Fictional Men Enthusiast

"What are you saying?" A familiar chuckle is what snaps you out of it. 

"Phainon?" 

Not an angel. 

Well, not completely. Your roommate Phainon is the one standing over you instead of the celestial being that you expect. But you think he could still pass for one anyway, he was incredibly handsome, not to mention sweet in disposition and you do starkly remember when you were first introduced, you were questioning if he was even real at all. 

Your eyes focus in on him a bit more before you stir, rousing the multiple comforters over you as he gives you a soft smile. 

"Nice to see you're still with us." He jokes, reaching out to give your head a commendable pat. "You are quite a sight for sore eyes there. It seems even someone like you is no match for the winter." 

"Choose your next words wisely, they may be your final ones to me." You say, frowning, but your words get a good, smooth laugh from him. One that makes your stomach twist. 

"Is that so?" Phainon narrows his eyes before taking a step back, watching you. "If you alerted me sooner I would've had something special prepared." 

The distance allows you to take him in a bit more. But almost immediately you can only focus on the insanely little amount of clothes he's wearing considering the freezing temperatures. 

Shorts? In Winter? Has he completely lost his mind? 

“What the hell are you wearing? Aren’t you freezing?” You gape, half incredulous half jealous. 

“Quite the opposite actually," Phainon says, amusement touching the edges of his voice. "See for yourself.”

Within the second, the distance between you is closed again and there's a burst of heat along your fingertips when Phainon reaches down to fish for one of your hands. His palm alone is sweltering, the complete opposite to your stiff, colder one. 

You narrow your eyes up at him, this simple gesture already enough to prove that he is indeed, quite the opposite. But it doesn't end where you expect, because he keeps moving. 

Phainon brings your hand up to brush beneath the hem of his sweatshirt, and you feel the way his chiselled abdomen twitches when he presses your fingertips up against the bare skin with a smile. He's warm, so obscenely and unfairly warm. Like a brightly lit fireplace on a winter's day or the sun on your shoulder's during the summer months. 

It makes you shudder, and within that next second (and without even thinking) you're bringing your second hand up to join the first. Your fingers outstretch across Phainon's lower stomach and you rub and warm your hands against his delicious body heat with no regard for your poor, incredibly handsome roommate. 

“Heh, seems you are freezing.” Phainon says, clearing his throat. There's a low quiver beneath the skin where you touch him, but you put it down to your cold hands. 

“That’s definitely not fair.” 

“Heh. Not at all.” You don’t seem to feel Phainon staring at you. 

"Are you rubbing it in right now? Look at me! I half expect this couch to be my grave." You pout, far too focused on brushing your fingers along the warm dips of muscle to realise how much it's getting to him. 

"Perhaps I am.”

"I should've known you were evil," You brush your hands up a bit higher, as if using it as a means of payback. Your fingers extend up through the carved parts of his stomach, feeling it shiver beneath your icy touch before you huff, mostly to yourself. "After all, nobody is that perfect." 

"Is that truly what you think of me?" Phainon asks, voice wound up tight. 

"Not anymore." 

"Well, that won't do." He chuckles, eyes softening on you. "I best begin preparations to win back my worthy title, though I don't think I acted quite so recklessly as to bring down your vicious judgement." 

You grumble, "I'm not in any position to be teased, you know." 

"Tell you what, if you survive until I've make it home from training, I'll be sure to give you everything I have." Phainon bargains, but seems overcome with an affectionate tendency to pinch your cheek, making your face scrunch up. "After all, I'd be unwise to let my roommate freeze to death in our apartment." 

"Everything? You mean it?” You give him a narrowed, suspicious look before shivering again for good measure. As if to make him known what's at stake here. 

"Just as the word implies. It seems I just can't say no to you." Phainon replies as unwavering as ever, but obviously amused.

There's another flutter beneath your hands when they come up just high enough to brush beneath his thick pecs. The fabric of Phainon's sweatshirt slinks up with your wrists, revealing the sight of his sculpted midriff and that seems to be enough to have you realising exactly what you're doing. 

Your hands snap back, suddenly self-conscious about the fact you've just been openly and shamelessly groping and feeling up your roommate. 

"Can't you just skip training for one day?" You swallow, hoping you've not made things weird. 

But Phainon's voice is as gentle as ever when he responds, watching you. 

"That would make things easier," He hums, as if considering it. "But I've never been one to let down a friend, Mydei will be waiting for me and you know how he gets, running late never comes without consequence." 

That much was true. Mydeimos was never one to forgive tardiness. 

"Fine." You relent, knowing there's no use in arguing. 

"That didn't take much convincing." 

"Do I look like I'm in any position to bargain?" 

"True enough." Phainon gives you another pat on your head for good measure and then he takes a second to readjust his sweatshirt again, setting it back into place with a brush of his hands. 

You already miss the feeling of his warm skin against your palms, and as if you're body is taunting you with the barely distant memory of it, you feel yourself shudder. Immediately leaning back to bury yourself beneath your comforters again. 

"Hang in there. Be sure not to freeze to death while I'm gone, won’t you?” Phainon says, giving you an apologetic look before he turns on his heels to leave for the gym. 

"Work up a sweat out there!" 

"Oh, I'll see to it with haste." 

You watch Phainon as he leaves, like a puppy that he's about to leave at home for the day and he turns around to give you a single, sweet wave and a promise to return back soon before he clicks the lock of the door behind him. 

If you weren't so focused on not freezing, maybe you would have questioned the new pink flush that was decorating Phainon's skin as he left. 

But then again, maybe it was just the weather. 

—

It's around two or three hours later before you hear the turn of Phainon's key in the apartment lock again. Since he left you've barely moved, except to maybe use the bathroom or pace back and forth about everything that transpired before. 

But you quickly retreated back to your blanket fortress when outside of it became too cold again. So, you're still exactly where he left you— on the sofa, shivering and swallowing down the feelings that rubbing your hands all over his body stirred up in you. 

Phainon's snowy, sweaty visage comes into view a second later. Smiling as brightly as ever when he tells you that he picked you up something to eat on the way home, assuming that you wouldn't have moved from your fortress to be self sufficient (he's right about that). 

But there's a rare pinprick of heat in your lower abdomen when you look at Phainon now. 

His muscles are more defined than they were when he first left, his sweatshirt forgotten as he wears just a t-shirt now. No doubt having shed it off during his workout when he became too hot. Prominent veins, snowy bangs sticking around the light sheen of sweat on his face, cheeks flushed. 

You can only imagine how lucky the people in Phainon's gym must be. To regularly see him in such a way, to see him sweating and panting. You wonder what face he makes when he's training, what sounds he…. 

You thank him quickly, looking away as you do so and if he notices something is up with you, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he just excuses himself to go shower (much to your dismay) and then joins you afterwards to finally fulfill that promise.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting." Phainon tilts his head at you as he stands before you again. He's since changed out of his workout clothes, and now rests infront of you in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. 

He looks comfortable but handsome, as he always does. But he looks as warm as ever, especially after what you can only imagine was a sweltering shower, you can almost see the heat radiating off of him into the atmosphere. 

"Don't just stand there, I'll be dead soon!" You chitter, shivering even more than you were when he first left. 

"Alright, alright." Phainon chuckles lightheartedly. 

You quickly make space for him when he approaches the couch, pushing past the endless onslaught of blankets that await him before he can squeeze his muscular body into the seat beside you. His form is so heavy it makes you bounce when he sits. 

"May I?" You ask, motioning towards him with a smile despite the bone-chilling frost that creeps in after Phainon pulls back your fortress. 

"Go right ahead." 

Phainon chuckles before immediately wrapping a blessedly warm arm around your shoulders, urging you to curl in with the first shudder his natural body heat brings you. You feel a prickle across your chest and cheeks for an entirely different reason. But you choose to ignore it, thinking it’s for the best.

"How was your workout? I expected you to be away for a bit longer." You ask, so cold you lean into the strong flex of Phainon's arm to let him pull you in, and his hand curls around you to anchor you there. 

"Is that right? Well, I didn't want to take things too slow, I made a promise after all." His warm hands rub up and down your sleeve, like he's trying to warm you up. "Maybe I should be giving you my gratitude." 

"Well, I'm glad you're back before I died." 

"I was about to say the same." Phainon breathes valiently, hugging you close. "In any case, I'm impressed you held out this long." 

"It's because you're soooo warm, I had to feel it again." You pout, leaning your head down on Phainon's bicep to catch the full force of his handsome grin. 

"That's fine by me." His bright eyes glitter over pink cheeks, his voice is barely above a whisper. "You can take whatever you need from me."

Honestly, Phainon is everything you need at this moment. So naturally warm, his body temperature feels so stark in comparison to yours and your skin sings for it against you. You don't think you even realised your heart was racing until now that you've begun to finally thaw. 

"Thanks for keeping me warm. I really owe you one." You say with a hum, closing your eyes as you begin to relax. 

"No need to thank me," Phainon glances down at your gentle expression, "Though it's quite an honour to have you indebted to me."

"Use it wisely." 

"Oh, I have a few requests in mind already." You can hear the smile in his voice, accompanied by a brush of something soft grazing your temple. 

"Care to share? I'm curious now." 

"I bet you are." 

You puff out your cheeks, opening your eyes again with the intention of casting Phainon a frown, but you seem to have gotten much closer than you were when they first closed. Lifting your face brings your lips just inches apart, both wide-eyed and caught off guard, you suck in a slow breath when you feel Phainon's huge, warm hand fall to slide around your waist.

You shake your head, partly to get rid of your nervous haze and turn quickly towards the TV. "U-um, yeah. Maybe we should watch a movie." 

"Heh, as you wish." Phainon says quickly, clearing his throat as he hands you the remote with his free hand. "The choice is yours." 

You tilt your head back onto Phainon's shoulder before turning on the TV and begin to flick through the options. He shifts around for a moment beneath you and then tightens his hold, as if wanting to say something but then choosing not to. 

You ignore it, but the tension between you both feels much thicker than usual. Ofcourse, you would be lying if you said you weren't incredibly attracted to Phainon, he was indeed perfect. That much was obvious. 

Which is why you don't even want to consider the idea of his rejection. If you had closed the distance between you both earlier, would he have pulled away? Or would he have welcomed it due to a sense of obligation? This could complicate things more than you would like. 

You sigh, exhaling your anxieties and instead turn your attention back to the matter at hand. And eventually, after much back and forth with Phainon, you pick a movie to watch and the atmosphere between you both seems to return back to normal. 

You finally relax, somewhat, basking in your newfound personal fireplace of heat and without even realising you slip over a few inches closer as the opening credits begin to roll. 

But as if he can pick up on the rapid thudding of your heart, or perhaps even feel it himself, he speaks. 

"Something the matter?" Phainon hums, timidly tapping the place on your waist where his hand had fallen to earlier. 

"N-no, sorry." 

"There's no need to apologise," He says, through a soft puff of amusement, "I was just making sure."

"Sorry, I know I'm making this weird." 

"Not at all," Phainon reassures you, as if he can pick up on your unease, "You're thinking too much. Was I not the one to offer my help to you in the first place?" 

"I guess, but now you're stuck with me for eternity." 

"I'm sure there are much crueller fates." Phainon's eyes lower at you, and his hand dips beneath the hem of your sweatshirt to spread over your cold flesh, warming you further. It's impossible for you to deny how good it feels, almost letting a whine of pure content slip from between your pursed lips as you wriggle in a bit closer. Phainon welcomes you, with a hum you lean back into his chest and let him wrap his arms around you, almost caging you into his lap. 

Your heart feels heavy, thumping against your ribcage as you curl yourself into his heat. It's all so incredibly intimate, maybe it's the season or maybe it's the way you're draped in eachother— legs almost curling together, you let your palm rest on his chest before tilting your head to look at him. 

"Phainon?" 

"Hm? Something I can do for you?"

"Yes. There is actually."

You shiver, sucking in a shaky breath when Phainon's fingertips alleviate the chill with a sweep of his palm over your waist again. His hands flex when you press yourself even deeper into him.

"Then might I ask what you require from me." Phainon asks, exhales. His breath is soft along your cheeks, making the first evidence of goosebumps flare across your skin. 

Your heart races and you stare at him, your fingertips creeping up to tap at the base of his neck.

"Everything." 

Phainon's parted lips come to ghost along your cheeks, slowly trailing chaste kisses along the skin before he twists in further, smiling. "As you wish." 

The first meeting of your mouths is clumsy but it immediately makes you melt, like you weren't just shivering a few minutes ago. Phainon's free hand glides up to grip at your jaw, holding you in place while he kisses you senseless and it makes you feel so incredibly warm you can't help but curse yourself for all of your unnecessary layers. 

They now only rest as an obstacle to keep you apart from him. 

Phainon dips his tongue against yours when you breathe out his name, nose pressing into your cheek as you lean into his arm and let him curl you in closer. It feels so good to finally kiss him, it's delightfully hot and you're panting breathlessly as his hand twitches at your jaw, leaving you victim to the insistent press of his mouth until you're whimpering. 

"I'm still cold you know." You tease, whining across his chin and your eyes flutter open just enough to catch the way it makes him smile. His lips trail back to your cheeks, then your jaw as his fingers unwrap to leave room and there's a slight shake to his hands when they skim down the front of your body. 

"Is that so? Seems I’ve got quite a ways to go yet, you didn’t think I was done did you?”

"I didn't think so." 

"No?" You groan, Phainon's teasing tone against your skin. 

"Definitely not." You say, desperate. A different type of heat encompasses you now, one that begins to tickle it's way up your stomach and down between your thighs. It makes your toes curl from where your legs wrap over Phainon's, and his fingertips finally come to hook at the back of your knee. 

"And all this time I thought you to be provoking me."

"Do I really seem like the type?" 

"I am still seeking that answer myself." Phainon sighs, flushed in his cheeks and lips shining from kisses. 

There's a glint in his eyes before he moves you. With the strength of all that muscle that he trains so diligently, Phainon lifts you with ease, like he's shifting a feather pillow— until you're being dragged onto his big, warm lap and the movie you chose is long forgotten on the screen. 

It's a tight squeeze on the little couch, but you put that down to the fact Phainon is so huge. Your thighs are almost forced to spread wide to straddle him, forcing you to bare yourself down on the feeling of his hard cock, desperate to be freed from his sweats as it strains at the fabric. 

The anticipation makes you reckless and every throb beneath you makes you greedy for more, clumsily you pull him in for another kiss while Phainon lets you roll and grind your hips against his bulge all you want. 

"Is this enough for you?" Phainon asks, mumbling against your mouth. "Needless to say I've got much more to offer, if you're open to a bit of temptation." 

You whimper through a particularly harsh roll of his hips, his hands curl into your sides and drag your pussy against him, making your legs spread even wider. "I may just have to take you up on that offer." 

You're both a mess, so lost in an abyss of need and pleasure, and you mentally curse yourself again for wearing so many layers because now you're sweating hard. You think your own skin has become too much of an obstacle at this point, you wish for Phainon to just tear past all of it and take whatever he desires. 

As if he can pick up on it, Phainon's hands move with purpose while he kisses you, only breaking apart to strip the sweatshirt off of your body with haste. But he seems unable to hold back his light laughter when he sees the two t-shirts that await him beneath it. 

It leaves you to pout, suddenly embarrassed but throbbing at the delightful sound of his voice. 

Phainon gives you a teasing look, then a pink-cheeked smile. His fingers toy with the hem of the first shirt and if it weren't for the way he's almost panting, you would think this doesn't bother him. 

But the quickly dampening fabric of his sweatpants as he soaks the inside of them with precum tells an entirely different story. 

"How many more will need to be stripped away before I'm finally able to have you, hmm?" He tilts his head, chuckling when you pout back. "Was all of this a means to tease me?" 

"I was cold okay!" 

"Sure enough, but you seem to have warmed up fairly quickly." Phainon hums, squeezing his hands in your overheating skin as if to make a point. "Care to share the reason for such a miracle?" 

"It seems more like you're the one teasing me!" You grumble, Phainon's cock twitches where you rest against it. 

"It seems I just can't help myself when it comes to you." He chuckles again before stripping you of both t-shirts at once, closely followed by his own and you take the opportunity to quickly (and clumsily) shed off your sweatpants at the same time, leaving you in only your underwear for now. And then finally, you allow yourself a proper look at his fully bare, muscled form. 

The perfectly shaped muscle and his smooth skin, begging you to reach out and rub your hands all over it. It takes your breath away.

But not as much as the cold air does once again, suddenly nipping at your naked body as your nipples immediately harden to sensitive little pebbles. It seems Phainon can't help but find himself staring too, his gaze hot against the frosted atmosphere as you feel yourself shiver. 

"Touch me?" You ask, gasping when Phainon's warm hands settle against your waist again. Higher this time as he gives you a look. 

"Oh, I would be unwise not to." 

Phainon sighs before taking a slow handful of one of your breasts and your hips rock against his bulge with the reverence within his exhalation, "Just as I anticipated," he gasps, voice dripping with a want that makes your pussy ache, rolling his thumb over your nipple until you keen. 

"What?" You ask, breathing heavy. 

"You're perfect is all." He answers as sure as ever. 

"You've thought about this before?" 

"And if I had? What would become of me?" There's a change to Phainon's tone. Hot enough to make you drip warm between your legs. 

"Nothing bad," You respond, honest and shuddering with the next roll of your clothed cunt in his lap, "We just could've been doing this much sooner." 

"Well, none of that matters now. Consider this my sincerest apology." 

You arch into the next brush of Phainon's thumb over your breasts. He's even harder beneath you now, as if that was possible, but still takes his time to let his free hand push beneath the waistband of your underwear. 

It's rushed and fumbled, desperate even, but you think it's cute that he's considering you anyway. Your hips rise to allow him more room to touch you. 

The sheer size of Phainon's hand makes your underwear look tiny in comparison, straining against the dainty fabric of your panties as he swipes his fingers through your slick folds. 

His touch is purposeful, dragging the rough pad of his finger beneath the hood of your clit before he's rolling the sensitive bud and it makes you twitch. Your fingers rest on Phainon's broad shoulders and squeeze when he brings another finger to join the first, your eyes casting him a lustful glance. 

"Phainon, just fuck me already…" You say despite letting Phainon press down onto your puffy clit harder, drinking up his eagerness to please as you continue to straddle him, his hand buried in your underwear and nestled between your spread thighs. 

"You're not that impatient, are you?" He asks through a smile. 

"Ofcourse not, I just want you… I can take it." You try to reason but Phainon keeps up that same pace and pressure until you're wet enough for him to push two fingers inside of you. The sudden intrusion makes you gasp, your thighs twitching beneath you but Phainon groans when he's not met with much resistance. 

His fingers are thick, thick enough for you to hiss slightly at the stretch and you feel him lean up to press an open mouthed kiss against your temple as a means to soothe you.

Phainon allows you a breath before pressing both fingers up with angled purpose, petting them against the spongy spot inside of you and then drawing them back. He pumps them in and out of your wet walls once then twice, scissors them against the tremble of your insides and then pulls them out completely. 

It makes you whine, giving him a lidded look. But he only meets you with a big blue puppy look of his own. 

"As per your request.” He goads, “You can take it." 

You already feel like you’re full of cotton, lost in a clouded haze of lust as you watch Phainon fumble with his underwear beneath you, your hips continuing to hover above his lap to give him space to work. Though you immediately find yourself plummeting back down to earth when you get that first, real glimpse of his cock.

It smacks against your inner thigh as soon as he frees it. It's daunting, thick and heavy, warmer than the rest of his body (which is saying something) and now that it's beneath you, you can see why Phainon wanted to take much more time to prep you. 

There's a sheen to the head, precum already dripping down the shaft of it, smearing over your inner thighs and when Phainon notices you staring, licking your lips, he gives you a look that seems shy. As if he's embarrassed. 

"Seems you've already made quite the mess of me." Phainon chuckles, pink in his cheeks, "I'll be sure to return the favour." 

But you only wriggle your hips, as if exuding impatience, desperate to lower yourself down on him. He listens, watching you, before wrapping his hand around the thick shaft and he moans when the first silky drag of his cock grinding against the softness of your folds makes him shake. 

Your legs spread wide and Phainon's free hand rests on your hip, dragging the tip to nudge against your clit before he's guiding the warm head back and forth. It's wet and loud, and you steady yourself on his big, broad shoulders to make sure you don't fall, leaning in close as Phainon gives your cheek a reassuring kiss. 

"Ready?" He asks, squeezing tight at your hip. You're already nodding, 

"Yes," 

Phainon tests you first, tests the warm, tight give of your pussy with a press of the thick head before guiding your hips down. You're soaked, wet enough for the fat tip to slip in with ease but within that next breath your lungs quake and you moan loud at the stretch that follows.

Your fingers dig tight into his shoulders, trying hard to anchor yourself but he's so big. Your legs try to shuffle up with a squeak, as if running from the pleasure but he pushes deeper, slowly, guiding your hips down to take him with one big, warm hand on your hips and another kiss against your cheek. 

"P-phainon, god! So much—" You arch, pressing yourself up against his chest and Phainon wraps you up in his arms before pushing in even deeper, locking you against him. He tries his best, tries to take it slow, to kindly ease himself up inside of you but with every tantalising inch your walls stretch and your mind reels. 

You claw at Phainon's back, flailing and struggling, and he groans low against your cheek, panting against your ear, smearing kisses over your face.

"P-phainon!" 

"Shh, shh." He soothes you through the delightful ache, shifting his hips up with a slow back and forth stutter as he fits himself snug and tight inside of you. 

Phainon can't stop groaning into the kisses he bathes you in, grabbing handfuls of your body as he buries you in his chest and pushes more of his cock up inside of you. The head nudges perfectly against your sweet spots, knocking them with ease and it makes your eyes roll at how simple he makes it seem. 

"What was that just now, hmm?" Phainon pants at your ear before giving you another kiss, "I thought you could take it." 

"I…. I can." You whisper back, tight and needy and so full. It makes Phainon squeeze at you. 

"You feel so good." 

You feel soft and pliable, and his breath stutters along your cheek before he finally draws his hips back and then juts forward again. There's a squeal high in your throat for the final inch, sinking himself all the way up to the base until you're sat in his lap and quivering, walls getting used to the pleasurable stretch as he holds you tight. 

Your lashes flutter as Phainon kisses at your jawline, your shoulders, your neck. His hands are big and warm as they trail up and down your back, soothing you in that same kind-hearted way he always did. Never like this, but you think you could get used to it. 

"That was easy, wasn't it?" Phainon says, teasing you in that playful way he always did. 

"It's so much…. so big!" You respond, almost drool. 

"Yet I'm impressed at how well you take it." You feel a throb between your thighs, then his hands take their place on your hips. Kneading the skin there as he pushes himself into you again, shuddering "A position like this can't be easy." 

"Are you trying to give, ah—give me a big head?" 

"Oh, there is much I wish to give to you." Phainon drawls and you draw yourself back just enough to look at him with glazed eyes. "But where to begin is the trouble." 

"This is a good start." 

"You think so?" 

"D-definitely." 

Phainon knows what you mean, and a low moan escape him when he helps you along the length of his cock, beginning a rhythm as he bounces you in his lap and a blooming warmth grows inside of you almost immediately. 

"Oh my," Your lips drop open, beginning a chant of begging and Phainon! that is almost drowned out by the insistent wet clap of your hips meeting his. 

Phainon wraps you up in his arms again, and he holds you against his chest, caging you in while he humps his cock between your spread thighs. You can barely hold on as he drills himself deep into your cunt, your fingers threading weakly in his hair as you feel his moans echo against your cheek. 

He bounces you so easily, like you weigh nothing at all, his fingers sink into your ass and Phainon shakes you, rocking into you with his hips as he stretches you wide with every thrust. 

