Even though he’s more man than Lemurian these days, sometimes old habits seem to die hard for your poor boyfriend, Rafayel. At the best of times hes clingy and dramatic, but once hes in heat? Oh boy you better be ready.
This was the third time today hed flung himself ontop of you on the sofa and exhaled so loudly in your face, that you swore the seagulls nesting above the studio wouldve gotten used to it by now instead of fluttering off into the distance, soaring high above the beautifully setting sun. Sometimes you wish you could follow them, but instead, you had to endure his whining and gently sooth his dramatic mental aches until he decided it had finally become enough, and he needed something else to take his mind off his paintings instead.
“Bed.”
“Raf….”
“Just say you hate me. Say it now, loud and clear. Break my heart further infront of the children (his paintings) so they know it’s their mother ruining the family and not me.”
You painfully rolled your eyes as he continued to whine ontop of you, his aching boner unashamed as it lay pronounced against his leg, pressing hard against the fabric of his white trousers, daring you to take accountability for causing such distress on his body. He grabbed your hand and pressed it firmly ontop of it, dragging it along his whole length, showing you how desperately he needed you, without using his words alone.
“Look what you do to me! It’s your fault Yano…if you hadn’t of made me fall inlove with you, I wouldn’t be stuck in this stupid heat. I’d be able to carry on my pantings, take luscious walks along the shore and not feel the primal need to collect shiny things to bring back to you, but nooooo. All I can think about now is how good you smell, how amazing you feel when your clamping down around me, how the sound of my name ripples off your tongue like you’re carving our bond into the very fabric of existence infront of me.”
You looked down at the man lying across you as his pout took form and his hand pressed yours harder into his growing length.
“Youre Insatiable, baby.”
“And you’re captivating, so I think you should take some responsibility for making me this way….dont you? I think you owe it to me.”
Suddenly he sat up and placed himself on the edge of the sofa, his back turning slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest, performing his usual ‘im going to whinge a little until you say nice things to me” act, as if both of you didnt instinctively know exactly how this was all going to play out in a few minutes anyway.
“Oh, i owe it to you do I?”
“Yes. Humpf. And you also owe it to me to wear that sparkly see through dress as well. The one over there.”
He flung his arm out and waved it towards the bed, pointing towards where he’d already not so subtly laid it out for you earlier, hoping that upon seeing it youd jump at the chance to wear it and become his cock hungry breedable wife for the night like you had so many times before.
You flicked your eyes towards the bedroom and saw the glimmer of the dress sticking out from behind the wall, as you decided that now was the perfect time to let him in on a little secret you and Thomas had been working on together for the last few weeks.
As you stood and made your way towards the bedroom slowly, a small whisper of a word trailed from your lips directly to his ears, almost being missed if his senses werent heightened due to the heat taking over his mind, body and pants. It was one word, something delicate and soft, barely being pronounced correctly, but he heard it. Lumarian. You were speaking his native tongue. You were speaking to him, to the deepest most intimate parts of him. You honestly thought you’d have a few more seconds before he pounced on you upon hearing it, but before the word even fully left your lips, he was on you.
Unfortunately for you, upon hearing you speak to the most primal instincts inside of him, the force that he grabbed you with unintentionally forced you to the floor, encasing you under him and causing what little restraint he had left in his human mind to all but completely snap. As soon as you both tumbled to the floor inbetween the front room and your bedroom, his hips instinctively started thrusting into you, pushing himself harder and harder against you as his hands snaked up your body and tightly pulled you into him, his lips now ghosting over your ear as his breaths came short and ragged behind you.
“I don’t know how you know that word, but please baby, say it again. Say it to me.”
Your mouth parted as the word slipped tenderly out again, this time louder for him as his hands on your body tighten and the force he was thrusting into to you becoming even harder now that hes confirmed it was exactly what he thought youd said. “Love” in lemurian, straight from his ears to his heart, punctuated with such sensual tone that it coming out slightly broken and barely pronounced correctly meant very little to him now, his teeth sank straight into your neck, burning with him claiming you as his sea bride yet again.
“Im sorry but, I can’t hold back anymore. Im allowed to right cutie? God please say im allowed to.”
As he muffled the words between your skin, you shakily nodded your head allowing him to take you as he wanted, as his hands ripped his dick from his trousers and then tore a hole directly in between your legs, your new shorts now long forgotten as he lined himself up to your, luckily, already soaked entrance.
One push is all it took for him to bottom out inside you, his dick twitching instantly as you accepted him, as his breathy moans managed to break the connection of his teeth on your neck, allowing your head to fall back down and your body to relax under his impressively strong hold.
His thrusts started as they meant to go on, brutal and deep. Every inch of you needed to be claimed by him, so as soon as he saw you scrambling to find something to grip onto, he immediately grabbed one of your wrists and placed it to his mouth, letting his tongue dance out and tenderly lick all up your wrist, nipping at it gently as his scent marking trait took hold, demanding that you needed to be his inside and out.
“You need to, smell like me. Everywhere. Im sorry cutie but, I can’t help it. I need you to be mine, need everyone to know it. Youre all mine, all mine forever. Made to take me, made to be my other half, made to make others jealous of, how deep our bond is. Fuuuck, i need to fill you up. Need you to be dripping with me.”
Without hesitation, he put his hand on the top of your head and laced his fingers in your hair, forcing you more into the floor as he used his other hand to hold your hips and force your ass higher into him. Each thrust felt like he was trying to split you in half, never getting deeper enough, never fucking hard enough to satiate the impossibly deep need he had inside to impregnate you, to make you his for every lifetime there was.
Each thrust knocked more air out of your lungs as he truly showed you what it was to be claimed by someone you loved, each kiss of his head knocking at your womb a reminder that not only did he need you primally, but his body craved yours, in a way that made ‘making love’ child’s play compared to what he was doing to you now.
“S’not enough, not deep enough, not hard enough. I need to…”
Without much hesitation he pulled out of you and flipped you around, almost looking pained as he forced your legs to your chest and widened them for him to push back inside you, the sting in his eyes immediately dissipating as soon as he entered you again, an almost euphoric relaxation taking over his features as he felt your warm and welcoming walls squeeze around him.
“A position aptly named for right now, dont you think, c cutie.”
He tried to contain his animalistic need for you as he slotted back inside of you, now cupping your face in his hands as he leant down and pressed soft kisses to your lips, knowing his resolve would soon crumble again once he started moving his hips into you.
“I love you, god fuck, I love you raf. Im sorry…”
He opened his eyes and let them pierce you as he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours, the need to pound into you harder in this position barely being contained as he tried his best to hold out a little while longer.
“Never apologise my love, you speaking directly to my soul is the sexiest thing you couldve ever done. I should be the only apologising. I…. I really can’t hold back any longer. I need to feel you, need to fill you with everything I have. I’ll, try to be as soft as I can okay….”
As soon as you felt him grow even harder inside you, a moan erupted from your throat, and with that,all mental and physical resolve split inside him, causing the real monster to be unleashed.
You didn’t even know someone could fuck as hard as he was right now, each slap of his hips connecting to yours causing your body to jolt and crumble underneath him. Every thrust was accentuated with his hands gripping tighter onto your legs, each pound harder than the last as he bullied his way inside you, causing your mind to flutter and your eyes to squeeze shut. Very quickly your moans got swallowed up by sobs, as tears started forming at your lash line, almost immediately falling down the sides of your face. He’d never fucked you this hard before, with this much intention and raw desperate need, not even when he was in heat last year and you swore he bruised your cervix.
The first time he came, you didn’t even fully register it until he made a half grunted comment about fucking his cum deeper into you. His hips never stopped moving, your mind never getting a reprieve from his brutal love making attacks. You usually had a chance to get ontop and flip the scrip by now, but nothing was stopping him from satiating his desire for you, so all you could do was be the good breedable wife he called you, and take every ounce of his seed you dished out to you.
Hours passed and after what felt like the hundredth round being dumped inside you, he eventually slowed his thrusts and let you catch your breath, his own daring to be enough to make both of you pass out right there and then. The sweat that poured off you both was enough to rival even the cum that leaked out of you each time he pressed his hips directly into yours, but even then, when you thought he was done and satisfied, he pulled out of you, flopped onto his back still rock hard and ready for more, and commanded for you to carry on, pulling you by the arms ontop of him and fumbling to push himself inside you again.
You used the last of your strength to try push him away, tried to move your body down his more to run away from his persistence, but nothing could rival the insatiable need he had for you. As he felt you move away from him, his aggressive nature seemed to spike through, as he tightened his grip around your waist and pulled you forcefully back ontop of him, his dick now caressing your swollen cunt in a desperate manner that seemed to scream more ‘were not done yet’ rather than his usual ‘please one more’ gentle kind of way.
“You can’t deny a king his luxuries my darling, no one can. Now…are you going to give me what I want, or am I going to have to take it?”
His eyes had darkened as he spoke to you, a powerful authority now overtaking his lovedrunk pout from before, intimidation now leaking from him as you tried to steady your breathing, your hands shaking as they lay ontop of his vibrating chest. When you winced and moaned at the pressure of him grinding against you, a deep growl like rumble erupted from his chest, causing his hands to pinch tighter and bruises to form almost immediately around your hips, an answer not being given auick enough to satiate him.
“So be it. I’ll make you take it, make you mine. I don’t care if your mind breaks, your body gives out….I will saturate your body with me, I will make it take, because i won’t give it an opportunity not to.”
As he spoke, you felt the head of him kiss your entrance, stretching your swollen cunt even more than before, as he pressed inside you slowly. This time, he didn’t hurry his thrusts, he didn’t pound mercilessly into you, he made sure that each thrust, each agonisingly pleasurable push into you was calculated, his intentions never being able to be misunderstood. Each drag of his length moving into you felt like a painfully beautiful reminder of just how desperately he needed you.
As soon as he was seconds away from hitting his final high, he pulled you closer into him and whispered into your open mouth, tears being shared between the two of you as each breath swapped between throats and danced around your moving bodies. Lemurian words echoed into the tight space between you both, promises of devotion and adoration, vows of everlasting love and souls entwined left his lips as he filled you up deeper than any previous attempt. You felt every inch of him bury inside you, his thick almost overwhelming cum being pumped into you felt more like a promise than a auick release, as he pulled you into a tight passionate kiss.
You both eventually passed out with him still being inside you, bodies leaning into eachothers as your breaths eventually evened out, and exhaustion overtook both your consciousness’ as you both drifted off into impossibly deep slumbers. When you eventually stirred awake, he was leaning over you slightly, propped on his elbow and staring down at you half lidded, his fingers gently caressing the hair away from your face as he admired and adored every inch of you. You looked ethereal to him, his cock twitched in a desperate attempt to try to enter you again, as he pushed the desires aside and watched as you tried your best to peel your eyes open enough to look back up at him, your lips twitching as a smile tried its hardest to form. He bent down and gently pressed his swollen lips to yours as he cupped the side of your cheek, tear stains now being engulfed in his large palms as he let every ounce of what was left of him pour into you through your mouths. You were everything he’d ever wanted, and seeing how well your body accepted his, even in his most devious instinctual sense, was more than enough to force his hand to trail down to your stomach, rubbing gently as he tried his hardest to will a new life into existence.
“I could spend every day at your alter if it meant you let me feel you like that again. You are the only person to make a king transform into a devotee…Dya know that my beloved?”
There is a severe lack of Alma fics you guys. Also I have yet to actually play MHW so if something feels off that's most likely why.
No use of Y/N, SFW, x-reader, written with fem reader in mind but no specific pronouns used
Also I haven’t written something like this in months so bear with me please ;-;
Alma quietly excused herself, rising from the small group and making her way towards the tent you and her shared. Nata bid her goodnight, his own eyes drooping more and more with every passing second as Gemma gently urged him to his bedroll.
The night was still young and alive with music, along with the eager chatter of those who still gathered around the fire sharing both stories and songs. After such a successful hunt earlier, along with the rescue of the Support Team that had been forced off course, everyone was in fairly high spirits.
You, of course, were relieved as well that everything had worked out in the end. But, you’d ended up burning your palm when dealing with the monster from earlier. Of all the areas it could have retreated to, it chose a hot spring.
You had taken a potion the second you had the chance, but it would only do so much. The camp medics had assured you that the wound would heal just fine – if you tended to it properly. At worst you would only have new scars to boast when enough time had passed.
She hadn’t seen you since Gemma managed to whisk her away earlier, sitting her down before she had a chance to say otherwise and shoving a drink into her hands. She’d seen the look on your face after you left the medical tent; a look of frustration and dejection that such a small thing would keep you from performing at your best.
At the time she had wanted to apologize. She still did, in fact. It was her own worrying that caused you to ride out with her in search of the Support Team. She’d noticed you could be quite hard on yourself at times, even if there were only a few minor setbacks out on hunts.
She poked her head into the tent, a small smile gracing her lips when she spotted your Palico fast asleep in the hammock. But you were nowhere to be seen. She had taken note of that as well. After spending so much time on your own, you still exhibited those ‘lone wolf’ traits of yours. You wandered off on your own quite often, sometimes even without a word to her or Nata. And on nights like these you typically hung around the outskirts, or crept off under the guise of keeping watch.
When Alma had expressed her concerns to Olivia, asking the veteran hunter what she could do to make you feel more comfortable, all the other woman had done was offer up a knowing smile.
“Just give ‘em time,” Olivia had said. “That’s all it took for me to come outta my shell when I joined up with my squad. Nothin’ but time.”
Her feet carried her a few feet away from camp where a secluded ledge overlooked the nearby plains. Sure enough, you were there, muttering curses to yourself as you fumbled with what looked like…bandages?
“There you are,” Alma said, announcing herself before she got too close. The moonlight illuminated your features as you glanced over your shoulder, along with the warm smile you gave her as she approached you.
