I’ve been practicing how I want to portray a kinda evil rafayel in a siren form… so here is a small gift for you
Cw: dubcon!!!
The storm had eaten the horizon.
It had come down the coast like a living thing, howling, salt-fanged, clawing the sea into snarling peaks. Rafayel had swum through tempests before, had curled himself deep beneath the waves where thunder was only sound and lightning only light. But tonight the wind had caught him wrong, dragging him upward, shredding the calm he sought.
It cast him into the shallows like a punishment.
Synthetic netting, thin, sharp, reeking of oil and iron, wrapped around him mid-breath. It strangled his movement, rasped along his gills, bit into the grooves of his ribs as the tide smashed him into the jagged rocks. His lungs seized, his gills spasmed open and shut, filtering nothing but air.
Dry.
Too dry.
He tasted the grit of sand as the waves spat him onto the beach. His cheek pressed to cold ground. His tail—powerful, sleek, dark as midnight water—lay twisted under strands of industrial net, fraying where his scales had cut into them. Kelp tangled around one fin, tugging like a child.
He closed his eyes.
Mouth-breathing.
Like the soft, clumsy landfolk.
Humiliating, but necessary.
It was quiet now except for distant thunder. Quiet enough that he heard the footsteps before he smelled them—soft, two-legged, hesitant, approaching the wreckage he made against the sand.
Rafayel remained utterly still.
He had watched foxes play dead to escape birds. Watched harbor seals fake injury to lure in sympathizers. Humans fell for both.
He could pretend.
He could wait.
Hunger pulsed beneath his ribs, an ancient ache coiled in his spine, older than storms. He had resisted it for weeks—down in the trenches, drifting through whale-song, drowning the need in darkness. But instinct was louder than reason. Primal. Ruthless.
And now, with the scent of a human warming the air, that hunger thrashed awake.
The steps stopped close. Very close. Sand shifted as they crouched beside him.
Rafayel slitted his lids the breadth of a grain of salt.
A human. Alone. Breath quick, body warm. Their scent was detergent-sweet, tinged with adrenaline. Cautious, but curious enough to reach toward the tangled mess of net and kelp and—him.
A hand stretched out.
Foolish.
Soft.
Perfect.
Now.
Rafayel moved in a single fluid surge. The net split like soggy paper as he rose, dragging the human down with a precision that was almost gentle. They hit the sand with a gasp, their wrist caught in his hand—his fingers firm and hot, gripping like stone warmed by sun.
He straddled them in the next second.
His tail shifted, splitting into legs, skin shimmering where scales receded, water pooling beneath him in tiny rivulets. His thighs bracketed theirs, pinning them with a steady, unshakeable weight. Not crushing. Just… certain.
Their fear spiked deliciously on the air.
His gills fluttered along his ribs, brushing the human’s shirt as he leaned down. His breath grazed their cheek, warm and damp with ocean air. He inhaled deeply at their throat, dragging their scent into him.
Salt. Warmth.
Fear.
Sweetness.
His body responded instinctively. Heat coiling low, pressing hard against their thigh. He felt their pulse throb beneath his thumb where he held their wrist.
Slowly, deliberately, he let them see him.
Eyes dark as deepwater,pupils narrowing to slivered cuts of black.
Lips parting to reveal fangs, small but unmistakably predatory.
Hair dripping brine, clinging to his jaw.
The human froze beneath him.
Good.
His tongue flicked across their skin, the hollow beneath their jaw, tasting salt and heat and something achingly alive. He hummed low in his chest, a vibration the sea-beasts used to soothe their young.
“Shhhh,” he rumbled, mimicking the human parents he’d watched on crowded beaches, pulling frightened children close. The sound rolled through both their bodies.
They did not relax.
His lips curled in amusement.
He liked that.
He drew back just enough to meet their gaze again, thumb brushing the rapid flutter of their pulse. “Help,” he said, voice smooth, carefully shaped—borrowed from a drowning sailor he’d watched years ago. Deep. Velvet-edged. Human enough to understand, inhuman enough to unnerve.
He tilted his head, studying them, drunk on the thrum of their fear and fascination.
“Beautiful,” he added, tasting the word. He had heard humans say it of sunsets. Waves. Music.
He decided they were all of those.
Their breath shuddered. Their fingers twitched where he pinned them. A spark, not of fear, but something else, flickered in their eyes.
Interest.
Curiosity.
Heat.
Rafayel’s heart thrummed like a drum struck underwater.
He lowered himself again, chest brushing theirs, gills fluttering, lips hovering a heartbeat away from their throat.
“Touch me,” he murmured—not a command, but an invitation. A plea shaped by hunger older than any language.
He waited, centuries of instinct poised inside his stillness, gaze burning into theirs.
Would they flee?
Fight?
Submit?
Reach for him?
His thumb traced lazy circles against their skin as his body vibrated with anticipation—saltwater dripping from him onto their chest, a slow, cold rhythm against their heat.
“Choose,” Rafayel whispered, a wicked, hopeful smile flickering across his lips.
He hoped, deeply, desperately that they would choose him.