It's obscene, the perfect drag of Phainon's cock inside of you, the way he pulls your body up until just the tip of his cock remains and then he drops you down to the base. The silky grind leaves you merciless to the pleasure as he makes you whine for him, the hair on his pelvis brushing against your clit with the sensual pace. 

"Phainon, ah— keep going! It feels so good." You cry, trying hard to meet his thrusts as you bounce yourself on his lap. 

"You're not making this easy for me." Phainon's teeth nip at your jawline, a desperate edge to his voice that makes you burn. "If you keep this up, I'm not sure how long I'll last."

"Doesn't matter, I'm so close too," 

"You don't…" Phainon begins before it breaks off, his voice a dripping whine against your skin "You don't know how long I've wanted this," He nearly pins you against his broad chest completely, "You, I mean." 

His words make you burn, like the cold you were victim of before he got here is long forgotten, like it's the middle of summer as he fucks you on the couch of your living room. He makes you feel so hot you shake, hiccuping and twisting on his lap, working in tandem with the weight of his cock pressing through your fluttering insides. 

"Please kiss me," Your voice twists up a pitch, catching in your throat as you desperately try to turn to meet him "I'm gonna cum, please kiss me." 

Phainon finds you almost immediately with your request, fulfilling it just as a fuzzy wave of pure bliss rolls over your body, ingulfing you in depths of pleasure that seem so foreign. 

Your orgasms hits you so hard and so good you see white, his tongue presses between your lips and his mouth twists into yours as he fucks you through it, stealing your breath.

You get so tight around him that Phainon himself doesn't last much longer, not when you're kissing him like you are, not when you're hands are holding his face so tenderly. It's only a few more pops of his hips before he shoves your body down on his, as close as it'll get, his cock pressing as deep as it will go as he floods your pussy with thick ropes of cum, twitching as he groans into the satisfying closeness of your mouth. 

It doesn't take long after that, until Phainon's thrusts turn to slow, long grinds of his hips. Your body becomes pliant, resting all of your weight down on top of him and he kneads at your hips and ass as he slows down his pace to a stop. Instead, focusing on the sweet, messy kisses that he accepts eagerly in the lingering bliss. 

You both stay like that for a while, so full of each other, your spent form still straddling Phainon's lap as he rubs his hands all over your body. Until eventually, the cold chill of the air causes you to shiver and the soft sounds of slow, messy kisses break off as he pulls away to give you a soft look. 

"Still not warm enough?" Phainon smiles, lighthearted and sleepy. Your hands stroke at his face as you curl in on yourself. 

"It's still freezing! Don't you feel that?" 

"Heh, not at all." He responds with a shrug, truthful considering the way sweat now decorates his muscled physique. 

You pout again, as if jealous about it, emphasising it with another shiver with the cool air. His crystalline blue eyes watch you closely. 

"Well, it seems my job here is far from done. I'm not the type to leave a lady in distress after all." Phainon says, giving you a drunken, heartwarming laugh before pulling you back into his chest again and you let him. You nuzzle yourself into the crook of his neck and sigh, feeling him press a kiss against your temple that scatters goosebumps across your back. 

"So you say, but you already left me earlier." 

"Would you have liked dealing with the wrath of Mydeimos in my stead?" 

"Definitely not." You feel Phainon shift slightly from beneath you, just enough to pull one of your previously discarded sheets over top of you, it makes your heart flutter. 

"I'd like to think I made up for it. Wouldn't you?" Phainon's asks, earnest but soft. "Was this not an apology worthy of your forgiveness?" 

"Maybe it was, I'll have to think about it." 

Your playful words make him chuckle, but you notice that he squeezes you in a bit tighter. The sex you just had makes everything a bit confusing, but you atleast believe that your hopeful crush seems to be somewhat reciprocated. 

"You really are ruthless, aren't you?" Phainon whines, like a big, warm puppy before giving you another kiss. 

"Nope, just cold!" 

Whatever happens, you'll deal with it when you're warmer. 

"So reactive," he had mused, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your collarbone. His breath had been warm, teasing, setting fire to your skin.

Your fingers had twisted in the sheets. “You—”

He had laughed then, soft and sinful, dragging his teeth lightly across your pulse point. “What?”

You had no words.

Only the feeling of him—his weight, his heat, the deliberate way he moved, like he was painting something unseen into your skin. And God, the way he spoke…

"You’re so beautiful like this."  

Like this—flushed, breathless, unable to think straight.

And then—then he had shifted, pressing you deeper into the mattress, his fingers ghosting over your inner thigh, his voice dipping into something darker—

"Tell me what you want."  

The way his fingers, still stained with paint, had traced lazy circles against your bare skin. The press of his body against yours, firm, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to ruin you. The way he had murmured your name like it belonged to him, lips ghosting over your ear, teasing, promising—

“Mm. You make such a pretty mess.” 

A sharp clatter of brushes yanks you back to the present.

Across the room, Rafayel leans back against his desk, watching the class with that usual lazy amusement. He twirls a charcoal stick between his fingers, smudging dark pigment across his skin without a care. There’s nothing in his expression that betrays last night—no secret glances, no shift in demeanor. To everyone else, he is just their professor, enigmatic, impossible, untouchable.

But you know better.

You know what his smirk looks like against your throat, how his breath hitches when you touch him just right. You know the exact shade of red that blooms across his skin when he drinks too much, when his restraint wavers, when he forgets to be careful with you.

And yet, here, in front of everyone, he is perfectly composed.

He does not look at you. Not obviously.

But when he does, it lingers.

“Expression over precision,” he says, pushing off the desk, moving through the classroom. His tone is languid, effortlessly commanding. “What you feel should dictate your work, not some rigid technicality. Art isn’t careful. It’s reckless. It’s vulnerable. It—”

He stops beside you.

Your breath catches.

He glances at your canvas, tilting his head slightly. Then, too softly, “Still too restrained.”

The words punch through you, low and knowing, meant for your ears alone.

You tighten your grip on your brush. Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You can feel the other students glancing over, listening, waiting for his critique. And Rafayel—Rafayel is playing the part of the untouchable professor so well, except for the way his fingers brush the edge of your easel as he steps even closer. A phantom touch. A reminder.

You can still feel the heat of his hands on your skin from last night.

You hate him.

You want him to do it again.

“Here,” he says, and before you can react, his hand is over yours, warm, firm.

Guiding.

His grip is light at first, barely there—just his fingers brushing over yours, a slow press against your knuckles. Then, deliberate. Strong. He curls his hand around yours completely, his body so close you can feel the slow, steady rise of his breath.

The brush moves.

A streak of deep violet sweeps across your canvas, bold, unapologetic.

The class exhales in surprise. A few students murmur. You can barely breathe.

He leans in, just enough for only you to hear.

“Lose control.”

And then he’s gone, moving to another student’s work as if nothing happened, as if he hasn’t just left you flushed and aching, pulse thrumming like wet paint dripping from a brush.

But you’d continued instead. “They would. You’re so handsome, so gorgeous. Ethereal. Not to mention incredibly talented. And I love you, and I think we’re really compatible personality wise, but looks…you have to admit you could do a lot better.”

It was then you’d began to note how it felt much hotter in the studio than it had a few minutes ago. Like there was an unseen furnace, prickling with an angry fire about to grow into an inferno.

Rafayel’s voice had been, ironically, icy. “How could I do better than you?”

“C’mon, be real, Raf.” It had been hard to keep the pain out of your words, and impossible to keep the thoughts choking you inside. You’d started to plead, some part of you convinced that it would help if he would simply agree that your every insecurity was valid. “I’m not a supermodel. I’m not a genius. I’m not an angel, either. There’s nothing about me that’s extraordinary. Not like you are.”

And then he’d moved.

And now, you’re still on the couch, crying out brokenly with nothing to grip onto, as his hand holds your wrists above your head, and his cock thrusts in and out of you in the most maddening pace you’ve ever experienced.

He’s never been like this. When you plead, Rafayel gives in. He is weak to you, as he’s shown time and time again. But not today. No matter how much you beg with teary eyes for him to go faster, he shakes his head, slowing down even more. With a punishing growl, he pushes all the way in, and all the way out, leaving your drooling cunt clenching around nothing.

It’s torture. Pure and simple.

“What was it you said?” he breathes harshly, leaning down to press hot kisses on your neck that burn so perfectly you sob. “Ethereal? Talented? A supermodel?”

“Rafayel,” you gasp. He ignores it. His eyes are a violent shade of purple, the most dangerous you’ve ever seen them. There are scales blooming all over his body, as though denying you is the key to awake this dormant side of him, to make you submit.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispers, biting and leaving a fresh bruise planted on your skin. “Just tell me what I want to hear. Go on.”

He pulls out and you feel the tears running down your cheeks.

“Say, ‘I’m beautiful.’”

In.

“Say, ‘I’m gorgeous.’”

Out.

“Say, “I’m fucking ethereal.’”

You can taste salt from your own sobs, both from being denied, and from the unimaginable cruelty of having to praise yourself. It’s impossible. You want the reward so bad, but you can’t claw your way to it, because the rules are too imposing. The conditions, blinding.

“Be real,” he taunts, repeating your own words back to you, “come on, start easy. ‘I’m pretty.’ Go on.”

Heaving in a breath, you taste the bitter words on your tongue. “I-I’m pretty.”

Your back arches off the couch as he rewards you with his fingers on your clit, rubbing soft circles while he’s inside you. “Mmhm. You are. And?”

“Please, Rafayel.” You’re clenching so tight around him, and you can see from how he shudders that it pains him just as much as it pains you, this wait, this little game of keep-away. “Please don’t make me—“

You’re cut off by his hand cupping your cheeks, and his lips stealing a salty, breathless kiss. “Meri pyaari gurya,” he groans, kissing you again, “meri chand.” Kiss. “Meri humsafar.” Kiss. “Mine, mine, mine.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. "Do you think I keep anything that isn’t worthy of the Sea God?”

You shut your eyes, crying harder. The logic is loud, but your thoughts are louder. He’s only saying it to reassure you, he’s only saying it to be nice, he’s only saying it because he pities you…

“Meri dulhaniya,” he saves for last, because he knows it’ll break you, “I have nowhere to be. I’m fine staying buried inside you, all day and all night, while your sweet little pussy gushes for me. I’ll bring you to the brink, again and again, but I won’t let you cum, my pretty muse, because either you admit that you’re the most beautiful human in this world, or I’ll fuck it into you till you forget otherwise.”

Trembling, you open your eyes. There is nothing but conviction in his gaze. Conviction, and hunger.

And you realize two very important things. One, that your stamina is nothing compared to his, and you will never hold out against him, and two, that is not something one does out of pity, but out of unyielding, undying adoration.

“I’m,” you swallow, cheeks burning, “beautiful.”

A sharp thrust of his hips makes you moan his name, mouth falling open as he kisses you deeply, and you swear you can feel him hardening even more inside you.

“I’m gorgeous.”

“Yes,” Rafayel hisses, fingers rubbing your clit to match his thrusts.

Eyes rolling back, you cry out, “I-I’m…”

“Fucking ethereal,” he provides, and you think you can feel fire flicking from his lips on your cheeks.

“Fucking ethereal,” you whine, pulling him into a kiss this time.

His hips slam against yours and you cry out against his mouth as his tongue ravages yours. There is nothing Rafayel hates more than someone misunderstanding his art, least of all the art itself.

Your toes curl and your nerves are electrified, everything fading away except you and Rafayel, and his cock and his fingers and his lips, and the couch he’s pounding you into, and you tug at his hair and practically scream as you cum.

He’s still softly licking at your lips as you come down from your high, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. The air escaping you is light, and for the first time in a long time, there is nothing stuck in your chest, a soft fluttery feeling replacing the heaviness that you’ve been carrying what feels like your whole life.

Gazing back up your lover, you cradle his face, noticing that his lovely purple hues have morphed into an even lovelier pink, only a second before you notice he hasn’t cum yet.

“That’s a good start,” Rafayel whispers, capturing your lower lip between his teeth and tugging.

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 4.3k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, sylus refers to reader genitalia as ‘she,’ public sex, sex in an alley, standing/against the wall sex, finger sucking, choking, outdoor sex, voyeurism, needy sylus, drunk sylus, jealous sylus, use of pet names, mentions of guns, tiny bit of violence, cumming in coochie, panties over cummies

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | video (how sylus kisses you in this)

Luke and Kieran watch the way Sylus’s eyes track you under the strobing lights of the nightclub. It wasn’t out of the norm for their dear boss to be obsessed with knowing a certain Hunter’s whereabouts. But this was excessive, even for him.

The way he’d already shattered two glasses with the force of his fingers, his eyes scarily unblinking as they trailed your every movement. The club manager didn’t dare kick Sylus out, apologizing to him as he’d cleaned up the glass from Sylus’s feet. But Sylus was too distracted to even notice. 

The pair of troublemakers supposed it had to do with the fact that some sleezy drunk had his hands all over your bare thighs. They knew if Sylus had his way, that very man would be unconscious on the floor in half a second flat. But of course, when it came to you, Sylus was helpless as he was whipped, giving into your every desire, even if it physically pained him to do so.

And you had ordered Sylus not to intervene, not when you were undercover, trying to get classified information from the powerful men that frequented this very nightclub in the N109 zone. So he was left at the bar, quite literally fending thirsty women off left and right, watching the way you pretended to laugh amongst the unsuspecting targets. He tried to distract himself from the men who so clearly were thinking of ten different ways to fuck you. 

A privilege reserved only for him.  

So the twins, who had so enthusiastically begged to tag along, devised a plan to help Sylus take his mind off planning literal murder. 

Really, they were trying to help!

But maybe they should’ve stopped after the fifth drink. When Sylus’s cheeks flushed the same shade of red as his eyes, ebbing all the way up to the tips of his ears. 

And they definitely should’ve stopped after the tenth drink. When Sylus’s body started to move on its own accord, his Evol practically parting the crowd of drunk and sweaty clubbers to get to you.

But at that point there was no stopping the formidable man from taking what he wanted. And what he wanted, what he needed, was you. 

Honestly, you nearly breathe a sigh of relief when you feel Sylus’s familiar Evol wrapping around your wrist, yanking you backward and away from the disgusting man trying to feel you up. You’re so happy to feel his strong arms around you that you don’t notice how atypically clumsy his Evol feels, like grasping for something when blindfolded.

“We’re leaving.”

Sylus’s words are dominating and commanding, ‘no’ not even a fathomable possibility. But there’s a slight waver in his gruff voice that makes you raise your eyebrow at him in question.

The idiotic man before you wraps his clammy hands around your waist, pulling you back, “Hey man. We’re in the middle of something.”

You look up to see Sylus’s crimson eyes, trained on the way the man’s fingers dig into your bare skin, burning with something dangerous, the air around him crackling with an erratic and sinister energy, and you know you have to defuse the situation as quickly as you can. 

You bring your elbow to the man’s groin, digging hard. He groans pathetically, wilting to his knees. Truthfully, you didn’t have to elbow him that hard, but you’d become nauseated with how disgustingly he’d been looking at you, touching you, for the past thirty minutes. 

“No, we’re really not.”

With that, you slip into Sylus’s side, his large arm wrapping possessively around your naked shoulders, your hand resting on his abdomen. Sylus’s lips quirk up, deeply satisfied with the way you can bring men twice your size to their knees before they can even blink. His girl.

As the two of you make your way out of the crowd, you start to notice the way Sylus’s movements are unusually sluggish, his feet trudging one after the other. Considering Sylus was always poised and elegant, you instantly knew something was amiss. When Luke and Kieran fall into step behind you, you turn to the two masked men.

“What happened?!” you hissed at them, “What happened to ‘Watch Sylus? Easy peasy lemon squeezy?!’” Your fingers are raised in air-quotes as you recall their confident words and uncontrollable giggles when you’d tasked them with keeping Sylus in line, knowing he’d have a hard time watching you faux flirt with other men, no matter how self assured he was. 

Kieran is the first to speak, clearing his throat as the four of you exit the nightclub, the night air ruffling through your hair, “Well, you see –”

But he’s cut off when Sylus roughly grabs your chin, pulling your eyes up to his. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

Your eyes flicker to his, surprised by his demanding, yet needy, words. Sylus smiles when you look up at him, his eyes, as unfocused as they were, beaming down at you.

His rough fingers caress your cheek, burying his face into your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent, “Beautiful.”

The scent of alcohol on his breath is so strong you nearly wince. Luke and Kieran seem to notice your realization at the same time, their eyes widening as you start to yell in disbelief.

“Is he drunk?!” you demand, your arms wrapping tighter around his waist, Sylus in a world of his own as he mutters incoherent mumblings into your hair, shifting his weight onto you.

The twins grin at you sheepishly, raising their hands in surrender. Luke speaks, “Well, in our defense, boss never gets drunk –”

“Yeah! Boss is such a heavyweight –”

“So we thought, a few drinks might loosen him up –”

“You should’ve seen him! He was thiiiiiis close to commiting a crime –”

“So really, you should be thanking us!”

The twins finish rattling off, looking at you with puppy eyes.

You sigh, unable to feign anger at them, “How many drinks did you give him?”

“Umm…what was it Kieran…like…eight?” Your eyes widen as they scratch their chins.

“No…no, it was definitely closer to…like twelve?”

“Well we also gave him those cute little drinks with the umbrellas, he seemed to really like those!”

“Yeah and they had little chunks of fruit in them! Maybe that cancels out the alcohol?”

“Yeah! And the one with the olives too! Plus, boss always drinks like a bottle of wine a night!

“So we thought…a few mixed drinks…couldn’t hurt anyone!”

Your head spins as you try to keep up with their conversation, digging through your purse to find the unopened half bottle of water you’d brought. You quickly unscrew it, bringing it up to Sylus’s lips. 

Sylus looks surprised when the cool plastic touches his lips, but once his hazy eyes focus on you again, he visibly relaxes. The sharp vermillion hues in his irises melt at the reflection of you, softening into the most beautiful carmine pools of red wine. 

His hands come over to cup yours, holding your fingers affectionately in his as you tilt the water back so he can drink. You have to tip toe upward so you can follow his grip, his gulps greedy and eyelids shut in relief, the sensation of your hand cupping his jaw feeling like his own personal heaven. 

With the plastic at his moistened lips, his eyes flutter open to look at you, his lids heavy with intoxication. Even though his eyes swim with a murky tiredness, they glow when they watch you, glimmering with a star-struck adoration. His intensity stares you down, a knowing heat piercing right through you. The very same heat that has seen both your naked body and soul.

The moment feels hot and strangely intimate. It definitely felt illegal to have Sylus looking at you like that while Luke and Kieran stood behind you. 

He’s so distracted by you, eyes never leaving yours, that nearly a third of the water splashes onto his chest and the pavement floor. He drinks so enthusiastically that you almost want to giggle at how submissive he looks, drinking so obediently from your hands, eyes following your every move. Fortunately the pair of whispers behind you remind you that, even if Sylus stares at you like he’s ready to mount you right then and there, you are not alone. 

When the bottle drains, he crumples it in one hand, tossing it to the nearest waste bin. 

As it hits the metal trash can, you tear your eyes away from the way Sylus heatedly watches you, turning back to Luke and Kieran, “Are you two insane?!”

The twins look positively offended.

“How did you even convince him to drink so much?” 

“Well, he was so distracted watching you that he just downed anything we put into his hands...” 

You bite your lip, realizing how difficult it must’ve been for Sylus to sit back and just watch. But he did it, for you. 

“Y/N.”

You try to ignore the way Sylus is stroking the bare skin of your shoulders, fingers coming dangerously close to your neck. His ruby eyes beg for your attention.

“Sylus might drink a lot, but he drinks wine –”

“Y/N.”

“Not hard alcohol! Look at how red he is! You guys, this was recklessly irresponsible!”

“Y/N.”

Sylus pulls you forcefully back into his arms, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse. Through the darkness of the night, you pray Luke and Kieran can’t see the way Sylus whispers into your ear.

“I need you.”

You fight the shiver that threatens to unleash through your unsuspecting body, his hot breath washing against your skin, the contrast of the brisk night air making you all the more sensitive. His fingers hold you in place, his hard body pressed into your own. 

You sigh, trying to brush the arousal away, “Let’s get you home, yeah? We can –”

He nips at your earlobe, eliciting a squeak from your lips as he gruffly demands, “Now.”

Before you can protest further, Sylus’s eyes direct to the twins in front of you, the pair of them snickering to themselves knowingly as he dismisses them, “We’ll meet you at home.”

–

You didn’t even make it to your car. 

Far from it, you found yourself pressed into the cold brickwall of a nearby alleyway, not fifteen feet from where Luke and Kieran had left the two of you. Sylus’s lips are latched onto yours in a furiously passionate embrace, his hands alternating between grabbing torridly at your waist and threading into the back of your neck, weaving into your sweat-dampened hair.

Your arms are wrapped around his neck for support against his torridly forceful kiss, his head tilted to the side to give him full access to your mouth, your lips, your tongue. 

He doesn’t even stop to breathe, opting to inhale your breath as his own. His tongue forcefully explores every inch of your open and willing mouth, and you struggle to keep up with his excitement. His fingers massage your neck, grabbing eagerly at every part of you he can reach. 

Sylus has always been passionate, but this was something else. It felt as if the alcohol in his blood amplified everything tenfold, leaving his cock thicker than ever against your shivering abdomen. His hands roam down your naked back, pulling at your waist again, pressing your body harder against his erection that leaks against his underwear. 

Sylus’s head tilts to the other side, your face moving opposite his to instinctively receive his unbridled passion. He cups the back of your head again, shielding you head from hitting the wall, the force of his kiss pushing you against it violently. 

He pulls away briefly, panting into you, his canines grazing into the soft skin of your ear, “You’re going to be the death of me, little dove.”

You want to question him, but his lips are back on yours in an instant, consuming you once more. His fingers grip your jaw so tightly, funneling all the emotions he’d held back, while watching you on the dancefloor with other men, into the way he holds you against the wall. Into the way he devours you.

He gives you a brief second of reprieve, pressing his lips into your neck, voice coming out husky and sulky, “I don’t enjoy seeing you with other men.” 

You gasp as he pushes you impossibly deeper into the wall, teeth simultaneously digging into the curve of your neck. Your fingers thread up into his hair, tugging to ground yourself as Sylus sucks your soft skin. 

“M-sooorry,” you slur, as if you’re the one who’s drunk, “B-But I got the information I – nnghn – needed.”

Sylus growls into your skin, “I knew you would. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

His thumb presses against your bottom lip, eyes glazed over with a drunken hunger, “And you always have me at your mercy.”

It isn’t long before he has your back arched into his abdomen, the front of your sweat slicked body pressed into the cold alley wall, his cock buried in your wet gummy walls. Your panties are pushed messily to the side, your skirt hiked up to your waist. 

Sylus’s fingers are shoved into your mouth, claiming to try and minimize your sounds so passerbys don't hear the filthy things he was doing to you. In reality, he was just addicted to your sweet mouth wrapped around him.

His other hand holds both of your wrists, locking them against the small of your back, leaving you absolutely at the mercy of his thick cock ramming in and out of you.

“S-so damn beautiful,” Sylus is almost slurring, having gotten more drunk the longer the alcohol sat in his stomach. The acoustics of the dark alley made his body pounding against yours all the louder and more sinful. 

His thrusts are sloppy, the alcohol making it harder for him to maintain control. But that only serves to arouse you more, the sight of Sylus’s hazy eyes when you crane your neck back to see him, the sweat sticking to his flushed skin. 

You can only moan, the pads of his fingers pressing down into your tongue. The loud drunken giggles of people passing by make your eyes widen, but Sylus doesn’t stop, only going faster. 

