Rafayel's Lil Writer

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First kisses with Rafayel

Premise: You've been dating Rafayel for weeks, maybe months, at this point, but you have yet to have your first kiss with him. You're worried your inexperience with kissing might put him off, so you've been putting it off, but you're getting desperate for it.

Big Boobs with Rafayel

Premise: Reader is frustrated with the largeness of their chest, frustrated how nothing fits and the poor advice everyone gives. Rafayel is understanding and says what you've been wanting to hear all your life.

(I'll be honest, this one is more self indulgent/personal ^^)

Comforting Rafayel

Premise: Rafayel's insecurity is acting up and having nightmares of you violently rejecting/pushing him away. How he finds the strength to tell you and how you comfort him.

Wanna drop ideas? Go to my page and drop something in my Idea Fic Drop Box. You can give anonymous requests as well! I'm very open and want to write more! But I'm very sharply focused on Rafayel, so please keep the requests to him.

Notice: Completing a work I'm happy with takes me a LONG time. I haven't written in a long time and I always look over my work multiple times. Thank you to everyone who's given me ideas!

Your wetness grows, thinning the fabric of your underwear and slotting him just a minuscule bit closer, but that’s just enough to help you finish, wrapping your arms around his head, keeping his face pressed to your chest and locking your legs around him to press his cock closer and better fitted against you as you cum. “Silas!” He’s wide eyed and looking up at you the best he can pressed against you, and stops his suckling as he feels your wetness soak into his own underwear. When you relax and give him room, he sits upright, hands at the back of your thighs, keeping your legs open, and his right hand slides down to rub his middle and index finger against your slit, feeling and watching you throb and clench against the fabric. “Can I?” He asks, head tilted down, paying full attention at your messy, throbbing cunt, pressing his fingers down against your entrance before pulling the panties aside. Thumbs work to spread you further open, and his eyes seemingly gloss over and his dick twitches,“Can I taste?” A quick glance is all it takes to see your nod, and your pulled to the edge of the bed with a terrifying quickness and strength. He’s kneeling by the bed, and you barely lift your upper body to see him before he starts giving open mouthed kisses to your poor achy cunt. The tip of his nose sits pretty at the crest, and his tongue is wildly lapping flat against whatever he can. Legs twitch, and you pet his head, almost cooing at his eager inexperience, “wait, wait Silas.” Humming, he makes eye contact, and the intensity makes your heart jump; he doesn’t stop his insistent lapping. “S-slow down, it’ll feel better and last longer.” He makes a small whine but listens, slowing down, against his wishes. Admittedly, the way you pet his head and run your fingers through his hair helped. You give him guidance over what felt best to you, telling him to work his way up, to keep his tongue flat or more pointed. Silas was obedient, but he couldn’t ignore the strain in his underwear forever, and palming at it was getting more pathetic, yet he was so close to what he truly wanted to do.

He moved his lips up to suckle and swirl his tongue around your clit while his fingers glided against your entrance, picking up slick before pressing in. You clenched at the intrusion, but gave no real resistance, physically or verbally, so he continued to work you open. When your legs started shaking and you kept repeating his name, he took the signs that you were cumming and excitedly picked up his pace, working you towards your climax. His fingers curled upward, and rubbed gently while he wrapped his free arm around your leg, keeping you in place and sucking at your clit as you came. Sultry slurping sounds echoed with whimpers and moans of his name, your hips bucking against his face, and hands gripping his head to keep his mouth and nose close and draw out the experience.

After a few moments, he gives one last drooling kiss to your cunt, making you twitch and squirm, trying to push his face away. He stands up, albeit awkwardly with some knee pain, and pushes his clothed bulge against your raw pussy. Pulling down the waistband to release his cock from its confines, he guides it down to slot against your pussy, rocking his hips back and forward. Getting overstimulated, you whine, “Silas…” Shushing, he leans forward to kiss your forehead and whispers, “You had your fun, and you wanted sex right?” He dips the head of his cock just the slightest bit towards your entrance; you nod, clenching as a poor attempt to pull him in. Humming, he smiles at you “That’s a good girl. You want me inside, don’t you?” Teasing, he keeps rocking his hips, never going deeper than the tip, and spreading his precum to mix with your juices. You nod furiously, but he clicks his tongue, “You gotta tell me or I’m not doing more than this. You want me. Don’t you?” His other hand almost painfully gripping at your inner thigh, and before it hurts any worse, you gasp and nod, “Yes, yes please Silas. Put it in. I want it in.” Feeling and watching you lift your hips to throb and clench pathetically against his cock, he eases your pleas and pushes inside, provoking an unguarded moan from the both of you. He bites his lower lip and resists the urge to thrust till he’s down to the hilt; he can tell just by how stretched open you are around a few inches of his cock, that he’s more massive than he realized. “Fuck, you’re so wet and hot.” He whimpers, slowly easing his way in, kissing your neck and licking over your ear. Sensitive and ticklish, your legs shake and sporadically clench around him, egging him to go deeper. “In… Is it all in?” You mewl, biting down on his shoulder and kissing his neck, hands rubbing at his back, trying to anchor yourself and sooth him all the same. He shakes his head, “No, but you’re taking me so good. Such a good girl, being so patient.” Humming, he reciprocates your neck kisses, and moans softly with every inch that pushes deeper.

