I'm Going To Hell. Oops.

I haven’t been on Tumblr in a decade. Decided to redownload it because I needed more Love and Deepspace content in my life. Harem girlie. I was born in the 80s (for the blogs that check ages).

[veebeeboo109]

Sanctuary Poly Pile ~ 🧜‍♂️ 🤴 🧙 🤖 👸 🐉

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

Cuuuuuuuuuute

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

Absolutely completely out of wishes, buuuut I got all three cards in 175 pulls. Already watched Rafayel’s and it’s sooooo worth being broke again in the game.

Dying to watch the other two, but I have to get ready to travel out of state for work.

I’m so glad Infold is rerunning banners now. The early relationship cards are really, really good. And now there’s confirmation that we can get the outfits? Oh yes, the cat butler outfits and Xavier’s wolf cut will soon be miiiiine.

[moonlight4angi]

puffer fishy || Rafayel x reader (request)

a/n: this one was a cute request, even though i thought of it wrong the first time 🥹 (request here)

requests are opened !

GENRE: fluffyy

Warnings: MC!reader (idk if it matters), Fem!reader, jelly rafayel

Summary: You were oblivious to any flirting, it drove Rafayel insane. So when a waiter shamelessly flirted with you he made sure to let you know he was jealous and upset.

Word count: 685

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ “it’s my right to be helish, i still get jealous”

navigation ‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅

——•⏾•——

Rafayel always knew you were oblivious.

He just hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until the two of you started dating.

Because apparently, in your world, people just casually gave out their phone numbers, called strangers gorgeous, bought drinks for people “to be polite,” and asked if someone was single strictly for academic purposes.

It drove him insane.

“You’re pretty today.”

You looked up from your menu with a bright smile. “Aw, thank you!”

The waiter smiled back. “Pretty enough that I almost forgot your boyfriend was sitting right there.”

You laughed politely. Politely. Rafayel lowered his menu very slowly.

“And what can I get for you, sir?” the waiter asked, straining a smile.

“The strength to endure this conversation,” Rafayel replied flatly.

You almost laughed, but instead nudged him under the table. “Don’t be rude.”

The waiter left a minute later, suspiciously smiley and absolutely shameless.

The second he disappeared, Rafayel leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Silent, and very pouty.

You looked up from your drink, “…Are you mad?”

“No.” His lips were pushed forward so much he genuinely resembled an offended puffer fish.

“Rafayel.” Nothing.

“Raf.” Still nothing.

His cheeks looked slightly puffed out now too, multicoloured eyes narrowed at the window like the entire ocean had personally betrayed him.

Poor Raf was sulking.

You bit back a smile. “You look constipated.”

“I look heartbroken.”

“Is there a difference?”

“A significant one.”

You laughed softly, reaching across the table to poke his cheek. It was firm from how hard he was pouting.

“You look like you belong in the ocean as a puffer fish.” A finger still poking at his cheeks.

He let out an offended gasp, “I do not!”

“You absolutely do.”

“I’m suffering.”

“You’re puffing.”

Rafayel grabbed your wrist dramatically before you could poke him again.

“Cutie,” he said with deep betrayal, “that man was flirting with you in front of me.”

Your brows furrowed. “…No he wasn’t.”

Rafayel stared at you for a long moment before dropping his head onto the table with a muffled groan.

“He literally said he forgot I existed because you were pretty.”

“Oh.” You paused. “I thought he was joking.”

“He was testing the boundaries of my self-restraint.”

You smiled helplessly. “I genuinely didn’t notice.”

“I know,” Rafayel mumbled into the table. “That’s why I can’t even be properly angry.”

That was the problem. If you were entertaining people on purpose, maybe he could’ve acted annoyed.

But you always looked so genuinely confused afterward.

You slid your hand into his purple hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Instantly, Rafayel melted a little, making him finally lift his head from the table.

“Now, why are you glaring at the salt shaker?” You tilt your head to meet his eyes.

“It’s representing him.”

You stared at him for two seconds before bursting into laughter loud enough that nearby tables glanced over.

Rafayel looked deeply offended by your reaction.

“You mock my pain.”

“You compared a waiter to table salt.”

“He was a piranha that was seasoned with audacity.”

That only made you laugh harder.

Rafayel watched you for a moment, expression slowly softening despite himself. Honestly, this happened so often that he should’ve been used to it by now.

Someone flirted with you. You failed to notice.

Rafayel puffed up like an emotionally compromised sea creature.

Then you looked at him like he personally changed the tides, and suddenly he forgot how to stay upset.

A tragic cycle…for him at least.

You leaned across the table, smiling sweetly.“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“I am not cute, I’m expressing anguish.”

“You look like you’re about to float away.”

Rafayel narrowed his eyes.

Then, with all the dignity of a dramatic marine deity, he leaned forward and stole a quick kiss from you right there in the restaurant.

Just enough to leave you blinking afterward.

“There,” he said smugly, sitting back down. “Now everyone knows you’re taken.”

You touched your face, flustered.

“…That was unnecessary.”

“And yet highly satisfying.”

His pout had completely vanished now.

You squinted at him. “You just wanted attention.”

He shrugged, “Fine, I surrender!” He had a cheeky smile stuck on his face.

a/n: how is it…hopefully you guys liked it! i found this super cute, i would love to make more jealous raf in the future.

[irandial]

KOD Rerun!!

Constellations! Catch your king and get yourself an exciting horse ride! 💖

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

I *highly* recommend this companion and myth to anyone who loves Xavier. The companion is fun as hell to fight with (although I am STILL stuck at light 160 dammit) and the myth itself was just… ugh. It was both soul crushing and hopeful.

In case anyone can’t tell, King Xavier has my heart.

I’ve got him R2 already so I’m not going to pull on this one. But if anyone is on the fence, get him. You won’t be disappointed.

[colonelkaboom]

Imaginary Friend

Chapter 1 - The Stowaway

The Rêve is setting sail with a new crew member eager to prove himself, a stowaway hiding below deck, and the secrets she uncovered a little too late. Following them closely is a tailed creature so captivatingly beautiful and impossibly strong he has to be a figment of her imagination, right? Caleb seems to think so, but you know that’s not the case. You know Rafayel…

ll Chapter 1 ⋆˚࿔ Chapter 2 ⋆˚࿔ Chapter 3 ⋆˚࿔ Chapter 4 ll

⋆˚࿔ Pirate!Caleb x Merman!Rafayel x Reader ⋆˚࿔ Read on ao3 ll Word count: 5.2k ⋆˚࿔ Fantasy au, angst with a happy ending, mild violence, attempted sexual assault (not by LI), forced nudity, walking the plank, jealousy, soul bonds, eventual smut, eventual polyamory

The soothing sway of a ship at sea, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of saltwater and sunshine, and a view stretched to the horizon where the sun drowns in the deep blue of endless treasure – except, real life was nothing like what you envisioned… 

A great storm has just descended upon the rickety old vessel you will call home for the foreseeable future. Any memory of gentle breezes long forgotten in the waves that hold such force your head has been thrust against the interior walls of the ship more times than you can count. If only you could ask Caleb to kiss it better, like he always did. 

Too bad he has no idea you snuck onto the ship that was supposed to take him away from you indefinitely. Too bad he’s running around on deck in some futile attempt at saving the sails from the relentless weather. Too bad he’ll probably hate you for being on this damn boat in the first place. But he needs you, just like you need him.

Wood creaks and bends causing deep, threatening rumbles from both the ship and the sky to reverberate in the hollow space around you. It’s cold, damp and dark this far below deck and there’s no way for you to escape the puddle you’re sitting in. You’re completely soaked, courtesy of the leaking ship spewing seawater down upon you from the endless number of unsealed cracks in the hull.

The one thing that brought you comfort, despite the unfortunate situation you had put yourself in, was that you knew Rafayel was nearby. The warmth spreading through your chest reminds you of his close proximity. If it comes down to it, he’ll save both you and Caleb from the monstrous waves. 

When Rafayel shared the rumors he had heard floating around, you immediately ran to find Caleb. The journey from your home to the harbour was not that long, but long enough to make you arrive late in the evening when the ship was already prepared for departure. Caleb was nowhere to be found, and even if you did find him, having that conversation with him aboard the ship was far too risky.

There was no way Caleb knew what he had signed up for by joining the crew of this ship. If he was aware of their secret plotting he would never have signed that contract, right? You chose to assume that he was unaware, which left him vulnerable and an easy target should they need to tie up loose ends. If only you had made it to the docks in time to talk to him before they were due to set sail, all this could have been avoided.

The Rêve was set to ‘explore’ the deep sea, to chart out and draw up new maps of the vast open waters. Whispers among the more senior crew members alluded to far more sinister intentions – intentions that hit a bit too close to home for your tailed friend. 

You can feel him right now, as if he’s reaching for you through the ship. You can practically hear his voice humming a lulling melody in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

‘Raf, I’m scared. I shouldn’t have done this, it was foolish. But I couldn’t let Caleb go alone, I just couldn’t!’

Your mind races with the knowledge of the potential cruelties Caleb has signed up to take part in. Rafayel's broken expression when he spoke about the Rêve's secret mission is permanently etched into your brain. Silent and controlled anger.

The humming grows louder as if he’s inviting you to join him. With clapping teeth and a shivering voice, you stutter out the same melody he is chanting so beautifully.

Thunder relentlessly pounds, your clothes are soaking wet and you’re freezing, but that pain is quickly drowned out by the sound of Rafayel’s voice and the warmth of him being nearby. The rest of the world blurs as your mind and body grows fuzzy and numb. And with his unyielding comfort, your tired body succumbs to sleep at last. 

“Pipsqueak? What the hell are you doing here!” Caleb’s familiar voice carries a rare sense of anger in his urgent whisper that has never been directed at you before. 

His large body bends awkwardly over yours, shielding you from anything but him as his hands clamp down firmly on your shoulders, shaking you awake. Wide eyed and brows furrowed in a confused mix of terror and anger. 

“I-I… Ehh…” you stutter, mostly because you have no idea how to best approach the topic but also because you’re freezing cold. 

“You can’t be here. Why, why, why are you here? Do you have any idea what these guys do to stowaways? Do you have any idea what they’ll do to…” he pauses for a moment as his eyes flicker down your curled up body covered in wet clothes. Your scared eyes meet his equally terrified ones after he has finished the initial evaluation of your appearance. “…Do you have any idea what they’ll do to you?” He doesn’t even want to think about that, even alluding to it makes him want to scream. 

“I…” you sigh, shamefully. “… I just couldn’t let you go, Caleb. We’re family, we always have been.” 

“Me taking on this job wouldn’t change that, pips. What’s really botherin’ you?”

“Do you… do you know what sort of exploration mission you’ve signed up for?”

His lips part slightly and his eyes flicker between you and the stairs leading to the upper decks. With a heavy sigh his gaze drops to your lap where your fingers twitch restlessly. 

“I don’t know the details, but I’ve gathered that we might be doin’ more than just explore and draw maps…”

“Did you suspect anything before you boarded the ship? Before you left, you told me to trust you.”

“I thought the captain seemed shady, but I needed employment, so…” His eyes find yours again. “Wait… How do you know anything?”

“Rafayel heard some of the crew discussing the true purpose of this mission at the harbor the day you were to set sail,” you answer truthfully. 

Caleb shakes his head and lets out an annoyed puff of air. You know why he’s annoyed, he always gets like this when you talk about Rafayel. 

“You’re still on that? Pips, you’re an adult. How are you still trusting your imaginary friend over me?”

“He’s not imaginary, I’ve tried to tell you that for years!” Caleb’s hand flies up to cover your mouth. 

Murmurs and grumbles can be heard from above along with wood creaking under heavy boots signaling someone is on the move. He urges your body lower onto the floor behind a crate. 

The damp air is thick and suffocating, far too heavy for satisfactory breathing — so, you don’t. As soon as the first weighty step lands on top of the staircase, your lungs cease their already strained movements. 