“Hey, Alma. I thought you would be asleep by now,” you replied as she took a seat beside you. Alma merely shook her head, letting her legs dangle off the edge as she looked down at the bandages still clutched in your non-dominant hand. Near your leg was a jar of the salve the medics had given to you earlier for your burn. Her brows furrowed as the pieces began to slot together.
“Are you just now changing your bandages?” The question sounded like more of an accusation coming from her and you quickly averted your gaze. She could only imagine how fast you must’ve soiled the wrappings from earlier, considering you weren’t one to just sit and allow yourself a break.
“Well…I meant to get it done earlier, but then Gemma needed my help with something and I promised to show Nata how to–” You blinked when she cut you off with a tired sigh, her fingers carefully prying the bandages from your own. “Wait, Alma–”
“Nope. I don’t want to hear it. It’s the least I can do, after all.” She shot you a look when you tried to protest once more so you begrudgingly allowed her to guide your injured hand into her own. She unscrewed the cap to the salve and scooped out a small amount before gently applying it to your wound. A pained hiss escaped you, and she quickly uttered an apology.
You grit your teeth as the salve began to ease away some of the pain, the sensation lessening to a dull throb. Alma’s fingers were deft in their work, confident yet careful as she started to wrap your hand. Her own hands were soft, a stark contrast to yours that bore a myriad of scars from fights long past. Before your mind could wander, she softly cleared her throat to get your attention.
“I wanted to apologize. For before, I mean,” she said softly, her focus shifting from your hand to the quizzical look you gave her. “It’s just…the team’s safety is my responsibility. And you already do so much for everyone around camp. But, despite that, you still stepped forward to make sure they were all right.” Her gaze dropped back to your hand, now wrapped and resting in your own. “I only wish I could have done more. Maybe then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt and–”
“Alma.” Your tone was gentle, yet firm all the same and when she looked up there was a mirthful look in your eyes. “This injury is no one’s fault but my own. I made a stupid mistake, and so I have to deal with the consequences. Don’t blame yourself for something like this.” Her mouth opened, a number of protests coming to mind, but you quickly shook your head. “And besides, you remember what I said earlier, right? I wanted to help.”
“Yes,” Alma said exasperatedly. “But–”
“But nothing. What’s done is done. And what about you, hm? Don’t think I haven’t noticed how quick you are to try and shoulder so many responsibilities on your own.” Your gaze softened, an endearing smile lifting your lips. Carefully, you placed your uninjured hand atop Alma’s as you leaned closer, the gesture making her breath hitch.
“You chose me because you said you believed in me. Well, I believe in you too! Because of you I can fight knowing I’ve got the best handler a hunter could ask for watching my back. So, please, don’t be afraid to rely on me. We’re a team, after all. Okay?” Your tone left no room for arguing, and the utter sincerity in your words floored her. She never would have imagined you felt so confident in her abilities. You, the same hunter with such a kind and caring heart, that stared down all manner of monsters without a hint of fear or hesitation.
Alma felt her cheeks warm at the notion as she managed a bashful nod. “Okay,” she said and the resulting grin you gave her only made her flush more. “Thank you.”
“Ah, don’t thank me. Just…let me take care of things for you sometimes,” you murmured softly, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. Alma smiled shyly and gave a slight shake of her head.
“If only you could follow your own advice,” she teased, delighting in the sudden sheepish look that crossed your face. “I also wish you would spend more time with us. Some of the others think you don’t like being at camp because you’re always slipping away on your own.”
“Really?” You asked as your brows furrowed thoughtfully. You retracted your hands as you folded your arms across your chest, a small tilt to your head. Her hands suddenly felt colder without your touch, so she quickly busied them with cleaning her glasses. “I hadn’t noticed.”
You…hadn’t even noticed your own standoffish behavior? Alma bit back a sigh as she slid her glasses back on.“Well, we’ll work on it. But it would be nice for them to know you as more than just the ‘Hunter,’ you know.” She got to her feet, sparing the plains one last look before extending her hand to you. “I’d say tonight’s the perfect time to do just that.”
You couldn’t find it in yourself to disagree, a small noise of amusement leaving you as you took her hand. “Lead the way, then.”
How would L&DS men react after making you cry by accident during a fight?
ft. Sylus, Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel and Caleb.
summary: pretty self-explanatory.
rating: sfw
a/n: reposting some of my content here from twitter, as i have a backlog of stuff needed to upload on tumblr since... april lol.
Sylus: The fight had escalated faster than either of you expected, your voice rising with frustration while his stayed low, precise, like every word was part of a plan you hadn’t been let in on, just like always. You were tired, aching, trying to get through to him, but he wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t flinch, just stood there with his arms crossed as if you weren’t even worth the argument. And then he said it, flat and cool, like it didn’t cost him anything to throw it at you. “Then maybe you were never built for this.”
✧ — You went quiet, not immediately, of course, nor dramatically, just... quiet, like the words had knocked the air out of your lungs and you were too proud to show it. You turned away before your face could betray you, blinking hard as you swallowed down the sting in your throat. But Sylus saw it. He saw the shake in your hand as you reached for your jacket, the way your shoulders pulled in like you were bracing for impact. That silence you left in the room hit him harder than any slap ever could.
✧ — “Don’t,” he said, and it wasn’t a warning this time, instead, it was lower than that, something closer. “Don’t walk away from me like that.” He crossed the room slowly, like approaching a wounded animal, as if even he didn’t trust what he might do to fix it. “Look at me. Come on, kitten. Just... look at me.”
✧ — You refused, at first, jaw set stubborn, but he was already close enough to touch. His hand reached out anyway, warm fingertips brushing your cheek, and when he felt it—when he felt the wetness there that hadn’t come from anger—his whole body stilled in stunned silence. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Just let his hand settle gently along your jaw, holding your face like something precious he hadn’t realized he was about to drop. “That’s not what I meant,” he finally said, barely above a whisper with the softest of sighs, and you could tell by the way his thumb brushed the tear away that he hated the fact you thought he did.
✧ — When you tried to step back, he didn’t let you. He just leaned in close enough for your breath to catch, his forehead pressing to yours as if grounding himself through the contact. “You want to punish me? Fine, do it. But don’t cry because of me, not like that, and for the love of god, not over some bullshit I said to protect my ego without thinking twice.” His voice cracked a little, so quiet it felt so unlike the strong man you knew. “You cry when I have you shaking, when your legs don’t work, when my hands are all over you, and it’s too much, but god, not like this. Never like this. So please, just this once, let me apologize properly.” He kissed your forehead, then your temple, and both of your eyelids, as if kissing the stray tears away.
Xavier: You weren’t yelling at him; perhaps that’s what made it worse. You were trying to explain, calmly, clearly, as if you had rehearsed it in your head a dozen times before actually saying it aloud. He wasn’t meeting you halfway. His arms were crossed, jaw clenched, and when he finally did speak, it came out colder than it needed to be. “You don’t get to question my choices when you don’t even understand the weight of them.”
✧ — It hit harder than it should have. Not because he raised his voice, he didn’t, Xavier never did. It wasn’t even because of what he said, exactly, but how he said it—detached, like you were a stranger asking too much of him. Your lips parted, ready to argue, to match him with your own venom, but the words died halfway up your throat. You blinked once, then again, and when your vision blurred at the edges, you turned away, pretending to fix your sleeve just long enough to wipe the tears from your cheeks without letting him see.
✧ — But he saw, of course, he saw, because that was just the way Xsvier operated. The second your voice cracked trying to excuse yourself, Xavier’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. “Wait,” he said quickly, a quiet kind of panic settling into his tone. “Please don’t—don’t leave like that.” His voice faltered, barely above a whisper, as he stepped toward you. “Did I... did I say something wrong?”
✧ — You didn’t answer, you didn’t have to. He reached for your arm, hesitated, then touched you like you were glass already cracked down the middle. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, softer now, azure eyes wide with that helpless kind of fear he never showed in battle but always carried when it came to you. “I was trying to protect you, not shut you out. I thought if I kept it to myself, you wouldn’t have to carry any of it. I didn’t think—” He cut himself off with a shaky breath, hand slipping from your wrist to your hand instead, threading your fingers together like he was anchoring himself, realizing how majorly he had fucked up.
✧ — He leaned his forehead to yours, breath warm and ragged against your cheek, and when he spoke again, it was lower, almost broken in the way it was whispered against your skin. “You’re the only thing that makes the weight bearable. Please don’t cry because of me, princess. I’ll explain everything. I’ll fix it. Just... stay. Let me try again, properly, without hurting you this time.” He pulled you into an embrace, his other hand trembling slightly at your nape.
Zayne: The fight hadn’t started ugly, it rarely did with him. His tone was calm, his words were measured, and even when you raised your voice, he didn’t. That was the thing about Zayne—he never shouted, never snapped, just spoke with surgical precision, his words sharp enough to cut without ever needing to be loud. And maybe that was why it hurt more when he finally said it, voice flat, sage eyes unreadable. “I don’t have time to soothe every emotional reaction you have.”
✧ — You went quiet at that, and it didn’t show immediately, not on the surface, but something inside you wilted a little. You nodded once, tight and mechanical, like you were folding yourself inward just to keep from breaking in front of him. You didn’t respond, just turned your back to him, pretending to check your phone, even though your hands were shaking. You felt like a child who was being scolded in some type of way. The silence that followed was heavier than anything you’d said, and when your breath caught with a soft, involuntary hitch, he heard it.
✧ — Zayne froze at the sound, hands stilling by his side, like his entire nervous system had just short-circuited. He looked at you, properly this time, and the sight of you wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt, shoulders drawn up like you were trying not to be seen, hit him in a way nothing else ever had. He didn’t speak right away; instead, he just stepped forward, carefully, as if one wrong movement would completely shatter the intimate space you had spent so much time cultivating between you.
✧ — “That was... uncalled for,” he said finally, voice lower now, stripped of its usual control as it became softer. The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed out deeply, more so at himself. “And cruel. I didn’t mean it like that.” He reached out but stopped just short of touching you, as if afraid his hands didn’t deserve the privilege anymore. “I’ve trained myself to compartmentalize everything, even you, sometimes. That’s not an excuse. It’s the reason, alas a it’s a shitty one.”
✧ — When you finally looked at him, tear-streaked and quiet, he stepped in closer, cupping your cheek with a touch so soft it almost didn’t register. “So let me rephrase that, y/n,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your eye as gently as one would cradle a piece of the most expensive porcelain. “Your reactions matter more to me than anything. And if I ever make you cry again, it’ll be because I have you trembling in my lap, not walking away from me like I don’t care.” His mouth brushed your temple before he added, quietly, “Let me fix it. Not later, right now, beloved.”
Rafayel: You’d been going back and forth for ten minutes straight, tension rising with every word. He wasn’t yelling, not really, but he was getting sharper, mouth faster, tone lighter in that deliberately careless way he always used when he was deflecting. “So what? You’re mad again? You gonna give me the silent treatment this time or throw something dramatic like last week?” he said, laughing like the whole thing was a game.
✧ — You didn’t respond, but your arms folded tighter across your chest, eyes glossy as you tried to keep breathing evenly, and your mouth opened like you might say something, but simply nothing coherent came out. The words were just a shaky inhale and a quiet, “I can’t do this right now.” That was all from you, no shouting, no storming out like you usually did when it got too much. Perhaps that’s why this time around, you turned your back on him, one hand swiping quickly at your face. However, Rafayel was not one to ignore his muse’s body language; hell, he memorized your micro-expressions, so seeing you cry? It was unacceptable as the weight of what he’d done hit him all at once.
✧ — His smile disappeared instantly. “Wait,” he said, the word coming out too fast, too startled. “No, no, hey, don’t do that, cutie.” He was already moving toward you, the teasing edge completely gone, warm, large hands hovering like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you yet. “I didn’t mean that. Shit, I didn’t mean any of that, my muse.”
✧ — You didn’t say anything, didn’t look at him, and that silence was enough to crack him open from the inside. “You’re crying?” he asked, voice suddenly hoarse. “Fuck, no, you don’t cry. You yell. You roll your eyes and tell me I’m impossible and steal the covers and storm out of rooms. You don’t cry like that because of a stupid man like me who can’t keep his mouth shut.”
✧ — He stepped in anyway, wrapped his arms around you from behind, burying his face in your shoulder like he was trying to disappear into the moment. “I talk too much when I’m scared. You know that. I say shit I don’t mean because I don’t know what to do with the part of me that would burn the whole world down if I thought I was losing you.” His voice broke a little, mouth pressed against your skin as he peppered wet kisses alongside your shoulder, his own eyes slightly watery, but he’d never let you see that. “Please don’t ever think I’d rather win a fight than keep you.”
Caleb: The argument had been brewing all day. He’d been cold, distant, snapping short replies ever since he came back home, and when you finally called him out, he didn’t hold back. “You have no idea what I’m dealing with, so stop acting like you’re entitled to know everything,” he spat, voice sharp enough to slice straight through you. He didn’t mean for it to hit like that. But it did.
✧ — You didn’t respond right away. You just blinked, once, and then again, your jaw tightening as you looked away from him, trying so hard to keep your composure. He could see it — the tremble at the corner of your mouth, the way your breath hitched as you folded your arms tighter, like you were holding yourself together with sheer will. And then you turned your back and said nothing at all, and that silence landed harder than any fight he’d ever been in.
✧ — “Wait,” Caleb said, instantly, and fuck, the word came out too fast, too strained. “Don’t walk away, pips.” His voice cracked on the edge of panic as he moved toward you, hand reaching out before he even knew what to say. “Shit. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of that, you know me better than that.”
✧ — When you flinched from his touch, his heart dropped straight to the floor. “No, no, don’t do that. Don’t look at me like I’m someone you have to protect yourself from.” His breath was shallow now, his hand flexing uselessly at his side like he didn’t trust it to hold you, like it didn’t deserve to. “I was trying to protect you, y/n. That’s what all of this is. It’s always about keeping you safe. I didn’t think I could hurt you like this.”