By the time he pushes it to the hilt, you feel so incredibly full with his hot and heavy cock inside, and his breathing is labored, tongue sticking out to lick up the sweat on your neck. Thrusting slowly, it feels like he’s dragging you inside out just to push in and make you feel whole again. “I’m gonna move faster alright?” A hand pets your head, and then moves to cup your cheek, “I let you cum twice, so it’s only fair I get my turn.” He whispers, biting at the crook of your neck as he picks up his pace, “Mine.” To keep you in place, he grabs your hips, fingertips bruising. “I love you and you love me right?” Forehead pressed against yours, he feels your hurried nodding, “Y-yes I love you Silas.” You swear under your breath and put your fingers through his hair, dragging him to an open mouthed kiss. Tongues swirling for brief seconds before you start sucking on his tongue, and you’re drowned in his taste. Warm huffs from his nose tickle against your cheek as you both struggle to breathe through the kiss. When you try to pull away, his mouth reaches for more of your breath and his hand keeps your jaw steady; you’re grabbing at his shoulders and scratching at his chest as your own starts to burn.

When he finally pulls away, it’s like resurfacing, and you gasp for air, whining and coughing out his name and eyes prickled with tears. Before you can ask why, he rasps, “You breathe for me.” His eyes are wide and daunting, sparked with dark desire, “This body is mine, Sunshine.” He lifts your thighs to settle more comfortably around his waist, his nails dragged against your skin, just enough to leave marks but not draw any blood. “You gave it to me ever since our first kiss.” A chaste kiss to your cheek and he licks at your eyes, attempting to eat away at your under developed tears. Small and vulnerable against him, it almost feels like he’s trying to eat you, and maybe he’s even succeeding. Approaching how climax, his thrusts gained pace and strength. Loud squelches, heavy breathing and occasional slurps were are all you could hear, and your poor overstimulated clit seemed to always drag along his cock and kiss his pubes as he pumped into you. Silas’ moaning only got higher as he got closer, “I’m gonna cum. Inside. Cum inside.” You rocked your hips in motion with his, trying your best to meet him and get him as deep as you could. Legs locked around his waist, and he pulled you up, hands gripping tight at the fat of your ass, and his head buried in your neck, biting as hard as he could.

Cumming around his cock, you cried as Silas groaned, throbbing as he pumped you full of cum, his tip kissing and twitching against your cervix. Releasing his teeth, he licked at the bruised bite mark he left before kissing over your face. As he does, he rolls his hips, hoping to get every drop of cum into you. “My little lamb did so well for me. Taking me so good.” His hands massaged your sides and gently held your face, kissing your forehead. “My pretty fucked out prey.” His smile was crooked, but it was an endearing resemblance to the kind country boy he usually is towards you. Barely able to nod, you hum to acknowledge his praise. He licks at the drool around your mouth, “Open your mouth.”

He spits in your mouth, and your eyes widen the slightest bit. “You take whatever I give you and don’t spill anything.” At your nod, he sits back to admire your pussy still tightly clenched around him. He pulls out his cock halfway before slowly pushing it back in again, admiring how his cum spreads and how drenched he is in your fluids. He goes on for minutes, before finally pulling out; the action makes you whimper, feeling stretched and empty but not for long. He lays down beside you, spooning you and slipping his cock back inside. “We have to keep it all in. Remember, don’t spill anything.” One hand goes down to caress your lower abdomen, carefully pushing down before his arm wrapped tightly around you. “We belong to each other.” He whispered, pulling you as close as he could at the slight expense of your ability to take deep breaths. In such an embrace, you danced along a line between feeling safe and trapped. But his heartbeat thumped so soothingly behind you, and his breathing was calm, so you let yourself be taken and even trapped if it meant you got to savor this moment with him. It was warm being with him. You wanted it to last forever, and luckily for you, he did too. Maybe even more than you.

When you guys get to the location, it’s a bustling street. Trucks full of various global snacks and meals. Your eyes go wide in awe, and his are too, but his attention is on you, not the trucks. He watches you closely when your eyes linger a second longer on a singular truck more than the others. “Want to go to this one?” He gently pulls on your hand that he’s been holding and stops by the line in front of the truck. “Yes! I was actually most excited for this one.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”

You turn your body to face him, “How?”

“It’s not hard when your eyes start sparkling like that. You don’t even look at me like that.” He pouts, “How come you don’t look at me like that?” You roll out a laugh that Rafayel feigned offense to. His free hand on his hip, brows furrowed in fake annoyance. “What’s so funny?” 

You hug his arm, chest pressing against him. “Well, you aren’t food Rafayel. Of course I wouldn’t eat you, so I don’t look at you like that.” Suddenly, you feel shame grab the forefront of your mind and quickly pull away. You almost forgot just how imperfectly a woman you are. What was the point of hugging his arm? You can’t be cute or sexy hugging his arm. You’re just an embarrassment. There’s nothing there to feel. Not much anyways. And half of it is just push up padding. 

Meanwhile, Rafayel feels warm. The nerves of the arm you hugged feel prickled. Like a thousand kisses were placed, and he doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He already felt proud of himself for making you laugh, but you hugging his arm was just an unexpected score. You don’t notice it, being so preoccupied as you are with your own shame, but the tips of his ears are blushing. 

A few minutes pass before you guys make it to the front and order. Most of the day is spent like this: eating, walking, buying more food, repeat. It’s a good time, but the bra is starting to cut into your shoulders, and you’re growing more self conscious of it. You try to alleviate some of the irritation by readjusting your bra straps every once in a while. However, not much can be done about how it’s chafing your skin. 

Suddenly, as you guys are walking around, desserts in hand, you hear children playing, and it's getting louder. They’re running, slithering between the taller adults, and unfortunately bumping others along the way. And with greater misfortune, they bump into the person walking the opposite direction to you and Rafayel.The person trips over themselves, spilling the colorful mess of drinks they had in hand. The mix of blues, greens and reds blended to dirty green greys– mostly on you and your new shirt.

You’re frozen, cold, and everyone is staring, whispering hot. 