Caleb shuffles around a bit, making it look like he’s still attempting to complete the task that sent him down here in the first place. Out of the corner of his eye, he still sees you. The tip of a boot peeking out from behind your wooden shield reminding him that the only thing he values in his life has left herself exposed to unknown evils. 

“There ya are, lil whelp. How’s she holdin’ up after the storm?” The unfavorable nickname does not pass by unnoticed, yet it’s the man’s choice of pronouns that catch both yours and Caleb’s attention. 

You both know the man is referring to the ship, but for a split second it feels like he’s talking about you. Every muscle in your body is tense to the point of being painful. The ache spreads like poison from each frozen joint and seeps deep into your muscles. You have had to draw breath at this point, but the pungent alcoholic stench, courtesy of this new arrival, made you long for stronger lungs — or perhaps, lungs that surpassed those of a feeble human. 

“She’s strong. The hull seems intact. Other than the damage to the starboard railings, she’s in shipshape,” Caleb declares and gives the ship a few gentle pats with his hand. In the other he’s now holding a hammer. 

A humble tool, a necessity in any carpenter's toolkit. It could also be a deadly weapon if wielded correctly. Caleb is certain he can take down his superior if it comes to it. Taking down the entire rest of the crew might be a slightly bigger task. 

“Good, see to it that the railin’ is fixed quickly. Wouldn’t want any of those fuck nuggets on deck turnin’ into shark bait, eh?” The boatswain chuckles grimly. “After all, sharks ain’t what we’re here for.”

“What are we here for exactly?” Caleb drags the words, adding a nonchalant flair to the burning question. 

The boatswain chuckles again, walking his heavy boots closer to Caleb’s withdrawn figure. Each step elicits a hollow sound from the deep mixed with ominous creaks of stiff leather, creating a medley of obvious ill intent.

“Ah, but why would you need to know that, pup? I suggest you stick to your hammers and nails and let us old seadogs handle the big fish, savvy?”

Out of the corner of your eye you can make out their subtle movements in the shadows. The boatswain doesn’t seem to be any physically larger than Caleb, but it is clear that the ship's hierarchy has been invoked and promptly honored by the lower ranking man. 

“Aye,” Caleb’s voice rumbles, frustrated by a lack of conviction due to his inferior status.

The other man chuckles victoriously before taking determined steps away from Caleb and back up the stairs. Distant murmurs from the crew are almost completely drowned out by the crashing waves and patter of rain on the upper deck. 

“Seems like the storm isn’t quite done with us yet. Better hold on tight, pipsqueak.” His voice is firm, bordering on commanding. Without even glancing in your direction he takes his tools and makes for the stairs. 

“Wait! What about me?” You pitifully call out.

He ponders for a moment too long as a deafening silence leadened with unfinished business settles between you. 

“Well, pips. You dug your own grave, now it’s up to me to make sure you don’t fall into it.” 

Caleb leaves you to marinate in disappointment and shame as your mind begins preparing for the very real possibility of your voyage ending in the belly of a shark. 

‘Does that make me the fuck nugget? What even is a fuck nugget?’ 

Right as you’re about to slip into thoughts darker than the depths of the ocean itself, that warm presence you crave so profoundly returns to fill the empty crater in your chest. 

You hadn’t realized how incomplete you felt before Rafayel inadvertently became the piece you didn’t know you were missing. The devouring emptiness caused by Caleb’s absence became slightly less threatening with Rafayel’s soul offering companionship from beyond your floating prison. He made you complete, but so did Caleb. They each own a piece of your heart and right now there is a Caleb shaped bruise blooming that even Rafayel will not be able to soothe. 

‘I wish I could see you, Raf. Caleb’s mad at me, which I do understand to an extent but, surely he must understand my reasons for coming, right?’

He can’t hear your thoughts, even if it feels like he can sometimes. Your emotions however, those he’s able to sniff out from great distances. Particularly those big, scary ones that always has you craving his warm embrace. That embrace is just out of reach, so he offers you the next best thing which rains down upon you in the form of his voice humming one of those beautiful melodies that leave you drunk on his comfort. 

No matter how upset Caleb is with you for the choices you made, he can never abandon you or let you suffer the consequences if he can help lessen them. So, every day he brings you scraps of food and water, he procured an extra blanket to help keep you warm, and he’d given you one of his linen shirts so you’d have dry clothes.

Time passes without your knowledge. A few slivers of daylight make their way through the small gaps in the hull but on gloomier days it is barely noticeable. If not for Caleb, you would probably have gone mad. 

You begin worrying for Rafayel too. He’s been tracking the ship since you left the harbour, his stubbornness no doubt fueling each kick of his tail. Surely even he would need to rest at some point? 

A loud rumble awakens you from your sleep. At first you assume it’s thunder, yet another storm to make this hell even worse. But then, you see a body slumped at the bottom of the staircase you’re currently hiding under. 

Caleb.

A myriad of heavy boots stomp down the stairs toward Caleb’s body as you cower in the corner. He’s not unconscious, carefully tilting his chin up at the rest of the crew as they descend. Purple eyes find yours in the dim light, but only for a moment before they are back on the burly men. 

“So, pup. Where are you hiding the extra food, eh?” You recognize the voice of the boatswain from a few days ago. Or has it been a week? 

“I haven’t hidden it. I ate it. I know I shouldn’t have, but I’m not used to so little food.”

He’s lying. They don’t know you’re here. As long as you remain hidden, there’s still a chance.

“And the blanket that we suddenly can’t find? Did you eat that too, whelp?” Another voice asks, raspy and hoarse. No doubt a heavy smoker.

“I, ah. I don’t know anything about the blanket.” He’s doing his best to remain somewhat calm, but you know him too well to believe it. 

The boatswain yanks Caleb up by the collar of his shirt and thrusts him against the hull. A panicked gasp is muffled by your own hand as the back of his head meets wood. 

Most of the crew is watching the handling of their newest member, but a few wander, inspecting the space diligently. Acting out orders no doubt. Caleb quickly glances in your direction again when one of the men starts getting dangerously close. You’re trapped. And you’ve trapped Caleb too.

“I, I think I might have used a blanket to carry some materials the other day!” He suddenly exclaims, stuttering and unconvincing. 

“Ah!” You shriek as a cold, calloused hand grips your bare ankle pulling you across the splintered flooring. The only thing you’re wearing is your boots, Caleb’s linen shirt and your underwear, leaving much of your body exposed to scrape against wood. It also leaves you exposed to the haunting gazes of the crew.

“No!” Caleb screams as he attempts to push the boatswain away. Although he succeeded in his task, other members soon have him pinned in place.

“Well, well, well. This one is very pretty. How rude of you not to share, pup.” The boatswain makes his way over to your trembling body, now held tight with your arms behind your back by the man who found you. 

“Shut up,” you and Caleb simultaneously hiss at the disgusting comment. 

A shrill laugh erupts from the man, soon accompanied by the rest of the crew.

“Get the Captain, I have a feeling he’s gonna like this.” 

Then you’re dragged away. You do your best to stop the movement by hooking the tip of your boot against every step of the staircase until someone seizes control of your legs too.

You thrash and kick against their firm grips, no doubt bruising your limbs. They thought they could handle the prey they caught –  you’d do your best to prove them wrong. Being outnumbered and physically inferior doesn't matter. Each touch from their unpleasant hands meant to subdue and weaken only makes you stronger, angrier. Eager for revenge in the form of your escape and their demise.

The fire in your chest burns for more than just yourself. It burns for Caleb and Rafayel too, and their anger and fear further fuels your determination. Someone’s hand slips sending one of your kicks straight into their abdomen. The man tumbles backwards in a similar way to how Caleb did a short while ago. 

With him out of the way, you can see Caleb again. He’s in a similar position to you; pinned down and thrashing against the men who surround him. Caleb is strong as hell, you know this. But you also know that right now he’s distracted by the thought of what might happen to you. A glint of dulled silver catches the light from above deck; a dagger. One of the men that hold you carries one of similar size to Rafayel’s. The one he’s been teaching you how to wield. If you can get your hands on it, you might have a chance.

The sun blinds you. Weeks in the dark has left your eyes rather sensitive and the bright light burns. There’s ruckus going on behind you and you can only assume they’ve started dragging Caleb up the stairs too. Your loose linen shirt flows in the breeze, and for a moment you allow yourself to take a deep breath. The first taste of fresh air in far too long. Your knees get pushed down onto the deck, freeing your legs of their dirty hands. Your arms remain locked behind you. The dagger is right there, hanging off the belt of the guy to your left. 

“She hasn’t done anything, let her go!” Caleb pleads, maintaining a threatening tone despite his fears. 

“That’s not up to you to decide.” A new voice emerges from behind you; the captain you presume.  

Caleb is forced to his knees a few meters away from you. Clearly they have less faith in you fighting back than him, as his hands are instantly tied to the mast. He looks angry, until his eyes find yours and he instantly softens. He shouldn’t let them see, he should pretend not to care. Although he’d never admit it, you know you’re his weakness. 

“Ohh, what do we have here? Did you bring your lil bitch for us to play with, whelp?” The captain crouches down to meet you face to face, so close that you can smell his rotting teeth.

“Touch her and you’re dead,” Caleb hisses. Any sense of fear washed away by anger and the need to protect. 

The captain simply laughs, and the rest of the crew follow suit. The sound of their vile chuckles along with the chilled sea breeze has your body erupting in goosebumps. 

Whilst the captain has his back turned, you take the chance to get the dagger. You turn to your left and bite the guy's hand, hard. He responds by slapping you across the face with such force that you slip out of the hold that had you restrained. You can hear Caleb whimper at the sight, but you don’t let it affect you. This is the only chance you’ve got. While the crew are still busy laughing at your hunched form you lunge and grab the dagger, quickly slicing the owner’s arm when he tries to take it back. 

With a skillful flick of your wrist you spin the dagger around in your hand, just like Rafayel does when he wants to impress you. You would have preferred a second dagger so both your hands were armed, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

Caleb looks horrified, still fighting against the rope which has him tied to the mast. 

“Oh, she wants to play, how cute,” the captain says, smiling at you in a way that has you shivering again. 

He draws his sword. You’ve never fought against a sword before. 

“Pips…” Caleb’s voice breaks. You glance at him with a look that hopefully tells him to hold it together – to trust you. 

“Pips, huh? I can get used to that. Suits a sweet little bitch such as yer self,” he says, all condescending and cocky. The captain looks you up and down as if he already owns you. Then, he lunges.

The move is quick, surprisingly so considering how haggard he looks. You dodge easily. Rafayel always said you looked clumsy when sparring with him, but that the clumsiness didn’t hinder your efficiency. He’d even mentioned how you could probably use it to your advantage, to trick your opponent into thinking you were struggling. When the captain lunges again, you purposefully let yourself fall backwards before instantly pushing forward to swipe at his thigh. It’s not a deep cut, but enough to make him hurt. 

Lunge, dodge, attack. The altercation drags on, without a clear end in sight. You’re not tired, like he is. But your little dagger is proving to be a slight disadvantage against his sword. 

Caleb is struggling. The skin on his wrists is red, raw and bloody from the continued battle to free himself from the rope. Occasionally he’ll catch some of the crew snickering at him, enjoying seeing their little pup suffer. They are nothing but blurry figures and mumbles, his only focus is on you and the captain. You’re doing well. Had the circumstances been different, he’d be proud of your skills. Then he’d interrogate you on who taught you to fight like that, because it was not he who taught you this skill. Now, all he feels is fear and anger. He feels powerless.

“What are ye hoping to get outta this, lil wench? Did you think you could just tag along and no one would bother you or your lapdog over there?”

You can’t tell him why you boarded the ship. You can’t tell him that you know they’re doing something illegal. That would make you a loose end that they’d need to tie up. They’d probably kill you. They’d probably kill Caleb too…

You stay quiet and opt for attempting another attack. The captain’s long sword blocks the dagger, catching at the cross-guard, grazing your finger in the process. 

The dagger falls to the floor next to the captain's feet, the thud of metal against wood echoes in your mind as you realize you have been left completely defenceless. He slowly bends down, keeping his eyes fixed on you, and smiles once the dagger rests in his hand. 