✧ — He stepped in closer, this time with both hands raised, palms open, voice raw. “Please don’t cry because of me,” he whispered. “You’re the only thing that makes all of this shit worth surviving. Tell me how to fix it. I’ll do it. Anything. Right now. Just… don’t shut me out. Not over this. Not over me being a fucking idiot.” His eyes were slightly watery, trembling hands ghosting over your forearms before you threw yourself into his embrace, both of you hugging each other tightly.
Synopsis: After finally crossing the fragile line between yearning and confession, you and Rafayel stumble headfirst into the dizzy newness of dating. What begins with laughter and stolen kisses soon unravels into something deeper—raw admissions, breathless intimacy, and the kind of vulnerability that leaves both of you shaken and whole. Between playful teasing, tender reassurance, and the quiet ache of wanting more, you discover that loving her isn’t fleeting at all—it’s inevitable.
Content warnings: fem!raf, party girl raf, non-canon rafayel, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, exploration of sexuality, first-time with a woman, internalized insecurity, light alcohol use, jealousy, possessiveness, emotionally vulnerable dialogue, light dominance/submission dynamics, soft praise kink, mutual pining, consensual intimacy between women, kissing, biting, multiple orgasms, emotional sex, marking, rough sex, vulnerable conversations, strap-on, sex toys, love confessions, aftercare.
Pairings: fem!Rafayel x reader
Word count: 14.8k
A/n: because people were starving for another part, here's the last chapter, cuties. enjoy <3
part 1 part 2
Chapter 3
It had been three months of unfiltered bliss—three months of waking up with her hair tangled in yours, of soft kisses slipped between classes, and of laughter that echoed long after the punchline. You were both, undeniably, utterly lovesick. And it showed in the way Rafayel clung to you more than usual—not that you minded in the slightest. If anything, you found yourself leaning into her chaos, indulging her mischief with a smile, sometimes a sigh, and more than a few exaggerated eye-rolls that only made her laugh harder.
Your dynamic hadn’t shifted drastically, but the intimacy had deepened. Rafayel had always been affectionate—touchy, teasing, the kind of girl who draped herself over friends without hesitation. But now her hands lingered longer. Her touches meant something more. Fingertips at your jawline. Arms sneaking around your waist. A kiss tucked beneath your ear when no one was watching. There was a different heat to it now. A claim, soft but certain.
You wanted her touch like breath. Craved the way she lit up when you curled into her space. And lately, you’d grown bolder about it—about wanting her, about showing it. You reached for her more freely, leaned in quicker, smiled into her lips like a secret only the two of you shared. Rafayel, for all her energy and thrill-seeking antics, melted for it. For you.
She’d offer a wink or a low, amused murmur—"Oh? Getting greedy, are we?"—but her hands told the truth. They always reached back.
You learned something about her in those stolen hours between chaos and quiet. For all her momentum, Rafayel adored slowing down. She loved to sink into moments, luxuriate in them. Deep, drawn-out kisses in tucked-away corners. Lazy makeout sessions under trees. Once, she dragged you to a park picnic and pulled you into her lap like you were the centerpiece of her afternoon. On campus, she'd stop you in your tracks with a smile that warned nothing innocent was coming—and it wasn’t. Ten kisses, maybe twelve, before letting you go with lipstick on your cheek and a smirk that haunted your next class.
And in your dorm? There were no rules. If it wasn’t her bed, it was yours. If it wasn’t your lap, it was hers—though it took time before you were brave enough to guide her into your arms. But when you did, she made a sound you’d never forget. Surprised. Breathless. A little undone. You liked that you could do that to her.
You shared a bed every night now, even if it wasn’t technically designed for two. Rafayel clung like a sleepy vine in the dark, limbs looped around you like she had no intention of ever letting go. And somehow, it worked. Somehow, it always fit.
There were still moments—quiet, creeping doubts—that coiled in your mind late at night, whispering that maybe this was too good, maybe it would vanish. But Rafayel never let it fester. She’d kiss the thoughts off your skin. She’d speak in actions, in presence, in how she held you. Every day, she made it clear she wanted this. You. A bond, not fleeting, but forever. Everlasting.
And then came your first official date—though, knowing Rafayel, nothing about it would be conventional.
She showed up with a grin and two perfectly coordinated outfits draped over her arms, barely containing her excitement. You tried to get a hint of her plan, but she only hummed dramatically, placing a finger against your lips. “Spoiling the surprise already? Tsk..”
The drive wasn’t long, but the destination left you breathless. A vast field lay ahead, blooming with flowers and framed by soft-barked trees just beginning to blush with petals. It felt untouched. Sacred. Rafayel’s fingers wrapped tightly around yours as she tugged you forward, barely able to contain her giddiness. “No peeking,” she murmured, despite the view being all around.
Blankets had already been spread in the center, flanked by scattered fruit, colorful snacks, and two blank canvases with paints settled near them. Nearby, a bouquet waited—wild, sprawling, too beautiful to have come from any store. She picked it up like it weighed something, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon as she turned to you.
“I might’ve overdone it,” she muttered, a little flustered for once, offering the bouquet like it was the first time she’d ever given someone her heart.
You didn’t answer with words. You kissed her instead, slow and soft and brimming with gratitude. And she kissed back like she was starving for it, like your lips were the only thing that could silence the wild flutter of her heart.
When you pulled back from the kiss, she followed your lips with a soft, hopeless smile—like they were the only place she wanted to be—and you gave in, brushing your mouth over hers again in a lingering murmur of gratitude. “Thank you,” you whispered, letting it melt into her lips.
Rafayel’s idea of a perfect date, it turned out, was equal parts art, indulgence, and mischief. You sat cross-legged on the sun-warmed blankets, surrounded by fruits, sweets, and two blank canvases perched beside jars of vibrant paint. The rule was simple: every five minutes, you’d swap canvases, adding your own twist to whatever chaos the other had started.
But rules didn’t last long, not with Rafayel. Not when she kept pulling you into her lap between brushstrokes and pressing strawberry-sweet kisses to your jaw.
It didn’t take long for the painting to devolve into playful sabotage. She smeared a streak of yellow across your cheek with a smug little hum, grinning when you gasped in mock offense. You retaliated swiftly, dipping your fingers into blue paint and dragging it down the curve of her collarbone with calculated slowness.
Rafayel leaned back on her hands, eyes locked on yours, her smirk sharp and lazy all at once. “Oh,” she drawled, voice low with amusement. “Can’t keep your hands off me, huh, cutie?”
You only hummed, acting like you hadn’t heard her at all as you dipped your fingers back into the paint and dragged them lower. Slow, deliberate hearts formed in lilac and gold over the rise of her chest, blooming like quiet declarations. She whimpered—quiet, delicate—but even that sounded cocky coming from her, like she knew exactly what she did to you and was daring you to do more.
“Something wrong?” you asked sweetly, glancing up at her with an innocence neither of you believed for a second.
She didn’t answer right away, just leaned forward, one arm sliding around your waist in a single, seamless motion—and then you were falling with her, landing in a breathless heap as she pulled you down with her onto the blankets. Your laughter tangled together, messy and warm, her lavender hair fanning out beneath her like spilled silk.
“Sabotage,” she muttered against your lips as she stole another kiss, soft and slow and tasting of peaches and mischief.
“You started it,” you replied, your tone mock-innocent and impossibly pleased.
You stayed like that for a while—sprawled over her body, your nose brushing hers, fingers drifting absentmindedly through the strands of her hair as it spilled like a violet halo across the grass-flecked fabric. Her hands, meanwhile, had found a comfortable rhythm against your waist, thumbs moving in soft, lazy circles like she was grounding herself in the feel of you.
Neither of you said anything for a while. There was no need. The breeze danced through the trees, birdsong echoed from far away, and in the quiet space between your breaths, there was only warmth and want and the kind of happiness that made your heart ache a little.
“This is nice,” you murmured, your voice barely louder than the breeze that stirred the leaves overhead. Your gaze drifted lazily toward her, chasing the soft focus in her amethyst eyes. She looked impossibly gentle like this—bare skin kissed by sunlight, her lips still curved with leftover laughter, the smudges of color on her chest half-forgotten. She looked so open, so unguarded, as if for once, the entire world had slowed down just enough for her to breathe in peace.
And you wanted your days to always look like this. Whether she was beside you or beneath you, laughing into your neck or dragging you into another whirlwind of chaos—you didn’t care. As long as it was her.
She caught your stare and tilted her head, lips pulling into a lazy smirk that softened her whole face. “What is?” she teased, voice warm and smug. “Painting my chest like some war tactic to distract me? Real subtle, cutie.”
You gave her shoulder a small swat, rolling your eyes with no heat behind it, and she laughed—loud and free—the kind of laugh that curled in your chest and made a home there. Then she pulled you in, her arms slipping around you as she kissed you again, slow and syrupy, like she was tasting the sun on your lips.
“I won’t accept anything less than this from now on,” she whispered against your mouth, voice dipped in something gentler than mischief. “This is the new standard. So you better get used to me.”
Your cheeks burned as you smiled into the kiss, her fingers gripping your waist just enough to ground you, like she needed to touch you in order to believe you were real.
It had been three months of this—three months of tiptoeing between sweetness and something deeper. You hadn’t labeled it, not officially. Early on, you told her you weren’t ready to, that you needed time to sort through what everything of this meant. Rafayel hadn’t flinched. She’d only nodded, her voice casual but honest as she told you she didn’t care what it was called—as long as you kept choosing her.
And you had. Again and again. But now… now you were sure. You knew.
You shifted slightly, rising onto your elbows just enough to watch her beneath you. The late afternoon light spilled over her skin in honeyed gold, and your breath caught in your throat. God, she was beautiful. Not just in the way that turned heads, but in the way that made your ribs ache. Her hair was a halo of lavender around her, and her eyes—those impossible amethyst eyes—were watching you with quiet curiosity and something far more tender.
Your fingers played with a lock of her hair as your voice dropped into something soft and trembling. “I’m in love with you.”
It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t perfectly timed or poetic. But it was real, and you needed her to hear it.
You saw the shift immediately—the way her lips parted, breath catching like she'd forgotten how to speak. Her smirk vanished. For once, there was no flirtation, no teasing comeback. Just silence, and those wide, shimmering eyes drinking you in like you were the most precious thing in the world.
Then her hand slid from your waist up to your nape, fingers threading into your hair as she pulled you down and kissed you like she couldn’t stand another second of not kissing you. It was messy, impatient—her mouth moving over yours again and again, as if she were trying to memorize the shape of your love with each breath.
You felt her whisper against your lips between kisses, dazed and breathless, “Say it again.”
You did. And then she was grinning like a lovesick fool before flipping you gently onto your back, her hair spilling like silk over your chest as she hovered above you. Her hand slipped beneath your shirt, splaying warm across your stomach, then gliding up to your waist where it settled possessively.
“No takebacks,” she murmured, eyes gleaming as her thumb brushed your skin. “You’re mine now. Fully, officially, hopelessly mine.”
Her tone was teasing, but her eyes—her eyes burned with something far more serious. And you couldn’t stop smiling.
————
Two months after you made things official, summer crept in, bringing with it the end of sophomore year, the rhythm between you and Rafayel found its own kind of harmony. Nothing about exclusivity came as a shock. She had been treating you like hers from the very beginning—even when she waited, even when she gave you space to figure out how you felt, what you wanted, who you were.
Coming to terms with liking women wasn’t a linear path. She knew that. She never pressured you, never assumed, never reached too far too fast. Rafayel simply stayed—steadfast, teasing, patient, there. She had been your soft place to land long before she became your everything.
And now she was yours. Entirely. And you were hers. It was all soft hands and long kisses and the kind of laughter that bubbled up even in quiet, tired moments. But just beneath that, woven seamlessly into the intimacy, was the fire. The ache. The hunger that neither of you could seem to get enough of. Especially her.
After that heated night—five months ago now—you noticed the shift. She reached for you more often, sometimes without a word. Sometimes without opening her eyes. You’d wake to the warmth of her hand sliding over your skin, fingertips tracing sleepy circles into your thigh, down between your legs, until your breath caught and your hips arched into her touch.
She loved mornings. Not the getting-up kind, but the waking-you-up-by-pulling-soft-sounds-from-your-throat kind.
There were days you barely had time to remember where you were before you were coming apart on her fingers, her breath hot against the back of your neck as she murmured something obscene and half-laughed when your legs trembled under the sheets. Other mornings, slower ones, you’d find her mouth already between your thighs, kissing and licking like she was savoring something sacred, like she had all the time in the world.
She asked first, of course. She always did. Consent was something she laced between kisses, in the way she tilted your chin up to look into your eyes and murmured playful things like, “So… on a scale from shy to desperate, how would you rate the idea of me eating you out while you’re still half-asleep?”
You blushed. You said yes. And you kept saying yes.
Then there were nights—like the one after a long day of classes—where she pulled you into her embrace with a dramatic sigh and pouted, “I missed you,” as if she hadn’t seen you just that morning. But her hands were already under your shirt, her breath already warm against your ear, and before you could answer, she had you bent over her desk, whispering filth between kisses to your shoulder as her fingers coaxed moan after moan from your lips. She made you come twice like that—once with careful, curling strokes, and once with relentless, fast ones that had you gasping her name into the woodgrain.
But you didn’t stay shy. You couldn’t. Not with her. You learned to tease back, to touch back. To nuzzle into her neck while your hand trailed down her thigh. The first time you made her whimper hard, you thought your heart might combust. Her voice broke in your ear as she whispered your name, need curling around the syllables like silk, and you gave her everything she asked for. You kissed her neck, bit her shoulder, and dragged your fingers over her wet folds until she was arching into you, breathless and shaking and begging.