A heavy heat stemming from the center of your chest is bubbling, but before you could boil over, Rafayel has already taken off his cardigan sweater, putting it around you like a weak shield against the stabbing stares of the public. You can vaguely hear the person profusely apologizing, Rafayel taking it on your behalf. He feels that you’ve reached your limit with the way you’re quivering ever so slightly under his hand that’s rested upon your upper back.

Your head is completely down as Rafayel leads you to the car. You already woke up insecure, even while getting ready for this date, then you were dumb enough to hug his arm, next your bra is cutting into you, and lastly, the nice shirt you just bought gets ruined with a terrible tacky mess. Rafayel opens the car door for you, letting you inside. He gently puts the keys on your lap, kissing your forehead. “I’ll be right back. I’ll see if I can buy a towel nearby or get a bunch of free napkins.” 

While he’s gone, you take the silence in the car to breakdown. It’s almost cinematic. The way you look at him walking away. The sun is well into the afternoon, but not quite sunset. The crowd is still lively, and he gets swallowed into the ocean of people. Your higher mind knows he’s not actually leaving you, but you’re beyond frustrated with how the day has gone, and reason is boiling away. 

You’re looking at your chest, tugging the straps down to the side for relief. You keep rethinking how you dared to hug his arm. Could he feel your pathetic excuse of a woman’s chest against him? Was it disappointing? You’re sniffling and trying to not cry too much over it, hands profusely wiping at your cheeks and eyes, but it’s futile. You wish so desperately you just had a bit more. Just a bit more. Anything more. Just to feel whole. To feel complete.

Rafayel eventually makes it back, gently tapping at the window to catch your attention. You unlock the doors, head kept straight down to stare at your lap and the keys in your hand. He sits in the driver’s seat and turns to you, “Hey Princess. I got a small towel and a couple napkins.” 

He grabs the keys, setting them aside in some cup holder and almost goes to pat your chest with the towel but halts, “Is it okay? If it’s uncomfortable, you can do it yourself.” 

“Sure whatever.” You’re curt with him. You don’t mean to be, but you’re just so over it all, and you want to go back home and cry more. Rafayel nods, “okay…” He’s giving hard presses of the towel against your chest. After a few, “Actually, could you maybe do it?” Rafayel puts the towel in your hands and starts the car. “It’s better if we just hurry to your house so you can change into something.” You nod, tears swelling. Did your small boobs weird him out? You try to focus and regulate your breathing instead of pondering too much on such a painful question. 

As you focus on breathing, you move your hands to stuff your shirt with napkins and dab more liquid out of your shirt with the towel. To further distract yourself from the question, you looked outside in a further attempt to alleviate some shame and guilt.

Rafayel’s fingers tapped along the steering wheel. Eyes focused on the road ahead, mind trying to reverse engineer how to get back to Linkon City. Once he gets to a familiar point, he’s able to relax his mind and think over how the date went. If he was honest, the ending was disappointing, but it was fun while it lasted. You were so happy, hugging his arm for a second, but you were also fidgeting a lot. At least that’s what he thinks was happening. He noticed after about half an hour how you would constantly tug and move around your bra straps. He glances at you, seeing your head turned away. He almost wants to chuckle at how silly your shirt looks, all stuffed unevenly with napkins and the towel he gave you, but he knows this is definitely not the time to pop a joke. It was heartbreaking to see you cry so much, and he knows you’re probably embarrassed with the mess that happened at the block, so he offers some comfort by putting his hand on your lap, palm up. When you either don’t take notice or reciprocate, he turns his hand palm down and rests it on your thigh. Even when you ignore him, he’s still doting on you. 

When you guys get to your home, he walks you to your front door, and just as you’re about to close the door on him, you notice how his slacks and button up shirt were stained. You lift your arms to see stains on the cardigan he gave you. “Oh! I’m so sorry Rafayel! I didn’t even notice you were in the splash zone too!” Rafayel looks down at his outfit, “It’s okay. You had the worst of it.” Great, now you feel like a bad girlfriend too. You open the door wide and tell him to come inside so you can hand him a towel. 

After handing him a towel, you go to your room to throw out the napkins, put away the dirty hand towel, and finally take off your shirt and that biting bra. You change into your most comfortable home outfit. When you walk out, you see Rafayel still lightly dabbing himself. “I think that’s enough.” He mumbles, walking toward you and extending his hand to return the borrowed towel. As you take the towel back, he takes notice of the light chafing and slight indentation on one of your shoulders. “Hey cutie…” You look up at him, hands folding the towel. “Yes?”

“When did you get hurt?” He motions to his shoulders; you tap both your own to copy him. When you realize what he means, your lips purse. “Oh that just happens sometimes.” Rafayel tilts his head to the side, “Sometimes? Do you know when?” He slowly hovers his hand over your shoulder, scared to touch in case it makes it worse. “Yeah…” You sigh and gently push his hand away, putting your own over the indentation. Rafayel drops his hand but waits expectantly for a deeper explanation. 

You sigh another time and look down, “It’s because I wore a bra that’s too small, so it was tight, and it started digging into my skin.” You massage the skin under your hand. “It happens. Don’t worry. Besides, I think you should get home and change too, right?” Rafayel almost looks offended that you’re trying to push him out figuratively and literally– he won’t let you. 

“Yeah, I will Princess, but why are you wearing ill-fitting bras?” He pats your head, leaning down to meet your eye level. “Shouldn’t you wear proper fitting ones, so it doesn’t hurt?” You nod, staring at the towel. “Yes but…”

“But?”

You let out a frustrated groan and smack his hand away, crossing your arms over your chest, towel put on a nearby surface. “But what else am I supposed to do? I wear them that way so there’s something there. So I can at least pretend to look like a grown woman. Right now, without one, I look like a small boy. I know that, so just go home already.” You’re turned away from him, sniffling. You didn’t mean to throw your frustrations at him, but again, after everything you have been through today, his insistent manner was just the cherry on top. 