“No!” Caleb shouts angrily. Sweat trickles down his forehead and neck, wetting his shirt that clings to his muscles as they fight the restraints. “Leave her alone, she hasn’t done anything!”

“Ahh, but we’re having so much fun, right pips?” Hearing the nickname from someone other than Caleb makes you sick – hearing it from the captain makes you furious. 

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, threatening to make you reckless and irrational. But what options do you have left? If not for the fact that Caleb is watching and also in danger, you’d have jumped ship. Instead, you allow instinct to take over. Catching the captain of guard when his focus momentarily shifts to Caleb, you plant your fist against his jaw with as much force as you can manage. He stumbles backwards for a moment, but before you have time to hit him again, your arms are locked behind you. The large, burly boatswain has you trapped in his grasp. 

“Alright, I think I’ve had enough fun with you,” the captain snarls and stomps in your direction. You refuse to show fear, leaving only anger visible on your face. He scrutinizes you for a moment longer, flaring his nostrils in disgust, before turning to address Caleb. “Who’s she to you?”

When Caleb doesn’t respond, the man next to him slaps his cheek. Hard enough to leave an angry red imprint on his fair skin. Caleb remains quiet, meeting the captain’s hard exterior with a cold stare. 

“Cousin?” The captain questions, taking a moment to see if anything stirs in the man's purple gaze. “Friend? Sister?” Caleb remains steady, barely even blinking as the captain continues the interrogation. “A lover then? Or, perhaps, a simple whore. Paid to deliver you pleasure and make you feel less lonely.”

The repulsive accusation has you and Caleb seething, and the captain unfortunately notices. “Ha, must be getting closer then, eh? Does she let you touch her? Have you pushed your tiny cock inside her? Bet it was nice and warm, eh?”

Caleb looks like he’s about to bite the captain's head off. If you were standing closer, you would have probably done so already. The crew hums around you, finding humor in your misery. 

“Shut up!” You shout, eager for the interrogation to end. “We’re friends. We grew up together.”

“Haha!” The captain erupts in laughter, and the rest of the crew quickly join in before the captain has even had time to let them in on whatever he found so amusing. His eyes move between the two of you for a moment before finally landing on Caleb again. “Then I’m assuming your cock is still dry, right pup? Wouldn’t wanna defile your sweet childhood friend, eh?”

For the first time since the captain started asking questions, you see it — Caleb’s facade is showing cracks. His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, then to you, and back to the captain. There’s no time to ponder over his reaction, your heart is beating faster than you can keep up with and your breathing is getting erratic. Panic is creeping in. 

You don’t know how you’re going to get you both out of this. 

“Well, yer lucky I take pity on you, pup,” the captain says as he saunters back over to you. “I’ll let you look at her, no touching, but you’ll get to look,” he stops right in front of you, close enough to let you smell his horrid breath again, “and then, the bitch walks the plank.”

The crew roars in excitement whilst you and Caleb thrash wildly against your restraints. You swear you can hear the wooden mast Caleb is tied to creak with his forceful movements. With a sudden jolt, you toss your head back, hitting the boatswain in the throat. The crew are on you in an instant, grabbing at your bare skin and tugging at your shirt as they try to restrain you again. 

“Enough!” The captain declares with a voice that carries above all the ruckus. You don’t stop trying to break free until you see it; Caleb, still tied up and panting heavily, and the captain hovering over him with a gun to his head.

“No,” you whisper, “no, no, no…”

“Ready to cooperate now?” He asks, giving the gun to the boatswain who has finally regained his breath. The man instantly crouches down next to Caleb and takes hold of his chin with dirty fingers. The captain’s attention is back on you now, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Caleb and the gun that kisses his cheek. 

“I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t kill him,” you whimper. Weak and pathetic, you think, chiding yourself for giving in. 

“Pips, don’t –” Caleb starts before the boatswain cuts him off by pressing the barrel firmly against his cheek.

“I won’t kill him. I meant what I said before, I don’t waste time on lies – I’ll let him look, and then you’re walking the plank. I’m sure the sharks would love a taste of your blood,” the captain says, swiping a grimy finger against the cut on your cheek. 

He lets that same finger trail down your cheek, down your throat, across your collarbones, before landing on the string that ties the collar of your shirt. He unties the simple knot in one quick motion and lets the tip of the dagger he took from you scrape across the now bare skin of your chest. 

“You ready, whelp?” The words are meant for Caleb, but his attention remains on you. 

You lock eyes with Caleb, seeking comfort in those familiar purple eyes, a comfort he is unable to provide you in this moment. His eyes are drowning in dread and terror as he is forced to watch whatever the captain has in store for you. He’d rather die than witness such horror, but he can’t leave you alone. So he does his best to stay still and not give the boatswain any reason to pull the trigger. You do the same.

The captain grabs the open collar of your shirt and lets the dagger slice the fabric down to your ribs. This time, he doesn’t let it graze your skin. His smile is predatory and cruel. Clearly pleased with revealing such a treasure to himself, his crew, and Caleb. The captain hums as the cold breeze touches your bare breasts. If not for the distant gulls and gentle waves you could have heard a pin drop. 

Caleb keeps his gaze locked on yours, doing his best to offer comfort. He doesn’t look at your chest, not once. You don’t need more prying eyes violating your body, he doesn’t want to let his be amongst them.

“What do you think, whelp? Did you imagine them bigger, smaller, or just like this?” 

Once again, Caleb chooses to remain silent. This time, the boatswain isn’t willing to dish out options. “Speak!” He demands, tightening his grip on Caleb’s chin.

“I haven’t –” Caleb is cut off yet again, this time by another crew member kicking his ribs.

“Don’t lie,” the man spits, readying another kick in case the demand still isn’t met.

“I… They’re p-perfect,” he stutters, letting his eyes leave yours for a moment as shame overtakes him.

The captain chuckles, thankfully satisfied with Caleb’s confession. “I must agree with him, pips. A shame really to deliver you to the sharks. But, like I said, I don’t waste time on lies.” With a heavy sigh, the captain takes one last look at you before he orders the men restraining you to guide you to the side of the ship. 

Once your back is turned and you’ve taken the first step onto the plank that has been laid out to deliver you to your doom, you hear Caleb making one final attempt to plead for your life. 

“Wait, wait, please. Let me go with her!” He begs, any remanence of his unbreakable facade long gone at this point. 

You try to turn around to look at him one final time but you're instantly hindered when someone kicks the plank you’re walking on causing it to wobble and you to momentarily lose your balance. Once you’ve steadied yourself, you defiantly turn to face him anyways.

“It’s ok, Caleb. I’ll be fine,” you smile as tears slowly trickle down your cheeks. 

“Pips, I…” You’re too far away to hear him over the waves crashing below, but you can see his lips move.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

You barely have time to register what’s happening when the Captain suddenly snatches the gun out of the boatswain’s hand and stomps over to you.

“Stop wasting my time,” he says grimly and fires the gun at your feet. 

With a screech you stumble backwards into the depths. The last thing you hear before the water claims you is the sound of Caleb’s voice crying out your name.

AN: This has been sitting in my drafts, completed, since September. I just never posted it because I got stuck on the plot for the next chapters. But, I've got some great friends who have been very supportive and it's thanks to them that I'm feeling brave enough to post. It'll be multi chapter, but not that many. I've got a vague idea for three chapters right now, but I think there will be a couple more after that. Hope you liked it, and stay tuned for more! Thanks for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! If anyone is interested in being added to the taglist, let me know!

Taglist: @babyx91 @lemurianmaster @morrigan87 @dawnbreakerswife @seraphimcollections @plzdonutpercieveme @dailydoseofanimeawesome @paneratargaryen4312 @sapphic-daze @marinenox @lemonehem @diaflower @luvinbloom @raendarkfaerie @lotusapple-xia @atzeroo @azure-nevermore @deepspacenova @wackyquacky @freeprincesslove @wetforsylus @iridescentshine @youkoden @beaconsxd @gardenialily @itsnotjanii @colizionbetweeensapphires @lalaland109 @seiims @kingraspberry12-blog

ll Read more: Masterlist ll © Colonel Kaboom ll

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

Oooooooh! I like!

[veebeeboo109]

Why do these two look like they’re about to take you out back behind the club in 2013 and show you what it’s like to be a support beam on the Eiffel Tower??

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

I am a weak, weak woman lol

[birf]

they’re wrong for not letting me save this line

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

OF COURSE this card comes out while I’m on a beach vacation. They conveniently released the trailer the same day I went all out on shopping and taco Tuesday (it was also cinco de mayo).

I might have to skip 😭 I don’t need another red stella for battles. I’m stuck at Ice Orbit 180, but what I really need is a yellow. The only reason to pull is because I WANT THAT CARD DAMMIT (and also I would really like to 100% the OG3).

Btw, if anyone saw a drunk woman on the beach last night yelling at the ocean for Rafayel, I promise it wasn’t me. 😇

[dogleb]

come... just like that.

[lyrisnightblood]

Qi Resort (only open for one cutie)

Summary: when your entire week is shit, you have 2 options for a weekend: go on a mini vacay, or stay in and rest. Fortunately, your boyfriend made both possible.

Pairings & tags: Rafayel x female reader, fluff, exhausted reader, miss hunter reader, use of canon nicknames (darling, cutie), pure comfort, self indulgent.

Notes: inspired by @vixenofthemist 's post (thanks for letting me write this! I had fun writing this💐)

Credit to @qintten for the banner

Being a Deepspace Hunter is tiring as hell.

Sure, it sounds so cool and badass to say "yeah, I kill monsters and save civillians for a living", and yeah, it is cool to be in a profession that's the closest to a superhero, because that's what a Deepspace Hunter is to those who don't know much about the job description. Like, wanderers appear and threaten to hurt people, and these guys swoop in and enter the protofields to kill those monsters and save people, yeah? Sounds cool, right?

WRONG!

Those words are just making the job appear cooler than it is, so that many youngsters are willing to become a Deepspace Hunter.

But you, you, knew better. You, who had entered the UNICORNS Team to make a difference and protect the people. You, who had rised in ranks pretty quickly and became the best Deepspace Hunter, like you had promised to yourself and those around you. You, who had been invited as a guest speaker to your alma mater, with head held high and pride in your chest as you delivered a lecture on how Deepspace Hunters contribute to the society and what are your goals.

You were no naive wide-eyed student that had entered the Deepspace Academy years ago, and you knew that the real job of a Deepspace Hunter existed far beyond the battlefield. In fact, only thirty-three percent of your job included actual fighting and training for the same.

Then what about the remaining sixty-seven percent?

Paperwork. With a capital P.

No one warned you about the paperworks. Not your guides at the Deepspace Academy. Not your seniors. Not the Hunters Association. Not even Captain Jenna.

You would think, "Hey, we just stopped that wanderer from destroying the City Hall, that's nice, right?" No that's not nice. Because while you did that, you had also accidentally caused damage to the infrastructure (read: the destruction of a few chairs and a dent on the wall from the protofield recoil as it collapsed on itself after you were done with it).

And the worst part? It wasn't even your fault! The protofields of a dying wanderers are just that messy! That's a reason why atleast one member deployed in any battle is a specialist in protofield containment.

But you were on-site when the metaflux coalesced into a wanderer, and you couldn't wait until backup arrived from the association - civilians were already at risk, and their panicking at the sight of the hearte knaves invading the City Hall only made them more susceptible to wanderer attacks. So you had to jump in, which resulted in a successful battle and…. Minor damages to public property.

But yeah, the fact that people's lives would be at risk if you had delayed mattered nothing to the city Mayor, who accused you of public property damage and inducing fear among civillians, and demanded a formal apology and reparation from the UNICORNS. And unfortunately, the Hunters Association had to comply - yeah sure, Jenna let you off with essentially a slap on the wrist (and that too only to appease to the mayor) and the rest of your team was equally livid, but this was the reality of being a Deepspace Hunter - you save civillians on Monday morning, kill wanderers that threaten to usurp society after lunch, and spend the rest of the week writing elaborate apologies and statements and public damage reports until your system gives up on you.