She never hid how much she wanted you. That was the thing about Rafayel, she made desire feel like worship. Like a game she wanted you to win. She filled the spaces between classes and weekend mornings with whispered ideas and warm hands, with daring little experiments she floated mid-makeout just to see you flush and squirm and gasp.
The dorm. The shower. Against the wall. On her bed, your bed, her desk. You never rushed further than what you were ready for, but you wanted to now. You felt it in the way your body reacted to hers. In the heat curling in your stomach when she whispered something wicked into your ear mid-kiss, pretending she hadn’t said a thing when you pulled back, dazed. And she’d just grin.
“Hmm?” she’d hum, dragging her fingers lower, “What’s with that look, cutie? Was it something I said?”
Always flirty. Always maddening. Always hers.
————
It was one of those nights—lazy, warm in theory, but with a breeze that still whispered of spring’s reluctance to fully let go. Exams were over. Campus was buzzing. And as expected, the social butterflies were already drunk on freedom, planning parties with the same urgency as if the world might end before summer break officially began.
This time, it was some overhyped mansion near the beach. Word spread fast—apparently, someone’s parents had left for an overseas trip, and the ocean view was “to die for.” It wasn’t exactly beach weather yet—temperamental skies and unpredictable winds—but that only seemed to encourage them. There was something reckless about early summer, something that dared people to pretend the season had already begun.
Of course Rafayel was invited. Of course she was expected to go, that much went without saying.
You’d never asked, but you knew. She used to attend these parties alone, or sometimes with friends you hadn’t met, flitting from one glittery conversation to another like it meant nothing. And maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was all just noise to her. Something to fill the spaces between. But she always made an impression—Rafayel was the kind of person you remembered, whether she wanted you to or not.
So when she brought it up, it wasn’t in the middle of a conversation or a formal invitation—it was in bed, curled into your arms like a spoiled cat, her legs tangled with yours, chin resting on your collarbone as her fingers traced lazy shapes across your stomach.
“Big party tomorrow night,” she purred, voice syrupy with contentment. “It’s at a mansion near the beach. It’s practically illegal not to go.”
You gave a small, indulgent hum, your fingers still threading through her hair.
She tilted her head slightly, enough to look up at you through lashes that shouldn’t have looked that pretty at that hour. “I want you there with me,” she murmured. Then, with a grin that was far too pleased with itself, she added, “Gotta show off my girl, don’t I?”
The words hit you like a warm flush, low and deep and dizzying. Her girl.
You’d heard it before—more than once, actually—but it never failed to unravel you just a little. The way she said it was never casual. Always soft. Always possessive in a way that made your stomach flutter and your breath falter. You weren’t sure what made it feel so devastating—her voice, her confidence, or the fact that you wanted her to say it again.
You turned your head to look at her fully, meeting those violet eyes as your hand slid gently through her hair, curling against the back of her neck. “You just want me there to boost your reputation.”
She smirked, shameless. “Of course. Who wouldn’t want to walk into a party with the hottest girl on their arm?”
You swatted her shoulder lightly, making her laugh. The sound was muffled as she nuzzled against your throat, the tip of her nose cold against your skin. Her affection was casual, familiar—but her warmth was anything but.
You weren’t a party girl. Big crowds made you wary. Noise, chaos, strangers. But something about the idea of being by her side—claimed, in front of everyone, adored and seen—made you want to say yes. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was indulgent. But you wanted people to know she was yours. That you were hers. And what a blessing it was—to be Rafayel’s.
You hummed softly, fingers still brushing through the loose strands of her purple hair as she sprawled against your chest like she belonged there. You teased her for a while—because that was part of the dance now, wasn’t it? The slow back-and-forth, the gentle nipping at each other’s nerves. You made a show of pretending to consider it, even though the answer had settled in your heart the second she called you her girl.
And when you finally said yes—barely above a murmur, soft as breath—Rafayel didn’t waste a second. Her head turned, her body shifting slightly above yours until she was braced on her elbows, the tips of her hair brushing your collarbone. Then she kissed you. Not playfully or lazily, but properly—with purpose, with breathless need, with that aching softness that always lived just beneath her little smirks. You felt it in the way her lips pressed to yours, in the way she held your face like she was offering you something unspoken and sacred.
She kissed you like she was thanking you. Like she wanted you to feel how much it meant to her—being able to show you off, to walk into a crowded room with her chin high and your hand in hers and a wicked little smile that said, yes, she’s mine.
And the way she whispered it against your mouth—low and silken, her voice brushing over your skin like velvet—sent a shiver down your spine.
“You’ve got no idea what I’m going to do with you in a room full of people, cutie,” she murmured, like a secret made just for you. “They won’t know where to look first—me or you.”
You blushed, of course. She always did that to you, knowing exactly what to say to make your stomach flip, to make your thighs press together with the quiet ache of being wanted so boldly. Her voice was rich with amusement, but beneath it, there was something else. Pride. Hunger. Possession.
Maybe she knew what it did to you. Or maybe she was just being honest in the only way she knew how. And really, who were you to deny her the pleasure?
The kisses turned molten before you even realized the shift—slow dissolving into something needier, deeper, like your bodies had already decided to move ahead of your minds. Her hand skimmed your waist. Yours slid lower, curling around the soft curve of her ass, guiding her closer until she straddled your hips fully and rolled her body against yours with an ease that made your breath stutter. She grinned into the kiss like she felt it—like she loved it.
You didn’t hesitate this time. You weren’t shy anymore, not when it came to her. Your hands held her like you meant it, fingers digging into the plush of her thighs, tilting your hips up in a way that made her gasp softly into your mouth. That sound was addictive—light, feminine, utterly wrecked in the most delicious way. You chased it now. You craved it. And the best part of all of it was that she let you.
Rafayel often led in bed—she was experienced, confident, playfully commanding. But what you hadn’t expected, at least not at first, was just how much she melted when you took control. How she arched into your hands, how she whimpered when you bit her bottom lip, how her breath hitched when you guided the rhythm.
She loved being wanted like that. Not worshipped, not adored from a distance—but touched, claimed, devoured. And you wanted to give her all of it. Because right now, with her grinding against you, lips swollen from kissing, breath ragged and laughter still sweet on her tongue—she wanted you badly. And this time, you weren’t going to let her leave the bed without hearing every sound you could pull from her mouth.
————
The beach near the mansion was already teeming with life by the time you arrived, heat and color and laughter crashing together like waves. Bodies moved in sync with the thrum of music, hips swaying, glasses clinking, voices rising over the steady hum of the ocean just beyond. Lanterns and fairy lights were strung between makeshift wooden posts, casting golden glows over flushed faces and sandy toes. Everything smelled like salt and summer and something reckless.
You’d expected chaos. You hadn’t expected this—this curated corner of wild celebration that felt almost magical under the bleeding horizon, the last golds and pinks of sunset streaking across the water like spilled paint.
Rafayel’s fingers laced through yours like it was second nature, like you’d always belonged in the curve of her hand. She tugged you closer with a grin that was pure mischief, her steps rhythmic, hips swaying a little too playfully in time with the beat pulsing from the portable speakers near the bonfire. Her dress caught the breeze, the white fabric light as air against her skin, and for a second you swore she glowed.
“Look at this mess,” she drawled, turning just enough to glance at you over her shoulder, violet eyes glinting with something wicked. “Isn’t it romantic?”
You snorted, your sandals slipping into warm sand as you followed her deeper into the chaos, past flickering lights and half-drunk students and an alarming number of red solo cups.
She was pretending not to care, of course. Rafayel always wore confidence like silk—but you saw it, plain as day: the faint pink on her cheeks, the way her fingers squeezed yours just a little tighter than necessary. You caught the way she leaned in, breath grazing your neck, the soft murmur of something teasing brushing your ear. You couldn’t even remember what she said—only the way it made your stomach flip, heat pooling under your skin in a slow, languid wave.
You let her pull you closer to the firelight, closer to the crowd. Somewhere to your left, someone laughed too loud. On your right, someone passed around a bottle. But all you saw was her.
She greeted people without breaking her stride—soft nods, a tilt of her head, a lifted brow that said ‘I acknowledge you, but I have better company’. Her arm slid around your waist like it belonged there, and suddenly it was you she pulled in against her side, her fingers splaying over the small of your back like a brand.
And god, she looked beautiful tonight. Her long hair tumbled down in loose waves, kissed by sea air. Her makeup was soft, iridescent, like something from a dream. The sundress she wore clung to her in all the right ways, deceptively sweet with thin straps and a hemline that flirted with danger. She didn’t need to try. She never did. But tonight, she’d clearly put in the effort, and you knew why. Because she wanted you beside her. Because she wanted the world to see. And maybe it was selfish, but something inside you liked that. The way she looked at you, the way she’d picked your outfit to match hers—complementary colors, playful symmetry, and just enough exposed skin to feel her gaze linger and then pretend she hadn’t been staring at all.
You leaned in close enough for your words to feather against her ear, voice low with teasing as you murmured something about how very proud she seemed, showing you off like her favorite work of art. That earned you a soft chuckle, low and syrupy, and a sideways glance that sparked with amusement and something else—something much, much warmer.
“Oh, I’m just a generous woman,” she purred, brushing her fingers lightly down your arm. “Why keep something this pretty all to myself?”
Your stomach flipped, traitorous and giddy, and before you could form a response, her hand slipped around your waist, and she kissed you—slow, sweet, and far too brief, like a match striking skin and vanishing before it could burn. She pulled back with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes, like she knew exactly what effect she had on you and was content to let you simmer.
Then, with all the grace of someone completely unbothered by the chaos around her, she turned and tugged you gently toward the mini-bar. “Think they’ve got tequila?” she mused aloud, her tone deceptively idle. “Might be the perfect time to revisit that body shot trick I taught you. For nostalgia’s sake.”
You blinked, heat rushing uninvited to your face. “You taught me?” you echoed with a scoff, trying to mask the memory with indignation, but the fondness in your voice betrayed you.
Rafayel glanced over her shoulder with that signature half-smile, devilish and far too satisfied. “Mmm. I offered you the opportunity,” she corrected. “You were the one who couldn’t stop staring at my mouth like it owed you answers.”
You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. The memory was vivid—her pressed close, lips curved around the rim of a shot glass, her breath warm as she whispered something maddening against your skin.
“Yeah, well,” you muttered under your breath, “you were very persuasive.”
Rafayel just hummed, pleased. “I usually am.”
The night unspooled in golden strands, laughter clinging to the sea breeze, music pulsing beneath your feet, and Rafayel's hands always finding their way back to your skin like a secret vow she kept repeating. She didn’t miss a chance to pull you flush against her body—during dancing, while you tipped back shots that left you flushed and breathless, or when you both doubled over with laughter at something absurd she said about a mutual acquaintance she claimed to know but probably didn’t. Her arm remained hooked around your waist like she feared you’d vanish if she let go, and when her fingers weren’t idling there, they found the nape of your neck, guiding you into another kiss, slow and delicious, until your tongue brushed hers and everything else dulled to warmth.
You weren’t any better. If Rafayel wore her affection like silk—obvious, soft, and meant to be admired—you let yours gleam through the quiet ache of your stares, through every lingering touch, every moment your hand found hers without needing to look. You wanted people to see. You wanted the whole damn beach to know she was yours just as much as you were hers. It was possessive, a little reckless, but wrapped in something tender and fierce that bloomed louder with every kiss she claimed in front of everyone.
Still, beneath all that boldness, Rafayel leaned close at one point, breath warm against your ear as she asked softly, “Are you sure you’re okay with all this?”
Her voice was quieter than before, nearly drowned by the music and ocean, and it caught you off guard—not because you doubted her intent, but because she did. Maybe she feared it would overwhelm you. Maybe it was just a rare flicker of vulnerability showing through the cracks of her confidence.
You smiled, brushing your thumb along her cheek—soft, steady—and felt her melt into the touch instantly. “I’m okay,” you whispered. “I want this.” And just like that, the glint returned to her gaze. That was all she needed.
Later, she excused herself to the bathroom, disappearing into the crowd, and you found a place to sit by the bonfire—a little oasis away from the pulsing center of the party. Students had gathered nearby, laughing, drinking, wrapped up in some chaotic drinking game that felt like it belonged to another world. You watched the scene unfold with amused detachment, sipping from your cup, the flames casting golden light across your bare legs and catching in your hair like sparks.
You didn’t expect the voice—warm and familiar—to slip in beside you. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite wallflower.”
The words startled you, and you turned your head, smile blooming fast when you recognized him. Caleb. Of all people.
He wasn’t supposed to be here—didn’t even go to your university—but there he was, smirking like he belonged here with everybody else. His hair was still windswept in that boyish, careless way you remembered, and the glow of the bonfire danced in his purple-orange eyes as he took a sip from his drink.
“What the hell are you doing here?” you laughed, half-incredulous, half-giddy. It had been months since you last saw him.
“Crashing,” he said, shrugging with all the charm of someone who never asked for permission. “My friends dragged me along. Thought I’d find beer, maybe a view.” he gave you a lazy once-over, teasing. “Didn’t expect this view, though.”
You elbowed him lightly, rolling your eyes. “Still shameless, I see.”
He grinned, leaning in just enough to lower his voice. “Still pretending you’re not enjoying it.”
The banter fell into place like muscle memory. Even with the months apart, the rhythm between you hadn’t faded. You found yourself smiling too easily, heart light in a way that only childhood familiarity could bring. He teased you for sitting out the game, you teased him for pretending he was still eighteen, and the two of you slipped into conversation like you had all the time in the world.
You didn’t realize how much you missed him until that moment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered what Rafayel would think, seeing you like this—glowing in firelight beside someone who had known you before you ever learned how to want someone like her.