Rafayel raises his eyebrows. “Small boy-? What are you talking about?” He sounds confused. “You don’t look like a small boy, Princess.” He’s resting his hands at his hips, “Where’d you get that idea?” You turn back around to face him, uncrossing your arms and opening them wide, chest bared. “Hello? Are you blind?” Rafayel’s eyes take a quick scan of your body. “No, I’m not. Cutie, you’re confusing me. What are you talking about?” 

You put your hands spread on your chest, bashfully looking away. “I’m talking about my…boobs.” Rafayel gets quiet, blush creeping to his ears. “What about them?” 

“They’re small.” 

“That’s natural for some women, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I don't feel complete because of them, and that's the issue.” Your expression is full of hurt, and you relax your arms, resting them by your side. “You're not a woman. You wouldn't understand.” You sigh, feeling dejecting. What's the point of telling him these things anyways? To point it out and then what? Words of praise? Like ‘no, no it's cute’. But it's not about that. It's not about how cute or whatever they are. It's just about –

“But isn't being a woman about your experience and expression?” You feel light pressure on your shoulders, his thumbs gently massaging the indentations and chaffed skin on your shoulders. “Your boobs don't define your womanhood.” 

You look up at him and frown. “But it feels like a big physically defining part. I hate it so much. I just wish they were bigger, so I could see in the mirror what I feel. Like a full grown woman and not some teen boy. You know?”

You list your complaints and as you do so, he envelops you in his embrace, kissing your head. “Princess, you don't look like a boy. You act and look like a woman. I promise. Anyone who says otherwise is blind and very dumb.” He smiles, pulling away. He lifts your hand, kissing your palm. 

You nod, “Yeah. So what are you trying to say? That I’m blind and very dumb?”

Rafayel chuckles, kissing your wrist, “It’s okay if you are. I have a method to help open your eyes and make you very smart.” You notice a sudden change in his expression, his eyes sharpen and his lips curl to a smirk. Then, the next second, it disappears and goes back to his regular softness, eyes relaxed and smirk dropped. “Only if you want to of course.” You gulp, hand starting to twitch to his touch.

“Yes, I do.” 

“Smart girl.” 

He leans forward, his fingers gently curling around your wrist. He carefully guides your hand to his own chest. “You know, back then when you hugged my arm, I was so happy. And when I was cleaning your shirt, I felt really good being so close to you.” His voice is quieter, and his face is flushed. You can feel the thumps of his heart under your hand. “The things you do to me. The things only you could do to me.” His gaze flickers down to your lips. “It burns me, but I want more.” 

Then, he kisses you. His lips are soft and gentle, tentative. You slip the hand on his chest away to tug at the belt of his pants, hinting at him to come closer. “You're… much bolder than I expected, but I like that.” He gives a soft giggle, kissing you again, more passionately. His hands are now gently cupping your breasts, fingers caressing your chest, dancing over your nipples, letting the soft fabric’s friction tease you. 

“Princess, can we go to your bedroom?” Rafayel stares into your eyes, fingers rubbing firmer circles over your shirt, stimulating the bare nipples underneath. “Yes.” Rafayel lifts you up, emitting a gasp out of you.

“You are a woman. The woman for me.” He carefully pushes open the door to your room and lays you on the bed, suckling a hickey on the side of your throat. His hands creep under your shirt, slightly trembling once his hands settle on your breasts. “Here, right? This is what you’re worried about?” You nod your head. “Yeah they’re–”

“Perfect. Don’t be mean to yourself.” He smiles against your shoulder, kissing the sore skin. His hands massage in circular motions. A breathy moan breaks past your lips. “Feel good?” He pinches your nipples and rolls them between his fingers. “I hope so, Princess,” he whispers as he lifts up your shirt completely, baring your chest. “My pretty canvas.” He latches onto one of your breasts, suckling gently. Rafayel’s tongue rolls over the bud of your nipple before carefully biting down, “My gorgeous muse. My inspiration. My woman.” He mumbles these nicknames under his breath as he puts his focus on your chest. He ignores how you squirm and whimper– it’s not like you’re not pushing him away. In fact, you’re trying to draw him closer. Your hands steady on his head, keeping him down to keep stimulating your breasts. Minutes go by, soft whimpers and moans from both you and Rafayel. Your chest is all bruised and wet with saliva as a result of his relentless licking and sucking. When he finally pulls away, he kisses upward to your lips. “My woman, right?” He gives one final pinch to your puffy nipples. 

You whimper, “Your woman.”

His cheeky smirk returns, “Yes. And I’m yours, right?” 

“Mine.” 

He lays on your bare chest, fingers circling around one nipple and gently massaging the bruises he marked on your chest. He mumbles something in Lemurian under his breath before giving one final kiss to your chest. 

“Let’s go shopping sometime soon. For a new shirt and better fitting bras.”

Author's Note: Sorry this one took so long to finish! If you want more, go looked at my pinned post on my page! Next work is gonna be First Kisses with Rafayel. I hope you guys love this one. I'm a little less confident in this work because this isn't a topic I'm well versed in, but I hope it's still enjoyable for you guys! This idea actually came from a request someone dropped in the Fic Idea Drop Box on my page.

Those “marks” which you believe look more like lingering claw marks holding and curving around your body weigh heavily on your mind as you go shopping for a bathing suit. You see other adults and take notice of their smoother skin with less marks, and you try not to let it get to you. You know better than to compare yourself to other people, but it’s a horrible habit that’s been hard to break. Usually those comparisons are nothing more than a passing thought, but they’re lingering lately much longer than they should.