“Never gonna let another man touch you, ever again,” he moans into your ear, as he ruts angrily into your g spot, his fingers pressing tiny bruises into the fat of your hips. He’s ten times handsier when he’s drunk, almost as if the alcohol makes his muscles itch, your body his fixation.. 

He spins you around suddenly, nearly making you lose your balance, his cock entering you just as quickly as it had slipped out. Sylus is desperate to see your beautifully hooded eyes, the faces you make when you come undone for him.

You grip the thick muscles of his neck, admiring his damp and exposed chest. The buttons of his shirt had been yanked open in the drunken shuffle, leaving little to imagination.

“H-Hey,” Sylus mutters, the faintest hint of a whine beneath his words, “Look at me.” His thrusts, sloppier than ever, never stopping.

You grin, despite how blissed out your mind is becoming, at his adorably needy behavior. As you let your eyes lose themselves in his, you stroke his jaw lovingly.

“Tell me,” he pants, his cock twitching as it presses insistently into your walls.

“Nngh — T-Tell you what Sy?” you coo breathlessly, nails digging into his sweaty skin, trying to distract yourself from the no doubt filthy brick wall pressing into your exposed back. 

“Tell me how I make you feel,” Sylus’s jaw tightens dangerously.

He thrusts especially hard and deep when you don’t respond, capturing your wrist and pressing it into the wall above your head, effectively trapping you against the wall, “Tell me.” 

You squeal, biting your lips, “Sylus! F-Feels s’good. N-No one else can — hng — make me feel like this!” 

Sylus’s glossy ruby red eyes flicker, his fingers finding your clit pressed against his pelvis, “Yeah? You love my cock, don’t you sweetheart?”

You want to smile at how adorably needy his words are, the alcohol fueling him with the rare desire to be validated. Instead you just nod vehemently as he plays with your clit, “I dooo!” 

Sylus grunts, struggling to breathe as you tighten around him. He grabs your cheeks in between his fingers, squeezing them firmly until your moans are muffled, “Shhh, we wouldn’t want someone to find us, would we little bird?” 

You nod obediently, but your body responds instinctively to his words, your abdomen fluttering in excitement at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position, with the revered leader of Onychinus no less. 

Sylus chuckles darkly, his every nerve receptive to your tiniest micromovements, and especially the excited way your pussy clamps down on his erection. His lips come down to kiss your jaw sweetly, contrary to the mean way he bullies himself into your cunt.

When he reaches the space beneath your ear he presses a tender kiss there, whispering huskily, “I can feel the way you’re tightening around me. Do you like the idea of someone watching us?”

Your eyes widen at him, and that’s all the answer he needs. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I would love to give them a show. Especially that man who had his hands all over you, hm? What was his name?”

“I-I d-don’t – hah – remember,” you wheeze, holding on as he bounces you into the wall, the sound of drunk bar patrons growing louder.

Sylus smiles darkly, his red eyes glowing in satisfaction, “Good girl. This pussy belongs t’me, hm?” His words come out in a purr, slightly sluggish with intoxication.

You can’t speak, opting to nod as eagerly as you can, your brain muddling against the pleasure of your joined bodies. Sylus chuckles at your wordless agreement.

“My precious dove…can’t even speak?” he coos, fingers still splayed out against your poor quivering clit, the wet sounds of his furious ministrations echoing throughout the dark alley. He leans in close to your ear.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. She’s so loud she might as well be answering for you,” he grins, clearly talking about your soaked and squelching pussy against his demanding thrusts. 

You’re about to retort when you hear another group of people passing by the alley. Your hands fly up to your mouth, forcing your uncontrollable moans away. Your eyes squeeze shut as the patter of feet gets closer and closer, fear and excitement taking over.

“Ah-ah,” Sylus tuts, “You know better than to hide your beautiful sounds from me.” Your eyes widen when his words sink in. 

Your hands fly to Sylus’s broad shoulders, but it’s too late to push him back. His hands find the globes of your ass, lifting you off the floor, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. At this angle Sylus can fully bounce you on his cock, using you however he wants. At this angle, the swollen tip brushes right into your cervix. At this angle, it’s physically impossible for you to muffle your cries. 

Your nails dig into the ropes of his shoulder muscles as you squeal. Sylus only grins as the sound of feet falter, right in front of the alley.

You try your best to whisper, “Sy-Sylus, please. Th-they’ll hear.” But it was pointless. Even if you could hold back your whimpers, the echo of his arousal dampened pelvis slapping against the space where your thighs met your ass bounced off the walls of the alley like a resounding bell. 

“You say that…” he murmurs, fingers coming back down to your clit, balancing you in just one arm, “But why is she getting so tight?”

He’s right, and there’s no denying it. Sylus is well acquainted with your body, knowing exactly what excites you, what you don’t like, what you love. 

The heavy footsteps gradually fade, likely too drunk to hear anything than the pounding of distant EDM music. Sylus hears you sigh in relief, releasing a bated breath, but your cunt stays as tight as ever around him. It drives him insane.

Nearly getting caught has only pushed both of you to the cusp of your orgasms. 

“Close, dove?” Sylus whispers into your ear, one hand pressed into the wall, the other bouncing you on his quivering cock.

Your head is thrown back as you nod, gasping for your next breath, “Y-Yes! So cloooose Sy!” At this point you don’t even care who could possibly hear you, only able to focus on the angry way Sylus’s cock twitching inside you, stroking your g-spot, begging to paint you white.

“M-Me too, Y/N,” Sylus’s uncharacteristic stutter, driven to madness by the alcohol and you, makes you clench down, hard. 

He hisses, hips stuttering, teeth clamping down on your shoulder, tongue subsequently coming out to lap at the space where he bit down, soothing your skin. 

The push of pain, the pull of pleasure, it’s just enough to tip you over, careening down the cliff of your orgasm. Your head falls back, eyes rolling with them, body fully preparing to show Sylus just how much you loved him. 

But Sylus has other plans, squeezing your cheeks in between his fingers, directing you to look at him. 

“Hey. Look at me, please.” 

His commanding words remind you that he’s very much still intoxicated, making him adorably needy for your attention.

When your eyes level with his, his red eyes sparkle happily, like a puppy getting its ears scratched, “Hello, my love. Show me, hm?” The duality of his lovable desperation and his downright malevolent plunges into your cervix blurs the lines between pleasure and reality, sanity and madness.

You nod eagerly, holding his intense eye contact, while you burst at the seams, spraying all over his still clothed abdomen. Sparks of white hot electricity travel through every one of your nerve endings while you cum on him.

Sylus gulps, in awe of the way you sing for him, shame thrown to the wind. If anyone were to walk by, they’d hear the way you screamed for his cock. Hear the way your body made him gasp for his next breath. How he grunts with each rope of cum that he dumps into your waiting hole, each sloppy pump filling his vision with bleary stars.

As he cums, he whispers brokenly into your ear, “C-Can never get enough. I love you, sweetheart.”  One of his big hands comes up to clamp around your throat, his fingers pressing down forcefully as he erupts inside of you. 

“Ngh…I love you Sylus,” you murmur against the pleasure of your constricted air flow, clinging to him, truly like an injured bird.

Sylus kisses your lips tenderly as you both come down from your highs, his fingers carefully laying your panties back in place. When he sets you on the ground, you nearly collapse, your legs quivering from the way they’d been locked around his waist. His arms are back around you in an instant, holding you steady. His cum flows out of you like literal tears, but you can only clamp your thighs shut and pray your pathetic soiled panties can catch the streams of his milky seed. 

He guides you carefully out of the alley, pressing affectionate kisses into the crown of your head as he holds your waist protectively. You’re so dazed you hardly notice that your skirt is still ridden up, until Sylus gently pulls it back down, smoothing the rumpled fabric with his large hands. 

The sounds of two far too familiar voices greet you when you emerge from the backstreet. 

“Are you guys finally done?” 

“Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting?!” 

Sylus groans, running his hand down his face, “Didn’t I tell you two to go back to base?” 

And though you’re thoroughly mortified at the idea of the twins having walked into your…situation, you can’t help but smile at the way Sylus handles Luke and Kieran. Like a father reprimanding his children.

“Well we did —”

“But then you guys didn’t come back for a while —”

“So we thought maybe something happened!” 

You shake your head at their frenzied explanation, the smile stretching on your lips as you watch the twins move their hands animatedly in their defense, “You guys are impossible.”

Luke gasps in exaggerated earnest, “How can you say that after what you’ve put us through?”

Kieran nods in agreement, shuddering dramatically, “Yeah! I feel like I just walked in on my parents…” 

“You two better watch yourselves before I confiscate your guns again,” Sylus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. But you can see the corner of his lips fighting an amused smile. 

Luke and Kieran simultaneously gasp, their reaction making it seem like Sylus was a father grounding his children, taking away their toys. You burst out into giggles, hugging Sylus’s side to keep warm as you watch the comical situation unfold. 

“There’s no need for you to do that, Sy,” you murmur, looking up at him, admiring the way the moonlight frames his face. Sylus peers down at you, his face softening, before nodding curtly.

The twins snicker. Luke uses his hand as a shield in front of his mouth to whisper to Kieran, pointing to Sylus behind it, “Whipped.”

You shoot them a smile, a deceptively innocent and sweet grin, “I’ll gladly confiscate them for you.”

There’s nearly a cartoon puff of smoke left behind when the twins scurry off, desperately clutching their holsters and begging for mercy. 

Sylus chuckles as he watches them run off, his arm slung over your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side as he presses a kiss into your forehead. 

“Truly a force to be reckoned with.” 

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.8k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, drunk mc and xavier, pre-established relationship (but not first time), public sex/voyeurism, sex on the dance floor, standing sex, fingering, dancing without leaving room for jesus, grinding, jealous!mc, not a content warning but xavier is wearing tight black shirt and jeans…….MMMMMM, unprotected sex, handjob through clothes

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | pics (how xavier and you make out in this)

The thumping beat of club music pounds in your ears, making it difficult to hear even your own thoughts. But you really didn’t care, too intoxicated and having too much fun dancing with Tara in a throng of sweaty club goers. 

The both of you had requested today off, wanting to see an up and coming DJ at the Linkon Lounge. You’d started the night off at your apartment, getting dolled up in your wispiest lashes and outfits that made you feel strong, confident, and beautiful. You’d shared a couple shots of tequila before slipping on your heels and scrambling out of your apartment, in a fit of tipsy and hushed giggles. 

Coincidentally enough, you ran into Xavier on your way out. Your blonde-haired partner was in the apartment lobby, grabbing his mail, when you and Tara bumped into him, literally. If it weren’t for Xavier’s quick reflexes, his forearm darting out to wrap around your waist, you definitely would’ve ended the night before it began, with an ice pack in your hand rather than a fruity drink. 

And that’s when Tara had invited Xavier out with you. Truthfully, you were sure Xavier would say no. The club definitely wasn’t his scene, and he undoubtedly had plans to have a cozy night in. But you were pleasantly surprised when he blurted out ‘yes’ before Tara could even get the words completely out. Tara knew Xavier wanted to come to keep an eye on you, and she was all too happy to play matchmaker. 

You hadn’t seen Xavier for what felt like at least fifteen minutes. You assumed he went off to the bathroom, or maybe to order some more drinks. Before long, you started to worry. 

“I’m gonna go look for Xavier! Will you be okay?” you practically scream over the music, pulling the side of Tara’s face to your mouth so she can hear you better. 

“I’ll be here!” she yells, pointing at her phone, “Text me if you can’t find me!” You nod, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

You push your way out of the crowd, apologizing profusely as you’re met with the displeased looks and groans of drunk patrons.

Eventually you make your way to the edge of the dancefloor, scouring the area for Xavier. You had a difficult time focussing your eyes, stumbling about, but did your best to look for the enigmatic Hunter. 

You quickly check the line at the bar before deciding to check the bathroom. It’s then you catch the glint of familiar platinum blonde hair, Xavier’s body leaned up against the wall near the public water fountains. 

You gulp at the sight of him, his head leaned back to rest against the wall, his hands folded across his chest. The musky sweat of the enclosed space made his black fitted t-shirt cling to his biceps, his skin glistening with sweat under the pulsing LED lights. 

Even from this far away, it’s clear Xavier is drunk. His eyes are hooded with intoxication, his throat bobbing with shallow breaths.

You’re about to approach him when the groups of people in front of you shift, and you see a girl latched onto Xavier’s bicep. The two look far too cozy, Xavier not doing anything to push her off as she speaks animatedly up at him, her eyelashes batting seductively. 

It’s not like you and Xavier were dating…but it was clear there was something deeply intertwined about the two of you. That, and the fact that you’d been intimate several times. But you had to admit, you’d never made things exclusive. 

You turn on your heel, thoroughly perturbed at the sight of Xavier with someone else, making your way back to where you’d left Tara.

You’d just broken into the crowd when a firm hand catches your wrist, stopping you from pushing further. You turn back sharply, ready to throw your fist back, only to be met with the sight of Xavier, in all his flushed and handsome glory. 

“Where are you going?” 

You fight the urge to smack him, jealousy a true green-eyed monster, instead just feigning ignorance, “What? I can’t hear you!” You gesture wildly with your hands to emphasize your point. You turn away from him, starting to tug your wrist away again when he pulls you back, hard. 

He twirls you effortlessly into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you, secure and unrelenting. You look up at him in question. He leans down, and your breath catches as his lips come an inch away from yours. But he doesn’t kiss you, instead whispering into your ear. 

“I asked where you were going. Didn’t you see me?” his breath is warm against your ear, the smell of alcohol invading your senses over the pounding music.

“You looked busy. I didn’t want to intrude,” you try to keep your voice level, but you can tell it comes out petty. You hope through the deafening music, Xavier can’t hear how sulky your voice is.

Xavier looks confused in his drunken state, but shouts into your ear, his tone genuine and endearing even amidst the music, “You’re never intruding.”

You sigh at his sweet words, tiptoeing up to speak to him and trying to be nice, “Who was your friend?”

Xavier looks even more bewildered for a second, before realizing the implications of your words, a lazy smile painting his features. He holds you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other coming up to touch your cheek. 

“Not my friend. She couldn’t find her friends and wanted to wait with me.”

You roll your eyes. Xavier was too sweet and unassuming for his own good.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Xavier chuckles, “You don’t have to be jealous, I only have eyes for you.”

Your cheeks flare amidst the flush of alcohol on your cheeks at his words, and before you can speak Xavier is leaning down to kiss you. You squeak in surprise, but respond to his lips, kissing him back. 

Xavier kisses you slowly, gently, and tenderly. You can barely even hear the music around you, the musky people bumping into the pair of you. All you can feel is Xavier, lips on yours, his hands stroking your bare skin, his hardening erection against your stomach. 

He pulls away for air, his lips swollen and wet from your passionate kiss. Your ears pound in excitement at the way Xavier looks down at you, hungry and wanting more. You hook your arms around Xavier’s neck, pulling him down until your foreheads brush against each other.

“Dance with me,” you whisper loudly against the music. Xavier’s eyes shine with excitement, and he nods, his hands gripping your waist as you start to sway to the music. 

You turn around so you can watch the flashing lights, the alcohol making them look like a light show. You feel much bolder with the liquid courage running through your veins, so you grind back into Xavier, your rear molding perfectly against his crotch. 

Xavier hardens so quickly against your movements, your body feeling so perfect against his. The alcohol makes everything feel much more fluid and raw, his body responding excitedly.

He too is fueled by the courage of intoxication, his hands roaming from your hips to your stomach, just above the fat of your cunt. He can feel the way you shiver at his touch, and he decides to dare further. 

His strong hands wander up, until they cup your breasts through your sheer dress. He rests his chin on your shoulder, whispering into your ear.

“Is this alright?” 

You crane your neck backwards to nod at him, eyes flickering to his lips. Xavier leans in to kiss you again, one hand still playing with your nipple, the other reaching up to hold your throat against him gently. The two of you kiss so passionately, so messily, that you hardly notice the crowd of equally drunk and horny people around you. 

As you kiss him, your hand comes backward to cup the back of Xavier’s head, grabbing at his soft blonde locks. Your body continues to rock sensually into him, relishing in the way his hard erection sits between the slit of your ass.

Looking up at him through your wet eyelashes, you whisper, “M-More. I want more.”

Xavier groans, looking around, trying to find the quickest way out of the crowd. But you can’t wait, too aroused by the way Xavier’s shirt clings to his muscles, the way his cock fights against his jeans, straining to be with you.

The alcohol dares you to be bolder than you normally would ever be. You grab his wrist, bringing it down to the hem of your minidress, guiding his fingers to slip under it. 

You can feel Xavier stiffen behind you, eyes darting around to make sure no one is watching. But he quickly realizes quite literally no one cares about the two of you, too focussed on the music, too focussed on their own partners, to even spare you a glance.

So he follows your lead, his hands roaming under your dress, digging into your soft thighs. You moan into his ear, your head laid back on his shoulder.

With his palm so close to your cunt, you grind right into his open hand, wanting more friction, more of him. Xavier groans at your enthusiasm, quickly forgetting about the people that are packed around you like sardines. He feels something damp against his fingers, making him all the more desperate to have you. 

“You’re wet,” Xavier whispers sluggishly into your ear, “Is this all for me?”

You groan at his words, your muscles twitching with anticipation. You try and look at him, the back of your head still resting on his thick shoulder. Your hand grasps at the back of his neck, forcing his eyes to drift down to you, the azure blues flickering to your lips before they come back to your gaze.

“Touch me, please.”

Even under the strobing lights of the club you can see Xavier’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening. His eyes flutter shut as he leans down to kiss you.

At the same time, his finger gingerly dips into your folds, moving your panties to the side. At first he just rubs up and down with his middle finger, enjoying the way you moan into his mouth. But it becomes far too unbearable, not being inside you.

He slowly dips his middle finger inside of you, hissing when your little hole sucks him in tightly. 

“Is this okay?” Xavier asks, wanting to make sure you’re alright. Your eyes dart around lazily, making sure no one can see Xavier’s hands underneath your dress. 

You nod, your eyelashes fluttering shut as Xavier starts to pump in and out of you. The energetic music makes everything feel more surreal, only the occasional jostling of people bumping into the pair of you reminding you of exactly where you are. 

Xavier’s index finger finds its way inside you, his thumb rubbing at your slippery clit. He alternates his free arm between shielding you from people pushing as they pass by, and cupping your breast through your dress. In all your writhing, your ass continues to grind against Xavier’s cock. Under his jeans, he’s leaking so profusely that your body rubs around the slick, creating a sticky mess. 

Xavier pumps inside you, enjoying the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him, the feeling of risk and wrong. 

“Please – Please don’t stop,” you pant, looking up at him with starry eyes.

The look of complete and utter bliss on your gorgeously flushed face makes Xavier bite his lip, “I’ll never stop, angel.”

You clench down hard on his fingers at the endearing pet name, one he so rarely called you. It makes you writhe against his hot and hard body, pressed firmly into you, like a puzzle piece.

With your back still turned to him, you reach your hand back to where his bulge presses into you. With careful hands, you cup the massive swell of his manhood, biting your lip when he moans into your ear, teeth grazing against your earlobe. 

You rub him enthusiastically through his jeans, enjoying the way he writhes under your touch, his cock straining through the tight restraint of his pants. 

“You’re evil,” Xavier groans, pressing kisses into your neck, trying to contain the moans he wants to make for you.

You lean your head back, staring at him through hooded eyes, “Should I stop?”

Xavier holds you tight, almost crushing you, to keep you from stopping.

“No. Never.”

You giggle, turning back to the club stage, watching the DJ perform, hands finding their way back to Xavier’s crotch. His pants are heavy and breathy by your ear, fingers scissoring in and out of you furiously.

Soon enough, the feeling of just your plush body against his isn’t enough anymore. He needs more.

With his fingers never pausing, he asks, his voice smooth and sultry, “I need to be inside of you, is that okay?” 

“Please,” you whisper huskily, grinding against his fingers, “I want you.”

You can feel Xavier shifting behind you, pulling out his cock. He feverishly pulls your panties down just slightly, so that they rest under your cheeks. He lifts your dress, enough to give him access but making sure you’re still covered. He would rather die than let anyone see your precious body. 

As the music comes to a peak, the beat building alongside your release, Xavier slips his erection into you. You’re thankful for the heavy bass of the drop because you quite literally cannot hold back the scream that rips from your lips as he pushes himself into the hilt.

One of his hands travels from your waist to under the front of your dress. When he finds your clit, he pinches down hard.

“You’re so cute,” Xavier hisses into your ear, picking up his pace, “Were you jealous earlier?”

“N-No! Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the arm he has buried between your legs. 

“Mmm,” Xavier hums, clearly not convinced, “That’s alright, Y/N. You have nothing to be jealous of, ever.”

“I-I’m not – I wasn’t!” you gasp, forcing the words together as Xavier’s cock nearly finds its way into your throat. But at this point you knew he could see right through you.

“Would travel through time and space for you,” he murmurs, words full of a boundless affection, “I only see you.”

He puts all that same adoration and passion into the way he fucks up into you, holding you protectively in place, making sure no one so much as brushes against you. 

Your moans are strangled when his cockhead angles into your g-spot, cutting off the drunken confessions on the tip of your tongue. Xavier’s girth was always something you had a hard time getting used to, and taking him standing was infinitely harder. Your inner thighs burned with the strain of how fully he stretches you out.

Xavier’s hand comes over to cover your mouth, his smile pressed against your throat. The alcohol makes Xavier irregularly chatty, his inhibitions lowered completely, “You’re so loud. Does it feel that good?”

Your eyes are rolled back mesmerized by the flashing lights, unable to discern what comes from the nightclub’s light show and what comes from the pleasure of Xavier’s poignant thrusts. You do your best to nod, your teeth sinking into Xavier’s palm to keep yourself conscious. 

You’re nearly doubled over now, your jelly legs unable to hold you up, with only the support of Xavier’s strong hand against your cunt and his other arm wrapped around your chest. He holds you up as securely as he can, his own intoxication growing having not drank any water since you’d arrived at the club. 

“Are you okay?”

Xavier’s head snaps up to see a club patron in front of you, a concerned look on his face as he  kneels down to be eye-level with you. Xavier squick readjusts to make sure you’re covered.

Your eyes widen, trying to straighten up, “F-Fine!” You nearly scream as Xavier continues to thrust into you, his movement much more conspicuous but somehow more intense. 

“Are you sure? You don’t look so good.” 

You want to be kind, but you can really only focus on the way Xavier continues to fuck you, not even caring that the good Samaritan in front of you was this close to realizing what was happening. The fact that you were still very much drunk did not help.

“N-No, I’m fine,” you squeak, eyes rolling back when Xavier hits your g-spot. You can’t see him but you just know he’s enjoying the position he has you in. He smirks in satisfaction, grinding into your ass, his thick length nestling into your every nerve. 

The man looks skeptical, especially at your unfocused hooded eyes, “Do you want some water?”

He’s about to reach out to touch you, when Xavier yanks you back, both arms wrapped protectively around you, “She’s fine.”

At Xavier’s harsh tone, the man recoils, looking up, almost as if he’s just noticing Xavier. He nods awkwardly before disappearing into the crowd. 

Xavier resumes his vigor, kissing your neck and whispering, “Mine.”

“Now look who’s jealous,” you giggle languidly, gasping when Xavier drives into you harder.

“Not jealous. It’s just the truth,” he murmurs, tilting your head back to kiss you, fingers back on your clit.

His tongue explores your mouth excitedly, your pleasures quickly reaching a peak after coming close to being caught. Your body convulses around him, wanting him to push you into the oblivion of ecstasy. 

“Always so tight,” Xavier groans, “I-I won’t last long like this…”

You squeal, your sounds drowned out by the vibrating music, “Ngh – me too Xavier.”

