Otome Games For Life

"That's what I'm here for," he points out, handing you your eye protection, which you slide on your head – at least you know how to put that on – while he tightens his own, muscled forearms straining against the nylon. "If I do my job right, all you have to do is aim and release."

You spend the next few minutes asking about each piece of gear, eagerly learning more about your boyfriend's hobby as he continues to equip himself and explain their purpose while fastening finger tabs, tightening straps, and adjusting both your equipment so that it accomodates each of you.

"How do I look?" you ask, drawing back a pretend bow in the air to show off your new gear

"Armed and dangerous," he murmurs back fondly. With a squeeze of your waist, he hands you your real bow. "Time to do what you do best, Miss Hunter."

Taking a step forward, you gauge the distance between the starting line and the target. "Kill wanderers?" you joke, looking over your shoulder to see Zayne fastening a fitted plate over his chest, rolling his shoulders so it sits perfectly over the broad curves of his shoulders.

“Ready?” he asks, grabbing his bow and coming up next to you.

Your eyes narrow on the chest plate and you gesture to it. "What's that?"

He clears his throat, nocking an arrow as he speaks without looking up. “It’s called a plastron.” His fingers rest lightly on the strap, adjusting it one last time before he lifts his bow and an arrow. “I’ll go first to demonstrate.”

Your brow furrows. “What does a plastron do?”

"It protects your chest," he replies smoothly, keeping his focus on the arrow. He tilts his head with a warm smile. “Come here, take a look at how I’m nocking it.”

You step closer, trying to watch the angle and tension of the string, but your mind is still on the plastron. “Wait, so, why didn’t the attendant give me one?”

"They're-" Zayne's fingers tighten slightly around the bow. “Usually given to people who might get hurt by the bowstring when it's released.”

You glance down at your own chest, back at his plastron, and up at his carefully blank expression. "You see how I'm gripping the-"

"Oh my god," you gasp, embarrassment pinching at your cheeks as the reason for your lack of plastron dawns on you. "Is my chest not big enough?"

Zayne’s brows pinch in the slightest wince. "There are plenty of reasons someone might not need to wear a–"

"She basically looked me in the eye and told me that my boyfriend's tits are bigger than mine!"

"Sweetheart, that's not–"

"I mean, I already knew that," you grouse, smacking a hand against Zayne's chest plate for emphasis. "She didn't have to rub it in my face by-"

You're cut off on a gasp when you're suddenly yanked into Zayne's padded chest, one of his hands coming to your waist, the other tilting your face up by your jaw as he leans in.

"Did you know," Zayne says, voice low and smoky, "That there are many advantages for those who don't need a chest guard?"

The purse on your lips unravels at the question and you raise a brow to silently prompt an answer, not willing to let go of your indignation quite yet as your hands settle on his lower back.

"Increased mobility, for one," he starts, his thumb stroking over the edge of your jaw. "You also have easier breath control." You hum, eye lids lowering as the tip of his nose traces the side of yours.

"But do you know what the biggest advantage is?" he asks, his head dipping lower than his voice until his lips hover over your chest. "There's no obstructions-" he presses a languid, open-mouthed kiss over your right breast. "-that hide any part of you away from me." A kiss over your left breast.

Your giggle is unsteady as it tickles the bubbles in your stomach, fizzing and popping fast enough to make you breathless. "Oh, so these advantages are for you."

"Of course they are. And now," Zayne hums, his mouth tilting your head back as it makes its way to the side of your throat, your jaw, your lips. "I'm going to take full advantage of just how perfectly equipped you are."

You lean into him instinctively, lips parting as your mouths meet in a slow kiss that sends more bubbles floating through your diaphragm.

“I'm down for that,” You paint his lips with your smile as you pull back and away from his arms. "Right after I ask the front desk for my own plastron."

➻➻ MORE ZAYNE FICS

The nesting takes over before you can blink or think twice.

What started as rearranging his studio pillows escalated into full-blown architectural redesign. You came home one day to find him floating mid-air (thanks to his water manipulation), attempting to suspend an entire coral reef from the ceiling.

“It’s for ambiance," he sniffed, as if this were completely normal.

Your lover had very strong feelings about names.

“I’m absolutely not naming them after constellations," he declared. “Do you want them to get bullied by seagulls?"

This, after he was the one who painted your favorite stars on the ceiling. Instead, he insisted on Lemurian names that were “dignified yet menacing." You vetoed “Lord Tempest of the Abyss" pretty quickly.

When Rafayel first started to show, he almost refused to believe he was getting any bigger. At first, he refused to acknowledge the changes at all.

"This is just bloating. From stress. And your terrible cooking."

He kept squeezing into his usual skintight turtlenecks and high-waisted trousers, glaring at you if you so much as glanced at the way the fabric strained across his middle.

One day, a button pinged off his pants mid-rant about the price of paints. He froze, horrified, before declaring: “This fabric was defective. I demand compensation."

He begrudgingly switched to draped, flowy tunics. traditional Lemurian maternity wear, obviously, but insisted they were “artistic flow enhancement garments" and not because his belly was getting harder to ignore.

He started wearing his paint-splattered scarves extra loose, draping them strategically over his midsection like a very bad magic trick. “If you can’t see it, it’s not happening."

You came home to find him sulking in what could only be described as a silk kimono, the sash tied just above the curve of his stomach. “Thomas ordered this ‘for my dignity,” he muttered, “Which implies I had any to begin with."

He did, however, become weirdly obsessed with the way his scales glittered more prominently now, stretching the fabric taut over his belly just to watch the light catch them. “At least this part is aesthetically pleasing."

Eventually he fully embraced luxe loose silhouettes. It included billowy sleeves, open-front robes, and a lot of iridescent shawls that made him look like a Prince.

The afternoon sunlight spilled through the studio windows, casting shimmering reflections off the ocean outside but none of it compared to the way Rafayel glowed.

Draped in a loose white silk blouse, the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder, he looked almost ethereal. The translucent material clung faintly to the curve of his belly, revealing the faintest shimmer of iridescent scales beneath. Lemurian biology making itself known in the most delicate way. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, smudged with streaks of cerulean and gold paint, his ashy purple hair tied half-up in a messy knot.

He was seated on a nest of plush cushions you’d arranged for him after you chastised him: “You are absolutely not climbing ladders anymore," you’d declared, to his exaggerated groaning. His bare feet tucked beneath him as he worked on a small canvas balanced carefully on his knees.

And then, softly, almost unconsciously, he began to hum.

A slow, lilting Lemurian lullaby, one you’d never heard before. His free hand drifted to rest on his stomach, fingers tracing idle patterns over the silk as he murmured between hums.

“Yes, yes, I know. The coral pigment is too bright for your tastes. Clearly, you take after your other parent’s questionable color sense.

His voice was warm, teasing, but his expression was impossibly tender. The way he tilted his head slightly, as if listening to a response only he could hear.