You try on various shapes and designs of swimwear. Whatever you can get your hands on, but something in the back of your mind keeps nit picking at yourself, so now you’re sitting in the changing room, kinda sweaty from changing so many times in a small space that isn’t well ventilated. You stand one more time, and you look behind you, and oh… Cellulite. As if you needed another reason to not go, and another reason to pick at yourself. 

You know it’s just the horrible lighting in the room, but you can't help but start grabbing at your legs and messing with the fat distribution. You’re not going to cry. No, you’re not. You’re an adult with an adult body. This is normal. You know it’s normal, but you wish you weren’t right now. You quickly put on your clothes, and hang all the swimwear on the return rack. As you walk out the store, you’re already planning various ideas on letting Rafayel down gently. 

After much thought, you decide to do it about 2 days before the date. You’re cutting it close, but a part of you wants him to be upset at you. As some sort of odd self punishment you think you deserve. Also, you do it over call, so you don’t have to see his face, hearing his disappointment is more than enough to guilt you.

“Ahh I’m so sorry Rafayel, but I accidentally picked up a shift for that day.” 

“Accidentally? And you’re sure you can’t take it back?” 

“Maybe I could? But it would feel kind of rude… look I’m really sorry.”

“I get it. We can go another day, right? The beach isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Also, don’t overwork yourself, cutie.”

Rafayel’s soft chuckles reverberate into your head and down your spine in a similar warmth, but your frigid guilt washes it away. You hate that you’re telling a half truth; you did pick up a shift, but it was never an accident. 

Now, a few weeks pass before Rafayel tries again to set up another beach date. This time, he brings it up while you’re in his studio. Whilst he’s busy opening boxes of packages he ordered a week or so ago, you’re sitting on his couch, watching him pull out random articles of clothing, gadgets, and even some strange ceramic pieces. After some time of opening boxes, he shifts the conversation to arranging another beach date.

“I’m telling you way ahead of time, so this time don’t forget and accidentally pick up a shift please. I’ll tell you about it everyday if I have to.”

He moves to sit next to you, and you tell him okay. Unfortunately, as the conversation keeps going along, a familiar heaviness of insecurity and guilt takes the forefront of your consciousness. More specifically, you’re distracted by how you don’t even have a bathing suit, the stretch marks, the cellulite, and most importantly, will he catch on if you make another excuse again? 

“Hey cutie, what’s on your mind?”

The question cuts through your trance, and you refocus your attention on him. His body is leaning towards you, and his brows are a bit furrowed as he scans your face. 

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

You barely manage to roll that response out as you lean your body away from him. Can he tell something is up? Can he tell you really don’t wanna go? Well, it’s not that you don’t, but would he even still be attracted to you? Could he see you and still want to be with you? You shift your gaze down to his blouse, and peak at the defined collarbone and sculpted chest. Another comparison that adds another weight. You’ve been adding on a lot lately.

Then you look at his face again. Perfectly smooth, free of blemishes. Another weight. 

“Yeah, thinking about what? ‘Cause you’re staring off a terrible lot.”

He leans even closer and a cheeky smile paints his face, but his eyes still show deep concern. And they’re trying to meet your eyes, but you won’t let it happen. 

“Just... thinking.”

“Thinking… Would you let me in, please?” He’s reaching over to hold your hand, kissing your knuckles. “I promise I won’t stop pestering until you tell me.” He winks at you, and your heart beats a lil faster. You’re flattered by his gesture, but scared of his response if you told him the truth. 

“I can’t go.”

“Go where?”

“The beach Rafayel.” 

“Can’t? Why?” He leans back to give you space to think, but he still holds your hand, so you can’t run away from this. There’s a long pause in the air as you reach for words to catch in your mind. What’s a good reason? You want to go. You really do, but you’re not ready to go with him. The flattering, fashionable, funny guy of your dreams. What if it all falls apart at the beach? What if he tells you some crap that ‘oh it’s all in the beauty of your soul’ or some crap. You know he likes your personality already. That’s probably what has kept him with you this long. That’s not what you want to hear, but what if he’s not even attracted to you anymore after that date. And suddenly, he’s asking less and less to go on dates, and then… he breaks up with you?

“What’s going on?” He whispers, his fingers trace the side of your face. “You’re starting to seriously worry me.” 

“I’m sorry. I wanna go, but… Oh it’s so stupid and embarrassing.” 

“Can’t be that stupid if it’s holding you back from going somewhere you wanna go.”

You make an odd noise from the back of your throat. You should tell him. You really should, but you feel so stupid. It’s such a ridiculous reason. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself now that he’s putting you in the spotlight. 

“I’m worried about something.” It took so much out of you to even say that, so you’re starting to sweat and slowly shifting away to the furthest end of the couch. 

“Yes?” He lets you shift away, but never lets go of your hand. He’s starting to get nervous too, and you can feel it in the way his hands are starting to sweat, and he holds on tighter.

“I’m worried that… That you won’t like me anymore afterwards.” You stare at the connected hands–  you’ve loosened your grip.  Because if he wants to let you go after this, then he has every right. A good, handsome guy like him deserves an equally good, beautiful person that has more self confidence than you could ever muster. 

“That.. I won’t like you anymore?” Rafayel tilts his head to the side, eyes widening for a moment, but quickly returning to normal. “Why wouldn’t I like you anymore? I’ve loved you thus far haven’t I? Why would one good date ruin that? One good date at the beach, may I add, because you’ve been fine with other dates and meetups. Even today’s meetup. What’s so different at the beach? Haven’t we walked alongside it before as well?”

You sigh and shrug your shoulders. “It’s because at those other dates, other non-beach dates, I’m dressed up. Y’know? Even when we walk alongside it, I’m still dressed up. Nice blouse, sandals, whatever. I’m not naked. Not even close. But like an actual beach date, you wear a swimsuit. I remember you told me to prepare for that, and I went shopping for it, but I just... I hate it.” 

