── .✦ As always, please take this with a grain of salt. These are my own personal prediction based on their rotations for the last 2 years. No inside information or anything (but I’m really confident tho) hope this can be some kind of guideline for anyone who needs this for planning your pull and stuffs 🫶🏼
I also made a prediction video on my YouTube channel here if you prefer to listen to it in the background
Dragon!Sylus who has never left his lair before, never met a human before. All he has know about humans is through the horror tales of the dragons before him who were hunted down by these humans and their torches of fire. So he swears to never step out of his lair, guards his hoard of treasure tightly and any human who comes across him is frightened by the sight alone to never come back again. But then comes Blind!mc who had ran away from home and stumbled through the forest not knowing where she was going, she could hear the wild wolves chasing after her before her feet caught around a bark of a tree and she fell, trembling and afraid not knowing what her fate would be. Dragon!Sylus who had come out of his lair to stretch his wings watches with interest wondering if mc will become the wolf's next food or escape, he had no plans of intervening to save her. That is until he noticed the way how mc wasn't looking at the wolf but to the side, her eyes glassy and frantic before he finally realized that she couldn't see/ So for the first time since Dragon!Sylus watched all his kins around him die, he leapt out of his lair to throw the wolf away from mc who immediately grips his wrist on instinct, her fingers tracing his claws. Yet instead of cowering away like humans usually do, she squeezed his hand tightly and looked up at him with a grateful smile, thanking him for saving her. And that was the moment Dragon!Sylus learns that perhaps all humans are not so bad.
Sylus x nonMC reader who doesn’t get ragebaited easily.
We all know that Sylus is an absolute ragebaiter. So how will he react when you don’t get upset when he teases you?
The first time he did it, he totally expected you to get mad.
“Your hair is a mess sweetie, did you just roll out of bed?” He asks with a smirk as he observes your reaction.
Your eyes widen as he says this, your mouth opening slightly in surprise. “Is it? Is it really? Is my hair a mess?” Your words come out in a rush as you take out your phone to check your reflection, smoothing out the stray hairs sticking out.
Sylus blinks, completely caught off guard. He thought you would get upset, since Emcee always got mad whenever he would tease her. So why aren’t you?
Since then, it became his mission to see how far he can push your buttons.
One day, you’re wearing a new shirt that he hasn’t seen before, and he decides to test you again.
“That colour doesn’t suit you very well, perhaps you should find more clothes that don’t wash you out.” He says smugly, the corner of his mouth lifting up into his signature smirk.
You blink at him, then look down at your shirt. “Really? But I thought it looked good, and even all my friends said the colour suited me.” You say contemplatively as you adjust it, not a single hint of anger in your voice.
Okay, so that didn’t work either. Next.
You take a small tumble down the stairs, he helps you up and makes sure you’re okay before striking.
“Did life hit you a little too hard sweetie?”
You start laughing, because you genuinely find your situation funny. “Yeah, I guess it did.” You sigh as you wipe the tears of laughter from your eyes.
Another time, you couldn’t reach something on the top shelf when he comes up behind you.
“What’s wrong? Your short little arms and legs can’t reach?”
You look up at him with your best puppy eyes. “Yeah, so can you help me? Please?”
Shit. This isn’t good. He thinks to himself.
Sometimes you would straight up ignore him, only giving him the occasional glance before going back to what you were doing. It baffled him to say the least. For the first time, someone was able to withstand his ragebaiting.
And one day, you’re sitting on the sofa on your phone, and he’s saying something about your posture and it isn’t healthy for you if you just keep sitting down all day when you look up at him.
“Sylus.” You say. Calm, collected.
“Hm?” Yes. He thinks. She’ll finally snap.
Instead, you look at him dead in the eyes, and say in a nonchalant and calm voice, “shut up.” And then you go back to whatever you were doing on your phone.
You have rendered him absolutely speechless. In all of Sylus’s years of living, never in his life has he ever met someone like you.
The fact that you’re so calm no matter what he says to you, and how you even laugh whenever he makes fun about you in certain things?
·······•✦ description: In which; your vampire boyfriend keeps pushing off your worry for him, but when you find him incredibly weak in bed, you figure out exactly what he needs... And you want to give it to him...
·······•✦ pairing: afab!eader x xavier
·······•✦ word count: 4k
·······•✦ genre: smut, porn with plot, fluff
·······•✦ general tags: Vampire!Xavier, Vampires, Canon Compliant, Still canon compliant, Only difference is vampires lol, Established Relationship, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Blood Drinking, Xavier is Hungry, Biting, Marking, Cunnilingus, Teasing, Pleasure from Blood Drinking, Multiple Orgasms, Sexual Overstimulation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation, pussy eating, Aftercare, Creampie, POV Second Person, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Missionary Position, Sitting In Lap, Dirty Talk, Pet Names - starlight & princess
·······•✦ posted on: ao3
The first time you notice the pale tone to Xavier’s skin, he brushes it off with a simple excuse that he’s tired. Knowing what he is, the thought comes to your mind of the other things that could be going on, and you get the inkling that there’s something else than just mere exhaustion.
The second time you see the glassy glow and slightly damp expanse of his skin, you know there’s something more than meets the eye.
His apartment is at a comfortable temperature, but it’s the rise and fall of his chest, paired with the way his lips part in stuttered breaths, that has you crossing your arms, giving him a raised-eyebrow stare. “Xavier.”
“Starlight,” Xavier responds in a gentle murmur, one hand resting over his eyes.
He’s lying back on his bed, his robe half-opened to reveal the toned expanse of his chest that is glistening with a light sheen of sweat. With one hand under the pillow, he looks at you with furrowed brows.
“This isn’t just exhaustion.” The way you continue the argument—which isn’t even an argument, just you telling him an observation—leaves Xavier no choice but to drop his hand over his eyes. The hand under the pillow slips out to lie beside his head, and the other rests weakly on his half-clothed abdomen. Even his breathing is slow, and worry ebbs into your voice. “I can grab some medicine or something for you after wo-”
“I’m thirsty.” He cuts you off, not liking the tense deepness of his voice, nor the way you stare at him with wide eyes.