And today's incident was the cherry on the top of a long, disastrous week.

"I fucking hate it here Raf!" You whine into your phone as you edit your report, recounting to your boyfriend the incidents of the week. "And to make it worse I booked a bus ticket, and then bought one as I boarded the bus! Ugh, I'm a mess…."

"Wait…" Rafayel blinked, before laughing. "You what?"

"Don't laughhhhh!!!" You whine as you hit your head against the desk in a dull thud. "And yeah, I forgot I had already got the ticket on the app, and bought another one."

Rafayel snorted, laughing at your misfortune. "I see you're enjoying my sufferings," you add, giving him the side eye through your phone camera.

"Okay okay, I'm sorry I'm sorry, I won't laugh," he says, still chuckling. "You really do have the worst week huh."

"You don't say," you murmur, looking at Rafayel sadly. "This week sucks. I want a vacation. Too bad I can't apply for one…" you sigh sadly before turning to your system as you continue with the report.

Rafayel, still smiling, narrows his eyes at you. "You do realise that your boyfriend owns a beachfront property on an island that is removed from the bustle of the city, don't you?" And as you turn to Rafayel, his smile softens a bit. "How about this: you finish up your work and come straight to my place, and I'll give you the best mini-vacation that you deserve. How does that sound, cutie?"

You have never edited a report that fast in your life.

An hour later, you find yourself getting down at Whitesand Bay, where Rafayel is already waiting for you at the station. You don't hesitate - you throw yourself into his arms, mumble a grateful "i love you so much raf" into his shirt, and let him take care of the rest. The ride back to his place - to home - was blissfully blank, as all you had to do was just exists and zone out. You didn't need to think of say or process anything - Rafayel was more than happy to give you the space to zone out.

Once you got to Mo Studio, you had barely worked yourself out of your boots when Rafayel, already having removed his shoes, picks you up in his arm in one smooth motion, the other one holding your backpack. You squeal at the sudden movement, clinging to his shoulders as he deposits your bag gently on the sofa before carrying you to his bathroom. He set you on the countertop of the ornate sink, before drawing a luxurious bath. Minutes later, you found yourself sinking into the warm water with the most relieved of sighs, and Rafayel - having joined you in the bath, of course - worked on gently scrubbing away the day's exhaustion off your body.