And then he caught you staring.

His cheeks flushed pink, but he didn’t stop humming. Instead, he lifted his chin with faux haughtiness, paintbrush gesturing toward you.

“You’re distracting my muse," he accused, but his scales lit up for a brief moment along his cheekbone.

You didn’t point it out. You just smiled, walking over to kneel beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple as his humming softened into contented silence.

The ocean murmured outside. The studio smelled of salt and paint.

And Rafayel, artist, warrior, soon-to-be parent, looked more beautiful than any masterpiece he’d ever created.

Rafayel may have been the one physically carrying your child, but his Lemurian pheromones had other plans for you. Rafayel wasn’t the only one waking up at 3 AM craving grilled eel with mango salsa, you did too. The difference? He got to blame pregnancy. You got a smug, sleep-deprived artist smirking at you from the nest of blankets saying, “Oh? So now you finally understand my suffering?"

The nesting instincts also began to drift to you as well.

If Rafayel was building coral-themed bassinets out of driftwood, you were suddenly reorganizing the entire house. Twice.

Closets weren’t safe. Neither were kitchen cabinets. At one point, Tara walked in on you color-coding Rafayel’s paint tubes by “emotional resonance" while he cheered you on from the couch.

“Burn the cool-toned ones! They’re treasonous!”

Since Rafayel’s pheromones were subtly rewiring your biology, your body responded by amping up your own Evol abilities, like your reflexes sharpening to “overprotective-mother" levels. The first time a seagull swooped too close to Rafayel at the beach, you accidentally vaporized a sandcastle in your haste to shield him. He laughed for twenty minutes straight.

Lemurian pheromones are potent under normal circumstances, but pregnant Rafayel? Oh no.

The moment his scent shifted, warm sea salt and sweetly addictive, you’d find yourself glued to his side, nuzzling into his neck like some kind of overgrown, possessive remora fish. He reveled in it.

But near the end of the pregnancy, Rafayel’s typical bratty behavior became more docile.

Rafayel moved across the studio at a glacial pace, each step a laborious shuffle, his usual effortless grace abandoned somewhere in the third trimester. His swollen feet, which he'd insisted were just “slightly puffy, not swollen, don't exaggerate" barely fit into the silk slippers he'd stubbornly refused to give up, their delicate embroidery straining at the seams.

His back was aching, his scales tender where they stretched over the curve of his belly. His once-lithe movements were reduced to slow, cautious shifts, his free hand bracing against furniture, walls, whatever he could reach as he groaned under his breath.

You looked up from your book just in time to see him pause mid-step, his entire body tensing as a sharp discomfort shot through him. His face crumpled, just for a second, before he bit his lip, letting out a tiny, wounded whimper.

It was so uncharacteristically vulnerable that you were on your feet in an instant.

"Raf—"

"Don't,” he grumbled, holding up a hand. His voice was thin, strained, his usual bratty bravado stripped away by sheer exhaustion. He tried to wave you off, but even that seemed to take too much effort. Instead, he sagged against the nearest table, eyes squeezed shut.

"...It's just my stupid tailbone,” he muttered, his pride clearly warring with his need to not collapse on the floor. “And my feet feel like they’ve been replaced with coral chunks. And—" He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, hands curling protectively around his stomach as the baby kicked. Hard.

You were already there, slipping an arm around his waist, guiding him toward the nest of cushions he’d (very reluctantly) admitted helped. He didn’t protest. That, more than anything, told you how bad it was.

As he sank into the pillows with a shuddering sigh, you caught the way his fingers trembled, just slightly, before he tucked them against his belly, his breath finally steadying.

"...This is your fault.”

Your fingers tremble as you gently press your palm against the taut curve of his belly, warmth radiating through the thin silk of his blouse. Beneath your touch, you feel the subtle shift, a tiny foot pushing back, the restless roll of life growing inside him.

Rafayel exhales sharply at the contact, his breath hitching just once before he melts into your touch, his shoulders sagging with relief.

You wish you could take the pain for him.

It’s a fierce, aching thought. One that claws at your ribs every time you see him wince, every time he muffles a groan into the crook of his arm.

You’d imagined this so differently, always assumed you’d be the one carrying your child, that your body would bear the weight, the aches, the late-night fears.

But biology had other plans.

And now? Watching him—your proud, stubborn, impossible artist-battle through each wave of discomfort with gritted teeth and trembling hands?

It breaks you in ways you never expected.

Your thumb traces a slow circle over his stomach, feeling the flutter of movement beneath.

“Tell me what you need, my love." you murmur into his hair.

Rafayel blinks up at you, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion but for once, he doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t tease. His fingers curl around your wrist, holding your hand against him like an anchor.

"...Just this," he admits quietly, and the rawness in his voice sends a pang through your chest.

You press your forehead to his, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

You’d do anything. Trade places, shoulder the pain, rewrite the stars themselves, if it meant easing even a fraction of his burden.

But for now? You stay.

And that, for him, is enough.

The birth was someone you both had tried to plan down to the second.

Rafayel had been adamant. “No hospitals, no humans fussing over me like some fragile artifact."

And so, preparations were made: the massive sunken tub in his studio was filled with seawater warmed by his own Evol, infused with soothing salts and luminescent algae that pulsed gently in the dim light.

When labor began, he shifted fully into his Lemurian form, his body elongating, sleek muscle and sinew expanding beneath shimmering scales as his tailfin emerged in a cascade of indigo and blues. The tub barely contained him; his tail spilled over the edge, twitching restlessly as contractions wracked his powerful frame.

His aunt Talia, a formidable Lemurian midwife with purple hair and eyes like storm-worn seaglass, moved through the studio with haste. She braided Rafayel’s now waist-length hair back with kelp ribbons, her voice a steady hum of ancient lullabies as she monitored his pulse at the gills.

“Breathe, nephew,” she chided when he snarled, claws digging into the tub’s edge. “This pain is older than the tides, you will not drown in it."

You knelt beside him, wiping his brow with a damp cloth as he panted, his usually razor-sharp wit reduced to gasped curses and breathless pleas.

“I take it back! I hate this!” he seethed, tail thrashing before Talia pinned it with a firm hand.

For male Lemurians, childbirth was an intricate dance of biology and magic both beautiful and intensely visceral. Unlike human anatomy, Lemurians carry their young within a protective internal chamber located at the base of their tail, just above where the fin begins to flare.

When labor reaches its peak, a vertical slit parts along the underside of the tail. It is smooth and seamless, like the opening of a pearl, revealing a glistening, translucent membrane. Inside, the infant is curled in a fluid-filled sac, nourished by a mix of saltwater and Luminescent Plasm (a unique Lemurian nutrient-rich substance).

Rafayel’s body had arched in the water, his tail thrashing as his muscles clenched rhythmically. Talia’s hands were steady, guiding him through each surge, her voice an anchor.