“Huh?” You don’t catch it the first time, his voice too quiet for you to hear through your own rambling. Dropping your arms, you chew on your bottom lip.
“I’m… thirsty,” Xavier repeats, his eyes closing as if he didn’t want to see the emotion he expects to cross your face. Throughout the year you’ve been dating, you know about his vampirism, but all Xavier expects to see when he looks at you are the emotions he’s always seen.
Disgust. Horror. Anger.
But your expression remains neutral. As if he just told you he needed a simple glass of water instead of the alternative.
“Oh.” Unsure of what to say next, you step closer, sitting on the edge of his bed. Although he doesn’t outwardly flinch away, you catch the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. “Well…”
Silence fills the air, your eyes running along his features. He looks dead. His lips are parted and chapped, his skin pale, and his chest rising and falling slowly with his uneven breaths. It worries you, and while you’re unsure of exactly how to help him, you want to come up with some sort of solution.
“Is there… is there anything I can do to help?” Your hand reaches out to touch his bicep as it rests across his abdomen, and a shiver shocks your system. He’s cold. He’s always warm… Always a personal heater that helps you in the winter months with cuddles under a plush blanket. Now, he’s like a corpse. “You’re cold.”
Xavier pauses, twitching at just how hot you feel compared to the chill that’s settled in his bones. He can’t even remember the last time he had to drink blood, but the hunger that itches in his stomach is a sense of discomfort that he can’t recall feeling. It doesn’t help that you—warm and alive—are sitting right next to him.
You, whom he’s spent the better part of two years next to. You, who remind him that he’s more than the label that many associate with vampires. You, who loves him despite all of the tumultuous realizations you’ve come to when learning about him, and doesn’t stop demanding nothing but the truth.
Xavier knows he can’t lie. You can read him like your favorite book. So he takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “I don’t— It’s been a long time— since I’ve had to feed.” He whispers, almost embarrassingly. “I can usually control my hunger with human food… You know my preference for meat.”
Humming, your thumb absentmindedly rubs at his skin in an attempt to calm him down. He’s explained before that he’s never hungry for blood, that his almost insatiable appetite for meat has somehow helped quell that quiet rumbling deep in his gut.
Even though Xavier tries to hide it behind humor, you can see the sleepy, half-lidded gaze that meets yours. It’s easy for him to smile, rub the back of his neck as if he’s not burning inside. However, he can’t stop the tremble in his hand that starts to wrap around your wrist.
“I’m fine,” he says, his voice a mere whisper of what it normally is. In the time you’ve been together, you’ve realized that he’s a pro at hiding his true emotions. He doesn’t give away too much, and it’s always in passing moments that he reveals the depths of his past or his actual feelings. In fact, he’s gotten infinitely better at showing just you what he needs or wants, but when faced with a hunger so deep it aches in his soul, he can’t let you see that side of him.
You can feel his muscles tense under your hold. “Bullshit.” As your eyes linger on the bulging veins in his neck, you inspect his chest with your other hand. “You’re very obviously not fine.” It takes every ounce of restraint in you not to shiver when you rest your entire palm in the middle of his chest. He’s like a block of ice, prickling at your skin until you have to pull back with a frown.
The idea of him dying over something like this sends you into a panic. He can’t die. He just can’t. “You need blood.” The end of your sentence trails off, and your hovering hand finds the edge of his open robe. It doesn’t sit right with you to let him lie here and suffer, especially when there’s maybe something you can do about it…
The answer is simple, and Xavier catches the gleam in your eye before you can voice your thought.
“No.”
“But Xavi–”
“Starlight,” his voice is a hiss now, sharp and unstable as his tremors have become. “I said no.” Xavier’s jaw is clenched so tight that you can see the muscles flinch under the resistance.
“You need blood.” You repeat, staring down at your wrist that holds the answer to his dilemma. “How else can you get it?”
He pauses, giving you enough time to sneak another thought in. “It’s not going to hurt me, is it?”
“Quite the opposite, starlight.” Xavier rubs a hand across his face. “You’ll feel good. Really good.” His Adam’s apple bobs, and you reason that he’s imagining you twisting in pleasure as he feeds from you.
“Okay…” Your eyebrow raises, not seeing the issue. “Then let’s do it. Let me help you.”
Xavier sneaks a glance, his pupils getting larger. “That’s the thing,” he mumbles, “once I get a taste of you, my instincts will take over. I don’t want to take more than you can give me.” His eyes close once again, covered by his arm as he pulls it from your grasp. “A person who hurts you doesn’t deserve to take from you.”
Slowly, giving him the opportunity to wrench away, you tiptoe your fingers up his torso. At the first touch of your index finger on his bare abdomen, he tenses, but doesn’t pull away. Actually, he welcomes the lingering warmth that sits on his skin as you make your way up his chest, holding gently to his jaw.
“What if I want this person to take from me?” The whisper sends a shiver through Xavier. “What if,” The pad of your thumb traces his jawline, “I trust that this person would never hurt me?”
Watching you with heavy eyes, Xavier drags his gaze across your face, seeing that you’re not backing down. With a sigh, he lets both of his arms fall to his sides, lingering so close to your waist but not touching.
“Go on,” you whisper, moving to straddle his waist. “Touch me.” The moment your thighs bracket his hips, you both share a soft gasp, speaking without words. There’s no mistaking the want that pulses with each beat of your heart, or the inexplicable connection when you nuzzle your nose against his. “I trust you, Xavier.”
Xavier shudders as your breath hits his lips, and your scent — god, your scent — is intoxicating. “Princess,” he lifts his head, barely grazing your mouth with his own. “Are you sure?” The whites of his eyes peek out from beneath his irises, and you find yourself leaning closer.
Before you can speak — something close to begging — Xavier dips his head down, kissing the top of your clothed shoulder. His arm wraps around you, his large palm pressing into your upper back. Stealth is Xavier’s greatest weapon, and you’re so mesmerized by his already hard cock pressing against you through his sweatpants that you don’t realize he’s hooking a finger into the collar of your shirt.
