rafayel when he's begging to cum...
CW: forced submission, bondage, handjob, edging/orgasm denial, begging, raf being a brat lowk
AN: this is literally the opposite of my hc i just wrote sorry
thank you my bby @medicli for proof reading (can we kiss now or...?)
Rafayel loved to have his way with you.
No matter what, it always seemed that he got what he wanted. He took control. He was the one to tease you relentlessly until you shook and sobbed and begged him to give you mercy he never granted. He liked watching you unravel at his touch, liked the way your breath hitched when he leaned close and murmured something filthy in that tone of his.
He was insatiable. Even when you tried to take control, he gave you such a hard time—laughing, twisting things around, turning your dominance into something he could mock and rule. Rafayel was not obedient in the slightest.
Which is why the sight before you brings the biggest grin to your face.
Your muse sits in a chair, hands bound behind his back. He should have known better than to trust you when you’d insisted he help you test new hunter gadgets.
“So gullible,” you giggle, circling the chair slowly, letting your finger trail over his shoulder.
Rafayel groans, glaring at you with exaggerated annoyance as he tugs at the cuffs binding him to the wooden frame. “Real cute. Your hunter gadget works greeeeaaaat.”
“Don’t they?” You complete your circle and stop in front of him, tilting your head.
“Mmmm,” you tap your chin thoughtfully. “No. I don’t think I will.”
“Uuuuggghhh,” Rafayel throws his head back against the chair dramatically, sending his purple fringe from his face. “What are you going to do then? Leave me tied up all day? My wrists are gonna hurt, y'know. I need them. For painting! For art!”
You step closer and nudge his thighs apart with your knee, a little rougher than necessary, claiming the space between his legs. “You’re sure whining a lot,” you murmur, leaning down so your mouth hovers near his. “And I haven't even started.”
Rafayel laughs, trying to steal a kiss that you dodge. “Started what?
Your hands are faster than his mouth. His belt is undone in seconds, leather slipping free before you drag the zipper of his pants down. You tug his boxers just low enough to reach inside, fingers curling around and drawing him out into the open air. His cock is soft at first, warm and heavy in your palm, already stirring at the contact.
His ear flush pink instantly.
“What are you doing?” the demand tries to sound commanding, but his voice cracks just slightly at the end.
“Payback,” you say sweetly.
Your hand closes around his length and gives a slow, purposeful squeeze, feeling the subtle rush of blood beneath your hold. A sharp inhale slips through his teeth.
“Oh,” comes the breathy reply. “So that’s how it is.”
“Mm-hmm.” You stroke lazily, thumb dragging up the side of his cock while your fingers tighten and loosen in an unhurried rhythm. “You tease me for hours. I think it’s only fair if I return the favor.”
He shifts in the chair, straining his wrists against the cuffs “You planned this.”
“Did I?” You press your thumb to the tip just as a bead of precum gathers there. You smear it gently, then lift your finger, watching the sticky string stretch between you before it snaps. “Seems like you don’t mind my plan.”
Rafayel’s jaw tightens. He bites his lip in a failed attempt to suppress the sounds threatening to spill. “You’re awfully bold,” he manages, “for someone who can’t stop whimpering when I—ah—”
Your grip tightens suddenly, stroking him with intent now. He’s fully hard under your touch, cock pulsing once against your palm. The teasing edge in his voice collapses into something breathier.
“Careful,” you warn when he opens his mouth again. “Keep talking back and I don’t think you’ll like what happens.”
Your threat isn’t taken seriously. Of course it isn’t. Even through breathless pants, that mouth keeps running. Disobedient little remarks tumble out between soft, involuntary moans.
Your pace drops to a tortuous glide, barely moving, maintaining just enough friction to keep him aching. A loud groan spills out as his head falls forward, hair slipping into his dazed eyes.
“You’re evil,” he mutters.
You spit down onto his swollen tip, watching it slide before beginning to pump him again. The added slickness makes your strokes smoother when twisting your wrist slightly at the top. His hips jerk, chasing your hand.
“Don’t move,” you scold, pressing him back into the chair with a firm hand on his chest.
“I can’t help it,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “You’re—haah—!”
His cock throbs heavily in your hand, his thighs tensing around you “I'm close,” he admits reluctantly.
That's when your hand disappears completely, the warmth of your touch replaced by cool air.
He freezes, blinking up at you in flushed disbelief. “What the hell?”
“Aww,” you pout mock-symphatic. “Poor baby. Not so fun being on the other side of things, huh?”
You don’t give it back right away. Even when he pouts.
Instead, you let the tension build again, ghosting your fingers over his inner thigh, murmuring filth. Only when his cock stops throbbing sp violently do you wrap your hand around him again, giving slow, almost gentle tugs.
And just as his hips begin to lift, just as his body starts to squirm with the building pleasure, you stop. The pattern is a deliciously cruel denial that he earned. So you do it again.
Rafayal wrenches his head away from you, his cheeks flushed an incandescent rose. Too proud to let you see the trembling mess you are making of him.
“Ah—ah,” you croon, squeezing the swollen base of his cock. “Look at me.”
A small, broken sound slips past his lips as his head snaps back. The usual confidence in his eye is replaced by ones that are wide, shining, and desperate. “W-Why are you so cruel?”
“Cruel?” Your lips stretch into a slow smirk. You move your slick hand up and down his length, thumb teasing the throbbing tip. “How is this cruel?”
Your poor boy can’t even form a coherent retort as another wounded whimper escapes. He's finally where you wanted him, and it had only taken a little bit of edging.
His hip surge, an involuntary, pathetic buck into your palm. The head of his cock tight with the need to release. You begin to slow.
“Nngh—!” A sound of pure frustration rips from him. The cuff clink with another failed attempt of escape.
“Beg,’ you grin, leaning in your lips brushing his ear.
His breath stutters, sweat sticking purple strands to his forehead.
“Oh come on,” you encourage. “You’re sooo good at making me do it.”
There is a long pause while his pride wars with his desire—and desire wins.
“...Please,” the single word slips, stripped of all sass. It's an honest admission of defeat that places a triumphant smirk on your lips.
“Please…” he chokes. “Please let me cum, baby.”
You hum thoughtfully, teasing his flushed tip with just the lightest touch. “You can beg better than that.”
“Please!” This is torture…” he swallows hard, a storm of broken moans and syllables erupting from him. “You know I can’t—I need you too—f-fuck—I need to cum for you.”
Its good enough, you decide.
Plus, you can tell he’s right there, the uncontrollable twitching of his cock gives him away. Soft, broken whimpers he can’t quite swallow no matter how hard he tries.
So your hand doesn’t slow, working him with smooth tight strokes that make his cock pulse erratically in your grip.
“W-Wait—” he tries, overstimulated before he even comes.
“Mmmph!—fuck—c-cutie—my god—” he stutters, thick, hot ropes of his release instantly shooting and coating your hand as he trembles beneath you.
You wait until the last tremor fades before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “See? Was that so hard?”
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