I'm nonbinary, but gendered language is perfectly okay
Bisexual disabled Latina â¨
Zayne mainâď¸, Sylus loverđŚââŹ, appreciator of all the boysđđ đ
Also on twitter: @auracorazayne ⢠@cosmicforge_c
I'm currently working on Love and Deepspace candles and sprays with fragrances for all 5 LI's plus all 5 MC's - those will be available for sale soon and updates on that can be found at Cosmic Forge Candles.
I very occasionally write fanfic or headcanons. Below the cut, you can find my masterlist that includes fanfiction, headcanons, and some of my blog tags đ
Multi-Part Works
ZayneMC's Relationship Firsts:
An exploration of how their relationship got started and unfolded - chapters are technically sequential but can largely be read standalone with little to no missing context
PART ONE: Routine Check-Up ⢠3.8k
pre-relationship ZayneMC face the question "Are you sexually active?" during an appointment
tags: NO smut; lots of yearning and romantic tension; limited discussion of sex; Zayne and MC are virgins; second person POV
PART TWO: Almost Made It ⢠5.1k
you're finally about to go on your first date with Zayne, until an emergency surgery gets in the way of plans and you decide to take matters into your own hands
tags: early/pre-relationship; NO smut; lots of yearning and romantic tension; friends to lovers; idiots in love; second person POV
PART THREE: Coming Soon
attempt number two at your first date with Zayne, and it's fraught with even more anxiety than expected
Oneshots
Today's Lesson đđśď¸ ⢠1.7k
You decide to spontaneously crash one of Zayne's lectures, silently handing him a remote as people are coming in
tags: SMUT - MDNI; reader wears an RC vibrator to Zayne's lecture; established relationship; edging; office sex; p in v; second person POV
Cardio ⢠1.3k
Your burning crush on Zayne makes it very difficult to stay focused on your workout when you happen to discover the two of you share a gym
tags: NO smut, but slightly suggestive; a hint of sexual tension; pre-relationship; reader is fighting for their life trying not to get distracted; second person POV
Headcanons
What LaDS LI's and Their MC's Smell Like
How the LaDS LI's React to You Starting a Journal
Headcanons about how all 5 LI's react to learning that you've started keeping a journal/scrapbook documenting your relationship
tags: sfw, except for a few spicy hc's marked at the very bottom
Update to let everyone know that in addition to one (1) freebie acrylic charm that will be included with every pledge of every tier all the charm designs will also be available as add-ons!
Check out my Kickstarter with the link above for more information!
Summary: You and Zayne are finally going on your first date... until plans change - this is technically a 2nd chapter, but can be read standalone with little to no missing context
Word Count: 5.1k (OOPS SORRY)
Tags: Zayne has to miss their first date due to surgery, but reader surprises him with dinner; early/pre-relationship; NO smut; lots of yearning and romantic tension; friends to lovers; idiots in love;
a/n: uhhhhh so I know I posted the first part of this in, like, AUGUST or something, but life has been unexpectedly hectic. This has been sitting 95% done for so long now, and I finally had a few moments to just tidy up the last bit and get it posted lol. I do also have a third part about 60% done at this point, so there will be more, but I will not make any promises about when at this point, because something always comes up lol
PART ONE: Routine Check-Up Âť
PART TWO: Almost Made It ÂŤ
As Thursday rolls around, you find yourself in front of your bedroom's full-length mirror, once again questioning the outfit you spent the last four days deciding on.
Picking out outfits for prior outings with Zayne was also often difficult, but moreso because you were always trying to find the line between looking cute and looking like you were trying too hard. Now that this is officially a date--which still doesn't feel real--some of those restrictions have opened up, which is proving to be both a blessing and a curse.
You want to be alluring, a little sexy, but not too revealing; sophisticated, without looking overdressed; stylish, and yet also comfortable.
You thought you'd weighed all your options prior to Thursday and landed on the perfect outfit. But as you appraise yourself in the mirror, something feels just a little bland, your eyes repeatedly drifting over to the previously rejected outfit choice left hanging on your closet door. With a resigned huff, you give in and quickly change, hoping it's the right choice.
Hoping he'll be enticed to kiss you, you think unbidden, quickly shooing the thought away. You'd spent the last several days completely stuck on if it would happen, how it would happen, what his lips would feel like, where he'd put his hands, the way he'd taste--you felt insane with how frequently the thoughts popped into your head and interrupted your day. Somewhere along the way, you'd told yourself that if you wanted it that badly that you should be the one to initiate it, but that was quickly trumped by a fear of being too aggressive: you'd been the one to ask him out and boldly sealed the deal with a kiss to the cheek already, it was best from here to give him the room to decide to take that step.
Of course, that spurred a whole slew of other worries, but you fight to keep those at bay as you continue getting ready.
Despite the fact that he isn't meant to pick you up for nearly two more hours, you move on to your hair and makeup, needing something to keep you busy to quell your nerves; it gives you more than enough time to similarly overthink every last possible styling decision. As you fret over eyeshadow colors, your phone buzzes with a few texts from Zayne.
[4:13pm] Zayne: It seems I'll be a bit late to pick you up, an emergency surgery has just come up, unfortunately
[4:13pm] Zayne: I should only be about thirty minutes behind
[4:14pm] Zayne: I'll update you once I'm out of the operating room
"No worries, hope everything goes well! I'll be here," You shoot back, punctuating with a bright, smiling emoji as you try not to deflate, something in your gut telling you your date won't be happening tonight.
You scroll idly on your phone as you wait on your couch, the clock ticking by. As 30 minutes becomes an hour, then two, then three, that feeling in your gut grows more concrete. You're disappointed, of course, but it wouldn't be the first time you've had to reschedule with Zayne because of his work, or even yours.
There'll be another time, you tell yourself, trying to ignore the way your heart hurts.
Just as you've reached the point of acceptance, about to change and remove your makeup, an idea hits you. With about 45 minutes until they close, you dial the restaurant you and Zayne had selected for tonight and place a pick-up order, hoping you knew his palette well enough by now to have chosen a meal he'd enjoy.
By the time you get to the restaurant, they're already packing your entrees--and desserts, of course--into a bag, utensils and all. Your car is filled with a heavenly aroma as you continue on your way, and you can't help the grin that splits your face when your phone serendipitously rings with a call from Zayne as you near the hospital.
When you pick up, it's hard to keep your bubbling excitement at bay. "Hey! Is surgery wrapped up?"
"It is." He goes quiet for a moment before nearly whispering your name, heavy with remorse, and you know what's coming. "I'm... incredibly sorry," he begins, voice weary and defeated even through the phone.
"It's okay!" You jump in quickly, hoping to stop that guilt in its tracks. "We can always try again another night." Grinning at your own little white lie, you pull into the first open space you find in Akso's parking garage, excited at the prospect of delivering him a meal after a long and difficult shift.
"So long as you'd have me..." His voice grows small.
Despite the way your heart lurches, you snort as you start gathering your things to head inside. "Do you think I wouldn't?"
"I... wouldn't want to assume after standing you up like this."
"We'll say an unexpected medical emergency falls under the umbrella of extenuating circumstances, doctor."
If he had any idea how long I've been waiting for him... He'd know another week is nothing.
He sighs again and goes quiet for a long moment, giving you the opportunity to briefly mute yourself and tell the receptionist you're there for a personal visit to Dr. Li, holding up your delivery as evidence. She gives your dressy attire a confused up and down before gesturing down the hall, and you pass with a polite smile.
"Extenuating circumstances or not... I'm still very sorry."
As you turn the corner and continue towards his office, you're pleasantly surprised to find him seated on a settee in the hall, scrubs and all, oblivious to your approach. You hang up your phone and watch as he glances at his, confused at the sudden disconnect.
"No apology necessary," you call from a little ways down, shaking the food towards him as you close the distance.
He stares agape for several moments before slowly standing to greet you, unsure. "What's all this?" The disbelief in his tone only makes your smile stretch wider.
"I figured you still needed to eat dinner," you shrug, eyes undoubtedly twinkling with delight.
A smile slowly transforms his face and he lets out a sharp breath somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "Come on," he guides you to his office, closing the door behind you and hurrying to make space on his desk for your meal. He drags over a chair for you, close to his own.
As you unpack the food, you can feel his eyes on you, seemingly still thrown at your sudden appearance. You turn and thrust a box into his hands, meeting his gaze, pulse instantly spiking with the intensity you find there. "I got you the chicken...I hope that's okay..."
"Perfect," he says quietly, both of you frozen in place mid-exchange, and you can't stop the way your eyes drop to his lips for a split second. Your cheeks burn and you quickly turn back to your task, hoping your desperate desire to kiss him isn't painfully obvious.
The room is mostly dark save for a desk lamp casting low light, creating an ambience over your shared dinner not unlike what you would have experienced at the restaurant itself. It glints off his emerald irises that haven't stopped drinking you in. Even as he drops into his chair, food now in hand, his eyes still don't leave you.
When you finally take your own seat, you meet his gaze head on again, stomach flipping at the whisper of a smile he wears. After a beat of silence, neither of you moving to open your respective to-go boxes, you speak low. "Your food's going to get cold, doctor." You start pulling open your box without breaking the connection.
He smirks and huffs a laugh. "I suppose you're correct." He finally breaks away to open and assess his food, starting with a forkful of rice and humming in contentment. As you dig into your own food, you watch the relief that undercuts his features as he gets his fill, surely exhausted and starving after a grueling work day.
"How did the surgery go?" You ask tentatively after you've both had a moment to eat, crossing your fingers it's not the wrong question to ask.
He swallows his mouthful and takes a long drink from his bottle of water. "It was a successful operation. The patient was due for a transcatheter annuloplasty in a few weeks, however, they fell ill with pneumonia recently, which did further damage to their mitral valve and created a more urgent situation."
You nod along, having spent enough time with Zayne to recognize "transcatheter annuloplasty," recalling it as a relatively simple procedure he does fairly regularly. At least, you hope you're remembering that correctly.
"We attempted to replace the valve via minithoracotomy, but upon closer inspection, the damage was more severe than expected. Between the replacement and the extensive repairs, a full sternotomy was required."
You continue your nodding, eyes narrowed, trying to piece together what he's taught you previously in an attempt to keep up. "Sternotomy... Open-heart surgery."
It's not exactly pitched as a question, but he nods.
"And you said... mini... thoracotomy?"
He nods again, watching as the gears turn in your head.
"Is that... an incision... from the side of the ribs?"
This time, his nod is accompanied by a pleased hum and a tiny, crooked smile. "You're learning." The mixture of pride and amusement sparkling in his eyes threatens to melt your brain on the spot and you have to clear your throat to attempt to maintain some composure.
"And what does the 'mini' denote exactly?"
"Precisely what you'd expect." His smirk widens, pleased with either your question or the faint color beginning to dust your cheeks. "It's just a smaller incision, minimally invasive."
"Mini-mally invasive?" You parrot back with your own smirk, and the two of you share a laugh. "Here I thought I was learning about cardiology, but it seems I've actually been taking an etymology course."
"Mm," he hums in agreement, bringing his elbow up to his desk to lean his cheek on his knuckles. "High marks nonetheless. You're a prize pupil." His verdant gaze glints in the ambient lighting as it settles heavy on you yet again, and your heartrate immediately skyrockets.
Despite knowing it's only playful, it's still a fight not to let the praise send your stomach into a series of backflips. And gods, the way he's looking at you... You've spent years dreaming of him one day looking at you with such desire, and now to actually experience it is entirely overwhelming.
You blink rapidly and look away, trying to force back down your quickly rising flush and hide the way your breathing has grown shallow.
A charged hush falls between you as you try to calm down. When your eyes finally meet his again, the simmering appreciation you find there renders your efforts useless, heat immediately climbing back up to color your face.
"You're staring," you breathe, practically a whisper, unable to hide your shy smile.
He clears his throat and drops his gaze to the side with a slight chuckle, a flush of his own tinging the tips of his ears. "My apologies," he offers, equally as quiet, before his eyes drift back up to yours, contemplating a moment. "Is this... what you planned to wear tonight?"
You nod, heart hammering in your chest, trying not to let your smile grow fully impish knowing just how well you managed to capture his attention.
"You look..." His eyes roam your face as if he might find the word he's looking for there.
When it's clear he isn't going to continue, you can't help but tease, smirk on full display despite knowing your face must be the color of a tomato. "Well I certainly hope that sentence ends well."
His face splits into a grin, a little bashful and a lot red. "It does."
As his grin simmers into a fond smile, you both bask in the loaded silence that falls over you, brimming with newly unearthed feelings that remain yet unspoken. When he leans forward, your already-racing pulse thrums under your skin like a bird's wings, eyes once again involuntarily dropping to his lips before you're able to drag them back up.
"I was really looking forward to tonight..." He murmurs gently, regret creeping into his tone.
You know what words he's going to try to pull next.
"I truly am sor--"
"Nope, none of that!" You point a finger at him in warning. "You saved someone's life today, we still got to try this restaurant, everything is fine."
It'd be even more fine if you kissed me, your pesky little brain throws at you, which you do your best to ignore.
He huffs the smallest laugh, incredulous at your refusal of his apology, before leaning just a hair closer. "Could we try again for Monday evening?"
"Monday evening should work." You nod, biting your lip to fight back the wide grin that wants to bubble to the surface. "Assuming, of course, I don't have any emergency minithoracotomy mitral valve repairs that pop up."
He snorts and flicks your forehead as you snicker to yourself, and when your gaze refocuses on him, you realize that he's the one now staring at your lips. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip of their own volition, and you don't fail to catch the way his breath hitches. In quick succession, his eyes snap to yours and then dart away, bashful smile returning, sure from your expression that he'd been caught.
When he finally looks at you again, his voice drops low, a promise. "Monday evening."
You nod in finality, letting the moment settle back into that weighted, crackling silence until it grows stifling, making the desire to kiss him bloom into a prickling itch under your skin.
