my-cherrie

✩ gravity starts and ends with you ✩

[coralreefqueen-ao3]

Crimson Steam - Kitten

Pairing: 18+ | Vampire Rafayel x Vampire Hunter Reader

Tags: Slow burn, violence, friends to lovers, dark themes, angst with a happy ending, dirty talk, explicit language, explicit consent, biting kink, mates, smut, primal kink, 3rd person pov, all 5 LIs are included

Summary: In a world riddled with danger; vampires, werewolves, and humans co-exist. Rafayel, a vampire with a hidden motive, disgraces his kind by spending his days with a Huntress, a woman who hunts his own. Together, they are misfits, bonded by a traumatic past, paving a new path side-by-side.

Word Count: 15.1k

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

Rafayel rejected her at the young age of seventeen. 

She would never forget that day, holding it close to her heart when requiring the dull pain that accompanied humbling.

It had been a cool autumn afternoon as they walked through their city. Women twirled their parasols while leaves fell, and men adorned trench coats rich in dark colors.

The sense of comfort found in late nights, watching rivulets of water slither down the windows from pounding rain, bore naivety. Sometimes, she imagined them, sitting together, staring out the window wrapped up in one another. She had known Rafayel for the better part of seven years, making her believe she could assume responses. 

Boys her age were rambunctious, running through the streets to either steal or flirt. Education was only offered to a few, to those capable of sparing multiple wads of cash. While the privileged watched chalk upon boards, everyone else meandered aimlessly. 

Rafayel strolled by her side with hands in his pants pockets. Unbothered, he appeared mysterious, capable of a control unattainable by a fledgling such as himself. His eyes would narrow when observing, and if uninterested, he would move on without the permission of others. She was used to it, having to learn early on not to be offended. 

They were on their way to the local tea shop, an adventure they would partake in once a month, when enough money was saved. Rafayel could care less about the beverage, but would tag along with the excuse he needed to protect her. It would make her smug, confident he simply enjoyed her company. 

With his hands in his pockets, the edges of his trench coat crumpled to lay against his wrists like curtains held by a holdback. It opened his jacket to expose his midnight vest, the old thing frayed along the tops, some buttons loose upon their strings. He had taken it from a corpse a few months prior. 

“Do we have to go again?” Rafayel complained. “It’s my annual fang sharpening day.” 

“Bullshit,” she snorted, twirling to walk backwards and talk with him. “I saw you caring for them yesterday. And it’s not annual, it’s not sharpening, all you do is brush them like a normal human.” 

“Look at you so observant,” his cheeks puffed, and he looked to the side. 

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” 

“I never said that,” his hands left his pockets so his arms could fold. 

“Raf, you just invented a fake, personal tradition to avoid the tea shop,” she laughed, and turned to face forward. “If you return home now, there’s still enough time to send Julian this way, he’ll go with me.” 

Julian was a dhampir: half-human, half-vampire. A fellow misfit, he had joined their makeshift coven a few years ago. He would follow Rafayel around like a lost puppy, admiration prevalent in his eyes. Rafayel would ignore him, but never forced him away. 

“No, he would very much like to get under your skin,” Rafayel increased his pace, to walk alongside her once more. 

Literally. The young Huntress had seen the dhampir stare a little too long at her wrists, felt the burn of his gaze at her neck. Repulsion would skitter over her nerves, instincts screaming for her to run. She would find herself often taking a step closer to Rafayel. In her heart, she longed for the vampire to sling an arm over her shoulders, and hold her close. 

But thoughts like those made Hunters such as herself weak. Even more so when an outcome like the one she desired wasn’t even a possibility. The last time Rafayel had touched her was when they first met, when his small hands had gripped her even smaller arms, and pushed her away. 

Like any other growing woman - at least one with a crush - she had tried to sneak in a few brushes here and there. Rafayel, their self-proclaimed leader, often spent his evenings at a desk, an oil lamp flickering in the corner. There, he would concoct plans, negotiate bounties, and consider rations. He would ask for her input, in which she would readily provide, leaning over him to point to something on his parchment. She would try to get close enough her body might touch his, yet he would subtly move away. If they were walking, and she’d feel the heat of his fingers near hers, he’d step to the side. 

She would never have the advantage, his senses much more in tune with his environment than hers were. Besides, she never wanted to give him something he didn’t want. Both had too many things forced upon them in the past, she wouldn’t add to that. 

When Rafayel opened the door to the small shop, the bell atop the doorframe jingled. The Huntress didn’t miss the wince near the corner of his eye - the loud chime harsh on his sensitive ears. 

“Welcome in,” an employee greeted, bustling between tables. “The table by the window is yours.” 

Rafayel took a seat while she went up to place their order. The special that month revolved around pumpkin and spice, both bold flavors she figured the vampire would not appreciate. So, she ordered his usual, while she wanted the special. Handing over the money, the man who greeted them when they entered, handed her the change. 

“It will be out to you shortly,” he smiled. 

She nodded, and turned on her heel to make her way back to where Rafayel sat. She nearly lost her breath, taking in the sight of him. 

Vampires were considered the spawn of something evil, the descendants of demons. Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder how Rafayel appeared divine. The light cascading through the window made his figure glow, the violet in his eyes echoing aspects ethereal. His legs were crossed, the foot dangling in the air moving restlessly, while his hand atop the table tapped its fingers. The lavender of his hair was messy, ruffled from his hand. 

She loved him. 

Whatever it was that made her chest hurt and her eyes heavy, she now knew it was love. This was no simple crush, because if it was, she would never recognize every inch of his body, every habit of his, every nuance of his speech. 

There were times as of late she fixated on his mouth. The miniscule creases upon his lips, the soft texture of his tongue, she was curious about it all. She would lay awake at night, tossing and turning, crossing her knees to alleviate the pulsation between her hips. Because his mouth, in her fantasies, not only found hers, it found other places, too. 

She wanted to collapse in the center of the teashop. Her knees would hurt on her landing, but that was the least of her problems. 

She was in love. She wanted to cry, she wanted to laugh, she wanted to scream, all at the same time. 

As if sensing her turmoil, Rafayel turned his head. She held his gaze, nearly stumbling when time slowed. She watched as he dragged his stare down, cementing to her boots. She wasn’t moving, she had stood still. When had she stopped? She must have looked crazy, standing between two tables, onlookers shaking their heads to themselves. 

“Are you okay?” Rafayel mouthed, movements exaggerated so she could read his lips. 

She shook her head, unable to lie. Her eyes wouldn’t leave his facial features, tracing his eyebrows, nose, lips, and jaw. She was seeing him in a new light, every little thing she could find amplified. 

It made her heart thunder. 

And that was her downfall, because supernatural eyes widened, pitch black pupils expanding. Rafayel inhaled, deep into his lungs. She could even see his shoulders rise. That was when the world fell away, and she was defeated. He knew. Maybe not exactly what she was thinking, but he would have his suspicions. 

His fingers had stopped tapping, his index suspended in the air, frozen. He swallowed, Adam’s Apple bobbing as he cleared his throat. Then he tore his gaze away, frowning as he stared at the table, fingers drumming once more. 

The moment was over. That was her queue to get moving. 

When she got to her seat, she lifted the chair off the ground, instead of sliding it away from the table. It was one of the small accommodations she had made a habit of doing when around the vampire. The scrape of wood or metal used to force him to cover his ears when they were kids. 

She wasn’t sure what to say when she settled. Rafayel was looking everywhere but at her. She knew her cheeks were flushed, and her heart still beat loudly against the top of her breast. 

To confess was her first instinctual reaction. She was never one to idle, always understanding of her own reality. Feelings were easy to encounter, memories were not. This was a realm she was comfortable in. 

“Ma’am,” the man from earlier broke through her thoughts before she could make her decision, “your tea.” 

The cup was placed in front of her, the scent of Fall soothing her. Her hands curled around the base, warming her palms. Across from her, Rafayel looked at the waiter. 

“And for the gentleman,” he did the same.

It was hard for the populace to identify Rafayel as a vampire. He was rare, Tempered at his young age. Rafayel was the same age as her, still growing and finding his way amongst his kind. Tempered was a state which recognized vampires who functioned without the interference of the frenzy. More specifically, on a daily basis, they were still susceptible to bouts at certain times. The older the vampire, the higher chance they were Tempered. The younger, the lower. 

The events that matured Rafayel at such a young age allowed him to master the state long before his counterparts. 

That wasn’t to say the man still wouldn't have addressed Rafayel as a gentleman. Discrimination wasn’t between species, it was between the elite and lower-class. Many would never suspect a vampire resided within the working class. Rafayel did not actively conceal his supernatural existence, but he never went out of his way to make it public, either. 

“Anything else?” the man asked, smiling gently at the Huntress. 

His nametag read Elias. Tall, he was lithe, slim with a strong jawline. Blonde hair was a mess atop his head, some hairs falling to intermingle with jade eyes. He was human, the Huntress could tell by the way he held himself, rigid beneath her scrutiny. Rafayel had taught her that no matter how hard she stared, no vampire would falter. 

“Actually,” she finally answered, “do you have anything honeydew-flavored?” 

Eager to please, Elias thought, rubbing at his chin with his index and thumb. “Ah, yeah, we have some yogurt.” 

“Awesome, two of those, please.” She wasn’t ordering those for herself - honeydew always drew Rafayel’s attention.

Elias nodded, then departed, shoes clacking against the hardwood floor. He meandered through the scattered tables, disappearing through the door indicating storage. 

“He likes you,” Rafayel stated, bland in his expression. He lifted his cup to his lips, sipping on the clear liquid. “His heart increases in rate whenever you look at him or you speak. Judging by his scent, he’s the same age as us, maybe a few months older.” 

In return, she drank her own tea. Too much spice, indeed, she was glad she didn’t order any for Rafayel. “I’m not looking for anyone, right now. You know that.” 

The vampire shrugged, “just thought you would want to know.” 

“Well, I don’t. Humans can’t sense those things, so it would be wrong if I relied on that.” 

She was angry, upset he would even suggest her spending time outside of their coven, with someone else. Especially now that he could sense her attraction. This must have been his way of forcing her away. The least he could do was tell her to her face. 

Elias returned, decorated cups of yogurt on his silver platter. The cups were glass, tiny sundae spoons sticking out from the tops of the pudding-like texture. He placed them both down, rocking the fancy vase filled with sparse flowers. When the man left, she pushed her serving over to Rafayel. 

His lips molded around the spoon immediately, his tongue playing around the stem. 

Seeing him happy turned a dark world suddenly bright. 

“He’s cute,” Rafayel continued, eyes down to watch the yogurt collect on his spoon. 

“Even so, he’s not the one I would want.” 

Oh how she wanted an attack to take place on the street outside their window. Anything to get her out of her seat and away, because it didn’t take a genius to know what she insinuated. 

“Don’t finish that thought, Cutie,” Rafayel said. 

Whether it was a demand or a request, she couldn’t tell. His voice wavered, that’s all she knew. 

“A human would be good for me, right?” She could feel her chest turn, the thick syrup of defense drowning her mind. It was easier if she was alone, if she could never have him, she wanted no one. “But why should I put anyone through that?” 

Her final words had a snarl warping the edges. 

“No one wants damaged goods.” 

It was low, and the urge to curl into herself after reminding them both of such a horrid past was all-consuming. The best thing to do would have been to gobble the words right back up, except that they had already made their presence known, practically a guest at their table. But she remained resilient, chin held up even when the vampire in front of her flinched. It was not one of her more prouder moments, lashing out in response to his rejection. 

“That’s not what I - nevermind,” Rafayel clamped his mouth shut. Elias had returned, the bill for the honeydew yogurt in his hand. 

Rafayel took it, paying attention to the man for the first time. He reached for his own wallet, pressing a few bills on top of the paper. 

“She’s free tonight, eight o’clock. Townsquare, if you know what’s good for you.” 

He had no right to make decisions for her, and she would be chewing him out later for that, but Rafayel didn’t seem to care, standing the moment he finished talking. He pushed his chair in, scraping the legs hard against the floor. Without another word, he made his way to the door, slipping through the threshold swiftly before the bell could chime long enough to bother him. 

Elias hadn't noticed, staring at the Huntress. Hope was alive in his eyes, his fingers fumbling against his apron. 

She wasn’t ruthless, so she smiled, “see you later?” 

It had meant to be one date. Walking through the park wasn’t the worst thing, and she had told herself it would be nice to get out. She planned to turn Elias down afterwards, blaming herself. 

But it hadn't turned out that way. Elias was a sweet boy, the exact opposite of Rafayel. He would fumble, struggled with social interaction, and stuttered every other sentence. When the end of the evening came, he grabbed her hand, stroking back and forth over her palm. She had never been touched intimately, never knew what it felt like to have an affectionate hand around her own. 

It was their third date when they became official. 

And they would continue steady for a couple years. Elias never knew where she lived, that some nights she spent covered in blood, cleaning the barrel of her gun. He never knew she lived in an abandoned flat with Rafayel and a few others. He was never by her side when they found Julian, cold and stiff, dead in the pouring rain. She would weep alone that evening, hugging herself in the corner of the kitchen while Rafayel hunted the vampire responsible. And she would be at Elias’ house the next day, meeting his parents for the first time. 

Elias was intelligent, privileged to have a father willing to put forth a tuition for his boy. Elias never faulted her for her lack of education or ambition in the world of the working class. She realized he probably knew she was in some shady business, earning her living through bounty hunting. Yet, he still loved her. 

Elias was her first kiss, her first exploration into the carnal pleasure found between bodies. His touch was never rough, always considerate. Whenever clothes would reveal skin, she made sure they were in the dark. The first time Elias had felt the Claim upon her shoulder, he traced it. She hated when he did that, but to explain why it bothered her, would expose the truth she tried her hardest to hide. Elias believed it was scarring from an accident. 

“The scaffolding had fallen when I was playing beneath it,” was what she had told him, weaving a story about construction her non-existent parents had commissioned. 

It explained all the other scars littered across her body. 

But all that tracing, all that sweat and shared orgasms, made her ashamed to walk through the door at night. Rafayel had distanced himself since her relationship with Elias had become intimate. Vampires, and their heightened senses, sometimes made her feel violated. Rafayel had surely known what had transpired, what she had done. Even if he didn’t want to, his body naturally picked up on such things. 

At first, she had told herself she could ignore it, rationalizing Rafayel had set her up with Elias in the first place. It was his fault. Which she would have told him if they spent time together like they used to. He had even begun to take bounties without her, leaving to execute them solo without a second thought. Too many nights she had laid awake, wondering if he would make it home safe. 

Too many nights she wondered what in the world she was doing with Elias. He wanted a domestic future, one filled with children and hosting get-togethers. He wanted a beautiful, obedient wife standing by his side. It was her twentieth birthday when she decided to track Rafayel down. Whether he wanted to talk or not, they were going to. Rafayel, despite being considered the superior species, listened to her more often than not, something she believed would bring him shame within the vampire community. It did, but that never deterred him from hearing her out, or accepting her defiance. 

She found him on the top floor of their abandoned flat, where his bedroom was at the time. His door had been left open, bed empty and desk vacant. His balcony door was open, however. Outside, he sat on a stool, an easel in front of him. The paint at the tip of his brush catered to his every whim, flowing with each arc of his arm. 

The Huntress walked past him, turning to lean her backside against the metal railing. It was brisk that evening, and judging by the white within the night clouds, there would be snow. The cold didn’t bother Rafayel, he was dressed down, a loose jacket, sweatpants, and fluffy socks. There was a small hole at the toe, and the zipper on his jacket was diagonal, hanging from the teeth. 

“I thought you were with Elias tonight,” Rafayel assumed, continuing to paint. His tone was rather accusatory. 

So it did irk him. 

She almost chuckled at his antics, if it wasn’t for the fact he was bluffing, purposefully hiding his wants and needs. 

“We broke up,” she said, and sat, pushing her legs through the space between the thin that made up the railing, facing her away from him. Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal. “I’d prefer to spend my evening with my favorite vampire.” 

A jar fell, brushes clattering to the floor. She heard his whispered curse before he gathered his brushes, and set them aside. Then, he was sitting next to her, keeping enough space so they didn’t touch. 

“Sorry that things didn’t work out.” 

“You’re going to have to try better than that to hide your delight.” 

His laugh was quiet, a sound she hadn't heard for a long time. “I thought he was dull in comparison to you.” 

“Figured that out when I asked him to fuck me against the wall, yet he still led me to the bedroom.” 

She nearly howled in laughter when he coughed. Anyone else, and she would have patted his back in jest, but she kept her hands to herself. 