Time passed without warning. A few minutes, maybe more—swept up in easy laughter and quiet nudges exchanged between you and Caleb, the kind of closeness that came naturally, too naturally. You leaned into each other as if the world hadn’t shifted since childhood, as if nothing had changed but the tone of your voices and the weight of what remained unspoken. He teased you for something long buried in memory—some summer mischief involving stolen popsicles and muddy shoes—and you doubled over with laughter, your shoulder brushing his, his thigh warm beside yours in the sand.
All the while, Rafayel still hasn’t returned. You glanced toward the mansion once or twice, trying not to look like you were looking. Maybe she got sidetracked at the bar, chatting up some mutual or semi-famous acquaintance—she had greeted at least half the party with a smirk, a wave, or a sly one-liner. Maybe she ran into someone who just had to know what brand of perfume she was wearing. That was more likely than her getting lost.
What you couldn’t have known—what your skin didn’t prickle with yet—was that Rafayel hadn’t left the beach at all. She was perched on the edge of the mini-bar, one long leg crossed over the other, back arched just enough to look like she wasn’t sulking. Her fingertips drummed lazily against her cup as her gaze zeroed in on you and Caleb like a hawk locked on a target it had no intention of diving for. Not yet, anyway.
You looked too comfortable. Caleb’s laughter was loud and warm, full of a familiarity Rafayel couldn’t mimic—because she hadn’t known you then. And maybe that was what gnawed at her most. Not the fact that his thigh brushed yours or that your smile was soft and relaxed. Not even that he leaned in so close she could practically smell the damn cologne on your collarbone.
No, what stung wasn’t possession—it was something quieter, something crueler: time.
Rafayel didn’t move. She tilted her head slightly, a curtain of hair slipping across one shoulder, the gloss on her lips catching firelight. The boy beside her said something—probably a compliment, judging by the way he laughed afterward—but she didn’t answer. She just reached for another shot, downed it, and licked the salt from the rim with the kind of grace that made people stare.
Eventually, Caleb's friends—rowdy and flushed from whatever mix of drinks they’d poured into those red cups—started calling out to him from across the beach. One of them waved a glowstick in the air like it was some kind of beacon. Caleb turned toward the sound, then back to you with a helpless chuckle, lifting his hands in mock surrender.
“That’s my cue,” he said, grinning. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Maybe we’ll grab a drink later—something less... bonfire-flavored.”
You laughed under your breath, standing with him as he pulled you into a familiar hug—his arms wrapping around you with that same easy comfort he always had. No pressure. No questions. Just the kind of closeness that came from years of knowing each other. When he disappeared into the pulsing blur of the crowd, your smile lingered for a moment, soft and warm.
You exhaled quietly and smoothed down the hem of your dress, suddenly aware of how the wind had picked up and how the sand clung to your legs like fine dust. Your cup had been empty for a while now, your mouth dry from the salt in the air and too much laughter. So you started toward the mini-bar, weaving past a group of students trying to light sparklers against the breeze.
And that’s when you saw her. Rafayel was leaning against the bar, one hip cocked, a drink dangling from her fingers as she slowly rolled the glass between her hands. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze cast downward, lashes dark against her cheekbones as the firelight painted shadows across her face. No one was talking to her. No flirty strangers. No friends pulling her into conversation. Just her, all alone. And she hadn’t come back to find you.
Your steps slowed. You frowned, unsure. It wasn’t like her to linger apart from you for this long—not tonight, not with how tightly she’d clung to you earlier, always close, always touching. And yet here she was, standing alone at the bar, as if she hadn’t even noticed how long she’d been gone.
You stepped up beside her and let your hand find her waist, fingers slipping over the warm curve of her hip. Her dress was soft beneath your touch, familiar. You leaned in close. “Hi, baby.”
She turned toward you, lips curving into the shape of a smile. But something about it didn’t quite fit. It looked like her usual one—teasing and effortless—but it didn’t feel like it. Not in her eyes. Not in the way she didn’t immediately pull you in or kiss the corner of your mouth like she usually would.
Your brows pulled together as your thumb brushed along the side of her waist. “Is something wrong?” you asked quietly. “Why are you here alone? I thought you were just going to the bathroom.”
Rafayel didn’t answer right away. Instead, she downed what was left in her glass in one clean tilt of her wrist, setting it back on the counter with a delicate clink. Then she turned fully toward you, that smirk of hers returning—not deeper, but brighter, like she’d just remembered she was supposed to be unbothered.
“They’re playing one of my songs,” she said smoothly, ignoring your question as she looped her fingers around your wrist and tugged you forward. “Come dance with me.”
“Raf—” you barely got the word out before she was pulling you away from the bar, her grip firm and insistent, her smile like a dare painted across her lips.
Whatever you thought you saw in her expression before was gone now, tucked back beneath that carefully constructed mask of hers—playful, cocky, flirtatious. But the tightness of her hold told a different story. You followed her anyway, your heart thudding quietly beneath your ribs. Because Rafayel always did this—turned discomfort into distraction, turned feelings into something she could bite between her teeth and call a game.
You barely had time to breathe before she was in your arms, her body molding to yours with the ease of muscle memory, hands curling possessively around your waist. Her face tucked into the crook of your neck, the warmth of her breath ghosting over your skin like a secret. You let out a soft sigh as her lips brushed there—just a kiss, then another, then another—featherlight and deliberate, as if trying to sink into you and disappear all at once.
Your arms slipped around her neck, fingers curling into her dress without thinking, grounding yourself in the familiar scent of her—sandalwood and the faint trace of oil paint clinging to her skin. But beneath the closeness, beneath the kisses that trailed your collarbone, you felt it. That something.
It wasn’t obvious—not to anyone else, maybe not even to her—but you’d known her long enough to recognize when something didn’t sit right. Her touch lingered a second too long in some places, too light in others. Her silence buzzed against your skin, louder than her lips. Whatever mood she’d been in thirty minutes ago had dulled, like a candle snuffed mid-burn.
“Raf…” you murmured, gently tipping your head and nudging her away just enough to look at her. “You’re quiet.”
A flicker of something passed through her eyes—gone as quickly as it surfaced. Her grip tightened on your waist, and you gasped softly, caught off guard by the sudden pressure. She hummed against your skin, lips dragging along your neck again in slow, deliberate passes, refusing to meet your gaze.
“You only complain when I talk too much,” she murmured, voice velvet-smooth and low, the barest ghost of amusement dancing at the edges. “Now you miss my voice? Cute.”
Normally, her teasing would have pulled a laugh from you. Now, it just made your chest ache more. You didn’t let go. You couldn’t. Your fingers curled tighter behind her neck, drawing her closer, but your voice softened into something too fragile to disguise.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
She stilled for half a second. A pause. A beat too long. Then her lips found your throat again, slow and sensual, a practiced distraction. But even her kiss felt quieter than usual. Not less intense—just quieter, like it was trying to smother a sound you couldn’t hear.
“Nothing’s wrong, cutie,” she murmured lightly, the words brushing against your skin in time with the press of her lips. Another kiss followed, then another—each one softer, more persistent than the last, as though they were meant to soothe, to silence. “Let’s just dance. I love this song.”
But she still didn’t meet your eyes. Her face remained buried in your neck, her arms locked around you like she needed the closeness more than she’d ever admit. And you let her. You let her linger there, warm and wanting, because part of you didn’t want to break the illusion either. But the pressure in your chest only grew tighter, the slow-spreading anxiety settling like a stone beneath your ribs.
You stayed quiet, swaying with her to the music, your cheek brushing hers as the rhythm pulsed low and steady through the room. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed. Lights flickered lazily above your heads, golden and soft. The air was warm with bodies and bass—but all you could feel was her retreating, inch by inch, behind the veil of her teasing touch.
She said she was excited to have you here. She told you this party would be fun, that she wanted you close, that you’d stick together through the night. So why now—why this shift? Why the subtle pullback wrapped in kisses and pretty words?
You didn’t push again. Instead, you danced with her, pretending not to notice the way her fingers curled just a little too firmly into your waist, the way her kisses stayed a second too long on your skin, almost like she was trying to brand something into you. It wasn’t that she was distant. If anything, she was more—more physical, more present in the space between your bodies. But emotionally, she was somewhere else entirely.
It didn’t feel intentional. She wasn’t trying to hurt you. But it still stung. Because even when she teased, even when her fingers slid beneath the fabric at your back or her breath warmed your throat, she wasn’t really here with you. Not all the way. And you didn’t know why.
So you swallowed the ache, tucked it behind a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and let her guide the rhythm. Let her joke, her voice honey-sweet against the noise, saying something about your hips being out of sync and how she’d have to personally fix that. And you played along—of course you did. You always did. But inside, your mood had already begun to sink, tethered to something unspoken between you.
After a few more songs, you felt the edge of your own smile begin to dull, felt your energy drip quietly out of you like sand slipping through your fingers. You weren’t angry—just… worn thin. Heavy. And you didn’t want to stay here anymore. Not like this. Not when she wouldn’t let you in, not even a little.
“We should just go home,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone light. “I don’t want to stay any longer.”
She finally looked at you. The pout that tugged at her lips was immediate, instinctual, her lashes fluttering like she hadn’t noticed your shift in mood until just now. “It’s still early, cutie,” she murmured, tilting her head, voice all airy sweetness. “Aren’t you having fun?”
The ease in her voice—the casual way she deflected—needled under your skin, twisting something tight and sharp in your chest. You managed a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes, didn’t warm your voice.
“Not really,” you said, soft but clipped. “But you can stay longer if you want.”
You meant it, mostly. But part of you—the part she’d quietly bruised—was still sore. And even though you knew better, you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing just a little more, the words slipping out before you could catch them. “Maybe you’ll have more fun without me here.”
It wasn’t cruel. Your tone stayed soft, almost gentle. But the ache underneath it gave you away. You turned without waiting for her reply, sandals dragging through the cool sand as you headed toward the mansion, the party fading behind you into a blur of golden lights and muffled laughter.
Her footsteps were behind you, quick. Then a hand came closing around yours, warm and certain. “Wait,” she said, almost too quickly, spinning you back toward her with a grip that was just shy of desperate.
Her eyes searched yours, sharp even beneath the dim glow of string lights. She caught it then—whatever pain you hadn’t meant to show. The flare of confusion in her expression tightened, narrowed into something smaller, more careful.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and it was real this time, not wrapped in teasing. “It’s just…”
She faltered. Words hovered on the edge of her tongue and never crossed. Her gaze flicked away for a second, like she was weighing the risk of honesty against the comfort of silence. You knew that look. You’d seen it before—when she didn’t want to lie, but didn’t know how to tell the truth either.
You exhaled slowly, the sigh caught somewhere between resignation and ache. “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to,” you murmured, pulling your hand gently from hers. Your voice stayed soft, but it wavered at the end. “It’s fine.”
You smiled, but it was the kind you only wore when you were trying not to feel something. “I’ll see you at the dorm, okay?”
But she didn’t let you go. Her hand found yours again, fingers curling tight around your wrist as she stepped into your space, arms wrapping around you in a firm, sudden hug that pulled the air right from your lungs. Her body pressed close, steady and quiet and warm.
“No,” she whispered, against your ear now. “Just… I’ll leave with you.”
No explanation. No elaboration. No unraveling of whatever had crawled beneath her skin earlier tonight. And maybe that should’ve made it worse, but somehow, it didn’t. So you didn’t say anything else, just nodded against her shoulder and let her hold you for a few seconds longer before pulling back. The party blurred behind you, just lights and laughter and silhouettes in the dark.
The walk to the mansion felt longer than it should have, quiet except for the distant crash of waves and the soft crunch of sand beneath your shoes. You didn’t speak, neither did she. Both of you too caught up in the noise inside your heads. But her fingers never let go of yours.
————
The dorm was hushed when you both returned, the silence folding around you like a blanket after the distant thrum of the party. Neither of you spoke at first. The air was too still, too heavy, and your own thoughts crowded the space between you.
You slipped away to change, then retreated into the bathroom, letting the warmth of the shower soak into your skin. Water slid over your shoulders, steam curling against the mirror until the glass blurred. You closed your eyes and let the heat work at the knot in your chest, but it didn’t dissolve as easily as you hoped.
You weren’t furious—not even properly upset—but something raw tugged at the edges of you. This was your first real relationship with a woman, and with her, every shift in mood seemed sharper, more precarious. When things went quiet, you always wondered if it was because of you. If you had said something wrong, done something wrong. A small, ugly part of you whispered that maybe she would one day tire of you, slip away, and this would crumble.
You knew better than to believe it. Rafayel wasn’t cruel, and she wasn’t careless—not with you. But then why had she been so distant, so unwilling to let you in tonight, when she was usually so open? The questions chased you even after you stepped out, damp hair clinging to your shoulders, towel wrapped snugly around you. You exhaled a soft sigh as you left the bathroom, but before you could even reach the bed, you felt her.
Her arms slid smoothly around your waist from behind, her presence immediate and consuming. Her face nuzzled into your neck, the familiar warmth of her breath chasing away the last of the chill from the air.
You let her hold you, let her breathe you in. And then came the sound of it—barely audible, soft as a confession—a sigh, followed by the faintest murmur. “I’m sorry.”
The words brushed against your skin, melting something brittle inside you. Your hands instinctively rose to cover hers where they rested firm around your waist, grounding yourself in her touch. She didn’t pull back; instead, she turned you gently until you were facing her.
Her gaze searched yours with quiet intensity, all traces of the evening’s glamor gone. Her makeup had been washed away, leaving her bare-faced, raw, impossibly beautiful in her simplicity. The soft cotton of her pajamas clung lightly to her frame, at odds with the careful composure she usually carried like armor.
