, in a way you hadn't before.

You raised your head to meet his eyes again, holding your breath as you moved to straddle him, sliding your folds over his cock gently.

The moan that he let out was music to his ears, but when his hands gripped your waist tightly, you stopped.

"Fuck, wait—are you sure, princess?"

You smiled slightly at that.

Truly, Rafayel had been nothing but gentle with you; nothing but patient.

You nodded.

"I-I mean... Only if you want to? But you just came, right...? S-so, maybe not... Sorry, I don't mean to be needy, you can just—"

"Hey, hey. Deep breaths for me first, baby, yeah? Relax."

Immediately, his hands were rubbing soothingly into your sides, and you fell forward onto his chest, holding him close.

"Don't you worry about being needy with me, I don't think I'm any less needier than you, anyway," he laughed. "I want this. I really want this. But, princess... I need to know that you aren't forcing yourself into it."

You remained silent, only managing a nod.

"Look at me?"

Compliant, you raised your head once more, and Rafayel reached over to thread his fingers through your hair. He smiled.

"Verbal consent, princess. I've given you mine. Now, I need your confirmation before we do anything. Have you decided? Do you want me?"

Your heart swelled in your chest.

You didn't know how Rafayel could be so selfless with you.

None of the others you've been with would ever treat you this way, and it was... new.

It was true, what he said—it wasn't a secret to you how much he wanted you. Though he wouldn't say it, so determined not to make you feel pressured, you'd see it in the way he looked at you. The way he touched you. Even the way he spoke with you—always the more vocal one in terms of clinginess, even though you, yourself, secretly enjoyed his attention.

You'd understood from the start that he was doing his best to stay firm in his self control just for you, and it made you feel warm—Loved. Appreciated.

Even now, as you were sitting on his cock, readjusting your position only to have it poke against your back—he was patiently waiting for your answer. He was waiting for you to be sure about this.

You thought it ironic, almost.

It wasn't as if this was your first time, and yet... you'd never experienced someone be so gentle with you.

With another determined nod, you sat back up, placing your hands on your lap.

"Okay," you said, and took a deep breath. "I'm sure, Rafayel. I want you."

You swore you could feel the way his cock twitched at your words, and couldn't help the way your lips quirked into another smile.

He read your expression, and laughed. "You really drive me insane, princess."

His hands remained firm on your hips, gently lifting you off—"Do you want to stay on top? Set your pace for me?"

"...Um... Do you?"

"Baby, don't turn this back to me! Doesn't matter what I want right now, I wanna make this about you. In case you haven't noticed, I'd be more than happy to take you in any way you want me to."

You almost rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "...Okay, then... I'll try it like this. But, Rafayel, sometimes it's concerning how much you pay attention to my needs..."

"Me? Concerning? Says the one who's had some of the worst sexual experiences on the planet!" He scoffed. "Listen, princess. I say this a lot, but you understand, right? I'm not in this relationship for your body. I'm not using you for your body. I love you, because you're you, and not just so I get to fuck you some day." He paused, then, and you saw a flash of contemplation in his eyes, "...Which miiiight be today, but that's besides the point."

You laughed, this time, and perhaps in any other situation, you'd playfully hit his chest, and tell him to stop being so silly. But the lighthearted atmosphere was welcome, and you felt your shoulders slump in some sort of relief.

"I know, Rafa. I..." You bit your lip, steeling yourself, willing yourself to say it. "I... I-I love you, too."

Immediately, you watched his eyes widen, a certain shine in them that almost could have made you melt.

"...Seriously?" he whispered. "You mean it?"

You flushed at the way he sounded so much in disbelief, despite what you were about to do. But, perhaps, you understood the shock that he displayed. While he would often use the words around you—having made it clear that they were his feelings, and that you didn't have to reciprocate them immediately—you had yet to say it back.

You did love him.

Of course you did.

And you have, for a while now.

But it wasn't easy to speak these feelings out loud; wasn't easy to make yourself so affectionate and so vulnerable around him. At least, not as easy as it has been for him. It had been long established that Rafayel was the more expressive one—though he would tone things down with playful jokes and banter to match your pace of things, you knew that his feelings had been nothing but genuine for you.

And you'd always struggled to make sure that he knew you felt the same, but...

You nodded.

You could do it, this time. Give back all the love that he'd always given you.

Slowly, you reached behind you to guide his cock to your entrance, letting out a slow breath at the feeling of his tip—hot, and wet, and stiff—prodding your hole.