"There's dessert," you announce with a small voice, hoping to break the spell and find some reprieve. It mostly works, but neither of you looks away from the other, even as you reach blindly towards the desk for the unopened to-go containers. "Cheesecake or tiramisu?"
He hums thoughtfully at your proposal. "If I may... I think I'd like to sample both."
"I like this plan," you say with a smile, handing him the box with the cheesecake and opening up the remaining container of tiramisu. You each grab fresh utensils and take a bite of your respective treats, a quiet moan leaving you as the sweet coffee taste blooms in your mouth.
"Good?" He husks, having already swallowed his first bite.
You nod earnestly, quickly scooping up more for him to sample, but before you can plop it next to his cheesecake, he captures your wrist and brings your spoon to his lips. The heat of his skin on yours rushes straight to your core, and as you watch him savor and swallow your dessert, your mouth hangs open, completely slack-jawed. The full body flush hits you so aggressively it makes the room spin, and you almost miss the way his face develops a matching scarlet hue.
"Good?" You croak, vocal chords suddenly dryer than the cocoa powder dusted on top of your tiramisu. He licks his lips and hums, releasing your hand and a fraction of your sanity with it. Without skipping a beat, he retrieves his fork and grabs a bite of cheesecake, holding it up for you in turn.
With a shaky breath, you lean forward, placing your hand on his inner arm for stability and closing your lips around his fork. Your eyes slide shut momentarily as you try to focus on the tangy creaminess melting across your tastebuds, but when they open again, all you can focus on is the way Zayne's adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard.
When your eyes meet again, you're both evidently flustered, quick to silently bury your noses in your respective desserts as you each try to recover from such an unexpectedly overwhelming moment. You stare at your spoon, flushing all over again as you consider that it's touched Zayne's tongue.
Several minutes pass before either one of you is able to speak again, but you're the first to break the silence. "So what are we rating this one?"
It takes him a moment, blinking owlishly at you until he catches up to your question, considering a moment. "While I didn't quite finish my entree, I am looking forward to bringing home the leftovers.... Nine point five," he answers pointedly.
"Nine point five?" Your eyebrows shoot up. "That's the highest rating yet. That rates this place even higher than Cafe Buono, you've only ever given them as high as eight point nine."
"Mhm." He nods with the ghost of a smile. "I found this meal more enjoyable."
"Apparently so if we've finally reached a nine rating." You're shocked anything could outrank the reigning favorite spot for the two of you, let alone that Zayne Notoriously-Picky-About-Food-and-Restaurants Li would ever rate anything as high as a nine. But you simply shrug, just happy to know he liked it that much.
He huffs a small laugh through his nose and puts his picked-at cheesecake to the side. As you appraise his soft smile, the weariness in his features jumps out at you again and your gut twists with guilt.
"I'm keeping you from post-op reports and things at this point, aren't I?"
His shoulders sag ever so slightly, but you can't be sure if it's from disappointment or relief. "I do have reports to finish, but you're more than welcome to stay and finish eating."
Does he mean it or is he simply being polite? Regardless, you know he'd work faster and get some rest if you weren't here to invade his space.
You offer him a resigned smile and move to stand from your seat. "Finish your work, go home, and go to bed, Zayne." As he opens his mouth to surely protest, you raise a hand at him, quick to cut him off. "It's already late, and I'm sure you're going to wake up at an hour so ungodly early that even the sun thinks you're crazy, just to go for a light forty mile jog."
He laughs as you continue and the sound makes your heart flutter.
"You're supposed to get eight hours of sleep a night, ya know." You check your watch, reading 12:18 a.m., and flip your wrist to show him, other hand on your hip. "You're going to have to wake up for your run in, like, two hours from now or you're not going to be able to make it to the equator and back in time for your next shift."
He laughs again at your dramatics, nodding in resignation. "Yes, doctor. I promise I'll work on getting more sleep."
"Good," you respond, turning to close up your takeout box and clean up after your meal, not quite done with your chiding. "You're always taking care of everyone else, but rarely seem to follow your own medical advice for a healthy lifestyle."
He stands and joins you in your tidying efforts, packing up his own food. "I suppose I could try harder on that front, especially knowing someone important worries so much for my well-being."
That makes you stop in your tracks, stomach flipping. He keeps packing, seemingly unfazed by your sudden pause, but as you glance at him from the corner of your eye, you catch his soft, satisfied smile. Biting your lip, you ignore the way your blood rushes loudly in your ears and bump his shoulder with yours. "Someone important, huh?"
He bumps you back, his heavenly little smile still visible from your peripheral. "Did you think you weren't?"
"No..." Your smile widens, bordering on bashful. "But it's nice to hear it."
As the last box returns to its bag, he turns to you fully with a curt nod. "Noted," he hums in a low tone, and your stomach clenches with how utterly close he's standing.
When your eyes meet and you catch the faint scent of his sweat and cologne, your brain dissolves into a garbled string of kissmekissmekissmekissmekissme. As you fight to right the ship, blinking rapidly, you dimly realize you're leaning forward into his space--or...is he leaning into yours?
Your heartrate picks up at the realization, only to be doubled when he places his impossibly warm hand on your arm.
"Thank you... For coming all this way and bringing me dinner..." It's practically a whisper, fluttering between you just like the butterflies running rampant in your stomach. "It was exactly the medicine I needed after a day like today."
"Anything for my favorite patient..." You breathe, too lost in his spell for any of the intended wit to make its way through.
He smiles, soft and small, voice still a low husk. "I look forward to our follow-up appointment on Monday." There's a pause before he lightly squeezes your arm and drops his hand, stepping away. "For now, let's get you home."
You try not to let the disappointment show as you return his smile, offended by the temperature drop that immediately follows his retreat. He scoops up your doggie bag and, half a beat behind him, you move to grab the rest of your belongings.
The two of you walk in silence to his office door at a pace that speaks to the reluctance you seemingly both share. When he opens the door for you, you step into the hall and give him a long look.
"Y'know, at this rate, you're only going to have, like, an hour to sleep before your daily triple-marathon."
He huffs a laugh through his nose. "It wouldn't be the first time. I'll be sure to send you pictures of anything interesting I see on my way to the equator."
"Please do," you grin, reveling in the newly established inside joke. Just then Dr. Greyson pops around the corner but abruptly halts in his tracks when he catches sight of you two.
Zayne follows your gaze down the hall. "Would those be the notes from tonight's rounds?"
"Y-yes," Greyson responds, suddenly looking rather panicked. "But I can come back--"
"No need, he's all yours," you assuage before turning back to Zayne. "I relinquish you to your very important doctor duties." Suddenly serious, you jut a finger at him as Greyson joins you, charts in hand. "But you better get some rest, or else." As you turn that finger and your menacing gaze on the newly arrived doctor, he throws his hands up in surrender, round glasses slipping down his face. "I'm putting you in charge of making sure he goes home at a reasonable time tonight."
To your left, Zayne lets out a chuckle. "Putting poor Greyson on the hook for my unhealthy working habits hardly seems fair."
You arch a brow at him with a self-satisfied grin. "Ah, so you admit your working habits are unhealthy?"
Greyson lets out a snort as Zayne huffs a laugh and flicks your forehead. "That's quite enough out of the both of you." His fond smile gives him away as you and Greyson continue your joint chortling.
"I'll make sure he wraps up here soon," Greyson affirms to you with a nod.
"Thank you. I'll leave you two to it then."
Zayne starts to extend the take-out bag towards you, then seems to consider something for a heartbeat before taking a step forward. As he comes closer, he places the bag in your grasp, his other hand coming up to ghost at your elbow before he leans in to leave the lightest of pecks just above your temple. When he steps back to meet your gaze, your heart feels like it just might explode and you're sure you've gone cartoonishly red. "Thank you again," is all he says, but the crimson shade of his ears lets you know his heartrate is surely also double its normal BPM in this moment.
"Anytime, doctor," you bid, the corner of your smile tilting up before nodding to them both and stepping away. "Goodnight, you two. Don't work too hard." With a turn on your heel, you head back down the hall, feeling their eyes follow your retreat. You do your best to maintain your gait, focusing on letting your hips sway naturally as your stomach is overtaken with giddy little butterflies urging you to skip full-speed all the way home.
When you finally turn the corner out of sight, you let the face-splitting grin finally break free, which you wear with you all the way back to your car. You spend a long moment sitting behind the wheel in the quiet of the hospital's parking garage, letting the evening wash over you.
It feels largely like a dream; it was all so similar to your usual office meals, but the weight of his gaze on you all night left your heart feeling like it ran its own triple-marathon. Your eyes drift over to the bag in your passengers seat and the memory of him grasping your wrist to steal the tiramisu off your spoon flashes in your mind, turning your breaths shallow. Is it a testament to how attractive he is or a testament to how down bad you are for him that that turned you on as much as it did? Either way, you hope to god he does it again.
His 9.5 score for this new restaurant comes to your mind and you're still floored by such a high rating from him, especially for take-out that was surely going cold by the time he tasted it. Regardless, you're pleased he seemed to enjoy it so much, excited to have a new reigning favorite spot.
Until it dawns on you, his words ringing in your ears: I found this meal more enjoyable.
You only pause a moment before pulling out your phone and typing with rapid fingers.
[12:37am] Me: 9.85 rating
[12:37am] Me: But I suspect wherever we eat on Monday night will be a 10/10
The two doctors watched in silence as you left down the long corridor, Zayne lost in his lovesick thoughts and Greyson weighing how well it would go over to ask when the two of you (finally!) elevated your relationship.
Nosiness got the better of him as you got far enough outside of earshot, and with a push of his glasses up his nose, he cleared his throat to broach the subject. "She seemed awfully dressed up. Was there a special occasion this evening?"
Zayne wistfully pulled his gaze from where you disappeared to meet the eyes of his colleague, amused by the very obvious curiosity he found burning there. "She brought me a post-op dinner." His smile grew as confusion pinched Greyson's brows upwards, letting it hang there until he decided to mercifully indulge him. "We were supposed to have our first date tonight."
Greyson's eyes went as round as his spectacles at the news, blinking owlishly back at the dark-haired doctor for several moments before finally finding his voice. "Well it's about time."
Now it was Zayne's turn to blink in a daze, attempting not to sputter. "What was that?"
"Yvonne and I were wondering when you two would finally act on it, it's been months!" Greyson chuckled.
Zayne continued to blink at him. "Am I to understand... You and Yvonne have been keeping tabs on my love life?"
"Wellll," he started, growing a little sheepish. "It wasn't on purpose at first, it was just impossible not to notice that you two obviously had feelings for each other. We've just been curious about how long it would finally take you guys to do anything about it."
Zayne continued staring as he considered his words long and hard. "Obvious, hm?"
Greyson nodded, glasses slipping down his nose again. "Obvious enough that I figured after five or six months that it had to be for some kind of reason, an Association rule or something, and it would just never happen." He decidedly avoided mentioning his real theory: that it was a moral dilemma for Zayne. "That reminds me... I guess I owe Yvonne $20..."
"You were betting on my love life?" Zayne arched a brow, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips.
"Uh, well," Greyson stammered, trying to figure out how to dig himself out of this hole. "She was just so sure that, even if there was something in the way, you guys would figure things out eventually. And, uh... It seems like she was right, after all!"
"Mm," Zayne hummed thoughtfully. "Too bad we never made it to our date."
Confusion followed by realization dawned across Greyson's features. "Oh, no, you had to cancel because of the surgery..."
"Unfortunately, yes. And I was unable to text her until we were out of the operating room."
"Did she think you stood her up on your first date?" For the second time, Greyson's eyes went as round as his glasses, this time in horror.
"Thankfully, no, she was... Incredibly understanding." Zayne smiled to himself, letting his eyes drift to the side as he recalled the way his insides clenched when he saw you marching down the hallway looking positively ethereal; he was so sure his own mind must have conjured up a hallucination out of sheer exhaustion and despair, until you'd gotten close enough that he could smell the intoxicating food and your even more intoxicating perfume. "We rescheduled to Monday night."
"Oh!" Greyson clasped his hands together excitedly. "That's great! And if anything comes up on Monday, I've got it handled, I'll make sure you get out of here on time this time."
"That's much appreciated, thank you." Zayne smiled, pausing when he felt his phone vibrate in his breast pocket. The moment he read your messages, that smile returned to his face, pleased you seemed to catch up to his earlier meaning.
[12:38am] Zayne: I suspect the same
[12:39am] Zayne: Greyson told me he'd be sure to handle any emergencies that may come up Monday to ensure I can make it on time this time around.
[12:39am] Me: Oh that's sweet, tell him I appreciate him for helping me secure Zayne time
[12:40am] Me: and I'm pretty sure that makes him your wingman
[12:40am] Me: or maybe mine
He chuckled as your messages came through, tilting his phone for Greyson to read.
"Happy to be of service," he chuckled in tandem with a mock salute.
"I won't tell her that you were betting we wouldn't get together." Zayne chuckled as Greyson rubbed his neck, instantly growing sheepish. "Now shall we look over these charts?"
post a/n: I'm sorry this is so long and so little happens LOL I promise they will actually go on their date in the next part. The next part also closely follows Heart Within Reach, so glad that we finally got that rerun!
I did my best to comb through likes and messages on the last part for those that wanted to be tagged when this part came out. If you were missed, I'm very sorry!
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Please share this with friends, the more support this gets the more likely that all pin designs will be unlocked and be available for everyone! If all stretch goals are unlocked I will add in freebies for every order. While they are not determined now, I will keep everyone updated on what they will be when they are!
Thank you so much for all the support shown so far with the reposts and shares! I am so happy to see that so many of you are excited for these designs, and I am too! So, let's keep this going so all the designs and more can be unlocked!
*All images have been updated with a more accurate glass bead. While they are not 100% accurate they are closer to the final result.
This will be my new account in case Tumblr doesn't take the Mature Label off of my main account @applecaviar. My third appeal was denied today đ so I will try one more time and if they don't remove it I'll just move everything to this one.