Warm lips press to your bare skin, and you cling tighter to him as he gets closer and closer to your neck. Each kiss is accompanied by a sigh, both of knowing you’re so willing to help him like this, to give him part of you, and the thought of sharing something so intimate. It’s more than sex. Deeper and more passionate. Blood is what keeps you alive, and Xavier is going to sap some of that from you.
“It’ll feel good,” Xavier whispers, his voice husky. “You might scratch me, or pull my hair.” He plants another kiss at the apex of your shoulder and neck, sucking at the skin. “Do whatever you need, starlight.”
You can’t help the natural arch into him, wanting him even closer than he already is. “Xavier.” The whimper is soft, and you’re not sure if it’s the gentle hold he has on you or the subtle grinding of his hips against yours, but you’re more than eager to have him bite you. “Please.”
“Patience,” his grip tightens against the back of your neck, anchoring you there to him. “I’ll only take a little.” The finger hooked into your shirt collar pulls a bit more, but it’s obviously become troublesome for Xavier to get a good grip on you like this. “Take this off.”
Hands clamber to throw off your shirt, and Xavier takes a moment to admire you, shirtless, in his lap. “You look gorgeous like this.” A palm cups the weight of your breast. “Like a fox caught in a bunny’s trap.” His lips wrap around one of your nipples, and you respond with a soft moan of his name. Your hand threads through his hair, cupping the back of his head in a way that’s less controlling and more reassuring.
Xavier takes his sweet time kissing up your chest, making sure to give the same attention to the other nipple, before landing right back at your neck. “Now that that’s out of the way.” He kisses the spot right below your ear, and when he speaks, it’s a sinful whisper. “Tap the back of my neck if you’re feeling lightheaded.”
“Okay,” you whisper, lips cresting the shell of his ear as he takes another weak, shuddering breath. Even as he takes another long inhale of your scent, you shiver in his grasp. He can smell the slight fear radiating from you, the hand in his hair tightening slightly as you close your eyes and relax into him.
“You’re scared,” Xavier says it so simply, pulling back to look you in the eyes. He’s so pale, with an almost translucent hue to his cheeks that means you can almost see the veins under his skin.
“Not of you,” you whisper, massaging his scalp while the other hand cups his cheek. “I’ve never done this before.” But you’re determined, tilting your head to the side in an open invite. “I’ll be okay, trust me.”
Xavier isn’t easily convinced.
In one quick motion, he’s flipping you onto your back, pressing your bare back into the sheets with a weak gentleness. You keep a steady grip on him, legs wrapped around his hips as he grinds down against you.
“No.” His tone deepens, looking down at you with such intensity that you almost melt under him. “I know a way to relax you.”
Xavier waits for your nod before dipping back down to kiss your neck. For a moment, you almost think he’s going to bite you, but he doesn’t. He moves down your bare chest, kissing over your breasts, making sure both nipples are spit-slicked and thoroughly pleasured. His mouth whispers praises across your stomach, and when he uses his teeth to tug down your shorts, you can see the sharp canines almost glinting in the light.
“You’re so gorgeous, starlight.” His hands part your knees, hooking them over his shoulders as he kisses right above the joint. “Thank you,” Xavier whispers, closing his eyes as he kisses slowly up your thigh, close to the seat of your panties. “For letting me do this.”
A sharp nip of his teeth at your thigh has your hand shooting down to thread through his hair, but his tongue immediately soothes the sting. It’s not enough to draw blood, not yet, but your answering moan of his name spurs Xavier further.
His lips press against the seat of your panties, feeling how wet you are through the fabric. “All this for me?” He teases, sitting up on his knees and toying with the waistband of your underwear. In one swoop, he’s maneuvering them off of you, leaving the only article of clothing on either of you, the sweatpants hanging low on Xavier’s hips. Where he discarded his robe, you don’t know, but as his breath ghosts over your pussy, you don’t find it in yourself to care.
“All for you,” you whimper at the first long lick through your folds that Xavier delivers, collecting your arousal on his tongue. The groan he lets out is sinful, defying the laws of heaven and hell for a taste of his angel lying under him.
“Your blood,” Xavier dips his tongue into your entrance, the tip of his nose teasing your clit. “Will not compare to how good your pussy tastes.” With his eyes closed, body nearly flat on the mattress, hips grinding down to soothe a fraction of the ache in his pants, he looks like he’s praying.
Xavier continues to feast, eating you out with a fervor that is concerning with how cold his hands are as they plant on your thighs, or the still pale complexion. Especially the labored breaths he takes when he’s buried face-first in your pussy.
“Xavier–” your thoughts are cut off when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, being mindful of his still distended fangs so he doesn’t nick you. “Don’t, fu–ck, don’t overdo– it.” The last thing you want is for him to pass out, or worse, while you’re grinding onto his face.
He mumbles something unintelligible, not wanting to part from your essence for too long. “I’m okay,” Xavier murmurs, his breath coming out deep and slow. “I’ll be fine.” His heart is beating just a second slower, sure, but all that matters is that your thighs are closing around his head, and your fingers tug strands of silver hair out right at the root. “Come for me, princess.”
When he goes back for more, tracing the tip of his tongue around your entrance while flicking his nose over your clit, your vision blanks. All you can focus on is Xavier’s tongue everywhere, his icy cold hands anchoring you in the fire as he holds you still.
“Good girl.” You don’t register that he’s hovering over you until you can taste yourself on his tongue, slick spreading over your swollen lips as you mindlessly push at his sweatpants.
“Shhhh,” he soothes you with a final kiss, pulling back just enough so your hand doesn’t reach his bulge. “Let me do this.”
Lying back on the bed, you watch as he strips himself of his sweatpants, your ears ringing and pulsing with your own heartbeat. Blood rushes through your eardrums, and if his nipping at your thigh felt good, you can only imagine what his actual bite will feel like.
You’re so pliant that Xavier easily parts your thighs for him to settle between, the tip of his cock tracing your folds and teasing you just enough to pull a desperate whimper from you. Reaching up, you hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until your noses bump.
“Please,” you plead, wrapping one leg around him as you beg. “Do it.” The side of your head tilts, exposing the same expanse of skin Xavier was previously ready to sink his fangs into.
