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As a fellow Rafayel girlie, I’d like to request a smut where reader is exhausted from a long day of work and Rafayel pampers her ☺️

Hiii omg yes!! He's so fine holy shit (also I think I wrote in my pinned post that I wouldn't be taking requests rn but I see that my ask box was open so that's misleading and my fault definitely so I'll still do this one hehe)

took this the massage route...

content: fem!reader x rafayel; kissing; masseur roleplay; body massaging; oil; fíngering; rafayel's long fingers; jerking off; cümming on back;

wc: 1903

By god, you were fucking tired. Four different wanderer incidents popped up, and as your shitty luck would have it, were also spread across all four ends of Linkon City, even extending into its outer suburbs.

So, four battles, a ripped uniform, and a nasty energy drink later, you come home, muscles aching and weary. After typing in the pin as quickly as your fingers would allow it, you unlock the door and slide your shoes off. Inside you see no other pairs, save of your own, and think, huh, maybe Rafayel had an errand to run?

Though he always made it a point to tell you if he was heading out whenever you came back...

You drop your bag to the ground and pull out your phone to call him as you pad through the front hall, searching. Just as his contact pops up on the screen, you see a door ajar, sky blue light pouring through the opening.

So that's where he was.

You feel a smile split across your face, excited to see him after a grueling day. Hurriedly, you make your way over and crack the door open further—and there he was, sitting on a loveseat with a small sketchpad in his lap.

"Rafayel?" You call.

"Ah," He perks up, glee at the sight of you, "hey, cutie!"

Rafayel gently places his sketchpad on the table beside him and makes his way over to you, arms wide open.

"Hi, Raf." You welcome the hug, burying your head into his embrace. An earthy, smoky scent reaches your nose, and you sigh deeply.

"Wow, someone's tired huh? Got beaten up by too many wanderers today?" He asks playfully and places a kiss on your forehead.

"Oh, shut up. They're crying in their graves."

"I'm sure." Rafayel pulls back, hands lain gently on your hips. "Couldn't handle all this like I do."

"Exactly!" You huff, and turn to take in the room. "So, what's all this for?"

The entire room bathes in a blue the color of the ocean, light like dappled water covering the walls. The air is briny, and you thereafter notice the lit candles, flames small but potent. There is a cot of sorts in the center, and a towel sits on the end, along with a cart of... various things you can't exactly elucidate in this lighting.

He runs his hand through his hair, playing with the purple strands.

"You were taking a while, so I was thinking you were gonna be super tired. Thought I could service my hard-working girl tonight."

Eyes softening and extremely touched by his consideration, you rush forward to embrace him again.

"Raaaf, I love it." You murmur into his shirt.

"I knew you would. Besides, what else am I going to do? Finish up my painting?" He says humorously, probably rolling his eyes above you. "Pssh, can't do that because my pigment source is still fermenting."

"Pfft—Thomas can wait?" You ask.

"Thomas can wait." He affirms and gives you a reassuring squeeze. "Alright, get undressed! I'm gonna wait outside. Lay down on your front on the cot and cover yourself waist down."

You arch a brow, and say, "thought we were past that."

He winks, amusement dancing in his visible eye.

"Juuust trust me."

He leaves the room and closes the door, leaving you with both privacy and mild confusion. You begin unbuttoning your uniform top, the fabric already ripped on the side. After stripping completely, you get onto the cot and drape yourself with the towel.

A few moments later, quiet, ambient music begins playing, making you chuckle to yourself. He's really all out, huh?

Then comes a rap rap on the door.

"May I come in?"

You briefly entertain how funny it'd be if you said no, but your body's been yearning for something that isn't wanderer guts and endless Protocores.

"Yep!" You say, and the door opens. There stands Rafayel, wearing a nice, white button up and matching white pants. You squint at the black rectangle and whisper the word on it to yourself: Rafayel. So that's what this is. You hide your smile in your arms, intrigued for how the night would go.

"Hello, ma'am." He greets you, all smiles.

"Hello," you respond, "are you my masseur for the night?"

"Yep. Let's get started right away! I'm sure you're aching."

He circles your lying figure, heading for the cart on the other side of you.

"We'll be starting with your back, obviously."

You watch him from the corner of your eyes, and, oh, is that a bottle of oil in his hands?

"Jasmine," Rafayel says. "Perfect for the stress I'm sure you've been feeling all day, dear customer."

A noise of affirmation escapes your lips, and you decide that maybe you should stop watching him. It would be more immersive for you to just put your head down and close your eyes.

You hear slick, wet rubbing, and—

"Oh..." you sigh deeply, his large hands covered in warm oil kneading circles in the base of your delts.

Slowly, intently, his palms dig into your muscles, moving in circles and providing much needed relief to your aches. As his hands move across the planes of your back, the tensions of the day fade away, replaced with content and warmth.

His thumbs press into a particularly sore muscle, and you yelp.

"Ah!"

"Was that too hard?" He asks, pausing his movements.