Rafayel nods along and lets you keep going, his gaze never drifting away from you despite how yours darts from place to place. In those small milliseconds that he can catch your eyes, he takes notice of the worry and fear that plagues your mind; he’s catching onto what you’re trying to push out, but he needs to hear it from you. 

“Hate what?”, he whispers and reaches out to hold your other hand. 

You feel a pull in the back of your throat. Like it’s holding your voice back, but you push through it because you decide, if this is really something that he can't help you through, then he was never really that flattering, fashionable, funny guy of your dreams.

“My body,” you say through an exhale that barely pushes against the pull that was holding you back.

“But your body is gorgeous.” Rafayel moves to your side of the couch and lets go of one hand to cup your face, carefully maneuvering to see your face properly. “I’ve always thought so.”

“But you haven't seen me in swimwear at a beach, Rafayel. I went shopping the other day and do you know how ugly I was.” You hate to get choked up, but it can’t be helped. These things have been weighing on you the entire time, and you’re just placing it all bare at once, to the guy you want to hide it from the most. “And I don’t want to go to the beach, and you realize ‘oh that’s ugly’ and then stop liking me. And I can’t force you to like me, so I would just have to wait until you break up with me because I know I won’t do it.” You keep rambling and forcefully pull your hands away to hide behind them. “This is so stupid and embarrassing.” 

Rafayel takes the time to think about what you’ve said. As he formulates his response, he puts his arms around you to pull you as close as he can to himself, and then tucks your head under his chin as he lets you cry. Hearing you speak so poorly about the person he loves the most hurt him so deeply, yet he could only imagine the suffering you’ve been enduring with yourself. He knows this is a deeper issue than he could ever hope to solve in one day, but he hopes that at the very least, his words breach the surface and make light of what has been weighing you. “You’re not ugly at all. The opposite really. I promise. I’ve liked you for a long long time. Longer than you will ever know.” He speaks clearly into the open as he pats your head. “And I’ve been attracted to you since the beginning. I promise.”

“Only because you haven’t seen all my weird stretch marks.” You close your eyes, squeeze your legs together, and cross your arms in a poor attempt to soothe yourself and to hide, making yourself small. “And cellulite,” you mumble off, and all the weights on your soul seem to tug you down to drown you deeper towards despair as you recall the changing room mirrors. 

“So-? They’re attractive as well.” You open your eyes and move your head to look at him. “You’re just saying that.” He pinches your cheek. “Nah uh. I’m not. I promise. Where are they? I'll tell you how attracted I am to every bit of you”. He shifts you to sit on his lap, your back to his chest, and his chin now rests on your shoulder. He won't let you hide any longer. You're his precious pearl, after all. You're meant to be admired. To be loved and appreciated, especially by him. His hands glide up and down the sides of your thighs for a few strokes before settling on your hips. “Go on, ” He kisses the side of your neck, “I’ll love you no matter what, and if I don’t, you can always dump me. You deserve someone who loves you for every fiber of your being, and I am that person. I promise.” He chuckles at his last remark, giving you a gentle squeeze.  

You’re hesitant, but nod your head firmly. It’s true. You do deserve someone like that, and if he isn’t really that person, then he’s not yours. It would hurt to let him go, but you have every bit the ability to leave him as he does to you. Then, you lift up your shirt just enough, and pull down the waistband just enough to show the stretch marks on your abdomen. 

Your head is turned away, but Rafayel looks down as his hands move to rub at your lower stomach. “Attractive. Just as I said.” He whispers and slows his fingers to trace along the marks. “Like gentle streams across your body...” He mumbles “Leading me right to the most lovely parts of you.” His hands move towards the center and his fingers peak just underneath the waistband before drawing back to your hips. You twitch in response and shift in his lap, eliciting a groan from him. “Can I see more? I wanna see all of them,” his whispers gently blow into your ear.

“Okay…” You tug the waistband an inch or two lower to expose the skin of your hips. “And there’s more around my chest and arms…” Rafayel seems to perk up at the mention, kissing your shoulder. 

“You know, I invited you over because I was kinda in an art block, hence the boxes and boxes of random stuff. But I see how unnecessary that all was now.” He kisses follow the curve of your neck as one hand caresses your hips and the other creeps along your side and over your chest, lifting your shirt higher in the process. 

“In Lemuria, stretch marks are seen as a sign of growth, maturity and even vitality. They’re markings of someone strong and dedicated… These lighter ones represent new beginnings and divinity…Then, these darker ones mean finding love in creativity or creativity in love. Whichever you prefer.” He speaks quietly into your ear, these are meant for you alone. “And that represents you perfectly, doesn’t it? My beautiful muse.” 

“Now, what was it about cellulite?” The last weight that laid the heaviest on you, suddenly felt much lighter right now. “It’s just like. When my fat dimples and whatnot when I’m standing a lil bit. But especially when I’m sitting. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to show you really…” Rafayel’s heavy gaze never leaves as you stand up and fix down your shirt. He picks up on how you keep the waistband low. He wants to have his hands there again. He spreads his legs just enough so that when he pulls you towards him, you slot right between them. He lets you ponder, and he leans forward to kiss the marks on your skin, his fingers flirting with the waistband. You flinch when you feel his tongue flick out and drag along your marks. “Wait Raf..” He hums in response and stops, nuzzling into your stomach. “Yes, your majesty?” 

“Uhm..” You never thought you’d be saying this, “I have yet to show you my cellulite.” Rafayel lifts his head up to see you and nods. “Yeah that’s right. I think I know how you can show me.” Abruptly, he stands up, lifting you off the floor, and he carries you to his bedroom. “What’s your amazing idea?” You query, and in response, he puts you down on the bed, front facing down. “Just stay still.” You can feel the bed dip as he climbs on after you. “Is it okay if I take these off?” His fingers hook around your waistband. You nod, “Yes.” He pulls them off, eyes immediately going to the stretch marks he couldn’t see before. 