“I didn’t know vampires could get flustered,” she teased.

“I guarantee we could go into town and ask anyone their thoughts on that, and I’m positive they’d be flustered. I’m a vampire, not emotionless.” 

They fell into a comfortable presence. Everyone who lived with them were out and about, enjoying the spoils of their week at local pubs, restaurants, or underground casinos. It was the weekend, afterall. Rafayel enjoyed when they left, he could bask in his own presence, the solitude of his own company. 

Not that he minded having his Huntress by him. 

She swung her feet idly, the heels of her boots tapping against the side of their flat. The breeze moved her hair, and she giggled to herself, wrapping it all over her shoulder so she could braid it. It exposed a mark beneath her ear, a small bruise. 

It smelled of sandalwood, sticky with the scent of saliva. 

Rafayel needed to leave. 

“I got something for you,” he said, removing his legs from between the spokes. 

The Huntress hummed, watching him return to his room. She remained, eyes drifting to the street below. A cart had stopped in front of a lamp, the horses still and docile, aided by their leather blinders. Bags of flour were being loaded, dirt-covered boys in raggedy shirts and fraying suspenders swinging the ingredient. The driver was an elderly man, his clothes in no better shape. 

Her own work would begin in a few hours, her target a young female vampire, notorious for luring men and ending their lives after light petting. She figured she might begin around the blood banks. If she were a vampire, it would be easier to tempt a man addicted to the bite. There were always too many alleys around those places. 

Her Claim thrummed, asking for attention. She rubbed it in soothing circles. Whenever she hunted, every vampire had some despicable comment about her mark, especially if Rafayel was by her side. 

“It’s not much . . . but it’s something.” 

Rafayel was next to her once more, after throwing a blanket over her shoulders. It carried his scent, and she reached to pull it further around her. The bumpy texture of it told her it was the blanket from the foot of his bed. 

A red velvet cupcake was held out in front of her. No candle burned in the center, it was instead a match. 

“Hurry, it won’t last long,” he rushed, nudging the cupcake closer. 

“Aren’t you going to sing for me?” 

“Cutie, we don’t have time, hurry, hurry. My hand can’t hold this forever, are you going to let it fall off? How will I paint? You will ruin this precious artist’s career-” 

She closed her eyes, and blew. Rafayel whistled in celebration, using his free hand to clap the top of his thigh. 

“Congratulaions on getting old,” he finished.

“Need I remind you we are the same age.” 

“Take the damn cupcake before it freezes.” 

She did, gently pinching it to make sure their hands didn’t touch. His palm was flat, reminding her of when children were taught how to feed animals so teeth wouldn’t scrape. She split it in half, and took the first bite, moaning when the flavor slithered across her tongue. Sweets were the most expensive items in their city. Those, and certain metals. 

Rafayel took the other half, eating it in a few bites before sucking his fingers clean. 

“It’s snowing,” she realized, holding her hand out. 

Flakes trickled down, tiny and bountiful, telling them the snow would last a while, and stick.

“Take my jacket,” Rafayel suggested, “it’s going to be cold tonight.” 

“I know how vampires work, Raf. You want your scent on me, why?” 

Crimson seized his skin, tinting his cheeks. Caught, he was embarrassed. She thought he was even more beautiful when the deep color graced his pale features. 

“Because you’re collecting a bounty alone. They should know you have a vampire by your side.” 

It was a lie. The Claim upon her already did that, tainted with a subtle scent that was embedded into the scarring of her skin. Vampires were sensitive to the hormones released in saliva, the chemistry that allowed biology to identify a suitor. They could scent it. 

On top of that, Rafayel was no threat to most vampires, considering his age and ties to humans. He had no mentor, no Pureblood to guide him. He was a loner. 

She wouldn’t call him out on it, and he didn’t add anything, either. 

It was when she stood by the door to leave, he removed his jacket to hand it to her. She threw it on, and he grabbed the front to adjust it over her body. She could feel his breath on her face, the tremble through the fabric. 

“Any birthday wishes for me?” she asked. 

He smiled, his fangs on display. All it did was confirm he wanted his scent on her for a specific reason. 

“I wish for you to have a long, prosperous life, full of plentiful bounties, clean guns, and most importantly, an endless amount of surfaces to be fucked against whenever you want it.”

It was the first night without the presence of another. 

The Huntress rolled, facing the glass doors that gave way to a large balcony. Her bed felt too large without Rafayel, too cold, too . . . useless. 

So she rose, donning a silk robe over her frame. The full moon shone through the glass, illuminating the guest bedroom with an eerie glow. 

Sylus’ mansion was straight from a gothic novel. Built in shades of red and black, and blanketed in a glow born from candles, she felt phantoms roamed the halls. And she wandered with them, trailing her hand over the polished railing that led downstairs. The stairs themselves were carpeted in vermillion hues, mixed with swirls of gold designs. 

The plush threads of yarn beneath her bare feet silenced her steps. She slowed her breathing, trained from a young age on hunting those with heightened senses. 

When she made it to the bottom, she scurried across the entranceway, pressing her back to the wall adjacent to the door to the dining room. The door was cracked open enough she could decipher pieces of the conversation.

“You’re weak,” a voice she recognized as Sylus’s stated. 

“Sylus,” the gentle one warned. She had encountered him only once, when she was introduced to her room for the next week. Xavier was pretty, delicate and lethal. 

Rafayel blew out a hot breath. The Huntress could picture it, the skin around his lips inflating. “I am,” he stated, “incapable of protecting her.” 

“The Huntress?” Sylus took a guess. “The Claimed one?” 

Rafayel’s silence was the answer. 

Vampires were odd to humans in that way, comfortable with long instances of silence. She supposed they communicated through other methods, relying on their other senses to discover deception. 

“You’re wasting a lot of potential for something that isn’t even yours,” Sylus continued. 

“Someone,” Rafayel corrected, “she isn’t property.” 

“I suppose not,” Sylus mused. The Huntress heard glass clink as if a cup was being set down. “I would say she’s more like a cat.” 

“A cat?” Rafayel asked. 

Sylus hummed, the low timbre of his voice echoing in the depths of his chest. “Yes, a cat. She’s curious, exploring places she shouldn’t, uncaring of the consequences. Isn’t that right, Kitten?” 

Her gasp was loud, and she didn’t cover her mouth in time. The slap of her palm against her lips furthered her predicament, so she exhaled loudly, defeated. Vampires didn’t scare her, not as much as they used to. But Rafayel? How he would interpret her act of eavesdropping made her uneasy. 

“Well come on in, Kitten, don’t try to claw, you’re sorely outnumbered.” 

She pushed the door open, stepping into the room. All eyes were on her, and she stared at the ground, ashamed she was caught. At the same time, she was aware Sylus was no meager vampire, clearly experienced. Whenever she was in the field, it was very rare when vampires noticed her presence. 

“Don’t be like that, take a seat,” Sylus had an amused note in his voice, one she wasn’t sure if she was fond of or not. It teetered on being condescending, but not overwhelmingly so. She could relate it to when a close friend was teasing, mocking in a way to create familiarity.

In the middle of the large dining room was a banquet table, made of ebony wood, covered in a white tablecloth. Chandeliers lined the ceiling, and candelabras centered the table. Oil lamps were the new and improved way of furnishing a home, but Sylus kept it warm with candles. Antique shops would adore him, she vaguely thought. 

So the Huntress walked, clad in her silk robe, to take a seat next to Rafayel. She didn’t notice the look between Sylus and Xavier, the narrowing of Rafayel’s eyes when the two other vampires silently communicated. 

“It doesn’t bother you?” Xavier asked. 

“What?” she returned when she pulled her chair in, close to the table, hoping to conceal her bare legs. Her thighs, although thick, were another place vampires might be intrigued to bite. 

“Sitting so close to him.” 

She looked to her left. Her and Rafayel were a foot or so apart, she had been closer to him before. 

“I don’t know why it would be.” 

“Interesting,” Xavier mused, more to himself. 

It would have been better not to dwell on it, so the Huntress didn’t. She took a minute to analyze the pale-haired vampire, and the way in which he held himself. Rafayel had taught her in the past how to distinguish between the different types of vampires. Xavier, and the sharpness of his movements, the imperfections of his face, and the elegance he exuded told her all she needed to know. 

She was in the presence of a Pureblood. 

Xavier was not turned, he was born between two vampires. It was difficult for vampires to conceive, but when they did, the child was considered regal, superior to other supernatural beings. 

Sylus had been turned at some point in his mortal life. It would be hard to explain if she ever was asked how she knew. It was prevalent in the ruggedness of his stature, the hard emotions his voice portrayed. The hardship of being turned, stuck with a vampire for their entire existence. 

Xavier and Sylus were like fire and ice, night and day, yet she didn’t need to be told they shared a special bond. 

Rafayel, sitting in this room full of wealth and arrogance, looked out of place. His trenchcoat had been hung by the front door, leaving him in a vest, long sleeves, and his pants tucked into knee-high leather boots. His vest was still stained from his bounty the night before, two small holes revealing where the vampire had bitten his chest. 

Then his human, dressed in a robe and bare feet, appeared just as lost. 

Not her brightest idea, leaving her gun in her room. Even if she had it on her, she was confident she and Rafayel didn’t stand much of a chance against Xavier and Sylus. 

“Calm, Kitten,” Sylus leaned back in his high-backed chair, sipping on his meal, watching her from over the top of the glass, “we won’t hurt you, unless you’re interested in testing your skills.” 

Rafayel bared his fangs, lips lifting to expose just the points. His hiss was low, quiet in the back of his throat. 

Sylus laughed, tipping his glass as if acknowledging Rafayel. His laugh was loud, staccato and punctuated. He finished his drink, then licked his lips. 

“I won’t touch her.” 

Rafayel visibly relaxed, and reached for his own glass. She watched him lift the rim to his lips, and inhale. He placed his cup on the table, tapping his nail against the glass. Blood rippled, he watched it make miniscule waves with each input of his finger. He was playing with his food. 

“Doesn’t suit your taste?” Sylus observed. The smirk on his thick lips was so subtle, it was missed by human senses. Those ruby eyes of his held Rafayel in place, calculating, assessing the truth of the situation. 

He would have to tread carefully, expressing his distaste for another’s blood would reveal too much. 

“I’m not that hungry,” he said. 

Lying was pointless, so the Huntress knew Rafayel wasn’t. It didn’t stop Sylus from chuckling. That vampire seemed as if he knew the answers before even asking the questions. 

They needed him as an ally. 

“Are there any more vampires that live here?” 

“Eager to get to know us, Kitten?” 

“You could say that,” she played along, fingers pulling on the lace lining the tablecloth. Fidgeting often portrayed doubt. Beneath the table, she hoped the supernaturals around her didn’t hear the motion. 

Xavier smiled gently. Just the corner of his mouth. He too was devious, but if she had to choose, she figured she might befriend him first. Which wasn’t something she looked forward to either way. In the past when she got near other vampires, her skin felt as if it was trying to crawl, separate from her muscles, and flee. It was unbearable. 

Rafayel was the only vampire she got near, she believed it was because he was the first she ever had met. 

“There’s one other that lives with us,” Xavier spoke. His voice was special, a comfortable melody to descend into. Purebloods were like that, otherworldly just in their presence alone. “His name is Zayne.” 

“Turned and Tempered, if you must know,” Sylus added. “One might consider him our resident doctor.” 

“He should actually be returning soon,” Xavier finished his drink, not a single drop staining the pure white of his outfit. “Spent a week or two with a pack of werewolves.” 

“Werewolves?” Rafayel questioned. 

“Surely you know,” Sylus tapped the side of his nose with his pointer finger, “they have a much stronger sense of smell than we do.” 

“Even a Pureblood?” The Huntress placed her attention upon Xavier. 

He nodded, “Zayne has been researching a cure for victims of the Frenzy, or anything that will lessen the effects. He won’t stop until he has done it.” 

His reasoning was left unsaid. The Huntress suspected Zayne had traumatic motivations. The majority residing this part of the world often did. 

Sylus was watching her once more, she felt the heavy weight of his gaze. His elbow was propped on his armrest, his fingers bent to hold his jaw, his pointer finger now tapping his temple. He appeared amused. 

“You’re interesting,” he returned to the subject of her presence, “a little bird fluttering about her predator’s territory. Will you be captured? Yes, no, maybe so?” 

“Sylus,” Xavier warned. 

Rafayel stood abruptly, his chair falling backward. “A week, no longer, then like I said, we will be gone.” 

“That’s not a problem,” Sylus tilted his head. “Need I remind you, we never kicked you out, you left first.” 

A clock ticked somewhere behind her, the only sound audible. She couldn’t breath, the tension palpable. 

Rafayel grabbed her wrist and she was standing before she could protest. He led her to the door. 

“Rafayel, we’re glad you’re back,” Xavier comforted. 

“But a lot has changed since you’ve been gone. No one is safe here, not you, not your Huntress, not a single creature within this town. The recent murders of Purebloods has created discourse,” Sylus explained, even as Rafayel continued to walk. 

It didn’t stop him. 

“So whatever you do, don’t stir up trouble.” 

Researchers had done enough of their studies to understand the basics of vampires. When vampires were first introduced into society, some willingly volunteered to be run through trials. Afterall, the frenzy was something that affected them all to some extent. It was common knowledge amongst the people that vampires craved blood, had heightened senses, and a hierarchy. 

What wasn’t studied was the relationships between humans and vampires. Sex won funding as it was the primary interest for those curious, so that’s what they focused on. Blood banks welcomed doctors and scientists, where they examined why some became addicted to a vampire’s bite. 

From what little the Huntress had found, she deduced one person published a study, then everyone followed it, using it as a basis to publish their own. It was argued humans enjoyed the idea of sustaining a powerful creature, the thought that a beautiful being such as the vampire had to rely on them to live. Poetic, maybe even a little co-dependent, but the Huntress found her own reasoning. 

As she looked at Rafayel, she knew her desires weren’t born from something so clinical. She wished they were, because admitting she wanted his bite just to feel his hot breath on her skin, his moan when he swallowed, and the movement of his body as he restrained himself, felt too indecent. 

She doubted he would want his fangs anywhere near her vein, anyways.

“Where are you off to?” She asked, needing to change the subject, and fast. Her eyes lingered on his lips, his fangs retracted as there was no need to have them on display. 

Rafayel didn’t look at her, adjusting the lapels of his trench coat so it fit snug around his shoulders. The inky tones of the fabric blended well with the lavender of his hair. Effortless, all of it was effortless with him. 

“There’s no food here for you, Cutie,” he responded, “gotta keep that human body of yours sustained. I don’t think Sylus welcomes many humans. He has nothing for you in the pantry.” 

“And you’re going alone?” She accused him. 

That was what he enjoyed about his Huntress. While many feared vampires, she was always blunt with him. The majority of his kind wouldn’t stand for her defiance, drunk off the powerplay, eager to see fear in a human’s eyes. He also figured she liked to rile him up. He appreciated her for it. 

“This town isn’t like the one we came from,” he did his best to explain. The second he saw her eyebrow arch slightly, he knew it was futile. 

“If you’re concerned because vampires are the majority around here, you know I can handle myself just fine.” 

It wasn’t that, per se. Rafayel was well aware his Huntress could stand her ground. She was just unfamiliar with the customs amongst vampires, socially. 

“You smell good,” he blurted, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he felt the heat creep over his cheeks, he looked away. “So if you want to come with, you need to stick close to me.” 

That was his problem? She had to bite her lip to prevent herself from laughing. “So? It won’t be a problem walking by your side. We do it all the time.” 

He still couldn’t meet her eyes. The idea of his independent Huntress having to rely on him tickled a part of him he rarely entertained. That part of him, so primal and driven by instinct, was a part of himself he despised, yet equally relished in. It felt good to play, to just breathe and wonder. 

“I may have to . . . touch you.” 

Finally, she cracked. She cleared her throat, crossing her arms across her abdomen so her right hand grasped her left wrist. “Touch me how?” 

Rafayel was selfish. The night she was attacked and he hugged her, gave him a drop of what he had been missing. Without her permission, he had marked her. It was despicable, and luckily not permanent, but throughout their ride to the next town over, he could scent it - his claim. 

All it had done was prove why he had fought so many years not to even brush against her. 

“I may need to hold your hand,” he responded. 

The slow beat of his heart got dangerously sedated. His breath was sealed in his lungs, burning his throat and nose. He had to breathe, but he couldn't, not until she said something, anything. 

His Huntress reached for her own jacket on the coat rack. She slid her arm through the sleeve then the other, correcting its placement around her neck. Once again he was captivated by the rush of her hair falling down her back, the split second he could see her neck before her hair concealed it. He swallowed, loud in his own ears. 