Thank you @seraphineash for your support through all of this and for convincing me to make another account đŠˇđŠˇ
On respinning, I got P - so I'm thinking either phone sex or praise kink? đ Dealer's choice?
Praise and Zayne just sounds right.
P -praise
------
You hide your face in Zayne's neck as he fingers you, knuckles deep in your pussy, panting and trying not to lose your mind.
"What a good girl, getting so wet for me," Zayne purrs, moving effortlessly inside your slick channel, brushing against your gspot with each stroke, making you gasp, stars blurring your eyes each time.
Your walls clench, and Zayne hums, his thumb gently rubbing circles over your clit. Losing the battle with rationality, a muffled whimper escapes your lips, lost against his skin as he continues his sinful movements.
"You sounded so pretty just now." He moves slightly to free your mouth. "Won't you do it again pretty girl?" he coaxes, scissoring his fingers inside you and you helplessly cry out in pleasure, face flushed, heat gathering in your belly as he unwinds you like a ball of yarn.
"Zayne..." you manage to choke out, and he rewards you with a warm kiss, swallowing your broken sobs.
"That's it little one. Say my name, just like that. You're doing so well." The gentle cajoling combined with his fingers was too much, and you moan, finally giving in to the rising need, orgasm crashing over you like a cresting wave, leaving you warm and limp.
Zayne's fingers withdraw and he sucks them clean. "So sweet. A slice of cake just for me."
You blush, but Zayne is chuckling at your reaction, already positioning himself between your legs. His thick head splits you apart and you arch underneath him, head swimming in delight.
"Taking me so well," he murmurs, bottoming out and setting up a delicious rhythm, rolling his hips enticingly.
Hey, to all the writers out there in the lads fandom, not so gentle reminder that I fucking love you and your creativity.
I don't care if you write the same scenarios or tropes over and over, writing them in every which way possible but loose.
I don't care if you never finish your wips and continuously jump from project to project.
I don't care if you write only dark fics, or only smut, or angst, or fluff.
I don't care if you focus only on one li, or if they have you in a constant blunt rotation.
I don't care about the length of the fics, be it drabbles, ficlets, 1k, 5k, 10k or even more. Chaptered, two parters or one shots.
I don't care how long it takes for you to finish a wip and post it.
I don't care if "all you do is ramble and say your thoughts out loud."
Thank you for sharing with us. I see the effort and time you put into it, and I'm sorry people aren't interacting with you as much as you'd like. Thank you for putting yourself out there even though you're terrified of how people might react. I'm sorry people out there have harassed you or said mean things, you didn't deserve it. And whether you want to stay, or leave, or take a break; now that I will always support you. The reason for the break doesn't matter, what matters is that you do what is best for you because this is just your hobby, something to de-stress, have fun and make connections, and you owe none of us all of your time.
So do what's best for you, take that break, step back if you need it. The people who actually care and like you won't be mad or disappointed.
Things have been slightly on pause while I've had unexpected construction going on in my apartment, I had to semi-move out for a bit and it's still going to be a few more weeks of work đ
Not the best pictures because I couldn't turn the lights on, but basically, we had some water-damaged drywall that needed to be replaced; once they opened that wall, they found more damage, which we figured might happen, but not to the extent that they basically gutted our bathroom and half our kitchen đ¤Ş
They even ripped out all the floors and my bathroom door, threshold and all đŤ so uhhh once we get new drywall, new paint, new floors, a new door, a new bathroom vanity, and new kitchen cabinets, and then move all our shit back in, candle things will resume lmao
Kitten is classic, but is there something else you prefer? Sylus' Sorcoress? Sylus' Countess? Something else??? Tell me!
I prefer...
Sylus' Kitten
Sylus' Sorcoress
Sylus' Countess
Something Else (please comment!)
Voting ended onJan 3
Here are similar polls for:
Caleb - Rafayel - Xavier
Fellow Zayne girlies, I think we're pretty settled on Jasmines, which is the only reason I wasn't planning on making a poll for him, sorry đ but feel free to let me know if you disagree!
This little research project is to help me with the MC scents of the LaDS candle and sprays I'm releasing soon, so feedback is SUPER helpful and appreciated đ
Xavier's Star? Xavier's Little Star? Xavier's StarLIGHT? Xavier's Princess? Xavier's QUEEN? Some variation on one of those? Something else??? Tell me!
I prefer...
Xavier's Star
Xavier's Little Star
Xavier's Starlight
Xavier's Princess
Xavier's Queen
Something Else (please comment!)
Voting ended onJan 3
Here are similar polls for:
Caleb - Rafayel - Sylus
Fellow Zayne girlies, I think we're pretty settled on Jasmines, which is the only reason I wasn't planning on making a poll for him, sorry đ but feel free to let me know if you disagree!
This little research project is to help me with the MC scents of the LaDS candle and sprays I'm releasing soon, so feedback is SUPER helpful and appreciated đ
Fellow Zayne girlies, I think we're pretty settled on Jasmines, which is the only reason I wasn't planning on making a poll for him, sorry đ but feel free to let me know if you disagree!
This little research project is to help me with the MC scents of the LaDS candle and sprays I'm releasing soon, so feedback is SUPER helpful and appreciated đ
Fellow Zayne girlies, I think we're pretty settled on Jasmines, which is the only reason I wasn't planning on making a poll for him, sorry đ but feel free to let me know if you disagree!
This little research project is to help me with the MC scents of the LaDS candle and sprays I'm releasing soon, so feedback is SUPER helpful and appreciated đ
FRIENDS I've survived the rush at work that's been nonstop since AUGUST! I'm still in the process of recovering more braincells, but at the very least I can tell you that I have OFFICIALLY started working on
Love and Deepspace candles~đŻď¸â¨
Fragrances are 80% finalized, and I have a starting batch of jars, wicks, wax, and spray bottles (these will also be available as sprays!). I do need to do some wick testing, and then I need to design labels (and buy a new printer đ RIP to my last one) and then I'll be about ready to open up shop!
That said, I think I'd like to get some beta smellers on board before opening up shop, so I wanted to put the word out and see if there was any interest!
There wouldn't be any cost, but I would require your address so that I can mail you an envelope with sample fragrance strips. From there, I'd just be looking for in-depth feedback about each scent: if you like it, if you feel it suits the character, if it feels balanced, how you'd describe it/what it reminds you of/what notes come through for you, etc.
I'm doing scents for the guys plus their MC's/more feminine counterpart scents, so there will be 10 fragrances in total to evaluate. If they release a 6th LI by the time I can get the ball rolling on this, that might become 12 lol
I'm US-based but international mail should theoretically be an available option, so don't let geographical location deter you from reaching out if you're thinking about it!
If you ARE interested or have any questions, please shoot me a DM here!
ZNN: where NNN goes sideways and his self-control goes out the window.
Synopsis: No Nut November sounded like a great ideaâ until he found out just how hard you are to resist. Now he's making up for lost time... and then some.
a/n: This was supposed to be normal. It got feral. I will not be taking questions at this time.
You wake to the soft clink of utensils against plates, the faint hiss of water in the kitchen sink. Morning light slides in slowly, gilding the room in gold. For a few breaths you linger between sleep and waking, the sheets tangling in your limbs as if reluctant to let you go.
When you finally pad barefoot into the kitchen, Zayne is already there: sleeves rolled, tie perfectly knotted, the morning paper folded beside a plate of neatly sliced fruit. The air smells like toasted bread and dark roast. He looks up immediately, that small, instinctive smile softening the edges of his face.
âGood morning.â
âMorning..â
He sets down the paper, reaches for the carafe, and pours a mug just the way you like it. âStill two sugars, right?â He doesnât wait for an answer; he knows. He adds them, stirs, and presses the cup into your hands, the heat blooming through your fingers. Then he slides a plate toward youâ scrambled eggs, buttered toastâ and with a quiet, habitual courtesy, pulls out your chair before settling back into his own.
You take a sip, watching him over the rim as he straightens his cutlery, and refolds the napkin on his lap.
The quiet between you is comfortable: the paper rustling, silverware against ceramic, his knee brushing yours when he shifts.
âIâm participating in No Nut November this year.â
The words fall lightly, almost kind, but they ripple through you like static. You blink, sure you misheard. âWhat?â
The fuck.
He sets his fork down and leans back a little. âItâs a discipline thing. Keeps the mind clear, helps with focus, hormone balance⌠better sleep, less stress.â He reaches for his coffee and gives a faint smile.
A thin, disbelieving laugh escapes you. âYouâre serious?â
âI am.â His tone is gentle but firm, the same way he speaks when reminding you to take your vitamins or to stop picking at a healing wound. He reaches across the table, his thumb brushing your knuckles. âItâs just a month. Weâll survive it. Might even be good for us afterwards, all that pent-up energy finally unleashed would feel great.â
That warm, reassuring touch is what ruins you, as if he doesnât realize the weight of what heâs denying you.
He rises a few minutes later. Efficient as always, making his exit: coat, watch, briefcase, a brief kiss pressed to your hairline that smells of coffee and cologne. Then the door closes behind him, and youâre left staring at the empty chair, still gobsmacked.
The first few days crawl by.
You tell yourself itâs fine. You can handle a month, that self-control can be learned by proximity. But the mirror pep talk does little to stop every small thing becoming a provocation: the way his voice drops when heâs on a late-night call, the shape of his hand around a pen, the smell of his aftershave clinging to the bathroom steam.
By the middle of the week, you canât take it, and you try to take matters into your own hands. He can't nut⌠so what's stopping you?
Heâs already asleep, breathing slow and even, one arm thrown across the pillow where you used to rest your head. You watch him for a long while. Taking in the dip of his throat, the soft shadow under his jaw, until the ache turns unbearable. Quietly, you turn away and slide your hand down your stomach.
It starts mechanical, almost clinical, as if you can out-think your body. You try to recall his touch, the precision, the patience. But memory is cruel. Your fingers are too light where his are sure, too frantic where his are measured. The pleasure stutters, thin and unsatisfying. You come, but itâs empty; heat without relief, shame without reason.
Afterward you lie awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside you.
The days that follow stretch tight around that failure. Every look, every small brush of contact turns sharp; your body wonât stop listening for him. You linger in doorways just to watch him knot his tie, muscles shifting under the crisp white cotton. He never comments, though you catch his gaze flick toward you once, unreadable.
Sleep becomes restless, full of heat. You wake aching, restless, already reaching for him before you remember the rules. By the end of the week, your forced restraint feels impossible and the determination to crack him settles in your bones like a dare. If he wants discipline, youâll give him temptation in return.
Saturday comes, and with itâ war.
You slide beneath the covers while heâs still sleeping, the morning quiet but charged. He lies sprawled in golden light, bare chest rising and falling slow, dark lashes shadowing those sharp, beautiful eyes. Heâs too perfect, too serene, so you press your mouth to his skin, mapping the ridge of each muscle, trailing lower, lower. Your tongue flicks across the edge of his hip, tasting salt and heat and power. When you finally take him into your mouth, he stiffens, his breath stutters, the control in his body shuddering like a wire stretched to snapping.
You work him slow, tongue swirling, savoring the way he thickens against your lips, heavy and hot. You want to break him, want to see the cracks form, the self-possession leak away in a rush of need. But even half-asleep, his discipline is steadfast. His hands slide into your hair, firm but heartbreakingly gentle, lifting you off him before you can think to swing a leg over his hips.
âNot yet,â he forced the words through a strained breath. âWe talked about this.â
You canât help the wounded whimper that slips out. He only hushes you, pressing a kiss to your brow, like youâre something precious and fragile, then swings his legs off the bed and leaves, letting the cold air sweep in where his heat should be.
The apartment is a battlefield. Every room is thick with challenge and provocation. With no work to distract him, you make yourself his only distraction. The black lace set is your armor: it hugs every curve, sheer enough to tempt, to torture, to haunt him every time you cross his line of sight.
You saunter past him in the living room, hips swaying, the fabric whispering against your thighs. âOops,â you bend with deliberate slowness to pick up nothing at all, arching so your ass is an open invitation. When you glance back, you catch the barest flicker in his eyes, a flare of hunger smothered beneath that implacable calm.
In the kitchen, you up the ante. You brush past him, breasts skimming his arm, then turning to press backâ just soâ feeling the firm line of him twitch against your ass. He holds steady, knuckles whitening on the counter top, refusing to give you the satisfaction of breaking. It becomes a dance: you, all feline grace and shameless need; him, stone-faced, only his barely-there reactions betraying how close to the edge youâve brought him.
Hours pass in this touchy standoff. The hot, electric tension is a living thing ready to snap.
By afternoon, heâs settled on the couch, book in hand, robe loose and only half-tied; his last defense against the quiet war youâve been waging all week. Youâve pulled back from the offensive for now, nursing your frustration, sulking in silence. Heâs noticed, of course.
You pass through again, making a show of indifference. Your arms are crossed beneath your breasts, lifting them just so. Your lips hold that deliberate little pout meant to sting.
He calls your name, and your stomach flips as you freeze. His voice is soft, but the way it lands has weight. When you look, his gaze is already climbing your body, slow, possessive, nothing polite left in it. He sets the book aside, and lifts one hand in a crooked finger, wordlessly beckoning.
You sink onto his lap, not trusting your voice, anticipation prickling under your skin. The nearness of him, the tension of the week, that maddening acheâ you feel all of it light up your nerves at once. You werenât expecting him to let you close, not this soon, not after the way heâs brushed you off all day. Yet his hands still find your waist, settling there like they never meant to leave. His thumbs slip just under the lace at your sides, dragging slow lines over sensitive skin. It grounds you. It threatens to undo you.
âI know what youâre doing,â he says, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. âBut Iâm not breaking. Not for sex. Not for release.â
But the lie doesnât last and his mouth claims yours. It starts light, testing, but thereâs hunger behind it, deep and teasing. His tongue traces your lower lip, lingering before he deepens the kiss with that slow, coaxing pressure you know too well. Your body is lured forward, and your hips follow, grinding down against the hard shape of him beneath the soft fabric. Itâs instinctualâ desperate. You canât help it.