"I love you," you whispered, feeling confident, now, as you spoke.

His fingers dug into your skin as he gasped, finally having you slowly lower yourself down onto his cock. "Fuck," he muttered. His eyes closed—you could tell he was fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You feel so... so..."

A loud whine rattled past your lips when he finally pressed all the way inside of you, so big, and so filling, like nothing else you've ever had before.

"Shit," he continued to curse under his breath. "So—so good, baby."

His hands, shaky, massaged your hips in reassurance, eyes opening to reveal a hazy glimmer of lust that you had yet to see on his face before. The image before you made you shiver—every ounce of self control was slowly slipping away from him, and he was trembling with the little bit of patience he still had left in his body.

"M-move," he whimpered, looking up at you with pleading eyes that made you gasp. "Please, princess—please—can you do that for me?"

Your jaw clenched, and you obliged—how could you resist?

You rocked your hips slowly, at first, getting used to the feeling of him in side you. And, you found—you were enjoying this. Whatever you'd imagined could never compare; he felt good inside you. Every sensation you felt of his cock against your center was pleasurable, every moan that fell from his lips having you swirl your hips with a need to hear more.

You bit your lip when he slowly began to rut his hips up to meet your pelvis, now finding the strength to guide your hips gently up and down his length—

"Fuck, baby, don't hide from me, please," he moaned, eyes locking with yours with an air of desperation. "Haah—Let me hear you—hear how good it feels—'s it feel good, princess?"

You found yourself obedient.

As his tip knocked up against your sensitive spot, a loud moan spilled from your lips—immediately, you rest your hands on his chest as your head hung, feeling yourself bounce to his rhythm, hips moving in sync.

"F-feels good, 'fayel— Ah—!"

"Yeah? Like that, baby? That spot, huh?"

You grinded down on his cock, eyes screwing shut at the sound of your arousal slicking around him. His words guided you through your motions, whisperes of praise and reassurance that had you soaring—and you could feel it. The tightness that had gathered in your stomach, slowly, slowly building into something more—but so far away, so unobtainable, that it had you whining.

"R-Rafayel!" You cried as you leaned forward, burying your face into his chest. Even as he planted his feet on the bed and thrust up into you, picking his pace up a little and grunting into your ear, you shook your head— "M-more, please— I— I can't—"

"Oh, fuck, princess—"

He groaned when you clenched tightly around him, and with quick movements, he had you lying on your back, caged between his arms as breathless pants fell from his lips.

"I—fuck, baby... Are you okay with this? I'll—Shit— Sorry, I m-moved—"

He'd snapped his his hips back into yours the minute you wrapped your legs around his waist, but when he looked at you, your own eyes filled with a desire that dared to rival his own, he let out a slow breath.

"...Okay?" he whispered.

You nodded. "Please."

Rafayel laced his fingers through with yours, holding them against the pillow. At your consent, he resumed his pace, fucking deep into your cunt with thrusts so precisely rubbing against your spot that you closed your eyes with another loud moan.

"Ah, Rafa—Rafayel, s-so good—"

Any thoughts of holding back your sounds were lost in the pleasure raking through your body, feeling the way his cock would brush against all the right places. So thorough, and so loving—and so, so good.

Rafayel was making you feel good.

Better than you've ever felt—better than your fingers, and better than his, and you thought—

Fuck.

You wished you'd gotten to do this sooner.

"P-princess," he whimpered, hips stuttering as he pressed his forehead against yours, drowning a myriad of moans of your name with the way he kissed you. So needy with his touches, you melted into him like you always did, easily following his thrusts and receiving everything he could give you.

"Princess—are you—are you safe?" he breathed.

You could feel the way he tensed inside you, his hips slowing slightly into a pace that had you whining as he waited for your reply.

"Can I... Can I cum inside? If—If you—"

It almost seemed like he could barely form coherent words, and you smiled slightly. Your arms wrapped around his neck; "I'm safe," you mumbled. "Go ahead, Rafa."

The moan that he let out sent a shiver down your spine, and then his lips were on your neck, kissing and sucking—you didn't even mind, anymore, whether or not he'd be leaving marks on you by the time you were done. Groans spilled from his lips between his kisses, and you felt yourself moaning along with him. The pace he'd set picked up, no longer as gentle as you'd started with, but you found that it was more than welcome.

"C-Cumming," you shut your eyes, breathing out his name in endless chants into his hair. "Cumming, Rafa, I—!"

You felt it.