As they stood in front of the door, she extended her hand out, looking at him. “I don’t just hold anyone’s hand,” she joked. 

It was true, though, and he knew it. 

He slid his palm underneath her hand, skating fingers up her arm until his thumb found her wrist. The pad of his thumb rubbed over the faint veins there, infusing his scent into her own. The thrum of her blood, the delicate, thin skin covering the channels of her essence sent skitters of heat over his nerves. He wanted to raise her hand and nuzzle his lips over the space his thumb traced. 

Together, he could bask in their fragrance. He was rich, dark with tones of what others might relate to bourbon. It was strong, overpowering, reflective of his status. But she diluted it, introducing citrus and frost, melting his presence into something approachable. 

“Raf,” she warned, breathless. His nail followed the lines of cerulean to the base of her palm, then back up again. His eyes were powerless against the beauty of her, trailing the white tip of his nail over her skin. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, rotating his hand so their palms fused together. His fingers spread hers so they could entwine, long fingers pillowing the back of her hand. “Are you ready?” 

Nowhere near it, no. The tingle along her wrist lingered, making her subtly shiver beneath her jacket. His touch had been so tender, it barely caressed the fine hairs atop her skin. Vampires and their ways of mating were notorious for being rough, quick, and transactional, a way to puncture skin and claim. 

How wrong the world might be.

Rafayel never let her go as they walked through town. They didn’t swing their hands like cheerful lovers, instead he kept his grip firm, kneading the knuckles of her thumb with the pad of his. 

“What are you scared of?” She found herself asking. 

“I’m not scared,” he fired back quickly. “Just concerned.” 

“About?” 

The vampire didn’t say anything, squeezing her hand. 

“I can handle it, whatever you don’t want to tell me,” she pushed. 

He exhaled, slow and controlled. The grimace on his lips irked her. So she dropped it, ready to wrench her hand out of his hold, but he clasped her even harder. “No,” he denied her. 

“No?” There it was again, her defiance. “Rafayel, let me go.” 

He grunted, yanking her closer to his side. “Don’t, not here.” 

This was his fault. Vampires around him glared, some scoffed. The complicated dynamics within his kind should have been taught. She meant no offense, he was aware, but the others weren’t. 

“Cutie,” he ground out, voice low. “Just this once, please.” 

Some vampires heard him, senses matured enough to pick up the shallow frequency of his words. One vampire walking down the street a few feet ahead of them came to a stop. Rafayel shouldn’t be begging for a human to obey. When the male in front of them shifted to turn around, Rafayel moved. 

The Huntress never teleported. She’d seen Rafayel do it enough times to understand he couldn’t move far. It was an ability that was practiced, but also reliant on age. Rafayel, still a fledgling, was sometimes uncoordinated, maybe a little unrefined. 

Her stomach dropped, breath rushing from her lungs. Perhaps it wasn’t teleportation, perhaps he utilized speed, perhaps it was somehow a little bit of both. She wasn’t sure, it was a question she would ask him when she had him alone. 

When they materialized, her back was pressed to a brick wall that lined the edge of a flat. An alleyway, she realized. Torn, moldy posters hung from the wall opposite to the one she leaned against, behind Rafayel. 

He wasn’t crowding her like when he was succumbing to the frenzy, but he was certainly close. His right hand was flat against the wall by her head, the other remained at his side, clenching then releasing. 

“Rafa-”

His free hand covered her mouth, cobalt eyes darting to the streets, analyzing. “Trust me,” he was hushed, breathing languidly. 

She did, she always would. But this wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place if he had just spoken with her. It was the secrets, the hesitation, that drove her mad. At the same time, she was aware he wouldn’t act like this unless something was terribly wrong. So she relaxed, watching him. 

Across the street, striking gold eyes surveyed the road. The vampire tilted his chin up, nostrils flaring as he inhaled. It made Rafayel step forward as if his body could prevent the predator from scenting his Huntress. Their stalker wrinkled his nose. 

“I’m going to take your hand again, then we are gonna move. Okay?” 

She wouldn’t say ‘no’ again that evening. The Huntress nodded, raising her hand between them. 

Then they were running. He didn’t lead her back out into the public street, but deeper into the alley. Years of experience as a Bounty Hunter told her the weight on the back of her neck was a pursuer. She was tempted to look behind. Rafayel’s sudden tug to the right forced her to follow and focus. 

The maze of alleys they escaped through were littered with trash, stray dogs combed through it, and condensed muck from steam coated the walls. It was gross, and the Huntress knew they were heading deeper into town, where bots were stored and the lower-class lived. 

Nearly out of breath, they finally broke through to a public road. It was desolate compared to the main road they entered town on the night prior. Street shops were empty, decorated with barren crates, rotten fruit, and tattered overhangs. Some people drifted, heads covered by dank blankets. A steam bot with a broom malfunctioned, banging into a curb repeatedly. The only source of light was the full moon overhead. 

Rafayel scoped out the area, eyes frantically trying to find anywhere to hide. An abandoned flat with broken windows would have to do. Leading the Huntress that way, they jumped into the living room, barely missing the shards of glass lining the windowsill. It was too dark for human eyes to navigate, so Rafayel found the nearest closet and pulled them in. 

The Huntress kept space between them, about a foot. Their hands remained interlocked. Her eyes closed, mentally transporting to calm visions, keeping her heartbeat steady. 

Glass crunched, scraping as a heel of a boot skid. Once their pursuer found his footing, he methodically sought them out. Each echo of his footstep urged the Huntress to reach for her gun holstered at her waist. When her hand wrapped around the grip, Rafayel hauled her towards him with the other. 

She fell against him, his hand releasing hers to sneak an arm around her waist. The other went to secure the closet doors. Unsure where to place her own, she slipped her hands beneath his arms and curled her fingers over the backs of his shoulders.

She was touching him. Time slowed, his breath stirred the hair atop her head, warming her scalp. His chin bumped against her forehead until his head tilted down to observe her. The only indignation was the tip of his nose slid to touch her hair. She couldn’t see him, so to conceal her expression, she ducked slightly to rest the side of her face against his chest. There she heard the beat of his heart, lagging in comparison to hers. It lulled her into a sense of security, even as the opposing vampire shuffled just outside the doors. 

She never wanted the moment to end. 

But it was too quiet. The male outside wasn’t moving. She knew he was staring at the closet doors, his presence slithered up her spine between shoulder blades. He would remain until they attempted to exit. She could tell by the breath that filtered through the crack between the bifold doors. 

A low rumble buzzed outside the doors, the nature of it volatile, increasing in volume the longer the vampire hummed. His fangs would be extended, lips peeled back to reveal a wet smile. The vampire’s breath was damp, coating the side of her face, almost as if a long, thin tongue licked up from chin to temple, marking her. 

Which he was. 

Rafayel saw red. He released his Huntress, throwing the doors open to plunge his blade deep into the shoulder of his opponent. Both hands encircled the hilt, awarding him leverage to push the vampire backwards until they rammed into a bookshelf. As the other screeched, Rafayel twisted his blade. His placement was strategic, meant to torture and prolong the pain as silver sizzled in flesh. 

It was a risk driven by instinct. He had already bestowed his mark, declaring his possession through his scent. How dare another challenge him in an attempt to establish ownership. 

Deep within that fury, his rationale lay dormant. He knew he should have delivered the final blow on his first attack. He knew better. But watching the vampire crease his features in pain satisfied instincts. 

His opponent snarled, and Rafayel smelt his own blood before the sting of claws rooted in his forearm. A hiss escaped through his fangs, anger overwhelming the slice of nails. He tore his dagger from the sinew and muscle, making sure to pull at an angle, ruthless. He bore down once more, aiming for the vampire’s side. 

The other sidestepped, rotating to grab the back of Rafayel’s head and force him face-first into the wall. Bracing himself with firm hands, Rafayel pushed back, jerking his body to disrupt his assaulter's balance. It worked, and he swiveled, using his dagger to swipe at the vampire’s jugular. 

He missed, grunting in frustration, impressed by the speed the other commanded. 

“Raf!” The Huntress called, not desperate nor in fear. She was providing information, directing him to her voice. 

They had fought side-by-side long enough he knew exactly what she wanted. 

With a burst of adrenaline, he managed to materialize next to the vampire, lifting his leg to shove the creature with the sole of his boot. 

Vampires usually didn’t trip or stumble, so he took several, rapid steps to the side. He traveled a couple feet, but it was enough for moonlight to highlight his silhouette. The Huntress stood in the corner of the kitchen, angled so the window above the sink aided her sight, gun cocked and ready for her input. 

Before he could register where he was located, the Huntress pulled the trigger twice, embedding one bullet into each thigh. It drove him to the ground, landing on his knees. Blood oozed, coating the exterior of his pants. Sulfur didn’t permeate the air, the scent of his blood didn’t make the Huntress want to wrinkle her nose or rub her eyes. He wasn’t a slave to the frenzy, he was conscious, fully aware of his actions. 

Rafayel stepped behind him, wrapping his hand around their pursuer’s throat. The strength behind his grip had the vampire leaning back, the tips of his hair layering against Rafayel’s vest. 

When the captive’s nostrils flared once more, Rafayel squeezed harder. 

“Stop,” the timbre of Rafayel’s voice stilled the air in the room. “I think we are done here.” 

“I’m not your enemy,” the vampire responded, cocking his head in the direction of the Huntress. “I want her.” 

The Huntress watched Rafayel bare his fangs, the pointed canines elongated to their full length. It distorted his mouth, wrinkled the skin around his nose, and spittle shimmered in the moonlight as he hissed. It was truly feral, an instinctual reaction to another challenging his temporary claim. 

It tugged on a desirable heat - his raw emotions. She wanted his head thrown back in pleasure, moans loud, while her mouth worked between his legs. His fangs pricking his bottom lip as he struggled to maintain composure. 

She could be swept up in such fantasies so easily. 

“I'm looking out for you, Fledgling,” the vampire continued. He raised his hands to signal surrender. How he addressed Rafayel confirmed he was indeed older, far more weathered, far more powerful. It made her raise her gun to aim at the creature's skull. 

“Raf, we need to get out of here,” was all she said, wincing when her voice wavered. 

But he was too far gone, prancing through his mental haze. Magenta glowed eerily in the dark, narrowing into slits when his eyelids lowered. Rafayel bent, tilting his prey's head back further. He didn't stop until his cheek pressed to the vampire's temple. 

“You will not touch what is mine.”

“Yours?” The other chuckled, his amber eyes blossoming with brighter tones. “I can scent another.” 

Ice trickled down her spine, freezing her, splintering in her lungs. Shame coiled and lay deep in her sternum, planning to stay. 

“I shall do you a favor and drain her dry.” 

Pity? Was that what his kin was offering? Did they think he wasn’t capable of handling his own situation himself? Besides, his Huntress didn’t need to be taken from him. Without her, he’d been lost long ago. These thoughts swarmed, interfering with his focus, making him susceptible to the frenzy. 

The Huntress recognized it. 

“You don't want this blood,” she counseled, “it's not worth the fight.”

“You're mistaken, human,” he chuckled. “I'm not here to savor you. I’m here to help a brother who is blinded.” 

A means to an end. She could use that to her advantage. Because despite Rafayel and his desire to protect her, they were outmatched. 

Her gun fell to the floor as their opponent broke free from Rafayel’s grip. It all happened so fast, the heavy weight of the vampire’s arm wrapped around her body, pinning her arms to her sides. He stood behind her, tall and overbearing. His other hand gripped her hair, yanking her head back against his shoulder. The sound of his mouth opening wide on a victorious chuckle, chilled her. 

Her scream was tortured, the monster’s fangs much thicker than Rafayel’s. He gulped long pulls of her blood, ripping into her flesh with each swallow. The clamp of his teeth was ugly, no refinement in his technique. 

Once, long ago, when Rafayel’s underdeveloped fangs punctured her tiny wrist, no pain had radiated, just a quick pinch, then warmth. Even in his state of agony, waiting at death’s doorstep, he had been gentle. 

She could see those now developed fangs beneath a stretched lip as Rafayel yelled. What he said, or even if said anything at all, was unknown to her. The male at her throat was drinking too fast, rendering her defenseless. 

But, she was still conscious enough to raise her hand, pointing her fingers towards the ceiling, signaling Rafayel to wait. He had to have noticed she didn’t put up much of a fight. 

He obeyed, staying rooted to his spot just a few feet in front of her. Their eyes held one another, and she watched as he fell apart, as tears collected at the base of eyes. Anguish complimented no one, yet somewhere in her muddled mind, she realized every expression made was beautiful when laid upon his face. 

She was asking him to do the impossible, to not interfere in her pain. How cruel she was. 

“Trust me,” she mouthed. 

He nodded, just as her attacker bit down harder. She yelled out, the room beginning to spin. Any second now, and she’d be victorious. 

She heard the sizzling of flesh first. The male behind her tore away, the movement a harsh jerk that hurt more than the initial bite. He wailed in pain, stumbling back till he fell onto his back, body writhing as he clawed at his face. 

Rafayel caught her as she fell forward. He slumped to the ground with her, supported in his arms. Kneeled, she laid on the ground against the bend of his elbow, her cheek against his chest. 

Rafayel made sure to grab a rag before pressing it to her wound. Her blood was poison to him, altered by a concoction she drank before emerging from the closet. Hunters were skilled alchemists, educated in multiple potions, tinctures, and medicines. It’s what allowed them to survive in a world where they were at a natural disadvantage. 

She wouldn’t die, even as her body shivered. Maybe a few more pulls, and she would have been close, but the potion she drank purposely took longer to take effect. The more a vampire consumed, the higher the chance of a lethal dose ingested. 

And much to her satisfaction, it had been enough. Biting without permission was a violation, an intimate act that would leave disgust weasling its way through her soul once she had registered the trauma. For now, it was what she had to do to save them both. 

“You crazy, foolish, silly girl,” Rafayel pushed her hair back from her forehead, rocking them both gently. “You did so good, so brave for us. I’ll take it from here.” 

Her breathing was slow, heart languid in its beat. She might have been hallucinating the ripple in his sapphire eyes, the large tears spilling over his cheeks. 

Baser instincts were in charge, prioritizing her survival. Her body told her to conserve her strength, to stay close to the vampire who held her like glass, to trust a creature the majority feared. She would listen. 

Her body also wanted to reassure him. She wanted to lift herself, wrap an arm over his shoulders and bring him down so lips could merge. She would kiss him in a way that conveyed life still ran through her, energy made to protect him, a male her very being recognized as her other half. She wanted him to know she appreciated the trust he had in her.

But because it was her instinct, she knew better than to touch him. 

Gratitude was on the tip of her tongue, but her voice wasn’t functioning, and it came out a weak, garbled mess. 

Rafayel hushed her, reaching beneath her knees to lift her off the ground. “Rest, darlin’, I told you I’ll take it from here.” 

If his Huntress wasn’t within his arms, he would have been a slave to the frenzy, tearing apart the vampire in front of him. 

And he would have let it, even if when he came to, he’d be a vile creature, covered in the blood of his enemy. A small price to pay for the violation his kin had committed. 

Said vampire was using his claws to grip the counter, leaving long gashes in the material, climbing up to lean against the drawers below. His mouth was burned, skin disintegrating from the acid he had consumed. Soon, the white of his jaw would be visible. Rafayel would have his Huntress long gone before she could witness that. 

If she was even still conscious by then. Against his shoulder, her forehead rested against the side of his neck. He could hear each beat of her heart, methodical as it worked to replenish what she had lost. The citrus within her natural scent had soured, revealing she was in pain. 

Alchemists had warned that Hunters using the poisons on themselves would take their toll, damaging their bodies if used too often. She rarely used any amplifiers or poisons, relying solely on her aim and physical prowess. Whatever made up his constitution as a vampire admired her tenacity, recognized her as an equal. 

All dangerous things in his eyes. 

“You’re a disgrace,” the vampire who struggled to lean against the counter spat. 

If they knew what he truly was, the vampire would have never spoken to him like that. Maybe there was a dark part of himself that reveled in his hidden power, the shock factor it might invoke. 

Rafayel enjoyed deploying dramatics when it worked in his favor. 

He ignored the vampire, adjusting his human in his arms. She was so light, limp in his hold. Her hand held the cloth to her wound, the other gripped her hip with her arm crossed over her abdomen so she wouldn’t touch him. Before he lifted her, he had seen it in her waning eyes, the need to touch him, the affection she would bestow without hesitation. 

When he was around, her scent would sweeten, crisp like a winter morning. Whether she realized it or not, she was calling for him. And she had, for years. 