He pulls back, his lips wet, eyes dark with something unreadable.
âIf itâs friction you needâŚâ he lets the words hang, as if deciding whether to indulge you or not. He shifts you with an easy pull, and the robe slips open in the motion. Thatâs when you see the line of his legâ bare, solid, all heat and smooth skin.
âHavenât you ever done this on a pillow?â he asks. âOr something firm enough to hold you steady?â
You hesitate, and he smiles knowingly.
âLike this.â
He nudges you forward until youâre straddling his thigh. The lace of your panties meets his skin with a heat that startles. You suck in a breath as the pressure hits just right, sharp and hot where you need it. Your eyes flick to his, but heâs expressionless again, already guiding your hands to his shoulders. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, and the muscle there shifts as he moves.
He gives you a nod and you start to rock against him, carefully at first, testing the angle, the friction. Itâs almost too much too soon. The tension youâve been carrying all week doesnât ease. It ignites. He watches your face, silently taking in every change, every flicker of arousal that crosses it.
Within moments, your panties are soaked. The lace clings to you, catching just enough to spark heat with every movement. The warmth of his thigh only drives it higher. Every shift of your hips presses your clit against him, and the pressure builds in thick, slow waves.
He leans in to kiss you again, deeper this time, more deliberate. He lets you ride him as you kiss and his hands stay firm at your hips without pulling or urging. Just steady and present as you use him.
âYou needed this, needed me,â he murmurs against your mouth. The way he says it sinks straight into your belly.
The friction climbs fast and your hips stutter as you chase it. You canât keep quiet anymore; soft little sounds escape before you can stop them. Your mouth parts on a sharp gasp, your head tipping back while your fingers curl into his shoulders for balance. The intensity wipes out anything that isnât him.
He watches, still calm, still composed. But you miss the way his throat works when he swallows. You miss the way his jaw tenses every time you shudder.
He leans in, mouth tickling your ear. âStill not enough?â
You whimper and shake your head, wordless. Surprised but not surprised that he can tell.
He doesnât tease you for it. His hand slides down, slipping between your thighs, fingers finding your clit through the soaked lace. Thereâs no warm-upâ just precision. His rhythm matches yours effortlessly. The reaction hits hard, each burst of sensation rolling through you before you can brace for the next.
You cry out, and his thigh tightens beneath you just slightly.
âThatâs it, pretty girl,â he murmurs. âLet me feel how desperate you are.â
You grind harder, pressing into it without thinking, everything inside you tipping toward the next rush. The need edges out every other thought but his thigh beneath you, his fingers rubbing your clit just right.
You break with a sound half-muffled in his shoulder, thighs clenching around him. The climax hits in tight, pulsing waves. Each one ripples through you until your whole body trembles from the aftershocks.
He holds you steady the whole time. His hands guide your hips once⌠then again. Another push, slow and deep, meant to pull every last tremor from you.
And only then does he ease back.
Youâre still catching your breath when his hand withdraws. His fingers glisten as he lifts them to his lips, eyes locking onto yours as he licks the taste from them.
Heâs placid on the surface, stony as everâ at least where you can see it.
But you donât see the tight pull of his jaw.
Or the way heâs breathing harder now, through his nose, like holding himself together costs something.
You try to slide off, sheepish in the aftermath, but he catches you easily, lifting you as if you weigh nothing at all. His hold is steady, impenetrable. The silence sharpens the edge of your unease. He carries you to the bathroom, and when your feet touch the cold tile, you still canât meet his gaze.
Steam curls upward as he turns on the shower. You wait for him to leave, to grant you a few private moments of cooling humiliation. But he doesnât step away.
Calm, infuriatingly in control, hands return to you as he strips away whatâs left of your lingerie. The fabric peels from your skin, wet lace pooling at your feet. He shrugs off his robe and steps into the shower, then reaches back for you.
Thereâs no command, no question. Just the invitation of his touch, pulling you into the spray with him.
Shame prickles low in your belly. Youâre sure he means only to clean you up; rinse away the mess, the weakness, the evidence of your failed restraint.
Heâs gentle, almost too gentle. He lathers soap into his palms and begins to wash you, slow and methodical. The touch smooths the suds over your skin, dragging the afterglow outward through your limbs. Sweat and arousal vanish under his hands, but not the memory of how you came apart for him. That still clings, thick in the air, in the heat between your thighs, in the dull throb of need that hasnât really left.
He turns you in his arms without warning, pressing your back to his chest as the water beads along your collarbone. His hands sweep over your shoulders, down your arms, pausing at the curve of your hips before gliding lower.
When his palm brushes between your legs, you tense even though the touch is soft, casualâ impersonal. He lingers a beat too long, thumb grazing the sensitive fold of you in a way that feels like testing. Your body doesnât believe it.
You try not to react, but a shiver betrays you, running down your spine in a wave. Your thighs press together around his wrist. He says nothing, his breath remains steady, his body still unfazed. But you feel it, just barely, a twitch of his fingers. The faintest flex, as though he thought about slipping them inside.
Every time his hand skims close again, your knees threaten to give. You hate the way your breath hitches and your body leans into him. He has to feel the tremble in your muscles, the pulse thrumming between your legs, but he doesnât acknowledge it and his silence only makes it worse.
His hands rise again, gliding up your sides, the soap making your skin slippery under his palms as he cups your breasts from behind. His thumbs drag across your nipples in slow, circular motions that start out gentle, almost innocent. But then something shifts. His fingers begin to roll and pinch, coaxing your peaks into tight, aching points that send heat shooting straight to your core.
You arch back against him without thinking, your body greedy for more. His breath finds your neck, hot and humid, as his hands grow bolder. One continues to knead your breast, groping now without restraint. The other drifts lower, tracing your belly in a downward slide that makes your thighs draw tight.
The water streams between your breasts, beating over your skin, and his hands donât stop. They move with purpose, squeezing, teasing, his control splintering in the pressure of each touch. Lewd little whimpers tumble from your lips, your body reacting faster than your mind can process.
âZayneâŚâ you breathe, your voice caught somewhere between plea and warning.
He hums, a deep vibrating sound, and closes the distance between you, pulling you against him. The hiss of the shower fills the silence, punctuated only by your breathingâ and his.
His cock presses thick against your ass, before sliding forward between your thighs, heavy and unmistakably hard.
A half groan, half laugh slips from his mouth and settles low in your belly.
âYou feel that?â he murmurs, his voice tight around the edges. âYou keep doing this to me.â
He grinds slowly, slipping back and forth as every ridge of him slewed against your soppy pussy, letting you feel every inch heâs denied you all week. The water makes it worse. You brace your palms against the fogged glass, your breasts flattening to the pane as he rolls his hips again, coaxing another breathless moan from you.
As if punishing himself with the nearness, the head of his cock drags along your folds, and he lines himself up. He doesnât push in yet, just teases, testing his own restraint. You feel it in his breath, the way it shudders near your shoulder.
His restraint shatters fast, and he thrusts, sinking in with a single, smooth motion. The stretch burns at first, but your body melts around him fast. Youâre already pulsing, clenching around him with the need heâs stoked to a frenzy.
He groans into your ear, âFuckâ missed how tight you get for me. Youâre shaking, sweetheart. Didnât think Iâd make you wait this long, did you?â
A broken sound escapes, but itâs nothing like an answer to him.
His lips brush the curve of your neck. âStill with me?â
You nod, barely, your âyesâ lost in the rush of water and sensation.
âGood.â He guides your hands higher on the glass, planting them firmly. âThen keep them there,â he says, a command dressed as a murmur. âLet me move.â
He draws out slowly, the friction dragging through every nerve, then slams back in hard enough to jolt your body forward.
You mewl as his hips snap again, and again, a rhythm forming; deep, forceful thrusts that pound you against the pane, the glass slick under your palms as you struggle to keep upright.
He anchors you with one hand at your hip, the other firm across your waist, guiding your body into every stroke. His cock drives deep, the angle brutal and perfect. Water flows over your joined bodies, turning the friction into molten heat. The wet slap of skin echoes off the tile.
You try to speak, his name, a plea, something, but all that comes out is a broken moan.
âZayneâ pleaseâ harder, I canâtâ â
âFuck,â he growls. His grip tightens. One hand clutches your hip, possessive, while the other slides across your stomach, holding you flush to him. His thrusts grow harder, sharper, the rhythm ragged now, as though the last of his control is bleeding out with every movement.
Then his fingers slip between your thighs again, finding your clit with deft precision. âAll week,â he rasps, mouth close to your ear. âYouâve been driving me insane. You want me to lose it, pretty thing? You want to break me?â
You canât answer. His fingers circle your clit with maddening intensity, perfectly timed with the pounding of his hips. The rhythm is too much. Too good. Youâre already clenching tighter, every inch of your body trembling under the pressure.
âThatâs it,â he groans, fucking you harder. âLet go for me. I want to feel you break.â
Your orgasm hits fast, blinding, and violent on his command. The pleasure folds over you like heat lightning, sparking from your spine to your toes. You cry out, your body clenching around him, shaking uncontrollably. You barely hear yourself moaning his name over the rush in your ears.
He groans as you clamp down on him, hips slamming into you as he fucks you through the high, his fingers unrelenting.
His rhythm breaks. His pace turns ragged, frantic, making you bounce back on him.
âDonât run,â he growls, voice ragged, hand dragging up your chest and around your throat as his thrusts turn punishing. He slams into you again and again, harder, filthier, the sounds obscene under the cascade of the shower.
âMine. All fucking mine.â
His whole body shudders behind you as he comes, a growl tearing from his throat. One final thrust and he buries himself to the hilt. His cock swells, twitching inside your gummy walls as his cum floods you in thick pulses, hot and endless, spilling out to mix with the water streaming down your thighs.
He holds you through it. Both of you shaking in the aftermath.
For a long moment, the water just keeps falling, steady sheets rushing over both of you, white noise catching on the ragged echo of your breathing. Zayne braces one hand on the fogged glass beside your head, the other still loosely circled at your waist. His chest rises and falls, warm against your back.
âSo much for focus and hormone regulation,â he mutters at last, dry as ever. âShouldâve known better than to go up against you.â
You turn your head, just enough to catch the faint, self-mocking smile curling at his lips. He presses a lazy, unrepentant kiss to your shoulder. Heâs still catching his breath, but thereâs no shame in him.
Another kiss follows, higher this time, at the slope of your neck, where your pulse flutters. His hand spans wide across your belly, anchoring you to him. The water keeps falling, sluicing over you both, warm and constant.
Then he shuts it off.
Silence crashes in its place, sharp and absolute, like a spell breaking.
His arms sweep around your thighs and lift you again. Before you can fully register the shift, your limbs automatically wind around him. He carries you out of the bathroom like a man with purpose, ignoring the trail of water on the floor, ignoring your weak protest.
âZayneâ â you murmur, dazed, still floating on the high, but he doesnât answer.
He drops you gently onto the bed, the sheets cool beneath your warmed damp skin. Your hair fans across the pillow as your thighs fall open with instinctive ease as if they realize that heâs not letting this end.
Zayne hovers above you, the water beading and gliding over the cut of his shoulders, down his chest, across his stomach. His eyes drink you in just as yours drink him. The flushed line of your throat. The parting of your lips. The tremble still lingering in your legs.
His gaze darkens, fixed and ravenous with each pass.
You glance down and see his cock is already hardening again. It lays thick and heavy at his thigh, veins prominent, the head flushed and leaking. You almost waved at it like a missed friend.
He takes a slow breath, but it doesnât steady him. Whatever composure he reclaimed in the walk from the shower is gone now, burned away in the heat rising between your bodies.
âYou didnât really think we were finished, did you?â The tenderness in his tone doesnât match the heat coiled underneath.
He climbs onto the bed, stalking over you. The mattress dipping with his weight as he braces himself on his arms, one on each side of your head. For a moment, he just looks, appreciating the state heâs left you in: fucked-out, damp, and panting. His fingers reach for a strand of hair clinging to your cheek, brushing it aside with the kind of softness that promises no mercy.
âYou have any idea what you do to me?â he whispers. The words are hushed but harsh at the edges. âAll week, I tried to behave. And you made it impossible.â
His mouth finds yours before you can respond, slow, coaxing at first, like heâs luring you deeper into something you canât escape. Then his teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging it gently until you gasp, and his tongue presses in to claim you again.
His body settles heavier against yours, heat radiating between you. Thick and heavy, his cock leaving slick trails as it slides along your thigh.
You arch up for more, instinct driving you, but he shushes you softly, mouthing down your jaw, your throat, lingering where your shoulder curves toward your neck. âRelax for me,â he murmurs. âLet me take care of you.â
His hands move like they know the path already. One palms your breast, rolling the nipple between careful fingers until it peaks hard. His other hand traces the curve of your waist, slipping under your thigh to hook it over his hip, opening you wider.
He lowers himself, the head of his cock gliding through your folds. Teasing your entrance, gathering wetness. His thumb circles your clit, slow and rhythmic, the motion maddening in its gentleness. He holds you in place with his thigh, forcing you to take every motion. You're panting beneath him with every drag of his cock, every slow press of his thumb.
âYou still aching for it?â he asks, voice warm against your ear. âStill greedy for me?â
You nod, frantic, your fingers curling into the muscles of his back. âPlease⌠need youâŚâ
His laughter is soft and wicked, laced with satisfaction. He dips his hips and presses in, stretching you open inch by inch. âLook at you,â he groans. âMy sweet girl. Always taking what I give.â
He bottoms out, hips flush to yours, his cock seated deep inside you, and your breath leaves you in a rush. He holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him, the fullness, the pulse. His hands roam again, mapping you, along your sides, your ribs, the softness of your thighs, like heâs grounding himself inside the moment.
He moves slowly and thoroughly, the roll of his hips making your eyes roll back.
He sets a pace that feels almost lazy at first, but thereâs nothing casual about the tension in his jaw or the grip of his hand on your waist.