And in that moment, you didn’t ask again. You didn’t demand answers. You simply leaned forward, pressing your mouth to hers in a kiss that was soft but certain, an anchor against the tide of unspoken things. Her body eased at once, relaxing into you as though she had been holding herself taut all night and only now allowed herself to breathe.
You still didn’t understand what she was holding back, what kept her lips sealed when everything inside you wanted her truth. But she had come with you. She had followed when you tried to leave, pulled you close when you tried to slip away. She hadn’t brushed you off, not when it mattered.
She was the one to break the kiss first, though she didn’t go far. Her forehead pressed lightly to yours, her breath warm against your lips, teeth tugging at her lower lip like the words behind it might bite if she wasn’t careful.
“I’m sorry I brushed you off at the party,” she murmured, voice low, softer than you were used to hearing it. A pause—her chest rose with a small, uneasy breath, her gaze slipping just past you. “I just… I didn’t like feeling like this. And it’s irrational, too.”
Your hands settled on her waist, grounding her with the quiet weight of your touch. You didn’t push, but you tilted your head, fingers sliding up to toy gently with her hair as if to coax her words out.
“Feeling like what?” you asked, your voice gentle, though curiosity threaded through it.
Her lips pressed together, almost stubborn, before she let out a faint, humorless laugh. “Jealous.”
Just that. A single word, soft and edged with bitterness—though the bitterness seemed aimed more at herself than at you.
Your brows pinched as you drew her closer, eyes searching hers, urging her not to look away. “Jealous?” you repeated, quieter now. The word felt foreign on your tongue, a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. It surprised you, and she could see it in your eyes—the raw, unhidden shock of it.
She pouted at your reaction, lips pulling downward in a way that made her look almost cross with herself. “I know. It’s stupid. And it’s not like I have a reason to feel like this, but…” she trailed off, a frustrated little breath leaving her, as if she was already regretting saying it out loud.
It made your chest ache, watching her try to shrink her feelings down into something smaller, less important, when all you wanted was to understand.
“You’re not the only one who’s felt uncertain,” she added after a beat, her mouth quirking into the faintest smile—like she was trying to make light of it, soften the sting.
You nodded slowly, because you did understand. But it wasn’t enough, not really. Not when she was still circling around the truth.
“Rafayel.” her name left you softly, weighted, as your hands slid up to cup her face. Her eyes softened at the touch, purple irises catching in the low light as though they’d been waiting for you to say her name like that. “It’s okay,” you whispered, thumb brushing over the curve of her cheek. “And it’s not stupid.”
Her arms tightened where they had been holding the edge of your towel, gripping you like she was anchoring herself. You tilted your head, coaxing gently, your voice patient, tender. “Want to tell me why you’re feeling like this right now?”
Her lashes lowered, and for a moment you thought she might retreat again. Then she exhaled slowly, the sound quiet, almost like surrender. “Yeah,” she murmured before her mouth closed over yours once more.
This kiss wasn’t hurried, wasn’t meant to distract. It was softer, deeper, like the truth she hadn’t said was pressed between your lips instead of spoken aloud.
Later, curled together on the bed, she nuzzled into you, her face half-buried against your chest as though she wanted to hide the words before they escaped. When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle but edged with frustration—aimed not at you, but at herself.
“Sometimes I wonder,” she murmured, her breath warm against your collarbone, “if I’m enough for you. Being your first girlfriend and all…” her words faltered, bitter amusement curling faintly at the edges. “What if one day you just stop wanting me? Or worse—decide you were never really into women at all, and this was just… some phase.”
You blinked, caught off guard, your hand stilling where it had been stroking absent patterns along her back. The heaviness in her tone made your chest ache.
“What made you think that tonight?” you asked softly, searching her face even as she kept it pressed stubbornly against you.
She hesitated, then shifted just enough to meet your gaze, though her expression carried that mix of defiance and vulnerability she only showed in rare moments. “The bonfire.” her lips pressed together, then parted again with a sigh. “Seeing you with Caleb—how close you were, how easy it was for you to laugh with him. He knows you so well, better than I ever could. And… I don’t know. I noticed the way he looked at you, like he was waiting for something.”
Her tone turned wry, almost self-deprecating, though it didn’t quite mask the sting underneath. “Which is fine, cutie. I don’t doubt you wouldn’t reciprocate. But watching it still made me… sad. And jealous, despite my best efforts not to be.”
You tightened your arms around her, pulling her flush against your chest, as if to remind her wordlessly that she was the one here, the one in your bed, the one you held. You listened quietly, patient, letting her get it all out, stroking your thumb along the curve of her hip. Because you understood. And hearing her say it—hearing the insecurity she tried so hard to bury—didn’t push you away. It pulled you closer.
If anything, it stirred something electric in you. The thought of her jealous, of her wanting you so fiercely she couldn’t stand the idea of losing you, made your heart squeeze and your pulse race all at once. It should have been selfish, maybe even toxic—but it didn’t feel that way. To you, it felt like proof. Proof that you were hers, that she treasured you enough to fight with her own pride over it.
And deep down, it thrilled you. Because you remembered the ache of jealousy yourself—months ago, before anything happened between you, when you still carried your own doubts and questions. You remembered the sharpness of it, the way it had consumed you. So you knew exactly how she felt now. And somehow, that made you love her even more.
“Is this why you didn’t want to tell me earlier?” you asked softly, tilting her chin up until her eyes met yours. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, frustration written clearly across her features. She looked so adorably pouty like this that you almost smiled despite the heaviness of the moment.
“I’ve told you so much about Caleb before,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “But seeing him in person really put you off, huh?”
Her mouth pulled into an even deeper pout, and you couldn’t help yourself—you leaned in, capturing it in a kiss meant to melt every insecurity she clung to. She softened almost immediately, slow at first, as though unsure whether she deserved it, and then you coaxed her to move, guiding her out of your embrace and into your lap with a steady determination.
The change in position had her breath faltering, rougher now, the kiss sparking hotter against your lips. You reveled in it, hands anchoring her as she straddled you, her legs curling easily around your hips.
You broke the kiss only enough to let your words brush against her mouth, your voice low and steady. “Caleb will always be my childhood friend. Just that.”
Before she could even shape a reply, your lips claimed hers again—hungrier now, your tongue brushing against hers in a kiss that left no space for doubt. You swallowed her hesitation whole, then drew back just far enough to whisper against her lips, every syllable deliberate, grounding.
“You, on the other hand… are the one I’ll always want.”
Her eyes opened into yours then, and the sight stole the rest of your breath. All that defiance, all that insecurity—stripped back to the raw intensity of how badly she wanted you.
“I’m yours,” you whispered, the vow curling warm and certain in your chest.
She kissed you again, harder this time, her lips bruising against yours as her fingers clawed through your damp hair. A desperate gasp escaped her mouth and fell into yours, the sound sending a tremor through you. Rafayel was usually the one who kept her composure, the one who unraveled you with languid touches and playful cruelty, dragging your pleasure out until you begged. But tonight, she wasn’t controlled. Tonight, she was melting—needy, breathless, greedy for you.
The towel clinging to your body was still there, but her pajama top was the first casualty, tugged away in a frantic sweep as your mouth chased the newly bared skin. Your lips skimmed down her throat, nipping at her collarbone before closing hot and wet around her nipple. She gasped sharply, her whole body shivering in response as her hips rolled down into your lap.
“O–ohh…” the sound broke from her lips, raw and unguarded, and you knew—here, she was hopelessly sensitive. You teased her mercilessly, sucking and kissing at one nipple before moving to the other, her tremors only deepening as your tongue dragged across her.
You pulled away with a soft, wet pop, fingers replacing your mouth as you toyed with her hardened peak, pinching lightly while your lips found her throat again. “Let me make it clear,” you whispered against her skin, each word punctuated with a gentle bite at her neck that drew another gasp from her. “Let me show you I’m yours, Raf.”
Her whimper hitched into a moan as you pressed her back onto the mattress, your body moving with quiet insistence until she was beneath you, her violet eyes wide, pupils blown with want. You hooked your fingers in the band of her pajama bottoms, sliding them down in one smooth motion, her underwear following until both pooled uselessly at her ankles. Her legs trembled faintly as you rid her of them, the sight of her bare and waiting stealing the rest of your breath.
She looked up at you through half-lidded eyes, voice breaking on a moan that still tried, weakly, to play. “I love when you take charge…”
There was a flicker of her usual teasing in it, but the rawness beneath gave her away. This wasn’t performance. This was need.
“Then relax and enjoy it,” you murmured, smirking as your hand trailed between her thighs, teasing the slick folds that were already hot and aching under your touch. “I’ll make you feel good.”
Her whole body jolted when your fingers finally pressed against her clit, light and taunting at first, circling in slow, deliberate passes. She shuddered when you dipped just inside, your fingers slicking with her arousal.
Her hands flew up to your face, cupping it with a sudden desperation as if she needed to hold you there, to kiss you or risk falling apart too quickly. You let her drag you down, your mouths colliding in a searing kiss that burned hotter when you slid two fingers inside her in one smooth motion. Her moan was loud, swallowed immediately by your lips as you curled your fingers just the way you knew she loved. Her hips bucked helplessly against your hand, and the taste of her desperation on your tongue made you shiver with something close to pride.
She kissed you hard, eyes darkening as her fingers tangled deep in your damp hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp into her mouth. Normally, Rafayel played the game—always controlled, always the one to unravel you slowly with her teasing cruelty, stretching the ache until you begged. But tonight she was different. Tonight, she was all frayed edges and breathless want, melting into your touch like she needed you more than air.
She whimpered, body jolting as her hips rolled helplessly into you. “You’ve gotten… s-so good at this, cutie…” her words broke on a moan as your fingers drove steadily inside her, curling in perfect rhythm. She clenched around you, her body arching tight against yours, breath catching in uneven gasps.
Your mouth worked lower along her neck, dragging heat and marks over the spots you knew were sensitive, pulling ragged claws from her nails as they raked lightly down your back.
“You like this even more, don’t you?” you rasped against her skin, lips brushing down her flushed body as your fingers never slowed. You licked your lips when you settled between her thighs, catching her gaze just long enough to see the haze in her violet eyes before dipping lower to taste her.
Her whole body jolted when your tongue dragged across her slick folds, a cry tearing from her throat when you sucked lightly at her clit. Her hand shot into your hair, gripping hard as her hips buckled into your mouth.
“S-shit, oh my… god…” she gasped, the words tumbling into whimpers as you worked her, your tongue and fingers moving in tandem, merciless in your rhythm. Her thighs trembled under your grip, but you held her steady, one hand clamped around her thigh to keep her in place while you devoured her with unrelenting fervor.
“I’m—fuck, close… already close…” her voice was wrecked now, pitch breaking as her body bowed off the mattress, every muscle quivering.
You picked up the pace just slightly, curling your fingers deeper, sucking harder at her clit until her whole body shook violently. Her cries spilled out, raw and unrestrained, as she shattered around your mouth and hand. “Cumming, cutie… fuck, fuck—”
The way she moaned your name then—your name tangled with curses and desperate pleasure—made heat pool so fiercely in your own body that you felt the wetness drip down your thigh. Watching her unravel for you like this, helpless and undone, was enough to leave you dizzy with want.
She pulled you up to her in seconds, her kiss rough, darkened eyes locking with yours for a fleeting second before she dragged her mouth across yours again, all teeth and gasps and fingers tangled painfully in your damp hair. She was usually so infuriatingly controlled, taking her time to tease and unravel you at her pace, her touch measured, her smirk endless. But tonight she was different—needy, desperate, as though she’d burned through every ounce of restraint and was willing to melt into you completely.
Her body was pressing flush against yours as your lips closed over her nipple, drawing a whimper that tumbled into the heated air between you. She rolled her hips against you helplessly, the sound breaking into a moan when your teeth grazed her skin.
And then she was on you again, all in one breathless rush, smirking despite the flush that still lingered from her orgasm. “Come here,” she whimpered, tugging impatiently at your towel until it fell away. Her hands slid lower without hesitation, finding you already dripping, and she groaned at the discovery as though it delighted her more than anything else.
The gasp that ripped from you was caught against her mouth as her fingers circled your clit, deliberate and unhurried, before she manhandled you back onto the mattress, kissing you rougher than before. You clawed at her, pulling her closer, fingers threading through strands of her purple hair that were damp with sweat.
“Already making a mess, cutie…” she murmured into your throat, her smirk brushing hot against your skin as her teeth scraped a mark into the curve of your neck. You clenched helplessly around her fingers, and she whined softly at the sensation. “Did you get off on eating me out?”
The tease was light, almost cruel, but it was softened by the need in her voice, the hunger in the way her fingers pressed into you. You moaned under the accusation, back arching, lips parting in surrender. “Y-yes…”
Her chuckle vibrated against your skin, smug and intoxicating, even as her mouth sealed over the mark she had left, her tongue soothing the sting. Her fingers found your clit again, teasing, coaxing more of those broken sounds out of you. This was the rhythm you both knew well—fingers and mouths, the frantic grind of clit against clit, bodies pressed together in messy, desperate pleasure. That was how your nights usually went, and they were enough, more than enough. But you knew there was more out there. And Rafayel wasn’t shy about mentioning it when her dirty talk turned wicked—though the scenarios always faded back into laughter and kisses before either of you followed through.
But tonight, you wanted it. With a breathless moan, you pulled her into another kiss, the words slipping out against her lips. “Fuck me, Raf…”
She chuckled low in her throat, amused and wanting, her fingers curling harder inside you until you whimpered and bit down on your lower lip. “I’m on it, baby.”
But you shook your head, whining softly, your lips brushing her jaw as you pressed closer. “No… I want more tonight.”
That stilled her. Her breath came heavy against your neck, the steady rhythm of her fingers slowing as her eyes found yours in the low light. She cupped your cheek, her thumb grazing along your jaw with deceptive tenderness, her smirk curling back as curiosity sharpened her gaze.