Temptation was a vice, he wanted to answer her call since he first felt it. 

“Fledgling,” the vampire tried to get his attention once more. 

“You don’t have much time left, spend it wisely.”

“Are you not old enough to realize you are courting a Claimed human?” the vampire snarled. 

Rafayel froze the same time the Huntress flinched. A mixture of pride and fear battled within. Pride because yes, he was very aware, and he would do everything within his ability to prove he was a capable mate. He had, without even his own agreement, begun to court her the second he touched her after the attack. 

But fear rivaled that precious pride. Fear of what he would do to obtain her, fear of her acceptance. What terrified him the most was what he would do to keep her by his side, the human life he would eventually desire to make immortal. A vampire’s love was eternal, and he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to conquer that. 

It was too late, he could hide no longer. The Huntress was struggling to breathe, her heart hammering in anticipation. She liked it, the idea of him courting her. That in itself could bring him to his knees. For so long he wanted her. Pushing her away had done nothing but lacerate his heart, finding warmth in other women had made him bitter, angry it wasn’t her scratches down his back. He wanted her marks, her existence branded into his skin. 

It was the raw, primal attraction his kind lived for. There was nothing more real than that.

He was hungry. 

Confident, he chuckled, unwilling to show skepticism in front of an enemy. “Yeah, I’m courting her, what of it? Since when have vampires gone out of their way to mess with another’s business?” 

In disbelief, the vampire went lax against the edge of the counter, falling slowly to lean against the cupboard with his back. He laughed, defeated. His lip was sagging, nasty with how low it hung. Talking was useless, his lips wouldn’t purse correctly to create anything comprehensible. He would die, although a slow, haggard death. 

Rafayel felt no remorse. 

He left through the broken door, uncaring of how much noise he made. With the Huntress still being carried by him, he was in no particular rush. 

“We never got you anything to eat,” he said, eyes forward. He worried they had made a grave mistake, quite possibly instigating a war between covens. He could only hope the vampire she killed wasn’t affiliated. 

She hummed, as still as a corpse against him. She might get sick later, sweaty with a fever: the aftereffects of poison. He had already failed in finding her sustenance, he wouldn’t leave her in a time of need. It was all natural, his senses in tune with her. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t make it to a soft bed before she fell ill. A Hunter in her most vulnerable state, partnered with a Fledgling vampire, was a pairing susceptible to disaster. He quickened his stride, trying to at least make it to a better part of town. 

They made it to the main street. Eyes, both human and vampire, lingered on their combined forms. It did them no good that the street was well lit with oil lamps and strings of lights criss-crossing from building to building. 

Rafayel found the nearest hotel and gracefully entered for someone carrying an adult woman. 

Cloth couches lined the lobby, archaic in design. It smelled of dust, the oil lamp on the table housing newspapers, flickered. He spotted a young man behind the receptionist desk, rows of keys hung from the wall, along with sets of bells associated with room numbers. 

“I need your most secluded room, quickly.” 

The receptionist paused, looking Rafayel and his human up and down. Dry blood was caked to the Huntress’ neck, Rafayel’s arm wounded with claw marks. They both had seen better days. 

“It ain’t cheap,” the man finally responded. Rafayel didn’t catch a nametag, but the human carried the scent of cleaning supplies. The chemicals made the vampire wrinkle his nose. Some establishments purposely avoided unscented detergents and cleansers, hoping to deter supernatural folk. 

Of course this was the one he chose. 

The Huntress lolled her head away from Rafayel, tipping over his arm so it swayed loosely. Her hair fell in waves, suspended in the air. She had told him once the first time he witnessed her effects that she always felt the room was twirling, progressively increasing in speed. Every vein in her body burned, limbs cramping down to the individual segments of her fingers. He wished she would just expel it, but this specific liquid seeped into her system, transforming her blood. She would have to wait it out. 

He would much rather have his fangs pulled than attend the battle his Huntress would fight alone. 

“That’s fine,” he was gruff, foot beginning to tap in annoyance. 

After naming a ridiculous price, the man watched as the vampire in his lobby maneuvered to dig through his pockets. It was uncoordinated, contrasting with the rumors humans heard about the species. The vampire produced a few coins, not even half the price of the room. 

Rafayel clicked his tongue once, frustrated. Which was risky. His mind recognized it as a shortcoming, something that made him fail as a mate. The room warped, his jaw noisy as he grinded his teeth. Frenzy lurked in the corner, smiling to reveal jagged teeth, curling its ugly fingers, beckoning to him. 

He shook his head, fangs elongating.  

“Please,” he begged, hugging his human closer, “if not for me, do it for her.” 

Vampires were pretty, the man agreed with whomever stated that. But they didn’t beg. Alarms rang in the back of his head, this had to be a trap, an elaborate ploy concocted by a vampire and his human companion. Yet the hopeless tint in his eyes told a different story, one full of struggle, in need of a helping hand. 

He sighed, tossing the key on the counter, “keep your money, just be out by noon.” 

Through Rafayel’s eyes, the room cleared. The dark, foreboding cloud of hysteria vanished when a solution for his human was attainable. He thanked the man beneath his breath, grabbed the key, and skipped stairs as he climbed. 

Their accommodation was on the top floor, at the very end of the hall. It was huge, shades of black, greens, and reds collaborated to create a shadowed room. Furnished with a sofa beneath the window, a fur rug lay in front of it, crushed by four legs of a small table. An open book with stained pages sat adjacent to a melted candle situated within a gold holder. A grandfather clock was in the corner, a few bookshelves lined the walls, scattered. Against the wall was a four-poster bed, a thick, navy blanket atop the mattress. 

He laid the Huntress there, lightly placing her head on the fluffed pillows. Her eyes refused to  leave him, weak in the moonlight. He understood why she stared, not once had he directly taken care of her. Even when he knew she wept the night Julian passed. 

A nightgown hung near the door to the bathroom. Rafayel snatched it, sneaking a peek into the bathroom. Tile floors and walls encased a rusting tub, the mirror cracked at the corner. 

Rafayel sat on the foot of the bed as she changed, listening in case she was too weak. With a few grunts, he heard fabric slide over skin, leather release, and a gown fit over her form. 

He acquired a basin, filling it with water and fetching a cloth. Rolling up his sleeve, he cleaned his own wound in the sink, then brought the basin to the nightstand. 

Her ailments affected her, lips trembling as she shivered, cold in a warm room. She whimpered, eyes squeezing shut. Her veins were no longer their alluring turquoise. It seemed as if tendrils of ebony swam beneath her skin. 

The vampire dabbed her forehead with the bunched washcloth, dotting her temple, down to her neck. Gingerly, he wrapped the fabric around his forefinger to outline the wound at the side of her neck. The need to brush her hair aside, massage her joints, and whisper words of encouragement hooked into his skin. 

“It won’t last long, just a quick, raging pain, and all will be well,” he repeated what she told him, when he asked why she continued to practice alchemy. “When you awake next, you will feel like yourself, ready to return to the field.” 

She didn’t hear him, head thrashing back and forth, her knees rising to bend her legs. 

And he was helpless. 

His hand grabbed one of hers, and he moved to his knees, elbows sinking into the mattress, pressing her fingers to her forehead. If anyone walked in, they would think he was praying. 

The first cry out cracked his armor. 

The second demolished him. 

He was reliving it again. The day of her Claiming. He was no longer with her in a room, transported to stand in the crowd. All the vampires present were silent, yet as he tried to push past them, he could see expressions of captivation. His kind hated humans and their habit of watching executions, but they were no different. His opinion held no weight, he barely reached the chests of his fellow vampires at that time. 

He was powerless. 

“Raf,” a hand flexed within his own, and his focus tunneled back to the present. 

His Huntress never explicitly relied on anyone. She was proud, maintaining a facade to parade confidence. In the dangerous world they lived in, it was a necessity. 

Knowing that, he heart softened when her form filled his senses. He could just scoop her up, and do his best to curl his body around hers. He could place firm kisses down the back of her neck while his hands explored her front. He was doing it again, he was fantasizing. 

“Feeling better?” He guided her hand to rest on the bed, effectively putting space between them once more. 

“Just . . . a little groggy.” 

“Just a little?’ Rafayel could picture himself kissing those ruddy cheeks too easily. He smiled, both at her lie, and the mental image.

In the old days, when they used to visit their small, local teashop, he disliked when she would warm her hands around the base of her cup. It was his job to reach across the table and rub her hands, cup them and blow air onto her skin. When snow would collect outside, he always wondered what it would be like to step out of the teashop with her hand in the pocket of his trenchcoat. 

“Think you could manage some sleep?” 

Since when had he become so soft? 

She nodded, sitting up briefly to shove her legs underneath the blankets, scooting down till she was swaddled. 

His fearsome, perfect human was sometimes the cutest thing the world could offer. He was sure many vampires felt the same when eyeing the source of their courtship. 

Standing, he meant to make his way to the sofa in the room, and he would, but first, he had more pressing matters. 

He lifted the edge of the blanket closer to her shoulders, and felt something in his chest tingle when she snuggled into the mattress. 

“G’night, darlin’.” 

The Huntress awoke a couple hours later. That grogginess she had confessed to Rafayel about had retreated from her body, her mind. She laid on her side, facing the windows, away from the door. 

A silhouette leaned against her bed, his body bottom on the floor, back against her mattress. It left everything from the tops of his shoulder up, visible. 

She could have sworn after he had literally tucked her in, he had walked to take a seat on the sofa. She had even heard the shuffling of book pages as he read. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Rafayel whispered, “I just need to be here.” 

She stared at the back of his head. Any other situation and this would most certainly be creepy. But it was Rafayel, and judging by the slight tremble in his stature, this was against his conscience. 

“Raf, do you not want to court me?” 

I wouldn’t want to, either. She kept that thought to herself. Self-deprication had never been her vibe, not after she took responsibility for the Claim she already wore. It didn’t mean she wasn’t scared, terrified he would leave should she push too far. She knew he was aware of her feelings. Despite his rejection, she had promised to love him silently. 

“You’re aware what courting entails, correct?” he asked. 

She missed who he was: a young vampire curious about life and all it had to offer. The Rafayel she knew so well was an artist, someone who found inspiration in the mundane. Now, he was caught up in everything he had no control over. It reflected in his voice. His question was asked with no inflection, simply a statement laced with disappointment. 

The Huntress slid her hands beneath her pillow. “You identify me as a potential mate.” 

All he did was nod. It was one, slow movement. What was he expecting? He was acting like she would press the barrel of her gun against his skull. 

“How can you say it so easily?” he huffed, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. She liked when he made movements like that, it brought his bangs to rest over the top of his head. “This isn’t something trivial. It’s a permanent bond.” 

“I know that,” she reached and ran her fingers over the bedding near his head, “vampires just so happen to be my area of expertise.” 

He chuckled, the sound bending to relay he was smiling. “It freaks me out that you aren’t freaking out.” 

“I worry for you,” she revealed. “Courting me is a risk, you are in the eyes of your species, challenging a Claim.” 

“I am,” he turned to rest his arms on the mattress, folding them so his chin rested on his forearms. 

“Then for your safety, stop.” 

“You think I can? You think I haven’t kept my distance because I’m not worried about what I’ll do? Just looking at you makes me want to protect and possess. Your scent, mixed with my own, feels right. It eases my nerves.” His nostrils flared, sapphire alight in his irises. He exhaled, frowning. “I can hear your heartbeat, you’re scared.” 

“I’m not scared,” she held his gaze, “I like it.” 

He paused, eyes trailing over her features, down her neck, then to the top of her nightgown. It was thin, doing little to cover her breasts. “You’re fragile,” he reasoned, “my instincts have prepared me to mate another vampire, someone equipped to handle the bond.” 

She took no offence. Because she understood. If she were the same as him, she’d parallel his concerns. There were complications, many they would have to consider if she didn’t separate from him and prevent the bond from progressing. And considering she had no intentions of separating, they would have to encounter this development head on. 

“Have we not already been interacting like a mated pair? Aside from the more intimate aspects?” 

She wasn’t sure if the attraction was a one-way street between them. Some vampires claimed a mate solely to protect, using it more of a declaration of ownership, not as a partnership. Transactional pairs also existed - a human addicted to a bite, a vampire in need of a constant blood source. 

“I don’t think you truly understand what courting is really like.” 

Challenge burned her veins, “then show me.” 

She blinked and he was gone. The bed dipped, her body leaning back as he laid behind her. He remained atop the blankets, but his body molded to hers. His arm slipped beneath her head, the other draping over her side to pull her closer. 

“Humans do this too, we call it cuddling,” she teased. 

“It’s not the same,” he struggled, she could hear it. He was still holding back, restraining himself. 

The air itself grew dense, heavy with their combined scent. As she was a human, she couldn’t identify exactly what he was doing, could only sense subtle changes. She could only imagine this room was flooded, an obvious claim of territory. A giggle bubbled low in her throat, daring to escape. Vampires openly scrutinized werewolves, yet in some instances, they were the same. 

“Raf, you said you would show me, so show me.” 

He whined, “I need you beneath me.” 

Now that wasn’t what she was expecting. The tip of his nose trailed over her neck, rubbing back and forth over the puncture marks of the vampire from earlier. It wasn’t healing right, mainly because the vampire’s exit had been sudden, against his will. His fangs had torn at her skin. The wound would scar. 

Rafayel gently pushed on her shoulder, and she obeyed, rolling forward till she was on her stomach, her head turned. He followed, throwing his leg over her hips so he straddled her backside, his chest pressing into her upper back. Defiance took hold of her joints, but she fought against her own instincts. This was her chance to prove to him she accepted him and everything he would offer. 

His hand traveled up her arms to rest over the back of her hand, fingers interlacing through hers. The flat of her palm was pressed into the bed. Although intimate, he was holding her in place. His weight was deliciously heavy. Instead of danger, her mind thought it was comforting and secure. Even if he could do anything he wanted. 

“I hate this,” his voice was deep, vibrating against her shoulder blades, “that I like that I have you defenseless, my strong, defiant Huntress under me, letting me dominate her.” 

She nearly moaned, the heat of his breath brushing over her chin. He was so close. She had waited for him to be within her space for years. And nothing could have prepared her for it. Nothing at all. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. Trembles still wracked his body, increasing in strength the longer he hesitated. He wasn’t referencing touch, she knew that. Neither of them were strangers to the pleasures found deep into the night. 

“Whatever feels right, Raf,” she soothed. 

His hand that wasn’t tethered to hers, snuck to lift her chin, tilting her head back, exposing the wound. Rafayel was quiet, no witty remarks, no demands. She could almost hear the turning of gears in his mind. The suspense was borderline arousing, building her up, waiting for him to finally surrender. 

“I need to heal you.” 

The sensation of his wet tongue over her wound had her squeezing his fingers between hers. She rolled her bottom lip beneath her teeth, fighting the urge to make a sound. He was so damn slow, gliding his tongue from the top of her shoulder up to her ear. Without waiting for her reaction, he latched onto her recent bite, sucking on skin as if he was trying to leave a mark. 

It stung, pinching on the edge of the punctures. But not to the point it was unbearable. He wasn’t trying to punish or assert himself, he wanted to erase the other’s scent. 

“He smelled of dirt,” Rafayel explained, laving over her wound once more with the flat of his tongue. “Doesn’t smell right with your citrus, fuck, only I can provide what you need.” 

She shuddered. He pressed down harder. His lips wouldn’t leave her skin, his kisses unlike those of a timid lover’s. These were messy, some so open she felt the dull fronts of his fangs. She wanted the sharp points, she wanted him to dimple her skin with pressure. 

He thought she couldn't handle him? It just might have been the other way around. 

“Can I provide what you need?” she questioned, turning her head to meet his eyes. 

She had never seen his eyes like they were burning now. Cerulean flecks rotated amongst those of indigo, bright and dark. His eyes, and their ability to create two different irises, never failed to take her breath away. Both were beautiful, both mazes to be lost in. 

The Huntress arched, lifting her upper half so her spine curved uncomfortably. It was enough for her to get just a tad closer. Their noses touched briefly, his eyes widened. 

“You have always been what I need,” he confessed. 

“I’m stubborn,” she was transparent, listing things he already was aware of. “I sometimes don’t listen, I sometimes push back, and I sometimes get in over my head.” 

Rafayel hummed in acknowledgement. His hand shifted from her chin down to her throat. He was feeling for her pulse, it was a common attribute many vampires couldn’t resist. 

It turned her mind to mush. Wherever they touched had her stomach dropping, her sex responding. Her only other partners had been men, humans who feared her likes and dislikes. They served their purpose when the itch got bad enough, just as she did for them. 

