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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 1 day

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≡;-꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ rafayel x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (without plot), softdom!rafayel, but also kiiind of switch!rafayel, kissing and making out, teasing, guided masturbation, inappropriate use of a paintbrush, clit play, nipple play, slight overstimulation, slight edging if you squint, thigh riding, praise, cursing, dirty talk, use of pet names "my muse" "princess" "baby", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((unedited))

wc : 3.2k

taglist : @zaynesaurora @darlingdummycassandra (+ @seaofgoldensand mwah) | sign up here!

an : guys bc ,,,,,, i swear you never truly realize how daunting it can be to act as an impromptu live model for someone.. until you try it...

You underestimate the intimacy of eye-contact.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

There was nothing but silence in the air, only occasionally interrupted by a tap of his shoe on the floor, or a squeaking of the chair when he moved. There was the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall, and the faint, hushed sound of delicste brushstrokes on the canvas...

These were the only things you could focus on, if not at the way that he looked at you.

Rafayel's stare was intense.

Anytime he would shift his gaze from the canvas and back to you; anytime you'd catch the way his eyes would take in the shape of your figure...

You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt; this was just part of the process. He was only being professional, after all—of course an artist needed to look at his model!

...But it was less about what he felt; this was something that you, yourself couldn't take.

"Eyes up here, princess," came his voice, the familiar sing-songy tone to it triggering a bout of butterflies.

You were torn, somewhat.

You wished you could wipe that knowing smile right off of his face, but simultaneously felt that you could cave underneath even just that stupid, stupid gaze of his.

...And you knew that you had brought this upon yourself.

Whatever bickering had started with his whine about a "lack of inspiration" and a roll of your eyes in response, had settled with you offering to be his model.

You even recalled how surprised he was, the concern that etched on his features—

"Hm? But it could take a while, you know. Might be uncomfortable for you to sit for so long."

You figured it couldn't hurt. You were willing to get through it if it meant finally bringing your partner out of his rut, and in turn, his willingness to paint you—when he had sworn that portraits were never even his thing—felt like a little treat.

However, as much as you believed you'd have the upper hand in this situation, you severely underestimated it.

Now, you sat atop a cushioned chair, assuming a position you were comfortable with holding for a time unspecified. You donned normal, unnassuming clothing, just your everyday top and jeans. And in front of you sat a painter and his canvas, his hands moving tastefully over the piece he crafted, a certain twinkle in his eye that already had you reeling.

Rafayel was painting you, and by all means did nothing about this set up look the least bit intimate to either of you—

But you felt like it was.

It was a private moment, just the two if you in this room, gazes meeting with an intensity that made you want to squeeze something.

You didn't know if you had to owe it to how attractive he was, but staying like this, with nothing else to focus your attention on, you could only notice how pretty he was. Soft, layered hair so perfectly styled into place, his signature low-cut shirt framing his figure so nicely...

And his eyes.

God, his eyes.

Rafayel had the most captivating eyes you'd ever seen—A mix of a deep magenta and cerise, of mulberry and wine... So unrelenting in their allure that though the intensity had your heart beating wildly in your chest, you could never, for the life of you, ever tear your gaze away.

It was visceral.

It sent a tingle down your spine.

You could curse all the memories that would flood to your head just because of it, those images and sensations of your nights together. The way he'd look at you, with lust, and love, such passion imbued with every roll of his hips against yours... This wasn't the time to be thinking of such things, you knew that. They brought an obvious hue of pink to your cheeks that you knew he'd notice, but you almost couldn't help it—

Was a siren's allure truly so confining?

You had nowhere to run.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you could almost think this was...

Intentional.

"Little muse, you're blushing."

If you thought it couldn't get any worse, you were clearly wrong.

Rafayel's brushstrokes had paused, and the mirth that danced in his eyes set off all the warning bells that your brain could manage.

"...Shut up, you're imagining things," you mumbled, willing youself to turn your head away from him.