“More?” she echoed, her voice low, deliberate, almost taunting. Her thumb traced over your lower lip, watching as you caught it between your teeth, eyes glassy and dark with need.
“You know what I mean,” you whispered, shy in the admission, even as your body arched desperately into her hand.
She kissed you hard, eyes dark with hunger, her fingers clawing through your damp hair as though she couldn’t get close enough. Every gasp she stole from your mouth only fed the desperation twisting between you.
“Naughty girl,” she rasped suddenly, her smirk curling sharp as her fingers curled just right inside you, forcing your back to arch. “You want me to use toys now, is that what you’re asking?”
Your mouth fell open on a gasp, words stolen from you as her pace quickened, her fingers stroking so perfectly that your eyes rolled back, your tongue parting on helpless sounds. She pressed harder, until you were sucking on her tongue when her mouth found yours again, desperate for her taste.
Her lips curved against yours as she pulled back just enough to watch you come undone. “Want me to fill you up with something else, hm?” she teased, voice dripping with mockery—but her flushed cheeks, her ragged breathing, betrayed the truth of her own need.
You nodded, too far gone to manage words, pleading instead with your eyes, begging for her. That was all it took for her to falter, her smirk breaking into a whine as she kissed you again, deep and rough. You were already trembling on the edge when she murmured against your lips, her voice low and commanding, threaded with a rasp that left no room for disobedience. “Come for me first, pretty girl. Then I’ll fuck you how you want, yeah?”
The command shattered you. Your body arched violently, release spilling over her fingers as you cried out against her mouth, your voice muffled by her kiss. She groaned at the feel of it, at the way you clenched down around her as though you’d never let her go, her own breath ragged as she held you through the tremors.
When it finally ebbed, you collapsed back into the sheets, chest heaving, the sound of both your uneven breaths tangling in the quiet. Her fingers were still buried deep, coated with your release, and her gaze—amethyst and heavy-lidded—never once looked away from you.
“Be good and wait for me here, yeah?” she murmured, her smirk curling as she pulled her fingers from you. Her gaze lingered on them for a beat, heavy-lidded and shameless, before she slipped them past her lips, tongue curling around the taste of you. A soft, throaty moan followed, low enough to make your thighs tremble all over again.
“So sweet…” she breathed, letting the words sink in before her free hand found yours. She guided it downward, slow and deliberate, until your palm pressed against your slick folds. You were still trembling, still raw from the orgasm she had just dragged from you, but her voice coaxed you like silk and steel.
“Here,” she purred, circling your clit with your own fingers, watching you shudder at the sharp rush of sensation. “Just like this. Be a good girl and touch yourself for me.”
You gasped, the sound breaking into a moan as she curled your fingers inside, forcing you to thrust into your own heat while she hovered above you. The humiliation, the intimacy of it, only made your body burn hotter. She leaned down, catching your lips in a slow, filthy kiss, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. Then she pulled back, her breath uneven, a smug curve still etched into her mouth.
“I want to watch you keep yourself needy for me,” she whispered, brushing her knuckles over your cheek with surprising tenderness before straightening. “So don’t stop until I’m back.”
And with that, she left you there—spread out on the sheets, thighs shaking, breath caught in your throat—as your fingers moved at her command, desperate and aching for her return.
You bit down on your lower lip, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers worked inside you, thrusting shallow and unsteady, every curl sparking along your nerves like fire. You were already so sensitive, each drag making your body jolt, and her name spilled from your lips with every gasp, every broken moan.
You didn’t hear her return until the low chuckle reached you—smooth, indulgent, amused. By then it was too late. You were too far gone, too lost in your own pleasure to realize she was already back, hovering above you like a shadow waiting to pounce. Her hand slid suddenly over yours, guiding your movements, and before you could catch your breath she pressed two of her own fingers alongside yours. The stretch made you arch violently off the bed, a ragged scream ripping free.
“F-fuck, yes… baby, need you, shit—” your voice cracked around the words as your thighs trembled, your body quaking at the overwhelming fullness of her fingers curling in perfect tandem with yours.
When you finally dared to open your eyes, your vision was glassy with tears of want, blurring the sight of her above you—flushed and smirking, her eyes dark amethyst, gleaming with hunger. She looked utterly delighted, watching you lose yourself beneath her touch.
“Feels good?” she rasped, though she already knew the answer. Her smirk widened when you nodded frantically, your mouth struggling to form the words.
“Yeah? You want to come again, baby?” she pressed, her tone mocking sweet, her thumb brushing your clit until you jolted helplessly against her hand.
Her chuckle deepened as she drew your gaze lower, and only then did you notice it—the glint of the strap now fastened to her hips. Your breath caught, eyes widening, your body clenching hard around both sets of fingers at the sight.
She laughed quietly at your reaction, pleased, smug. “Oh, look at you…” she crooned, leaning down until her lips brushed against your ear, her voice a dark purr. “Seems like you’d rather I fill you up real good.”
Her breath was hot against your skin, her words sinking into the raw ache that consumed you.
“Isn’t that right, baby?” she whispered, her smirk ghosting your cheek before her teeth grazed the edge of your jaw, waiting for your answer.
You nodded frantically, your voice breaking into a moan as she finally drew her fingers out of you, slick and shining. Your own hand fell uselessly against the sheets, trembling with want. “Want you badly… please,” you gasped, the words tumbling out unfiltered, raw.
She whined softly, even through the curl of her smirk, the sound betraying how much she wanted you too. Still, she dragged it out, her movements slow and deliberate as she reached for the bottle of lube, uncapping it with a flick. You watched through half-lidded eyes as she coated the dildo fixed to her hips, her hand sliding languidly along the length, every motion dripping with sensuality.
The sight alone made your pussy clench helplessly around nothing, your body arching, begging without words.
Rafayel’s gaze flicked up, catching your reaction, her smirk widening as she leaned forward to press the tip against your slick entrance. She didn’t push, only nuzzled at you, letting the head part your folds just enough to make you jolt.
“How badly?” she murmured, her voice a velvet taunt. Her free hand slid up your body, fingers finding your breast, pinching your nipple until you buckled beneath her, gasping. “Can you beg me properly, sweetheart?”
Your hips rolled up desperately, chasing the pressure, but she held herself steady, refusing you entry. Her smirk was infuriating, her eyes glinting dark with amusement as you writhed.
And you begged. God, you begged. Her name spilled from your lips like a prayer, your pleas tumbling fast and broken, each one more desperate than the last. You told her you needed her, that you couldn’t take it anymore, that she was the only one who could fill you, ruin you, make you whole.
Rafayel only chuckled low in her throat, leaning down to capture your mouth in a slow, filthy kiss, her tongue sliding over yours until you were dizzy with it. When she pulled back, her lips were swollen, her smirk wicked. “That’s more like it,” she purred, finally pressing forward just enough to make you cry out.
“Are you going to take it all, like the good girl you pretend not to be?” she murmured against your lips, the words half-breath, half-laugh, dragging out the syllables as though savoring your reaction. The first slow roll of her hips pressed the toy deeper inside you, stretching you with unrelenting patience. “Mm… that’s it. Let me hear that voice I like so much.”
Her mouth grazed your throat, nipping hard enough to make you gasp, while her fingers curled possessively into your hips, guiding you into the rhythm she chose. The heat of her body covered yours, the strap sliding in deeper with each deliberate thrust. Instinct took over—your legs wrapped tight around her waist, clinging, urging her closer, needier.
She moaned against your neck, the sound vibrating through your skin, while your trembling fingers found her breast and squeezed at the peak. Her laugh was breathless, wicked.
“I’ll be good…” you whimpered, arching up to meet her, every nerve lit with desperate heat. “I-I’ll ake it all, please… need more—”
Your lips sought hers blindly, and she granted them, catching your mouth with a kiss that melted into a smirk. She drank in your moans between the clash of tongues, the pace of her hips growing sharper, more insistent.
“Even though I can’t feel it,” she teased, voice low and threaded with desire, “I can tell how tightly you’re squeezing me. So greedy for it, aren’t you, cutie?” her teeth scraped at your lip before letting go. “So desperate for me to fuck you the way you’ve been dreaming of. Isn’t that right?”
You nodded frantically, every part of you trembling, your mouth falling open in a ragged moan as she shifted her hips just enough to catch that devastating angle inside you. The sudden pressure tore sound after sound from your throat, incoherent pleas spilling in broken fragments.
“Th-there—fuck, there, baby—ah, f-fuck—” the words dissolved into breathless spluttering, your voice cracking as her teeth grazed your neck, biting down just enough to make your back arch.
Her pace didn’t falter—if anything, it grew sharper, mercilessly precise, striking that same spot until you were keening. Her voice curled like velvet against your ear, cruelly sweet, every syllable dripping with amusement.
“There?” she crooned, tauntingly soft, as though she wasn’t already unraveling you with every thrust. “Gonna cum for me, cutie? You’re dripping all over me, such a pretty mess.”
Her lips claimed yours before you could answer, swallowing your strangled moans as her fingers toyed mercilessly with your clit. The sudden pinch sent you spiraling, pleasure crashing through you in violent waves as you screamed her name over and over, your body locking tight around her. “Yes—ahh, yes, I’m cumming—s’good, so good—”
Your vision flickered black at the edges, breath torn from you in heavy, shaking gasps. But Rafayel didn’t stop. She kept moving, dragging out every last quake of your climax until you were thrashing against her, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, your voice breaking into a hoarse plea. “T-too much, baby, please—”
Her laugh was low, molten and cruelly indulgent, brushing your ear like a lover’s caress. She cooed sweetly as though soothing you, but her hips snapped forward harder, deeper, until you could do nothing but sob against her shoulder.
“Aww. But you promised, didn’t you?” she murmured, her words almost tender, a knife hidden in silk. “Said you’d take me until you couldn’t anymore.”
Her hand caught your throat and jaw, forcing your tear-glossed gaze upward to meet hers. She was smiling—hungry, obsessive, her lips parting to wet themselves as she watched you unravel.
“Behave,” she whispered, almost like a threat and a vow all at once. “You’ll take me. Every last bit, until there’s nothing left of you but me.”
You could only nod, your body already betraying you, clenching around her even through the raw ache of overstimulation. Your thighs trembled violently, your muscles burning as she drove into you again and again, hitting that devastating spot until your stomach clenched with another mounting wave of unbearable heat. It hurt—it was too much—and still, you could feel yourself breaking open for her all over again.
She slipped out in one swift motion, only to flip you over with a strength that left your breath caught in your throat. Face pressed into the sheets, hips raised by her hands, you barely had a moment to gasp before she slid back inside with the same relentless pace—deep, fast, merciless. The sudden angle made you cry out, pleasure tearing through you so violently your vision blurred, the edges darkening as if you might black out. Tears pricked and spilled down your cheeks, heat and desperation rolling through your trembling body.
“Mm, that’s a view worth painting,” Rafayel murmured, voice molten with hunger, her words brushing over your skin as if they were touches of their own. “So open for me… swallowing me whole, dripping all over me and the sheets.” the low moan that followed pressed against the shell of your ear, rich and shameless.
Her fingers swept up the length of your spine, deceptively gentle, only to fist suddenly in your hair. She tugged until your back arched, your mouth falling open in a helpless cry as the new angle let her sink impossibly deeper. Each thrust left you clawing at the sheets, choking on sobs of pleasure, your voice breaking into raw gasps.
The coil inside you wound impossibly tight, every nerve on fire, the rhythm of her hips merciless as if she had no intention of letting you breathe. You were gone, words lost to the storm unraveling in your chest, until your body finally gave way. The orgasm ripped through you so violently your legs shook, your eyes rolled back, and a scream tore from your throat as wet heat spilled over the sheets—your body betraying you in a sudden, overwhelming rush.
“Ahh, look at that…” Rafayel’s groan was equal parts awe and taunt, hips never slowing even as you convulsed around her. “My girl’s making such a mess for me—didn’t even know you could come like that, did you?”
Your mind was nothing but white noise and shattering pleasure, your hands reaching blindly back for her as you sobbed into the pillow. “F–fuck, Raf—baby, too much—c-cumming—”
But she only bent closer, her breath fanning hot against the back of your neck, the cruelest kind of gentleness in her tone as she teased, “Then come again for me. You can take it, can’t you?”
And then came the ache of overstimulation—sharp, biting, nearly unbearable—yet the pleasure soared higher, tangled into it so tightly that your body refused to let go of her, clenching and trembling around every relentless thrust. You choked on broken sobs, hot tears streaking your cheeks, your vision blurring as wave after wave of release crashed through you, harder and more violent than anything before. The sound of your own cries blurred into the slick, obscene rhythm of your body giving in, until the world fractured in white heat—until you shattered completely, squirting helplessly for the first time.
Somewhere behind you, through the haze, you heard her low moan—pleasure spilling unrestrained as her fingers dug bruising tight into your hips, anchoring you to her as thoug she couldn’t bear to let you go. But you were gone, undone, unable to focus on anything but the overwhelming flood of sensation. Your arms gave out, your body collapsing against the mattress in a boneless sprawl, trembling and spent.
Rafayel followed you down with a languid ease, rolling you over with surprising care, her chest heaving as though she too was fighting to catch her breath. Her eyes were still dark, glassy with pleasure, but softened now, gleaming with that maddening tenderness she rarely let slip. She pressed her mouth to yours in a desperate kiss, all hunger and reverence tangled together, and when she finally pulled back, she lingered close enough that you felt her breath against your lips.
“Are you okay, cutie?” she asked, voice husky from exertion, the endearment curling around you like velvet. Her mouth curved, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips even as her chest still rose and fell unevenly. A low chuckle slipped out, warm and knowing. “Mmh… don’t tell me I was too rough?”