“Push with the waves, not against them," she commanded, pressing a hand below his gills where Lemurian energy gathered.

Just like that, the slit parted.

At first, it was just a shimmer, a flicker of iridescent light as the membrane stretched thin. Then, slowly, the sac emerged, pulsing with soft bioluminescence.

Rafayel’s breath hitched, his claws scraping against the tub as he bore down. Talia’s fingers dipped into the water, carefully supporting the emerging sac, your first child, as it slid free in a rush of silvery fluid.

The infant within stirred. Tiny webbed fingers pressing against the membrane before Talia gently tore it open with her claws.

A cry.

High and clear, like the first note of a sea hymn.

Rafayel slumped back, trembling, his gills flaring as he gulped air but his eyes never left the tiny form now cradled in Talia’s hands.

A perfect blend of both worlds, your child.

Delicate fins, a dusting of pearlescent scales along their shoulders and eyes that shimmered, just like Rafayel’s, with galaxies yet unseen.

Talia lifted the newborn, still shimmering with traces of birth-fluid and with reverence, placed them against Rafayel’s heaving chest. The baby curled instinctively, tiny fingers grasping at his scales as they let out another hiccuping cry.

A sob tore from your throat, raw and unfiltered, as you pressed your forehead to Rafayel’s shoulder, your hands trembling where they clutched his arm.

“You did so good. So, so good.” You choked out, voice breaking between kisses pressed to his temple, his damp hair, the corner of his parted lips.

He was still panting, his gills fluttering erratically, but his arms had tightened around the baby. His baby, your baby. Like he’d never let go.

Rafayel turned his face into your touch, his exhaustion-glazed eyes meeting yours. There were no quips, no dramatic complaints. Just a shaky exhale, a soft fluctuation in his expression as he whispered…

"...They have your nose."

You laughed, or maybe it was another sob, your thumbs brushing away the tears streaking his cheeks.

Talia smirked from the edge of the tub, cleaning off her hands. “And your theatrics," she added dryly.

But Rafayel didn’t even protest.

He just leaned into you, his tail curling up in the tub as the ocean outside sang its endless, patient song.

Your hands trembled as you carefully gathered your firstborn against your chest, their tiny body warm and wriggling as they let out a soft whimper. Rafayel’s breath hitched sharply, then fractured into a gasp as another contraction seized him. His claws dug into the rim of the tub, his tail thrashing in the water as his body tensed, gills flaring wide.

Talia was already moving, her hands pressing firmly against his abdomen. “Twins," she confirmed, her voice steady but eyes darting across Rafayel’s form. “The second is coming now."

Rafel’s head fell back against the tub’s edge, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He reached blindly for you, his fingers slick with water and birth-fluid, gripping your wrist with startling strength.

“Don’t look so scared," he gritted out, his usual arrogance frayed at the edges but still clinging on. “I’m—ah!—not finished impressing you yet."

You clutched your firstborn closer, kissing their forehead as Rafayel’s body arched again. His tail lifting partially out of the water as the second birth-slit parted. This time, it was quicker. A rush of silver-blue fluid, another glowing sac sliding into Talia’s waiting hands.

She tore the membrane with ease, revealing a second child. They were smaller than the first, but with the same luminous eyes, their tiny fins on the side of their face fluttering like fragile lace as they drew their first breath.

Talia wasted no time. She placed the second babe against Rafayel’s chest, their sibling instinctively nuzzling close as if they’d known each other all along.

Rafayel’s arms encircled them both, his exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by something awed and reverent. You helped his adjust both of your children against him. He looked up at you, his mate, his love, his voice barely raising above a whisper.

"...We made these."

And as you knelt beside him, both babes cooing in his arms, you knew no greater masterpiece existed.

The tub looked like a battleground. Water sloshed over the edges, luminescent birth-fluid glimmering in stray puddles, crushed herbs and kelp strewn about where Talia had worked her ancient midwife magic. Rafayel slumped against the tub, utterly spent, his tail half-submerged and limp, the proud arch of his fins now drooping like a windless sail.

But his arms, his arms never loosened.

Both babes lay curled against his chest, their tiny tails flickering instinctively, seeking warmth. Their scales caught the dim light—soft hues of seafoam and pearl, just like their father’s, but with traces of you in the slope of their brows, the shape of their tiny hands.

You helped clean the sweat from his face, pressing a kiss to his damp temple. “You were incredible," you whispered to him, thumb brushing away a stray tear or maybe seawater. He’d swear it was seawater later.

Rafayel let out a shaky little laugh, both babies whimpered at the sudden movement. “Obviously." He looked down at the hues of purple with streaks of your own hair on his little guppies. "...They’re alive because of you, too."

Talia snorted from where she was cleaning up her supplies. “And me. But by all means, forget the elder who delivered them."

Rafayel shot her a withering look but he shook it off with a small laugh. Not when his children were here. Not when his world had just grown larger.

Outside, the tide rolled in. It was like a quiet, endless applause.

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The nesting takes over before you can blink or think twice.

What started as rearranging his studio pillows escalated into full-blown architectural redesign. You came home one day to find him floating mid-air (thanks to his water manipulation), attempting to suspend an entire coral reef from the ceiling.

“It’s for ambiance," he sniffed, as if this were completely normal.

Your lover had very strong feelings about names.

“I’m absolutely not naming them after constellations," he declared. “Do you want them to get bullied by seagulls?"

This, after he was the one who painted your favorite stars on the ceiling. Instead, he insisted on Lemurian names that were “dignified yet menacing." You vetoed “Lord Tempest of the Abyss" pretty quickly.

When Rafayel first started to show, he almost refused to believe he was getting any bigger. At first, he refused to acknowledge the changes at all.

"This is just bloating. From stress. And your terrible cooking."

He kept squeezing into his usual skintight turtlenecks and high-waisted trousers, glaring at you if you so much as glanced at the way the fabric strained across his middle.

One day, a button pinged off his pants mid-rant about the price of paints. He froze, horrified, before declaring: “This fabric was defective. I demand compensation."

He begrudgingly switched to draped, flowy tunics. traditional Lemurian maternity wear, obviously, but insisted they were “artistic flow enhancement garments" and not because his belly was getting harder to ignore.

He started wearing his paint-splattered scarves extra loose, draping them strategically over his midsection like a very bad magic trick. “If you can’t see it, it’s not happening."

You came home to find him sulking in what could only be described as a silk kimono, the sash tied just above the curve of his stomach. “Thomas ordered this ‘for my dignity,” he muttered, “Which implies I had any to begin with."

He did, however, become weirdly obsessed with the way his scales glittered more prominently now, stretching the fabric taut over his belly just to watch the light catch them. “At least this part is aesthetically pleasing."

Eventually he fully embraced luxe loose silhouettes. It included billowy sleeves, open-front robes, and a lot of iridescent shawls that made him look like a Prince.