"Ah ah ah~ I'm not done yet, don't move, princess."

And to think that when you'd started, he'd been concerned for you.

Despite yourself, you fidgeted in your seat.

You couldn't take any more of this.

You'd been at it for close to an hour by now, the silence, the staring, the butterflies—

A slight shift in your position made you painfully aware of the wetness that had pooled between your thighs, and you wanted to crawl into a cave.

"Hey. You tired?"

Rafayel was searching your expression, reading you.

It wasn't helping.

"N-no," you managed to nearly choke out, your obvious fluster making your cheeks feel warmer.

And in all this time that you've known him, been with him—you knew that he could put two and two together.

A smirk spread over his features.

You were in for it.

"I'll allow some movement," he hummed, setting his brush down momentarily, "but it looks like you want something a little more... specific..."

"Rafayel, if you don't shut up—"

He grinned.

"Why? We can take a break, yeah? I'm just giving you free space to do as you want."

You watched his eyes rake over your figure, lingering over the way your legs were pressed more tightly together than you'd started with.

"Don't tell me you need me to guide you, princess..."

You wished you could slap that smile off his face.

Rafayel folded his arms, leaning back a little. The shine in his eyes didn't budge even a millimeter; his gaze remained steely on you.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, my muse, I'd say you've gotten a little needy."

You didn't know why you bothered to stay put in your seat, when the paintbrush was not even in his hands anymore.

And he noticed.

"Yeah? I'm right, aren't I?" he chuckled. "So why don't you release some of your stress before we continue? Since you're not getting up, you might as well do something for my motivation..."

The way he gestured towards the canvas, wearing that infuriating little smirk of his, had the heat rushing to your face.

"As if you could take watching me touch myself," you shot back, mirroring his pose and crossing your arms.

You cheered in silent victory at the momentary lapse in his expression, though it settled back into his smile within seconds.

"Mmn... Then we'll have to do something about that later, if it comes to it," he shrugged. "But this is about you, princess."

For a while there was no response from either of you, just staring silently at each other, daring one to make a move—

Until his gaze made you squirm, and he let out a snort.

"Oh, princess..." he started, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not going to touch you when I still intend to get back to finishing this piece. So if you want to use our little break to do something about this... You'll have to do it yourself. Come on, now. Undress for me, yeah?"

He was infuriating.

A menace.

This was karma for all the times you've rendered him speechless, and he was enjoying it.

You clicked your tongue, the challenge in your eyes winning over the embarrassment that stirred in the pit of your stomach.

"Fine! Don't blame me if you'll never finish that painting..."

Frustrated though you might have been, and perhaps, ever determined to pay back his teasing, the look in his eyes remained bewitching.

It was foul play.

Your fingers trembled as you deftly pushed your panties to the side, your jeans kicked down to your ankles, your legs spread. Rafayel had seen you—used you—many times before... But there was something unnervingly intimate about doing this for him, when he was a number of laces away from you, watching, observing.

It was as if you were... a show.

"You're dripping," he commented, voice quiet and low, unable to keep himself from leaning forward as if to get a better look at you.

His words sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You could only shoot him a glare, your blush betraying otherwise the effect that his heated gaze on you had.

"Go ahead, princess... I bet you're aching to be touched."

You almost didn't want to admit it, the way his voice played in your ear so sweetly that your heart could simply burst out of your chest. He made you weak, and you could barely think straight, and he could... see it all.

You chewed on your lip, shakily dipping a finger just barely into your heat, sliding up between your folds with a trail of obvious slick left in its wake.

"Shit..." you cursed under your breath.

You were almost scared to look back up at him, knowing you'd see those god-foresaken eyes again, so heated as they took in your every movement, your every action—

"That's it, princess," Rafayel murmured. "Play with yourself. Rub your clit for me, yeah?"

Your eyes closed as you found yourself doing exactly as you were told.