“I will,” he soothes you with a kiss to the tip of your nose, a weak smile curling at his lips as he finally, finally sinks into your warmth. “Fuck…”
You watch the emotions flicker through him as you yourself submit to the pleasurable stretch of his cock. Inch by inch, you tilt your hips up, sharing breaths until his pelvis goes flush against yours.
“Good?” He asks, studying you and listening to your heartbeat. It’s much calmer than before, no hint of fear. Instead, it’s only anticipation and a desperation to help him. “Remember… What I said earlier…” Xavier leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your pulse point. “Tap the back of my neck–”
“If I’m feeling lightheaded.” You finish his earlier ask with a sigh. “I know, I know.” Shimmying your hips, you groan when you feel just how full you are. “I’ll be okay, trust me.”
Xavier nods, his hair tickling your cheek as he nuzzles further against you. His entire body presses against yours, and there isn’t a part of you that doesn’t feel him. Not in the tips of your fingers threaded through his hair, or the tense muscles of his lower back felt by your feet digging into him.
With one long breath, Xavier bites, and your whole world explodes.
Fire and ice curl together, racing through your veins in a race to fill every part of you. First, it’s the slight sting of his teeth sinking into you, but it’s immediately coupled by prickling electricity surging across your skin, raising the little hairs on your arms in their wake.
The only thing you can manage is a soft, “Xavier”, as he drinks, your body clenching around him. Your pussy tightens around his cock, and Xavier, in turn, groans into you, his hips working in slow thrusts to help you cope with the intensity of this.
It’s intimate, more intimate than you’ve been together despite going through all of the normal couple milestones. But this is more than that. It’s about sharing life with him, and you would do it ten times over if it meant you could have your Xavier with you.
Xavier can feel your heart racing, beating through his fangs as he closes his eyes and relishes the warmth that fills him. His hands are no longer biting cold, and color returns to his once translucent cheeks.
He can barely think about anything except your pussy wrapped around his cock and your sweet blood filling his throat. It’s the greatest elixir, his own personal alcohol that will leave him dizzy and flushed with happiness. He’s never been one to drink alcohol — it doesn’t affect vampires as much as it does humans, and tastes gross — but from seeing people stumbling through alleys at night, he can guess that it’s a high like no other.
But this? This is his second favorite taste, only behind your pussy.
“Fu–ck,” your back arches into him, a sudden chill passing through you as pleasure crests to an overwhelming degree. It’s part overstimulation from your previous orgasm added to this impending one, but also heightened from whatever sensations that Xavier’s drinking does to your body. “I’m…”
You can’t finish your sentence, words fail you the moment you let your body go, transcending to another plane as you clutch at Xavier like a lifeline. His back is the perfect place to count your score, drawing lines of red over his flexing muscles as he fucks into you with each slow suck of his mouth over your neck.
It’s impossible to feel anything else but the twitching of his cock inside you, and his own muffled groans against you as he falls over the edge alongside you. He fills you to the brim, but you don’t feel the slight trickle of come leaking from you when the tips of your fingers start to run a little cold…
Xavier realizes what’s happening before you tap the back of his neck. It’s not that you’re getting lightheaded. In fact, it’s the opposite. You feel connected to everything around you, especially Xavier. His scent wraps around you, soothing you into a strange sense of safety that you haven’t felt before. Sure, you always feel safe around him, but it’s like his bite has opened doors that you didn’t know could be opened to you.
“Starlight?” Xavier cups your cheeks, staring down at you with wide eyes as he pulls out of you and frantically checks your body for signs of the worst. “Are you okay?”
You lie there for a moment, watching Xavier press his cheek against your palm and finding it slightly cold. “Mhm,” you hum, smiling at him like a patient coming back from anesthesia. “I’m great.” Your voice is weaker than before, but you’re completely coherent as Xavier runs his hands up and down your sides. “You’re warm again.”
With a sigh of relief, Xavier rests his forehead on your collarbone, listening to your heartbeat stabilize into a normal rhythm. “All thanks to you.” He kisses your sweaty skin, finding the exact spot where your very human heart reminds him how alive you are, and how fragile you can be in the arms of someone like him.
“Stay right there,” Xavier suddenly stands, slipping his sweatpants back on.
Still in the same position he left you in, you give him a weak thumbs up. “‘m not going anywhere, handsome.”
Xavier mumbles something with a blushing smile before rushing out to the kitchen. The sound of running water, rummaging cabinets, and drawers continues until he steps back into his room with a bottle of juice, a damp cloth, and a small fruit snack.
“Here.” He sets the food and drink on the nightstand, focusing first on wiping off the sticky sweat, come, and saliva from your body with gentle precision. Xavier is meticulous, and yes, he’s incredibly aroused by how beautiful you look right now, with healing bite marks on your neck, a satiated smile on your face, and trusting eyes that only look for him. However, he knows that it’s important to take care of you properly, especially after drinking so much of your blood.
“You’re the best,” you murmur through heavy-lidded eyes and a stupidly wide smile. You let Xavier prop you up on the headboard, grab one of his shirts from his dresser, and help you slip into it.
“I disagree,” he counters, sitting on the bed beside you and bringing the bottle of juice to your lips. “You’re the best girlfriend I could ask for.”
Staring at him from the corner of your eye, you flicker your gaze between him and the juice. “I can do it myself…”
“I know. But I want to do this for you.” The way he speaks, so softly and gently, but still with a stern determination, has you relenting. His other hand skims the remnants of his fangs. “These will go away in a few hours.”
You let your head fall to his shoulder, opening your mouth and chewing on the bite of food he places on your tongue. “Mmmm,” you groan in satisfaction, reaching down to squeeze his bicep. “I don’t mind them… They’re kinda bad-ass, huh? I got bit by a vampire and survived.”
“You’re so funny,” Xavier says in a monotone voice, but breaks at a small chuckle.
“But really,” you turn your head to look at Xavier, smiling at him. “I would gladly do it again, whenever you’re hungry… Especially if I get that kinda treatment.”