He swallows the saliva building in this mouth and puts his hands at the back of your knees. “Is it okay if I move my hands up cutie?” He questions, and as soon as you give the okay, he moves his hands upwards, giving a firm massage up the backs of your thighs while he works on kissing every mark on your lower back, occasionally giving small licks. He notices the dimples in your skin as he pushes his hands up towards your ass. “This is what you were worried about?” He chuckles lightly. “Oh my petite artist and your worries. These are lovely like the soft ripples of a calm ocean. Kinda reminds me of home, and the way the light barely manages to trickle through during sunset and sunrise.” The weights on your mind and soul are dissipating, and a new warm, heated feeling creeps to replace it. 

You feel a fluttering kiss right at the crease of your ass and thigh, “Rafayel–!”.

“Can’t you let me savor this a little more?” You suddenly feel his entire weight press down against you. “Please?” The sensation of his breath against the shell of your ear dances with every nerve along your body. “Every mark just keeps leading me right to…,” he rolls his hips once against you, “...your most lovely parts.” Then, just before you can look back, he turns you around himself and spreads your legs, settling them around his hips. He makes sure your hips are just high enough so his boner is nudging just right against your sex. His thumbs are gently rubbing circles at your hips, and for once since this whole ordeal, you properly meet his eyes. He’s blushing, but he’s not embarrassed or shy like he usually is. His eyes carry a stronger emotional depthness. There’s a romantic sparkle, but also this heavy lust in them. His soft lips are slightly parted to take deeper breaths, chest noticeably rising and falling. You look down, and you’re transfixed at how strained his dick is in his slacks. “Cutie, I wanna feel your beautiful body, and paint it with mine.” He leans down, holding himself up with his forearms, grinding his hips down and carefully kissing along your jaw. “Would you let me?”  He gives one final kiss to your lips and waits for your answer.  “Yes. Please.” You don't know where to place your hands, but gripping the bed feels cold, so you hold onto his shirt, one hand over his heart where it’s warmest.

“Thanks cutie.” He smirks and presses his lips against yours again. Slowly and sensually at first, but gradually deepening as he grinds his hips against you; his hands fondle at your chest, fingers grazing over your nipples. He pulls away, feeling a deep sense of pride when he picks up on how you tried to keep following. “Want more, yeah?” He takes off his shirt and works off his slacks. Then, his calloused fingers pressed against the damp spot on your underwear. “Excited aren't we, my muse?”

He leans forward to whisper in your ear, “And I am too.” He kisses down your chest and puts one nipple in his mouth as his hands tugs down your underwear. “So good for me,” He mumbles against your chest, “Just relax for me.” Carefully he pulls your hips to the edge of the bed, mouth still leaving open kisses on your chest and sucking light bruises. 

Once he was proud of the work he made of your chest, he works his kisses down against your stomach and gives a few short licks along the way before slotting his face against your pussy, letting his nose bump against your clitoral hood and tongue give long flat licks against your pussy. His thumbs help to keep you spread apart to taste every surface of you. He tries to take his time savoring you, kneeled by the bedside, but despite his best efforts, he drools and laps against you. His tongue curls up inside and then towards your clit. So engrossed in the taste and smell, he almost forgets that this was meant to please you more than himself. 

And without you realizing, the entire time, he was dancing his fingers along the stretch marks of your inner thighs. He was worshiping your body, gently massaging and soothing away the weeks worth of pain you had held up. 

He slowly changes his motion, taking shorter flat flicks against your clit, fingers sliding inside and feeling around the ribbing of your walls. He works you open to three fingers and rolls his tongue in circles around your clit. You can’t stop bucking your hips up and rubbing against his face. Your hands grapple at his head, grabbing onto whatever you can– you need him. 

As your orgasm builds up, Rafayel resists less and allows you to guide him, giving you more control of his movement. He’s losing his sensibility, so he almost needs you to move him. His cock’s achy and throbbing, tip tapping at his stomach. He reaches down to try and stop the dribbling precum from reaching the floor but it’s a useless attempt. Precum is getting all over the floor and his hand. He can barely manage a short stroke down his shaft without whimpering. He quickly realizes that he can’t do anything for himself if he doesn’t wanna cum before you, but it’s getting painful. 

He wants you to cum so bad. He’s twitching at every flutter and throb against his face. He gives up on being gentle and puts his focus on suckling on your clit. You can barely make out his meek attempts at pleading with you “please…please. Please…” With just a few more sharp tongue rolls and strokes and final harsh suckle of your clit, you cum. Quickly, he’s slurping up your orgasm, tongue taking up all you can give and gulping down as much as he can. This is his sanctuary. Where his purpose is, where he belongs, and without having realized, he came too. And it’s likely the Lemurian biology, but it doesn’t shoot out particularly far, but the semen is thick and heavy. It’s getting all over his fingers and spilling across on the floor. 

But he wants to feel just a bit more. He needs to feel more, but you pull him away. His whimpers almost sound like choked up sobs, like he’s disappointed it’s over. When you loosen your grip on him, he creeps forward to kiss you. The tip of his cock is kissing at your entrance, and you’re uncontrollably clenching. “Can I?” He looks so dazed, and lost, not completely in his right mind, and you’re not any better.

“Please.” You whine, and that’s all it takes before he’s inside you in one languid stroke. He trembles the entire time, feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated inside your pussy. 