The afternoon sunlight spilled through the studio windows, casting shimmering reflections off the ocean outside but none of it compared to the way Rafayel glowed.

Draped in a loose white silk blouse, the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder, he looked almost ethereal. The translucent material clung faintly to the curve of his belly, revealing the faintest shimmer of iridescent scales beneath. Lemurian biology making itself known in the most delicate way. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, smudged with streaks of cerulean and gold paint, his ashy purple hair tied half-up in a messy knot.

He was seated on a nest of plush cushions you’d arranged for him after you chastised him: “You are absolutely not climbing ladders anymore," you’d declared, to his exaggerated groaning. His bare feet tucked beneath him as he worked on a small canvas balanced carefully on his knees.

And then, softly, almost unconsciously, he began to hum.

A slow, lilting Lemurian lullaby, one you’d never heard before. His free hand drifted to rest on his stomach, fingers tracing idle patterns over the silk as he murmured between hums.

“Yes, yes, I know. The coral pigment is too bright for your tastes. Clearly, you take after your other parent’s questionable color sense.

His voice was warm, teasing, but his expression was impossibly tender. The way he tilted his head slightly, as if listening to a response only he could hear.

And then he caught you staring.

His cheeks flushed pink, but he didn’t stop humming. Instead, he lifted his chin with faux haughtiness, paintbrush gesturing toward you.

“You’re distracting my muse," he accused, but his scales lit up for a brief moment along his cheekbone.

You didn’t point it out. You just smiled, walking over to kneel beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple as his humming softened into contented silence.

The ocean murmured outside. The studio smelled of salt and paint.

And Rafayel, artist, warrior, soon-to-be parent, looked more beautiful than any masterpiece he’d ever created.

Rafayel may have been the one physically carrying your child, but his Lemurian pheromones had other plans for you. Rafayel wasn’t the only one waking up at 3 AM craving grilled eel with mango salsa, you did too. The difference? He got to blame pregnancy. You got a smug, sleep-deprived artist smirking at you from the nest of blankets saying, “Oh? So now you finally understand my suffering?"

The nesting instincts also began to drift to you as well.

If Rafayel was building coral-themed bassinets out of driftwood, you were suddenly reorganizing the entire house. Twice.

Closets weren’t safe. Neither were kitchen cabinets. At one point, Tara walked in on you color-coding Rafayel’s paint tubes by “emotional resonance" while he cheered you on from the couch.

“Burn the cool-toned ones! They’re treasonous!”

Since Rafayel’s pheromones were subtly rewiring your biology, your body responded by amping up your own Evol abilities, like your reflexes sharpening to “overprotective-mother" levels. The first time a seagull swooped too close to Rafayel at the beach, you accidentally vaporized a sandcastle in your haste to shield him. He laughed for twenty minutes straight.

Lemurian pheromones are potent under normal circumstances, but pregnant Rafayel? Oh no.

The moment his scent shifted, warm sea salt and sweetly addictive, you’d find yourself glued to his side, nuzzling into his neck like some kind of overgrown, possessive remora fish. He reveled in it.

But near the end of the pregnancy, Rafayel’s typical bratty behavior became more docile.

Rafayel moved across the studio at a glacial pace, each step a laborious shuffle, his usual effortless grace abandoned somewhere in the third trimester. His swollen feet, which he'd insisted were just “slightly puffy, not swollen, don't exaggerate" barely fit into the silk slippers he'd stubbornly refused to give up, their delicate embroidery straining at the seams.

His back was aching, his scales tender where they stretched over the curve of his belly. His once-lithe movements were reduced to slow, cautious shifts, his free hand bracing against furniture, walls, whatever he could reach as he groaned under his breath.

You looked up from your book just in time to see him pause mid-step, his entire body tensing as a sharp discomfort shot through him. His face crumpled, just for a second, before he bit his lip, letting out a tiny, wounded whimper.

It was so uncharacteristically vulnerable that you were on your feet in an instant.

"Raf—"

"Don't,” he grumbled, holding up a hand. His voice was thin, strained, his usual bratty bravado stripped away by sheer exhaustion. He tried to wave you off, but even that seemed to take too much effort. Instead, he sagged against the nearest table, eyes squeezed shut.

"...It's just my stupid tailbone,” he muttered, his pride clearly warring with his need to not collapse on the floor. “And my feet feel like they’ve been replaced with coral chunks. And—" He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, hands curling protectively around his stomach as the baby kicked. Hard.

You were already there, slipping an arm around his waist, guiding him toward the nest of cushions he’d (very reluctantly) admitted helped. He didn’t protest. That, more than anything, told you how bad it was.

As he sank into the pillows with a shuddering sigh, you caught the way his fingers trembled, just slightly, before he tucked them against his belly, his breath finally steadying.

"...This is your fault.”

Your fingers tremble as you gently press your palm against the taut curve of his belly, warmth radiating through the thin silk of his blouse. Beneath your touch, you feel the subtle shift, a tiny foot pushing back, the restless roll of life growing inside him.

Rafayel exhales sharply at the contact, his breath hitching just once before he melts into your touch, his shoulders sagging with relief.

You wish you could take the pain for him.

It’s a fierce, aching thought. One that claws at your ribs every time you see him wince, every time he muffles a groan into the crook of his arm.

You’d imagined this so differently, always assumed you’d be the one carrying your child, that your body would bear the weight, the aches, the late-night fears.

But biology had other plans.

And now? Watching him—your proud, stubborn, impossible artist-battle through each wave of discomfort with gritted teeth and trembling hands?

It breaks you in ways you never expected.

Your thumb traces a slow circle over his stomach, feeling the flutter of movement beneath.

“Tell me what you need, my love." you murmur into his hair.

Rafayel blinks up at you, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion but for once, he doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t tease. His fingers curl around your wrist, holding your hand against him like an anchor.

"...Just this," he admits quietly, and the rawness in his voice sends a pang through your chest.

You press your forehead to his, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

You’d do anything. Trade places, shoulder the pain, rewrite the stars themselves, if it meant easing even a fraction of his burden.

But for now? You stay.

And that, for him, is enough.

The birth was someone you both had tried to plan down to the second.

Rafayel had been adamant. “No hospitals, no humans fussing over me like some fragile artifact."

And so, preparations were made: the massive sunken tub in his studio was filled with seawater warmed by his own Evol, infused with soothing salts and luminescent algae that pulsed gently in the dim light.

When labor began, he shifted fully into his Lemurian form, his body elongating, sleek muscle and sinew expanding beneath shimmering scales as his tailfin emerged in a cascade of indigo and blues. The tub barely contained him; his tail spilled over the edge, twitching restlessly as contractions wracked his powerful frame.

His aunt Talia, a formidable Lemurian midwife with purple hair and eyes like storm-worn seaglass, moved through the studio with haste. She braided Rafayel’s now waist-length hair back with kelp ribbons, her voice a steady hum of ancient lullabies as she monitored his pulse at the gills.