You had almost dozed off - the exhaustion of the day, paired with the warm bath and Rafayel's skillful hands digging deep into your shoulders pulled you into a soothing nap. When you came to, Rafayel had already wrapped you in a fluffy bathrobe and brought you to bed. You blink up at him blearily, but Rafayel gently shushes you with a kiss before you could even open your mouth. "Go to sleep, my darling," he murmurs soothingly as he carded through your now-dry hair (you realise sleepily that he dried your hair for you). "I'll be here when you wake up." You needed no further encouragement, already drifting off to sleep.

~~~~~

You wake up the next day to the sun shining into your face from the glass dome of Rafayel's bedroom. It takes you a minute to reorient yourself and figure out where you are and what time it is. You realise, rubbing your eyes as you look at your phone, that you had slept till midday. Your stomach rumbles violently, reminding you of the dinner that you had skipped in favour of a much needed rest. You yawn wildly, streching your limbs as you think about getting up to search for Rafayel - just when the man himself enters the room, carrying a breakfast-laden tray, and - you blink, rubbing your eyes to check if you're seeing right - wearing a crisp burgundy suit. He sets the tray on your lap and dips into a polite bow, smiling indulgently. "Good afternoon Miss, I see you had a comfortable sleep. I'm glad. Allow me to serve you brunch in bed - an exclusive Qi Resort service offered to only our most esteemed guests."

You blink again, flustered at the attention. "Rafayel, what is-"

"Shh," he places a gloved finger to your lips, still smiling politely, but the twinkle in his eyes tell a different story. "I understand, miss, the week was terrible and you are in need for a vacation. Fortunately we pride ourselves in having one of the best vacation spots in all of Linkon - all you need to do is relax, while our staff would cater to your every need."

"Staff?" You echo, your smile turning playful as you caught on what Rafayel is doing. "I don't see anyone else besides you here, mister…" You pretend reading the nonexistent nametag on his chest, "…Rafayel. How can a single person cater to all my needs?"

Rafayel smiles widely, a mischevious twinkle in his eyes. "Ah, you think we are understaffed. Well, I am happy to inform you that I am the best butler of our institution, and naturally, am assigned to our most precious guest." He spears a berry with a fruit fork, feeding you with a wink. "See? I can do whatever you ask of me, and more."

You chew the fruit, savouring the fresh flavours of the berry. You wonder if he had gotten up early to get the freshest produce at the farmer's market. "Mmmm, it is indeed delicious," you hum, slipping into the role of a satisfied patron with ease. "And you will do whatever I ask?"

"Anything that the miss desires," Rafayel agrees, nodding.

"A foot massage?"

Rafayel perches on the bed, pulling your feet into his lap. "Of course," he replies easily, gently easing out the tension from your tendons.

"How about a jacuzzi bath?"

"That can be easily arranged."

"And if I wanted to soak in the sun?"

"Then I'll be there to remind you to hydrate and put on sunscreen." He works on a particularly tense spot, smiling as you let out a satisfied groan between bites of the brunch he'd prepared.

"Put on sunscreen?" You echo, eyes narrowing playfully. "I didn't know you offered, ah, hands-on services to your guests."

"I did say that I am the best, and our most precious guest gets only the best of everything." And oh, the self assured smirk of his did things to you.

"My my, I do indeed look forward to getting spoiled," you let out a satisfied sigh as you finish the last of your brunch. "But all of these sounds expensive, don't they?"

That only makes Rafayel smile wider, and you're already bracing for a sales pitch. "Why, of course they are expensive, good things comes at a price after all."

"Tell me," he continues, his hands sliding up your calves in a gentle kneading motion, "what other establishment provides a lovely seafront view with included meals, baths and a mini spa session? Even if they do, none of their butlers would be as attentive and good-looking as me, right?" He presses into a sore spot on your calf, and you practically melt into the pillow at how good it felt. He really does know how much your feet hurt and how much you needed this. "After all, I know all your needs and wants, miss." His voice drops an octave lower as he leans closer, effectively succeding in making you blush.

"You're persuasive, I'll give you that," you pretend to grumble even as you hide your smile. "Well then, how much is the price for a weekend getaway?"

Rafayel pulls back, humming as if he's making an important announcment. "Hmm, as I said, our services are rather expensive… But for you, our most beloved guest, we have a special limited-time offer. All of it… for only a hundred kisses per day!" He waves his hand proudly, as if declaring a discount.

You crack at that, unable to keep on the charade anymore. "You…" you burst into a fit of giggles, utterly delighted at your scheming boyfriend. He looks so proud of his little trick, you cannot even pretend to be annoyed at him! "C'mere, you…" You tug at his hand, laughing as Rafayel falls on top of you with an "oof". You waste no time in pulling him into a deep kiss, savouring the way he groans into your mouth as his arms ensnare you into his warm embrace.

Yeah, you're gonna have the best mini-vacation of all times.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

This is incredibly cute!!!

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

I quit smoking cigs about a year ago (I used the game as a reward system - I spent the money on the game that I would have on cigs).

It’s ironic that the latest cards make me feel like I need a damn cigarette after watching them. Holy hell.

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

Sorry I’ve gotten quiet lately. I’m currently dead.

Cause of death?

This guy right here.

When I tell you that I cannot wait until the 30th, I CANNOT wait.

I’m going on vacation next week so I absolutely cannot afford to pull for all five 😭 but I’ve got 150 wishes saved up and a little bit of money set to the side. So we’ll see what happens. I should at least be able to get my OG3 🤞🤞🤞

[qintten]

getting sent to an alternate universe

pairings: all lis x reader (separate)

summary: you got hit by a strange wanderer on your last mission. luckily, you had no serious injuries so you shrug it off with a nap after work. when you wake up, something feels different in the air but you can't pinpoint what.... maybe checking your phone would help?

ps: lads roleswap AU! just a silly little thing! (ᵕ ´ᗜ`) i don't really know where to go with this it just wiggled its way in my brain and. yeah. hey you 🫵 do you wanna write a fic/smau of this au? please go ahead bc this is all i got LMAO

cw: use of gege, use of miss bodyguard and miss hunter, ignore how many times you say what in this you're very disoriented

⭐ 🐦‍⬛ 🐟 ❄️ 🍎... 🔄

⭐ (❄️) xavier ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

🐦‍⬛ (🐟) sylus ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

🐟 (🍎) rafayel ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

❄️ (🐦‍⬛) zayne ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

🍎 (⭐)caleb ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

…..

I need a 100k+ fic of this, STAT. And fan art.

All of these are great, buuuut Zayne as the leader of Onychinus is doing something to me. I need to go lie down lol

[loveanddeephistory]

Curls, Curls, Curls!

About: Rafayel's hair, to me, has always looked like a wavy-curly texture that Rafayel just doesn't know how to care for. Which would make sense, underwater that kind of texture would loosen with the water and only really curl at the ends while damp. I was discussing this with a friend who also has curly hair, and we both squealed at the thought of helping him learn how to care of his hair in that way on land.

Fluff!!!

Nicknames: Lovey, guppy, pearl, cutie 

Reader also has curly hair but the exact texture isn’t specified 

WC: ≈1k

Bathing with Rafayel was a normal occurrence. Beyond the intimacy of being bare, skin to skin in the water, it was just comforting for the both of you. Rafayel surrounded by his element, his beloved resting on his chest. Sometimes you switched. His head would be basically underwater as he rested it against your chest, his ear pressed against your skin to hear and feel your heartbeat.

It was one of those days with the windows open. The curtains billowed in an ocean breeze, carrying salt and the scent of home. Rafayel had his head beneath the water, listening to your heart as your fingers tangle into his hair. It always held a certain wave to it even when dripping wet. Your mind begins to wander as you take a strand and gently roll into a curl between your fingers, before watching it unfurl as you release it to the water. Rafayel lazily opens a single eye from his comfy spot on your chest. Only then does he lift his head above water.

”See something you like, cutie?” He purrs, resting his chin on your sternum next.

”Your hair. It’s so pretty underwater.” You thread your fingers through his hair again, gathering more of it between your fingers. Raf’s eyes immediately shut again. A sound quite reminiscent to a purr escapes him but he doesn’t try to stop it.

”Go on, keep praising me. What else?” 

You chuckle, stroking and running your fingers through his hair. “I love the color, I love the texture, it’s so pretty underwater, and it looks so cute when it dries on land… it’s soft, too. You take good care of your hair.” Rafayel shifts in the tub, sending the water sloshing over the sides as he cages you between his arms. He holds the back of the tub to support himself as he half lifts himself above you.

”I’m never opposed, but what’s gotten into you? I’m not ungrateful but now I think you’re up to something.” He cocks his head in that adorably quizzical way, looking both amused and mildly concerned. Your hand was still in his hair so you gently tug him in for a brief kiss.

”Nooo I’m not up to anything, it’s just…” You eye his hair. He glanced at you, then your arm.

”Cutie. My pearl. What are you thinking?”

“I’m just curious, lovey… have you ever tried styling your hair with its curls?” You tilt your head back at him. He blinks for a moment. He readjusts his position, sitting back on his knees to free his hands. Rafayel touches his wet hair, his quizzical look not leaving.

”Curls? Me? I guess I’ve got kinda wavy hair but I didn’t think it was curly.” 

You readjust your position as well. Rafayel was a vision, bathed in the setting sunlight with water droplets slowly sliding down his body. But your eyes go back up to his hair again. “Yeah. Curly. I know you use good products, but if you let me try styling it differently we might be able to bring out more of those curls. I’ve noticed every time we go swimming or have a bath it starts curling up.” 

Raf grabbed a strand of his own hair to analyze. Squinting at it. With an endeared laugh you gather a handful of water and gently wet the strand. You then take it and roll it into shape before gently squeezing out the excess. Without the weight of the water or sprung back up into a curl. Rafayel blinked in surprise. “Huh. I mean, it doesn’t count if it doesn’t stay like that.” 

“Then let me try something. Please?” You carefully move to stand on your knees as well, leaning in to hug him with a pleading gaze. “Let me style your hair. Just this once?”

Rafayel sighed. Long, heavy. Dramatic. And entirely fake. You see the slight twitch in his lip as he drops his head to the side. “No, no, I see you fighting your hair every wash day. I mustn’t put you through that.”

”Lovey, please? It’ll be fun.” You snuggle in closer, not letting him escape your hug. Rafayel lost the fight with his smile soon after. 

“Fiiiiine. Fine. Let’s see.” You immediately squirm out of the hug, prompting a whine, but you have work to do. You step out of the tug and haphazardly dry yourself off before throwing on a towel. You don’t bother dressing any further as you gather your supplies. Rafayel sits in the tub watching you as you gather the tools.

A brush to de-tangle and help style, the right oils and gels, a bit of curl control cream. A bit of this and that. He didn’t have the exact same texture as you but you’d make do. You bring your tools and bottles over to the table beside the tub. Rafayel eyed them warily.

”You have enough tools and potions, guppy, the bathroom looks like a sea witch’s lair.” He had settled back into the tub. You didn’t ask him to get out, instead opting to bring over a stool to sit on. You roll up your sleeves and wet your hands.

”Yeah, and I’ll turn *you* into a clown fish if you don’t sit still. Got it?” You grab the brush like a wand and point it at him. He puts his hands up in immediate surrender.

”I yield, o powerful sea witch. What’s first?”

”Brushing.” You wiggle it in the air before reaching out to him. Rafayel, to his credit, sits still as you start by brushing the ends of his hair. Lucky for him his hair was pretty neat. The brush slid through the wet hair with ease, allowing you to move quick. “Brushing your hair while wet is good for curly hair, but bad for straight hair. I bet hair care was easier in Lemuria.”

”Yeah, actually.” Rafayel set his chin on his arms, which were folded on the edge of the tub. His eyes slowly shut as you went through each part of his head. “I guess that makes sense.”

You hum, focused on your task. With the hair brushed through you get the first of the hair products. You emulsify it between your hands before applying it to the ends of his hair, working your way up. As you do so you gently scrunch out excess water. Just like you did with the single curl before. The breeze carried sea gull cries as the room fell into a relative quiet. The billowing curtains, the occasional slosh from water in the tub, and your fingers deftly applying product. You switch between various products for health, softness, and hold. Next, you do a product to help hold his curls in place for longer. 

“Lean your head back off the tub, please.” It was Rafayel’s turn to hum in agreement, rolling over to lean back. You finger comb his hair into proper sections before applying and scrunching the product into place. Rafayel’s eyes were fully shut in pure bliss as you pamper him. With the last of his curls curled, you get his towel to gently scrunch out the last little bit of excess water. “Aaaand there you go. You’re lucky you have relatively short hair.” With the last of the products and styling done, you kiss the crown of his head to punctuate the act. He practically melted into the touch with a sigh.

”Thanks, cutie. I guess we’ll have to see how this comes out.” He sat up in the bath again, reaching up to gently touch his hair. You grab a mirror and show it to him. The gel needed to finish drying to form a cast, then he’d be able to scrunch it out to see the results. But immediately there was a difference. His usual waves were more defined. And true to your thoughts, he had curly hair. Rafayel set the mirror back down, reaching out to you instead to gently pull you close. You meet him halfway for a sweet kiss. “Tell me when you have your next wash day, yeah? It’ll be my turn to help with all your potions and magic wands.” 

You breathe a laugh against his lips, but don’t pull away. You just kiss him again before and after your respect. “Of course, lovey. I’d love that.”

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

THIS WAS CUUUUUUTE!!!

[veebeeboo109]

A Familiar Taste

Sylus rescues from the zombie outbreak, taking you to a safe house. {The spit kink, Mrs. Kennedy AU that I needed}

Tags: Sylus x MC (Reader), MDNI, 18+, Resident Evil AU, Zombie AU, Smut, PWP, Gore, Violence, Body Horror, Spit Kink, Spitting

{Read on AO3}

You’ve hit a wall of exhaustion you didn’t know was possible. Every breath burns in and out of you, and it’s only Sylus’ painful grip on your forearm that keeps you moving. 

Desperation makes him fast; fear makes him lethal. There is not a second of hesitation in placing the barrel of his gun against a zombie’s head and blasting their rotten brains away. Splattering across the cracked pavement in a sickly, shiny green.

You don’t even see them anymore. They used to be people. They used to be your neighbors and coworkers but now they’re nothing but snarling, decaying monsters.

Your stomach turns as Sylus roughly yanks you ahead of him, past a metal door and down a flight of creaking stairs. It’s too dark for you to see clearly, and his hand has moved to secure a position around your waist— all but carrying you down. 