You shook your head quickly, eyes wet, still trembling from the aftershocks as you dragged her down into another kiss, clumsy and desperate, your words breaking against his lips. “Loved it…” you whispered, breathless, voice raw and fragile.
Rafayel’s laugh was low, pleased, vibrating through you as she kissed you again, slower this time, as though savoring the wreckage she had made of you.
You looked up into her eyes, breath caught in your throat, unable to stop the words from tumbling out in a ragged whisper, desperate and raw. “I love you.”
For a heartbeat she froze, her lashes fluttering as her mouth parted in shock. She looked impossibly beautiful like that—stunned, breathless, undone. The corners of your lips curved in a faint, trembling smile, because of course you would go and ruin her composure now, when she least expected it.
Her voice came out hushed, almost disbelieving. “What?”
“I love you, Rafayel,” you repeated, firmer this time, pulling her down into another kiss before she could think of retreating. She let you—no, she leaned into you, greedy for the press of your mouth against hers, desperate to taste you again. Your words spilled between your ragged breaths, low and fervent. “I thought you should know. My feelings aren’t fleeting, and there’s nothing I want more than you—nothing I want more than this.”
You dragged her closer, chest to chest, skin to skin, until the sound of her whine vibrated against your lips. Your fingers cupped her face, holding her steady, your gaze locked with hers as though you could pour every ounce of certainty into her. “I’ll tell you as many times as it takes, okay?”
For a moment her eyes shimmered, dark and unsteady, and then the tension broke with a sudden laugh—light, incredulous, giddy. A grin tugged at her lips as she kissed you hard, almost messy, teeth knocking against yours as though she couldn’t hold herself back anymore. “I love you too, silly,” she breathed against your mouth, chuckling even as she kissed you senseless.
And suddenly you were both laughing, tangled together, giggling like fools in love—down bad and dizzy, clutching one another as though you’d never let go.
.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.
.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!
MC borrowing a jacket or hoodie from a friend or coworker because they were ill prepared for the weather.
The men be jealous.
Not heavily edited so sorry for errors!
Sylus
You walk into Sylus' office wrapped up in Kieran's black hoodie, sleeves slightly too long, the scent of his cologne still faint in the fabric.
You're asking about a file you received, but Sylus is far from focused on your words.
Nay, his crimson eyes narrow ever so slightly on that unmistakable hoodie.
He knows that hoodie. He's seen it every day of every week for the last few years. Luke or Kieran...which one is the culprit?
"Cold, kitten?"
You nod, smiling. "Didn't check the weather. Kieran lent it to me."
Kieran...noted.
He hums, barely reacting, but the moment you leave, he's already ordering several jackets and hoodies in your size, in colors he knows you like
For added measure he'll make sure his name is on the inside of every one of them
The next time you're cold, you'll have options. None of which involve another man's hoodie.
He not so subtly brings it up to Kieran later in the gym
"She said you lent her a hoodie. Generous of you."
Kieran knows he's cooked
Caleb
You return home after a long day, shoulders draped in a rugged, military-style jacket that was definitely not his
"Hi baby, how was your day?" You make quick work of your boots, before walking towards your man
You're completely unaware of his inner turmoil
His gaze sharpens instantly. "That's Gideon's."
"Yeah that freaking cold front came outta nowhere! I was fortunate enough to run into Gideon, he let me bo-,"
Before you can finish the thought, Caleb just walks over and tugs it off your shoulders with one smooth motion.
"I'll return it to him."
Later that night, you're curled up with him and he grumbles under his breath, "You could've asked for mine."
"Sir you weren't even there!"
He scoffs at the logic. He doesn't want to hear reason right now. "Still. You're mine. You wear my jacket, got it?"
He ends up handing you his thick combat hoodie the next day with a gruff, "Keep it. You're not borrowing anyone else's."
Xavier
You're walking toward the little hotpot place you and Xavier always go to, hoodie sleeves tucked over your hands as you brace against the unexpected chill.
The hoodie is warm. Soft. Smells faintly like fresh eucalyptus and something earthy. Jeremiah, Xavier's sweet, plant-loving friend, offered it to you when the wind picked up outside his shop.
"Xavier will understand." But the look on his face suggested even he didn't believe that.
And sure enough, the moment you spot Xavier waiting by the restaurant, leaning against the glass in one of his signature hoodies, his brows immediately furrow.
His gaze drops to the hoodie you're wearing. Not one of his. Definitely not one he's ever seen on you.
His smile dies before it even reaches his eyes.
"Where'd you get that?"
You glance down, then back up. "Oh...uh, Jeremiah lent it to me. Weather turned while I was leaving his shop."
"Jeremiah?"
"Yes?"
A beat of silence. He opens the door for you with all the grace of a man holding back an entire storm. Doesn't speak again until you're both seated.
"Didn't know we were taking hand-me-downs now," he spits, staring dead ahead at the menu like it just insulted him.
"Xavier please, he was being nice. And he's your friend, was he supposed to let me freeze?"
"Right. Nice. Letting my girlfriend walk around in his hoodie."
You can only roll your eyes at his dramatics
You try to move on, but he's not letting it go. Halfway through the broth boiling, he leans in and mutters low enough for just you to hear
"You do realize I own more hoodies than I have drawers, right?"
Later that night, Jeremiah receives a very polite but very pointed visit. Xavier doesn't even raise his voice.
"Next time she's cold," he says while fiddling with a fern pot, "you call me."
That weekend, a brand new hoodie appears on your bed
It's oversized, soft, smelling like Xavier, and unmistakably his.
Embroidered on the sleeve in tiny stitched letters: "Property of Xavier. No substitutions."
Rafayel
You step into the warm, paint-scented living area of Rafayel's studio, unbuttoning the sleek black coat Thomas lent you.
Before you can even call out to let Rafayel know you're here, he walks in from the hallway, brush still tucked behind his ear, paint smeared about his face.
"The hell are you wearing cutie?"
You glance down, shrugging out of the coat. "It got really cold on the walk over and Thomas was there, so he offered-"
"Thomas gave you his coat?" he repeats, voice pitching slightly higher as he closes the distance, hands already tugging it away from you like it's contagious.
"Why didnt you call me? I would've brought you a coat. I would've run across the city barefoot if you said you were cold"
"Raf.."
"don't 'Raf' me. My girl is out here wearing my manager's coat like some lost little art groupie?!"
He's very dramatic
He tosses the coat over the back of a chair with disgust and immediately wraps his own paint-streaked cardigan around your shoulders.
"you don't wear anyone's clothes but mine".
He cups your cheeks and kisses your frustrated pout
Later, when Thomas swings by to drop off supplies, Rafayel casually leans against a wall and says, "If I ever see her in your clothes again… I will never paint again."
Thomas blinks. "It was just a coat."
Zayne
It started raining halfway through your walk in the park, and you weren't dressed for it. Greyson, passing by, offered his coat without hesitation.
You thanked him, tugged it on, and rushed home.
When you walk through the door, Zayne looks up from his desk and pauses.
"Either I've been completely engrossed in my work, or that's not what you had on when you left."
You explain quickly, "Ran into Greyson. He saw I was getting soaked and offered it."
Zayne nods once. Neutral.
"You should've checked the weather." he says quietly as he gets up, gently taking the coat from your shoulders.
"go take a shower before you catch a cold. we both know your immune system is lacking."
He hangs it up with care, but doesn't say much else.
The next morning, Greyson finds his coat folded neatly on his desk. Zayne stands there, calm and polite.
"Thanks for helping her out yesterday." he says with a tight smile. "I can assure you this type of assistance from you won't be needed again."
Greyson accepts the rough pat on his back, a little more spooked than he was before.
Mermaid!Rafayel and his strange affectionate habits
being in a relationship with a mermaid is pretty weird, rafayel has some weird habits!
✎ᝰ a/n: alright, back by popular demand (somewhat), we have the rafayel version of this. i could make this into a series… i could just not gaf… i could also make a “habits while in heat”, but idk!
dragon sylus version
⭐︎
❥ he chirps! mermaid rafayel trills and chirps in various patterns as a subtle way of communication. you’ll hear soft, cute squeaks come from him when he’s happy or deep in thought. or when you pet his tail, he trills from the feeling of your warm hand on his cool scales.
you didn’t understand where the noises came at first until you realized rafayel was the one making them. the sounds are so different in pitch than his normal voice that it was surprising he could make them. but they were so cute that you never really questioned them, instead you took the time to learn what each chirp meant.
❥ he brings you many gifts. a common trait amongst mermaids is that they’ll go out of their way to collect trinkets to either court someone or make their current mate happy. rafayel isn’t really sure what you like as a human, but he definitely tries to figure it out!
he’ll bring you lost shoes or baby crabs or pretty candy wrappers in hopes that you’ll take some liking to them. but when you stare a bit confused at the piles of scrap that he gifts you, he decides he has to try harder. he learns that human women are not that different from mermaids—in that they both like shiny, pretty things. so rafayel’s makes it a habit to find coins and jewels buried in the sea and bring it up to you frequently as he can. you have no real use for these miscellaneous items, but you can tell rafayel is trying really hard to please you so you accept graciously. he chirps in excitement!
❥ he quite literally, suffocates you. never intentionally, no, but rafayel doesn’t know his own strength. human bodies are comprised weaker than lemurian bodies, making you the victim in rafayel’s affectionate embraces. it’s during these times that you’re reminded of just how big rafayel is. 8 feel tall in length, you’re constantly reminded that you’re a peewee who could be crushed by this mythical being at any moment.
rafayel does try to be gentle with you, though. he intentionally tries to tone down how passionate he is so as to not knock the air out of your lungs. he really can’t help it though, you’re so small and adorable he just wants to cuddle you and eat you up.
❥ he stares at you. rafayel isn’t too adverse in the human body, so at the start of your relationship he was very very curious as to what a human female looked like. it’s for this reason he the hates the fact that you wear clothes. all he wants to do is stare at you and ask what certain things are. to rafayel, this is a normal thing to do when you’re curious. to you, this is a little embarrassing.
the especially embarrassing part is when he stares at your intimate parts. he pokes around at your vagina with a curious look and the intent to investigate what the hell was going on in there. sure, mermaid anatomy was similar to human anatomy, but he’d never really seen a human female up close until you. the weird part is, he think it’s all completely innocent.
“so… this is clit right? lot smaller than i what expected…”
lick.
“rafayel!”
❥ he sings to guide you. it’s no secret mermaids have beautiful voices. you’ve heard some distant melodic voices from the sea in your time dating rafayel—but nothing compares to rafayel’s voice itself. the first time you heard it you felt like you were floating on air and transcending your body. it was that powerful. now that you’ve grown accustomed to the hypnotizing sound, though, rafayel uses his voice as a way to guide you.
when you’re on the beach looking for him or under the sea by the grace of his power, he sings melodiously to guide you in his direction. every time it happens you feel as if you don’t even need to think about the direction you’re going, that your feet just automatically know where to go even if you’re unfamiliar with the place.
❥ he has a cycle problem. rafayel goes through many physical changes throughout his lemurian life and that makes him constantly be in kahoots. one day he’s whiny and splashing everything with water, another day he can’t get his hands off of you and is extremely clingy, maybe one day he’s just really depressed and needs to be alone. it’s hard to tell what’s coming next with him.
but it’s also not just an emotional problem, it’s a physical problem too. sometimes, you’ll meet him and see that he’s two times bigger than usual (god almighty). other times, you’ll go in for a cuddle and feel his skin is all slimy and sticks to you. every time you ask about his issues, he always has a different explanation. it leads you to think, just how many cycles do lemurians go through?
❥ he has many nicknames for you. whenever you’re upset, he’ll laugh at you and call you a “baby pufferfish.” if you’re look extra pretty that day, he’ll call you “my pearl.” if you’re struggling within his grasp he’ll call you a “cute little minnow.” rafayel is incredibly affectionate and loyal, so all the pet names he uses on you he doesn’t use with any one else—even the human ones he’s adopted like “cutie” or “darling.”
one of his favorites, though, is the one he calls you when he’s in heat. “my nest,” he says whenever he has full intention of filling you with his eggs. it’s his way of telling you that the most precious and vulnerable part of him belongs to you, because you are a nest for his babies <3.
unedited. wrote this while taking a break from finishing his fic bc I forget just how rich Sylus is.
It's rare, but occasionally Sylus gets you mad. And the victim of your rage isn't him... but his bank account — specifically, the black card he's given you to use.
"Serves him right. I hope you go broke," you bitterly muttered, purchasing whatever comes to sight.
Usually, you're adamant about not using his money, specifically this card, despite his constant reminder to use it without guilt.
But when he finally comes home, days without warning or contacting you, with his clothes covered in blood and face full of exhaustion, that breaks the camel's back for you.
The result —
A new dining set, this time plated with gold. -$5k.
A new set of diamonds and pearls. -$9k.
A new Camaleonda sofa set. -$25k.
A Hästens bed set that you'll be using alone. -$150,000k.
So when Sylus gets a phone call asking if these purchases were fraudulent or if he would want to lock his card in case it was stolen, he chuckles while he taps his finger on his desk, smirking.
cute. so so cute.
He informs the banker on the other line, “No, run those purchases through."
"But sir, are you sure...? Whoever this is, they've also purchased 100 kitty plushies?"
Unfazed, Sylus responded, "That’s just my future wife throwing a tantrum. She’s cute, no?”
"I-I see."
How adorable and naive were you to think this would ever bother him — no, it excited him even more whenever you decided to challenge him, especially when you didn't allow him to touch you ever since he's gotten back.
And before he ends the call, he orders, "Send me a list of what she purchases, and make a transfer into that account so she could spend more."
Not too long after, you receive a text from him.
From: Don't You Dare Get Weak And Call Him First 🔪
I expedited that bed, Kitten.
But why don't we put it to good use and give your new plushies a good show, Sweetie?
Tonight.
2087
titsay
yousharknotpass
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