Xavier groans, but pecks your lips. “Of course, starlight. Whatever you wish.”
you think that you're so alone in the world then you read literature from hundreds of years ago and you realize that other people have always felt this way
To celebrate day 30 and 600 days with Rafayel, I wanted to draw something inspired by the card that made me fall in love with his character 🩷 Specifically the line "Join me, then. Let's drown in the ocean. Together." I was so intrigued by Raf at this point that I broke my No Gacha rule 😂😭
In the end I'm glad I did. 🥹 This silly game has helped me a lot over the last year and a half, and I've gotten to meet a lot of really cool and inspiring people 💞
I'm so grateful to all my moots and everyone who's followed me during this challenge!! I'm gonna keep going for as long as I can manage (quality isn't always guaranteed.💦 my main focus is comms atm).
And requests are always open!! I might not always get to them immediately, but feel free to leave any ideas in the comments 🐟🩷
Since the new kitty banner is out, I saw a lot of people drawing how the others would react if MC turn into a cat. Everyone’s interaction is cutesy but Raf is so scared and doesn’t know what to do with MC. I get that we keep joking about Raf being scared of cats.
But instead of being scared, I think he just pretend to be. I mean, a sea god who have live for hundreds of year being scared of cats?
It’s more like he saw an opponent. Since he always act cute to get what he wants and now there’s this furry little gremlin stealing MC’s attention ‘how dare you acting cute in front of my bride?!’ And tried to compete by being scared.
So if MC is a kitty. I don’t think he would get confused between feeling scared or not. He would gobble us right up.
Thinking of deity Rafayel who has to mimic human behaviour just to make you feel at least. He’s very capable of walking through this life without the rise and fall of his chest taking in air, but just for the sake of your little head leaning onto him, he mimics your breathing pace, forcing his heart to beat in tune with yours.
Sometimes, he has to remind himself to blink, especially when he’s with you. You’ve mentioned it once or twice in passing that his gaze is… intense. Staring at you like he’s trying to memorise every single little detail, from the curve of your lips to how many strands of hair dip from your fringe-
Rafayel would just laugh then, a dry sound. Before he follows up with a snarky little quip about how mesmerised he is by you. But then on, he reminds himself to blink. Slowly, carefully, like a beast trying to appear harmless.
It’s hard for a deity to understand how a human feels. But masquerading as one comes a lot easier.
Rafayel would gladly put on a show of normalcy, if it meant that his presence could be your norm.
alpha rafayel and alpha caleb work together to free lemurians from omega auctions. but during a routine rescue operation, rafayel finds himself uncharacteristically sidetracked.
when he returns to the car, he carefully deposits a trembling human omega in the backseat. caleb has questions.
masterlist | read on ao3
It’d been three months since the last Lemurian had appeared at auction. Three months since their last successful rescue. It consumes him: saving them; sparing them from a fate often far worse than their human counterparts. Human omegas at least had a chance of being treated with kindness. Rafayel knew well that was not the case for his people.
In two nights, there would be another auction with a Lemurian as the centrepiece.
Rafayel buries his hands in the deep pockets of his heavy winter coat, careful with his footing on the icy concrete as he makes his way across the carpark. A spattering of other late arrivals are also making the frigid trek towards the building lit up ahead of him. Some are in groups, loud in their shared excitement for the night ahead. Some walk alone, like him—dark figures with bowed heads.
This auction house ran it’s events the way most mid-sized operations did. Weekend one-day auctions were routine, and when they got their hands on a Lemurian, they’d hold a special event that operated over multiple nights. Starting with a few nights of regular human offerings and culminating in one night focused on the Lemurian’s sale. These multi-night events would give Caleb and Rafayel time to scout the places out and figure out their plan of attack.
Tonight was the first night of bidding. All human lots. All Rafayel had to do was get a layout of the place, look for weaknesses. It was always worth being thorough, leaving the door open for lucky opportunities. At one of their first rescues—a smaller establishment unused to the attention a Lemurian lot would bring—he’d been lucky enough to swipe a set of keys and walked right out of the place with his target under his arm.
If only it was always that easy.
It had gotten progressively worse since then. The more they rescued, the more paranoid the auction houses and buyers became. Eventually, they’d need another approach entirely. But for now, the routine worked: pre-auction viewing to send a warning to their target, scouting the venue, snatch the target during post-auction exchange.
Pre-auction viewing usually commenced a week before the big night. Rafayel and Caleb would enter during the busier hours, with the crowds. Rafayel would make sure the little omega had spotted him among the bodies that circled their small viewing enclosure. It would ensure cooperation when they did come for them. They’d see the Sea God’s glowing eyes among the crowd gathered around their cages, and they’d know He would be coming for them. They’d know to be ready. Not to be afraid.
Shrugging his shoulders up, he fills his lungs with his last taste of the crisp winter air before slipping past a loud group of alphas clogging up the entrance—entering the overwhelming chaos of the auction hall. They’re always dark, noisy and overwhelming. It was intentional. They wanted people to feel invisible. To encourage even the most self-conscious, guilty, morally-conflicted spectators and potential buyers through their doors.
Rafayel finally escapes the bottleneck of bodies near the entrance and presses himself into a gap at the back wall. It’s slightly elevated, allowing him to make a scan of the large venue and make note of exits and layout.
“All good?” Caleb questions through Rafayel’s earpiece.
“All good,” he replies. “There’s an armed guard at each door. Pretty standard.”
“Keeping the serious security out the back,” Caleb adds, sounding calm. “Eventually, they’ll get so lazy in the auction rooms, I won’t be able to resist grabbing them directly from the stage.” A puff of air buzzes through Caleb’s microphone. “I doubt they are paying the kids in there enough to even try and shoot me on the way out.”
“Yeah, well, as long as they’re armed–”
“Too many bystanders,” he interrupts. “I know. I’m the one who talked you out of the idea, remember?”
The loud thrum of a room packed with at least a thousand excited people lifts louder as a group of omegas shuffle onto the stage. It’s nothing new to Rafayel. He’d probably seen more omegas in his life than most alphas alive. It’s so routine that the sharp anger that rattled him during their first few rescues had long-since dulled into a festering pit of disgust.
Only humans could do this to their own.
He watches the bidding from the shadows, eyes flicking across each terrified face lit up by blinding stage lights. At least the intense lights offered the tiny trembling humans a little heat. They always looked so cold.