His hand slides up to rest at your throat, grounding both of you. His lips return to yours between thrusts, kissing you like he canât stop, like he needs to mark you with more than just his cock.
âYouâre so good for me,â he murmurs hoarsely. âSo fucking good. Look at youâ such a mess, all fucked-out and gorgeous.â
The rhythm grows deeper, every push dragging a fresh moan from your lips, your legs tightening around him, trying to pull him closer. The bed rocks beneath you both, each thrust slamming into your core with perfect pressure, his pelvis grinding against your clit with devastating precision.
âZayneâ pleaseâ need moreâ â
He groans, hips moving faster now, and you feel it coming againâ that heat rising, that tremble curling into your spine. âMore?â he growls. âFuckâ let me ruin you.â
He keeps you pinned beneath, anchoring him, his thrusts rougher now, desperate, his grunts falling into rhythm with the wet slap of his balls against your skin.
âTake it. Thatâs it, baby. Youâre so fucking perfect.â
The orgasm builds fast with his praise. Your body clenches, mind fraying as it barrels toward you. Violent and all-consuming as it hits. Your cunt spasming around him as you cry out his name. Nails clawing at his back as your world whites out.
He curses, hips stuttering. âFuckâ oh fuck, I canâtâ â
You feel the shift inside him, the way his cock thickens, throbbing as he slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt. His release floods you in hot, pulsing waves, thick and obscene. You gasp as it fills you, stretches you from the inside, spilling deep into your body.
He folds himself over you, settling fully against your body, as though stepping back isnât even a consideration.
Zayne stays there buried deep, hips pressed flush to yours, cock twitching inside you as he holds you tight. Your cunt flutters around him with every slow pulse. Wet warmth seeping between your thighs, a private, decadent mess shared just between you. You whimper at the sensation, raw and spent, barely able to move.
âGod, look at you,â he pants, eyes devouring every inch of your trembling body. âSo beautiful like this. Can feel you squeezing meâ donât want to let go, do you?â
He slides out fully, and your body clenches around him in protest, but it only makes his smile curl, wicked and adoring.
âMaking such a mess,â he murmurs.
âLook at that,â he croons, purring the words like praise. âCanât even hold it all in.â His thumb slips between your swollen folds, gathering the mix heâs left behind and smearing it higher, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into your clit.
Your thighs draw tight as you writhe beneath him. Want tangling with ache, shame with raw, clawing need. He doesnât stop. Not until your muscles are fluttering, your breath fractured, every part of you trembling from how much heâs taken.
Your hips twitch again, your throat catching a helpless sound. âZayneâ too muchâ â
âI know, baby.â He kisses your knee, his voice low and sweet. His thumb doesnât stop. âJust one more. You can give me one more, canât you?â
You try to respond, but all that escapes is a breathless whine. Your body arches into it, already climbing fast. Youâre too sensitive, too raw, the urgency making your thighs quiver. Your back bows. Another orgasm slams through you, sudden and biting, dragged from you with slow, merciless precision.
He watches it take you, eyes dark and hungry, hand coaxing every flutter from your cunt until you melt back into the mattress.
Even then, he stays close, one hand still curved around your hip. His breath is wrecked. He leans in like he canât help himself, collapsing beside you in slow surrender.
You lie there, boneless, muscles slack, breath ragged. The bed is soaked in sweat, the scent of sex clinging to your skin. Your legs fall open again, unthinking, too weak to close. His hand rests over your stomach, fingers spread, his thumb lazily tracing across your skin.
He props himself up on one elbow, staring. You can feel the weight of his gazeâ dragging over your flushed skin, the heat still lingering on your chest and throat, the way your thighs twitch. He looks like heâs memorizing it.
âLook at you,â he admires. âFucking perfect.â
You shift, suddenly shy, trying to close your legs. He tsks quietly, catches your knee, and hooks it back up over his hip, spreading you again.
âNo hiding,â he says, voice thick with heat. âNot after that. I want to see exactly what I did to you.â
He leans close, breath warm against your ear. âLook at this messâŚâ he whispers, dark and sweet. âI think I want to keep you ruined. Always open like this. Always soft and sweet for me.â
His fingers drift lower again, tracing the slickness, rubbing it lightly back across your folds like a signature. âMaybe we make this a habit. What do you think, sweetheart?â
You barely manage a sound, dazed and ruined, breath shallow as he slides down your body. His mouth leaves kisses down your stomach, over your hip, nuzzling into the tender skin at your thigh. His nose brushes low, but he doesnât kiss you yet.
He just looks.
âYou feel that?â he murmurs, voice barely more than a breath. âSo soft down here. Still swollen. Still twitching for me.â
His tongue flicks outâ just onceâ and his groan is immediate, deep and low, chest rumbling against your leg.
âThatâs how it should be.â
You shiver, your whole body tight, even as your limbs beg to collapse. His breath washes over your cunt, hot and unrelenting, and he nudges your thighs wider, lips hovering, teasing.
He inhales slowly, as if savoring every part of you. Then his thumbs press you open.
âNot wasting a single drop,â he whispers.
He licks a slow stripe through your folds, his tongue broad and steady, unhurried in its devotion. He groans again, louder this time, his tongue moving with intent. You gasp, your hips jerking, and his hands catch you before you can move away.
His tongue circles your clit with slow reverence, then dips lower, dragging through every tender, slick inch of you. He licks you clean like heâs starving for it, like he needs every taste. His mouth seals to you. Heâs thorough, greedy, relentless.
âSo sweet like this,â he whispers against you. âSo fucking sweet.â
You flinch again, the heat building too fast, too sharp. His hands stay firm. One arm hooks under your thigh, the other presses you down. He licks again, mouth sealing over you as he sucks softly, groaning into the heat of you.
âZayneââ
âEasy, sweetheart,â he chides softly. âI want all of it. Youâre gonna give me everything.â
His tongue strokes deeper, mouth possessive, nose bumping your clit. The friction spikes. Your body arches. The stimulation, the slow, insistent drag of his mouth, pushes you too far. Your fingers clutch the sheets.
âZayneâ pleaseâ â you manage, barely. âI canâtâ â
He answers with a deep, wet suck to your clit that rips a sob from your throat.
You shatterâ again.
The orgasm takes you hard, your body convulsing around his mouth, thighs locked tight to his head, back bowing. Tears sting your eyes. Your voice cracks. You call his name, loud and ragged, and he groans like heâs coming just from the sound of it.
He licks you through every last tremor, never pulling away, his mouth still gentle as he kisses your thighs, your folds, everything.
Only when youâre limp does he ease back. His mouth is soft again. Worshipful. His hands stroke your thighs once more, like theyâre soothing a fever from your skin.
Then he reaches for a cloth, wiping you down with tender care. No rush. No shame. His touch is gentle, reverent, a final act of worship. He massages the last of the tension from your hips, strokes along your inner thighs, brushes away the wetness with slow, affectionate passes.
When he pulls you into his arms at last, wrapping you both in clean sheets, your body sinks into him like it belongs there. His arm around your waist is solid. His breath is steady. His voice, soft and smug, curls into your ear like a secret.
âThink you could handle another week like that?â
You shoot him a look, as sharp as your body will allow. He just laughs, smug and wrecked, and kisses your temple without a trace of shame.
Synopsis: Seven minutes in heaven with your college rival Rafayel couldn't have been more insufferableâexcept it didnât end in seven minutes. One kiss turned into another, and somehow the game bled into the night, your rivalry burning hotter beneath the sheets. Weeks later, you act like nothing happened between you, but Rafayel doesnât take it lightlyâjealousy flickers sharp whenever he sees you laugh with someone else, as if you plan on pissing him off.
Content warnings: College AU, rivals, jealousy, sexual tension, kissing, explicit sexual content, rough sex, possessiveness, riding, face fucking, oral sex, fingering, overstimulation, dirty talk, manhandling, marking/bruising, jealousy-fueled intimacy, consensual but rough dynamics, rafayel gets jealous, mc wants to piss him off.
Pairings: Rafayel x reader
Word count: 10k
part 2 - here
Part 1
You despised Rafayel Qi more than you ever wanted to admit, and nothing in this life would have satisfied you more than wiping that smug, infuriating smirk off his face. He was the kind of insufferable you could spot from across a lecture hall, lounging in his seat like the world existed for his amusement, tossing out comments that were always just sharp enough to get under your skin. For the past two years, heâd been your personal plague, an ever-present thorn in your side. And somewhere, deep down in the place you didnât like to acknowledge, you almost admired his persistenceâhow one man could make you want to strangle him in every single encounter.
He never knew when to shut up. Always poking, always pushing, like testing the limits of your patience was his chosen sport. And oh, how youâd made it your mission to give it right back, to make his life just as miserable in return. That was the thing about the two of you, a perfect disaster of cause and effect. The light and the fuse. People didnât even bother asking how your latest spat had startedâthey just assumed it had, because it always did.
On campus, your names had become inseparable in the worst possible way, whispered together with knowing grins or exasperated sighs. Group projects? A nightmare. Debate class? Civil war. Even casual conversations in the cafeteria would somehow pivot to, âDid you hear what Rafayel said to her this time?â You hated it, hated that your name was tethered to his like some cosmic joke.
You could still hear his voice from that afternoon in the library, casual and smooth as ever, leaning over the table with that lazy smile. âRelax, cutie,â heâd said, sliding your textbook toward himself without asking. âIf you keep glaring at me with that expression, people are going to think that you fancy me.â
You had snatched the book back, teeth clenched. âThe only thing I fancy is the idea of never having to see your face again.â
Heâd only laughed, low and infuriating. âHarsh. Guess Iâll just have to make sure you keep seeing it, then.â
You couldnât begin to fathom what crime you had committedâwhether in this life or some unfortunate past oneâto deserve being stuck with him every few weeks. Yet here you were, standing on the soft, beer-stained carpet, surrounded by a cloud of cheap perfume, laughter, and the low thrum of bass shaking the floorboards. Alcohol hummed in your veins, warm and distracting, while the partygoers whooped and hollered around the circle.
A chipped glass bottle spun on the floor, wobbling to a stop as if it had been conspiring against you all night. You stared at it like it had just declared war on you, because, of course, the neck was pointing directly at Rafayel.
For a fleeting, wicked moment, you considered grabbing it and cracking it over his annoyingly perfect head. Seven minutes in heaven. With him.
The crowd eruptedâhalf in mock horror, half in the kind of delight that came from watching a train wreck you couldnât look away from. Simone and Tara exchanged a wide-eyed glance that said they were both surprised and already placing mental bets.
You narrowed your eyes at them, but before you could say a word, movement caught your attention. Rafayel was already walking toward the closetâno hesitation, no acknowledgment of the chaos he left in his wake. He didnât even look back at you, as if it was a foregone conclusion youâd follow.
That arrogant prick.
You scoffed under your breath and stood, brushing imaginary lint off your jeans, mostly to keep from flipping him off in front of everyone. Simone and Tara nudged each other like middle schoolers about to watch a fight, grinning as though they hadnât just sold you out to the devil himself.
âDonât wait up,â you muttered at them, your voice sharp enough to cut.
A guy from somewhere in the back yelled, âMy moneyâs on murder!â
Another chimed in, âNah, theyâre either gonna make out or burn the place down.â
You ignored them all, though your jaw tightened. Seven whole minutes trapped in a cramped, dark space with Rafayelâhis cologne, his smug smirk, his constant need to one-up you. And as you reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder at last, that infuriating grin playing on his lips.
âDonât look so thrilled, cutie,â he drawled, holding the closet door open just wide enough for you to pass. âI promise to make it worth your while.â
You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle you could still see. âYou wish.â
His smirk deepened, lazy and sure of himself. âI do,â he said lightly, stepping in after you. âBut itâs more fun when you do too.â
The door clicked shut, sealing you into seven minutes of hell. You pressed yourself into the farthest corner as the door shut, sealing out the noise of the party. Darkness swallowed the cramped space, save for a sliver of light leaking through the crack between the door and frame. Your breath caughtânot from nerves, you told yourself, but from the sudden proximity.
His cologne lingered in the air, warm and heady, with some other undertoneâsalted, oceanicâthat clung stubbornly in your head. The realization annoyed you more than his actual presence. It was unfair, you thought, that someone so irritating could smell that good.
A faint brush against your arm made you flinch. You turned your head sharply, catching the faint outline of his profile in the gloom.
âKeep to your own space, yeah?â you muttered, your voice low but sharp. You tried to shift farther away, but the closet was far too small, and you hated the way every movement brought you back within reach of him.
His laugh came quiet but deep, curling at the edges with smugness. âMy bad, princess,â he murmured, leaning just close enough for the warmth of his words to ghost over your cheek. âDidnât realize Iâd already stepped on your toes tonight.â
You shot him a glare, even if you knew he probably couldnât see much of it in the dark. His arm was still brushing yours, his casual lean making it clear he had no intention of shifting away.
âI will step on yours if you donât move,â you warned, crossing your arms tight over your chest and turning your body slightly to shield yourself.
Instead of taking the hint, he tilted his headâlazy, deliberate. âSo aggressive tonight,â he said softly, mock sweetness dripping from the words. âActing like this isnât the highlight of your night.â
You huffed, the sound sharp in the close air. âIn what universe would this be my highlight?â
âIn mine,â he answered smoothly, without missing a beat.
You scoffed, the sound sharp in the thick air between you. âYouâre so full of yourself, Rafayel.â the words left your mouth like you were flicking a match, each syllable meant to cut.
He only hummed in response, low and lazy, and you hated how close the sound cameâhow it brushed over your ear like the faintest touch. The closet was warm, the air stale, and you could barely make out anything in the dark. But the sliver of light from the doorframe caught just enough of his face to make his expression clearâamused, entertained, like this was his own private game.