“Breathe, nephew,” she chided when he snarled, claws digging into the tub’s edge. “This pain is older than the tides, you will not drown in it."

You knelt beside him, wiping his brow with a damp cloth as he panted, his usually razor-sharp wit reduced to gasped curses and breathless pleas.

“I take it back! I hate this!” he seethed, tail thrashing before Talia pinned it with a firm hand.

For male Lemurians, childbirth was an intricate dance of biology and magic both beautiful and intensely visceral. Unlike human anatomy, Lemurians carry their young within a protective internal chamber located at the base of their tail, just above where the fin begins to flare.

When labor reaches its peak, a vertical slit parts along the underside of the tail. It is smooth and seamless, like the opening of a pearl, revealing a glistening, translucent membrane. Inside, the infant is curled in a fluid-filled sac, nourished by a mix of saltwater and Luminescent Plasm (a unique Lemurian nutrient-rich substance).

Rafayel’s body had arched in the water, his tail thrashing as his muscles clenched rhythmically. Talia’s hands were steady, guiding him through each surge, her voice an anchor.

“Push with the waves, not against them," she commanded, pressing a hand below his gills where Lemurian energy gathered.

Just like that, the slit parted.

At first, it was just a shimmer, a flicker of iridescent light as the membrane stretched thin. Then, slowly, the sac emerged, pulsing with soft bioluminescence.

Rafayel’s breath hitched, his claws scraping against the tub as he bore down. Talia’s fingers dipped into the water, carefully supporting the emerging sac, your first child, as it slid free in a rush of silvery fluid.

The infant within stirred. Tiny webbed fingers pressing against the membrane before Talia gently tore it open with her claws.

A cry.

High and clear, like the first note of a sea hymn.

Rafayel slumped back, trembling, his gills flaring as he gulped air but his eyes never left the tiny form now cradled in Talia’s hands.

A perfect blend of both worlds, your child.

Delicate fins, a dusting of pearlescent scales along their shoulders and eyes that shimmered, just like Rafayel’s, with galaxies yet unseen.

Talia lifted the newborn, still shimmering with traces of birth-fluid and with reverence, placed them against Rafayel’s heaving chest. The baby curled instinctively, tiny fingers grasping at his scales as they let out another hiccuping cry.

A sob tore from your throat, raw and unfiltered, as you pressed your forehead to Rafayel’s shoulder, your hands trembling where they clutched his arm.

“You did so good. So, so good.” You choked out, voice breaking between kisses pressed to his temple, his damp hair, the corner of his parted lips.

He was still panting, his gills fluttering erratically, but his arms had tightened around the baby. His baby, your baby. Like he’d never let go.

Rafayel turned his face into your touch, his exhaustion-glazed eyes meeting yours. There were no quips, no dramatic complaints. Just a shaky exhale, a soft fluctuation in his expression as he whispered…

"...They have your nose."

You laughed, or maybe it was another sob, your thumbs brushing away the tears streaking his cheeks.

Talia smirked from the edge of the tub, cleaning off her hands. “And your theatrics," she added dryly.

But Rafayel didn’t even protest.

He just leaned into you, his tail curling up in the tub as the ocean outside sang its endless, patient song.

Your hands trembled as you carefully gathered your firstborn against your chest, their tiny body warm and wriggling as they let out a soft whimper. Rafayel’s breath hitched sharply, then fractured into a gasp as another contraction seized him. His claws dug into the rim of the tub, his tail thrashing in the water as his body tensed, gills flaring wide.

Talia was already moving, her hands pressing firmly against his abdomen. “Twins," she confirmed, her voice steady but eyes darting across Rafayel’s form. “The second is coming now."

Rafel’s head fell back against the tub’s edge, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He reached blindly for you, his fingers slick with water and birth-fluid, gripping your wrist with startling strength.

“Don’t look so scared," he gritted out, his usual arrogance frayed at the edges but still clinging on. “I’m—ah!—not finished impressing you yet."

You clutched your firstborn closer, kissing their forehead as Rafayel’s body arched again. His tail lifting partially out of the water as the second birth-slit parted. This time, it was quicker. A rush of silver-blue fluid, another glowing sac sliding into Talia’s waiting hands.

She tore the membrane with ease, revealing a second child. They were smaller than the first, but with the same luminous eyes, their tiny fins on the side of their face fluttering like fragile lace as they drew their first breath.

Talia wasted no time. She placed the second babe against Rafayel’s chest, their sibling instinctively nuzzling close as if they’d known each other all along.

Rafayel’s arms encircled them both, his exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by something awed and reverent. You helped his adjust both of your children against him. He looked up at you, his mate, his love, his voice barely raising above a whisper.

"...We made these."

And as you knelt beside him, both babes cooing in his arms, you knew no greater masterpiece existed.

The tub looked like a battleground. Water sloshed over the edges, luminescent birth-fluid glimmering in stray puddles, crushed herbs and kelp strewn about where Talia had worked her ancient midwife magic. Rafayel slumped against the tub, utterly spent, his tail half-submerged and limp, the proud arch of his fins now drooping like a windless sail.

But his arms, his arms never loosened.

Both babes lay curled against his chest, their tiny tails flickering instinctively, seeking warmth. Their scales caught the dim light—soft hues of seafoam and pearl, just like their father’s, but with traces of you in the slope of their brows, the shape of their tiny hands.

You helped clean the sweat from his face, pressing a kiss to his damp temple. “You were incredible," you whispered to him, thumb brushing away a stray tear or maybe seawater. He’d swear it was seawater later.

Rafayel let out a shaky little laugh, both babies whimpered at the sudden movement. “Obviously." He looked down at the hues of purple with streaks of your own hair on his little guppies. "...They’re alive because of you, too."

Talia snorted from where she was cleaning up her supplies. “And me. But by all means, forget the elder who delivered them."

Rafayel shot her a withering look but he shook it off with a small laugh. Not when his children were here. Not when his world had just grown larger.

Outside, the tide rolled in. It was like a quiet, endless applause.

Tag List: @chaemaire @vvi-vi @partypoison00 @l0st1nthedark @boulder @space-trashlordd @hilliserose @rubylescent @joyfulyouthlover @lilacsandhysteria @cheezeandkrackers @zayneslover @slave-of-heaven @ladyanonreader @kiyadeleine @emowitchwithatwist @nixia1107-blog @aishabbbb @lordbugs @poisonivyae @embetie @mock-kett @nanamisgirly @imsaemi @exe-toby @rhickah @slutforsnowcrow423 @kageyaxaa @pumpk1n-gurl @anothergojostan @luvqi @matcha-m0chi @idiotboop @pomegranatesnapples @ajyoursgirl @raendarkfaerie @patchesofwork @diejager @goddessofeverything @paintedperidot @applecaviar @sylusxoxo @braatzz-9 @starsforvia @saltymooninternet @mshaylove @upwillbyers @cupidstrace

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚oh boy, it heals him. having a dangerously devoted, openly in-love, affectionate partner would heal his trauma of being discarded or left behind. he loves it, he survives thanks to it.