“Thank you cutie,” you take notice of the shakiness in his voice. “But I think I’m gonna cum again soon.” His chuckle echoes through the fogginess of your mind; he sounds so distant and quiet with the ringing in your ears still there from your orgasm. “That’s okay.” You whisper back, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck– it’s a weak attempt at grounding yourself, so he doesn’t sound so far away. “So please keep going, I love you.” Suddenly, he tenses up and shivers at your whispers, and you realize.

He came again. Right inside. Your eyes go wide. It feels like you’re slowly being filled with cum. Meanwhile, Rafayel’s still and whining into your neck. “I wasn’t ready for that… and I love you, too.” He refuses to show his face as he does shallow pumps, grinding his hips a little when he’s balls deep, like he’s trying to push it all against your cervix. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d have lasted longer.” After a few moments, when he’s finally done cumming, he leans back and watches as he slowly slides out, biting his lip at the view. His cock is completely coated in your slick, and mostly his cum. He takes a moment before pulling the tip out, wanting to really draw the last moment. But after he does, he lays down beside you, floating down from his orgasm.

“You know, I kinda knew something was up since the first time you ‘accidentally’ picked up a shift. You sounded really guilty. But I didn't think over the phone was the best time to confront you. You sounded so sad already.” He turns to hold you. “I was worried, you know? Maybe I had made you uncomfortable? I don't know, but next time don't be afraid to tell me these things. It's okay to depend on me, to ask me about these things.” You nod along, “I know, I was just worried and didn’t want to bother you.”

 “I’ve told you before, but I guess you forgot. I want every one of your bad moods.” He reaches to hold one of your hands.

“But what if I'm too moody, and it becomes a pain?” You squeeze his hand, and he does the same in kind.

“I said every. one. I truly mean it. Besides, just seeing you smile is enough to brighten my day.” 

Afterwards, there's a long pause. He breaks silence first. 

“So like… when do you wanna go shopping for swimwear? I got so many ideas of what we could wear. I bookmarked soooo many tabs.” 

You laugh at the sudden change of tone, “We?” 

“Yeah we could go matching,” he pinches your cheek before continuing, “And I'm happy that you're laughing again, but I'm serious. Don't laugh.” 

There's a light airy playfulness as the conversation continues. Giggles back and forth and light teasing. Whatever insecurities you had weighed on yourself so heavily before, feel so far away. Like it had never happened. Or like it was evaporated out of your skin, and all that’s left is a newfound appreciation for yourself.

A/N: Another week, another work done. Editing takes a lot of work btw. Rereading my own work over and over again until I'm satisfied with it. This was supposed to just be another hurt/comfort fic but it ended up having smut in the end. But it also ends on a kinda funny note, so a win in my opinion. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did. Also, sometimes I like to include lines directly from the game into my writing if I can. That's what the bolded words at the end are for. I got them from that five star memory with fireworks with Rafayel. Sparkling Traces is what it's called, I just searched it up lol.

I think the smut is pretty soft though. I didn't mean to write Rafayel as being so sensitive... but I couldn't help it. It's been 800 years, I can only imagine how pent up that guy is.

OH! Before I forget, yeah I try not to describe the MC's body as much as possible ever. Unless it's specifically for the cause like yk stretch marks and cellulite in this one. I want my writing to be inclusive to all. 🥹🫶I know it's hard to read something while being fully aware it's completely not for someone like you. I remember I was originally gonna write it with a chubby/fat reader in mind, but yk skinny/thin people have stretch marks and cellulite as well. So I decided to cut that out.

Yet he checks anyway. Then, he slowly glides his hand upwards and hovers his thumb under your nose to feel your breathing. After a few moments, he goes back to laying beside you. He does this routinely. Not everyday but every once in a while. 

“Sometimes I worry you’re a figment of my imagination.” 

He mentally exhausts himself often when he’s with or without you although he definitely prefers the stronger assurance when you're near him. 

Away from you, he worries that maybe you've been killed when you’re on long expeditions for work. Or maybe you've forgotten him again, and finding someone else. When he’s with you, he pleads for your affection directly or with subtle manners, but hates the moment’s impermanence. He loves your intimacy with him. He loves that he's the only one that can hold you like he is now. The only one that gets to rub his face against your chest. The only one to kiss you throughout the day. He loves when you touch him at all anywhere. When you poke at his abs or when you put a collar on him. Even when you hit him because of a poor joke he made. It’s when you’re away that hurts the most. That burns more than when you’re here with him. Because anywhere you’ve touched before becomes painful, ghostly reminders that you’re not here now. He knows he’s needy. He knows very well he’s selfish with you, but he can’t help chase the addictive delight that comes with successfully stealing your time. 

Like right now, he has you in his bed, in his house, and he’s absolutely overjoyed to have you so close, but he stares at the Birb in your embrace. How it’s definitely suffocating against your chest and hearing your heartbeat. He furrows his brows and pouts, reaching over to flick at the Birb to release some of the animosity in his chest towards that damn plush. A part of him wants to tug it out of your arms, and wrap your arms around himself until he’s suffocated against you. But, he'd hate to accidentally wake you up for something that petty. So instead, he wraps an arm around your waist with one arm and shifts closer to you until your back is to his chest. If he can’t be in your arms and feel your love, then may he keep you warm and never feel doubt with his love. 

He carefully nuzzles his nose against your head and takes a deep breath, letting his mind let go of any heavy thoughts he had before. You’re in his embrace right now, in his house, on his bed, right in front of him. And as long as he’s alive, your safety will always be his priority. He lifts a hand to cup over one of yours, and gives a gentle squeeze. He savors it all. Every bit about you, even when you’re doing nothing but resting.

Author's Note: My first post on Tumblr! Please be kind! I've had this cooking for awhile. I've enjoyed rereading it on my own many times. Honestly, I've been trying to get into writing more, but I'm not very creative, so if you guys have any ideas for me, that'd be awesome (if you like my writing ofc)