None had ever made her want to lose herself as badly as Rafayel did now. 

Once he had massaged her pulse, his fingers trailed over her shoulder, gripping the edge of her nightgown. He tugged it over the curve of her shoulder, resting the fabric at her upper arm. There was no point in exposing her, he wasn’t even sure why he did it. 

“I’m greedy,” he mirrored her earlier confessions. “I won’t leave you alone, not until every inch of this perfect body is marked. You drive me crazy. Did you know what I went through when you would come home, smelling of sex and another man?” 

She could only imagine. Probably something similar to what she felt when she glimpsed a few of his lady friends leaving his room early in the morning. She wouldn’t disclose that, intrigued by him in this state. 

“Jealous, Raf?” 

“Jealous? Obsessed,” his canines found her skin, a phantom of a bite teasing his jaw. She shivered, moaning quietly. He wouldn’t survive, not with the knowledge she liked his fangs. “I wanted to grab you,” he whispered, “kiss you, taste you. That night, on your birthday -” 

She thought back to that night years ago. No details needed to be disclosed, she knew he was referencing her twentieth. 

“I wanted to be the one fucking you,” his voice was nearing more of a growl. His mouth was by her ear again, tongue mapping the shell. He bit the top, and sucked, “it was supposed to be me taking you against every surface we could find.” 

He wasn’t done, prone to his desires. 

“It was supposed to be my name on your lips, my hands on your body, my teeth on your skin, my taste in your mouth,” he was out of breath, as if he had run himself to the bone. 

“I wanted that too,” she reassured, “it was always supposed to be you.” 

“Less talking,” Rafayel seemed drunk, head tilting to rest against hers. His request was almost cute. 

“More what?”

“More whatever this is.” 

She couldn't help herself, she teased, “this, like I said earlier, is cuddling.” 

“Oh stop it,” he mumbled. 

It was made known she pushed limits, and perhaps never knew when to stop. She was playing a dangerous game, riling up a vampire, a creature who could have her drained dry in a minute or two. What it was in her that made her want to toe a fatal line urged her on. 

She smirked, “make me.” 

Warning radiated in his gaze, honed with furrowed brows. 

“Careful, darlin’,” he growled. “If I identify you as prey I will hunt, and I will not stop until I have you right where I want you.”

“But you won’t,” she ever so slowly rolled beneath him, placing herself on her back. Now she could look up at him, see how the restraint took its toll on his body. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking near the base of his jaw. “If you see me as a potential mate, you won’t hurt me.” 

“Hunting doesn’t always end in pain,” he whispered, resting his weight on his elbows. The tip of his forefinger stroked over her pulse point, tickling the base of her neck. “Your pleasure, your surrender to me, would be my reward. To have you, would be all I desire.” 

“Sounds like sleepless nights, if you ask me.” 

“Always have something to say, Cutie,” he drawled, and that spark of frenzy ignited, dilating his pupils. “But hell, do I love that mouth on you.” 

“Makes you want to put me in my place, don’t it.” 

“Fuck the attitude right out of you,” he smiled, impish. Mirth commanded his features: an arched eyebrow, a tilt of the corner of his mouth. 

Before she could stop herself, she lifted her hands, cupping his jaw. Her thumb traced his lips, following the lines of his smirk. He turned his head, kissing her palm. Rafayel was gentle, appreciative of the little things. It’s what made her heart yearn for him, not because he was a vampire with enticing fangs, he could have been a human and she’d love him just as much. 

“What are we going to do . . . about this?” She bent her head to the side, revealing the Claim. Her hair usually hid the mark, the scarred skin shimmering a flawed silver. It reminded her of the meat she would see butchers trimming, the shine the discarded connective tissue emitted. 

Rafayel observed the area for a minute, reflective of the odd patience vampires exhibited. When he had moved her nightgown aside, that was originally what she thought he was going to mention or touch. But he didn’t. Now, she was beginning to venture it wasn’t a good idea bringing up the Claim in front of a very possessive vampire. 

“This will do nothing to us,” he stated, pressing the pads of his fingers to the puncture scars. “He has no power here, and will not dictate when we Claim each other. Even if it's in our own way, even if I can never mark you.” 

His touch against the scar felt like sandpaper against a burn. She flinched, pulling her shoulder back into the mattress. “Sorry,” she muttered. 

Rafayel couldn’t sink his fangs in over the scar, it wouldn’t relinquish the Claim. It did not matter who inflicted the scar, it was permanent. The status of a vampire only affected how a Claim could be abolished, if at all. She wasn’t all too familiar with the why, though through the rare texts she had come across, many hypothesized it had something to do with the potency of a vampire’s venom. 

“It doesn’t recognize me, it’s okay,” Rafayel removed his hand, skimming his nails over the other wound upon her neck, then cupping her at the base of her jaw. It rested his fingers behind her ear, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. 

Her heart pounded, he smiled. 

“I’m not going to kiss you tonight, Cutie,” he did, however, place his lips on her opposite cheek. 

To have him next to her senses, led her hands to grip his back. The broad expanse anchored her, and she could feel the muscles beneath his thin shirt, could feel them flex as he held his impressive body over hers. 

“I’m touching you,” she exhaled, and that uneasy burn filled her nostrils. Her vision blurred, and her arms crossed over his middle, her next words wet. “I’m touching you.” 

“And I’m touching you,” he kissed her chin next, rotating to place his mouth near his thumb. He raised to kiss her forehead, the bridge of her nose, then the tip. Rafayel never mentioned the water at the edge of her eyes, the small hiccup in her chest, the slight shake in her body. 

“Why won’t you kiss me?” 

The Huntress sounded defeated, much smaller than her usual vibrato. 

Rafayel ran the tip of his nose up along the side of hers. It brought his lips close to her own, she  arched, tilting her chin up. He pulled away just in time.

“Because,” he nuzzled his nose against hers when she stopped attempting to kiss his mouth, “if I’m going to court you, I’m going to court you right. You deserve the full experience of a vampire attempting to attract his mate. You may not understand at first why I do what I do, but I will do my best to explain it every step of the way.” 

She didn’t care what he did, honestly, just as long as his attention was on her. 

“I want someone who can keep up with me, someone who matches my wit, who matches my fire, someone who isn’t scared of pushing me, making me work for it.” 

She sucked in a harsh breath, it was starting. 

His eyes dropped to her mouth, but he didn’t move. Instead, he met her gaze. The natural violet in his irises had returned, emotions stabled, and adrenaline quelled. 

Rafayel leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers,

“I want you.”

[coralreefqueen-ao3]

Crimson Steam - Frenzy

Pairing: 18+ | Vampire Rafayel x Vampire Hunter Reader

Tags: Gothic, Victorian, Steampunk, slow burn, violence, friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, dirty talk, explicit consent, biting kink, mates, smut, primal kink, 3rd person pov, all 5 LIs are included

Summary: In a world riddled with danger; vampires, werewolves, and humans co-exist. Rafayel, a vampire with a hidden motive, disgraces his kind by spending his days with a Huntress, a woman who hunts his own. Together, they are misfits, bonded by a traumatic past, paving a new path side-by-side.

Word Count: 5.2k

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

Instead of "you," reader is addressed as "her." This is also a much darker fic in comparison to my other works.

“We should probably get the sink fixed soon, cutie.” 

As if taunting them, another droplet of water splashed and echoed in the steel sink. Just a few feet to the right, a chunk of the countertop was cracked. 

“I don’t think that’s in the budget this month.” 

Rafayel looked to the Bounty Huntress, the young woman sitting in their recliner; a book in one hand, the fingers of the other picking at the loose strings of fabric beneath her. On the coffee table between them, her gun, disassembled, was left next to her cleaning supplies. 

He scooted near the edge of the couch, and pulled his dagger from the sheath on his thigh. Examining the blade quickly, he put it back in its home as he stood. “I’ll take an extra job tonight, then.” 

Finally, her eyes met him from over the top of her book. She watched as he grabbed his trenchcoat off of the coat hanger, shrugging it on. He donned his leather gloves before looking back at her. 

Silent words were exchanged. Come home. Don’t overdo it. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” was her verbal response, his head nodding to let her know he heard. Then, he was out the door. 

When she heard the latch click, she walked over, making sure the additional locks were secured. Now with Rafayel gone, she made her way down the short hall to their bedroom. Unbuttoning her Victorian blouse in the process, she shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. 

Their bed was on the floor, the materials needed to make bedrames limited, resulting in the recent inflation of prices. The blankets atop of the mattress were an ugly green, the pillow cases an even uglier copper. Rafayel had given her a major lecture when she brought those home, something about color theory, and how someone of his caliber couldn’t be caught dead in something so atrocious. 

She smiled to herself. He slept harder than she did. 

Kicking off her boots, the Huntress crawled in, laying on the side furthest from the door. Pillows were rearranged, then she relaxed, cocooned. It gave her the false sense of another’s presence. Even when Rafayel would eventually join her, their bodies never touched. 

Night was the worst time for the Huntress. She curled into herself, bringing a hand up to run down her neck. Her neck was smooth, until her hand followed the slope to the base of her shoulder. There, where the strap of her tank top rested, were two punctures, about two inches apart from one another. Small rivers of phantom blood flowed down past her breast, the others her shoulder blade. 

That’s where the infusion of ‘his’ scent was the strongest, or that’s what Rafayel had told her. He had always despised that conversation, the look on his face would never fail to be savage. 

Rafayel had been the only witness, in which he had chosen to remain. While she never had blamed him, he never forgave himself. 

As much as he brought her comfort, there were some topics that were forbidden, untouched, and ignored. Her eyes grew heavy the more she thought, the more she wondered why they never talked.

Ignorance, after all, was bliss. 

A hard thump against the wall startled her awake. Instinct had her reaching for her gun, only for her to remember she had left it on the table, unable to use. 

She closed her eyes, calming her breathing. A small part of her sincerely wished if she ignored it, whoever was in the house would go away. There was barely any money to their names, nothing within worth any value. Not even her blood. 

That thought allowed her to rise, and she slowly tiptoed to the frame of the bedroom door. She peeked out, the living room down the hall dark, except for the faint light that spread from the kitchen. 

Near the door, two glowing orbs of blue were looking straight at her. It scared her for a split second, before she calmed. 

“Rafayel,” she whispered, taking the step out of their bedroom slowly. His eyes followed her movement, he jerked forward. 

“Careful,” his voice was deep, “slow and steady.” 

That was how she would proceed, exaggerating every movement till she pulled the chain connected to the overhead light. It flickered before settling, revealing Rafayel, breathless. 

And bloody.

“Yours?” She asked, keeping her eyes on him as she reached behind herself for the medical dressings on the counter. It took her a few attempts before she felt them. 

“Some of it.” 

With a wince he let his trenchcoat fall, sliding off his shoulders. When he had to shimmy to make it fall a little more, he hissed. Fresh blood surfaced at his chest from two tiny holes. 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Pretty sure she didn’t know whether she wanted to fight me or fuck me,” he smirked. “I mean, you have eyes, can you blame her?”

With said eyes, she rolled them, slowly unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the wound. He looked down to watch her ministrations, placing him so close, his bangs brushed against her forehead. 

“Did she . . .?” She hated the implication, her own scars burning. 

“No,” he whispered, helping her press the gauze to his wound. “Even if she had, she’s dead.” 

She had to apply more pressure, causing him pain. His head tilted back till it hit the wall, he grimaced, baring his teeth. 

Two lethal fangs poked out from underneath his top lip. She imagined they had to be throbbing, begging him to find a source of blood from a person, an animal, anything. He needed to heal. 

The sight of them used to invoke fear, especially when she first met him. Now, he could expose them to her when teasing, when fighting side by side. 

“Keep the pressure,” she commanded, and walked over to her wallet, pulling a meager amount of cash. Flicking through the paper, she counted, relieved she had a few dollars to spare. Once she replaced his hand with hers, she waved the money in front of him. “Take it.” 

Blue eyes softened, hesitation swirling within. “I don’t need -”

“You do,” the Huntress shoved the wad into his front pocket. The majority of his money had recently gone to gear, leaving him with nothing much. “Go.” 

She had to look away as his eyes tried to hold hers, silently asking her to stop him. He knew he was her weakness, especially when he looked at her a certain way. 

When he still hadn't moved, she huffed. “Give me one reason not to go.” 

Words didn’t leave his mouth, instead his eyes landed on her shoulder. She couldn’t tell if that was in reference to what had happened, or his need to protect her. 

“Not going just makes it real what happened,” she turned away, taking a seat in her usual spot, that god awful recliner. Gently, she added, “I’ll be right here when you return.” 

When she grabbed her book, he realized no argument would win her over. It never did. 

He stepped out of their humble flat, shutting the door behind him. His trench coat still hung loosely over his shoulders, the white of his shirt underneath his buttoned vest ruined with blood. 

Rain pelted off the cobblestone, the oil light within street lamps reflecting from the puddles. Heels clicked, and boots trudged through water. Top hats tilted in favor of listening to women, some brims held in gloved hands as the owner was involved with his lover. 

As it was the dead of the night, all eyes glimmered in the darkness, fangs hid behind soft lips. 

The hiss of steam echoed in the distance, and gears clanked after initial pauses, stuttering minutes later. When the sun would shine again, the poor would get to work, manufacturing whatever was the hype amongst industries. Horses would roam the streets, carriages carrying those with money inside. 

With a sigh, Rafayel began the walk, his head low. When the Huntress was at his side, he was confident, defensive. Sometimes she even would say territorial. He had to be. Now, he would prefer to stay out of trouble, his wound not only slowing him down, but his sense of frenzy stronger. 

His fangs, they ached ever so terribly. It was all he could think about. 

Hands in his pockets, he made it to his destination, the red glow of light seeping from the curtained windows. He felt he was going to be sick, eyes closing as his fangs elongated a smidgen more. 

A hand slid over his shoulder, the strong scent of perfume wafted through the air. The paper in his hand crumbled, eliciting a crisp crunch as he made a fist. He had to do this if he wanted to protect her, if he wanted to stay by her side. 

She had sent him to a blood bank, a place where humans gathered, those who were addicted to the bite. Within fangs a potent venom was stored, if released, it created a heavy, dense pleasure. The victim was then prone to whatever the biter sought. It was up to the vampire whether they wanted to bestow such a high on their prey. If they wanted it to hurt, in the midst of battle, their fangs did nothing but tear.  

These humans, they were addicted. 

And Rafayel wouldn’t contribute to their enslavement. 

He turned to look at the woman, her low-cut dress revealing she had already given her very essence for the evening. Her green eyes, most likely full of life hours prior, were dull, looking at his mouth. 

His heart nearly gave out when she smirked. “A young one,” she observed. Before he could stop her, he knew she had been in a bank for too long. “A Tempered, at that.” 

Rafayel pushed away, taking a few stumbling steps back. The younger the vampire, the more prone they were to falling prey to the frenzy. It meant he was also weaker than his counterparts, no match to those who threatened him and his Huntress, unless they couldn't control their instincts. 

He grabbed her wrist, the woman’s eyes lighting up in delight, turning her vein up to him. She frowned when he shoved some of the money into her palm. No matter her profession, she needed to live. This is what he did whenever the Huntress tried to convince him to feed. He didn’t want it to be a waste of money; however, coming home with unspent money would reveal his deceit. 

The woods were plentiful with animals that were easy to hunt. She never caught the scent of dirt. 

Following his usual path, Rafayel skirted through multiple alleyways, sticking to the brick walls. He made it to the iron gates, a small smile molding his lips when he spotted the guard. It was an old man, hunched over, a walking stick in his hand. A hood covered his face, preventing others from seeing who he was. Rafayel only knew he was an elder human due to his scent, his impending death stuck to his skin. 

He handed the rest of the money to the guard, leaving the gates to enter the forest. This place was forbidden to the majority, full of danger and the unknown. Rafayel’s bribes over the years had made him the exception. 

The evening’s hunt went smoothly, the small animal seemingly admitting defeat the minute blue eyes landed on it. He had made sure the poor thing hadn't suffered, draining it of everything it had to offer. 

A nod from the guard was all the greeting he got when he returned into town, his wound healed, energy revitalized. 

He followed the same pathways he took to get there, returned to the bank, then followed the same route back to his home. It was mindless, and allowed him to indulge in his thoughts. 

The Huntress had promised she’d be in the exact same spot. He could envision it - her book in one hand, feet off the ground, heels pressed to the back of her thighs. Sometimes, she’d attempt to explain the plot. That was when he could absorb her animated gestures and expressions, and he’d learn what made her kick her feet, giggling at a declaration of love written on a feeble page. 