﹙♡﹚he becomes even more protective. his angel is urging him to be true to himself, without caring about anything but his happiness and desires… and that means embracing every little dark spot he buried deep inside long, long ago.

﹙♡﹚if anything, he also turns even more intense and possessive than he already is. he wants to protect and keep all of that true, unapologetic, sensual love to himself, especially since it allows him to act however he pleases. he would kill before losing his soulmate.

﹙♡﹚she talks about him as if he were the center of her entire universe; her only love, the man she's willing to kill and die for, and, gosh… gosh, does he return the feeling ten times harder.

﹙♡﹚also, imagine his face whenever he gets praised or hears those words he desperately craves: “mon cher, i'll devote myself to you for eternity…” or “a day without you, only that would be death.” YES!!! yes, please. tell him more, ughhhhh.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚ow, his dramatic artist soul is living. the endless praise, the tender touches, the profound and almost tragically written love poems; he's living a fantasy he does NOT want to leave.

﹙♡﹚he's able to be himself with no restraint, since his pearl would never feel overwhelmed. she appreciates (adores) his feelings, his emotions, his complex ways, and his (arguably) justifiable and totally not psychotic choices.~

﹙♡﹚naturally, his whole art will change. he doesn't care about the public; he wants to have his sweet pearl all over his creations. if he has to study darker concepts and gothic compositions, he sure as hell will, just to honor his beloved.

﹙♡﹚no one else gets the relationship. i mean, maybe partially, but they both are seen as the weird, overly affectionate couple that lives far away from society, who write and dedicate self-written poems to each other, and who drink wine under the moonlight.~

﹙♡﹚being around raffy and his beloved is almost like drinking a whole gallon of honey, as it is a constant exchange of praising, beautiful, enticing, possessive, and almost intimate sentences, and even more passionate and affectionate gestures, like kisses and touches everywhere. yes. everywhere.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚talk about indulgence. this man is a fool in love. a fool. a clown. a maniac. if his darling wants a candlelit dinner, the entire house wrapped in black silk, and the moon to be red every night, he'll make it happen in a blink. anything and everything for her.

﹙♡﹚the quiet but not-so-secret devotion gets him to fold. the way she clings to him in public with a proud smile, the way she looks at him as if he were the most magnificent creature ever created, the way she makes sure he knows how loved he is…

﹙♡﹚they are obsessed with each other. there isn't submission or dominance; only playfulness and equality. she makes him kneel with a simple glance, he makes her melt with his voice alone. they would do anything for each other, no matter how dangerous or extreme.~

﹙♡﹚behind closed doors, sylus becomes so soft and vulnerable. he knows she gets him, he knows she will never judge him, and thus he can open his heart entirely.

﹙♡﹚plus, it's amusing seeing people look away when the power couple comes into a room. it's impossible not to feel intrigued by their dynamic, and how easily she tames what everyone else sees as a “monster~”.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚he becomes very soft around her, always drifting close like gravity is pulling him. sometimes he pretends to be sleepy just so she'll stroke his hair and whisper sweet, passionate things about her beloved star. please.

﹙♡﹚of course, he doesn't understand at first just how intense she can be. he's used to temporary love, to things fading away like stars after completing their lifecycle. but she talks about her devotion to him as if it were something eternal… and he loves hearing that.~

﹙♡﹚oh, his jealousy flares up. it doesn't even come from a place of insecurity, but rather from the necessity of feeling like she'll always be there, and that no one will interfere. xavi is constantly kissing her just to make sure everyone gets the point.

﹙♡﹚sure, it is quite the contrast between an unapologetic, poetic, and intense flame, and a quiet, abstract, dreamy cloud. but it works perfectly, because xavi wants this to last forever, and he gives her everything he has.

﹙♡﹚he's lived long enough to know how lonely things can get, but now he doesn't have to hide himself under the covers and sleep to push those thoughts away; he can focus on the freedom she gives him to feel, to hope, no matter how blindly.~

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚zaynie is flustered. he melts with a single glance. a. single. glance. he turns cherry red when his precious flower stares at him with adoration and says those deep, genuine lines that make him feel loved like never before.

﹙♡﹚he doesn't deserve it; that's what he repeats to himself whenever she holds him and kisses him as if he were a precious, fragile artwork. this amount of love is unthinkable; she's so outspoken and unafraid of loving, while he still has his doubts.

﹙♡﹚but the more she praises him and shows him that her devotion is nothing but sincere, he slowly accepts he can indeed be loved like in romantic novels, and that he'd go to any lengths to keep her satisfied and content.

﹙♡﹚the dramatic body language and exaggerated gestures never fail to make his glasses fog up. he loves when she is affectionate in public, but he can't deny he looks like a fool. it doesn't matter, though. you said he should proudly show off, and he obeys.

﹙♡﹚he becomes the most devoted husband. it takes some time, but he returns the sensual spark, the intense love, and the passionate encounters whenever he... shouldn't. but that's okay, that's exactly where he wants to be, and those are the risks he's willing to take.~

“I love you” I simply state with a shy smile, observing his handsome face for every little reaction.

Rafayel freezes for a moment before his sunset eyes light up, focusing on me now. “Say it again.”

I snicker, wrapping my arms around his neck, and start to play with the lavender strands of his back hair. “I love you.”

His forehead comes to lean on mine and his hoarse voice whispers “Again.”

“I love you” I murmur, brushing my nose over his, smiling like a madman.

Rafayel exhales shakily, eases back, and cups my face in his elegant artist's hands. “One more time, please” A shushed pleading on my lips.

Again I fulfill his request, my heart beating fast in my chest, my voice ragged as his. “I love you.”

Big pools of blue and pink are locking my gaze. “One more time.” A wide smile spreads over his plush lips, lighting up his whole face, leaving him ever so ethereal. „Pleeeassse.“

My lips widen in a big hearty smile, not able to interrupt the intense eye contact. “I love you, Rafayel.“

Suddenly his lips are on mine, warm, gentle, and with a little urgency nonetheless. I breathe into it, enveloping the softness with my own, cradling him even closer.

And with a sigh between “I love you too, Cutie.” before the contact intensifies, turning primal and desperate, leaving us both breathless and lightheaded.

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── zayne

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── rafayel

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── sylus

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── caleb

Rafayels birthday went smoothly and like you and Talia had planned. From the visit to her opera performance to the small gathering at the beach with his friends and family to the little trip with a speed boat right to the middle of the ocean. Just perfect!

And as you hoped for, your beloved Lemurian boyfriend invites you into the sea to his world when you showed him yours last time on this special day. And you couldn’t be more relieved that no mishaps happened like the previous year.