Another door slams shut behind, you followed by a series of locks. There’s the flurry of movement you can’t quite decipher— the creaking of his leather jacket, the clatter of his gun against a table, and then the quiet sound of a chain clinking together as he pulls the light on overhead. 

You blink against the harsh, yellow light, but you don’t have a moment to relax before his hands are back on you. Calloused fingertips scrub across your cheeks and down your neck, peeling back the collar of your shirt before heading downward. 

“Are you hurt?” He demands in a low, hoarse growl. The intensity in his eyes is frightening, and you struggle to reply as he continues to manually search you. 

Lifting your shirt to examine your stomach and back, patting you down from hips to legs.

“N-No.” You manage to choke out, the taste of soot still burning your tongue. You had been holed up in your apartment for days, hiding from the outbreak, and waiting for the inevitable… You hadn’t even realized it had caught fire, and if Sylus has shown up you’d be ash right now. 

“Did they bite you?” He raises up to your eye level, which means he’s still hunched over. There’s less violence in his eyes now, and you’re momentarily mesmerized by the intricate blood splatter that decorates his cheekbones. With a small jostle of your shoulders, he focuses your attention back to him, “Sweetie, please. Did they bite you? Scratch you?”

Something in his voice finally breaks the haze of your mind, and you look at him clearly for the first time. 

“None of them touched me,” Your reply is clearer than your pitiful stutter before, and finally it feels like you can take a full breath of air. But with that clarity only comes more confusion, because– “How– Why are you here?”

The last time you saw Sylus was over a month ago, when the world looked so different than it does now. When your biggest concern was choosing between a caramel or matcha latte, and whether you should go to the gym before or after work. 

Sylus had been a regular at the coffee shop you worked at, and was memorable because, well, look at him. He’s huge. Scary. And when he shifted to grab his wallet from his back pocket you could see the leather harness and the pair of handguns he was carrying. 

Your coworkers thought you were insane for having such a crush on him, because clearly he was some sort of criminal, but you couldn’t help it. You looked forward to the sporadic visits he would make, and how he’d always try to ask you some small-talk question before dropping a twenty in the tip jar, nodding his head in thanks, and being on his way. 

Sylus sighs in relief and raises up to his full height. He rests his hand on the top of your head and then brushes down the back of your hair, pulling you in slightly but resisting the urge to embrace you fully. 

“You did well staying put,” He replies, “I was worried you would try to run, or go to one of the quarantine zones.”

He turns his back to you and shrugs off his filthy jacket to begin the laborious task of disarming the many weapons from his body. 

You take a moment to scan the room, finding it a dusty, unfinished basement. There’s a ratty-looking, plaid couch with a table and small radio next to it. A door, to what is likely a bathroom, lies on the other side from where you entered from, and the few, narrow windows in this place are boarded up and barred. 

The grey shirt he wears is stained with sweat, blood, and dirt, but you can’t seem to look away when your eyes find him again. The way his shoulders shift with every breath, and the way the hued lighting makes his silvery hair almost look blond. 

“We’ll stay here for the night...” His voice is low, and he’s got his hands placed on top of the table– is he purposefully not looking at you? “It’s not much, but there’s enough supplies to get us–”

“Sylus,” You interrupt him, and he tenses. His head turns, and you're stunned by the open expression on his face. The pensive scowl he wore has eased into surprise. 

Sylus is quiet for a moment, just staring at you– studying you like you had been doing to him. “You remember my name then?”

The tension in your body deflates slightly at the ridiculousness of his question, and with a scoff you reply, “Of course I do. I wrote it down on your cup every time. You’re kind of hard to forget.”

Your words make him smirk, and he turns to face you fully. Closing the distance between you again, and before he can get too close, you raise a hand. He doesn’t stop, which leads your palm to press into the divot in between his chest, damp with sweat. Your mouth goes dry, and you lose the courage to speak for a moment. 

“Wait,” You muster, making him stop trying to press closer, “Why– How did you know where I lived? Why did you come get me?”

The amusement on his face darkens slightly, as you tread into conversation he clearly isn’t keen to have. 

He raises a brow and with it his head tilts, “Should I have left you there?”

“I’m not saying that.” You retort, and quickly pull your hand away from where you’ve been practically cupping his chest, “I just don’t understand. What happened? How did those things happen?”

Sylus hums, shaking his head slightly, “It’s being handled. Our priority is getting out of this city.”

“Sylus,” You repeat his name more forcefully now, refusing to back down, “How did you find me?”

The question doesn’t surprise him, you can tell by his expression. Sylus reaches up, placing his hand on the side of your face and brushing his thumb just beneath your eye, smearing a still-drying speck of blood from the carnage he wrought getting here. 

“Do I have to answer that question?” Sylus whispers, eyes drawn away from yours and to where his hand drifts down the side of your neck. He caresses the back of his knuckles delicately across your skin– a reverent gesture that leaves you shivering.

You debate it for a moment, because something in his voice tells you that you don’t want to know his answer. But you can’t help yourself, needing to know– and so, you nod. 

The movement catches his eyes, and he’s lured in by the flushed color of your lips. He places his thumb on the swell of your lower lip and just barely pulls it down, feeling the plush of it beneath his touch. 

“I have resources, and I was able to look up your address– I was looking for you,” The words he speaks are too heavy to hear properly; they carry from his tongue to you like an autumn breeze, sending sparkling sensations down your spine. Sylus’ voice is thick with affection, as if he’s confessing his love to you unwittingly. 

If things were different, and you weren’t trapped in an underground bunker waiting for extraction from a zombie outbreak, you might be flattered. However, Sylus is a stranger to you. You know nothing about him except for his name, drink preferences, and that he’s always armed. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Sylus continues, breaking through your quickly cycling thoughts. “Whatever you’re thinking–”

“I’m not sure what I’m thinking.” You interrupt with a shake of your head, “Can I…do you have water or something?”

Your diversion from the topic has him blinking in surprise, but he’s quick to respond to your request. Silently walking over to a metal storage cabinet and pulling out a water bottle from a large stash of them. 

“Thanks,” You say hoarsely, hoping to somehow drink away the awful stirring in your stomach. Too much has happened in one day for you to process all of it, and so, for now, you decide to just ignore his words.

===

Night comes quickly, bringing with it a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. The single-bulb light leaves too many shadows for you to settle down. Sylus must notice your tension because he quietly pilfers through one of the crates and begins to light candles in the corners of the room. It’s not much, but the warmth and the light helps. 

The silence is the next problem, because without either of you speaking, you can hear them. Just above you, crawling around moaning and snarling. You cringe whenever one steps too close to one of the boarded up windows. It’s too small for any of them to squeeze through (you hope), but the sound of them so close by has you flinching. 

Sylus, who had been sitting on the other side of the room from you, in one of the metal fold-out chairs, rises to his feet. He takes a deep breath, and although his voice sounds confident when he speaks, there’s the slightest tremor to his fingers as he offers you his hand. 

“Here,” He says, and when you look up at him in confusion, he sits down next to you on the couch, “The noise bothers you, right?”

In your confusion, you allow him to move you around until he’s resting on the creaking armrest, with your head pressed to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat is loud, and all the noise of the outside world vanishes as his hand covers your other ear.

Too close. The sane part of your mind argues, but the insanity of this day keeps you in place. You settle into his hold, relaxing slowly until you feel your heavy eyelids close. 

When they open again, you know time has passed though you’re unsure how long. You’ve sunken into Sylus like you belonged there, resting still on top of his chest as he reclines on the too-small couch. His breathing slowly raises and lowers your head, and the slow, steady beat of his heart is just as comforting now as it was when you first heard it. 

Confusion sets in at what awoke you, but a loud burst of static crackles from across the room. Sylus shifts, apparently not asleep, and delicately slides out from under you, cradling your head until you’re laying on the scratchy tartan fabric. 

You stay mostly limp, watching as he strides across the room and lifts a large walkie from the table with his firearms. He clicks it twice, sounding a melodic chime through the speaker which is met with more static. 

“Hey Boss!” A cheery voice comes through, slightly distorted from the speaker, “You find what you were looking for?”

Sylus quickly turns the dial which turns down the volume and then lifts it closer to his mouth, “Dove secured. What’s it look like out there?”

“Lots of uglies, a few mutated nasties, and I saw one of those big, tongue guys going down 32nd street.” A slower, deeper voice responds– lacking the chipper charm the other man had. “Nothing we can’t handle, but the brollies are out in force.”

Sylus lets out a low, rumbling sigh, and you can feel his malcontent from here. You’re not sure what a brolly is, but you feel bad for them. He seems to think for a moment as tension builds in his shoulders, “How many?”

“Pssh! Almost more than the uglies.” The first voice responds, “They’re hiding out while the feds try to keep all of this contained, but I saw some of them sneaking into the subway. They’re up to something, but you probably know better than us.”

Raising your head, you prop yourself up on your elbow– too intrigued to fall back asleep. 

“We’re at safehouse foxtrot,” Sylus states into the walkie, “What’s the chances of making it to echo?”

There’s a few beats of quiet, broken by soft static. 

“Honestly? Slim, boss.” The sterner voice answers, but is quickly followed up by his happier counterpart, “You could take the roofs, but the brollies have a chopper doing rounds. Looking for something, I think. Your best bet is the sewer, but we haven’t had any word on what they look like right now…you might run into something really gross, and I don’t mean greywater.”

“Understood. Rendezvous at Echo; we’ll go from there.” Sylus clicks the walkie two more times, sending what must be a sign that their conversation is done. He leans his hands on the table, hunching over and sighing heavily. 

“Who was that?” You dare to ask, which draws his attention like the sound of a siren. He whirls to look at you, brow lifting from a deep furrow into light concern. 

“You should still be sleeping,” He replies, and as he walks over, you sit up and make room for him on the couch beside you. 

“I’m fine, I slept…pretty good actually.” You say hesitantly, and watch from the corner of your eye as his chest puffs out slightly. With a small shake of your head, you turn towards him and continue, “Who was that on the walkie?”

Sylus’ eyes flick over to where the comms sit and then back to you. “My assistants. They’re keeping an eye on things out there while we stay safe here.”

You hum softly in reply and with a touch of dread you wonder, “So, what happens now? What’s a brolly?”

Sylus scoffs, “They’re vermin– nothing you should concern yourself with. For now, just try and rest, save your strength, and eat something if you can. Do you feel up for trying to move in the morning?”

With a glance to this window you see the flickering street lamps illuminating the misty city between a crack in the boards– still night, it seems. 

“Move where?”

Before he answers, Sylus pulls you back onto his chest, and for reasons unknown to your conscious mind, you follow him. Finding a pillow on the soft plush on his chest and comfort in the musky scent of his shirt. 

“To a different safehouse. This one isn’t ideal, in more ways than one. I don't know about you, but I’m eager to get out of this city…aren’t you?”

You giggle softly, and in a moment of mirth you instinctively cuddle closer and find the comfiest spot you can lying across him like a blanket. His arm comes up around you, resting on your back, and you feel a weight rest against your rear. 

Craning your neck for a moment, you see a .44 pistol resting casually in his hand. His finger rests along the barrel and not on the trigger, and instead of being disturbed, you feel even more at ease. 

The feeling of his arm and his weapon resting on top of you is better than any weighted blanket you’ve ever had, and you’re struck by the strangest feeling of deja vu. You want to question it– question him – but your eyes are already closing as sleep reclaims you. 

===

“Keep it close. Don’t aim at me. Don’t accidentally shoot yourself.” Sylus repeats himself for the second time that morning as he lifts the jacket he gave you to adjust the holster on your belt. 

There were a few changes of clothes in the little basement, and thankfully some that fit you. A soft zip-up hoodie, jeans, and a faded band-tee – you feel like you look completely out of place next to Sylus and his tactical gear, but he seems pleased. 

The two of you are getting ready to step back out into the chaos just as the sun is rising. There’s a heavy cloud cover and dense fog, which only sets your fear into overdrive– why is it never sunny during a zombie apocalypse?

He pauses just before unlocking the door to face you, and cradles the sides of your face in his hands, “I need you to listen to me, okay sweetie? If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to run, you run. Understand?”

You open your mouth to confirm, but that vertiginous feeling of deja vu sweeps through you. If I tell you to run, you run. Why….why does it feel like this isn’t the first time he’s said that to you?

Nodding instead of speaking still pacifies him, and Sylus unlocks the door. 

The smell is worse than you thought it would be. Blood and viscera rotting overnight have made a thick, disgusting stench permeate into the fog and nearly choke you. 

You try to stifle your body’s reaction, and are grateful to Sylus for keeping his cool and pulling you up the stairs towards the street level. 

You knew the plan– Sylus had reiterated it to you at least a dozen times since you awoke. Steal a ride. Get to the sewers. Follow Sylus. Listen to Sylus. Don’t die. Easier said than done. 

There are only a few infected to get through, which Sylus deals with quietly and efficiently. His large, combat knife cuts through their necrose flesh, carving them open and spilling mushy guts across the ground. 

The crash of a car window breaking from Sylus’ elbow alerts more infected, and you’re thrown into the passenger seat while Sylus throws the snarling creature against the closed door. Greyish-green brains exploding across the back window as Sylus crushes its head with his boot. 

The car heaves with the weight as Sylus crashes into the driver’s seat– a howling zombie scratching at the window right behind him. You cry out at the close call and push as far away from the outside world as you can, while sparks alight from beneath the steering wheel as the car revs to life. 

You’re thrown against the seat as Sylus takes off with a screech of tires. It’s not a long drive to where you need to go, but every second seems to stretch on into an infinite number of hard-fought breaths. 

A soft drizzle starts to fall as the car comes to a rough halt. You go to exit but are halted by Sylus’ harsh hand on your upper arm. 

“Wait til I come get you.” He commands, deep as far-off thunder, “Wait for me.”

He storms out of the vehicle, and your body decides to betray you because you shiver. Eyes locked on the slightly blurred visage of him through the filthy car windows and how he moves like a destructive bolt of lightning through two more infected to get around to you. 