You scoffed again, softer this time, if only to keep from saying something that would sound too much like admitting defeat. He chuckled quietly, that smug undercurrent in every note, and then his arm brushed yours again. You stiffened, your jaw tightening on instinct, but he didnât shift away. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, tilting his head toward you until you could feel the faint stir of his breath. One hand came up to brace himself on the wall behind youâclose enough that you could feel the subtle press of his body against yours.
Your pulse ticked up despite yourself. This was absurd. Infuriating. And yet your chest felt tighter than it should.
âStop touching me,â you hissed, shifting back as far as the wall would allow.
He gave a quiet laugh, as though youâd just said something endearing. âWhere exactly do you want me to go, cutie?â he murmured, voice low enough that you almost missed it. âClosetâs only so big.â
The worst part was that he was right. There wasnât an inch of space left between you. You rolled your eyes, even though you knew he could probably see the movement in the faint light. âTry harder.â
âOh, I am,â he replied smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin you could hear in his voice.
Seven minutes had never felt longer.
He smirked, leaning in just enough to test your patience, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly casual tone he always used when he knew he was getting under your skin.
âKind of convenient, isnât it?â he murmured, the words brushing against you like a challenge. âWhole party out there, and somehow you end up locked in here with me. Almost like you rigged it. Guess you really canât stay away, cutie.â his next words ignited the fire in you even harder, âEspecially since you canât beat me when it actually counts.â
Your teeth clenched, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Before you could think better of it, your hand shot out, gripping the front of his shirt and tugging him just enough to close the already minuscule space between you.
âYouâre delusional,â you said, your voice low and deliberate, every word pressed like a blade. âYour ego must be eating whatâs left of your brain, because youâre lying to yourself if you think Iâd choose this. Iâd rather be anywhere else.â
You held his gaze, and now you were close enough to make out the sharp line of his jaw, the faint curve of his mouth, andâannoyinglyâjust how clear his eyes looked in the thin strip of light. He stared back at you with the same infuriating calm, only a slow tug of a smirk breaking the stillness.
âFunny,â he whispered, leaning in just enough for his breath to mingle with yours. âYouâre the one hanging on to my clothes like youâre about to tear them off.â
Your own smile curled, deceptively sweet. âIâd rather tear your head off.â
The space between you tightened, silent except for the shallow drag of your breaths. You hated that the air felt heavier now, that the warmth radiating from him made your skin hum in awareness. Neither of you moved back, both locked in the same unspoken dare youâd been passing between each other since the day you met.
He smirked, and you felt your jaw tighten in sync with the way your fingers curled, bunching the front of his shirt in a hard grip. He was too close, close enough that your breath caught against his, every inhale shared in the warm, cramped dark. Your pulse spiked, not that youâd admit it, not even to yourself. You hated this. Absolutely hated him.
A sharp scoff escaped you before you planted a hand against his chest, shoving him back just enough to reclaim a sliver of space. But before you could take another step away, his arm movedâsliding down from the wall behind you until his hand brushed against your waist, steadying himself.
The light contact made your pulse trip over itself. You grit your teeth, biting back the words that wanted to snarl at him to stop touching youâthough you werenât sure if you meant it entirely.
âYou donât seem in a rush for me to let go,â he murmured, his voice carrying that lazy taunt that made every nerve in you itch. His hand stayed exactly where it was, deliberate now, his fingers settling with a certain confidence at your waist.
Your glare could have cut glass. âWhat kind of delusional state gives you the nerve to think you can touch me?â
You shoved at his chest again, harder this time, but his grip only tightened, pulling you forward with the movement so that your body collided with his. Your breath left you in a startled grunt, the solid heat of him impossible to ignore.
You looked up at himâstartled, seethingâyet heat coiled traitorously low in your stomach. Every sharp exchange, every smug remark he lobbed your way had wound itself into something you refused to name, and youâd sooner die than admit Rafayel could have that kind of effect on you.
His smirk curved lower, slower this time, his voice brushing over you like the edge of a dare. âI like it when you bite back,â he murmured, leaning just enough that the air between you thinned. âMakes me wonder what youâd do if I touched you⌠on purpose.â his gaze flicked down briefly, then back to yours, full of quiet challenge. âMy guess? Not much. You canât really one-up me.â
The air felt heavy, your breaths matching his in a quick, uneven rhythm. Tension held you both still, tethered in the narrow space between his chest and yours.
âCocky bastard,â you whispered, every word sharpened between clenched teeth. âYouâll get more than you bargained for.â you tilted your chin up, closing the space by a fraction, your lips nearly grazing his. âSo either move your hand⌠or Iâll make you.â
His smile didnât falter. If anything, it deepenedâinfuriatingly slow, like he was savoring the moment.
âYeah?â his voice dipped just enough to brush against something inside you. âAnd how exactly would you make me?â
His fingers tightened on your waist, not painfully, but with the kind of deliberate pressure that felt like he was testing how far he could push before you snapped. Heat surged under your skin, your muscles tensing as your breath came shallow, matching his.
You couldnât even say who moved firstâonly that suddenly his mouth was on yours, hot and unyielding, all teeth and heat and reckless challenge. He kissed like he expected you to fight him, so you did, matching the push of his lips with your own bite until the taste of him left you dizzy.
Your whole body pressed into him, seeking leverage you didnât want to admit you needed. His grip on your waist anchored you, pulling you closer until there was no space left to guard. Your teeth caught his lower lip, hard enough to pull a groan from his chest, low and rough.
The cramped heat of the closet wrapped around you both, the world reduced to the tangle of limbs and breath and the sharp scent of him. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging as his bent knee slid between yours, shifting your weight until your back met the wall again with a muted thud.
He didnât stop. Your mouths were a frenzyâhot, rough, and desperate in a way neither of you would ever admit aloud. Your hands clutched at him, fisting the fabric of his shirt, not to pull him closerâthough it felt that wayâbut to keep yourself from stumbling under the force of it all. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, sharp and consuming, each kiss a challenge neither of you wanted to lose.
You bit at his lower lip, he returned the favor, and your tongues tangled in a battle for dominance that left both of you breathing ragged. Teeth grazed swollen lips and the sensitive skin just beneath, his mouth dragging down to your neck. His lips were warm, his breath hotter, and when he sucked a mark there, his smirk was felt more than seen.
âSomeoneâs enjoying themselves,â he murmured against your skin, his voice low enough to scrape over your nerves.
âShut up,â you bit back, shoving at his shoulder, though your body betrayed you, arching into him when his handsâbolder nowâslipped beneath the hem of your shirt.
Your mouth found his again, urgent and unrestrained, and you yanked hard on his hair, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. The sound vibrated against your lips, and heat pooled low in your stomach. You were both panting now, breaths coming fast and shallow, and then you felt his bulgeâhard against your hip, impossible to ignore. His thigh pressed between yours, and without thinking, you grinded down against it, the friction dizzying.
He groaned again, but this time it was laced with that infuriating amusement. âCute,â he drawled, his tone deliberately light, even as his grip on you tightened. âAlmost desperate. Must be all that pent-up frustration from wanting to fuck me this whole time.â
Your nails dragged slow and deliberate beneath his shirt, scratching from his ribs down to his stomach before sliding back up again. The movement earned a low, unrestrained groan from him, his breath hitching just enough to make you smirkâthough you didnât get long to savor the victory. His hands were already on you, firm and unapologetic as they cupped your ass, pulling you down against the solid line of his thigh. The friction sent a jolt through you both, making your bodies lurch together, grunts and gasps spilling into the heat between your mouths.
Even breathless, neither of you could resist the game.
âFeel that?â he murmured, the words curling against your ear as he shifted his leg just right, making you gasp. âYouâre soaking through, cutie. Didnât know you could get this wet just from grinding on me.â
You hissed through your teeth, catching his smirk in your peripheral, and refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. âYeah? Then maybe you should be more worried about yourself,â you shot back, your voice low and edged with heat. Your fingers slipped lower, brushing the waistband of his jeans. âYouâre so hard, Rafayel. I bet if I touched you just a little, youâd cum in seconds.â
His grip tightened at that, a subtle, wordless admission he wouldnât dare voice.
What you donât expect is his voiceâlow, rough, brushing against the shell of your ear like he knows exactly what it does to you.
âGo on,â he murmurs, the words warm and wicked, âbe a good girl⌠touch me. We could help each other out.â the tease is casual, almost lazy, but the weight of it coils heat deep in your stomach.
Before you can throw a retort, his fingers are already at your waistband, dragging the zipper down in a slow, deliberate pull. Then his hand slips inside, the heat of his palm startling against your skin. His breath hitches in something like satisfaction, and a soft grunt escapes him, carrying both a praise and a taunt.
âSlippery already,â he drawls, his tone dipping just enough to make it sound like a secret. âMustâve been desperate for me, huh? Canât help yourself⌠even just being close to me gets you like this.â
You grit your teeth, trying to swallow the sound building in your throat, but it escapes anywayâa low, unsteady moanâas his fingers slide inside you. He doesnât ease in; his pace starts steady, controlled, and just dizzying enough to steal your breath.
Youâre too far gone to argue, too caught between his touch and the heat thrumming through you to remember whatever insult youâd been ready to throw. Instead, you crush your mouth to his, the kiss greedy and unrestrained, tasting of defiance. His fingers work inside you in a steady, deliberate rhythm, just enough to make your knees threaten to give.
You donât let him have all the satisfaction. Your hand drifts lower, finding the hard outline pressing against his jeans, rubbing in the same measured pace heâs set for you. The sound he makes is low and rough, pulled from somewhere deep, and you drink it in like victory.
Your mouths stay locked, swallowing each otherâs shallow pants and quiet moans, the kiss breaking only for sharp gasps before crashing together again. Teeth catch lips, fingers dig into clothes and skin, both of you pushing harder, fasterâdaring the other to give in first.
The tension snaps for you in a shiver, your body tightening around his fingers as heat floods through you. He swallows your moan like itâs his, kissing you harder, deeper, until youâre dizzy. A moment later, his hips jerk, a muted groan breaking against your mouth as he follows, the heat between you spilling over into something ragged and messy.
Still, neither of you pull away. You kiss until your lips are bruised, until breath comes in broken pulls, until itâs impossible to tell if youâre clinging from want or because neither of you can stand without the other holding you up.
âPretty sure that was more than seven minutes,â he murmured against your neck, his tone dripping with satisfaction before his teeth sank into your skin in playful retaliation.
A sharp sound slipped from youâhalf moan, half hissâyour body still humming from the high, even as irritation flickered hot in your chest.
âWho knew all it would take was a couple of my fingers to strip some of that attitude away, cutie?â he added, the bait curling lazily from his lips like he already knew youâd take it.
Your response was wordless at firstâa firm grip on the half-hard length straining against his jeans, followed by a hiss against his neck as your other hand tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him suck in a breath.
âHow about,â you said, your voice low and edged with challenge, âyou get me out of here and fuck me until itâs all gone, hm?â
His mouth crashed onto yours before you could blink, the kiss bruising and impatient. His hands gripped your ass and hips with a possessive force, pulling you flush against him as his smirk ghosted over your lips.
âGladly,â he breathed, smug as ever.
âBastard,â you muttered against his mouth, earning nothing more than a quiet laugh before he hauled you out of the cramped closet. The hallway erupted in whistles and amused voices from classmates, but Rafayel didnât so much as glance at themâhis only focus fixed entirely, and unapologetically, on you.
 ââââ
Your hands roamed over him in desperate, greedy paths, grabbing at whatever skin you could reachâhis back, his shoulders, the flex of his armsâas he drove into you with slow, deliberate thrusts that somehow felt both sweet and merciless. His body hovered above yours, holding you caged between his hips and the mattress, each movement pulling ragged moans from your throat. The air between you was hot, tangled with the sound of panting breaths and the wet heat of messy, biting kisses that kept breaking and reforming like neither of you could stay away for long.
âI can bet,â he murmured between thrusts, his voice rough but edged with that familiar smirk, âyou were this wet every time you argued back at me⌠isnât that right?â His flushed face hovered over yours, his gaze locked on you as his palm slid over your breast, kneading and teasing your nipple until it peaked under his touch.
You answered with a scoffing moan, biting back the urge to roll your eyes even as pleasure shot through you when he angled his hips just right, hitting deep enough to make your stomach clench. You lifted your hips to meet his thrusts, still unwilling to give him the full satisfaction of your surrender.
âWhy donât you quit being insufferable,â you grunted, your voice breaking when his teeth grazed your neck, âand fuck me properly instead?â His fingers found your clit mid-sentence, circling in maddening, precise strokes that made your breath stutter. âMake me cum again, Iâm close.â
âWho am I to refuse you, princess?â he mocked in a low, wicked whisper, his tone all heat and challenge.
Your back arched helplessly into him as release tore through you, your body tightening around his cock in pulsing waves. His hips jerked with the rhythm of your climax, your moans mixing with his as you dragged him into a heated kiss, swallowing each otherâs sounds. His grip on your hip tightened hard enough to leave faint, perfect marks youâd find later, a wordless claim in the shape of his fingers.
ââââ
Your palms pressed firmly to his chest, the heat of his skin slick under your fingers as your nails dug in for balance. You rode him in a steady, unrelenting rhythm, each movement pulling a groan from deep in his throat. Your head tipped back, lips parted, the sound of your panting filling the room as your breasts bounced with every rise and fall. His mouth caught one nipple, sucking greedily before his teeth grazed the sensitive peak just enough to make your muscles tighten around him.
âThis must be new to you, right?â he asked, though the lift of his brows and the smug curve of his mouth made it sound more like confirmation than curiosity. His tone was breathless, feigning innocence, which only made it worse.
Too lost in the way his cock filled you, you could only grunt between gasps, âWhat are you talking about?â
His hands tightened on your waist, guiding you down harder onto him. He murmured against your chest, his lips brushing your skin before closing around your nipple again, biting until a moan escaped you.