Once the bidding well and truly stirs up the crowd, and all eyes are on the entertainment, he makes his way through the crowd. Make mental notes of exits, security rotations, any points of weakness. Then he could get the fuck out.
He finds an alpha slumped against one of the emergency exit doors, head hanging between bent knees. It was early in the night be knocked out by drink, but he’d seen worse.
There should’ve been a security guard here, like at the other emergency exits. They are always quick to toss inebriated bodies out into the night, so the door had been unguarded at least as long as the man had been slumped against it. Rafayel slinks back into the crowd, checks his watch, and waits—eyes flicking between the stage and the unguarded door.
Each lot is sold, one after the other, tiny human offerings pulled off stage when each of them is done facing their fate and hearing their monetary value.
Rafayel waits. Patient. Focused.
The unconscious alpha slumps over onto his side.
He checks his watch. 10 minutes without intervention from any security.
A point of weakness.
Caleb’s words rattle around in his head. At some point, the risk would have to be taken. Their approach was getting too predictable, and opportunities like this were too tempting to pass up.
The crowd jostles him a little as a new group is bought on stage, eager to get a good look at the new batch. Unlike them, Rafayel is focused on the man at the door. Another alpha steps out of the sea of bodies and kneels down in front of him.
He can’t tell if the man is security or a good samartian. His line of sight is obscured with the movement of the crowd, and when he attempts to shove his way closer to his point of interest, an elbow nearly smacks him in the jaw.
An impassioned alpha shouts out a bid—roars it—directly in Rafayel’s ear. Then he raises his numbered paddle with equal enthusiasm, and Rafayel is forced to dodge it.
It’s enough to break his focus on his task. It’s only for a moment. His eyes instinctively flick up to the stage, towards the focus of the man’s eager attention.
That’s all it takes.
One moment of distraction, and his life is thrown off-course.
The ringing in his ear, caused by the man’s roar, seems to spread to the other without any cause. He can hear nothing around him. Just a dull hum and a high pitched whine echoing in his skull.
You’re dressed like the rest of them: a flimsy shapeless unbleached piece of fabric hangs off you, ending just above your knees. It’s almost sheer. Almost. It gives the impression that if the lighting was a little different, it would be.
It’s all intentional.
Everything about how you are presented to the crowd is intentional. Even down to the slightly raggedy nature of the dress. Omegas of all genders wear the same little sack. It makes them look… in need, wanting; clean and kept but… unloved. To nurture and provide was an instinctual desire for alphas. A need these evil fucks hoped to trigger in potential buyers.
Rafayel had laughed, hollow and bitter, the first time he’d realised all the tiny insidious ways they were targeting alpha instincts. “How human,” he’d spat, releasing his frustration at Caleb as he’d slammed the car door closed.
“What is?” Caleb had asked, starting the engine.
Rafayel hadn’t known how to answer. It was one of his first times in a place like that. He couldn’t process it: how they… how humans had so successfully ignored their own protective instincts to cause harm to the very people they were supposed to protect. Not just individually. As a whole society, in an organised manner. They were ignoring their own instincts enough to cause harm but were still aware enough of them to be able to weaponise them against each other.
“Cruelty,” Rafayel had muttered in response, suddenly finding himself too drained to offer any other explanation.
Frozen in place, with his ears still ringing, Rafayel drags his eyes over you now, searching. He doesn’t know what he’s searching for. You have something he needs.
Searching.
Searching.
The trembling girl to your left darts her hand out to grasp yours as her sale is finalised with a slam of the gavel. A flood of adrenaline floods his system as Rafayel’s eyes snap to the sudden movement on stage like it’s a threat. There’s no threat, his rational mind shouts.
Someone shoves into him.
He stumbles forward.
The girl grasping your hand is scanning the crowd. Maybe searching for her new owner, or maybe for the exit—one last desperate, hopeless instinctive look towards freedom.
There’s a tug somewhere deep inside him, reminding him he should be looking at exits too. That’s what he’d been doing. He had a task. A man slumped across the emergency exit closest to him. He’d been distracted from his task. His neck even twitches a little at the thought, like his body wants to turn towards the exit, but finds itself paralysed by an invading parasitic host that has taken control.
His ears are still ringing.
Your lot number is called next.
Rafayel doesn’t hear it.
You’re entirely still, like him, eyes fixed over the crowd.
He wonders if the lights are hurting your eyes.
The girl beside you is tugged away, and when she reluctantly releases her grasp on you, your arm hovers awkwardly out from your side—stiff and unnatural.
He’s never seen you before.
He searches his memory desperately for any trace of you.
Nothing.
So why does he knows you.
He’s looking at a face he’s never seen before in his life and feeling instead like he’s looking at someone precious to him. Not just precious. Someone resurrected from the dead. It’s a flood of emotion like he’d been missing you for lifetimes and had now, finally, found you. His emotions are incongruent with reality to such a degree, he wonders if maybe he’s dreaming, or dead.
A bony elbow jabs into his ribs hard enough to bruise.
Sound floods back into his skull.
The auctioneer is shouting numbers out across the hall. The current going price.
Your price.
You are being bid on.
Someone is about to own you—take you away.
The voice in his ear snaps the tension in his body like a jolt of electricity, and it’s only his years of masking all his emotion—of keeping his cool in places like this—that prevents him giving any physical indication at all that he’d been startled.
“Status update,” his partner says through his earpiece, business as usual.
He’s asking.
It’s a request for information.
Rafayel is aware he should answer.
His eyes settle on your clenched fist, grasping tightly to the fabric of your dress now that you’ve lost your one hand to hold. That hand was gone now. Sold.
Rafayel lifts his sleeve to his mouth to communicate with his partner. “Call in and bid on lot 520,” he orders, letting no trace of his dazed state leak into his voice. “Secure her.”
A beep. Another beep. The line opening and closing. A buzz of empty static fills his ear. Caleb had opened the line and let silence hang.
The buzz cuts off.
A second or two of dead line.
Then, “Secure lot 520?”
This wasn’t normal. Nothing about this was normal. There was no precedent for this. They didn’t participate in the auctions. Ever.