She would be within his territory, protected by what he had declared was his. That warmth she provided, the life that kept his heart beating, would welcome him when he’d open the door. She might have thought he felt obligated to remain by her side. She was sorely mistaken. 

Except, he wouldn’t be opening the door. 

It was already open. 

In a blur of mist and shadow, he was through the threshold, body materializing to collide with another. 

He heard it before he felt it. Wood splintered just as a gunshot rang through the air. A bullet nicked his calf, searing the skin. The scent of burning flesh wrapped around his gag reflex, tightly, irritating him. As if that hadn't been enough, the table him and the other vampire landed on pierced them both. The leg of the piece of furniture went through the lower abdomen of the intruder, entering Rafayel at his hip. 

He hissed, baring fangs. 

“Raf!” 

He knew she had been alive before he even entered their home, having scented her prior. Hearing her scream his name, soothed his pain as he rose, ignited his will to fight. 

Rafayel ran his hand over his hip, feeling the sticky, thick, coagulating substance. After he had just gone through efforts to heal. Luckily, his catch’s blood still coursed through him, and his skin was beginning to close, as if an invisible needle and thread sealed him shut.

He looked around the room, cataloguing the bullet holes in the wall, the shattered window, destroyed table, and pushed over couch. 

Now that leaking sink was the least of their problems. 

His Huntress had put up a damn good fight, and he’d bet good money if he hadn’t of moved their enemy, the bullet that had struck him, would have ended the life of the vampire laying the ground. There was a reason she was one of the most requested Bounty Hunters this side of the forest.

The vampire was reaching for the wood embedded in his stomach, body convulsing as it continued to succumb to insanity. He reeked of frenzy, eyes dilated and fangs dripping with venom. He would continue to fight until he was unable to move even if his limbs failed to function.

Rafayel took a few steps to stand in front of the Huntress, taking her gun from her hands slowly. Then he returned, kneeling by the vampire on the ground. He placed the barrel to the intruder’s forehead, then shielded his own face with an open hand. 

He pulled the trigger. 

Blood splattered across his open hand, little droplets slipping past his parted fingers to land on his cheek, forehead, and ear. 

He didn’t have time to fuss about that. Anger resonated deep within him, something volatile. It surged, curled. He felt this once, long ago. 

Already kneeled, it didn’t take much for him to fall forward onto his elbows, holding his head in his hands. The floor was cold against his forehead. He savored the sensation. 

He wanted her to leave - no, stay. He didn’t know. She was everywhere in his mind, every sense rushing to locate her. 

He could do nothing to stop himself.

His arms caged her, palms flat against the wall. A lamp lay broken on the ground, flickering. His breaths were harsh, fangs biting into his bottom lip as he battled within. She kept her hands at her sides, fingers tucked in against her palms. He whimpered, lifting his head to look at her. The step he took forward, made him stand straighter. The smirk gradually forming on his lips told her one thing - he was losing control. 

Rafayel pressed the side of his face to hers, inhaling deeply. His entire body crowded hers, trailing the tip of his nose from her pulse point up to her hair. 

“This isn’t enough. The desire to devour and consume someone . . . you feel it too, right?” 

Her reaction was involuntarily, liquid fire dripping down her veins, pooling where she refused to acknowledge. His voice had enough roughness to it, teasing a side of him she secretly desired, maybe even dreamt about. 

His chuckle was rapacious, sensing her reaction. He needed to push her a little more. His fang grazed the base of her jaw, near her ear, his movements predatory. “Doesn’t it sound fun? It’s like taming a wild animal.” 

The power he had over her was growing stronger. His pull was resolute, overwhelming, so damn tempting. Danger, to some degree, was alluring. 

“Come on, cutie,” he drawled. “Tame me.” 

“Not tonight,” she hissed, pushing on his bare chest, hard. It allowed her enough space to gain some leverage. They collapsed to the ground, her body landing over his to straddle his waist, hands wrapping around his wrists. She held him there, hands next to his head. He stared at her in return, eyes entertained. 

Thanks to years of hunting his kind, she knew it wouldn’t be much time before he was overpowering her again. 

“When I thought about this -” His eyes roamed down to where their hips were joined, and he arched, just enough to apply pressure for the both of them. “It was usually you beneath me. But this . . . I could get used to this.” 

“Well don’t.” Her act was to appear annoyed, aware she was his prey. Any falter in her facade and he’d go in for the kill. Staking his claim on her would do nothing but bring him danger. 

Vampires were possessive, unspoken rules upholding the foundation of their culture. They were also fierce lovers, loyal beings who would sacrifice their all in order to protect the one they devoted themselves to. No vampire was ever rumored to take a second - their vow was eternal. 

Sometimes, when she allowed her mind to wander to forbidden territory, she wondered where he would lay his claim. 

If he would even want to, at all. 

Her mind flirted with such dark and heavy desires, then as quickly as it played with them, it would run away. Desire was a cornered animal. Whenever she reached to touch, its ugly teeth would snap, threatening her, keeping her away. 

Then, she would try again, slower, even more methodical. Someday, she expected she might not get the same result. 

Some might call her a fool for continuously trying. 

She needed to make a decision. Time was ticking, slipping through her fingers like sand. 

She knew he was deep inside of himself, the vampire constantly locked in a battle between who he was and the part of him he branded as imperfection. 

Talking sense into him would do no good, he would twist every word, every meaning. She needed to shock him, catch him off guard. 

She swallowed, feeling some sort of crazy. 

Without a second thought, she leaned down, mouth finding his neck. 

Her teeth were blunt, and the mark would fade within a week or two, but the connotation remained the same. Slowly, she raised her head, unsure how he might react. She had either proposed a temporary claim, or challenged him. As a human, she could never fully understand his perceptions. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” When she heard his voice, she fully sat atop him, hands leaving his wrists to rest on his stomach. As a result, his thighs bore most of her weight. He seemed completely unbothered by it. Now, he appeared shy, head turned to the side so he wouldn’t meet her gaze. 

The room was rather dim thanks to the destroyed lights, but she was convinced she could see the redness of his cheeks, even his ears.

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, embarrassed. 

“So easy,” he whispered, beyond pleased, then her world shifted. 

Once on her back, he grabbed her ankle, pulling her down as he leaned over her. His hand had caught her wrists, one hand large enough to keep her wrists pinned above her head. 

“This human thinks she can claim me?” 

She gasped, fear constricting her lungs. 

She was a prisoner within his hold, hands clenching as she attempted to wiggle her wrists out of his grasp. It amused him instead, his head tilting as he observed her. A smirk formed, showing a glint of his fang, blue eyes narrowing. 

If he was in control of himself, if they were in a bed, sweaty and connected, his smugness alone might push her over. 

His hand reached to his own neck, feeling over the mark located there. He removed his fingers to look at them, entranced, as if the mark itself left residue on his fingertips. 

“Let me go, Raf,” her plea brought his eyes back to hers. Intense, he seemed conflicted. If his instincts accepted her claim, he wouldn’t harm her. 

His gaze drifted to her shoulder, fingers finding the claim tainting her skin. He wanted to replace it with his own, and own every inch of her body and soul. She would be his, just as she made him hers. 

Ah, but it wouldn’t be forever. Her lifespan was merely a blink of an eye compared to his. 

His fangs would need to sink into her skin -

Pain sprouted from within, images racing across his mind’s eye. The day he had felt so helpless, immobilized by the shackles of fear as the scent of her blood, sweet and delectable, permeated the air.

Someone, who they both had called a friend, betrayed a trust they all had imagined was unbreakable. Stronger than Rafayel, he could do nothing, as she pleaded he shouldn’t lose his life. 

From that day forth, he had devoted himself to becoming her shield, asking for nothing in return. His failure that day was all he would ever take from her. Other vampires scorned his existence, but that was a small price to pay, if it meant never seeing her life drain from her eyes ever again. 

He found himself once more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his body lying over hers and his arms curling around her shoulders, supporting her head. “I’m so sorry.”

As if he was someone she had never met, her hands hesitantly came to rest on his back. Rafayel wouldn’t dare to look at her, scared if he saw her fear, he’d never forgive himself. He’d see ‘him’ in his reflection. 

That thought made him flinch, seeking comfort in the body beneath him. 

“We can’t stay here,” her words brushed past the shell of his ear. Arousal was the furthest thing from his mind, yet he still melted, vulnerable. 

“Are you afraid?” The question wasn’t complete. His eyes closed, “of who I am, I mean.” 

She sat up, pushing him up with her. He sat defeated, straddling her legs. The pout on his lips acted as cold water, snapping her out of the intense moment. 

She stood, reaching out her hand to help him up. Once he grabbed it, she hauled him to his feet, meeting his gaze.  “The scariest I’ve ever seen you was that day you couldn’t decide on an outfit for your date last year. Destroyed even my side of the closet. If I can handle that, I think I’m fine.” 

He remained still, watching as she quickly grabbed a small, leather backpack, and began filling it with their essentials. Drawers and cupboards banged shut, cutlery rang out as utensils fell, all loud sounds that made him wince. 

Rafayel took a step back, mind calculating what it would take for him to run, how far he could get before she realized his absence. He had heard her heartbeat, loud and clear. She wasn’t lying. 

That bothered him. 

“You should be afraid,” he was weak in his resolve, stamping out all embers of hope that burned within. “I don’t know who I am in those moments.” 

The Huntress didn’t falter in her step, walking past him to grab her trenchcoat. “Rafayel, when someone says they aren’t scared of you when they should be, you shouldn’t try to convince them to think otherwise.” She held out the bag to him. “And you wonder why you’re still single.” 

He made no comment, slinging the bag over his shoulder as she pushed her arms through the sleeves of her coat. Even the simple action of her pulling her hair out from beneath the collar grounded him. 

“Ready?” She prompted. 

He looked around one last time, knowing more vampires were on their way. His eyes focused on their small kitchen. 

“Glad we never fixed the sink, cutie.”

They hitched a ride on the back of a cart carrying supplies out of town. Both of them sat on the edge, legs hanging off the side so boots dangled haphazardly above the cobblestone. 

Marsh was what they saw for miles, the air humid and thick with a scent that had the woman gripping the wood at her side. She couldn’t imagine what Rafayel was enduring. Aside from the creak of the battered wheels, the water at their sides bubbled, and crows screeched above, her companion remained silent. 

The lamp next to the driver swung with the sway of the cart, casting shadows across Rafayel’s face. He hadn't told her where he planned to take them. She had simply followed, allowing him to take the lead. The dead of night was his domain, where his blue eyes would flash and fend off any hungry creatures. 

She had learned early on that the claim on her shoulder held no weight if the vampire who bestowed it upon her was nowhere in sight. 

She had also learned that many vampires lost their respect for Rafayel when he defended one who wasn’t his. 

Judging by how the female vampires eyed him, he was special, strong and beautiful. He must have been wasting his potential on the likes of her, is what she could only assume they thought. 

She never took it to heart, but it would be a lie if she said it didn’t deflate her here and there. 

Not that she expected their relationship to venture into romantic territory. 

Him embracing her after the attack earlier that day was the first time he had ever purposely touched her. 

His comments about imagining them, about her being beneath him, she had attributed to his frenzy. Vampires wanted to claim, sometimes dominate, and were rich in seduction and sex. He never looked at her with eyes that told her that was true when he was in control. 

Instead, deep within those violet galaxies, was only hesitation. 

She shook her head, physically trying to dismantle those thoughts. She must have looked like a wet dog drying, since Rafayel snorted by her side. 

“We’re almost there,” he said, not bothering to tease. 

Almost there turned into a few more hours. Again, she had to consider he was a vampire, their flow of time was different. 

This town was lively. Paperboys ran through the streets, earning coins from passerbyers. Shops embedded within brick buildings had their lights on, seamstresses hard at work designing clothes. Butchers hacked away at meat, throwing scraps to the dogs that roamed amongst shoppers. At the corner of one street sat a mechanic, tinkering away at a steam bot. The Huntress had seen one of those once, a small machine full of cogs and liquid that made it connect two pieces of fabric to another. He probably had planned to sell it to the seamstress a little ways down. 

Rafayel hopped off the back of the cart. His leather boots nearly slipped on the damp cobblestone. His Huntress landed next to him, eyes surveying the assortment of people and buildings. Or rather, the assortment of people, buildings, and vampires. 

“Where are we going?” She finally asked, following the vampire along a route he clearly had travelled before. 

What she didn’t know was that it was many years ago. 

“To the leader of the local coven,” he responded. 

She didn’t reply, fascinated by more trinkets hidden within shops. The town they just fled from was far behind the times, a dystopia Rafayel thought he would never escape from. While she was curious and lost in a world of wonder, he was on high alert. 

Up a small hill sat a mansion, dark and foreboding. Only when Rafayel began the ascent, did the Huntress become a little concerned. 

Yet she never expressed that, even when they reached the door and Rafayel used the knocker. 

No footsteps were heard, not even a breath. She could have sworn no one was residing in the house, until the door opened. 

He made Rafayel appear small. 

His boots were pristine, clearly polished that same day. His slacks didn’t bare a single wrinkle, and his belt buckle glimmered under the porch lamp. The cuffs of his white shirt were rolled up, exposing thick forearms. Atop the shirt was a black vest, and similarly to his pants, had recently been ironed. A single band of leather wrapped around his upper arm. What that was for, she had no inkling. 

Red eyes, as bold as rubies, landed on her. Occasionally when the early morning breeze came by, strands of silver hair flitted past the vampire’s heavy gaze. 

Unconsciously, the Huntress stood behind Rafayel, looking over his shoulder. 

“You came back.” 

This stranger’s voice was deep. Rough in all the right places. She wasn’t sure if it would be better used as a lover’s whisper, or to soothe one to sleep after a nightmare. 

“We need a place, for a bit,” Rafayel remained steady with his tone, not backing down. 

Whoever this man was, exuded strength, confident in his demeanor and stance. 

“And why should I let the vampire who hunts his own into my sanctuary?” The vampire looked over the Huntress’ form again, this time pausing at her shoulder. “And one who travels with a claimed Huntress, it seems.”

Rafayel narrowed his gaze, “because-”

“Sylus, he’s one of ours.” 

The voice that said such words projected from behind Sylus, but the origin remained unknown. Whoever it belonged to sounded gentle, reminiscent of a plush pillow and warm blankets heated by the morning sun. 

Sylus didn’t make much of a change in facial expression, if anything the lack of a welcoming smile made him almost appear perturbed by their intrusion. 

“A week,” Rafayel calmly pitched. “That’s the longest we need.” 

Sylus chuckled, amusement loud in his action. The Huntress frowned, it seemed condescending, as if he knew something they didn’t. 

The silver-haired vampire stepped aside, smirking. A glint of fang stuck out from beneath his top lip. 

“Welcome to my humble abode, Hunters.” 

If anyone is interested - a taglist can be created.

[markollart]

The Colonel makes a move

[knightofmight01]

The birb Birth of Venus 🌊🐤🐚

[dogleb]

my faves 😭

[sushwie]

Happy Birthday Rafayel 💜🎂

[artsyririblobbu-deactivated2026]

"let's get this place HUMID!!!"

[sunsetagain]

"To be honest, I like it too... especially when I'm the glass."

[starmocha]

Little Dino [Sylus + Daughter ★ 2555 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Sylus has a little dinosaur problem. A/N: OK another crow dad and his baby birdie ficlet because they bring me joy 🥹 istg I am working on those wips I promised on my tumblr. But…birb dad and birb baby… 🥺

“Mr. Sylus, we have new intel about that night on the 4th.”

“Mmhmm,” Sylus absently answered the person on speakerphone as he leaned back against the desk in his study. His eyes keenly followed the quick movements of the little green dinosaur who walked in uninvited to his study carrying an armful of plushies and setting them on his couch in a neat order: Smiley Dino and Sunny Dino. He watched as she scurried out the room for a few minutes, her long tail swaying back and forth.

He suppressed a chuckle. It seemed his daughter was really enjoying the dinosaur onesie her mother had gotten for her recently. She had insisted on wearing only this outfit for the last week. Sylus turned his attention back to his phone call.

“Now, you were saying there was a mole at the auction?”

“Yes, sir, we believe it to be…”

Sylus discreetly eyed his study door when he saw it pushed further open and his little dinosaur-daughter walked in with another armful of plushies. She scampered over to the couch and set them neatly next to the ones already sitting. The little girl then tried to climb up the couch before she paused half-way, seemingly remembering something. She slid back down to the floor with a soft “oof” and turned around, running pass Sylus.