âBeing on top,â he said with a smirk you could hear, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. âConsidering youâre never above me in anything.â
The taunt was punctuated by a sharp thrust upward, his hips grinding into you as a low grunt rumbled from his chest. âHow do you like it, princess?â
You bent forward, bracing a hand against his jaw, then sliding it to the back of his neck as his eyes locked on yoursâamethyst and heat-drunk, his lips wet and kiss-bruised. Through a breathless moan, you rasped out your answer, your nails biting into his skin. âWould like it better,â you panted, âif you didnât run your mouth.â
He only smirked, that maddening curve of his lips catching the dim light before he ducked down to suck another mark into your neckâone of many already burning along your skin. His smugness was infuriating, but it was harder to focus on that when you felt him twitch inside you, his cock hitting deep enough to blur your vision.
âOh, but you do like when I run my mouth, donât ya?â his voice was low, curling with amusement before he caught your lips in a kiss that was all heat and teeth and unspent tension. You kept moving on him, chasing the high with relentless rhythm, your breath breaking against his. âSeemed to love it a few minutes ago,â he murmured between kisses, âwhen it was between your legs.â
A sharp moan tore from you when his thumb found your clit, already slick and swollen from the previous orgasm he pulled from you. The touch was almost too much, your body clenching around him in a shiver that drew a low, unrestrained groan from his chest. He chuckled against your skin, his fingers digging into the soft curve of your ass as if he meant to keep you exactly where you were.
âI even recall you moaning my name so nicely when you came around my tongueâŚâ his voice rasped against your ear, warm enough to send a shiver down your spine.
Your head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut as you bounced harder, your mouth falling open on a broken gasp. You were so close you could taste it.
âNever heard my name sound that sweet from your mouth before,â he taunted, his words smug but tangled with his own uneven breaths, knowing it must turn you on. The sound of his grunts matched the rhythm of your moans, your bodies locked in a pace that was more a challenge than surrender, both of you teetering at the edge.
You blocked out the smug noise spilling from his lips, focusing instead on keeping your rhythm steady despite the burn in your thighs. Your voice came out shaky but biting, laced with challenge. âYou better not cum before I do, asshole.â
Your teeth sank into your lower lip hard enough to sting, and his answering thrust made your head tip back. He met your pace with deep, upward drives of his hips, each one threatening to push you over. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, guiding you, controlling the motion as if he owned the moment and you.
âDonât worry that pretty head, cutie,â he chuckled between low, rough grunts, the sound vibrating against your chest when he leaned in. His eyes drank you inâyour slack jaw, your unfocused gaze, the way pleasure had stolen the sharp edges of your expression. âI wouldnât miss the chance to watch you cum around my cock⌠so freaking beautiful like thisâŚâ
His lips brushed your neck in a fleeting kiss just before your body seized around him. Heat and pleasure tore through you, your thighs trembling violently as you came with a broken, shaky moan. You felt the wet rush coat him, spill between you, soak into the sheets beneath.
His groan was deep and rough, the sound dragging low in his chest as his hips faltered. You didnât need to see his face to know he was seconds away; you could feel it in the iron grip of his hands on your hips, in the heat radiating from his skin, in the breath he caught like he was holding back the inevitable.
Leaning down, you caught the warm line of his neck between your teeth, biting hard enough to draw another groan from him. Your lips found the sweet spot just beneath his ear, sucking until his muscles tensed under you. That was all it tookâhe jerked inside you, twitching hard as heat spilled into you in thick, pulsing waves, coating your sensitive walls until you could feel it drip. His head tipped back, breath ragged, and you felt the faintest chuckle rumble in his chest, even through the haze of release.
âCanât ever say you hate me now,â he rasped, his voice still rough with the edge of release, ânot after letting me mark you like this, cutie.â
Before you could snap back, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you down into a kiss that stole the rest of your breath. It was searing and messy, all heat and teeth, his lips moving against yours like he had no intention of letting you go any time soon. Your bodies were still pressed tight, the aftershocks thrumming between you, and every pull of his mouth tasted faintly of victory.
ââââ
Rafayel wasnât the type to cling to jealousy or waste energy on expectations he never asked forâbut watching you slip back into that same dynamic, as if nothing had happened between you, lit something sharp and ugly under his skin. It was one thing to keep up the bickering, the constant push-and-pull you two seemed addicted to, but being so close to anyone else in this place? Laughing, leaning in, letting other people into your space the way you let him, even if just for one night? That ticked him off more than he wanted to admit.
He could lie to everyone else, but not to himself. He was jealous. Or at the very least, botheredâmore than before, more than he had any right to be. Especially since you seemed intent on shoving it in his face, as though proving just how easily you could cozy up to other guys on campus might put him in his place.
Seeing you dance with that colleague tonight had made his jaw tighten, a scoff of disbelief escaping before he could bite it back. Because he knew betterâhe knew what you wanted. Heâd felt it in every heated moment youâd given him, in the way your body melted under his hands, pliant no matter how sharp your words were. You could pretend, you could denyâbut heâd already dragged the truth out of you in the dark, in the messy rhythm of tangled sheets and bitten lips. And tonight, all he could think about was how youâd come undone for him, over and over again, chasing release like a spark to a fuse you couldnât stop lightingâand now you were cozying up with another man.
The dynamic between you hadnât shifted in the slightestâyou still scoffed, still snapped at him, every exchange bristling with the same defiance he had come to expect. Normally, Rafayel thrived on it; it was what made this little game so addictive. But tonight, with the taste of you still burned into his memory, he had hoped for something differentâsome flicker of change, even if you refused to admit it.
He caught you alone near the drinks table, slipping into your space without hesitation, his shadow falling across you as you tipped the bottle. You turned your head sharply, eyes narrowing, your scoff cutting through the din of music and chatter. âWhat do you want now, Rafayel?â
The toneâbiting, impatientâmade his jaw twitch. Normally it thrilled him, but the sharp edge tonight dug deeper. Did you really despise his presence that much? Even now, after everything?
He leaned one elbow against the counter as though he had all the time in the world, his amethyst eyes catching the low light and glinting with that practiced, playful spark. He slipped the mask on as easily as a second skin, the one he always wore with you. âBack to making me work for your attention, I see.â
You rolled your eyes, ignoring the weight of his gaze as you poured yourself a shot. The liquid burned down your throat, leaving your lips wet when you licked the taste away. His eyes tracked the movement without restraint, though you didnât seem to notice.
âSometimes I seriously wonder if you donât have better things to do than pester me all day,â you muttered, as though the idea of his presence alone grated on you.
He nearly laughed, the sound curling up the back of his throat, but the bitterness still lingered like ash. He could hide it wellâhe always didâbut something in his chest coiled tighter, a heaviness he couldnât smirk his way out of.
He poured himself a shot like it was second nature, tossing it back with the same careless ease he wore like armor. Then he leaned in, closing the space between you with an unbothered smirk tugging at his lips.
âGonna pretend it never happened, is that it, princess?â his eyes found yours in the low light, sharp against sharp, daring you to flinch first.
You leaned in too, your voice dropping to a hiss that barely carried over the music. âStop calling me that.â
His laugh was low, warm, almost affectionate in its own infuriating way. âFunny,â he murmured, tilting his glass aside. âHad you in my bed, moaning for me, and the first thing you pick up after is that attitude.â
Your glare could have cut straight through him. You scoffed, turning your head deliberately, your gaze sweeping the roomâfor him, it wasnât hard to guess who you were looking for. The guy youâd been dancing with earlier. His jaw tightened before he could stop it, the weight of his stare narrowing back on you.
His voice came out rougher now, laced with the edge of something he usually hid behind a smirk. âSo thatâs what it is. Maybe I should fuck you slow next time. Sweet, steadyâsee if thatâd finally get you to acknowledge it.â his head tilted slightly, the words a challenge, a taunt, but his eyes searched yours like he wanted the truth more than the fight.
You laughed, the sound sharp as glass. Through your teeth, bitter but smiling just enough to sting, you shot back, âThereâs no next time. And Iâd rather you dropped the cocky act.â your gaze flicked up, unwavering. âNot everyone wants to end up in your bed, Rafayel.â
The smirk didnât falter on his lips, but the burn of your words sank under his skin all the same. Oh, how he loved your attitude. The sharpness in your voice, the fire in your glareâit always turned him on, but tonight it scraped against something else too. Annoyance. You dismissed him so easily, brushed everything off as if it hadnât mattered, as if youâd rather erase it than admit it was real.
But he couldnât forget. He didnât want to forget the sound of your moans, the way your nails dug into his skin, the bite of your teeth against his shoulder, your mouth desperate and hot on his. Every mark youâd left on him still burned under his skin.
His smirk came quick, practiced, though his jaw ticked in irritation he couldnât quite swallow down. âWell, you wanted it,â he drawled, voice low enough to coil between you, âand you seemed pretty determined to show me just how badly.â
The proof lingeredâyour mark, blooming faint but undeniable on the side of his neck. He saw the flicker in your expression when your eyes caught it, the twitch of your jaw before your glare sharpened even further.
You spit your words back at him, close enough now that he could smell you. Sweet perfume, deliberate and light, clinging to your skin like temptation. The thought of you applying it for someone elseâfor that guy youâd been pressed against earlierâmade his stomach knot in a way he refused to admit. His smirk stayed fixed, masking the flare of heat in his chest, but it didnât quiet the urge that nearly consumed himâto press his face into your neck, breathe you in, and let himself get drunk on you.
âSeriously, whatâs your fucking problem?â you snapped, each word sharp enough to cut. âYeah, we fucked. So what? You expect me to drop at your feet now and suck you off or something?â
Every syllable was a double-edged knifeâturning him on even as it lit a flame of irritation low in his chest. Did you really think thatâs what he wanted from you? While heâd never be opposed to the thought, that wasnât it. Not even close. What he wanted was for you to stop pretending it meant nothing, to stop brushing it off like you hadnât melted under him, clawed at him, begged for more until your voice broke.
His eyes lingered on yours, refusing to look away, holding the heat of your glare. You looked pissed, but he couldnât tell if it was your usual game or if heâd really struck a nerve this time, dug under your skin deeper than you wanted him to.
âI wouldnât be opposed to it,â he said smoothly, smirking like he hadnât just swallowed down the words he really wanted to sayâthat you were driving him insane, that youâd taken root under his skin, that it wasnât just your body he wanted. He tilted his head slightly, voice curling like smoke as he added, âDo you want me begging for it first?â
The faint shift in your expressionâhesitation, surprise, something flickering behind your eyesâwas gone almost as quickly as it appeared. You scoffed, your laugh short and bitter, already angling your body away like youâd had enough.
âI want you to leave me alone,â you shot back, each word bitten off like you meant to end it right there. Your smile was cutting, the kind meant to dismiss, to wound. âEnjoy the party, Rafayel.â
And before he could stop you, you turned toward the crowdâtoward him, the other guyâand something inside him twisted sharp, the smirk still plastered on his face doing nothing to smother the frustration building in his chest.
ââââ
Watching you dance, flirt, and laugh with that guy for hours ticked Rafayel off in ways he couldnât keep buriedânot with alcohol humming in his veins. His eyes followed the sway of your hips, the way sweat caught the low lights on your skin, turning you into something untouchable and magnetic. The guy had slipped away a few minutes ago, probably for another drink or a bathroom breakâRafayel couldnât be bothered to care.
His focus was on you, only you. The words youâd thrown at him earlier replayed like a broken record in his mind, cutting sharper every time. He hadnât expected you to cling to him, hadnât even expected softness or anything close to itâbut acting as if you hadnât spent a night tangled together, bodies desperate, mouths bruisedâit set something raw and restless burning in him.
He hated it. Hated how much it mattered. Hated the circumstances, hated that it made him feel like thisâlike he wanted to drag you away and make you admit every mark you left on his skin meant something more than just a mistake. And he knew it would probably end badly. But watching another man press into your space, lay hands on youâwatching you let him, welcome himâit made his blood run hotter than the whiskey in his glass.
Rafayel wasnât stupid enough to believe you were doing it on purpose just to rile him up. But still, the thought gnawed at him. The possibility that you knew exactly what effect you had on himâand chose to wield itâmade his chest tighten in a way he couldnât laugh off anymore.
Your hips swayed slow and unbothered to the rhythm, a lazy, carefree roll that pulled him in before he could stop himself. You hadnât even realized who pressed up behind youâhe could see it in the way you welcomed the touch too easily, as if you thought it was that other guy. That thought alone made his jaw clench, the bitter edge of alcohol still coating his tongue.
His hands settled on your waist, fingers splaying possessively over the curve, and you arched in response without hesitation. That simple movementâthat youâd done it for someone elseâmade frustration coil low and sharp in his chest. His grip tightened, pulling you flush as he dipped his face into the slope of your neck. The scent of your perfume laced with heat and sweat filled his head, dizzying, intoxicating, far too easy to get drunk on.
âYou smell so good,â he murmured against your skin, his voice low enough to sink right into your bones.
You stiffened instantly, the realization snapping through you. It was him, not the guy you thought. Your body shifted as if to turn, to throw him a glare or maybe shove him away, but his arms circled tighter around your waist, holding you still, pressing you into the steady rise of his chest. His nose brushed just beneath your ear, his mouth dragging close enough that his words threaded warmth into your skin.
âWhat the hell do you think youâre doing?â you asked, your voice pitched low, sharp but not steadyâcaught off guard, unsettled.
His lips ghosted another breath over your neck, dangerous and calm all at once, the lazy drawl of his voice cutting through the bass of the music. âCouldnât keep watching that guy put his hands all over you.â
You scoffed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of stillness, your body swaying side to side with the beat as though he werenât pressed so close. He took it for annoyance, maybe even defiance, and you threw your words like sparks over your shoulder. âThen donât fucking look, Rafayel. It isnât any of your business.â
His chest brushed against your back, solid and warm, crowding you until there was no space left to claim as your own. You rolled your hips again, half in spite, half because fighting him always ended like thisâlike gravity itself had shifted around him. His breath trembled against your neck, catching faintly on the perfume he couldnât seem to stop drinking in.
âAre you drunk?â you muttered, sharp with irritation.