Rafayel watches as the auctioneer searches for a higher offer, gavel raised like a threat. Dread turns his gut inside out, his eyes flicking between you and the lanky man threatening to take you away forever.
“Do it now,” he hisses, panicked.
His heart thumps rapidly in his chest as he imagines you being dragged off… to be collected by some other alpha. A feral urge to surge through the mass of bodies and climb up onto the stage runs like an electric current through his muscles, shocking him still. He even considers the unguarded door with the drunken man. Fuck bystanders. He’s a man suddenly afraid of himself—out of control—paralysed in that microsecond before fight or flight.
The lanky auctioneer points his gavel at a woman at one of the phones with her hand raised. Caleb had called. The tension leaves Rafayel’s body in a flood that nearly brings him to his knees. Caleb has an instruction, and he wouldn’t fail him. He knows it now like he’s always known it. It was one of two things he grasped onto in his darkest hours: the ocean and it’s people were his, his responsibility; and Caleb would never, ever fail him.
He begins to weave through the crowd, partially freed from his paralysis. He can move his body freely, but only towards you, and his eyes never leave you. Drawn towards you like prey hypnotised by a glowing light pulsing in dark ocean depths.
The noise around him dulls to a muffled buzz again, entirely tuned out.
He’s close enough now to see your fingers are pale at the tips as you squeeze white fabric like a lifeline. He wants to reach out and pry them free—to hold your hand in his—transfer them to the lifeline he could offer instead.
Your eyes are still fixed at the back of the hall. He doubts you can see anything at all with the stage lights pounding down on you. Still, he looks up at you, and wills you to see him. His lips move with his silent pleas. Look at me, he begs. Over and over.
The gavel drops.
Sold.
It looks like a string snapping. Like you’d been a puppet, forced by your invisible master to keep your body held up on the stage in one position, and now, released, the lifeless puppet pools into a mess of limbs on the floor.
He has to press his nails into his palms until he’s sure he bleeds to stop himself giving into his urge to jump the barrier and climb the stage. Maybe Caleb was right. Maybe no one in the room cared enough to shoot him.
But if they did, they could hit you.
He watches as two men step out from the shadows, lift you up, and carry you away.
The moment you slip behind the curtain, out of his sight, he staggers back, his own string snapping.
There’s a big dark empty pit inside him. One that had existed before he’d entered this hall. How was it possible he hadn’t paid it much mind before now? He can feel the shape of it, the depth, the space it carves out from his flesh.
Caleb’s saying something in his ear again. The final price. The price they had paid.
“Can I get her now?” Rafayel fires back in response, breathless. He’s shoving his way through bodies as he fails entirely to keep the desperation from his tone. Caleb will know something is very wrong if he hadn’t before. This isn’t how their missions usually go. It’s not how they’ve ever gone before. Not in all the years their years together.
Silence.
And then, “I’ll finalise it and send you the authorisation to collect her.” A pause. “Should I remain in place?” It sounds like many questions in one.
Rafayel knows, even if his frenzied state, it’s only the trust and bond between them that saves him from an on-the-spot interrogation through his earpiece.
“Yes,” Rafayel responds, bursting through the crowd of bodies and into open space, breathless. “Stay in place. We’ll be out.”
We.
Him and… you.
He presses his palm to the cool concrete wall, catching his breath and regaining his composure. The noise and chaos floods back around him slowly, a welcome distraction from the throbbing pit of absence in his chest.
There’s a ramp to his right, leading down into the collection hall.
He straightens his coat and tie and makes his descent, composure restored—at least to any eyes that happen to pass over him.
When his hands start trembling, he shoves them in his deep coat pockets.
Steel mesh separates his walkway from another. The one mirroring his descent, ascends up to a separate exit, where newly purchased lots could be led out by eager owners without having to battle through the bustling, inebriated, crowd in the auction hall.
A towering man passes him on that other ramp, separated from Rafayel by mesh, and trailed by a shivering figure in white. Rafayel scowls, eyes catching on the little omegas bare feet.
They didn’t even clothe them properly for collection.
It was mid-winter outside. Cold enough to see his own breath as he’d marched from the car to the entrance. He shoves his hands deeper in his coat pockets at the memory. Pausing, he fishes out his discovery: a woollen beanie buried in the deepest corner of his right pocket. It was one of Caleb’s, likely stuffed into one of Rafayel’s pockets out of convenience during a previous outing. He shoves the hat back down again and tries not to think about how Caleb will react when he discovers Rafayel has no explanation for what he’s done.
He sits in the waiting area, staring at his phone in anticipation of authorisation paperwork, and slowly, gradually, returns to himself. His heart rate steadies along with his trembling hands.
What the fuck had just happened to him?
Mates were fairytales. A fantasy long relegated to the past—before omegas had faced a population decline so sudden and catastrophic, the entire structure of human society had cruelly shifted to compensate. There was no space for the fantasy of finding YOUR omega. Not in the corrupted hell humans had built for themselves.
His phone buzzes in his hand. Rafayel sucks in a steadying breath as he refocuses on his task: collect you, get out. Until you were physically by his side, outside this pit of moral decay and desperation, he wouldn’t take an easy breath. He clenches his palms and swallows the anxiety down, and by the time he catches your scent in his nostrils, he’s a picture of calm composure.
He knows it’s your scent before he sees you, like he recognised a face he was seeing for the first time. It’s so familiar, it feels like a childhood memory. All emotion without the details.
You’re still dressed solely in that scrap of almost-sheer natural white fabric. And with a gentle shove from the woman who had led you out, you shuffle to stand at his side. You’re all-consuming presence beside him feels entirely out of proportion with the reality of you: tiny, cowering, and shivering.
He hadn’t noticed you shivering on stage. Either he was too far away or you were colder now. Or more afraid. His stomach flips at the thought. Why wouldn’t you be afraid of him? He was your new captor. Another in a long line for an omega born into a world such as theirs. And for all you knew, he wanted something more from you than anyone that had come before him. That’s what people bought omegas for, after all. He swallows, suppressing a wave of nausea.