The throbbing of his cock as he spilled rope after rope of cum into your cunt, just in time with your own release. Your nails dug into his scalp as you clenched sporadically around him, throwing your head back with a drawn-out moan of his name, feeling yourself drown in the sheer intensity of it.

"Rafayel—!"

"Fuck—Fuck—Take it, princess— Shit—" He hissed into your neck, pumping his cum into you, moans falling back into whimpers.

A moment passed after, and you smiled contentedly as he hugged you, pulling out of you but still so determined to keep you close to him.

"...R- Rafayel?" You whispered, soothingly stroking his hair. And only then did he look at you.

Your breath caught at his expression.

Tired, undeniably, but so... tender.

"Hey..." he mumbled, slowly moving up to give you a quick kiss. "Can you say it again?"

"H-huh? Say what...?" You felt your face grow even warmer at the mere thought of all the things you'd possibly moaned in the midst of your lust.

But he only smiled. "What you said, earlier. Say that you love me."

A giggle bubbled at your throat, and you pushed him onto the space next to you—

Naturally, he only pulled you back against him, arms wrapping around you, tucking you under his chin.

"C'monnnn, baby. Please?"

It was so hard for you to say no to him like this.

You turned around to face him, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"I love you, Rafayel," you mumbled with a smile.

His expression relaxed.

"...And, thank you. For always making me feel so loved. I've never... I've never thought it could feel like this, a-and..."

"Did you like it?"

"More than liked it! I... I enjoyed it. Really. Thank you."

He grinned, then, gently setting you down on the bed and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Then, mission accomplished! So... Let's clean you up before we sleep, yeah? We can have another round in the morni—"

"Rafayel!"

"I'm kidding!"

⁺₊ / an: holy shit this took an eternity to write??!?!?!! nearly 8k words, what do u know... all this love for the birthday boy, this is an insane amount of special treatment for rafayel fr 🍰

© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[astarswish]

eep someone save my desi heart

“You think people ever look at us and wonder why you would be with me?” Rafayel had frozen in place, his hand mid paint stroke as he gazed down at you from his ladder. You’d been curled up on the couch, watching him comfortably while your thoughts took a depressing turn that was anything but comfortable. “No,” he’d said, “absolutely not. No one in their right mind would think that.”

contains: afab reader, edging, rafayel making reader praise themselves, rafayel speaks in hindi, probably ooc and with grammatical errors sorry i wrote this all in like one hour at 10 PM and i was crying for half of it

it's been a while since my own insecurities have actually given me the creative kick to write something like this, so sucks to be insecure i guess, but yay fic!!!!

Insecurity. What a bitch.

It’s life-ruining, at its worst. It makes you look into the mirror and imagine even the reflection looking back and sneering at what it sees. It makes your heart pound as you walk in public, wondering how many people would smile once they get the privilege of losing sight of you. It makes you sob at night when you’re alone, mind knowing that there is no one in the world who is uniquely terrible, but your heart convinced that you’re the exception.

It makes you say something, accidentally, to your boyfriend.

“You think people ever look at us and wonder why you would be with me?”

Rafayel had frozen in place, his hand mid paint stroke as he gazed down at you from his ladder. You’d been curled up on the couch, watching him comfortably while your thoughts took a depressing turn that was anything but comfortable.

“No,” he’d said, “absolutely not. No one in their right mind would think that.”

If you’d been more acute in the moment, you might have heard the warning in his voice, the irk of a god who has just had his most precious jewel taunted.

But you’d continued instead. “They would. You’re so handsome, so gorgeous. Ethereal. Not to mention incredibly talented. And I love you, and I think we’re really compatible personality wise, but looks…you have to admit you could do a lot better.”

It was then you’d began to note how it felt much hotter in the studio than it had a few minutes ago. Like there was an unseen furnace, prickling with an angry fire about to grow into an inferno.

Rafayel’s voice had been, ironically, icy. “How could I do better than you?”

“C’mon, be real, Raf.” It had been hard to keep the pain out of your words, and impossible to keep the thoughts choking you inside. You’d started to plead, some part of you convinced that it would help if he would simply agree that your every insecurity was valid. “I’m not a supermodel. I’m not a genius. I’m not an angel, either. There’s nothing about me that’s extraordinary. Not like you are.”

And then he’d moved.

And now, you’re still on the couch, crying out brokenly with nothing to grip onto, as his hand holds your wrists above your head, and his cock thrusts in and out of you in the most maddening pace you’ve ever experienced.