âNo,â he rasped, voice rougher than usual, his hips sliding in sync with yours. The deliberate press made it impossible to ignore the unmistakable hardness straining against your ass. His fingers found your hips, not tentative but claiming, tightening when you didnât shrug him off.
You scoffed under your breath, but your body betrayed you, still moving, still letting him. âThen why the hell are you all over me right now?â
He didnât answer in words first. His lips ghosted along your neck, deliberate and lazy, before catching against your skin in a kiss that lingered too long to be innocent. He pulled your hips flush against his, making sure you felt exactly what youâd provoked, exactly how hard he was.
âItâs how it should be,â he murmured, his voice a low curl of smoke, the smirk etched against your skin as he leaned into your ear. âSo do me a favor, cutie, and tell that guy to back off.â
Your laugh came sharp, edged with a bite. âI thought I told you to back off, Rafayel.â still, your hips betrayed the venom of your words, grinding against him like you couldnât stop yourself. âIâm leaving home soon, anyway.â
That pushed him too far. His patience snapped into something darker, frustration coiled tight with want. His mouth brushed your ear, tone suddenly rougher, meaner, though still soaked in heat. âThe next words out your mouth better not be that youâre leaving with him.â
His grip tightened at your waist, and the pressure sent a shiver down your spine no matter how hard you tried to fight it. You hated that your body still reacted, hated that even when you were frustratedâangry, evenâit didnât stop the rush of heat that pooled beneath your skin. His breath brushed your ear as he leaned in, the low bass of the music vibrating through the floor and through your bones, but all you could hear was him. The two of you swayed together, not to the rhythm, but to something far more reckless.
âGet your act together, Rafayel.â your voice cut sharp, laced with sarcasm as you turned to face him. The flashing lights caught the tension in your jaw, as tight and unyielding as his own, and for a moment it felt like you werenât dancing so much as locked in combat.
His lips curvedânot into a smile, not reallyâbut into that insufferable smirk he wore whenever he wanted to rile you. âMm, harsh. Though, to be fair, Iâm not the one grinding against strangers for an audience.â his words came low, casual, but there was a rawness underneath, the kind that betrayed too much.
Your eyes narrowed, voice dripping with annoyance. âYouâre either drunk out of your mind, or youâre jealous. Whichever it isâyou have no right to say that.â
His hold only tightened, and the jealousy he refused to name aloud lingered in every breath he refused to let you take alone. His jaw ticked, a scoff breaking past his lips. It was supposed to sound amused, the way it usually did when he was poking at you, but the laugh carried a sharpness he couldnât quite disguise. Jealousy bled through no matter how smooth he tried to make it. His eyes locked on yours, unblinking, the crowd and the music dissolving into a blur behind you.
âDonât go home with him.â the words came out low, bitten off, heavier than he intended.
You scoffed, the sound sharp enough to cut, pushing against his chest to put some space between you. He barely gave, his body rooted in place, but you turned anyway, your voice tossed over your shoulder, drowned by the bass but still slicing through him all the same. âUnbelievable.â
The sway of your hips as you walked away was infuriating, deliberate, as if you knew exactly what you were doing to him. His jaw clenched tighter, watching you head straight toward the direction that bastard had gone. Before the thought could even settle, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.
You barely had time to gasp before he was dragging you through the crush of bodies, threading you through the mess of perfume and sweat and music until the two of you spilled into a darker corner, half-hidden near the bathroom hallway.
âWhat the fuââ the curse was barely past your lips before his mouth was on you.
It wasnât careful. It wasnât measured. It was a smash of lips and teeth and bottled-up want that burned through every ounce of restraint he had left. He couldnât hear another word of you telling him to back off, couldnât stand the thought of you storming away toward anyone but him.
And to his reckless satisfaction, you didnât shove him off. Not right away. Instead your lips parted, your tongue chasing his with a heat that shocked him as much as it thrilled him. The back of your shoulders hit the wall with a thud, and he pinned you there, his hand curling around your jaw like he needed to hold you still, like he couldnât risk you slipping through his fingers again.
He broke just enough space to breathe, his forehead nearly pressed to yours, breath ragged against your lips. His voice was hoarse, raw in a way youâd never heard. âIâm jealous.â
The confession scraped out of him like it cost something, but his eyes didnât waver. They bore into you, dark, heated, a storm of frustration and something softer underneath. His cheeks were warm, but his gaze was sharp, almost accusing.
âDidnât think your little act of indifference would get to me, and it didnât at first,â he said, his tone clipped, defensive, as if he needed to convince himself more than you. His fingers dug harder into your hips, holding you where you were, his frustration bleeding through every touch. âUntil I saw him all over you. And youââ his jaw tightened again, the words heavier, almost bitten through his teeth. âYou couldnât have welcomed him more sweetly.â
âIs that so?â you scoffed, though the sound came out thinner than you wanted, betraying the heat gathering in your chest. His eyes caught the flicker of yours dropping just once to his mouth before darting back up, a slip you couldnât take back. You hated that he noticed, hated the way he thrived on it, as if your irritation was his favorite game.
âI donât remember owing you anything, Rafayel,â you managed through a ragged breath, voice sharp but trembling at the edges.
His grip tightened at your waist, fingers digging into the fabric just enough to make you stumble the slightest step into him. The closeness burned. There were people all around youâlaughing, drunk, tangled in the musicâbut the crowd blurred into nothing, leaving only the thrum of his pulse pressed against yours, the friction of your remarks colliding.
âItâs like youâre trying to piss me off on purpose,â he muttered, low and rough, the words curling warm against your ear before his mouth stole yours.
The kiss was hard, bruisingâmore a clash than a surrenderâbut your body betrayed you, answering with the same fever. Your fingers curled into the half-buttoned placket of his shirt, yanking him closer until the last breath of air between you vanished. He groaned against your lips, the sound half frustration, half need, his tongue meeting yours in a reckless tangle. The taste of him was dizzyingâbitter with jealousy, sweet with desireâand it made your head spin worse than the alcohol.
When he tore back just enough to speak, his voice was ragged, every word bitten off as though it cost him something. âIâm jealous and pissed, and so fucking turned on.â his teeth grazed your skin as he caught the line of your jaw, then your throat, nipping at the place where your pulse fluttered out of control. His breath spilled hot over your perfume, a scent he knew wasnât chosen for himâand that knowledge set his temper alight.
He inhaled against your neck, lips brushing dangerously close. âTell me, cutieâŚâ his tone dipped into mockery, sharp and soft all at once, âis that what you were aiming for?â
ââââ
Shutting Rafayel up was easy enough if you played your cards right. And right now, with your thighs draped on each side of his head, his face buried between them, it was the most effective method youâd ever discovered. Heâd pulled you straight out of that partyâcocky grin, sharp remarks, his hand at the small of your back like he had every right to lead you wherever he pleasedâand somehow, the two of you ended up here again, tangled in the mess of his sheets, tearing at each otherâs clothes like you were starving.
He hadnât wasted a second once the door shut. The moment he shoved you back onto his bed, Rafayel dragged you over his mouth, pinning you there with a kind of desperate arrogance, tongue lapping at your folds like he had something to prove.
Your thighs trembled with every stroke of him, the slick sound of his mouth against you filling the room. He groaned into you, the vibration making you jolt, fingers tightening around the headboard as you rocked against him.
âFuckâRafayel,â you gasped, the words breaking into a moan as his hands urged you down harder, forcing you to grind over his mouth like he wanted you to drown him.
You couldnât help laughing breathlessly, the edge of smugness curling your lips. âDidnât know you liked shutting up this much,â you panted, voice cracking as he sucked hard on your clit, pulling another shaky cry from you.
He hummed against you in response, and the casual defiance in it made your chest tighten with something more dangerous than lust. Still, you couldnât resist taunting him, voice pitched with a mix of moan and tease. âDo you wanna make me cum, Rafayel? Hm? So eager to please me for once?â
That had his fingers digging into your thighs, bruising and possessive. He pushed his tongue deeper, fucking you with it, and you cursed, head falling back, vision hazing. But you werenât done. You leaned into the crueler edge of the game, your smirk curling even as your words hitched mid-breath. âMaybe the other guy wouldâve been just as eager⌠you know, the one who whispered all kind of things in my ear while grinding behind meââ
Your taunt cut off in a broken scream when he growled low into your pussy and sealed his mouth around your clit, sucking so hard your whole body jerked. The orgasm ripped through you with a violence that made your thighs quake against his grip, soaking his face as you cried out his name like you couldnât hold it back. And the bastard didnât even slow down.
âS-shit, ahhâŚâ you gasped, the sound breaking out of you before you could bite it back. His mouth didnât let up, not until you cried his name, your whole body trembling as your hips moved helplessly against his tongue, too sensitive to bear it yet too desperate to stop. A low growl rumbled in his throat at the sound of your curse, vibrating against you, and then suddenlyâhis grip clamped around your thighs, dragging a startled cry from your lips as he flipped you onto your back.
Before you could catch your breath, he was already over you, stealing your mouth in a kiss that left you dizzy, his hips grinding down into yours, the hard line of him pressing insistently through the fabric of his pants. His lips broke away only to trail down your throat, and then his teeth found you, sucking rough marks into your skin like he meant to brand you.
âYou already got me so worked upâŚâ his voice was rough, almost bitten out, âbut then you go and say his name while Iâm between your legs?â he sank his teeth lightly into your neck, the sting chased by the drag of his tongue.
Your protest melted into a groan as his fingers slid inside you, stretching you with merciless precision. He moaned low when your release slicked against his touch, making each movement faster, deeper, your body clenching around him in desperate pulses. His other hand spread over your ass, holding you open for him as his mouth closed around your breast, sucking hard, leaving your nipple aching under the wet heat of his tongue.
When his eyes lifted, messy hair falling into his flushed face, the burn in them was enough to make your stomach twist. Jealousy and hunger sharpened the edges of his gaze, the sound of his voice rough and almost mocking. âIf you wanted it rough, cutie, you couldâve just asked. No need to piss me off, pulling shit like this on me.â
Your laugh came out broken, shaky, your voice trembling on each gasp. Still, you managed, âWhereâs the fun in that?â
He kissed you then like he was trying to win something, all heat and defiance, his mouth clashing against yours in a mess of teeth and breath. You answered with equal force, your hands already curling tighter in his hair, dragging him closer until you broke the kiss just to flip him beneath you. The motion was sharp, your thighs locking around his hips as you shoved him down onto the mattress, stealing a groan out of him that sounded far too satisfying.
âYouâre so easy to trigger, arenât you?â you taunted, breathless as you pressed your mouth to his throat, nipping at the skin until he tilted his head back with a curse. Your fingers fumbled at his belt, deliberately slow, grazing him in ways that made his jaw clench. âMaybe itâs time someone puts you in your place. Because clearlyâŚâ you scoffed, dragging your nails lightly over his stomach as you marked his neck, ââŚyou donât know where you stand.â
His hips twitched under the drag of your palm, his breathing uneven nowâfinally losing that insufferable composure that always drove you mad. His pants and boxers were gone in what felt like seconds, and you perched just above him, teasing, stroking him in slow, deliberate movements that had his eyes darkening, his chest rising sharp with every breath.
When your mouth wrapped around him at last, he swore violently, a hand flying to your hair, gripping hard enough to make your scalp sting. The sound that tore out of him was raw, unguarded, his back arching off the sheets.
âS-shit, fuckâŚâ he hissed, the word breaking, and you almost laughed around him, because the victory was already rushing through your veins, warm and heady. The Rafayel who always had a sharp retort, always stayed a step ahead, was now groaning under your mouth, bucking helplessly into you, fingers threaded tight in your hair as if heâd lose himself without the anchor.
He looked almost beautiful like thisâbreathless, undone, stripped of every cocky remark he usually wielded like a weapon. You could admit it now, he was dangerous when quiet, his charm sharper in the silence between gasps.
âCutie shitâjust like that,â his voice cracked, raw and heavy as his hand tightened in your hair. âIâm not gonna last.â
The ragged sound of his breathing filled the space, and just when you felt him twitch against your tongue, he pulled you away with a guttural growl. His mouth caught yours in a kiss that was messy, desperate, teeth clashing as if he couldnât stand the distance for even a second longer.
âNot yet,â he rasped against your lips, his grip bruising your hips as he dragged you up into his lap. âNot until I fuck you so good you forget whatever guy you were entertaining earlier.â
You barely had time to roll your eyes before he flipped you over with startling ease, pressing you down and sliding into you in one rough, unrelenting thrust. The breath tore out of you in a broken moan, nails sinking into his shoulders as your body stretched around him.
âYouâre tight, princess,â he groaned into your ear, hips snapping forward, the sound spilling out of him low and guttural. âFuck, you take me just as good as last time.â
Whatever sharp retort you mightâve had died the moment he set a brutal rhythm, pounding into you with a pace that stole the ground from under your thoughts. Pleasure tore through you too fast, too muchâuntil you were trembling around him, clenching hard as your release crashed over you.
âSo sweet when you come for me,â he rasped, voice unraveling as your walls squeezed him tighter. âSqueezing me so goddamn t-tightâŚâ
He pulled out only to drag you forward, manhandling you face-down, ass high, the mattress dipping under his weight as he shoved back inside without warning. The thrust punched a scream out of you, raw and unguarded, and he chuckled darkly at the sound, his fingers digging deep into your hips as if to brand you there.
âYou wanted rough, didnât you?â His tone was half-growl, half-smirk, sharp with the kind of heat that left no space to breathe. He snapped his hips hard against you, deeper, faster, each movement sharp enough to leave you reeling. âWanted to make me jealous, huh? Then take it.â
Your mouth hung open, words failing as he pushed you past every edge, the drag of his jealousy turning him feral, recklessâeager to ruin you until there was nothing left in your head but him. And in truth, you loved every second of it. Because this version of Rafayelâthe one who burned with want, who touched like he was starving, who let his jealousy unravel into raw needâwas utterly, devastatingly irresistible.
part 2 - here
Š zaynessbeloved 2025
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