After whale chasing, magical moments under the sea, and passionate kisses along the way, Rafayel shared some of his childhood memories with you. The precious mementos you yearn for to understand him better and to feel closer to him. You’re eager to learn everything about him as you love him more than words can ever express. Who would have thought that a year ago you would fall so hard for this man who first looked like a bratty, silly boy seeking attention at every second? But is he actually the most kindhearted and sensitive man with a depth you need your whole lifetime to explore to the fullest? This is in addition to his otherworldly traits as a Lemurian, which you adore as much. He rarely shares such intimate moments with you, leaving him so vulnerable that you are grateful for every single one without ever prying them out of him. He’ll indulge you when he’s ready, and you are there when this happens, patiently waiting for this hermit crab to come out of its conch.

 Rafayel ends his story of how he tried to recreate this special shade of pink, which somehow never had the result he intended until you appeared and colored his life in the most unexpected ways. Like the pink that surrounds you between the ocean currents, shining from above to illuminate the underwater space around you.

“A girl entered my world, and we created an ocean of pink. Together,” he says as he lets go of the hand that he kissed just now and closes the gap between your faces to reunite with you once more. Leaning into his forehead you drown in his big blue and pink eyes, mesmerized and so in love for him. “I love you, Rafayel.” a whispered phrase that doesn’t capture what he means to you. These words are nothing compared to how Lemurians express their emotions, but they are the strongest terms you, as a human, have. “You’re everything to me and every minute without you feels shallow.” you continue to lay your heart bare in front of him. But these words are enough for your beloved to understand, getting the sincerity behind them as he shows it to you right away. Still nuzzled together he smiles fondly and says this one word in his mother tongue you barely can pronounce, but you know the romantic meaning behind it — You’re mine — and he’s right. You’re his completely, from head to toe and from brain to soul. You devoted your whole being to him.

Then Rafayels lips are soft on yours, dancing along like waves at the shore, narrowing in and opening up only to close again. A gentle yet passionate rhythm you can’t resist, too tempting is the plush feeling of his lips. His hands are around you, cradling you against his toned body. One at your back securing you from floating away from him and the other around your leg, holding your thigh close to his waist to keep you connected in an all-familiar hold. An embrace that fuels your need and desire for your Lemurian Lover.

The ocean surrounds you with all its life in various forms and nearly weightless you’re floating around to places only the man in your arms knows as you dig your fingers into his purple locks that you love so much. And like your now tingling body, your mind also starts to feel light, dizzying even as Rafayel doesn’t stop kissing you. The need for air is not as strong as on land but still… The time comes when you have to break this romantic and passionate connection. 

As you gaze at him, the deep blue and the warm pink of his eyes greet you with a tenderness that feels nearly too much, but only almost. You never get tired of the look in his eyes or the way the unique colors in them seem to dance along with his emotions.

You don’t know how long you have been underwater, the feeling of time gone as you opened your eyes to look at him but the warm pink that surrounded you earlier is now fading into other colder tones. The night is settling in, turning that bright pink slowly to shades of purple and blue. “Time to go, cutie.” Rafayel releases you out of his embrace and hand in hand you swim back together to your little speed boat which hops along the calm waves of the water surface. 

The Lemurian is way faster back again on the wooden deck with fluid and elegant moves and helps you with climbing into the boat by offering you one of his hands. Rather clumsy you heave yourself up only to stumble with the next step, or maybe you slip in your wet heels at the sleek surface of the boat, and together with Rafayel you fall to the wooden floor of the little yacht. Your legs are entangled as you land safely in his arms right on top of him. He had fallen on his back and pulled you with him.

“Oomph!” he huffs out at the sudden impact. Worried that he got injured you stem yourself onto your elbows to take your weight off of him. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

But the love of your life only chuckles lightly and tugs you back onto his chest, strong arms encircling you again. The ocean eyes full of mischief he smiles “I’m not that fragile, you know?. And I have caught a slippery fish, it seems.” escorted by a little playful wink. “Isn't there a reward for catching such a rarity?”

You giggle “There is!!” at him and ease down, continuing the passionate kiss you shared earlier, once again lost to the feeling of his lips and his defined body underneath. Until a chill runs down your back and the sudden freezing night air reminds you of the soaked clothes that are now clinging to your body, still wet and now icy in addition. 

“Let’s get home before we both get a cold, Rafayel,” you whisper, still connected with the soft lips you can’t get enough of.

After Rafayel has driven you back, you arrive at your hotel room, a luxurious one that Talia had thankfully booked, with floor-to-ceiling windows that grant you an awesome view of the ocean. You never could have afforded such lodging, and you gratefully accepted her offer to take care of the room. After each of you gets a shower in the spacious bathroom, a hot steamy one in your case, you are ready to celebrate the last hours of your fishies birthday. 

Sitting together on the neutral-colored sofa in your shared room you’re about to cut the handmade cake you placed on the wooden coffee table, the single candle already blown out.

“Wait wait wait cutie! Let me admire it one more time!” Rafayel stops you before the knife hits the creamy outline and with a little chuckle, you put it aside to let him look at his birthday cake one final time. 

“I’ll make you another one next year! No need to act as if it’s your last one, Rafayel.” you laugh warmly at his little antic.

That only earns you a side glance and a tiny pout from your boyfriend as he examines the cake in his slender hands and turns it to look at it from every angle possible. “But this is now and it’s from you. So of course I want to admire it!” with another pout and a heavy sigh “Can’t we just preserve this piece of art?”

Now you laugh even more and place a little peck on his huffed cheek. “No, we can’t. Because I poured my heart and soul into it so that you can have the most delicious birthday cake the world has ever seen!” 

Indeed, you have improved your baking skills since last year by visiting a special class for cake decorating to make him an unforgettable pastry. And nothing is going to stop you from letting him taste it, not even his cute pout which you hardly can’t deny in any other case.

“Fine, fine~!” he relents with a little sing-song at the last word.

With a determined cut, you get a nice slice of the cake on a plate and offer Rafayel the first bite on a little golden fork. 

“Say aaaaahh!” you smile at him, holding the cake next to his handsome face. 

“No smearing on my cheek or nose this year?!” Rafayel teases you with a little chuckle on his own as he parts his lips obediently and lets him feed you.

“Woow~ I’m impressed!” comes a few seconds later after he munched and swallowed the delicate piece of the fancy cake. “This is delicious.” 

Your heart is filled with pride at his words and affirmation, and you want to offer him a second bite. But the fork is taken out of your hand in a swift move before you can pick up more from the plate. Rafayel places it on the table, and in the same motion, you find yourself pressed with your back on the surface of the sofa seating with your boyfriend hovering above you with a wide smile and a dangerous twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “I know a better way for a taste test, cutie.” he declares, his now deeper voice filled with seduction and playfulness.