Soft pants fell from your lips, your middle finger drawing upwards to circle your sensitive nub. Just slow, gentle rubs, easing you into a rhythm of pleasure... You dared to open your eyes, catching the way his gaze remained fixated on your movements, his own eyes darkening, his lips parted slightly.

"You're so wet, baby..." His voice was hoarse now, clearly just as affected by the situation as you were. "Can you put a finger in? Please?"

Your features schooled into a small smile; victorious, in a way, despite your own obvious display of need. "But, why, Rafa?" you teased. "I don't wanna rush..."

The groan that he let out was delicious, and your eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

"C'mon, princess... I wanna see. Do it for me? Just one finger, yeah?"

"You're so easy to get all worked up, Rafa~" you found yourself cooing at him, taking note of his flushed cheeks, the heat in his eyes mirroring your own.You were the one touching yourself, and yet, he was the one begging. It was amusing, in a sense—how just the simplest things reduced him to this sort of mess.

"Just a little taste of your own medicine," you quipped.

But you did as he said, anyway.

The first push of a finger into your cunt had you moaning. The glide was easy, smooth, your walls accepting of your own intrusion, almost aching for even more.

"Fuck... that's it, baby, in and out, just like that."

It was almost amusing to hear him speak that way, so enraptured by the way you pleasured yourself, lost in the thought of you coming undone right in front of him. You didn't need his words of guidance; you knew exactly which spots had you keening, how to gradually bring yourself over the edge. Yet, he would still offer up words of such praise to you anyway, guiding you, telling you what to do, how to please yourself.

And there was something, just something, about the rawness in his voice that got to you.

Your eyes met as you began to buck your hips into your hand, sliding against the cushion, willing to give yourself more stimulation. Your breath fell out in puffs of quick pants, your heart rate accelerating, the pierce in his gaze so daunting and intimidating, yet so... arousing.

"R-Rafayel..."

Your eyes went hazy, unable to bring yourself to turn away from the hypnotic quality of his gaze.

"Keep going, princess, I'm here."

Your fingers moved faster, curling into your heat, emphasizing the obscene sounds of wetness that filled the studio. Your thumb moveed over to brush your clit, your other hand gripping the seat impossibly tighter, and then—

"R-Rafa!" You threw your head back, hips stuttering. "I-I'm close!"

In your peripheral vision you could see him lick his lips, his voice coming out hoarse, full of want. "Yeah? You are, huh? Come on, princess, just a little more. Work those fingers for me."

His words proved enough.

"Shit—fuck—!" A string of curses left your lips. You felt it as the pleasure rolled through your body, eliciting a gasp, causing you to nearly double over.

"There we go. Such a pretty little muse. That expression on your face is beautiful."

His words soothed you from your high, a gentle coo of praise as you took your fingers from out of your wetness. When you looked up at him, he was smiling, hand outstretched as if to beckon you. "C'mere, princess. You did so well for me, let me taste those pretty fingers of yours."

You almost clapped back at him, as if the urge to bicker—to one-up him—rose up just by instinct. Yet, there were those eyes again. That particular look that was magnetizing. It was more than a beckon. It felt like an allure. You were almost certain you'd moved on your own, slow steps into his arms, gently allowing yourself to be pulled onto his lap, the glisten from your earlier orgasm immediately coating the fabric of his pants.

He did as he promised, guiding your fingers into his mouth, looking straight at you with eyes full of lust. His tongue swirled over the pads of your fingers, and you twisted them for him. Watching him suck on your digits, slowly moving them in and out, promising him the taste he so desperately wanted... before you pulled them away with a wet pop.

"Give me one more," he whispered immediately, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "One more, before I finish this painting. Think you can do that?"

You'd nearly forgotten about the painting. It was behind you, your back turned towards it, your eyes only focused on the man before you. You didn't look back—didn't need to, not now. Not when his offer was so... tempting.

"'Kay," you mumbled. Your response was just as instant, your hips moving to glide over his thigh.

But he smirked.