The door opens and Sylus offers you his hand, like you’re on a date and he’s being courteous. 

You try to match his speed and fervor, gripping his hand tightly and running as fast as you can. The blast of his firearm cracks across the streets, echoing off the tall office buildings around you. 

Down you go through a manhole cover that Sylus holds open for you, and you scramble down the grime covered ladder into the sewer deep below. 

As your eyes adjust, Sylus drops down beside you, immediately drawing you close to his body with an arm on your waist. He clicks on a long flashlight and scans the surroundings.

“All clear for now.” He says, not sounding the tiniest bit relieved. With a nod of his head, he motions down the cavernous sewer system, “Stay close.”

The air is humid and putrid, and you cover your face with your free arm to stifle at least some of the smell. Your stomach turns in both revulsion and anxiety. Fear makes your knees shake, but you force yourself forward anyway. 

Sylus hears it before you do, but you see it before him. A shifting mass that takes up almost the entirety of the tunnel in front of you. The two of you screech to a halt, and Sylus pulls you behind him. 

The amalgamation of flesh churns like a creeping snail. A low, breathy groan sounds from the monstrosity— a mixture of agony and garbled nonsense. 

An infected? You think in utter horror. Even in the dim light you can see the flesh has swollen and torn in places, leaking puss and blood into the graywater surrounding it. Boils and blisters cover its skin, which is mottled with black, blue, and green splotches. 

“Shit.” Sylus curses under his breath, backing away just as the creature seems to notice you. He turns, and pushes his hand at your back to shove you away from it, “Run. Run now.”

You turn on your heel just as the infected lets out a blistering howl, and the eruption of water sounds behind you. It’s giving chase, and gaining fast— somehow able to crawl through the shallow water at a desperate pace to try and get to you.

Boom! Boom! Boom! The thunder of Sylus’ pistol cracks painfully against your ears, and you can’t help but flinch. 

You don‘t dare turn around— too afraid at what you might see so dangerously close to you. It sounds nearly on top of you, and if you had the state of mind to, you’d realize that with every exhale you’re releasing small, sharp cries. 

Sylus lets out a harsh grunt as something knocks him off his feet, and you whirl in concern just in time to see him fly across the tunnel to the other side, a fleshy tentacle protruding from the main mass has crashed into him. 

He’s quick to find his feet and begins rapidly firing into the huge lump, which barely flinches from his high-caliber ammunition. 

You’re barely able to avoid the tentacle hitting you as well, and you clumsily pull the gun from its holster. Feeling weak and sick with fear, you still manage to raise the handgun up towards the monster.

The trigger is harder to pull than you thought it would be, and the recoil shocks a scream from you the first time. The bullet skims its wet flesh and embeds into the brick wall, sending dust falling into the water below. 

Sylus recovers and charges towards you, grabbing your arm and hauling you into a sprint away from the monster. From his belt, he retrieves a cylindrical grenade and tears out the pin with his teeth with a harsh growl. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he releases the mechanism and throws it behind him, hearing the click, click, click become fainter as it soars away. 

You try to brace for the explosion but it still catches you by surprise. The swell of heat and burst of light is dwarfed by the ear-piercing howl and the squelching of torn flesh. Like rain, the pieces of tissue fall down to the stone walkway and the murky water. 

Daringly, you look over your shoulder, and then immediately wish you hadn’t. What had been a bloated mass of infection was now nearly in pieces— exposed adipose and musculature twitching and roiling as the monster attempted to fight against what must be unimaginable agony. The stench of rot and sulfur fills the air of the tunnel, and you can see as steam rises from its innards.

“Don’t look.” Sylus barks at you, sounding harsh but clearly meaning well. He sounds enraged, but not at you— at it. As if the creature’s greatest sin was daring to be near you at all, and it was salt in the wound to make you disgusted on top of everything else. “Just keep moving, we’re almost th—hnghh!” 

The silver haired man is torn away from you in a violent flash of red and black. A long, squishy tentacle snapped across his chest, yanking him backwards. You try to keep a hold of him and fight against the monster, but Sylus shoves you away— leaving you to just stare in horror. He’s carried like a doll back to the writhing infected, slammed against its side and squeezed like a boa constrictor. 

Sylus lets out a low wheeze as the inhuman limb pulls him tight against the squishy, broken wall of flesh. The monster lets out another howl full of rage, and you stumble back.

With a grunt, Sylus manages to pull his tactical knife from his belt and, with his arms pinned at his sides, begins to stab where he can. 

You raise your gun again, shaking so badly that it’s nearly impossible to aim. Air fights its way in and out of your lungs, cutting at your throat like knives as the scent of blood grows. 

With a glance at Sylus, your stomach tightens more. His face is contorted in pain— a sharp grimace that’s only exaggerated from the dark blood that drips down his cheek. 

What do you do? What can you do? Dread fills you like an ice cold rush, and you can feel every frantic beat of our heart. 

A flash of light catches your eye— an errant beam from the murky world above that illuminates the throbbing injured creature. 

Time seems to slow as your mind processes what you’re seeing. Beyond the mutated flesh and fat of the monster lies a pulsing red mass. The only word you can call it is a heart, though it doesn’t look anything like the carefully crafted medical illustrations you see in books. 

It trembles in a frantic beat, flinching whenever the light hits it and the infected lets out a screeching wail too. 

Full of wishful thinking and paper-thin bravado, you raise your gun again and fire. Missing the first time. And the second, but nailing the third. Your bullet pierces that obscene heart, rapidly followed by four more as you empty the magazine into it. 

It pops like an overgrown pustule, exploding outward with more blood and clotted infection. 

Sylus groans as the tentacle releases him, and he scrambles to his feet to run to you. Grabbing you and hauling you against the wall to cover you with his body, just as the monster’s scream reaches its highest pitch, and its body bursts.

The only thing that touches you is the fine mist that sneaks between the cracks between yours and Sylus’ bodies. His scratched and bruised arms cover your head, saving even your hair from getting any dirtier.

The deafening noises of the tunnel die down, leaving only the soft sounds of rippling water, and the louder panting of your breathing. You can feel Sylus’ breath against your face— hot and wet. 

He doesn’t back away, keeping you tight against his chest and pressed against the brick wall. 

Silence expands between you, but for some reason the two of you seem to inch closer. 

You have only enough time for you to admire the way the drops of sweat carve lines in the dirt covering his face down to his jaw before his lips are on yours. He inhales the whimper you release and responds with a heavy groan. 

The hands that were protecting your body move to grip you tightly— one on your waist and another on your face. His thumb presses at your cheekbone to turn your head to the side so he can move his lips from your mouth and down to your neck. Covering you with soft bites and harsh sucks onto your flesh. 

Sylus’ tongue laps at your skin, like he can’t get enough once he’s had a taste and continues to indulge again and again. You can feel his groan as he finds your rapid pulse and nips at it tenderly, “You did…so good. Such a good job, sweetie. So proud of you.”

You want to reply— you try to, but all that comes out is a trembling moan as his knee shoves between your legs, pushing you up to your tip toes and pressing against your core. 

Covered in grime, blood, and guts, Sylus devours your mouth again— desperate to feel you alive and squirming in his hold. The more you wiggle the harder he gets.

You reflexively roll your hips to grind against the hard expanse of his thigh. The straps of his holsters make for a ridged surface that rubs deliciously through the layers of clothing onto your throbbing clit. Breathless gasps leave your kiss-bitten lips, which only spurs him on more. Every sign of your pleasure is a drug that makes the rest of the world disappear, until nothing else exists but tasting you, feeling you, pleasing you. 

His mind and his body don’t seem to be agreeing. Because, on one hand, his tongue is sliding between your lips to press against yours. Licking at the inside of your mouth like he can’t get enough. He groans as his hips jerk, almost involuntarily seeking more friction. “You taste…so fucking good.” His words are a ragged growl, slipped between his teeth like he hadn’t meant to speak at all. Gloved fingertips slip past the waistband of your pants, pressing against whatever skin he can reach. 

On the other hand, he hisses like he’s being burned. Shaking his head slightly as you follow his movements to kiss him again. 

“No,” He gasps, berating himself as he reluctantly but sharply pulls his face away, “No I can’t, not yet— mmh, give me a second….” He grits his teeth, raises his chin and sighs heavily, “Are you hurt?”

Your skin is uncomfortably warm, and you can feel your pulse throb between your legs. There are spots on your neck that are cold with spit, and you know you’ll be wearing marks tomorrow. 

“No. Not hurt.” You reply with a small shake of your head. Slowly, you’re lowered back to your feet. 

Sylus gradually pulls away; his eyes searching you up and down once more. The air between you sparks with electricity, and you move slowly because you know any sudden movements and you’ll back back against the wall.

After a few moments of thick silence, Sylus swallows hard and takes a breath, “We’re almost there. Not much further.”

As you follow Sylus down the tunnel and away from the carnage, you become distracted. You’ve never felt so out of control of your body before…never felt like someone belonged between your legs before, or that you might die if you don’t find out what their tongue tastes like. 

You’re no virgin, but this was bizarre. Was the outbreak releasing some kind of aphrodisiac in the air you didn’t know about? Because even holding his hand to follow him through the sewer was too much. You were sweating again, but not out of fear.

What disturbed you the most was how it didn’t feel strange… It felt like reconnecting with an old friend and falling into old habits. Your hands seemed to know where to hold, and where to touch. You knew he would put his knee between your legs even before he did, and had moved to give him space— dancing in time like you already knew the steps. 

Thankfully, there were no giant monstrosities to fight through to get to the next manhole, and you arrived at the next safe house with only the terror and the filth covering you. 

You expected another dingy basement with boarded up windows, but this one was leagues beyond anything you expected. Sylus, at first, led you down into an underground parking garage, into a utility room and from there down several flights of stairs. 

The last door was thick, and screeched as Sylus hauled it open. With his hand at your back, Sylus guides you inside and you’re met with— thankfully— a warmly lit, clean smelling space. 

The door closes, and you hear the hiss of the mechanisms sealing it, and as soon as that final click sounds, Sylus is touching you again. 

“We’re safe now.” He whispers to you, starting off achingly gentle. His fingertips brush against your neck and then around to cup the back of your head to tilt you up to look at him, “I’m impressed…you have good aim.”

You laugh softly, letting yourself sink into his hold. It’s too warm, too soft, too safe to deny, and if the world is going to shit anyway with zombies, then you can be a little reckless. 

When you don’t push him away, Sylus presses in further. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

You kiss him first this time, tired of pretending you don’t want him to finish what you started in the tunnel. You need more— only starved from the tiny taste you got before. 

Sylus groans, low and soft as he pulls you in—tongue darting out to lick a swipe across your lower lip. He guides you back with his hands on your hips, and blindly, you follow him. 

Your back meets something hard and with a soft gasp you turn to see he’s pushing you against a table. There’s fancy decor— a lamp, vase with wilted flowers, and a set of bronze figures— all of which Sylus sweeps off and onto the floor. 

Like the rising warmth from a growing fire, you can feel the heat inside Sylus swell. He’s getting more impatient with each passing moment. 

“Sweetie~” His low baritone sings as he drags his teeth along your pulse, “I need another taste. Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

You gasp for breath as your cunt throbs. You’d thought you were wet before but now you’re dripping, squirming in his hold and trying and failing to grind against him. When you whine softly, Sylus laughs, but not in ridicule— A kind chuckle like he’s so endeared by your neediness. 

“And here I thought you couldn’t get any prettier…” He whispers against your ear before kissing it gently. “Pants first, hm?”

Sylus swats your hands away when you move to take your pants off and removes them himself, followed by your underwear. He tosses them to the side and down the hall. 

“S-Sy…” You whimper as he lifts you effortlessly to sit on the edge of the cleared table. The lacquered wood surface is cold on your rear, but it’s Sylus’ hot breath against your wet core that sends trembling shivers down your spine. 

“Shh…” Sylus coos. His eyes are glued to your sex, pupils blown wide to leave barely a sliver of crimson iris. “Take what you want. Tell me what you need. I’m here now…”

His words confuse you, but that bewilderment is quietly evaporated by liquid pleasure that shoots down your body at the first long swipe of his tongue. Sylus groans nearly as loudly as you do, moaning at the taste of your essence. At first, his licks are tentative but quickly grow harder. His tongue swirls around your cunt and up to your sensitive pearl before returning.

You’ve never been eaten like this— like it gives him as much pleasure as it does you. His hands are roaming your body; one is squeezing the flesh of your hip while the other slides upwards. He groans and growls into you with every gush of slick you give him, which he drinks up greedily. 

“Oh, oh,  oh!” You moan breathily, head falling back as you hook your legs more securely around his head to press the heels of your shoes into his back and rock your hips into his face. He hums appreciatively— the small sting from your heels only adding to the intense stimulation you give him. 

But it’s not enough, not for Sylus. Your hand is grabbed and roughly moved to the top of his head.

You look down at him, and his eyes are piercing you from below. With a rumbling sigh, Sylus keeps that intense eye contact and licks a long line from your cunt all the way up, making sure you see how he collects your slick on his tongue and then swallows. 

“Take what you want.” He demands, “Don’t be gentle.”

Later, you think that maybe you should have asked him to be gentle, because Sylus couples his sinful tongue with his fingers. 

Tearing off his filthy gloves with his teeth to shove his hot, calloused fingers deep inside. One, then two, then three. Because the sound of your voice rising in pitch when he stretches you just a little bit more was so good. 

You’re so close to coming, and you try to warn Sylus through your fevered moaning, but he already knows. He can feel your cunt squeeze around him in a greedy fluttering, pulling him in, begging him for more. 

“Yes,” He growls, “That’s it, kitten. You can do it. You did so good for me before. Let me see it— yes, lemme see. Come for me.”

 After the hellish day you’ve had, your peak breaks and you writhe with it. Feeling waves of decadent pleasure and utter, palpable relief. The tension, fear, uncertainty all comes crumbling around and dissolving on Sylus’ talented tongue. He doesn’t stop coaxing you through it until your breathing starts to relax and he can feel the way your pussy stops trying to milk his fingers. 

Sylus presses a sweet kiss to your clit, and chuckles softly when you jump at the sensitivity. He climbs up your body and presses his wet mouth to yours, sloppily pushing the taste of your come into you. 