A light hue of red ascends on his cheek, coloring his ears in an even deeper shade as Rafayel closes the gap between your faces. Soft plush lips find their way into yours and a longing sigh escapes you. Cradling your arms around his neck you pull your boyfriend closer, bodies melting into each other like two pieces of a puzzle. And then you’re met with the full taste of him as he deepens the kiss with a hunger you know all too well. The aroma of the birthday cake delightfully hits your senses, only beaten by the heavenly taste of your boyfriend. Nothing ever compares to the essence of Rafayel, and soon you’re lost in the dance of your joined lips.

“Much better, yeah?” hoarsely whispered words as the Lemurian brushed his lips along the line of your jaw and cheeks. Hungry little nibs at the column of your throat and wet open-mouthed kisses at the sensitive skin on the neck, leaving a hot moist trail and stroking the heat in your body.

Your head gets dizzy fast from all the exciting sensations, and you barely manage to answer. “Mhm…” humming approvingly “You’re right.”

Those are the last coherent words spoken for the rest of the night. The only sounds that leave your mouth then is his name which you chant over and over again as he makes your body his canvas and creates the most beautiful art. One special piece for his eyes only.

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for ‘Love and Deepspace’. I only own the rights to the plot idea.

You saw the confusion pass on his face,

“Half-half? But we just finished eating, did you want to get dessert? We can do that.”

A laugh escaped you and his face lit up at the sound as well,

“No, I meant let’s pay half-half.”

The man sitting opposite of you furrowed his brows, still not understanding,

“Why? I can pay for us both.”

You shrugged,

“You always do. I feel bad.”

He quickly shut that down, shaking his head,

“Don’t. I like treating you. I want to pay, I’m your boyfriend.”

You smiled at his words, feeling lucky to have such a sweet partner,

“All right. But the offer’s on the table.”

His eyebrows were still drawn together,

“Well, that’s not necessary.”

Before you could say anything else, he got up, heading to the front of the restaurant to pay.

Zayne

Zayne had wrapped up a week of surgeries back to back.

To relax, you two went out to eat.

You were enjoying each other’s company, happy to finally spend some time together.

Once you two were done eating, you told him.

“Zayne, I want to pay half.”

At that, he frowns,

“Please, don’t. I invited you out.”

You cocked your head, looking at him with big eyes,

“You’ve been working so hard, you won’t let me treat you, so at least let me pay half!”

The frown stayed on his face,

“I appreciate everything you do for me but I’m more than happy to pay for you. I insist, actually.”

You flashed him a sweet smile but reached for your purse regardless.

Though, before you could even pull your wallet out, he called a waiter over and handed them his card.

You went to protest but he quickly reached for your hand, intertwining it with his.

“Darling, I’m grateful for your thoughtfulness, but considering how our quality time together is cut short sometimes due to my work, allow me to spend the money I make from my job on you.”

The sincerity reflected in his eyes makes your heart swell.

You nod, defeated, before a mischievous grin comes onto your face,

“Fine then, I’ll just repay you later tonight.”

The tips of his ears turned red and his eyes widened slightly but before he could respond, the waiter returned with his card.

Zayne could barely focus on anything for the rest of the night, you didn’t miss the shy looks he shot you throughout.

Rafayel

A new art exhibition of his work had been published, to celebrate, you two went out tonight.

Rafayel had it all planned out, a candlelight dinner, a lone table on the balcony, just the two of you.

He was having a great time, until you dared to utter the words,

“Let me pay half.”

He looked like you had personally insulted him.

“You’re asking your rich boyfriend who just had a new art exhibition, if you can pay for your own food?”

Letting out an awkward laugh clearly wasn’t the right course of action, as he started again,

“I love you. You know how much I love you. So, why would you ever ask me that. Was that supposed to be a joke? Because I don’t think it’s funny.”

You scratched your head, unsure of how to respond,

“I didn’t know you were so passionate about this…”

He put his hands on the table, leaning over,

“I’m passionate about providing for my lover.”

You felt surprisingly moved by your boyfriend’s, albeit strange, declaration of affection.

Rafayel sighed,

“I might’ve gotten a bit carried away there at the end but my point stands! Don’t even suggest something like that again. I want to give you nice experiences, that doesn’t include you having to worry about paying.”

You rested your chin on your hand, smiling at him softly,

“Thanks, Rafayel.”

He smiled back at you, his eyes glittering as he looked at you,

“One last thing, if I ever accept that, shoot me on that spot. It has to be a clone, can’t be me.”

He didn’t hide the satisfied look on his face as you laughed.

Sylus

You had been gushing about this new restaurant that had opened near your place.

Sylus had taken you there tonight and it lived up to all your expectations.

Seeing your content expression as you munched on your dessert, left him feeling fulfilled.

You two were engaged in a conversation, before you dropped the bomb on him,

“Sy, let’s split the bill.”

He immediately looked offended,

“Why would we?”

Spoon in mouth, you blinked at him,

“It was my idea to come here, it’s only right.”

His eyes narrowed slightly,

“I brought you here.”

You hummed, still not backing down,

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve been paying for everything lately…”

His look of disapproval almost made your lips curl up,

“As I should. Sweetie, what’s the point of having so much money, if not to spend it on you?”

You ate another bite, feeling charmed.

He smirked and you knew he was onto you,

“Also, while I do think it’s sweet you offered, if I’m not mistaken, you didn’t bring your wallet.”

You stilled, spoon midair, before looking up at him, bashful.

You fluttering your eyelashes at him, not answering.

His laugh that sounded like it could buy the whole building brought a cheeky grin to your face.

“You should really try this, it tastes great!”

“Very smooth, kitten.”

Caleb

Caleb finally took his vacation days and you two went on a trip to a nearby town.

It was your last day there and you decided to have a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant.

You were sitting across each other, Caleb was done eating before you, so you made him eat the rest of your food, that you couldn’t finish.

He was listening to you talk with a lovesick look on his face.

You kept yapping until he was almost done eating,

“Alrighty, let’s do 50/50.”

He stopped, eyes flickering up to your face, his smile dropping,

“What do you mean, pips?”

Giggling, you elaborated,

“Let’s split the bill 50/50!”

He squinted at you,

“No.”

You looked taken aback by his blunt response,

“Why not?”

He stacked the plates over one another, before his gaze met yours again,

“For one, I ate half your food. And even if I didn’t, I don’t want you to pay for anything when I’m with you.”

A chuckle left you as you leaned back in your seat,

“You paid for the whole vacation, Caleb. Let me take this one.”

That charming, boyish grin he flashed you caused you to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

He was so good at winning you over,

“I like taking care of you, honey. You’re not paying for anything.”

You sighed,

“You’re too good to me.”

He looked at you, like you had just said something outlandish.

“Yeah, let’s get you three servings of dessert for that. You deserve everything, pipsqueak.”

You whined his name, feeling shy.

He always looked at you like you had hung all the stars in the sky.