“G-Gonna cum,” Xavier gasps as your cunt strangles him, ripping away from your lips and panting for air. 

You crane your neck back to look at him, your eyes wide with wonder and desperation. The blissed out look on your beautiful face makes Xavier groan, his hips stuttering into his climax.

“Cum for me, Xavier,” you beg, impossibly close as well, “Want to feel you.”

Xavier shuts his eyes, his body following your every command. His cock explodes inside you, filling you with a hot warmth that spreads all the way to your fingertips and toes. Xavier doesn’t speak as he cums, only suckling hungrily at your neck, moaning and whimpering into your bruised skin.

He keeps thrusting into you, even as his cum starts to leak out of your hole, wanting you to come undone too. Even when the overstimulation starts to border on pain, he refuses to stop.

His cum makes it so there’s zero resistance, only the pure pleasure of his cock against your throbbing gummy walls. Soon, you’re cumming too, screaming into the pulsating music, your climax crescendoing with the drop of the song. The symphony of it all, the alcohol, the threat of being caught by any one of the dozens of people around you, makes it one of your most intense orgasms yet. 

Your body instinctively clenches down as you release, making you cream all over Xavier, a mix of both your arousals. Xavier watches in awe at the beautiful way you cum, for him. It’s enough to make him pump a few more ropes into you, even as his dick throbs sharply in protest. 

Xavier hugs you to his chest tightly, holding onto you for support as his cock quivers inside you. You can feel his chest heaving against your back, shifting as he slips out of you and redoes his zipper. Xavier puts your panties back into place, pressing a faint trail of kisses along your shoulders. 

Suddenly, the crowd feels suffocating and icky and you desperately want to be somewhere quieter with Xavier. You pull him out of the crowd, nudging throngs of drunk and horny patrons out of the way as you make your way to the bar. Xavier follows you sluggishly, his fingers barely closing over yours as you guide him out..

When you reach the bar, you order a water and turn to Xavier worriedly, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“Xavier,” you urged, “Are you okay?”

Xavier’s eyes flutter open, his eyes slightly rolled back, “M’okay. Just sleepy.” You giggle, patting his face gently, realizing the haze in his eyes is a mix of intoxication and post-sex bliss. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you’re always so sleepy. Especially after…”

Despite Xavier’s eyes remaining closed, he smiles and mumbles as he leans against the wall next to the bar, “Can’t help it. You drain me.”

You blush furiously, despite it being loud enough where no one can hear you two. The bartender hands you a glass of water, and you bring it up to Xavier’s lips. Xavier’s eyelids flicker open, his long eyelashes fluttering as he takes in his surroundings again, like he’s so intoxicated off the alcohol and you that he can’t make sense of his bearings.

You take his chin into your palm, tilting him up gently so the water doesn’t spill. Xavier drinks obediently, not letting a single drop go to waste. His position against the wall makes it so that you tower a few inches over him, so he has to look up at you through his eyelashes. With each gulp of the icy water he never breaks eye contact with you, staring at you with all the awe and devotion in the world.

His hands gently grip your wrists, nuzzling into your hand. The way he watches you makes you want to squirm, his eyes glimmering under the flashing lights. His azure eyes feel like they hold the weight of an entire galaxy, but in reality it’s the reflection of you that makes his eyes sparkle with the brilliance of the stars.

“Hey! There you two are!” 

You whip your head around to see Tara excitedly hurrying over to you as Xavier finishes the last of the water. 

You turn to her, “Tara! I’m sorry, I found Xavier but then we got…caught up.”

She smiles and shakes her head. There’s a knowing  mischief in her eyes, as if she doesn’t believe you, “It’s alright! I made some friends.”

She looks at Xavier. Even though you no longer hold up the empty glass to his lips, he still stares at you with the same starstruck look, a post-orgasm mist over his entire face.

“Why does he look like that?”

Your cheeks burn and you scramble to find an excuse, “Oh, he’s fine! He’s just drunk. And sleepy. Very sleepy.”

Tara grabs your chin, tilting it up in a squint, inspecting you. You’re about to ask what’s wrong, if maybe your false eyelashes came off, but when you look down at your shoulder you see exactly what she’s looking at.

A bright red, purpling bruise. In the exact shape of Xavier’s lips.

“Oh, I bet he’s sleepy.”

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.7k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, drunk zayne, needy zayne, jealous zayne, couch sex, booby sucking, pretty vanilla tbh, slightly sub zayne, zayne begs a lot, prone bone, doggy, choking, making out, cumming in coochie, mentions of birth control usage, zayne is a lightweight

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | video | art (credit to @roschea-arts)

You stumble into your apartment, nearly tripping over the threshold as Zayne’s heavy arm slumps over your shoulder for support. You kick your heels off, briefly bending down to slip Zayne’s shoes off, before you lead him to sit on your couch.

“Sit here while I get some water for you, okay?” you whisper worriedly against Zayne’s nearly unconscious face, pressing a kiss to his heated and clammy temple. Zayne doesn’t respond, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a shallow breath, nodding gently.  

Well, this was definitely not how you’d expected tonight to go.

When you’d invited Zayne as your date to the annual UNICORN hosted Hunters’ Association Banquet, you expected it to be a relatively uneventful night. You never expected your raven-haired surgeon boyfriend to get drunk. In fact, you’d never seen him so much as tipsy since you’d known him. 

And that was something Zayne intentionally made sure of; alcohol was not something he indulged in, ever.

Except when you’re so busy socializing all night that he gets unbearably bored, curious, and desperate for your attention.

So that’s how he ended up absolutely plastered off two cocktails. In his defense they were deceptively fruity and sweet, the rims coated in thick crystals of sugar. Truly his kryptonite. 

So when Zayne grabs your wrist while you’re talking to a fellow Hunter, spinning you gently to his hard chest, you’re completely taken aback. 

“Apologies. Can I steal my girlfriend for a moment?”

Your colleague, standing before the both of you, looks flustered at Zayne’s commanding voice, nodding fervently before he turns to leave. His face is pale, not realizing you’d brought a guest to the banquet, much less a guest that looked as handsome and imposing as Zayne. You whip around, eyebrows raised, to face the surgeon in question.

His face is uncharacteristically red, the tips of his ears burning so adorably bright. The first few buttons of his shirt had been undone, the collar disheveled, like he’d pulled at it until the enclosures gave way. What’s more, the tension that colored his words, alarming and unusual. 

“Zayne? What’s wrong?” you reach up to touch his cheek worriedly, gasping at how warm his normally chilly skin was, “Are you not feeling well?” 

Zayne releases your wrist, instead capturing your hand on his jaw with his own palm, pressing you deeper into his cheek. He practically purrs into your touch, nuzzling into your hand warmly. 

“You feel nice.” His voice is low, almost a rough whisper against the cheerful laughter of the night. 

It was very unlike Zayne to be so blatant with his affections, especially in front of either of your colleagues. In this case, the packed banquet hall of UNICORN’s annual Hunter’s banquet, filled with curious and nosy onlookers, peering at the two of you embracing in the middle of the party.

Perhaps the bustling activity became too overwhelming for Zayne, especially given that you had been pulled every which way to discuss your recent mission successes. You’d hardly had a chance to make sure he was doing okay. 

“Did you want to leave? I can —” 

Zayne pulls you closer to him until your bodies are pressed together tightly, his slender fingers holding your waist in place. You squeak in surprise, blushing as you try to ignore the prying eyes of your colleagues as Zayne strokes your cheek, fingers playing with your loose strands of hair.

“Who was that?” Zayne’s voice is deceptively calm against the top of your head as he breathes in your familiar scent, masking the demand and restraint lurking just below the surface. Your pheromones calm him down slightly, making him feel much more at ease.

“Who was who?” 

Zayne bends down to reach your ear, his normally calm and stoic voice much more shaky than usual, “That man, who was making you laugh. He seemed friendly.” 

Zayne’s words tickle your ear, making you shiver. It’s then you can smell the alcohol on him, as he leans down to whisper in your ear, the bitter scent of vodka mixing with the faint smell of his cologne. Suddenly the questions of his irregular behavior clicked. 

You lean back to look at him in shock, “Zayne?! Are you drunk?” 

Zayne looks sheepish, his hazel eyes still intense, “No. I don’t – hic – don’t think so.” 

You want to laugh at his incriminating hiccup, the surgeon undoubtedly intoxicated. That fact is only confirmed to you when you tip-toe up to peck his lips and taste the bittersweet trace of alcohol on him. 

“You were so busy, I got curious and decided to...indulge. Just this once,” Zayne admits, his eyes never leaving yours as he holds you close. 

You don’t speak, in shock at the way his words are slightly whiny and sulky all at once, something you never heard from Zayne. Zayne was never one to be jealous, and much less to actually show that jealousy. 

Zayne’s eyes lower, glowing at you in a soft regret, “I’m sorry.” 

You giggle, resting your head on his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. For that brief moment, you forget all about the watchful eyes around you, only able to focus on the man you loved before you.

“How many drinks did you have?”

He pauses, looking genuinely deep in thought as he tries to recall the night, “Two, no…maybe three.”

You grin wordlessly. Zayne never drank, so he was undoubtedly a lightweight, that was no surprise. But you would’ve thought it would take more than three drinks to knock the formidable man off his ass. 

Zayne’s jaw clenched as he admires how beautiful you look tonight, his wandering alcohol-fueled desires pushing him to want to see much more, “Would it be alright if we called it a night?”

You nod, peering up at him, “Of course, are you not feeling well from the alcohol?”

Zayne averts his eyes, clearing his throat. His neck bobs against his undone collar, his tie hanging loosely around his chest. 

“I’m alright. I just…want to be alone with you.”

By the time you arrived at your apartment, Zayne had gotten considerably more drunk, the alcohol being further absorbed into his bloodstream. 

You hurriedly bring him a cool glass of water, standing in between his thighs, over his limp body. Zayne’s head is thrown back against the cushion of your couch, already having yanked off his suit jacket and tie, the articles of clothing strewn over the arm of the seat, his neck and collar exposed. His snowy pale skin is splotched red, practically radiating a wave of heat.

Your fingers cup his sharp jaw, tilting his chin up, shifting to hold his heavy head in the palm of your hand, stroking his cheek lovingly. Zayne’s eyes flicker up to yours as you tilt him up, his glasses slightly fogged up from the heated crimson flush on his cheeks. His eyes light up when they meet yours, his eyelashes fluttering as he fights to keep his eyes open. You bite your lip, trying to keep your wide smile at bay. He looked so utterly adorable like this, looking up so affectionately obedient like this. 

You bring the glass gently up to his lips, encouraging him to drink. Zayne obeys, lips latching onto the edge of the cup as you tilt it forward, gently nudging his chin upwards with your other hand. 

His eyes flutter open at the feeling of your touch, his golden emerald irises trained solely on you as he drinks, refusing to look away. He’s so focussed on you that dribbles of water stream down his chin as he gulps down the entire glass, falling onto his collar. 

His eyes never leave yours as he chugs the entire glass of refreshing water, the whites of his eyes shining in the dim lighting of your apartment. If anyone else saw the way Zayne looked at you, they’d swear they could see hearts reflected in them as he drank from your hands. He looked at you as if his entire world spun around you, the center of his universe. 

When you pull away, Zayne’s eyes still don’t leave yours. Instead, they appear to become more intense, more fiery. 

“Zayne? Do you want more water?”

He doesn’t answer. You’re too distracted by the incensed pools of peridot when Zayne yanks you onto his lap, lips capturing yours hungrily.

–

“Ngh – Zayne!” you moan, pulling away from his demanding and bruising lips. Zayne grants you a brief break to breathe, but his fingers firmly hold your hips in place atop his erection that strains against his buckled pants, the two of you nestled deep into the couch cushion. 

He gives you a second before he’s yanking your chin towards him again, soft mouth crushed against yours in an instant. Your lips are captured gently between his teeth, his hunger for you insatiable. The taste of alcohol is still faint on his tongue, and he wants nothing more than to overwhelm himself with the taste of you. 

You’re completely engulfed by him, the ferocity of his mouth against yours, the warmth of his breath against your tongue. Zayne’s jaw alternates, side to side, trying to give himself the best access to you he can possibly get. The cool touch of metal grazes against your cheeks, his glasses pressing against you in the vigor of his embrace. He groans in frustration into your mouth, forcing himself to briefly pull away.

Before you can even question him, he’s yanking his misted up glasses off by the temples, tossing them onto your coffee table without a second glance, without a single care. His eyes are hooded with desire, his glasses no longer obstructing you from him. They shut sensually when he leans back in, lips parting as his glasses clatter louding against the table. 

He says nothing, smashing his lips into yours once again. You can vaguely feel the distinct bump of his nose, pressing into your skin, when he grabs the back of your head, pulling you harder against his all consuming hunger. 

His tongue is unbelievably tender against yours, despite how urgently and desperately he devours you. His fingers press into the divots of your arched back, his arms are completely wrapped around you, bringing you into an affectionate embrace as he continues to consume you whole. His fingers stroke up and down the half exposed expanse of your back, enjoying how soft you feel against his big hands. 

You grind down onto his cock as you try and match his passion, your panties sticking to your soaked folds. Your thighs are spread so widely against his legs, that the dampness smears against his dress pants, your dress doing little to hold anything back. 

Zayne hisses at the delicious pressure, lips leaving yours to gasp into your ear, his hot breath caressing the sensitive skin. 

“D-Don’t,” he gulps deeply, alcohol and anticipation making him trip over his words, “Unless you're willing to take responsibility for the consequences.”

You shiver at his words, leaning in to kiss his reddened earlobe, “And if I am?”

And that’s how you find yourself naked, sweaty, and writhing on your back, under the pressure of Zayne’s half naked body on top of you, his cock ravaging every inch of your poor cunt.

Zayne is a mumbling and moaning mess above you, droplets of sweat beading on his bright red temples, his damp hair dangling below his forehead. His unbuttoned dress shirt flies wildly, his thick muscles twitching every time his lower half drives into you like a madman. If it weren’t for the sweat lining your back, you’d undoubtedly be pushed around the couch like a ragdoll under Zayne’s furious passion.

You can barely see Zayne’s eyes, his dangling bangs obscuring much of his frantic face. You do your best to sit up, your chin on your chest, watching the way Zayne’s glistening body jackhammers into you, his rhythm erratic and desperate. 

Trying not to drool, you watch his abdominal muscles twitch, his briefs and dress pants hanging off his hips. He’d been so eager to bury himself inside of you that he didn’t even take off his clothing, instead pulling his cock out from under the top of the waistband of his briefs. It’s so heavy and thick with excitement that the restraint of his brief’s waistband is no match for it.  

“M’sorry,” Zayne mumbles, so slurred you barely even hear it through the clinking of his undone belt, hanging off his waist.

“Wh-what?” you pant, tugging at the sweat-soaked shirt that clings to his back. 

“Didn’t mean to get so intoxicated,” he pants breathlessly, almost sounding guilty, “I’m sorry.”

Your heart clenches at the vulnerability shining in his eyes. You know he’s not used to letting himself feel his emotions like this, to really give into his needs and desires.  

“Zayne, don’t apologize,” you whimper through the pleasure, stroking his cheek, “You’re allowed to let go sometimes.”

Your words nearly make Zayne snarl, his pelvis slapping into your ass, his hands elevating hips, your thighs wrapped tightly into his sides. 

“You’re so good to me,” he rasps, eyes rolling back as his praises make your body instinctively clench down, “I–I love you.”

“A-ahh nghn – love you s’much Zayne,” you squeal as he thrusts even deeper into you, his confession only increasing the passion he feels for you in the drunken moment. 

You’re surprised when you feel his damp hair pressing against your forehead, his cool lips brushing a soft kiss onto it, deceptively gentle compared to the way he ravages your wet heat.

“M’always thinking about you,” Zayne moans, voice muffled as he kisses your forehead over and over, unable to keep his lips, his hands, off of you. 

“I think about y’too Za–ayne,” you pant, trying to focus on forming coherent words through the shape of his erection being molded into your core. You knew just how vulnerable the fog of alcohol had made Zayne and wanted more than anything to reassure him.

But his cock stretching you out, nearly the width of a clenched fist, made that so difficult. 

“You looked – you look ravishing tonight,” he slurs, kissing down your cheek and onto your neck, “Had a hard time tonight, watching you – hic – be the most beautiful girl in the room.” 

Your chest flutters and you blush, clenching onto him, “H-Hardly.” 

Zayne’s eyebrows furrow, giving you a pointed thrust, making your breasts jiggle at the force, “Look at what you do to me.” 

His fingers cup your breast forcefully, squeezing down on your poor nipple, “You know I’m not one for jealousy…”

“But even I am not immune when you look like that, giving everyone but me your attention.” 

“Sorry, my love,” you murmur, trying your best to speak through his frantic thrusts, “You know you’re the one I come home to at the end of the day.” 

Zayne’s eyes darken with satisfaction, his fingers twirling your nipple in between them, “I suppose. But does that give you the right to let men flirt with you shamelessly all night?” 

“Zayne, they weren’t —” But apparently protesting was a mistake, because Zayne only starts to hammer into you harder.

“They were,” he growls drunkenly, letting his emotions take control for a split second, “But I can’t really blame them, not when you look like this. Not when you feel this perfect around me.”

You whine at his words, his simultaneous threats and praises making it impossible for you to think straight. 

“I-I’m soorry,” you find yourself apologizing, wanting to please Zayne, “Won’t do it again, I’ll b-be good!”

“No need to – hah – apologize, my love,” Zayne groans, “Not when I plan on reminding you exactly who you belong to tonight, all night.”

Your body convulses around him, knowing just how much stamina Zayne has, just how serious his slurred words are. Zayne’s hips falter, his body buckling into you.

“You’re s-oo tight,” he groans brokenly, letting his head fall down to your chest, “All for me, right? 

“Allll f’you! Only you!” you cry, your fingers gripping onto the back of his shirt when his teeth close over your nipple, nibbling gently. You claw at his back, desperately wanting to be able to touch his bare skin, but his white dress shirt is in the way. 

“That’s my girl,” he moans, words muffled by the way his tongue circles around your hardened peaks, suckling like he was trying to find the antidote to intoxication, “So good for me.” 

As his thrusts grow sloppier, you know he’s coming close to his end. But you’re surprised when he pulls out suddenly, leaving you feeling empty. 

“W-Why?” you demand, leaning up on your elbows in protest. Your eyes widen, almost salivating, when you see the way Zayne is gripping the base of his cock, the thick head red, angry, and ready to burst. He curses, forcing himself to take deep breaths, desperately trying to hold his orgasm back. He was learning that alcohol significantly decreased his normally endless supply of stamina. 

“Don’t want to – ngh – finish yet,” he pants, hooking his arm under your back and flipping you over so that your back faces him, your hips arched slightly off the couch. He quickly takes off his pants that are pooled by his knees, his briefs still clinging to his muscled thighs.

You squeak in surprise when you feel the wet smack of Zayne’s cock against your ass, the surgeon hissing at the painful yet arousing sensation. The sting helps to keep him from exploding right onto your beautiful body. 

“Ngh – Zaaayne!” you squeal when Zayne shoves himself back into you, parting your cheeks to give himself better access. You claw at your couch as he picks up his speed, rhythm still unsteady.

“I’m sorry,” Zayne apologizes, his words bordering on frenzied babbles as he pounds into you, his heavyset balls slapping against your clit, “M’sorry, love. Let me make it better.”

He leans down, pressing a trail of kisses down your spine, his pelvis rippling against your rear. His veiny forearms cage you into the couch, his foot lifting to step onto the cushion, right by your waist. With his leg raising as leverage, he can truly jackhammer into you.

Zayne goes absolutely feral in this position, his fingers coming up to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging gently as he bounces up and down on your ass. The sounds of skin against skin, drunken moans, and moist squelches resounds like a symphony in the early morning lighting of your apartment. 

His grasp tightens in your hair, his other hand kneading the plush of your ass as it ripples against his thrusts. His voice lowers, throwing his head back with a moan, “Been waiting all night to have you like this.”

“Oh-oh God!” you cry when he thrusts into you, particularly hard and deep, making you see stars, “Zayne I-I can’t – I’m so close!”

Zayne hoists you onto all fours, gently lifting your upper body by your neck so that you’re pressed firmly against him with your knees holding you up. He kneels behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other secures your neck against his chest.  

“Me too, angel,” Zayne pants into your ear, his breath hot and moist. You can feel the truth in his words, his thighs shaky against yours, his thrusts erratic. 

“Please, let me cum in you,” Zayne rasps. 

“When have I ever denied you?” you respond. Zayne came inside you nearly every time you two were intimate, ever since you’d started birth control. 

“It’s a waste, if it’s not inside you,” Zayne slurs, “You’ll take it, right?”

When you don’t respond, too wrapped up in the bliss of it all, Zayne’s hand descends to pinch your nipple. The power of his thrusts, the tease of his hands, his aura. He commands authority,

“Tell me you’ll take it all, for me.”

“I will, I will! P-please Zayne, give it to me!”

Zayne groans, grip tightening against your body, hugging you for dear life, “That’s my girl, that’s it, just like that. 

Zayne has always been vocal, but his drunken ramblings have taken it to another level. You clench down, ready to come undone to the sound of his filthy praises. 

Zayne is close behind you, hands kneading your breasts, balls slapping against your clit, “It’s coming Y/N, take it. Take it for me, please.”

You scream in response, cunt spasming around the last of his messy ruts. Zayne’s own strangled groans mix with the sound of wet flesh slapping against each other. You can feel every beautiful ribbon of white hot cum painting your insides, coating every inch of your waiting womb.

Zayne’s skin often felt ice-cold, but his cum always came out so hot and heedy. And now, with the flush of alcohol still clouding his circulation, his milky ropes of seed nearly made you feverish.

Zayne slumps against you, his body spent, drained bone-dry. The weight of him against your quivering muscles is too much, and your thighs give out, sending you crashing into the couch. He catches you before you can slam face-first into the carpeted floor.

He sets your limp body gently into the couch, shrugging off his white button-up.

“Zayne,” you murmur groggily, savoring the image of his muscles peaking through his open shirt, “Come cuddle.”

The corner of his lip twitches, “I will, sweetheart. Let me clean you up first.”

Using the clean inside of his shirt, he carefully wipes off the slick that collects at your inner thighs, before it can pool onto the couch. Your legs are putty in his hands, Zayne cleaning you with the utmost care and tenderness. 

When he’s done, he settles beside you on the couch, shifting you so that your neck rests on his forearm. He holds you close with one arm, the other drawing lazy circles into your stomach.

Zayne turns his head to the side, pressing a kiss into your temple, “Thank you. For taking care of me tonight.” 

You can tell by Zayne’s calm and steady tone that he’s sobered up quite a bit from the orgasm, the control returning to his deep timbre. 

You giggle, nuzzling deeper into his arm, the hairs of his underarm tickling your shoulder, “I hardly did anything.” In the comfortable silence, your eyes start to flutter closed.

“You did more than you know,” Zayne whispers, the tender smile in his voice unmistakeable. You simply nod, muttering incoherently as you fall into a deep and sated slumber.

“You are everything.”

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.9k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, car sex, publix sex/slight voyeurism, sex while pulled over in da passenger seat, bottom raf, riding, face sitting, rafayel is a MUNCH, oral f!receiving, jealous raf, drunk rafayel, protective rafayel, somewhat mentions of violence, unprotected sex, no pull out ever

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | pics 1 | pics 2 (both rafayel's car)

The night road ahead of you is peacefully calm, the drive back to Rafayel’s house a peaceful and scenic trip. There's very few cars beside yours, well Rafayel’s, on the main roads back, likely because it was close to 2am. 