Refocusing on his mission of getting the fuck out of the place, he shakes a clammy hand over a desk, collects a large envelope containing his certificate of ownership, and leads you towards the ramp—hyperaware of any potential threat between you and the exit.
He resists looking down at you as he leads you up that ramp towards your freedom. He knows you’ll be feeling anything but free.
Rightly so, really.
The envelope feels heavy in his hands.
There’s a small seating area at the top of the ramp, tucked a little to the side, out of the way of any natural route to exit the building. He quickly leads you into the small nook, drops the envelope on the floor and begins to tug his coat off, rushed and pumping with adrenaline now the exit is so near. You stumble back a step, clearly startled by his frenzied attempt to free himself of the heavy wool.
He freezes, the heavy coat hanging from one arm, paralysed in response to your little display of fear.
Nausea wracks him again.
He takes a shaky breath, forced to inhale a lungful of your fear in the process. Bitter.
You were so afraid. Afraid of him.
“It’s cold outside,” he starts, gently. “I’m just going to put this on you, okay?”
Your eyes are fixed at his feet, and you are entirely unmoving. Apart from an uncontrolled tremble as a shiver racks your small frame.
You aren’t running, or stepping further back. That’ll have to do.
His hands tremble, matching you, as he drapes the heavy coat over your shoulders. He hesitates, suddenly nervous about releasing its full weight onto you. An image of your crumpled body under the stage lights flashes in his mind, unwelcome.
But then you thread your arms into the sleeves and wrap the oversized coat around yourself, cocooning yourself in the remnants of his body heat still clinging to the fibres.
A little marble of warm light rolls into that dark pit inside him, bouncing in the bottom, echoing. He’s done something good for you—provided—and you liked it.
He could do so much more. God, he wants you to know how much he’s willing to do.
You lift your shoulders up a little and tuck your chin into the cocoon you’ve made, like you’re attempting to bury yourself in the cashmere.
The beanie.
He takes a small step. Then hesitates. “I’m just–” He moves like a stalking cat trying not to startle a mouse. “–getting a beanie from the pocket.”
A painstakingly slow dip of his hand into the nest you’ve made around yourself, and then he steps back quickly, successful in his delicate extraction.
“Can I…” he trails off, gesturing awkwardly with the navy blue beanie. It’s covered in Caleb’s scent, flooding Rafayel’s senses with a comforting familiarly as he waves it in front of him.
No shuffling away. That’ll do, he supposes.
Slowly, he lowers the beanie over your head, finger brushing the shell of your ear.
Your eyes snap up to meet his.
He freezes.
He’s bent over at an awkward angle, arms acting as a bridge between your bodies, held stiff where he’d been working to arrange the hat so it wouldn’t fall down over your eyes.
You blink up at him, eyes watery, either from the cold or emotion. He wishes he knew which.
It wouldn’t be until much later that he’d fully process it, but something about the way you look at him now triggers the first stages of a spiralling thought: Why did he instruct Caleb to bid on you? Why had he so instinctively side-stepped all his long festering disgust and participated in the human torture system instead of snatching you from your buyer’s hands like they did will all their Lemurian rescues? The envelope with the papers certifying his ownership of you slides under his boot on the floor as he shifts his weight. What… the fuck… had he done?
A small, cold, trembling hand snaps him from his spiralling thoughts.
You cup his wet cheek, arm extended towards him, mirroring the way his arms still bridge the distance between you.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promises—a little broken noise. It comes out of him like a plea for mercy.
Your lashes flutter as you blink a few times. Then you nod, retracting your hand back into your cocoon.
He’s hardly breathing as he begins moving again, careful not to touch your skin. You let him arrange the hat carefully on your head, staying still as he delicately moves your hair out of your face in his final touches.
Then he steps back, admiring his work.
His satisfaction is short-lived.
Your feet are bare.
Slowly, he lowers himself to one knee, crumpling the large envelope that now sports a large boot mark on it’s cover. He looks up at you. “Will you let me carry you to the car?” he asks, again, sounding much like a man begging for mercy.
You take a small step backwards.
He goes stiff.
He stops himself reaching out.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says, repeating his pledge. “And I won’t ever touch you if you don’t want me to. It’s just very cold—probably colder than it was when I came in—and you don’t have shoes.” He watches you look down at your feet, like you hadn’t noticed. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring any,” Rafayel adds, finding himself unable to stop speaking, desperately seeking the right words. “This wasn’t… the plan. I wasn’t ready for you.”
You shuffle towards him.
It’s a tiny little movement, hardly closing any distance between you at all.
He holds his breath.
Watches your face.
Your chin dips.
He’s almost afraid to rise to his feet. But then you take another small step closer, and suddenly, he desperately wants to be out of this place. He wants to take you home, where it’s safe and warm and he can finally process what was happening—how his life had just changed forever.
He snatches the crumpled envelope from the floor, bends it in half, and shoves it in one of his back pockets. Then, just before he can take a cautious step towards you, the hand that had rested on his cheek so gently, slips out to tuck a little stray clump of hair behind your ear. He can feel your touch on his cheek still, lingering, and he suddenly finds himself desperate for the chilled night air on his face.
With calm movements, careful not to spook you, he scoops you up: a delicate bundle wrapped in soft wool.
You tuck you chin into your chest and curl in on yourself, and he makes sure he’s got a secure hold on you, aware you aren’t holding onto him at all. It was all on him, and idea of you relying on him so fully, even in his little way, triggers another little marble of warmth to roll into that deep dark pit inside him.
Then he catches the scent of you, stronger than ever before. There’s something else in it now. Something new. It’s not all bitterness, like it had been up until now. He can’t decide what it is exactly. One day, he’d know your feelings like he knew his own. For now, all he knows is that little tinge of something new is… sweet. And sweet had to be good.
So he presses you to his chest, up against where those two little warm marbles roll around inside him, turns to shove the heavy door open with his back, and marches out into the clear winter night.
Nature Documentary: these deep sea creatures can withstand crushing pressures of thousands of pounds per square inch!
Me: they’re not withstanding a goddamn thing. The pressure is a part of them. Their interiors and exteriors are equalized. Just because your respiratory system is built around a pair of fragile poppable bubbles-