He’s never been like this. When you plead, Rafayel gives in. He is weak to you, as he’s shown time and time again. But not today. No matter how much you beg with teary eyes for him to go faster, he shakes his head, slowing down even more. With a punishing growl, he pushes all the way in, and all the way out, leaving your drooling cunt clenching around nothing.

It’s torture. Pure and simple.

“What was it you said?” he breathes harshly, leaning down to press hot kisses on your neck that burn so perfectly you sob. “Ethereal? Talented? A supermodel?”

“Rafayel,” you gasp. He ignores it. His eyes are a violent shade of purple, the most dangerous you’ve ever seen them. There are scales blooming all over his body, as though denying you is the key to awake this dormant side of him, to make you submit.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispers, biting and leaving a fresh bruise planted on your skin. “Just tell me what I want to hear. Go on.”

He pulls out and you feel the tears running down your cheeks.

“Say, ‘I’m beautiful.’”

In.

“Say, ‘I’m gorgeous.’”

Out.

“Say, “I’m fucking ethereal.’”

You can taste salt from your own sobs, both from being denied, and from the unimaginable cruelty of having to praise yourself. It’s impossible. You want the reward so bad, but you can’t claw your way to it, because the rules are too imposing. The conditions, blinding.

“Be real,” he taunts, repeating your own words back to you, “come on, start easy. ‘I’m pretty.’ Go on.”

Heaving in a breath, you taste the bitter words on your tongue. “I-I’m pretty.”

Your back arches off the couch as he rewards you with his fingers on your clit, rubbing soft circles while he’s inside you. “Mmhm. You are. And?”

“Please, Rafayel.” You’re clenching so tight around him, and you can see from how he shudders that it pains him just as much as it pains you, this wait, this little game of keep-away. “Please don’t make me—“

You’re cut off by his hand cupping your cheeks, and his lips stealing a salty, breathless kiss. “Meri pyaari gurya,” he groans, kissing you again, “meri chand.” Kiss. “Meri humsafar.” Kiss. “Mine, mine, mine.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. "Do you think I keep anything that isn’t worthy of the Sea God?”

You shut your eyes, crying harder. The logic is loud, but your thoughts are louder. He’s only saying it to reassure you, he’s only saying it to be nice, he’s only saying it because he pities you…

“Meri dulhaniya,” he saves for last, because he knows it’ll break you, “I have nowhere to be. I’m fine staying buried inside you, all day and all night, while your sweet little pussy gushes for me. I’ll bring you to the brink, again and again, but I won’t let you cum, my pretty muse, because either you admit that you’re the most beautiful human in this world, or I’ll fuck it into you till you forget otherwise.”

Trembling, you open your eyes. There is nothing but conviction in his gaze. Conviction, and hunger.

And you realize two very important things. One, that your stamina is nothing compared to his, and you will never hold out against him, and two, that is not something one does out of pity, but out of unyielding, undying adoration.

“I’m,” you swallow, cheeks burning, “beautiful.”

A sharp thrust of his hips makes you moan his name, mouth falling open as he kisses you deeply, and you swear you can feel him hardening even more inside you.

“I’m gorgeous.”

“Yes,” Rafayel hisses, fingers rubbing your clit to match his thrusts.

Eyes rolling back, you cry out, “I-I’m…”

“Fucking ethereal,” he provides, and you think you can feel fire flicking from his lips on your cheeks.

“Fucking ethereal,” you whine, pulling him into a kiss this time.

His hips slam against yours and you cry out against his mouth as his tongue ravages yours. There is nothing Rafayel hates more than someone misunderstanding his art, least of all the art itself.

Your toes curl and your nerves are electrified, everything fading away except you and Rafayel, and his cock and his fingers and his lips, and the couch he’s pounding you into, and you tug at his hair and practically scream as you cum.

He’s still softly licking at your lips as you come down from your high, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. The air escaping you is light, and for the first time in a long time, there is nothing stuck in your chest, a soft fluttery feeling replacing the heaviness that you’ve been carrying what feels like your whole life.

Gazing back up your lover, you cradle his face, noticing that his lovely purple hues have morphed into an even lovelier pink, only a second before you notice he hasn’t cum yet.

“That’s a good start,” Rafayel whispers, capturing your lower lip between his teeth and tugging.

It bounces back into place for him to kiss softly, before he continues, “Now, let’s try ‘most beautiful human in the world.’ If you get there, I might consider letting you have a break.”