You were honestly having way too much fun driving Rafayel’s car, thoroughly enjoying the purr of the beautiful Benz. You didn’t have the opportunity to drive many cars, let alone a Gran Turismo.

Your fingers tap gently along the rim of the steering wheel, admiring the elegant LED lights that kept you awake. Rafayel had the car’s interior lights set to a blushed lavender color, ever since you’d said it was your favorite setting. It reminded you of the pink in his cotton candy eyes. 

Your eyes flicker to your right, briefly checking on Rafayel as he groans beside you in the passenger seat. 

He sat with his arm propped up against the passenger side window, his head resting on his palm. His breathing was still shallow, his eyes closed in a restless and light sleep. The alcohol was no doubt making it difficult for him to rest. 

You sigh to yourself, trying to think back to how the night had ended disastrously with him so damn drunk. 

Rafayel had invited you as his date to one of his endless art exhibits, a few cities over from your home. Only this one was special.

When they’d unveiled his starring piece, a beautiful oil painting on a massive canvas that nearly reached the ceiling, you nearly fell to your knees.

Because Rafayel had painted the most exquisite portrait of you. 

You, surrounded in ribbons of coral and seaweed, the most colorful globs of intricate paint surrounding you, a mosaic of sea glass. You, dancing in the endless sea of pastel turquoise. You, in Lemuria. His home. 

Rafayel had painted you countless times before, you were his muse after all. Even if he never admitted that openly to you. But this was different, he’d never so openly shared you with this world before. Never wanted to open himself up like this, to anyone, to you.

It was beautiful as it was magnificent. It made you feel like the most beautiful person in the world, more gorgeous than you’d ever felt in your entire life. The way he’d put paint to canvas and created literal magic.

It appeared others thought so too. All the patrons attending the gala that night clamored around the oil canvas, press snapping photos, writers grabbing at Rafayel, trying to get anything for their tabloids. 

It was nothing out of the norm. You’d become quite used to the glitz, glamor, and madness that came with being his girlfriend. 

What was unexpected, was the attention you got, as the subject of the painting. 

The people who wanted a piece of you, the stunning woman in Rafyel’s newest piece. Rafayel did his best to keep you comfortable, shooing away the throws of people trying to get even a morsel of anything from you. 

“Rafayel. It’s okay. I can handle it,” you give him your best reassuring smile, “Go mingle with your guests, I’ll be fine.” 

Rafayel looks reluctant, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, unwilling to let go. Eventually you convince him, with the promise of a reward later if he listened, to go speak to the serious sponsors and buyers that demanded his attention.

“Never should’ve painted that damn thing,” he muttered as he walked off, looking back at you as Thomas dragged him off. He should’ve known sharing you with the world would have driven him insane. 

So you spent the rest of the night trying to be as sociable as possible, not wanting to upset any of Rafayel’s guests. After a few hours you finally found a free moment, finding yourself in front of the portrait once again. Most of the people had cleared out, giving you a chance to really admire the masterpiece. 

Rafayel was undeniably talented, maybe the most gifted artist in the world, you’d always thought so. But the way he painted you here was more than just art. 

It was his heart on a canvas. And his heart, his entire world, was you. Every fiber of his soul, woven together into a tapestry of lustrous colors, each one depicting a different memory.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You turn your head to the stranger’s voice, coming face to face with a handsome man, clad head to toe in the most luxurious brands. He stands so uncomfortably close to you that you can smell the nauseating cologne wafting off of him. And yet it’s his aura that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably.

He fills in your awkward silence, eyes looking you up and down, “Definitely not as beautiful as the real thing.”

You really don’t know how to respond to the stranger’s boldness, in shock at how forward he’s being. Your relationship with Rafayel was no secret, the paparazzi having photographed the two of you publicly many times. And you’d walked into the gala on Rafayel’s arm. 

“Thank you,” you say curtly, offering a small smile, trying to return your attention to the display. 

“I’m going to buy it, you know. And then maybe after, I can buy you a drink?” when his hand lands on your bare shoulder you flinch back, ready to resort to your tactical training. The thought of this man buying a portrait of you makes you nauseous.

Before you can give him a piece of your mind, he’s falling backward with a surprised yelp.

“Hands off the art,” an all-too familiar voice snarls, as he stands between you and the man. You’re too shell shocked to realize Rafayel is clearly drunk, his charismatic voice drawling muddily. 

“Don’t touch me,” the man snaps, “I bought this piece, I legally own it.” The way he says ‘piece’ makes your blood boil, the misogyny dripping off his words.

Rafayel, drunk as he might be, catches on too. Fire burns in his eyes, matching the heat of his Evol. Thomas isn’t far behind, looking at you with desperation on his face, begging you to help him defuse the situation. Rafayel was spontaneous enough as it was, there was no telling the lengths he’d go to when he was intoxicated, especially when you were involved. 

You reach your hand out, grasping Rafayel’s fingers and gently pulling him back towards you.

“He’s not worth it,” you whisper when Rafayel’s head snaps to you, his eyes softening instantly when they land on you. Rafayel spares the man, rubbing his wrist with a grimace, a glance. You wrap your arm around Rafayel’s waist tugging him close to you and trying to lead him out of the nearly empty gala.

Rafayel takes a deep and shaky breath, before nodding slightly. As he turns to leave with you, he glances back to the man and Thomas, his chin raised.

“It’s not for sale.”

“B-But I already wrote the check,” the man blew up, face red with anger and disbelief. 

Rafayel smiles, a fake and genuinely terrifying smile, “I don’t care how many checks you write. You’re never looking at her again.”

It’s enough to even send chills down your spine. 

With those words, Rafayel exited the gallery with you on his arm, you rubbing soothing circles into his back. It was rare Rafayel got full blown drunk; you’d seen him tipsy numerous times, but he was always careful not to cross the line into completely losing control of his inhibitions. 

As he slumped in the passenger seat of his car, he briefly explained just how he found himself so shit-faced.

“Everyone was taking your time,” he slurred, breathing heavily. The alcohol made him bluntly honest, much more so than he’d normally be about something like this. 

“Oh, Rafayel…” you giggle, bending over to latch his seatbelt in, “I know, it’s usually you getting the attention, it must have been weird to share it. I’m sorry.”

Rafayel scoffs, his head resting on the window, “S’not why I was upset. I don’t like sharing you.”

You bite your lip to fight the smile that threatens to sneak its way onto your face, “Why didn’t you just come back?”

“Was trying to distract myself. Didn’t want to disappoint you,” he mutters, his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest as you start the car, “I know you wanted me to talk to the annoying old farts.”

And then he promptly dozed off, like a precious little baby.

You were about 15 minutes from his place when Rafayel stirred awake from the mere feeling of your hand on his thigh. It was far too dark to see the tent growing in his pants, all from your fingers stroking his sensitive thighs, even when he was unconscious.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, giving him a smile when you see the movement in the corner of your eye, “You feeling okay? I have water in my bag.”

“P-Pull over,” Rafayel slurs, still clearly drunk. His eyes are glued to your palm on his leg. Not even he knows why the innocent touch has him so worked up and feral.

“What?!” you exclaim in a mix of disbelief and shock, “We’re so close to home –”

“Pull over,” he urges you again, the strain between his legs growing painful, “Please.”

His urgency makes you nervous, and you quickly find a secluded area you can pull over, turning your hazards on when you do so.

“Do you need to throw up?” you turn to him worriedly, grasping his thigh tighter in your fingers and rubbing soothingly, unsure of what to do. 

Rafayel groans at your unknowingly innocent actions, rubbing his hand down his face, which only makes you worry more. 

You undo your seatbelt so you can sit on your knees and face him, your hands still rubbing up and down his thighs, hoping to make him feel better.

Rafayel takes that opportunity to undo his own seatbelt, hoisting you out of your seat and onto his lap. You try to muffle your scream as he effortlessly carries you onto his lap, cramped between his body and the front dash. It always surprised you just how powerful Rafayel’s body was despite his toned and slender build.

“Rafayel!” you squeal as he sits you on his lap, “What are you doing?!”

He doesn’t speak, only looking up at you with big wet eyes. He spreads your thighs so that they cage his own legs, his hands resting on your sumptuous hips. Despite his strong and possessive hold, you’re still able to twist around to grab your tote bag, pulling out a plastic water bottle.

“Don’t need to throw up,” he mumbles, looking up at you through his long and dark eyelashes, “Jus’ need you.” 

With his hand on your back he pushes you down until your chest is flush with his, capturing your lips in a feverish all-consuming kiss. The bitter and sharp taste of alcohol is still strong on his tongue, his lips impatiently messy and insistent. Rafayel rocks up into you as he loses himself into your embrace, his very clear and prominent erection begging for attention. 

“R-Raf!” you pull away, even at his whiny refusal, hands still tugging at the clothing at your hips, “Did you really make me pull over for this?” Your eyes dart around nervously, making sure there’s no cars around you. But it wasn’t necessary, Rafayel’s windows were so tinted that even if you had your nose pressed to the glass you wouldn’t be able to see much. 

“Come on, at least drink some water while we’re pulled over,” you untwist the cap of your reusable water bottle. 

“No,” Rafayel pouts at you, the rose flecks in his eyes glow as he looks up pleadingly at you, “I don’ want water, wanna kiss you.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the risky and precarious situation you find yourself in. That situation being Rafayel’s very excited crotch. 

“Don’t laugh,” Rafayel broods, his bottom lip jutted out, shiny with a sheen of saliva, “I wanted to be with you all night, ‘specially when everyone was getting your attention.” He presses his chin onto your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your body wash and pressing wet kisses into your neck.

“Wan’ my reward now,” Rafayel slurs, his wandering fingers hooking under the thin strap of your evening dress, slipping it off your shoulders.

“You’re drunk Rafayel,” you reason firmly, even though your body is already betraying you. Your thighs squirm, widening instinctively for him, excitement pooling at the apex of your legs. 

“Sooo?” Rafayel’s head fall backs onto the headrest, “Just give me a taste, please?”

You want to keep a level head, deny his insane request, but his hard body against your pliable one makes you desperate for more. Besides…the windows are almost completely blacked out and you were in a very secluded upper-end neighborhood, where all the homes had nearly miles of yard between them. 

“Fine…” you concede, “But only if you drink some water.”

Rafayel’s eyes practically radiate, nodding eagerly and raising his lips to the cool bottle. His sudden willingness is comical, and you smile fondly at him as you help him to drink. Rafayel’s fingers squeeze against your waist, your soft skin making him grow thicker and hotter by the second.

His body unconsciously grinds against you as he drinks the water, eyes open wide with a faux innocence, staring right at your heated and flushed cheeks. He’s so focussed on admiring the irresistible look of desire on your face as he relentlessly rocks into you, that he doesn’t even feel the cold streams of water trickling down his shaky chin. 

His fingers trace delicate and intricate shapes into your waist, eyes hooded at the feeling of your heat against his throbbing member. His eyes never leave yours as he finishes the last of the water, looking up at you through his thick purple eyelashes. His eyes shine brightly, the pinks in them accentuated by the LEDs of the car, watching you with a vast sea of desire. 

Just as you remove the bottle from his lips, Rafayel lowers the angle of the passenger seat, as far down as it can possibly go.

You shriek in panic, clutching onto Rafayel as the chair dips suddenly, limbs flailing wildly. Rafayel takes that opportunity to lift your thighs, hoisting you nearly to the top of the passenger seat until you’re kneeling with his face in between your thighs.

“R-Rafayel!” you yelp, gripping onto the leather backseat for balance, thighs squirming at the feeling of his warm breath fanning against your exposed lips. The slick that had pooled in your panties makes you much more sensitive to his heated pants. Practically dripping onto his face. 

“You promised a taste,” he mumbles, all consumed by the way you glisten against the dim indoor lights of his car. He doesn’t let you get another word in before he’s pulling your panties to the side and licking a fat strip up your slit, all the way to your clit.

“Ngh – Raf!” If it weren’t for his strong hands on your thighs you would’ve crushed him with the way your knees buckled and you nearly fell on top of him.

Rafayel doesn’t speak, only a filthy string of wet slurps and strung out moans audible, this tongue writhing against you, positively starved. The way he makes out with your cunt makes your muscles melt, your body nearly melding into the seats.

Rafayel can feel your shaky legs struggling to keep you up and he pulls your hips down, guiding you to sit on his face. In your surprise, you fall completely, a choked sob of bliss ripping from your mouth when Rafayel completely engulfs your weeping cunt into his mouth.

You're a babbling mess of the most lewd cries, your thighs clenching unbearably at the pleasure Rafayel’s tongue forces into you. You try not to put too much weight on Rafayel, but he only pushes you down, wanting you to crush his skull. 

“Tastes so sweet,” Rafayel moans into you, the vibrations of his praises reverberating through every single one of your nerve endings. As he eats you with a relentless excitement, his eager nose strokes along your folds, gathering your arousal with every stroke.

“And it’s all for me,” he whines in the most pussy drunken voice you’ve ever heard from him, likely from the heavy intoxication, “No one else's, just mine.”

You can tell he’s still reeling from the encounter at the gala, with the man who’d wanted to buy the piece he’d painted for you. Just reassuring himself of things he already knew to be fact.

“And you’re mine,” you gasp through the sparks in your vision, wrought with pleasure. You do your best to keep your nails out of the expensive leather upholstery, tearing at Rafayel’s skin instead.

He grunts with the sting of your scratches, the pain fueling his excitement, which he funnels into the way he devours you, slurping up every single drop that pools down your lips. 

With one hand on your thigh, he palms himself through his dress pants, jerking furiously.

It isn’t long before he yanks you away with a desperate gasp, carrying you back down onto his lap, “Need to be inside you now, ‘kay?”

The ears ring with the whiplash, the pleasure being yanked away suddenly, staring at Rafayel with dumbfounded wide eyes. You barely register when he takes his bare cock out, rubbing it up and down your absolutely drenched folds, your dress bunched to your waist.

He holds himself firm in his fingers by the base, squeezing down as he rubs up and down your glistening slit, peering up at your rosy cheeks. 

“Baby?” he huffs, sounding faraway, “Can I?”

You barely even register your nod, your body moving on its own volition. Rafayel grins, lining himself up and not wasting another second before sinking himself into you, his favorite place in the entire world.

Your face is stuck in a perpetual oh as Rafayel sinks all the way into you, his veins especially prominent in his intoxication. You can almost feel them throbbing as they squeeze against your tight walls, his hips flattering when he feels himself hit the soft walls of your g-spot.

“Ngh – I love you, Y/N,” Rafayel moans, his arms coming up to wrap around your back, pulling you tightly against his torso.

You nuzzle your head into Rafayel’s chest, needing the support as he starts to rock into you, bouncing your body off his lap with the strength of his thighs. 

“O-Oh God,” you whimper into his chest, letting him man handle you against himself, too overwhelmed by the way he’d made you feel with his tongue, and now his cock. 

‘J-Jus’ like that, baby,” Rafayel mewls into the crown of your head, taking in deep lungfuls of your scent. His arms are wrapped so tightly around you that you almost can’t breathe, but you only want him to hold you harder, tighter. 

You can’t even be bothered to care that you’re fucking in such a public area, the risk of getting caught just a faraway thought. The only thing you can find yourself caring about is the way Rafayel drives deeper into your guts, forcing you to look at him as he buries himself into you.

“Hah – pretty girl,” he breathes out, his body slowing. You realize the alcohol must be making him tired, and you force your weight onto your knees. 

“L-Let me, Raf,” you whisper, sitting up as much as you can until your head brushes against the car roof. Rafayel watches you with wondrous eyes as you begin to ride him.

“Oo-oh shiit,” he groans, mesmerized by the way you roll your body into him, “You're so perfect, Y/N. Just like that, please don’t s-stop.”

You whimper, biting your lip and trying to control the way his cock has your body screaming for release. You lean back onto his knees, one hand grappling at the window for leverage, the other cupping his balls. 

Your hand is met with the wet condensation of the frosted window, the mixture of yours and Rafayel’s torrid breaths fogging up the interior completely. It’s such a sensual sight that you clench down on Rafayel, thinking about the passion of this moment, in the confined space of his favorite car. 

Rafayel lets out the most delicious string of moans and expletives as you gently massage his balls in your fingers, fondling them delicately, “Oh God, that feels so good, you feel – angh – amazing.”

You throw all your energy into rolling your hips against Rafayel’s pelvis, wanting to use him until you were utterly spent.

“So big Raf,” you wail, struggling to keep up a rhythm as his size splits you in half, “I-I’m soo clo-ose.”

“Fuuck, me too,” Rafayel grunts, his neck craning back, back arching slightly at the way you ride him so filthily, “Don’t stop, I’m almost – ngh – there.”

His lewd words are your last straw, your hips stuttering as your cunt coils tightly around his length, your body orgasming so intensely through your tightly shut eyes. You desperately hope no one is nearby, because the muffled screams coming from the inside of the car were sure to be audible. 

“You love me, right?” Rafayel slurs, his eyes wet and on the verge of coming undone, needing your words to be the final push.

“I love you Raf,” you gasp brokenly, still bouncing on his lap, “Soo-oo much!”

Your vice grip on him has Rafayel seeing stars of his own, the blinding pleasure signaling his own release. As he cums, he brings you back to his chest in a heated embrace, babbling into your mussed hair.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” comes his strangled mantra, the words overflowing from his wet puffy lips, “My Queen.”

You whimper as Rafayel fills you with rope after rope of his hot seed, it already beginning to seep out of your hole and down his still hard length. He gives you everything he has, the soul nearly being sucked out his body through his cockhead.

Rafayel digs his nails into your back as you overstimulate him with your languid thrusts, urging you to stop. 

“N-No more,” he whines, holding you in place, “You’re trying to kill me.”

You still your hips with a chuckle, listening to his rapidly pounding heart, “I would never.”

Rafayel strokes your hair, holding you against his body, his cock softening and slipping out of you. You wince at the feeling of how much dampness leaks out of you, sitting up and trying to cup yourself so it doesn’t leak all over Rafayel’s seats.

But Rafayel holds you back down, “No. Stay.”

“Rafayel, it's going to ruin the seats!”

“I don’t care,” he mumbles, his voice still sluggish from the alcohol, nuzzling his face into your chest as he hugs you to keep you from moving.

“You care, you love this car. I love this car,” you whine, trying to pull away and keep the slick from spilling everywhere, but he doesn’t relent. 

“Just say you love the car more than me,” he sulks, his bottom lip protruding. 

You glare at him, before deciding to tease him and play along, “I love the car more than y–”

Rafayel covers your mouth with his hand, squinting at you, “If you finish that sentence I’ll scream.”

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

the intimacy in question, being a miniature rehearsal of what awaits you in a few moons time—the sea god’s ceremony, the image of your lovely rafayel wreathed in gold and flame and divinity. and you, at his side, at the temple’s altar—as a bride, where once you were nothing but a sacrificial lamb. the thought makes you squirm under his touch.

“which one would you like to learn about, my heart?” rafayel murmurs, that final bit much quieter than the rest, as his fingers deftly dip the brush into the paint. (it seems he’s doing anything at all to avoid looking into your eyes, for now.) a shiny blue now coats the bristles of his brush as it returns to your skin. it is careful, just the right amount of pressure, as it glides across your shoulder in a smooth arc. and then, little dollops of paint, in a smaller, gill-like design. it’s beautiful, only possible with a steady hand—you know that all too well, given the arcs you’ve painted on rafayel are not quite perfect, yet. 

your hand drifts downward, fingers drumming against the dark-blue designs now adorning your waist, just above your hip bones. “these.” you say, hushed, like a secret. “i want to know what these ones are about.” rafayel follows to his knees, hands skimming up and down your sides as he hums, now eye-level with your exposed stomach. with bated breath, you drum your fingers over the back of his hands as they finally rest on your hips.

( memories of many a night tangled in his bed sheets come to the forefront, a sacred, makeshift altar. flesh transmuted into the divine, moans and prayers swallowed into the hungry maw of a god, salvation in the haze of pleasure. religion in reverse—it is the devotee that is worshipped. )

you’d already asked him about the crimson and sapphire insignias he’d painted onto your back and shoulder blades—and as you painted matching ones upon his skin, asked him about those as well. something about strength and wisdom, he’d explained, and how the gods would help ease the burden from your shoulders. the golden dusting across his collarbones sparkle as you look down upon his kneeling figure. like glittering moonlight on the surface world, they catch the light of lemuria’s fake sun—like thousands of little twinkling stars upon the porcelain perfection of his being.

“ah, these ones…” rafayel kisses the now-dry paint, curved lines and diamonds of blue that he’d so carefully painted minutes ago. those soft lips of his trail a burning path down the painted lines, skimming dangerously close to the opulent fabric around your waist. the way his gaze flits upwards to meet yours is dangerous, and gods, he tugs at the fabric with his teeth— “these …” he repeats, almost in a trance, “...are a blessing of fertility.”

“your highness—” 

a choked protest, it dies the moment it rolls off his tongue and your lips connect to the marred skin of his chest. if rafayel was any louder, you’re certain amund (who has had nary a night of restful slumber since you’d taken up residence in rafayel’s tent, and proceeded to make up for aeons of lost time) would throw a grumbling fit in the morning. rafayel lies beneath you, his gaze burning into your very soul as you pepper loving pecks to the scars scattered on his skin. he can’t hide from you now–not with his mask thrown aside into some corner of the tent and his overly-complicated garb half-done–and when your eyes flicker upwards you can see how red he’s gotten. his cheeks are flushed, the tips of his ears too, and there’s a haze in his eyes that you recognise well.

( gods are meant to be perfect in every way, sculpted without imperfection by the hands of some higher power. and yet, this god, so far removed from what he is meant to be, is where you find the grace of divinity. isn’t it only fair to thank your god with the worship he so deserves ?)

“how did you get this one, ra’el?” you murmur, warm breath fanning against his skin in a way that makes him shudder. your fingers trace a large scar that stretches from his collarbone to right above where his heart would be. the scar tissue is smooth under your fingertips, a dark silvery-pink line borne from who-knows-what. you hum, offer him a gentle smile as you draw a heart over the end of the scar, right over where his heart should be. “and you better not say it’s from another sandworm—i’ve yet to encounter one in the bestiary amund gave me.”

“not a worm,” rafayel manages, once he’s found his voice again. a calloused hand coming up to cup your cheek, and you lean into it like a too-eager cat. the act is gentle, delicate, as though he wasn’t all rough and rugged edges. ( in another life, perhaps, he was more well-versed in the sweeter, gentler things in life. ) “it was from a noble who thought he could best me.” his hand drops to grip your chin, tilting your head up. the look in his eyes holds a darkness you can’t quite place—a beast lingering just out of sight.. as he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, he murmurs, hushed like a not-quite secret; “he didn’t, of course.”

you hum at that, breath hitching as another kiss falls on the other corner of your lips.. when he pulls his hand away from your chin, you lower your head to the jagged skin of his chest once more; “of course.” you echo, another kiss pressed to those battle scars, and it earns a blissful hiss from him. each press of your lips against him is reverent, as though each one sings praises of his triumph. “only i can do so, yes?”

silence captures the tent, and you think you see his eyes widen just the slightest in shock. as quickly as it came though, it is replaced by a warm amusement, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. "how bold," he says, the little huff laced with a lilt of challenge. the rumbling in his chest is soothing, and you place your hand above his heart to savour that feeling-he is alive and happy and present, with you. "but you would be correct, your highness..." rafayel's hand moves to hold your wrist, a firm touch. he lifts it, pressing a kiss to a palm-and it feels almost like the kiss of a dagger against skin, a scythe to a soul. "only you can tame a beast like me.”