A hand went to your back to support you, hold you in place, and your eyes widened when a clean, unused paintbrush found its way into his other hand.

"R- Rafayel...?"

"Just want to have a little bit of fun," he said breezily, gently trailing the brush from your jawline, all the way down over your collarbone. The sensation made you shiver. "Go on, princess. Don't mind me..."

Don't mind me.

He had the audacity to say that as he let you move all over his thigh, the bristles of his brush leaving a trail of goosebumps with every little stroke on your skin. Just light, feathery, teasing flicks, enough to add to your stimulation... It felt nice, and you'd never admit it to his face, but you could fold.

"You'd be so lovely to paint, look at you," he murmured. And he enjoyed the way your body jolted at his words, the chuckle enough of a testament. "Yeah? You like that idea, don't you, princess? Next time, maybe, I can have even more fun with you..."

The paintbrush began to venture lower, flicking against your nipples.

Your eyes went wide.

"W-wait—!" You gasped, gripping his shoulders, feeling him repeat the motions. Again, and again—the brush circled around your pert, sensitive nub, his gaze turning thoughtful, his little tool giving you more sensations than you knew were even possible.

"Hm? What's wrong?"

It acted like a soft caress, one so foreign to you that it made your head spin.

And he didn't dare stop there.

He must have gotten incredibly worked up, you thought, as he stilled your hips and leaned you back. You could guess where things were going; the way his hand supported your back from toppling into the canvas was firm and determined, your position already having your dripping cunt a little bit more on display for him.

"Look at me, princess," he whispered.

And you felt it—the paintbrush gliding lower and lower, gentle strokes over the skin of your abdomen, pausing just above your clit.

Your breath hitched.

Anticipation hung in the air, your eyes barely managing to stay locked onto his as your face seemed to fume with embarrassment.

"Rafayel," you huffed. "Seriously, you...!"

He circled the brush, a smirk tugging on his features. Feathery bristles brushed against you clit, and you let out a cry. There was a pattern, almost: he'd move the brush gently down the side of your folds, fluttering back up to your nub, pressing against it with a certain kind pressure he knew you always loved... Teasing, always teasing, never lingering for too long in a single spot.

It had you moaning almost immediately.

"What was that, my muse?" he grinned.

You'd never wanted to slap that expression off of his face any more than you did now, yet he had you helpless. You felt like putty in his hands, melting with every movement of his little brush, your thighs tensing over his. You didn't even need to move, anymore; the sensitivity from your previous orgasm had your senses heightening scarily quick, the coil steadily beginning to tighten in your stomach.

It felt as if he'd barely been doing anything.

Just that goddamned brush teasing you in all the right places, flicking against your clit, as he watched you clench around nothing.

"Please!" you swallowed your pride down deep enough to beg, the look in your eyes harboring a frustrated glare of want. "Stop teasing, Rafa, I need...!"

"Yeah? Need what, hm?"

Oh, he was having fun.

"N-need to cum! Need... Need something, Rafa, c'mon—!"

The brush set back aside, and he kissed you.

All tongue, even teeth, just messy, and deep, a pure display of the lust that had taken both of you hostage. His hands were in your hair, your body pressed so close against him, hips beginning to move again over his thigh. A few more soft, hushed, groans, and wet noises of passion, and you were gone.

You felt it snap, pulling back from the kiss only to fall forward onto his shoulder, muffling your moans into his shirt. It was insane, you thought, how he could rip out such a visceral reaction from you, a pleasure so overwhelming as you squeeze your legs over his thigh.

Easing you down, he rubbed soothing circles into your back, hushed words of praise tumbling from his lips.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

"My perfect little muse, so pretty, so beautiful," he sighed, hugging you close. "I can't wait to paint all your greedy desires onto my canvas."

⁺₊ / an: phew!! overdue and i feel like this isn't my best best work, but it doesss represent the chokehold this fish has on me 🙄 a girl's just gotta satisfy her rafayel cravings i guess!!

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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