“See how good you taste?” He moans against your lips, “That’s it baby, give me more.”

There’s a touch of impatience in his tone, like he’s becoming frustrated he can just tip you back and drink you down like a shot of whiskey. You try your best to match his intense pace, swirling your tongue around his and letting him grind against your raw cunt.

With a frustrated growl, Sylus pulls away— harshly pressing his thumb into the hollow of your cheek to force your mouth open. His drunken eyes watch enraptured as the saliva builds in your mouth, and he lowers down to press a hot kiss to the underside of your chin.

“Give it to me,” Sylus demands, panting like he’ll pass out, “C’mon sweetheart, jus’ a little more.”

His words are slurred as he begs for something, and for a moment you’re not sure what. But then he opens his mouth and angles his head back, offering you his wet tongue.

Something wicked takes over you, and you can’t stop yourself. Taking hold of the sides of his face to keep him still as you spit onto his tongue. The moan he releases is ungodly, and his eyelashes flutter as he closes his mouth around your gift, savoring the taste for a moment, before making sure you see him swallow. 

===

Sylus knows that he is an opportunistic, greedy man. He takes advantage of any opportunity presented when it suits and takes pride in how far he’s come.

It’s the least he can do really…to make it up to you.

You’ve always been beautiful, even when you were malnourished— hooked up to tubes and wires in that glass cage Umbrella kept you in. The years he’d spent standing guard to your containment room, listening to your unconscious humming as the scientists observed you, were years Sylus knew he’d never atone for. Every moment he wasted not getting you out was a regret. 

But now, your skin is sun-kissed and your form well-fed. You’ve bloomed with life being out of captivity, and your lack of memory has made it so you get to live a normal life. You’re no longer an ‘asset’ or ‘project’…just a person. 

And when you face twists in pleasure, Sylus is certain you aren’t of this earth. You must be some divine being that Umbrella stumbled upon and caged, because if he could brand the image of you behind his eyelids he would. So that even when he blinks, he can still see you. 

“Put your arms around me,” Sylus breathes dotingly, humming in approval as you listen to him without hesitation. With ease he lifts you into his arms, needing to have you somewhere he can spread you out and truly enjoy you. 

Having you close again is better than he ever imagined, and inside he’s glad Umbrella finally fucked up enough to give him a reason to snatch you back. Those tiny, brief interactions in the coffee shop where you found a job were never enough to satisfy him. 

You look at him without recognition, and Sylus knows you don’t actually remember him– but he doesn’t care. Not yet at least. He’ll worry about all that once he’s had his fill– once he imprinted himself inside you so that you’ll never forget again. 

Through another door and into a lavishly decorated lounge area, two masked men take up the ruby red sitting chairs. The mask Sylus knows is Luke’s perks up.

“Hey Boss…” Luke’s chipper greeting trails off as he spies the prize Sylus carries in his arms.

Before Sylus even makes another move, the two are already on their feet. The silver haired man nods to the exit and barks out a harsh, “Out. Go make yourself useful somewhere else.”

Kieran corrals his older brother towards the door, and makes a point to shove both their heads down– so Sylus can’t suspect their peeking at you through the cover of their masks. 

Once you're alone, you pull your face out from where you’d hidden against his neck– still blushing like a maiden. Sylus chuckles and carries you through the lounge and to the bedroom. 

The wide-eyed look you gave him as he carefully laid you down onto the bed was so adorable, Splayed out like an unwrapped present– well, not entirely unwrapped yet, were you?

Sylus gently removes the last of your clothes and then leans back to admire you. Dazzling in the low light, perfect beneath him. He rests one knee between your legs at the very edge of the bed, and begins to unlatch his gear. The harnesses that hold his weapons fall to the floor with a thud. 

He can see how your eyes follow his hands, watching him slowly undress for you. You reach for him when he goes to remove his shirt, placing your fingers at the hem and helping him lift it. Such a sweet thing you are. 

To be undone by you feels like such a privilege, and Sylus lowers his hands to allow you to unlatch his belt. If you want to be the one to do it, then by all means he is yours to unravel. 

You're bolder than he thought you would– wasting no time in trying to pull down his well-fitted pants around the curve of his ass. Sylus chuckles and helps you, but then grunts as your palm finds his shaft, squeezing the hot, hardened flesh a little too tightly. 

Sylus hunches over you, knees weakened from your saccharine touch. Your eyes drift down to where you hand circles him, and you decide to torture him further by stroking him up and down. Swiping your soft thumb over his leaking tip. You collect the fat bead of pre-come and use it to glide back down.

“Feeling playful, kitten?” Sylus pants, trying to regain some of his control that is rapidly dissolving the more you stroke his cock. 

“I’ve never done this before,” You whisper, lifting your head up to look up at him. 

Sylus’ gut clenches and his cock throbs in your hand. He grabs your wrist to stop you, and looks at you with deadly seriousness. “You haven’t had sex?”

No need to sugarcoat, or beat around the bush. Sylus needs to know what you may or may not have gotten up to in the six years since he’s seen you. Have you really not indulged, not even once?

Your face scrunches up and you scoff, giving the head of his cock a punishing squeeze. “No. Of course I’ve had sex before. I meant… I’ve never just had sex with a stranger– with someone I don’t know.”

Sylus’ gut tightens for an entirely different reason. His heart sinks at your words. It hurts to hear how easily you say you don’t know him. Sylus would have preferred you shoot him through the chest than call him a stranger.

“Would it help to pretend?” Sylus’ voice lowers into something lush, letting slip how desperately he wants this. He wraps his fingers around your wrists and lifts them to press onto the bed beside your head, pinning you down gently. “Pretend you know me…we’ve known each other for years and this…this is just a reunion.”

Sylus watches confusion swim in your gorgeous eyes, like shooting stars across the cosmos. For a moment, he thinks you might ridicule him, but then your expression softens and you nod softly. 

“Okay…” You breathe. “We can pretend…”

Sylus kisses you because he thinks he might die if he doesn’t. His breath seizes in his chest, a lump forming in his throat, and his eyes start to sting. 

He’ll erase this awful feeling with you. The taste of you will dissolve the lump in his throat, and the sight of your pleasure will erase the sting in his eyes. The sorrow that builds inside him will be killed by your hand, and he’ll watch it die with eager ecstacy. 

You move your hips, silently begging him for more. A little thrust that has the head of his cock brushing against your wet slit. The heat of your sex has him hissing through his teeth, and he bites your lower lip to punish you for being impatient. 

This time, it’s you trying to press your tongue into his mouth. Brushing against his and licking at his lips like an adorable kitten. 

“Can….” You cut yourself off, heavily breathing as your eyes nervously search his face. “Can you do it too?”

Sylus lifts his head a little, pressing soft kisses to your nose and below your eye, “Do what, sweetie?”

You lick at your lips and look down at his, and hesitantly open your mouth. Letting your pretty tongue peek out.

Sylus nearly comes then and there, and he knows what you want. Before giving in however, he lets the saliva collect in his mouth and drags his tongue along yours, letting the combination of drool pool in your mouth and drip down your cheeks. 

You moan softly, eyelashes fluttering. 

With a groan, Sylus leans back and spits directly onto your tongue. The sound of it is obscene, and he doesn’t even need to tell you before you close your mouth and swallow. 

When did you get so filthy? Sylus wonders as he dives into your neck, biting at your sensitive flesh and pressing your hips close. He rubs the head against your silky folds, teasing your entrance and bud a few times just to hear you whine. Did life in the real world corrupt you so quickly? Or was this always inside you?

You wrap your arms around Sylus’ shoulders and kiss where you can on his cheek and hairline almost lovingly. At least, Sylus convinces himself it’s loving. You’re so good at pretending that he wants to believe it’s real. 

“You ready?” He whispers into your ear, and you respond with a breathy moan and an eager nod. 

Sylus presses inside, slowly parting your slickened folds and pistoning in and out and slowly– so slowly– going deeper and deeper. You’re divine around him. Wet. Hot. Being inside you makes everything else in the world feel like agony, because only here is bliss. 

As he begins to fuck you in earnest, Sylus decides that he made a mistake before. Letting you go, and letting you live a normal life was a horrible mistake. He’ll never let you leave his side again, never let you out where anything might happen. 

He needs to keep you close. Keep you safe. Umbrella fucked with his body enough that nothing can kill him at this point, and so what better place to be than in between you and danger? And what better reward for protecting you than making you cream on his cock? Making you squeal and scream and come until you’re hoarse and satisfied. 

“Oh, ahh, S-Sylus…” The sound of his name in a moan is a song he can’t get enough of. 

Sylus tries not to be too rough. You’re supposed to be pretending, right? He wants to pretend to be gentle. To be some soft-hearted, doughy suitor who met and courted you, took you out to dinner, and then made sweet love to you. 

Not this war-hardened soldier one bad day away from being six feet under who can’t help but plow you into the mattress. 

Your nails dig into his back, and you draw him into a kiss, lips brushing and missing from the heavy rhythm.

Sylus wants more. Even balls deep inside you doesn’t feel close enough, “Open your mouth for me sweetie. That’s it, such a good girl.”

You eagerly open for him, already knowing what he’s about to do, but this time he doesn’t just spit– no. Sylus lets a trail of saliva drip down from his lips and into your mouth. A string of connection between you that feels both profane and intimate. 

Sylus lets the connection break and admires the shiny wetness of your combined spit on your cheeks. Gorgeous girl. You couldn’t be more perfect, could you?

“It’s okay sweetheart,” Sylus pants, thrusting into your heat while tenderly brushing his fingers into your hair. The dichotomy of the rough and gentle treatment has your moans pitching upwards, tingling from the loving affection. “I’ve got you now. You’re with me again.”

Your eyes open slightly, staring up at him with tears collecting in the corners. The iridescence of your iris is so full of longing that he doesn’t know what to do with it. Sylus doesn’t know what to do with that little sparkle of recognition in your eye. Do you remember? Or is this just part of the pretend?

“I…” You whimper, and before you can say anymore Sylus silences you with his lips. He doesn’t want to hear the end of your sentence. Don’t break the illusion. Don’t break the mask. Let him sink into you over and over. Let him feel you squeeze him tightly as you rapidly approach orgasm. Gushing around him and making a mess of the soft sheets. 

You come around him, clawing at him as you sing your ecstasy in his ear. Sylus can hardly stand it, nearly collapsing as he follows you right after. It’s reckless— stupid, really— but he digs his hips into yours, kissing around your face as he buries his come inside you. Pulse after pulse of warmth that fills you until you’re full.

Dripping Sylus’ essence from your lips and from your pussy, you finally feel at ease. Completely sheltered by his large body, you’re wrapped up in titanium. 

His kisses are too soft to be fake, Sylus knows he’s being too genuine. He’s revealing too much in the reverent way he holds you close to bask in your elegant afterglow.

Your breathing slowly slows as your body relaxes. Out of comfort more than anything, Sylus slowly rolls his body, shifting his flagging cock inside you just to feel the way you twitch around him.

“Ah~” You gasp. “Too much.”

Sylus clicks his tongue and brushes your noses together, “Just a little more, sweetie. Just a little more.”

You laugh softly at his greedy behavior and let him grind for a while longer, kissing him slowly. 

You’re very good at pretending, Sylus thinks as he finally stops and gives you one final kiss on the cheek.

“You want a bath? Or shower?” Sylus asks as he grabs the corner of the blanket to cover you up. You let out another giggle and poke your head out from the top.

“Shower please.” You answer, a sweet note in your voice. Sylus decides he likes how you sound when your satisfied, and wonders how syrupy he can get your voice is he gets you to come multiple times tonight.

But first, shower.

Sylus pets your hair and escapes to the shower, starting it up for you and waiting till the room fills with steam. You follow him into the bathroom with the sheet wrapped around your body and shoo him out.

With a soft chuckle, Sylus closes the door to let you get cleaned up, while he turns to the other side of the room. A shiny black telephone sits on the dresser, next to a worn address book.

Sylus doesn’t need to check; he knows who to call.

The line rings, low and slow, a few times before there’s a click and then a deep voice that answers, “Yes?”

Sylus grins and leans against the dresser, “So curt. Aren’t you glad to hear from me, doctor?” 

Sylus can just imagine the dark haired doctor’s expression— a deep furrowed frown. Zayne hates it when Sylus makes light of a serious situation, which only spurrs him on more.

“I’m assuming you found her then. Since you sound so chipper.” Zayne speaks evenly through the phone. “And, I’m going to assume you’re somewhere safe. He stopped thrashing a little while ago.”

“Safe and sound, for now.” Sylus replies, “How’s the pup handling it? He looked pretty upset when I left.”

“Please, stop calling him that. You know Caleb hates it. He’s not actually a dog.” Zayne retorts with a heavy sigh. “He's doing much better, though the proximity to Dove is causing an increased response. I had to sedate him earlier so he didn’t break out of containment.” 

“Any luck figuring out what Umbrella did to him?” Sylus asks as he checks over his shoulder toward the bathroom door, making sure you’re still secure inside it. He wasn’t going to keep this from you forever, but maybe tonight wouldn’t be the right time to tell you everything. 

“Not yet.” Zayne sounds disappointed in himself, “But I will soon. Lumiere and Lemurian are retrieving the files now. The chaos in the city has them distracted.”

Sylus scoffs, “You sent those two? Did you intend to have the facility burnt to the ground?”

Though he meant it as a prod, Sylus is only partially surprised to hear Zayne’s low chuckle, and then after a beat of silence, a quiet, “Possibly.”

The white haired man shakes his head, and hears you begin to move around the shower. The reminder of you has him standing up straight, “I have to go. Dove I secured, I’ll meet you at HQ in one week.”

Zayne hums, “Try not to damage her too much.” 

“Whatever could you mean, doctor?” Sylus sing songs as he grabs a robe to finally cover his nude body. “Am I not known for my gentleness?”

There’s a rough huff of disbelief across the phone line, “No. Actually, make it three days. A week is too long.”

Of course, Sylus thinks. The doctor might put on a good face, but he’s as eager to see you again as Sylus was, and almost as much as the rabid little experiment named Caleb is.

Sylus leans over to peer through the crack in the bathroom door, seeing your form blurred by the steam. Three days in a safehouse? He should make good use of them.

As quickly as he’d put it on, Sylus pulls the silky tie of the robe and takes it off. “No worries doctor. I’ll see you soon.”

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

Brilliantly written. One of the tags is PWP, but I would argue that it’s more plot with porn. Either way… LADs in the Resident Evil universe! It works so well and I’m obsessed lol

[applelungs]

*smooches him*

[rafayelsridablefishdinner]

Ohhhhh Caleb. Your myth is beautiful. The companion is beautiful.