( lone stray dog, looking for your home amongst these endless sands, have you found your master once more? shall you bite the hand that loves you, as your fellow brethren pray for, or lay your life down for a semblance of love once more ? )

and then, a tug. you’re brought flush against him, his burning skin against your own, like hot coals compared to the cold desert air. “enough about these scars.” rafayel practically purrs, sounding only pleased by how he has you in his arms now. his voice drops to a whisper, and you can tell something in the air has changed, any semblance of power you thought you had ripped away; 

“there are better ways to worship your god, my heart.”

a/n: changing up the format a bit! no small text bc editing it on tumblr is! a pain! but!!!! i'm honestly so proud of this one: the idea of rafayel's live paralleling religion is so dear to me! thank you to my lovely twt moots who gave me this idea !!! (this was supposed to be an entry for the wander in wonder event BUT i got carried away and it became too suggestive so uh. none of that.)

Great Lemurian entity he may be, but his habits fit firmer akin to a cat’s rather than any fish you’ve kept as a pet.  

He likes to tease and prod at you, wind you up and then, burst into subdued laughter the moment you take his bait. He’s frighteningly adept at stringing you along to his whims, a certain boyish charm you’ve never seen him utilize on any of his vast majority of fans in public. 

He loves to drag you out to impromptu sea-shell collecting ‘dates’ along the shores of Whitesand Bay, to capture the perfect pearlescent pink and silvers, to grind into paint on days he moans of “not having enough inspiration to paint’.

Tows you along for long drives in the vermillion convertible he was provided by Thomas, purchased from Rafayel’s private funds [the correct color he insisted on getting for the car before a poor Thomas was finally able to fulfil his request].  

Had you both stranded miles away from home once, when he had a punctured tire and ‘forgot’ to ensure he had a spare to change, in case of emergencies.  

And when you biked him back the rest of the way on a rental bicycle, you had the very nagging suspicion he wasn’t too upset about the mishap as he hummed an odd tune, seated behind you. Bodies close enough you felt the gentle vibrations of his voice deep within your bones, along with the steady movement of the tires hitting the paved road.  

Truly a feline more than any amphibious creature. 

A wondrous man, a delightful dissonance of character.

That very same man, when the two of you hold each other for the first time: 

His digits scour a delicate path across your face, your jaw, down your neckline; Rafayel is incredibly, uncharacteristically quiet the first night you are his. Bathed a sterling blue under the watery gaze of the moon. Save for the thick hitch of his breath with the unveiling of bare skin, he is mute.  

His eyes, however, a crisp indigo, seem to set an inextinguishable fire to the rest of your clothes.  

He observes — engraves into memory — first with his gaze, and then, his fingers follow. Long, tapered digits mapping the shape of your breasts, thumb denting gentle at the peaks of them. A grip he tests, firm, against the supple flesh of your waist, flaring outwards into the soft squish of your hips.  

He makes a sound then; incoherent, incomprehensible. Perhaps, an unconscious break of language into his native Lemurian tongue; the hoarse, barely compacted passion of it, however, conveyed to you in feelings.  

You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.  

Your first night is incredibly long, Rafayel shows you truly what it means to be made love to, you nearly weep of joy and pleasure.  

He has waited, oh he has pined and wanted, for so long. It’s a surreal and soul shattering experience for him, just the blessing of you naked underneath his fingers alone, has all of Rafayel’s pretenses unravelling, all masks and facades falling away.  

The first time, there is no teasing, no hiding.

Rafayel is immaculately thorough in his exploration of your body. His fingers; his preferred medium of following the swells and dips of his canvas — your body.  

Unfortunately, and yet so very delightful for you; he takes his time sketching across your body throughout the night, providing no chance of rest or relief from the torrential waves of pleasure he crests through your body. His eyes trained fast on your face, for every slight quiver and break of you, witnessing your response to each single pinpoint of pleasure his fingers brush against.  

Responding obedient to pleas of “oh, there, right there, Rafayel.”  

This very first time, the sounds of you alone, moaning his name, could bring him to completion but he resists. Your pleasure, first and foremost, in his near-tunnel vision. 

When the calls of his name upon your lips become unbearable, with the curve of his index and middle up into your warm wetness, Rafayel caves, like sand carried back into the depths of the sea, underneath the unrelenting break of waves. Long fingers indenting into pliant thighs as he cleaves them up and apart for unobstructed access to your weeping slit and presses a parched tongue to lap up your essence.  

Curling his tongue up into your fluttering walls as his fingers dance against the tight bead of pleasure in between your legs, to the steady compresses of your thighs against the strength of his shoulders.

Rafayel adores and encourages your honesty in bed.

Ready to slow down when and if you tell him how overwhelmed you are. Takes you faster when you beg him to make you come with his mouth. All the while, that dark azure gaze is fixated upon you, the flush beneath them turned a deeper crimson with each sound of satisfaction he triumphantly plucks out of you. 

Lashes descending involuntarily, only when you crest at the peak of your pleasure and flood yourself onto his waiting tongue. The taste of a delectable sea; he laps up every single drop of until he is sated. 

And it is only when you implore Rafayel to put his cock inside you does he startle at the negligence of his body; hard and leaking, soiling the sheets beneath him.  

When you finally, finally connect, painfully slow; the push comes without resistance offered, from how wet he has had you from his ministrations, for a good part of the night.  

Rafayel has to struggle to breathe at the sensation of your warmth around him, tight, herculean control the likes of which he hasn’t ever had to scrabble for, ever in his life. To not just spill the moment he is inside you.  

Her pleasure, I want to feel it. I want to make her feel good.  

Still the sole thought behind that glazed, hot gaze. A moment of odd, emotional vulnerability when your eyes finally lock, your hands wandering now, to cup across his face.  

And when he begins to move, Rafayel needs to feel each and every single part of you with every single fibre of his own. Fingers resuming their trek of their now favorite canvas as you murmur love and praise into his ears. The weight of a breast hefty against one large palm, the other with his fingers intertwined through yours as he propels into you.  

Both of your releases, one and the same; as his eyes remain on the scrunch of your brow, just before he too falls, burying his face against the crescent of your neck. 

Rafayel’s style of love-making is firmly passionate.  

It is emotional, relieving and often times fun. He is incredibly adept at reading your cues and adjusting his pace according to your wants. Sex, in his mind, is an activity, as deserving of time and patience as his art — an intricate worship — and hence he usually requires the two of you have those several, long hours to spare before he gets to undressing you. Quickies, as such then, he isn’t a massive fan of.  

Neither public spaces — a private dressing room at one of his events, requiring the two of you to be out within a certain time period — no matter how desperate or wanting he might be. Silencing your own protests with a long, hushed kiss and a skewed mischievous, flushed smile that has your heart quivering inside your chest. “Be a good girl now and wait,” he remarks before setting your disheveled collar back in order. The graceful sweep of his hand; for you to take, once you are done, ready to escort you out into the venue.  

Open but private spaces, however, where you have time to spare and none to disturb, his private beach behind his home, is where you might find yourself spread wide across soft cloth. The cool waves of the shore lapping gentle at your tightly furled toes while Rafayel’s mouth works at the slick in between your legs. Truly his idea of a well-enjoyed romantic date. 

On the note of basking in the benevolence of seas, Rafayel loves giving oral as much as he enjoys receiving it.  

He isn’t incredibly vocal when it comes to giving voice to his desires, for having your mouth on him, often because he is more than happy [and engrossed] to have his mouth do all the talking (and lapping), while you luxuriate underneath the feel of his tongue and lips, like the [his] Queen you are. He loves servicing you to completion, no matter how much his tease of a foreplay may point to, otherwise.  

It is only when your mouth takes him in for the first time, on your request do you make the delightful discovery of Rafayel’s little give-aways. The quiver of his fingers threaded firm through your hair. The clench of a fine toned abdomen, ripples of tight pleasure splaying across his torso.  

“You’re doing so well, baby— hah, just like that. What have you done to me? You’re so good.” 

The drop of his jaw, the fine, dark dusting of red smeared across his cheeks and ears. His slow, stuttered groans and pants.  A deliberate suckle at his tip has him throwing his head back at the sensation, fingers spasming against the back of your skull. Your own resistance shattering and you take him in whole, the moan that chokes out of Rafayel’s throat in reward for your efforts is heaven enough, you keep returning for more.  

Rafayel is loud and has no shame in showcasing his love and desire for you through the sounds he makes, just for you.  

Part of the reason also why he prefers privacy to public displays of affection or quick sexual encounters. And he encourages just the same for you.  

Be it the sounds of appreciation that leave his mouth, muffled and undulating, into your pussy or while he is inside of you, enjoying every single inch of your drenched, clenching flesh against his length.  

“If you squeeze me that hard, I’m going to—” 

Words fracturing apart into a long, stuttered moan he presses right against your lips. Foreheads slick with the sweat of your desires as he bears down against you. Bright blue gaze meeting yours — the gentle florid fringe of pinks — steeped in pleasure as his fingers curve about your jaw, pleading a kiss from your lips. 

“My pretty girl.” A flushed devastating grin. “Let me come inside you. I want to feel the way your body clamps around me when I do. Gods, please.” 

Rafayel is an immensely flexible lover. No rules are set in stone, no bedroom innovations entirely over-ruled before the two of you knock it at least once.  

There is no sole lead; only the steps you weave in between you two, together. He is receptive to a wide variety of tastes and kinks; ever the most studious, eager participant, save for the rare personal boundary or two, he has set in place (see above: feelings regarding public sex). 

Grasping your hand to fold a kiss against your palm as he moves within you. Bidding on sex-hoarse whispers to entrust yourself to his care while he sets to plunging your entire being into flames, pleasure so exhilarating you’re left grappling for air by the end of it all. All the while, he shapes his marks of adoration against your skin, soothing warmth to set nerves lax from all their previous exertion.  

Or, when you ask it of him, supplicates himself — a willing, grinning participant — loving, puckish desire set to blaze within his dark eyes. Tracking each single move, the delicate fingers that sketch against his heaving abdomen, the hand that moves to enclose his cock in between eager digits and pump, slow: a delectable torture. And he responds in kind to your enthusiasm, if you leave his mouth unbound and able — sings for you as you so enjoy, in that rapturous voice you so adore. Lent a lascivious flavour from how his head rolls back across his neck in the throes of incoming release, the flush of him flooding down across his chest from how aroused he is for you to be doing what you are to him.  

The sight of him in his entirety is enough for your own patience to wear paper-thin, drenched wet from the erotic picture he paints beneath you.  

Rafayel’s house is a mess. 

...Something he often brushes off as personal ‘creative choices’, declaring he finds a certain order to his disarray of things strewn about.

The colors he knows exactly where to pluck off the floor of his studio. A second draft of an upcoming painting, pinned underneath a [fish] magnet against the kitchen cabinet. A spare shirt draped across the arm of a sofa for when he wants to quickly switch out of pigment-stained clothes in between paintings.  

However, he takes special care to keep his bedroom — or at the very least, on worse days, one sofa — in acceptable, spruced order. Especially so, after you start coming over to visit or stay the weekend, accompany him on days he holes himself up in his house, to pore over an artwork. Often so preoccupied, by the time he snaps out of it, several hours later: to a velvet sky outside and you scrunched up in an upright position, with your head coasting sideways at an uncomfortable angle, in your sleep.  

The first and last time that happens as he carts you into his arms and off to his bedroom to tuck you into his bed and insists you retire to his bedroom on your own, the next morning, whenever you feel like dozing off. Making a point, then onwards to always have it ready and at your disposal.  

For sleep and when you’re both not; tangled within each other and the sheets, cooling down from your highs.  

Rafayel craves chaste physical intimacy post-coitus as he drags you into his arms, your breath warm against his chest. He despises being away from your comfort for even a moment’s breath; extra adorable and tetchy in his phase of dramatics if you try and squirm away. 

Has startled you on one particular occasion; hunched, stark naked, by the door of the bathroom as you stepped out of it. A frown knit in between his brow, a disagreeable moue to that beautiful mouth and a simple, “I’m cold, warm me.”  

An amalgamation of just how Rafayel is like and something else; deeper, you suspect it stems from unspoken fears of loneliness. There are nights you don’t quite understand, when his emotions run rampant and his need for physical affirmation and constant connection are strong; the man immediately soothed to rest the moment your hand is across his cheek, fingers caressing down the sculpt of his jaw. Tiring him at last into exhausted sleep. A vulnerability to his visage only you are allowed  to stand witness to.  

There is something so incredibly erotic about his girl when she lets him put his cock against her mouth... 

Testing every single mental fortitude, he has ever had thrown up, walls of iron built over the course of centuries, crumbling at the feeling of your wet mouth against his length. Drawing him in before you swallow him, right to the base.  

Taking his seed down your throat like the damn, amazing girl you are but if you pull back at just the right moment, firm fist bringing him to spill against your cheeks, traversing down the arc of your neck— 

Rafayel’s thoughts frizzle into a numb void, mouth agape and panting. A scarlet flush dashed across the ridge of his cheekbones, his ears, to witness your face dirtied by smears of his cum. The sight truly untethers a carnal, primitive want in him, he isn’t able to fully parse himself.  

Truly imprinted upon as the bride of the Sea God. 

Your sexual sessions are more often than not, kicked off on sensual, fun notes and back-and-forths.  

A stray jibe you might throw his way at one of his odd habits and he’s plucking you right off your feet. Nimble digits feathering down the expanse of your abdomen in retaliation before you’re reduced to giggles; both of your fingers catching at the other’s clothes in an attempt for dominance before you drift, natural, against the other’s mouth in soft, scheming smiles. 

Or, when you reach to strike the firm muscle of his behind, the sweet, silly twist to his mouth right as he startles, an indignant, scandalized gaze he rolls your way. “Why, you—” Before you reach to grasp him by the collar and drag down towards your waiting, open mouth. Lips drawing wide into a smile as you feel his reciprocated urgent squeeze across your ass; the pads of his fingers tracing the lining of your panties beneath your skirt. “Don’t make me return the favor several fold, pretty siren.” 

The bite of restive teeth he sinks into his lower lip as he hauls you up and against his rigid length. Before you reach forward, disengaging his lip, to suckle it into your own mouth. “Try me.” 

The act itself leaning more into the romance of the moment and slow, deep thrusts into your body as Rafayel drifts against you. Mouthing every piece of spare skin in sight, affirmations and assurances as clear and heard as the moans that tumble from his lips.

Link to Master List

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he mumbles before latching his mouth to your erect nipple, a soft mewl escapes your lips as he sucks on the sensitive bud.

His fingers tugging on the other nipple so it doesn’t feel ignored. While you also tug on his hair, highs clenching against his own as you sit there on his lap.  

“So sweet, I’m addicted miss…” his voice muffled by your soft mounds as he speaks, looking up towards you with those doe eyes you can’t take your eyes from.

You can’t even form a sentence since his tongue flicks against your nipple, he lets out such vulgar panting noises while keeping his eyes glued to your expression. Your pleasure is his own pleasure at the end of the day.

For every beautiful moan, you grace his ear with, his cock grows harder and harder by the second. Aching to be touched and loved by you, he aches for you in more ways than one. Sucking on your breast and marking your skin is an example of him showing you his carnal needs.

Now he’s playing rough, his teeth tugging on your nipple, you could feel his lips forming into a smile against your skin. Such a brat, and he’s yours to tame and punish. He lavishes your now sore nipple with kitten licks.

“Not enough?” you whimper while his finger teasingly flicks against your slippery wet nipple. “Never enough,” he corrects your statement, he could never have you only once. 

He presses a kiss now onto your sternum, he can feel your heartbeat against his lips. It’s strong and steady, and as rapid as his own. After taking his time licking a long stripe across your sternum, he ventures towards the other side, blowing warm cold air against the sensitive bud.

Watching you whine and trash around on his lap, grinding your sticky panties right against his boxers. “More, I need more,” he whispers, before latching his mouth back towards one of his favorite desserts. 

He grinds your clothed pussy against his cock, his tongue savoring the feeling of your nipple against it. So firm and squish, such a delicate thing to suck. You can’t take it anymore, the sheer pleasure almost dulls your senses but not your mind.

“Two can play that game,” you pant before pushing him down to the bed. “My turn,” you lick your lips before pinching both of his nipples.

“Miss…” he moans, not even bothering to hold back as you roll your thumb against nipples while pressing open-mouthed kisses on his neck. Then venturing down to his sternum, doing the same thing he did to you earlier. “You need a taste of your own medicine, baby,” you smile innocently.

You then open your mouth wide, letting your saliva drench his cute perky nipples. He hiss at the sudden coldness, “Oh god…” he pants as you lather both of his nipples with your saliva.

“Feels cold huh?” you tease, your fingers now twisting his well-lubricated nipple. “Mhmmm feels cold and so good, cutie” he smiles, closing his eyes to fully immerse himself in your touch.

“Can I use my mouth?” you ask softly while pressing kisses all over his pecks. “Please use your mouth,” you chuckle at his neediness. He’s so spoiled, but then again you love spoiling him.

“Alright then,” you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear before pressing your lips against his nipple, sucking at the perky little thing gently while the other gains a more rough treatment from your fingers.

“Baby that feels so good, need more,” he whines, his grasp tightening around your waist as he grinds you back against his cock. “Patience,” you pinch his nipple in annoyance.

“F-fuckkk okay okay, no need to be mean,” he pouts, “Oh I’m sorry,” you decide to humor him by kissing the other nipple you pinched. 

“Better?” you ask as you look up towards his teary eyes, “The other one wants a kiss too,” he pouts, of course, he wants both of his nipples to be equally treated. “Whatever you want Rafayel,”

You return to the other nipple kissing it gently before tugging on it with your teeth, he bucked his hips upwards at the sudden pain. “That feels so good, you make me feel so good,”

“I know I do,” you hum before flicking the tip of your tongue against his other nipple while having the other one fondled by you. You squeeze hard on his firm pecs, the width of it is wider than your palm, but you still manage to grasp a good grip on it.

“You have such a nice pair of tits, Rafayel,” you tease as you squeeze even harder. “Your mouth’s so naughty, be careful cutie,” he pants, relishing on the euphoric feeling of being groped by you.

“But it’s true, so pretty and firm,” you continue to tease while biting on his nipple before pulling your head up to see him. Gosh, he’s so cute. “You’re the one to talk,” he groans as he reaches forward to grope your breast.

“These are prettier, much softer than mine,” he pants as he squeezes on your breast. “I’m sure it is, you like my tits, Rafayel?” you ask.

“Of course I do, I get all hot and bothered when you dress in tight clothes. I couldn’t help but stare sometimes,” he confesses, his fingers tugging on your nipple with each syllable he speaks.

“Well aren’t you a pervert,” you whine as he pinches your nipple at the sentiment. “Is there a problem if I am?”

“Nope none at all,” you moan, feeling the sudden shift in dynamic. “Good to know, cutie,” he smirks as he pulls you back to his arm. 

“We’re not done y’know, I still need you to take care of me,” he pouts, he slaps his palm right onto your ass as he grinds your pussy, signaling where he needs it the most. 

“I think I’d like to see how powerful you were at the height of Lemuria’s power. I don’t want you to have to live on the run for the rest of your life. I want us to have a life together. To be able to wake up at home without worrying any longer.”

Rafayel chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“My beloved. I already have all those things with you. But, if you want more, I won’t be the one to stop you. If I could give you the world, I would. All you need to do is ask for it.”

His voice is soft, low in his throat. You’re only able to hear him because you’re wrapped up so tightly against him, thick blankets conserving your body heat as your breaths mingle in the shared space.

“I already have it here.”

You can’t help but feel a pang of worry in your chest, his fingers gently resting against where your heart beats. You hope more than anything you could continue to live your days with Rafayel, not worrying about the day where you’d have to lay yourself out for him to take your heart. You wouldn’t mind, not at all. You know you’d go with a smile but you’d always mourn the time you couldn’t have with him.

“It’s yours whenever you want it you know,” you remind him, cupping his face in your hand.