"No, no! It feels so good. Keep going."

"Glad to hear." Rafayel resumes, fingers tracing deep lines down your spine.

You groan at the sensation, at the feeling of his strong fingers, honed from years of delicate artistry, working the stress out of you. The scent of the jasmine oil only adds to your lazy state, rich and floral.

Rafayel hums slightly to the music as his fingers settle right above the towel.

"I'll be working on your legs next."

You nod, and he moves down and lifts the towel covering your legs. Taking more oil, he rubs them over his hands and in between his fingers. He lifts one of your feet and deftly works it out, thumb deeply tracing the arch of your foot.

Then, he does the other leg. Alternating, he works his way up both, kneading out the kinks in your calves.

Once he reaches your thigh, you bite your lip. Hard.

You have a feeling where this is going to go, and you hope he knows exactly what you're thinking. Rafayel reads your mind like an open book—what you love, what turns you on, what doesn't.

His strong hand traces up the back of your thigh, stopping just shy of the bottom of your ass. Using both hands, he works the muscle there, rubbing large, long, circles.

"Ahh..." you can't help but moan when his thumb brushes terribly close to your cunt.

Then he does it again. The same spot, wet with jasmine oil. The scent grows stronger, and the air becomes taut with sensual tension.

"Mmh—ri—right there."

"Feeling good?" His smooth voice is so much closer than you thought it was, almost a whisper in your ears.

"So—yeah, soooo nice..."

Your cunt twitches, the minute distance between his thumb and your folds so unbearable. You can feel stickiness, wanting to clench your thighs together. The jasmine only makes you more lightheaded and aroused, the scent heady.

"Hmm, that's odd. I don't think I put any oil there," he says wryly. "Wonder what it is."

And before you even know it, he brushes his thumb against your wet folds, smearing the slick.

"Fuck..." The moan comes, needy and whiny, and you clench your thighs together harshly.

"Is it what I think it is? Hmm. Ma'am, this hardly feels professional." And yet you feel the intrusion of a single finger, sliding against your hole, jabbing against your clit.

"Raf—"

"I could get fired, sweetheart."

His finger enters your cunt, rolling and thrusting. It's long, the source of your frequent fixation whenever you see him. Deft when painting and skilled when fingerfucking the life out of you.

Rafayel adds a second finger, his pointer sliding in tandem with his middle in bruising your walls. You whine, sweaty body jerking in the rhythm of his fingers. Your slick puddles on the cot below, cloudy and messy, just as doused as your lover's talented fingers.

"Well this is supposed to be a full body massage..." he mutters, breathy, "I would have been a terrible masseur had I not started stretching your beautiful pussy, either."

"Mmmh—yeah—fuck!" you choke out, feeling him hit gold in your cunt.

Rafayel targets the spongy spot, prodding and massaging it with his fingertips, making you see stars. But the longer he sees your writhing body and gushing cunt, the more difficult it gets to ignore the tent in his pants. His cock aches, straining against the fabric, yearning to be taken out.

"Cutie," he starts, already unbuttoning his pants with his available hand. "How would you feel about using a different kinda liquid for the rest of the massage?"

"Hu—huh?" You try angling your head back to see him but to no avail.

You hear a schlick, schlick, schlick from somewhere behind you, growing faster as he continues pumping and scissoring your cunt open, with the addition of a third finger reaching under to rub your clit in an entirely different rhythm.

Rafayel, right hand virtually buried in your heat, continues stroking his large cock with his left. The tip weeps precum, oozing out in thin strings. He reaches and gathers some of your fluids with the same hand, slathers it all over his raging erection, and wets his lips at the sight of your arousal on his length. He would put it in, typical pussy massage and all, but he has another idea.

As your cunt grows more sensitive from his long fingers, his dick throbs painfully.

"The other kinda liquid 'm gonna put on you, sweetheart," he says, "will make your skin glow. Gonna—ahh—look even more ravishing than you already are—shiiit."

It hits your skin, wet, squirting all over your back, ass, and even the backside of your cunt. A broken moan—you, maybe him, you don't know—rings throughout the room, and you feel something hard hit your ass, settling plushly on top of it with a wet slap.

The squirts keep coming and you shiver, knowing Rafayel's spent dick sits right near your sopping hole. And that thought stirs you to reaching a much-needed high. His fingers delve in and out, mixing his cum with yours—the perfect, filthy massage. Quickly, your orgasm washes over you, harsh and powerful, juices dripping out of your cunt paired with the largest whine.

Rafayel fucks you through it, continually scraping some of his cum and fucking that in with his fingers, too. The jasmine oil is long gone—only the musk of his and your arousal remains. Your back is decorated with his seed in shiny streaks, a lewd masterpiece fashioned by his hands.

And right after you're done, limbs and pussy jelly (just like you wanted) and the day's stress thoroughly fucked out of your mind, he leans back down to kiss your temple.

"Hope you liked that massage, cutie. Visit me again the next time you're stressed. In the end, I'll fuck it out of you the harder way."

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