Before she passed him completely, Sylus subtly stepped on her tail, making the toddler paused, confused. She turned around, her mouth opening wide in shock at the sight of her tail caught under her father’s foot. The little girl grabbed her tail and started tugging helplessly, but her efforts were in vain as it remained trapped under this sudden obstacle. She looked up at her father, and Sylus pretended he was looking elsewhere, appearing as if he was entirely preoccupied with his call.

“Yes, yes, we can do a meetup later this week,” Sylus answered as he kept an eye on his daughter from his peripheral vision. He casually crossed his arms over his chest and hummed softly. “Now there is this protocore incident I have been meaning to have you look into…”

The little girl pouted from the lack of attention and continued trying to tug her tail free. She looked up helplessly, shocked that her father still didn’t notice her. She gave another quick feeble tug.

Sylus remained feigning obliviousness. He almost lost his composure when he caught sight of his daughter’s angry pout and the little glare directed at him. She really did look like her mother in this moment, Sylus couldn’t help but thought with delight.

“Mr. Sylus, we can arrange a meeting on—”

“Daddy! My tail!”

There was an awkward pause in the room after the sudden outburst.

“Um…Mr. Sylus…”

“Oh, dear,” Sylus said with mock-worry, “I seem to have a little dinosaur problem in my study right now…”

“Uhhh…I’ll call you back later, sir.”

The line immediately went dead. Sylus chuckled and redirected his entire attention to the angry little girl at his feet. He tsked softly.

“Now what do we have here?”

“Tail! My tail, Daddy!” The little girl continued fruitlessly tugging her tail to emphasize her point, but Sylus seemed to press his foot down even harder.

“I see that,” he said, feigning astonishment, “That is quite a problem, isn’t it, baby?”

The little toddler continued to glare at her father.

“My, my, that is such a ferocious look,” Sylus teased, smirking. Just like her mother…

An idea seemed to pop into the little girl’s head. She mustered up her scariest voice and then with her little hands held up to claw, she let out a loud, “Rawr!”

“Oh, dear, I am very frightened,” Sylus said, barely able to hide his amusement, “Whatever will I do…if only I have Miss Hunter here to protect me…but alas, she is currently prioritizing Linkon City over her husband…”

The girl sulked when she realized her scare tactic didn’t work. She stepped closer and started to push her whole weight against Sylus’ leg, grunting and whining as she tried to free her captured tail. Sylus started laughing when his daughter began to beat his leg with her little fists.

“Alright, alright, enough of the love taps. I’ll move my foot, baby,” he said, lifting his leg, but before the little girl could run off, Sylus used his Evol to lift her into the air. He manipulated his Evol to carry her closer to him until the toddler was floating face-to-face with her father. He smiled at her adorable angry glare.

“Do I get a kiss before Miss Dino runs off?”

“No!” she crossed her arms stubbornly.

Sylus laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “Is this little birdie angry at me now?”

“Daddy, I’m not a birdie today!” she said defiantly, “I’m a dinosaur! Rawr!”

He laughed again. “Pardon me,” he said, “Then Miss Dino, may I request a kiss before you run off?”

She continued to pout. Sylus took this opportunity to suddenly take her into his arms, tickling her and kissing her cheek without mercy until she was laughing and gasping for breath.

“Daddy! Daddy! Not fair!”

“Mmhmm,” Sylus agreed, planting another long kiss on his daughter’s cheek, “Daddy never plays fair.”

He shifted her in his arms and motioned to his cheek with his finger. “Now kiss.”

He smiled as his daughter reluctantly kissed him.

“Try again, Little Miss,” he said, tickling her again and chuckling alongside her helpless giggles.

This time his daughter smiled and kissed his cheek more sincerely.

“Good girl,” he said, pecking her cheek again before setting her back down to the floor. He gave her bottom a quick playful swat, sighing in feigned exasperation. “Now, what is this little dino doing to my study?”

“We’re keeping Daddy company!”

“‘We’?”

“Uh huh.” His daughter smiled cheekily and pointed at the couch with the array of colorful plushies sitting on it. “Me, Smiley Dino, Sunny Dino, Azure Dino, and Grape Dino!”

“What happened to Grumpy Crow and his friends?”

“Time-out!”

Sylus pretended to look startled by the firm exclamation. “And what crime did they commit to warrant such punishment?”

The little girl huffed angrily. “They were mean to Smiley Dino!”

Without missing a beat, Sylus gasped. “And how were they mean?”

“They said Smiley Dino couldn’t join their group,” the girl answered her father.

“Well, that is truly awful,” Sylus said sincerely, kneeling down to his daughter’s height. He patted her head. “And you put them in time-out, baby?”

She nodded her head furiously. “Smiley Dino was very sad, Daddy…”

“I’m sure he was,” Sylus answered back solemnly, “But you know, baby, perhaps your plushies need to learn to play along together?”

The girl looked down, her hands clasped behind her back as she shuffled her feet reluctantly. “But they don’t want to be friends, Daddy…”

Sylus smiled and gave his daughter’s cheek a playful pinch. She giggled and swatted at his hand until he let go. “Come on, my little dino, let’s go and have a chat with your plushies.”

He picked her up and as he carried her out of his study, Sylus also used his Evol to pick up the dino plushies. Swirls of energy wrapped around each waiting plushie, lifting them into the air to follow after the father-daughter duo. Sylus smiled when he heard his daughter giggling delightfully, catching sight of her waving happily over his shoulder at the line of dino plushies floating behind them.

When they arrived at the little toddler’s bedroom, Sylus was unprepared for the sight of a jail made of pillows incarcerating four crow plushies in the middle of the large bedroom. As he walked closer, he huffed in amusement at seeing the four crow plushies tossed haphazardly inside the jail.

“Well, this jail looks comfier than the one I was in…”

“Huh?” The little girl turned to face her father with a look of utter bewilderment.

Sylus shook his head, chuckling more to himself. “Never mind, baby.”

“Daddy, down, down!” the little girl cried out, wriggling in his arms.

Sylus chuckled again and lowered her down to the floor. “Alright, alright. Impatient little dino today, aren’t you?”

Sylus also motioned with his finger to bring the dino plushies over and they surrounded the pillow jail. He smiled as his daughter looked up, her eyes wide with delight at seeing her plushies floating in the air before they gently descended. She immediately picked up Smiley Dino and hugged him tightly in her little arms.

“Now, is there a reason the crows and dinosaurs don’t get along?” Sylus asked as he knelt down to his daughter’s level. He watched as she furrowed her brows in contemplation.

“Because…because…they said Smiley Dino has a weird face…”

“Well, that is mean,” Sylus quipped. “Do you think he has a weird face?”

She shook her head furiously. “Smiley Dino is very cute!”

Sylus chuckled at her excited exclamation. “Very cute,” he agreed and gave his daughter’s cheek a gentle stroke, “But not as cute as my little dino right here.”

She puffed up her cheeks at him, seemingly annoyed. She hugged her plushie tighter. “Daddy, you’re making Smiley Dino sad, too!”

“I am just speaking the truth,” he answered affably, “Do you think I am like Grumpy Crow?”

Without a single of second of hesitation, she nodded her head.

“Well, maybe I am,” Sylus continued with a smile. He picked up the Grumpy Crow plushie, turning it around to scrutinize. “Perhaps Grumpy Crow and his friends didn’t mean to make Smiley Dino sad.”

The toddler looked at her father confused, and Sylus elaborated further: “Maybe the crows aren’t very good with their words…”

He held the crow plushie close to the dino plushie in his daughter’s arms. “Maybe he meant to say Smiley Dino has a very unique face. He’s special.”

“Daddy, is that…good?” the little girl asked tentatively.

Sylus nodded. “It can be good.” Sylus paused and raised the crow plushie close to his ear, appearing to be listening intently. His expression switched between different emotions, seemingly contemplative one second and then intrigued the next. “Ah, I see. Yes, yes, this is a big misunderstanding…”

“Daddy? What is it?” The girl walked over and tugged at her father’s sleeve. She pouted when he started laughing for seemingly no reason.

“Oh, Grumpy Crow was just telling me they didn’t mean to make Smiley Dino sad,” Sylus explained, continuing, “They also want to be friends with the dinos.”

“They do?” The girl’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“They do, baby,” he answered. He held the crow plushie out to his daughter. “Look, Grumpy Crow wants to apologize and be friends with Smiley Dino.”

The girl slowly smiled and held her dino plushie out. The two plushies ‘hugged’ before the little girl took them both into her arms to snuggle. She looked at her father with bright eyes and a toothy grin. “Daddy, they’re friends now!”

“Splendid,” he answered, “Now you have twice the number of friends to play with, right?”

She nodded happily, and gave each plushie a friendly kiss on the head.

Sylus suddenly noticed something peculiar. In the corner of his daughter’s room, there was a little canopy reading nook. Child-sized bookcases lined the wall filled with different children’s books and underneath the canopy was a soft white fur rug with different sized throw pillows surrounding the area. He noticed a few plushies were also strewn about on the rug.

“Wait, what’s this?” Sylus stood up and walked over to the reading area, picking up one of the peculiar plushies laying on the rug.

“Happy Snowman!” his daughter declared, dropping her two plushies and running over excitedly. “Mommy gave him to me.”

“Did…did she win it for you?”

“I dunno, Daddy,” his daughter answered him with a little innocent shrug. She then excitedly picked up two different plushies and held them up to her father proudly. “Look, Daddy, this is Artsy Birb and Bunbun!”

“They are…cute,” Sylus answered, tone stiff, though thankfully the little three-year-old didn’t seem to notice. Sylus knelt down to his daughter’s height again and smiled forcibly. In as even a tone as he could muster, he spoke, “Baby, why don’t you let Daddy hold onto these plushies for a while?”

His daughter tilted her head, confused, making the hood of her dinosaur onesie drooped to cover her face. Sylus fixed her hood and gave her a reassuring smile as he continued in the same tone as earlier, “Daddy is just borrowing them for a bit. I’ll give them back later…after I speak with Mommy…”

The little girl gave her father a toothy grin and nodded, not particularly caring either way. Sylus answered with another smile and with a wave of his hand, he made the three plushies disappear. He suddenly blinked in confusion when his daughter turned around and ran over to her bookshelf and picked up a seemingly random book, though it seemed to be quite a bit thicker than the other ones on the shelves.

“Daddy, story please!”

Sylus chuckled and nodded. “Yes, Miss Dino,” he answered courteously. He settled down in the reading nook, laying casually on his side with one elbow propped up and his head resting in his hand. Sylus smiled as his daughter scurried over and also settled down, handing him the book.

Sylus blinked in confusion before reading aloud the title of the book he was handed: “Analysis of Firearms Maintenance and Its Practical Applications…” He peered down at his daughter’s smiling face. He huffed in baffled amusement, asking, “Baby, did you take this from my bookshelf?”

She nodded her head eagerly and Sylus laughed. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Mischievous little dino, aren’t you?” He rubbed his nose against her cheek, causing her to giggle harder. “I didn’t realize I was raising a little klepto-dino.”

“Oh! Daddy, Daddy, my plushies…”

Sylus smiled. He motioned with his hand, and swirls of energy wrapped around the crow and dino plushies, lifting them into the air. The plushies all floated over, circling around the reading nook area briefly before one by one, they were gently lowered to surround both father and daughter. Sylus motioned for the Grumpy Crow and Smiley Dino plushies closer and his daughter happily grabbed both to snuggle.

“Happy now?”

The girl nodded, beaming brightly as her hood fell to cover her face again. She giggled and lifted the hood off before she cuddled closer to her father. She pointed excitedly at the book Sylus was holding. “Daddy, the book, the book!”

“Bossy little dino…” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Alright, page one…”

As he calmly read the book, his deep, soothing voice seemed to lull the little girl to sleep. After a few minutes, she turned away from the book, yawning, and clung to Sylus’ shirt, her small fingers absently rubbing the fabric for comfort. Sylus pulled her closer and he rested his head on a pillow as he continued to read aloud several more pages. Soon, though, the book was laid facedown, forgotten, as Sylus also found himself drifting off to sleep.

Soft, even breathing filled the room, and dreams of playful little dinosaurs and crows filled a little girl’s head as she slept peacefully, safe in her father’s protective embrace and surrounded by her cherished plushies.

[muelor]

[ 🌷 ] Rafayelㅤ-ㅤWisteria Waltz Love and Deepspace

[starmocha]

be my eternity, say my name [Caleb/Reader ★ 2725 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] The secrets only you and Caleb would ever know. A/N: ;~; I've been working on this on-and-off since January. I'm so happy it's finally done. Title is referencing a verse in two TXT’s songs, Deja Vu and Run Away (9와 4분의 3 승강장에서 너를 기다려), but for this fic, I drew more inspiration from Deja Vu (I will probably write something using Run Away in the future, because I have ideas, hehe) @deepspacenova I'm also tagging you because this is one of the Caleb song-inspired fics I mentioned to you last night <33333 Tag list:@solifloris @natimiles @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @miudle @alfredosaws @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @yourlocalcatscammer @qyuin 【 request to be added 】

It was a secret.

That you fell for Caleb first.

You couldn’t explain when it had happened, when you finally saw him in a different light, knowing he was someone much more precious than a mere friend. You knew, though, that since that one afternoon long ago when you both came into each other’s lives, you took his hand and never wished to let it go ever.

(I’m Caleb. I’ll always be by your side.)

It was a secret.

In the dark of nights, under thick cover, your hand wandered, slipping in between your legs, driving into your folds, curling just so as your thumb brushed over that sensitive clit as you thought about him just a few doors away asleep in his own bed, unaware of the shameful act you had submitted yourself to, unable to ignore the desires to have him unconditionally, claim him solely for yourself.

All of those close instances, seemingly innocent in the way his body hovered so close to yours, or the way sometimes his arm would wrap around your waist when he teased you, unaware of the effect it was having on you. He never knew how the warmth of his breath teasing against your neck would have your heart skipping several beats faster, how there would be a tightening in your belly when he loomed near you, or the way how sometimes when your playfighting would lead to you tumbled atop him, so close to him physically and yet you felt the vast distance from his heart.

You fantasized of his large hands behind you, resting on the small of your back, his eyes locked with yours, searching almost desperately for permission, an invitation to cross this invisible line between you both. You thought of his lips, seeing the way they trembled, see his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, looking like a man starved, salivating at the sight of the glorious indulgence before him. You thought of treading first, stealing his lips experimentally, swallowing his surprised gasps as you grinded down on him, feeling his growing arousal brushing against your own.

You imagined his restraints broken, picturing him yielding to temptation, his hands fumbling over your body, his hips thrusting up, needing to feel you through the clothed barriers between you both. Your name spilt from those lips, the rasp in his voice more noticeable as he groaned in pleasure, growing more and more delirious as this lust heightened between the two of you.

You panted harder. You wanted his calloused hands on your smooth skin, trailing over secret places he had never known until this moment. You wanted to discover together with him all of the places on both of your bodies that would have you buckling, your toes curling, a hungry desperation for more and more.

You quickened your pace, fingers rushing as you imagined how he would have you come undone fully clothed on top of him, hearing that sweet, sweet voice of his urging you, praising you, coaxing you until you were trembling and crying against him.

Just a little bit more.

So close. So, so close.

Almost there.

With a few more rushed strokes and you were crying out your orgasm, his heavenly name spilling from your lips. For several minutes, you lay in bed, panting and shaken by the pleasure you had just experienced. There wasn’t much thought left in your head, a sudden wave of drowsiness seeming to wash over you.

You sighed.

When you stared at your hand, chest still heaving from the adrenaline, you wondered what it would be like to be filled by him. You couldn’t seem to stop imagining his body against you, wanting to be pinned underneath him, trapped beneath the heavy weight of him, his forearms resting on either side of your head and his face so close to yours, and those soulful eyes imploring you to want him, need him in a way only lovers would ever know.

Your breathing grew shaky again. You wondered how big he was, wondered how well your body could take him. You couldn’t help but imagined this time his hands just gripping your thighs, prying them apart, letting him see just how wet and willing you were for him. That burning need to stretch around him stirred within you again, your hips unwittingly squirming, feeling nothing but also everything.

Inadvertently, you moaned his name again, your body writhing beneath the sheets, the ache inside you renewed. You tossed and turned, your face buried into your pillow to muffle the way you cried out his name over and over again, feeling like you were humping against nothing, your fingers barely able to satisfy you, not like how you knew his own could.

Caleb’s long, thick fingers filling you, thrusting in and out as he made sure you would be ready to take more of him later. You clenched, voice strangled, as you cried harder, feeling your climax approaching again.