“I could never do something like that to you. Rest now. Stop thinking about such silly things,” he chastises lightly, humming a tune that sounds so vaguely familiar as your eyes drift closed to sleep.

~~~~

When you awake again, you’re in a room that’s not too different than the room you had at the palace in Philos in terms of luxury. The fabrics are much lighter in colour, light silks draped around the room as you lay on a plush bed. Your clothes are different too – nothing as thick as the outfit Rafayel insists you wear for traversing the desert. Instead, they’re light on your body, cool and form fitting.

You look around for Rafayel, unsure of where you are when the door to the room opens. A man walks in, vibrant curls gently framing his face as he looks at you with a smile. Despite the drastic difference of his clothes you’d recognise him anyway, swallowing nervously as you look up at him.

“Rafayel?” you ask, relief filling your chest as he nods.

“My Beloved. You look lovely today, as you always do.”

He makes his way over to you, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a soft kiss. His eyes look different here, softer, somehow. You get the sense that despite being the man you love, he’s not quite right. His body feels familiar to you though, that tightness you get in your chest from looking at him for too long present as he stares intently at you.

Another pair of footsteps walks in, your eyes widening as the Rafayel you’re more familiar with walks in. His dark fabrics seem out of place in the room, leather far too harsh with the pale silks but he seems almost comfortable, a bit of mirth in his eyes as he sees the compromising position you’ve found yourself in.

“There you are. It seems Your Highness has found herself in quite the predicament, hasn’t she?” he teases, coming around behind you on the bed and pulling you against his chest.

You’re sat in his lap, the other Rafayel standing in front of you watching curiously as he spreads your thighs on his lap. You feel him shed some layers behind you, gloved hands slowly trailing up and down your body as you continue to gawk at the man in front of you.

“Don’t be rude,” Rafayel whispers into your ear from behind you. “You are in the presence of a God. Show some reverence Your Highness.”

Your eyes widen in shock as the weight of his words suddenly sink in. The man in front of you – The God of the Sea as now you know him – smirks, coming in to stand between your legs as he cups your chin in his hands.

“How insolent of you. You can’t even recognise the deity that saved your life?” he asks, chuckling at the dumbfounded look on your face.

“Perhaps just having you swear your life to me isn’t enough. Just your heart won’t be enough. Should I take my payment another way?”

You look back at Rafayel as he holds you, one of his hands beginning to massage at one of your tits as the other starts to sneak between your legs. You bite back a moan, unsure of what proper decorum would look like when staring at a deity like this, shuddering when you feel him press a kiss to your neck.

“You taste sweet,” he mutters, hands going to hold your hips in place as the Abysswalker teases your entrance with his fingers.

“Yes, a perfect offering for a God. I must have you.”

Adorned hands reach for your clothes, quickly stripping you down to nothing. You feel yourself squirming in his hold, wanting to bury your face in a more familiar body when the God turns your chin to look back at him.

“He’s not here right now. Just focus on me right now.”

He leans in to kiss you, a multitude of thoughts running through your mind. Would your Rafayel consider this cheating? He’s the same person as the one kissing you right now, isn’t he? But he would have stopped you by now if he didn’t want this, wouldn’t he? He must be okay with it if his gloved fingers are circling your clit, gently prodding against your entrance as you gasp into the other’s mouth.

He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, tongue gently exploring your mouth as he swallows every noise you make. It’s nothing like the hunger that Abysswalker kisses you with, an absolute starvation about him whenever he gets his hands on you. That desperation is felt against your back, the God pressing you against a hardening cock that makes the man holding you groan.

“You’re so filthy,” he whispers as you’re kissed dumb.

“You’re being kissed by another and yet you’re still desperate for my cock? You’re insatiable, aren’t you Your Highness? I wonder how the court would react knowing their beloved princess just wants to be spread wide and used by Lemurians.”

“I think they’d want to watch,” the God says in reply, pulling back from the addictive sweetness of your lips.

“Wouldn’t you? The human body is so intriguing, especially when caught in the throes of pleasure. Of course they’d want to see such a sweet little toy be broken down by two monsters, pussy leaking cum as more is begged for.”

You think you should be terrified at the filthy words spilling out of his lips but you can’t help but get more excited. Abysswalker makes a sound of displeasure, gloved fingers sliding into your hole as he feels you clench at the thought.

“You’re leaking. Your body is so warm. You want that, don’t you? To be used by the both of us?”

Against your better judgement you nod, gasping when the Rafayel in front of you drops to his knees. He pulls your legs over his shoulders greedily, mouth immediately going to lap at your dripping pussy as the one holding you brings his hands to tease at your nipples.

You already weren’t very experienced – being nobility does that to someone – which always meant that your body felt like it was on fire at the littlest of touches that Rafayel would give you. The two of you were intimate before, him showing you just how good his touch could make you feel. That didn’t help you now, hips bucking furiously into the mouth of a Sea God as a vigilante teased at your nipples, lips sucking dark marks into your skin.

Your pussy convulses over nothing as your feel his tongue swirl around your cunt, sloppy in a way that you didn’t know you needed. It feels like he knows your body better than you do, pushing up against you to angle your hips upwards and give him a better angle to start fucking his tongue into you. The sounds you make just get lewder, wet squelching hitting both of their ears and making their cocks twitch with need.

“That’s – too much –“ you whine, hands going to dig into his violet locks.

“I told you I’d be taking my payment,” he says against you, gently tugging your clit with his teeth.

“You don’t get to decide when I’m done.”

The words almost make you cum, gasping for breath as he dives back in like a man starved. His nails dig into the plush of your thighs, loud slurping and licking making all the hairs on your body stand to attention. Your nipples aren’t better off, tweaked and massaged consistently. The onslaught of stimulation as you cumming in no time, spilling into his waiting mouth.

He doesn’t stop after that though, simply pressing closer against you as you feel Abysswalker push you forward to fit against his hungry mouth better. It makes you squeal, gasping and whining as your body is pushed past its limits, thighs clenching tightly around his head when he abandons them in favour of holding your hips.

“He just wants one more,” you hear whispered into your ear. “Just give us one more and I promise you’ll be rewarded for doing so well,” he promises, giving you just that push you need to cum again, catching your breath as the God stands.

Despite the loose fitting pants he wears you can still see the outline of his cock pressed against it, letting him press it against the plush of your chest as he looks past you to Abysswalker. The two of them speak amongst themselves, Lemurian words still past the majority of your comprehension. You can only make out a few meanings, more distracted by the way his cock grinds against you instinctively as they speak.

Suddenly you feel the weight of your body shift, lifted into the air as the God now holds you. He turns you to face him and you catch the sight of Abysswalker pulling his cock out of his pants, slowly stroking it to the sight of you. You’re now face to face with the God, lips swallowed in a hungry kiss. He turns your body as you feel your pussy being brought down to grind against his cock. You moan into his mouth, arms coming up to hold your legs in place as he slowly starts to sink in. You don’t think you can keep looking at him like this, the muscles in your neck already screaming in complaint but you don’t have time to think about it when he starts to fuck up into you.

Your suddenly realise just how exposed you are, pussy stretched full for Abysswalker’s hungry gaze. He leans back on a palm, hips slowly bucking into his fist as he fucks himself in time to the rhythm of the God. Embarrassment floods your body as you turn to bury your face in his shoulder, the squirming of your hips doing nothing but fucking him deeper inside of you.

“Why are you hiding Your Highness?” you hear from in front of you, the bite of a smirk in his voice.

“It’s nothing I haven’t already seen. Come on. Show off for me some more,” he coaxes, groaning low in his chest as he watches your hips fail to escape the pleasure being provided by the cock drilling into you.

Two pairs of eyes watch your clenching hole intently, watching your cum get fucked out of you from the brutal pace that’s been set. Your tits bounce wildly, balls slapping hard against your clit in a way that makes you whine with each touch. Your head thrashes, body shaking as you feel the God walk closer to Abysswalker, giving him a front row seat to your cute little hole just barely accommodating the stretch of his girth.

Your eyes stay stuck on him, watching as his fist moves faster over his cock. You love the way he sounds, the wet shlick of his fist pumping him only muted by the lewd sounds of your cunt being fucked. His pace speeds up when you’re brought closer to him, chest heaving as he keeps his eyes solely focused on the way your hole tries its best to keep his cock inside of you. Every time his head just barely pokes out of you you’re whining like you’ll die without it, every hit of his cock making soft little noises escape from your lips.

“There you go then. Feast your eyes,” you hear from above you, keening loudly as he somehow manages to adjust his angle to hit deeper inside of you.

The head of his cock brutalises a spot inside of you that makes you see stars, whining his name loudly. Both of them smile at your reaction, bodies working harder to reach their peaks. You can feel it inside of you, the way his cock twitches, the feeling his breath as he tries to keep up with the desperate squirming of your body. It makes you scream, legs pressed tightly against his arms as you cum, the knowledge that youre being watched making you squirt on Abysswalker, your arousal spattering against his chest and dripping down to his cock.

His eyes widen and he pulls his hand off of himself, panting as he wills himself not to cum from the sight. Your orgasm doesn’t deter the God holding you in the least, continuing his rough pace with barely any issues.

“You’re squeezing so tight my Beloved,” he coos, grunting lowly as he feels his orgasm cresting.

“You want me to fill you up? Make you drip my cum?” he asks sweetly, such a cruel contrast to the pounding of your hole.

You nod eagerly, trying to press yourself closer to the base of his cock. He laughs a little at your desperation, peppering your neck in kisses as he delivers a few more hard thrusts. He buries himself to the hilt, breath warm against your temple as you feel him fill you up. The warmth seeps through your body, dripping down his cock as he takes his time sliding out of you.

Abysswalker’s eyes follow the trail of cum dripping out of your slit, hole still clenching as you moan softly from the feeling of no longer being as full as you just were. He happily takes you out of his counterpart’s arms, turning you back around to face the God this time as your knees settle on either side of his lap.

You don’t know what to expect until you feel a gloved hand pushing against the small of your back, gently persuading you to lean more of your weight against his lap. You can’t help but stare at the God’s cock in front of you, still shiny with both your arousals as you feel the urge to run your tongue up the shaft. You bite your lip as you stare up at the God, enraptured by just how beautiful he looks staring down at you.

Your mouth opens as you feel Abysswalker’s cock slide inside of you, him guiding your hips down to his base as the God takes this as his opportunity to slide his dick inside of your mouth. He rests the tip inside of your mouth, shuddering as he feels your moans going down the length of his shaft as your tongue instinctively laps at his leaking slit.

Abysswalker guides your pace on his cock, strong hands bringing you up and down as his hips buck up into you, pushing you down further on the dick inside of your mouth. You look up at the God teary eyed, shallow gags from his length being brought down further your throat making him groan as his hips start to lightly fuck into your mouth.

The feeling of being filled on both sides makes your mind spin, legs thrashing on the bed as you pant and gasp. You’re only given time to breath when the God takes pity on you, drawing his length out of you every so often to trace the shape of your lips with the head of his cock before sliding back down your throat. It’s almost too much but you need it desperately, need them both desperately.

You start to bob your head up and down much to his pleasure. Fingers reach for your scalp, resting against the back of your head as you feel him start to guide your mouth up and down. This, paired with the fingers digging into your hips and you’re practically being used like a doll for both of their pleasure.

The burning in your stomach reaches a fever pitch. You never knew your body could feel so much pleasure, desperate moans of his name cut off by the shoving of his cock back inside of you or a rough thrust into your pussy that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. They can both feel your tightness over their cocks, minds running with even more filthy thoughts about how else they can push you to take even more.

You cum without warning, gagging on the cock in your mouth as Abysswalker spills into you at the same time. The feeling of your moans in addition to your gagging makes the God push himself all the way down your throat. You swallow around him as he cums deep, guttural groans coming from all sides of you.

The two of them savour the feeling of you for a second before finally sliding out, laying you back down on the bed. You think you need to be ready for more, not minding how insatiable they seem as you spread your legs. You hear them both laugh a little, amused as they both crawl over you. Your body stiffens as you prepare but you’re met with their lips peppering against you affectionately. Your limbs are lifted, gently massaged as they shower you in attention, licking at the harsh marks they’ve left on your skin and cleaning you up.

Your eyes close as you savour it, greedily kissing back whoever manages to steal your lips first. The taste of you is still sweet on their tongue, hands reaching out for the two of them as you whine and gasp under them, ready for more when they want you.

~~~~

When your eyes open again you feel the heaving of your chest, pussy warm with Rafayel’s hand cupping you as he stares down at you with an amused smile. He peppers your neck in kisses, nosing against your cheek.

“Well good morning. Did you have a good dream?”

Sunlight streams in through the opening of your tent’s entrance. You can hear the sound of the settlement waking up, conversations soft to avoid waking up any body who happened to still be sleeping. You sigh, making a soft noise as you feel him push up the hem of your shirt to start caressing your body.

“It’s morning?” you ask groggily, throat feeling better than you thought it should considering the rough treatment you were subjected to.

“It is Your Highness,” he says sweetly, hand slipping into your panties as he teases the wetness there.

“You wouldn’t stop moaning my name last night. I wanted to wake you but you looked like you were having such a good dream. Evidently so – I think you came once or twice from nothing.”

You’re embarrassed, flustered by how wet you are. You think he’s right, your panties soaked with arousal from the orgasms you had just from your dream. You divert from the line of questioning by kissing him back hungrily, starving for his touch as your body settles back into that post orgasmic haze induced from what seems to have been your dream.

“Just had a dream about you,” you mumble against his lips, arms circling around his shoulders as you press him closer.

“That’s all.”

“Thank you, love. You’re so strong.” You say, making his chest swell even more with pride, and then you pat his head tenderly.

Once. Twice. And then you leave.

Wriothesley is frozen in his spot, eyes wide in surprise as he watches you nonchalantly walk away from his desk to rehydrate.

What was that?

Wriothesley’s head is racing with thoughts at your gesture. You’ve never done that before. Did you just pat his head as a way of saying that he did a good job?

Wait a minute, are you treating him like a puppy? He’s the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide! He has a wolf badge pinned on his vest, a giant wolf carving in his office, and even his hairstyle should remind you of a wolf! He considers himself the alpha of his fortress and you’re just…giving him head pats?

That’s preposterous!

He thinks as he follows your figure and trains his eyes on your hand. But why is there a budding feeling in his chest of wanting you to repeat your actions?

Wriothesley hands you a welfare meal lunchbox before sitting next to you on his couch. He doesn’t usually do it, but since he was making rounds anyway and you just dropped off a report, he might as well pick one up for you so you could eat together.

“Ooh, I got a luxurious one! Thank you!” You squeal and Wriothesley awkwardly stays still, just watching you fork down your food. “Why aren’t you eating?” You ask, now concerned about whether you’re being a nuisance.

Wriothesley only bends down slowly and you lean back a little, thinking he wanted to inspect something in your food, but then stops midway, and now you’re the one in an awkward position.

“What? Is there something in your hair?” You say as a joke but when you start inspecting his dark locks, he - almost too enthusiastically - nudges your hand upward and leans into you further.

It took a while before it clicked. The Duke is too proud to ask so he just silently offers the top of his head. Your actions were done on a whim back then, so you didn’t think he actually liked the head pats. You ended up internally celebrating after learning that, but also willing yourself not to release an evil laugh.

“Well, aren’t you a good boy?” You teased, your ruffling of his hair becoming more rigorous. He stays quiet, but you can only imagine how his tail would have wagged side to side excitedly if he had one.

Wriothesley instantly sits up straight as if he has come to his senses. He coughs into his hand, then clears his throat, his ears and cheeks obviously turning red even though he tries to hide from you.

“Let’s eat.” He says, hoping you’ll drop the subject.

And you do. For now.

You watch as the steam rises from the teacups, the scent of chamomile wafting through the air. Wriothesley has decided that your lap is more comfortable than the cushion, so he lies down and waits for you to stroke his hair like you usually do.

“You know, I really thought you would dislike this.”

That’s what he also thought, but your touch is so addicting to him that he now expects to get head pats in return every time he does something that pleases you.

“I only like it when they’re from you. If anyone else tries this they can expect to be pummeled down.”

“Wriothesley.” Your tone comes off as a warning and he huffs and readjusts his position to press his cheek on your lap and bury his face in your stomach.

“Not that anyone else would be brave enough to try.”

You laugh and scratch his scalp. Wriothesley practically melts as he closes his eyes and sighs in satisfaction.

“Your tea will get cold.” You move your hand away and Wriothesley immediately raises his head, quite irked at the loss of your touch.

“I can brew more later.” He grabs your hand and puts it back on his head, then moves it around, urging you to continue.

“I think I may have spoiled you.”

Wriothesley only chuckled in response before he dozed off.

You think Rafayel might be dying. 

For two days, you have not heard a word from your overdemanding employer slash lover. Waking up around noon without a barrage of texts calling you a “lazy hibernating bear” or “neglectful partner” was unusual enough, but an irregularity you chalked up to Rafayel’s upcoming gallery exhibition. 

But by nightfall, you were confused, and by the next morning, cold dread had begun to creep in. He has still not sent a single text, not a call, nothing. Absolute silence. 

Despite agreeing to attend sparring practice tonight with Xavier, you rush out from HQ as soon as your squadron is dismissed from a mission briefing– you’ll make it up to him later. For now, you keep your Hunter’s suit equipped and reload both your pistols, tucking them into their holsters as you rev the engine of your motorcycle. 

Energy fluctuations always escalate before a full moon, and between the increase in Wanderers and the growing bounty on Rafayel's head, you feel your panic rise, the hollow ring of the moon looming overhead as you speed to Rafayel’s studio, praying that nothing has happened.

Rafayel is a mess.

It’s been centuries since he has last felt this insatiable heat, but to fall prey to his instincts was perhaps inevitable. After all, he’s finally found you again. 

Not only that, but he got too close once more, pulling you in from a stranger to an unwilling bodyguard to a friend and lover. Rafayel supposes he can only blame himself. His Lemurian biology has always keened in your presence, and he sealed his own fate when he finally coaxed you into bed with him. But he doesn't regret it— not for a moment.

However, it has been weeks since the first time the two of you had sex, and yet he still can do nothing but taste you against his tongue, nothing but imagine your face every time you unraveled against him, nothing but want you atop him, beneath him, beside him, so fucking bad he can’t think of anything else.

He had reunited with his mate. 

Of course his instincts now want to make you his, forever. 

Rafayel curses, his clothes chafing against his sensitive skin, making him burn under each suffocating layer before he hurriedly begins to rip and unbuckle each one. He wants you beside him, your touch on him. He wants so badly it burns.

With a groan, he collapses onto the coach, face buried in his hands as he genuinely worries he might die from the heat and desire pooling in his stomach and coiling through every nerve. Your name lights up on his phone, the light buzzing adding to the countless missed texts and calls on the screen. Rafayel spares a glance at his phone before chucking it across the studio. He swears he might come from the thought of you alone. 

On cue, the studio’s front door opens with a bang. 

Disregarding protocall entirely you charge in, swinging both your guns around as you shout. “Rafayel! Yell if you’re trapped or injured, or... or just say something!”

There’s a crash behind you, and you nearly shoot, lowering the pistol only when you see a seagull that must have snuck in, topple over another vase, and flee through the wide open windows. 

No Wanderers. Not yet.

The studio is in ruins. Its usual “organized disorganization” would be considered neat in comparison. It looks like a thief ransacked the place, and a hurricane followed suit. Scraps of clothing and swirls of paint splatter across the floor like blood at a crime scene. 

Alarm creeps further into your voice, and you call for him again. “Rafayel! Please say something, anything, just let me know you’re okay.” You creep along the edge of the wall, turning into the main room, expecting the worst: to see him bleeding out, or knocked unconscious, or–

Lying on the couch. 

He’s lying on the couch. 

Sprawled against the cushions, you’re nearly convinced Rafayel is sleeping until you notice the audible rasp in his breathing, skin flushed red in a picture of debauchery. You felt your breath hitch as you scanned him up and down to check for injuries, his billowing shirt splayed open with all the buttons ripped off, and trousers shunted down at the front, clinging to the jut of his hips, trail of dark purple hair pathing the way to his hand, which was clawing against his thigh. 

You force yourself to look away, a tremor in your voice. “Are you injured? Do you need a doctor?”

“Stop talking.” Rafayel groans in pain and you holster your firearms before rushing to his side, kneeling by the couch as he flinches away from your body, his hand pressed to the lower half of his face. Your knees brush something rough and you look down, realizing the floorboards have been burned. 

“Your Evol,” panic returns and you reach out to check Rafayel’s temperature. “It’s acting up. We need to get you to a doctor.” Your fingers hardly brush against his forehead before they’re yanked away. Rafayel springs up, clutching your wrist so tightly you flinch, putting as much distance between the two of you as he could without releasing his hold. 

“No.” His chest is heaving, and you hardly hear him over the hand he still has over his mouth, muffling his words. “You need to leave. Right now.” 

“You’re the one holding me.”

Bewildered, Rafayel looks at his arm as though unaware of his own moments. But he makes no move to unhand you.

Slowly, you lean closer, letting your free hand rest against Rafayel’s cheek, gasping at how hot he is to the touch. Fuck. Your hand is so deliciously cool against his skin that Rafayel can’t help but lean his entire weight against it, nudging his face into your palm as a strangled whine hisses through his teeth. A tug, and you gasp as you’re pulled down, tripping into Rafayel’s lap as his lips graze the sensitive skin of your inner wrists. 

The position is beyond compromising, especially considering Rafayel’s state of undress. Stumbling forward, your free hand pushes against his bare chest, and you try to free yourself, willing your eyes not to travel any lower to his unbuckled trousers. “Rafayel…”

“Don’t,” he curses into your palm, inhaling deeply before biting. He moans deep in his chest, licking up your fingers, sucking gently at each digit as you feel your body flush. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t move or breathe in my direction either.” 

He continues suckling against your fingers, and you would have snapped at his ridiculous demands if it wasn’t for the fact that you doubt you could form any words at all right now, dumbfounded as a dull heat throbs against your lower stomach. 

As if noticing, Rafayel’s mouth opens with a deep breath, cursing as he goes back to nipping and kissing your wrist. “Fuck,” he laughs, delirious, “I can smell how turned on you are. You– you’re temptation itself.”

Rafayel places another kiss to your palm before yanking your arm behind him, and you gasp when his head tilts, lips grazing the column of your throat, words slurred and raspy. His breath is scalding, every gentle brush of his lips against your skin sending your nerves on edge.

You feel dizzy. 

"Don't talk. Don't even move. Just stay- hah - stay with me."

His hands, both his free one and the one pinning your wrists, roam, caressing you as he presses wet kisses along your throat. It is all you can do to hold still, but when he sucks harshly against the pulse point at the base of your neck, a moan slips through your clenched teeth. You try to squirm out of his grip, but the action only grinds against Rafayel's crotch, and you tense up immediately at the very obvious bulge, hot, sticky fluid already soaking through his trousers. 

The artist nearly sobs at the mere friction, expression a mixture of pained and pleading as he begs up at you. "Stay. Please."

He doesn't mean just for the moment. He means always, for eternity, for every lifetime he’s cursed to live. He’s never letting you go again. 

And you can do nothing but nod. 

You want to help him, really, in every way, endlessly, but taking advantage of him while he’s so helpless and desperate feels wrong. Worry sets in, and you cup his jaw, Rafayel keening into your touch with a whine. “Does this have something to do with Lemuria?”

Rafayel swallows, his hands sliding to your waist and gripping tightly, as though he expects you to disappear at any moment. You can see the indecision on his face, the conflict as he fights the desire clouding his brain. He opens his mouth, and closes it again. He tries a second time and succeeds, the words sounding painful and forced even as your thumbs trace his face, caressing every edge and curve. 

"I never imagined this would happen. You’re not- I mean, it only ever happens to Lemurian mates.” He’s shaking beneath you, eyes going unfocused as your touch ventures lower, down his collarbones, squeezing at his chest, tracing his abs, and further still. “I knew you were special, my muse, but not special enough to drive me into heat.”

He’s joking, teasing you, but you can’t help the flush of arousal at that statement. Your brows furrow, the gears in your head turning. You try not to sound too excited, the thought of Rafayel in heat is enough to distract you from the urgency of the situation. Again, Rafayel notices, inhaling your scent as something trills deep within his chest. 

"If you need my help, then you have it. Any way you want.”

Your fingers slide against the hem of his trousers, and Rafayel's breath hitches. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips- you swear his nails are sharper than normal- and a sharp thrill shoots through you at the feeling. You can practically see his control slipping away, the last threads fraying, and he bites into your shoulder with a moan, fangs nipping through the fabric of your clothes.

Rafayel releases the bite and looks at you, expression wild. His pupils are dilated and his tongue licks the corner of his mouth, eyes darting back and forth between yours and the mark he's made.

"If you say things like that," he warns, the hand around your wrist tightening. You can't help the soft gasp that escapes, and Rafayel growls at the noise. He lurches forward and kisses you hard, all tongue and teeth. 

"I-I can't." Rafayel pants. The expression he wears is so unlike him that it's shocking, and you feel your core clench. He's completely unraveled, hair disheveled, clothes torn and askew. 

And, fuck, you swear some of his pheromones must have infected you too, because you can’t stop staring at him. He’s gorgeous- more than usual- a furious pink blush from the tips of his ears down to the mole on his chest you can’t stop kissing, the color a beautiful contrast to his dark locks, now wet with sweat and stuck to his forehead in thick curls. 

His eyes never leave yours, not even as they roll in pleasure, their sunset hues dimmed with an animalistic sort of hunger that makes you shiver with every forceful roll of his hips against yours. It’s punishing, brutal, and a violent contrast to the tears brimming in his eyes from the mere friction alone.

You want to ruin him. You plan on it.

"I won't be able to stop," Rafayel whines, and you can't stop your hips from rutting back against him, the sensation pulling a choked sob from his throat. You swallow the noise with a kiss, the motion so gentle compared to his desperate, frenzied fucking. It's all he can do not to break, his control already slipping through his fingers like sand. “I won’t want to, I’ll fuck you until you can think of nothing else, just me. Only me.”

The idea sends a sharp spike of heat through your core. His desperation and need for you is intoxicating, and you know his warning is sincere. He won’t let you go until you tell him to. You should be scared.

But all you can think of is his voice in your ear, begging and crying.

Your voice is hardly a whisper, "What do you need from me, Rafayel?"

"To breed you. To have my pretty human filled with my brood, to fuck you full."

You moan at the vulgarity of his words, and the sound goes straight to his cock. Rafayel groans as he fucks harder against your thigh, his own breath ragged as he tucks his forehead against your neck. 

But the mention of his brood has you nervous, and you gasp the question between moans at Rafayel’s insistent grinding. You don’t know much about Lermurian biology, but between the myths and Rafayel’s teasing, you have a vague idea that makes your head spin.

“How many, ah-” fucking hell, the word seems weird to think of, let alone say, “eggs do Lemurians usually have?”

Rafayel laughs at that, and you nearly sigh at the sound, the familiarity comforting. It isn't mocking, more surprised, and the sound is music to your ears, especially considering the delirious state he was in.

"Don't be silly, love," he teases, but his hips don't stop moving, undoubtedly soaking through his trousers and your pants. "We're not animals, we're civilized creatures."

His tone shifts, the light-hearted nature vanishing in an instant. The words are hissed against the shell of your ear, and a violent shiver runs through you. "I'll fill you to the brim, make sure you never forget who you belong to. Make sure every creature knows whose bitch you are. You're mine, and I'll mark you however I wish, however many times I must, until the message is clear."

A sharp pinch on the shell of your ear makes you gasp. He bit you. The pain is gone as fast as it came, replaced with a wet tongue and warm lips. A whimper slips out, and you feel his cock twitch at the sound.

"So, my lovely mate, since you’re so eager, how many eggs do you want?"

He’s mocking you. Brat. 

Blushing furiously, you shove him down, pushing yourself up to a kneeling position as Rafayel whines at the loss of contact, hips bucking into empty air. You can feel his cock throbbing against your leg, and his hand reaches out for you, fingers barely grazing your skin before you roughly push him back down.

You give him a firm look, and the sight of your stern gaze sends a fresh wave of arousal through his body, his cock jerking as Rafayel keens and throws his head back, unable to meet your eyes. He’s trembling, and the hand you pinned down flies to his face, covering his eyes as you scowl down at him.

“Alright, alright, ‘m sorry.” He laughs, trailing into a moan as you finally sit back against him. “It depends, our biology doesn’t favor us. We mate once, and despite going into these seasons our clutches only take once a decade or so. Per season is variable too, anywhere from five to a dozen.”

Up to a dozen. 

A dozen eggs.

In you.

Fuck.

You must have made a sound because Rafayel looks at you with a cheeky grin, and a mischievous glint in his eye. He can smell the want on you, the scent is driving him wild, and you know it. But the realization of your want sends another ripple of desire through him, and Rafayel grunts in pain, writing against the cushions. 

"Fuck, need you, need you so, so bad." He growls, grabbing your wrist and yanking you towards him. You lose balance, and your knees slide against the couch, falling over him with a gasp. "Need you. Need you now, please, need my mate, need you to be mine–"

Greedy. 

You scoff before his mouth is on yours again, licking up into you. He's insatiable, and as he presses closer you swear his teeth feel sharper, catching against your bottom lip.

“Poor baby,” you coo, palming Rafayel through his boxers as his eyes roll back at your touch. His mouth opens in a gasp, and you can see the hint of fangs, the razor edge of his canines. They glint in dusk’s low light, and you lean closer to get a better look. Rafayel can sense your interest, and his head lolls to the side, giving you a better view as he bares his throat, a dull blue shimmer now coating the sides, pulsing in time to his racing heart. 

It's a vulnerable position, one he would never allow anyone else to see him in. But you are not anyone, and he trusts you enough to offer himself up, trusts you to protect him as he succumbs to his desires, even if you’re the one that holds the knife. 

And you reward him for his loyalty. 

"Mmm, such a good boy, showing your mate what a pretty mess you are." Your voice is sweet and praising, and you feel Rafayel shudder violently, biting his lip deep enough to draw blood to stop the high-pitched moan that rips from his chest. Then he stills. “Did you just…” 

“Don’t tease,” he bucks into your palm, impossibly hard still in a way that is utterly nonhuman. “Just once more, make me come once more, and I’ll fuck you properly. Promise.”

You hardly need to be told twice. 

Slipping off the side of the couch, you coax Rafayel to turn with you, settling between his legs as you work at his belt. “Then let me taste you.”

His thigh jumps at that, and Rafayel throws his head back against the wall with a dull thud, his hand already lacing into your hair. 

For all that talk his cock was still surprisingly human-like. It doesn’t look too different from before, still annoyingly well-endowed and leaking violently against the angry purple-red tip. But this time there’s a faint pale blue discoloration around the base, with a shine you can’t tell is a result of his Lemurian lineage or due to the copious amounts of precum he’s dripping down to his thighs. 

Gods, he’s messy.

There’s nothing sweet in the way you fuck him within your mouth, tongue trailing a prominent vein against the underside of his dick until you reach the tip once again. Rafayel goads you forward by pushing and pulling your head with his hand and his almost obnoxiously loud moans and mumbles of praise.

Both of your hands join, one stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth and the other massaging against his balls, each one heavy and tense, waiting to spill into something other than your mouth. The slick slap of skin on skin spurs you on, and Rafayel’s hand rips through the fabric on the couch with sharp nails you now feel digging into the back of your neck. 

“I’m almost–” He warns, and you nearly choke in surprise at the feeling of something swell against the base of his cock, a firm, round intrusion that has Rafayel sobbing. Then, he comes, overflowing down your throat as you force yourself off, thick ropes of cum covering your face and shooting over his bare abdomen and chest, and then more. And more. 

All of that, and he’s still hard. 

Despite the strands of cum dripping between your hands, chin, and his cock, Rafayel still feels no relief. The bulge against the base of his cock inflates more, and he trills, a deep sound akin to whalesong deep in his chest. 

“It’s no use, I need…” A breathy moan, and Rafayel yanks you both to your feet. “Ocean. Now.”

His words devolve into incoherent rambling, and you nod, dragged alongside him as he clings to you like a child, his weight nearly toppling you both over as his knees buckle. You catch him, but his strength is inhuman, and even with the help of your Evol he could crush you.

You are his.

You will finally be his.

Rafayel’s grip around you tightens, and a possessive growl rumbles against his throat. He needs to feel you against him, inside him, his instincts screaming to mark you in every way conceivable. 

The studio's back doors lead directly to the beach, and the summer night breeze hits Rafayel with a delicious chill against his burning skin. The air tastes of salt and brine, the scent familiar and comforting— the smell of home.

The ocean is as gorgeous as it is terrifying in the midst of night. The roar of the waves and the silver reflection of the full moon are the only things illuminating the vast darkness before you. Yet Rafayel shows no such fear as he tugs you further along the beach, kissing and nipping and groping at you endlessly as he strips you of your clothes, his own following suit. 

"You'll regret leaving me after this," Rafayel whispers, pressing his lips to the pulse of your neck. 

"Silly fishie," you murmur, pulling him closer. “Why would I ever leave you?"

He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. You figured he was simply being overdramatic yet again, but Rafayel refuses to meet your eyes, smiling in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty. “Of course, silly me. Why would anyone ever leave me?” He huffs, running a hand through his hair, preening. ”I’m perfect.”

You scoff, shoving him gently as you roll your eyes. Of course he would be cocky right before getting his brains fucked out.

"Well, you are quite pretty for a fish."

Rafayel laughs, deep and rumbling in his chest, a contagious sound that has you laughing too, until the cold spray of the ocean hits you with a light mist. The crest of another wave surges against you, curling around your ankles and knees as the tide ebbs and flows. Rafayel spares you one last teasing grin before running further into the ocean, disappearing beneath the waves without so much as a splash. 

You can’t help but feel nervous as you watch and listen for a break in the sea, knowing when your lover emerges, he will be a wholly different being than the one you’ve memorized every curve and edge of. 

But you want him to know you’ll accept him regardless. No matter how scaled or fish-like or ugly he may become. 

As if testing you, your mind conjures up a horrid fish-monster complete with swampy hair and a shark’s face before you chase the thought away, shaking your head violently. There’s no way a man as gorgeous as Rafayel could turn into a creature so hideous… Right?

Regardless, you’d help him. Regardless, you’d stay with him, love him. 

This you vowed.

And the ocean listens, seafoam curling around your ankles before it retreats, carrying with it your promise into its depths. Keeping it. 

A splash breaks the surface of the waves and you squint into the darkness. Sure enough, you see the outline of a man, cutting through the waves with a dull glow, as if parting the waters themselves. 

“Surely you don’t plan on making me wait any longer.” Rafayel complains, “Join me, my muse. My heart.” 

His voice coaxes you forward, and like a sailor drawn by a siren’s call, you walk further into the ocean. Each soft wave crashes higher against your legs until the salty spray hits the bare skin of your stomach, and you flinch from the chill against every sensitive part of your body. 

Finally, he’s close enough for you to see everything in the evening glow, and your breath leaves you entirely. 

He’s still your Rafayel, the mischievous glow against his duochromatic eyes reminds you of that much, but there’s a vibrant blue glow to them, a clearer blue than the ocean itself, one that freckles down his neck and body with bioluminescent markings. There’s also that familiar pointed smile he still wears, only, at the upper corner you catch the glint of fangs. Even longer than before. A splash, and your attention snaps behind him, where an enormous tail flicks impatiently out of the waves, a pale blue rippling into the color of the ocean’s depths, complete with purples and blues so dark it could be night itself. 

Dragging a hand across his cheek, you press your forehead against his own. “You’re gorgeous.” 

Rafayel’s ears heat up, and he can hardly stop himself from succumbing to his instinct begging him to take you, to lure you into the stormy depths and to fuck you until you lay writhing, full of his brood on the seafloor. 

Instead, he lets you explore him, his new body, and what remained of the man you knew. Drunk on his siren’s call, you are pulled closer to him, waves lapping at your chest now as you trace the swirls of purple, vermillion, and gold markings dancing down his chest, scales of the same hues following down until the warmth of Rafayel’s skin turns to the cold, smooth feel of scales and he gasps against your touch. 

One moment you’re standing against the waves and the next you’re dragged back to shore, pinned against the sand.

“I’m sorry, I promise you’ll have more time to ogle and worship my body another day.” You scoff, about to throw a snarky reply when Rafayel presses his tail between your legs, yards of it still tailing behind the two of you as you’re effectively pinned. “But right now, I need to breed my pretty little mate full.”

You whine, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and leaning up to kiss him before he can babble any more nonsense. His lips taste like seafoam and smoke, and you gasp into his mouth as you feel his tail begin to roll into your hips, the motion smooth from the foreign texture of his scales and your own dripping slick. 

“Ah, you’re going to have to…” Almost embarrassed, Rafayel’s hand leaves yours, trailing down his own body as he prods against the underside of his tail. Curious, your fingers follow his own, finding a spot where the rough scales turn soft and smooth, a seam that feels like muscle, and within it, an equally wet slit. “There.”

You’re too desperate to even tease him, working your fingers in gentle circles until you ease one in, stroking the smooth velvet of his walls until both of your fingers can slip in. Then, something bumps against your fingers, prodding as you help coax it out. 

Rafayel groans, his enormous body convulsing as he presses against you. “Hurry up.” He grinds harder, nearly pulling you deeper into his slit. “Hurry up, hurry up, you’re taking too long.”

Rafayel has always been a demanding lover. But not like this. Not like he might actually die if he isn’t inside of you right at this very moment.

You huff, amused. Why not make him suffer just a little more? 

“What do we say when we want something, Rafayel?”

“Fuck. You are impossibly cruel, can’t you see I’m already suffering and yet still you make an effort to be so–” You curl your fingers up, knuckles roughly knocking against his still-sheathed cock. You very well almost come undone at the face he makes, twisted in pleasure as his eyes roll back, jaw slack with a high-pitched whine as he arches into your punishing touch. “Please! Please, ah, I’ll beg. I’ll beg, I’ll- fuck - I’ll fill you so well, I swear, just let me breed you.”

How could you say no to something so sweet?

Finally pulling his cock free, your breath catches at the sheer weight of it, heavy against your stomach and at least two inches longer and rough to the touch, ridges slick with how badly he’s leaking as you feel up and down his tapered length. But, unlike back at his studio, this liquid is clear and leaves pinpricks against your palm, almost going numb as he spills and drips onto your skin. 

Rafayel gasps, “Antispastic. It’s muscle relaxant to keep our mates comfortable and pliant for us.” 

Comfortable and pliant. You suddenly feel the very opposite, especially when you remember the end goal of this mating session. 

“Shh,” Rafayel coos against your ear as though hearing your fears, his fingers already working against your entrance as he whispers sweet nothings and praise into your ears. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t hurt any more than you want it to.”

And with that his fingers retreat, grinding his enormous form closer as you feel the nudge of his cock against your core, pushing in with the help of the gentle rocking from the waves, tapered tip making the stretch easier. 

You wince and Rafayel immediately kisses you, distracting you with his tongue before he hilts himself in one brutal movement, pinning you down as you thrash in protest. The pain only blinds you for a second, and then the relaxant does its work, filling you with a warm, tingling feeling that almost has you floating. You let out a garbled plea and Rafayel coos in response, lacing his fingers with yours. 

Despite already being fucked deep within you, Rafayel’s hips rut insistently against yours, pushing and pushing until you can feel the round bulge at the base of his cock grind against your clit, making you cry into his lips. 

Every ridge on the side of his cock catches deliciously against your walls, and you arch off the beach, your legs twitching against Rafayel’s tail until he lifts one up, nipping against your ankle and calf before hooking it over his shoulder, still suckling at the delicate skin around your inner thigh.

The intimacy of it all scares you. 

For the past month Rafayel has been insatiable, as if once he finally got you in his bed he never wanted you to leave again, always finding a way to lure you on top of him or trap you underneath, the perfect picture of lust. Regardless, it would always end with fast, frenzied fucking. But not like this. 

Not with him slowly rocking into you, pulling back until just his tip remained before grinding all the way in as he whispered songs in a language you could not understand. Not with him intertwining his fingers with yours and watching your every reaction with utmost receptiveness and adoration. Not with him kissing away your tears as you come undone. 

But for Rafayel, this was long overdue.

After all, he’s chased you throughout every lifetime, forsaking his people, giving up his heart, and vowing himself to you time and time again despite knowing how it ends— how it always will.

Your face goes slack at your sudden orgasm, but Rafayel helps you through it, one hand unlacing from yours as he thumbs your clit until your shudders subside. He whispers, not caring that you’re still too fucked-out to hear. “I’m not a patient man, you know. I’ve been waiting for centuries. And now you’re here, you’re here and you’re all mine.” Another kiss to your forehead before he feels that uncontrollable heat rise again, letting it take over. “I’m never letting you go again.”

When you come to the first thing you feel again is the rhythmic pounding against your sweet spot, and you writhe against the sand with a violent gasp. Desperate for some sort of relief, your hands push at Rafayel’s chest, futilely trying to force him back or at least get him to slow down until another particularly rough thrust has you sobbing, clawing at his arms and shoulders.

But Rafayel hardly seems to notice. He’s lost himself entirely, eyes glazed over as they fixate on where his cock bullies into you, muscles across his back and tail pushing him forward with a force that makes you scream. Fueled by your mindless whimpers, he forces his cock in deeper, chasing his release so he can finally, finally fuck you full. 

Rafayel also doesn’t last long, his third orgasm hitting him violently enough that he nearly collapses on top of you, purring against your throat with a trill that comes from deep within his chest. His fangs dig into the juncture between your shoulder and neck as he continues to come, rope after rope coating your cervix, filling you with a warmth alongside the muscle relaxant. You nearly come too, almost uncomfortably wet, slick enough that even the monstrous ridges alongside Rafayel’s cock slip deeper and deeper inside you with terrifying ease. 

Again, he moans something in another language, a series of clicks and purrs rumbling from his chest, eyes dark and unfocused as he forces you to look up at him. “You’ve been so, so good for me. Pretty little mate needs to be fucked full though, ya? Need to be filled with my brood?” You don’t even realize you’ve come at his words, something else squirming against your clit below his swollen base. Rafayel licks your tears away, tongue nonhuman as its length curls around your cheek, moaning at the taste of your sweat, arousal, and seasalt. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ll defy your silly human biology, make you a mommy.”

Fighting to prop yourself up against the sand, you reach down, hand trembling as it thumbs against Rafayel’s slit once more. But this time, something else has begun to emerge.

Rafayel sobs against your neck, keeping what you now realize is his first cock buried greedily inside you, unwilling to pull out by any more than an inch. Drunk off of him, you messily press two fingers into his slit, hiking your legs further up his shoulders to give you better access to where the two of you are joined against the splash of the waves. 

Dipping your fingers in, you inhale sharply at the squirm of something rough, thumbing the coil out as it writhes and curls into the warmth of your palm. his second cock is not, well, it’s a tentacle for lack of a closer human anatomical reference. All ridges and scales as you coax it to a similarly monstrous length as the first, but thicker, writhing as though possessing a mind of its own.

And right below it, you feel the obvious bulge against Rafayel’s tail where his eggs are. 

You’re suddenly very, very grateful for the Lemurians’ natural muscle relaxant. 

Despite the slick practically leaking from you, you still tense as the tip of the tentacle dick begins to flick and tease at your already full entrance, not giving you a moment to breathe before it begins pushing in alongside the first. It pokes and prods enough to have you whimpering before Rafayel holds your thighs still and thrusts, forcing both his cocks in to the hilt.

It feels impossible. It shouldn't be possible.

But the way he fits is perfect, a tight, burning stretch, the ridges along his first cock and the suctions on the second bruising you in ways that make you scream, vision going dark around the edges as Rafayel moans into your ears. Your cunt feels abused to the point of numbness, the pain dissolving as your mouth hangs open, jaw slack as nonsensical babbles and pleas fall from your lips. 

And, fuck, Rafayel doesn’t even bother waiting to let you regain your sanity before his two cocks start pistoning in and out of you, the bottom one curling and stroking against the first, effortlessly brutal along the slick walls of your cunt. His fangs ghost along the shell of your ear as he splays his huge, slightly webbed hand across your lower belly. 

"How deep am I?" He rolls his hips again, rougher. You cry as Rafayel’s weight forces you to tuck further under him, nearly folding you in half as your legs press against his tail. "Can I go deeper? Can I? Please, please, please—" 

You gasp, mewling and writhing as you feel the bottom cock begin to squirm again. Bullying its way into your cervix, it thrashes violently against that spongy spot inside you that has your vision spinning. Rafayel is fairing no better, losing the capacity for human speech altogether, moaning as his cock finally breaches the tight ring of muscle, fucking into your womb.

Even through the haze, legs numb and twitching, your body still convulses in protest as you feel the bulge pressing against your clit begin to move. Rafayel shudders right as it does, clawed hands digging into the back of your thighs as he forces you impossibly closer. The bottom cock twitches, coaxing your womb open, and you moan as you feel the bulge creep forward.

This should hurt, it should horrify you, and yet it only breaks you in ways that will ruin you for any future lovers. Not that you ever plan on leaving him. Not after this. 

Rafayel thrusts one last time, waves raging around you as he does so, and you nearly sob as you feel the bulge shift up his length, dragging slowly against your walls until it presses against your cervix. Even then you only cry in pleasure, nails digging bloody crescents into Rafayel’s shoulder as he does the same against your thighs, the antispastic doing its work in keeping you deliriously wet and pliant. You roll your hips desperately against your lover, and the sudden shift in position forces the first egg beyond the tight barrier, falling into your womb.

Gods. It feels heavy, it feels wrong, it feels so fucking good you come again with a silent scream.

Rafayel swallows every noise with a messy kiss, his serpentine tongue curling around your own and sucking, nearly fucking itself into your mouth as you get lightheaded from both the lack of air and the press of his second egg already at your entrance. You sob into Rafayel’s lips, greedily moving your hips against his own, forcing him in further before he obliges, shoving your thighs further apart until your knees touch the sand too. Then you feel the weight of the second egg bump against the first, overwhelmed as the next has already begun stretching you full again. 

The two of you are reduced to little more than animals, helpless fucking and licking and moaning against one another as the eggs come one after another, again and again and again until your womb feels bloated and abused, the feeling euphoric thanks to the copious amount of relaxant and cum already flooding you. Rafayel’s bottom cock convulses after depositing the seventh egg, its tip finally wriggling out from your cervix’s vise grip against it, sucking and soothing your abused walls as you come once again, sobbing and numb to the pleasure-pain.

“Perfect,” Rafayel coos against your lips, rutting insistently inside you as his fingers lace with yours, forcing you to feel the taunt skin over your womb, the bulge obvious and hyper-sensitive. “You did so well, my perfect little mate, you deserve a reward don’t you?” 

Unable to form words, you nod, your entire body trembling as Rafayel laughs, thrusting his hips again, each one sharp and punishing against your overly-sensitive cunt, pelvis smacking your clit as your vision spins. He trills, a shudder overtaking his enormous body as his scales glow, pale blues and deep purples flicking violently down his skin and tail as the waves crash around him, continuing until he comes inside of you. It’s endless, the warmth coating every aching surface of your cunt up until your poor stretched womb, hot and thick as you feel Rafayel futilely attempt to keep it all in you with his dicks and then fingers. 

What does end up squirting back down your thighs and onto his abdomen is lapped up by the ocean, and the waves offer a cool relief as Rafayel finally pulls out and collapses onto the sand beside you. You feel simultaneously horribly empty and heavy, something Rafayel takes note of as he pulls you against him, humming into your neck and wrapping his arms around yours, careful not to place any pressure against your sensitive middle. 

He groans against your ear, and you turn in panic, only to see him back to his human form, the only evidence left of his tail the deep valleys against the sand where it once rested. You immediately regret moving, however, as the weight against your womb lurches you off balance and you moan before stilling yourself on your side. Holy fuck, how long will this last? 

“R-” your voice is raspy and you wince, “Rafayel?” 

He hums in answer, already kneeling beside you before lifting you easily in his arms, carrying you bridal style as he litters butterfly kisses over your forehead and nose. “What you said about the, um, fertilizing thing. These won’t actually hatch, will they?”

Again, Rafayel laughs, pressing his nose against the top of your head as he inhales. Another giggle. “Maybe.” You hit him. Hard. “Ouch, meanie. No, even with all of that there’s hardly a chance Lemurian clutches take. Not to mention you’re a human, so therefore not our necessary host.” 

You choose to let his provocative word choice go over your head and sigh in relief. Thumbing gently against the bulge of your lower stomach, you lean further into Rafayel’s chest, nearly lulled to sleep by the sound of his heart thumping in time to the crash of the waves. 

“But,” Rafayel sings the word with a playful lit. “If any of them do happen to fertilize, we can just fish them out before they hatch.”

“We can what.”

Rafayel thrusts into you like he's possessed, like there's no time left and he has to savor the remaining moments with you, like this.

“Rafayel, Rafayel,” you cry, as he trails his kisses from the corners of your lips, to your jaw, your cheek, your temple, and, finally, your earlobe, where he sucks and nibbles at the flesh, wet and hot and frantic.

He hasn't expected for this to happen, this ocean tempest raging and crashing and breaking the bones that encase his tempered heart. It should have just been an ordinary night, another one of your Fishtail Beacon summons, another evening of companionship that would end up with you sound asleep and he by your side, gazing down at you, silent, swallowed want and swallowed words, burning his throat.

But then you raised your head and the shadows in your expression revealed a certain kind of longing, parts sorrow and parts plea, and Rafayel found himself tearing off his mask and laying you down on the bed and stealing your breath with a desperate kiss.

“Rafayel,” you sigh, cradling his head with both your hands, heartbreaking in its gentleness, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I love you,” you whisper, and—

—and Rafayel—

—and Rafayel lets out a stuttered exhale, shuts his eyes, comes in the wake of your earnest confession, your name repeatedly escaping from his gasping lips.

How can you be this brave? How can you be this foolish? He has rebuffed you so many times, has firmly drawn the line in the sand, has stopped himself from crossing the threshold out of fear of whatever would welcome him on the other side—be it pain or joy or love, Rafayel doesn't want to know, not when he needs to remember, when he has to sear the memory of Lemuria into the core of himself, make it as unforgettable as his soul.

“Why—” he begins. Stops. Takes a shaky breath. Tries again. “Your Highness, I ...”

I love you, but I cannot tell you. The words do not come. They're eternally at the edge of my tongue, tipping but never falling. There are other things that I must do, that I must fulfill, and they are for myself. To tell that I love you would be to turn my back on the oath I made for myself, because in the days that we've spent together, you have become my heart, and all I wish for my heart is peace. It is you. It has always been you.

“It's okay,” you say, smiling tremulously underneath his wavering gaze. “It's all right, I understand.”

How are you this good, how are you this kind? Rafayel buries his face on the crook of your neck and trembles, and your hands migrate to nestle at his back; warm, soothing weight easing his pain.