“Caleb… Caleb… please… please… Caleb…!”

There was a noise outside your room. You froze in that instance just as your second climax arrived and you bit down on your lip to stifle your moans. Someone was in the hallway. Was it your grandmother…  or was it Caleb? You didn’t know, too scared to even peek at the shadow beneath the crack in the door. Stay silent, you ordered yourself, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle any sounds that could slip through. You could still feel the lingering shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

You squeezed your eyes shut, curling up under the cover. Even after it was safe to stir again, you stayed still.

You almost wished it was Caleb who came into the room to check in on you. You almost wished he would discover the dirty secrets you kept from him, the way you pleasured yourself many nights thinking of him. You wondered how he would react seeing you in your bed with reddened cheeks flushed hot and fingers wet with your own arousal from the way you shamelessly touched yourself to dirty fantasies of him. You wondered if it would destroy your precious relationship with him, or just maybe, he felt the same.

Maybe he also felt the same about you. Maybe he had his own dirty secrets. Maybe he also carried lewd thoughts in his mind, thinking of you in ways he probably shouldn’t.

If he did, you couldn’t wait to uncover them, wanting his secrets exposed to you alone and yours to him.

(Mornin’, pipsqueak, did you sleep well?

…You could say that.

What is that supposed to mean—never mind, we’re going to be late for school. Hurry up and eat.)

It was a secret that you made the first move.

If there was ever a forbidden line between the two of you, you crossed it without a care, unable to ignore the growing feelings and desires within you. You could never entertain the idea that Caleb would be with anyone but you. He was yours from the beginning and you wanted him to the very end.

One warm afternoon, he was napping on the couch, a book facedown on his chest. You knelt on the floor next to him, drawn to how handsome he looked, peacefully slumbering away like an angel of God seeking respite for just one instance. Such long lashes, you admired with slight envy before smiling as you looked at his lips. They were just barely parted, his breathing soft and slow.

You swallowed, suddenly nervous, before you leaned in, pressing your lips to his, light and a little awkward, but that immediate tingle you felt was already an exhilarating rush that chased away your earlier coyness.

He stirred, but before you could pull away, his hand was behind your head, keeping you in place to your shock. He didn’t say anything, but you felt him kissing you back, and you yielded to him, savoring this moment like a sweet forbidden fruit you had shamelessly coveted.

When he opened his eyes, beautiful pools of violet stared back at you in relief. You smiled back, thinking you could drown in them forever if he would let you. His book dropped to the floor with a dull thud and you were dragged on top of him in seconds. You stared down at his smiling face, a warmth spreading over your cheeks, suddenly coy again now that it was apparent his feelings were identical to yours.

One hand reached up to cradle your cheek, your own two hands covered his as you gazed down with fondness in silent understanding.

The house was empty. It was just the two of you, in your own little world, your own little Eden.

Just like how it had always been, it seemed.

(Mm, are you… are you sure?

Never been surer in my life, Caleb… You?

If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me up.)

It was a secret how soft Caleb’s lips were, how quickly addicted you became, wanting and needing all of his kisses, wanting to greedily pocket them all for yourself. The short, fleeting ones, just barely there, stolen lips in passing when no one could see, or passed off as just a trick of the mind. The long, drawn-out kisses, both your feelings poured out in intense sessions that would leave you breathless but unable—unwilling—to stop, always yearning for more.

Fast, messy kisses, rushed with frantic hands grabbing at one another, bodies pressed together in secrecy, hidden away in dark corners or under covers.

The way he would kiss you all over. Gentle, tender forehead kisses. Playful pecks on the tip of your nose. Sweet, chaste cheek kisses. He would get bolder, kissing along down your neck, in the crook, along your shoulders, leaving not a spot untouched by his lips.

He would be more sensual, worshipping you all over. Down your chest, leaving you gasping and squirming against him, trapped beneath him in surrender.

Such lascivious kisses he would leave along the inside of your thighs. Heavenly lips seeking your intimate area, a secret place only he would ever know as he hungrily tasted you, devouring like a man starved and worshipping like a sinner seeking salvation.

Caleb was always smart, so it didn’t take him long to learn your body, discovering all of the ways he could make you cum for him. He could be the sweetest man when he wanted to be, but those little moments when he was just a little more taunting in his words and in his ministrations had a way of driving you wild, finding him even more desirable than you thought was possible.

(Ah… Caleb… I’m going to… ah… wa-wait…

Cum for me, my pretty girl.

Oh, fu—)

It was a secret how delicious you tasted afterwards on his lips.

(So pretty. So, so fucking pretty like this.)

It was a secret how warm Caleb’s mouth felt around your nipple, how the way his tongue swirled over the sensitive nub had you bucking shamelessly against him, his hands automatically forced to grip your hips to keep you in place on his lap. Even when your small hand grabbed at his hair, tugging and whining, he suckled harder on one nipple while he let one hand squeezed and groped your other breast, kneading the soft, supple mound with experimental strength, relishing in the way that you gasped out his name and how under your skirt, he could feel your panties getting damped, the soaked fabric brushing over his thigh had his mind racing, growing delirious with ideas of what he could do to you.

It wasn’t just the mere imaginary ideas of what he could do to you that had him going wild, but the very knowledge that you would willingly let him had him hardening, his control and self-restraints weakening as all he wanted to do was give in to his desires—give in to you.

(You make such pretty sounds. Is it only for me?

D-don’t tease me… Ah…!

I’m not teasing. I want to hear more.

Ca-Caleb!)

It was a secret how Caleb pressed you into his mattress, how you always and willingly spread your legs for him. This was always where he was meant to be, between your legs, his body looming above yours. No matter how many times he had taken you, it always felt like the first.

With Caleb, everything always felt like the first time, as if you and he were always restarting from the beginning, never letting the story of you and him end.

(Already this wet? I haven’t even done anything yet. Naughty, naughty.

I… I… can’t help it… you…

Tell me. Tell me how I make you feel.

Caleb…! Ah…!

Tell me. Did you get excited—thinking about my cock pounding this needy pussy?

Wai-don—yes!

Do you always think about me like that? Answer me.

…Yes…

Louder.

Yes! Yes, yes, Caleb, always!

Ah—oh fuck—)

It was a secret how you always would come so sweetly around him, muffled moans suppressed under his large hand, under his intense smoldering amethyst eyes before they closed as he filled you full with thick, heavy spurts of his seed, his own groans stifled, burying deep into your shoulder.

(Shh, we don’t want anyone hearing us, alright?

…Mmph…

I’ll spoil you next time. I want you to scream my name next time.)

It was a secret how many times Caleb had filled you. How full you felt as your belly bulged, the sight always clouding his mind with dark lust, the need to always keep you like this, completely ruined by him, made for him.

He kept you flushed to him, your body heat exchanged and shared. He kissed you soundly as he softened inside of you, but he showed no sense of urgency about parting, still wanting to stay buried in your warmth. He seemed reluctant to break the kiss, the sounds of both of your heavy breathing filled the room as he gazed down at you, wanting to keep you locked within his gravity.

(It’s like you were made for me. All mine.

And you for me?

Right. Yours. I’m all yours. No one else’s. Yours.)

It was a secret how you dreamed of a life of just you and him, hidden away in a paradise of your own making. There would be no sorrow, no anguish, or judgment from others. You dreamed of long summer days, basking in the day’s warmth with his fingers intermingled with yours.

You dreamed of laying on green grass, him on top of you with the blue heavens above as witnesses of your love for him, and within his vibrant violet eyes, there was a promise of eternity, his life was yours—was only ever yours and no one else’s.

(Pipsqueak… go to sleep.

No… I want to keep watching you.

Silly girl… You can watch me tomorrow.

I want to watch you now. And I’ll watch you tomorrow, too. Caleb…

Hmm… So greedy.

Only when it comes to you.

…

…Caleb?

I feel the same. I want to keep you all to myself. Forever mine.)

It was a secret.

That you and Caleb belonged together.

The world would never understand.

A bond this sacred was meant to last for eternity, your souls bounded together long ago when you took his hand first but he was the one to hold on tight, promising himself to you for all of your lives together.

(Caleb… I—

Wait—let me… just let me…)

Such heavenly secrets stayed hidden away from nonbelievers.

No one would ever know of him the way you did, just as he had uncovered all of your secrets, stealing them away to be his and his alone.

His hand on your cheek, eyes always finding yours, you knew already the words that were to come, but you waited in anticipation with bated breath.

In the next instance, his sweet smile filled your vision and you were pulled back into his orbit, locked within his embrace. When you looked up, his warm breath intermingled with your own, your heart beating quietly for him. He cradled your cheek, guiding your lips to his, and he breathed a secret to you, a promise of eternity only for you.

(I love you. I’ll always be by your side.)

[1nsum]

I’m not happy with how this came out but it’s based on Caleb’s standard myth, when MC sees Caleb in her dream :’)

[stardustdusting]

[xinyuehui]

Deepspace Surfers

[sunsetagain]

LADS x Assassin's Creed Syndicate

Sylus as Jacob Frye, the Master Assassin and leader of Rooks in London.

inspired by affinity 119 text message Crow Cane.

[rin-eko]

Tiny Scales ~ Rafayel x Reader

He’s never been more in love with, or more grateful to you, who is his soulmate. You, who has brought the future of Lemuria into the world.

Content: softness, pregnancy, childbirth in the ocean, non-canon mermaid depictions and biology

WC: 1.6k

Rafayel knows the due date is near. Knows that soon the oceans will be bustling and the waves will spread in welcome to the new heir of the seas.

He can see it. Sense it. He can practically taste it. In the same way he can sense turbulence amongst the choppy waters of the deep sea and taste the salt in the air.

And of course, it is also made obvious in your actions. You don’t notice all the changes happening within you and your subconscious, but he does, and he’s never felt more tender, more protective.

He sees how you want to be alone more often, just like a Lemurian female, often finding you nestled in the corner of your plush, shared bed, fast asleep and cradling your belly for long hours of the day.

Or sitting just at the edge of the private beach outside your home, right where the water meets the sand, knees tucked to your chest as you let the waves kiss your feet and wet your hem, something within you viscerally needing the ocean close in the same way he does.

He sees your enamoured exasperation when you rub your round belly that’s grown heavy and uncomfortable to carry. Notices how in some moments you crave him in ways you can’t help or explain, wrapping your arms tightly around him from behind, nuzzling your face into his back, wanting to crawl beneath his skin so much you’ll huff a sound of helpless frustration, quickly unbuttoning his shirt so you can press your face to his bare skin. His chest, his shoulder blades, his neck.

Throughout your entire pregnancy, you and Rafayel rarely leave the house. Before the small life had begun to grow inside you, you had thought you and Rafayel couldn’t possibly be any closer. You knew everything about each other, did everything together, your lives entwined so completely you could understand each other without words, could feel each other even when apart.

But during your pregnancy, when the two of you literally spent every minute of each day with each other within the safe bubble of your home, your relationship had once again transformed, morphing into something so deep, so infinite and everlasting you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, where or even if there was any separation of your lives anymore. You felt the air he breathed passing through your lungs, could feel the surrounding world through him and the little one nurtured within you.

As for Rafayel, you had never seen him more relaxed. He had forgone cutting his hair, instead letting it grow, the soft purple ends sweeping down his delicate, pale neck and grazing his shoulders. More often than not he forewent shoes and shirts, and almost always denied invitations or interviews from the world outside your bubble.

He devoted all his time to you and the child safely tucked in your womb, painting countless images of your pregnancy. You sleeping on the couch, one hand on your belly, your hair a mess around you. You standing in the soft morning light of the kitchen. You on the beach, wearing a thin nightgown and facing the silvery moon which casted mesmerising reflections along the inky water. The two of you lazed in bed during those months, rising when your bodies willed, lulling back into a deep slumber in the same way the tides ebbed and flowed.

Ten months. A little longer than a regular human pregnancy. Different from a regular Lemurian pregnancy, too. You weren’t laying eggs. The baby was alive within you, little movements tickling Rafayel’s nose when he spoke to your belly in the dim light of the midnight moon, the soothing sound of waves crashing outside.

“I can’t wait to meet you, my little love,” he would speak quietly in his ancient native language, pink lips softly forming beautiful words. He pressed his lips to your bare stomach and you stroked through his velvety hair in response, your thumb rubbing lightly just below his ear where small pearlescent half-circles could be seen. As your hormones changed and strengthened throughout the pregnancy, his instincts had responded keenly, and oftentimes his scales would erupt on subtle parts of his body before he could help it. You loved kissing those smooth patches, licking them, nuzzling them. You wondered if your child would have them, too. If they would take after their father’s kind or yours. Not that it mattered, the love you both felt for the child could surely sink through your skin and reach them, wrapping them safely.

And when Rafayel wakes after a little more than ten months to find the space beside him in bed empty and cold, he somehow knows.

He doesn’t bother checking for you in the house, walking straight to the beach outside where the sky is a light purple still glittered with stars. He stops at the top of the sand, the breeze whispering through his hair as he stares at the back of the figure swaying waist-high in the currents. Your body, your instincts, perhaps heightened by the Lemurian DNA inside you, have told you that this is the place and this is the time.

Rafayel is shirtless, the light material of his loose white pants sticking to his ankles as he walks into the water, to his calves, his thighs, his hips, right behind you. The waves welcome him in their embrace, acknowledging their god, and soon, the heir to them.

His arms wrap around you from behind and his eyes glow a bright blue-purple, everything within him vibrating as his mate lets out a small moan and leans back against him.

“Beloved, are you in pain?” he speaks right by your ear. His thumb strokes your swollen belly over your thin white dress. The gentle ocean swells pass by the two of you.

You make a small sound that says you are and hold the large hand resting on your stomach tighter, trying to concentrate on the first sliver of the sun’s light casting a tiny glow of yellow on the horizon ahead.

Your neck turns to nuzzle the size of your face against his bare chest, moaning lightly. He ducks his head down. You’re panting a little. “Raf… Rafayel… If this baby takes after you, I will be so happy.”

He kisses your temple, smells your hair and the ocean. “My love, you and this baby are my entire world.” There is nothing more important. Nothing more precious.

And as the first rays of sunlight warm the sand and cause the sea to glimmer like a thousand jewels, a little princess is born. Rafayel holds you throughout, letting you squeeze his hand as tightly as you need, cupping water in his palm to cool your sweating hairline. He rubs your dry lips and silently commands the waves to embrace you carefully, comfortably.

One last whimper and push from you and he feels your taut body sag back against his chest. Throughout the process, silvery-blue scales have emerged on his skin, below his eyes, at the column of his throat, along his forearms and ribs. Whenever he sees you in pain, and also, from his own excitement. And now, he sees a flicker of the same colour quickly splash the surface of the water before sinking a little beneath.

Still holding you securely with one strong arm, the other darts beneath the water, scooping something small and soft and smooth up in the other arm.

You’re both breathless as you stare at the amazing, beautiful creature. So small, with scales a shade lighter than Rafayel’s. So small that its head can fit on Rafayel’s palm. It looks half asleep and droopy, with little saliva bubbles gurgling from its mouth.

And the tiniest, cutest little mermaid tail you have ever seen, the end wrapped lightly around Rafayel’s forearms, the fluke of the tail wriggling slightly.

As if by pure instinct, Rafayel’s own tail stretches out, scales fluttering up his sides, gills emerging by his ears. He brings the baby to your chest for you to hold and you cradle her warmly as Rafayel carries you both deeper so his tail can comfortably stretch out without touching the sand below. He keeps you both afloat like that for a long while, the both of you just staring in awe at your daughter. Every perfect inch of her. You feel no pain, only completely and wholly connected to the sky and the sea and your little family.

The tiny thing blinks dazedly, eyes opening a little and you inhale sharply. A happy sob chokes from your throat.

“Darling,” you coo, reaching to stroke one soft cheek with the back of a finger, infinite gentleness and adoration swelling within you. Her eyes are purple like your beloved’s. A brilliant mixture of the rising sun pink and blues you only find in the depths of the ocean where old Lemurian statues still stand.

“Will she be able to change when she’s so little?” you breathe the question to Rafayel, dipping to kiss the tip of her nose.

“Mmm,” he cradles you and nuzzles the back of your neck. “If she spends long enough outside the water it will happen automatically. She will learn to control it as she grows.”

You imagine Rafayel as a child, learning the same thing, a stark contrast to the strong Lemurian holding you now, the large tail swaying in the water beneath you.

Rafayel’s chest feels so open and so full. He’s never been more in love with, or more grateful to you, who is his soulmate. You, who has brought the future of Lemuria into the world.

[medrowjz]

“We will always be together, even in hell.”